#lark takes a while to fully warm up but shes trying her best

[shifting-lark]

Lark meets Nami

Enjoy this random snippet ~

((BACKSTORY: A huge fight had just taken place between Moria (guy who enslaved Lark) and the Straw Hat pirates. After they defeated him, everyone is in a big banquet hall in the castle eating, drinking, and celebrating. Everyone had minor scrapes and bruises but Zoro was still unconscious, having the most serious injuries by far. At this point, Lark has only spoken with a few of the Straw Hats but Luffy has already invited her to sail with them.))

Lark POV

I had never seen a party quite like this one. The Straw Hats were spread throughout the room, laughing and talking with the other residence that had just been freed from Moria’s reign. It was the happiest I had felt in awhile, yet everything had happened so fast. My life had completely changed in less than a day all thanks to Luffy and his crew.

I sat on the banquet hall floor, leaning casually against the wall, sitting next to Zoro. He was unconscious, laying on a makeshift bed on the floor, his bandages just cleaned and replaced with Chopper’s help. I had witnessed everything he went through, and I couldn’t seem to let myself leave his side.

“It’s Lark right?” I heard a friendly female voice ask. I looked up to see the red head standing over me. I nodded at her and I guess she took that as an invitation to sit next to me. “I’m Nami, the navigator.” I nodded in understanding. “How’s he doing?” She asked looking down at Zoro.

“Chopper says he’ll be okay, just needs to rest.” I explained. There was an awkward pause and I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t a very social person and meeting strangers was never easy.

“How long have you been on the crew?” I asked finally.

She gave a short laugh, “It depends, do you include the time I tried to leave the crew?”

“You tried to leave?” I was a little shocked. The crew was so tight knit it seemed impossible to imagine them separately.

Nami nodded, “It’s a long story that I’m sure you don’t care for. But basically I was confused and thought I had to do something on my own. I’ve always been on my own, I wasn’t used to having friends to count on.”

I chuckled, “Same here…”

She sighed happily, “But then I met him.” she smiled fondly over at Luffy who was laughing with Usopp and Chopper.

“What’s so special about him?” I asked, looking over at their captain. He was short, goofy, not very intimidating, and just a weirdo overall. “Why choose to follow him?”

She giggled to herself, “You don’t know him yet, Lark. You see him on the outside but you still have no idea who he really is.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and instinctively I almost shrugged her off, but I didn’t. “Give it a week, or even just a day, you’ll see who he really is. He’s saved my life in more ways than one. He’s the greatest man I’ve ever met.” Her big brown eyes showed pure honesty and I could only nod in response.  

She gave me a reassuring smile and stood up. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be here for you. And so will everyone else.” She smiled again and walked away, heading back towards Robin.

I was left with my thoughts, watching her walk away. “The greatest man you’ve ever met, huh?” I said quietly to myself, “We’ll see about that.”

Note: Lark is such a closed off person, but she doesn’t not like meeting people, it’s just hard for her to fully open up. She immediately thinks people will use her or hurt her so she doesn’t put her guard down. So Nami being nice and just sitting down and talking with her Lark internally was like ????? excuse me? 

[curious-minx]

A ranking of four 200 Hundredth Episodes: Bob’s Burgers’ recent victory lap stands above the rest

The Bicentennial. How many among us get to be a part of something that get’s broadcasted for over 200 episodes? In the world of animated sitcoms it is a small, Fox dominated burrow. Bob’s Burgers is the latest series to become bestowed with this particular honor, and is possibly the best of the Fox line-up to do so. Family Guy’s 200th episode, Season 11 - Episode 12,  is the only Fox series to be given a full blown on-air anniversary treatment. The episode is a Valentine themed Brian and Stewie lark and like all of the other entries on this list celebrates it’s 200th episode anniversary in a more casual, blithe fashion. Family Guy is the only show Fox has bothered to air an entire half hour  special, but months before the actual airing of the 200th episode in Februrary. I am deliberately skipping over Family Guy and South Park’s 200th episodes. In the former’s stead I chose to watch American Dad’s 200th episode, because McFarlane is such a titan in adult animation that deserves recognition. The South Park episode is too exhausting for me to get into. South Park’s 200th episode, Season 14 - Episode 05, is the one that evoked the wraith of a  New York based Radical Muslim organization that would soon be “shut down” (i.e. members arrested) a few months after the episode aired on April, 2010. The 200th episodes of South Park and the Simpsons are the only two series to have received Emmy nominations, and in Simpsons case a win, due to their 200th episodes. Here’s hoping for Bob’s Burgers to get a similar recognition, because I think its 200th episode is pretty special and straight to the point.

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1.) Bob’s Burgers - “Bob Belcher and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Kids” 

Out of all the 200 episodes is episode the most consciously in conversation with itself. The 200th episode has been treated with a reasonable amount of respect with The A.V. Club bringing their Bob’s Burgers coverage out of retirement and Variety and Salon also got into the mix. Gotta be honest a part of me over at The Curious Minx would prefer if the Bob’s Burgers recap lane was kept on the narrower side, but on the other hand this is a fabulous series that should be written about by as many different publications. 

In a recent  tired and routine zoom Variety interview (https://variety.com/2020/tv/news/bobs-burgers-remote-recording-200th-episode-1234830796/) BB’s creator Loren Bouchard touches upon how this 200th episode is supposed to serve as something of a pilot. An episode so fully realized that even if you are someone with no active bank of knowledge about the Bob’s Burgers minutiae of the Belcher family dynamics and still enjoy this episode as much as a full blown series fan. The episode is written by Steven Davis, a producer and writer with an extensive amount of episode writing and producing credits on Bob’s Burgers. The quality of a Bob’s Burgers script in the pandemic era  is becoming more relevant, because of the diminished role of improv, and this episode definitely feels crafted by a creative team fully in touch and aware of their characters and how to put them in satisfying situations.

Compared to any of the other animated sitcom families, the Belchers are noticeably the more lower middle class. There is a pervading sense of an overall struggle for survival and prosperity that is cooked right into the series pilot debut. Season 1 - Episode 01 “Human Flesh” sets the tone of the series, despite the overall writing and characters being sharper, the stakes have not changed much. Bob’s Burger’s like any American restaurant not under the protective aegis of a Big Franchise is in a state of perpetual turmoil. In the pilot episode the difficulties of running a standard American restaurant are made even more complicated by dysfunctional family hijinks. 

The 200th episode differs from the pilot in one dramatic way and that is the presence of the extended Belcher family member Teddy. In the original pilot Teddy is completely absent, whereas in the 200th episode Teddy’s role as surrogate family member is made even most distinct by having Teddy being invested above and beyond in helping save his pal’s Bobby’s restaurant. The return of the ornery and quirky Health Inspectors Ron and Hugo are serving as the most obvious form of echoing of the pilot. I highly recommend rewatching the pilot after viewing this episode, because I had completely forgotten that the Belcher’s saving grace is that Hugo and Linda were once in a relationship together. The pilot is noticably very contained setting wise, focusing exclusively in and around the Belcher family restaurant. Whereas, the 200th episode explores more settings with the Belcher children going across town to find a replacement for Bob’s broken oven part, an oven that they feel they are entirely to blame for destroying. A couple of celebrity guests Stephanie Beatriz and SNL’s Kyle Mooney that true to Bob’s Burgers spirits are usually just playing characters of little to no consequence. Unlike the other Fox family in this list that really leans in on having celebrities playing themselves, the best celebrity guest appearances on Bob’s Burgers tend to be the most anonymous, and Kyle Mooney’s put upon hardware store clerk is a great example of this. 

Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t dwell on the satisfying Linda contribution of the episode. Linda makes the critical set piece that ignites the restaurant fire. Linda’s gnarly mermaid sculpture is a great visual metaphor for the series. Especially when the Mermaid Statue is used to build up a very well constructed song-based gag. The whole episode made me feel really good about the state of the series and especially the Movie (And Loren Bouchard backs this up by giving interviewers the impression that the film’s delay has only improved its quality). As far as 200 episodes of long running animated sitcoms go, you certainly can’t go wrong with this one!

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2. King of the Hill - Hank’s Bully

By all accounts the most unremarkable episode on this list. An episode that also has a trollish spirit that gets a sadistic glee in tormenting the fuddy duddy Hill patriarch. This is the also the 200th episode with the lowest stakes, the least of a spectacle, and most unassuming 200th episode. While trying to research anything of note to include in my review of the episode all I could find was this reddit post (https://www.reddit.com/r/KingOfTheHill/comments/bpl235/hanks_bully_was_near_impossible_to_watch/) where a user is criticizing the way in which Hank it mistreated. When I was rewatching this episode my partner also found this episode hard to watch and sympathized with Hank’s plight against a Clifford-like malicious imp of a hateful child who’s sole purpose is to make the lives of everyone else around him more difficult. 

To me what most stands out about this episode is the fantastic direction by longtime King of the Hill animator, former Bob’s Burgers animator, and current Rick and Morty director, Kyoung Hee Lim. A seemingly badass woman  working in a field that is not particularly kind to women or to women of color. I am pretty shocked that no one in all of her years as a director on some pretty important shows has brought her up or did an interview piece on her. Maybe this is something the good folks at The Curious Minx can aspire to? I am definitely going to be taking a further dive into the 22 episodes of King of the Hill that she directed and revisit the 15 episodes of Bob’s Burgers to see if I can discern what makes a Kyoung Hee Lim episode. 

One major ploy detail that I noticed in this episode, a detail that is also oddly prevalent on the other two 200th episodes, is the trash talk. And by that I do mean literal trash talk. The B-plot of this episode is what makes the episode pop for me in that the pairing of Dale and Peggy is a really successful one. The episode finds Dale frustrated with the Arlington Waste department and how they won’t take his refrigerator full of dead squirrels and his freeze full of dead crow. Dale then takes advantage of this dead blessing in disguise by getting into the world of competitive taxidermy with Peggy’s creative eye complimenting Dale’s gruesome technical prowess.   Both of these characters operate on such an oddly similar wave lengths that watching the two of them embark on a taxidermy journey together was strangely touching and fun to watch. And I am a vegan that feels weird about killing animals in video games, but the ending visual gag of the episode is especially inspired. My one complaint is that the episode is severely lacking in Bobby Hill. Probably because I just recently finished watching Better Things and basically want every show to be the Pamela Adlon show all the time. 

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3.) American Dad - “The Two Hundred”

Visually and conceptually this 200th episode really impressed me. As previously mentioned at the start of the post, I am not someone that is particularly warm to the McFarlane brand of comedy, but American Dad really is where he saves his best work for. This 200th episode got the complete opposite treatment of Family Guy. Airing on a Monday night on TBS this episode was pretty much given a shrug, but that does not tamper down any of its ambitions. The whole episode is basically a pastiche of Apocalyptic Dystopian alternative timeline tropes centering around an alone and traumatized by his past Stan. The episode has one of the most clever ongoing visual gags I have seen on a show where flash backs are teed up by Stan’s ridiculous new post apocalyptic tattoos. The core family and ancillary characters of American Dad are all given terrific moments to shine in this heightened post apocalyptic hellscape, and the key to any enduring series success if whether or not you can tell that the creatives involved respect and enjoy the characters that they are writing for. This being a McFarlane project there are a couple of embarrassing lines of dialogue from the show’s respective gay and Black characters and an over indulgence on Rodger based humor, but overall this 200th episode left me with more appreciation for this series as a whole. I will still always make sure to appreciate whenever a long running creative property takes stylistic swings and risks.While there is nothing particularly fresh or novel about a cannibal laden post apocalyptic wasteland this 200th episode managed to find some find fun character beats to subvert tropes or double down on them. The visual of a consistently on the move runaway train that is also mysteriously always on fire was also especially well executed. This episode could easily have been a series finale if the series hadn’t already played around with alternative timelines like in their Christmas specials. 

