#in that weird place between being stuck in my old style and transitioning to a new one so i have mixed feelings about this

[kalicocal]

skeletone_bonesuk.mp3

[akria23]

I’m kinda obsessed with the aspect of the last half DSN. I think I’ve anticipated the second half of this series for a long time. Personally I feel that the 2’d half makes or breaks a good show. You you stay the coarse you can bore many of your viewers, if you dip into the wrong lane you will displease many of your viewers. It’s only kicking the story into overdrive that you stand a better chance. With DSN’s fast pace & story structure of solving conflicts within atleast an episode & a half I wondered how this would effect storylines in the last half. Like I said before there’s a few storylines still to come into play and fill up the end of the series -

Leo’s family - I don’t think they’re gonna be the cause of any real angst but I do feel like they’ll take up screen time & affect the mood - it’s kinda hard to mix angst with comedic elements (not impossible but difficult all the same). And I think the mom at least will have a number of scenes because of engagement with both Leo/Fiat & Leon/Pob. They’ve already set the playing field for viewers to love her.

Fiats Family - so far they’ve kinda scattered this conflict throughout the series and will probably continue to do so until it comes to its own big moment. I’m sure it’s gonna get its big due. I kinda wish it wasn’t tho. Somehow most series always pull the ‘just bear with your parents & they’ll come around’ tropes and I hate it. Some parents are just trash that you have to separate from. I don’t like way series tend to ignore the trauma and identity issues bad parents cause their child and then still end with an all’s well ends well approach. I wanted Fiats family to keep the energy because I feared they push the ‘misunderstood/strict’ parent trope and here we are! Hopefully we atleast get some accountability in the dialogue.

— I’m actually surprised that they saved the family stuff for the second half. It’ll have its own a notional moments but I’m still surprised at that choice.

Leon/Phob - the advancement of their relationship & any conflict which I’m sure they’ll be some.

Girl? I can’t remember clearly but I think there was another girl saying she liked Leo (from one of the old trailers…?) maybe I’m remembering wrong…I kinda hope I am because why would you place a random pursuer near the end? After everything LeoFiat has gone through she shouldn’t be able to cause any real harm by trying to come in the middle because they should’ve learned to communicate by the end. Def when someone has already tried to verbally stake her interest and the energy she received was a united front it would be weird to have it any other way near the ending half.

The one I’m most torn on is Curly. I find myself at a theory dilemma when it comes to him because the big theory that wraps itself around my brain doesn’t mesh well inside the framework of the story, but it remains regardless because my only other theory doesn’t feel…perfect either.

When I first saw the original trailer for the show I thought the ordeal with Curly would just turn out to be some kind of blowout built on miscommunication & misunderstandings. However the pacing, structure of the story, and Mame’s character writing style now has me questioning that. MAME isn’t the best at layering her characters, often she shows them for exactly who they are in their first introduction. This is why no matter how many ppl said that Leon’s antics would be a certain way in the last episode - I didn’t agree. Same for buying into the concept that Pob was pursuing Leo - it didn’t fit what his character was shown to be. On top of that she tends to over ‘perfect’ one of her main leads to the point where they don’t get to be flawed in persona. This happened in both LBC & TharnType so I can’t help but wonder if that’s the current case with Leo in DSN. So I question if we’d really see a storyline where Leo’s jealousy becomes so outrageous that it causes yet another dispute in the relationship - even if that jealousy was pressed by taunting. Plus I feel like this would just put them back to conversations they’ve already had. However even after saying all that - I remember that Mame does love the jealousy trope 😌

After the the last episode I wondered if the plot would actually be Fiat having been taken advantage of in the past but I argue against this one even because it’s way heavier than the story structure really calls for. But I also feel it would give that big angst moment without Leo & Fiat being at odds and without making Leo the bad guy for the intense emotions he’s exhibiting. Changing the presented emotions from petty jealousy to protective measures.

We have atleast 3 or 4 crying scenes left if they all make it and we’re about due for one so it would make sense for Curly to be one & be a big conflict section, considering he’s the mid-point conflict. But I’m unsure, before the last episode I would’ve said Mame wouldn’t have gone here simply because they’ve intentionally moved in a way to stay clear of any topic that would cause them possible backlash or fandom upset.

When it comes to curly I can’t pin down which theory I want to go with because I’m not 100% comfortable with either. I can’t figure a middle ground. It’s not often I’m stuck between my own theories not comfortable leaning into either, so maybe it’s a testament to the story structure or maybe I’m just not comfortable with the addition of either plot. I really don’t want another episode of - Fiat did something of poor taste in the past that affected Leo but he’s sorry now and will be a good boy from here on out. Been there done that, seen them have the conversation enough times to buy the shirt. The first theory would be shallow enough to fit into the structure of the story but it would just be its own sort of repeat of conflict we’ve already seen. While the other theory just feels too heavy. I don’t know how they’d solve a heavy issue in an episode. So far the show has intentionally been light and fast paced. I don’t think Curly situation will drag too long.

So I find myself at a fork in the road. Although I’m a bit anxious about this episode and episode 7 - because I find the mid episode make or break how good a story came across for me - I’m also interested to see how they choose to transition into the second half of the story.

[tcm]

A Conversation with Patty McCormack on Growing Up on Screen By Kim Luperi

Not many child stars go on to enjoy long, successful careers in show business – and fewer still have earned a prestigious Academy Award nomination before they turned 18. Patty McCormack has achieved both. The actress, who made her first film appearance in 1951 and went on to star in THE BAD SEED (’56, for which she received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress as the murderous Rhoda at age 11); THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN (’60) and THE YOUNG RUNAWAYS (’68), continues to work in Hollywood and shows no indication of slowing down.

I had the pleasure of speaking with McCormack recently about some of these titles and more, including the delightful film KATHY O’ ('58) in which she plays a famous child star – an apt springboard for a discussion about growing up on screen and transitioning into more mature roles over her incredibly long, accomplished career.   

(This interview has been edited for length and clarity.)

I was watching KATHY O’ last night, and I really enjoyed it. In that movie they talk about your blonde pigtail braids as a trademark, and I realized it kind of was; you had that hairstyle in THE BAD SEED and ALL MINE TO GIVE (’57), too. Do you know how that style came about, or was it something you did that caught on?

Patty McCormack: It seems to be! I believe I even had them early on in Mama, which was an old live TV show that was a weekly event. I don't know how that [trademark] happened. I think it just happened because of THE BAD SEED – I think it was the hairdo that I went in with or they just decided on. When you see the original artwork on William March’s book, there’s a very long face drawing of Rhoda, his Rhoda, and there were braids in it. I don't know if they were looped or what, but that could have been it – or I honestly don't remember if it was chosen by my mom because it was easy, but it stuck!

I loved KATHY O’ because I got to live the dream. I loved the notion of them cutting my hair off – except it was a wig that they cut. After a while it felt like I didn't want to look like an older person with braids – you have to get rid of them eventually. As soon as I could, I wanted hair that was like, in that era, a page boy or something like that, where it landed on your shoulder. But I carried that long hair for a long time. And then you know how you revert back to certain hairdos years later? 

They come back in style.

PM: Yes, they come back, but now I have shortish hair, and I'm growing it one length. So I got over the braids – just in the nick of time!

Circling back to Rhoda, you originated the role on Broadway before the film version, so you obviously had a lot of practice and familiarity with the part before you took it to the screen. Since she's such a chilling character, how did you get into that mindset at age nine, especially when you had to play the part multiple times a week?

PM: I always go back to the source, and the source was the director, Reginald Denham. He was so good with directing me. He made it fun, because I learned when I'd get an audience reaction on a face I’d make or something, I'd look forward to doing that again – you know, that kind of joy.

He made it so clear and simple, and his point of view was that Rhoda was always right. I know I've said this before, but it's the truth. No matter what anybody says, Rhoda is correct, and anything she wants, she feels entitled to – not using that word ‘entitled’ – but I really wasn't thinking of myself as a bad person, or especially not a murderer. I just thought it was their fault, which is classic, I guess. I had to kill him [the little boy] because he was so mean. So I think that was how I learned to be that character. I was aware of the murders – people were dead because of me, that I knew – but somehow it wasn't disturbing to my mind. If you take a look at it knowing that, you see it. I'm not coming from some sort of evil place, I don't think.

You were nominated for an Oscar for THE BAD SEED, which is amazing; it's a true testament to your talents, of course, but it’s also such a big accolade to have at such a young age. Do you remember there being any pressure on you for your next role?

PM: Well, the role was so odd for a kid to be so noticed, in that era anyway. I can't think of any jobs I didn't get after that that somebody else got, you know? What happened, though, was that each year I grew, and so I just experienced the typical kid actor dilemma which is going from category to category and establishing yourself in that category and learning how to be in that category. I did do something on Playhouse 90 – I did a few PLAYHOUSE 90s back then – and I did a lot of television –

You played Helen Keller [in the original 1957 Playhouse 90 teleplay “The Miracle Worker”].

PM: That's what I was going to say! That was after THE BAD SEED. But mostly, as far as movies went, there was KATHY O’ and a few here and there and at different levels of development. I was always aware that it had been a while since I worked, that I felt, but I didn't think business, like “What will I follow up that with?” I didn't have that kind of mentality, and I really don't think my mother did either, so it just sort of went the way it went.

As you mentioned too, you were still growing up. So, you’re a child, then a teenager, then young adult. You probably wouldn’t be thinking about the business part of it. 

PM: No, it's so strange. It's not an easy transition, and as you know famous people go through really hard things. You don't get to sit and relax in a certain mode for too long because before you know it you're in the next one. And then you go through your ‘ugly period’ in front of everybody, which is horrible.

The movie that you mentioned TCM is going to air, THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, when I see the headshots from that I just think, “Aw, I looked uncomfortable!” I could see it even in my body. I felt like I was at the awkward time – you know, part of me was getting bigger, developing – and that hairdo they gave me didn't help; it was still the braids but wrapped up.

I want to ask you about that transition. Did you find anything difficult or surprising about navigating Hollywood and growing up on screen? 

PM: The most difficult part, honestly, as a person growing up – I think at the time I always say Sandra Dee was the person we all looked to. She was just so beautiful, and no one else looked like that – maybe Carol Lynley a little bit – but the bar was set very high. With that, you’re insecure anyways because you’re at that age, and more than anything you don't want to be different. I think that's true for a lot of kids. So the maturing, that part of development, was difficult when I look back. You don't have the confidence that you had as a little kid when you don't think about anything. You become all self-conscious about how you look, if you're thin enough, if you’re pretty enough, if your hair looks nice. It's a little bit of an adjustment to get through all that and go back to what you like to do, which is to pretend, and take the focus off what you look like or who you look like or any of that stuff. I don't know if other kid actors had the same experience, but usually people grow out of a look that made them known – most of us anyway, not all of us. 

I know when you left Hollywood you went back to Brooklyn and finished high school there. What was that experience like for you?

PM: Well, I took my real name back, and I was going to the high school that my mother and older sister went to, so I was really excited. This is going to sound so weird, but it was almost like playing a part – I was playing the part of a high school student. My real name is Russo, so I was Patty Russo. The experience was really kind of shocking, because I think they expected me to be very conceited, and so I had to hide in the cafeteria in the early days, because it was Brooklyn and they were pretty tough – they were on me! But I made a best friend who helped me navigate through it, and it turned into a nice experience finally. I was glad to have had that.

Then I came back out here [Los Angeles], and I stayed with a friend of my mother's family for a while. I wound up leaving Utrecht [her Brooklyn high school] – it’s a long story – but I did a soap opera in between while I was going to Utrecht, and that was kind of tricky because they weren't flexible like California was. In California they were used to kid actors, and in New York at that time, they really weren't. Then when I came out here, I went back to finish high school at Hollywood Professional and got my diploma that way. But I'm so glad I got to go back to Brooklyn. I'm pleased about that.

It sounds like you had a pretty grounded childhood, especially in attending a regular high school. Do you think that helped how you adjusted when you returned to the film industry?

PM: It was a little bit too grounded, I think! I came from a really good family. I never thought that I was a big deal, and they [her mom and dad] made sure of that. So, coming back to the industry after, I really didn't know the ropes. People handled all that before – the only thing I knew was what I did, and so some things maybe didn't get handled so well, but I learned on my feet when I came back out here. Then I married my childhood boyfriend and we had our children, and I kept working.

Yes, you’ve worked steadily since then.

PM: I did work a lot! It’s true. Nothing on the level of nominations, but I was a journeyman, I like to say.

You've spent six decades in the industry, which is really astounding, especially since you started as a child. I read an interview from 1974 that featured a humorous quote from you that I’d like to share. You said that you lamented that you never got the guy in movies and just once you wanted to “kiss the guys instead of kill them.”

PM: That is funny!

But throughout your career, you played Helen Keller, you played a career woman in THE BEST OF EVERYTHING (’70), you played Pat Nixon more recently in FROST/NIXON (’08), so you've had a lot of experience with different characters. Was there any genre or any type of character that you wish you could explore further?

PM: Well, I'll tell you the truth, it's actually seven decades from when I started, although if you want to make me younger, I don't mind! At this point in time, I'm so grateful when I work, because there could be nothing now, you know? I do enjoy what comes along. The only thing I never got to do, which I would have loved, was to have been in a habit – I would have loved to have played a nun in a habit.

That’s interesting.

PM: Isn’t it? It’s the Catholic school thing.

We’ll have to find you a role like that!

PM: I know, wouldn't that be fun? And it would be a nice way, in your later years, to go from a killer to a nun, you know? I think it would be a good idea.

Going in the right direction!

PM: Yes! But anyways, little things change here and there, and I sometimes do voiceovers, and I did something recently that I had never done, which was so much fun. Did you notice on Netflix a show called ARSENE LUPIN [working title for LUPIN]?

I haven’t heard of it, but I know there’s an old movie with the same name.

PM: Yes, this is a remake. It's in French, and I dubbed a French woman into English, and it was so much fun to do, to have someone else's face up there. I know some people watch foreign movies and they say, “Oh it's so unfair to dub the other actors,” and I probably wouldn't love it if somebody dubbed me either, but I had such a ball doing it. So, if you catch that show, you'll see somewhere in there I'm speaking English for a French woman.  

I wanted to talk about two of your more recent roles. I know you starred in MOMMY in the 1990s, kind of a grown-up Rhoda, and you played a psychiatrist in the Lifetime remake of THE BAD SEED in 2018. This story has been filmed a few times; what do you think resonates with people, and how did it feel going back to that character and story but from different perspectives?

PM: Right. Well, to be honest, the Rob Lowe production [for Lifetime] was really a totally different story. There was no mom – he was the mom character – so the writing was really different.

There were two MOMMY movies: MOMMY (’95) and MOMMY’S DAY (’97). Those were written by a writer who lives in Muscatine, Iowa: Max Allan Collins. This is a long time ago now, but it was fun to grow her up, you know, physically. I talked to you about how that is the strange thing about transitioning, and it was so enjoyable to do that. It really was a journey for me internally.

There was also something about shaking hands with that, because in my day, it was never a good thing to have something so long ago be talked about all the time. I got that impression by other people's opinions, not my own, and as time went on, the world changed and people started knowing actors’ work from 20 years ago. So, the appreciation for that old work came back, and I learned to feel good about it through other people's feelings about it. I do have such a different perspective on it now, and it's a character that was so special. That really changed my ability as to how I could hold it [the role].

It’s nice to be able to do that.

PM: Yes, it is. 

I have one more question for you. I know we’re in a pandemic and many productions are halted, but do you have any upcoming appearances that I can share with fans to look out for? 

PM: Aw, I wish! It's funny, I did some Hallmark Christmas movies. Well, I did one, and then last year I was supposed to do another one, and they cut our parts because of COVID. So, I'm rooting for [the next one], and I have a good feeling, you know, when we have our vaccinations. Also, a downside was that they shoot in Canada, and they have to bring you up there, and at that time you had to stay in 14 days.

A lot of rules!

PM: Yes, a lot of rules. So hopefully there will be a new one. I can't honestly say, but there's no reason there shouldn't be!

My dad loves the Hallmark Christmas movies, and I watch a lot of them because of him, so I'll be rooting for you and looking out for you!

PM: I know, there's so many. People have blankets and all these things! There are real hard-core fans – it's amazing.

[lsobelevans]

Horror tropes? In my Roswell, New mexico? It’s more likely than you think!

In this essay I will...

...be mentioning a few horror/thriller movies and while nothing explicitly gory or scary will be shown in this post, those movies definitely contain scenes and themes that can be disturbing/scary/triggering, do your researches if you’ve got doubts!

...be focusing on the Maria and Alex road-trip, from the moment the car breaks down to the last scene with Travis’ twin. I’m probably going to be led to briefly mention the other scenes that are intertwined with this arc (the echo date and the Planet 7 Kyle and Isobel scene, as well as the marlex car drive when I feel like it is relevant). 

...be approaching specific themes that are used in the scenes that compose this little arc and also more general ones like sound, editing, cinematography and color. 

... be reaching a lot. I do not think everything I will be mentioning is 100% thought-out and voluntary (although you never know). But I’m a firm believer that in filmmaking, yes even inside a CW show, the symbolism comes through subconsciously. So like, maybe they didn’t mean to use corn field as a mark for transition, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that this symbolism works with the story they’re telling and for the journey the characters are in that moment. Additionally, lighting, decor and costumes are always a choice, just like the camera doesn’t position itself randomly, someone’s behind and thinking of the composition of shots that, even if it’s in a basic way, has meaning.

... be starting chronologically but I’ll also make jumps backward and forward, grasping on themes when they come up. Ok, then, let’s dive in! 

This episode references and uses a lot of the iconic mechanisms of the horror movie genre. Alex and Maria’s comfortable road trip atmosphere, open hearted conversation in the car, breaks at the same time as the car itself breaks. The camera, steady so far, the shots following a well known pattern of shot/counter-shot, becomes more unpredictable and shakier and suddenly we’re out of the car, and bam, large shot. 

From the moment they’re out of the car, you won’t be able to see the horizon. Maria and Alex are stuck in a corn field, and they’re stuck in the frame. 

Then poof, Travis appears out of nowhere, accompanied with a pang of music, frightening us and them. Well, more exactly, it cuts on a shot that we’ve seen before without Travis, now with Travis, which gives us the appearing out of nowhere effect. 

Alex says it best.

Well now they’re stuck with a strange guy with an axe, and in a corn field 😬

Hey, have you seen he’s got an axe??? or do you need a close-up???

Okay, this scene ends there. So, let’s take a break and talk about cornfields. There’s many examples of horror movies making use of a field of corn as a location, famously Children of the Corn (1984), Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1995) Signs (2002), that last one also involving, you guessed it, aliens. 

Screenshots from the Signs trailer.

Corn fields are strongly associated with rurality, especially rural America. More largely, they can represent renewal, fertility or abundance. In the contrary, they can be seen as a very ominous location due to their immensity, a labyrinth in which you can’t see very far away and from which you’ll have trouble coming out. 

Although I’m pretty sure Maria’s chase in the cornfield is more of a reference to The Shining (1980) it reminded me of one of my favorite scenes from one of my favorite movies Tom à la ferme (2013), in which Tom is basically held hostage in rural Canada. The corn field chase is a turning point, the last of Tom's attempts to escape. 

Cornfields apparently also often imply scarecrows, which are inherently scary in my opinion but we’ll talk about it more later. 

The next scene takes place inside of Travis' cabin. 

The lighting here is pretty low, the light coming from a few small sources, creating a lot of shadows. The main color is a greenish/yellow which can be associated with nature and earth, rurality, dirty, suffocating. If we look at it, the color scheme of the entire road trip is very much following this pattern of browns/yellows/greens because of the cornfield and the color of the characters costumes (the exception being Maria’s truck which is a bright red). In opposition, the scenes that are intertwined are either blue and orange for Max and Liz or a lot of pink/blues/purples for Isobel and Kyle in planet 7 (bi bi bi).

The cabin is messy, supposedly reflecting the state of the owner’s mind. We get a nice close-up on meat + a knife and all of the creepy skins on the walls. Also, it’s noticeable that from this moment on, the camera is shakier, we experience different angles too. 

We are given many visual clues that something is wrong. 

I’m gonna pass on the sound of the sound of the cow parodying a werewolf + the vampire diaries inside joke. 

Btw, if the fact that Travis names his cows -- that he skins for a living -- like human women isn’t enough for you to think mmmm. we are in danger. Well, don’t worry. The cw spells it out for you!!

