#lish knows what this is about

[zoppzoop]

oh also someone who is a good friend but we don't really talk too much, clocked me as someone who would be into choking. it was fucking funny as hell

[multifandommilfs]

Better than The Notebook

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader

Wc: 2570

Summary: the tension builds until it breaks

A/n: guess who finally got into the Criminal Minds fandom and got obsessed with Emily Prentiss?Unestablished relationships really aren't one of my strengths but I'm hoping to change that,enjoy! :))

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Gif by @penelope-garcia –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"Are you okay with this?" Hotch queried from the entrance of the changing room. It was a club mission. All you had to do was walk in there, lure the Unsub out and book it before he could smash your head in. No pressure. 

 

"Whatever it takes to catch this sicko." You swung open the locker and the sight immediately made you regret your words. It was a low-cut, high-hem dress. The last time you wore anything this revealing was never. Your unamusement was furthered when your eyes landed on the dramatic curve of the waistline. The whole thing was a stark contrast to your daily FBI wear. "Whoever chose this is such a misogynist. This is literally a corset in itself." You lament, pulling the dress out from the locker to share your misery. You knew he didn't pick your poison. 

 

His lips flattened into a thin strip, a frown cutting between his brows, equally displeased with the ostentatious outfit. "It was Emily's pick. I'll get JJ to switch it out." He turned, heading for the door. Your heart leapt at the mention of her name. Did he say it right? You're holding what Emily likes in your hands. It would be a ruined chance if you didn't take it. 

 

"Wait wait, Hotch, I think I'll keep it." His hand left the door handle as he pivoted to face you, expecting an elaboration.

 

"It's unnecessary to bother anyone." You winced at your lousy lie. The questioning look on his face was made apparent by his frown digging deeper. 

 

"You're not bothering anyone." He reassured. 

 

"Yeah I know but Emily has a great sense in fashion, there's a high probability that the Unsub would like it."

 

He sent you that sideways interrogative glare and quirked his brow at the way you pulled the dress into your midriff, like it suddenly meant a lot to you. Adding to the fact that your mind changed after he mentioned Emily, it didn't take a cupid to put two and two together.

 

The pinch between his brows released, mirth filling his irises. "Alright, but if-"

 

"-I'm uncomfortable I will switch the dress out. I swear!" The corners of his lips rose for just a second and you would've missed it if you had blinked. 

 

"Oh and could you get JJ in here please? I have a feeling I'm going to need her help getting into this." You turned the outfit backward to expose the tucked-in zipper that ran too low from your shoulder blades. You weren't in the mood to sprain something.

 

Another nod and he was out the door. You stripped as quickly as possible, getting into the skin-tight dress with slight difficulty, hating the way you wanted to impress Emily by putting yourself through this torture.

 

The door to the room clicked open as you secured the dress on your body. You hadn't bothered to check who it was because it must've been JJ. 

 

You knew you were wrong when you heard the diction you've learnt to memorise. "Oh I knew I picked the right dress! You look absolutely de-lish in this."

 

It wasn't JJ, it was Emily. The shriek that escaped you as you startled and stumbled didn't help your balance as you slammed sideways into the locker, the reverberation clanging throughout the room.

 

"Are you okay?" But she was laughing that free, untamed laughter that made you swoon and grin on the grimy floor, forgetting about the possible bruise.  

 

"Where's JJ!" You tugged up the sleeves that fell off your shoulders, careful not to fray the fabric as Emily approached in quick strides, laughter still bubbling up the length of her throat.

 

"What? We're basically the same person." She stretched out a hand that you took without a second's break. You couldn't latch on to what she said when her palm pillowed yours with a warmth that made your heart race a little as she hauled you up, the muscles in her arm tensing. 

 

You were lucky the locker behind you served as a reliable pillar for your knees were almost limp when her scent encased you whole, your eyes instinctively flitting close for a beat too long, snatching that whiff of her that caused your fingertips to jitter. 

 

Your breathing shallowed out the moment you opened your eyes. And what you saw couldn't help quell the heat that blotched up your cheeks. She was just a breadth away from you, the curled ends of her hair tickling your cheek, but you could only focus on how the shadow cast from the lights above made it so her lips were deeper in red. It was utterly tempting.

 

You were closing the space, your gaze fixated, hypnotized. Your movement was so slow it was hardly perceptible, the murky hesitance within your irises morphing into something more intimate. Your lips parted as she damped hers, she was unable to move with the intensity and tenderness simultaneously existing in your gaze.

 

You were just a desperate breath away when she must've tightened her grip too much on your hand in turn for losing her ability to breathe. Just like that, the reverie shattered into splintering pieces. You backtracked, eyes wide, the fervour dissipating in a stunned blink. Her eyes that flicked up to yours averted themselves to the ground in a sadness you couldn't place once you released your grip on her hand, your hand falling limp to your side.

 

It took a ladened moment during which you swallowed a knot in your throat and her heart dropped so far below. Both of you contemplating whether to out the elephant in the room but at the same time too scared to address it because it was just too bold a move from amicability.  

 

"Let me just- get something." You managed; she pulled her body away from yours like it was ladened. You rationalised it to be the jet lag, definitely not the hesitance of leaving you. That was your mind playing games.

 

Your feet were fast to the locker from where you pulled the dress, and once you were obscured from her view by the metal door, you released the breath that had you in a chokehold, your mind replaying the closeness again, again, again, your senses fetching her scent up, her laughter, the glee in her eyes when she laughed and the way she parted from you as if she'd been in a daze like you were. 

 

"Hey, you okay?" You whipped around at her voice to see her eyeing your shoulder which took the brunt of your fall.

 

"Yea- yeah. Honestly I would be better if you didn't choose this dress." You were glad for the smile that split her lips at your sarcasm, ignorance lifting the tension immediately. 

 

"You love my fashion taste." She squinted her eyes at you. A taut smile was your response, but the quietness brought out a strain in the atmosphere. It was awkward enough for you to readjust your stance, swallowing.

 

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." You forced out, whirling back to the locker to search for the accessories you already knew weren't there. It was you buying time to escape her gaze. It held some kind of encompassing gaiety, some glee in them despite everything they'd seen in this brutal line of work. It was one of the things that took upon your heartstrings and you didn't need any more of that right now. Especially in this locker room, alone with her, after that closeness. She cleared her throat.

 

"Let me help you with your zip." Oh yeah, you had completely forgotten about that.

 

She approached from behind as you shuffled on their feet, trying to quell your heart racing in your chest. The fact that you were starting to sweat in the suffocating dress didn't help your case. You really needed to stay calm before- 

 

Her fingers clasped around your waist and she caught the half-shudder that you tried to suppress, but what was hope now that you were already questioning your friendship? 

 

The swoop of the zip signalled your completed outfit. Yet she lingered, her hand splayed on the lower part of your back, another ghosting over the hair on your neck. 

 

You turned back this time, adamantly dismissing another shiver that ran up your spine. And she thought you might just pounce and grab her into a god-fearing kiss like the one in The Notebook. The rain would be her happy tears as long as you were the one holding her. 

 

But instead your gaze glazed with a kind of regret that she ignored; the tension didn't need any more adding. So just like that, you stepped out of her grasp muttering a thanks and slid on your previously haphazardly placed heels. 

______

In less than a moment you were striding into the raucous club with a façade of coolness and all confidence with your head angled high while Emily returned to the SUV outside. She wished the floor would give way with each step she took. Mind thinking about the next conversation between the two of you, or the lack of it and she felt a simmering fury that licked her heart, searing her bones. She wanted to linger in it for ruining a chance like that, to let it blaze away the hollow in her chest. 

 

The team noticed her lack of flirtatious jokes, the internal ruckus that was just threatening to boil over every moment even though she kept a smile on her face. They certainly noticed how she seemed to sink into a reverie whenever you appeared on screen, toying with the Unsub. They concluded it to be the jealousy kicking in, spurring on suggestive glances among themselves. 

_____

The mission was a knock-out success. He took your bait and almost smashed you with a brick before the team ambushed him.

 

Emily watched you at the corner of her eye, standing a suitable distance away from the writhing Unsub, arms around your midriff in that damn dress that hugged your figure. A gust of wind blew towards you, billowing your hair as the neon club lights decorated your complexion like everything in the world was pointing Emily to you in that ethereal glow. She ducked her eyes when you glanced over. She missed the way your gaze lingered on her until she slipped back into the SUV. 

 

It was only then that you noticed Hotch beside you. He gave you a sorrowful look, but perhaps you misinterpreted it with your woeful heart because that man was supposedly incapable of any emotions aside from that frown. 