This episode also features more trash talk! One of Stan’s tattooed regrets revolves around Francine failing to get the trash picked up on trash day because Stan had purposely neglected to take it out. This rather odd pattern is about to make a whole lot of sense with the fourth and my least favorite 200th episode by the Simpsons.

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4.) The Simpsons - Trash of the Titans

How many more times can I impress upon you that the 200th episode  of your animated sitcom is an  an occasion for trash talk? One more time. This 200th episode of The Simpsons is by far the most trash centric 200th episode of them all. The first animated adult sitcom to get over the 200th episode hump, the 200th episode  “Trash of the Titans” has some fun real-world trivia attached to it, but other than that this is one of the lesser “Golden Era” Simpsons offerings by a long shot. 

My primary source on contention with the episode lies in the direction Homer takes in most of the episode. A 2016 Uproxx (https://uproxx.com/media/simpsons-donald-trump-hillary-clinton/) article gained traction and a Wikipedia citation by comparing Homer’s antics to that of possible former rising Dictator Donald Trump. The episode involves Homer acting at his absolute most abhorrent in an election to boot, and his behavior in this episode is some of the most irredeemable Homer has ever been. The article oddly neglects to make note of the fact that Homer in this episode also makes similar slights against Mexico, referring it to an inherently “dirtier” country.  The episode ends on a truly groan inducing aged as fine as old socks in the cheese drawer with a crying Native American gag. Ah 1998 when we could pretend that the Crying Native American commercial was just silly social commentary and not racial minstrelsy. 

There is also one other instance that didn’t sit well with me and that’s when Homer is seen physically assaulting a woman working the booth at a U2 concert. I could handle the bullish descent into crooked politician, but watching Homer violently push a woman out of the way felt out of place. A retread of all the growth and development we’ve seen him go through over the course of 200 episodes. Of the other three patriarchs discussed on this list a Homer Simpson centric plot tend to not work as well for me especially if you compare him to the other animated TV fathers. 

The episode also features two celebrity guest spots. One made by Steve Martin who does a good job becoming more or less unrecognizable as the original Springfield Sanitation Commissioner Ray Patterson. The other celebrity guest appearance is more of an ill-portent of signs to come with U2 playing themselves. Whenever a celebrity is playing themselves on The Simpsons it usually does not work out. Not everyone can be used to advance a plot as seamlessly as Barry White. Although it is funny, funny in a “oh, we were so much simpler” sort of way that this episode garnered controversy and a ban on UK television over U2 and Mister Burns’ use of the word, “wanker.” Flash forward to 2009 and Bono is once again throwing around his favorite cheeky pejorative this time in reference to fellow earnest bland frontman Chris Martin (https://www.music-news.com/news/UK/24741/Read). 

Resting Wanker Face

The other fun factoid about this episode once again is not related to the show, but the show’s influence spilling out into the real world. In the late 80s and throughout the 90s, Adams Mine was an abandoned pit located somewhere in Ontario situated in a term I’m learning for the first time, the “Canadian Shield.” An exactly similar proposal is made by Homer Simpson during his reign of Sanitation Commissioner. This sweeping of trash under the rug does culminate into a satisfying visual gag as a climax that feels like a Garbage Pail Kid/Toxic Avenger version of Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. More bizarrely and unfortunate, this episode also aired a week after the passing of Linda McCartney. How messed up is that? Couldn’t they just have waited at the end of the season or at least on an episode that doesn’t involve wallowing in filth? 

The episode features another developing bad habit in terms of the inclusion of songs and song parodies. There is virtually no connection to Willy Wonka in this episode other than the fact that both “Candy Man” and “Trash Man” have share a similar pronoun. Unlike the use of songs in Bob’s Burgers where they tend to be unique to the character’s reaction to dramatic consequence, on the Simpsons it’s more often than not a  a song for the sake of a song. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but why not go for a joke about parodying real musical trash titans, The Cramps, or even trash up a U2 song? On the episode’s Wikipedia entry in the Production section Matt Groening is quoted to saying that the visual gag of a department store sporting the slogan, “Over a Century Without a Slogan,” wasted a lot of man hours. So much effort and reach for a joke with a fraction of a minimal of pay off is essentially the Simpsons ethos in one visual gag. 

Once again, it bears repeating that this episode is also rewarded for an Emmy. If you break down the episode as starting off as a satire of Holiday Commercialism with the creation of the cynical Love Day holiday and ending the episode as a foreboding parable about the very real ecological repercussions of improper waste management. This clearly sounds like classic Simpsons reverse engineering management. Instead this is a classic case of an episode of the Simpsons being more interesting to think about than it is to actually watch. This is also the 200th episode that least honors its central cast of characters. Marge and Lisa are both afforded meager moments of wisdom and decency, but Bart is more or less even more irrelevant to the plot than Bobby Hill was on his 200th episode. 

As for today it seems like the only Simpsons anniversary that will likely rouse any more attention it’s way will be the 1,000th episode.. Think how much more trash we as a collective species will have made by the time that milestone roils around!

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In Conclusion:

When you start to make 200 episodes of anything the one feeling that seems to creep up is one of, “taking out the trash,” or you’re making art out of trash. Trash being a metaphor for the entire medium of Television. The TV market is an ever growing landfill, one of America’s Rapiest Dads made a whole cartoon about kids living and learning life lessons in a junk yard. So much of Television is only a means of  mass marketing  ground up pieces of detritus. Then you’re supposed to be grateful that your detritus gets to be a bumper for advertisements and the occasional merchandising. You’re an adult, you’re not supposed to take cartoons seriously. They are empty calories, brain noise, and at best background noise. Yet they are the only types of shows that can consistently manage to get over well over the 200 episode mark. At least back before the Netflix business model of show’s only deserving 1.5 seasons. 

Bob’s Burgers is reaching its 200th episode in an unfathomable media landscape, one that is completely demolished and in the process of being rebuilt from the aftermath of the coronavirus. The 2020s could be a turning point for animation going forward, animation is a severely grueling and technically difficult sector. This newfound interest in the medium may finally be  the financial boost and support that it dearly needs in order to properly pay artists for their work. The creators of these series may not think of what they do as art and to keep themselves afloat have to think of the act of bringing an animated sitcom into the world as necessary as taking out the trash. Our trash is a mirror. Inside the landfill we see our own morals and values reflected right back at us. Bringing forth life means a lot of shit. With every year you keep an infant human alive that means (x) amount of disposable diapers piled up. I suggest we make like the Belcher children and try to salvage our trash, put a wig on our trash, put a crop top on our trash, paint some lashes on your trash, because we’re all in the end up going to be put into the ground (beef). 

[danfanciesphil]

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER ELEVEN] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. Phil seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, heavy drinking, drug mentions, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] [Chapter Seven] [Chapter Eight] [Chapter Nine] [Chapter Ten]

[Ao3!]

When Dan opens his eyes, Phil is still standing in front of him. He blinks, but those cobalt eyes don’t dissipate. The grinning Gengar on Phil’s hat remains exactly where it is, level with Dan’s eyes as Phil sinks down from his tiptoes. Dan’s lips are vibrating, his breaths are shallow. As he floats down from the astral plane, the noises and sights and smells outside of Phil and his melon conditioner and caramel flavoured lips re-emerge. There’s a great deal of elevated chatter from all sides of the room, which Dan slowly realises is probably about him. He hears someone laugh, then shout “woo, get it, guys”. Warmth spreads through his cheeks, down his neck.

“I…” Dan says; his voice is a husk of itself. He feels as if someone slipped something stronger than caffeine into the espresso he chucked down a while ago. “I should get back to work. My shift doesn’t end for another hour.”

Phil’s face falls. He’s looking at Dan like he’s worried he’s about to break into pieces. “Oh, okay.” He shifts from foot to foot. “Will you come over after? I’ll wait for you.”

“Um,” Dan says.

He glances around, room spinning into a blur of muted colours and half-familiar faces. It seems most of the coffee shop is watching them, their caffeinated blood and elevated heart rates pushing excitable, gossip-hungry expressions onto their faces. Dan takes a step backwards. The floor feels spongy beneath his feet. The air is viscous; breathing it is like swallowing lungfuls of warm water. Just as he’s starting to turn from Phil, to walk back towards the counter, back to something that makes sense, something solid and sure, Phil grabs his wrist. Dan can do nothing except stare at the spot where Phil’s skin meets his, utterly dazed.

“Hey, are you okay?” Phil asks, panicked. “I’m sorry I just went straight in there, that was probably really stupid. I’m just… trying to catch up with my feelings.” He frowns, shaking his head. “Or something.”

“Right.” Dan swallows. Phil’s fingers are tightly locked around his wrist, but it isn’t painful. It’s quite grounding. He lifts his eyes to meet Phil’s, heart speeding up. “This is a lot to process. Let’s talk after…” Dan flaps his hand to the general vicinity of the café.

“Yeah, okay,” Phil agrees. Neither of them move, too caught up in their unbroken stare. Tentatively, Phil’s thumb sweeps back and forth over the back of Dan’s hand. It’s been sore ever since he punched Hardy. It’s a sweet, simple gesture, one that melts Dan’s heart. He feels a slow, cautious smile creeping up. Before it can fully form, Phil releases him, cheeks softly pink. He shoves his hands into his back pockets. “I’ll just… go sit down then. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Do you want a coffee?” Dan asks. He pauses, awkwardly flapping a hand in the air. “On me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Phil says, beaming. “The usual.”

*

As the streetlights splash warm, custard yellows over the two of them, Phil reaches out and takes Dan’s hand. Dan is so startled he almost trips, but Phil’s grip stabilises him.

“Seriously?” Dan asks, unable to hide the hiccup of laughter that escapes.

Phil is the picture of innocence. “What?”

“Shocking, I’m sure, but I’m not the… holding hands type.”

“You’ll cope.” Phil’s fingers slip between Dan’s, tightening considerably.

Dan thinks about protesting further, but considering it would more than likely be pointless, he doesn’t bother. This whole night has been so surreal, he can cope with this one further peculiarity. As they continue walking, Dan’s fingers start to curl around Phil’s of their own accord. He’s never held anyone’s hand before in this way; he never imagined it would feel this natural. Dan had been under the impression that couples only did the cutesy stuff to rub their romance in everyone’s faces, the way an Instagram model posts photos of a brunch they won’t be eating. Perhaps there's something to this PDA-lark, after all.

The café is a twenty minute walk from Phil’s; with each step, Dan is painfully aware of the unnatural silence bubbled around them. Usually, Phil’s chatter is constant, to the point where Dan rarely needs to interject. Now, he’s quiet, just letting their joined hands swing gently to and fro. Ten minutes pass this way, and Dan can’t take the slew of paranoid thoughts pounding in his mind a second longer.

“I need a cigarette,” he says, digging in his pocket. He finds the pack and draws it out, then pauses, looking pointedly down at Phil’s hand, clasped in his. “Uh..”

Phil is smiling, eyebrows raised, feigning ignorance. “Problem?”