We know Alex! We got contextual clues!

Right after this, Alex and Maria make another direct reference to being in a horror movie situation. 

ALEX: This is why I don’t like horror films. The gay guy always dies first.

MARIA: ???? 

ALEX: Or... second. Okay, that’s fair. That look, that’s fair. 

I think this bit is interesting, because not only does it denounce an horror movie cliché (the black person of the cast dies first, the queer person is second) but also in this situation I believe it can be see as kind of a callout on the fandom’s behavior that i’m not gonna spell out for you but yeah. Fellow queer people, don’t forget you’re not the only one who is sometimes badly/unfairly represented. 

Moving on. In the next scene, Alex is searching the cabin for clues, and we are also given some about Travis. 

Either he has a twin brother or he’s got a framed picture of himself on his wall. Oh, and he’s military.

Then Travis startles Alex and plays a little bit of banjo, which is a good excuse to stop and talk about music. The show uses a lot of diegetic music aka music that is present in the universe of the story, that the characters can also hear. It justify the use of said music and it ties the audio with the picture.

The banjo already is heard at the very beginning of the arc during a cut from the planet 7 scene to the road trip scene. We get a few notes that indicate a change of scenery and that helps smooth up the transition, and I’m pretty sure it was also supposed to be diegetic music coming from Maria’s radio. The banjo, like the corn field, is super linked with rurality and rural America (again!)

Another reference of the banjo in horror/thriller would be Deliverance (1972).

I can’t not think of this movie when I hear banjo unfortunately. 

The way Travis plays, aggressively bad, and while singing I Think We’re Alone Now, is supposed to make you think about that scene in The Umbrella Academy be quite unsettling, another point for isolation horror. 

So sweet of Travis to attack Alex with a guitar, and then a smol knife, and not with the axe <3. 

Then we’ve got a traveling zoom-in (or equivalent I’m not sure it isn’t a steady-cam here but the effect is the same) on Maria. This kind of effect can feel a little bit over-the-top and dramatic, in a old genre movie kind of way. It is usually used to bring the audience in, make it feel like you’re evolving in the same universe as the characters (here you’re walking toward Maria). In a scene where you should feel scared, it can be a mean to make you feel more engaged, as well as underlining Maria’s expression, her fear. In my opinion, this is also a way to tell you that from now on, Maria is the main character of this arc, the one that you will be following after the commercial break (that occurs right after) and making it more suspenseful. 

The scene after the break is the start of the corn-field chase. Travis steps out of the cabin, the cuts are faster, many close-shots, some even out of focus, that accelerate the rhythm, and a long fade-in of a new song: a modern, electronic song (Kim Petra’s Close You Eyes) completely in opposition with the acoustic banjo and with the atmosphere of the scene, which makes it strange and makes you think oh, what a weird choice! (at least it did for me lol). The lyrics, however, go very well with the scene. 

I feel it coming on You've got nowhere to run There's no way you'll make it out alive

Yep. 

We find out right after that the music is in fact diegetic but for Isobel and Kyle, it’s another use of music to ease a transition between 2 scenes that are different in every possible way. 

Now, the corn-field chase. As I mentioned before, I believe it’s a direct reference to The Shining’s ending chase scene where Jack Torrance chases his son Danny through a vegetal labyrinth with an axe. 

From the shots to the lighting (from behind or on the side, making the characters look like silhouettes) both scenes are very similar. Also, Travis is styled like Jack Nicholson ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Oh look, Michael’s here to save the day!

Oh well, guess not. 

Yeah, in this scene, and like we’ve been shown before, Maria is going to be the one that saves everyone. The racist cliché of the black character dying first in a horror movie is reversed, Maria is the last one standing. The scarecrow (that looked conveniently a lot like Maria) is supposed to play in favor of the bad guy, it’s a scary element, creating confusion and unease, but here the character decides to basically take it into her own hands and bend the rules. This character says i’m not that archetype, and she’s going to be using the horror movie tools against itself. 

Lastly, the final horror movie recurring theme that I’m going to talk about is the twin/the double. 

Yes, twins is a spooky tool used in horror movie because their similarities make them unsettling, uncanny. 

There’s also the idea that if one were to replace the other, you wouldn’t be able to tell. The impostor is a very scary concept that Roswell has also dealt with before. 

I can’t be the only one that has been traumatized by that halloween special of the Simpsons where Bart has an evil twin... 

It’s the last twist of the arc, there is a bad!Travis and a good!Travis. The bad one kept the other locked-up somewhere and had taken his place. 

It’s particularly interesting for Roswell that has a history with twins/doppelgänger, and that since the original show. It is a clear instance of in-world foreshadowing here! (howdy)

My conclusion about all this is that the people who worked on 2x06 had a great time building the episode and it shows, while also making it enjoyable to watch and yeah, we love to see it! 

[sincerelyreidburke]

ooh also 4 for Bri and Reid because I love them

Friends! Romans! Countrymen! ARE YOU READY for some good shit?!?! I say this because this is my very first time writing Reid/Bri! I mean, they’ve been in the background a few times in drama club stuff, but I’ve never actually gotten to focus on them. Toby enables me, because xe loves me.

“Who’s Bri?” Reid’s girlfriend!

In today’s episode of prompts, you will get a glimpse into Reid’s post-graduation life! If you want to read more about what’s in store for him after Kiersey, you can check out this post. And even this one, too, if you’d like.

Here, you’ll see a Reid two years removed from graduation and a little down on his luck. You also finally get to see inside his brain. *Slaps hood of Reid Burke* This bad boy can fit so much mental illness in him.

From this list of sappy prompts, which I am still accepting and filling as we speak!

4. “Shut up and kiss me.”

two years after (reid's) graduation | may

 Reid considers himself spectacularly efficient when it comes to fucking things up.

He knows this. Has always known it. He figures it’s a good thing to be self-aware, at least. He’s probably one of the more self-aware human beings to ever have a conscience, come to think of it, given the amount of time he spends policing his own every action. But still. There has to be some benefit in being so well aware of your own flaws that you can constantly predict your fuck-ups before they even happen. It’s like damage control when the damage hasn’t even set in.

Anyway. Reid knows he’s good at fucking up. But if there’s one thing he would really prefer not to fuck up, it’s Bri’s birthday.

Easier said than done.

When midnight strikes on the day she’s turning 24, he’s not even home, which is the first reason he feels guilty and useless. He’s at work, apron around his waist, tie done up too tight, sneaking glances at the clock across the room in between customers and refills. He wishes he had his phone on him, as the minute hand lines up with the second hand at the 12. He could at least text her. He could make up for the fact that he’s not there in person, to ring in the first moments of the day. But his phone is in the back, in his locker, because this is the best-paying place he works at, and he doesn’t want to risk his employment by getting caught with a phone by his manager. Or worse, a nosy customer, who will subsequently rat him out to his manager, and, well— yeah. Not to mention the fact that it’s usually so fast-paced in the bar that there’s no time to check your phone anyway.

The point is. He wishes he could text Bri. But he can’t. It’s probably for the best. She’s probably not even awake. It would actually be bad if she were awake. A healthy sleep schedule is something she deserves.

Actually, she deserves a lot. The entire world. A lot more than Reid has ever been able to give her, and there isn’t a day that goes by when his brain fails to remind him of that particular fuckup in his life thus far. But tonight, he shouldn’t think in huge terms. Tonight, he should just worry about her birthday.

Man, he wishes he were home in bed.

The strike of midnight, although it provides something to focus on, isn’t even the sign of his shift nearing an end, because the bar doesn’t close until 2:30, and the latter two and a half hours of work wind up passing by even more slowly than the beginning of his shift did. When he finally sees his last customer out, after last call, and he’s the only lonely, lingering person in the place— then, the end is in sight. He has closing chores ahead of him, but at least he doesn’t have to wait around to go home anymore.

It’s nothing that out of the ordinary, really, to be working this late. Between three jobs and sneaking in open mic nights between them any chance he can, he can’t remember the last time he had a night entirely off. Or a day, honestly, and tomorrow— or today, since it’s past midnight— isn’t any exception. He has the lunch shift at the street diner he works at, and the jury’s still out as to whether he’s going to bag his shift at the second bar he works at tomorrow night.

All of this is to say: he’s working a lot. Which is fine. Work means money, which means staying alive, especially with the New York cost of living he’s gotten used to since they moved here after graduation. It’s a necessary part of life. He just wishes life could stop, for one day, so he could do this right. So he could at least give her something, to make up for all the areas in life where he’s lacking. Where he’s an extremely underwhelming excuse for a future husband.

And, look— he did actually get her a present, so that’s not the issue here. It’s more the lack of time. It’s more the overwhelming sense that, despite her stability, despite the fact that she’s stuck with him for six years, he doesn’t deserve this patience, and that one day she might finally come to her senses and decide that she doesn’t feel like waiting around while he slums it in New York and tries to make it big, that she wants, like, a normal life, with a partner who makes a salary and a house or at least an apartment with more than one room and, like, basic predictability and success—

Ugh.

For now, for this very early morning, he won’t think about all of that, no matter how much it rings in his ears as he cleans up and closes the bar. For now, he just wants to make sure Bri has the most perfect morning possible. And to do that, he has a checklist.

Step one: finish work. He considers that done as he locks the front door of the bar, and steps out onto the street. It’s kind of breezy but not exactly cold out, since Bri’s birthday marks the last day of May, and summer is pretty much here. It’s not really busy outside on the street, but he’s not the only one out, either. Rule number one of New York City: you are literally never the only person out and about, no matter what time of day it is.

Step two: the bodega. It’s on his walk, open twenty-four hours, and he stops there so often at weird hours of the night after work shifts that he’s established a rapport with the cashier who works the red-eye shift. “Eyyyyyy,” he sings, as he swings through the door into the small, artificially lit space. “What’s up, Charlie? You working hard, or hardly working?”

Actually, it’s not so much a rapport. It’s more that he’s constantly the loudest customer who graces this place between the hours of midnight and four in the morning, and Charlie probably hates him, but still tolerates his presence. So.

He needs flour, half a dozen eggs, a tied-up bunch of yellow and white flowers, and rainbow sprinkles. He also slides three Red Bull onto Charlie’s till, and then grins across the counter to remark, “The necessities.”

Charlie grunts or maybe chuckles, and scans his stuff. “Right.”

Step three: get home and get to work.

It’s, like, six minutes on foot from work to the bodega, and then four more to the subway stop, and then the subway is a whole host of issues that land him back at the apartment building around 3:30 in the morning. Bri’s alarm goes off at 6:30 for work, and he figures he can intercept her for a proper birthday breakfast before she goes to the gallery. Given that he kills one of the Red Bull from the bodega while he’s in transit to get home, he is at least ninety percent confident that there’s no point in not pulling an all-nighter.

It’s fine. He’s not even tired. He has stuff to do, anyway.

The apartment is dark when he gets in, and he tries to make the smallest amount of noise, which, when you think about it, is kind of pointless because it’s only one room and any noise he makes could count as a disturbance, but— but— Bri isn’t a light enough sleeper to wake up at that kind of stuff. A fact he is grateful for. So he puts the bag of groceries down, gently, on the counter, and turns the light on over the sink while he loosens his tie. Or more like yanks it off. The uniform at that job is seriously not his style, but you take what you can get.

Across the room, where their bed is tucked up into the corner, Bri is asleep. Thank Christ. He would be concerned if she weren’t. While he gets out of his work clothes, he looks at her in bed— she’s peaceful, and looks comfortable, and he kind of wants for a second to just crawl into bed with her, but if he does that, he’ll never get anything done in time, and she’ll wake up to a normal old morning. With nothing special. On her birthday.

She doesn’t deserve that.

When he’s finished changing, it’s 3:41 Apple time. The morning is young. He sneaks a kiss to the top of her head and pulls the covers a little higher over her shoulders, then slides across the room in his socks, back to the kitchen side of the apartment.

Sure, he’s great at fuck-ups. But he’s not going to let this one be a bust.

*

It’s a quick three hours.

He blames executive dysfunction. Time passes too quickly when he’s on a crunch, literally every time. He starts with her card, which he bought a few days ago— writes it out, seals it into its envelope, and weighs it down with the corner of one of her vases, which he fills with water and puts the flowers in. It’s glass-blown, psychedelic colors; she made it in the glass studio junior year at Kiersey, and it followed them to New York.

With that done, he gets all his ingredients out for breakfast. He can’t start cooking at 4 in the morning, but he can get ready— a bowl out on the counter, their one good frying pan on the griddle, dry ingredients for pancakes measured out. He’s not the most versatile cook in the world, but he makes a mean Kraft Dinner, and this, too, he can do— birthday cake pancakes. With sprinkles. It’s Bri’s favorite breakfast.

He doesn’t know how it winds up being 6:30. He loses time, doing all of this and also nothing at all. He’s two and a half Red Bull deep, mixing up the actual pancake batter, when Bri’s alarm tone across the room pulls him out of his haze.

“Shit,” he hisses, and nearly knocks over his frying pan. It’s 6:30 already? The kitchen is a mess, and he’s been stuck in the distractible part of his brain for the better half of the past two hours, and now he looks like he’s made a huge mess, and—

The alarm stops going off, and he hears the mattress shift. He’s rinsing off the questionable spatula he’s been using to mix the batter in the sink when he hears her voice. “Babe?”

“Hey— hey, good morning.” He turns, and puts his back to the counter, like it’ll hide the actual disaster he’s created. “Happy birthday,” he adds. “Did you sleep okay?”

Bri is sitting up halfway in bed, and she doesn’t answer his question. “What are—” She yawns, and holds a hand to her mouth, which is really fucking cute, the way her eyes get all wrinkled up like this, and he just— loves her, and wishes he weren’t so useless, wishes he could give her the world. When she finishes her sentence, her voice is raspy. That’s cute, too. “What’re you doing over there?”

“I’m, uh.” And busted. He might as well own up to the mess. “Well, I realize now that it looks like a bomb went off in here, but don’t worry; I’ll fix it. I was just— well, breakfast. I’m making breakfast. But it’s not ready yet. It will be. Promise.” He lets all his breath out at once, then tries a grin. “But did you? Sleep okay?”

Again, she doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she swings her legs off the side of the bed, and gets up to walk across the room. He meets her halfway, as she’s combing back her hair, a blonde, wavy, bedhead-y and beautiful mess. She’s in pajama shorts and a tank top, and he may be sleep-deprived and totally useless, but he is the luckiest guy on this planet. “How long’ve you been up?” she asks.

He rests his hands, gently, on her waist, and looks down to meet her eyes, which are hazy with sleep but always so fucking pretty. “I… don’t know if you would love the answer to that question,” he replies, because she’d see right through him even if he wanted to lie about it.

She smiles, but it’s a sympathetic expression, like she can see the Red Bull coursing through his veins or some shit like that. “Answer anyway.”

“Um.” Okay, busted. For real this time. While she hooks her arms around his neck, he tries to gather an explanation. “Okay, so I may not have slept, but hear me out, okay? I wanted to make sure I had stuff in a row so that when you woke up, it’d all be good for you, since I know we kinda have, like, a limited window here, and I didn’t want you to just have to eat, like, peanut butter toast on your birthday, right? Like, that would suck, and also, I was already up because of work, and I had stuff to do anyway, so basically, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t sleep at all, but on the bright side, there is pancake batter ready for you, and I promise I’m gonna clean up all the cooking shit ASAP because I know it looks like a war zone in this kitchen right now—”

“Reid.”

He stops. Her voice is gentle, and she’s smiling— it’s not the pity smile anymore, but just a regular smile. She threads her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he breathes, almost instinctively. “Sorry. That was so much. You just woke up. Hi. I love you. Happy birthday. You look really hot right now.”

Bri laughs, and leans up, on tiptoe, until her forehead is right on his. “Reid,” she repeats, even more gently, and he lets out all his breath again, closes his eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He tries to do as she says. It’s really not hard to breathe; he just forgets that’s a necessary bodily task from time to time. No big whoop. “I promise I’ll clean it up. And I’ll make the pancakes, and— wait, shit!” The realization hits him all at once, and his stomach sinks. “Shit. Fuck. I don’t think we have whipped cream.”

“Whipped cream?” Bri asks, and she sort of laughs, like she’s confused, but this is very bad, because that’s a necessary part of any balanced pancake breakfast, right?

“Fuck,” he repeats, and then groans, bumping his forehead against hers lightly. “Fuck, babe; I’m so sorry. I knew I was forgetting something. I can go out, though. Maybe while you shower? I can get it on the corner—”

“Babe,” Bri says, and it occurs to him that he has once again forgotten to breathe. But when he meets her eyes again, she’s smiling, kind of laughing, and she shakes her head. “Shut up.”

“What?” He blinks. His glasses fog up a little, with how close their faces are, and he squints through them toward her. “I really will go out and get it. What are birthday pancakes without whipped—”

Bri slides her hands up to either side of his face, and she shakes her head again. “Just shut up and kiss me, okay?”

The pit leaves his stomach, and he stops in his tracks. “Oh,” he says, and then laughs, too. “Okay. I can do that.”

It’s a kiss that stops the racing in his brain, which it really always does; she just knows how to do that by existing. It becomes two, and then three, and when they pull apart, Reid can breathe normally again.

“You didn’t have to stay up all night because of me,” she tells him, voice still gentle, eyes still on him.

“I’m sorry,” he groans. “I didn’t really— I mean, I really didn’t want you to have a lame morning.”

“Well, that was very sweet of you,” she replies. Her eyes are catching the sunrise light that edges in through the window. He could get distracted by that. By her body. By every freckle on her face. He is, after all, easily distractible. “But,” Bri adds, “as long as my morning has you in it, I promise you, there’s nothing lame about it.”

He laughs, and kind of feels sheepish, like he might be blushing. “Okay.” He doesn’t deserve her, but he’ll take her at her word.

“C’mere.” She pulls him down for another kiss, and, yeah, this he can do. The apartment is way too small, and he is a human disaster, but she loves him anyway, for some reason he still can’t figure out, and he’ll never stop being grateful for that.

“Thank you,” she says, when they pause to breathe again. “I’m excited for pancakes.”

“I’ll make them good,” he assures her, and she laughs.

“I know you will,” she replies, and then smiles with half her mouth, so her one dimple shows, and that is fucking adorable. Holy Christ. He might be sleep-deprived, but if looks could kill… “But,” she adds, with that smirk still lingering, “not yet.”

“Not yet?” he echoes, and blames the sleep deprivation for how slow the realization is. “Right, yeah. Because you should shower, right? Get ready for work?”

“I think I have a distinct amount of time before I actually have to be ready for work,” she replies, and ohhhh. Oh. Okay.

This, too, he can do.

“I think I understand you,” he tries.

Bri winks. “You definitely understand me,” she says, and then grabs him by the hand and pulls him back toward their bed. “And plus, it’s my birthday.”

He almost makes a birthday suit joke, and then decides that puns are not an effective method of seduction today. Not that Bri really needs seducing. Right this second, anyway.

“I’m so honored,” he says, instead, and grins when she pushes him down to sit on the edge of the mattress. He holds her by the waist and waits, still smirking. “You mean to say you want me to be your present?”

“Something like that,” she replies, with a shrug, and then pushes him so he falls backwards, and he gets exactly three seconds to laugh at the ceiling before she’s kissing him and he gets to move on to something much, much better than rambling about his failures as a boyfriend in the middle of the kitchen.

Breakfast can wait.

[lanajvmeson]

emerges frm a field of corn slinking in w a faux mink shrug dangling around my elbows n a strand of wheat between my teeth..... farmer eleganza.... hlo! my name’s nai. i am bt a humble ghoul arrived to haunt ur home. 23 n she/her pronouns n i live in manchester. fun fact my friend’s neighbour used to b harry styles PE teacher. i played delilah yrs ago as carlson young (n even cara delevingne at one point what the fk) which feels so weird n ancient to me nw bt i missed her a lot so decided to spruce her bk to life.... ANYWAY delilah’s pinterest is here n i’ll jst leap right into things without further ado

(NICOLA PELTZ, CIS-FEMALE) - Have you seen DELILAH ASTOR? LILAH is in HER JUNIOR year. The POLITICAL SCIENCE MAJOR is 21 years old & is a CAPRICORN. People say SHE is BEGUILING, BLUNT, CUNNING and APATHETIC. Rumors say they’re a member of CALLOWAY. I heard from the gossip blog that SHE WAS IN A REHABILITATION CENTRE IN SWITZERLAND INSTEAD OF DOING CHARITY WORK LIKE HER SOCIAL MEDIA CLAIMED.  (NAI. 23. GMT. SHE/HER.) 

