#it got more seasons than the wire i think but the quality also went down so not sure if thats a big win but

[jrueships]

Is oz gay like the wire?

oh Indeeeeed.... spoken in u know whose gay lil croon

[canary3d-obsessed]

Lost Tomb Reboot Lewks: Part 13

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for both seasons of The Lost Tomb Reboot and also vaguely for Daomu Biji in general

Look 66 belongs to Ah Ning, who has chosen, for this adaptation, to go with short hair, heavy makeup, and all-black clothes, but with a bit of a club vibe, rather than her more usual tactical vibe. 

The short hair is a weird choice. The whole schtick with DMBJ adaptations is that you have to tell who's who by their costuming and styling, since the associated actors toss roles back and forth faster than Wu Xie and Xiao Ge on a date with Liu Sang. 

Hot guy in a hoodie? Xiao Ge. Slightly dorky but ridiculously charismatic guy who dresses like Joey Ramone? Hei Yanjing. Man who's too old for fluffy bangs and puppy-dog eyes but is working the hell out of them anyway? Wu Xie. Ponytail, gun, and a whole bunch of disposable sidekicks? Ah Ning.

Ah Ning, Lost Tomb 1 version, with her signature ponytail & disregard for human life.

For this look, Ah Ning has gotten rid of her long hair, henchmen, weapons, and the part of her shirt that normally would cover her belly. This is an outfit that says "I am finally ready to fuck Wu Xie." 

Unfortunately she decides to accessorize this outfit with a giant deadly snake. 

This snake, unlike the equivalent snake in uhhhhhmmm a different DMBJ show that Ah Ning might theoretically die in, does not appear to be poisonous or have an unusual instant-kill-you ability. It just squeezes her a little bit, and the boys don't make any attempt to revive her, even though not-breathing is a super survivable condition, if it's corrected quickly. 

This non-poisonous snake accessory is all about killing a woman so that men can feel manpain, and I am kind of offended that this version of Ah Ning went out like that, after being a badass in every other adaptation. 

(more after the cut!) 

The hypothetical other show where a version of this scene perhaps also happens does correct this, by having her talk about her acceptance of the risk of death, and by having the fucking snake be POISONOUS. I am not naming the show because where’s the fun in that? If you watch TLTR first, like I did, you get to be worried about Ah Ning in every other show she’s in, which is exhausting but also kind of fun. (I don’t mind women dying in fiction, as long as their deaths are an important part of their own stories, rather than just being important for the growth of the men around them.)

Thanks to poor accessory choices, Ah Ning and her snake necklace go the same route as Ye Piaopiao and No-Longer-Mute Chick; fortunately Xiao Ge didn't fall for Tattoo Artist Ah Tou or she'd be in the morgue with the rest of them.

Look 67 is young Wu Xie's jungle adventure outfit, featuring a bright white popover jacket with cream color sleeves from Scotch & Soda’s Club Nomade collection. Scotch & Soda have have thoughtfully printed their name on the string so that those of you who share Wu Xie's clothing tastes will know where to shop. You know who you are. 

You would think highly visible bright white would be a bad choice for a jungle adventure, but apparently snakes in these parts are only attracted to goths.

Wu Xie is also wearing wired ear pods, which did not exist whenever this flashback supposedly happened, but if we're cool with sentient crustaceans and clams that can incapacitate a ruthless trained assassin (clams got legs!), we can be cool with ear pods.

The show conveys flashback-Wu-Xie's youth and naiveté by having him smile sweetly, not watch Ah Ning take her clothes off, and not attempt CPR after she gets lightly squeezed by a snake.

Looks 68 and 69 belong to Not Ah Ning, who is played by Liu Yuqi, who also plays Ah Ning. Her makeup is much softer and prettier as this character than as Ah Ning; this character’s job is to be pleasing to men, whereas Ah Ning’s job is to get male underlings killed on the regular, so I guess that makes sense. 

This outfit is an amazing body-hugging soft green jumpsuit with raised quilty detailing on the arms and shoulders. Her jumpsuit perfectly matches the couch she's sprawled on, which is her subtle way of telling Jiang Zisuan that she is a nice comfy place to have a lie down. 

She accessorizes this look with her usual soft wavy brown hair and a scattering of gold finger rings. I think she also accessorizes this with ass pads, because Ah Ning does not appear to be draggin’ this wagon in her scenes. I checked. For science.  

When the first outfit doesn't work, she ditches the subtlety and goes for a Chanel-style suit in black, white, and red, with a with a black leather bustier underneath. 

Unfortunately this is a wasted effort, because the Jiang Zisuan she tries this on is actually Wu Xie in disguise. 

Wu Xie only likes girls if they are 1. secretly manipulating him while acting like a tiny adorable sidekick, 2. trying to kill him repeatedly while adventuring together, 3. planning to kill him as soon as the roads are clear but willing to bone in the meantime, or 4. are a skin effigy with a sentient crustacean in their head.

Sorry, Not Ah Ning; this was a good effort. 

Look 70 features Wu Xie in a white thermal shirt, dark blue jeans, and fake facial hair. This is a good look for sitting with your not-quite girlfriend and wondering how you both managed to have romances with Bai Yu in parallel universes. (OP recently watched Love O2O, which is a trip for fans of DMBJ, Guardian, or feminism)

Fortunately Wu Xie doesn’t know that his second-favorite doctor/Zhan Rishan’s girlfriend also had a romance with Bai Yu or his mind would be entirely blown. 

This is a soft, comfortable look, perfect for torturing someone, with help from your first-favorite doctor, by pretending to poison someone with nicotine, all so you can have a few moments of quality time with a cigarette before said doctor takes them away again. 

Wu Xie's cigs are stored in a buttery-soft leather case that completely covers the brand name of the cigarettes, so apparently cdramas don’t go in for ciggy product placements. 

Wo Xie wears this outfit with a silvery-metal watch with a black leather wrist strap. The watch appears to be round, and it probably tells time. (If you’re new to the Lewks series: I lack watch knowledge and that’s not likely to change.)

Wu Xie finally peels off his fake facial hair so we can see his pretty face again, only to replace the facial hair with an entire fake face. Fortunately, this face, belonging to actor Wu Lipeng, is also pretty. 

Look 71 belongs to Wu Xie, initially (for this outfit) played by Wu Lipeng until his inevitable unmasking. So many actors have played Wu Xie, this whole disguise thing is barely worth blinking at. Wu Lipeng does a nice job changing his mannerisms to play Wu Xie, and this whole schtick eventually gives us Zhu Yilong's delightful performance as Wang Meng, so even though we eventually get way too much of not-Zhu-Yilong in the role, I’m good with it.

This outfit features black jeans, black tactical boots & gloves, and Ah Ning’s coin bracelet, although it’s mostly hard to see the bracelet. The outfit’s main feature is a possibly-leather jacket that’s been molded into a hideous and disturbing voronoi pattern. 

This jacket is probably very expensive and took a lot of work to craft, but it makes him look  like he’s wearing a Glad Force Flex garbage bag. I mean, I guess that's cool. 

This outfit is good for several episodes worth of adventures, including getting tied up and being sassy...

...and underwater cave exploration, which is totally a thing that a person with critically damaged lungs can do.  

This outfit is good for homoerotic wrestling...

...and also for heteroerotic wrestling.

This is also a good outfit for being gently cradled in the arms of your doctor, while you massage your throat in order to swallow what he's putting in your mouth.

The fingerless gloves are useful for helping Xiao Bai get out of not one, but two different situations in which she stepped on a trap without realizing it, requiring Wu Xie to get down on the ground and have a tense encounter with her foot. 

Scenes like this are where costuming really makes a difference. In this shot, we we watch a stunt hand (Zhu Yilong has never had that long of a thumbnail in his life) hold a wire steady, while a stunt foot is pulled out from under it.  

This shot includes a lot of visual texture and interest, from the hatch lines on the palm of the glove to the cross-striping of the boot lace. The complexity of this glove and this boot help to hold our attention when they’re in the frame, allowing the tension of the scene to build, instead of dissipating when the viewer runs out of things to look at.

Bonus Look 1

Carrying all that tragic baggage has given Jiang Zisuan spectacular arm muscles.

Bonus Look 2

Zhu Yilong with not-fake facial hair. 

Daaaaaamn.

[sourwormsaresour]

Headcanons on the type of pets La Squadra would own?

Holy shit this was too fun to make, especially with giving the pets names.

Sorbet and Gelato have their own Crusty-White-Dog™ that's a Maltese Terrier named Armani. The dog hates and barks nonstop at everything deemed threatening (aka, everyone and particularly the rest of La Squadra) and yet those two will claim she's the sweetest thing in the world. True to her name, they deck her with Armani branded clothes, either specially made dog fashion or they had a DIY done to make it look like an Armani outfit- down to the bright pink leash she wears dripping in the Armani logo. She eats the finest dry kibble and only drinks Ferrarelle Sparkling water; she will know the difference if you switch it up. She's the epitome of "I demand pets but only do so with your eyes" to everyone. Despite loving Sorbet and Gelato the most, she demands all their attention on her and she will cockblock those two if she catches them being affectionate to each other instead. Despite having a nice bed, she always sleeps between the two of them and will whimper if they kick her out of the bedroom so they can get intimate. Those tear-stained eyes always look like they've seen everything, despite being constantly babied by her owners. If Armani could, she would kill everyone.

Risotto, the biggest man in Vento Aureo, has a little Syrian hamster he called Ace. He thought that a pet with a shorter lifespan would allow him the perfect balance of having a pet but not being very attached to it compared to pets that live longer- he was wrong. If you ever come into Risotto's office as he worked, either you are greeted with Ace running around in his green hamster ball, walking around Risotto's desk as he worked, or running in the hamster wheel behind the desk. Ace's tank is an old Aquarium tank Pesci gave to Risotto that is now full of soft bedding, toys, and Risotto frequently cleans it. There are days where Risotto just spends hours watching his hamster walk around the room, eating little treats, and staring at Risotto with its beady eyes. It's gotten to the point where you can't walk into Risotto's office without noticing a lone sunflower seed or piece of bedding on the ground that Risotto didn't notice until you pointed it out. Every time Ace passes from old age, Risotto buys a new Syrian hamster and calls that one Ace. He hasn't kept track of how many hamsters that came and went so far, but treated every one of them as if they were the first Ace. He takes pictures of Ace doing the most relatively boring things and will share them with his members.

Illuso got a Sulphur-crested cockatoo named Scapino as a joke. He thought they didn’t require much attention but later felt bad when he found out that they need specific proper care. He proceeds to care for it as if it was his child. Illuso taught his bird how to speak and swear at people, specifically swearing at Formaggio and occasionally at Ghiaccio. This man will shower his bird with the best treats (expensive nuts, dried fruit, chicken bones) and has a special bar for it to perch on when they're in the shower together. This bird has free reign all over Illuso's place and wears a little anklet thing to verify that it has an owner should it escape. The two of them have spa days together and it’s one of the most wholesome things in the world to witness. Scapino will actually join Illuso on missions too, staying in the mirror world the whole time, and it provides him some comfort from his social anxiety. Sometimes Scapino sits on his shoulder as he walks. Illuso trained it to stay and hide in the mirror world so that it wouldn’t fly away or blow his cover when he’s working. But the bird will fly around in there and will watch anyone that’s getting murked in front of him with no remorse and commenting on it too. Imagine you’re dying in the mirror world and your last moment is this fucking bird looming over you going “night night, motherfucker”. JESUS CHRIST. 

Prosciutto used to be on the whole “pets are unnecessary” train but he had considered looking at breeders for the best quality dog. And then one rainy day he found an abandoned Portuguese Water Dog puppy in an alleyway and at Pesci’s insistence took it in. Turns out the puppy was bought by a rich family for their kid but then abandoned when the kid wasn't interested in it anymore. Prosciutto insisted that the dog was going to stay for one night and then sent to the pound first thing in the morning. It's been years now and the little dog is now a big fluffy good boy named Pon Pon. The second biggest chunk of Prosciutto's paycheck is for this dog; I'm talking grooming services with paw-ticures, an all-organic raw diet, the nicest beds that even a human would wish they can sleep on. Pon Pon is properly trained with all the basics and tricks, because Prosciutto doesn't want to deal with a misbehaving dog, but it will use puppy eyes against the old man now and then. He give you the best smiles if you call him a good boy and if you glance at the right time you can see Prosciutto smile for a brief moment. Had he lived longer, he would have made Pon Pon famous on Facebook like Boo the Dog. Prosciutto will also not admit that this dog has helped him get laid a few times, because every person he did bring home always got a kick out of Pon Pon.

Ghiaccio has a pet snake- an albino ball python named Bianco. Ghiaccio was also on the “pets are unnecessary” train too but mainly because he can't stand loud pets (i.e. Illuso and Sorbet and Gelato’s pets). When Risotto suggested he get a snake, Ghiaccio looked into it, researching and meticulously setting up the proper enclosure  and found himself going to a local reptile expo to find Bianco for sale. He’s fascinated by his snake to say the least, and would use leftover containers or Tupperware for Bianco to spend more money on proper equipment or food. Ghiaccio is really involved in online reptile forums and frequently debates with people on topics such as the best substrates to use, whether live rodents are better than frozen, ethics of breeding certain species, etc. He often gets worried when Bianco becomes picky and Ghiaccio would spend sleepless nights trying to get his baby to eat. Ghiaccio would walk around with his ball python wrapped around his neck or lets him slither around in his room under supervision but he mostly leaves him alone in the enclosure. There are times where he would claim he has the best, smartest pet and everyone just rolls their eyes like “yes the white fettuccine that got stuck in a toilet paper roll an hour ago is so smart”. But they let him rant about it. It’s kind of cute to say the least.

Pesci is the definition of people whose entire LIVELIHOOD is making his room into an aquarium. His room is full of strictly maintained, cleaned, and decorated tanks full of various types of aquatic animals. I’m talking Dwarf Puffers (Antonio, Portia, Jessica, Bassiano, and Solanio), Albino Gold Axolotls (Moe, Larry, and Curly), Red Ear Sliders (Franco and Ciccio), Clown Fishes (Browser, Mario, Toadstool, and Koopa), Brazilian Sea Horses (Tom and Jerry), a Blue Betta Fish named Valentina in a 30+ gallon aquaponics tank that grows a variety of plants each season- to name a few. He rebuilt his entire room to keep everything running and even had Melone help him set up timers for lighting and temperature control. Pesci will cry if you somehow made the pH level off by 1 or did not care for his animals properly when he’s away. He’ll even lecture you about bad tank setup. He's a prominent member of the aquarium  community in Italy and will regularly redecorate each tank to suit the year and mood. This is where he’s spending his cut on the 20 million lira job: caring for his mini aquarium room. He occasionally gives away his pets’ offsprings for extra money (he doesn’t breed but sometimes he ends up having a ton of baby animals he can’t take care of) and would have been a YouTuber for his fish content. Now that I think about it, Pesci reminds me of my mutual @nexter2nd. Please go follow them.

Melone has a Holland Lop bunny and you cannot change my mind. He actually had a pet bunny growing up, another Holland Lop named Echo and Grep, and his current one is named Sudo; all three are named after UNIX commands. He has a large dog crate he diy-ed to be a roomy enclosure in his room for her that he cleans frequently but also allows Sudo free reign of the room when she wants to go out. Because of his job, he makes sure all his wires are covered so his bunny isn't tempted to chew them and watches his bunny diligently whenever she roams around. Easter time is when the denim jacket, pastel bows, and flower crowns come out and Melone makes sure to take a lot of photos. He also housetrained his bunny and taught her a few tricks, similar to how he trained Echo and Grep years ago. Sudo is spoiled in terms of getting a lot of pets, new toys, and feasts on the finest veggies and delicious hay. Melone also makes sure the first thing he teaches his Juniors is to not harm the bunny. Surprisingly, he's against breeding Sudo and has her neutered. This is mainly because he doesn't have the time to breed and raise more bunnies but also he hates the idea of selling the grown bunnies off afterward. 

You know that Formaggio has a cat: the little Russian Blue cat named Sweetie Baby. Sweetie Baby was a kitten that he found outside his home. The little thing was the sole survivor of its litter and nearly starving to death, so he took her in thinking he will bring her to the shelter when she recovers; that cat now lets him live in HER apartment rent-free. Despite feeding her cheap dry food and constantly shoving her into bottles, he treats her like a queen otherwise. He will dress her up in little outfits (much to her annoyance) and often would be too aggressively affectionate towards her. Still, there are moments where she would cuddle with him during the later nights and allow him to put on one iced-out bow he just spent a quarter of his paycheck on. Walking to his apartment and even the backdoor of La Squadra’s HQ means carefully walking through the stray cats mewling at your feet, because Formaggio will feed any cat he sees. Initially, Risotto wanted the cats gone, but then he finds out the cats doubled as security when he watched some robber attempting to break in but getting their eyes scratched off instead.

[petitelepus]

His Beloved And More, Part 5

Thanks to Brainstorm’s brilliant plan you’re tucked away in his habsuite. Nothing can go wrong... Or can they?

WARNING! There is major character death in this chapter and blood and gore. I do not recommend this chapter for those with sensitive mind.

Mechs were sad by your disappearance and many came to give Brainstorm their consoles. The scientist acted through them, thanking everyone but never letting them lose hope of seeing you again. They would all get to see you again and he would be a hero. Some mechs got uneasy by his positivity, but many of his friends dared to keep the hope up, even if it was just a facade for Brainstorm’s sake.

Their travels continued on and Brainstorm kept doing his usual job in the lab with Perceptor, but in his free time he would lock himself into his habsuite behind heavy steel doors and take you out on display as he would work on the cure for your humanity and sometimes shower your tank with his love.

Then the fated day came that the alarms went off in the laboratory. Perceptor and Brainstorm were right there reading damage reports when the grim news came, but there was not one bad new but two. The scientists quickly commed Ultra Magnus.

’Perceptor, what happened? The ship stopped moving forward and is twisting on its side.’ Ultra Magnus asked the former Wrecker scientist.

’I’m well aware of this Ultra Magnus. It appears that engine 2 has been sabotaged. I’m going there with Nightbeat and Nautica right now to see what is going on.’

’Good, let us know immediately what you find there.’

’There are more news.’ Perceptor added, sounding almost regretful for informing that.

’And they’re?’

’Grave. We lost contact with liaison’s capsule.’

’…I’m afraid I don’t understand. What do you mean Perceptor?’

’I regret telling you this, but I’m afraid that capsule has wandered far off its direction, but most likely, it has been eliminated by an outside force.’

’I see…’ Ultra Magnus grew quiet. ’Does Brainstorm know about this?’

’Yes. He’s rather upset now so I would recommend letting him think this through.’

’I understand. Find out what’s wrong with the engine and I’ll inform Rodimus and Megatron about her fate. We need to have a conversation about how to approach this to crew…’

’I understand.’

As Perceptor and his little team ventured to the engine room, Ultra Magnus approached his captains, and Brainstorm made his way to his habsuite. He seemed almost too happy, no one could tell what news he had just received.

Even if the news were fake, only he knew it and only he knew you were alive and well in his habsuite. He gained weird looks since he couldn’t contain some of his giggles of excitement. He couldn’t wait to see you and tell you how well his plan has worked!

Brainstorm entered his room and locked the door behind himself before approaching your safe. He hit the code in and your lovely calm face greeted as your tank emerged from the wall. Brainstorm smiled behind his mask at the sight of you and rested his forehead against the tank's cool glass as he looked at you.

”The plan worked my love…! Everything is going just as I planned! We’re so close to our goal…!” Brainstorm kept looking at you until this uneasy feeling settled to his tanks. Something was wrong. He took a look at your monitors that showed him your heart rate, brain waves, and everything else that was essential to keeping you alive. That’s when his spark froze.

Every monitor showed a straight line. Your heart monitor, brain line, lines everywhere!

”No, no, NO!”

How was it possible!? Was there something wrong with machinery that was supposed to keep you alive?! Brainstorm quickly yanked your tank aside to get a look at the machines he had planted inside the wall to support your body. What he saw made him see red.

A creature as big as the largest dog on Earth, with a disgusting tangled fur, along three-way split tail and horrible teeth was chewing on all the cables and tubes of his machinery, digging through metal and grounding it in its teeth before swallowing.

The little alien must have been the source of the failed engine and it had somehow ventured to Brainstorm’s habsuite and inside his wall where you rested. The biggest tube that had been completely destroyed just happened to be one pumping oxygen to your body.