Dan just rolls his eyes, then nudges the pack open with his nose, using his teeth to pluck one of the Djarums out. Phil watches in amusement as he struggles to tuck the pack away, then draw out a lighter and light the end, all with one hand. He manages, just, then shoots Phil a withering look.

“Come on, nerd,” Dan says, smoke streaming through his lips, then tugs on Phil’s hand, and they walk on.

*

When they step over Phil’s threshold, Mrs Lester’s foot is on the bottom stair, just heading up. She turns in surprise, a smile spreading over her tired face. Dan tries not to overthink it when Phil releases his hand at the sight of her, but without it, he feels wobbly, as if it was keeping him balanced.

“Oh, hello boys,” Mrs Lester says. “Did you have a nice-” She stops, gasping, and approaches Dan, hands outstretched. “Oh Dan, honey! Look at you!”

Her small hands cradle his face.

“Oh,” Dan says, remembering. “No, it’s nothing-”

“Phil told me you were in a bit of a tussle,” she says, tutting. Her fingers stroke lightly over the bruises. “I didn’t think it was this bad. You must be more careful with yourself.”

Her words don’t irritate him, surprisingly. Despite her mumsy tone, Dan knows it’s coming from a place of genuine love and concern. Something he forgets Phil’s mum is all too happy to bestow upon him, no questions asked.

“Yeah, I was dumb,” Dan readily admits. “Won’t be doing it again in a hurry.”

She tuts again, but removes her hands from his face, letting them fall to her sides. She turns to Phil. “Look after him, won’t you darling?”

“I will, Mum.”

Mrs Lester sighs, moving back towards the stairs. “I’m just off to bed then, loves. Are you hungry? There’s some dinner left in the fridge.”

Phil glances at Dan questioningly. He leans in close to whisper, “when was the last time you ate?”

Mind blanking, Dan shrugs. “Honestly don’t remember.”

“Thanks, mum,” Phil calls, already headed for the kitchen.

“Thank you, Mrs Lester,” Dan says. “Goodnight.”

“Kath, love,” she reminds him for the umpteenth time. “You’re welcome, of course. Night.”

*

Dan’s hunger had transcended physical sensation until the scent of Kath’s lasagne, heating up in the microwave, filled his nostrils. He eats the slice Phil hands him in seconds, leaning against one of the kitchen counters.

“This is amazing,” Dan says, licking the fork clean. “Your mum’s a genius.”

Phil laughs, still chewing. “You inhaled that.”

“Guess I was starving,” Dan says with a frown, trying to remember the last time he ate a hot meal.

He goes to the sink to wash his bowl, as he’s done countless times in Phil’s kitchen. Just as he’s placed it on the drying rack, he turns to find Phil has crowded up behind him, so close it makes Dan jump. Again, his fingertips tingle, and his heart leaps into his throat.

“Dan,” Phil half-whispers. He brushes Dan's cheek, lightly, just with his fingertips. “Could I…”

The end of the question is lost, because Dan closes the millimetres between their mouths. His mind still swims with questions, with confusion and doubt and anxiety about what this all means, but Phil is gorgeous, and he’s adorably unsure. If Dan could find the courage, which seems to have entirely abandoned him, he’d take Phil upstairs right now and greedily drink down this epiphany he's apparently had in every possible way he could. As it happens, Phil is the one to pull Dan towards the stairs. He abandons his half-eaten meal in favour of leading Dan up to his room, stopping every few seconds to kiss him again. Each press of his lips is preceded by a sweet, hesitant glance into Dan’s eyes, as if to check whether it’s still okay, whether Dan still wants it. His cute, completely redundant nervousness only makes him more difficult to resist.

Phil closes his bedroom door behind them, softly. Dan sits on his bed, watching as Phil draws the curtains, switches on his bedside lamp, turns off the overhead light. He sits beside Dan once he's run out of tasks, and winds their fingers together again. This time, Dan doesn’t complain. For a few endless moments, they just sit quietly, hands joined. This moment feels climactic somehow, as if they’re supposed to be in the throes of some great passionate exchange that’s been building in all the years they’ve known one another. But Dan, for perhaps the first time, doesn’t want to do anything else just yet. He wants to sit, and make sense of what’s happening, and for Phil to not let go of his hand while he sorts it all out.

He’s not certain, but he thinks Phil might feel very much the same.

“Do you want to watch Buffy?”

Dan lets out a breathy laugh. He nods. “Yeah, okay.”

Phil does let go then, but he gives Dan’s hand a squeeze, as if to say it won’t be forever. He gets out some pyjamas for them both, then switches on his TV, pretending to be busy sorting out the settings and wires while Dan gets changed. It takes a lot of willpower not to stare as Phil strips off right in front of him, in light of all that’s happened this evening, but Dan can’t help but feel it’s not quite the time. Phil joins him on the bed, and they turn their attention to the episode beginning, though Dan is quite sure that neither of them are able to focus on a single word. It’s so strange, to do something so familiar, something he’s done with Phil just like this, hundreds of times, and for it to feel totally alien. The negative part of Dan’s brain whispers cruel things to him.

Now that you’ve crossed the line of friendship, you can never go back.

He squashes the thought down as best he can, but it doesn’t entirely fade. A minute or so passes, and Phil finds his hand again. It’s soothing, and sweet, so Dan squeezes hard. Phil turns, concerned, and lifts his arm, places it around Dan’s shoulders, pulling him close.

*

As soon as Phil opens his eyes, he knows he is alone. The thought panics him instantly, and he sits bolt upright, not even noticing that his bedroom is still shrouded in darkness, or that his window is cracked open, letting a chill in. He blinks, reaching blindly for his glasses. His stomach lurches, and he curses at himself internally for being so impulsive, for acting so rashly, for scaring Dan off by unloading too much, too quickly. He’s already projecting to where he will start looking for Dan – his house, Ozone, the café – when a movement catches his eye. There’s a small orange glow in the corner by the window. Phil sucks in a breath, the unmistakeable scent of smoky cherry dancing in the frigid air. He freezes, then switches on his bedside light.

The soft, dim light is just enough to illuminate the shape of Dan, sat on the window ledge, smoking out of the open window. It takes a moment for Phil’s eyes to adjust to the sight of him. He’s wearing Phil’s black t-shirt, which is covered in tiny white ghosts. He’s so skinny at the moment that it hangs off him; he looks ethereal himself, like he’s only half here.

“Hey,” Phil says, quietly. “Are you okay?”

Dan turns at the sound of his voice. His expression is haunted. His fingers play with the pearl in his ear. “Couldn’t sleep. Sorry.”

Phil sits up properly, bleary from exhaustion. His stomach is knotted with nerves. “Come back to bed, I’ll stay up and chat with you for a while.”

Dan takes a long drag on his cigarette, then stubs it out, chucking the butt out of the window. “I can’t stop thinking…” Dan starts to say. Phil waits for him to complete the sentence, but he seems to think better of it.

“Tell me,” Phil urges. “Please. Is it too much? Did I overwhelm you?”

Dan swings his legs round, placing his feet on the desk beneath the ledge. He sits there, hands underneath his thighs, deliberating. “That painting you did. Of Amanda. I can’t stop thinking about it.” He pauses, eyes trained on Phil’s carpet. “It took you so long. All that time and energy. I just don’t understand why you would do it if… if you didn’t actually feel that way about her.”

Phil nods, voice fluttery with nerves. “I get why you’d think that.”

Dan’s eyes are distant when he lifts them. “You told me, at the café, that you were just… projecting your feelings for me onto her, right?”

There’s a lump in Dan’s throat, strangling his words, though he’s trying his best to hide it.

Phil nods again. “Right.”

“But if that’s true,” Dan shakes his head. “Wouldn’t it be me you’d painted sky high on a big canvas? It just doesn’t make sense-”

“Can I show you something?” Phil interrupts.

He’s already throwing the covers off himself, feet landing on the soft carpet. He goes to his desk, plucks a sketchbook at random from the dozens stacked about. He hands it to Dan, who takes it wordlessly.

“What’s-”

“Just look inside,” Phil tells him.

He crosses back to sink onto the bed, waiting. He's bone-tired, still - it must be 3am, or thereabouts - but he can feel the importance of this. Dan opens the sketchbook cautiously, clearly puzzled. As he takes in what’s inside, his expression melts into surprise, then awe. The corner of Phil’s mouth twitches. He can feel his cheeks pinkening as Dan turns page after page, but it’s worth it.

“How- when did you-”

“I painted one picture of Amanda, and honestly I hated every second,” Phil says, sincerely. “I was trying to get it so perfect, because I felt like it needed to be this… accurate portrait of her, y’know? I don’t paint like that normally. Usually I find something, or someone, to inspire me, and I just let myself run with it.”

“There are so many,” Dan breathes, wide-eyed.

Phil can’t help laughing then. When Dan shoots him a questioning look, he only laughs harder. “Check one of the others. There’s a few stacked on the desk there. Some in the drawers. I’ve got some more in my bag. Couple in the studio, too.”

For a moment, Dan is still. Then, he leans down to pluck another sketchbook from a pile on the desk. He opens it at a random page, balks at the contents, then promptly closes it again. He leans down for a second time, grabbing three more sketchbooks. He looks in each one, flicking through the worn pages like it’s a flipbook.

As he watches Dan, Phil starts to grow uneasy. It occurs to him that perhaps this seems a tad obsessive. Then Dan drops the books to the desk, the sound of them hitting the wood with a thud. He grips the ledge for a second, knuckles white, staring down at the ground. Phil’s breathing quickens, suddenly nervous of Dan’s reaction. Dan clambers down from the ledge one careful foot at a time, crouching on the desk, then sliding to the floor. He crosses the room to Phil, still sat on the bed, and stands before him. His fingers are shaking, Phil notices.

“Phil… what- why would you…” he trails off.

Phil swallows, not sure how to explain without weirding Dan out more. “You’re my muse, Dan. I squeezed out one painting of Amanda that I don’t even like. One that doesn’t represent me at all. I can’t even count the times I’ve drawn you.”

Dan’s lips disappear as he presses them together. “The way you draw me. You make me look…”

“Beautiful,” Phil finishes for him. “Because you are. Every time I look, I see new colours in your eyes. I see you smile in a different way. It’s so inspiring, just watching you, just having you in front of me. I’ve filled so many sketchbooks with you, but I could fill a thousand more, just trying to capture your- your...” Phil flaps a hand in the air, losing the word. “Essence.”

Dan slides a knee onto the bed at Phil’s hip, then brings his other up on the other side, seating himself in Phil’s lap. Phil might have stopped breathing, but he’s too shocked to check. Dan is the kind of severe, electrifying beauty that is almost frightening to behold. The sort of exotic flower you should observe from a safe distance, but never touch, lest it poison you with one prick of its thorns. To have him this close is maddening; his eyes are almost black in the low light, and filled with intensity. He radiates warmth, like a dark, burning star. He smells like sharp, sour cherry, and Phil knows he tastes even better. He wants to slide his hands up Dan’s sides, under the loose ghost t-shirt. He wants to draw Dan towards him, to suck another hickey into his pale skin, to kiss the grey, angry bruises on his face.

Dan’s fingers rake through Phil’s hair. He leans down, pushing their lips together; Phil can feel him tremble. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispers in the non-existent space between their mouths.