HISTORY

their family is kind of modelled off the sedgwick family like old money n pretty dysfunctional bt all abt keeping up a seamless facade of perfection... with a pinch of the kennedy’s in there. her dad’s high up in politics n his dad before tht ws in politics n it’s just a long prestigious line of clones in expensive suits as far as delilah’s concerned. her dad i picture as like.... nate archibald’s grandfather in gossip girl.... personality wise.

for as long as she cn remember she’s found this cookie cutter white picket fence life boring. stifling. to delilah it’s like being hemmed in a stuffy room n forbidden frm opening a window. it’s all vry Rich People Problems i wnt lie bt <3 she feels everlastingly bored. All The Time. plus her family hs always been a focal point fr tabloids etc which doesn’t help this feeling of not rly Living but just being the focus of a spectator sport. they’re lowkey a bit of a household name so they get a bunch of scrutiny n......... well. new bullet point alert! cue a powerpoint transition

(self harm & depression tw) frm being young delilah always knew there ws sort of. a white noise inside her where everyone else saw a technicolour movie screen. it rly hit her at like 12 i’d say as she was jst coasting towards adolescence. it ws pretty obvious frm her behaviour i’d say bt her parents only became Aware it ws a problem when she stuck a fork into a socket n short circuited the power in the house. she got shocked unconscious n when she woke up she told the in house dr they’d called (to keep it under wraps frm outsiders) tht she just.... couldn’t feel anything. she’d been reading frankenstein (she’s always liked gothic literature) n thought it’d zap her to life like the monster

her parents got her on medication n figured that wld fix everything. they didn’t like to talk abt things and that was that. it wasn’t to be mentioned again

delilah’s parents r just very.... sterile. family is abt appearances. they’ll be all smiles n flowing conversation when ppl are around bt it feels like being an actress n reading frm a script. being a toy in a dollhouse

she had two siblings: an older sister named clara & a younger brother named elijah. clara ws always like.... the Dream daughter. did everything right. amazing grades. america’s sweetheart. LOVED by the press. did sm charity work. elijah was fine/kind of a slacker compared bt coasted by on athletic prowess (captain of the rowing team). delilah hs very much always been the anomaly in this idyllic line-up. middle child effect! altho having said tht she’s always ran w the popular crowd of her age group bc Rich + Pretty = Status. it’s all quite superficial n delilah’s attitude on the matter can b summed up w this photoset. having said tht there was Some merit in constantly being paraded around as “such a pretty thing” bc a few modelling agencies attempted to scout her bt delilah found that boring. she wants to b called brilliant not beautiful. her mother called this her “not playing to the advantages that god gave her”. with a tight-lipped smile and a “god forbid i use my brain”, delilah only disappointed her further <3

(drugs & ed tw) delilah gt pretty heavy into partying fr the sake of trying to Feel something. intense on the drugs front (coke n prescription pills). rarely eating. she got a silver broach of a swan tht she pins to most of her clothes n u can unscrew the swan’s neck n pull it out to reveal a little powder spoon. still wears this today. clara n delilah were always super close n clara wld cover fr her a bunch. making up lies n jst having her back to their parents if they ever asked where she was / she ws in trouble n needed to keep it under wraps. when delilah hd an article in a tabloid pretty mch like this one clara talked their parents dwn frm sending her to a rehabilitation centre in switzerland. they gt it pretty much scorched frm existence bt delilah kept a clipping bc honestly she thought it was funny hw pale her mother went abt it

(car accident & drunk driving & death tw) at a fancy benefit the astors were all attending among 4857925974 uppity families delilah wound up heading off w some of the rich kids n one thing lead to another n a couple of them gt arrested fr a coke scandal. delilah used her phone call to contact clara n fr once clara hd let loose a little n hd something to drink bt still drove to the station to bail delilah out n try n fix her mess bt.... skipped a red light n crashed. she died upon impact.

(hospitalisation & drugs & addiction tw) this made delilah spiral massively obviously.... she clung on by the skin of her teeth fr a while bt she rly was just getting quite out of control doing an extremely excessive amt of coke to get by at this point so her parents actually did.... end up shipping her off to switzerland for rehabilitation. they didn’t tell anyone this tho n as far as ppl were/are aware she was doing charity work with habitat for humanity in trinidad. her parents literally........... hired ppl to take photos of things there n a social media team posted them to her instagram account jst. the most elaborate lie.... it’s a lot.

delilah jst pretty much went along w whatever they said at the facility bt didn’t absorb any of it too much.... she did get sober there bt it was vry much bc she had no other choice rather than a want to......... she even pretended to “find god” while she ws there n memorised bible lines to recite w a coolly detached smile. in her head she ws probably thinking abt hw her mandated therapist cld gladly eat shit and she’d be happy to watch. it was just like.... everyone there was RLY hideously overpaid bt did they actually Care abt their work or patients? debatable. wasn’t the most healing experience thru delilah’s eyes bt... maybe it’d work better if she’d actually opened her mind to it bt anyway...... <3 cornelius fudge voice: she’s back. the dark lord.....

PERSONALITY:

nw tht her history is out of the way i’ll leap like a flea off a shaggy dog’s back into personality! aesthetically she almost ALWAYS wears white/cream. reminds me of the woman in white frm sharp objects. rarely she’ll dabble in silver or gold or like..... vry pale green bt.... always muted tones. usually white or cream. big white sunhats. white sunglasses. white pussybow blouses w a little white skirt n a pearl barrette in her hair. she even smokes white sobranie cigs tht r imports like it’s a lot she’s truly committed to the aesthetic.... paired w like. classic patent mary janes.... she tends to flutter around the place like a silk moth. likes lace too. hs a very put together image n even demeanour like she’s very lithe n graceful n drifts like a ghost which kind of contrasts w... who she is at her core bt in the astor family it’s all abt appearances <3 the only deviation from this is she sometimes wears dark blue mascara once in a blue moon n if ppl comment on this she’s like. idk what ur talking abt? glides away like a ghost in a haunted mansion n is never seen again.

very perceptive. incredibly observant. yrs of early life media training n being born frm politicians means she’s an excellent liar. she knows ppl n knows what makes them tick bt she’ll only use this when necessary. she isn’t a terrible person bt she knows how to b Very mean n will equip this as a weapon shd a situation call fr it. also more prone to lashing out since her sister......... she hs sometimes played chess games socially fr kicks

dark n biting sense of humour. rather frank abt things. VERY ruthless when scorned bt she isn’t particularly?? emotive abt it??? her bf cheated on her once n when he told her she slapped him rly hard in front of sm ppl he knew n then jst walked away. blocked him on literally everything. removed him frm the face of the earth as far as she ws concerned. had him blacklisted frm every event n told ppl they’d be cut too if they continued to associate w him. goodbye sir <3 u are the weakest link <3 needless to say he regretted it <3

very loyal to u until she isn’t. finds it very easy to cut ties if need be. once her trust is broken it is gooooone baby goone.... the trust is Gone. selective in who she cares abt

vry cavalier abt sex. she doesn’t sleep around hugely i dnt think??? bt when she does it isn’t often tht emotionally invested she’ll jst out of the blue very nonchalantly blow out a wisp of smoke n b like. so u want to fuck me then? cool. proceeds to get up as if she’s walking to leave n then looks bk n is like what do ur legs not work? follow me. n leads them somewhere

nothing rly.... moves her particularly. she isn’t very animated. it’s like she jst finds the entire world thoroughly unimpressive. it’s difficult to stimulate excitement from her. it’s like that hugh laurie quote where he realised he had depression bc “boredom is not an appropriate response to exploding cars”.

has a pet swan bk at home she’s named lilith inspired by satan’s offspring. lilith bites ppl if they get close n is honestly an abomination of a bird. delilah finds her funny n throws her bits of croissants sometimes bt even she isn’t immune to her pecks. in some ways they’re similar...... hv a graceful surface appearance / aesthetic bt a darker attitude beneath the surface

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

exes: the ex bf tht cheated on her n she got blacklisted from 94872347 social events cld be a fun thing to explore..... delilah wld be EXTREMELY cold towards him n honestly want him dead. wouldn’t show any shred of caring abt him at all she’s very gd at stoning her emotions n keeping them inside. hasn’t cried since her sister died as an example of how..... withdrawn she is from confessing her innermost thoughts n desires. maybe an ex bf before tht that she rly didn’t take seriously at all..... typically she just isn’t interested/invested in romance she’s vry apathetic abt it all

party friends: those tht run in similar rich kid circles tht she would have smuggled off with at fancy events so they could let loose.......... ppl tht r completely her opposite who she finds interesting bc they represent everything she always wanted outside the oppression of her strict regiment family....... mutual bad influences tht are heavy into drugs n always enable each other...... u name it!

hook-ups: she doesn’t have a HUGE amt of these bt.... maybe a select handful.... some she wld have hooked up w once n never again n just been like >_> if they implied they shd as if it was preposterous n she was thoroughly over it.... some maybe she’d find interesting enough to extend beyond tht...... none she’d invest in if she cld help it altho? maybe someone as an exception to tht rule cld be fun

friends of her sister: (death tw) clara was universally well liked for being rly sweet n well intentioned n she attended yates only two yrs delilah’s senior so she might have some connections here still somehow??? cld be angsty to work with

i won’t lie i’m rly hungry as i write up these wcs so my brain’s going blank n i’m gna have to sprint to get some toast bt <3 roommates, enemies, competitive friendships, resentments, angst, chaos, drama, strife, u name it n i am dwn!!!! hits post n takes off galloping dwnstairs

[hoshigomi]

Kurenai-ing! a (not) review~

This is NOT a review, but it IS all my thoughts on Kurenai Yuzuru’s first concert as an OG, Kurenai-ing!! in chronological order as they happened in the show. These thoughts are:

Biased

All over the place

Unfiltered

Honest

Every single one of them is loving and positive

Without further ado!

To start off, from the day this was announced, there was absolutely No Way In Hell I was going to miss this show. They found a way to cast all my favorite OGs, somehow including Uzuki Hayate who wasn’t even ever IN Hoshigumi, (save for Airi and Kai, F, but I see Kai like every day). Today was emotionally weird and I felt off heading to the theatre but honestly, before the lights even went down, when BENIKO began her preshow speech over the intercom? Any bad thing that’s ever been in my life just MELTED away.

The evening started off with “紅 in Male Role” which was just her as you’re used her her in otokoyaku mode. The whole cast got introduced. My love, Ichijou Azusa was the first onstage which rocked. Everyone did Killer Rouge. There was something REALLY sweet about seeing like a bunch of people who Were in Killer Rouge vs. a bunch of people who Weren’t In Killer Rouge all slaying it. Watching Toshi do this number made me daydream about a universe where she was in Hoshigumi and also a universe where I’m married to her. This daydream repeated itself multiple times throughout the evening so I’m gonna denote those moments with a (**). Whenever you see (**) know I was thinking about being probably married to Uzuki Hayate. This was the only point in the show in which I was skeptical of the men being there. I don’t LIKE men, period, but I especially don’t need them in my Takarazuka- adjacent material. (They quickly changed my mind in the next bit of the show.) After the men and Beni all dipped offstage, our Lovely Flawless Incredible OGs (Ichijou Azusa, Kisaragi Ren, Uzuki Hayate, Toa Reiya, Katori Reira, and Umesaki Eve, sang Sayonara Minasama (yeah like... the song they play when people retire or when QR is closing or when they need you to Get Out Of The Theatre.) No one could hear it because everyone was busy laughing. Renta was, as expected, completely unhinged, Shiiran was fake crying, it was a disaster because honestly, I don’t know who looked at these women and was like ‘yeah let’s give them free reign of the stage what’s the worst that could happen?’ It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen, and then, the curtain just straight up went down as if the show ended.

Of course it DIDN’T. NEXT UP?

BENIKO! She’s back in all her long haired leopard print glory, strutting through the audience through the stage- this time waiting for her? two pieces of mancandy (Kominami Ryuhei and Tagoku Tsubasa) at her beck and call in the ??? PALACE OF VERSAILLES, I GUESS? This was, as all Beniko bits, an improv standup show with a more than a touch of drag sensibility. There was some booty shaking, some fake muscle suits on the slender men, and a lot of laughter. I had tears in my eyes and I have NEVER heard a Japanese audience make this much noise. One of the guys made Beni break when he laughed in the middle of his line, causing Beni to buckle over and snort into her water, it was just.. a treat. These men were NOT equipped to handle Beniko- but then, without practice, who is?

When this all ended, there was a BURST of flame on the screen and standing, sihouetted in backlight, was Toshi(**), looking like (**) I dunno like the worlds hottest woman rockstar (**) and if that wasn’t enough (**) then she STARTED SINGING AND YOU GUYS?

WHAT THE FUCK?

I feel like a lot of things that have happened in Takarazuka are unjust, including several Top Star Careers That Never Were, but as of tonight, the TOP OF THAT LIST is that Toshi never MADE IT. Also that like I never made it to her ochakai. There is another world out there where Toshi has been My Person since day one and I am still in her fanclub to this day. I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t like  searching her name on Twitter as we speak trying to find out what Her OG club deal right now is, not that I need to be in ANOTHER OG club, (long story,), but GOD. Holy hell. Her voice is absolutely TOP notch and she was (**) BELTING out this introductory piece and I don’t think I breathed during the whole thing. It was HARD ROCK (**) you guys. (**) (**) (***********************************************************************************************)

From there we had a Takarazuka Medley (labeled in the program as “紅 in neutral”- sense a theme here?)

The medley featured bits from:

Lucky Star!

Gemini (Beni’s infamous girl/boy number from Etoile)

Bouquet de Takarazuka

Stuck Together from Catch Me If You Can, (featuring Renta as Kai’s part, which, oof, I can not wait for Kai to get to see.)

Estrellas

The theme song from Kamatari

Another World (just the first bars of this backing music got laughs)

Om Shanti Om

the God of Stars prologue (and you guys? I would have NEVER expected it but both me and the lady next to me just started CRYING once Beni kicked in with the 今！始まる！素敵な冒険！ bit. We shared a look and like laughed at ourselves. I did NOT see that coming but... more thoughts on Benigumi later. Just know that Dear Reader, I cried.)

Eclair Brillant

Bolero

A Piece of Courage

A song that the program cites as Quimbara which I actually didn’t recognize but (NSFW BELOW, DON’T LOOK IF YOU’RE UNDERAGE, DON’T LOOK IF YOU’RE HANKYU, DON’T LOOK IF YOU’RE GONNA SLIDE INTO MY DMS ABOUT ME NEEDING TO HONOR THE SUMIRE CODE OR WHATEVER because shut UP we all have DESIRES, MA’AM,) I spent the whole time with my eyes fucking transfixed on Shiiran out of everyone in the cast because between her time on the ground and her time idk standing and flirting and making bedroom eyes and like touching people with the tips of her fingers she was just in general doing some NASTY shit with her mouth and pulling girls around and I don’t know if she was playing aggressor or hard to get (or BOTH???? AT THE SAME TIME????) but she sure was grinding on Umesaki Eve and I guess what I’m trying to say is I could physically not breathe. I could say more about what she was getting up to but for like, frankly, my own dignity in this Starbucks I’m gonna leave that memory where it belongs.... in the confessional booth at church.

The medley ended with Beni doing a song from Mozart (but like, not the Mozart that Hoshigumi just did.)

I can not make this up but the program calls the next section of the show “紅 in the Flashy.”

This is where one of Tokyo’s special guests, Miya Rurika, pops up in the same rockstar style as Toshi(**) and I admit I actually thought she was Renta until the audience lost their shit. Guys, Miya looks BEAUTIFUL right now. Her and Beni both seem to be growing their hair out but right now Miya especially has this gorgeous blonde like wavy thing going on and really? Feminine makeup and honestly I was kind of transfixed by her. She sang her song and then was around forrrrrrr

All the Kurenai 5 material! Kurenai 5 (or 4, minus Tenju Mitsuki who is very much currently Acting In A Takarauka show) took over the next bit of the show was and it was every bit as precious as you’d hope. First of all, the way they play off each other is SURREAL and like nothing has changed between them. While I’m sure stuff HAS CHANGED, the love and the fun they have for and with each other has not. They encored some of their old songs, and you’ll be pleased to know that Tenju Mitsuki was present in cardboard cutout form, pushed around on a tiny wheeled platform by Katori Reira (who may I just add, along with Umesaki Eve, made every song they were in sound like there was a whole troupe worth of musumeyaku onstage. Girl can SING.) Beni turned to sneeze at one point and sneezed directly into Miya’s mic on accident.  They also played a video message from Mikkii. It still took a while for the cardboard cutout to stop being funny. My favorite part of this segment was when Beni cracked Renta up and kept giving her shit until she was on the floor laughing and unable to say what she had been trying to say and then Shiiran straight up took the mic out of Renta’s hands and spoke for her. さすが、Shiiran. 

The show was winding down at this point, but Beniko made a reappearance (”BENIKO in DELUSION”, according to the program). We transitioned out of that ad lib with a number for the ladies, Reira and Eve. It was boppy and jazzy and idolly and I got the idea into my head somewhere in here that Katori Reira HAS to play either Velma or Roxie in Chicago before either of us die and if I have to personally fund that happening, well, help me find my wallet because I’m off to the bank.

During this Beni changed into... not her otokoyaku clothes again but not BENIKO, just, herself, but girly. (Program calls this: 紅 in Feminine).  She does a speech about herself and what she wants out of the future and whether she wants to be called a 女優 (explicitly FEMALE actress) or not post-TKZ, and somewhere in here she had a talk with Utahiroba Jun, another man who is completely and utterly obsessed with her, and rightfully so. He was a guest but didn’t actually perform aside from with EVERYONE in one song.) Beni rounds out the concert in a beautiful dress singing her heart out and I’m truly really touched by how far she’s come and how beautifully she performs.

There were, as there tend to be, like 83746958 encores(**) and people running on and off stage. 

This was without a doubt one of the best nights of my life. I laughed until I cried, I straight up Normal Cried, I couldn’t Breathe for my like, unsumire thoughts, I was touched, and I was so so happy. Beni is my all-time favorite top star and probably always will be, and more than a singer or actress or dancer or comedian, Beni I think embodies the title of “entertainer” better than anyone I’ve ever personally had the pleasure to watch onstage or off. Watching her has made ME want to take more risks in performance and in life and to just do my best with everything life throws at me. Tonight she was so much of the Beni we all got to know and love in Takarazuka, but like, unleashed and able to be her truest, funniest, biggest, most loving self. Her ability to talk to the audience and everyone onstage and keep character and keep her humor and balance without missing a beat is unparalleled.  I really, truly love this woman, and I am so so so happy I got to see this incredible kickoff of her OG career. 

If I think of more, I’ll add it, but for now, as Beni hersef finished off the night by saying: Go your own way!!

