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battybatzgirl · 3 years ago

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Hey Mr. Sandman, You Missed a Spot

AO3

Summary:

It's not that Hunter doesn't ever sleep, Eda's come to realize. It was that he falls asleep sporadically, most of the time in really weird places.

Or: 5 times Eda catches Hunter taking a nap

Part 1 of the Finders Keepers Series

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Here’s the thing about Eda: she loves naps. Eda likes to be cozy, so usually, that equated to curling up under a blanket, lazing around, and falling asleep. The Owl Beast shared that sentiment, the creature that lived within her constantly wanting to nest. Those animalistic instincts were weird, but when you lived in a house with a demon who also liked to bury himself under a pile of stuffed animals, you kind of got used to it.

Here’s the thing about Hunter: he doesn’t sleep.

The kid has been living with them for only about two weeks, officially replacing Eda as Public Enemy Numero Uno in the eyes of the Emperor. When he’d showed up on Hooty’s doorstep, all bloody and barely conscious, Eda thought it was some kind of cosmic trick. The Powers That Be had to be pulling her leg because this was the second time the leader of the Emperor’s Coven had shown up to the Owl House with nowhere else to go.

Luz had been ecstatic to welcome him in, apparently excited to finally fulfill her dreams of becoming a middle child in their weird little found family. King was less thrilled, but eventually warmed up to the idea of Hunter staying with them as long as he taught King his secrets on how to command an army.

Hunter himself even seemed unnerved at the thought of living with them. He tried to leave a few times when he was still wounded, but his little bird palisman (Rascal, she’s heard him say) effectively herded him back into the house by continuously dive-bombing him and nipping at his ears. And after Belos put out a wanted poster for the kid, making him the Isles’ number one most wanted traitor, leaving wasn’t really an option. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

So eventually, Hunter begrudgingly accepted that yeah, he lived in the Owl House now.

And alright, Eda isn’t heartless. The kid was lost, wounded, and an enemy of the Emperor. She can work with that.

Getting to know him has been a challenge, though. Hunter has a lot of weird quirks. He holds himself so seriously that Eda has a hard time remembering that he’s a teenager and not a fully grown middle-aged man. He hardly ever smiles. He’s jumpy, practically jolting out of his skin every time you walk into the same room. He’s clearly Going Through Some Shit, as Eda so eloquently calls it, remembering how Lily went through the same thing when she slowly broke free of Belos’s freaky subjugation.

But still. The kid doesn’t sleep.

Eda first notices it around day four of his residence. She’s up early to go to the market, stepping into the living room and nearly transforming into her Harpy Form out of pure shock when she sees a figure messing with her bookshelf in the back of the room. Wide maroon eyes lock on hers from across the room and she feels the feathers that sprung to her skin recede.

“Titan, kid,” she breaths, “You nearly killed me. What are you doing up? It’s Saturday, you should be sleeping in.”

“Um…I did sleep in,” Hunter responds, as if it’s obvious.

Eda feels a frown tug at her lips, “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

The kid just shrugs a little lamely, and Eda feels a twinge of concern in her chest. (And ugh, feeling concerned for a guy who dangled you over the Boiling Sea is certainly weird.) If this was sleeping in for him, he couldn’t have rested more than five hours.

She steps closer, taking a second look at what he’s doing. Half the books are spread out on the floor, the other half stacked neatly back on the shelves in some kind of order.

He notices her looking, “I, uh, took the liberty of reorganizing your bookshelf. Or organizing it, since it didn’t really seem to have a system.” The kid ducks his head, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I- I can put it back the way it was if you want, or organize them in a different way.”

That’s another thing about Hunter: he always has to be doing something. Being useful. Without direction, he crumples. It was always, What do you want me to do now, Miss Clawthorne this and I completed this task, Miss Clawthorne, what’s next that. His brain operated on a transactional level—I do this thing for you, you do this thing for me. And since Eda was housing him, he felt like he had to constantly be doing things for her. Constantly proving himself worthy to be here, repaying her. Hunter couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that she didn’t want him to do anything except stay comfortable.

Eda has thought up a hundred different little tasks for him to do in just his first four days. She’s running out of odd jobs to give him, and if she has to keep telling him what to do she’s going to start pulling out her hair.

“You’re fine, kid,” she says. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’ if it makes ya happy. But you shouldn’t be up this early. You should at least take a nap later.”

Hunter tilts his head. “But that wouldn’t be accomplishing anything.”

“You don’t hafta be working all the time,” Eda stresses. “It’s okay to sit around and just exist once and a while. Actually, I think that should be your priority. Take a nap, relax, go cloud watching, take a walk—any or all of the above.”

“That sounds like doing nothing.”

“That’s because it is doing nothing.”

His face hardens, taking on that soldier-like seriousness that encompasses his entire demeanor. “Being lazy can’t be a priority.”

“Don’t think of it like that, then,” Eda almost snaps, wishing for a nice hot mug of apple blood. It was too damn early to deal with the repercussions of Belos’s all-work-no-play mindset. “Think of it as acting your age. Did you ever get to take naps as a kid in the Emperor’s Coven? Is relaxing just a foreign concept to you?”

He doesn’t answer, staring at her with those bagged eyes and guarded expression, and Eda throws up her hands in defeat.

She leaves then, her patience running too thin to continue arguing with him. She doubts he’ll actually go back to sleep. He probably goes back to doing whatever he was doing with that bookshelf. Eda makes a mental note to tell King to knock all the books off, just so Hunter can reorganize it later. Just for something for him to keep him occupied.

Eda doesn’t even notice the first time it happens. It was one of Luz’s friends, Gus, who pointed it out.

The kids were gathered at her home after school, spread out on the floor of the living room along with various pillows and blankets. Luz found some card game she knew buried somewhere in the piles of human trash Eda has laying around, and the girl has been spending the better part of an hour trying to explain how it works.

“So the Wild Card doesn’t make you turn into a wild animal?” Willow questions, holding up a black card with looks like a colorful pie chart on it.

“Nope!” Luz says cheerfully. “It just becomes any color you want it to be to go with the rest of your hand.”

“But the card doesn’t actually change color?” Amity asks.

“No, it only represents the color,” Luz clarifies, and Eda has to admit, her girl has a ton of patience. She’s been quietly watching from her place on the couch, half-listening to their conversation, half-reading the Isles’ latest edition of You Gossipy Witch, a tabloid where a writer is speculating about her true form. Apparently, some people think she was raised by feral, wild owls on some far away barrier island, and has come to reside in Bonesborough just because she ran out of mutant rats to eat.

Weird.

But entertaining!

Gus holds up one of his cards, “So are blank cards bad, or—"

King jumps over his shoulder, landing on the deck of cards in the middle of their little circle and making them fly everywhere. “I have taken dominion over ALL YOUR CARDS. All of you must grovel for a taste of my wealth!”

“Actually, the point of the game is to get rid of all your cards,” Luz reminds him gently. “That way, when you get down to one card, you shout Uno! And you win! If no one else makes you draw anymore, that is.”

King deflates a little, apparently put off by the idea of less is more. “Oh.” Luz smiles and pats him on the head, and he brightens up. “Okay, let’s play, because I wanna make all of you draw as many cards as possible! You'll drown in your cards! Choke on them, even!”

As they start gathering up the cards that King threw everywhere, Gus lets out a little gasp. “You guys—is Hunter asleep?”

That immediately draws Eda’s attention away from the magazine. Her eyes flicker to the blond witch, laying on his stomach just on the edge of their group. He was still having a hard time socializing, especially with Amity, but Luz was determined to include him in all friendship activities. She said wanted to teach him how to be a kid, and hell, if anyone could knock some seriousness out of that boy it would be Luz.

Hunter is indeed asleep—his face is mushed into the forearms pillowed under his head, and his red palisman has weaseled its way to nestle in between the crook of his elbow. His breath comes out in soft little sighs, and Eda feels something in her melt.

“Awwww, he looks so peaceful,” Luz croons, mushing her palms against her cheeks. Amity’s already scooched past her, snapping photos on her scroll. Eda can’t blame her. She knows a good blackmail opportunity when she sees one.

Eda’s off the couch and catches King mid-pounce. “Whoa there, none of that buddy.”

“But Edaaaa,” the demon whines, his little arms and legs flailing in mid-air. “I have to conquer him when he least expects it!”

“Ehhh, let the kid sleep. Save your conquests for when he’s awake and can put up a fight.” Eda sets him down in his place in the circle, and the kids all glance at each other before turning back to the cards.

She notices that they’re more mindful to keep their tones softer, probably to not disturb the sleeping boy. And when Hunter wakes himself up about half an hour later, they don’t mention it, seamlessly integrating him back into their game.

The second time it happens, Raine is walking Eda home. It’s early in the evening, and the pair just got done with a fabulous date—a picnic with apple blood and sweet (and stolen) baked goods? Titan, take Eda now, she’s found her perfect match.

She’s still riding that high, not noticing Raine stopping until they tug on their clasped hands. “Hey, who’s that? Is he okay?”

Eda follows where they’re pointing their finger. It’s Hunter, slumped against the base of an oak tree, fast asleep. His chin is tipped forward and a book open on his chest, and even more strangely, there’s a small pile of leaves on his lap.

“Oh, that’s just my—” Eda stops herself, the word catching in her throat. Hunter was a child in her care, yes, but he wasn’t quite her kid. Not like Luz or King. The blond witch was still too jumpy, baring his teeth and snarling at anything that tried to get close to him.

He calls her Miss Clawthorne, for Titan’s sake.

“—Hunter,” Eda finishes lamely.

Raine raises an eyebrow. “Your Hunter?”

“He’s uhhh, one of Luz’s friends who just so happens to be living with us. Not a big thing.”

Raine shoots her a deadpan look but strides forward anyway, kneeling next to the sleeping blond. They keep their voice to a low murmur, “Should we wake him? That can’t be comfortable for his neck. He’ll probably be sore later.”

“Eh, let him rest. This is more sleep than he usually gets.” Eda steps closer, kneeling down on his other side. It’s the side that has his scar, the slightly raised red tissue standing out even more so than usual now that he wasn’t constantly moving. She’s almost asked him how he got it, but he’s clearly sensitive about the subject. She’s seen the similar marks on his arms, and something tells her there are a whole lot more scars that he’s hiding.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who gave them to him.

Still, it’s hard to ignore just how young he looks. When he’s stripped of all of his snappy comebacks, quick defenses, and that guarded demeanor Belos forced onto him, he’s reduced to exactly what he should be:

A kid.

“Oh!” Raine startles in surprise. Eda looks up to see the cardinal palisman fluttering down from above them, carrying a few leaves in its beak. It hops down onto Hunter’s lap and deposits the leaves in the little growing pile on his leg.

A smile worms its way onto Eda’s face. She runs a finger across the little bird’s head, “Trying to keep him warm, huh?” The bird lets out a trilling note of confirmation. She lets the bird be, turning back to Raine, “I think Rascal’s got this covered. If he hasn’t come in before nightfall I’ll come out and get ‘em.”

The bard casts one last glance down at the sleeping boy before they stand. “Y’know, he kind of reminds me of someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Eda weaves her arm through Raine’s as the pair reassumes their walk.

“Yeah,” Raine hums. “He kind of has the same build as someone I met when I was held hostage in the Emperor’s palace. The Golden Guard. Did you hear that he ran away from the palace? There've been rumors that the Emperor himself is tearing apart the Right Arm looking for him.”

“Uh, about that...”

Raine stops, turning to look at her square in the face. Eda gives them a sheepish, toothy grin.

“Oh my god,” Raine says. “You adopted the Golden Guard?”

“Hey now, adopted is a very strong word—”

The bard cuts her off with a delighted laugh. “How am I not surprised?” Eda feels heat rise to her face, but can’t help but return Raine’s infectious smile. “Only you, Eda. Only you.”

The third time it happens, Eda’s passing through the upstairs hallway, intent on curling up into her nest for an afternoon nap of her own. She hears a shuffling noise as she passes by the glorified storage closet that they gave Hunter as a room, and can’t resist a peek inside.

What she finds is definitely…not what she was expecting. Hunter is laying flat on his back on the floor, his feet elevated on the little cot they’d given him. Yeesh, that couldn’t be comfortable. Soft snores woosh past his open lips, his face turned toward a crystal ball that’s playing some cartoon he must have been watching before he fell asleep.

His body is nearly covered in stuffed animals.

“King,” Eda hisses. The horned perpetrator is in the middle of dumping his entire army onto the blond witch’s chest, pinning down his arms with plushies. “What did I tell you about burying people alive?”

The demon pauses from where he’s been slowly arranging his army over Hunter’s sleeping form. “He’s got plenty of room to breathe! I didn’t cover his face,” King protests. “Can’t subjugate someone who’s dead.”

“No subjugating—” your brother, she almost says, “—Hunter.”

King squints at her, but then grumbles and starts slowly taking the stuffed animals off the boy’s body. Crisis averted, Eda slips back out into the hall, mind swirling. That was the second time she’d almost referred to Hunter as hers in passing. The feeling is too raw to speak out loud yet, but there’s a growing warmth in her as she watches Hunter acclimate to his surroundings in the Owl House. With every day that goes by, he’s more comfortable around her, around Luz and King and Hooty, and he’s starting to come out of his shell. He’s growing softer, less quick to snarl, becoming more Hunter and less Golden Guard.

Unconsciously, Eda’s started viewing him as part of their little family. Two weeks ago, that thought would have made her uncomfortable. Now, she welcomes it with open arms.

Ugh, she’s getting so soft.

The fourth time it happens is when Eda’s flying home from visiting Lilith. She’s only been gone for the day, and is hoping that leaving Luz in charge hasn’t led to any freak fires, the resurrection of the dead, or other various natural disasters. Unfortunately, even her most responsible kid is pretty reckless, so Eda’s expectations are set pretty low.

It’s probably sometime around 2 a.m. when she makes it home sweet home. She swoops in close, intent on landing on the front door but stilling mid-air when she sees something on the roof of the tower. Even from up here, it’s not hard to distinguish the form of a looming body.

Eda’s heart leaps into her throat and she takes Owlbert down into a dive. Her body is tense when she lands, her staff already aimed toward the person lurking by the edge of the roof. “Alright listen bucko, you better step back or—wait.” She sees what looks like a lump of feathers sitting on top of the person’s head, and Eda squints in the darkness. She quickly pulls out a light glyph, sending the tiny ball of sun forward.

“Hunter?!” Eda’s tense posture relaxes. The kid doesn’t answer, and it takes her a beat to figure out why. He’s dead asleep, slumped precariously over the telescope they use for stargazing. Eda has no idea how he’s even standing at all. Kid probably had a ton of practice of falling asleep on his feet during long, boring meetings with the Emperor.

“Wakey, wakey.” She places her hand on his shoulder, gently, but he wakes up with a full-body jerk, startling the palisman on top of his head. The cardinal chirps once in irritation, fluttering to rest on Eda’s shoulder instead.

Hunter’s eyes are wild for a moment until he seems to register where he is and who he’s with. He relaxes then, letting out a yawn so huge it would put any lion to shame. “…Eda?”

“The one and only,” Eda says, ignoring how her heart squeezes at the kid finally calling her by her name. “Wanna tell me why you’re up here in the middle of the night?”

“Waitin’ for you,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. His eyelids drop and he sways dangerously on his feet. “Wanted to… t’make sure y’got home safe.”

The warmth in her chest expands and eclipses her entire body in that fuzzy feeling she gets whenever one of her kids does something particularly adorable. Thank Titan it’s dark and Hunter is too out of it to notice the smile that spreads across her face. If he was fully awake, Eda gets the feeling that A) he probably never would have admitted that he was worried about her, and B) would have snapped at her for smiling at him like that. “Well, I’m home now, so let’s get you to bed before you topple over.”

Eda wraps her arm around his waist and nudges him along, practically carrying him back downstairs, their palismen following close behind. She doesn’t mind. Someone had to make sure he didn’t fall off the roof.

“Night, kid,” she says, tucking him under the blankets on his cot. Hunter doesn’t respond, already having slipped back into unconsciousness. And if she brushes his bangs tenderly out of his face, no one ever has to be the wiser.

The fifth time it happens, Eda’s gotten used to it. It's not that Hunter doesn’t sleep, she’s come to realize. He just falls asleep in weird places. Why, she has no idea, but honestly, the kid looked so tired all the time, she wasn’t going to question it. They had bigger things to worry about.

The Day of Unity is just around the corner, and Belos has become more irritating than ever.

Eda hadn’t even thought that was possible for him, but apparently, it was. The scouts around Bonesborough have tripled, their captains leading more and more raids, butting into shops to check everyone’s papers, and invading random districts.

Oddly, Belos’s priorities seem to have shifted. He’s still sending out grunts to round up any wild witches, but the guards have been playing a weird sort of hide-and-seek, going beyond just patrolling the marketplaces to actually tearing into people’s homes. From what she’s heard, the guards never take anything, just searching the place top-to-bottom before leaving empty-handed and moving on to the next house.

Belos was looking for something.

And unfortunately, Eda’s got a pretty good idea of what he’s after.

Said thing just so happens to be slumped across from her at the kitchen table, dead to the world. It’s late into the night, and most of the kids have already gone to sleep. Too on edge to lie down, Eda’s been keeping herself busy by concocting more potions while the late-night news plays on her crystal ball in the background.

Hunter, striving to be helpful, volunteered to stay up and help.

It wasn’t long before the kid slowly started to nod off, face supported by his palm as his eyelids started to droop. He’d been in the middle of mixing two ingredients—highly flammable ingredients, mind you—and Eda plucked the vials out of his lax grip just in time. Honestly, it was a miracle the kid never killed himself in the Emperor’s Coven with how randomly he falls asleep.

He probably never got the chance to sleep at all, a voice reminds her. She remembers how dead-exhausted Lily was during her first few days at the Owl House. It was probably safe to assume that the Emperor had a habit of running the head of his Coven into the ground.

Hunter has been picking up on Belos’s tightening grip, too. He’s been getting quieter, more reserved. He’s come to the same conclusion that Eda has: the Emperor was tearing apart the whole of the Isles to get him back.

Why, though, is anyone’s guess. Hunter has long since explained that his uncle always said that the Titan had big plans for him, and it probably has something to do with the Day of Unity, but beyond that, the Emperor had always kept him in the dark. Luz has a crazy theory involving clones and blood magic, but that sounds like it’s a plot point straight out of one of her Azura books. King thinks Belos wants his artificial staff back, and Hooty predicts the Emperor is just sad because all his Coven leaders are leaving him to join Hooty’s superior best friends club.

Whatever the reason, Eda’s made it pretty clear that she’s not gonna bend to Belos’s intimidation tactics and turn him over. That smarmy gold jerk could set the whole Isles on fire and Eda still wouldn’t hand him over. Hunter’s part of the Bad Girl’s Coven now, and Belos can just suck it. And she’s not afraid to say that to his stupid face, either.

So when the cauldron at the end of the table that holds the scrying potion suddenly begins bubbling on its own, Eda may very well get her chance.

She’s up on her feet in an instant, dashing to the other end of the table just as the steam rising off the potion begins to warp into a familiar figure.

“Edalyn,” Belos greets, his voice sharp like a dagger. “I do hope I’m not interrupting your evening, but I needed a word with you.”

Ugh, scrying potions weren’t supposed to work both ways! Belos was too damn powerful. He could probably peer into their lives as much as they could peer into his.

“Sorry, but now’s a bad time,” Eda shoots back. “Why don’t you hang up and call back literally never?”

“It’s come to my attention that you have something of mine,” the masked man continues smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’d ever so appreciate it if you gave it back.”

Eda’s lip curls back, feeling the itch of feathers poking out of her joints. She wants to shift into her harpy form and leap through the potion to claw out his eyes. “Sorry, Belos,” she says, dripping smug bravado, “We wild witches operate solely under the laws of finders keepers. Your kid? Mine now.”

Eda expects that the Emperor would very much like to vaporize her. “Make your threats wisely, Owl Lady. You have no idea what you’re up against. Everything will be easier for you and your little friends if you just hand the boy back over to me.”

“Fat chance.” Eda throws back her shoulders and shoots him a sharp grin. “Sounds to me like you’re threatening one of my kids, and we weirdos stick together. Going after one of us is basically asking for all of us to bring you down. Remember how well that went last time? How my human cracked your mask and publicly humiliated you during your big let’s-turn-Eda-to-stone ceremony?”

The Emperor looks as though he has some choice words to say, but Eda doesn’t care. Hunter is her kid now. She glowers at him through that mist, voice lowering in with deadly promise. “You’ll have to drag him back to your Coven over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” sneers Belos.