"Get away from her!"

Without a second of doubt, Brainstorm snatched the alien to his hand in crushing grip and threw it across his habsuite, away from his machinery. There was a sickening squishy sound and crush, but the flier didn’t pay any attention to them. He quickly opened your tank and pulled you out, laying your limp body on the floor as he tried to resurrect you.

He tried everything he knew, pumping your chest carefully with the tips of his servos, patting your back, blowing air to your mouth, and giving you a little electricity to start your heart again…! But after struggling with your cold body for fifteen minutes everything turned grey in his optics. The only color he could see was your blue lips and he was taken over by an urgent need to kiss you. You two never really kissed, but you wouldn’t mind one kiss, would you?

With his mask off, Brainstorm gently kissed you, your cool unmoving lips pressing against his warm soft metal lips. He kept kissing you in sad hopes that you would magically wake up as all the princesses did in your favorite movies at Earth Movie Nights, but no matter how much he showered you in his love you wouldn’t wake up.

Brainstorm stopped kissing you and just stared at your body. There was a bing in his commlink, telling him someone was trying to contact him, but he ignored it. His plans and your shared future together…! All ruined by an uncounted accident.

No, Brainstorm wouldn’t let you disappear, he wouldn’t lose you. But… He just lost you…

'Brainstorm…? Why are you sad?'

Was that...? Your voice!

Brainstorm looked at you with his optics widening in joy, already expecting your eyes to slowly blink open and look at him with life in your eyes… but there you laid, unmoving and cold. But it was your voice that he heard, laced with worry over your loved one aka him. Brainstorm held his helm and curled over himself.

”I- it happened again…! First Quark and now you! Why I lose everyone I care about!?” He cried out loud. ”I really tried this time, I really did! I tried my hardest and it wasn't enough!”

'But Brainstorm, you haven’t lost me. I’ll always be with you because I love you.'

Your voice was gentle and it sounded like you were smiling at him like during those times when you just held him in your lap and stroked his helm so peacefully and lovingly.

”It’s not enough! I want to see you smile, I want to kiss you and hold you! I can’t love you this way like I want to!” He cried in despair, but you didn't disappear.

'Then do what you must to bring me back. You’re a brilliant scientist, aren’t you? I know if there is anyone who can do it it’s you.'

Yes, you were right…! There was still hope…! You weren’t gone yet! Your heart may not have been pumping, but you could still be saved! Brainstorm didn’t know much about humans, but his latest experiments could be essentials to return you to your glory!

First, he had to save you! The thing that made you. Your brains!

Brainstorm giggled, quickly jumping to his pedes and running to his little instrument cabinet! He picked up a thing or two, humming a happy tune as he made his way back to you. The scientist put all the little saws, drills, and containers around you and picked up a specially big and sharp scalpel, sharp enough to cut through your flesh and bones with ease.

'Will it hurt Brainstorm…?'

You sounded frightened but more worried than anything else.

”It will hurt a little bit, but bear with me my beloved…! It’s all for our future together…!” Brainstorm assured you with a wicked grin as he made the first bloody cut across your forehead.

For the next hour or so, the flier ignored all the attempts of others to contact him for one reason or another, was it the loss of your signal or mysterious alien sabotaging ship. He was too busy saving your relationship and one of the healthy relationship bases was quality time together.

With the last piece of you saved, Brainstorm smiled and looked down at his handwork. There was blood, dark, cold, and sticky, everywhere and all over mech’s hands, but the messy job was worth it because you were now categorized so neatly!

Every single piece of you, organs, limbs, extra blood, all categorized into their very own tanks, bottles, and vials!

'Wow, I had so little blood in me…!'

”I think you’re thinking about that Dexter series’ first season you made us watch. There were far more humans killed in that blood-filled room episode.”

'I always thought 5 liters would look bigger.'

Brainstorm chuckled. You were sometimes so silly. Brainstorm carefully picked your brains he had put to the side and carried them to his secret little lab inside the wall. He would need to collect every single bit of data and memory before your brain cells would lose all the information they hold in them.

He placed your brains on the stand and turned away to activate his machines and take out a handful of long sharp needles that he should definitely not have in his possession.

'What are those for Brainstorm?'

”Brilliant question my sweet spark! These needles are usually used when performing mnemosurgery on mechs for they have a unique feature in them that allows them to work through electricity with Cybertronian brain modules. Seeing that your humans' brains also work with electricity, I’m going to electrocute your brains to keep your brain cells active so they won’t die out too much before I get every essence of you saved to this little chip here on the computer.” Brainstorm explained, briefly motioning to the minimalistic supercomputer on the side while he attached wires to needles.

'Is it going to hurt also…? I don’t like needles…'

”I know you don’t, my darling oilcake, but bear with me…” The scientist grinned, pushing the first needle into your brains. ”There are only 13 needles left…!”

[hongism]

wintertime antics - k. seokjin

➻ pairing: seokjin x reader

➻ wc: 964

➻ genre: crack, fluff

➻ rating: pg & sfw

➻ warnings: i dont think there’s any ._.

➻ summary: you think life on the farm is always a bit more interesting with kim seokjin in it. even if he did steal your chickens. twice. maybe it wasn’t his fault the second time. you still blame him though.

➻ @jinterlude asked:

OKAY CALZONE! I WOULD LIKE TO REQUEST SEOKJIN + VODKA + AND ADD SOME STARDEW VALLEY INTO IT. Please and thank you! ;-;

➻ a/n: MISS KIMCHI she’s done uwu, i hope you enjoy :3 i had a ton of fun writing your request uwu you’re so cyoot, also dedicated to @hobiance​ ily and i named a chicken after u

☽     ☾

You sigh for what feels like the hundredth time today. The sun beats down on your skin, but the chill in the air cancels out the heat from it’s rays. Winter has set in, which means your fields are stagnant for the season. It also means having to buy wheat for your animals at an increased price since you can’t grow it at the same rate you usually would in the other seasons.

That, however, is not the issue you are currently faced with. No, it is an issue thanks to your neighbor – Kim Seokjin. Ever since the man moved in, you two have not seen eye to eye on anything. You consider yourself a serious and dedicated farmer, whereas Kim Seokjin seems to be anything but. Sure, his crops seem to grow faster than yours and the quality is always ten times better than yours, but that is beside the point. You cannot stand the man because he keeps stealing your damn chickens. And today, in the middle of winter, he decided to steal your beloved chicken, Elaine.

Why?

Because he loves to prank you.

Why?

Because he’s an asshole with nothing better to do with his life.

And thus, you find yourself standing out in the freezing cold weather, knuckles bearing down against the door of his small cabin. There are a few flecks of snow dancing through the air, signaling a further storm. If Seokjin doesn’t open the damn door right this fu–

Just as you’re thinking the spiteful words, the wooden door swings wide open, revealing your tall and broad-shouldered neighbor. His black hair is pressed against his forehead, and a sheen of sweat lies over his skin. You glare as he greets you with a broad smile.

“Farmer Y/N! Fancy seeing you here in the middle of winter! I was just cooking up some seafood spaghetti. Would you care for some?” He asks through the smile. You see straight through his lies.

“Where’s Elaine?” You get straight to the point, not wanting to hang around any longer than you have to.

“P-Pardon?” Seokjin has the audacity to stutter.

“My chicken. Elaine. I know you know what she looks like, especially since this isn’t the first time you’ve taken her.”

“Oh! That’s Elaine?” Seokjin questions, a small laugh escaping his full lips.

“So you did steal her!”

“Wait, woah, Y/N. Hold on. I didn’t steal Elaine! I swear on my prized cow Bessy and horse Shadow. I didn’t take Elaine. Your coop door was open this morning, and I spotted it so I went over there and closed it. Well, when I closed it the automatic lock triggered, and I obviously don’t have the keys to your coop, so when I spotted Elaine wandering around, I just had to take her here instead. Come inside! Please. Elaine is in here.”

“Do you realize how shady and unreliable your story sounds?” You scoff. You fold your arms over your chest, eyes glaring holes into Seokjin’s form. Despite being much larger than you are, he actually flinches under your gaze. He pushes the door open a little further, revealing the interior of his house.

Sure enough, just past the entryway lies the fluffy, feathered body of a chicken. It must be Elaine, unless Seokjin happens to keep his other chickens in the house like this. You dart inside and snatch the chicken off the ground. She bears Elaine’s signature tuft of feathers at the front of her head. A sigh of relief escapes you.

“Ah, thank god, Elaine. I was worried I had lost you for good this time.”

“You know…” Seokjin starts, coming up behind you. “You might want to repair the chicken wire around your fence. I found a hole in it this morning too, so I’m assuming that’s how Elaine got out.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need help from the likes of you,” you reply as you pull Elaine closer to your chest.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Quit playing around like that. I am genuinely trying to help you. It’s not a prank this time.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Listen… if I had known how important Elaine was to you, I never would’ve taken her in the first place. I could’ve left her out in the cold or maybe a fox would’ve come by and snatched her before I did. Just let me repair the fence for you. Say it’s – it’s a way to repay you for all the pranks I’ve pulled on you.”

“And why on earth would you want to help me?” You squint at the man, still unconvinced by his argument.

“Well, to be honest, the only reason I would pull pranks on you in the first place is because you’re really cute when annoyed at me. If I didn’t keep pulling pranks then I wouldn’t get to see that cute nose scrunch of yours!”

Seokjin’s words take you aback, and your mouth hangs open as he continues to laugh under his breath. A faint blush decorates his tanned skin. If he were just playing around, you don’t think he would react in such a way, so you are inclined to believe that he’s actually being serious at the moment.

“O-Oh,” you stammer out, unable to manage any actual words. Embarrassment burns at your body, and you pull Elaine closer to you as though she will help defend you from the embarrassment. “Well – well, actually – maybe… hm. Um, I could stay for lunch. Only because it’s pasta though! Don’t take it the wrong way. I don’t care about you, only about the pasta.”

“Of course, of course. I’m assuming Elaine will be joining us at the table? Does she like pasta?”

“Kim Seokjin, you better not even try to feed my chicken pasta!”

☽     ☾

[andinewton]

Victor x MC(Reader)  Bake My Way Into Your Heart

Fandom: MLQC

Pairing: VictorxMC(Reader)

Warnings: None I can think of

Summary:  You ask Victor’s advice on baking.  He doesn’t trust you not to screw it up.  He was right.  

MC - 10.47am: Sorry to bother you…do you happen to have a foolproof recipe for sugar

cookies?

MC - 11.02am: Don’t worry, I think I found one!

Victor - 11.03am: What do you mean?

MC - 11.04am: I mean I found a recipe that looks simple enough!

Victor - 11.06am: You’re trying to cook?

MC - 11.09am: I’m not trying.  I’m going to succeed!  I’ll send you pics when I’m

done, and if you’re lucky I might bring you one!

Victor looked from his phone to his schedule and sighed.  He pressed the intercom on his phone and spoke clearly.  ‘Goldman, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.’

‘Are you going somewhere, sir?’  Goldman asked as he looked over all the important meetings lined up.

‘Yes.  I’m going to stop an idiot in distress before it happens.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

You wiped your hand across your forehead as you looked at the dough in your bowl.  It was supposed to be in one solid lump.  The only way you could describe the mess in front of you was crumbs.  Sighing heavily you resigned yourself to starting over, picking up the bowl only to have it slip through your floury fingers, making you squeal as you preempted the crash and mess to follow.  But, to your surprise, it didn’t happen.  The doorbell rang as you stared at the bowl just hovering in the air just a few inches from hitting the floor and you realised why.

‘Come in, Victor!’  You called before plucking the bowl out of the air and putting it back on the counter.

‘What a mess.’  Victor remarked as he looked over the flour-covered surfaces, his eyes finally falling on you as you turned around.  ‘And I see it’s not just the kitchen.’

Wiping your hands on your apron you wished you had a mirror.  You had hastily caught up your hair into a messy ponytail and thrown on torn jeans and a loose t-shirt, not something you would have chosen if you knew Victor was coming over.  It wasn’t that you had a crush on the man in control of your company’s funding, it was that you were all out in love with him.  But that was fine, you told yourself.  It was a professional relationship, you didn’t see him outside of work…except you did…and more than once he had come to your rescue.  He irritated you enough that you knew it wasn’t hero-worship, but damn if he didn’t look hot with fire in his eyes and ice in his words.

‘I’m trying, okay?’  You replied, clearing up as best you could.

‘I know you are.’  He huffed out a breath.  ‘Show me the recipe.’

You pointed towards the tablet on the side, the screen long since locked as you tried to bring the mixture together.  ‘It’s on there.’

‘Passcode?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Idiot.’  He replied as he opened the tablet and read over the recipe.  ‘This is incredibly simple, I can’t believe even you couldn’t follow it.’

‘I think my flour is out of date.’  You admitted.  ‘And I didn’t have the right sugar.’

‘Are you trying to kill yourself or just give yourself food poisoning?’  He put the tablet back down.  ‘What exactly inspired this ill-gotten idea?’

‘I used to make cookies to hang on the Christmas tree with my dad.’  You replied with your head down as you concentrated on wiping down the counter.  ‘I thought it would be nice to make some to give to my friends and colleagues.’

Victor knew you missed your father and he couldn’t fault that your heart was in the right place.  Your strategy and execution of the task, however, were incredibly flawed.  ‘I’ll help you.’

Your eyes shot up to meet his out of sheer surprise.  ‘You want to…help…me?’  You never thought you’d hear those words from him, let alone in reference to baking.

‘Of course.  If I let you perish in some baking-related accident then I’ll have to start training some other dummy.’

‘But I’ll have to go buy more ingredients.  And are you sure you have time?’  You offered him an out, knowing how busy he was.

‘You’re good.’  He walked back through to where he had left a bag by the door, full of high-quality ingredients he had collected from Souvenir on his way over.  ‘So you can throw all of that out of date danger food in the trash.’

You blushed faintly at his obvious-to-you concern.  ‘Thanks, Victor.’

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ he replied, ‘I’m not helping you clean up this mess.’  He waved his hand at the countertops and you blushed harder at him having seen your place in such a state.

‘I’ll get on that right away.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

A little under an hour later, the kitchen was clean, and the dough looked like it was supposed to, coming together slowly but surely.  Victor had supervised, at times having to hold himself back from taking over, knowing this was important to you, but as the mixture began to take shape he could hold back no longer.  His jacket, tie, and waistcoat were long since gone, draped over a chair, and his sleeves neatly folded back above his elbow.

‘Don’t be afraid of it.’  Victor’s voice was suddenly so close to you, the low tone rumbling through you as his arms curved around your body to join your hands in the bowl.  ‘Some things require a more gentle touch, like meringues, but dough can stand a firm hand.  It thrives on it.’

You swallowed hard at the warmth of his body against yours, trying to remember if you had heard him move, if he had made a sound at all, or if you had been too engrossed in your work to notice.  It didn’t really matter which it was, if any of them, but you wish you had had some warning, even as the heat crept up your neck and to your cheeks.

‘Firm hand, got it.’  You nodded to show you were listening, but the movement made your hair brush against him, reminding you once again of his proximity.  And then your mouth spat out what you were thinking without meaning to.  ‘I guess you’d know best in that respect.’

His hands froze in the mixture over your own for a moment before moving it for kneading on the countertop.  ‘And why would that be?’

His breath rustled your hair and your breath stuttered in your throat.  You really hoped he hadn’t heard that.  ‘Because...you know about cooking!’  You replied confidently.  ‘If I had to whip meringue I’d probably give it a good thrashing and completely wreck it!’

Victor swallowed heavily at the image her innocent words brought to mind and he shifted his pelvis just enough to relieve the burgeoning discomfort caused by them.  ‘When are you going to learn,’ he murmured, his voice unusually soft, ‘that if you ever want some pointers I’m more than happy to oblige.’

‘You’re just so busy.’  You replied in an equally hushed tone, making the moment more intimate somehow.  ‘I want to be able to cook better but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your valuable time.’

Victor’s hands slid from the dough to cover yours and you heard him draw a breath, as though he was about to speak, but then he stepped back, his hands withdrawing.  ‘That’s ready to roll out now.’

You swallowed heavily before replying.  ‘Right.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

You made tea while the cookies were in the oven and served it to Victor at the little two seater table that sat in front of the window.  You just couldn’t settle enough to sit as Victor’s actions had both your heart and stomach fluttering.  You had so far asked if his tea was okay, offered him milk, sugar, honey, lemon, and boba; offered to make him something to eat, not that you thought for a second anything you made would be up to his standards; offered to pay him for the groceries he brought with him; and busied yourself clearing up what you had used and preparing the wire rack for the cookies to cool down.  Eventually Victor evidently had enough.

‘Sit.’  He said firmly, and you were in the seat opposite him before you realised it.  ‘That wasn’t an order.’  He smirked before sipping his tea.  ‘Just like this isn’t.  Drink with me?’

‘Sure.’  You smiled slightly before sitting in the seat opposite and picking up the teapot and pouring yourself a cup.  ‘I don’t know if I said already, but thank you for coming to my rescue.’

‘You don’t owe me thanks.’  He rested his teacup down again.  ‘I couldn’t leave you to potentially burn down half of the city, could I?’

‘It wouldn’t have been very responsible of you, it’s true.’

You sat quietly for a few moments when Victor spoke again.  ‘Do you plan on decorating the cookies?’

‘I bought some pre-prepared frosting with a piping nozzle, and some seasonal decorations.’

‘You probably won’t come to any harm doing that.’  He mused.  ‘But I’ll stay and help you, just in case.’

‘If you have somewhere to be, you don’t have to.’  You assured him.  ‘I’m sure I already caused chaos with your schedule because of this as it is.  Goldman is probably sticking pins in a little me voodoo doll even as we sit here drinking tea.’

Victor laughed so suddenly you almost spilled your tea.  ‘He wouldn’t do that.  He likes you.’

‘At least someone does.’  You quirked him a sideways smile.

‘Just because I’m firm with you doesn’t mean I don’t like you.’  He frowned.

‘I think harsh is more the right word.’

‘Sometimes you need a little push.’  He teased.

‘So if it’s only a little push why do I always feel like you’re throwing me into the deep end?’

‘It builds character, and I know you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for.’

‘I appreciate the fact you have faith in me.’  You said quietly as you stared into your teacup.  ‘But I guess it also makes me feel like I’m not doing a good job if you have to set me straight all the while.’

‘You’re doing a good job, for the most part.  You just need…polishing.’

‘I guess that’s a nice way to put the fact I don’t do a good enough job.’

You didn’t see the look Victor gave you, a gentle one of consideration.  ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

‘You are.’  It was only when the words left you that you realised what you had said, your eyes darting up to meet his as you felt heat rush through you in an embarrassed wave.  ‘That is to say, I mean…’  You stammered, which was when the oven timer went off.

‘Saved by the bell.’  Victor murmured, quickly getting to his feet, and for a moment you thought you saw a pink tinge to the top of his ears.

Swallowing down the panicked lump in your throat, you hurried to grab the oven mitts as you came up with a logical response in your mind.  That logical response, however, turned into a spew of Victor appreciation.  ‘What I meant was you’re an amazing businessman, you can cook, you have an awesome evol, you dress nice, you know your stuff, you’re handsome, you…ow!’

In your rush you lost concentration for a moment and caught the inside of your wrist on the rack above as you removed the first batch of cookies.  You didn’t drop them, thankfully, but your wrist stung like hell.  Depositing the tray none too gently on the stove you shook off the oven mitts and blew on your wrist.

‘Idiot.’    Victor’s voice came from close beside you and you glanced up to find him beside you, his hand reaching for yours.

‘It’s okay.’  You murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but his fingers curved around your hand regardless, pulling you towards the sink where he immediately turned on the cold tap.  You gasped as the cold water hit your tender skin but Victor held you in place, his grip firm yet tender.

‘You need to be careful, pay attention to what you’re doing.’

‘I know that.’  You replied, watching as he concentrated on your burn.

‘I won’t always be there to help you, you know?’

‘I know that too.’  You looked up at him.  ‘But you always are.  Even if it’s with a sharp word or two.’

‘Does it hurt?’  He replied quietly.

‘No more than any of your normal quips.’  You shrugged.

Victor’s lips quirked in a small smile, realising you had misunderstood.  ‘This.’  He tapped your wrist with the damp cloth.