________

 

What were the odds of the jet needing a monthly inspection the day you got into this push-and-pull dynamic with Emily? Because not only do you and your team have to take a commercial flight, but that said flight was crammed with vacationers, leaving limited space for the team and your duffel bags. 

 

"Oh my god what are the chances of people flying to Virginia at 4 in the goddamn morning?" You grumble, but before Reid could even sneak in a statistic, you whipped over to him. "That was a rhetorical question staticReid." It garnered the team's sympathetic laughter as Reid pulled his lips in annoyance. 

 

And when you were left with Emily in a two-row seat, you knew this wasn't only your bad luck at play. It was Morgan's turn to play matchmaker and the way he shimmied his brows suggestively made you want to shove two middle fingers in his face. He was lucky you were too emotionally exhausted to do that. Instead you rolled your eyes and slumped in your seat, body burning with an emotion you couldn't place.

 

Emily dozed before the flight took off, an easy task when darkness enclosed most of the plane, save for the dim lights that provided little visibility. You couldn't complain as it rescued you from any tension. 

 

You could still feel the phantom tickle when the ends of her hair brushed your skin. You dug the hilt of your palms against your eyes in hopes of pushing down the memory. You should've just yanked her in then instead of taking the fool's way out.

 

It was thirty minutes into the flight, your eyelids were ladened, but the middle-aged man snoring behind you was a lull to sleep, and the toddler shrieking every two minutes in front of you was a hindrance to slumber.

 

The moment you let your lids shut, a heavy weight fell upon your shoulder and you slapped a hand over your mouth in time to stifle a yelp. The warmth that encompassed your body once you felt the fluff of Emily's hair against your neck where your collar ended made slumber slip away from your grip instantly. Her touch had been everything you craved ever since the locker room.

 

You were robbed of air when she snuggled further into you, perhaps for your exuding warmth because the little air conditioner that blew above you was freezing the consciousness off of you, but now you were more awake than ever with 3 hours left of the flight. 

 

The tenderness of it all brought out a sudden intrusive urge in you to just push her hair from her face. And perhaps it was the afterglow from the over the top exhaustion that made your mind a fuzz for consequences, or your bleary gaze that seemed to affect your memory, but Courage peered up in your chest and made it impossible to wave away the impulse that pushed your arm out of your space and into hers. 

 

With a gentle finger, you tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ear, unveiling, too intimate. But you didn't allow yourself to think about it when the pad of your finger grazed the smooth of her cheek until you were a lump in your seat. Heart wild as a smile stretched across your lips involuntarily, you couldn't calm it down if you wanted. 

 

Your gaze was soft as it traced her features, and you let your mind wander, her cheek smushed on your shoulder, tender, domestic, all but delusional. You smiled nevertheless, exhaustion clogging up your coherence.

 

And that smile must've been the key to your manifestation, to your yearning, because she roused awake, lifting her head off your shoulder, her hair tickling your collarbone. Through the drowsy haze of her eyes, she looked up at you past her lashes, and again, so, so close.

 

And you knew better than to forsake it this time. You surged over the armrest without warning, unbuckling the strain of the seatbelt with dexterity, and captured her lips softly, your fingers holding her chin before it slid to her jaw, tentatively. 

 

When she kissed you back with equal ardour, hands flying to your cheek, body slumping towards you. The white that burst behind your lids was immediate, fervent, and made you cross the armrest in a blur, pulling yourself into her lap.

 

She tugged you impossibly closer to her, famished for more, deprived of too much. There was no amount of greed that would satiate her now that she'd tasted. 

 

And when you parted, lungs heaving for air, you were all smiles and flushes on cheeks within the dark of the airplane, only a glow of yellow light pouring from the miniature bulb above the both of you. 

 

It was far better than The Notebook.

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[guillotinna]

I keep seeing these Gen z is task force 141 and I wanna join

Anytime you use a computer, you do that stupid movie hacker trope of exaggerated typing and say "I'm in"

Saying "POV" in front of sentences

In the group chat saying "1 like and I'll kms", liking your own message and then saying "damn guess I gotta"

I see a lot of these posts were Gaz and Soap would understand y/n....bffr, no those geezers would not

No one knows what the gen z kid is saying they just know it's probably not good

"You're telling me a shrimp fried this rice?"

You have a small photo you keep tucked in your chest pocket and after enough times seeing you looking lovingly at it, one of the guys asks who it is. Is it a s/o from back home? 😏😏

You say no and pull out a photo card of your fave singer and they're like ??? Really

One time during a particularly physical scuffle with the enemy, you get thrown to the ground and huff out "one hop this time" only to promptly tackle tf outta your assailant while saying "take it back now yall"

Reads everyone's zodiac charts except ghost bc he won't tell his birthday let alone the time he was born so you just make one up

Price calls a 6 am meeting to which you say "double it and give to the next person"

*Alexa, play teenagers by MCR*

If you had time describe the base, you'd say it smells like ball sweat, blood and war crimes which everyone took offense to for different reasons

Would absolutely get soaps doodles tattooed

Actually speaking of which, imagine getting caught giving yourself stick and pokes with a pen and being banned from using pens period

You'd be in a meeting with a #2 pencil

Ofc a gen z member would be absolutely feral which very little regard for their own safety much to the dismay of the others

Quoting "Oh these aren't homemade, they were made in a factory....a bomb factory......they're bombs." All the time around soap even though he has no idea what you're talking about

You don't spent too much alone time with ghost bc he likes quiet and you can't be alone with your thoughts which is why you lean more towards spending time with soap or gaz

I just like puns so I'm gonna add this but gen z love borgs (a customized gallon jug of alcohol that is usually given a name) and yours is appropriately named taskforce 1-borg-1

this is mainly for my americans but i know pretty much the whole world got beef with engl*nd: before you met Soap, you thought the entire 141 was en*lish so when you finally did meet him, you said "oh thank god" with a sigh

americans 🤝 scotts

making fun of english "people"

"Pull up in the monster, automobile gangsta With a bad bitch that came fr-" "....sergeant, comms off please"

you show Ghost WAP and he has to take a walk

*price yelling at gaz and soap*: KYLE GARRICK AND JOHN MACTAVISH GET IN HERE- Y/n: oop not the government name

Another for my US baddies: if your'e ever arguing with any of the guys, the nail in the coffin would be "and it's called soccer"

"one more like and i'll-" "enough!"

you call Price "ms. girl" and he could not be more confused

someone asks "do you serve?" and u reply "yah, serve cunt"

when asked why you decided to join the military you said something like: "well i didnt think i'd live past 18 so when I did, i ended up here".....crickets from the rest of the team

"good thing we only have showers on base because i would have already taken a toaster bath by now"

ask Gaz "no bitches?🤨" one more time see what happens

price: the enemies have taken civvies hostage and blocked off all exits and entrances to the town-" y/n: "omg tea"

Also calling price "capt. Save-a-hoe"....I wanna be saaaavvveddd ;)

If you took a shot every time you said "rest in peace to all the soldiers that died in the service, I dive in her cervix", you'd be dead lmao

When asked if they like the military they'd say "it was either this or the psych ward so yah, I'll take it"

Quoting MPGIS constantly and no one even sort of knows what that is ("Crack. Is that what you smoke? You smoke crack?")

Some detainee being interrogated is spilling some nonsense, so you hit them with "oh brother this guy stinks!" And then with the butt of your gun

"Little bad trini bitch but she mixed with China, real thick vagina, smuggle bricks to-" "SARGENT ENOUGH"

Falling asleep on team mates (minus ghost's) shoulders mostly because the most peace they get is when you're unconscious

*when y/n hears any slightly suggestive/dirty phrase*: what are we talking about 😏 (iykyk)

Same energy as: " born next to a nuclear power plant, has an IQ of 2 and was hit in the head with several Rocks as a child"

Vine quotes out the wazoo, it's just awful for the rest of the team lmao

Replying to everything with "on god?"

soap: "what are you 6?" y/n: "yah 6 inches deep in your mom".....you did not walk away from that unscathed to say the least...worth it tho

[starlightrosa]

Hey! I got one for digital circus! If you’re not wanting to do it thats totally cool!

With Caine being AI and not having a previous life outside the circus, I think he would be rather confused and intrigued by tickles once he found out about it. And knowing Caine, he’d probably wanna test it out on all the circus members just cause their reactions would be amusing to him and fluffyness would ensue!

That is all, have a wonderful day Lovley!

Smile For Me

Summary: Caine's a bit fed up at the fact that his circus crew just will not smile. So he takes it upon himself to make them smile, and along the way, he finds out some very useful information about each of them.