“Try me, antler boy.” Then Eda whacks the cauldron and sends it tipping over the edge of the table. The connection is immediately severed as the potion goes splattering over the hardwood, and the resounding CLANG of the bowl makes Hunter shoot violently out of sleep.

“Huh?! Whassit—Eda? What happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine, kid,” she says, swallowing down the rage that’s still bubbling hot in her throat. “’S alright, just got a little clumsy and knocked over a cauldron. Sorry for waking you.”

“Sorry for falling asleep,” Hunter responds. He grabs a towel and hurries to clean up the oozing purple goo.

Eda waves him off, “Eh, I don’t mind. You kids need your rest. Growing bodies and all that.”

Hunter still hesitates, looking at her for a beat too long as if double-checking to make sure she wasn’t really upset. Eda holds back a sigh, a twinge of pity flickering through her that he’d even have to look at her like that in the first place. All the damage from Belos couldn’t be wrapped up in a month, she supposed.

She snatches up the cauldron, still dripping with the ruined potion. Peachy. She’ll have to call Lilith to get her scrying potion recipe. Though maybe not having this in the house was a good idea. Eda doesn’t want to risk His Royal Highness dropping in on any more unexpected house calls.

“Eda?”

She looks up at Hunter. The kid chewing on his bottom lip, wringing the half-soiled towel between scarred hands.

“I just…I wanted to say thank you,” Hunter says shyly. “I know having me here hasn’t exactly been easy—not only because of the fugitive thing, but because I’m…” He flounders for a moment, and Eda can only pretend to know what’s going through his mind right now. “…me,” he finishes finally. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, it’s so much more than I deserve, and no matter what happens next—”

“Hey, no.” Eda cuts him off with a swift and gentle beratement. She sets the cauldron on the table and crowds closer to him, curling one hand around his cheek. The kid automatically leans into the touch, and Eda can’t help but wonder how Belos could have ever hurt a child who was as sweet as this one.

“You may be one bratty little shit, but you’re my bratty little shit. And Mama says you deserve all the smothering that comes with being a child of the Owl Lady.”

Then, to prove her point, she swoops down and quickly places feather-light kisses on the tip of his nose, forehead, and his scar, until Hunter squawks and shoves her away. He’s practically glowing, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Gross,” he snaps, rubbing furiously at his face. “I’m never helping you with your potions ever again.”

“I’ll accept your terms. Now get upstairs, it’s way past your bedtime.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, I’m not a baby.” Hunter sticks out his tongue but obeys, slipping out of the kitchen and disappearing into the rest of the house. Eda shakes her head as she watches him go.

Kids. What could ya do with ‘em?

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lightns881 · 4 years ago

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DTeam Tumblr Demographics Survey Results (Part 1):

The Gifted Child Syndrome is Real with this One...

*Rubs hands together in preparation for some juicy data and in-depth analysis of the typical member of the DTeam Tumblr community*

Ooooooooh boy! Here we go!

I want to start of by thanking you guys for over 400 responses to the demographics survey! Y’all have no idea how much I appreciate it! We have so much to cover, so I’m going to divide up different sections of the survey into several posts to make it more digestable and do justice to each topic explored in the form! We’re going to start of with, you guessed it, personality types!

Strap yourself in because we’re about to thoroughly dissect your sub-conscious innerworkings and find out how the typical DTeam Tumblr Fan thinks! (And judging by the majority personality types, you guys will probably enjoy it)

The Delicious Data

From the 449 responses we received, this is a pie chart displaying the personality types of all respondents.

Image Description: INFP (40.5%), INTP (15.1%), INFJ (8.9%), INTJ (8.9%), ISFP (6.9%), ENFP (4.2%), ISTP (4.0%), ENTP (3.8%), ESFP (1.6%), ISFJ (1.6%), ENTJ (1.3%), ENFJ (1.3%), ISTJ (1.1%), ESTP (0.4%), ESFJ (0.2%), ESTJ (0%)

In comparison, this is a pie chart displaying the personality type percentages of the population as a whole according to the MBTI website.

Image Description: ISTP (14%), ESFJ (12%), ISTJ (12%), ISFP (9%), ESTJ (9%), ESFP (8%) ENFP (8%), ISTP (5%), INFP (4%), ESTP (4%), INTP (3%), ENTP (3%), ENFJ (2%), INTJ (2%), ENTJ (2%), INFJ (1%)

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sensing a tiny difference here... Oh, right!

INxx’s on the Loose!

It’s funny. When I first found one of the 18+ DTeam fan servers through Tumblr, I asked everyone what their personality type was. I was pleasantly surprised when a lot of them told me they were INFPs like me!

It actually reminded me of MatPat’s (Game Theory) survey for one of his Life Is Strange theories that found the majority personality there was also INFP...

Funny enough, can you guess what the second leading personality on that survey was? The third? The fourth?

You probably guessed it right. MatPat found that out of the fans who responded, the leading majority was INFP while INTPs came in second, INFJs came in third, and INTJs came in fourth. The exact order for the personality types in DTeam Tumblr.

But why is it that some of the rarer personalities of the world are dominating DTeam Tumblr or Game Theory’s fanbase? What is it about these communities that attract the rare introverted Intuitive Perceivers (INxP) and Intuitive Judgers (INxJ) of the world like magnets?

The Gifted Kid Syndrome

To answer this question, first we have to examine our leading personalities. As we can see from the data, INFPs and INTPs make up 55.6% and INFJs and INTJs make up 17.8% of the total respondents. That’s nearly 3/4′s of the DTeam Tumblr population made up of INxx types!

Now, here’s me calling y’all out.

A lot of you probably relate to the quiet kid sitting at the back of the classroom who’s put into some type of TAG, gifted program, or some authority figure has probably called you smart and/or “gifted” at some point in your life. Academics probably came easy to you at one point, maybe they still do.

You’ve probably felt your chest swell up at the shower of compliments about your intelligence and at another... you’ve probably felt like people put you in a pedestal and overrate you so you’re stuck with this inherent fear of failure, and it causes you to completely shut down when the things that came easy to you at one point no longer do so.

It’s gifted kid syndrome hitting you like a brick to the face. And if it hasn’t yet, oh you’re in for a surprise, honey.

And I’m sure many of you have come across funny, relatable posts like this:

And you want to know why most of you relate?

Image Description: INTP, INTJ, INFP, anf INFJ’s rate the highest in a giftedness per MBTI Type chart

No. You’re not hallucinating. It’s not even a joke at this point. It feels true because it probably is true.

(Granted, the study that captured similar results to this graph is long lost to the internet, but the best source I found with it was a reddit post I will be citing in the reblog.)

Now, my next point is where we find a split.

INFPs and INTPs and their Need to Question Everything (even if it’s about one sentence [insert creator here] said that one time during a 4-hour long stream)

The strongest connection I found between the two leading personalities of DTeam Tumblr is they share Extraverted Intuiting (Ne) as their auxiliary cognitive function.

I’ll use a quote that explains Ne better than I could ever explain it in my own words:

“Extraverted intuition or Ne is very much focused on patterns and making connections from information they gather... Ne dominant users enjoy being able to explore things in a much more open manner, not wanting to feel closed off to the possibilities around them... They are also highly imaginative people, who enjoy being able to come up with unique hobbies and experiences... They are not afraid of imagining things which seem almost impossible to others... [For INFPs,] Ne is what creates this detailed and incredible thoughts process which keeps them busy for long periods of time.”

And another:

“Auxiliary Ne manifests in people constantly questioning the world around them, but unlike ENxPs, they can be more pick and choose about this. But generally, they don’t take people, things and events at face value.“

Now, think about the community you’re in right now. Think about the post you’re reading at the moment.

DTeam Tumblr is full of over-analysis posts, whether about Dream and George’s secret love for each other or about the inherent problems with Dream’s shipbait and gay jokes or theories about what’s going to happen next in the dream SMP lore and the dramatic betrayals and creator’s descend into madness and more theories about sexuality and charts depicting creator’s personalities and what they’d be likely to do in different scenarios and... ooof, I’m out of breath here. You get my point.

DTeam Tumblr is literally a group of ex-gifted or gifted introverted people who love to read or write analysis, theory, and discussion posts about sweaty Minecraft Youtubers because they’re probably too overwhelmed by real life and find joy in obsessing over “dumb” things.

That’s it. That’s literally the post. I might as well end there.

But I won’t.

Because obsessions is exactly what I want to focus on next.

The Inherent Nature of the INFP and their “Micro-Obsessions”

This is me having a one-to-one conversation with all my INFPs reading this.

Do you sometimes just set your mind on a goal--like, let’s say, writing a book--and you spend so much time obsessing over it to the point where you burn out and suddenly it never sees the light of day because you move onto your next goal or obsession because now you’re getting ready to launch your freelance website so you can start a business on [insert new hobby here]?

Or do you just suddenly find a fandom or a show or a channel you really enjoy and you spend the next few months doing nothing but engaging with it and reading fanfiction and drawing fan art or making dumb analysis posts on your main Tumblr account where suddenly you get an influx of followers from that community and now people are expecting you to just post about MCYT!?

Oh, sorry, I got a little carried away at the end there...

Anyhow, my point is, do you ever develop an obsession over something all the sudden only for it to just disappear when you find something new or just fall into the deep crevices of your mind only for it to maybe reemerge a few years later after you get a deep sense of nostalgia remembering it?

I call them micro-obsessions. And I recently found out, I’m not the only one who does this!

Here’s another quote for you:

“According to Carl Jung’s theory of cognitive functions, when an INFP makes a decision, Ne comes in second to another process known as Introverted Feeling (Fi). Fi does not use logic to make a decision. It uses how we feel about the decision according to our values. In other words, it asks, “Which choice feels right for me?”

Ne, on the other hand, craves new ideas and experiences to explore, which causes INFPs to always be on the lookout for something novel.

Unfortunately, INFPs can get stuck in a loop, going back and forth between their Ne and Fi. They search to understand their values by constantly trying new things. They ask themselves, “Does this feel right?” then throw it over their shoulder as they move on to something else.”

So, you’re probably asking right about now, Light, how the heck does any of this have anything to do with the Dream Team and MCYT!?

Well, my friend, it has EVERYTHING to do with the Dream Team and MCYT and DTeam Tumblr as a whole.

Because INxx’s are predisposed to end up in places like this--fandoms on Tumblr, channels that speculate whether Mario is evil, watching dramatic Minecraft smp wars and elections as opposed to looking at the news that depicts Murphy’s Law as 2020′s new favorite epigram.

The introvert in them causes them to prefer socializing in small communities online where they’re not forced to engage in conversations if they don’t want to or put into uncomfortable situations where they have to talk to that one friend of their friend who wants to make meaningless small chat.

Their Intuition causes them to wonder into places like Tumblr where they can engage in deep discussions about their newest obsessions, and they won’t be judged for writing a 500+ word post about why Dream’s shipbait tactics are a genius algorithm strat or simping over sweaty Minecraft boys.

DTeam Tumblr is a safe haven for INFPs and INTPs who might be placed in the “other” category or marked as weird for being interested in “childish” entertainment or being different from the general population overall, whether that’d be sexuality, point of view, age, gender, etc. A place where you can fully be yourself and not have to worry about disappointing people.

INFPs are predisposed for drowning themselves in their micro-obsessions to avoid all of the madness in the world--even if that means giggling like a little girl while reading memes about your favorite Minecraft YouTube creators.

That is a deep-dive into the mind of a typical DTeam Tumblr user. What do you think? Is it accurate at all? Is it completely off? Let me know in the comments!

And with that, I digress. I’m not sure whether I’ll be covering general demographics next week or diving into the topic of ships (could be a mix of both), but I will be posting about it eventually, so make sure to hit the follow if you got to the end of this post and enjoyed it or learned something new from it!

Friendly reminder that this survey and post is in no way supposed to be taken 100% seriously. These are just the ramblings of a math major INFP with too much time on her hands and way too big of an obsession for MCYT. My asks are always open for literally anything, whether if you want to ask me about this or any DNF related subject, my own opinions, or just criticize the whole of this post and tell me it’s complete trash! I’ll answer as long as it’s appropriate!

And, again, thank you everyone who filled out the survey. Without y’all, this post wouldn’t be possible. I really enjoyed writing it! Adios!

#dteam #dteamblr #dttblr #mcyt #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #dreamnotfound #dnf #dream team #dream smp #dteamblr demographics survey #analysis

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

Text

Visibility (Good Omens Fic)

Written for Lesbian Visibility Day, 2021

(26 April, 1972)

“What did you szzay?”

Beelzebub glared at the empty space before zir throne, listening to a pair of feet shuffle awkwardly.

“I just…woke up like this,” Crowley explained, in what was probably supposed to be a casual voice. “At first, I thought I was coming down with something. Flu. Hangover. Allergies. All very contagious this time of year. Really, if you haven’t been to Earth before, April is – just wait at least another month. But then I realized, s’not going away, and I thought: curse. Definitely a curse. Probably one of those angels, thwarting and all, you know how they are.”

“An angel.” The Prince of Hell tapped one finger on the arm of the throne, swarm of flies flitting around, trying to make sense of what zir own eyes weren’t telling zir. “Iszzn’t that hideouszz pieczze of real esztate you live in warded?”

“Probably. You know how it is. Get home late, really tired, swear you locked the door, but…” The footsteps – echoing as those ridiculous heeled boots struck the ground – began to circle the room. Beelzebub didn’t keep many possessions – at least, not the material sort – but Crowley seemed determined to touch them all. “Anyway, you know angels. Clever bastards.” An ornate dagger on the far table began to spin. “Or witches. Not quite as bastardly, but they cause trouble. Oh, or a cursed artifact.” Papers began rearranging themselves. “I just…I haven’t been thrift shopping in years, you know, not really my scene, not anyone’s scene anymore, but I saw this really spectacular jacket, I thought, what the Heaven? Might have some age-old horrific curse, or bedbugs, but it’s going to look stunning on the dance floor.”

Pinching zir nose, Beelzebub tried not to imagine the foolish way she was probably grinning. “And by complete coinczzidenzze,this angel, witch or…garment, juszzt happened to make you completely inviszzible on the day of your department budget review?”

“Yup.” A selection of goblets toppled to the floor with a clatter, bouncing and spinning across the floor. One rolled as if kicked, but not even Beelzebub’s cleverest flies could locate the blasted demon who had caused the mess. “I mean, not just a coincidence. Plenty of reasons. Er. The angel. Just last week, that – uh, that Aziraphale, I foiled one of her plans. Thoroughly. Foiled like…like leftover chicken. So. This could be revenge. Very unfortunately timed, but you know.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub rose, stalking from zir throne across the floor to the spot that most strongly radiated incompetence. “And the curszze breakerszz haven’t been able to turn you back?”

“I mean, they tried.” More footsteps, hastier now, so that the echoes made them harder to track. “Course they tried. But,” she clicked her tongue, “couldn’t do it. Said they’d never seen anything like it before.” Ze would have to speak with them. No, too much trouble. Beelzebub would send the Hellhounds to take care of those idiots. “But, they did say it should wear off in…twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You know. With bed rest. Pity about the budgetary review.”

“How szzo?” Ze asked, lip curling. Every twenty-five years, like clockwork, like the courses of the blessed stars, the day of Crowley’s review, something – something highly improbably – tried to disrupt things.

“Well. I mean. Bed rest. Suggested by your curse breakers. And anyway. Can’t go like this, can I?” One of the goblets floated up from the floor, spinning in an unseen hand. “Might be disruptive.Wouldn’t want to draw attention away from Dagon – I heard, she has some fantastic charts this year. Pie graphs. One of those ones with the dots and the lines. Look at this!” From behind Beelzebub’s throne floated a ceramic pot filled with tall green plants, three dozen flies happily flitting around the attractively scented leaves. “Is this dill? Excellent choice. I’ve been doing some gardening lately, too, and let me tell you—”

“I cannot imagine anything” Beelzebub snapped, snatching the plant out of her invisible hands, “that could make you more diszzzruptive than you already are. But it appearszz you can szztill szzee, hear, and – unfortunately – szzpeak.”

“Just lucky I guess.” More pacing.

“Szzo. Dagon will be exzzpecting you in…four and a half minuteszz. I’m czzertain everyone iszz eagerly awaiting your planszz for the coming quarter-czzentury. Dagon, at leaszzt, could probably uszze the…amuszzement.”

“Course. Right. Perfect.” The footsteps began to lead towards the door. “I’ll just—”

“Szztop.” Beelzebub’s hand flew out, snapping tight around the demon’s wrist exactly as she walked past. “The otherszz will need to szzee where you are.”

“I could whistle,” she volunteered, launching into something that sounded like a tortured bird.

The Prince considered ripping her arm off and stuffing it down her throat, but the last time ze did that, the satisfaction hadn’t been worth the days of cleanup.

“Juszzt put on a hat or szzomething.”

A snap of fingers, and a band of glittering silver cloth appeared around where her waist should be. “Better? Can I go now? I’m…extremely eager to start my presentation. Ngk. Everyone is going to be impressed. This – this decade is going to put me on the map.”

“Go.”

The silver band of cloth sauntered out of the room, echoing the moronic way the demon walked. Checking the dill plant for damage, Beelzebub lowered zirself back onto the throne.

Which had, inexplicably, moved several inches back, causing zir to fall onto the floor, the potted plant shattering. “Crowley!”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Crowley muttered, stalking down the hall towards the meeting room. She’d spent a week putting this curse together, combining ones from six of Aziraphale’s most obscure grimoires, and yet she still had to make her bloody presentation. “Next time, I’ll just give myself the plague.” That had almost worked in the fourteenth century. Just needed a more impressive plague.

Ahead on the right, a door with a piece of paper taped on it reading Temptation Department Budget Group Lambda. She hesitated, fingers hovering just short of pushing it the rest of the way open. Had Beelzebub warned everyone she was invisible? More often, ze expected demons to take care of such things themselves, on pain of pain. Two minutes to spare; might as well try.

Crowley dropped the silver belt on the floor outside and slipped through the partially-open door, transforming her extremely cool boots into a pair of quieter slippers. That, at least, she could do without being sensed; shifting the shape of her feet didn’t alert the other demons the way a real miracle would.

A dozen of them sat in chairs around the conference table, grumbling about their project proposals, miracle allotments, and soul quotas. An overhead projector sat at the front of the room. It was the one with the cracked glass, projecting a broken circle of light onto a white wall. Dagon stood beside it, shuffling papers.

Crowley could try writing dirty words on a couple of the pre-made transparencies, but that didn’t seem properly demonic. Scanning the room, she spotted the wheeled coffee cart tucked in the corner, laden with a coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, plate of pastries and various flavorings. Horrid stuff. All demons were required to drink three cups of it per meeting, and to eat one of the scones, which this time appeared to be…pickled herring flavored? With orange marmalade?

There wasn’t much she could do to make that worse. She grabbed a few anyway, tucking them down the front of her shirt, and dumped the marmalade into the molten coffee, turning the temperature up as high as it would go. She’d managed to grab a fistful of wet soil and some dill from Beelzebub’s plant. Most of that went into the coffee pot, a little into the sour creamer, and the rest into the alleged sugar – probably an artificial sweetener, those were all the rage lately.

What else? She stole all the spoons, then pulled off an earring and started poking holes in the bottom of the cups with it.

With the perfect sense of timing honed from millennia of avoiding one more second in the company of her coworkers than necessary, Crowley managed to slip out the door, put on the belt, and waltz back in exactly as Dagon demanded, “Where is the demon Crowley?”

“Sorry, sorry. Feeling a bit under the weather today.” Only about three demons glanced her way with some level of surprise; the rest just got up and headed over to get their first requisite cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. And the traffic! The roads just get worse every year. Anyway, here now. Ready and eager. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She snagged an empty seat and dropped into it, crossing her boots on the table with a heavy thud.

Dagon sighed. “Do I even want to know what happened this time?”

“Pissed off an angel. Utterly ruined her plans. Cursed me out in the most unbelievable language, and then, well, you see. Or don’t see.”

It was certainly true enough. Aziraphale had been very upset when the “fine dining establishment” Crowley had selected for their meet-up turned out to be the hottest disco in the city. And the way she managed to express her disappointment while technically not swearing certainly strained credulity.

“Did you kill her?” Ligur asked. So unimaginative.

“No, I did something much worse.” She’d dragged Aziraphale onto the dance floor and managed almost twenty-three seconds of enthusiastic disco next to her before the angel – now bright red and flustered – had stormed out entirely. “But, we’re not here to talk about me. Let’s have it. Numbers. Spreadsheets. I heard a rumor we might see that climate change graph.”