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

8: So Be It

“Church.” They. We. John had for so long only been responsible for his actions. Wake up, brush his teeth, eat breakfast, read, eat lunch, read, ignore the voice through the vent, read, dinner, read, lights out, staring out into the darkness until he finally drifted away, wake up, brush his … “Church.” And everyday she pulled him out of that routine. That first week John resented Mike McGuire for it. He wanted to curse her for her ignorance. This morning he had just finished a bowl of oats. He knew Mike was still doing some wrap up getting her number two up to speed to run her business. He knew that he’d be able to dig into another … That’s another thing that perplexed him. He woke up one morning last week to see a box of assorted books in front of the door of the guest room. It was never brought up. But every dinner was over a different movie on the television. Every training session was in tandem and was always accompanied by strategy. What was the future of their tag team? What does he think of his opponents? What does he need to do to succeed? But that Saturday morning, John had just cracked open a book about the life and death of Nikola Teslawhen she said it was time to go. They could make a trip of it towards Baton Rouge and then catch a flight back back North to Boston after the Friday event. “Church!” His blank stare out of the passenger’s side window was startled by a sharp yet ultimately harmless jab. He turned away from the endless farm fields and turned to the driver. “Yeah?” “You with me, buddy? You looked a million miles away just then.” The reverberations of the powerful engine of her muscle car, a gaudy yellow late model Mustang, certainly aided in that distance. The red leather seats creaked softly as John adjusted his seat and sat straight back up. “I’m okay.” “Good,” she smiled, looking almost at peace behind the wheel, the sun on her face, “You got any ideas? Tons of stuff to do on the way there. Pick something. Anything you want.” “I don’t know,” John looked back out the window and saw the handwritten sign about the man with no vocal chords, “I always lived out west. Even when I traveled,” John paused, perhaps considering his words,“when I traveled it was the same loop. The hotel, the gym, and the arena.” “I did that stuff too. Livened it up a bit though, used to go bar hopping a lot. Man, some of the crawls I did were fuckin’ eeeepic,” she snickered to herself a bit, “You wanna do something like that? I know all the best places.” “I don’t drink. Never have,” John had started to understand that some of his social interactions were unintentionally blunt, “but …but don’t let that stop you.” “Okay, fair enough. Well, there’s a travel guide in the glove compartment there. Should have some stuff of interest en route. Leaf through it an’ see if there’s anything that catches your eye.” “Surprise me,” John had almost tried to stop himself from saying that. He hated surprises. He liked his routine. He hated his routine, too. It was too familiar and was born of a sense of minimization. Mike responded with that wide grin and accelerated past a semi truck. Some more time past and John could feel himself getting lulled into the sights as the farm plains transitioned into the rocky corridors of West Virginia, “Fine. This time. But sometime between now’n Baton Rouge you’re pickin’ something. We’re doing this together, y’know,” she drove a bit longer, eyes flicking to the exit signs and the flow of traffic, before speaking up again, her cadence that of a person watching their words when unused to doing so, “Hey. Sorry to bring this up again, but it’s kinda been buggin’ me. That thing a while back. With Emma. What was it about? You like her or somethin’?” He’d almost forgotten. The woman certainly had, “I, uh, would consider it a Freudian slip,” he felt that Mike sometimes walked on eggshells around him about these subjects and she most likely did not want a repeat of what could be the catalyst of this whole ordeal. He had heard and read what people thought of him. Amongst all of the requests to end his own life, people had legitimate questions and concerns. He was artful in his ability to dodge the questions about his past and his even more surreal present. John cleared his throat, “Look, I’m not sure. She, I mean, you know …” He danced around it for so long and in the eyes of the public, they painted him as dull or even some masterful sociopath disassociated with the act and its victim. “Mike, I, I’m just not sure. The dispositions were nothing alike but the shine of her eyes, her hair — they were a reminder. So to answer your question: I don’t like her. I mean, I don’t dislike her. She’s just a competitor,” he continued to struggle as Mike listened with her eyes intently on the road, “I don’t know why I’m back. I’d been forgotten and now, I’m here talking with you and now doing what I always wanted to do. I don’t talk about it because I don’t know what to say. I can barely remember what happened. I’d been grilled and grilled over details that I just didn’t know. I had finished a show and it was called it Beware the Ides of March. It was in reference to whatever the main event was. I’d opened the show and was the first person out because Reno was my hometown. The promoters like that sort of thing, you know? It was twenty minutes away from the apartment. I was alone which was the usual at this stage. I was woken up from my bed the next morning with a loud knock,” John sighed, “and well, there’s been plenty of discussion about it. It’s been in print, on the TV, so it doesn’t bear repeating. I was where I was at and now I’m not. I don’t think… I, I, I belonged there.”

 “Okay. S’ all I wanted to know,” she let it go at that. She didn’t want to dwell on that particular subject, she supposed, any more than he did. Her fingers drummed on the crimson leather cover of the steering wheel. Letting a pause linger for a bit, she smiles over at him, artfully letting the subject pass for a new one, “Mind if I turn the radio on?” “Okay.”

 “Master conversationalist as always, my man.” 

Chuckling softly, she turned the dial on the radio- what would be considered an old-school affair, no Sirius or even a cassette deck. She kept it true to the rest of the vehicle on her rebuild, even though she was well aware she could’ve put in something more modern.

 “Lessee… gospel… country, ugh… fuckin’ disco… goin’ to hell, yeah yeah… HERE we go,”

 she landed on a rock/metal station, by lucky happenstance at the tail end of a commercial break. The band was a classic and it pleased her. TNT, it’s dyno-mite, “FUCK. YEAH. … This cool with you? You an AC/DC person?” John looked into the rear view mirror and they were all alone in this stretch of road as it cut and curved throughout the high walled rock landscape, “It’s not really something to have an affinity for but if you’re going to put me on the spot, alternative current based equipment just have better life expectancies.” She paused for a moment, blinked, and laughed, “The band, Church. The one on the radio. Right now.” John looked at her blankly then at the radio and then back at her, “I know. I was just playing around. This is fine.” “A’ight, cool. Lemme know if you get sick of it, I’ll find somethin’ else,” she drove on, the road spreading out like a ribbon of asphalt before them. John didn’t. He just listened. Eventually this one faded out into static and Mike had to keep turning the dial past all of the sludge. He almost objected a few times but he also remembered the old adage that the driver is the master of the radio. An hour or so passed and finally Mike finally just turned off the radio for the mean time. The mountainous terrain eventually gave out to a thick wooded view. “Hey. Just so y’know, I believe in you. I know how fuckin’ corny that sounds, but I do. I like t’ think I have an eye for these things and I really think I’m lookin’ at the next TV champ,” she paused, maybe placing her words, maybe for effect, “Something you said really stuck with me. I think you figured out a question I’ve been askin’ myself for years without me even askin’ you, in a conversation that wasn’t even about me. Weird’s that sounds.” Earlier that week, the company had arranged for another sit down interview. By virtue of defeating the former champion, Bishop Church had earned the #1 contendership for the Television Championship. What stood before him was his greatest challenge and the company wanted some face time from both their champion and challenger. So once again, John sat in the hot seat. Despite Mike being there, that tense feeling did not dissipate. John fiddled with the microphone clipped to the collar of his t-shirt while Ace Heart flipped through a stapled packet of papers held steady with a clipboard. “Careful with that. The audio technicians hear every time you touch the clip.” John stopped and sat up straight in his director’s style chair, “Okay.” “So here we are again. Before we start, you gotta tell me, why did you delete your Facebook account?” “I don’t trust Zuckerberg. You ever get the feeling that he’s not giving straight answers.” Ace scoffed at that, “Look, Bishop, we set that up for you as a way for you to speak to your fans. You had 150,000 followers and then all of a sudden, you 86’d it.” “I just … didn’t want it. I’m here for this, isn’t that what you wanted?” Ace raised his hands perhaps feigning indignation, “Yeah, that’s right. You’re here. For this. Whatever this will be.” Ace signaled to the camera man and crew to start filming. “Dr. Pepper presents an Extreme Wrestling Corporation live interview on Facebook Watch. I’m Ace Heart and this is Bishop Church.” John nodded. Ace sighed, “Splendid. So since we last talked it seems like your circumstances have made a 180 degree turn. You’ve managed to dispatch Emma Louise, Chris Chambers, and most recently former Television Champion Kendrick Kross one after another. Most notably this is the same Kendrick Kross who unthroned Ruthless Aggression at Stranglemania. Now three days after you face Malice at Friday Night Rampage, you get your first shot at gold against Ruthless Aggression at Monday Night Brawl. Most recently, she impressively defeated a man twice her size in Grizzly Duggan and retained the TV title. Now she stands before you - your biggest match to date, what say you?” “She-“ “Swear to God, if you say she seems nice, this is over.” John’s eyes narrowed at the interruption but just seconds later, his expression relaxed. He turned to face the camera. “Ahhh, women. Women, women, women, women, women.” Ace’s reaction is one of abject horror but he was helpless to stop as John continued. “What are women like? What do women want? How should I treat a woman? Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to find a woman at all. I’ve been staking out for hours looking for one and the closest I got was this fellow.” The camera shot cut to Mike, unknown at this to all viewers, chowing down on a ham and cheddar sandwich at the catering table. Back to John, the camera shot tightens in on him, “Where are all the women?” He then turned back to the interviewer, still frozen, “Is it all perhaps an elaborate fraud?” Finally, “CUT!” Ace exploded right after the cameras turned off, “What the FUCK was that? What are you even talking about? Your opponent is a woman. Half of the roster are women. Why can’t you just answer my questions?” He then shouted to the assistant off screen, “Where’s his goddamn handler? Saint assured me that I wouldn’t have to put up with this shit anymore.” As if on cue, Mike stepped into the interview set and stood in face to face with Ace while seemingly shielding Church from him, “Partner, okay? Not handler. Partner. Got it?” “Okay Bishop’s partner, can you explain why every interview with this guy turns out to be a waking disaster? In my nearly twenty years of thousands, literally thousands of interactions, I’ve interviewed them all. Every hall of fame inductee, every champion, every one that mattered in this industry has had the decency to answer my questions and yet talking to this guy is like squeezing blood from a stone.” “I’m still here,” John mumbled. “Ignore him, Church. Your right-hand man’s got your back. Just forget about that guy for a sec. It’s not his fault he ain’t got no class or sense of professionalism.” “Why I never!” “Go trim the ‘stache or something. And you there, sweetcheeks, gimme that camera,” there was a bit of a jitter on the picture as the camera was either handed over or taken forcefully, and adjusted by its new operator. Ace Heart shrugged his shoulders and there was an exodus of company crew from the set, “Just like before.” John nodded. The shot came back to life. John stood behind the right director’s chair and looked deep in thought. The camera zoomed out as the new cameraperson struggled with the controls. After a moment, Mike managed to follow his movements. “I’m starting to understand it,” John gestured, “you know, the necessity of all of this. This sport is fueled on the idea of conflict and the reasons for those conflicts vary. Sometimes it is simple. Two people not liking each other. Sometimes there is something at stake. Bragging rights, money, or in the present case: championship gold. And this is a business after all so it’s not just the contest itself. It’s also the circumstances that led up to and surround the bout. That’s why there is all of this pomp and circumstance. Does it really matter what I say here? Will these words truly have an affect on what happens in that squared circle? Actually, yes. And that is what is expected of me.” John took a seat, although he tilted the chair facing forward. “Expectations, right? There are certain expectations on how I should conduct myself. Smile for the camera. Talk to the people. Tell them why I’m the best. Or don’t. Be absolutely abhorrent. Be a disgusting caricature of humanity. Also them why I’m the best. That’s not me. Reevaluate your expectations. I talked a little bit about what people have seen in me thus far and I expect that afterwards, they perhaps had to reconsider. That’s how we got here. I was asked a question on how this stage was set. If you’re watching this, you probably saw just how that happened.” He paused. John so much wanted to keep this internalized. He felt nervous talking about himself but he didn’t feel the need to deflect. He wasn’t so naive to know that she wasn’t the only one listening but just the hypothetical idea of it allowed him to continue. “The former champion stated that he needed this. Essentially he believed that a victory over me would be a turning point. He didn’t see me as viable. He didn’t think of me as a peer. He concluded that I was just here to collect a paycheck. He misjudged me. He underestimated my passion for the sport of professional wrestling. And so he learned in this cruel world that needs aren’t always fulfilled. His story has to carry on with the knowledge that all of the accolades and comeback aspirations evaporated in the space of three seconds. Thus is the cycle of life. That cycle brings us to the idea that I am a contender now.” He shifted in his seat and sat forward. “This is my very first championship opportunity. Never before have I had to chance to compete with stakes so high. Some could say that I need this but that would be oversimplifying it. Think about it. Think about who I am. Not what you see and read but who I am right now. Do I need to be champion like I need air to breathe? Do I need it for financial security? I guess it would be nice but as the camera shakes to and fro, I’m not just here for material objects. What about for love?” John chuckled softly. “As ridiculous as that sounds, the history books are filled with pages of men and women who take advantage their standing for their romantic desires. How about just to make myself feel better? That journey isn’t so trivial that gold plates screwed into a leather strap will clear the path. And so what it comes down to that what a man can be, he must be. So that addresses the match itself. If I can become champion, I must become champion. But that isn’t the end of it, is it, Ruthann Hunter?" For this whole time, he waxed hypothetical to the masses but his meandering questioning tone changed to a more direct one as he began to address his opposition. “If it was, you would have ridden off into the sunset long ago.” The genesis of Mike prodding John into the proverbial sunlight will most likely never meet the air. She had went to check in on him early his stay and she discovered notepads filled with amended notes of his opponents. Who they are. What they do. How John could neutralize their abilities and come out on top. And most noticeably notes on what they said about him. Real statements and all he could manage was nonsense. It wasn’t until his exchange with Ace here that she noticed that it was very intentional. “This is where I would go into that tired song and dance about who you are. You are a living legend and I’ll be the exception. I could say that I would stand fast against the ruthless aggression and persevere. Let me stand up here and I could raise my voice and snort and chortle about my destiny.” John shook his head. “But none of us know what the future holds for us. I can’t make that promise. I want what you have. That’s human nature. We always want what we don’t have. This sport is like a microcosm of life. Look no further than the former champion. Look at the desperation in his words even when he was proud and boastful against you. Due to this being a competition, we usually absolve ourselves of what affect we have on the vanquished. Think about that, won’t you? Someone somewhere in an office gets a promotion over someone else. Maybe that person that failed needed the money more. Maybe they have a crippling disease. In our world - who cares? So the former champion was right on one thing, we all see each other as stepping stones. We all see each other as that obstacle to self-actualization.” He stands up and moves closer to the camera. “And so we go about and we both say this to each other solemnly. I don’t care about your legacy. I don’t care about your family. I don’t care what you have done in the past. I don’t care about what losing could do to your ego. All of that does not matter in the confines of the ring. In that moment, we are two demigods engaged in a struggle that could ravage the earth. The ground could fall to pieces all around us as we were locked together and all that would matter is our musculature straining as we resisted each other’s powers. Our bodies would be intimate in ways no mere mortal could comprehend.” And for this, he did raise his voice. “That is what matters.” And back to a low conversational tone. “This isn’t about redemption. I’m here to take what is mine. And if that has to be on the backs of the broken and beaten…” Closer. “So be it.” Mike’s epiphany was punctuated as the car hit a pothole. They rattled about, “What do you mean?” “Ooof! Shit. Sorry. What I mean is… I kept hittin’ fucking walls. I got a bit of momentum here an’ there but I never got no place because I kept hittin’ walls and I could never think of what the hell was wrong with me. And I never HAVE been able to figure it out until you said it. I didn’t have enough… I dunno. Killer instinct seems really fuckin’ cliche but that thing you were talking about. Having t’ not worry about other people, what they were like or what their dreams an’ motivations might be, long’s you’re in between those bells,”

 her eyes, no, her entire expression was alight, as if she’d just seen the writing of God or heard the prophecies of Mohammed or gotten the truth of the universe from benevolent space aliens
, “I kept holding back, I think. Not… consciously, but on some level I cared too damn much about the other guy when I shouldn’t have.” “Mike, the battlefield is the only place where those virtues that the good covet become a weakness. I’m glad you understand. It’s ignoring that very distinction that creates the overabundance of negativity that permeates the landscape of the company,” John reached over and put his left hand over the middle space and on gently on her right forearm, “We can be that change. I mean, a real change. Let’s not kid ourselves - what we do in the ring will be for selfish reasons but outside we can discover who we are - who we are meant to be.” Mike gave a small gasp inward while trying not to look like she was gasping inward. This was huge. She was a physical person, her affection for a person was accompanied by a shower of hair ruffles, noogies, playful jabs, and other forms of fond roughhousing. She’d held back with this somewhat as it had become apparent to her that John wasn’t exactly the touchy feely sort. So for him for once to initiate physical contact with her… it was so overwhelming almost that she— “Look out!” “Oh FUCK!” Mike suddenly swerved away from a brown blur in their line of site. They could hear a loud thud as something smashed against the right headlight of the car and then into the side mirror on the passenger side. As Mike, rather expertly regained control, John turned his head and could see the tail end of the culprit dart into the woods. Mike put the car to stop in the breakdown lane free and clear. She cut off the engine, “You alright?” “Yeah.” “Good. Okay. We’re okay. Shit,” she closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths and willing her heart not to burst through her ribcage and slow the hell down already, “I’m gonna go check out the damage. Fuck. Hopefully nothin’ I can’t fix,” 

carefully scanning the traffic, Mike exited the Mustang and took a look at what’s been done to her labor of three years. Thankfully, nothing much. The passenger side mirror was torn loose, there were some significant but not horrific dents, but probably the worst were the liberal traces of blood and fur all over the affected area. It was going to be a bitch to clean up. Still, it could have been much, much worse. Meanwhile, John faced the trees, “You hear that?”

 “No… hear what?” Admittedly, she was a little preoccupied with the state of her vehicle. John could hear a pained yowl. He started towards the source of the noise. “H-hey, hold up!” Reaching in through the passenger door and pulling her 8-ball keychain out of the ignition, Mike followed her counterpart away from the car and off to wherever he was heading to. John hurried through the first rows of large trees until he reached a small clearing. He could see it. A young female deer laid out in the leaves, twigs, and debris of the forest. It’s eyes were wide in the realization of its situation. Blood seeped out large gash on its neck and it also trickled out of the corner of its mouth. It gasped and fought for every breath. John’s shadows loomed over its dying body. Mike finally caught up to him. “Oh. Oh, geez. Poor thing. Shit. What do you do in this situation, I know this… okay. You call the cops for the accident, the park service or some shit to take care of the deer… goddamnit. I’m sorry, Church. This was supposed to be fucking fun,”

 sighing, she fished in her pocket for her phone. “I hope it goes without saying that any interaction with the police may not be beneficial to me,” John knelt down next to the animal. “Oh. Fuck, sorry,” she wasn’t in the mood to argue the point, and shakily dropped the phone back into her pocket, “Hey… what’re you doing? I don’t think there’s much you can do for her at this point.” “Give me your knife.” She closed her hand around the four-inch object in her pocket- a utility Swiss Army knife, mostly used for the screwdrivers and bottle opener, “What do y’want my knife fo… no. Church, nuh-uh. We can’t.” A little more assertive, “Give me your knife,” without facing her, he put his hand out with the palm up and he grasped for the knife to be placed there. “Fuck. Shit,” biting her lip and with obvious hesitation, she took the knife out of her pocket and placed it in his hand. Hers trembled in a manner very unlike her. John looked down at the multi-tool and used his thumbnail to flick open the blade. He stared down into his reflection in the sharp sliver of steel. The deer flailed its once strong legs in a helpless fashion unable to control its motor functions. The smell of urine and feces wafted throughout the air and its blood began to pool and carpet the foliage under its neck. “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” the blade pressed against its throat. “So be it.”

[mandelsmusic]

Playlist & Analysis

I have created a playlist consisting of ten songs for a journey to Mars.  There is a link at the bottom to listen to this playlist but this is my in-depth analysis of each of the ten. 

My first song on the playlist Space Oddity by David Bowie. This song not only fits the theme of our cosmic journey but also takes listeners on an individual journey of their own. Space Oddity an influential song which has been used in the media landscape of today and past decades, causing a timeless renown reputation. The production on this song features fascinating panning effects, which make the listening experience “out of this world”. 

Following Space Oddity, I have chosen My Way by Frank Sinatra. This song is notably bold in its lyrics and speaks to me in a very meaningful way. In this song, Sinatra takes a retrospective look at his life, recognizing his regrets and losses, not everything he did was right, but through it all, he did it his way, and he was proud of that. This is a true song to the legacy Frank Sinatra left on the music industry because following his death no one could quite do it “his way”. Recently, my good friend’s mother passed away after fighting a courageous battle against cancer. The thing that stuck with me after her untimely death was that as she passed, her last wish was to hear My Way. For the length of time that I knew her, she had always had cancer, but lived such a bold and exciting life that you forgot she even had it. Through it all, I truly believe she lived this song to Sinatra’s intentions. In the face of great sickness, she lived her life her way, and that is something I will always remember.

Next in the queue is Tiny Dancer by Elton John, a classic anthem that I believe will never grow old.  Growing up in Los Angeles, this song always spoke to me. I thought it was the vague mention of “LA Lady”, or the fact that my mom always played it in her car, I couldn’t figure out why I loved this song so much. Earlier this year, Elton John released a music video 45 years after the release of Tiny Dancer. The music video depicted individuals living very different LA lifestyles, but all singing along to Tiny Dancer as they crossed paths. The music video captured the beauty of both LA culture and the song itself, and most importantly it captured what the song meant to me. No matter who you are, where you are, or what you are doing, this song has the power to unify a set of complete strangers because everyone knows the lyrics. While it isn’t Rocket Man, I believe my fellow astronauts and I could benefit from blasting this one together.