Word Count: 2.2k words

Warnings: censored swearing, Caine is a teasy AI, cute alert.

A/N: ahhhhh nonnie i'm so sorry this is late! I've been so busy, and then I got sick which took me out for a while :( thankfully i'm no longer bedbound and managed to complete it this morning <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caine was a bit fed up today. Everything just seemed so dull. His circus cast weren’t having fun at all. His adventures weren’t being well-received, and everyone just seemed so gosh darn grumpy! Caine tried to get everyone used to the circus when they first arrived. He assumed wacky fun was how to make anyone laugh or even a smile to appear on their faces. But Caine didn’t hear a single giggle from anyone, nor see a grin. And it was starting to frustrate him.

Sure, he might only be some lines of coding and a program within a game, but why was it so hard to bring smiles to these kinds of people?! Something had to give, and Caine pondered this even as he worked on his top secret project in the Void, his Wacky Watch beeping occasionally to track the crew’s movements, ensuring they were staying in the bounds of the circus. And luckily, they all were.

Maybe it was the project annoying Caine, but his fingers twitched as the AI pulsated with extra energy. This sometimes happened, but it felt worse this time. He needed a way to get out this jumpy energy, so out of impulse, he left the project alone and teleported into the tent. Right near Ragatha, who was walking by.

“RAGATHA!”

The doll screamed and hit the floor pretty hard, landing with quite an audible ‘OOF!’ noise. Caine gasped and flew to her side, the AI checking if she had been hurt.

“Gracious, my dear! I’m so sorry if I startled you! Are you hurt? Oh, what am I saying? You hit that floor most hard indeed!” Caine rambled, his gloved hands softly checking for sore spots.

“I’m fine Caine, plehease just- AHAHAHA!” Ragatha squealed, as she felt Caine poke into her side, right above her hip. Caine retracted his hands.

“Is that a sore spot? Oh dear, Ragatha! I’m so very sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

“No, no. You didn’t hurt me, Caine.” Ragatha assured, biting her tongue against further giggles.

“Well, then… what was that noise that left your mouth, if not a pained noise?” the ringleader asked.

“Oh, I’m just kind of ticklish there, Caine. You got me by surprise.” Ragatha explained. Caine blinked, taken aback. A question mark appeared out of the top of his head to further display his utter confusion. That was a word he didn’t know.

“Tick-lish? Tick-uh-lish? What is… what is tick-lish, Ragatha?” Caine asked, sounding the word out slowly, to try and get a deeper meaning of it.

Ragatha sighed, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “Okay, so the plural is called tickling. Basically, you touch someone and if it makes them laugh, it means that they’re ticklish. And when it comes to tickling someone, you can try mostly anywhere. There’s different tickle spots for any person, if they are ticklish. Like a person’s sides, hips, ribs. Anything, really. It just kind of differs between different people.”

Caine could feel his digital fingers wiggling on instinct the more that Ragatha explained to him. It sounded fun, plus it sounded like a surefire way to make someone laugh! Which was exactly what Caine was after when it came to his circus crew.

“Might I tickle you, Ragatha?” Caine asked, his voice very blunt and to the point. Ragatha’s smile turned wobbly as she softly held her hands up in front of her.

“Caine, don’t be silly. I-I’m not ticklish.” she lied. Caine didn’t believe her at all.

“My dear, you just told me you were. I don’t think lying to me is going to get you very far.” he said, even as he snapped his fingers. His ringleader outfit changed to a cowboy outfit, complete with a digital rope appearing in his hands. He lassoed Ragatha like a cowboy and pulled her into his arms, the ringleader holding Ragatha in a soft hug, her back pressed against his hip as his gloved hands snuck along her back.

“Yee-haw! I got me a ticklish dollie in my hands! Whooooo, boy!” Caine cheered, his AI voice switching to a Texan accent very briefly. Ragatha pursed her lips hard against the laughter bubbling in her throat.

“Y-You sound rihidihiculous, Cahahaine!” Ragatha teased, wriggling softly in the ringleader’s grasp. Caine gasped in mock offence.

“Oh, how very rude! Why, such rudeness is not permitted in my circus!” Caine declared, as his hand that was not holding the doll squeezed into her left side. “Is it ticklish here?”

Ragatha gasped and clamped her hands over her mouth, muffled giggles going into her hands as she closed her real eye, the button one remaining stubbornly open. Her shoulders bounced softly as she fought to keep her laughter quiet. Caine’s eyes shone a little. There was some laughter, that he coaxed out of the ticklish ragdoll. Good gracious, finally!

“Why, your laughter is sweeter than angel food cake!” Caine stated. Ragatha couldn’t exactly blush, but she felt her face grow warm all the same.

“Hahaha, Cahahahaine! Lehehehet gohoho of mehehe!”

“If you say so.” Caine said, letting her go as requested. Ragatha sighed as she dusted her dress off. She really had not expected that to work. She thought for sure that Caine was just going to ignore her and keep tickling.

“This is most intriguing. I must go test this on the others!” Caine said, his AI mind buzzing with theories as to the other members’ tickle spots.

“Go do that. But leave Pomni alone. She hates being touched. Like, she really hates it.” Ragatha murmured softly.

Caine could see she wasn’t joking and he nodded. “Alright. I shan’t touch Pomni. But the others are fair game, right?”

Ragatha nodded, and Caine’s eyes shone with mischief. “Lovely. Bye now, Ragatha.” he said, flying through the circus, on the hunt for another circus member to tickle silly. And then he saw a purple ear disappear around a corner, and he chased after it.

“Hey, Jax!”

The purple rabbit turned around. Upon seeing Caine, he looked very irritated. “What do you want, Caine?”

“I want to ask you something, Jax!” Caine said, adjusting his gloves a small bit as he looked upon the taller one.

“Which is? Make it snappy, I’m a busy guy.” Jax responded.

“Are you ticklish, Jax?” Caine asked, his mismatched eyes focused entirely on Jax’s face. Of all the things Jax was expecting Caine to ask, that most certainly was not one of them.

“Uh-“

“I take it that’s a yes!” Caine said. “So now I’m gonna tickle you.”

“Oh, no the (SPROING!) you’re not!” Jax called back, running off. Caine flew after him, the ringleader chuckling mischievously.

“Running was a bad idea, my friend! If you just stayed still, this would have been so much easier~”

“(HONK!) YOU!” Jax shot back even as he turned a corner, panting softly as he turned his head, rapidly looking for somewhere to hide. But to his dismay, when his head turned back around, Caine flew towards him and trapped the rabbit in a tight backwards hug.

“Gotcha, Jax!” Caine declared, his fingers immediately going to work, spidering up and down Jax’s sides. Jax spluttered out a string of incoherent curses before the bunny fell into laughter, squirming desperately in Caine’s arms.

“CAHAHAHAINE, STAHAHAP!” Jax cried out, hiding his smile. Caine saw him doing this and tutted, the AI chuckling to himself.

“Let me see you smile.”

“CAHAHAHAINE, YOU LITTLE (SPLAT!)” Jax cursed. Caine sighed. How rude.

“Now, is that any way to talk to me? Where’s your manners, Jax?” Caine asked, one hand grabbing Jax’s hands and pulling them away from his mouth.

“CAHAHAHAINE!”

“Your laughter is oddly endearing. I think I may just have to tickle you forever.” Caine stated clearly. Jax spluttered in protest.

“FOR (DOING!) SAHAHAHAKE, STAHAHAP!” Jax pleaded. Caine chuckled and let go of the rabbit immediately. Two down, two to go. He wasn’t going to touch Zooble or Pomni, so that only left Gangle and Kinger.

“Where’s Gangle and Kinger, Jax?” Caine asked, still feeling that ticklish itch in his fingers. Jax scratched his head a bit as he calmed down from the giggle fit that Caine had unceremoniously shoved him into.

“And why the (SPLAT!) should I tell you?” Jax asked defiantly. Caine just shrugged.

“If you like, I can just tickle you again, since you seemed to enjoy it~”

“Uh, I think I last saw ‘em chatting to each other at the main stage.” Jax said, immediately spilling to avoid a round two from Caine. Caine was a good tickler, and Jax didn’t exactly want to get on the wrong side of that again.

“Good. Alright, bye.” Caine chirped, twirling his cane as he went to go find the last two at the main stage.

Kinger and Gangle were engaging in a conversation about bugs it seemed. Gangle had on her tragedy mask again, and Kinger was talking about butterflies.

“-See, Gangle, there are about 17,500 species of butterflies known to us, 750 of those species in the United States alone. This one is a tiger swallowtail, or known to us as Papilio glaucus, native to eastern Northern America. You can recognise them by the black and yellow marking on their wings!” Kinger rambled, getting a bit lost in his insect hyperfixation while Gangle let him carry on.