A general groan ran around the table.

“Shut up,” Dagon snapped. “Listen up, you lot – all you idiots, and Crowley in particular. Every one of you worthless wastes of matter needs to explain what you’re going to do in the next quarter-century, how that’s going to secure souls for our Master, and why we should waste any number of miracles on your pathetic hides. Until then—”

With an icy shiver, Crowley felt her miracles vanish.

“Now. Let’s start on the success rate of last quarter-century, and if I hear one word of complaint, you can scream it from the bottom of a sulfur pool. And don’t forget your blessed coffee.”

As Dagon started her presentation, Crowley watched the coffee cart. Someone had helpfully wheeled it next to the conference table, so the demons could more easily torture themselves. Seven managed to soak their shirts and trousers from leaking cups before the marmalade clogged the pot entirely. That, however, would never be enough to cancel the meeting. Heaven, a few of them even said it tasted better than usual. Should have seen that coming.

Still. It was a start.

Crowley played with her earring, then grinned, thinking of a possibility.

“Ow!” she shouted dramatically. “Something bit me!”

“Wasn’t me,” Hastur said sullenly.

“W—no, I mean. Some kind of insect.”

“Don’t see one,” grunted another demon called Krang, sitting right beside Crowley.

“It’s right there!” Silence. Oh, right, no one could see her pointing. “There! On the coffee pot!”

Eyes narrowing, Krang leaned forward, glaring across the table at the pot, which was rattling slightly. Crowley jabbed them in the back of the neck with her earring.

“Arg! It got me!” Krang slapped at the spot, leaping out of their chair. “Did you see where it went?”

“There! On Hastur’s head!”

“Where—?” Hastur managed before Ligur swatted him so hard he fell out of his chair.

“Ah, shit!” Crowley shouted. “It got me again! No, wait, I think it’s a different one.” The demons anxiously glanced at each other, but no one else stood up. Not enough. “Oh, no! My…my hand!” Crowley tried to think of something suitable “It’s burning! Like Holy Water!” She jabbed the earring into the arm of the demon on her other side.

“Bloody—It got me too!” He was on his feet in an instant. “I can feel it burning already!”

“And me!” That demon wasn’t even near Crowley. She grinned. It was working.

“What are these things?”

“I can feel it crawling on my leg.”

“My neck is swelling up!”

“Sit down!” Dagon snapped, baring her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about bloody insects. You’re demons. Act like it! Or I’ll make it four cups.”

The room froze – silent, apart from the now-continuous rattle of the coffee pot – as a dozen demons weighed the fear of some sort of terrifying unseen holy insect versus drinking more of the vile brew.

So Crowley ripped a handful of scone out of her top and crumbled it. “What – my hair!” She tossed the crumbs across the table. “Are – are those larvae?”

Everyone shuffled back a few steps.

“I don’t think you heard me—” Dagon started, in a tone that suggested Crowley was about to lose the room. So she went all in.

“Oh, Satan!” She shouted, falling dramatically from her chair. “They’re – they’re crawling into my ears!” That earned a few nervous glances, so she took a deep breath and gave her best horror-movie scream. “That angel! She did something to me!”

“Crowley!” Dagon shouted. “Stop acting out right now,or I swear to Satan, I’ll—”

She never found out what Dagon wanted to do to her, though, because at that moment the coffee pot exploded, lid flying off, scalding brown liquid splashing in every direction, along with blobs of now-runny marmalade.

Never one to let an opportunity go by, no matter how unexpected, Crowley cried, “Eggs! They’re nesting in the coffee! Who drank that?”

A perfect panic set in, and there was nothing Dagon could do to stop all the demons – including Crowley – from evacuating the room.

In the confusion that followed, everyone lost track of a certain invisible demon. How sad. And totally unexpected, Crowley thought, climbing into the Bentley. Too bad I kept the radio off and didn’t go to the cinema. Otherwise, they could summon me back. If she were careful, she could have days to finish coming up with her proposal.

But first, a little fun. Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what kind of trouble she could get into next.

Well. One way to find out.

The London police were extremely disappointing that morning. It took nearly eight minutes of driving around at top speed, running red lights, and blaring her horn outside rich-looking homes before one finally started chasing her.

Slamming into top gear, she raced down the busiest streets, whipping around corners, weaving through traffic, making sure not to get too far ahead. The second patrol car joined in somewhere near Oxford Street, the third during a quick jaunt up towards Regent’s Park. When she’d collected four, sirens blaring as they struggled to keep up with her flawless driving, she spotted a side street and lurched into it with a complicated 270-degree-spin finished with the nose of the Bentley facing the approaching cars.

Then she settled back in her seat and waited.

The black monstrosity finally slid to a stop. Officer Mills kept her eyes on it while her partner slowed their own car to a stop.

“We sure he’s not just going to run?” She asked, trying to spot the driver. The glare off the windshield must be playing tricks on her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing.

“We surround it,” Harmon said. “Got to be enough of us, even if they try to make trouble.”

Six officers eased out of their cars, silently trying to decide who should approach the window. Mills won – or lost – and took the lead, Harmon close behind her. He was the only one armed; she felt a little better for that, in case the driver turned out to be dangerous, though most likely she figured he would try to plow through the police cars to get away. They couldn’t do much in that case apart from try to kick the tires in passing.

“Think it’s stolen?” Harmon asked as a few others moved to try and block the street beyond the idling nightmare. “Teenagers messing around?”

“Could be,” Mills said doubtfully. “It’s vintage, though. Really old. And whoever was driving knows what they’re doing.”

Anderson waved from the far side of the vehicle. Everyone was in position. Mills nodded and walked up to the window, prepared for a lunatic – or a drunk – or someone on an awful lot of drugs.

Instead, it was completely empty.

“What…” She glanced back at Harmon. “No one. Did he bail out?”

“We’d have seen. Check the back seat.”

“Nothing. Wait. There’s…a tin of biscuits. That’s all.”

Down the street, Anderson crouched, checking underneath. Nothing there, apparently. Slowly, the police approached, one by one relaxing as they confirmed that yes – the car was empty.

The driver side window was open. Mills stuck her head in, glancing up and down. Nothing. No sign of what had happened to the driver. The engine still gently rumbled, and the door was locked. She definitely would have noticed if someone had stayed there long enough to lock it through the window.

“I’ll call to have it towed,” Harmon said, stepping back. She could hear the confused frown in his voice. “Maybe we’ll find…something…when we search it.”

By this point, even the officers who had waited in the patrol cars had joined them, crowded along the sides of the black vintage monster, testing doors and peering through windows. Mills leaned in to unlock the driver side door. “But where could he have gone?”

“She,” a soft voice said near Mills’s ear, and something tapped against her nose. “And I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Mills stumbled back as the radio burst to life.

You know the day destroys the night Night divides the day…

Everyone spun in place, looking for the source of the music from a nearby window or door, shouting at shadows, so only Mills was watching as the pedals and gear stick moved themselves.

Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side Break on through to the other side…

The ghost car – what else could she be? – shot backwards up the street, faster than should have been possible, spun a full 360-degree turn, then straightened up and drove away, blending into traffic with a cheerful toot of the horn.

Mills finally blinked.

“Harmon?” She called. “You do the paperwork on this one. I need a drink.”

Crowley danced in her seat far more than she usually would, but for once no one could see her.

Made the scene Week to week Day to day Hour to – Crowley!

She nearly slammed on the brakes as Jim Morrison began to sound an awful lot like Dagon. Shit. Forgot about that.

“Ahhhh…speaking?”

“Who, exactly, gave you permission to leave?”

“Oh. Ahhh.” She glanced out the window at a row of businesses and pulled over in front of some kind of barber shop. “I thought, what with all the insects—”

“There were no insects!”

“There weren’t?” Crowley really needed to work on her innocent voice. “I must be hallucinating. Better go home and lie down until it passes.”

“Crowley. Your budget proposal is due by the end of the day. Do you want to be stranded up there without miracles? Do you know what we do to demons who fail to meet their quotas?”

She knew that. She’d been told, several times, exactly what to expect. “Nnnnnh…I’ve got – it’s going to be a big project. Very big. More souls than…than wasps have larvae. Just need to work on my proposal in a secure, bug-free location.”

“Crowley! Do you think for one second—”

“Ah! They’re coming out of the radio!” Crowley cut the sound.

She sat in the Bentley, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

I just hung up on Dagon. They’re going to kill me. Worse, they’re going to send me down to file in the archives for a thousand years.

Then again, they’d have to find her first.

And, she was finding, her current state presented the kind of temptations even a demon couldn’t ignore…

Graham Palmer had been trying to get into the barber shop for twenty minutes.

The door was stuck fast. No matter how he rattled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, as if something enormous had pinned it shut. And yet, every time he stepped back to let other patrons try, the door opened easily, but slammed as if pulled shut whenever he approached. He even tried slipping through behind another customer, but then it stayed shut until Graham stepped back. There was just no way in.

Now he hammered on the window, trying to get his barber’s attention. “Stuart! Stuart! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

The barber looked up from his current customer, blinking in confusion, and jerked his head towards the door.

“I tried that, it doesn’t bloody work!” A young man half his age walked past, giving Graham a funny look, and pulled open the shop door. Graham dove to follow him, but again it snapped shut, almost catching his nose. He pounded the door with his fist, glaring at the customers inside. “I’m going to be late!”

Across the shop, Stuart put down his scissors and shouted something. All Graham caught was “…break my glass…”

There was an idea.

He crossed the pavement to where an ancient black car was parked, removing his jacket. Wrapping it around his arm for protection, he charged forward, bracing himself for impact.

The door swung open in front of him and before he could stop himself, Graham tripped over – something – there didn’t appear to be anything – and sprawled on his face, sliding across the linoleum floor.

“Watch yourself, dearie,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, but when he looked up, no one was there.

Crowley strolled around the park, her new domain, another time.

Over there, at the edge of the path, was the Strange Chill area. Anyone who paused there, perhaps studying the slightly askew sign that seemed to indicate the exit was in the fountain, would feel a touch on their shoulder, a tickle on the back of their neck, or hear heavy breathing with no source.

Over here, near the ice cream cart, was the Creepy Bush. Originally just generic ghost noises, Crowley eventually discovered what really freaked humans out was a disembodied voice whispering their name, or something they’d said in private a few minutes before. She followed strolling couples around, listening in on anything good, and when one stopped to by the other ice cream, just really let loose on the one standing by the bushes. They usually started clinging much more closely to their partner after that, so really, Crowley was doing them a favor. Instant relationship counseling.

Across from the fountain sat the Haunted Bench. Crowley really went wild with that one. Children’s songs in a creepy voice. Branches shaking with no wind. Possessions floating away from wherever they’d been set down. Really, anything was allowed.

The narrow path leading through the tulips was the Asshole Road. Anyone Crowley caught being an asshole in her park was subtly sent that direction, pickpocketed, and then beset by bees, or at least a very convincing humming and a few pricks from an invisible earring.

The fountain itself was Rare Coins and Lost Items. Her third pickpocket victim had been carrying a tube of very powerful epoxy, and it turns out the coin-stuck-to-the-sidewalk trick was even better when you glued it underwater. A few pieces of jewelry at the bottom were also glued in place, but most of the valuables were simply tossed in or – if they weren’t waterproof – hung from the sculpture of frolicking animals in an amusing way. Crowley mostly just kept the cash, and even then only if the Assholes had been particularly cruel. So far, she’d accumulated almost five hundred pounds.

It was either the best park in London, or the worst.

She leaned against the clock – now set forty-eight and a half minutes slow – and surveyed the chaos. Two teenagers were frantically trying to get something out of the fountain, while the Asshole who’d sworn at that lovely gay couple was now soaked through, desperately trying to get his watch back from the ear of a sculpted rabbit seven feet high. That had been hard to get into place, but certainly worth it. The couple, meanwhile, were hand-in-hand, clutching ice creams and hurrying away from what had been for them the Creepy but Oddly Affirming Bush. The lady with the dog that had made a mess by the roses was trying to report the Haunted Bench to a cop, who tiredly insisted it was her lunch break and that the lady would not believe the morning she’d had.

Crowley grinned up at the sky. This – this was what it was all about. Forget budget meetings and presentations. Who did that make miserable, apart from the demons themselves? This park had everything: temptation, fear, frustration, justice, ice cream, and perfect weather.

“Hey. Hey you feathered wankers,” someone shouted, followed by the sound of rattling pebbles and angry quacking.

Tipping down her invisible shades, Crowley spotted some young idiot chucking handfuls of rocks at the ducks. Most were fleeing, but one flapped her wings, panicked and possessive, over a nest. One of the eggs had already been broken.

Looks like another volunteer for Asshole Road. Crowley was already eying their watch.

Every bakery has that one customer. Probably every place that sold food.

The one that demands impossible standards, not because of any particular love of fine cuisine, but just because they can.

The one that counts the blueberries in their muffin and lets you know if there aren’t enough.

The one who spends five minutes shouting, “No, not that one, that one,” while providing no other information, until their server had touched everything in the display case.

The one who complains that their brownie is too chocolatey.

The customer who somehow gets away with murder on account of being someone’s spouse, or sibling, or old school friend.

Victoria Lockwood was that customer, and as Riley watched her approach, they held their breath in trepidation.

“This scone,” she snapped, dropping her plate onto the counter, “is not right.” Then she glared at Bailey, waiting for a response.

“Is it…” Bailey’s mind raced, trying to work out what might be wrong. “The wrong flavor?” Victoria’s face only darkened. “Um. Is – is it dry?” But most of that batch had sold without a single complaint. “Did you want…more lemon curd? Or—”

“It is not hot enough.”

“Ah.” Of course. They’d taken that batch out nearly an hour ago; the next was ready to go in. “If you’re willing to wait, um…twenty minutes? I can give you the first—”

“Twenty minutes? What kind of service is that? I want my scone now.” She glanced at the tray coming out of the oven. “Why are you making me wait? What are those?”

Bailey glanced back and relaxed for a moment. “Oh – yes, I can get you one right now. They’re Raspberry Almond Butterm—”

“Disgusting!” Victoria rapped her hand against the counter. “That is not what I ordered! I demand you warm this one up, immediately.”

“I…” Bailey glanced at their coworkers, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “That’s…I can put it back in the oven but that would probably dry—”

“Fine.” She shoved the plate towards them. “Be quick about it, young lady, I don’t like to wait.” She clearly noticed the way Bailey flinched. “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a girl, I suggest you get a proper haircut. And not that hideous shade of pink.”

“Y’s ma’am,” Bailey muttered, because some arguments would never be worth it. They took back the scone and put it on a baking tray. Maybe if it was only in the oven for a minute or two—

“Victoria Lockwood!” Bailey spun around, searching for who had called out. Not anyone else behind the counter, they all had their heads ducked, concentrating on some other tasks. But there – on the counter – a scone sat on Victoria’s plate.

She looked up from her makeup compact, smiled triumphantly, and took a bite out of it.

Her face immediately went green, and she dropped plate and pastry, running out of the bakery faster than Bailey had ever seen anyone move. They rushed forward, ready to call after her, but very much not wanting to, and picked up the discarded scone – it smelled awful, like vinegar and fish.

There was also an enormous wad of banknotes on the counter, wrapped up in a scrap of paper with a note: Kid – Don’t take that shit from anyone. Flip off your boss when you quit. <3 C

The bakery door opened and shut on its own.

Well, there was an entire day’s pickpocketing gone in a moment, but it wasn’t like Crowley had a better use for it. She still had a few rare coins, but after the fountain, sticking them to the ground seemed an anticlimax. She’d had some fun modifying the haunting routine for the bus or Underground, but both would be filled with commuters now a ghost that swears when you elbow her in the ribs on a crowded train is…not as impressive.

Still. Not a bad day overall. The most expensive foods in the corner marked had all been re-priced, several examples of hostile architecture had been mysteriously destroyed, enough people would be sharing stories of “hauntings” that the whole city would need to be exorcised, and – just for the Heaven of it – she’d followed a particularly annoying human for almost an hour, up and down the streets, buzzing in his ear.

Really, it was the simple pleasures that made the world so enjoyable.

And speaking of simple pleasures, Crowley had left one particular part of the city for last.

Strolling down the streets of Soho, which was just waking up while more respectable – but far less fun – parts of the city were winding down, she kept her eyes open for anyone who might make a good target. A few possibilities presented themselves, but in the end her destination proved the stronger draw.

A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop.

It was just the right time of day, when the customers would still be bothering Aziraphale, and she would be running short of patient ways to refuse them and start turning to biting sarcasm and, on occasion, outright threats. She’d probably appreciate a little haunting to help chase them off, once Crowley had finished stealing her cocoa, moving her bookmarks, and changing the record in the gramophone.

But, glancing in the window, Crowley saw something that poured cold water all over her brilliant day.

Gabriel.

Michael and Uriel, too. Probably Sandalphon lurking around.

Aziraphale stood before her bosses, hands clutched anxiously, that eager, ready-to-please face that made Crowley’s chest ache. Some, when faced with the beings who had hurt them so many times, became afraid, or angry, or distressed. But Aziraphale…just wanted approval. A kind word.

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Heaven are you up to this time?

For once, she would be able to find out.

“And, I really think,” Aziraphale said, hands twisting like captured rodents as she rambled, “that this past decade in particular,I’ve – I’ve accomplished many things. Um. I – I prepared a list…somewhere…” her eyes darted to the disaster she called a desk, and she started shifting material objects around, smiling nervously. Guiltily.

“Is this going to take long?” Gabriel asked with a pointed sigh.

“No! I just…one moment…”

“We’re already running late,” Uriel commented. “We’d expected you to be better prepared.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale snatched up a book and began flipping through it frantically, as if it might contain the answers she needed. “Only, ah, you didn’t actually say when you would be coming…”

“We did say between the 3rd of January and 28th of October,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“Oh. Um. I…”

“Something doesn’t seem…right,” Sandalphon said, stepping close to Aziraphale, putting a hand on her shoulder. The book she held tumbled from her fingers. “This whole place has a…smell about it.”

The door slammed behind them. Gabriel glanced back, but couldn’t see it from where he stood. Sandalphon gave Aziraphale’s shoulder another squeeze, then headed over to check on it.

“I thought,” Gabriel said slowly, making sure the slow-witted Principality heard every word, “I told you to lock the door.”

“It was.” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide. “I – I mean I did.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. This had been a particularly disappointing review. Disappointing in the sense that their agent had once again conclusively failed to present evidence of meaningful victories towards Heaven’s cause. Less disappointing in that, whether she knew it or not, Aziraphale had already given him what he needed to take the arrogant fool down a few pegs.

In six thousand years, she’d barely managed to do a single thing right, yet somehow always came to him simpering and smiling like she deserved all the accolades of Heaven. Well, he’d been patient, as suited an Archangel, as patient as he could. But once per century, he had the opportunity to make his opinion perfectly clear.

Take away her miracles for a start, he thought. Though that didn’t seem to work nearly as well as it had a few centuries ago. Maybe recall her to Heaven for a year or two, re-educate her on the basics of her duty. There might be enough for a period of isolation. With restraints. They’d done that once, about three thousand years before, after a particularly poor review. Seven years chained up in an empty corner of Heaven, and Aziraphale had been wonderfully pliable for centuries after. Perhaps it was time to revisit.

“Look – look here, I have a list of…oh.” Aziraphale held out her book again, which seemed to be filled with irregular scrawl instead of the usual neatly printed words. “I started a list of accomplishments, but ah…I became busy the last few years. Um. Quite a lot has happened since…”

Uriel took the book and studied it, face impressively calm. “Interesting,” they said, not giving anything away as they turned the pages over. Gabriel trusted them to spot anything useful.

As the Archangels waited in pointed silence, Michael walked her fingers across a table. She pressed a thumb against a book, sliding it to the edge. Aziraphale stared as it teetered, then found its balance again. Michael watched it, disinterested, then moved on to another book, sliding that forward as well.

Sandalphon stepped back beside Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. No sign of anything. Well. More questions for later.

Uriel reached the final page.

“What happened in 1967?”

“Nothing!” At the panic in Aziraphale’s tone, all four Archangels raised their eyebrows. “I – I – I mean, yes, lots, many – many—” One of the books beside Michael fell to the floor with a slap. The Principality winced. “I – I’m terribly sorry, could you be more specific?”

“Your final entry,” Uriel held the book out to Aziraphale, “says 1967 – Prevented… Prevented what?”