‘Oh!  It tingles more than hurts.’

He examined the mark closer, his fingers warm against your skin.  ‘I think we got water on it fast enough.  It shouldn’t blister.’

‘So I don’t need to dress it or anything else?’

‘No dressing, no.  What’s the anything else you would consider treating a burn with?’  He asked.

‘Uh…I don’t know.’  You replied hesitantly, before thinking of an answer.  ‘A kiss better?’

He raised an eyebrow at how forward your suggestion, realising it was entirely innocent as your cheeks darkened.  ‘You want me to kiss it better?’

‘Oh, no, no, no.’  You shook your head rapidly.  ‘I just meant…’

Words failed you as he looked you dead in the eyes and brought his lips to your wrist, the gentle touch barely noticeable over the burn itself, but it had your heart beating a mile a minute.

‘Did that help?’  His voice was low, impossibly intimate in such close confines.

You swallowed hard and tried to speak twice before any words came out.  ‘It stung a little.’  You whispered.

‘Then maybe that’s not what I need to kiss to make you feel better.’

At that point, you swore your brain melted as you seemed to forget how to function, that or your internal wiring blew a fuse.  Then it blew completely when his palm caressed your cheek, his thumb grazed your skin.  You had a moment of clarity when you realised what was about to happen, then his lips were on yours.  In all the times you had fantasised about kissing Victor, gentle had been the furthest from your assumptions.  Passionate, demanding, fiery, yes, yet nothing about this kiss was aggressive.  He kissed you like you were fragile, as though you could break or disappear at any moment.  Fingers touched your hair like they were the finest silk, lips brushed yours so softly it was barely a touch at all, yet still consistent in their task of caressing yours.  His other hand tentatively splayed on the base of your spine, yet he didn’t draw you closer, rather he kept a respectful distance between your bodies as though he was waiting for reassurance that this was truly what you wanted.  And there was no doubt in your mind that it was.

Your fingers hand found their way to the front of his shirt, grasping the material as much to anchor yourself as to keep him close, and you fought with yourself to keep the kiss as innocent as it was.

His lips left yours on a sigh but you kept your eyes closed for a moment before opening them to find Victor filling your vision.  His eyes flickered from side to side, searching your face for any sign that would clue him in as to how you were responding.

‘That does feel a little better.’  You admitted huskily, making him chuckle.

‘Maybe we should transfer those cookies now.’  He suggested.

‘I think they can wait a couple more minutes.’  You smiled, before closing the distance between you, the smile on Victor’s lips a hundred times sweeter than the cookies you had made.

[pinnithin-writes]

I Realized. Then I Couldn’t Stop Realizing.

Chapter 5: C-53

Depending on where he looked, it had begun with the Federated Alliance.

Immediately following the events of the Battle of Sistoo, C-53 had been captured, his frame junked for parts, and his consciousness locked inside a cage with a heavy iron bolt. He’d been through plenty of painful experiences before his initiation into the Alliance, but nothing had so powerfully suppressed his emotions like this.

It was agony of a different sort, standing on the surface of a frozen lake, his feelings swirling like a sea beneath him. He could see them, he could reach for them, but if he broke through the ice that supported him he would surely be swallowed up and drown in them. It was a horrible state of being.

Everything was muted in the worst way. Experiencing joy, anger, sadness, always working through his coding, only to be met with the oppressive iron wall of his restraining bolt, left him feeling as if he were only a shell. C-53 was a droid who normally felt things quite strongly - perhaps too strongly, at times, but at least it was him. This Federated Alliance protocol and diplomatic relations designation was not who he was. But the bolt was cinched tight on his words and his thoughts until he wasn’t sure who he was even supposed to be anymore.

Getting that thing off was more freeing than anything he had ever experienced. He hadn’t even cared that his stupid Alliance frame had been destroyed in the process. Being subjected to another bolt as an On-And-Off Burger employee had nearly broken him.

Pleck, of all people, had been there to pull him out of it that time.

It was strange to have a relationship with someone who, for their first season of working together, had only known C-53’s canned and pre-processed personality. It was embarrassing, to say the least. He still remembered when he had told the tellurian, icily, “I am not your friend,” and watched him wilt like a forgotten daisy.

Granted, they hadn’t known each other very long when he’d said that, but he could have handled it more tactfully. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to get to know Pleck better at the time. At least well enough so that every word coming out of his mouth didn’t rile C-53 up so much. The restraining bolt’s effects were typically less painful when he wasn’t actively trying to suppress his emotions. A high enough spike tended to fire off a pretty jarring error code.

“No, I - he got, like, erased or something.” ERROR.

“What if you were a car and I like, drove you around?” ERROR.

“C-53, have you been programmed to cater to my ignorance?” ERROR.

“You’re more than just a cube!” ERROR.

C-53 had a pretty long list of the times being around Pleck had been painful for him when they were working for the Federated Alliance. He was also the first face he saw when the crew had slotted his cube into the ship’s un-bolted humidifier, and the sudden flood of unrestrained feelings had almost caused C-53 to shut back down again.

“Hey, C-53?” Bargie’s voice reverberated around the droid, shocking him out of his thoughts. “Why are you in my cargo hold?”

Squatting among the boxes and crates seemed like the best place for the droid to go and process what he had just learned undisturbed, but of course he could never escape the ship herself. “I just needed a little solitude, Bargie,” he responded, not unkindly.

The ship let out one of her long, audible sighs that the crew was so familiar with. “Not you, too. I thought the party was going to make everyone start hanging out again.”

“Things like this don’t always repair themselves overnight,” the droid reasoned.

“Things like what?” Bargie prodded. “Are you okay? You’ve been sitting there on the floor for like, eight hours.”

C-53 considered. He had been playing through videos stored in his memory bank for quite a while, but he hadn’t realized it had been that long. Bargie was a trusted friend - she probably wouldn’t have any constructive advice, but she would at least let him voice aloud what had absorbed his thoughts all day. “Are you projecting over the PA right now?” he asked.

“Uhhh.” There was a long pause, and then a heavy beep sounded overhead. “No.”

“You definitely were.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bargie deflected. “Spill. Tell me everything.”

Wearily, C-53 recounted the conversation he’d had with Pleck the previous night, leaving out some of the tellurian’s more personal details in consideration of his privacy, and finished with the conclusion he’d drawn about his feelings. It still made his coding fray inexplicably to think about it, but once he fell silent, Bargie’s reply was nonplussed.

“I already knew,” she said. “The feelings part, not the Allwheat part.”

“You-” C-53’s processors whirred in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s kind of obvious. I thought you knew too and were just hoping it would go away because it was too awkward.”

“I most certainly did not know,” C-53 answered, somewhat stirred.

“How?” Bargie demanded. “How did you not know? I’ve been telling you guys there’s tension for years.”

“Yeah, I thought you meant sexual tension,” the droid was beginning to feel defensive now. Was he really stupid enough to have missed something so glaringly obvious?

“Well, I thought it was that at first, for sure,” Bargie clarified. “But C, seriously? Seriously. Do you not listen to him when he talks to you?”

“What - I -” He dug around in his coding for the words he needed and came up short. “I listen,” he declared. “What do you mean by that?”

Another heavy sigh. It rumbled the walls of the cargo hold. “This is embarrassing. You should just go ask him about it.”

Alarm raced through C-53’s wires. “I will do no such thing. I’m still… figuring out how I feel about it.”

“Oh, that’s no good,” C-53 could feel the ship humming with intrigue. “You should just reject him and get it over with.”

“It seems like that would be indelicate of me,” C-53 replied, deflecting from the notion that his first instinct was not, in fact, to reject him at all.

“Hey, look, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again,” Bargie’s tone took on a scolding edge. “Workplace relationships never work. They just make things complicated and messy and nobody should ever do them. You saw what happened with Dar and Berger.”

“Well, yeah, but that was mostly just - y'know-”

“Jucking.”

“Jucking, yeah.”

“Isn’t that what you’re after?” Bargie groused. “You’ve offered before.”

C-53 felt his cube grow warm inside his torso. “That was a long time ago.”

It was one time. Back when he’d still been restrained. C-53 still wasn’t sure if the proposition had been an effect of his altered programming or if he had actually wanted it. Either way, it didn’t matter. Pleck had decisively declined. It was the first time he had witnessed the tellurian be decisive about anything.

“I am not after that at the moment,” he clarified.

Bargie offered a heavy, “huh,” but said nothing else.

The silence that stretched was long and tense as they both pondered the situation. Finally, C-53 clambered to his feet, jostling cargo crates as he went.

“Bargie, I cannot stress enough how important it is that this conversation stays in this room,” he warned.

“It’s gonna leave this room eventually,” she argued. “Secrets don’t last long aboard the Bargarian Jade. Better figure it out before someone else does.”

“Thanks, Barge.” The droid’s reply was laced with sarcasm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He exited the cargo hold and made his way up the hall. The passage was dark, illuminated only by Bargie’s security lighting. He briefly missed the Midnight Shadow and its wide spectrum of sensors. The loader frame’s capabilities were rudimentary at best - he couldn’t even process the entire light spectrum. It did, at least, have a limited night vision option, which he flicked on as he made his way down the hall, flooding his scanners with muted green.

C-53 had a rather long list of qualities he wanted from the next frame he occupied, feeling terribly limited in his current one. It definitely beat that pathetic Tiny TM model he was in for a brief stint, but he still knew he could do better. He wanted to see infrared again. Longed for an organized filing system. And, yes, he missed the sensation of touch. Loader droids weren’t exactly built for physical contact with other beings.

A bright green figure appeared around the corner up ahead, and C-53’s frame stalled to a halt when he recognized its heat signature. Pleck had actually emerged from his room and was wandering down the hall in his direction.

“Oh, there you are,” the tellurian said brightly as he approached him.

The night vision made his face appear to C-53 as a blurred white dot, so he quit the command and dispelled it. The dim lighting didn’t make seeing him much easier, but at least C-53 could somewhat discern Pleck’s facial expressions this way. The man’s animated countenance was a good 50% of how he communicated.

“Were you looking for me?” C-53 asked, gazing down at him in surprise.

“Well, yeah,” Pleck responded, peering back at him in the darkness. “I heard Bargie on the PA saying you were all by yourself down here so I uh, I just wanted to check in on you.”

The droid’s machinery whirred idly as he processed this. That something as trivial as C-53 being alone would pull Pleck out of his isolation made sense considering how the tellurian felt about him, but C-53 still found himself touched by the sentiment. “Well, that’s very nice of you, Pleck, but I assure you I’m doing fine.”

Confused and still working through things, but fine. Probably.

“Oh, okay,” Pleck rocked back on his heels, nodding. “G- Good. Good to hear.”

After a short pause, C-53 prompted, “How are you feeling?”

The tellurian chuckled and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, man, I’m pretty hungover,” he replied, offering a weak smile.

When he didn’t elaborate, C-53 prodded again. “Has the Allwheat been talkative today?”

Pleck’s brows drew in, looking as though the question puzzled him. He responded hesitantly. “I… slept most of the day,” he said, his voice growing small. “So I didn’t hear it, then. It said a few things about an hour ago, but, ah,” he shrugged in an attempt to downplay the issue. “It wasn’t any more horrible than it usually is.”

The security lights hummed indifferently around them as they stood facing each other in the empty hallway.

“Hm,” C-53’s neural networking was already looking for patterns, casting around for a way to ease his friend’s torment. “What seems to set it off?” he asked.

Pleck still had a strange look on his face, as if searching for an ulterior motive beneath his words. “It… usually comes through when I’m not, uh,” he gnawed on his lip as he found the words, “mentally engaged? Like, as soon as I zone out, it’s -” he snapped for emphasis, “- right there.”

“You do tend to zone out quite a lot,” C-53 commented.

Pleck’s laugh was bitter. It sounded like soured sunshine. “You’re telling me.”

“What sort of activities would you consider mentally engaging?” C-53 prompted gently, trying to shake the unpleasant feeling that just raced through his wiring.

He watched the tellurian fidget as he thought about it. “Well, I meditate,” he began. “And, uh, talking to the crew helps, and going on missions where we meet new people. But we haven’t had a lot of those lately, so….” he trailed off, his stare vacant. C-53 could barely make out the soft lines of his face in the dim light.

“Do you think a holo would help?” he prompted.

Pleck shrugged again. “I haven’t tried it. I can’t watch holos in my room.”

“Why not watch one in the lounge?”

His shoulders were beginning to curl in defensively when he responded, “I just- I didn’t wanna bother people.”

C-53’s head tilted, considering him fondly. “When has that ever stopped you before?”

A laugh startled out of Pleck, shocking a genuine smile onto his face this time. He raised an arm and scratched at the back of his neck, looking away. “Well, you got me there,” he admitted. “I don’t know why it feels different now.”

An inexplicable impulse to scoop the tellurian up in his arms and carry him to the lounge himself surged up in C-53’s coding. He clamped down hard on the urge, bypassing the loader’s programming with a great amount of effort and a small amount of juddering from his processor. Good Rodd, that was unexpected. His fan was spinning again.

“Let’s watch a holo and see if that does anything,” C-53 declared before Pleck could ask the question he was showing on his face. “Come on.” He surged past him toward the lounge.

“Wait, both of us?” Pleck spun, hurrying to match the droid’s stride.

“And anyone else who wishes to join,” C-53 answered. “Sound good?”

Pleck nodded, a smile sneaking onto his mouth as if it didn’t have permission to be there. “Sounds good.”

The common area had been reverted back to its usual state, with its cushy couches gathered around the video monitor. Pleck popped a bag of popcorn for himself while C-53 ruminated over movie options. The smell of hot butter and salt lured AJ in from the adjacent room, and when he told the two of them he had never seen Bargie’s greatest hits, they decided to have a marathon to get the clone caught up.

“You can sit next to me, C-53,” Pleck said, patting the space beside him on the couch and grinning. He sat cross-legged on the cushion, balancing the bowl of popcorn in his lap.

“Very funny,” C-53 replied dryly. “At this size I would definitely crush that couch.”

“Okay, your arm can sit next to me, then,” Pleck conceded.

AJ was on Pleck’s other side with his feet up on the coffee table, helping himself to the popcorn. Both Pleck and C-53 watched, half disgusted and half fascinated, as the CLINT stuffed it into his helmet kernel by kernel.

“Hey, maybe take your helmet off, AJ,” Pleck suggested. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Yes, we don’t need a repeat of that time you got hijacked .” C-53 agreed.

With no small amount of grumbling, AJ disengaged the pressure lock on his helmet and pulled it off, covering the couch in crumbled bits of corn. Pleck scooped the bowl out of the way to avoid catching any stray pieces, an amused light dancing in his eye.

“Robot Man, you gonna watch with us or what?” AJ prompted as he brushed crumbs off of himself.

C-53 belatedly realized he had just been standing there, staring. He settled his frame next to the couch and, after some consideration, rested his arm as gently as he could on the cushion next to Pleck. The couch groaned, but it held. Pleck patted his frame assuredly.

The films were, well, they were definitely Bargie flicks. AJ interrupted every few minutes to ask what was going on, and Bargie herself chimed in with commentary once she noticed that the hits were being played. C-53 kept a watchful scan on Pleck as the playlist dragged into the night. A few times, he caught that silent, prayer-like motion as he repeated mantras to himself, and did his best to redirect his attention to the holo.

AJ eventually fell asleep and Pleck wasn’t far behind, eyelid drooping wearily. The tellurian shifted sideways and stifled a yawn, leaning against the arm of C-53’s frame.

The droid felt the weight of his body and dimly registered a sense of warmth as Pleck rested his drowsy head against him, but that was all his rudimentary sensors could manage. His coding twanged with a sharp sense of loss, but he redirected the feeling.

“That doesn’t seem very comfortable for you,” he said after some processing.

Pleck made a muffled, placid noise. “S’fine. I sleep in a cold metal box every night. This is definitely a step up.”

“You still don’t have a mattress?” C-53 asked incredulously. “I thought that was a running joke.”

Pleck laughed softly against C-53’s frame, shaking it a little. “The joke is that I’ll have chronic back pain by the time I’m thirty.”

C-53 did not laugh. “You could sleep out here on the couch,” he suggested.

“Mmm, maybe just this once,” Pleck murmured, his voice thick with fatigue. He shifted slightly, pressing himself closer to C-53’s frame. It seemed he was craving physical touch as much as the droid was, which apparently was a laughable amount if he had resorted to cuddling an unyielding metal bar. C-53 found it endearing.

The holo flickered in the dark, casting the three sentients in a shifting blue glow. Pleck and C-53 watched the droning video feed while AJ dozed. Near the end of The Ship Stars Are Made Of , C-53 noticed Pleck’s breathing evening out and going soft beside him. His eye had fallen shut. He was asleep.

Well. Looks like he’s never moving from this spot again.

Chapter 4 <-----> Chapter 6

[themonsterattheendofthisfic]

There had always been something there

If Destiel were to happen, in canon, between right now (5.13) and Carry On. Read on AO3 Here.

There had always been something there. Everybody knew it, but they knew it in that tight little place in your heart that you know not to touch. Demons, angels, they could poke at it, sure. They knew to poke at it.

That profound bond. 

Castiel knew from the beginning it was doomed. That was what called him to fall from grace, after all, that something that he saw in Dean. And he thought that would be how he felt about all of humanity, but after Heaven shut him out? It wasn’t. It wasn’t the same; there was something about Dean. But he didn’t know, he didn’t know what it was.

Dean didn’t even think about it. Castiel was just suddenly there, and then he was Cas. And something about him made Dean trust him, it just did. And he was right, after all, Cas proved him right in that heaven room. And of course he wanted Cas there, he was Cas. 

Sam didn’t even think about it until... because Dean and Cas were always just closer than he and Cas, and it made sense. I mean, Cas had been there for Dean when Sam went all dark side, they had history Sam couldn’t ever manufacture with the angel. And Cas had saved their asses more than a few times, and... Cas was always gonna be there for them. He was ride or die, and Dean’s loyalty was exclusively ride or die, no matter how stupid or lost or monstrous that buddy was. It was his thing; after all, he’d grown up with Sam as a little brother.

But as they got older, Sam started to look at old couples in diner booths and get sad. He started to want that kind of thing, and it didn’t make sense to him how Dean just... didn’t. He used to, talked about that “apple pie” life with the kind of wistful bitterness that was transparently envy. But then:

“You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?“

“Have you not heard a single word Bob's been singing about? You're tired. I can tell. You're exhausted. Well, I'm still wired, so I'm gonna pull over, get some gas. You hop in the back, get some Z's 'cause, buddy, you earned 'em.”

It just didn’t make sense. It didn’t really seem like Dean was lying. Pushing him away, sure, but not lying. Dean didn’t need anything, anybody more, not anymore. But how could he be so content with being alone? Besides... family?

And then Sam realized, just a little bitterly, that Dean wasn’t alone, at least not in everyday life. In their little trio, it wasn’t three guys making it by themselves together. No, when it came to home life, it was Sam, and it was Dean and Cas. 

Of course, it wasn’t like... Well, I mean, it wasn’t like Dean was... 

Okay, so Sam had always known that Dean looked at guys a certain way, got nervous with guys a certain way that he was never comfortable talking about. So they never talked about it.

And then he thought about all the looks that went on just a second too long, and how quick to anger Dean was when it came to Cas, and how broken he was when Cas was gone.

And all of a sudden, Sam thinks that maybe, maybe Dean’s a little in love with Cas. And maybe he doesn’t even realize it.

“Hey, Dean?”

Dean looked up from his book disinterestedly. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Sam cleared his throat and sat at the foot of Dean’s bed. Gingerly. “Uh... I just wanted to, I mean.”

“Come on, spit it out Sammy, I don’t have all day.” 

Sam frowned. “This morning, you said you were dedicating the day to, and I quote, “relaxurbation.” 

Dean nodded seriously. “And I’m on a very tight schedule.” It got a laugh out of Sam, which was all Dean wanted, because conversations that started with Sam stuttering made him nervous.

“Okay, so, I don’t mean to, like, pry or anything. And I’m not even saying this is it so like... don’t freak out, okay?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You’re freaking me out right now!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Sam cleared his throat again. “Okay, you know how we grew up...” He could see Dean opening his mouth to make a snide comment. “Just shut up, dude! For once.” 

Dean blinked, pausing, and spread out his hands. Go ahead. “Dad raised us rough and in a bunch of podunk, nothing towns around a bunch of hillbilly, old-fashioned hunters.” 