Caine came up and waved to them. “Hello, you two!” he greeted. Gangle squeaked and her hands instinctually came up to cover her face, while Kinger turned around.

“EEK! Oh, h-hi Caine…” Gangle murmured.

“Hi, Caine.” Kinger greeted. Caine flew down to meet them.

“What are you two doing on this fine day?” Caine asked.

“Oh, I was showing Gangle my butterfly collection! I have tiger swallowtails, skippers, metalmarks, monarchs. You name ‘em!” Kinger chirped happily. “Anyway! How can we help you?”

“Are either of you two ticklish?” Caine enquired.

Gangle squeaked and hid her face deeper in her ribbony hands. Kinger hummed and then nodded, not seeming to catch the teasy tone in Caine’s voice.

“Well, we both are, yes. Gangle more so than me. But why do you ask?”

That was all the answers Caine needed. He grabbed one of Gangle’s hands and one of Kinger’s hands, gathering them in the same hand to hold them each tightly. Preparing to go for Gangle first, he chuckled as he softly began to spider along her ribbony stomach. But to their shock, Gangle squealed and wrapped herself tight around Kinger’s abdomen, already squirming a little with anticipation. But then Kinger started to softly laugh.

“Hahaha! G-Gahahangle, stohohop! Thahat tihihickles!” Kinger pleaded softly. Caine begun to have an idea. If he could play his cards right… he could tickle them both at the same time.

Kinger or Gangle? Kinger… or Gangle? Hard choice. But considering Gangle was right there… yeah, she would work.

Caine chuckled mischievously as he switched his focus to Gangle, walking his gloved fingers along her ribboned hands. The red ribbons she was made of felt soft on his hands, and the giggles he heard from her indicated that Gangle was feeling all of this as well.

“C-Cahahaine! It tickles, it tickles!” Gangle squealed out. Caine laughed along with her as he kept up the tickles. Kinger was getting tickled too from Gangle’s wriggling, which ended up tickling him.

“Who knew you two were so ticklish?” Caine teased, smirking. He didn’t even have to tickle Kinger, Gangle was doing that for him!

“GAHAHANGLE, STAHAHAP!” Kinger cackled, the two falling back onto the floor. Caine followed them down and kept tickling Gangle, which caused the poor ribboned miss to laugh harder. Which in turn meant more squirming. And THAT meant more tickles for Kinger.

“I CAHAHAN’T!” Gangle argued. “AHAHAHA! CAHAHAINE!” she screeched. “NOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE!”

“Oh, not here? Not on your ticklish little ribbon legs? Why ever not?” Caine asked, where he was tickling the backs of Gangle’s ribbony knees. “They feel so soft here! I could tickle them forever.”

“PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHO!” Gangle shrieked, squirming for all she was worth. Her high pitch laughter intermingled with Kinger’s deep chuckles, creating a melody of laughter that Caine adored.

“Hah! Okay, okay. I’ll stop.” Caine said, gently letting go and helping Gangle unravel herself from Kinger. Caine felt happier seeing his circus crew smile, if only for a fleeting moment.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Caine grinned, that ticklish energy in his hands finally dissipating, with the ringleader making to leave. Only to be caught by Kinger’s hold.

“Uh-uh. What about you, Caine? Are you perhaps ticklish?”

“Preposterous, Kinger. I am just AI. Lines of coding. Impossible for code to be ticklish.” Caine declared, trying to put on a bravado. In truth, he didn’t know. But by the look on Kinger’s face, he was going to find out one way or another.

“You sure about that, dentures?” came a voice from behind him. Caine was filled with a sense of anticipatory dread as he saw Jax and Ragatha slowly approaching, their hands outstretched and wiggling. Kinger grabbed him and hoisted Caine in the air, as the circus crew took their places around him, ready to all rally against the ringleader. He gave them laughter, so they were gonna dish it right back.

“Now, let’s be reheheasonable here! P-please! PLEHEHEHEASE! WAHAHAIT! JAHAHAX! RAHAHAGATHA! KIHIHIHINGER, GAHAHANGLE STOHOHOP! NO NO NO NOHOHOHO!”

[pandorasinfinity]

Hello!

I spent half of the day thinking about what i actually want out of shifting! I never really thought about it. I always wanted to just leave that I didn't care about what might have been holding me back.

People might relate to this, but:

I realized I am super comfortable in living here. It's just so easy to go back to hold habits. You know how easy it is to think bad thoughts? I realized I have to concentrate on thinking positive ones!

So i decided. I have spent the last hour robotically affirming. I'm going to put my everything in it. I want things to change. I want to break free from being comfortable in my own misery.

I don't intend to come back once I shift, to be honest, so if i ever make an update, it will be on me manifesting something small. Though you shift with every decision you make, so maybe writing this, I am already somewhere entirely different.

I am starting to read your recommended books, by the way. I was thinking of starting with Neville Goddard, but God, it feels like he speaks sim-lish sometimes. So I will start with Parallel Universes -

Anyway, i am itching to just show myself instead of staying anonymous, but i am too intimated by Shiftblr.

Have a nice day!

- 🦥

This is the best update. I'm glad you were able to figure out what you want, and I wish you the best!!

You're right, I think a lot of people can relate to this thought process. It's easy to stay in this reality since it's so familiar, it takes a little bit of a push to realize that and make a change.

I hope the book helps, and I hope you have the best life/lives ❤️

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 51 - I Lived Bitch

You wake up.

On AO3.

People’re hollering. It’s all gibberish. You feel well-rested for the first time in a long, long while. Are half-tempted to turn over so you can go back to sleep, except two things: there’s something in your arms that smells like vasoline and farts, and the chatter around you is real loud. Right until it hushes.

A woman says something. She’s got nice perfume. Don’t stink of chemical or sickly sweet. Her voice rings like a bell, though her words don’t make no sense.

It’s a stuffed animal that you got in your arms. That’s what smells. You cuddle into it and sigh…

Why is it sticky? What the hell—

Open your eyes. Spot a pair of boots with real nice embroidery along the seams. Track it up to a purple mumu and—

“Gale!” you say.

The man smiles down at you, all but sagging. And then Shadowheart fills your vision, leaning over you, her jesus hands over your chest.

Shadowheart. And Karlach and Wyll watching. You got Karlach’s bear. And apparently the little procedure made the dirt potion stop working, the fucker.

“You got any…?” you say and mime tilting a bottle.

“Yes,” Gale says.

You start to sit up as he reaches into his bag, and then you pause. Stare at him as he produces the blue bottle.

He holds his innocent expression for a good five seconds before cracking. “Aang-lish. Ta-ok.” And he mimes writing.

You blink a couple of times, trying to make sense. Cause it sounds like the man is saying he’s trying to learn English (from your chats). But that is monstrously complicated and y’all are super busy and…and you’re you. Ain’t no reason for somebody to take on that kinda task on your account.

You point to him. Tap your temple, and then your mouth. “You talk? English?”

“Ye-ah,” he says again.

Oh god, he’s learning English with your accent.

You are simultaneously amused, horrified, and then indignant at the horrified part. Ain’t nobody complains when a non-English speaker picks up a Western accent. Fuck all them classicist fuckwads.

You down the potion so you can say, “Why?”

“Ah! Well, a multitude of reasons,” he says and lifts that pointer finger and that man is the dictionary definition of a lecturer. “I reckoned it might do to have a backup plan should we run out of ingredients again. And as I’ve always said, a good education—”

“She seems fine,” Shadowheart cuts in. Gives you a tiny smile and then stands. “Take it easy the rest of the night. I’m not sure how this process goes, exactly. But I’d say if you start to feel strange, at all, let one of us know.”

“Yes’m,” you say.

She gives you a nod and leaves you be.

“How d’you feel, soldier?” Karlach says.

Physically, great. A little dizzy, maybe. And tired, now that you think about it. You want to find a blanket, burrito yourself next to the fire, and sit there until everybody goes to sleep.

So that’s what you tell her. She nods along, then jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “Sounds like you and Wyll’ll be spending some time together, then.”

That…don’t make no sense. Why would Wyll…?

The spectator. Him lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Oh fuck, Wyll, how’re you doing?”

Karlach moves so you can see him leaning against a bedroll. He gives you a wave. “Nice to see you among the living again.”

…what?

And then something moves in the shadows and your skin shudders like a pissed off cat as the fucking mummy emerges.

He regards you with his shriveled, raisin eyes. Then, “Thou soul is tied to this place. Thy destiny shall play along as it must.”