“Ahhhhhh.” Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I…I…there was…ummm…”

“As I recall,” Michael said slowly, “you briefly visited Heaven that year, but didn’t officially report to any of us. And then didn’t return for at least…six months? Very unusual.”

“You haven’t been hiding something, have you?” Gabriel smiled, his heart rising. More than isolation. He could probably take away this shop, for a start, give it to a more trustworthy angel.

“Nnnnno.” Aziraphale gave that particular smile, the one that meant she thought she was about to get away with something. The one she thought Gabriel didn’t know about. “But, ahhh, if you could, um, quite a lot happened in the world in the…the last ten years or so.”

Something crashed on the other side of the building. No, he’d have the place demolished. It was falling apart already. Aziraphale could watch. Maybe he could order her to help. An eminently suitable punishment for wasting his time. “As I understand it,” he said, taking a step forward, “the last decade saw…war, riots, assassinations…”

“Well, well, yes, I…but, if you look at progress with, um, civil rights, ahh…anticolonialism…”

More made-up human terms. Gabriel and Michael shared a pained glance. “Look. Aziraphale.” Gabriel pressed his hands together. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate you taking the initiative, but…what does any of this have to do with your orders?”

“Or, for that matter, with your visit to Heaven?” Michael moved her fingers across the table again, coming to rest on one of those stupid little figurines Aziraphale had accumulated. Like a packrat. A human depiction of an angel, as some kind of soft, happy baby with wings. Not a warrior at all. Michael’s finger tapped against it. “What were you trying to prevent?”

“Did it have something to do with…Holy Water?” Sandalphon suddenly asked.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said. Something clicking in his mind. “There was that storage jar that went missing.” Did Aziraphale look more guilty than usual? “What year was that?”

“1967,” Uriel said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile. If he could prove Aziraphale had taken Holy Water for some sort of personal use, well.

He’d pretty much be justified whatever he decided to do.

“I – I – I can explain.” The Principality tried to back away, but was stopped by her own desk. “There – there was this demon, an – an especially, ah, wily, cunning, um, crafty demon—”

“Was there?” Michael’s finger twitched, sending the false angel off the table. It fell—

Then hovered, halfway to the floor.

Slowly, it lifted, rightening itself in the air before them. There was no trace of a miracle, no power of any kind. It simply…floated. Drifting through the air to land on the desk beside Aziraphale.

“Clever,” said Gabriel, watching the Principality’s face for any sign of deception. “How did you do that?”

“I…”

The pages of a book, laid out on the stand behind her, began to turn, flipping faster and faster, slamming shut.

“This…isn’t me.” Aziraphale said.

Behind her, books began to float off their shelves. One rocketed across the room towards Gabriel. He dodged it easily, but it was followed by another, and another. The lights flickered overhead.

“If it isn’t you,” Gabriel began, but a small table by the door to the next room began to rattle. Atop it lay a black-and-white board covered with formless carvings, which lifted into the air, then exploded, pieces flying at the Archangels. Gabriel easily batted them aside, but now one of the armchairs began to shift.

Without a word, the four prepared for battle, Gabriel stepping back, Michael and Sandalphon moving to the front. At least, that was the plan – the moment he tried to move, Gabriel fell, his feet somehow tightly bound together. The same happened to Sandalphon and Uriel, and even Michael stumbled, knocking over a table in her haste to stay upright.

Glass rattled in the back of the shop.

“It’s…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “It’s that same demon again! I thought I’d banished her!”

“What?” Banishing wasn’t exactly something angels did.

“The – the Holy Water!” A bottle of something hovered out from the back room, moving slowly but threateningly. “Did you bring any? It’s the only thing that can stop her.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s sword manifested in her hand. “What demon?”

“Crowley! She – she seems to have grown even more powerful!”

“Crowley?” Not that worthless snake again. How many times had he been assured – through Michael’s secret back-channel sources – that Crowley was the most useless, incompetent, lazy demon in Hell? And yet somehow, not a single angel had ever successfully dealt with her – except Aziraphale.

“I thought I smelled a demon,” Sandalphon said, pulling his shoes off and tossing them aside. “But I can’t sense demonic power.”

“Obviously not!” Aziraphale’s wings burst from her back, and she held out a hand towards the hovering bottle. It slowly lowered itself to the ground. “Why do you think she’s so difficult to defeat? The power she uses – it’s not of Heaven or Hell! I – I can barely counter it!”

“Let me, then,” Michael said, predatory gleam in her eyes. Like Sandalphon, she’d removed her shoes; Gabriel was working on his own, but somehow the laces had become wound together like snakes, something sticky sealing the knot shut.

Sandalphon and Michael stepped forward, swords at the ready. “No!” Aziraphale turned to block them, and immediately the rattling started up again – this time from the metal stairs to the upper floor. “You – you don’t understand! Wh – when she gets like this – the fires would only make her stronger.”

Something – horrible, screeching noises – began emanating from the back room, like some animal being torn apart.

“That’s – that’s why I need the Holy Water! In the proper ritual, it – it – it’s too complicated to explain!”

A cupboard burst open, revealing a display of holy items – consecrated Bibles, holy symbols, sticks of incense and jars of oil. “No!” Aziraphale shouted, genuine panic in her voice.

The largest, heaviest of the Bibles lifted and shot across the room. It didn’t reach the Archangels, but Gabriel could see smoke rising from its cover.

Next came a crucifix, spinning end over end, which Michael caught out of the air. The wood was burned all along one side.

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said, eyes round. “Nothing I have in there can stop her! What could a flaming sword even do? I need more Holy Water.” A jar of oil fell to the ground and immediately began to boil, bubbling and steaming. “I’ll try to hold her back as long as I can.” Aziraphale’s face furrowed in concentration as she walked across the shop. “Please, it – it’s far too dangerous for you here…”

“Right.” Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels. Something wasn’t right. But they couldn’t risk themselves against an unknown force. “We’ll…we’ll get some Holy Water. You do what you can.”

With a thought, the ascended to Heaven.

Gabriel quickly stood up, brushing down his clothing and trying to school his expression. “Well. I think the best course of action is to wait a day or two, then go see what the damage is.”

“And Aziraphale’s review?” Uriel asked, face somehow still calm, despite everything that had happened.

“I just hope we don’t have to give her a damn commendation again.”

The Arch-Wankers vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

“Ow, ow, fuck that hurts!” Crowley gasped, stumbling away from the spilled oil and shaking her hands. “What kind of stuff do you keep in there?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale started to rush forward, then froze. “Where are you? Can’t you – reveal yourself, or whatever?”

“Nnnnnnnnope. Rrrrrgh, how does this hurt more than walking in a church?”

“I…I’m sorry, my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been worried lately that if – if your side realized what was happening…I thought it best to have a little insurance of my own.”

“Well it works.” Crowley managed to reach one of the shop chairs and sank into it. “Over here…no, here! Where’s…” She nudged the rug with her least-burnt toe, folding a bit of it up. Aziraphale immediately ran over.

“That was – well, that was clever, Crowley, but highly unnecessary. I – I was only having my performance review. I thought I was doing quite well.” Her soft hands found one of Crowley’s and picked it up, fingers tracing across the palm.

“I…” Crowley had seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up at the mention of Holy Water, while she was on the ground gluing his shoelaces together, and she counted it among the most terrifying things she’d ever seen. “I’m sure you were, but vanquishing some super-powerful demon? Saving the Archangels? Well, that’s only going to help, right?”

“Hmmm.” Another brush of her fingers, and the sting started to go out of Crowley’s palms. “And, I’m sure, spark a few rumors that might help you?”

“Oh.” Crowley grimaced, looking out the windows. “Unless those rumors spread really fast, I doubt I’m going to get much benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale sank to the ground, patting around until she found one of Crowley’s feet. She gently lifted it, stroking from ankle to toe and giving it the same healing treatment. “And why are you like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Crowley.”

“Right. Um. I…may have…borrowed a few of your books and…designed a curse to get out of my quarter-century budget review. But in my defense – it’s so boring.”

Aziraphale sighed – or possibly blew a healing breath across Crowley’s feet. No, probably the sigh, but at least they felt a bit better. “My dear, it’s only a meeting. There’s no need for these – these histrionics.”

“Histri—Angel, that is – I am not – can you grab a dictionary? I need to know how upset I should be.”

“Extremely.”

“Right. I am. And…I thought it would only last a few hours. Have a bit of fun. But…I need my miracles for, you know, ambient healing, and…look, they cut off our miracles during the review, and only give them back once you’ve wowed them with your project idea.”

“And you don’t have one, do you?”

“Not…as such.” Crowley hung her head. “I…I thought I could get an extension. Just long enough to think of something.”

“So you cursed yourself.” That pained look, the I-hate-to-tell-you-how-much-you-failed-but-also-I-love-it look. Only slightly ruined by the fact that it was aimed somewhere over the demon’s left shoulder. “Crowley, did it never occur to you that in the time it took you create such a thing, you could just as easily have come up with a project?”

“Nh.”

“And did you come up with your brilliant idea during your delay?”

“Nnnh.”

“Well. At least you’re sorry now, I assume?”

“Nope.” If she hadn’t skipped out, Crowley wouldn’t have been here to help Aziraphale. She’d saved her friend countless times over six thousand years, but sometimes…she was quite happy the angel didn’t notice. “No, demons don’t get sorry. We get…” she grunted. “We get annoyed at ourselves for…ngk…for hanginupndagonnpissinheroff.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“For hanging up on Dagon and pissing her off.” Crowley rubbed her face. “Unless I can think of the greatest project any demon ever came up with…” Her stomach dropped as the reality of it hit. A thousand years in filing meant a thousand years without Aziraphale’s bastard looks and gentle touches. “I’m…probably going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stroked her fingers across Crowley’s foot one more time. “No, that won’t do at all.” She looked up with that icy, determined look. The let-me-speak-to-your-manager expression that made Crowley go completely light-headed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about all this.”

“Like what?”

“How are your feet?”

“F—hmm? Oh, fine.” They were – Aziraphale seemed to have removed all the pain. Or at least, she’d removed some of the pain, and the fluttery feeling in Crowley’s chest allowed her to ignore the rest. “So. Um. What did you have in mind? Oh!” A grin stretched across her face. “Dagon and Beelzebub already think you cursed me. Maybe we can stage a second fight where they see it. I’ll definitely get an extension that way.”

“Or.” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hands again and laced their fingers together, pulling her to her feet. “We can go for a drive in that beastly car of yours and actually come up with a proper idea. Something convoluted, demonic, and with that…Crowley style.”

“I have a style now?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Not as refined as mine, but I think we can make it work.” Her right hand squeezed Crowley’s, and her left slid up the demon’s arm to her shoulder. “You know, I had a little over a century apart from you. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat that. In fact I…I rather think I prefer your company to, well. Anyone’s.”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shuffled her feet and clutched Aziraphale’s hand back, guiding the angel to stand just a little closer. Needing to say something. Afraid to say too much. “Ssssss. Mmmm. Yeah. I, uh. I like it better up here, too. Y’know. Where you are.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s left hand slid further up, coming to rest on the back of her neck. “I can see right through you. My dear Crowley.” With the lightest pressure, she tipped the demon’s head down.

And kissed her, soft lips covering Crowley’s shocked mouth.

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, pulling back slightly, hardly at all. “I, ah…I meant to…” Her breath still tickled Crowley’s lips. “I…forehead…”

“Nrrh.” Crowley’s free hand drifted forward, finding Aziraphale’s hip, resting on it, barely a touch. It was all she dared. “Ah…?”

Neither of them moved. Or both did. Or they stood still and the world around them shifted. Whichever way it was, their lips touched again, and held this time. Slowly, they drifted closer, caught in each other’s gravity, a decaying orbit. Crowley would surely burn up on approach, but it was worth every moment.

Eventually they parted, once more just enough to breathe, to speak, to remember that they were two beings and not a single, burning soul.

“Not…” Crowley swallowed. “Not too fast?”

“I…” Aziraphale bit her lip. “I don’t know. But…Crowley…I know…where I want to go. Eventually.”

Their foreheads pressed together. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, dropping left hand falling away, right thumb rubbing the back of Crowley’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped. “Oh, my word!”

“What?” Crowley glanced at herself, black cloth trousers flared wide at the legs, tight red sleeveless shirt cut scandalously low in the front and back, boots with heels that made her even taller than usual—

She was visible again.

“I…I suppose I was still healing you when we…oh…oh, Crowley…what are you wearing?”

“Angel, it’s – I look fashionable, you look – have you changed anything in the last century?”

“I…a few things! Were you honestly planning to give a presentation like that?”

“I was going to be invisible, yeah!”

“You…are…” Aziraphale pressed her eyes shut. “I am going to get my jacket. And then I’m going to get you a jacket, because it’s cold at night, and you are cold-blooded.”

“M’not,” Crowley muttered.

“And then we will go for our ride and determine what evil, dastardly plan I will spend the next twenty-five years thwarting. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” After a moment, Crowley said, “Ah, Aziraphale?”

“What is it now?”

“At some point, are you going to let go of my hand?”

Aziraphale glanced down. “Oh. Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

(Fifty Years Later)

Crowley sat beneath the apple tree, her hand clutched tightly in Aziraphale’s, leaning back against her angel’s chest. “And that,” she concluded, “is why we call the 26th of April Lesbian Visibility Day.”

The Them stared at the two supernatural beings, mouths slightly open.

“You…” Pepper started, “are full of so much shit.”

“Oi!”

“Actually,” Wensley said, “that’s…one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard. How are you supposed to budget miracles?”

“If they could cut you off that easy,” Brian jumped in, “why didn’t they do it when you left Hell?”

“Oh, ummm,” she glanced up at Aziraphale.

“Tactics,” the angel said enigmatically.

Pepper didn’t even seem to be listening. “How did you know what all those people were thinking?”

“That’s right,” Wensley nodded. “Particularly Gabriel.”

“He…he has a very expressive face,” Crowley argued.

“How’d you actually move around like that, without anyone hearing you? The whole day?”

“Shouldn’t you’ve been, you know, way more worried about getting killed?”

“At least one of those bookshop attacks wasn’t even possible, unless you were in two places at once.”

“And how d’you accidentally leave your healing on?”

“How could you possibly mistake her lips for her forehead?”

“This was rubbish.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

The former Antichrist looked up from where he was playing with Dog. “I think…” He gave the angel and demon a penetrating look, then shook his head, smiling as if he’d just seen the joke at the center of the universe, and it had turned out to be a truly terrible pun. “I think you should just tell us the next story.”

“Which one’s that?” Crowley asked, settling back into the curve of her angel’s arm, fingers still twined together.

“The one with the greatest project any demon ever came up with.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Crowley tipped her head to meet Aziraphale’s shining eyes. “Wahoo.”

The song is "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by the Doors, because Queen had not yet put out their first album, though there was a lot of pressure in the Discord to have Crowley dancing to Abba instead.

Final scene set next year because we'll all be sitting together under apple trees with our loved ones and telling BS stories to kids before we know it.

For everyone who contributed non-anonymous suggestions:

@amidst-innumerable-stars @tangle5ancer @fenrislorsrai @feuerkindjana @bowser14456 @taksez @yeahhiyellow @infinitevariety @gargelyfloof118 @lourek @soft-forest-rain @undertaker991 @jules-al-c @lov-lyness2 @thisleadstohollyhocks @marianrios33 @aux-barricades @lostmemimi @joybones @derederest @myusernameispie @mothmans-favorite-lamp and @n0nb1narydemon (yes I did find a way to level up the coin gluing!) and of course @5ftjewishcactus who encouraged me when you really shouldn't. Sorry I couldn't fit in everyone's suggestions!

112 notes · View notes

why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years ago

Text

we are our family, even if we don’t want to be.

Titans 3.07

a bit over halfway through the season, and we still don’t have all of our main characters on the board! i love this show.

as always, typing this up as i watch. live reaction, baby! *shadowboxes*

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. i don’t think i’ve mentioned this before, but i kinda miss the old ‘dc universe’ intro. it was cool! the whole idea of it was wild and waaaaay over-ambitious, but also very very on-brand because of it.

2. this is... the third time we’ve seen dick sleeping this season? that’s a record! checking another thing off my s3 wishlist...

2.5. i guess i rag on titans all the time for its wafer-thin plotting and bad pacing, but i have to admit that this season has been a step-up from the last one in this regard. titans has very reactive rather than proactive protagonists, and a lot of the last season seemed to be: x happened, the team reacted badly, then y happened, they reacted badly, etc. this time around, it’s not a huge leap up by any means, but at least they’re doing something about it.

i do appreciate the focus on character arcs over everything else. and when i say everything else, i mean it: arcs that started two seasons ago with no big cathartic moments, intermittent payoff and multiple relapses. big bads have ranged from interdimensional demons to superpowered assassins to whatever in the world scarecrow is, but trigon’s big weapon against the titans was to... use their worst fears against them. slade’s was to... use their fears to break them up. crane’s is to... use red hood to use their fears to break them up. even the threat of gotham’s citizens being in danger doesn’t feel real: gotham is mythologised into an entity of its own, infecting our heroes like a parasite. like. this is not to say that most other superhero media aren’t big character arcs intertwined with the main plot, but titans doesn’t even make pretend that it’s anything but.

anyway. that’s my entry #2345 to ‘give a grand unifying theory for titans’. thanks. i’ll be back with more.

3. “anger is just fear in a little black dress.” god I HATE HIM

(what’s he doing with barbara’s likeness? oh... oh god. a terrible thought just occurred to me. what if they introduce hush at the very last minute for plastic surgery shenanigans? would you put it past this show?)

3.5. jason, nooooooooo

3.75. i mean, they’re making it very clear here that scarecrow is the one in control--the one who’s always been in control--and is manipulating jason and literally poisoning him, but i hope it doesn’t end up erasing nuance or jason’s autonomy. if jason’s to reckon with the issues that brought him here, then the lines of responsibility will need to be set somewhere.

(this applies to dick as well but more on that later, i guess.)

4. just--the phrase “40% loss of income” is so funny to me. like, gotham is full of these larger-than-life characters who are idiosyncratic beyond belief, colourful and dramatic and creating chaos just for the sake of chaos, and then there’s the regular criminals and their henchmen who just want to make a quick buck sitting down with pie charts and graphs, griping about the joker reducing their returns or debating high risk investments in, i don’t know, two-face’s next scheme.

“yyyyeeeeeaaah, my financial advisor is telling me that going all-in with a guy who literally makes decisions on the flip of a coin is probably not the greatest idea.”

4.5. god i hate smug!smarmy!scarecrow so much

4.85. as big plans to “control” gotham go, it’s pretty bog-standard. clearly scarecrow has some bigger plan in mind but it really feels like we’ve got no clear insight into him and he’s this generic creepy mystery-man who knows more than he lets on and springs a twist/cliffhanger every now and then. i liked the scenes with him and dick in 3.04 where it seemed like he was genuinely on the backfoot and things weren’t going as he predicted. for all of his faults, dick is at least familiar with scarecrow’s bullshit and knows not to give what he wants.

5. i mean... i see where dick is coming from with the “he’s not jason anymore; he’s red hood” because his immediate glaring concern is scarecrow’s drug and the damage it could potentially cause gotham? i do not doubt that it’s something batman drilled into him, too, but when you’re expected to take point on a situation where the lives of an entire city weigh down on your shoulders, it’s better to simplify things and prioritise. i’m not saying it’s great or healthy! gar is absolutely right to consider this facet of the situation. it’s just dick can’t.

6. hmmmmmmm. HMMMMMMMMMMM.

i don’t know that i’m super fond of this iteration of oracle???? it looks like a cross between cerebro from x-men and jarvis from iron man. it’s giving me second-hand embarrassment. somebody help me.

(at least they remembered dick’s middle name is actually “john”. i like to think bruce printed D in that contract because for a while he genuinely thought richard “dick” grayson was his full name. duck duck goose, dick dick grayson, i don’t know alfred, the kid was in a circus, maybe they thought it was funny. or maybe it was a test in anger control, who knows.)

6.5 “maybe you two would like some time alone?” even AI can’t help hitting on dick grayson in this universe.

“oh mr grayson, if i only had another eye to see you better...”

6.8. on one hand, it’s a bit disconcerting that the title of ‘oracle’ has gone from barbara herself to this gigantic machine; from my impression of the comics-verse, barbara had an extensive computing and surveillance system, true, but she was very clearly the brains behind the operation. on the other hand, i’m kind of glad that the ethical boundaries that this kind of surveillance violates is a sticking point for barbara. (tho let’s be real, the nsa would kill to have this in their arsenal).