“Like Bobby?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, and like Travis.” Silence. He’d made his point. “Listen, all I’m saying is that we were raised around some pretty messed up stuff about being strong or whatever. About being a good man.” 

“Okay, and?” Dean was squinting now, looking at Sam like he had no idea what he was saying. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “And they weren’t right. I mean, they made fun of me for reading too much. The stuff they said about other people? About people that weren’t leather-wearing shotgun yielding hardasses? Some of them were just... bigots.”

“Sam, what the hell are you saying?” Dean was impatient again, but Sam’s heart sped up. Usually Dean got impatient when he was uncomfortable.

“I’m saying that it’s understandable, you know, for us to still feel some of that. But we don’t have to be like them, Dean.”

“Sammy, are you trying to tell me something?” Dean was leaning forward, hands on his knees.

“Yeah, man! I’m trying to say that I don’t think like them. I’m not- it doesn’t change anything for me if somebody’s, like, gay or something-”

Dean folded back up. “Oh, and you think it does for me? Jesus Sam, I may be a dick but I’m not an asshole.”

Sam put his face in his hands. This was coming out so wrong. “I’m saying, Dean, that looking at guys doesn’t make you any less of a man.” There was dead silence. Sam swallowed and looked up to see Dean staring at him angrily, but Sam could swear there was a little hint of fear in the way Dean was working his jaw. 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking you’re seeing Sammy, but you’re way off base.” He got up and stormed away to his room without another word.  

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

Dean slammed his bedroom door with a bang that made even him jump. He stopped dead and breathed shakily, trying to sort through his thoughts. He was pissed, for one thing. That much he knew. He was also shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to picture that dock he loved to fish at, the one he dreamed about on his best nights. It always calmed him down.

Why the hell would Sam think that he was… what, gay? Dean laughed out loud to himself. He loved the ladies. He more than loved the ladies. Hell, he had dumped Sam at a bar plenty of times to spend some quality time in their hotel room with a hot girl. No way, Sam must’ve hit his head. 

But he went over the conversation in his head again, all that stuff Sam had said about John’s buddies growing up. It was true, marine vets and hunters in the ‘80s and ‘90s were not the most open-minded crowd. They’d given Sam shit about his good grades and his hair, given Dean shit about his cheekbones for gods’ sake. That time he’d wanted to go to the prom, that time they’d caught him listening to Radio Speedwagon… okay, so they were assholes. Sure. And no, some of them hadn’t had the greatest things to say about Freddie Mercury or Rock Hudson or David Bowie… But that didn’t make him like them. He didn’t have crushes on guys like that…

Okay so he could admit that Fred from Scooby Doo was annoyingly perfect. And he had been a little obsessed with him as a kid. But that didn’t mean he wanted the guy.

And Rodney, that guy in sophomore year that he tutored in Latin for extra cash, the swimmer. He’d tried so hard to make him laugh, he had such a nice laugh. And arms. But it wasn’t like he’d ever done anything…

Lee was a one-time thing. Dean was lonely and on an adrenaline rush from his first case without John, and they got drunk. It just happened. And they’d woken up to John banging on the door and even after they had all their clothes on, they still got chewed out for being drunk. And he and Lee, well, he never let it happen again. And after the cult thing, after the bloodbath in Arizona… Dean had been shitty. He had been mean and dismissive and told Lee to fuck off, that I was drunk, man, and he didn’t see Lee again until he had to kill him. 

But that didn’t make him gay. 

He hadn’t done stuff with a guy since. Maybe he’d looked at them. Maybe he’d gotten blushy and tongue-tied a couple of times around a couple of detectives, but he was naturally awkward sometimes. And plenty of straight dudes watched gay porn. 

Dean laughed and felt a tear slide down his face, and he stopped it up tight. Okay, fine. So Sam was right. Maybe he liked guys. In a way adjacent to the way he liked girls. 

Maybe that made him bi.

-------

“Sam.” It came out stern and rough and too loud, and Dean cleared his throat. Sam was making himself breakfast, so Dean leaned up against the counter and waited until he looked up from his eggs. 

“Look, I’m… I’m sorry. For the other night. Um…” He cleared his throat again. “Look, you were just trying to get me to ‘introspect’ or whatever, and I don’t really…”

“Deal with that well?” Sam smiled softly and Dean laughed nervously, looking down. He looked back up and caught Sam’s eye. Sam knew, he got it. And he knew what Dean was trying to say. Dean nodded and cleared his throat again.

“Thanks. Okay, enough of that talk for a lifetime!” he said cheerily. He started to practically run from the room but paused at the doorway and shouted. “Chicks are still hot though!” 

Sam laughed. “Never doubted that, Dean. Nobody could fake your kind of enthusiasm.”

Dean grinned and winked, and then he left the room.

He was out.

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

Sam talked to Cas next. For all the saving the world and working against God they were doing, they had a lot of down time. Cas was studying a lore book in the library while Jack and Dean watched a full season of “River Monsters” for an “educational break from the world destruction shit.”

“Hey Cas, can I ask you a question?” He sat down across from Cas and leaned across the table. This was going to be so much easier than the conversation with Dean. And he really needed to know if… well, if he was right. If there was a chance that, after all this, Dean could be happy with somebody who understood the life, like he wanted to be. That is, if they all survived.

“Of course, Sam, what is it?” Cas was as earnest as ever. He smiled. Dean’s constant gruffness could be good with that earnestness. Was already good with it.

“Angel… society, I guess. How does that work?”

Cas tilted his head, confusion and a hint of snark behind his words. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Sam. Angels have lived for millennia spread across the entire universe.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam sighed. Maybe this wouldn’t be that much easier. “Like, I know you said angels don’t have gender or anything, but… do you have sexuality? Love? Those kinds of… things?” Fuck, was he being too obvious? Dean would kill him. Chuck would actually get his perfect ending.

Cas was pondering. “Well, I suppose it changes in degree for every angel, as it does with humans. But, yes, we have emotions not unlike humans. Without them, I would never have fallen in the first place.”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Right, like, you, um, you saw Dean and…”

Cas nodded. “Once I saw what heaven was doing to Dean and you, I started to have doubts. I started to feel… for humans. And well, Dean pushed me into making the right decision. He got me angry enough.” Cas smiled at the memory. 

“Yeah, uh, he’s pretty good at that.” Sam cleared his throat. “So, you have emotions, can you fall in love?”

“I don’t know.” Cas looked at Sam’s perplexed face and tried to explain. “I can feel connection, I can feel loyalty, I can feel… desire…” Sam was un com fort able again, why did he decide to do this? “But whether that amounts to human love, I don’t know. I never had the chance to fall in love as a human; I too heavily relied on you and Dean to feel at all comfortable.”

“I mean, that sounds like love to me. All of that and… knowing that if you lost them, it would hurt something awful. That you’d do anything in the world to save them from any pain.” Sam was back on Eilleen again, he couldn’t shake her. 

Cas was silent for a moment until Sam came out of his thoughts and motioned for him to continue. “As for sexuality, angels do not have what humans define as gay or straight or anything else. We see souls as much as vessels. Gender is inconsequential.”

“Right, yeah, I imagine it’s hard to be gay when you don’t have genders in the first place.” Sam laughed, but Cas stayed silent. Apparently he didn’t see any humor in it. “Well, uh, have you ever thought about… I mean, do you ever want to settle down or something?” 

God, was he asking him for his intentions or something? Sam could not believe his clumsiness. It all sounded better in his head. 

“Sam, I’ve been alive for millenia and will live for many more, if Chuck doesn’t destroy the world. If I were to find a mate or any such thing, I would have to see them age and die and live on. Is that something you would want in my shoes? Is it something anyone would want to be involved with?” Cas was almost… bitter. But more, he just seemed tired. And sad. 

“I’m sorry, Cas. I never thought of it that way.” Sam started to stand, to leave him alone, but he paused. “For the record, though, yes, it is something I would want. We all have to lose people we love someday, but it’s pointless if you use that as an excuse. Sounds like something Dean would say.” He sighed and left Cas sitting alone with his thoughts.

-----------

Cas was… he was pensive. Sam’s question’s replayed in his head, that last comment on repeat the most. Love and desire and loyalty and pain, that is what characterized love. He mulled it over. So many years had been wasted on heavenly wars, following orders without question and executing “the will of God” without doubt. Really, the only time he started to feel emotions that made him really… ache… well, it was with Dean.

Dean was the first human he’d ever met to treat him like he was… human. Dean was the first person he ever stepped in for, ever betrayed orders to try to protect. Dean was the first human to make him double over with laughter. Dean was still the only person who would go to the ends of the universe for him; he’d shown it time and time again. 

But behind all the big stuff, Cas really started to think. He thought, at first, that his heart was speeding up from excitement, from the danger, that looking at Dean was just the alarm bells that would set off his fall. But they’d never stopped.

They had a profound bond.

It was possible, then, after all this time, that Megatron had been right. Castiel was in love, with humanity in general no, but with one man, yes. The one man he’d given up everything for. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe after Chuck was defeated, there would be time for love. 

He remembered his deal with The Empty. If he was happy, truly, then he would die. But hadn’t Castiel risked that for Dean many times before?

---------

Dean’s first steps into intentional bisexuality included lots of porn and even more stuttering. He went out to a gay bar, the only one in 100 miles that he could tell, and bumped into every table his shaky legs could find. He spilled drinks and messed up pick up lines he’d used for years. His face saved him. He made out with a few guys, got pushed up against walls in the alley and discovered not only butts were butts, but mouths were mouths. Universally. 

He never went any further. 

He was far from a virgin, but, after so many years, Dean was scared. Ass hanging out in the wind scared. And he was not about to admit that to anybody, which meant he was not about to get in any kind of situation that he would freak in. So no sex.

So after a while, Dean laid off on the investigation and just… let it be. He started driving around in Baby a lot, parking in the middle of nowhere to think, trying to get comfortable with new and improved him. One night he accidentally did that until about 3 in the morning.

Dean drove back to the bunker that night, dazed and confused, if you will, by his feelings. He parked Baby in the garage and went around the long way, still trying to parse out why the hell he was so hung up on the idea of fucking a guy. 

Castiel was waiting up for him. He sat in the library, holding a glass of whiskey that he’d obviously not touched. “Cas, buddy,” Dean yawned and stretched, walking over to him. “What are you doing out here?” 

Cas shrugged. “I guess I was just making sure you got home. I mean, were alright. I didn’t know where you were.”

“You tell me everywhere you’re going?” Dean winced inwardly at how harsh that sounded. His gut reaction was still defensiveness; he wasn’t ready to tell Cas about any of this. He took the glass out of Cas’s hand and downed the whiskey; maybe that would soften his edges a bit.

“I was just worried.” 

“Cas, phones, for the millionth time, phones exist. Pretty sure you were there when they were invented.”

Cas pursed his lips, annoyed. “Well excuse me for caring about you, Dean. I was under the impression that that was what we did around here.” He tried to stand up but Dean waved an arm at him that forced him to sit again.

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve just been… working a few things out. Going on drives. Um…” Dean trailed off. Cas had tugged at his tie to loosen it; he got fidgety when he was annoyed. And that made Dean feel something that he was just learning to recognize. Cas looked up at him, confused at his sudden silence, and then they were just looking. At each other. Like they had so many times before. Except this time Dean knew exactly what he was feeling and it scared the fuck out of him. And Cas knew exactly what he was feeling, and it scared the fuck out of him. 

“Okay, I’m, uh, I’m hitting the sack. You coming?” Dean started to stand up and almost choked on his own breath. “I mean, you going to your room, because it’s too creepy to think of you just sitting out in the dark like this all night.” 

“Yes. I guess I am.” Cas said softly. Whatever made Dean happy. Even when he was being a dick.

--------

SAD ENDING:

They were ready. Well, not ready, but as ready as they ever would be. Chuck was waiting, he knew they were coming, and Team Free Will 2.0 had all the weapons they could muster. And yet they still geared up like it was a normal hunt. Sam was packing snacks, for fuck’s sake.

Dean walked the halls nervously, tapping on the wall by Jack’s open door. “Hey kid, you doing alright?” 

Jack looked up at him, apprehension written all over his face. “When am I not ready to kill my grandparents, the two oldest cosmic beings, in a final hail Mary to save the entire universe and everyone I love?” 

Dean chuckled as much as he could given the truth of the statement. “Hey, we’ve all got your back, kid. And if we go down, we’ll go down swinging. Together. ”

Jack nodded and Dean backed off, rounding the corner to Cas’s room. “Cas.” he said it softly, but Cas still startled and turned around. Dean held up his hands in surrender. “Just, uh, checking in, I guess.” Cas hesitated a second and nodded silently. “Did you ever think we’d get here, when you first chunked me out of hell?” 

Cas smiled softly. Somehow, through everything, that time in hell had almost become a fond memory. “No, Dean, I can honestly say I never thought I would be here, with you, about to attempt to kill God. Chuck.” There was that bitterness that made Dean a little sad, made him remember how much Castiel believed in God in the beginning.

“Yeah, well, I guess this is it then.”

He looked at Cas and suddenly realized how close they were standing. His eyes searched Cas’s, and they looked at each other for too long of a beat. 

“Yes. It seems like it.”

Dean sighed. “Cas, I just wanna say, before we, you know,” he waved a hand around. “I just wanna say, dimes for donuts we don’t make it out of this alive, and-” 

“Dean, you don’t need to.”

Dean blanched. Dean, for one, didn’t have any idea what the hell he’d been about to say, so how did Cas? “I just mean-”

“Hasn’t everything already been said? Everything we’ve been through, over all these years, hasn’t that said enough?”

Dean sighed and looked down with a sad smile. “Guess you’re right.” He’d always been a man of action more than words.

Dean gave an infinitesimal nod and Cas gave one back, decided, and they went to fight. Maybe someday there would be a time for words. 

Except there weren’t any more days. Not for them.

[jamesmarlowe]

RADTASK002: A GIRL AND HER DOG

March was a month without a season. Couldn’t call it spring yet; most of the trees were still bare, their long, dark limbs scraping up against the sky. Temperatures hovered indecisively around the low-fifties, then plummeted steeply each night. But there was something stirring: a birth of new smells, a trace of green in the yellow grass. A feeling of change, or the very brink of it, which had possessed him like an infusion of fresh blood and driven him outdoors— despite his three-hour block of afternoon classes, despite all the half-finished projects waiting for him in the studio. Outside, clouds skimmed the blue sky and squirrels tightrope-walked the phone lines. Birds huddled on exposed branches, returned from their long winter vacations. There was a smell of mulch in the air, fertile and earthy. A warm wind was blowing— as he walked outside the art building, Marlowe could feel it blowing through him as if through an open window, airing out all the trapped gloom in his soul. 

Gloom could accumulate even in him, of all people. There was something elemental about his need for sun and fresh air and open space; it was a quality he shared with all the other wild creatures who, after several long months deprived of all these things, were now also emerging from their dens and burrows, hungry and restless, desperate to roam. 

Today he was wearing a paisley bandana fashioned around his head, Springsteen-style, and a silver hoop through his ear. Both of these accessories gave his appearance a swashbuckling, pirate-y effect. Marlowe seemed to embody the part as he cleared a railing one-handed like a rodeo clown, then took the rest of the stairs two-at-a-time to where a girl waited for him at the bottom, her blonde hair lifted by the breeze. She kept her head bowed over her hands, deeply engrossed in the cat’s cradle she was weaving. 

Spacey Kasey. She was a junior in the Comp-Sci program. Sometimes people reacted to this information with a slow raise of their brows, or an actual laugh— more out of surprise than anything else, but that didn’t make it any kinder. No one really knew what to make of her. She could write code like Mozart wrote symphonies, but might also ask you if you knew how pineapples got their name, since they looked nothing like apples? Marlowe had met her at a party where she’d wondered precisely that, out loud, before turning her wide eyes to him; she had a child’s inquisitive stare. Why not pinefruit? He’d been fascinated from that moment on. His love for her had been a product of that fascination; he’d sensed something dreamy and outcast in her, something rare, easily misunderstood. They’d coupled up in late September, lasted till early November, the days dwindling and the nights lengthening by the time his old restlessness caught up with him— not her fault or his, just the natural progression of these things. Now, their relationship had lapsed into something easy, casual. Friends, sometimes more. He still found her endlessly fascinating. It was just a matter of how many other things in this endlessly fascinating world were also competing for his attention.

At the sound of cowboy boots smacking the pavement, Kasey looked up. The thread between her fingers went slack and her blue eyes brightened the way they always did whenever she saw him coming. Marlowe could not prevent a smile in response. Blue, he’d once heard, was the true color of the sun.

He whistled a short, upwards swoop. “Kase the Ace! Right time, right place!”

She was wearing an outfit almost as egregious as his own, tie-dyed shirt in sorbet shades of pink, purple and blue with only a pair of Lycra bike shorts underneath, exposing legs pale and goosebumped. There was a face looking at him from the front of her shirt, sinister drippy eyes loaded with glamorous make-up. Kasey’s own face was bare, her fair eyelashes almost invisible. Her earrings were a pair of mismatched plastic dinosaurs— one a red triceratops, one green T-Rex. Marlowe watched with visible amusement as she struggled to untangle the knots around her fingers. 

“Jeez, I used to be so good at these! I once taught all the girls at my summer camp how to do a ten-step cradle and I was like, their guru.” 

Eventually the two of them set off for the trees that hemmed the edges of campus. He briefed her about the reason for today’s outing—  a hunt for materials, looking for found objects not yet found—  but knew it wasn’t necessary, because Kasey could always be counted on to show up when he invited her. She was always happy to tag along, if only he asked. The quad they passed looked soggy and matted down in parts, the streaming sunlight revealing all the bald patches of mud and first sprigs of dandelion shoots. Marlowe kept his gaze ahead, away from that wide expanse of grass, letting Kasey’s idle chatter filter pleasantly through one ear and out the other. His gait was lopey but brisk, hers uneven as she skipped ahead, long blonde hair streaming behind her like a scarf thrown to the wind. 

“So what are we looking for today?”

Marlowe angled his face up to the sky, watching a bird disappear into a cloudbank. “Y’know, the usual. Hidden treasure, lost artifacts. Ancient ruins. Maybe a secret Amazon warehouse deep in the woods, that’d be useful. Could steal a lifetime supply of bubble wrap.” Rarely did he embark on such expeditions with a specific item in mind; mostly he just wandered around, expecting unusual things to find him and reveal their significance. Maybe it’d be a loop of blue ribbon, snagged on a wire fence. Or a child’s plastic bucket abandoned by the side of the road, handle broken, too lost to find its way back to the nearest sandbox. He searched for these banal objects that existed somewhere between tenderness and neglect— overlooked by so many who passed them by without any idea what they might’ve been before, what they could be next.

Kasey had begun walking backwards. There was a white patch of vitiligo on her forehead. Combined with her skipping and prancing, she often reminded him of a painted palomino. “I brought granola bars! They’re a little stale, you’ll have to use your back teeth.”

Marlowe flashed her two-thirds of a grin, revealing teeth that were good and strong, if a little crooked. “What if I told you I don’t have any? Will you mash them into a pulp and spit ‘em in my mouth?” He mimed the open-mouthed, head-back position of a hungry fledgling.

Kasey made a retching sound, dissolving into a giggle.

Soon they were stepping off the paved campus sidewalk and crossing the marshy grass towards the surrounding woods. The trees were sparse, still just skinny bodies stripped in the cold, but slowly the forest became denser the deeper they went; thick-trunked oaks and dark beeches grew here, close together, their twigs sprouting tiny green buds and unfurling fists of leaves. Branches criss-crossed the sky. Marlowe led the way through the corridor between trunks, but Kasey immediately began crashing through the skeletal undergrowth off to the side. 

“How about this?” Marlowe looked to where she’d hiked her leg up onto a large boulder like a big-game hunter posing with a kill. The stone jutted out of the ground at an odd angle, making him think of a dislocated jawbone. Kasey looked down at it, her expression deeply pensive. She tapped the toe of her sneaker. “You could like, give it a face. Glue eyes on it!”

Marlowe imagined an oversized pet rock in the likeness of Rocky Balboa, Stallone’s heavy scowl painted on. Shaking his head, he rewarded her sincere effort with an equally sincere smile. “Babe, I’m flattered that you think of me as some kind of circus strongman, but I’d need like, triple my current muscle mass to carry that.”