And then he turns and just, you know, leaves. Like that was a totally normal interaction and he wasn’t the creepiest thing to ever exist spouting some of the most cryptic shit to ever exist.

“I don’t like him,” you say.

“Yeah,” Karlach drawls, watching him shuffle over to the perimeter of camp. “I’ve seen people get turned inside out—literally, and it’s the hells so they don’t die, you know? But there’s something really off about that one.” Then she looks behind you, to the sound of Gale lowering himself, and something flashes across her face before she slaps another smile over it. “Guess I’ll leave you to it. You did good, soldier. Knew you were a tough one.”

She goes back over to Wyll and settles down about three feet from him—the closest she can safely get. Leaving you and Gale, alone.

Gale clears his throat. Waits for you to look back to him. Folds his legs beneath him and both his knees crack. “I can certainly understand your level of apprehension around him. But we should probably discuss what he said. Or didn’t, I suppose.”

Well fuck.

“What, the shit about fate?” you say, because if you make a joke about and throw in profanity, it can’t be all that serious, right?

But Gale don’t smile back. Nor does he join in on the joking. He looks serious in a way that makes your conjured joviality wither in on itself.

He holds up something. The evil bottle. Motions for you to take it. The soul jar. Right. But like, it’s a physical object? For some reason, you didn’t think it would be. Like, they would do all their woo woo shit and it’d disintegrate into the ether or some shit and you’d wake up all better.

The metal is smooth in your hands. You expect warmth or an electric tingle. Maybe a creepy heartbeat or something. Souls are, apparently, real, and they’ve (said they’ve) trapped yours inside that thing like a genie in a lamp. There should be some mystical shit, right?

Only it’s just a metal bottle. Smooth and cool, and about as heavy as it looks.

“Are you sure it worked?” you say. Cause it feels just like holding an empty bottle.

“It did, eventually.” He catches your look. “There were some…complications. It caused no damage, both Withers and Shadowheart assured me!. All of your soul is within that flask, and we’ll continue to monitor it, but you appear to be perfectly stabilized.”

Huh. “Complications” can mean so many things.

“But?” you say.

Gale makes a “easy there, Bessy” hand gesture. “But you, ah, died in the process. Again. You are perfectly alright now! Withers was able to keep both parts of you here long enough for the spell to work. But you, well. I’m no necromancer or soulworker, but your soul went elsewhere for a time before we could draw it fully into this realm.”

That…is horrifying. Where the fuck does a soul just wander off to? Like it fucked off to some interdimensional 711, stole a car, and drove three hundred miles out to fucking space-Idaho?

“Do you remember anything?” Gale says. And there’s that gleam in his eye, the one he gets when you brought up your speculations of the religious aspects of them animal stones in that ancient city in Turkey. Dude hungers for knowledge the way Astar—the way a vampire hungers for blood.

But the last thing you remember is settling down with Karlach’s bear.

“No,” you say. Though the thought niggles something in the back of your mind.

Corn?

Whatever.

“I see. Well, it does please me to say that you seem to be present and accounted for. No need for those potions—I gathered from your facial expressions that they didn’t taste terribly fantastic. However. That flask must stay on your person at all times. Or near enough to it.”

“Oh god, is this a proximity thing?”

What’s a reverse electric fence? If you forget the damn thing in you tent and go to the river to bathe, is it gonna tase you?

A twitch of a frown at the word “proximity.” His lips silently move over the shape of it. Then, “Not in the sense I suspect you think of. If I were to snatch it and use a waypoint to travel to the other side of Faerun, it would do you no harm. But I would be holding your soul in my hands, and that…”

And…that sounds bad. Catastrophic, even.

“You said soulworker and necromancer before,” you say, a different kind of dread oozing up your spine to claw at the muscles at the base of your skull. “Someone could, like, use this against me, huh?”

He nods. “Indeed. At the very least, one could hold it for ransom. At the worst, there are ways of chaining a soul to a person or an object. Or even, well. Even bartering one to the hells.”

If somebody gets their sticky fucking fingers on that flask they can literally sell you to a demon? Oh what the actual fuck.

“Kinda hate this place,” you say.

Gale winces. Sympathetically.

“So keep the damn thing safe,” you say.

“Yes. I cannot stress that enough.”

Part of you thinks it really would have been easier to just die.

Except…there’s something in you. A little glow against that darkness. Though the exhaustion and the dread pull you down like your guts are made of concrete, that tiny ember glows on.

Fuck. Fuck.

“I…thank you, Gale,” you say. “Thank you for all a this. I’ll do my best not to let y’all down.”

He claps your arm (you try not to flinch at the touch). “You’re doing far better on that account than I suspect you give yourself credit for. Now, I’m going to whip up something light but filling, and I suggest you eat your fill and get some rest, hmm?”

You nod. Food does sound really good.

The others mingle or tend their gear. You lie there and half listen to Wyll and Karlach talking. Things haven’t gotten better so much as simply…changed form. Same problem, new and exciting ways for it all to go wrong.

The exhaustion drags at you. Gale is right. Food and rest will be good. This shit will land and settle as it will, and you’ll have to pick a path through it.

Which is when something pale moves in the dark. A set of glowing eyes leer out of the shadows.

“Well hello, darling,” Astarion says.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

Viva la Revolución

Ship: Suspenders & Pens

A/N: These kids are gonna make Rafa go even grayer

Rafael and Nic sat expectantly on the couch, waiting for the twins. They told their parents they had something they wanted to talk about, and neither had the faintest idea why. Finally the twins came bounding down the stairs, standing in front of the fireplace. They both had small stacks of notecards in their hands.

“Mami, Papi, thank you for coming,” began Lina.

“As you know, we don’t ask for much,” Beth added. “But we’ve had a meeting and made a joint decision for our birthday.”

“Oh?” Nic raised a brow as she and Rafael exchanged a look. “What is this decision?”

“We would like a tv in our room as an early birthday present,” Lina explained.

“And we have a list of reasons why we believe we deserve one,” Beth told them. “Reason one: Because it would be really cool.”

“Reason two: Less fighting over the tv before bed,” Lina added.

“Reason three: we–”

“You’re not getting a tv in your bedroom,” Rafael told them.

The twins looked at each in shock before looking back at their parents. “Why not?” they asked in unison.

“Because you’re nine,” Rafael began.

“We’ll be ten in two months!” Beth argued.

“And,” he added, “it’s hard enough to get you both to do your homework. You don’t need a distraction in your room.”

“Eso no es justo!” Lina exclaimed.

“You’re not getting a tv in your room until you’re in middle school. End of discussion,” Rafael said. “Now go get ready for bed.”

The twins huffed angrily, stomping towards the staircase and up the stairs to their room. They grumbled to each other in twin-lish, their own made up language, and Nic sighed as she watched them go.

“We could have least heard them out,” she said to her husband.

“I didn’t have a tv in my room growing up.” Rafael stood up to get a glass of water from the kitchen. “They can wait a few years.”

Lina and Beth were still upset in the morning, practically giving their father the silent treatment. Their Aunt Abby picked them up for the day to take the twins to a new bookshop that opened in Queens. But secretly they were plotting, and that evening when everyone was winding down for the night, the twins marched into their parents’ bedroom. Nic had just finished brushing her teeth when they entered, and Rafael paused the show they were watching. Beth confidently held out a piece of paper to their father who took it in confusion. Nic walked over to her husband, glancing down at the paper in his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked the twins.

“Ten signatures for our petition,” Lina explained simply.

“Petition?” Rafael asked in disbelief. They nodded. “Petition for what?”

“To get us a tv in our room,” she said.

Beth crossed her arms. “We have the signed support from Aunt Abby, Uncle Sonny, Aunt Bella and Uncle Tommy, Uncle Eddie—”

“—Aunt Liv, Uncle Fin, Miss Carmen, Mr. McCoy–” Lina added.

“You got a signature from my boss?!” Rafael shrieked, looking at the paper and recognizing the signature from the District Attorney. “How?” He looked at his daughters, and Nic bit her lip to stop herself from laughing.

“Uncle Sonny introduced us. We’re very persuasive,” they said in unison, smiling at their father. If he hadn’t seen them do that their entire lives he would be freaked out.

“But we got the most important signature,” Beth told him, pointing at the list.

“Abuelita,” they both said.

Rafael stared at his mother’s name at the bottom of the list. She always spoiled the twins. He shook his head as he looked up at them. “This changes nothing. The answer is still no.”

The twins’ eyes hardened to a glare. “Esto es guerra, Papi,” they told him before walking out of the bedroom.

Nic looked down at her husband in amusement. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve started.”