Hesitantly, Phil lets his hands float to Dan’s sides. He stays on top of the t-shirt though, for now. He wants to get this right; this moment is weighty with the importance of something new and filled with potential. With every sentence he utters to reassure Dan of his feelings, Phil beats another of the demons Dan carries on his bony shoulders back into the shadows. But even now he can feel them watching suspiciously, waiting for a sign that Phil might fuck this all up, so they can spring back to their former positions.

Phil matches that dark, unwavering gaze and doesn’t let himself so much as blink. “You deserve so much more than you believe, Dan.”

Dan kisses him again, and this time Phil tastes salt water, like a thin film between their lips. He winds his arms around Dan’s waist, holding tightly. They kiss for what seems like hours; Dan falls forwards, pushing Phil to the bed, making it too easy to just lose themselves in the taste, the touch of each other. Phil is too afraid to do more than just stroke lightly over Dan’s waist, his arms, his face. Dan too, seems to feel this is more than enough, and keeps his hands in Phil’s hair, then winds them around his neck. Eventually, Phil is not sure when, but they must slow, and then stop. He drifts on the periphery of sleep, fingers trailing across warm skin, the duvet keeping the cold wind from the open window at bay.

“I love you too, by the way,” Dan says into the silence, though perhaps Phil is already dreaming. “I don’t think I said it, before.”

“Hm,” Phil replies. His smile is warm, treacly across his mouth. “That’s good.”

“I might not… say it very much,” Dan warns him, and Phil just smiles wider. “I’m gonna say right off the bat that I doubt I’ll be very good at... all that. But I do, I promise.”

“Do what?” Phil is almost asleep, sure, but he’s still got enough energy to tease Dan a little.

Dan swats him in the arm. “Fuck off, once was hard enough.”

Phil prods him in the ribs. “Dan, what do you promise?”

Dan sighs. There’s a silence, and Phil wonders if maybe he won’t be able to summon the courage to utter it a second time, if maybe he’s fallen asleep. Then, there’s the light graze of cherry scented lips by his ear, and the silky warm rush of Dan’s breath as he whispers: “I love you, nerd.”

(Chapter Twelve coming next Tuesday at 8pm GMT!)

[unlicensedlobotomist]

Caged Larks Do Not Sing

Chapter 2- Caller ID

(ao3 link)

Previous chapter ~ Next Chapter

WARNING: Depictions of violence, major character death

Mornings like these were the kind Saihara liked. It was quiet, the sun was warm and his coffee tasted good. It wasn’t rare having a quiet morning like this: most people didn’t come in till around ten or eleven. He had wondered if he should change his hours of nine to five to eleven to seven.

He wanted to say he hated being a detective, but that wasn’t exactly a true statement. He didn’t like his job, he was unhappy more often than not with it. Saihara had always wished he could find the inspiration to love his work, to have a passion for it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do either. He was passionate about the elements of his work. He loved mystery, he loved solving puzzles and putting pieces together.

He hated what those pieces could do to real human lives.

It stressed him out, trying to figure out a way to tell a wife her husband not only had a mistress but also had 3 other marriages, each with their own set of children. Then to tell a young man that the company he invested in was not only fake, but was actually his friend scamming him for millions. Saihara never felt anyone left his office happier than when they came.

Most final meetings ended in screaming. Saihara had learned over the years to not take them as personally as he did in his youth. They aren’t actually mad at you, his therapist had once told him. They’re upset at their own unhappiness. Saihara had made sure to tell himself that whenever someone cut too deep with their words. He’d just let them yell, nodding and saying “I understand how upsetting this is, I can refer you to some of my contacts on how to proceed.” Most of the time, he’d be taken up on the offer, other times he’d be cursed at further for insinuating they couldn't handle this on their own.

Mysteries were so much simpler in books; and solving those mysteries didn't hurt anyone real, and they were fun. His uncle had once suggested that he try writing, and he had, but he fell short on creativity. Not only that, but the action of sitting at his desk and trying to type out a short story just made him think of his father. He decided writing was simply not something he was up to.

So he sat in his office instead. Waiting for a client to call or walk in and disturb the serenity of the room.

Saihara wished someone with a lost cat would walk in once and awhile. His uncle used to have him deal with those cases a lot in middle school, and more often than not he found a very upset cat who had gotten out and had been trying to get back in. His uncle thought those cases were beneath him as a serious detective, but they made Saihara happy.

He also wished that once in a while a friend would walk through the door and invite him out to lunch. That hadn't happened in years, though-- it wasn't that he didn't have friends, but… everyone had lives. Many friends he had made over the years had disappeared with time-- some had moved, while others had just lost contact. It made him sad, but he knew it was inevitable in some sense. People change, friends move on, the world spins.

He remembered a post someone once shared on social media. It had said a study had found people could have 150 friends at a time. Saihara didn't believe that. No one could have more than say… ten, or maybe twenty friends. Saihara had a hard enough time keeping track of five people, two of which were his own aunt and uncle.

Saihara stood from his desk chair, going to the kitchenette in the corner of the office to retrieve another cup of coffee. He had no cases to attend and thus had taken to, more or less, messing around in his office for the day. He had expected at least two calls today-- a divorce lawyer and a high school classmate.

The lawyer, who he periodically sent clients to, had wanted to discuss his recent case. He was nice to chat to, but he rarely saw him outside of his office. Once in awhile, they would go out to dinner as a thank you to Saihara for getting so much evidence. He was a decent man, Saihara would even call him a friend on some occasions, but they didn’t talk often enough to solidify such a relationship.

Then there was his classmate. Every Saturday, he would look forward to the familiar ringtone of his personal cell. They would sometimes only be able to talk for a few minutes, sometimes for a few hours, but it was always an enjoyable time for him. Often times, he had found himself silently listening to the words. The vibrant energy was something Saihara looked forward to, they embellished the most mundane of activities and made them sound exciting that even he couldn’t help but see wonder in the simple acts. He wished he could be closer, and hear everything in person. Phone calls were the best he could do though, and Saihara enjoyed every minute of them.

Saihara had been half way through pouring his coffee when his cell rang through the office. Odd, he thought as he sipped at the lukewarm drink. This is pretty early for a call. He shrugged it off though, figuring maybe his friend was busy later that day and this was the best time to call. He made his way quickly over to desk, retrieving the flip phone from his coat pocket in a practiced fashion and opening it to his ear.

“Akamatsu, how is Berlin-”

“Huh? It’s Kaito. Shuichi, Listen, I… I need your help.”

-----

That Friday night had become a blur, and Momota’s was still reeling over it. He had laid down onto the metal bunk of the cell to try and lessen his headache, both from the approaching hangover and he mess he found himself in. He was still trying to figure out what had occurred.

Momota had stared at Ouma’s body for what seemed like forever. He lie so still underneath the kotatsu, Momota was certain what he was looking at was a wax figure. Carefully, he leaned down into the bloody mess, his pants soaking in the top layer of gore that had yet to dry onto the hardwood.  His mind went blank for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to do. All his astronaut training and he wasn’t sure what to do. He carefully laid his hand onto Ouma’s cheek and…

It still felt warm.

Anger rose in Momota’s chest, glaring with disgust at the body on the floor. “This… This isn’t a funny joke, Kokichi!! You can’t… You ruined this blanket with this cheap shit!!” He received no response to his shouts, which only made him angrier. He began to violently shake Ouma. “What?! Did you fall asleep in the middle of your prank?! Wake up! It’s not funny!!” He lifted him from the floor, holding him him up by the ends of the ugly haori he wore. The once gaudy orange and green had been stained an ugly rust color. He looked him over, wanting to toss him immediately upon the sight.

“You even ruined my slippers! I really liked those!! What the hell is your problem?!” Momota tossed Ouma back onto the floor, which caused a sickening crack to be heard throughout the house. It made Momota stop, looking back down at the Ouma’s body. He… He thought Ouma would at least try to stop himself from hitting the floor so hard. He went back to the ground, carefully looking him over. “Hey, that… That sounded bad, are you okay?” Ouma continued to not respond, and concern had taken the place of anger. He shouldn’t have thrown him down like that, he could have a concussion. “Come on, Kokichi. Get up, okay? I have a first…” His hand came in contact with his cheek again, the warmth was gone. The cold sent a shock wave through Momota’s whole body.

He went to pick him back up, softly shaking him. This… was just a prank. Ouma was pranking him, like he always did. This prank had just… gone too far. “Kokichi, come on. I’m not as mad anymore, wake up.” He set him down on his back, the open flesh more visible now. “I’m going to get the first aid kit, o-okay?” Momota’s voice hitched, he got up and hurried to his kitchen, his slippers leaving bloody prints behind him.

Momota was quick, retrieving his phone from his pocket and dialing emergency services. He held the phone between his shoulder and ear, trying to keep his composure. He rushed the kitchen, not bothering to even turn on the light.

“119, what is your emergency?”

“Hello? My… Ouma, he’s really hurt. I think he was playing a prank on me, and I dropped him. He hit his head, I need paramedics!”

The conversation continued as he searched his cupboard, pulling out the first aid kit in a quick fashion that sent cups and a few other items clattering to the floor. He bent down to pick them up, only to feel wetness. He lifted the wet object to get a better look: it was one of his kitchen knives. It was odd that it was still wet, but he set it back on the counter and hurried back to Ouma. He only half listened to the operator’s instructions on how to try and help, his mind already knowing what to do even while he wasn’t fully there.

Paramedics took what felt like forever to get there. Relief fell over Momota’s features at the sight of them though, but his relief was quickly replaced by confusion. They had both stopped dead at the door frame. Their eyes stayed locked on the the world famous astronaut, leaning over the former Ultimate Supreme Leader in a blood soaked display. Momota shifted uncomfortably and had begun to stand, but had stopped mid rise. Very carefully, the head paramedic pushed the man with her to hurry to the two. She turned away, and quietly spoke into her walkie-talkie.

“I’m going to need police back up, I think this may have been a murder.”

[noahcdaily]

Noah Centineo, Shameless Heartthrob

My date with the best thirst architect the internet’s ever seen.

Now, I put my hand here,” Noah Centineo instructs as he slides his hand in the back pocket of my jeans. “And then we walk a little, like this.” He leads me around the Coney Island Aquarium like that: hip to hip, smiling at each other, his hand, to reiterate, in the back pocket of my jeans. I’ve just shamelessly asked him to re-create his signature move from Netflix’s To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, an adaptation of Jenny Han’s YA novel, in which he plays Peter Kavinsky, the high-school jock at the center of the film’s romantic plotline. I watched the movie and mentally flagged this scene — where he’s trying to convince a cafeteria full of students he’s dating the protagonist, Lara Jean Covey (Lana Condor) — as the one that made me wonder, Who is that guy? It’s a moment that belongs in a clip reel of classic, chemistry-laden movie moments, and I, a journalist, wondered if it could inspire the same feelings when executed in real life.

Centineo tells me how he totally improvised the move during filming. It was a thing he used to do with his ex-girlfriend. They’d be walking around, like we are now, and he’d realized he could sort of dance her around by the pocket and turn her, “just like this,” and boom, propelled by just a tug on my pocket, I’m suddenly facing him. We’re pelvis to pelvis. He’s smiling, comfortably, and I’m confronted with his hazel eyes, the scent of clean laundry, and pure pheromones. I sort of squeal, I think? Who can say, because I definitely black out for a second.