Next up is If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out by Cat Stevens. When I was younger, my father used to drive me to my soccer games, and we listened to an eclectic set of tunes, ranging from Garth Brooks to Weird Al Yankovic. If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out stuck to me as a track I particularly enjoyed my Father’s unique playlist. But the significance and beauty of this song is the lyrics.  I always found that my Father emphasized these lyrics in his parenting, allowing me to “sing out” and do whatever I put my mind to.  Both he and my Mom have always been there to support and encourage me throughout every step of my life. I need this song as a reminder that I have the loving support of my parents wherever I travel.

Taking a break from the classics, my next song choice is from my favorite rock and roll artist, Jack White. Jack White is behind so many influential songs and bands and to choose just one song to represent his repertoire is a challenging task. I have chosen one of my favorites, You’ve Got Her In Your Pocket from The White Stripes early album, Elephant. Jack White has always fascinated me as an artist because of his distinct branding. For each band he is in, as well as his solo career, there is a different color scheme and a new persona presented which allows the listener to understand Jack in a different aspect each time. The White Stripes had a color scheme of red, white, and black and played bold inspirational ballads. Jack White’s current solo career has a color scheme of blue and black, representing the change in his style of music to somber rock songs centering around the challenges of love. It is very important for music to be both seen and heard. White’s attention to design and branding adds a vibrant concept to his artistry and shows his anthology of sound through brands he has crafted over the years.  I love and respect Jack White as an artist greatly and cannot live without at least one of his songs. 

Another musician who I draw inspiration from is John Bonham, the drummer for Led Zepplin; he was truly was the backbone of the band and created a unique sound from jazz but applied it to a rock aspect, thus changing the possibilities for rock as it had not been seen before.  The band captured this interesting drum beat by using the Glyn Johns recording method which had not been seen before but after, was widely used by most bands because they loved the amazing quality and simplicity of the technique, consisting of 4 microphones.  But the band was able to work so well because Bonham was able to get in sync with the guitar player; typically, the drummer gets in sync with the bass player to get the best rhythmic feel but Bonham got in sync with the guitar player and if you listen to Fool in the Rain, you can see the tightness between the guitar and drums as they change constantly through the phrases.  Within Fool in the Rain, the drumbeat is absolutely insane!  Bonham plays a steady polyrhythmic 4/4 beat, meaning that he is playing two beats simultaneously; the first beat is executed through the triplet high hats which are accented by opening and closing them and adding ghost notes on snare in between; yet Bonham adds a twist by doing a swung half-time shuffle with his bass and snare drum which is difficult on its own.  Although the beat is challenging on its own, he adds more difficulty by play with the piano and guitar which are a 12/8 time signature which adds a syncopated triplet feel to the song that anyone can groove to.  To me, Bonham is what made Zepplin great and in totality, it was his drumming within this song that truly allows an audience to groove to.

The next song chosen has a lot of sentimental value as a musician; Nights & Weekends by Cold War Kids was the first song that I ever recorded. It was the song that motivated me to expand my skills and learn about production. I began by listening to every individual instrument track and was amazed by the production quality, with the smooth transition from electronic type drums to an ambient acoustic sound that comes in strong for the chorus.  I was truly inspired by the album as a whole because it was a different direction that Cold War Kids portrayed; originally being a band that produced songs focusing on the problems of and containing an instrumentation of a rock band, Cold War Kids tried a different approach, adding electronic samples on top of the live drums into the piano and guitar heavy tracks.  I was motivated to make my rendition of this song because I loved the vibe of the entirety of the album but this song in specific stuck out because of the catchy chorus and interesting transition from electronic to acoustic drums.  I also really love the organ and feel that it should be used as a staple for their sound.  My initial recording was very poor in quality being that it was my first recording ever and I was using a single microphone for everything, yet I recently redid it to show how I have evolved as an artist and I find that there is still room for improvement, though it is decent. 

Transitioning from this, I Sumatran Tiger by Portugal. the man which is also known as the endangered song.  Interestingly enough, there were no digital copies of this song but instead 400 copies of the hard copy record were produced and eventually the record, made out of polycarbonate material, would stop playing and become extinct.  The message clear, if we do not do anything, then the species will go extinct.  Portugal. the man created this song with the intent of the song becoming extinct unless reproduced.  But this exclusivity tactic is very fascinating and has been practiced by many artists such as Jay Z and Beyoncé, ultimately it doesn’t work because eventually it will go to other streaming services but this concept of extinction unless shared within the community is like no other.  Not only is this a genius tactic to promote the preventing from extinction but it is also an amazing song.  Sadly, it will be overlooked by their one hit wonder Feel it Still but the endangered song will forever hold a place in my heart being that it is a masterful medley of instrumentation, high pitched male vocals, and a message like no other. 

Directly after this, I have chosen Alright by Talk.  Talk is a band I was honored to become apart of during my time at the Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music at NYU this past summer. I chose to put this song on my playlist as a reminder that you can accomplish great things if you work hard. As a band, we wanted to create a song that encapsulated all of our diverse musical talents. I am very proud of our band’s hard work on this track. My primary role was as a drummer, but we all worked hard on co-producing, branding, and managing to create a cohesive end product, that sounds pretty good.  But taking leadership for this band, we produced a book that is like no other, which gives the consumer a visual representation to enjoy as they listen to the song. 

To close out the playlist, I have selected Do You Realize?? by The Flaming Lips. I honestly love everything about this song form the beautiful instrumentation to the incredibly powerful and realistic lyrics. The Flaming Lips adds tasteful elements to transform the track to a galactic melody by using robot generated noise, crazy synth sounds, and random church bells.  Wayne Coin, the lead singer of the Flaming Lips, inspires me as an artist through his authenticity and creativity. This is one song I cannot live without.

Check out the playlist on youtube!

Rock On, 

Justin Mandel

Follow me on Instagram @mandelsmusic

[everlarkbirthdaydrabbles]

My birthday is February 18. Could I have Smitty age gap please and thank you?

Happy, happy birthday @aaltena26! To help you celebrate in style, the always incredible @booksrockmyface has written this wonderful bit of Everlark, just for you. Enjoy!!

Dream Come True

Rated: Explicit

Trigger warning: Brief talk of a four wheeler (ATV) accident and a resulting injury ending in amputation of a limb.

Author’s note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope this is all you were hoping for and that your day is THE BEST! Much thanks to thesaltywinteradult for helping me get this story figured out when I got stuck on a transition.

________

Peeta remembered staying up late when he was eight years old to see Katniss Everdeen compete in the final archery round in Athens. She had been a frontrunner from the start, especially since she’d just barely missed out getting into the games four years before. She was his first crush.

When he was put in charge of showing the Olympian around campus as the Student Activities Board president, he was beside himself with excitement. He’d get to talk to her. Get her settled into her hotel. Introduce her to the group of students that would gather to see her archery demonstration.

“Calm down, Mellark. She’s just a person.” He told himself as he bounced around in the parking lot waiting for her arrival. “A really hot person you’ve had a crush on nearly all your like, but a person nonetheless.”

A compact car that looked like it had seen better days pulled in and Katniss Everdeen emerged. She was even more beautiful that Peeta could have ever imagined. Her long brown hair hung in waves over her shoulders. The sign, “Dangerous curves” came to mind as she stretched and looked around. She removed her sunglasses and sent a smile Peeta’s way, causing him to suddenly lose his normal ability to talk as her grey eyes landed on him.

“Are you Peeta?” She asked as she walked over, a blonde girl Peeta knew to be her younger sister in her wake.

“Yeah, that would be me.” He managed to stutter, holding out his hand. “Peeta Mellark. I have to say, Miss Everdeen, I am a huge fan. I watched the final round in Athens when you won the gold.”

Katniss laughed and blushed a little. “That was hard day. But the best day of my life.”

“I thought the day I graduated high school was the best day of your life.” The blonde girl teased.

Katniss laughed. “No, sorry, my gold beats your graduation and your wedding day combined.” She made introduction. “This is my sister Prim.” She pointed her thumb toward the car. “That’s Gale by the car. He’s my best friend. Also my brother-in-law.”

Peeta nodded. “Well, I can help you find your way around campus. Unless you’d like to get settled in your hotel.”

Katniss smiled. “Already got settled, actually. We got up pretty early this morning. Gale likes to drive, so Prim and I slept in the car.”

“Then, I would love to show you around our lovely campus.” Peeta led the way, jabbering away about the history of the school, all the while thinking about all the things he’d done while looking at Katniss’s pictures growing up. And all the things he was going to imagine long after she was gone.

Katniss didn’t seem entirely interested, but she at least asked questions every once in a while. She smiled and reached out to touch Peeta’s arm as they circled back to the start. “It’s a beautiful campus.

“Thanks.” He felt his heart pounding in his chest at her touch. “Can’t take too much credit, but I’m pretty proud of it.”

“As you should be.” She said kindly. “So what time do I need to be back here tomorrow?”

“Your demonstration starts at noon. You can come warm up any time before that. We’ll have a crew set up your targets and everything this evening. Someone will be on hand in the morning as early as ten.” He gave her his most dazzling smile. “But I can make sure you have my number in case you need someone before that.”

Katniss smoothly handed over her phone. “Thanks.”

Prim cleared her throat. Peeta noticed a look pass between the sisters, but nothing was said. He finished typing in his number and handed the phone back.

“Call if you need anything.” Peeta said.

“I will.” Katniss replied with a kind smile.

________

“Oh, wow, isn’t he cute?” Prim gushed as Gale pointed the car back toward the hotel.

Katniss snorted. “Please, Prim, he’s a baby.”

“What? Like twenty?” Prim said. “That’s not a baby.”

“Well, you’re married, so I don’t know what you’re going on about.” Katniss pointed out.

Gale chuckled. “Well, Catnip, you are very single and I think you should tap that. It would be good for you. Improve your mood.”

“Fuck you.” Katniss crossed her arms. “It would just be weird. I’m thirty-two and he’s barely out of high school.”

Prim leaned forward. “He’s cute and he’s smart and he’s totally into you. So what if he’s twenty? He gave you his number.” She squeezed Katniss’s arm gently. “And he did say to call if you needed anything. I say a toe-curling orgasm counts.”

Katniss covered her mouth as she laughed. “How do you know it would be toe-curling?”

“The way he looked at you, he’s probably been jerking off to your picture since he first figured out what masturbation was.” Gale said. “He at least knows a little bit.”

“Solo experience has nothing to do with how well someone will be in the sack.” Prim argued. “But you should try it anyway, Katniss. Maybe it’ll be a learning experience for him.”

“Yeah, he could put it on his resume.” Gale said with a suppressed laugh. “‘I fucked archery gold medalist Katniss Everdeen.’”

Katniss shook her head as she continued to laugh softly. “I can’t believe you two.”

Gale shrugged as he pulled into the hotel parking lot. “Might as well go for it. He nearly came in his pants just looking at you.”

This got all three of them going.

Prim said, “You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you, Gale?”

His ears turned pink. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Prim.” He got out of the car and headed toward the front door.

Katniss and Prim followed, separating when they got to their floor. “Dinner in a half hour?” Prim asked.

“Sure.” Katniss stepped into the room and looked around. She sat down on the bed and looked around. Maybe Prim and Gale were right.

_________

Peeta groaned as Finnick beat him at yet another race. Which was unusual because he was pretty good at Mario Kart.

“You’re a little off your game today.” Finnick said.

“Just stressed.” Peeta dropped the controller on the coffee table and stretched. “Like I always am when we have campus visitors. I shouldn’t have run for president. This is a lot to take on.”

Finnick snorted. “Sure. Has nothing to do with it being Katniss Everdeen, your nightly wet dream.”

“Of course not.” Peeta said defensively as he snatched up his ringing phone. The number was one he didn’t recognize, but he answered anyway.

“Hi, it’s Katniss.” The voice that floated through the line was a little uncertain. “It’s Peeta, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Peeta.” His heart sped up and he hurried to his bedroom to get away from Finnick’s curious eavesdropping. “How can I help you?”

She seemed to hesitate a moment before she said, “You want to come hang out with me?” She laughed. “Would that be weird?”

“No, definitely not.” Peeta said quickly. “But are you sure you want to spend your time with some college kid?”

“I’m sure. My sister and brother-in-law are still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage and I always end up being the third wheel.”

Peeta chuckled. “I know that feeling.” He paused. “So you want me to come for real?”

She laughed. “Yes, I do.” She gave him the name of the hotel and her room number.

“Holy shit.” Peeta said, staring at the disconnected phone. “Holy shit.” He sat down on his bed and quickly pulled on his shoes. “Holy shit.” He pulled a few condoms out of their place in his top drawer and stuffed them in his pocket before he hurried out. “I’m going to hang out with Katniss Everdeen.” He said as he picked up his keys off the hook by the door. “Don’t wait up.”

Peeta drove like a madman to get to the hotel across town. He walked casually past the front desk clerk and up to the third floor.

Katniss opened the door just a moment after his knuckles made contact with the wood. She gave him a megawatt smile as she ushered him in. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from studying or something.”

Peeta shook his head and sat on the chair in the corner. “I was just playing Mario Kart with my roommate.”

“I used to play that.” She laughed. “When I wasn’t doing target practice.”

He sat down in a chair just inside the door. “So you really do practice all the time?”

She smiled and offered him a can of soda. “Not since I stopped competing so much.”

“So no Tokyo for you?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I’m moving on to coaching. Maybe I’ll get to go back in that capacity one day.” She opened her can of coke and took a sip. “So what’s your major?”

“Art with an emphasis on graphic design.” Peeta said proudly.

Katniss gave him a kind smile. “That’s a little lofty.”

“It is.” He said. “But my dad owns a bakery and I’ll go back to help him once school is done. I can still do art that way and not ever be broke or homeless.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s smart.” She traced a grain on the table. “I never went to college. Too busy with hours and hours of training.”

He nodded. “I didn’t even want to go to college, but my mom insisted. I decided if I had to come, I was going to do it on my own terms. She wanted me to do a business degree, but I chose art instead to spite her. I plan on learning all my dad can show me, anyway.”

She bit her lip and placed her hand on top of his. “I’m sure your dad would be very happy to do that for you.”

“Yeah.” His voice caught in his throat at her touch. He blurted, “I have the biggest crush on you.”

She laughed and rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m flattered.”

He laughed uncomfortably. “I told a kid in school when I was about twelve that you were a family friend and that I talked to you all the time. He didn’t believe me, of course, and asked my mom. I got in so much trouble for trying to start that rumor.”

Katniss laughed at that. “Where did you grow up?”

“Like an hour from your hometown. We really could have known each other.” Peeta took a sip from his soda and sat it down. “Do you have a boyfriend?” He felt himself blush and shook his head. “That’s a little forward of me, sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

“No boyfriend.” She said. “Never really had a lot of time for them.”

“Because of the practice?”

She nodded. “Plenty of flings and one night stands, though.” She gave him a steady look. “What about you?”

“I had a girlfriend in high school. Some flings of my own here in college. A few attempted one night stands, but they got weirded out when I took my pants off and made a quick exit.”

She gave him a questioning look.

“Not anything to do with my penis.” He said quickly. “They’re usually pretty impressed with that. It’s the fact that I don’t have leg.”

She glanced down.

He took the cue and pulled up his left pant leg. “Four wheeler accident when I was a kid. Too crushed to even consider any sort of reconstruction.”

“How far…?”

“Just above the knee.” He dropped his pant leg back down. “I’ve started trying to be up front about it when a girl doesn’t know me. So she can run before I get my hopes up.” He gave her a grin.

She smiled and placed her hand on top of his again. “Well, let me tell you, a prosthetic leg is nothing. You’re cute. And two legs or one, I don’t think I’d kick you out of bed for eating crackers.”

This has to be a dream, he thought to himself.

Lifting his hand up, she pressed her lips to his palm.

The breath caught in Peeta’s throat as his heart began to speed up. “You’re so beautiful.” He somehow managed to say.

Katniss smiled. “Would you like to go to bed with me?”

“Yeah, I’d like that very much.” He followed her across the room. “And I promise I won’t tell anyone about this.”

She shrugged. “I guess if you want to brag about it, you can.” She slipped her hands under his shirt, they were warm and eager.

“No, I don’t brag.” He smirked. “I’ve only slept with one girl that was decent and we learned all that together.” He brushed his fingers along her cheek. “You’ll probably want to forget all about this when all is said and done.”

She shrugged and pressed a kiss to his lips. A groan escaped him.

“I feel like this is a dream and I’m about to wake up.” He admitted.

She smiled and lifted his shirt over his head. “Well, this isn’t a dream. I promise.”

He grinned and whispered, “Prove it.”

A quick pinch to his nipple sent a ripple through Peeta’s body, causing him to let out a quick gasp. Katniss grinned and pulled him in for a deep kiss. One of her hands tangled in his hair as the other slipped between them to palm his growing erection.

He finally got the nerve to return her touches, slipping his hand up her shirt and sliding it over the smoothness over her lower back. The other hand grasped her bottom and pulled her closer.

Both of them were breathing heavily when she broke the kiss. “Take off my shirt.” She whispered.

He swallowed and quickly complied. She wasn’t wearing a bra. “Holy shit.” He breathed.

She smiled and pulled him in again, dropping kisses across his shoulder.

“Katniss.” He sighed.

She lifted her head and smiled. “You can touch me, you know.”

“I feel like you’re going to disappear as soon as I do.”

Her smile turned mischievous as she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. “Poof!” She exclaimed.

He laughed and then picked her up by her hips.

She squeaked and wrapped her arms around his neck as he took the last few steps to the bed. “Oh, wow, you’re strong.”

He smiled up at her. “I’m a wrestler.” He sat her down, his lips grazing against her skin as she slid to the floor. He slipped a hand behind her head and buried his fingers in her hair. In a hoarse whisper, he said, “I brought condoms.”

“Good. I begged one from Gale, but the more the merrier.” She bit her lip coyly. “Can I finish undressing you?”

Peeta smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

After a fleeting kiss, Katniss dropped to her knees and popped the button on Peeta’s jeans. She pressed a series of kisses across his stomach as she pulled his pants and underwear over his hips. Following the band with her mouth, she placed hot kisses down his leg until she was met with the top of his prosthetic. His heart started beating a different rhythm as she paused and sat back.

She looked up at him. “Does it hurt?”

He swallowed. “It’s like wearing shoes all day. Stuffy and annoying. Doesn’t really hurt unless I’ve been walking on it too much.”

She pressed his hips back until he sat on the mattress. She removed his shoes and the rest of his clothes. Running a hand up the length of both his legs she said, “Do you take it off or leave it on?”

“It’s really awkward to wear.” Peeta swallowed. “But if you would be more comfortable, I can leave it on.”

Katniss shook her head and stood. “You can take it off. I don’t mind.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips before moving to sit beside him on the bed, kissing his neck and shoulder.

Even though it was a muscle memory, he still fumbled with the removal of his leg while her hands and her mouth moved all over his skin. She was messing with all his senses. His cock twitched as her hand spread over his lower stomach.

“Condoms are in my pocket.” He gasped.

“In due time.” She said softly, wrapping her hand around his length.

Peeta lifted a hand and tangled it in Katniss’s hair once more as their mouths met in a crushing kiss that made his heart pound even harder in his chest. This was everything he’d ever dreamed of. All those nights staring at the pictures on his wall as he touched himself, wishing she could come out of those photos and take over.

And then she stopped and stood, dropping her pants to the floor before climbing into the bed and beckoning him with a single, crooked finger and a sly grin.

He dropped the leg and sock on the floor as he climbed up to hover over her. Their mouths met again and their hands roamed. Peeta slipped his hand between Katniss’s thighs and circled a finger slowly around her clit until she was gasping on the edge of orgasm. Then he pulled away, just as she had.

“Can I taste you?” He asked.

“That would be great.” She pushed on his shoulder.

He laughed and slowly trailed his mouth down her body. Pressing her legs apart, his mouth made contact with her hard and ready clit. She tasted glorious! And her response to him was nothing short of eager. She grasped his head and pressed herself into him. He took hold of her hips and doubled his efforts. She was panting and encouraging and just a short time later she was rocking against his mouth as she let out beautiful mewling cries.

When Katniss finally loosened her grip on his hair, Peeta moved up her body once more. He paused to swirl his tongue over her nipple as he palmed the other.