They found other things. An empty gallon jug, the kind used to hold water or milk, split almost in half. A tattered piece of fabric too muddied to even tell the original color. And most interestingly, a thin sheet of metal with torn edges, sharp as shrapnel. It leaned against a tree like a large canvas; the patterns of corrosion on its surface— oxidized red, blue rings of mold— made it seem less like a raw material and more like an already-finished work. Marlowe stood back with one finger resting against his chin, head tipped to the side as he appraised it like an art collector at a gallery. But in the end, he decided not to carry it either. He wasn’t up-to-date with his tetanus shots. 

They began to follow their own trail, no map or compass, forging a path through the woodsy vegetation that grew close to the ground and left long, raking scratches on arms and legs, resisting intrusion. Kasey swept back the flexible branches of saplings and peered into rotted tree hollows. Marlowe was more inclined to follow a few steps behind her, no urgency in his loose-limbed stroll. He tilted his head back and admired how the naked branches looked like slats of a broken roof letting most of the sky in. By now, the chill on his face had turned itself inside out; he grew warm, renewed in some vital way. He wanted nothing more than to walk deeper and deeper through these woods and never turn around, never retrace his steps, never go back. If he had to, he could survive out here. He’d exist just like the wild birds and foxes, on a diet of small, hard berries and foraged mushrooms. 

It was often in these moments of complete distraction that discoveries happened. The trees stood back. A secret flagged him down from behind them, kept until today, confessed now in this partial glimpse. “Hey, I think I got somethin’,” he said out loud. He didn’t look to see if Kasey heard or noticed. Eyes fixed on the gap between trunks, Marlowe forced his way through a thicket of mulberries to get to the other side. 

In the clearing, there was a statue of a little girl. One arm outstretched, sunlight on the crown of her head. Her empty eyes grazed the sky. Some kind of moss crawled up her legs, giving her the appearance of wearing knee socks. There was a dog at her feet— a terrier with perked ears. 

“What did you find!” called Kasey, still wrestling her way through the brambles. The sound of snapping twigs and a soft ow! told him she was making slow progress of it.

“Something,” Marlowe replied. Unusual, he added only to himself. “Some kind of statue.”

The pose of the statue, he thought, must’ve been intended to look like the girl had just thrown a stick in a game of fetch, but there was something about the frozen gesture that told a different story. It was an open grasp, fingers straining; he almost turned around to see what she was reaching for.

“Woah.” Kasey exhaled the word in a single breath. She had finally spilled out into the clearing behind him, looking disheveled but no less enthused, tugging one checkered sock up around her ankle. “Who’s that?”

Marlowe was already crouched. He brushed dirt off the foot of the statue but there was no inscription; if there’d ever been one, time had worn it away. Now she was as nameless as the trees around her. Standing up, he slid hands into the front pockets of his jeans and rocked backwards, giving the girl the same look he’d given that piece of rusted sheet metal: eyes slant with a certain sharp curiosity, their color like a jar of dark honey with sunshine in it. “Don’t know. Maybe a memorial or something. Or,” He began to pace around the statue, boots leaving sunken footsteps in the loam. When his phone buzzed in his back pocket, he reached for it absently. “Maybe she got turned to stone by some wicked Baba Yaga ‘round these parts. Her, and her little dog, too.”

It was hard to read anything through the disaster of the cracked screen. His eyes scanned Syd’s incoming messages and when he got to the last two, Marlowe stopped walking. His heart stalled.

SYD: also ?? im at the studio and haven't seen my sculpture anywhere SYD: r u sure you dropped it off?

Of course she had noticed by now; of course she was looking for it.

“Who’re you texting?” Marlowe raised his eyes to find Kasey observing the standstill he’d come to; she was leaning down to give the little stone dog a scratch under his chin. “Syd,” he answered, simultaneously dropping his eyes back to his phone. “She named her cat Martin. I’m expressing my deep, deep disappointment with her lack of imagination.” I did, at the gallery, he texted back. forgot 2 text you but the eagle safely landed. 

The thing about lying was that it came so easily, so naturally, he usually felt no guilt doing it.

“Tell her I say hi!” Losing interest in the statue, Kasey had found a divining rod. She was sweeping it back and forth now with brisk efficiency, like a metal detector. “How ‘bout this? Look, it’s almost perfectly symmetrical,” she asked. 

Message sent, Marlowe let his hand drop back to his side. He used his laugh to distract them both. “Does that thing have a crude oil setting? Fuck making art, let’s start fracking. I’d rather be a Texas millionaire.” Kasey whipped around, face lit by a wide, genuine smile; but as another text from Syd arrived, his own smile barely skimmed the surface of his face, too distracted to really stick. He typed back another answer. 

i'm sure it's just misplaced syd don't sweat

worst comes to worst, we can case the frats and make sure no one stole it to be their new beer pong deity or whtever the fuck those guys do

Like any good liar, he prided himself on being truthful most of the time— which made it that much easier for a lie to slip through, unsuspected. A wolf in honesty’s clothing. No less convincing than everything else he said. And wasn’t it a little bit of a favor, in this case? Better that Syd think some hulking frat brothers had stolen into the art studio under the cover of night and carried off her sculpture for a ritual sacrifice, some dark summoning to help the university through its football championships. Better that than the truth. 

Marlowe glanced over his shoulder in the same direction as the statue’s outstretched fingertips. Clouds worked across the sky, ragged and white, and behind them there was only blue, but now he felt like he could see what wasn’t there; a new, bad darkness, descending fast out of the western sky. Like those sudden thunderstorms in Virginia that rolled over the mountains, pouring like smoke over the lip of a bowl. The knowledge of the storm’s inevitable arrival sank low in his chest: present, but not yet fully understood. 

Even if she asked him in person, he’d deny it. He’d lie again. He’d help her look for a sculpture that he knew was already unsalvageable, dissolving with each cold rain that swept over the campus, turning to paste beneath the soil.

“Hey, c’mere.” Eager for distraction, Marlowe lowered himself down to the base of the statue, where there was deep cold beneath the velvety moss. Obediently, Kasey trudged closer, still holding the forked branch; when he pulled her down, she fell giggling and side-saddle across his lap. She circled his neck with her arms. He wrapped his own loosely around her waist.

“Would you ever hate me if I did something, like, really bad?”

Kasey pulled back to look at him, the wrinkle in her brow implying that she didn’t understand. “Like what?” 

Marlowe shrugged beneath the weight of her arms. “I don’t know, I don’t have an example. But like… bad. Something that really hurt you.”

Thoughtfully, she thumbed the silver hoop in his ear. The light was full on her face— she wore no make-up, and her lips were chapped. She must’ve been chewing them before, because he could see the faint bitemarks. His heart twinged, suddenly protective.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.” Her expression went away for a moment. There was a soft vacancy in her eyes that he’d gotten used to in their time together. When she returned, the look she gave him was earnestly sweet. Whatever the imaginary hurt, she was looking at him like she’d already forgiven him for it. “Because I’d know you didn’t mean to.”

Because you wouldn’t mean it, Syd had said close to his ear that one night at Splatterhouse. He did things without thinking. Did them so often, it had become his defining trait. Marlowe knew he escaped accountability because of it; he was one of those people the world tended to forgive too easily, meaning he’d always be protected from himself, sheltered from the consequences of his actions, because there was no real intention to hurt behind them— and that alone absolved him. You couldn’t blame the tornado that destroyed your home, not when it was only doing what tornados did.

Marlowe kissed the stain on her forehead, where the skin was pinkish like a newborn’s. He kissed her between the eyebrows, then lower, just underneath the chin, on the pulse that beat like a hummingbird’s heart. Kasey pulled away to look at him again. Her hands had strayed to the back of his neck, toying with the hair curling up at the nape.

“Ew, Marlowe, in front of a little girl?” Her big eyes lifted up towards the statue. The shadow of that reaching arm fell over them both. 

“It’s spring,” he replied in a what-can-you-do tone, though it was still only the end of winter. It was only March. His eyes met hers, glinting with uncivilized suggestion. There was a faint smile tucked in the corner of his mouth. “And y’know, considering how long she’s been here, she’s ancient. A withered old crone, hundreds of years old. If anything it’s weirder to have a dead dog watching us.”

She frowned. “Why’s the dog dead?”

“Dogs don’t live for hundreds of years.”

She pouted at it. Poor thing. It didn’t seem to occur to her that humans didn’t live for hundreds of years either. Then she leaned back in, meeting him in his daring with another kiss, hands twining into hair, one bare leg swinging over to straddle him. And all around there was the sound of unseen birds, calling to each other from the trees: mimicking, teasing, pleading. A riotous awakening of spring. The next text from Syd would go unread for several hours, left without an answer. The Burger King meal she’d promised him would be forgotten. And the encroaching darkness would also recede, withdrawing to the far-back reaches of his mind— for now, the coming storm was only a dim, gauzey threat on the horizon, rumbling with the promise of distant thunder.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Thanks for answering!! I loooove Peter and John and Emori and well most characters on your list really! While we're at it, which characters are your least favorite in MCU/the100? And which characters do you think are overrated or underrated?

Hey, awesome! And no problem! I love talking about the characters I like. You can come talk to me about them anytime! Or even characters you like that I don’t pay enough attention to.

Okay, this was a GREAT question, and I basically wrote you a novel in response.

The 100 – Clarke Griffin (if that wasn’t already obvious)

I used to love Clarke Griffin, but at this point, I just get annoyed whenever she comes on my screen. Clarke was a much stronger character in s2, when the writing committed to portraying her as flawed and morally grey and kind of ruthless in a way that was necessarily but also kind of concerning.

Now it seems like they always want to remind me she’s The Most Important – she’s almost become a version of the Chosen One trope in a narrative where that really shouldn’t be a thing – and a hero and just, like, suuuper pretty (the staircase scene was ridiculous). They’ve made her The Popular, Pretty Girl trope and I hate it. They might tell me in dialogue over and over again that there are no bad guys, but even when Clarke does bad, selfish things, they refuse to commit to it. She doesn’t face consequences and the writing is too concerned with making us side with her than actually calling her out. Even this season while other characters have been listing why they’re angry with her, everything is framed in a way to make us sympathize with her.

Letting a character do flawed things but trying to sway the viewer to ignore those flaws and loudly tell me that they’re still a good person rather than showing it is the easiest way to get me to not like a character. They’ve written Clarke as incredibly selfish, arrogant, and unwilling to listen to anyone else, unwilling to truly apologize or learn from her mistakes – but they just won’t admit to it or let her grow. OR commit to an actual downward spiral arc. Either would be accepted.

Plus, she’s just boring now. Everything comes too easily for her – people she’s hurt forgive her too easily, and the nightblood is basically a superpower at this point. The writing of her is just lazy and it’s not compelling.

MCU – Steve Rogers

I also used to like Steve. Whedon’s characterization was always off (and I think AoU really contributed to the problems in his overall arc), but I liked him a lot in Cap 1 and Winter Soldier is still one of my favorite MCU movies and the best handling of his character overall.

I need to rewatch the MCU before I really dive into just what went wrong with Steve’s character, but I just never really found him as compelling a character past WS and I was mad at him more than I liked or sided with him. Even with Endgame, I was just indifferent to how his story ended.

I think he suffers from a lot of the same problems as the writing for Clarke does. Steve has flaws and that’s great – it makes him interesting and human – but even while the narrative shows you his flaws, it tries to push you to ultimately ignore them because he’s a hero and we’re supposed to side with him because they already established he’s a good man. The problem is that Steve’s flaws ultimately get shown a lot more than his heroic, moral side as the movies go on. And despite not showing us that heroic side, they keep loudly telling us over and over again that Steve still is a selfless hero who will lay down on the wire – something he actually hasn’t shown he will do (for anyone but Bucky, maybe) for several movies now. In fact, he’s the only one in Endgame who really doesn’t do “whatever it takes” or have to sacrifice ANYTHING.

What @gamorazenwhoberis says in this post really explains it better than I am right now.

In short, starting with AoU (the root of so many characterization issues in the MCU), the writing starts telling us that Steve’s a selfless hero and a shining example of a good man while only really showing us his flawed behavior. It’s hard to keep buying that Steve is the “lay down on the wire” type when he doesn’t do anything to prove it. I also really struggle to side with him in later movies because I find him, in the wise words of Rhodey, “dangerously arrogant.” Steve’s intentions are always good, but he never believes he can be wrong, and that’s a problem. And again, that could be a really interesting character flaw if portrayed as a flaw – but I think too often the narrative ultimately expects us to side with him because…I don’t know, he’s Captain America, you know?  

It’s not necessarily Steve’s fault, because I think he IS meant to be portrayed as an ultimately heroic man who wants to help people but still has realistic human flaws – it’s the writing’s fault, because they way they end up framing it makes it look like Steve is all talk when it comes to heroic sacrifices but, unlike his fellow Avengers, unwilling to sacrifice or compromise.  

Also, I’ll be honest - I relate so much with Tony and project so much onto him that a lot of his actions in Civil War felt like a personal betrayal and I had a hard time liking him again after that movie. I still like him just fine in the first few films and I actually did enjoy a lot of scenes in Endgame, but a lot of his actions bother me and never feel like they’re actually addressed in a way that calls him out and the writing of him REALLY bothers. And when I’m not mad it him in later movies, I’m mostly indifferent. I do love him in other universes though.

Underrated

1. JAMES RHODEY RHODES DOES NOT GET ENOUGH APPRECIATION!!! He’s fantastic and I love him and I really wish he was given a bit more room to shine in IW/Endgame, even though I get they’re juggling too many characters. They just handled him SO WELL in Civil War that I wanted to see more writing that showed how much conviction and sense of duty he had. Also the brief moment where he talked about being paralyzed and how they have to “work with what they’ve got” was so good, I wanted so much more of it.

2. Maria Hill! The writing has really wronged her. I didn’t like her writing in Age of Ultron at all (she’s not a secretary, Whedon), and she’s been such an afterthought in the MCU since then. I’m so excited to see her come back in FFH, because I think there’s still so much cool stuff they could do with her. I’d actually love them to write her with a bit more 616 characterization, because in comics she’s kind of both The Worst and The Best all at once. She’s just MEAN. But she also helps run a massive intelligence agency with an iron fist and has a strong sense of duty and right and wrong and she’s more than a little terrifying. She’s just great. I’m glad to see her back. I love that she’s still been doing her part to help protect the world even with SHIELD gone.

3. NEBULA!!! She has such a good arc and she was wonderful in Endgame and this whole fandom sleeps on her and it’s unacceptable.

Overrated

1. Wanda Maximoff. :/ I really, really WANT to like MCU Wanda, and Elizabeth Olson does an amazing job with what she’s given, but her character bothers me a lot. I like the concept of her arc going from villain to hero. She’s really similar to Nebula in that way – her turn to villainy was born from trauma, but over time she learned to repurpose that trauma into a way to help other people.

The problem is that….it just kind of doesn’t work for me. Part of it is that she also suffers from the Clarke Griffin Problem – aka, she’s flawed and she makes mistakes and the dialogue tells me this, but she either avoids consequences or she fails to apologize for them. In theory, I like her arc about mistakes and atonement and doing better (which is exactly why I love Tony and Natasha and Nebula), but the writing of it doesn’t work for me. And her relationship with Vision is just so boring it’s hard to be invested. I think they did such a disservice to her by killing off her most interesting relationship, even though I know it was for legal reasons. (I do like her relationship with Clint, though.)

2. Carol Danvers. :( Again, I WANT to like her so badly. I love comics Carol so much. I bought a Captain Marvel shirt for the premiere. I have a Captain Marvel coffee mug. I’ve been looking forward to her movie for YEARS.

But I just find MCU Carol incredibly bland. There isn’t much depth to her even after her own solo movie, and I think Captain Marvel did a terrible job of developing her – especially in comparison to how well other MCU heroes have been developed in their own solo films. She has a lot of surface-level qualities that are fun – like being headstrong and snarky and a badass (I AM delighted that there’s no question she is the strongest hero) – but there just isn’t much emotional depth to flesh her out. I still feel like all I really know about her are basic facts and not anything about what she believes in or feels, and I feel like I was more emotionally connected with Maria in one scene than I ever was with Carol. I’m really hoping her next movie fixes that problem for me because I want to love her.

Thanks for asking!! I’m not kidding. You can always come yell at me about fictional characters. :)

[secondscratch17]

weird asks that say a lot

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? All of them. I drink tea in coffee mugs and teacups. I love drinking wine. I like that I can recycle soda cans

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? chocolate

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? bubblegum if the flavor lasts long

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? the stereotypical quiet, obedient, smart, goody-two-shoes kid

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? somehow I like the aesthetic from soda bottles

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? hONESTLY I can dO ALL OF THE ABOVE in the span of days. Went to work one day wearing beach-y clothes for spirit day. Returned to pick up a friend to go see a metal concert in VERY metal concert attire. I own short, sweet summery floral dresses and gothic dresses, too

7. earbuds or headphones? Earbuds, they allow me to be more mobile

8. movies or tv shows? movies

9. favorite smell in the summer? Fresh cut grass. The smell of the ocean. Churros at the fair

10. game you were best at in p.e.? Soccer, obvs. Somehow would always last until the end of the game in dodgeball tho because I was small and no one could hit me

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? Cereal

12. name of your favorite playlist? Don’t have one. 

13. lanyard or key ring?  Key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? Smarties!

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? I remember re-reading Holes over and over just to make my book reports easier since I knew the boo so well. The Kite Runner was phenomenal and unforgettable

16. most comfortable position to sit in? idk?? I really can’t sit still in one position for too long

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? Currently my hiking/outdoorsy shoes. Also my black Nikes that I play pickup in and wear to the gym

18. ideal weather? Sunny and 65. Maybe one or two clouds. The tiniest of faint breezes to cool me down. 

19. sleeping position? Any I can get into and fall asleep in quickly

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? Laptop. I can edit easier.

21. obsession from childhood? Probably any cheesy show on Animal Planet. The Most Extreme, Meerkat Manor, Big Cat Diary, etc

22. role model? I have a lot of different ones. Role models for athletics, role models for career and ambition choices, artistic role models...can’t pick just one

23. strange habits? Spelling words with the tips of my fingers

24. favorite crystal? Aquamarine

25. first song you remember hearing? how in the FUCK am I supposed to remember that. I do remember my parents playing The Beatles for me when I was a toddler

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? Soccer! (futbol) 

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? Sledding, making hot chocolate, or playing indoor soccer haha

28. five songs to describe you? Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been by Relient K, Proud by the Icarus Account, Land of the Dead by Voltaire, Always Leaving by Mayday Parade, Wavin’ Flag by K’naan

29. best way to bond with you? Listening to my favorite music with me or watching the US Women’s national soccer team with me

30. places that you find sacred? Belfast, Maine. Gold Camp Road. Newport Beach

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? Tight jeans with holes in them, fishnets, and a crop top

32. top five favorite vines? Vines still exist?

33. most used phrase in your phone? “tbh”

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? O O O O REILLYYYYYY’S autoparts

35. average time you fall asleep? around 9

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? I don’t remember

37. suitcase or duffel bag? suitcase

38. lemonade or tea? Is it warm outside? Lemonade. Is it cold outside? tea

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? PIE!

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? Zombie hunting or my professor cutting lab a half an hour short to go look at some Cedar waxwings

41. last person you texted? I think it was Robert

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? Pants pockets

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? Jean jacket

44. favorite scent for soap? Anything fruity

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? Fantasy. It depends on how good the sci-fi movie is

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? as little as possible lmao

47. favorite type of cheese? Parmesan

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? A raspberry

49. what saying or quote do you live by? A great amount of good is always evened out by a great amount of bad

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? Honestly Daniel knew how to make me laugh better than anyone. There are a couple of memories with him that I don’t remember entirely but I know that I ended up cry-laughing so hard that my head hurt. There was a time during my orientation camping trip when a bunch of us were playing ultimate Frisbee, and Jesse went to catch the frisbee in the most perfectly lateral horizontal position and the expression of focus just frozen on his face had me laughing so hard that I couldn’t see

51. current stresses? Sam. Jobs that I can apply for starting in May of 2020. Sam. STUDENT LOANS. Bills. Car payments. Wondering how fucked up my car has gotten since I’ve lived here on this ranch. Sam. 

52. favorite font? Anything that looks fancy and sarcastic

53. what is the current state of your hands? Need to be washed. 