If I seem thirsty, well, isn’t that the point? At 22, Centineo is the most effective, addictive sort of heartthrob: the kind who absolutely loves being one, the kind who does everything in his power to make us thirst harder than we’ve ever thirsted before — and, yeah, it works. When the movie came out in August, Noah Centineo was immediately, breathlessly given the title of Internet’s Boyfriend. Now, with his second Netflix rom-com, Sierra Burgess Is a Loser, in which he plays yet another lovable, evolved jock, Centineo has graduated to full-on cultural obsession.

In less than a month his Instagram followers went from just under 800,000 to 9.5 million. In the movie, his character drives crosstown to buy his love interest her favorite Korean yogurt drinks — and no joke — Yakult stock has been going up. This man’s floppy hair is actually driving the market. He’s been stalked by fans and now employs an omnipresent security guard named Dave. He’s been the subject of a leaked nude scandal (“I understand why you have to ask that question,” he demurred when I asked him about a certain video that’s been making the rounds. “I just hope you understand why I’m not gonna answer it.”). His Twitter mentions are an anthology of fantasies — some chaste and some really not — written by women of all ages. “Tell them all to hit my line,” he says with a laugh.

We decide to tour the aquarium, where I’m idly waiting for him in the lobby when he walks in shirtless. Shirtless. Without a shirt. Holding his black T-shirt in his hand, instead of wearing it on his torso, which I can see right now. With my eyes. He has a real reason. He’s just been outside, taking pictures on a boardwalk in nearly 100-degree weather. But even with a rational explanation as to why he has no shirt on, the entrance is so on the nose it’s almost ridiculous: a smoking-hot leading man, walking into a room sweaty and half-naked. It’s like there should be a slowed-down frame rate, a treacly indie-pop song playing, a zoom-in of my pupils turning into those hunga hunga hearts. He hands his ticket to the woman at the front desk and apologizes, for some reason, for his bare chest. She makes him put his shirt back on, and greets me with a smile so huge, I can assure you he has zero cavities.

Even offscreen, Centineo, I observe immediately, has that whole thing. It wasn’t just good directing or the right song cued at the right moment that created the effect. He has all the qualities deemed necessary by early-in-life fans of Teen Bop and Devon Sawa at the end of Casper: white sneakers (Vans, of course), an easy charm, and a tendency to play it fast and loose with knowing, meaningful eye contact that says “I see you.” He knows the right way to lean against a wall, how to twirl a specific clump of hair so it slouches over one eye. He’s even got an imperfection you can moon over: this tiny scar on his chin from where his dog tried to rip his face off when he was a kid. When he greets me with a hug, it’s the kind of genuine, intentional, full-body contact that makes me feel like he’d write me a letter every day and build me a house.

“I’ve always played the love interest,” Centineo says. “I’ve trained for it for a while. These roles are just molds I can pour myself into.” He grew up in Miami, with a few years’ interlude in Park City, which he hated because he never felt like he fit in. He started acting as a preteen when he attended a general casting call sort of on a lark, but he enjoyed it so much he eventually dropped out of his Boca Raton high school sophomore year and moved to Los Angeles with his mom to pursue it full-time. Since then Centineo’s been playing graduating levels of “crush”: first on a tween-friendly Disney show Austin & Ally, then on a teen-friendly Freeform show, The Fosters, and now for admiring audiences of all ages on Netflix rom-coms (To All the Boys, Sierra Burgess, and one deep cut for the algorithm-determined real fans, SPF 18.)

“I like this rowboat. Do you want to sit in this rowboat,” he asks, upon discovering a fake rowboat stuck in the corner of an exhibition about ponds. (Fake rowboat, a move.) Ever the leading man, he gets in first to steady the fake boat, and helps me in. Then, he directs yet another adorable moment for us, and starts rocking the boat back and forth, like we’re on a real pond, laughing this huge, full-throated laugh like the only thing he’s ever wanted to do was crouch in a plastic rowboat with me. And even though we both know the answer to the question, I ask, “Why do you think everyone is going nuts over you right now?”

“People love love,” he says, and begins to explain how both of his recent movies “empower” people. “I think these are just great examples of feel-good films, how could you not like something that makes you feel good?”

He stops talking and looks at me, a little concerned. “If you’re still warm, we should move,” he suggests, perhaps noticing the sweat pouring from my forehead and rolling down to my chin. It’s such a hot day, even the AC inside has given up. “I just want you to feel comfortable,” he says thoughtfully, adding, “Don’t worry, I also sweat like a motherfucker.”

It’s now his mission to find the coolest spot in the aquarium. He leads me down some stairs, back up the same stairs once he realizes they lead to a bathroom. We go around all the exhibits, while he looks up at the ceiling, in the corners, searching for an air vent, determined to find the perfect spot to get the full blast. We finally do. “Can you feel it?” he asks, one last time, before he seems satisfied, parked in front of a manmade reef. It’s a specific sort of gallantry I recognize from his roles, the ones he describes as manly and masculine, but also “sensitive, emotionally intelligent, loving, nurturing, and protective.”

“That’s just what a great man is in life and in general,” he shrugs. In his two most well-known parts (both of which occurred in the past month) he plays an updated version of a familiar type of crush. In To All the Boys, a lacrosse player who loves Fight Club but drinks kombucha and falls for the film’s Korean-American protagonist. In the other, Sierra Burgess, a quarterback who thinks the cheerleader is way hot, but instead falls for the brainy girl who catfishes him. In both, he displays a preference for the unexpected love interest. In both, he drives a Jeep Wrangler, the preeminent car of teen crushes. He’s not the mysterious, brooding type à la Robert Pattinson in Twilight, he doesn’t have the cold, intellectual appeal of Timothée Chalamet’s character in Lady Bird. He’s not pure Zac Efron dumb-hot-frat boy or even the misunderstood, sexually experienced bad boy like the ones Adam Driver plays. What Centineo does well — and what nobody has really done with such conviction since Freddie Prinze Jr. — is play a simple, suburban-mall kind of crush with Stanislavski dedication. That’s it. He’s just fully nice and hot at a time that feels like “nice and hot” is a rare resource. He’s a throwback to a more classic sort of wish fulfillment.

In fact, Centineo can see a whole career based around this: being good at love. He imagines all the potential types of roles he can explore: romantic dramas, other types of rom-coms, action romantic comedies, edgier, more toxic and dangerous types of love. “There’s so many degrees to love. I think I have a lot more to offer the space,” he says. He’s got a few projects lined up already, most notably a movie coming out in 2019 called The Stand-In. He plays a post-grad who launches a start-up, which requires him to loan himself out as a fake boyfriend.

“Whoa whoa! That motherfucker just came through so quick! He ran up on us with his boy.”

Centineo jumps back and marvels at some large fish that just came swimming right at his head. He makes a kissy-fish face back at the fish. What a lovely time we’re having. Looking at fish! Then he points to a placard and carefully reads out the description for Slippery Dick, a type of fish native to this particular tank, and chuckles. Then I read one about the French Grunt. I have no idea what’s going on. I point to a particularly fascinating fish, and he leans in to see, angling his head so his hair brushes my hand. Our arms accidentally touch.

“How’d you get so good at flirting,” I’m compelled to ask.

“Am I flirting?” he laughs and leans and looks down at the floor. “I don’t know — I’m fucking so romantic. Like, such a romantic — it’s not even funny. I can’t help it. I swear to God, like, every day, the majority of my day is sentimental. You know, I’m thinking about past relationships I’ve been in, how I miss them so much or what I would do different, or why I wanna be with them again, or just moments I’d like to go back to or I know why I shouldn’t go back, and then you know, it’s just constantly love, love, love.”

He’s a Taurus, ruled by Venus, he offers by way of explanation. “That means a couple things: one, like I need a lot of nurturing, and two, Venus is love, I’m ruled by love.” His favorite movie is Gaspar Noe’s Love, his favorite feeling is being in love (which he has been, twice). I bet if you could cook Love and serve it over pasta, it would be his favorite meal. He lives, breathes, and expels love. His Instagram is a steady stream of soul-baring, puppy-dog-eyed selfies — “I’m pretty vain,” he jokes. His Twitter alternates between sort of yoga studio platitudes and vague flirtations like “Fuck…you’re so cute,” or, more in line with my personal interests, “THE BLACKER THE BERRY.”The messages are to nobody specific, he says — he’s single right now — they could be to somebody he just met, or he met before, or he saw across the room, or just to everybody.

Dating is going to be hard for him from now on, he suspects, even though he really doesn’t want to change how he pursues someone he likes (open-heartedly, passionately, purely) but he’s started worrying about the reasons people want to date him. Is it just because he’s more famous now? Do they just want to date Peter Kavinksy? But are Kavinsky and Centineo really so different?  “I’m definitely not as innocent—” he says, with a gaze, because why say anything if you aren’t going to commit.

Centineo continues to list the differences, both philosophical and material: He’s more apt to jump out of a plane or just sit in nature than his characters. He doesn’t live in the suburbs, he lives in Los Angeles with his older sister and her boyfriend. He likes yoga and martial arts. He parties with friends. He starts every day at 6 a.m. with oatmeal, the recipe for which he begins detail, slowly: “I do Irish steel-cut oats, I do almond butter, coconut butter uh, coconut oil, honey, uh, chopped bananas, and, and, uh, like, hemp granola,” and I’m struck with this familiar feeling of being completely entranced by a man saying absolutely nothing interesting to me, which, oh right, yes, is infatuation.

[mankindthepodcast-blog]

I recently discovered casting director Bonnie Gillespie as I’ve been sequestered in my home, trying to find ways in which I, as an actor, can stay up to date with  industry news. I watched a youtube video of a direct address that she did and found her thoughts and advice to be authentic and timely. Nowhere in my search have I found a casting director with such a compassionate mind towards the pursuit of the actor and with such a savvy online contribution. I thank you Bonnie Gillespie for looking out for us as we navigate this path. 

I was so excited by her talk that I ordered her book, “Self Management for Actors”  and to my wonderful surprise, it came a day earlier than Amazon had anticipated. Thank you to the good people working behind the scenes at Amazon! I’ve crushed the first couple chapters of her book and have a few insights to share, questions to ask, and rants to go on. 

One of the key components I discern from her book is that not only must the actors craft be in top-notch working condition, but an actor must fully understand what their particular brand is and know how to market it. She goes on to say that during casting sessions, “the reason an actor gets in front of me is because he is so well-branded both for what he delivers creatively and the consistency and professionalism with which he delivers it.” 

Luckily, I’ve been involved in a coaching program on the business side of industry matters called Actor’s Salon for about two and a half years now, and have begun to make steps towards A) knowing my brand, and B) marketing it. In my journey, I have found that my brand is one of several “types”: the young, hip, Dad; the down and out Detective; or the slick and sleazy Real Estate Tycoon; I’ve also been told that I do a great Surfer Dude a la Jeff Spicoli’s older brother. As an actor, it is not only my job to develop these characters but to market them. 

So, right now, during this period of quarantining, when the internet has become my new best friend, I am looking for all sorts of ways to market myself, to stay up to date with casting director workshops, online webinars, twitter accounts to follow and engage with, and every other resource out there that might be advantageous. This blog is, in itself, an outgrowth of my desire to stay connected, to produce content, and ultimately be relevant. I make no bones about that. I feel like it aligns with something else Gillespie says in her book: “Your ability to pull back the curtain on your process today will make a difference.” 