6.9. also it’s now obvious that scarecrow’s big plan is to take control of oracle itself. it’s why he had lady vic take that picture of her eyes, or why he’s meddling around with it on his computer.

6.95. if only i could ‘command sleep’ anybody overstepping their boundaries re: personal information...

7. “you can just sit back and watch as the titans destroy themselves.” i mean... he’s not wrong

8. “dick’s parents were killed by a criminal mob; he won’t work with them.” it’s wonderful that you have this insight into dick, kory, i just wish we could’ve watched some of these conversations actually happen on-screen.

8.5. i’m glad that kom’s being treated with such nuance and understanding, though it’s obvious that she definitely has a Plan of her own. (and did i entirely imagine her ability to mimic other people flawlessly at the end of s2? or is that going to come into play at some point?) i think her story has the potential to be genuinely poignant, and in a universe where being Different, either because of mental health or physical differences or whatever else, leads a straight line to Evil, it’s important to acknowledge and then emphasise that the mere fact of your existence as a Different Person doesn’t predispose you to evil. maybe your act of destroying a system that has destroyed you and not scrambling to “fit in” is only evil as defined by that system.

8.8. “you’re trespassing, i should call the authorities, i feel unsafe.” now this is a villain lady who’s definitely aware of her privilege.

8.85. kom smirking knowingly at her sister is everything.

“oooh that’s the kory i remember”

9. conner and dick working together woo!

9.25. god i hate a villain who’s always just a step ahead, no matter what. so crane anticipated dick using oracle to track his personal communications and set him up? how did he know when exactly dick would get to do this? how long did he have that poor man tied up in that van?

(the “save me, grayson” is a nice touch, tho. send dick spiralling even further! because if there’s one thing dick will do, it’s take responsibility for every goddamn thing that goes wrong.)

9.5. ahem. i’m going to need a million gifs of conner yeeting dick across that yard, fandom, thankyouverymuch.

(i understand conner is invulnerable to explosions, but how do his clothes survive??)

9.8. oooh crane is already in oracle! i’m just sitting here laughing helplessly because they’re overpowering this goddamned guy so much. he can build a lab in arkham’s basement! he has access to lazarus puddles! he has minions working across gotham, including a fully functional chemical laboratory staffed by chemists who only answer to him! he has the crime families of gotham quailing in his very presence! he has assassins at his beck and call! he’s enough of a manipulative bastard to have red hood under his thumb! and now he has enough of a tech know-how to not only be aware of oracle, but know how to hack into it! i’m sick of exclamation marks! i’ll shut up now!

9.95. dick leaving behind that smouldering grave for a person he failed to save without taking a second to process how he feels about it and running towards his next plan to corner scarecrow: a microcosm of where his head’s at right now.

10. really hammering in the themes of this season, aren’t we.

10.25. the interesting thing is the titans repeatedly call themselves a family this season (none more so than dick) and while that found family has helped encapsulate and put away their traumatic experiences with their ‘original’ families, it’s meant that they’ve not really dealt with those issues. and dick and gar and jason come from ‘found families’ of their own: they are twice removed, traumatised two times over. they still cling to this identity however, and because of it they’re losing each other. a family isn’t static. it’s an ever-evolving dynamic and you have to put in work constantly to keep it healthy.

10.5. anyway, that’s entry #2346. i’m here aaaalll night.

11. lookit gar the detective! half-transforming and using his powers to deduce things! what a hero! i’ve said this for a long time, but gar is the bedrock of this team, and an unsung one at that.

11.25. i’m confused about him calling this room jason’s though. it seems to me that this is dick’s room that jason later used, and one that dick’s using now. so the unmade bed isn’t really jason’s fault; dick was woken by barbara that morning, and in his hurry, he left without making his bed.

(it still confounds me that bruce didn’t find jason another bedroom in that gigantic mansion of his. you really didn’t give this kid a chance, did you?)

12. oh well. so much for the oracle.

13. ... sorry, wait. you didn’t think i wasn’t going to address the bit with dick right now, did you?

12.5. i honestly don’t think it’s very complicated: dick’s been reeling from one traumatic thing to the next, and just when it seemed like at the beginning of the season, he felt happy and secure with his team and his place in the world, bruce ups and leaves gotham to him, specifically naming him a successor and calling him a ‘better batman’. he’s lost garth and jericho and donna and jason and now hank and dawn. he’s not even sure where rachel is or what she’s doing. after being told that batman was a psychopath for moulding him into a weapon, he’s also been told that his failure to be a ‘better batman’ lead to further disaster. of course he’s going to get batman-goggles. of course he’s going to be a prick.

12.8. i don’t know what to say. i feel his frustration acutely. i don’t think he should’ve said what he said to barbara (can people stop pushing her around this season????) but that pressure to step in where your parent fails? to clean up their messes and try to think like them? to fall into habits drilled into you when you developed them as coping mechanisms growing up? I FEEL THAT.

every step he’s taking he’s putting 110% of himself in it and scarecrow’s still playing mindgames with all of them: i absolutely feel his desperation to take control of that game and turn it on scarecrow, no matter what it takes.

and he did apologise almost immediately, and finally--finally--actually works with barbara.

12.9. again, not excusing him! but i get it. and i think that’s a sign of great character writing.

“did you know i just reminded emmram of all of her daddy issues? what the fuck????”

12.95. i love that dick&barbara, kory&kom, and gar are all approaching solving this mystery from different angles, each as valid as the other. also, conner is there as... emergency bomb defuser man?

13. it’s like all fancy rich people in fancy rich houses do is pour fancy rich alcohol into fancy rich glasses on pristine, untouched tabletops. i wonder what it’s like to live like that.

13.25. I KNEW IT! poor michael. it was nice knowing you.

13.5. man, kory is contending with a lot of issues that she’s successfully bottled up and compartmentalised until now. the cold reality that a child can seek out their parents as refuge and they can view the child as a piece to be moved in a greater game (never out of cruelty, though, never, and somehow that makes it worse), that truth of blackfire’s treatment on tamaran because she’s different, and her own culpability in what happened. she exchanged one family for another, after all, and left that family to die and her sister to suffer. like dick, like gar, kory’s being forced to reckon with what the titans are meant to be, the larger implications of creating their found family in their own space.

14. it’s probably because it’s one in the morning and i’ve had two glasses of wine but i did not follow that bit of exposition at all and victor freeze??? what?

anyway. look at them solving things! together! go team!

“you made a deal with the mob?” oh the sense of betrayal on his face! fuck off, dick, your issues aren’t kory’s.

15. conner is really sweet and a bit of an awestruck crush on kom is to be expected. especially after that power rangers-esque transformation (i say this as a former huge power rangers fangirl. i’ve seen every series until 2007 including the original japanese versions and written fanfic for all of them. so i love a cool costume transformation, is what i’m saying.)

also?

FUCK YEAH

16. i love the gotham crime families just chillin’ around eating ice cream. I LOVE THEM

16.5. that was a fun fight sequence, if marred slightly by that bit of awkward flirting between conner and kom. i wonder if she’s really planning to use him in a larger scheme to get kory back to tamaran, or maybe something else.

16.75. so i’m assuming that scarecrow has jason either so paralysed by fear that he can barely move, or jason’s withdrawing from the drug that he’s been sucking in every few minutes.

17. it’s nice to see them chill after a successful mission! and it can be awkward, but conner’s crush on kom and him striving to impress her is also, well, uh... cute.

17.5. i guess the dick/barbara scene was inevitable, especially given the... unresolved nature of their relationship in the flashbacks? and they’ve been through a rollercoaster together this episode, discovering and then destroying an incredible tool within a matter of hours, re-discovering just how well they work together as a team. dick’s swimming in the nostalgia. i don’t expect it to last as a long-term relationship, but i totally get why this is happening now. and hey, they’re cute!

i have a weeeirrrrd feeling that kory is going to leave to tamaran at the end of the season and that dick and kory will rekindle--or rather realise--their relationship just before that. it’s going to be devastating and beautiful and painful and i will be writing essays about it which would be me just wailing into the screen.

18. gar found molly!!!!!!! MOLLY’S BACK! \o/ gar is the BEST

19. that was a fun episode! i love this silly show, even if it does destroy me sometimes <3

#titans #titans spoilers #meta #dick grayson #barbara gordon #koriand'r #komand'r #garfield logan #jonathan crane #conner kent #a byronic cupcake #badass strawberry truffle #manic pixie pop tart

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 4 years ago

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On the final chapter of my fic A Parent Apparent, Stormchaser20 asked:

‘I still go back and read certain parts of certain chapters of this fic today! One question though, whatever happened with making Peter’s noise cancelling earbuds available for those with autism, it was an interesting idea I don’t think got resolved.’

As a reply, I wrote a little drabble to tie up that lose end. 🙂 This takes place shortly after Tony and Pepper return from their Honeymoon.

__________

"Hey, Dad? You said that once all the wedding stuff was over that we could start working on the earbuds. You know, for other people," Peter casually inquired, as he padded into the makeshift lab just below the penthouse.

"Is that something you still want to do? It'll be a lot of work," Tony replied already knowing the answer. The kid would, no doubt, be willing to put in whatever work needed to be put in, in order to help others.

"Of course! Where do we start?" Peter asked with unbridled enthusiasm.

Tony smiled, set down what he was working on so that his son could have his full attention. "Well, typically you would start with a patent but we already have that. Now we need to present the idea to the board. We'll need to figure out some statistics and demographics- that sort of things and hopefully, show them that this a product worthy of selling," he minimally explained. There was more to it than that of course, but it was a good jumping-off point.

"Affordably," Peter corrected. "If people can't buy them then they're not helping anyone."

"You're right, Buddy-" Tony said softly because he saw that coming from a mile away. The kid was always looking out for the little guy. In and out of his suit. "-Which is why that patent is so important. If the board doesn't approve of the idea or wants to sell it for more of a margin than you're comfortable with, then you take your idea somewhere else," he added with a shrug.

"Wait- you're telling me that we could take out an idea to some other company and- But this is your company!" Peter shrieked, wide-eyed and confused. "Wouldn't it be a bad idea for you to-"

"-Kid!" Tony interrupted with a deep laugh. "Calm down, we're not taking my patent to another company. That was 'for future reference or whatever- I can push the project through even if I have to call it a 'personal initiative' but it's always better to have your work peer-reviewed- which is why board approval would be nice. But in this case, not necessary. Sort of a perk of being a billionaire."

"Oh," Peter said, blinking as he processed all of that at once and then went back to smiling. "Well, when can we start?"

"Right now if you want to," Tony said, pulling up a laptop and a holographic search engine at the bench the kid liked to use. "Start doing some research- find who would benefit from earbuds and find out what they're using now- how accessible the current solution is and how we can make ours better," he said as he added a pad of paper and few pencils to the workspace.

Peter hurried across the room and sat down in the rolling chair. "I can definitely do that!" he enthusiastically agreed, already pulling up some of the websites he'd used when he'd originally considered sharing the earbud design with others.

"Good, I expect a full report within the next week," Tony said with mock seriousness but he really was interested in seeing what his son would come up with. He was nothing if not thorough and would probably compile more data than was strictly necessary. "Pie graphs and everything," he continued with a smirk.

Peter narrowed his eyes and gave his dad a surveying look. "Wait- you're tricking me into giving you a presentation aren't you," he asked as he thought about all of the charts and slides his parents had created for the Stark Phone design.

"Maybe," Tony grinned. That hadn't been his plan but now- now it sounded like a fantastic idea. "Is it working?"

"Yes-" Peter clipped, his arms over his chest but a smile still tugging at his lips. "But only because it's you and I really want this to work."

"Fair enough, Buddy," Tony chuckled and then placed a hand on his son's shoulder to give it a tight squeeze. "Fair enough."

#happyaspie writing #a parent apparent #tying up a loose end #drabble #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #marvel #mcu

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lightsupinthenorth · 4 years ago

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Harringrove teachers AU part 3

Part 1 - Part 2

Thank you to everyone who read, liked and/or reblogged the previous parts. Also, the people who said something nice in the tags or in reactions own my heart. Just thought you should know ;) <3

Tag list: @twoprettyboys, @inkedplume, @marianaosborne, @liglitterbug, @hmg621 @spreckle @goldenweatherharringrove @yikesharringrove @yogurtfordinner @wingedbears @charlotte-frey @hargrovesharrington

If anyone wants to be added to or taken off the tag list for the future posts of this AU, let me know ;)

I hope the tags are working because I recently had some trouble with them (ah, Tumblr is a mess).

I was planning on keeping the chapters short but every part has been longer than the last so far ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (then again, it’s still pretty short so I guess it’s fine ^^).

I’ll stop rambling now.

Billy didn’t know how he had ended up in this situation, this situation being Steve and he making out in the otherwise empty teachers’ lounge, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He wanted to keep Steve’s soft lips on his forever. Sadly, he didn’t get his way: there was a loud bang, and suddenly Steve’s lips were gone. Steve was gone too, as well as the teachers’ lounge. Billy woke up at home, in his bed, hard as a rock in the basket-ball shorts he was wearing as pajamas.

Great, he got an erection just from dreaming he and Steve were kissing. What was he? A teenager? That was pathetic.

Billy was considering rubbing one out, despite the embarrassment, but there was another loud bang that made him remember why he had woken up in the first place.

What the fuck was happening this early on a Saturday?

Billy instantly worried Max had fallen or, worse, that someone had broken into the flat and would hurt her (highly improbable in such a small town, but Billy wasn’t alert enough to be logical). The concern killed his arousal in two seconds tops. He shot up from bed and exited his bedroom in a hurry.

He found Max in their open kitchen, mixing what appeared to be pancakes ingredients.

“What was that noise?” He asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“I dropped the pan. Sorry.”

“There were two noises.”

“I dropped the mixing bowl too. Let me live! It’s your fault, you stored both these things on the highest shelf” Max complained.

“Hey, no need for a defense, I’m not accusing you. I was just worried, shitbird.”

“Oh… well, I’m okay.”

“And you’re making pancakes, so I’m certainly not going to complain.” Billy added.

“Who told you I was making some for you?”

Billy pouted, even though he knew Max was bluffing. He could see the amount of batter in the mixing bowl. She had quite an appetite, but there was no way she’d be able to eat all of that on her own.

“So mean, so early in the morning.”

“What can I say, I love messing with you.”

Paradoxically, Billy was happy that she did. When they had first met, he’d been a perpetually angry teenager, and teeny tiny Max had done everything she could to stay out of his way. Once Susan had announced she was ill, though, Billy had tried his hardest to be the brother Max deserved. After Susan’s death, Billy had looked after Max and kept her safe from his father until he had turned legal. He had then fought to get Max away from Neil and had obtained full custody of her.

It had been hard to balance getting his degree, working part-time jobs, and taking care of Max. Even more so with Neil trying to steer trouble every now and again. But they had made it out alright, in the hand, and Billy didn’t regret a second of it.

“Sit your ass down.” Max said as she turned the stove on.

“Oh no, no way. You ‘sit your ass down’. I’ll take it from here.”

Max was good at finding the best recipes and at mixing ingredients, but the cooking process was another thing entirely: she had nearly burned the kitchen down almost every time she had tried using the oven or the stove. Her cooking privileges had been revoked after the fifth time.

“Ugh, fine.”

Billy had two plates full on pancakes in no time. He put one in front of Max and went to sit down with his own on the other side of the table. The second his ass touched his chair, Max asked:

“So, you have plans with Steve and Robin this afternoon?”

Billy frowned.

“First of all, it’s Mrs. Buckley and Mr. Harrington for you”, he started, just to get on her nerves (he didn’t give a fuck how she called her teachers), “and second, how do you know that?”

Max arched an eyebrow.

“You literally talked about it with Steve right in front of me yesterday”, she said, ignoring Billy’s reprimand (no surprise, there).

“Oh… right… I did.”

Truthfully, Billy had stopped paying attention to Max and El the second he had laid eyes on Steve and the dumb spot of blue paint that had been resting on his cheek as if it had any right to.

“So, what are you guys going to do?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re going to grade papers.”

“Well, that’s exciting.”

Her sarcasm was off the charts.

“Tell me about it”, Billy mumbled, around a mouthful of pancake.

“Ew, gross.”

Billy stuffed even more pancake into his mouth, in defiance, before he spoke again:

“So, Art club, uh? What’s up with that?”

They hadn’t had an opportunity to talk about it the day before, because Friday night was movie night, and they had eaten dinner in front of the tv. Plus, Billy would have been too distracted to hold a conversation (Steve hadn’t left his mind).

“Steve said I should come. He noticed I haven’t been speaking to a lot of people, and he said it might help to do an activity in a smaller group…” Max wasn’t looking at Billy as she explained.

“Anyway, I think he was right. He’s the best!” She beamed as she said it, finally looking up from her slowly but surely diminishing pile of pancakes.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

Billy was glad, really. He was also a bit frustrated that Steve had managed to talk to Max about making friends, when Billy hadn’t known how to bring it up without offending her, but he wasn’t petty enough to show he had a problem with it. Even if Max calling Steve “the best” was treason of the highest order, Billy just wanted her to be happy. If Steve’s intervention helped more than Billy himself could, then so be it.

They finished breakfast, got ready for the day and then went grocery shopping. As they got back to the flat, Max went to her room to chill, and Billy read for a while before he started preparing lunch. Keeping busy distracted him from thinking about seeing Steve in the afternoon. Well, he didn’t think about it too much, at least.

When Billy made his way into the coffee shop, Steve and Robin were already seated, talking animatedly… in another language.

“Hi. Was that Italian?”

They must not have noticed him approaching, because as soon as he greeted them, they stopped talking, and Steve looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Hey Billy”, Robin said, “as a matter of fact, it was.”

“Don’t you teach French and Spanish?”

Billy was perplexed.

“I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t speak Italian.”

“It figures”, Billy shrugged.

He wanted to ask Steve where he had learnt Italian, because it intrigued him. However, he chose not to. He didn’t want to talk to him unless it was necessary. It’d be better for everyone if they had the bare minimum of interactions together, surely.

“Are these new piercings?” Robin asked, gesturing toward his ears.

“Uh, no. I’ve had them for a long time. I just don’t wear them at school.”

“Well, you should. They look really cool, and I’m sure no one would have anything to say about it.”

Billy stared at Steve pointedly, but Steve looked away as soon as he caught his gaze.

“I’ll think about it.” Billy finally said.

Steve and Robin already had their orders, so Billy took his wallet from his bag and went to the counter. He glanced at the display case and eyed the cherry pie with envy, but decided against it. After this morning’s pancakes, it wouldn’t be reasonable. Plus, he hadn’t hit the gym in a few days. He had to start indulging less if he wanted to stay in shape. He went for a simple black coffee. As the burly man behind the counter, whom Billy guessed to be Benny, asked him if he wanted anything else, Billy nearly surrendered, but he powered through. He handed Benny a ten-dollar bill and put the change he was given in one of his pockets.

When Billy went back to their table with his cup of coffee, Steve was blowing on his cup of steaming hot tea. Billy’s eyes caught on the ‘o’ shape of Steve’s lips, which reminded him of his dream. He averted his eyes, praying to God he wasn’t blushing, now that he couldn’t hide it behind his tan anymore (screw Hawkins, Indiana).

As Billy sat down, he noticed Steve had a piece of the pie he’d been eyeing. Not fair. He nearly started pouting but caught himself. After all, his pie-less state was his own fault. Why did he have to be reasonable?

Billy took his pen and the essays he had to grade out of his backpack to give himself something to focus on. But then Steve started eating. And he moaned. Quite obscenely.

“Mh, this is so good. Benny is a magician. You guys want a bite?”

Billy really wanted to say yes, not only because he wanted pie, but because Steve was the one offering. It would have been weird, though? Right?

“No thanks” he ended up saying. What a hard thing to say.

Robin had no such qualms. She needn’t have, since she and Steve were actually friends. Not only did she get to experience Steve warmth and kindness, she also got a bite of his pie. Did she even know how lucky she was?

Billy got into his grading. And he was already past the no-pouting stage of the afternoon. It sucked to be him, sometimes.

“You should probably wait for Steve to finish eating… and drinking too, to be honest, before you put your students’ paper on the table. That man is a disaster.”

Billy had to admit Robin was right. He ate lunch with Steve on a regular basis, and had therefore seen him spill a bunch of things on himself. Thankfully, nothing he had ever spilled had reached Billy, so they were probably safe.

“Oh come on! We’re on opposite ends of the table.” Steve objected.

“I know, but I’m sure you’d find a way.”