He scoffed. “They’re nine, and there’s two of them. How much trouble can they be?”

She patted his shoulder. “They’re also your daughters.” She walked back into the bathroom as Rafael looked back down at the petition.

The next morning was oddly quiet as Rafael and Nic woke up. Mariana and Freddie weren’t there to wake them up like usual, and for a moment Nic was worried they were sick. But neither were in their rooms, and as she went to check and see if the twins knew the whereabouts of their younger siblings, she realized they weren’t in their room either. With furrowed brows, they headed downstairs to the living room. It was there they saw the coffee table moved to the side and all four of their children sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

“What’s this?” Nic asked as she walked over to them.

“We’re exercising our right to protest,” Beth explained.

Her twin nodded in agreement. “We’re standing up against an oppressive authority.”

Rafael’s mouth fell open as his wife let out a laugh. “When I told you to use your rights I meant when you dealt with a dictator at school or the government, not me!”

“This is something that will benefit all of us,” Lina said, gesturing to Freddie and Mariana next to her. “And we’re not moving until you give in to our demands.”

“Viva la Revolución!” Freddie shouted.

“Viva la Revolución!” The twins and Mariana repeated.

Wide eyed Rafael looked at his wife, but Nic threw her hands up. “Hey, they’re protesting you, not me.” She bent down to look at her children, amusement evident on her face. “Would the revolution like to have breakfast down here?”

“Yes, please, Mami,” Beth replied, nodding.

Nic chuckled. “How about churro waffles?”

“With chocolate sauce!” Freddie requested excitedly.

“Coming right up.” Nic stood up and walked past her husband, patting his chest. “Good luck,” she whispered to him.

The kids sat there all day, opting to have all of their meals there. Rafael was surprised to find Freddie and Mariana so strong in their resolve, and it scared him for the years to come. Already the kids were proving to be a force to be reckoned with. Even when dinner arrived they didn’t budge.

“Alright, this has gone on all day. Come to the table and have dinner,” Rafael told them, arms folded. They didn’t move, Lina and Beth glaring up at him with determination in their eyes. “If you come to the table you can have ice cream after dinner,” he bribed.

Mariana and Freddie looked at each other then to the twins. “I want ice cream,” Mariana whispered.

“Stay strong,” Lina told them.

“Qué haría Dora?” Beth asked her little sister.

A look of intensity came over Mariana at the mention of her animated hero. “Mantener mi posición.”

The siblings nodded at each other before looking up at their dad.

“Comemos aquí abajo,” Beth replied to him.

He sighed heavily, marching into the kitchen where his wife was plating dinner. “Not even ice cream will get them up. What the hell do we do?”

“Give in?” Nic suggested, looking at him. “They’re stubborn like you are. I doubt they’ll move any time soon. And what harm would a tv do? We could always put a parental lock on it.”

“When the twins were born we agreed that any children we have would be allowed to have a tv once they were in middle school,” he reminded her.

“That was before they inherited your stubbornness.” She pointed the spatula at him. “Face it, Rafa. The kids have you beat.”

“Us. We’re supposed to be holding a united front.”

“For things like curfew and dating. In the grand scheme of things a tv is so… trivial.”

After dinner ended they still wouldn’t move. Rafael was close to admitting defeat, and he still wasn’t sure if he was scared or proud of his children.

“You know what? You talk some sense into them since they’re so much like me,” he told Nic. “I’m taking a shower.” He headed up the stairs.

“Have you gotten them up yet?” he asked as he walked down the stairs. He looked over to the couch and his mouth dropped open. Nic was sitting with them now. “What happened?” Rafael walked over to them.

“They really are very persuasive,” Nic told him as she sat beside Beth. “And honestly, I always wanted a tv in my room growing up. I think we should get them the tv.”

He gaped at her for a long moment, all four of the kids waiting for a reply from him. “You win.” he threw his hands up before putting them on his hips. “Me rindo. We’ll get you a tv in your room, but you’ll have to wait for your birthday.”

“Deal,” the twins agreed.

“Does this mean we can leave?” Freddie asked.

“Yep,” Beth told him.

“I have to pee!” Mariana yelled, getting up and running to the bathroom on that floor.

“Me too!” Freddie exclaimed, following his sister’s lead but heading to the second floor bathroom.

“I’ll use Freddie’s bathroom!” Lina said as she and Beth jumped up also to use the bathroom.

“We can shake on it after we get back!” Beth yelled as they ran up the stairs.

Nic and Rafael laughed, shaking their heads at their children. He walked over to where she sat on the floor and dropped next to her.

“Those kids are going to rule the world one day,” he joked, resting his head against hers.

She bumped his knee with hers. “And whose fault is that?”

“Ours,” he kissed her cheek, “for making such smart kids.”

Tag list: @hyperionshipping @the-dark-fae-and-her-fos

[ask-epilogue-billjosh]

He-lllo, everybody! Let me tell you about Homestuck...

John Egbert, Rose Lalonde Ascend, descend, rise up, abscond Jade Harley, Dave Strider They all play Sburb and end the world Harlequin Nanna, Bro Mom, Dad Youth roll Grandpa, Pesterchum Hella Jeff and Sweet Bro

Heat and clockwork, wind and shade Frost and frogs, light and rain Vagabond and Mendicant Renegade, consorts and Denizens Skaia, four-thirteen Countdown to the Reckoning Derse and Prospit Carapaces Pogo Hammer, Sassacre

You can't fight the Home-stuck Though it's weird and random It's the greatest fandom You can't fight the Home-stuck True, it's quite outrageous But it's all contagious

Jasper's secret, Davesprite Casey, Mutie, doomed timelines Good dog, best friend Jack causes many people's ends Black Queen, nak nak Stuffing corpses, shoosh pap Robot bunnies, Midnight Crew H3Y COOLK1D, 1S TH1S YOU?

Lil' Cal, babies Ecto-biology Apple juice, Pupa Pan Nic Cage, Cit-y of Cans Doc Scratch, Snowman I warned you 'bout those stairs, man God Tiers, March drag Who even is this douchebag?

You can't fight the Home-stuck Though it's weird and random It's the greatest fandom You can't fight the Home-stuck True, it's quite outrageous But it's all contagious

Exploring with A-ra-di-a Tavros, Sollux, Nep-e-ta Ter-e-zi's nuts, Karkat's a crab Gam-zee's got issues with his dad Equius, Fe-fe-ri Kanaya the vampire fashion queen She slices Eri-dan in half And Vriska is a bad-ass

Shipping charts, sick fires All the irons in the fire Buckets, squiddles, an-gels All the lusii get culled Faygo, recupercoons Horrorterrors kill you Troll Jegus, killer clowns Mobius double reach around

You can't fight the Home-stuck Though it's weird and random It's the greatest fandom You can't fight the Home-stuck True, it's quite outrageous But it's all contagious

Matesprits, auspistice Moirail and kismesis Betty Crocker, ICP Dead Daves are the enemy Green sun, Alpha-verse Jane, Roxy, Jake and Dirk uu, UU Princely tights Guy Fieri is the Antichrist

Captchalogue, modus And Strife Specibus Heir and Knight Witch and Seer Can't outrun what's already here

You can't fight the Home-stuck Though it's weird and random It's the greatest fandom You can't fight the Home-stuck True, it's quite outrageous But it's all contagious

Dreambubbles, shenanigans All who die come back again Tick, tock, break heads Honk honk Scary wolf heads Cue balls, magic dogs The universe Is a frog

Felt mob and fairies Lord Eng-lish killed Huss-ie Troll cops, Thresh Prince Don't screw with the Condesce Scalemates, rap wars Blowing up the Tumor Zillyhoo, shaving cream Echeladder, science beam Cascade, Morse code This fandom's about to EXPLODE

You can't fight the Home-stuck Though it's weird and random It's the greatest fandom You can't fight the Home-stuck And from now on It will go on And on And on And on And on And on And on And on And on And on You can't fight the Home-stuck Though it's weird and random It's the greatest fandom You can't fight the Home-stuck True, it's quite outrageous But it's all contagious

You can't fight the Home-stuck Though it's weird and random It's the greatest fandom You can't fight the Home-stuck True, it's quite outrageous But it's all contagious

: I read all of that and I still understood nothing, get a better interest, I don't even know how someone could like this!