At the same time, however, I can’t help but look out across my neighborhood in South Pasadena on this glorious morning in April and wonder if something else is being asked of me. The sun is rising over the rooftops to the east giving the canopy of greening trees hints of yellows and bursts of reflected light on budding leaves. The birdsong of parrots, crows, and larks flying overhead intermingles the peaceful silence. The occasional car driving by, airplane overhead, or neighbor walking their dog pauses me momentarily. A motorcycle on the 110 shifts into fifth. 

And I’m struck by the majesty of the day. The Sierra Nevada Mountains loom in the not-too-far distance. The mighty Pacific, where the surf is currently churning beautiful rights and lefts, is now, due to the limited traffic, only a half hour away. I could be devoting time and attention to getting back to the rhythms of nature. I feel strongly that this period of adjustment, this pandemic, is asking us all to hit the pause button, to reflect, and discern what really is important?

Is it necessary to take part in my second online casting workshop of the quarantine? Do I really need to devote another half-hour to following industry professionals on twitter? I understand that social distancing measures have been extended to April 30th.  They’ve gone so far as to close the beaches and trails of most state parks. Even the Rose Bowl loop, where I have been training for an upcoming triathlon, has closed. What is a person to do now, except hunker down and get to the creative pursuits that interest them?

I take an acting class every Tuesday night at the John Rosenfeld Studios, a wonderful artistic home that I’ve been fortunate enough to study at for nearly three years. For the past three weeks we have gathered via zoom to either work on prepared scenes or, as we did last night, just check in. It was remarkable to see how everyone had immediately gotten over the disappointment of having been laid off from their respective jobs, and were now gleefully digging into their creative pursuits. Whether redecorating a room or an entire house, sharpening  their voice over skills, or writing short films, features, or plays (as I am), my community of artists dove into the creativity of their choosing.

But I was struck by a fellow classmate in particular who had used her check in as a time to present to us the numerous offers for webinars and facebook groups and online classes and deals that she was involved in. It felt overwhelming, like a presentation for all the ways in which she was important. It felt like she had taken the entire pot of coffee and injected it into her arm via I/V drip and was working on overdrive to stay relevant, connected, and hip. And then I realized: well, that’s me. That is exactly what I’ve been doing. Ever since the order to stay home was given, I dove into my creative pursuits head first and with an even greater vigor than before. 

It’s like I want someone to see me and to know about all of the hard work I’m doing. I want all of the people I’m following on twitter to read my work, to know my brand, and affirm my pursuit. But as Gillespie says in her book, “Find value in yourself. Don’t look for your own self-worth in what others have to say about you. Always take a moment to remember that life is a whole lot more than just this industry and the people in it.” 

So as the sun moves higher in the sky, while I’ve still got the air in my lungs, I think I’ll take a moment to let the warm sunshine of April Fools rays touch my blessed skin and nourish my soul. I’ve got a half hour before an important call anyway :)

[theatricaldynamite]

C o s e t t e x J o h a n n a AU

For

@elviriel

​

I took our main baes and made an au of them where they end up together. 

Starring Devery Jacobs - Cosette Jasmine Cephas Jones- Johanna Barker Jason Momoa- Jean Valjean Gina Torres- Javert Mads Mikkelsen- Judge Turpin Laverne Cox- Benjamin Barker/Sweeney Todd 

Please remember that this is also a Sweeney Todd AU and Judge Turpin is gross.

Larks

Jean Valjean was once in jail.  He did it to feed his family, but that did not stop him from being put in jail for stealing a loaf of bread.  When he was released, his family had perished.  Starvation, it seemed.  Now that he was out of jail, finding good honest work was even harder which is why he changed his name using forged papers and the candlesticks a priest had given him to show him he could change his fate.

He changed his name, his background and his life and was now a successful business owner in a small town in France.  He maintained a low-profile life style which kept him safe for a while.  His former parole officer, it has seemed, has been trying to find him all these years.  When Javert showed up on his door step, Jean thought he was finished.  However, he didn’t seem to recognize him.  In fact, he wasn’t after him, but one of his workers, a young woman named Fantine.  She has been causing a ruckus regarding her daughter who was in foster care. The family looking after her had put in a formal complaint.

Fantine was desperate to get her daughter back so much that she was ignoring cancer treatments- not that she could afford them anyways. Her daughter, Euphrasie, had been taken away from her as she was so young, alone and sick when she gave birth to her.  Euphrasie, or Cosette as she called her, was her main motivation.  

When Jean Valjean heard her story, he was deeply moved and wanted to protect this young girl in the way he wasn’t able to protect his family.  She didn’t last long enough to hear these words from him, but it was long enough for Javert to recognize who he actually was.  He needed to move fast to get to Cosette

Cosette was raised by a number of different people in a number of different houses with nothing consistent in her life but her misery. She did not care for the different places she was put.  Her latest one was even worse than any house she’s been in.  She felt like Cinderella without a Fairy Godmother.  Tormented by the other foster kids and put to work by the guardians.  She was only eight years old but she knew how hard life can be.  

She had hopes; daydreams about her real mother. A castle on a cloud for just her and her mom.  She dreamt of her mother coming to pick her up and whisking her away to a happy life.

A mother never came, but a father did.

As the first snow fell of the season, Cosette was sent to get groceries in clothes that were too flimsy for the snow. She had ten dollars and a list that would not be covered by it.  It would be bad to steal.  It would be worse for her to not.  

“Excuse me,” she heard a deep voice behind her say. She turned to find a large man in nice clothes looking at her.  She wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers. Panicking, she ran.

“Wait,” he called.  “Is your name Euphrasie? Are you Cosette?”

She stopped so fast she fell to the ground.  He knew her name! He was at her side in an instant making sure she wasn’t hurt.  It’s been a long time since she’s seen kindness.

“I’m a friend of your mother.”  He told her.  He told her what happened to her and how he wanted to take care of her if she wanted. He warned her that it might be dangerous because he wouldn’t be able to legally adopt her.  People would think she was kidnapped and they would have to hide. A policewoman name Javert would always be looking for them.  Cosette considered it.  She wanted a new life, but danger scared her.

“Do it, lark” said the voice of her foster-sister Eponine coming out of her hiding spot calling her by the nickname they gave her. “Leave. Get out of this place and never look back. You’ll be more free out there than you would be here. Go be happy.”

“I thought you didn’t like me,” replied Cosette confused on why she was concerned about her happiness.

“I don’t,” she said. “ I knew you would get to leave one day and I would be stuck here forever.”

“You can come with us if you like as well,” piped up Jean.  “I would never leave someone unhappy behind.”

“You’re not kidnapping two kids in one day, mister!” said Eponine. “Besides, they are my real parents and got another baby on the way.  If I go with you, who’s gonna look after my sister and my little brother on his way. Just go.  I won’t tell anyone.  I saw nothin’.”

Cosette did something that she’s never done before.  She hugged her foster-sister.  It wasn’t a big hug, or a warm hug, or even a good hug but it did make Eponine smile. With that Cosette fled with a stranger into a happier life.

They hid in Paris.  Her new papa had friends who hid them away.  It was small but very comfortable. Cosette never knew such happiness.  How wonderful the world was now.  She had time to grow curious, to learn and to explore. Her papa told her if she smiled anymore than she does that she would burst. They stayed there for many years.  Everyday better than the last.

One day she came home to find that her father was packing them suitcases.  They were close to being found.  Javier was hot on their trail.  They needed to move fast in order to get away.  Jean offered her two option like he had done all of those years ago.  She could either stay here as she was almost of age to be on her own. He would give her everything, including his candlesticks.  The other option was to flee with him.  

Together, they went to London to once again make their life anew.

Cosette loved Paris, but London was nice too. It was much darker there and more rainy, but she made the most of it. She like the walks that they went on together. Skipping ahead and waiting for him to catch up. Offering food or money to the needy as they passed.

They were walking down a street that they never had walked through before as they tried to change up where they walked to.  Turney Lane. She felt eyes watching her. She looked up to find a pretty girl around her age looking at her.  Was she crying?  She fled as soon as they made eye contact. Cosette was no stranger to the look in her eyes.  She had that same look when she lived in her foster homes.

“Do you know who lives in there papa?” she asked, not really expecting him too.  He replied as she thought.

“Johanna,” said homeless woman who came up to her to beg for money.  She had seen this woman before. She believed it was on Fleet Street. Cosette tried to emit her into a hospital but she ran off before she could. Cosette felt that she was younger than what she looked.

“I’m sorry,” replied Jean putting money in her cup.  “What was that?”

“Johanna,” repeated the woman in her raspy voice. “Pretty little Johanna.  The witch locks her up in her high tower and brushes her hair.”

“Rapunzel,” offered Jean. The woman didn’t respond.

“Who is the witch?” asked Cosette.

“Judge Turpin that is, that is, that is the witch,” she replied excitedly. Jean paled at the title of Judge.  “Locks her up and throws away the key. Beats up boys who look at her.  Go in to say nice words comes out with a bloody eye.”  She laughed and ran off. She screamed the name again as she ran off. Johanna.  