Steve scoffed but didn’t try to argue his case any further. He looked adorably ruffled when Robin laughed at his expanse.

They didn’t say anything more for a while, as they were finally doing what they had come here to do. At some point, though, Robin brought up a point one of her students had made about the French translation of “Newspeak” in George Orwell’s 1984, which led her and Billy to launch a discussion about the novel.

Steve offered no input whatsoever, but he had stopped grading and had been staring at them for five minutes straight.

It was making Billy’s skin itch.

At some point, he couldn’t take it anymore and asked:

“What’s your opinion Steve?”

“Uh… I… I don’t really have one.” He stammered, caught off guard.

“How come?”

“I, uh, I haven’t actually read the book.”

“Oh. Well, you should. It’s an amazing book.”

Steve fidgeted with his red pen, repeatedly taking the cap off and then putting it back on.

“Uh… I don’t know about that. It’s not really my thing.”

“How can you know it’s not your thing if you haven’t read it?” Billy asked, a tad defensively.

“I didn’t mean the book… I meant, reading.”

Steve bit his lower lip.

“Why not? Is that beneath a math buff such as yourself, or something?” Billy’s tone had become hostile.

And, by pulling accusations out of his ass like that, he had gone from defensive to straight up aggressive.

“No. ‘course not… It’s just… reading is hard for me… I’m, uh… I’m dyslexic, so…” Steve trailed off, looking down at the pen he was seemingly holding in a vice grip.

Billy was speechless with shame and regret, as Steve offered a wobbly smile and said: “I’m gonna… go get some more tea”, before leaving the table.

Billy stared at his retreating form before he turned to Robin and found her glaring at him. If he could have felt worse than he already did, he would have.

“So… should I go apologize right now or should I leave him alone and apologize later?”

Teenage Billy would have probably not apologized at all, but present-time Billy knew better. He felt like the biggest jerk.

“I’d say, go for it.”

Billy followed Robin’s advice and, with knots in his stomach, he went to Steve, who was waiting for his tea behind the counter.

“Steve, man… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay…” Steve said, but his eyes didn’t leave his own shoes.

That wouldn’t do. Billy had made Steve feel shitty, and he would make it better if it were the last thing he did.

“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Billy had let his frustration with Steve get the better of him, and that was unacceptable. Steve was not particularly nice to him, so what? It wasn’t a reason to be outright mean to the guy.

“Really, it’s no big deal… It’s not like it’s a secret… my dyslexia, I mean.”

“Yeah, but you obviously didn’t want to share this piece of info with me, and I should have dropped it.”

“I just… I was afraid you’d find me stupid… But you probably thought I was stupid already, anyway… what with me never having anything interesting to say when Robin and you talk about literature.”

“Hey, I don’t…”

Benny placed Steve’s cup of tea on the counter, cutting Billy mid-sentence.

“It’s on me”, Billy said, fishing his five-dollar bill of change out of his jean’s back pocket and handing it to Benny.

“You didn’t have to.”

Was Steve blushing or was it a trick of the light?

“I want to make it up to you.”

“There’s nothing to make up for, but thanks.”

Steve grabbed his cup of tea and was going to go back to their table, but Billy held him back.

“Wait… I want you to know I don’t find you stupid, okay? I know I’m kind of a jackass, but not enough of one to actually think dyslexic people are stupid.”

“Good to know”, Steve replied.

“So, are we good?”

“I told you, we are.” Steve assured, smiling brighter than he had ever smiled at Billy before.

The knots in Billy’s stomach loosened, and his heart filled with warmth. So that was how it felt, when Steve’s sunshine fell upon you? Billy couldn’t wait to experience that feeling again.

“We should get back to Robin.”

“We should” Billy echoed, before following Steve, awestruck.

#Harringrove #Harringrove teachers AU #Billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #Max Mayfield #Robin Buckley #Stranger Things

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theoriginalladya · 4 years ago