54. what did you learn from your first job? The world is cruel and bad things happen without warning

55. favorite fairy tale? Uh....the Pied Piper?

56. favorite tradition? when my family visits for Christmas, eating lots of traditional Chinese food with them

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? Heartbreak. Staggering rejection from the field I majored in. Probably a lot of body image struggles in there as well

58. four talents you’re proud of having? Writing, futbol, adaptability, flexibility. I think the last two are just traits but I don’t have a lot of talents I can invest in

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? Let’s make like a baby and head out

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? No idea

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? Though we are far apart, our spirits share the same earth and the same sky

62. seven characters you relate to? Bilbo Baggins from The Hobbit, Data from The Goonies, Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter, Eliza Thornberry from The Wild Thornberries, Raven from Teen Titans, Isaac from Teen Wolf

63. five songs that would play in your club? ANYTHING by Within Temptation. I wouldn’t be a good club owner. The catchy and pump-up songs from Hamilton.

64. favorite website from your childhood? Wasn’t allowed much computer time. I was allowed to visit educational sites and occasionally the Disney site

65. any permanent scars? some self-harm scars. Probably the one on my right leg that I got from CO parks and wildlife. I stepped on a barbed wire fence that had been plastered to the ground, but the metal sprang up when I stepped on it and ripped through my skin

66. favorite flower(s)? Plumerias

67. good luck charms? I’m not sure if I have any. 

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? earthworm flavor from Bertie Bott’s every flavor beans

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? uh...Something about not being able to spray silly string on Halloween in Hollywood

70. left or right handed? Right handed

71. least favorite pattern? wtf

72. worst subject? anything math related, I really struggled in GIS.

73. favorite weird flavor combo? I...have no idea

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? 2. I’m a baby

75. when did you lose your first tooth? I was 6

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? chips and fries

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? a succulent

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? sushi from a grocery store, the quality can surprise you

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? Both are terrible

80. earth tones or jewel tones? Jewel tones

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? I hate bugs

82. pc or console? PC

83. writing or drawing? Writing, I’m terrible at drawing

84. podcasts or talk radio? Not into either

84. barbie or polly pocket? I had both

85. fairy tales or mythology? God!!!! Like hearing about both but mythology I guess

86. cookies or cupcakes? Cookies

87. your greatest fear? Being forgotten. I also have a terrible, horrible fear of drowning

88. your greatest wish? In the times I’ve struggled I often find myself wishing for peace. Not only for myself, but for others to easily feel peace with everyone else

89. who would you put before everyone else? Sierra

90. luckiest mistake? Mistake? There’s been lucky accidents but I don’t think any of my mistakes have been lucky

91. boxes or bags? It depends on what I’m packing and where I’m going

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? Sunlight

93. nicknames? T, Tear, Tear-tear, T-Dog, Miss T..a few of my recent favorites from soccer: Ronaldinha and Thierry Chun

94. favorite season? Fall! Shit, especially in New England

95. favorite app on your phone? I don’t know

96. desktop background? A picture of a simple dock leading out to sea

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? My parents’ and brother’s

98. favorite historical era? Victorian era, for sure

[bbclesmis]

King Of The Castle: At Home With Dominic West

As the star of HBO's The Wire and The Affair, Dominic West made his name playing conflicted Americans battling their demons and struggling to find their places in the world. And cheating on their women. In real life, he's a self-deprecating father of four from outside Sheffield, and among his chief preoccupations is how to preserve the 800-year-old Irish castle inherited by his wife.

"Excuse me," says Dominic West, "I’m just going to wipe this so you can sit down and you won’t be infected with disease." About seven crumbs on his otherwise clean kitchen table disappear with the swipe of a tea towel, and he gets back to the business of making lunch. We’re in the kitchen of his house in Wiltshire, where he lives with his wife Catherine and their four children.

His head turns from cupboard to cupboard, like he’s watching a tennis match. “Where has the rice gone? Would you like rice?”

Yes please, if that’s what you’re having.

“I am, if I can fucking find it.”

He fucking finds it and a pan of rice goes on the hob next to the pan of leftover beef stew. “So I’m on the cover?” he says, looking out of the window. “But doesn’t that mean you’ve got to try and make it interesting?”

In 2000, Dominic West joined an Argentinian circus. This was the year before he auditioned for and won his breakthrough role of Detective Jimmy McNulty on The Wire and the year after he had a single line (“The boy’s here to see Padmé”) as a guard of one of those science-fiction sliding doors in Star Wars: Episode I — The Phantom Menace. He was 30, five years out of drama school and father to a one-year-old daughter.

The circus, De La Guarda, had a show, also called De La Guarda, at the Roundhouse in Camden. It was the hottest ticket in London that year. The audience entered the round to ambient music under a low paper ceiling. Performers would burst through the paper, on ropes, and eventually a pounding live soundtrack accompanied a dozen or more roped performers as they ran around the walls of the circular venue. Water rained down. Some audience members would be lifted into the air; others, perhaps more fortunate, would be pressed into urgent dancing with attractive, adrenalised Argentinians unclipped from their shackles. Or indeed, West himself.

‘What’s amazing,’ says Keira Knightley, ‘is that Dominic can play characters who should be total dickheads, yet he manages to give them a point of view and his own incredible charm. It is a great skill’

“Why did I do it?” says West, somewhat incredulously. “You saw it! Wouldn’t you want to run away and join that circus? It was such a sexy show. I saw it in London and New York, then heard they were auditioning in London and I had to do it. I did a lot of shows in five months with those amazing men and women, then they went to Vegas. It was a disaster there. The water. People dressed up for a Vegas show — of course they didn’t want to get wet.”

West didn’t want to go to Vegas. But he would end up spending a lot more time in America, filming five seasons of The Wire and four seasons of The Affair, with a fifth and final one due to start filming a couple of days after we make lunch.

“The toughest part of making these big episodic American television shows is missing my family and the boredom,” he says, gearing himself up for the process to begin again. “Sitting around waiting and not being bored is hard. There was a time when I had a play in the West End [Butley, 2011] and was learning Iago [for Othello] and I had more on than usual. That was hard work, but the harder that aspect of the work gets, the more enjoyable it is. Actual graft is what’s great about acting. That’s something I relish, because most of the time, it’s about coping with tedium.”

To stop himself being bored on set, West likes to have fun. “You can’t not have fun with him,” says Keira Knightley, soon to be seen alongside West in the film Colette. “I think fun is something that Dominic brings to everything. He very much likes a night out, is always up for a laugh and is, in the best way, wicked. And he is a phenomenally good actor, he really is. So effortless.”

“For a lot of us,” Knightley says, “who do actually need to concentrate when we’re working, it’s, ‘How are you that good when you're chatting and joking until the very last second?’ Even I had to tell him to shut up so I could concentrate. Which I had to do quite a lot.”

West is not about to shut up. And he’s not the only one. “I just did a thing with Olivia Colman [a BBC mini-series adaptation of Les Misérables] and: fuck me! Ha ha ha! The whole thing is like playing top-level sports with her. How frivolous can you be up to ‘Action!’ and then be amazing. She doesn’t do that consciously, she is just really fucking good. She is way, way, way better than me. I had to stop listening to her because she is so funny.”

Then a more serious thought occurs. “Malcolm Gladwell’s thing about 10,000 hours [the writer’s theory, from his book Outliers, that to be expert in any field requires that exact amount of practice time]? I worked it out and I’ve had at least 20,000 hours. I’ve acted so much now I can turn it on and off, and that’s maybe where the humour thing comes in. I have had an awful lot of practice at this.”

Dominic West first got the taste for drama when he was nine years old. His mother, Moya, gave him a part in her amateur production of The Winslow Boy, at Sheffield University’s drama studio. His father, George, had a factory in Wakefield that made vandal-proof bus shelters. George’s father, Harold, a managing director of a steelworks in Barnsley, fought in WWI and was wounded at the Battle of Vimy Ridge. “After, he wrote a note to go with his medals,” says West, “that said, ‘Here are a few mementos from a deeply happy part of my life’.” West has found documentaries commemorating the centenary of the Armistice “deeply moving.”

He is the sixth of seven children, with five sisters and an elder brother. They grew up in a large house on the edge of the Peak District, about 10 miles southwest of Sheffield. He boarded at Eton and hated it to begin with. “I was very homesick, had no reference to it, didn’t know anyone who had gone and I felt I was in the wrong place.” Inspiring teachers and school plays gave him something to be excited about and set him on his path.

“It’s pretentious to say, really, but my acting education was defined by doing Hamlet at Eton, reading Ulysses when I was doing my English degree at Trinity College in Dublin, then War and Peace, which we put on at Guildhall [School of Music & Drama in London]. That’s it, really. All I learned anywhere.”

Legend has it that in the audience watching his Prince of Denmark was Damian Lewis, a couple of years behind West at school, and later the star of Band of Brothers, Homeland and Billions. So taken was the younger lad by what he saw that he decided to become an actor.

“Categorically: no,” Lewis tells me, over the phone from Los Angeles. “I had always acted at school and always enjoyed it. Me thinking it was something I could do more seriously didn’t happen until I was 16 years old, after seeing Dom do Hamlet. He was very charismatic. A big, booming sonorous voice, especially for a 17-year-old. I was very taken with him, he was very captivating up on stage.”

Since graduating from Guildhall, West has worked solidly. He is not a huge movie star but is highly successful and versatile. There aren’t many men who could convincingly play both Fred West and Richard Burton, as West has done. He won a Bafta for his Fred West. He’s most memorable as Jimmy McNulty, not least because he and The Wire are so good, but also because constant reminders of those two facts have become standard reference points in the increasingly vast conversation about the New Golden Age of TV.

He has, in his own words, played “a long line of philandering cads”, from McNulty on to Hector Madden, the Fifties news anchor in two seasons of The Hour for the BBC, to Noah in The Affair and Willy in Colette. “What’s amazing,” says Keira Knightley, “is that he can play characters that should be total dickheads, yet he manages to give them a point of view and his own incredible charm, so you sort of forgive them for how terrible they might be. It is a great skill.”

But he is far from typecast. His five film roles previous to Willy in Colette are: Lara Croft’s dad, a sort of country-gent Indiana Jones, in Tomb Raider; a quietly pompous pyjamas-wearing modern artist in the Swedish film The Square, which won the Palme D’Or at the 2017 Cannes Film Festival; Rudder, a comic-relief Cockney sea lion in Pixar’s Finding Dory; a Teflon swine of a CEO opposite George Clooney and Julia Roberts in Money Monster; and, in Genius, Ernest Hemingway.

There have been stage successes, including star turns in the West End. Following up the blockbuster and critically lauded play Jerusalem, the writer Jez Butterworth and director Ian Rickson could have done any play with anyone on any stage. They chose Dominic West to star in The River, a short, intense play with one man and two women in the 90-seater upstairs room at the Royal Court Theatre in London, for which West won universal praise.

‘It is a bad thing to be self-deprecating. It’s quite an English thing, which you become very aware of in America. People don’t understand: why do yourself down? I sort of agree with it, now’

“Dominic is able to unleash his unconscious in a really ‘present’ way,” says Ian Rickson. “It allows him to fuse into the darkness of Fred West, for example, or the troubled soul of McNulty. In terms of archetypes, he has a trickster quality hiding a warrior/lover inside. That’s exciting. There’s very little ego and a lot of generosity of spirit. He actually has a refreshingly comic sense of himself, so he does really value the opportunities he has, and doesn’t take them too seriously.”

West feels he does and he doesn’t. “I suppose deep down there’s a feeling that what I do isn’t desperately serious. It might have been Mark Boxer, the cartoonist, who said he went to some lunch for cartoonists, an awards maybe, and he was having a piss and the guy next to him said, ‘Cartoonist. It’s not a real job, is it?’ And he said, ‘No, it’s not. Isn’t that great!’ He took great comfort from that and I feel the same about acting. But there is something in me which feels, partly because I have been doing it all my life and did as a hobby before I did it professionally, that this is not a serious job for adults.”

Perhaps this is why he’s so self-deprecating. Twice during our conversations, he says that he’s not a “real actor”, bringing up Daniel Day-Lewis’s commitment to doing an accent the entire time he makes a film, on and off set, and his own inability to match that; and pointing out Robert De Niro’s weight gain for Raging Bull. For Colette, West wore a fat suit.

And yet, during our conversations, he trots out seven perfect accents and imitations: Mick Jagger, the German film director Werner Herzog, Northern Irish, Irish, Australian, New York and a deep, thespian-type voice to convey mock indignance. He’s not showing off. Some of the voices were to make anecdotes funnier and others were just as anyone might do an accent subconsciously when you think of someone with an accent. You know, for fun.

But he can be serious. “It is a bad thing, to be self-deprecating,” he says, a little bit disappointed with himself. “Maybe it’s an educational thing. It’s quite an English thing, which you become very aware of in America. People just don’t understand why on earth you would do that. There are enough people who would do you down, why do yourself down? I sort of agree with it, now. It is tiresome.”

Clarke Peters, who played Lester Freamon in The Wire, and Othello to West’s Iago on stage in 2011, has a different view of his friend’s dilemma. “As good an actor as he is, his self- deprecating comments are his truth. He would prefer to be playing than talking about himself; exploring a character, discovering nuances, dissecting a character’s arc, is where he’s comfortable. Presenting all that unseen work is nerve-wracking. And actors are never the best judges of their own work. So, to be safe from criticism and microscopic scrutiny, self-deprecation is the best defence."

The fat suit in Colette was no cop-out. “I was then about to play Jean Valjean,” West says, more forgiving of himself now, “a man who has been in prison for 19 years, so there was a clash of waistline imperatives.” He plays the lead in a song-free, six-part Les Misérables — the project in which Olivia Colman out-joked him — the BBC’s first big drama of 2019, with the opening episode broadcast on New Year’s Day.

According to Keira Knightley, the extra padding, and a walrus moustache, did not mute West’s physical attractiveness. “Nobody looks good in that,” she says, “but he somehow manages to be dangerously sexy through it. It was a main conversation between the rest of us on set: how he managed to ooze sexuality while he was farting in two fat suits. Quite extraordinary. I can’t think of another actor who might be able to do that.”

Sarah Treem, the showrunner of The Affair, could not conceive of anyone else but West as her leading man, Noah Solloway. “He didn’t audition. I wrote it with him in mind,” she says. “I was a huge fan of The Wire and I just loved how complicated he could be — both likeable and unlikeable at the same time.”

The Affair begins with Noah, a married father of four, embarking on a fling with a waitress, Alison, played by Ruth Wilson, and then follows the fall-out for the two of them, their spouses and extended families. West, Wilson and the wider cast are terrific, as is the show’s central conceit of telling the story from the point-of-view of different characters, usually two in each hour-long episode.

“Dominic is so good at playing all different facets of Noah,” Treem continues. “His intelligence, his lust, his insecurity, the pain of his childhood, his love for his children. He lets Noah be a very complicated, sometimes deeply generous, sometimes horribly selfish, man.”

West concurs, with a caveat. “I have had difficulty wondering why someone who I can identify with — he’s my age and has a bunch of kids — would do the things he does. Sarah, a very brilliant woman younger than I am, looked at me with a raised eyebrow when I said, ‘Men my age just don’t do that. Why leave your wife and kids for a waitress and start another family?’ She told me the stories of several real people who had. Not that I want my characters to be sympathetic, but I want to give them the benefit of the doubt and I have struggled with Noah in that regard.”

West has five children: a daughter, 20, with former girlfriend Polly Astor, and two sons and two daughters aged 12, 10, nine and five, with his wife, the landscape designer Catherine FitzGerald. It is Catherine’s beef stew we have been eating for lunch, their children’s clothes drying on the Aga behind us. On a smaller table in a nook in the corner of the kitchen, next to some half-completed maths homework, is a pile of dad’s hardbacks: The Flame by Leonard Cohen, William Dalrymple’s retelling of the Indian mutiny of 1857, The Last Mughal, and Changing Stages, Richard Eyre and Nicholas Wright’s history of 20th-century theatre.

Out in the driveway, a small child’s BMX has been discarded in front of mum’s Audi A3, in perfect position to be crunched into the gravel next time the car sets off. At lunch, West didn’t know where the rice was because he and his family have only lived in this house, a former brewery in a Wiltshire hamlet, for a few weeks. They used to live in Shepherd’s Bush, in a house that once belonged to another actor from Sheffield, Brian Glover.

“I have led my family out of London slightly against their will,” West admits, “and quite legitimately want my children to be around plants and animals more than they perhaps might be in London. My wife said I’m trying to create my childhood home here and I said, [now, the thespian accent] ‘No I’m not! Preposterous! What do you mean? It’s nothing like that!’”

His wife’s childhood home is Glin Castle in County Limerick, Ireland, a true country pile (15 ensuite bedrooms, 380 acres, secret bookcase doors) that, in various versions, has been in her family for nearly 800 years. (It’s the house you can see in the background of the photographs on these pages.) She and West want to hold on to it. To do so, the house needs to become a going concern as an events and private hire venue to cover its annual £130,000 running costs.

“I do like history and I do like old buildings,” West says. “I’m also conscious of my wife’s father and his and her legacies. He worked in conservation in Ireland, to try and preserve these old buildings, which were out of favour for many years. It’s up to us to try and keep that going, because when they’re bought by hotels and the like, they’re often destroyed.”

This Christmas and New Year, he says, “we have a super-A-list celebrity taking it. Who, I can’t possibly divulge. Actually, can you do us a big favour and put the website, please, at the end of the piece? ‘Glin dash castle dot com.’ It would make my life easier.”

It’s time to do the school pick-up. “We can keep talking in the car,” he says, and leads the way to a silver Chrysler Grand Voyager. “It has,” West says, buckling up, “the biggest capacity of any people carrier.”

Precisely something a turning-50-next-year dad-of-five should say. “I have no problem getting older,” he says. “For male actors of my age there is less emphasis, and I have already started to play the dad of the lover instead of the lover. The pressure is off. Some swami said that the key to happiness is ‘I don’t mind what happens.’ You mind less about things, let go of them. Turning 50 is great. My daughter is also turning 21, so we should have quite a party.”

He has regrets. “I suppose I wish I had played more Shakespearean roles.”

What about the old-man ones? “Only Lear is as good as the young ones.”

What about not being James Bond? “Fuck no! I’m delighted now that I didn’t get it.”

Auditioning for Bond, in 2005, West turned up in a T-shirt and tatty jeans. “I remember the director, Martin Campbell, saying, ‘Thank Christ you haven’t turned up in a tux like everybody else’. It was for Casino Royale. At the time, I really wanted to get it. I love Bond, and I was the right age for it. They asked me, ‘What do you think should happen with Bond?’ And I said something deeply uninspired like, ‘I think he should go back to being more like Sean Connery’. I thought then that it was the best job you can do. Now, I’m not so sure. You have a year-and-a-half of hell doing publicity.”

West pulls up opposite the school. “Wait here. Enjoy the smell. Kids’ banana skins,” he says, opening the driver’s door. Puzzled, I sniff the air. There is no unpleasant aroma. The interior of Dominic West’s car smells perfectly fine. But, of course, he claims otherwise. He’s a terrific actor and a thoroughly likeable chap, but that self-deprecation still needs some work.

Colette is in cinemas on 11 January; glin-castle.com (https://www.esquire.com/uk/culture/a25557268/dominic-west-interview/)

[mrsbeef]

Heart-shaped herb flower display build

When I’m in an emotional rut, I often find the best way to distract myself is to throw my entire soul into some kind of project, ideally one with a bit of external motivation. And fortunately for me, just such a project suddenly fell into my lap. Some friends of mine were having a party that was part birthday, part LGBT community celebration. It was also Black Panther-themed, and the event name was “Queerkanda”. My task: design and build a punch bowl display based on the glowing purple flower of the Wakandan heart-shaped herb, so that party guests might imbibe and obtain De Strenkt of De Bleck Pentha™. I was only too happy to take up the challenge.

This whole project took 7 days, though only about half this time was spent actually building anything. The rest of the time was spent conceptualising, sketching, finding references, and toting feels.

 Step 1: Site visit

I had a little walk around the area where my installation was going to be placed on the night. The spot was a hedge approximately 2.5 – 3 feet high. The bowl itself was going to be placed in the mouth of a large acrylic cylinder, which would then sit in the middle of the hedge, giving the impression of the flower rising out of the foliage. Sounded simple enough.