Who was Johanna? Why was she locked in a tower?

~~~~~~~~

Sweeney Todd was born Benjamin Barker and a biological parent of Johanna who would have loved to raise her if given the chance. She was raised in New York and was a fantastic hair artist. Before she was fully transitioned, she came to London to apprentice a great barber.  While there, she fell in love with a Londoner with bright blonde hair named Lucy. They got married and soon Johanna came along. For a while, their life was perfect.

Lucy has always been in the same social circle as Judge Turpin and tried to avoid him as best as she could. Whenever they were at parties, she could feel his heated eyes follow her, even at age 13. When the judge found out that Lucy not only married transgendered woman, but a black one at that, he was outraged. He had the US citizen Benjamin Barker deported for marriage fraud and sent back to the states for life. Lucy was devastated. Her love was gone. Her income was depleting and she had a year old baby that should could hardly take care of.  After a horrific meeting with the judge to bring her partner back, she was found no longer fit to take care of her baby.  The judge swiftly came in and took the baby to raised her.

Johanna was raised in a quiet part of London.  One of her first memories was being six and getting her hair dyed blonde. Whenever she asked or complained about having to dye it, all her guardian would tell her is that “he prefered her blonde.”  

She was shut in, homeschool and never ventured outside of London.  She tried to run away, but he somehow always knew her plan.  It was almost like he was always watching her.  She felt like her pet lark.  Caged and unable to sing.  Larks never will, you know, when they are captive.

She was lectured about the evils of men. Warned to keep away from them.  That was fine with her.  She never cared for them much anyway.  

She noticed Cosette while gazing out her window on a gloomy fall day. Everything in her life seemed to be on a gray filter and it was the first sunshine she’s seen in years.  The sunshine practically floated as she danced along the sidewalk and her laugh rang through high and clear. She was walking with a big burly man whom she called Papa.  He seemed to dote on her. By the time the young ball of light noticed her, she was in tears. Making eye contact with her, she fled from the window unable to show her face to someone so pure.

She saw her again the next day. And the day after that. Both of these times it seemed like she was looking for her.  One the third day, she talked to her.

“Hello,” she had greeted her. Shouting from the street. Johanna knew the fates of the men who greeted her, but what of women?  Would the judge hurt her too? He was home today so who knew what he would do. Flustered, Johanna awkwardly waved and once again fled.

A few minutes later, the light was in her room. Her guardian introduced her as Fantine and she was there to teach her French.

“Thank you, Judge Turpin,” said Cosette.  “No off you go, we have work to do!”

No one shushes the judge. Yet she did and she got away with it.  And she was in her bedroom.

“Are you OK?” she whispered urgently as soon as he was out of earshot. “My papa, he’s downstairs, and I are concerned.” Whatever she was expecting it was not that. “I managed to convince that creepo to have me tutor you in French. Oh, my name isn’t Fantine, by the way. It’s Cosette. I didn’t think it was smart to give my name to the guy if I was going to kidnap you.”

“What?” was all Johanna could muster.

“The look in your eyes.  It reminds me of my life from before my papa saved me. So we came here to rescue the princess from her tower, if she wanted. Always need consent and permission to help.”

“I’m…” Johanna started.  Her reflex response was fine.  She was not fine.  She was terrible and trapped. She found herself telling this light everything because she knew she could trust her. Somehow, she knew that she was not a trap from the Judge.  “He watches me. Not just over me but through the walls.  He does it when I sleep or thinks I don’t know he’s there, but I know. I hear him.”

“Hear him doing what?” asked Cosette asked. Johanna shook her head unable to utter the words.  “Oh.”

“I’ll be eighteen soon, but I think..,” Johanna choked out determined not to cry with the Judge downstairs. “I think he’s going to try to marry me.  So, I’ll never be able to leave.”

“I’ll get you out of here. I promise you I will get you out.  If you are OK with the news thinking that you have been kidnapped then we can do it tomorrow if you want.” She was bright, too bright for Johanna.  Colors began to refill her room.  The walls were no longer gray but a deep blue. Her bird even hopped around excited.

“Can I bring my bird? It’s a lark.  I want to free her.” Cosette laughed looking at the bird nodding her head and confirming the lark can come too.  Johanna was getting adventurous now. “And I want to get a short hair cut.  Eventually, grow it out and never dye it blonde again.”

“Sure. I mean, yeah.  Whatever you want,” replied Cosette a little confused. “What would be the best day to break you free?”

“Monday, it’s his longest day! But, why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

“My real name is Euphrasie Tholomyès.  I was on the news as a foster care kid who was kidnapped. I wasn’t.  I ran away with a stranger because he knew my mom and it was the best decision of my life.” She grabbed Johanna’s hands. “I don’t know your mom, but I can do that for you, too.” They froze as a voice drifted from the first floor.  It was time for Cosette to leave.

“One more thing before I go and if you don’t like it, I’ll never do it again.” Before Johanna could even respond, she felt Cosette’s lips lightly touch hers. It was over as soon it is began but even more colors in the room started shining. Johanna found herself pulling the girl closer and kissing her as hard as she could feeling the rainbow shine though.  

Cosette left and kept true to her word. On Monday, she was free.  She had finally found her family. Little did she know that as she fled, her biological family returned.  

Sweeney Todd was back in London and she was going to get her revenge.

[youreghanamissme]

youth camps

There are a lot of things I’m proud about (and equally, many things that I would like to forget at the bottom of an empty pint of ice cream) and participating in Peace Corps-organized youth camps may be the brightest highlight of my time in Ghana thus far. PCV’s do a lot. Some of us facilitate health lessons in local schools, fund animal-rearing projects, help build ICT centers and libraries, build latrines for our community, and get boreholes constructed at our sites, but youth camps are one of the best, most rewarding projects that PCV’s churn out. Sure, it’s not a sustainable venture, but I think it produces sustainable results in the way we make Ghanian youth feel. As finite volunteers, it isn’t guaranteed that we’ll see those results while we’re here, but it squeezes my heart small to think about a grown Ghanian student who reminisces about that one week in JHS when they were compelled to critically think about their future, their wants and needs, their place in the fabric of society and where society’s pushes and pulls fits into their perspective; when they met other students, just like them, but from other communities 50, 100 miles away; when they interacted with deaf students and realized that friendship transcends spoken word.

When I think about that, I'm grateful. This is happiness.

When I recall the connections I’ve made with my campers, I regret forgetting that happiness. It’s so easy to dismiss our successes when our failures are imprinted in our minds like murder scenes–murder of our pride, feelings of self-worth, and consequently, the fear of failure. I try to think about Maya Angelou’s quote in moments like these: “People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.”

In the past month, I've been a group leader—from set-up to re-pack—of two amazing PCV-organized youth camps.

GLOW/BRO – Girls Leading Our World/ Boys Respecting Others. GLOW/BRO camps are regional camps. I participated in the most recent Northern edition, and let me tell ya what– it was fucking fantastic. It took a few days for the students to warm up to each other, but by the end of it, I wish we had more time. My group named ourselves Golden Royals because our bandana color was yellow. How fitting because these young people are kings and queens in their own right; a PCV in their community felt that they were exemplary and hard-working and leaders that needed a little more polishing.

Not everyone's English skills were on the same level. It was somehow disarming to see the disparity in English comprehension amongst JHS students across the Northern region. It goes to show that there are many elements at play in the Ghana Education System-- the teachers, the students themselves, external pressures (parents, the household chores), and the curriculum. English typically becomes the primary language in the classroom by Primary 4, and many of the JHS students in attendance knew little beyond greetings and survival English. But we needed to converse in English since not all students spoke the same language. Some spoke Dagbani, others Mamprouli, Linkpapang, and Ghanian Sign Language (GSL).

One of the amazing aspects of the northern GLOW/BRO camp was its location. The Savelugu School of the Deaf hosted us, and a good fifteen or so Sav Deaf School students also attended so that there were two hearing impaired student groups in addition to the five hearing groups. Each group also had a Ghanian counterpart—a SHS student or graduate to be a sort of role model (and translator, in many of our cases) to the JHS students.

Camp was set up so that each full day was devoted to a theme: health, business, and gender equality. The Golden Royals ate meals together. We had end-of-the-day group discussions to explore sessions that day, and the conversations within our small groups teased out the nuances of each theme. Sex. Pregnancy. Stereotypes. Self-esteem. Defining Success. Gender norms in Ghana. We tried to cover the big stuff. We made an effort to get as many Ghanian professionals as speakers as possible. It's one thing to have a PCV lead a session, but it's much more powerful for the students to see someone like them—especially women—center-stage, commanding an audience.

I was lucky to have the opportunity to lead two sessions: one on sexual and reproductive health, another on recycling used pure water satchets into zipper bags. The SRH lesson was INTENSE. I talk fast, so it became a funny and somehow laugh-at-myself awkward lesson where I would talk, my co-leader Jenn would translate my Ghanian English into even slower Ghanian English, and my Dagbani Language and Culture Facilitator (LCF) Alhassan would translate what Jenn said into legit Ghanian English with the cadence that the students could understand. No matter how hard I tried to slow down my speed, it was still too fast! It became more like a Q&A session as students became fixated on the STI's (and all the extremely complicated hypothetical situations of contracting an STI) and lost in all the technical terminology. It's kind of a hard topic to smash into an hour and a half... and still leave room to talk about consent and frame the whole discussion within a sex-positivity vibe. Ghanian youth are so used to getting  abstinence-only drilled into them at school because of the cultural climate in Ghana. Sex is taboo, as it is in many cultures, but it's even more scandalous in a country whose population is mostly either Christian or Muslim. Unsurprisingly, teen pregnancy still happens here, like it does in many other countries. We tried our best to impart that it's OK to have sex; just be responsible and mature and make sure that you're ready. After, we had condom demo races where campers competed against and each other as they practiced saying the steps to opening and putting an external latex condom onto a penis demonstrator. When there is a lull at camp, pull out the bag of condoms!

And the sign language interpreters had to sign everything. Kudos to them!

Each day had a mini sign language lesson, and students would ask for more sign words and practice greetings and signing their names... it made my heart swell to see how keen the hearing students were in absorbing as much GSL as they could.

Camp was exhausting, but what a lark it was! It was my first all-around camp. I had group-led day camps before, but I had never been a leader from 6am – 10pm for a week! Despite the exhaustion, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

The Golden Royals Crew.

Some highlights:

Four of us arrived a day early to set up mosquito nets for campers. We didn't realize how potent the insecticide on the new, treated nets was, and you know how it is—folks don't realize how often they touch their face. By the end of the night, everyone's faces and eyeballs were on fire! It was horrible and a little traumatic.

One of favorite campers from my group, Gifty, still keeps in contact with me! She updates me every now and then on her successes in school. My heart melted when she gave a photo of herself to a fellow student in her community who was attending STARS camp to give to me. Printed photos are not cheap and easy to procure in the village, y'all. I was impressed and deeply touched. I can't articulate fully how much of an effect that the gesture had on me. Camp lives on, in a way, even when it’s over.

I still get the occasional phone call and whatsapp message from GLOW/BRO campers :)

The GLOW/BRO dance parties were DOPE AF! These young people had some killer moves. I took mental notes.

STARS – Students Taking Action, Reaching For Success. I tell ya what-- Peace Corps sure loves its strategically-derived acronyms. Whereas GLOW/BRO occurs all over Ghana, STARS camp was on a national scale. This was for the cream of the crop. The best students at their local SHS and JHS were elected by a PCV, and those students were the chosen few to attend camp at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST), the premiere university of Ghana; #1 for the numero unos of our communities. Folks from all over Ghana congregated in Kumasi for this camp focusing on technology, business, health, and art. SHS students were at STARS for a full week whereas JHS students were only there for a few days. We staggered their arrival so that we can teach specific lessons to the SHS students who would in turn conduct teach-back lessons to the JHS students when the latter arrived two days after the former. 

It was an intense week as every minute of every day was accounted for. We were in the big leagues now. Big city, college campus with college students walking around, y’know? We had to make sure nothing funky was going on with our young people. In that regard, GLOW/BRO was a lot more intimate. There was no one else on campus but us. The site was smaller. There were more opportunities for group bonding at GLOW/BRO too. Since I was a JHS group leader again, I only had about three days with my Super Black Stars (punnily and understandably, most other groups also paid homage to the STARS theme) before camp ended. 