“That’s nice.” She breathed.

He smiled against her skin as he came to hover over her. “It was.”

She combed her fingers through his hair. “Condoms in your pocket, huh?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

After pulling him in for a long kiss, she moved from underneath him to find his pants among the piles on the floor. She came up with a triumphant sound and waved a square of plastic. She climbed back on the bed and sat beside Peeta. Her hands trailed over his skin admiringly. With a smile, she leaned down and pressed her lips over his skin. Then she slid her tongue up the length of his cock, taking the tip into her mouth for a moment and swirling her tongue around it.

“Holy shit.” He gasped.

She removed her mouth and grinned at him as she opened the condom. “Is that your favorite exclamation?”

“Yeah.” He panted. “I’m still sure I’m going to wake up any second.”

Katniss moved to sit on Peeta’s thighs as she rolled the condom on his length. “For at least this once, Peeta, I’m the real thing.” She grinned. “Wrinkles and all.”

He shook his head. “You’re perfect.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, I’m already naked and almost on top of you, there’s no need for flattery.” She moved herself forward and lowered herself over him.

“But you are perfect.” He sighed as she surrounded him and he gripped her hips to keep her from moving. If she went too soon, he’d come in seconds. And if he was going to fuck Katniss Everdeen, he wanted it to last at least a minute.

She leaned over and braced her hands on the side of his head. “God, you feel good.”

He smiled up at her and bucked his hips. “So do you.”

Katniss set up a slow pace, twirling her hips as she went. It nearly drove Peeta to ruin. It took all his power to hold off. But it didn’t last long. He felt the tightening and she must have too because she sat back moved faster, stilling over him at the last moment. Everything was a little foggy for a few seconds as the orgasm took over.

She gently scratched his chest as he came back to himself, panting and heart beating wildly. “You good?”

He nodded, mumbling something that resembled a “yes.”

She leaned over and kissed him once more before removing herself from him. She stretched out on her back with a satisfied sigh.

“Holy shit.” He sighed.

She slipped her hand into his and brought it up to kiss his knuckles. “Holy shit, indeed.”

Peeta laughed. “That’s so much better than my dreams.”

“Honestly,” Katniss admitted, “that was better than I expected.”

He turned his head. “Glad I could be of service.”

“That came out wrong.” She rolled over and pressed her face into his neck. “I’m sorry.” She looked up. “How old are you, by the way?”

He grinned. “Twenty.”

She nodded. “Not too bad.” She rolled away once more. “I usually stick to guys my age. I don’t want you to think I’m on some sort of quest for younger men.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care. Tonight it’s me. And I mattered for these minutes. I may not matter to you a week from now.” He kissed the back of her hand. “But you capped off over a decade of longing with a great experience and I will never forget you.”

She grinned. “I’m glad I could be that for you.” She moved over him and kissed him softly. “You can stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks.” He pulled her close and kissed her deeply. He didn’t plan on leaving any time soon.

[terryblount]

Tales of Vesperia: Definitive Edition – Review

The Tales of, or just Tales, series has always occupied something of a weird blind spot in the résumés of even the most hardened JRPG fans in the West, and I am no exception. Indeed, these games have faithfully preserved so many of the most recognisable motifs of this genre through release after release. Yet, somehow, they have slipped under my radar time and time again.

When the definitive edition for Tales of Vesperia was announced, it felt like fate reaching out its hand. While the game initially launched during the glory days of the Xbox 360 and the PS3, Namco Bandai has now made their 2008 classic fully compatible with current-gen platforms. They also sweetened the deal by adding extra goodies that were originally exclusive to the Japanese release.  Suddenly I could no longer ignore the signs that my moment had finally come to dive into this beloved series.

The world of Terca Lumireis is overrun with monsters, and each city is protected by a barrier generated from a blastia.

After spending what felt like a 59-hour holiday in the mystical world of Terca Lumireis, the adventures I had with Yuri and his band of misfits have left me with fond memories. There were certainly more than a few opportunities where I couldn’t help but sigh with frustration. However, a potent combination of confident storytelling, some unique mechanics and characters that I could actually care about made me question why it took so long for me to try out a Tales game.

Heads and Tales

Tales of Vesperia is truly a master class in how to retain a player’s focus on the main story line. Much like Dragon Quest XI, which I reviewed a couple of months ago, the plot in Tales of Vesperia is what acts as the key driving force behind the gameplay since everything seems to feed really naturally into the overall adventure. Completing every objective always felt like I was adding more pieces to the puzzle of a bigger picture.

This is Yuri, and there is an old guy at his local pub who keeps mistaking him for a girl…

Given that this game could easily take around fifty hours or so to complete, the story is understandably something of a slow burner, which could potentially be a hard sell to some players. Rest assured though, it is written very well, and several exciting twists turns in the narrative will undoubtedly feel more than rewarding to players that are willing to stick with the game’s more placid narrative pacing.

The actual plot is centered on Yuri Lowell – a dishonoured knight from the imperial legion in the capital of Zaphias. While lounging in his bedroom window like only an anime teenager can, his downtown neighbourhood was abruptly flooded with water. Seems some lowlife pinched the ‘aqua blastia’ which is a magical device needed to regulate and control the water supply to the slums. He wakes up his pipe-smoking dog, Repede, and the duo set off to where the culprit might be hiding.

Seriously, his dog smokes a pipe, and how this poor pooch somehow succumbed to a tobacco addiction still leaves me sleepless with questions at night. In any case, retrieving a magic stone from a petty thief should be a cakewalk for an ex-knight right? Wrong. What is any JRPG without some unwitting hero stumbling into a major calamity?

The Imperial City of Zaphias, and this is the ‘impoverished’ part of town. Anime’s can be so idealistic…

Somewhere during his efforts to capture the thief, poor Yuri ends up in the slammer. However, no prison can hold him, and it is during his escape that he meets a noblewoman, named Estelle, who shares his passion for running from the authorities (and bizarrely coloured hair). She urgently needs to find a mutual friend of Yuri’s named Flynn, who happens to be located in the same direction as the thief’s getaway. The duo, along with Repede, therefore decide to make an impromptu little road trip together into the wilderness beyond the city.

From here, the little fellowship travels from one location to the next only to find themselves constantly one step behind both Flynn and the blastia thief. It’s not all bad since every location reveals more to Yuri and Estelle about a deeply entrenched conspiracy surrounding both the stolen blastia, and the iron fist of the Zaphias Empire. Needless to say, they soon find themselves unavoidably drawn into a much bigger mission in which the very fate of Terca Lumireis might be at stake.

Estelle trying her best to give a high five.

As per usual, the friends that help them throughout their travels ultimately end up joining their little clique until the group is big enough to form their own guild. They decide to name their guild ‘Brave Vesperia,’ and first to join is Karol, a young boy exiled from another guild and thus eager to prove himself as a fighter. A feisty blastia scientist, Rita, joins the group shortly after since she sees their journey as an opportunity to learn more about the blastia.

Flynn also joins once the gang finally catches up to him, along with three other characters named Raven, Judith and Patty. I cannot disclose much about the these characters without giving away some crucial story moments, but it is worth noting that the writers did a superb job of keeping me uncertain with regards to their true identities and intentions. It certainly set the stage for some rather interesting surprises later on.

The devil is in de-tales

If I had to summarize Tales of Vesperia: Definitive Edition, I would say that it plays like entering your own anime epic. Many aspects of the game, from its narrative mechanisms to its combat style, impart a distinct cinematic and theatrical feeling to the player. As such, the game is generally a mix of pretty standard JRPG content, but with a distinct visual edge which has always given the series its unique identity within the genre.

The most obvious implementation of its anime pedigree lies in the game’s visuals. Tales of Vesperia has been rendered in a colour-popping, cel-shaded style which, even ten years later, looks great. A few shockingly bad in-game cut scenes have unfortunately survived the transition to the current generation, but they are few and far between thankfully. Besides, you are bound to forget about them entirely when you see how well the game’s graphics complement the fully animated cut scenes (also equally gorgeous).

Yuri fighting his buddy Flynn, but I won’t spoil why

The visuals are accompanied by an arousing and diverse soundtrack that is always in sync with what’s on screen. Combat scenarios generally received thumping rock beats, while exploration was augmented by classic orchestral symphonies, but the cherry on top is the opening song. It is called ‘Ring a Bell’ by Bonnie Pink and trust me, it will be firmly stuck in your head by the time the game is done. Go give it a listen.

True Commitment to Story-telling

As I mentioned, Tales of Vesperia shows its commitment to being a cinematic-driven adventure in how the game takes a more linear narrative approach. Whether it involved infiltrating a mansion of a corrupt official, or helping a town repair the blastia that upholds a protective barrier against monsters, every objective represented a key albeit sequential component in how the story plays itself out.

This effectively means that the game offers very little side content outside of the missions related to the main story, and I can imagine fans of fuller and more ‘looter-centric JRPGs’ might be left wanting here. For me, on the other hand, it was refreshing to play through a role-playing game that placed its story so front and center. Besides, if you ever get tired of blastia and the cast prattling on, there are recipes to create, battle strategies to refine, and ample opportunities to fight monsters for some extra XP on the side.

Apparently this is a series known for its beautiful and lush graphics.

Speaking of prattling on, Tales of Vesperia has got one of the chattiest casts I have ever encountered in a game. It is not exactly a problem (unless this kind of thing irks you) since the dialogue and interactions between characters have been written and localized rather well. The lengthy conversations between Yuri and the gang is in fact one of the most crucial ways in which the game conveys their personalities to the player, as well as colouring in the lore and history of Terca Lumireis.

The interactions between Karol and Rita were particularly a highlight of the game since they were really funny. Karol constantly pipes up with something stupid to say when the adults are talking only to be silenced by Rita with a firm head jab. It represents the kind of slapstick comedy I used to love while I was watching the Bleach anime series.

And here we have the resident mage Rita. This is one of the few scenes she is  not assaulting/teasing/whacking/chasing Karol.

Of course, additional but entirely optional interactions between characters are presented to players via the ‘skits’ that have become a fan favourite in this series. These are essentially delightful little intermissions in which the different characters have a brief tête-à-tête with one another.

Classic example of the skit

The skits could involve one character sharing their knowledge on a certain area or just throwing some good old fashioned shade at one of the others. They serve only to endear the characters to the player and are totally skippable, however I laughed my way through nearly all of them since they exhibit the same quality of writing as the rest of the game. It is yet another aspect of this game that demonstrates that classic Tales dedication to making its cast memorable and relatable.

The Linear Motion Battle System

The combat is where things get a little different, and, as any Tales veteran will be happy to tell you, it is here where the series makes its sharpest departure from the rest of the genre. Whereas all the heavy hitters from the JRPG founding fathers opted for the classic turn-based gameplay during battles, Tales games have since their SNES days had a more active system that looks like a permutation from a hack ‘n slash game.

In the case of Tales of Vesperia, it means the player must attack, guard and use magic against the enemy in real time, usually with the help of three squad mates. The battles are not random, and like many modern games of this kind, players can circumvent (read: run away!) from enemies that you would prefer not to engage.

A typical scenario would involve you seeing an enemy either in close quarters or in the over world map. Once the enemy has been engaged in combat, the game then moves everyone into an arena of sorts, with the camera adopting a side-long perspective not unlike a fighting game. The player then locks onto any chosen enemy, and proceeds to pummel them with a mixture of light melee attacks, as well as more powerful, magic-fueled assaults called ‘artes.’

Your rating is based on how much damage you avoided, combo hits, damage given, etc.

There are even rudimentary combos to be chained from connecting your character’s light and heavy attacks, and the higher Yuri (and the others) level(s) up, the more artes and finishing moves become available to him. Several short cuts have also been added to the D-pad which allowed me to change the overall strategy of my party on the fly, and you can really get into the nitty-gritty of tailoring your own unique strategy. By the time the game places you toe-to-toe with the boss enemies, changing between strategies is utterly indispensable.

For example, Rita is primarily a mage class with magical attacks while Estelle is a powerful healer. During normal grinding and lesser enemy encounters, they can certainly hold their own right next to you with sword and shield. However, during boss fights I tailored a preset where both characters kept their distance while focusing on the party’s health once their own HP dropped below 75%. Once I got the hang of all the systems and subsystems at work in the combat mechanics, the action-packed fighting became a delightfully intellectual affair much like a menu or turn-based system.

Alas, even once I began to feel sorry for the Pokemon-esque monsters for the swiftness at which I was mowing them down, I couldn’t get over how clumsy the system felt at times. If Yuri was not specifically locked onto the enemy closest to him, he often missed with his sword which left him striking stupidly at thin air in the middle of the battle arena. Making matters worse is that the controls are not the most responsive either meaning that combos are more a question of luck rather than skill.

Lastly, I also found most boss fights to be somewhat unfairly difficult in comparison with the rest of the game play. This is a matter easily solved by simply switching the combat difficulty to ‘Easy’ in the in-game settings (which I did a lot). Still, it feels like the developers could have done a little more to prepare the player for the jarring contrast in difficulty that so many of the boss encounters represent.

The 3D over world map. You can even camp out in the open for one night.

These are not exactly deal-breakers in the grand scheme of the combat system. Yet, it is disappointing to know that with a little tweaking and refinement, the already decent and unique trademark of the series could have elevated a great game to a nearly perfect status.

To be or not to be…

Tales of Vesperia is like the paradox of JRPGs in that it hosts so many familiar elements of the genre, yet it clearly shapes its own identity through its stylistic choices. Whereas other JRPGs feel like the seasoned old business magnates in their crisp suits, this game feels like the new, hip kid on the block wearing urban fashion.

Some more senseless violence! The ring on the left shows the edge of the combat arena.

This is not the first JRPG to be so consistently driven by its story, nor is it unique in its presentation. What I feel is special in Tales of Vesperia is how gracefully it pulls all of these elements together. This game will never allow you to become too preoccupied with one particular aspect of the overall experience on offer. Instead,  it is a well-rounded adventure which demands to be consumed in big, greedy chunks at once.

If you have been playing turned-based JRPGs since the days you were still using a potty, and you feel no immediate rush to venture too far out of this landscape, you might have a hard time warming up to this one. However, if you believe variety is the spice of life, and you are willing to test the barriers of what this genre can do, look no further. This game is in no rush to overwhelm you with complexity which makes it a compelling choice for old hands and newcomers alike.

  Supports up to 4K resolution

Cel-shaded beauty

Engaging story

Relaxing gameplay approach

Strong characters

Excellent score

Brilliant localisation

Several cut scene animations

Combat controls

No option to quick save

Difficulty spike with bosses

          Playtime: 57 hours total. For the single player campaign

Computer Specs: Windows 10 64-bit computer using Nvidia GTX 1070, i5 4690K CPU, 16GB RAM – Played using an Xbox One Controller

Tales of Vesperia: Definitive Edition – Review published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

[humanintereststory]

8: So Be It

“Church.” They. We. John had for so long only been responsible for his actions. Wake up, brush his teeth, eat breakfast, read, eat lunch, read, ignore the voice through the vent, read, dinner, read, lights out, staring out into the darkness until he finally drifted away, wake up, brush his … “Church.” And everyday she pulled him out of that routine. That first week John resented Mike McGuire for it. He wanted to curse her for her ignorance. This morning he had just finished a bowl of oats. He knew Mike was still doing some wrap up getting her number two up to speed to run her business. He knew that he’d be able to dig into another … That’s another thing that perplexed him. He woke up one morning last week to see a box of assorted books in front of the door of the guest room. It was never brought up. But every dinner was over a different movie on the television. Every training session was in tandem and was always accompanied by strategy. What was the future of their tag team? What does he think of his opponents? What does he need to do to succeed? But that Saturday morning, John had just cracked open a book about the life and death of Nikola Teslawhen she said it was time to go. They could make a trip of it towards Baton Rouge and then catch a flight back back North to Boston after the Friday event. “Church!” His blank stare out of the passenger’s side window was startled by a sharp yet ultimately harmless jab. He turned away from the endless farm fields and turned to the driver. “Yeah?” “You with me, buddy? You looked a million miles away just then.” The reverberations of the powerful engine of her muscle car, a gaudy yellow late model Mustang, certainly aided in that distance. The red leather seats creaked softly as John adjusted his seat and sat straight back up. “I’m okay.” “Good,” she smiled, looking almost at peace behind the wheel, the sun on her face, “You got any ideas? Tons of stuff to do on the way there. Pick something. Anything you want.” “I don’t know,” John looked back out the window and saw the handwritten sign about the man with no vocal chords, “I always lived out west. Even when I traveled,” John paused, perhaps considering his words,“when I traveled it was the same loop. The hotel, the gym, and the arena.” “I did that stuff too. Livened it up a bit though, used to go bar hopping a lot. Man, some of the crawls I did were fuckin’ eeeepic,” she snickered to herself a bit, “You wanna do something like that? I know all the best places.” “I don’t drink. Never have,” John had started to understand that some of his social interactions were unintentionally blunt, “but …but don’t let that stop you.” “Okay, fair enough. Well, there’s a travel guide in the glove compartment there. Should have some stuff of interest en route. Leaf through it an’ see if there’s anything that catches your eye.” “Surprise me,” John had almost tried to stop himself from saying that. He hated surprises. He liked his routine. He hated his routine, too. It was too familiar and was born of a sense of minimization. Mike responded with that wide grin and accelerated past a semi truck. Some more time past and John could feel himself getting lulled into the sights as the farm plains transitioned into the rocky corridors of West Virginia, “Fine. This time. But sometime between now’n Baton Rouge you’re pickin’ something. We’re doing this together, y’know,” she drove a bit longer, eyes flicking to the exit signs and the flow of traffic, before speaking up again, her cadence that of a person watching their words when unused to doing so, “Hey. Sorry to bring this up again, but it’s kinda been buggin’ me. That thing a while back. With Emma. What was it about? You like her or somethin’?” He’d almost forgotten. The woman certainly had, “I, uh, would consider it a Freudian slip,” he felt that Mike sometimes walked on eggshells around him about these subjects and she most likely did not want a repeat of what could be the catalyst of this whole ordeal. He had heard and read what people thought of him. Amongst all of the requests to end his own life, people had legitimate questions and concerns. He was artful in his ability to dodge the questions about his past and his even more surreal present. John cleared his throat, “Look, I’m not sure. She, I mean, you know …” He danced around it for so long and in the eyes of the public, they painted him as dull or even some masterful sociopath disassociated with the act and its victim. “Mike, I, I’m just not sure. The dispositions were nothing alike but the shine of her eyes, her hair — they were a reminder. So to answer your question: I don’t like her. I mean, I don’t dislike her. She’s just a competitor,” he continued to struggle as Mike listened with her eyes intently on the road, “I don’t know why I’m back. I’d been forgotten and now, I’m here talking with you and now doing what I always wanted to do. I don’t talk about it because I don’t know what to say. I can barely remember what happened. I’d been grilled and grilled over details that I just didn’t know. I had finished a show and it was called it Beware the Ides of March. It was in reference to whatever the main event was. I’d opened the show and was the first person out because Reno was my hometown. The promoters like that sort of thing, you know? It was twenty minutes away from the apartment. I was alone which was the usual at this stage. I was woken up from my bed the next morning with a loud knock,” John sighed, “and well, there’s been plenty of discussion about it. It’s been in print, on the TV, so it doesn’t bear repeating. I was where I was at and now I’m not. I don’t think… I, I, I belonged there.”

 “Okay. S’ all I wanted to know,” she let it go at that. She didn’t want to dwell on that particular subject, she supposed, any more than he did. Her fingers drummed on the crimson leather cover of the steering wheel. Letting a pause linger for a bit, she smiles over at him, artfully letting the subject pass for a new one, “Mind if I turn the radio on?” “Okay.”

 “Master conversationalist as always, my man.” 

Chuckling softly, she turned the dial on the radio- what would be considered an old-school affair, no Sirius or even a cassette deck. She kept it true to the rest of the vehicle on her rebuild, even though she was well aware she could’ve put in something more modern.