[bettsfic]

Betts,

Would you be comfortable in showing us what your messy first drafts look like? Not for a whole story but maybe an excerpt and noting how it changed in revisions. I’ve been looking for first drafts by writers and either found they look almost identical to finish printed version or I can’t find them at all.

i can show you what a messy first draft looks like but i don't think it'll be very illuminating. for me, the down draft is mostly about developmental work. i'll write ten scenes and the final draft will be chunks from six of them. so on a small scale it looks like i don't do much editing, but big picture i write over twice as much as i end up keeping, and what i keep has usually been completely rewritten. so if i do a side by side comparison of a scene, what you're not seeing is the stuff that didn't make the cut, or all the ways i wrote in the wrong direction for a long time, or the hours of research i had to do for a single detail (an example of which you'll see below).

i wrote an issue of my newsletter about my drafting process, so that might be more helpful. i also answered an ask recently about ways to develop a scene if you're stuck.

unfortunately i don't have the brainwidth to do all the research here, but the new yorker published an early draft of raymond carver's "what we talk about when we talk about love" which as originally called "beginners," and somewhere there's a detailed comparison of the two and the changes his editor, gordon lish, made.

but! you asked to see a draft comparison. so here's a draft comparison.

so this got a little crazy and i ended up making a gdoc for scene 2 so you could see them together. see link at the bottom. conclusion: comparing drafts is very hard and i don't think this probably helps at all but i tried.

"final" draft

these are the first two scenes of a short story i wrote called The Group W Bench. we begin in 1970 and then move into present day-ish. i've bolded the small things that were actually big things, and i'll explain why they were big things at the end.

"final" is in quotes because there is a different final draft of this story that goes in a completely different book.

scene 1: past

They didn’t hand out 4-Fs in St. Louis. Supposedly it was the worst draft office in the country. I didn’t know anyone who’d gotten out of it, but in my hometown they didn’t seem to want to. Most everyone was proud and eager to get shipped off.

My number was 66 and it’d been pulled just after I turned nineteen. On the bus to the induction center, I tried to come up with a plan. My only options seemed to be mutilating myself or flat-out running. I was too much of a coward for the former and I couldn’t wrap my head around the latter. There were only a dozen of us on the bus and I had my whole seat to myself. Out the window, cornfields blurred past; it was August and the stalks were head-high. I tried to imagine myself out in the jungle holding an M16, but I couldn’t. I’d graduated high school with a C-average, only kissed one girl one time, was raised by parents who’d had no parents of their own. My mother grew up in an orphanage. My father rode the rails. They fucked up my brother Tommy, did a little better with Wyatt, but by the time I came along, they’d given up. Sometimes I felt feral, raised by wolves.

Across the aisle, a guy was playing the harmonica. He had shaggy black hair and stubble around his jaw, big nose bent at the bridge. He caught me staring at him and I looked away quickly. He crossed the aisle and sat beside me. 

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” he said.

He didn’t sound like he was from Missouri. He sounded like an actor on TV, all hard Rs and round vowels. I didn’t respond to him. For all I knew he was a plant, some kind of spy trained to sniff out potential defectors.

He ran his thumb over the shiny surface of the harmonica. The movement reflected the sun into my eyes. “Buddy of mine got his arm blown off.”

“My brother died,” I told him. I’d been the one to answer the door that day. I was only sixteen and the boy who delivered the telegram couldn’t have been much older. He handed it over, touched the brim of his hat, and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

There were no remains. Nothing to bury. Just a bit of yellow cardstock telling me Tommy was dead.

“Sorry to hear that, man.” He held out his hand. “Jack Ward.”

I shook it. “Birdie Mills.”

Jack smiled, a deep dimple carved into each cheek. “Hell of a name, Birdie Mills. Where you from?”

“Here. Couple hours north.”

“California. Riverside.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Just got out of film school. Can’t get student deferment anymore. So I started bouncing around, you know, changing my address. They finally pinned me down.”

I hadn’t thought of that, transferring draft centers, delaying as long as possible hoping the war would finally end. It was a relief to meet someone as reluctant to go as I was. I felt crazy sometimes, surrounded by men who wanted nothing more than to die for their country. I couldn’t imagine loving anything so much I’d be willing to give my life for it.

“You have a plan?” I asked.

“Nope.” We turned into the induction center lot. “I’m gonna wing it.”

early draft

according to my document, i wrote this on november 8, 2022, so almost exactly a year ago. at that time, this was one chapter of a novel that had alternating POVs in third person. i had about 90k of this novel written. which turned into a short story. which turned into a different novel.

scene 1

Birdie’s number was 257 and it was pulled shortly after he turned nineteen. His draft office was in St. Louis, notoriously one of the worst in the country. There were no 4-Fs in St. Louis. He didn’t know a single man who’d gotten out of it, but then again, they didn’t want to. Most everyone in his town was eager and proud to get shipped off. 

On the bus to the induction center, he tried to come up with a plan, but nothing came to him. Out the window, cornfields blurred past; it was August and the stalks were head-high. He tried to imagine himself out in the jungle holding an M16, but he was just a coward from Missouri who graduated high school with a C-average, who had only kissed one girl one time, who was raised by parents who’d had no parents of their own. His mother grew up in an orphanage. His father rode the rails. They fucked up Tommy, did a little better with Wyatt, but by the time Birdie came along, they’d given up. Sometimes he felt feral, raised by wolves.

Across the aisle, a guy was playing the harmonica. Birdie couldn’t pull his eyes away from him. He had shaggy black hair and stubble around his jaw, big nose bent at the bridge. He caught Birdie staring at him and kept his gaze, some recognition in his eyes, and a moment later he was slotting the harmonica into his jacket pocket and coming to sit next to Birdie.

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” the guy said.

Birdie didn’t say anything. For all he knew, the man could be some kind of spy trying to sniff out defectors. 

“Buddy of mine got his arm shot off.”

“My brother died,” Birdie admitted.

“Sorry to hear that, man.” He held out his hand. “Jack Ward.”

Birdie shook it. “Birdie Mills.”

Jack smiled, a deep dimple carved into each cheek. “Quite a name, Birdie Mills. Where you from?”

“Here,” Birdie said. “Couple hours north.”

“California. Riverside,” Jack offered. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Just got out of film school. Can’t get student deferment anymore. So I started bouncing around, you know, changing my address. They finally pinned me down.”

Birdie hadn’t thought of that, transferring draft centers, delaying as long as possible hoping the war would finally end. It was a relief to meet someone as reluctant to go as he was. He felt crazy sometimes, surrounded by men who wanted nothing more than to die for their country. 

“You have a plan?” Birdie asked.

“Nope,” Jack said, pulling his harmonica back out. They were turning into the induction center lot. “I’m gonna wing it.”

changes and why i made them

lotto number 257 was pulled in 1970 but only numbers under 125 were drafted. it took an entire afternoon to figure out how the selective service lotto even worked.

turning this into a short story, the sentence "They didn’t hand out 4-Fs in St. Louis" was a stronger opening.

as a chapter in a book, at this point the reader is familiar with birdie and knows him only as a scoundrel-type character seen from the perspective of his son who despises him, and his daughter who reveres him. so in the old version, it was satisfying (or intended to be) to get to his POV and see him from his own perspective. as a short story, i tried to organize the opening in such a way that you get grounded pretty quickly and see birdie as a scared kid before you get to the scoundrel days (see below).

the brief "my brother died" flashback was the first part i wrote in his POV, and that was back when the structure of the narrative was a series of short, titled vignettes. so on one hand i was glad i got to keep it but sad i had to shoehorn it into a different scene instead of allowing it to open the piece.

the novel was written in third person but when i tackled it as a short story i decided to change it to first person because i like first person better, and birdie is a very fun narrator.

the "I couldn't imagine..." sentence was added in the short story version because in the present timeline, birdie's about to get shot to save his daughter while they're robbing a bank together. so in one sentence, i managed to condense an arc that before took a VERY long time to establish.

this got kind of out of hand. i tried to do the same thing with scene 2 but it was hard in the text window so i did it side by side in a google document. if you want, you can add comments asking why i did certain things and i'll answer you there. i'm sure i missed stuff.

sorry if this isn't helpful!

[maybxlle]

hi may! do you have any book recs? I'll read anything!

ACK I HAVE A LOT BUT I DONT KNOW WHAT YOU LIKE AND WHAT YOUVE REAF

caraval by stephanie garber (sia’s reading it rn if you wanna know more about it)

umm the lunar chronicles by marrissa meyer. it’s a fractured fairy tale of cinderella, red riding hood, rapunzel, and snow white. it starts off with cinder, who is a cyborg when she meets prince kai, the son of the emperor

good lord um, cursed by lish mcbride. i don’t remember much, but i remember it was pretty cute. you probably have to search this one up i’m so sorry

check the trigger warnings but the thousandth floor by katharine mcgee. it’s okay but im blanking and checking my goodreads rn

HEARTLESS BY MARRISSA MEYER if anyone asks me what my favorite book is i say this mostly because i don’t really have a favorite but this is so good. basically it’s the backstory of the queen of hearts

that was a lot, i hope you find one you like!