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Teas and Trees

because @urrone made me think of it, here’s a bit more from Anaya Trevelyan for you. :) Enjoy!

~~~

Getting lost in Skyhold wasn’t anything new for the Inquisitor. In fact, for the first time since the Circle at Ostwick had fallen, Anaya almost felt as if she was home. The fortress itself wasn’t in a circular shape by any means, but with all the stairs to climb and descend, especially when heading to the library or the rookery, for just the briefest of moments she could almost imagine herself back there.

She wasn’t, of course, and that cold fact never really could be forgotten.

Cold.

That was another reason Anaya was never able to completely lose herself to the past memories. Skyhold was cold. Frigid. Absolutely freezing. And that was on a good day. The days when storms rolled through the mountains were even worse and she often found excuses to remain inside the keep at all times. It was plenty big enough, and she could visit with several of her companions if she needed company, and if her advisors wanted to discuss tactics, well the War Room was right down the hall. (Complete with its own ventilation system just outside the doorway, but at least it was mostly indoors.)

Still, the cold and the fact that this wasn’t the Circle made for some pretty nice changes in Anaya’s routine, too. Especially of an evening. A cold evening. When the only thing left in the world that might possibly keep her warm was a good, strong, hot cup of tea. The Circle had been comfortable enough, and the mages, especially those of higher rank, had certain freedoms, but one Anaya had always dreamed about but never had (and no other mages had so far as she knew, including the First Enchanter) was the privilege to go to the kitchens whenever she wanted to brew herself a cup of whatever tea she liked and drink it -- fast or slow, sweet or not, cream almost always necessary -- as she wanted. No, that particular perk only came about thanks to the Inquisition.

Of course, being THE Inquisitor didn’t hurt either.

Pushing her way through the doors into the kitchens this evening wasn’t nearly so difficult as fighting off the leftover exhaustion from the last trip out. She needed a good strong cup of tea to put her to rights, and she had just the thing stashed away in the larder. The cook had been nice enough to grant her access to a tiny portion of the shelves there, and in the shadowy recesses of the room Anaya hoarded away her small treasure. Tonight, she was going to break it out and drink a toast to the Maker for keeping her safe that last trip out and thoroughly enjoy it.

“Ahhhh,” a saucy yet familiar baritone called out as Anaya departed the larder, “what have we here?”

She nearly dropped the box of tea. Giving her fellow mage an exasperated look, she hissed, “Dorian!”

Grinning, he entered the room and leaned against one of the side tables loaded with breads and cheeses and fruit. Plucking an apple, he took a bite, careful to wipe up the juice before it caught up in his moustache. “Now, my dear, what have I done to deserve such a response, hmm? Have I caught you pilfering some of the cook’s horrendous fish-and-egg pie?”

Sighing, Anaya dropped the small box of tea on the table beside the stove where the kettle was slowly coming to a boil. “I’m just making myself some tea. You startled me and I nearly dropped it!”

“Well,” he mused as he walked over beside her, “we can’t have that now, can we?”

“Absolutely not,” Anaya agreed. “If you did, I would have to send you to the dungeons and sit in judgement.” She threw a dark accusatory look over at him. “And trust me, wasting the Inquisitor’s special tea requires a very serious punishment!”

“Special tea, is it?” he echoed. Leaning over, he took a long whiff of the contents now open to the air. Eyes widening, he tossed a cheeky smirk over at her. “Indeed it is! Why, Inquisitor, I had no idea!”

Sighing, Anaya reached over for the kettle and poured a little into the pot to warm it. While swirling it around, she gave him a flat look. “We might be cousins,” she warned him, “but that doesn’t mean -- What?”

Halfway through her threat, he began laughing. Anaya was intelligent enough to recognize that he wasn’t laughing at her so much as he was laughing at what she said. Frowning, she repeated, “What do you find so amusing?”

Covering his mouth with the back of his hand, Dorian coughed to clear his throat. “Oh, nothing that need concern you, cousin,” he replied.

Anaya emptied the pot, added the leaves, then filled it with the now boiling water. “Dorian.”

“It’s Cassandra,” he near burst out. “We ran into one another -- quite literally, in fact -- as we were passing through the hall and after a few heated and delightfully disparaging words to one another, I dropped what you might call a bomb on her.”

Anaya groaned. “Am I going to be hearing about this for the foreseeable future?”

“Possibly,” he admitted. “In fact, quite probably, considering since she will have no way of finding the answer she is looking for whatsoever. The documents she would require are locked up tight in the library in Minrathous.”

Pausing for a moment, Anaya turned to stare at him. “Dorian, what in the name of all that’s holy are you talking about?” She saw the left end of his moustache twitch and the same corner of his mouth jerk a little, as if suppressing a great deal of mirth.

“Oh, just a little family history, is all,” he promised. “Nothing to the likes of us and our clan ties, I promise, but something that ought to put a bug in her ear for a while and drive her mad!” And with that said, Dorian popped the apple back into his mouth and turned to exit the room.

Anaya’s usual habit when having a pot of tea was to carry it up to the library or her quarters and find a place to relax, but after her conversation with Dorian, she decided she’d better go in search of Cassandra to make certain the Seeker was indeed alright. Not that she expected her to be injured in any way, but Anaya was used to word games with Dorian. Cassandra, not so much. And it was a well known fact when the Seeker hit a point of exasperation, almost anything in front of her could become a target for her ire, usually at the end of her sword.

Finding a large cup, Anaya fixed her tea (two spoonfuls of sugar and some cream) and exited out the back door of the kitchens. She crossed the lower courtyard, taking the moment to savor the silence now that night had fallen. All good little nobles -- Orlesian or otherwise -- were tucked away in their beds or soon would be, and she suspected she wouldn’t be disturbed as she headed towards the upper courtyard. A quick glance as she walked under the bridge told her Cullen was still awake and working, the light from his office windows glowing like a bright beacon. Above and to her right, Anaya recognized the call of one of Leliana’s birds. Anaya wasn’t so versed in recognizing the different sounds they made, but she suspected that this bird was one that had recently arrived. There was a hint of urgency in his cawing.

Climbing the stairs to the left of the surgeon’s hospital, Anaya took a right at the first landing and walked past the tavern. The Herald’s Rest was a silly name for such a place, she thought, but she didn’t argue it aloud. Even before Iron Bull had taken her around to talk to some of the Inquisition soldiers just after their arrival here, she’d known that morale was more important than her own personal opinion about certain matters.

The armory across the way was silent for the day. In fact, one could almost think that it completely shut down save for the brief flickerings of light as a body paced back and forth in front of the window on the second level. Anaya took a sip of her tea as she walked over and let herself inside. Either Cassandra was in her quarters or someone was getting into the Seeker’s belongings, and if it was the second, the Inquisitor had a few choice words for them. Mostly of the sort, “You’d best run while you have the chance because if the Seeker finds out ….”

Carefully climbing the stairs so as not to spill her tea, Anaya called out, “Cassandra?”

A grunt of disgust from above was all the reply necessary, though the mage thought she heard papers rustling right after. A few more steps and she found the Seeker standing at the long table. Upon it was a large scroll, unrolled and weighted at the corners. Above it she stood, her fingers tracing along as her eyes darted between it and the book open in her other hand. Pausing for a moment, Anaya leaned one arm against the railing and simply observed. It didn’t take much to recognize that Dorian was responsible. No one could get under the Seeker’s skin like that except him. Not even Varric -- Hawke’s arrival excluded because that was a one time thing -- and they’d been around one another longer than any of the rest of them had been together.

Her eyes still passing between book and scroll -- as Anaya stepped closer she could see that it was a genealogical chart -- the Seeker grumbled in a language that Anaya recognized as Navarran. She didn’t know much more about it than that, however. Clearing her throat, Anaya waited to see if that might break Cassandra’s concentration enough to get her to at least look at her.

It was a testament to the Seeker’s pure state of focus that she jumped and nearly upturned the table in the process at the interruption. “Inquisitor! I had no idea you were there!”

Chuckling softly, Anaya lifted her mug, wiggling it slowly between them. “Please,” she said, “don’t let me disturb you.”

Another disgruntled sound escaped Cassandra then. “You are not disturbing me,” she assured Anaya in her usual brusque and clipped manner. “If anyone can claim that, it’s Dorian.”

Anaya pulled her lower lip between her teeth to keep from bursting into laughter. So it was true. Moving around the table, her eyes dropped to take a look. The print was small, miniscule even, but there were some parts of it that Anaya could recognize easily enough, if not the names themselves. Her vision rose, head tilting to read the spine of the book in Cassandra’s hand, then a grin peeked over the edge. “You shouldn’t let him get to you, you know,” she murmured.

“Gah!” Cassandra dropped the book onto the table, heedless of the scroll, and tossed her hands into the air. “I know I shouldn’t,” she admitted.

“But?” When Cassandra didn’t answer immediately, Anaya dared another peek at her face. “Cassandra?”

“Gah!”

This time, an inelegant snort escaped and Anaya nearly spilled her tea as she attempted to stifle her laughter. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she wheezed.

“I shouldn’t let it affect me this way,” Cassandra mumbled. “I know that. I accept that.” She sighed in exasperation and gave the mess on the table an evil look. “Be that as it may, my brain will not let it rest.”

Finally allowing her amusement to show outwardly, Anaya patted the Seeker’s shoulder. “Honestly, Cassandra, you don’t have much to worry about.” Her fingers started at the top of the chart and traced a long line down, too many generations to calculate easily without stopping to count them. “Any connection you might have between the two of you is so far removed you wouldn’t even be considered cousins.”

Cassandra blinked as she watched the Inquisitor’s fingers move. “How do you … Are you certain?” She stepped closer and followed after with her own finger. “You are correct!” A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she visibly relaxed. After a moment, she turned sideways, asking, “But, how do you know this?”

Anaya’s brow arched. “What do you mean?” she countered. “It’s easy enough to follow a family tree through the generations.”

“Yes, but the Pentaghast line is very long and very convoluted. We have connections to almost all of the major houses across Thedas.”

Giggling, Anaya nodded. “I know.” Her fingers walked slowly back up the scroll then shifted five branches to the left. The journey they made this time was much shorter …. “You may not be related closely to the Pavus family,” she murmured, “but the Pentaghasts and the Trevelyans?” Taking another sip of her tea, Anaya turned and walked towards the stairs.

“Wait!”

Anaya hesitated before taking the first step. “Yes?”

“Are you saying … do you mean … We are related?”

A small smile curved at Anaya’s lips. “I am,” she agreed. “And certainly more closely than you and Dorian, or even my family and his. It would appear, Seeker, that we are cousins.”

Another string of words came trippingly off Cassandra’s tongue. Rather than waiting to decide if the Nevarran was a curse or something more complimentary, Anaya continued on. She supposed she would find out soon enough. In the meantime, she would go find a quiet corner in Cullen’s office to sit and finish her tea ….

#Wip Snip #ladya writes #Dragon Age Inquisition #Anaya Trevelyan #Dorian Pavus #Cassandra Pentaghast #Chapter that will eventually be published #Teas and Trees #I'm rather tickled with how it turned out #and I've been sitting on it for YEARS

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vindicatedvirgil · 4 years ago

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science partners / intrulogical

...yeah idk what it is about this ship but i’m in love. also, remus is still stuck to me, please someone help? he’s really growing on me.

it’s a high school human AU! please enjoy

includes: high school Logan, high school Remus, science experiments, friends to lovers, it’s kind of super fluffy at the end

(masterlist)

“Remus Creative–”

“I’m a present!” Remus cackled, a bow on his head.

“Yes, very nice. Roman Creative?”

“Preseeeent~!” Roman sang out.

“Logan Crofters–”

“Here.” His head was down, and he was jotting in his worn-down notebook. He tuned out the rest of roll call, and was only faintly listening to the assignment the teacher was talking about.

“Ahem. Mr. Crofters?” The teacher was standing right in front of Logan. “Did you hear what I said about your project partner?”

“Uh…” Logan glanced around. “No, sorry.” The teacher just rolled their eyes and pointed to the student sitting next to Logan, who glanced to his left. It was Remus Creative, probably the most inappropriate and wacky student in Logan’s grade. “Um, can’t I… do this project on my own?” Remus made a mocking offended noise.

“Ugh, like I want to work with Mr. ‘I’m better than you because I’m a super smarty pants’ but teach here has already said that we’re working together, so put on your big boy pants and look at the assignment sheet with me,” He muttered, resting his chin on his hand, his tongue sticking out a little bit. The teacher wandered off, and Logan closed his notebook, glancing at the assignment sheet that was set down between the two boys.

“...we have to come up with our own physics experiment?” Logan asked. Remus fluttered his eyelashes, staring at Logan.

“I have a few ideas for a physics assignment, cutie pie~”

“No. Nothing dirty, you snake.” Logan groaned, running a hand through his hair. Remus made that mock offended noise again.

“Excuse you, I am not a snake! Janus is the snake. I’m more of a stinky rat man, you know?” Remus laughed, then took out a pen and began writing potential ideas for experiments on the paper. Logan watched him scrawl a list of potential experiments, some typical, but a few of them were pretty out there. He was appalled at the fact that the pen wrote in sparkly silver ink, but ignored this.

“Isn’t something with solar panels… overdone a bit?” Logan asked, adjusting his glasses frames, then pointed to one item on the list. “Why does this just say bouncy balls?”

“It’s an experiment on height and linearity of bouncing balls,” Remus answered simply. “But if you think it’s too silly, whatever.”

“No, that’s actually… intriguing.” Logan responded. “We have to record our experiment for the presentations and log our results. We should find a space to film.”

“Not my house,” Remus muttered. “Unless you want to be around Roman.” Logan glanced over his shoulder at Remus’ twin, who was boasting about something. Logan shook his head.

“My apartment is kind of a mess, but my mom is always working, so it should be fine.” Remus looked deep in thought, but he just nodded. “We should get a variety of sizes of balls, so we have more data to go off of. I have carpet, tile, and hardwood, so we can test on surfaces as well.” Remus cackled.

“My balls are bouncy, I promise… and if you want, I have some hard wood for ya,” He grinned toothily, and Logan just rolled his eyes, ignoring the jokes. Well, what he hoped were jokes.

“There’s a dollar store by my apartment. We can do this after school today, and get it out of the way,” He explained. “We can meet out front once the day is done.”

Logan sighed, crossing his arms. Thirty minutes had already passed since the final bell rang, and Remus was nowhere to be found. This was why he hated working with others on projects; they couldn’t be depended on, not for anything. He decided to wait another fifteen minutes for his classmate, and if he didn’t show, he’d do the project on his own and tell the teacher that Remus bailed.

Logan was not so lucky. He was nearly tackled to the ground when someone hugged him from behind, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Lolo!” Remus’ cackle was jarring and it made Logan’s head spin. He peeled the other’s arms off of him and glared harshly at the pouting teen.

“You’re late,” he said. Remus shrugged. “And don��t call me Lolo. My name is Logan, and you will refer to me as that and only that.” He began walking off campus, and Remus skipped alongside him, humming.

“So, how far away is your house?” Remus asked, wrapping an arm around Logan’s shoulders again. The logical teen didn’t bother to push him off, but glared at him through his glasses.

“It’s a fifteen minute walk to the dollar store and then a five minute walk from there to the apartment complex,” Logan explained. Remus frowned when he realized the direction they were walking in, towards the more low-income part of town, but he decided to say nothing. They walked in silence, which surprised Logan, until they got to the store. Remus grabbed a cart and wheeled himself down the aisles, giggling. “Remus, please, we need to locate the bouncing balls.”

“Oh, alright. You’re no fun,” Remus pouted, and the two located the area with them. They got several packets of various sizes, and Remus also grabbed a large bouncing ball, which he held by hugging it. Logan rolled his eyes, but a small smile formed on his lips when he realized that Remus looked like a small child when he held the giant ball. They checked out at the front, Remus insisting on paying for everything, which only amounted to about $10. Logan made a fuss, but secretly he was grateful, because he only had a few bucks left until his next payday, and would need to go to the grocery story soon.

Remus toddled along the sidewalk, still hugging the ball, while Logan walked beside him, the plastic bag in his hand holding the rest of the bouncing balls. When they got to the apartment complex, Remus followed Logan up a short flight of stairs and stood awkwardly as the smart kid dug his keys out of his pocket. He opened the door, allowing Remus to go in first, and went inside after. Remus set the ball down gently, glancing around.

The kitchen was small. There was no TV, just a futon with some blankets and pillows on it, a dining table covered in worn books and papers, and two closed doors, one leading to a bathroom and the other to the only bedroom. There were cardboard boxes littered everywhere, with clothes spilling out of them. Logan looked ashamed, but also remained quiet as he set his backpack down on the futon. He fumbled through his backpack to grab his worn notebook.

“...Logan, I–”

“Don’t. Let’s just get this over with,” was the only response he gave. He set up a chart to log height, trajectory, number of rebound bounces, size of ball, and floor type. “Should we start small or big?”

“Uh, big first.”

The two sat cross-legged on the floor in various areas of the room for the next few hours as Remus dropped the balls from a constant height and Logan logged the results. They had set up a perilous tower of books to keep Remus’ phone camera focused on the actions. It was mostly quiet except for the bouncing and the scratching of Logan’s pencil on paper, and he just hoped that Remus wasn’t uncomfortable. He knew that the Creative twins came from a rich family, and he wondered if the jokester had ever been in such a small and worn-down place.

As they were wrapping up their experimenting, Logan’s mother came home, eyes deep set in shadows and hair greasy and mangled. Remus said nothing as Logan explained that they were science partners, working on an assignment, and that he’d be starting their dinner very soon. She just nodded and excused herself to take a shower and a nap.

“What does your mother do for work?” Remus asked, breaking the awkward silence. Logan ran a hand through his hair.

“She’s a nurse during the day, and at night she works at a 24-hour café,” Logan explained. “Ever since my dad died, we’ve lived here. I’ve had to pick up a job as a tutor, and recently I started working at the café, too, to take a little bit of the pressure off of my mom.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Remus said gently, placing a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Actually, I’m sorry about… everything. If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have suggested someplace else, this is worse than Roman singing–”

“Shut up,” Logan’s voice was wavering. “This isn’t worse. This is my fucking life, Remus, and I’m not ashamed of it. Don’t pity me.” Remus looked down at his feet, ashamed.

“I’m sorry. I just…” he sighed. “You deserve better. Everyone in school always makes fun of you for being smart and wearing those dorky clothes. You deserve a better science partner than me, that’s for damn sure.” Logan started to say something but was interrupted by his mom coming out from her bedroom.

“Remus, are you staying for dinner? Logan always makes the most delicious dinners, even though we don’t have much,” She said, sitting on one of the chairs at the table.

“Um, thank you, but I should… probably head home,” Remus didn’t meet her eyes. She frowned and gave a look to Logan, who just nodded. She went back to her room while Logan stood up, heading towards the small kitchenette. Remus watched him carefully. “So… you cook?” Logan smiled, getting the ingredients for his simple soup out from the fridge and pantry.

“My dad was a chef. He taught me everything I know about food, so… yeah, I make all of the food,” He replied. Remus went to join him in the kitchen, and studied Logan’s movements as he cut the vegetables up and put them in the soup pot. “You should stay. So that after, we can accumulate our data and write the report.”

“I don’t want to take what little food you have, though…” Remus’ voice was serious, and it startled Logan, who just shook his head.

“Please don’t worry about that,” he took a deep breath. “I’d… like you to stay. You’re my science partner after all.” Remus sighed, and nodded.

“How can I help?”

“This was so tasty, baby. Thank you,” Logan’s mom kissed the top of his head. “I’ve gotta head out to the café now, don’t stay up too late alright? And make sure Remus here gets home safely.”

“I will, Mama,” Logan said. He closed her thermos that he had filled with coffee and handed it to her. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She waved and smiled at Remus and then left the two in the apartment. Remus cleared the dishes from the table and began cleaning them, without saying anything. Logan just helped to dry and put away the dishes, and when their hands met he almost dropped a glass, but he caught it, the red blush coating his face.

“You’re kind of like Wolverine,” Remus said, breaking the silence. “Other than the fact that your name is Logan. You’re strong, and you’ve been through a lot, you’re kinda sexy…” He turned off the water. “You’re like… nerdy wolverine.”

“I don’t know about that–”

Remus didn’t let him argue. He grabbed Logan’s hands which were still holding a bowl and a towel and kissed him, startling the nerdy boy. Logan stumbled back, almost dropping the bowl but he set it down gently, his face bright red and a startled look on his face.

“Don’t! Don’t pity me–”

“Logan–”

“Get out!” Logan threw the towel at Remus’ face. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing–”

“Logan, I’ve had a major crush on you for two years,” Remus said plainly. Logan blinked, a confused look replacing his angry face. “The way you get all excited about science and facts? At the astronomy lesson last month you had this ‘lost in the stars’ expression the whole time. So… I requested to have you be my science partner for this assignment. I wasn’t going to do or say anything but… I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never liked anyone before, so I don’t know if I can just…”

“It’s okay,” Remus looked down. “I’ll go home. I’m really sorry, Logan. I’ll take the data and write it up, okay? You don’t need to worry.” He started to turn away, but Logan gripped his wrist.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want to, Remus,” he clarified, then sighed. “I just… I’ll need a little bit of time, okay?”

The bell above the door jingled as Remus stepped into the small café. He didn’t immediately see Logan, but he sat down at his usual booth, setting his backpack down next to him. Logan’s mom bounded over, a smile on her face.

“Morning, Remus,” she said, pouring some coffee into the mug in front of him. “Lo’s on dish washing duty today, but I’ll let him know you’re here, okay?”

“Thanks, Mrs. C,” Remus smiled up at her. He pulled a book out of his backpack and began reading, taking occasional sips of his coffee. After about five minutes, Logan’s mom brought over his usual sunny side up egg with some hash browns.

“Another book on reptiles, Remus?” She asked, settling into the booth across from him. “You two really are very similar.” Remus smiled, dog-tagging the page he was on and setting the book down. He coated his entire plate with ketchup and took a bite.

“Did you know that snakes and lizards use their tongues to smell the things around them?” Remus asked, and she just giggled, sticking her tongue out. He did too, and laughed. She got up after that, doing her rounds, and he settled in deeper to the cushion.

It had been two months since the science experiment. Remus spent all of his Saturdays in the café while Logan was working. He did his homework, read books, and got to know Logan’s mom, who was quirky and silly despite her constant exhaustion. Logan was still hesitant around Remus, though, and he didn’t want to push anything. When they saw each other, Remus would just kiss the smart boy’s cheek. They hadn’t kissed again.

But they spent a lot of time together, and Remus hoped that some progress was being made. They’d study together in Logan’s apartment after school on Logan’s days off, and sometimes Logan would just rest his head on Remus’ shoulder because he was so tired. On Sundays, Logan would go over to Remus’ house, since Remus had a lot of fancy science equipment they could use together.

Every once in a while, Roman would ask what was going on between the two, but Remus would just shrug and say they were friends. He hoped that someday, he could say they were more.

“Hey,” Logan’s clear voice brought Remus out of his deep thoughts. He glanced up at Logan, who slid into the seat across from him, a plate of toast with jam on them in hand. Remus gave him a sweet smile, resting his chin on his hand.

“Hi, Lolo,” he said. “Are you on your break right now?”

“Yeah,” was Logan’s only response as he took a bite of one of the pieces of toast. Remus took a bite of his food as well, and they ate in comfortable silence until Remus felt a foot brush against his own. He raised an eyebrow at Logan, whose face was bright red.

“What’s up?” He asked, setting his fork down with a slight clang. Logan said nothing and kept eating his toast, but with his spare hand he took a folded note out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Remus gave him a confused glance but picked it up, unfolding the paper.

Remus,

There’s a documentary about eels playing at the dollar theater tomorrow. Wanna go?

-Logan

Remus giggled a little, holding back his desire to make an eel-in-his-pants joke. “Yeah, of course, Lolo. Why couldn’t you just ask?” Logan looked down, his face still bright red, and scarfed down the rest of his toast. He took a sip of Remus’ coffee, then cleared his throat.

“It’s kind of nerve wracking asking someone out on a date, okay?” Logan admitted. Remus must have looked startled, because a wave of panic crossed Logan’s face. “I-if you don’t want it to be a date–”

“No, I do, Lo, I just… I’m surprised, is all,” Remus said, giving Logan a bright smile. “I just don’t want you to rush into feeling ready for that…”

“...I’m… ready for that, Remus,” Logan said, looking down again. Remus nudged his foot again, and the two sat in a comfortable silence for the rest of Logan’s break.

“...you’re wearing a suit,” Logan muttered, eyeing Remus up and down. He had just opened the apartment door. “Why, exactly, are you doing that?” Remus shrugged, looking down at his own attire. It was a dark green suit.

“It’s our first date, so… yeah.” He blushed a little. “You look nice, Lo. As always.” Logan adjusted his tie, but felt like his polo shirt just wasn’t cutting it anymore. He always wore this, he figured Remus would show up in his usual torn jeans and tank top and leather jacket but no, he just had to show up looking all dapper and smelling like something he’d gotten a whiff of from a magazine once.

“Hang on,” Logan shut the door quickly, leaving a startled Remus on the other side of the door. He frowned a little, but didn’t move from his spot. Logan ran into his mom’s bedroom and flung open the closet, digging until he got to the box of his dad’s old clothes.

When he opened the door again, Remus’ jaw dropped. Logan was in a tweed jacket. LOGAN. WAS. IN. A. TWEED. JACKET. And he had changed out of his jeans into some nice dress pants and from his polo shirt to a button-down. He wore the same tie, but, god, Remus could have tackled him then.

“Lo, you look… fucking beautiful,” He smiled, pulling Logan in for a hug. His lips brushed Logan’s warm cheek, and Logan reached up to wrap his arms around the taller teen. Their lips met briefly, and Remus swore he could sprout wings and fly into the sky. “Okay, seriously though, we should go before I rip that jacket right off of you.” Logan blushed and stepped outside with Remus, then closed and locked the apartment door. Remus laced their fingers together as they walked down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

Logan insisted on buying the tickets for the film since he was the one who had initiated the date, but Remus wouldn’t let him pay for their popcorn and icee. They settled into their seats, the theater almost completely empty save for a few older folks near the middle of the theater. Logan’s leg bounced up and down, and Remus settled a hand on his thigh.

“Sorry, Remus. I’m just… nervous? I don’t know why, this isn’t the first time we’ve seen a movie, but–” He cut himself off, looking down.

“It’s okay, Lo. I’m nervous too. I don’t want to mess this up,” He kept his hand on Logan’s thigh as the lights dimmed and the film started. Logan put the drink holder between them up and leaned into Remus a little. In response, Remus wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bringing him closer.

They each made little comments throughout the film, but Logan was almost completely enthralled by the smell of Remus’ cologne, and Remus could barely breathe with the way that Logan was pressed up against him. Once the film was over, Remus insisted on walking Logan home, and once again their fingers were laced together as they walked as close together as possible under the flickering streetlights and moonlight.

As they got back to Logan’s apartment, his mother was leaving for her shift at the café. She gave them each a kiss on the cheek as she left, and then the two stood awkwardly in front of the door to the apartment. Logan rubbed the back of his neck.

“You… um… you wanna come inside for a few minutes?” He asked hesitantly. Remus glanced down, but nodded, so the two entered the apartment. They sat on the futon, barely touching, and Logan sighed. “I… I’m sorry. I just feel all tingly when I’m around you, Remus. It’s a good tingly, but… I don’t know how to cope with it.” Remus let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and scooted closer to Logan, his hand once again finding a comfortable space on the nerd’s thigh and his arm wrapping around the padded shoulders of the tweed jacket.

“Tingly is good. I don’t want to push you too much, okay? If I’m doing something you don’t like, please tell me. You mean a lot to me, Lo,” Remus said before kissing Logan deeply. Logan kissed back, enthusiastically pressing himself against the larger man, a hand tangling in his hair. Logan’s other hand trailed under Remus’ jacket coat, making him shiver and pull back. “Lo, seriously, you don’t need to do anything you’re not ready for–”

“Remus, just shut up and kiss me more, okay?” Logan tried kissing him again but Remus stayed out of his reach.

“If we’re going to go any farther we need to discuss it first, please,” Remus’ eyes were pleading, and it took Logan by complete surprise. He figured that Remus would be ecstatic to take things to the next level physically, considering all of the jokes and hints he thought he had been given over the past few months.

“I… I think this is what I want, but how do you know when you’re ready?” Logan asked. Remus took his hands gently and brought them up to kiss each knuckle.

“I’m not so sure myself, Lo. I’ve never… had someone like you. I’ve never done anything,” He admitted, which honestly surprised Logan, and it was evident on his face. “I did say I’ve had a crush on you for years, didn’t I? I could never be with someone else, no matter how tempted I was.”

“...I haven’t either. But I feel like… I could with you. Maybe not today. But… someday?” Logan’s voice was small. Remus smiled and placed a hand on his cheek.

“I like the idea of someday, Lo,” He said, leaning in to kiss him gently. “It’ll be like a science experiment. As time goes by, we might get more and more comfortable but we will have to test the boundaries. We might get things wrong, but… eventually we will figure it out.” Logan smiled, resting his head on Remus’ shoulder. “Until then, we can take things at a snail’s pace.”