 “Lessee… gospel… country, ugh… fuckin’ disco… goin’ to hell, yeah yeah… HERE we go,”

 she landed on a rock/metal station, by lucky happenstance at the tail end of a commercial break. The band was a classic and it pleased her. TNT, it’s dyno-mite, “FUCK. YEAH. … This cool with you? You an AC/DC person?” John looked into the rear view mirror and they were all alone in this stretch of road as it cut and curved throughout the high walled rock landscape, “It’s not really something to have an affinity for but if you’re going to put me on the spot, alternative current based equipment just have better life expectancies.” She paused for a moment, blinked, and laughed, “The band, Church. The one on the radio. Right now.” John looked at her blankly then at the radio and then back at her, “I know. I was just playing around. This is fine.” “A’ight, cool. Lemme know if you get sick of it, I’ll find somethin’ else,” she drove on, the road spreading out like a ribbon of asphalt before them. John didn’t. He just listened. Eventually this one faded out into static and Mike had to keep turning the dial past all of the sludge. He almost objected a few times but he also remembered the old adage that the driver is the master of the radio. An hour or so passed and finally Mike finally just turned off the radio for the mean time. The mountainous terrain eventually gave out to a thick wooded view. “Hey. Just so y’know, I believe in you. I know how fuckin’ corny that sounds, but I do. I like t’ think I have an eye for these things and I really think I’m lookin’ at the next TV champ,” she paused, maybe placing her words, maybe for effect, “Something you said really stuck with me. I think you figured out a question I’ve been askin’ myself for years without me even askin’ you, in a conversation that wasn’t even about me. Weird’s that sounds.” Earlier that week, the company had arranged for another sit down interview. By virtue of defeating the former champion, Bishop Church had earned the #1 contendership for the Television Championship. What stood before him was his greatest challenge and the company wanted some face time from both their champion and challenger. So once again, John sat in the hot seat. Despite Mike being there, that tense feeling did not dissipate. John fiddled with the microphone clipped to the collar of his t-shirt while Ace Heart flipped through a stapled packet of papers held steady with a clipboard. “Careful with that. The audio technicians hear every time you touch the clip.” John stopped and sat up straight in his director’s style chair, “Okay.” “So here we are again. Before we start, you gotta tell me, why did you delete your Facebook account?” “I don’t trust Zuckerberg. You ever get the feeling that he’s not giving straight answers.” Ace scoffed at that, “Look, Bishop, we set that up for you as a way for you to speak to your fans. You had 150,000 followers and then all of a sudden, you 86’d it.” “I just … didn’t want it. I’m here for this, isn’t that what you wanted?” Ace raised his hands perhaps feigning indignation, “Yeah, that’s right. You’re here. For this. Whatever this will be.” Ace signaled to the camera man and crew to start filming. “Dr. Pepper presents an Extreme Wrestling Corporation live interview on Facebook Watch. I’m Ace Heart and this is Bishop Church.” John nodded. Ace sighed, “Splendid. So since we last talked it seems like your circumstances have made a 180 degree turn. You’ve managed to dispatch Emma Louise, Chris Chambers, and most recently former Television Champion Kendrick Kross one after another. Most notably this is the same Kendrick Kross who unthroned Ruthless Aggression at Stranglemania. Now three days after you face Malice at Friday Night Rampage, you get your first shot at gold against Ruthless Aggression at Monday Night Brawl. Most recently, she impressively defeated a man twice her size in Grizzly Duggan and retained the TV title. Now she stands before you - your biggest match to date, what say you?” “She-“ “Swear to God, if you say she seems nice, this is over.” John’s eyes narrowed at the interruption but just seconds later, his expression relaxed. He turned to face the camera. “Ahhh, women. Women, women, women, women, women.” Ace’s reaction is one of abject horror but he was helpless to stop as John continued. “What are women like? What do women want? How should I treat a woman? Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to find a woman at all. I’ve been staking out for hours looking for one and the closest I got was this fellow.” The camera shot cut to Mike, unknown at this to all viewers, chowing down on a ham and cheddar sandwich at the catering table. Back to John, the camera shot tightens in on him, “Where are all the women?” He then turned back to the interviewer, still frozen, “Is it all perhaps an elaborate fraud?” Finally, “CUT!” Ace exploded right after the cameras turned off, “What the FUCK was that? What are you even talking about? Your opponent is a woman. Half of the roster are women. Why can’t you just answer my questions?” He then shouted to the assistant off screen, “Where’s his goddamn handler? Saint assured me that I wouldn’t have to put up with this shit anymore.” As if on cue, Mike stepped into the interview set and stood in face to face with Ace while seemingly shielding Church from him, “Partner, okay? Not handler. Partner. Got it?” “Okay Bishop’s partner, can you explain why every interview with this guy turns out to be a waking disaster? In my nearly twenty years of thousands, literally thousands of interactions, I’ve interviewed them all. Every hall of fame inductee, every champion, every one that mattered in this industry has had the decency to answer my questions and yet talking to this guy is like squeezing blood from a stone.” “I’m still here,” John mumbled. “Ignore him, Church. Your right-hand man’s got your back. Just forget about that guy for a sec. It’s not his fault he ain’t got no class or sense of professionalism.” “Why I never!” “Go trim the ‘stache or something. And you there, sweetcheeks, gimme that camera,” there was a bit of a jitter on the picture as the camera was either handed over or taken forcefully, and adjusted by its new operator. Ace Heart shrugged his shoulders and there was an exodus of company crew from the set, “Just like before.” John nodded. The shot came back to life. John stood behind the right director’s chair and looked deep in thought. The camera zoomed out as the new cameraperson struggled with the controls. After a moment, Mike managed to follow his movements. “I’m starting to understand it,” John gestured, “you know, the necessity of all of this. This sport is fueled on the idea of conflict and the reasons for those conflicts vary. Sometimes it is simple. Two people not liking each other. Sometimes there is something at stake. Bragging rights, money, or in the present case: championship gold. And this is a business after all so it’s not just the contest itself. It’s also the circumstances that led up to and surround the bout. That’s why there is all of this pomp and circumstance. Does it really matter what I say here? Will these words truly have an affect on what happens in that squared circle? Actually, yes. And that is what is expected of me.” John took a seat, although he tilted the chair facing forward. “Expectations, right? There are certain expectations on how I should conduct myself. Smile for the camera. Talk to the people. Tell them why I’m the best. Or don’t. Be absolutely abhorrent. Be a disgusting caricature of humanity. Also them why I’m the best. That’s not me. Reevaluate your expectations. I talked a little bit about what people have seen in me thus far and I expect that afterwards, they perhaps had to reconsider. That’s how we got here. I was asked a question on how this stage was set. If you’re watching this, you probably saw just how that happened.” He paused. John so much wanted to keep this internalized. He felt nervous talking about himself but he didn’t feel the need to deflect. He wasn’t so naive to know that she wasn’t the only one listening but just the hypothetical idea of it allowed him to continue. “The former champion stated that he needed this. Essentially he believed that a victory over me would be a turning point. He didn’t see me as viable. He didn’t think of me as a peer. He concluded that I was just here to collect a paycheck. He misjudged me. He underestimated my passion for the sport of professional wrestling. And so he learned in this cruel world that needs aren’t always fulfilled. His story has to carry on with the knowledge that all of the accolades and comeback aspirations evaporated in the space of three seconds. Thus is the cycle of life. That cycle brings us to the idea that I am a contender now.” He shifted in his seat and sat forward. “This is my very first championship opportunity. Never before have I had to chance to compete with stakes so high. Some could say that I need this but that would be oversimplifying it. Think about it. Think about who I am. Not what you see and read but who I am right now. Do I need to be champion like I need air to breathe? Do I need it for financial security? I guess it would be nice but as the camera shakes to and fro, I’m not just here for material objects. What about for love?” John chuckled softly. “As ridiculous as that sounds, the history books are filled with pages of men and women who take advantage their standing for their romantic desires. How about just to make myself feel better? That journey isn’t so trivial that gold plates screwed into a leather strap will clear the path. And so what it comes down to that what a man can be, he must be. So that addresses the match itself. If I can become champion, I must become champion. But that isn’t the end of it, is it, Ruthann Hunter?" For this whole time, he waxed hypothetical to the masses but his meandering questioning tone changed to a more direct one as he began to address his opposition. “If it was, you would have ridden off into the sunset long ago.” The genesis of Mike prodding John into the proverbial sunlight will most likely never meet the air. She had went to check in on him early his stay and she discovered notepads filled with amended notes of his opponents. Who they are. What they do. How John could neutralize their abilities and come out on top. And most noticeably notes on what they said about him. Real statements and all he could manage was nonsense. It wasn’t until his exchange with Ace here that she noticed that it was very intentional. “This is where I would go into that tired song and dance about who you are. You are a living legend and I’ll be the exception. I could say that I would stand fast against the ruthless aggression and persevere. Let me stand up here and I could raise my voice and snort and chortle about my destiny.” John shook his head. “But none of us know what the future holds for us. I can’t make that promise. I want what you have. That’s human nature. We always want what we don’t have. This sport is like a microcosm of life. Look no further than the former champion. Look at the desperation in his words even when he was proud and boastful against you. Due to this being a competition, we usually absolve ourselves of what affect we have on the vanquished. Think about that, won’t you? Someone somewhere in an office gets a promotion over someone else. Maybe that person that failed needed the money more. Maybe they have a crippling disease. In our world - who cares? So the former champion was right on one thing, we all see each other as stepping stones. We all see each other as that obstacle to self-actualization.” He stands up and moves closer to the camera. “And so we go about and we both say this to each other solemnly. I don’t care about your legacy. I don’t care about your family. I don’t care what you have done in the past. I don’t care about what losing could do to your ego. All of that does not matter in the confines of the ring. In that moment, we are two demigods engaged in a struggle that could ravage the earth. The ground could fall to pieces all around us as we were locked together and all that would matter is our musculature straining as we resisted each other’s powers. Our bodies would be intimate in ways no mere mortal could comprehend.” And for this, he did raise his voice. “That is what matters.” And back to a low conversational tone. “This isn’t about redemption. I’m here to take what is mine. And if that has to be on the backs of the broken and beaten…” Closer. “So be it.” Mike’s epiphany was punctuated as the car hit a pothole. They rattled about, “What do you mean?” “Ooof! Shit. Sorry. What I mean is… I kept hittin’ fucking walls. I got a bit of momentum here an’ there but I never got no place because I kept hittin’ walls and I could never think of what the hell was wrong with me. And I never HAVE been able to figure it out until you said it. I didn’t have enough… I dunno. Killer instinct seems really fuckin’ cliche but that thing you were talking about. Having t’ not worry about other people, what they were like or what their dreams an’ motivations might be, long’s you’re in between those bells,”

 her eyes, no, her entire expression was alight, as if she’d just seen the writing of God or heard the prophecies of Mohammed or gotten the truth of the universe from benevolent space aliens
, “I kept holding back, I think. Not… consciously, but on some level I cared too damn much about the other guy when I shouldn’t have.” “Mike, the battlefield is the only place where those virtues that the good covet become a weakness. I’m glad you understand. It’s ignoring that very distinction that creates the overabundance of negativity that permeates the landscape of the company,” John reached over and put his left hand over the middle space and on gently on her right forearm, “We can be that change. I mean, a real change. Let’s not kid ourselves - what we do in the ring will be for selfish reasons but outside we can discover who we are - who we are meant to be.” Mike gave a small gasp inward while trying not to look like she was gasping inward. This was huge. She was a physical person, her affection for a person was accompanied by a shower of hair ruffles, noogies, playful jabs, and other forms of fond roughhousing. She’d held back with this somewhat as it had become apparent to her that John wasn’t exactly the touchy feely sort. So for him for once to initiate physical contact with her… it was so overwhelming almost that she— “Look out!” “Oh FUCK!” Mike suddenly swerved away from a brown blur in their line of site. They could hear a loud thud as something smashed against the right headlight of the car and then into the side mirror on the passenger side. As Mike, rather expertly regained control, John turned his head and could see the tail end of the culprit dart into the woods. Mike put the car to stop in the breakdown lane free and clear. She cut off the engine, “You alright?” “Yeah.” “Good. Okay. We’re okay. Shit,” she closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths and willing her heart not to burst through her ribcage and slow the hell down already, “I’m gonna go check out the damage. Fuck. Hopefully nothin’ I can’t fix,” 

carefully scanning the traffic, Mike exited the Mustang and took a look at what’s been done to her labor of three years. Thankfully, nothing much. The passenger side mirror was torn loose, there were some significant but not horrific dents, but probably the worst were the liberal traces of blood and fur all over the affected area. It was going to be a bitch to clean up. Still, it could have been much, much worse. Meanwhile, John faced the trees, “You hear that?”

 “No… hear what?” Admittedly, she was a little preoccupied with the state of her vehicle. John could hear a pained yowl. He started towards the source of the noise. “H-hey, hold up!” Reaching in through the passenger door and pulling her 8-ball keychain out of the ignition, Mike followed her counterpart away from the car and off to wherever he was heading to. John hurried through the first rows of large trees until he reached a small clearing. He could see it. A young female deer laid out in the leaves, twigs, and debris of the forest. It’s eyes were wide in the realization of its situation. Blood seeped out large gash on its neck and it also trickled out of the corner of its mouth. It gasped and fought for every breath. John’s shadows loomed over its dying body. Mike finally caught up to him. “Oh. Oh, geez. Poor thing. Shit. What do you do in this situation, I know this… okay. You call the cops for the accident, the park service or some shit to take care of the deer… goddamnit. I’m sorry, Church. This was supposed to be fucking fun,”

 sighing, she fished in her pocket for her phone. “I hope it goes without saying that any interaction with the police may not be beneficial to me,” John knelt down next to the animal. “Oh. Fuck, sorry,” she wasn’t in the mood to argue the point, and shakily dropped the phone back into her pocket, “Hey… what’re you doing? I don’t think there’s much you can do for her at this point.” “Give me your knife.” She closed her hand around the four-inch object in her pocket- a utility Swiss Army knife, mostly used for the screwdrivers and bottle opener, “What do y’want my knife fo… no. Church, nuh-uh. We can’t.” A little more assertive, “Give me your knife,” without facing her, he put his hand out with the palm up and he grasped for the knife to be placed there. “Fuck. Shit,” biting her lip and with obvious hesitation, she took the knife out of her pocket and placed it in his hand. Hers trembled in a manner very unlike her. John looked down at the multi-tool and used his thumbnail to flick open the blade. He stared down into his reflection in the sharp sliver of steel. The deer flailed its once strong legs in a helpless fashion unable to control its motor functions. The smell of urine and feces wafted throughout the air and its blood began to pool and carpet the foliage under its neck. “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” the blade pressed against its throat. “So be it.”

[djsd]

There?

I’ve been thinking of a snappy introduction to this thing for a little bit, but it’s escaping me. 

I do this thing where I think about something so much to the point of where I won’t exist. I’ll lie on my bed, watching random videos that I’ve seen before, waiting for the next day to start as if something’s going to be *so* different then. My reason for doing that this time is because I’ve needed to project in some form. So, this is what this post is - I don’t know how long it’s going to be, or how *much* I’m actually going to talk about, but here goes.

Before I typed this out, I wanted to look over my old posts. Recently, a friend informed me that I’ve been Tumblr’ing (the verb; to Tumblr) incorrectly. I said I use this when I’m sad and need to gratify that sadness. Then, she showed me some of the things she sees on Tumblr, which made me change my mind about the whole thing. I have an array of quotes I’m going to insert from random junctures of my life which interested me. 

‘Happiness’ (04/02/2014)

I realise I’ve been experiencing “ups and downs” over the past couple of years, and that’s because sometimes I’ve looked into my future and have been afraid of what will come

that’s the one thing I want out of my life - to be happy

I change in social situations, and I’m making a promise to myself not to do that anymore

‘3’ (10/02/2014)

I don’t tell anyone about this, and that makes it more special, it is my thing to do, and I really like it

I think we should enjoy things for what they are

I’m very frightened of the future

‘Staying alive’ (March 2014)

I read the Hunger Games books last week, they were really good - this one because it really sums up my analytical prowess

(18/12/2014)

I want to be a good person, and I will try as long as I live to be that. I will be me, and being by myself is something I like.

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

None of the above are groundbreaking in any sense. They stuck out, though, because I feel they summarised my process of self-discovery. Yes, self-discovery. I wrote, then, because I was sad. It’s weird. Amidst all of the above was me writing “I’m happy, though”. In 10 posts, I must have written about 25 times that I was happy, because if I wrote it, it must have been true. Alas, I was not. Well, I was after the summer of 2014, those posts are true. The first set, though, the really detailed ones weren’t happy at all. Later on, as 2015 approached, I feel the transition into a fully formed human took place. I was alone, but I had Mike. Then, I had Meg, too. They would occupy the times where I wanted to break the monotony that sometimes came with complete solitude. They weren’t (aren’t) only there for that, though. I adore both of them and they make each other so happy. This was kind of the way things were for a while. I’d do me and then I’d see them, not really blurring the lines, just staying still. Summer of last year was a bit dull, because I just did things by myself. I only did. They are part of the three people I consider genuine, honest friends. This post, though, is about the third. It’s a traditional: woah, what’s this sudden wave of emotions about lol? post. It was bound to happen at some point. I’d write it down in a journal, but I like this idea. The ability to embolden words, to correct errors (literally had to correct the word correct, lol). But, here we go. 

This post is about a girl I’ve met, called Verity.

If I’ve somehow welcomed the idea of showing this to you, Verity, I apologise for how gay it is. Normally I’d write this with the idea of showing nobody, ever. But all of the other things I’d written in the past with that intention I’ve shown to you. I do intend to keep this private, but if it comes to me showing you, it’ll be important. Hopefully it isn’t too odd. In fact, hopefully it is. If these past few months have taught me anything, it’s that embracing the odd is ok. In fact, it’s encouraged. But, it’s highly unlikely that I ever will, so the below is a projection of my thoughts on 05/03/2017, probably finishing on 06/03/2017. 

I met Verity about 5 months ago. I say about 5 months, as if I don’t remember the exact fucking date (15/10), but it’s cooler and so much more casual this way. A lot’s changed since then, mainly with my brain. I like to think of it as my brain’s woken up for the first time in my life. It and I have been passive observers, until this point. 

(This post is not restricted to between 05/03 and 06/03, anymore - I’ll split time differences up by line breaks)

So, about a month has passed and I’ve shown this draft to her. The anonymity of the whole thing has been abandoned, but I did say that was a possibility. As a result, I’m kind of changing the style. It’ll be about, but also to, Verity. I’ve written things down in journals/in the notes section of my laptop to add to this as and when, so it’s not as if it’s been abandoned kind of thing. I just wanted to add to it when the time felt right. I stopped on 06/03 because I felt I wouldn’t do what I wanted to say justice. 

What I wanted to say was that I had fallen in love and that I was scared about it. Scared to say it, or acknowledge it, or to genuinely believe it, really. I felt that I’d done the one thing I’d told myself not to do, or at least not to do for a very long time. If I told her, I thought, she’d run away. One day, though, I couldn’t resist telling her anymore. It was twilight and we were in The Egg. We hadn’t bought any drinks, because 1.) we’d just had a hot chocolate from Unit 51 and 2.) Egg = ew in terms of its beverage selection. So, we were just sat away from open view, hoping to be spared the public humiliation of being thrown out of a cafe (which would never have happened). I wanted to leave, really. Not that I didn’t want to tell her how I felt. I did, so much. I just thought: there’s every chance she’ll want to leave after this and I don’t want this to end. But, in an excessively poetic way, her face was lit up by the evening sunlight and I’d never seen her look more beautiful than I had in that moment. This sounds really cliched (this all sounds really cliched), but that moment (in which she looked most beautiful) has changed. Every time I see her I think the same thing. That she’s never looked more beautiful, or that I’ve never been happier to see her. It’s true, too. Every time I think that and every time I believe it. 

Anyway: through tears (of happiness and fear) I told Verity that I loved her. She didn’t say anything back and I didn’t expect her to. Like I always say to her: I know she’s hearing everything I’ve said and I know in that moment she heard me. I just couldn’t not tell her. She deserved to know and I wanted to let her know that I loved her - that I love her. That it was unconditional; that I loved all of the things she hates about herself. I love her for who and what she is - the honest, funny, remarkable and profoundly intelligent human being that she is. 