Step 2: PINspiration

A bit of research showed that the heart-shaped herb flower from the Black Panther movie is not bowl- or cup-shaped like a lotus or a poppy, but actually more trumpet-shaped, like a datura. In fact to me it looks like nothing so much as ruellia tuberosa, a blue-purple flower that grows wild all over the place here in Trinidad and goes by the amusing local name of ‘monkey gun’.

(JM Garg under Creative Commons licence)

Then I started to have a think about glowing flowers. Immediately I thought of those lamps made of silk (or occasionally wool) with solid black edges that look almost like stained glass once lit up. You know, these things:

So I assembled a Pinterest board with pictures of purple trumpet-shaped flowers like monkey gun and morning glory, and pictures of lamps like these from Etsy. I’d refer to these images for inspiration throughout the project.

Step 3: Preliminary sketching

Having seen the site and the acrylic base I’d be using, and having acquired some reference images, I was now able to start imagining how I might actually build this thing. And what better way to do that than to get a pencil and start drawing stuff?

The basic idea was to make five separate flower segments to then be combined into the full trumpet shape around the cylindrical base. They’d be made of purple fabric with black fabric borders, over a skeleton of large-gauge wire. Each of these wire-and-fabric segments would then be illuminated from the bottom by a carefully-angled blue LED bulb, with another LED to be placed right below the bowl. My initial idea was also to add some different tints and tones to the purple by using bleach solution and blue fabric dye, if I could get my hands on it. This was because

a) using paint would affect how the fabric would look under the LED light, and I didn’t want it becoming opaque; and

b) bleaching and dyeing the fabric would allow me to add colour variation without the risk of colours running.

Now I had a much more concrete idea of how to proceed, which meant it was time to go…

Step 4: SHOPPING!

This was going to be an outdoor installation, and currently in Trinidad it’s the rainy season. And if you don’t know what tropical rain is like… well, it can be pretty merciless. So the key phrase in my design philosophy here was “all seasons”. This is why I elected to make the flower out of fabric instead of paper; I needed something that could stand up to the elements if— heaven forbid— it had to, without falling apart.

Luckily, Trinidad is the land of Carnival, so I was able to get pretty much everything I needed in the same store. However, Trinidad is also the land of public holidays, so I had to wait out the long weekend before I could buy stuff. By the time I got everything it was already Wednesday.

For the base fabric I chose a purple candy floss, which is a translucent material that’s quite shiny on its own. While in the store I used my phone flashlight to test how the candy floss would react to light; I found it had a soft glowing, almost frosted look to it, which I liked.

For the borders I picked out a length of black suedette, which just devours light like nobody’s business, so I figured it would make a very nice contrast with the more luminous candy floss.

Finally, for the wire bones I got a coil of heavy 12-gauge aluminium wire, the kind that’s usually used in the construction of Carnival costumes or large puppets or any other kind of sculptural armature of a certain size. It was a good weight, sturdy, pliable but not excessively pliable. All good qualities, but boy, did this wire cause me some pain. More on that in a moment…

Step 5: Construction begins

Aluminium wire of a certain thickness, when repeatedly bent at the same point, becomes hot to the touch.

Just a cool bit of science I happened to notice.

How did I come to notice this, you ask? Well, you see, as the picture shows, the only wire cutters in my house strong enough to take on the task of cutting through semi-hard 12-gauge aluminium wire were old and rusty and dull and horrible. So I ended up using them as a vice, clamping down one end of the wire while repeatedly bending it back and forth until it just broke. That is how I had to cut every. Length. Of wire.

Raw ends of wire like that are also sharp, and will cut skin when they swing around. I managed to slice open my cuticles twice just trying to get the wire cut. Somehow I was able to keep my eyes intact, though I found myself really missing my safety glasses, which are still in Toronto.

I would shape a single length of wire with the rusty pliers and my hands, leaving the two open ends at the bottom corner. I then bound those ends together with masking tape to give myself a closed fan-like shape. This process I repeated five times. Then I cut the suedette into long strips about an inch wide, and starting at the tape-covered join for a bit of extra stability, I glued the fabric strip in place with a hot glue gun before proceeding to wrap the suedette around the wire, which gave me a heavy black outline.

Finally, I cut the purple candy floss into squares and used hot glue to glue three squares of candy floss to the back of each covered wire outline, before trimming away the excess with scissors. It was an arduous bloody process, and I kept having to take long breaks to be an emotional wreck of a human being, so it did take quite a while.

But one square of fabric would have been way too diaphanous, and in the end it actually turned out to be a pretty good decision to use three sheets, for reasons I will explain later.

Step 6: Lighting tests

LED lights are great because they don’t tend to give off a lot of heat. This is good for my purposes, because any light that gets too hot would melt everything I’d made. That’s why black light bulbs were not an option. Those things get DAMN hot. I know because I burned my fingers on one. Between that, the hot glue gun and the wires, I’m essentially impervious to pain at this point.

Now here’s the fun part.

I could not find blue LED lights no matter where I went. Originally I wanted battery-powered bulbs, but then I relaxed my standards to mains-powered rope lights. Nothing doing. Couldn’t even find them in white.

So I had a poke around at home. I found a large bag full of close to 100 tiny battery-powered LED mini-bulbs in bright white, left over from previous birthday parties here. They weren’t very powerful, but I used them to test out how light would look on the flower segments.

How many bulbs will give enough light? One bulb? Three? ELEVEN?

The number of bulbs needed to satisfactorily light one segment was just prohibitively high (not all the bulbs in the bag worked), so I needed to try something else. I eventually settled on a spool of bright white LED Christmas lights. Using the coil of leftover aluminium wire and two large books, I set up an improvised frame that I could use to arrange the flower segments around the light string.

Hmm, looking pretty damn good if I do say so myself. But there’s something missing.

Step 8: Last-minute detailing

It became apparent to me fairly early on that the candy floss seemed to be completely immune to bleach. I don’t know what I was doing wrong, but I decided to jettison that idea. I also couldn’t get my hands on any fabric dye. But I still wanted to add a bit more black fabric to the flower segments, so that the finished flower would more closely resemble the silk lamps that were my original inspiration. So I got out the sketchbook again and drew out a few ideas.

Eventually I settled on the pattern of thin points of graduating lengths in the lower right corner; I cut them out of suedette and arranged them on top of a segment with straight pins. However, there was a problem: the black suedette absorbed way too much light, and pretty seriously affected the way the light hit the candy floss.

Solution: apply the detailing to the *back* of the segment instead, allowing the dark strips to be visible on the other side while still being covered by a layer of light-diffusing candy floss. I applied the strips of suedette very, very gingerly, using only small dots of hot glue. This is where it became apparent that it had been smart to use three layers of candy floss: the glue adhered only to the first layer of candy floss, so I avoided having spots of dried glue showing up on the surface of the flower and getting thrown into horrible relief by the light. Unintentional win! Now time to go to sleep and await--

Step 9: Installation

I arrived at the location with about an hour and a half of sunlight remaining. Borrowing two extra pairs of hands, I bound the five segments tightly together around the cylindrical base using a length of 14-gauge soft wire, which felt like freaking silk in my hands after everything I’d been through. Then I used some good old-fashioned elbow-grease to shape each segment convincingly and help create the trumpet shape I’d been after. Finally I stuffed the remaining purple candy-floss into the cylinder and arranged the lights before sticking a bowl on top.

Then it began to positively piss down rain. Luckily the outlet where the lights were plugged in had been wrapped up with a piece of a black bin bag, and the whole flower being soaked now meant it wouldn’t catch on fire! Can’t burn this one, Killmonger.

The rain turned out to just be a passing rain (though a heavy, almost hurricane-like one), so once the spot of bad weather was over, all we had to do was wait for sundown.

And there it is!

Queerkanda forever <3

[tkmedia]

Premier League talking points: A tactical masterclass from Pep, more records for Mo and questions about Nuno

A thrilling weekend in the Premier League as more records tumble, frustrations rise and new heroes are created. Let’s get stuck into this week’s talking points. We might be only six rounds into the new season, but the Premier League has a number of exciting stories unfolding. The top four is looking like it could go all the way down to the wire, newcomers are fighting hard to avoid a relegation battle and old rivals like Arsenal and Tottenham are battling for bragging rights. It was another great weekend of action with lots to talk about. Pep reminds us Man City are more than just a big bank balance There was plenty of talk ahead of the Chelsea vs Man City game about how Thomas Tuchel had mastered beating Pep Guardiola’s side, given Chelsea had beaten Man City three times in 2021 – including the Champions League final. Tuchel has also helped Chelsea become an almost unbreakable wall in defence, with his side registering 15 clean sheets and conceding only 14 goals in the Premier League since January. But this weekend, Guardiola reminded the league he is much more than a good handler of super stars – he’s a genuine tactical genius. He set his side up perfectly to take on the Blues at home, with Rodri playing a great game in midfield where he was able to knit the whole team together seamlessly. Advertisement The way Man City pressured Chelsea, especially as the the home side tried to play their way out of defence, showed how carefully Guardiola had prepared his team – and Chelsea couldn’t cope. It was somewhat alarming that a team as good as Chelsea couldn’t adjust and the fact they weren’t able to fire a single shot on target in the 90 minutes will give Tuchel something to think about. Having earned a crucial three points, Man City continue a crucial week as they travel to take on Paris Saint-Germain in the Champions League before heading to Anfield to go up against Liverpool in the Premier League at the weekend. A win in Paris isn’t essential, but it would be useful. A win over Liverpool would really help their Premier League aspirations and six points from away games against their title rivals in the space of seven days would put them in a great position. "???????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????????? ???????????? ???????????????? ????????????????. ???????? ???????????????????????????? ????????. They've got Lukaku and Werner yet they persisted with this!" ????️ This is how Pep Guardiola finally got one over Thomas Tuchel.#PL #OptusSport pic.twitter.com/R2SxPkWE1x — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 26, 2021 Could Nuno Espírito Santo be the first managerial casualty of the season? The season is only six games old, but already there is talk about a change in management at Spurs after Nuno Espírito Santo took responsibility for his side’s dire performance against their North London rivals, Arsenal. “The performance was not good. The game plan was not good. The decisions were not good. So it was not a good day for us. Definitely not a good day,” Nuno said after the match in an interview with Sky Sports. Advertisement The Gunners had won the game before half time with three goals that would have delighted their fans. The passing and build up play sliced the Tottenham defence to pieces and Spurs had absolutely nothing to offer in return. Harry Kane is having a poor start to the season – he’s goalless after six rounds and has only managed four shots on target and zero assists. While the England striker has attracted plenty of criticism for his blunt attacking form, it’s important to note he’s not being provided with any high quality service at the moment. Time and again, the Spurs approach was to play long balls from defence and hope Kane could somehow create a chance. The midfield was missing in action and, as Tim Sherwood explained for Optus Sport, “they’re not brave enough to play through the midfield areas. The biggest damning stat I saw today is that Tottenham side have run less than any team in the Premier League. They haven’t got any energy.” Former Liverpool legend Graeme Souness didn’t hold back when asked about Tottenham’s performance. “Spurs in that first half were shocking, Arsenal were fabulous. But Spurs? Shocking. I was surprised how bad they were.” With Tottenham having lost their past three games by an overall score of 9-1, Santo is coming under pressure. Steve Sidwell, former Premier League midfielder for Chelsea, Aston Villa and Brighton feels coach Nuno is struggling to connect with his team. “When I look at Spurs, I just don’t see a chemistry between the squad and manager,” he said. Vintage Arsenal football. Champagne Arsenal football. Unforgettable Arsenal football ???? From Aaron Ramsdale to Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang to the back of Tottenham's net in 15 seconds. LIVE | https://t.co/prbi84K2ht #OptusSport pic.twitter.com/zuhJKXwSCw — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 26, 2021 Advertisement Brentford spoil Liverpool’s day as Mo gets another record Jurgen Klopp will have some thinking to do as he plans his team to play Man City next weekend after Brentford made his usually solid back four look like a nervous bunch of kids. Brentford – newly promoted this year – showed their fans won’t need to worry about a relegation battle and are becoming an away trip that even the top teams will be nervous about. Liverpool took the lead twice, but Brentford never stopped their direct style of attack and kept up their pressure game on the Reds defence. The approach kept working and twice the home side came from behind and richly deserved their point from the 3-3 draw. Mo Salah picked up another record in his long list of achievements as he became the fastest player to reach 100 top flight goals for Liverpool. But it was Brentford’s players who were celebrating after the game as they kept finding ways to trouble the Liverpool defence. Former Liverpool winger Steve McManaman gave credit to the performance from Brentford saying, “Liverpool, for the first time in a long time, looked really vulnerable at the back today. Every time the ball went forward, the Brentford players caused all kinds of panic in the Liverpool defence and they totally deserved a result.” It’s worth noting Brentford only had 32 per cent of the possession and, when they did have it, they didn’t sit back and try to cling onto their early goal lead. They kept pressing forward and finding ways to cause problems for one of the best defences in Europe. As mentioned, Liverpool will welcome Man City to Anfield in the next round and Klopp will be wondering if he needs to make some changes at the back. If the likes of Brentford can cause such chaos among his back four, what can a side like Man City do? Advertisement HISTORY for Mo Salah and Liverpool ???????????? The Egyptian King becomes the fastest player in Liverpool’s entire history to reach 1️⃣0️⃣0️⃣ English top-flight goals! ⚡ Stream LIVE or on demand ???? https://t.co/0MQuzHdRrY#OptusSport #PL #BRELIV pic.twitter.com/Nfha23fFYQ — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 25, 2021 Solskjaer’s complaints can’t distract from worrying week at home Aston Villa piled the pressure onto Manchester United as they managed to sneak a 0-1 win over the Red Devils just days after Ole Gunnar Solskjaer’s men were knocked out of the Carabao Cup by West Ham. Despite having had over 60 per cent of the ball and 28 shots on goal, United could only create four genuine shots on target and paid the price for their lack of accuracy as Villa scored a goal with just two minutes to go. Solskjaer would complain that the goal was offside, but the reality is that his side were wasteful with the opportunities they created. The lack of goals for the first 88 minutes was suddenly replaced by incredible tension as first Villa went ahead, before the home were given a penalty in the 93rd minute for a handball. Bruno Fernandes, however, sent the ball into orbit and as it flew over the crossbar. Fans and pundits alike could be heard asking why Cristiano Ronaldo didn’t take it. For all the attacking talent in the Man United stable, the focus should really be on their defence – which has struggled at home. They’ve conceded in every one of their last eight Premier League games – their worst record since 1972! Advertisement Former United midfielder, Owen Hargreaves, feels Solskjaer has to use his attacking flair with more confidence next time. “Play more attackers. Control the ball. Get closer to the opposition’s goal. Kill teams off,” was his recommendation. From brain surgery to celebration – Raul Jimenez is back! In November 2020, Raul Jimenez suffered a skull fracture and was told by doctors it was a miracle he had survived the injury. Ten months later, Jimenez scored his first Premier League goal since the injury and secured a crucial three points for Wolves that raised them out of the relegation zone. Opponents Southampton will be disappointed with the result – with 60 per cent of the possession and six shots on target they really shouldn’t have lost this one. But as happens so often, the game finds a way to delight us with a magical moment that defies the statistics. The Saints still haven’t won a game this season and have only managed four goals from the opening six rounds. This is cause for some serious concern. The way Jimenez scored the winner in the 61st minute was quite beautiful – he stepped and swerved his way through the Southampton defence before finishing perfectly to send the away fans wild. Raul Jimenez has his first Premier League goal in 336 days, and it means everything ???? The cut inside. The feint. The finish. The emotion. Glorious. LIVE | https://t.co/EOU6fPPgZP #OptusSport pic.twitter.com/Qq0stEQzhC — Optus Sport (@OptusSport) September 26, 2021 The Premier League and European competition qualification aren’t secured in the opening six rounds and there is a long way to go in the season. But we’re starting to get a feel for some of the themes that we’ll keep seeing week in week out. Do we really have a top four competing for the title or will one or two of the pretenders drift away? Can teams like Brighton and Everton hold on to their top ten spots or will they stumble? Do we already know the teams who will be scrapping it out in the relegation zone all season or can one of them put together some results to climb their way to safety? With another round of European club competition this week and some more interesting Premier League fixtures lined up for next week – including Man City at Liverpool – there will be plenty to talk about in seven days time. Read the full article

[thewidowstanton]

Chris Barltrop, actor and ringmaster: Audacious Mr Astley

Chris Barltrop describes himself as “semi-nomadic”, but is originally from Walthamstow in London. He has entertained audiences all over Europe as a performer, and also devised, directed and facilitated shows. He has a lengthy theatre CV – including leading roles in Twelfth Night, The Crucible and Pygmalion – and has also appeared on TV programmes as diverse as The Dick Emery Show, The Royal Variety Performance, Casualty and Blue Peter. 

Chris has been a ringmaster for 40 years, including a lengthy run from 1997–2012 for the Grand Cirque de Noël in Toulouse, where he spoke in French. In the UK he has been general manager and MC for the Moscow State Circus, Gerry Cottle's Circus, Jimmy Chipperfield's Circus World and Continental Circus Berlin, among others. He lectures on the history of circus and circus life and is an in-demand after-dinner speaker.

Now Chris makes his Edinburgh Festival Fringe debut – opening on his 70th birthday – with his self-penned one-man play Audacious Mr Astley. The show – which celebrates the equestrian Philip Astley and marks the 250th anniversary since he started the art form in the UK – runs at the Pleasance Courtyard from 1-27 August 2018. Chris chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: Were you formally trained as an actor? Chris Barltrop: I went to East 15 Acting School in the late 1960s. No one in my family was in the theatre but my father and my mother had done some amateur acting. My father was a teacher when I was small, but he stopped doing that to be a full-time writer and artist. So I grew up in a house that was arts orientated, full of books, and which was also full of political discussion. My parents used to go to see Joan Littlewood’s productions at Theatre Workshop, Stratford, when they were a young married couple so they saw a lot of actors and were very pleased when I eventually decided to go into it. I never had a plan for life and I haven’t now, really [laughs]. I was good at acting at school and suddenly decided to try it.

Part of my father’s personality was that he was a great raconteur and would tell stories and do the characters and voices. That gave me the idea it was fine to do that. I am, like a lot of performers, very, very shy, but you can hide behind a persona and face the world because it’s not you they’re looking at, it’s the ringmaster or Dogberry, or Malvolio; it’s the character. You’re putting up a front, like the clown with his mask.

What did you do on The Dick Emery Show? It was 1979, when Jimmy Chipperfield was approached by the BBC to do an episode setting all the sketches in the circus. It was wonderful to work with him. Dick was doing a summer show in Great Yarmouth. I went down to see him and he was very nice. I asked him to back my application for Equity membership and he wrote me a charming letter.

And on the Royal Variety Performance? I got in touch with the BBC, whose turn it was that year, and spoke to the producer, Kevin Bishop. He was very keen to include the Moscow State Circus, but he said I’d have to produce our spot. So I planned the spot and we did it as a little showcase; one trick from the Russian bar, 30 seconds of the hat juggling and the clowns and me standing on the side of the stage as ringmaster. [Laughs] The other time was 1989 or ’90, the producers wanted to include ‘The World of the Circus’; Paul Daniels introducing artists from Jolly’s Circus, from Gerry Cottle’s, from John Lawson’s… people brought snakes, Gerry brought a baby elephant, and I came on as the Moscow State Circus’ ringmaster.

How did you get into being a ringmaster? The circus was really an accident. Having finished drama school when it was still the days of the Equity closed shop, I didn’t have an Equity card and you couldn’t get a job without one. It was 18 months after graduating and I was doing fill-in jobs, driving, and so forth. We were living in a little cottage in Saffron Walden and my wife, Barbara, who was a teacher, had had to stop work when we had a baby daughter. So it was up to me to earn a living.

One week in The Stage there was an advert for Hoffman’s Circus: ‘Staff Wanted’. Not performers, but what we in the circus still call ‘billers’, people who put up the bills. They wanted a married couple to run the advance booking office. It said: “Luxury accommodation provided. Best terms in the business.” I said to my wife: ‘What do you think?’. We decided to write and if we got the job, we’d stick with it even if it was absolutely dreadful and awful, because we’d learn something. It was in the entertainment business; it was a new aspect to learn about.