“Did you know that some aquatic snails have lungs?”

“No, but did you know that snail mucus could be good for your skin?”

#amanda writes sanders sides fic #intrulogical #ts logan #logan sanders #logic sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #dark creativity sanders #intrusive thoughts sanders #lomus #regan #sanders sides fanfiction #fluff #sanders sides fluff #human au

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passionate-reply · 3 years ago

Video

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Stan Ridgway is best remembered as the guy from Wall of Voodoo, and Wall of Voodoo are best remembered as the guys from “Mexican Radio.” But there’s a whole lot more to Ridgway’s solo career, which began with 1986′s The Big Heat--Americana, epic narratives, and a whole lot of digital synth. (Transcript below the break!)

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, we’ll be looking at an often overlooked solo debut: Stan Ridgway’s The Big Heat, first released in 1986.

Stan Ridgway is best remembered as the original frontman of Wall of Voodoo, and Wall of Voodoo, in turn, are best remembered for the single “Mexican Radio,” a landmark bit of New Wave eclecticism that became an unlikely hit thanks in large part to heavy rotation on MTV. That said, like a lot of ostensible “one-hit wonders,” the span of Ridgway’s artistic career is quite a bit more varied and more interesting than this solitary recording might suggest. While I don’t believe that “Mexican Radio” is simply a novelty song that can easily be dismissed, I will set it aside for the time being, because any attempt to cover the rest of Stan Ridgway’s work is probably better off without worrying about it. Instead, let’s take a look at his first bona fide solo release: the 1983 single, “Don’t Box Me In.”

Music: “Don’t Box Me In”

“Don’t Box Me In” was a collaboration between Ridgway and percussionist Stewart Copeland, then known chiefly for his work with the group The Police. While Copeland is now fairly well known for his work composing scores for cinema and video games, this was one of his first forays into that field: the soundtrack to Francis Ford Coppola’s film adaptation of Rumble Fish. Based on a novel by S. E. Hinton, most famous for The Outsiders, Rumble Fish was actually a tremendous flop for Coppola, perceived to be a bit too avant-garde for its own good, and Copeland’s percussion-led score for the film, experimental in its own right, certainly didn’t help that perception. Despite all of this, “Don’t Box Me In” managed to do fairly well for itself as a single, achieving substantial alternative radio play purely on its own merits. And merits it has, weaving together the experience of a fish trapped in a tiny bowl with a more universalized sense of human ennui, being overlooked and underestimated by everyone around you. Not to be underestimated himself, Ridgway has not only written these evocative lyrics, but delivers them in a manner that shows a complexity beyond his semi-affected Western twang, conveying fragility and uncertainty alongside indignation and determinedness. This is also the version of Stan Ridgway whom we meet when we listen to The Big Heat.

Music: “Camouflage”

Despite being the very last single released from The Big Heat, the eerie war yarn “Camouflage” would go on to be the most successful track from the album, and Ridgway’s best-known hit as a solo artist. Perhaps surprisingly, the single was largely snubbed in the charts of Ridgway’s native USA, becoming a much bigger hit throughout Europe. While playing the harmonica and sporting a bolo tie, Ridgway seems to almost play the character of the quintessential American, and perhaps it’s that quality that’s caused this apparent rift. Is it necessary to analyze his art through the lens of exoticism in order to find it appealing?

It’s a hard question for me to answer, personally--I might be from the US myself, but at the same time, the vast majority of the music I listen to is European, as a natural consequence of being chiefly a devotee of electronic music. There is still a sort of novelty factor I find in Ridgway’s work. I remain in awe of the fact that a musical genius exists who uses a hard R, and says “huh?” instead of “pardon me?” But, of course, I am amazed by this moreso because it makes me feel “represented,” for once, in a musical tradition which is important to me. If people from Britain’s crumbling industrial centers like Sheffield and Manchester have made great electronic music, then surely synthesisers can also tell the stories of the American Rust Belt, where I come from? For that, we’ll have to step away from the sort of typified narrative of “Camouflage,” and take a listen to the album’s title track.

Music: “The Big Heat”

“Camouflage” told us a tale as old as time, in which a benevolent ghost offers one last act of aid to a vulnerable human being. The album’s title track, on the other hand, alludes to a particularly 20th Century form of storytelling: the detective drama and film noir, as hinted at by its allusion to the classic Fritz Lang film of the same title. Ridgway assumes the perspective of the hardboiled detective, hot on the trail of some mysterious quarry, and it is the innocent passers-by he seeks information from who respond with the song’s banal refrain: “Everybody wants another piece of pie today.” For as much as people have mocked Ridgway’s singing style over the years, you’ve got to appreciate his lilting delivery of this line here in the first verse, where it comes from the mouth of a female character.

It’s easy, of course, to see such apparent non sequitur lyrics in Ridgway’s oeuvre as merely ridiculous, as many quickly do with the likes of “Mexican Radio,” but the more you listen to him, the more his style begins to make sense. The instinct to find humour in things is deeply connected to the feeling of being surprised, and encountering the unexpected. Ridgway happens to be all about delivering the unexpected, and it’s precisely the surface-level absurdities and surprises his lyricism offers that make us think more deeply about the stories he tells. The title track of The Big Heat isn’t about pie, but rather the fact that everybody its characters encounter appears to be grasping for more out of life, and hungry for something else. It’s what drives criminals to transgress against the law, and it’s also, perhaps, what drives the detective to devote himself to the pursuit of the abstract principle of “justice.” To both the villain and the hero of this story, the civilians they brush past are little more than means to an end, despite their display of greater wisdom and insight into these issues than anyone else. Ridgway excels at conveying this sort of saintly everymannishness, and does so with similar gusto on the track “Pick It Up (And Put It In Your Pocket)”.

Music: “Pick It Up (And Put It In Your Pocket)”

“Pick It Up (And Put It In Your Pocket)” was actually not released as a single, which is perhaps surprising given its hooky quality and sprightly synth backdrop. While “Camouflage” is assembled chiefly from traditional instruments, with only a subtle intrusion of Yamaha DX-7 to remind you that it came out in 1986, many of the other tracks, like this one and the title track, are willing to double down on electronic influences, and ride the wave of “peak synth-pop” that was easily cresting by the mid-1980s. That aside, the central theme of “Pick It Up (And Put It In Your Pocket)” is the quotidian avariciousness one encounters among ordinary folk, and the psychological effects of living in a “mean world.” While the text mostly revolves around the idea of living in fear, and the paranoia of knowing that “everything changes hands when it hits the ground,” it reaches a climax by showing us an actual situation where this occurs: the pathetic figure of a filthy old man who finds a small bill in the road, and, in a fit of folk superstitiousness, is said to “thank the street.” The song’s tension lives between the bustle of the jealous ones, and the reality of life for those desperate enough to pick up money from the street. Like many of Ridgway’s greatest works, this track simultaneously portrays the mentality of the common man in a direct and serious manner, but also opens up room for it to be criticized. This everyman bystander persona is assumed more directly in the track “Drive, She Said.”

Music: “Drive, She Said”

While the album’s more electronic elements are its main draw, in my eyes, there are still a number of tracks that remain dominated by traditional instruments, “Drive, She Said” being a prime example of them. While narratives are always at the center of Ridgway’s work, “Drive, She Said” moves us away from omniscient narration like that of “Pick It Up (And Put It In Your Pocket)” and back into the mind of a specific and individualized narrator--in this case, a cab driver who somewhat reluctantly transports a bank robber, with whom he might also be falling in love. While it doesn’t have the supernatural implications of “Camouflage,” the two stories do seem to have much in common: an ordinary person meets someone who quickly reveals their extraordinary nature, and despite the brevity of their encounter, the protagonist is deeply affected, and perhaps changed, by the events. Much as “Pick It Up (And Put It In Your Pocket)” sees fit to shatter its apparent main premise, with an interlude that shifts the tempo of the music as well as introduces the contrasting figure of the old beggar, “Drive, She Said” introduces an interlude of its own: the driver’s reverie, in which he runs away with his enigmatic passenger. As in many of Ridgway’s tales, we must consider both the beauty of a wonderful dream, and its sheer impossibility.

On the cover of The Big Heat, we see a portrait of Stan Ridgway looking glum, which is not itself terribly unusual for an album cover, though the fact that he’s behind a metal fence certainly is. The main focus of the image seems to be Ridgway’s environment, a bleak industrial setting full of towering machinery, and no other traces of human beings. The absence of other figures in this scene draws attention to the scale of the machines, as well as the fact that in many parts of the US, including my own, it’s very common to see equipment like this that’s fallen into disuse and disrepair. Much as ruined aqueducts and palaces mark the places in Europe where the Roman Empire had once held fast, these sorts of derelict manufacturing facilities are a common sight in America, and serve as reminders of the squandered “American Century.” While many album covers have shown me places I like to imagine myself visiting, I don’t have to imagine what being here might be like, having grown up in a place whose pride left soon after the steel industry did. It strikes me as exactly the kind of setting that Ridgway’s narratives ought to take place in: dirty, simple, well-intentioned, doomed, and all-American.

Ridgway’s follow-up to The Big Heat would be 1989’s *Mosquitos,* an album that largely abandons the many synthesiser-driven compositions found in his earlier work. It’s hard to fault him for this decision, given how much the mainstream appeared to be souring on synth-pop and electronic rock by the end of the decade, but it does mean that this album offers little I’d want to listen to recreationally. That is, with the exception of its third and final single, “Goin’ Southbound,” a practically epic drama of small-town drug smugglers trying to survive, and one that fires on all cylinders when it comes to fiddles dueling with digital synths. This track feels like it would fit right in on The Big Heat, so if you’ve enjoyed this album, don’t miss it.

Music: “Goin’ Southbound”

My favourite track on The Big Heat is “Salesman,” which, to my surprise, received a small advance promo release without ever becoming a true single. The titular character, an unctuous but insecure traveling salesman, is as rich a narrating persona as any of the many in Ridgway’s catalogue, and I love the way the refrain just feels like a song you might make up while idly doing something else, silly and yet primal at the same time. It captures the feeling of living “on the edge of the ball,” enjoying the freedom of spontaneity, but also, perhaps, suffering for its enforced sloppiness. That’s everything for today, thanks for listening!

Music: “Salesman”

#music #album review #album reviews #great albums #stan ridgway #wall of voodoo

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gayflagblog · 4 years ago

Text

Symbol Flags Poll Response Breakdown

This post is a breakdown of the data collected in the Symbol Flags Poll [linked here] as of 5/5/2021. For the breakdown of the Plain Flag Poll data please click here. Because I am concerned about the readmore breaking and the length of this post, it will not be put into the main tags.

All images are transcribed. (This post may be reblogged with additional data when more unique responses are collected, you’ll be able to see this in the notes)

Poll Info: Participants were asked to pick which flag from each “category” they felt the most connected to, or which was simply their “favorite”. If they wanted to, they were also given an optional question in which to explain their choice from the previous section. At the end of the poll, participants were asked to pick a flag out of the overall selection based on the previous criteria (connection/favorite) and, optionally, explain their choice.

Overall, 24 unique responses were recorded.

Question #1

[ Image Description: A pie chart is shown. The question at the top is “Out of the ‘Hyacinth’ flag proposals, which is your favorite/which do feel the most connection to?”. The response data is 34.5% for ‘Warm 5-stripe Simplified’, 26.1% for ‘Warm Original Hyacinths’, 21.7% for ‘Original Hyacinths’, and 17.4% for ‘5-stripe Simplified’. ]

Participants who choose to explain their selection in Question 1b. responded with the following.

Participants who selected Warm 5-stripe Simplified (6 participants did not respond)

“the warm flags aren't reaaallly my thing but I think the color scheme goes better with the flowers. I just like 5 stripe designs so that's that“

“I feel the hyacinths work better with the warmer colors.“

Participants who selected Warm Original Hyacinths (3 participants did not respond)

“the warmer colors look better with the flower.”

“I think the warmer colors look better with the flowers, and as much as I prefer the 5-stripe flags overall, I think the 7-stripe works better with overlaid symbols/images. it creates a smoother background and helps the flag look less cluttered, if that makes sense?“

“It just feels very warm and safe, plus it's interesting looking and looks like it has meaning!“

The 5 Participants who selected Original Hyacinths did not respond.

Participants who selected 5-stripe Simplified (3 participants did not respond)

“I just prefer the five stripe variant more, I think it's cleaner and looks nicer and probably would be easier to print out. although if there were options for the six stripe hyacinths I would pick that one instead.”

Question #2

[ Image Description: A pie chart is shown. The question at the top is “Out of the ‘Double-Mars’ flag proposals, which is your favorite/which do feel the most connection to?”. The response data is 26.1% for ‘Original Mars’ and ‘Warm 5-stripe Simplified’, 17.4% for 5-stripe Simplified Mars, 13% for ‘Warm Original Mars’, 8.7% for ‘6-stripe Mars Simplified #2 (more green/teal)’, and 4.3% for ‘Warm Mars 6-stripe Simplified #1 (More Purple)’ and ‘6-stripe Mars Simplified #1 (More Blue/Purple)’. ]

Participants who choose to explain their selection in Question 2b. responded with the following.

Participants who selected Original Mars (5 participants did not respond)

“I prefer the cooler colors, and same as above, the symbols look best on the 7-stripe flag.”

Participants who selected Warm 5-stripe Simplified (5 participants did not respond)

“Not too much, just the right amount while keeping nice colors!“

Participants who selected 5-stripe Simplified Mars (2 participants did not respond)

“the original looks better alone but when you add symbols it becomes a lot more cluttered so 5 stripes is less to process. the colors work better together too.“

“I picked what felt least awkward but tbh I don't like any of them.”

The 3 Participants who selected Warm Original Mars did not respond

Participants who selected 6-stripe Mars Simplified #2 [more green/teal] (1 participant did not respond)

“since there isn't a similar option but with hyacinths instead, and I really like this particular six stripe variant, I picked this one.“

The Participants who selected Warm Mars 6-stripe Simplified #1 [More Purple] and 6-stripe Mars Simplified #1 [More Blue/Purple] did not respond.

Question #3

[ Image Description: A pie chart is shown. The question at the top is “Out of the ‘Alternative Double-Mars’ flag proposals, which is your favorite/which do feel the most connection to?”. The response data is 43.5% for ‘Original Alternative Mars’, 21.7% for ‘Warm 5-stripe Alternative Mars’, 13% for ‘Warm Alternative Mars’, 8.7% for ‘6-stripe Mars Alternative #2′, and 4.3% for ‘Warm 6-stripe Mars Alternative’, ‘5-stripe Alternative Mars’, and ‘6-stripe Mars Alternative Mars #1′. ]

Participants who choose to explain their selection in Question 3b. responded with the following.

Participants who selected Original Alternative Mars (8 participants did not respond)

“reminds me of some of the rainbow double mars ones!!”

“I do prefer the alt mars design!“

The 5 Participants who selected Warm 5-stripe Alternative Mars did not respond.

Participants who selected Warm Alternative Mars (2 participants did not respond)

“Just very pretty, big fan of all the colors with the flag vs. the blue one.“

Participants who selected 6-stripe Mars Alternative #2 (One participant did not respond.)

“same answer as above. since there isn't a similar option but with hyacinths instead, and I really like this particular six stripe variant, I picked this one.”

Participants who selected 5-stripe Alternative Mars

“picked the one with the ‘base’ flag I like, not a huge fan of putting mars on these flags”

The 2 Participants who selected 6-stripe Mars Alt. #1 [More Blue/Purple] and Warm 6-stripe Mars Alt. #2 [More Teal] did not respond.

Question #4

[ Image Description: A pie chart is shown. The question at the top is “Out of all of the above, which is your favorite/which do feel the most connection to?”. The response data is 30.4% for ‘Warm Original Hyacinths’,13% for ‘Warm 5-stripe Simplified Hyacinths’, 8.7% for ‘Original Hyacinths’, ‘5-stripe Simplified Alternative Mars’, ‘Warm 5-stripe Alternative Mars’, and ‘Original Mars’, and 4.3% for ‘Warm Alternative Mars’, ‘Original Alternative Mars’, ‘6-stripe Alternative Mars #2 (more green/teal) ’, ‘5-stripe Simplified Hyacinths’, and ‘6-stripe Mars #2 (more green/teal)’. ]

Participants who choose to explain their selection in Question 4b. responded with the following.

Participants who selected Warm Original Hyacinths (4 participants did not respond)

“I love the look and symbolism of the hyacinths. as much as I love the double mars symbol, I've never really cared for it slapped over flags.”

“the flowers add a really nice gentle touch.“

“It just feels very warm and safe, plus it's interesting looking and looks like it has meaning!“

Participants who selected Warm 5-stripe Simplified Hyacinths (3 participants did not respond.)

“I have a 5 stripe hyacinth mask.”

The 2 Participants who selected Original Hyacinths did not respond.

The Participant who selected 6-stripe Mars Simplified #2 [more green/teal]

“I would really, really love to see a variant with the hyacinths instead. I really like the six stripe flag, as I think it feels more personal and I like it a lot. and I think the hyacinths are really neat symbol.“

The Participant who selected Original Alternative Mars

“simple, easy to interpret, and easy on the eyes. plus easy to replicate. the hyacinths are beautiful but nobody will be able to replicate them. maybe make the transparent one available if you can!”

The Participant who selected 5-stripe Simplified Mars

“again kinda chose the Least Bad one”

The 2 Participants who selected Warm Alternative Mars and 5-stripe Simplified Mars did not respond.

Conclusion

Participants who responded showed interest in

Aesthetics of colors and symbols as well as placement

Personal connection to symbols

More 6-stripe variants for flags without those already available for use

Access to the original symbol files for personal use/reproduction

Meaning and symbolism

[ If you’re wondering why I’m not sharing or linking the poll spreadsheet, this is because personal emails are collected by Google Polls from each participant as they respond and I don’t want to make these public. I apologize if any numbers are slightly off. ]

#poll results

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aion-rsa · 3 years ago

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15 Best SNES Platformers Ever

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Platformers have long been an entry point for new gamers. Video games may have greatly expanded in scope over the years and now offer so many different genres and experiences that it’s nearly impossible to keep track of them, but that’s actually a big part of the reason why it’s still so much fun to look back at these timeless games where the main objective was often to simply jump from one place to the next.

There is no console that celebrated the brilliance of the platformer better than the Super Nintendo Entertainment System. The SNES may be best known for expanding the adventure and RPG genres, as well as raising a generation’s expectations for video game graphics, but few consoles have come close to rivaling the Super Nintendo’s library of classic platforming titles.

It’s hard to narrow this list down to just 15 games, but from action-based platformers to pure platforming classics, these are the best examples of this timeless genre that the SNES gifted the gaming world.

15. Jelly Boy

Putting you in control of a jelly baby (a candy that is popular in the U.K. and surrounding areas), Jelly Boy was only released in Europe when it debuted in 1994. The game has a colorful aesthetic and some unique platforming elements built around the main character’s ability to transform into a myriad of vehicles, tools, and other objects. Those metamorphoses will be familiar to anyone who has played a Wario Land title or Kirby’s Epic Yarn.

Admittedly, Jelly Boy‘s mechanics can be a little clunky and the controls are deficient compared to some of the later games on this list. Still, you will be hard-pressed to find a more original platformer on the console that isn’t made by Nintendo themselves. You can even play it now via the Nintendo Switch Online service.

14. Demon’s Crest

Released by Capcom in 1994 as the third game featuring the character Firebrand (who debuted in the Ghosts ‘n Goblins series), Demon’s Crest is a forgotten gem in the SNES catalog. It adds some variety to the traditional action-platformer by giving the playable protagonist the ability to fly and shoot fireballs as well as access other upgradeable attacks and maneuvers as their quest rolls along. That feature adds a little Zelda-like adventuring to the mix, and you’ll certainly need those late-game power-ups because this platformer means business.

There are many difficult platformers on this list, but few boast the plethora of boss battles seen in this one. It’s actually similar to Mega Man in terms of its fighting style and jumping requirements, so if you are looking for an alternative to the Blue Bomber that keeps the basics of the genre intact, you’ll have a hard time doing better than Demon’s Crest.

13. Joe & Mac

Joe & Mac is honestly a fairly basic platformer for its era. What gets it onto this list of the best games in that genre, though, is the creativity and execution of its setting.

The game sees you control two different cavemen who rely on basic prehistoric items such as fire, bats, bones, etc. The bosses are pretty cool (dinosaurs are fun for all ages) and the controls hold up well enough that you won’t ever feel like you have to force the avatar into doing something that the interface simply won’t allow for. The game spawned a sequel that was also released on SNES, but the original is unique enough to get the nod here.

12. Super Ghouls ‘n Ghosts

Despite what the title may suggest, Super Ghouls ‘n Ghosts is actually the third game in the Ghosts ‘n Goblins series. Like the previous games, this classic sees you battle various monsters and bosses that fit the setting nicely. Although the game is maybe a little too action-heavy to get the nod over the SNES’ best platformers, it uses its platforming elements to elevate the entire experience.

The difficulty is insanely high and the sheer amount of sprites on screen at once can lead to some lag that only adds to the frustrations of this arduous journey, but the game has a way of keeping things light and humorous when the frustration sets in. How many other games see the protagonist stripped of their armor, quite literally, when he takes too many hits?

11. Donkey Kong Country 3: Dixie Kong’s Double Trouble!

The third installment in the beloved Donkey Kong Country trilogy certainly isn’t hated by many, but it is usually viewed as a step down from the first two games. Whether that has to do with a change in composer for the soundtrack, the inability to play as Donkey or Diddy, or the fact it was released after the Nintendo 64 was on the market, the title’s sometimes mixed reputation often prevents it from being appreciated as a divine platforming experience.

The environments and storytelling in this game are well-executed. If you’re observant, you may even notice that the developers were trying to say something about the sad state of ape habitats and pollution in the wild. Even if you didn’t dive too deep into that surprising bit of social commentary, you’ll likely find that the platforming in this one remains top-notch and that the overall experience remains severely underrated.

10. DoReMi Fantasy: Milon’s DokiDoki Adventure

As the only game on this list that wasn’t initially released outside of Japan, many gamers may not know that DoReMi Fantasy is a whimsical experience that features some of the key elements of Mario and Kirby’s best adventures in terms of gameplay and graphics. Starring a young child whose objective is to reclaim music for the forest, DoReMi utilizes some clever puzzles that may not be unusual for the platformer genre but certainly add to the fun.

The game got a Virtual Console release in North America in 2008, but that’s sadly the best chance many gamers have had in recent years to take a chance on this title. It’s a great example of how people should be more open to experiencing games that weren’t localized the first time around.

9. Donkey Kong Country

Perhaps the most famous game starring Nintendo’s lovable ape, the original Donkey Kong Country was Rare’s first big title for the SNES and practically started their decade-plus long relationship as a second-party developer with the Big N. Tasked with showing off off the console’s pre-rendered graphics system, the crew from Britain proved to be up to the task. Honestly, this game still looks halfway decent in 2021.

While the actual platforming is not as good as the Super Mario games on the SNES, it offered a different flavor of jumping that is still very much appreciated. The “weight” of Donkey Kong and Diddy means that the platforming is less flighty than in Super Mario games, and the rideable animal buddies you encounter along the way add a little flair to the experience.

8. ActRaiser

As a game that serves as both an action-platformer and a God simulator, this underrated and forgotten gem from Enix and developer Quintet showed off the visual and audio capabilities of the SNES in the early days of the console. You play as the “Master” who is tasked with building towns around the world and fending off the evils that threaten them. It’s hard to juggle two completely different genres like that, but ActRaiser finds a great balance.

The game was re-released for the Wii Virtual Console in 2007 but has otherwise been paid little attention in the years since its release. That’s unfortunate because there aren’t many games from 30 years ago that provide this much depth and versatility. Both parts of the experience are extremely solid in their own right, and together add up to become something truly special.

Games

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By Matthew Byrd

7. Kirby Super Star

Even the most ardent Kirby fans would probably agree that the franchise can get a little stale at times. There are only so many ways Kirby can suck an enemy up, transform his powers to match theirs, and ultimately defeat King Dedede. That’s why Kirby Super Star is still arguably the best game that the pink cutie pie has ever starred in.

Featuring eight different games within the game, the genre-mixing in this one is really off the charts. There are racing elements, adventure tones, and shooting sequences amongst the different sections of the playthrough. The experience was so beloved that it was eventually remade for the Nintendo DS as Kirby Super Star Deluxe. There is something for everyone in this package, and it shows the best parts of Kirby’s history.

6. Mega Man X

The original run of NES Mega Man titles are arguably still more famous than all of the others, but Mega Man X just has more of what makes those games great. It retains the eight bosses and weapon upgrades that can be completed/acquired in whatever order the player chooses, and it even has that same incredible soundtrack that the Blue Bomber’s adventures are always famous for.

Mega Man X‘s graphical upgrades admittedly take some of that eight-bit nostalgia out of the experience, but the game ultimately makes up for it by offering new gameplay experiences. Jumping on walls and acquiring upgrades to defensive maneuvers gives Mega Man an even more badass skillset, and the game generally does an excellent job of emphasizing the “platforming” parts of its action-platformer mix.

5. Super Castlevania 4

Super Castlevania 4 is actually a kind of soft remake of the original game, and the developers at Konami did a great job of making that game more digestible for newcomers while keeping all of the iconic elements from the classic NES title.

The Castlevania basics are all here (you still control Simon Belmont, equipped with his famous whip and ax, and battle through the game’s 11 stages before reaching Dracula), but an ideal mix of combat and platforming makes this one of the most irreplaceable platformers in the SNES catalog. It’s still an airtight action-platformer experience in 2021.

4. Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest

The second game in the DKC trilogy took all of the best parts of the first title and refined them to create a truly unique platforming game that was a lot more than fancy graphics (a reputation the original game has had a hard time shaking). Diddy’s Kong Quest expanded upon the game design that fans loved while keeping the jungle hijinx, masterful soundtrack, and weighted platforming intact.

That last part is what truly separates the middle installment of this franchise from the other two. Many people have said that these games were sometimes more style than substance, but after playing through the myriad of environments on display in DKC 2, it becomes clear that this title has endured over the years because its tight mechanics are executed at a high level.

3. Super Metroid

If this list were just a ranking of 2D games or if it encapsulated the entire SNES library regardless of genre, Super Metroid would most likely take the top spot. Alas, this icon of game design settles in the third spot because it isn’t the best example of a “pure platformer.” It’s more of an action/adventure affair, though the game’s platforming elements are still as satisfying now as they were in the 1990s.

What separates this game from so many that have tried to emulate it in the nearly three decades since release is that every ability upgrade and every part of the map fits together with nearly flawless foresight and execution. It’s never a hassle to re-explore a section that you’ve already seen. The game has a masterful flow that is incredibly modern and perhaps even more popular today because of the prominence of this design style on the indie game scene.

2. Super Mario World

With its flawless controls, colorful sprites, cheerful soundtrack, and ageless platforming, Super Mario World is the title that all other 2D games in the genre are still compared to. The extra graphical power of the SNES gave Nintendo the opportunity to expand upon Super Mario Bros. 3‘s best ideas while exploring new concepts that simply weren’t possible before.

That is why this game remains so playable. Super Mario World combines the most enjoyable elements of the NES Super Mario classics and then elevates them to fully realize the world that Miyamoto imagined when this basic concept was created. It still doesn’t make sense to have a plumber jumping on top of turtles and occasionally getting lost inside of a house full of ghosts (those damn Boo mansions still haunt me), but when you combine this much creativity into one package, you have no choice but to admit how special it all is.

1. Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island

Shigeru Miyamoto and his team knew that it was futile to try and surpass Super Mario World simply by emulating it. So when developing the sequel, they made the decision to craft an entirely different type of platformer in which Mario isn’t even the main protagonist. The concept was bold, but the execution needed to be flawless if the game was ever going to be more than another disappointing follow-up.

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It’s safe to say Yoshi’s Island exceeded all expectations. Putting Yoshi at the forefront of a platformer that included mini-games, evasion, puzzle-solving, item collection, and the most timeless color palette in gaming history was brilliance personified. Yoshi’s Island is not as famous as its older sibling, but its daring creativity and irreplaceable charm have inspired many to argue that it is the better game in retrospect. Whatever your opinion is, the fun and escapism of the green dinosaur’s finest hour (as well as the horrors of Baby Mario’s screams) will be remembered until the end of gaming.

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