A week later we met up and spoke about it (not exclusively - it came up, as it was bound to, lol). We were sat in FACT’s cafe (which is, like, okay but not amazing) and I asked her if she thought she could love me back. Her answer was that she wanted to, and it was an answer I genuinely, honestly understood. An answer I still understand today. I know her life’s been hard and I hate that it has. I wish I could go back and just pluck her out of the pain - to feel an ounce of it for her. I can’t, though. The only thing I can do is to make her happy now. To make her laugh, to make her feel my love for her. It sounds like I’m attempting to be forceful, lol, but I’m not. This sounds silly and not something a human being should have to state, but I never want to be forceful in any way with her. I just want to be gentle, in every sense of the word. Never force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do - again, not that it needs to be said. People do that, though. They force the ways they think or the things they do on other people because it’s what they like. It’s what they want other people to like. I just want her to like the things she likes, do the things she does. I don’t want my existence to infringe on her independence. It’s one of the things I love most about her. Before me, she was just completely on her own and that’s so rare. I don’t want my being-around to change that about her. I want to see the world with her, to live my life with her; but, I want her to always know that she’s free to do whatever she wants, so long as it makes her happy. Not that she’d ever be worried about it, obviously.

I’m in love with you, Verity. It’s weirder to type out than to say, I think. I’ve not written anything to you in so long it’s felt. All of this punctuation feels so foreign. This post is about that. It’s everything I want to say to you but sometimes can’t, because my grasp of verbal prose escapes me when I’m with you. The style has changed from third person to first person and it’ll probably keep changing. I just want this archived, so you can see what I’m thinking. If you ever doubt it for a second, or feel like everything’s against you, read this. If you’re ever sad, I hope this can make you happy. If you ever miss me the way I miss you, I hope this makes you feel closer. I am wholly enamoured of you. You’re my best friend. The person I want to see the whole world with. For so long it was just me, but now there’s you; and I couldn’t be happier. 

(By the way: we need to start watching Buffy ASAP. There’s a lot to get through and Halloween is fast approaching...)

Above, I said that I had fallen in love with you and that I was scared of it. Now, I return on 26/06 and I can tell you that nothing about it scares me. Your existence makes me feel so happy and so safe. There’s something so reassuring about your voice, your humour; the very way you see things makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I keep looking back and think omg please stop writing this because you’re going to make her explode from sentimentality, but I really want to show you the inner workings of my brain. If I repeat myself at any point, I do apologise - there’s just a million things I want to say and it’s been such a long time since I’ve written some of them down. 

Falling in love with you, Verity, is the easiest and best thing I’ve done in my entire life. To me, you’re the most amazing human being in the world. I’ve never met anyone more beautiful, or intelligent - there’s no one I’d rather talk to, or share my life with. To speak to when I’m feeling sad about something ridiculous, or to gay-out to when the feeling of love I’m housing is incapable of merely dwelling in the most sentimental alcoves of my brain. To watch you sleep, even though I know that thought terrifies you. To hold your hand, or to touch your face, or to hold you as tightly as I can. I’ve told you things I’ve never told other human beings before - things I’ll never tell other human beings again. It’s like: the love I feel for you is just unrivalled by any other emotion on the human spectrum. I don’t ever want to feel this way about anyone else; and I know I won’t. Noticing the subtle way you put your hair behind your ear, or the way your face creases when you smile. 

Life’s been hard, really. All I can remember about being a kid is being sad, or scared a lot of the time. Scared of real things, of real people - of my dad when he came home, or my mum if she never did. Of bullies, of tormentors, of people whose aim it seemed every day was to make me sad. If I knew all I had to do was wait for you, though, I’d live through all of it ten times over. If I knew all I had to do was wait, I’d smile through the pain, knowing there was something waiting for me at the end of it. That you were waiting at the end of it. Unsuspecting, unaware that our meeting would ever result in what it has. That I would love you in the way I do. That it would be unconditional. That all of the things you see in yourself and hate, I would love and adore; and find that every day those things just become more and more beautiful to me. That we’re about to go away together, the first part of our (hopeful, but also, y’know: definite) world tour. That we’ll live together and probably have a dog (which after today’s visit to the bombed out church, is definitely going to be a labradoodle named Alice...), waking up next to each other every day. Some days we might wake up and feel poo and some days we won’t. Either way: it’ll just be me and you, with each other. Nobody else. That’s all I want, Verity - just me and you (or you and me to be formal). This next year is just about getting ready to me, really. Finding all of the stuff to put in our apartment - buying cool prints, or an unlimited amount of incense (we’ll find aura cleansing again: that’s a promise). Next year is when life truly begins - proper, grown up life; and there’s nobody else on this planet who I’d rather share it with. 

I’m just ready to give all of myself to you - to show you that I mean everything I’ve said. All I can say is that everything I’ve written is genuine - candid, honest, forthcoming: real. Real. All of it. In my life, Verity, I never want to hurt you. Or to make you feel like you’re anything but the perfect human being I think (and know) you are. When I think of you I still get butterflies. When I see you, I can’t believe how unbelievably lucky I am to have you in my life. You’ve met my family and I’ve met yours, and whilst I love my mum and dad, and my siblings, I consider you to be my family. I know you don’t believe in soulmates and writing it down, or saying it out loud seems silly, but if they do exist: I think you’re mine. I don’t think people have to be with people. In fact, I think the opposite. I like how before me, you were alone and I, before you, was alone, too. I like it when people are alone, because only then can you understand who you really are, without being influenced in any way. In spite of that: I think you and I are supposed to be with one another. Our paths crossed for a reason - we’re still here, however many months later, for a reason. I want to turn those months into years and those years into a blissful, honest lifetime. I hope you want that, too. 

In my life I’ve always been here and there - the in-between of sadness and happiness, of unrelenting fear and relative comfort. Now, though (as this titled post would outline), I feel like I’m there. Where I’m supposed to be. I’m comfortable and happy and I feel safe with you. Not safe as in void of risk. There’s risk, in what we do, say and feel. With you, though, I feel safe in saying the things that scare me, or doing the risky things that would have previously terrified. You’re everything to me, Verity. You are what makes me happy, what makes me think that this life business might be worth it. Apparently we have a one in 400 trillion chance of actually being born. So, that’s a one in 400 trillion chance each. There are also upwards of 7 billion people in the world. Hundreds of countries, thousands of towns, an insurmountable amount of occupants - hundreds of schools and universities. In spite of the odds seemingly being stacked against us - we’ve met. We met on the 15th of October and even then I thought you were incredibly beautiful. I wanted to get to know you. I asked you to come and see a movie with me and you said yes and, unbelievably, you showed up. I told you about my life and you listened. I told you I liked you and then I told you I loved you. Then I told you I wanted to spend my life with you and grow old together and, again, you listened and said you wanted those things, too. How on earth could I possibly be unhappy in life when I’ve been able to do those things? When I get to speak to you every day? You’re the most perfect human being I know and I’m going to try and tell you that every day. 

A few months ago, I wrote this: I think above everything else, I just want to know her. I mean, really know her. To have her sit next to me, in a room full of people, and to be the only one who knows her properly. Again, it’s selfish, but she’s the kind of person who won’t let just anybody in. If she ever does that, I’ll be thankful, and careful - I’ll listen and try to understand everything. I can promise her that I will give her my best, in everything that involves her. I will give her everything I can, really. I worry it might not be enough, and I often think what I’ve done to deserve even this fleeting moment in my existence, where I feel these things.

I still want all of those things. I feel I’m getting closer to being the person in the room who gets to sit next to you and who gets to know you. The idea that you might pick out what to wear with me in mind, or be happy at the idea of seeing me. That you might want to know me as much as I want you. Or that you feel nervous seeing me, or as excited as I do. 

That night we spent at my dad’s just before I moved out was one of the best I’ve ever had. I felt like we moved to another level. We watched ‘Up’ and I stroked your back.  I kissed your cheek and felt how soft it was. I held you for the first time in my life and felt your heart beat - faster, slower and then faster again. I held your hand as we walked on the golf course, our path guided by the moonlight. I held you next to me as you sat and talked about your life. About Natalie and Imogen and the men they’ve had in their lives. I looked at you as I told you that I never wanted to be that person and that I wanted to love you and protect you and make you feel safe. I stroked your back and felt your spine and felt closer to you than I ever have before. I was cold, but I didn’t care. Then we came back and I told you about what I did when I was younger and how much that has impacted my life. Something I’ve never told anyone before. I cried and began to shake and you listened and held my hand. You made me feel safe, like I wasn’t the monster I’d convinced myself I was for a really long time. I felt lucky and I feel lucky, because you wanted to be there, too. Then we (I) slept and I felt this overwhelming feeling of joy because I was waking up next to you. It was a feeling I wanted to repeat every day of my life. Then we went back on the train and went to The Quarter and you were exhausted. I took you home and came straight back and just sat and felt. I felt connected to you in a way I never had before. I love you, Verity. I just had to disrupt the flow to tell you because God, I do. I love you more than anything in the world. 

There’s a quote from the book Jazz, where Joe Trace is talking about his love for this woman called Dorcas. In it, he says that he didn’t fall in love with her. Rather, he rose in it - he discovered things about himself that he didn’t know, that he didn’t think were capable. All I could think about when I read that was you; and when, in my exam, the question of representations of love in American Literature came up (sorry for the long winded nature of this, lol) I put my pen down for a second and thought of you. In years gone by, I’d never have written on that subject - I had no idea what it meant to love another person. Now, though, when I read a book, or watch a film, or listen to music where the person is talking about love, I understand it. All of the songs I used to listen to about changing and moulding yourself around another person make sense. All of the things I used to dream of when I was younger, of loving someone - they make sense. It makes sense. You make sense. I feel these things because of you. All I want to do, through my whole life, is show you this. To make you feel my unequivocal, relentless, genuine love for you. If I die without doing that, my life would have been a failure. When it comes down to it, Verity, life is pointless without you. How could I go on with my life without the very reason for my happiness? The embodiment of all of my joy. I know this might make you scared, that you make me so happy. Please, though, don’t let it. Don’t let it faze you. Just know that I feel these things and that you’re the person who makes me feel them. 

You’re my best friend, Verity. You’re my partner in everything I think of and do. You’re my soulm8 (see how casual that was?). I feel like the luckiest human being in the world. I promise that, as long as I live, that I’ll protect you. That I won’t lie and that I’ll try and make you as happy as I can. Above all, though, I promise to love you more and more every day. I promise that I’ll love you until the day I die. I am wholly enamoured of you and I want to intertwine our existences. I want you to be who you want to be. I promise to support you in anything and everything you do - to make you feel safe. To push you when you need pushing, to support you when you need supporting and to tell you everything’s okay even when it’s not. I promise to give you all of me. I promise to respect you for who you are and to be your best friend. To not try and change you. To accept and love you for everything you are. I promise that all of this means something. That I mean the things I say. That all I want in my life is to share everything with you. With you, I feel like anything’s possible. I feel like my life is just beginning and I just want you to understand that. You are my absolute favourite person in the world. I can’t wait to start our lives together.

I used to be afraid of writing your name down, because that would mean this was real. Now, all I want to do is to acknowledge how real all of this is. This started off as a letter about you, but this is a letter to you. If you ever somehow doubt the things I feel or that I’m in any way unhappy, please read this. If you feel sad, read this. If you feel alone, read this. I hope you don’t ever feel alone, though. I hope you feel the things I feel for you. I hope you understand how deeply in love I am with you. How I want to give every ounce of myself to you. How you’re my favourite person, my best friend and the person I love. 

I love you, Verity, for everything you are. I always will. 

[dasklaus]

Big wall of text incoming.

This is going to be my first text post on tumblr.

Originally, this was a porn blog. I guess I'm just not that into porn. This is a feelings-dump because I currently have an excess of feelings.

I never talked much about trans issues, least of all about my own. Like many, I keep thinking I'm fake, not trans enough or just weird. That's what I tell people, too: don't mind the male name, I'm just weird about gender. Don't worry about it. I minimize being trans all the time - then again, I truly don't think about it that often. It seeps into my life in small ways, rarely big ones, and I can easily overlook it, distract myself, pretend it's not happening. It's why I haven't transitioned yet.

When I was a kid, I had bigger problems. I had difficulties forming connections with people - still have, to be honest - while desperately wishing for friends - still do, to be honest. I was bullied to varying degrees, changed schools a lot, and regularly got beaten by my older brother while my helpless parents had long patient talks with both of us that didn't change anything ever except made it clear to me that talks were supposed to help but the nice, peaceful environment I lived in just manifested in unusual ways or I just failed to experience it as peaceful. To not turn this into a sob story: I was, in hindsight, really bad at interacting with other kids (in the sense of being an ignorant, arrogant asshole) and didn't take any initiative in solving my own problems, expecting my nice, peaceful environment to manifest itself somehow.

I was raised pretty gender-neutral. My clothes were blue, I waded in lego and books and while I tried to get hobbies like the cool kids did, nothing stuck. As I didn't connect to others naturally and felt a profound otherness (which I mostly attribute to my poor yet snobbish upbringing, my giftedness and - arguably more importantly - my knowing about it), I tended to look for ways to be special, to not do the mainstream thing because I was different, therefore had to do everything differently. When my parents let me choose an instrument to learn I chose drums. Impracticability and long waiting lists took this off the table, so I went for harp. I have no idea what I was thinking.

Being trans feels like that: like a bad choice based on a childish way of looking at myself, on not knowing how to present myself. Like making things weirder for myself on purpose.

I didn't have any clear signs of tomboyishness. I was shy, prone to anger and despair, relentless argueing and both a huge slob and a lover of lists. This is, as far as I can tell, the whole picture - no hidden dreams or interests that put me clearly on the feminine or masculine side of how one might expect a child with strong gender expressions to behave. Gender expressions I did not do.

I vividly remember a neighbourhood friend (the only one that I had and that I adored and looked down on all at once) asking which super power I would like if I were to choose. I went for switching sex at will. Nowadays I'd probably say shape-shifting, but back then, while a lot of things seemed neat, they only appealed to me for money or fame (or advancing science - this was a factor in my appraisal process). This one was the one I wanted for myself, that I would still want even if I had to keep it a secret. This is the only memory I have that tells me something might've been up even way back.

There were some indicators later on that I use to reassure myself. I wanted to go as a man for Fasching (a yearly costume party at school in February) in seventh grade, did, and was mistaken for Charly Chaplin most of the day. There were girls dressed as cowboys, male superheroes and actually Charly Chaplin, and my feelings of specialness faded away, replaced with shame at my generic costume and bitter envy for the people who didn't seem to make anything out of wanting to be boys sometimes.

In eight grade, I started hanging out with the sixth-grade boys, who were closer in age to me, as I started school at five instead of six or seven. Among those kids, a favourite past-time was a kind of wrestling done sitting cross-legged on the ground, both fighters trying to wrestle the other one to the ground. I loved it. Physical contact in general made me nervous, but I took to consensual violence with ease. Being one of the boys, even just for short periods of time, was the best feeling I got out of that time. I changed schools not long after.

I also developed a malformed spine by hiding my growing breasts. I started to hate my body in a way that I had no way of ever fixing.

We went for an excursion to a LGBT resource center. I got hung up on the question of lesbian sex, having started entertaining penis-in-vagina type of fantasies recently that pointedly omitted my own body or presence but were abstract, voyeuristic in nature. Nothing I could imagine girls doing compared to the coming simultaneously while getting physically wrapped up in each other I envisioned. Nonetheless, when asked to sort ourselves into corners of the room based on things like whether or not we've ever been in love (I had not), wanted to have kids (I did, the idea being that I'd live with lots of self-made playmates who all loved me by design) or whether or not we could possibly see ourselves being anything other than hetero, I felt queer. Not necessarily attracted to girls, but queer. I don't remember if I dared go into the queer corner, or whether anyone else did.

In ninth grade, I both fell in love and got a new name. She was the prettiest girl in the world by far, all eyebrows and carefully cultivated elegance, a dark lady of profound thought and inspiration and style, older and wiser and cleverer than I could ever hope to become. I learned her time-table to randomly bump into her between classes, changed my elective course from physics to math to share a class with her and worshipped the ground she walked on. I had a mutual friend tell her about my feelings after she went for a year abroad to the US, to enable her to reject me from a safe distance, which she, of course, did.

My name got discovered in a wallet a classmate won at a biology competition. I've been telling this story for years but recently discovered it was false - the dummy license in it had the last name I chose as my pseudonym on it, but a different first name. I must have chosen that independently. I made my class call me that (male) first name, and even got some teachers on board. A kid in a parallel class we had some course I don't remember with asked me (once, but loudly) whether I'd have surgery. I confidently told him I would as soon as I was eighteen, four years down the line.

The catch is that, while this became common knowledge among the students, I never told anyone. I have, to this day, never actually explicitely come out as trans. I introduced myself with my chosen name, asking not to worry about it. I evaded the rare follow-up question about what it meant. I expressed discomfort at being grouped with girls, having finally found my place among the guys at the new school (if you want a number, my sixth one. Explaining that would take another post of this length). I never talked to my parents, though, nor a doctor. I never said "I want to be a guy" or "I am a guy", I just tried to be a guy best I could - not an especially macho or stereotypical guy, either, just a guy.

That year, we actually watched a documentary at school about trans people. The only thing I remember is a group of fat bearded men sitting around a table and one of them saying he wished he'd have known about this treatment and all this when he was fourteen. That struck a chord. Here I was, fourteen, and now I knew.

Knowing didn't help one bit.

Not knowing what to say, to whom, and how to say it, rightfully suspecting that the people around me didn't know any more than me, I wrote a letter to EMMA, a feminist publication we got at home. I figured they'd know stuff about sex and gender and what to do. They told me to wait and (I told them a bit about myself, including my love for astronomy) that girls can be astronauts, too. While I know fully well that this was meant well, it shattered my hopes of insight and qualified help. I didn't reach out again for more than ten years, when I finally applied for a legal name change (a process that took over four years but got approved recently).

In tenth grade, I developed a crush on a guy. As a large part of my legitimacy in my mind hinged on my attraction to women (the one women I was still very much attracted to simultaneously), this was a problem for me. Still, I made the effort of knocking on his door, stammer out some feelings and getting politely rejected, never having expected anything else.

I found an article about trans men in a magazine. Some were said to help themselves prior to hormonal transition with excessive exercising and anabolic drugs prescribed by their doctor. The next day, I went to the nearest pharmacy and asked for anabolics. The pharmacist took in my fourteen year old weak and tiny physique and started laughing so hard she could not talk. I left red-faced and have never since set foot in that pharmacy again, even though it's the one closest to my home.

Lots of things happened in the following years. After school, I kept the name on the internet and some circles, but didn't dare it in others. I became clinically depressed, mostly for isolation reasons and being generally broken, weird, particular and incompatible with many aspects of adult or even teenager life. I took years working out how to be a person, a work in progress that is less obvious nowadays and much easier, but still there. When the occasional trans thoughts and semi-annually late-night ftm research binges didn't disappear even when I got myself a bit more together, into a successful "hetero" relationship (my first and to this day only LTR) and into friendships who exclusively knew me under my birth name, I felt the growing need to do something about that. I started using my male name with new people and workplaces again. I applied for a name change, which required several visits with psychiatric experts, to whom I lied about my boyfriend, fearing his existence and hetero-ness would influence the verdict, but nothing else.

Being with a hetero man led me to consider hormone treatment as a far-away possibility at best, not for here and now in any case. Fear of being alone again and fear of making myself effectively undateable for no practical gain, fear of regret and fear of the irreversibility of some of the changes made me procrastinate and ignore the issue of where to go from here, long-term.

Now my name is approved, I feel none of the ambiguity and doubt I expected. I spent two weeks feeling nothing but happy about it, showing off my new ID at every opportunity, booking tickets in my new name, informing boss and colleagues, changing my email signature at work and not regretting anything at all. And I think to myself: onto the next step.

Which brings me to today. My euphoria made me call the clinic and make an appointment for hormone treatment (having gotten the necessary info from the experts mentioned earlier). More than a week later, I finally told my boyfriend, who has, so far, steadily ignored any and all gender issues, not caring and feeling enlightened for not caring. And he cannot imagine staying with me through this. And I cannot fault him for feeling that way.

I love him. Being in an open relationship, I'm free to love others, too, which one might think makes it easier, but it doesn't. He is not replaceable. To make matters worse, I just got rejected from the only person that ever made me consider breaking the rules of our open relationship, which hurts hurts hurts like hell but is not something I can really bitch about because I already have someone and wanting someone else is just greedy. We - my partner and I - had plans to marry (now legally a civil union in our case) (he has the prettiest last name in the world, also I want to be with him forever, also taxes and insurance).

I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life as a woman.

There is no solution here.

What I really need right now is cuddles and for someone to tell me it will be alright, but I suspect it won't. I don't know how to deal with this.

Thanks for reading.