STARS was spectacular at encouraging the pursuit of high education. I don’t know if the campers felt the same effect, but the college vibe was a little infectious... like it seeped into my consciousness and my energy by osmosis. STARS did a good job of trying to bring it back to reaching for success, whatever that may mean. Some folks want to be doctors; others want to be fashion designers. How great is that? We had a university student Q&A panel. It was especially powerful to hear from female students who are in STEM share such aspiration and good advice for our female SHS and JHS students. Campers also got to tour the extensive KNUST campus. I woke up reeeal early some mornings in order to go on a short jog/walk and was in awe of how large and elaborate parts of the campus was. There’s a track, a gym, and an art department… I cannot fully describe how cool it was. So many student housing halls, all with their own personality! And there was a mini-mall ON CAMPUS! What?!

All campers got to visit the ICT lab. It was amazing. This was the first time that many of them used an actual computer. There are ICT classes in JHS schools, but it’s all theory. It’s fucking crazy—ICT teachers often roughly draw a desktop on the worn chalkboard and explain how to do things on the computer, like open a Word document, create a folder, or how to bold a sentence. It all boils down to memorization at the JHS level if your school doesn’t have a computer lab. Some students had trouble just moving the mouse. One could really see the difference between the JHS students and the SHS students. The latter were more exposed to computers and could imbed photos or change their font colors with ease in Microsoft Word.

To encapsulate STARS in a few paragraphs is rough. I really enjoyed the reusable menstrual pad workshop PCV McCrady did. We did yoga every day (what a work out for my stiff self!). The food was so good. There were meals where I ran out of soup and continued to eat my banku or fufu ball – pure carb ball, baby! Students learned how to do batik dyeing. Campers tried deep-fried, garlic-y curry eggplant (and hated it, unfortunately!). Professionals in volunteerism, business, and in STEM came to talk to them.

No lie – I was pretty burnt out right before STARS. I had just finished GLOW/BRO and had been busting my booty doing working group stuff (I’ll post on that later). I had just finished the first part of a bee-keeping training and a GRS malaria bed net distribution at my site. I was busy, busy, and busy… but I have never felt so low and alone in Ghana. I was dealing with a lasagna of stress, anxiety, and depression going on a month. I was managing, but barely. The last thing I wanted to do was go to another camp and be pretend-happy and pretend-cheerful. But STARS really brought me up. I am happy I went and met and worked with incredible people and saw a side of Ghana/ Kumasi that I’ve never seen. Definitely had a blast!

Some highlights:

I’ve never purchased a pair of TOMS shoes in my life because they’re expensive af. I also feel that the company culturally appropriates the shoe design of indigenous Chileans, but you can only spill so much haterade… Would you believe me if I told you that my first pair of TOMS are on the receiving end from Ghana? Thanksss, ‘murica! Really though, I don’t believe in the BOGO model of “charity”/ “international aid.” I think that model encourages a handout environment around international aid and takes away from local businesses (I go to a cobbler for my sandals more times than I’ve ever done so in America. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle is a way of life because of necessity rather than mindfulness.)

I felt it was OK to give students free shoes at camp only because it was an isolated event. It wasn’t as if we were dropping them down in a village (something I would not be cool with). I did, however, wish we discussed with our youth more about where the shoes came from and why they were receiving it, rather than just handing it to them like we did. I feel like consciousness about our impact as foreigners coming to volunteer in Ghana is vital in sustainability.

The STARS talent show was lit! I liked how our Ghanian students interpreted talent. You get the usual dancing and singing, but students also told jokes and performed short plays. The group leaders attempted to do the electric slide...

We had an activity where we literally set our “I can’ts…” on fire in a pot. Did I already say that STARS was lit?

I designed the STARS shirts. Schedule an appointment with my agent if you want to meet, bwhahahaha!

I know I share crumbs about struggling here and there on the blog, but that’s just part of life, and by extension, part of my PC experience. Life is a struggle, and I’m a work in progress. Fuck feelings. Sometimes it’s better to just accept circumstances that you can’t change and focus and celebrate the things you can. And camp helped me take a step forward in that direction. It reminded me that I do good work; that I am a good person; that I have friends who care and are there; that there is a world out there that I haven’t seen yet; that so much beauty and joy exists in just hearing “I will miss you” from a student. I fuck loving camp.

[shifting-lark]

AHHH SORRY I COULDN’T STOP MYSELF I just wanted to write angst of Zoro and Lark being idiots and not knowing how to handle emotions. Enjoy!!!

Deny Deny Deny.

Pair: Roronoa Zoro x Lark Normandy (DRself)

Info: angst angst, emotions bad ew, denial, sadish, non-happy ending?? 

TW: some cussing, minor description of drowning/passing out, minor nudity?

Rating:  PG (sfw)

I hated winter. The cold, the snow, the everything about it. Winter just was not my season. I preferred tank tops and shorts, not bundled up in coats. But living on a pirate ship you don’t really get to choose the weather, and in the Grand Line the seasons are always unpredictable and changing.

It was late at night and I was exhausted but I couldn’t fall asleep. Instead of tossing and turning in my cabin I went for a midnight stroll on the deck. I shuddered, pulling my leather jacket closer to my chest. I adjusted my black scarf to cover my mouth as I leaned against the ship railing, watching the almost black sea beneath. The gentle waves crashing against the wood of the Thousand Sunny gave a calming ambience as I tried to clear my head. I was usually pretty good at hiding feelings. More like ignoring them altogether. Living alone, being homeless, stealing and hitchhiking, it had no room for feelings. Emotions only got in the way of surviving. I was doing fine on my own.

Yet somehow, I found myself a part of a crew. The Straw Hat pirates were like a family to me, even though I had only met them a few years back. Luffy, Sanji, Robin, Franky, Brook, Nami, Chopper, Usopp, and of course… Zoro. I shook my head at the thought. Why was Zoro so different from the rest? Sure, he was handsome, but I’ve met plenty of handsome people before. Why do my hands always get so clammy when he’s around? Why do I worry myself sick whenever he gets hurt in a fight? Why am I even thinking about him now?

I sighed hanging my head, “I’m hopeless.” I muttered to myself. Deep down I knew the answer for all of my questions, but I desperately didn’t want to admit it. I would fight off my true feelings with a baseball bat until the day I died. ‘Deny, deny, deny’ was basically my life motto. I hopped up onto the railing and sat staring aimlessly at the stars above. The wind was cold against my face, but I almost didn’t notice, so lost in thought.

“Hey.” A deep voice said, catching me off guard. I gave a small shriek in surprise and before even seeing who it was, I lost balance on the railing. Suddenly I was fall backwards off the ship and into the ocean. I landed with a splash and everything went fuzzy. Being a Devil Fruit user was great for the power, but the ability to not swim was a major downside. I could feel myself weakening and the air from my lungs escaping me. I was frozen like a statue, the icy cold water rushing around me, suffocating me. Fuck, I’m gonna die because I fell off the ship. Was my first thought. How embarrassing.

My vision was beginning to fade before I was a blurry, shadowy figure jump into the water above me. I saw a glimpse of green hair and felt a sense of relief. I reached out to him helplessly but before I could get to him, everything went black.

             I heard his voice first. Cursing under his breath as he tossed his katanas onto the floor. I slowly opened my eyes and took a deep breath. I was back on the ship, in my quarters, lying on my bed. I turned to the left and saw Zoro standing there shirtless, his wet shirt in his hands as he wrung it out, the water splashing onto the wooden floor. “Zoro?” I said, cursing my voice for being so pathetic.

             His head shot up and his eyes met mine, “Lark. You’re awake. Are you okay?” He asked, his deep voice immediately calming to me.

             I sat up, “I’m fine, just cold as fuck.” I stared down and realized I was in a baggy white t-shirt. Where did my clothes go? I looked to the floor and saw the pile of sopping wet clothes on the floor. Zoro must have taken them off for me while I was unconscious.

             I paused for a moment.

             “DID YOU UNDRESS ME?!” I almost screamed, my face growing hot.

             He glared at me, “I didn’t want you to catch hypothermia! You were soaking wet.”

             “I could have done that myself when I woke up!” I snapped.

             “Did you want to die?!” He shouted back, his voice only slightly annoyed. I avoided his eye contact and pulled the blanket closer to me.

             “Thanks.” I finally whispered, realizing it was the best course of action, even if it was incredibly embarrassing. He only gave a small nod, continuing to wring out his wet shirt. “Thanks for jumping in after me.” I added, “How did you know I fell in?”

             “Cause I was the one that scared you and made you lose balance.” He explained, “I was heading up to the crows nest for a workout session and saw you sitting on the railing. I was just saying hi and then you fell in.” He gave up drying his shirt and tossed it to the floor with the rest of my clothes.

             There was a moment of awkward silence. I suddenly realize how chilled to the bone I was. A late night swim in the middle of winter definitely wasn’t good for you. Zoro noticed me shivering and sat on the bed next to me, almost too close.

             “Uh…” I said questionably before he put his arm around my shoulders.

             “Chopper says body heat is the best for warming someone up.” Zoro said. “You got a better idea?” He almost growled, eyeing me sideways, daring me to make a joke about it.

             I decided to keep my mouth shut and scooched a little closer to him. His body radiated heat, something I’ve always noticed whenever I was near him. I was thankful he was willing to sit next to me, I could already feel the cold slipping away. It was quiet between us, only the sound of his steady breathing next to me.

             “Have you ever dated anyone Zoro?” I asked. I didn’t know why it came out of my mouth, maybe I was just trying to fill the silence, but I immediately wished to take it back.

             He didn’t seem too alarmed by the question and gave an honest answer, “I don’t date people. Too much work.” He replied. I was going to drop it before he continued, “I did like a girl once.” I looked at him a little surprised. He gave a short chuckle, “A long time ago. Way before I met Luffy and everyone.” I sat quietly, not daring to interrupt. “Her name was Kuina. She was the daughter of the man who owned the dojo I went to. He taught me many things about being a swordsman, but so did she.” He had this look of fondness that I hadn’t seen before. Zoro was always stoic and stone faced, it was a once in a lifetime chance to see him like this. To see him vulnerable.

             “We were just kids. Children playing around with wooden katanas. Kuina was the strongest at the dojo, stronger than I was. I fought her constantly, desperate to be better. She was fierce and determined and skillful. She was everything I wanted to be. I respected her so much and thought for a moment that when we got older I would marry her.” He paused, his emotional wall reappearing before my eyes, “Unfortunately she died. A total accident, and completely out of the blue. She was gone, and I never got to say goodbye.” I felt my heart tighten in my chest.

             “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” I whispered, afraid my words would somehow shatter in the air.

             Zoro gave a small shrug, “Things happen. After that, I haven’t liked anyone or ever thought of dating. The only thing I’m focused on is being the best swordsman I can be.” He turned and fully looked at me. “I don’t have time to focus on anything else.” I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. His eyes weren’t just looking at me, they were looking through me, looking into my soul. Why was he so intense right now?

             “What does that mean?” I asked, stupidly. He didn’t say anything and averted his gaze. “Zoro…”

             “I’m an idiot, but I’m not that much of an idiot.” He said, his jaw clenched. “I know.” My mind was spinning.

             “Know what?” I asked, dumbfounded.

             “Know what’s going on between… us.” He said, and I noticed his cheeks had a hint of red.

             “What is going on between us?” I asked again.

             He clenched his fist and jerked his head to face me, “Lark don’t play dumb!” He snapped, “I see how you look at me! I know you stayed by my side that whole week I was bedridden after we left Thriller Bark! I know how you feel!”

             “Well enlighten me then!” I spat back, “Cause apparently I’m lost.”

             He growled, “You’re so dense.”

             I gave a shallow laugh, “I’M dense? Look in the mirror.”

             “So, you don’t have any feelings towards me?” He shot back, as he stared me down. The question might as well have been a punch to the jaw.

             “You’re my crewmate! I care about you, but not in that way!” I replied quickly, I felt my chest tighten, the tension in the room reaching unbearable levels. “I don’t know what you think, but you don’t know me and you certainly don’t know how I feel!” I said, each word as cold as ice, as I pushed his arm off my shoulders. Silence fell between us as we stared at one another.

             “Fine.” He stood up, grabbing his katanas and his shirt. “Sorry if I crossed a line.” He walked towards the door, “You’re right. I don’t know you at all.” He slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone.

             I felt hot tears stream down my face as I cried in frustration. Stupid. Idiot. Dumbass. What the fuck do you know? I screamed in my head, wanting to pull out my hair. Why did he have to question me like that? What just happened? What did I just say? Why couldn’t I just be honest with him? I pulled my knees close to my chest and sobbed quietly to myself. Why couldn’t I just tell the truth? The truth that I….  I loved him.

             I loved Zoro. I wiped my tears away and tried to collect myself a bit. I was hopelessly in love with him and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. There was only one thing left I could do.

             Deny. Deny. Deny.