The accommodation was in an artic vehicle that had been built as a mobile hairdressing studio for film location work. It was nicely fitted out and comfortable. We weren’t with the circus but we were on the circus and got to know it. We toured Scotland and enjoyed it very much, and asked if we could go back the following year when they were touring the West Country. One of them said; “You’re hooked.” We said: “No, we just fancy doing a second year,” but actually that was the case.

After that I went to work for Gerry Cottle, still putting posters up, and into the second season with him, he asked about my background. He thought I was better spoken than a lot of people and said would I like to try being ringmaster for one of his Christmas circuses in Cardiff. That was 1976. Then the next season he took me on to the circus as house manager and deputy ringmaster, but as the season went on it became more and more that is was me being the ringmaster all the time. It was very hectic, dealing with the public, doing a show, running back out and trying to do both at once. It was very enjoyable and I learnt a lot.

What qualities does a good ringmaster need? The public see the ringmaster as a sort of compere but in fact the ringmaster is the stage manager. I was very quickly aware that I needed to watch out for people’s wires and everything else and make sure things were safely put up and that the props were in the right place. So there’s an element of safety. I remember once when I was one of two assistant ringmasters to Norman Barrett, a Russian trapeze artist missed his trick and was falling. There was the safety net but it looked as though he was going right to the side of it. He was OK, but my reaction was to run forward and when I looked it was Norman Barrett and me running towards one another to do something about it.

That’s what you need, an awareness and a knowledge of the rigging and of what is happening to the artists. I’ve had swings on trapezes, I’ve climbed up to the high wire just to stand there and see what they’re seeing. It’s important to do that, and over and above that it’s alertness, awareness and a calm character because if something goes wrong you’ve got to deal with it. ‘Right, you pick that up, I’m going to talk to the audience, clear that and tell the clowns to come in… ladies and gentleman…’. You have to be concise and have the skill of thinking what to say next; so often when there’s a bit of action going on I’m editing words in my head. Also you have to be able to present yourself if it’s a TV interview. I do love the variety of it. You can be on national television one minute or knocking stakes in or driving a lorry the next.

Did you have to learn French for Grand Cirque de Noël? I was taught French at school. Our teacher was the headmaster, whose wife was from Brittany. I was the dunce of the class and only scraped through. Sadly, he died but I would have loved to say to him, ‘Guess what I do for a month every winter? I stand in front of 2,500 French people talking French!’. He’d have laughed his head off. He’d have loved it. 

Tell us how Audacious Mr Astley came about? In 1973/74 at the end of that first season there were no Christmas circuses. It wasn’t practical with canvas tents in the winter. I thought I’d like to find out about circus. There were two books in Saffron Walden library: I Love You Honey But the Season’s Over by Connie Clausen and British Circus Life by Eleanor Smith. I read about Philip Astley starting circus in London. As time went on, I think it was 1986, and having an interest in the history of the circus and knowing roughly where it started, I researched and pinpointed the exact spot at Halfpenny Hatch. Astley chose a field where there was a busy footpath. The landowner charged a halfpenny for people to take a shortcut across his land and you paid at a little window in the fence or hatch. So this is the famous spot. It has lovely Georgian cottages on it now that were built in about 1820. 

Has the spot been marked now? I was pleased to identify it for people but there had never been a commemoration on the spot, hence on Easter Monday we unveiled a plaque, which the local residents paid for. They’re so interested in this piece of history related to where they live. I did the premiere of Audacious Mr Astley in Waterloo East Theatre a few yards away; it was smashing.

What form does the show take? With the 250th anniversary getting closer and closer, I thought I’d love to combine my circus knowledge with my acting – directing myself – and my writing skills, which I’ve developed over the years working with the press. A year or so ago, I started to make some notes, in the knowledge that I was not simply giving a lecture or illustrated talk but that I wanted to be Philip Astley and that this would be, not only a unique way to tell the story in the sense that someone will be standing there being him, but also I believe, I hope, with a unique insight.

Astley established various traditions; he wore a red coat, he toured his shows straight away, they went out to Bath and Bristol and he took the circus to Scotland, where I’ll be in a couple of weeks. He introduced it to Ireland and Europe. And he also established a tradition of tough mindedness and independence and overcoming the odds to make sure it happened.

How important has it been for traditional circus in the UK to mark this 250-year anniversary? It’s very important for all circus. It’s a great thing with Circus250 having tremendous individual supporters; Martin Burton of Zippos Circus is one. He’s got the horses and this year he’s reproduced The Courier, which happened in Georgian circuses, where someone stands across two horses with the other horses coming through. Also it’s had the backing of Dea Birkett. She’s the chair of the co-ordinating group and has originated some events of her own.

There is also Andrew Van Buren’s Philip Astley Project in Newcastle-under-Lyme. I love their line: “Philip Astley is Newcastle-under-Lyme’s Shakespeare.” And so he is. Look what he achieved; it’s not literature but he had a cultural impact, which has spread worldwide… . He called it Astley’s Amphitheatre of Equestrian Arts and took it to royal families everywhere. He promoted himself and it was famous throughout the 19th century; Dickens, Jane Austen, Thackeray wrote about it. William Blake lived in one of Astley’s houses and he must have sat there sketching the horses in the amphitheatre. Some people think circus started with contemporary circus 30 years ago, and don’t want animals, but Astley was a rider so horses were involved. He called it a ‘hippodrama’; a play with lots of horses.

Who created your costume? I carefully researched the costume and was very lucky and found a book on eBay The 15th King’s Hussars with uniforms from 1759, which was when his regiment was formed and when he joined. The costume was made by Farthingale Costumes, who make costumes for reenactors, such as The Sealed Knot. It’s the exact material, it’s the exact cut and tailoring; it’s precise.

How do feel about going to Edinburgh for the first time? It’s been a wonderful 12 months in lots and lots of ways. It’s been absolutely fantastic! And to have performed as him on the very spot on Easter Monday, the exact 250th anniversary, was a fabulous thing to be able to do. There’s another anniversary, mine and Mr Astley’s; my 70th birthday on 1 August and I’m presenting him as 70 years old. It’s perfect, absolutely brilliant; it’s such a happy coincidence.

Chris performs Audacious Mr Astley at the Pleasance Courtyard (venue 33) from 1-27 August 2018 during the Edinburgh Festival Fringe

Picture credits: Ashleigh Cadet; Pierre Gautier: David Davis

For Audacious Mr Astley tickets, click here

Chris’ website

Twitter: @Astley250 @circus250 @ThePleasance @edfringe @PhilipAstleypro

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @blizgori!

Merry Christmas, blizgori! Hope you have a very special one!

*****

The smell of pine in the winter time

“It’s too tall!”

“It’s not too tall!”

“It’s gonna hit the ceiling!”

“It’s not gonna hit the ceiling!”

“Did we seriously need to have one this big!”

“Of course, we seriously needed to have one this big!”

“Would you stop arguing with me like that!”

“Stop arguing with you like what!”

Always having to hide his immense satisfaction and borderline glee at having successfully riled Derek up with his antics was nearly an impossible feat for Stiles. Still, he managed for one very selfish and very important reason. Derek Hale was smoking hot when he was mad!

Luckily, now that they were dating, Stiles got to see this angry side of Derek all the time, though he wasn’t quite sure what that said about the longevity of their relationship. To Stiles, Derek was the sexiest person to have ever walked the earth. Hands-down. But Angry Derek….with his scorching hot glare and that delicious vein on the side of his neck that strained as he turned a furious shade of red, his every muscle tense, even the ones in his eyebrows…well, that was all the Christmas gifts Stiles would ever need.

“Please, for the life of me, just stop talking, I beg of you,” Derek pleaded, pressing his palms together in prayer. “I’ll get your tree up somehow. You just sit there, and look pretty, and shut up.”

Stiles’ already wide grin grew wider. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Of course.” Derek winked then switched his focus back to the tree. “I also think you’re annoying, ridiculous, deranged, obnoxious…”

The list went on and on. Derek was probably dreaming about how good it would feel to put his hands around Stiles’ neck and just wring. Stiles kept bothering him nonetheless, barking out absurd orders as Derek struggled to put up their humongous Christmas tree that Stiles had begged him for. It was their first holiday together as a real couple and Derek had wanted to buy a stupid fake tree, one that would be too small and too easy to set up. Stiles, on the other hand, wanted a real tree, one that was big and fluffy and smelled like fresh pine. And though their relationship was fairly new—they’d only been together for a month—Stiles was discovering that Derek typically let him have his way. Probably knowing that giving into Stiles was well worth the sex in the end.

“Whew,” Stiles puffed and wiped pretend sweat from his forehead as Derek finally got the tree on the stand. “Well, that was a lot of work!”

“You. Did. Nothing.” Derek glared, biting out each word.

Stiles scoffed. “I’m management. That’s like the most important job. Everyone knows the top’s where all the pressure’s at. Supervising is a lot more stressful than manual labor.”

“I’ll show you manual labor,” Derek murmured, a suggestive glint in his eyes as he slid into Stiles’ personal space and pressed their bodies together.

Stiles had all intention of rolling his eyes at Derek’s massive cheesiness but gasped instead when Derek’s hands went under his thighs to hoist him up into the air. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and clung on while Derek walked them towards the couch, nibbling on Stiles’ ear.

“Wait! We need to decorate the tree!” Stiles whined when Derek dropped them down onto the couch.

“We can do it later,” Derek dismissed, running his teeth against Stiles’ jawline.

“No, we can’t do it later! We have to do this now while the Christmas spirit is still alive.”

“The Christmas spirit can wait an hour.” Derek kissed him then and Stiles forgot all about the tree and the arguing and got lost in the warmth and feel of his mouth.

He remembered the disaster that surrounded their first kiss. Derek had a rough encounter with a witch and was cursed by a nasty spell that called for someone to have sex with him or he would die.

Naturally, out of the pack, Stiles was the only suitable option to help Derek with that, and so they went a couple of rounds in bed but didn’t even kiss at all. As you can imagine, it was very awkward later realizing that they’d fucked for hours but hadn’t kissed. Things got even more awkward as they tried to push past it and pretend that the whole situation never happened.

After a few weeks of unbearable awkwardness, they’d finally had enough and made the grownup decision to kiss to get it all over with. However, they hadn’t expected to never want to stop kissing and honestly haven’t ever since.

Stiles whimpered when Derek’s lips pulled away from his then moaned when they continued kissing down his body. He felt a tug as Derek undid his pants and opened his eyes hungrily to watch when he spotted a sorry sight.

He glanced to it and then back at Derek, torn. “Look at it. It looks so sad that it’s still naked.”

“I’m sad that we’re not naked,” Derek griped.

“C’mon.” Stiles pushed Derek off after a long, bruising kiss and stood, buttoning his pants. “I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

“You’re exhausting,” Derek sighed but got up anyway.

With such a big tree, they would need a lot of manpower and a ton of decorations. Stiles had brought a bunch of boxes of extra decorations to the loft from his dad’s house, trying to save money, being a poor college student and all. But he wished that they would have invested in some new Christmas lights at least instead of trying to work with ones that were super old and tangled up.

He’d made a big mistake in delegating the responsibility of untangling the lights to Derek. It was a huge job that required one to be patient, level-headed, gentle, and super careful; qualities that neither of them really possessed. He thought Derek would’ve done better with it though, because Derek was a werewolf. Honestly, he thought Derek was supposed to be good at everything because he was a werewolf.

But when Derek started getting so frustrated that he was growling and popping wolfy claws, Stiles had to step in and take them from him before he ripped through the wiring. He gave Derek another task of going through the boxes and sorting the ornaments while Stiles dealt with the lights. That way everyone would be happy. Basically, what being in a management position was all about and why his job was way more important.

It took about thirty minutes and a lot of cursing, but Stiles was actually able to get all the lights untangled and was working on putting them around the tree when he heard the sound of glass shattering from behind him.

“Dude! What the fuck!” Stiles cried when he looked back and saw one of the glass ornaments in a pile on the ground. “I thought I told you to be careful!”

He was waiting on Derek to say something, to apologize, or explain himself, or be his usual asshole self. But Derek was just standing there, completely silent, and staring at this one spot on the floor.

“Derek?” Stiles was less annoyed now and more concerned as he put down the lights and tried to figure out what was going on.

“S-s-s-pider,” Derek stammered.

“Uh where?” Stiles asked, frowning as he looked around and saw nothing.

“Right there!” Derek pointed to the same spot he’d been staring at, eyes refusing to budge.

Stiles moved a little closer and squinted. “I don’t see it.”

“Are you blind?!” Derek snapped, finally looking up. “It’s right there. It’s huge! You can’t miss it!” He looked back over to the spot and paled. “Oh god… it moved!”

“Where?” Stiles searched the floor again but again found nothing.

“There!” Derek swung around, pointing somewhere else. “Fuck now it’s over there! It’s right fucking there, Stiles!”

“Seriously?” Stiles furrowed his brows. He was honestly scratching his head at this. “This has got to be some sort of act.”

“It’s not,” Derek said gravely. “Fuck, it must have come from the tree.”

Stiles rolled his eyes; he should’ve known where this was going. Of course, Derek just wanted an excuse to villainize the perfection that was his real tree. But that still didn’t explain the sheer terror he was seeing on Derek’s face. Or the high-pitch scream Derek let out when whatever spider he was seeing moved again. Or even his running away and jumping onto the couch for safety.

“Oh, I see it now!” Stiles shouted, catching a glimpse of something brown and furry crawling along the floor.

It was definitely a large spider, for sure. One could probably keep it as a pet. But it didn’t look poisonous or particularly harmful in any way to Stiles, at least. Then again, he was no expert. And while the spider was definitely big, they as humans were a lot bigger. So, Stiles still wasn’t understanding why Derek was so scared.

“Why are you standing on the couch?” Stiles asked, watching Derek balance himself on one of the couch’s arms. “Did you not see the size of that thing!” Derek asked incredulously. “It’s gigantic!”

“Yeah, it is pretty big but you’re a werewolf…” Stiles said slowly in case Derek had forgotten.

“Fuck! It’s on my furniture! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Would you calm down!” Stiles urged, watching as the spider crawled its way onto the TV stand. “It’s not anywhere near you!”

But Derek did not heed any of Stiles’ advice. In fact, Stiles could see that Derek was done hearing seasonable reasoning completely. He just kept shrieking his head off as the spider crawled over his big screen TV then onto the wall where it remained stationary for a couple of minutes.

“I call bullshit,” Stiles announced then turned to Derek skeptically. “How can you be afraid of spiders? You lived in your old burned down home. You had no roof! All kind of bugs must have been crawling on you when you were asleep!”

“I bought expensive repellent to keep them away.”

“But what about when you lived in the underground train car?”

“Again, no spiders!”

“But you’re a werewolf! All you do is run around in the woods! Basically spider territory!”

“Hey, do I question you about your irrational fear of yogurt?”

Stiles’ hand flew to his heart in utter betrayal. He couldn’t believe that Derek had the audacity to throw that in his face. “That is a very real and rational fear! Not only does it taste disgusting, but it’s alive, and I can hear the screams of young innocent bacteria cultures crying out with every spoonful!”

“Stiles…” Derek said, his breathing laboring in a way Stiles was very familiar with, like he was on the verge of a major panic attack. “Stiles, for once, can you just stop talking and get rid of it for me, please. I need you here.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, now that he was grasping the severity of the situation. “Okay, let me just get a—”

He sprinted to the kitchens and rummaged through the cabinets for something to trap the spider in. He was hoping that this itsy bitsy spider would be cooperative and would just get into whatever container Stiles found without his having to chase it. He wasn’t going to be cruel. He just wanted to catch this spider, take it outside, and order it an Uber ride home. But if things didn’t go as planned, he wouldn’t think twice about giving this spider The Stomp. It had scared the living shit out of his wolfy boyfriend. This was personal now.

“AHA!” Stiles exclaimed and held up a plastic lunch container.

“Not my tupperware!” Derek called out.

“Why not?”

“Because that fucking spider doesn’t pay rent and I need them for meal prep!”

“You can just wash it and use it again,” Stiles tried.

“You think I’m gonna eat out of something a fucking spider’s been in? That’s disgusting!” Derek shouted hysterically.

Stiles could’ve said that there was a chance it was recycled plastic from a dump where spiders had already crawled all over it. But he didn’t because he’d already acted like such a shit boyfriend tonight by not responding to Derek in crisis fast enough. But he kept his mouth shut and put the tupperware back, finding a plastic butter container that nobody would miss.

“Okay,” he said, walking over to Derek, “I’m gonna lure the spider onto the floor. Don’t faint and don’t freak out.”

Fear never made anyone a good listener. Stiles knew he was asking too much in telling Derek not to freak out, but he was hoping Derek could attempt to keep it to a minor one. He worked as fast as he could to get the spider in the container. Derek was counting on him and Stiles couldn’t let him down. He missed catching the spider once, twice, but on the third try, he was victorious. He got the spider firmly under the container on the floor, but must not have realized how much energy he’d been exerting because he was panting by the end of it.

“You ever see that video where the guy catches the spider under a container and then it explodes and has like a million babies?” Stiles asked Derek between breaths. “Right, you probably don’t want to hear about that right now.”

Derek got down from standing on the couch and sank into a seat, covering his face with his hands. Stiles desperately wanted to go over there and comfort him but was worried he wouldn’t be welcome. He took the spider downstairs and released it back into the wild, telling the little fucker never to come again. He also told it to tell its friends never to bother his boyfriend either, because Stiles wouldn’t be so nice the next time.

When he got back upstairs, he was fully expecting for Derek to want some space between them. Stiles had acted like a total jerk and Derek had a right to be pissed. Stiles was pissed with himself too. He’d never wanted to fuck up this bad so early in the relationship on something so important. He enjoyed making Derek angry but never like this.

However, he was pleasantly surprised—more like ecstatic, really— when he opened the front door to the loft and saw Derek still sitting on the couch but holding his arms out for Stiles to come sit on his lap.

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you were scared,” was the first thing Stiles made sure to say, that and kissing every inch of Derek’s face. “That was a dick move, and I promise you, I won’t leave you hanging like that ever again.”

“It’s fine,” Derek chuckled, blushing a little in embarrassment. “You didn’t know.”

“I should always believe you,” Stiles said then smiled, shaking his head. “But seriously, who would’ve ever thought that your biggest fear would be spiders.”

Derek snorted. “That’s hardly my biggest fear. Not by any means.”

Stiles slapped a hand over his mouth that he’d just put his giant foot in. Sometimes he was an idiot and forgot that Derek had a terrible past and made such insensitive comments when he should know better. Of course, spiders weren’t Derek’s biggest fear. The guy had lost his entire family in a fire.

Derek seemed to sense Stiles’ inner turmoil and tried to make him feel like a less horrible person by saying, “You know, my biggest fear now is telling someone I love them and them not saying it back.”

“No way! That’s a big fear for me too!” Stiles shared. “Like how awkward must that be. Pouring your heart out to someone and them just not saying anything back. The only thing you can really do after that is crawl into a hole and live out the rest of your days as a crazed mole-person.”

It was quiet then. Too quiet. And while this holiday season was known for its “silent nights” Stiles sensed something was amiss here.

“Um, Derek… are you trying to… imply… something?”

“I figured now would be a good time as any after you just saved my life.”

Stiles cackled. “That wasn’t saving your life, dude. I’ve actually saved your life. So many times in fact. You’ve literally been bleeding to death in my car. This spider incident does not compare.”

“It was a big deal for me. There’s no one I trust more than you. You know that right Stiles,” Derek told him.

Stiles was so touched he couldn’t speak. Honored even. Stiles knew it was early. Some would say too early. After all, it had only been a month. But, they’d known each other a long time and have been through so much together. And Stiles wanted to say it. He wanted to say it so Derek would know he’d do everything he could not to let any of his fears come true. So, he did.

“I love you too,” Stiles said and kissed him, feeling Derek’s happy smile ghost against his lips.

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Derek sputtered, wide-eyed.

“You don’t have to. I already know.”

They kissed again, not coming up for air for a while. Stiles was perfectly content with staying there all night, but then Derek messed it up by pulling away.

“Come on, let’s decorate your precious Christmas tree,” he sighed, moving Stiles off of him and kissing his brow.

“No,” Stiles whined, pulling Derek’s mouth back to his. “The Christmas spirit can wait an hour.”

“Next year fake tree and no spiders,” Derek said sternly.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Stiles rolled his eyes.