[zoppzoop]

guess who woke up and wont be able to sleep again :)

Okay it's 3 am and thus it's eepy time. I'm gonna wake up early tomorrow and try to fix my sleep schedule!!!!

[alarrytale]

Hi Marte! I had a realization from reading your blog and have you to thank for it. Like a lightbulb moment. I'm left leaning on the political scale but my family are right leaning but not far right. I wouldn't call them homophobic, in the sense that if I was to CO I know they'd be accepting, they treat lgbtq+ people they meet like everyone else. But there is something there, maybe heteronormative thinking. They're fine with lgbtq+ people as long as they're not 'in their face'. So they really dislike S*m Sm*th and think that what he is doing is wrong and that he has mental health issues. They would hate Lil N*s as well if they knew who he was. They think that HW is trying to force lgbtq+ people on everyone else, like Kr*sten St*wart. They hate B*llie E*lish and find her weird. But they're also big fans of Freddie and George. So maybe it's some kind of form of homophobia or really heteronormative thinking. Like they're okay with lgbtq+ people as long as they're not graphic, but they're fine for straight people to be. Have seen a lot of people share these same views. Reading your blog has helped me realize that we need lgbtq+ people 'forced' on audiences because it's the only way to normalize them. Having the odd mainstream queer movie or queer artist isn't going to achieve anything. We need lots of them because then people will get used to seeing them. People argue that lgbtq+ people are accepted but they're not really. They are more now than they were in the past but conservatives are still targeting them and trying to bring them down. It would be really nice to get to the stage where a lgbtq+ movie can be as successful as straight movies, or a gay artist can be as successful as a straight artist. We need more out public figures. The music industry seems even further behind than HW. There is no mainstream artists other than Troy? writing about same sex relationships, or not many are anyway. The music industry is so slow to catch up.

Hi, anon!

Yes, queer people are often more accepted, respected and honored by straight people if they assimilate and adapt to straight norms and culture, rather than immersing themself in queer culture. It's a bit of homophobia mixed with anti-feminism, but mostly a lot of xenophobia and prejudices that makes it so. Most men got short hair so when people see a man with long hair it's going to be foreign to them, and unless they're exposed to it often they're going to have a reaction to it everytime they see men with long hair. Same with purple hair, tattoos, painted nails or two men holding hands.

Everything foreign, or something that's diverging from what they consider normal, common, expected and predictable, or something they can't relate to, is going to feel scary. It will challenge their way of thinking and seeing the world, challenge the societal norms and what they know. It will also challenge their own prejudices.

If they've never met, worked with or had a queer friend or family member, being exposed to a queer person can be met with negative feelings. Queer people often break several of the straight norms, blur the lines of feminity and masculinity and deliberatly seek to oppose the conventional. If you're never been exposed to it and lived a sheltered life where everyone is assimilating and people are afraid to diverge from the norm, it's going to be a wake up call.

The only way to change people's prejudices and attitudes towards queer people is exposure. A bit at the time. Let queer people tell their stories in the mainstream sphere. Straight people need to be educated and their prejudices needs to be challenged. Let queer people show straight people that they're just as good parents as a straight people, even if the men wear dresses or the females wear cargo shorts. Put out queer people in postition of power to show straight people that they're just as capable and just as respected as everyone else. Show us queer heros and queer success stories. Make straight people see the value in diversity and the need for equal rights regardless of people's sexuality or gender identity. When people have a lesbian neighbour, a non-binary grocer, a transgender work colleague and a gay boss they will eventually stop seeing sexuality and start seeing the person. They will create relations with them, start respecting them and not think of them as different. It will be the new normal.

We need to train people to see past heteronormativity, we need them to understand that they must always ask for pronouns or address people as they/them when they don't know. We need people to stop assuming sexuality and gender. If they are asked for their preferred pronouns, and it's normalised, they will start asking others for theirs.

The more people who come out the more straight people will be exposed to queer people and queer culture. More people are coming out in the music industry, but it's slow going. Billie, Jojo Siwa, Troye, Frank Ocean, Tyler the Creator, Lil Nas X, Luke Hemmings, Halsey, Demi Lovato and Miley to name a few. H and L have both had queer support bands on their tour as well. There aren’t that many mainstream artists out yet. I do have hope that more mainstream artist will come out, or become mainstream when they're out. It needs to happen to normalise being queer. If queer people continue to hide in the shadows, they will not bee seen and remembered by straight people. This will take time, but it got to start somewhere.

[respectthepetty]

Since I decided the best way to make it through Our Skyy 2 with minimal damage is to drink my way through it, welcome to the fifth round of

CockTails in the Skyy!

GMMTV is taking the music club into the multiverse of cuteness, so this week's drink is For Goodness' Sake:

sake for Chinzhilla's hot pot adventure

more white wine for all the whining and pining the boys did

lemons, limes, oranges, grapes, and apple slices for the sweetness overload (I was going to comment about the variation of fruits, but I don't know the crowd's feelings on the word, so . . . *takes a big sip directly from the bottle*)

There will be a lot of singing. I fear sake was not the right choice. I did not think this through. I need something stronger like everclear, but it's too late now. *pushes the play button*

Bottoms up!

Glad to know that the gay sheets exist in every universe

And so does Scrabble-telling-the-plot

The colors being gray and brown so far better be a statement about how love brings color into our lives because these two were color-coded in the original, so if we can get The Gay Sheets™ and Scrabble in every universe, I want the colors in this one too!

That lion doll is the cutest merchandise, and I need it.

Oh, so Gun just gets the president position. Nepotism at its finest.

I know some people do not like the Our Skyy 2 theme song, but I LIVE FOR IT! It's Pitch Perfect but gayer.

Tinn's roar is adorable. Like a toddler, just looking cute and making cute sounds.

It's the first song, and it's barely the first part of the first episode. This is not looking good for me.

Damn! Tinn's mom did them like that?! Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas in more.

Does Tinn already like Gun?! He gave him the cape thingy in the gym and now the shaved ice.

ANOTHER SONG! Is there going to be a song each part of this. *doing mental calculation* Are there going to be eight songs?!

I like Tinn's wiggle when he is singing about squishing the bullfrog.

This is how I like my animation.

Another blowing-in-someone's-ear GIF for my collection.

"We'll get to date at the water park" - - Based on a true story via Pond and Phuwin's Little BIG World.

What am I supposed to do with these colors?! Does Tinn already like Gun?! TELL ME! He does, right?!

A song while dancing makes sense, but I'm upset. In my DJ Khaled voice "another one."

Mark looks delicious in this tux with his hair like that. De. Lish.

If SoundWin hadn't ruined my Star in My Mind SeanMaithee agenda, I would be thrilled about them now in this episode. But I'm petty, so I'm going to stay mad.

But I am happy for the TiwsonPor crew.

Another For Goodness' Sake because this is a lot of singing.

Why is this man coming with the logic of throwing out the sake instead of drinking it? WE DON'T WASTE LIQUOR IN THIS CLUB!

Kajorn likes Pat's accent?! Babe, that's so gay of you.

Damn it! I should've named the drink For Love's Sake.

Mark jogging in these sunglasses with those shorts and jacket = Delicious. I'm so excited to see him be a slut and film a sex tape in Only Friends. I pray he blackmails Neo's character with it. I deserve that treat.

I have never experienced such a tensive piggyback ride as the one being depicted on my screen right now. God, just make out already!

Por saying "get out" in English is feeding my soul because it sounds like me telling people to leave my office: "Get out. Okay. Bye!"

Tinn's shirt reads "Happier Times Are Coming" yet I don't believe it because there will be more singing.

This SoundWin umbrella scene is trying to win me over. It's almost working.

I think I forgot pivotal moments of the original series because I don't remember Gun asking Tinn directly during the questions if Tinn liked him, yet here, Tinn directly asks Gun. I like this!

Tiwson and Por talking as boyfriends is giving me everything I didn't think I needed.

How dare this installment make me think Tinn's mom was a sick when she was just asleep!

Giving SoundWin and TiwsonPor some of Tinn and Gun's moments is genius, like Sound not wanting this kiss to be in act with the red and blues, and Por disclosing he is already dating Tiw.

Tinn and Gun running around looking for each other is top-tier romance.

The moms stay doing the heavy lifting in this show. Which is why the dad, who never had a name, is MIA in this installment.

The boyfriend question!!!!! WITH THE FRIEND ZONE BARRIER!

MSP got that Lay's money too! We are rich, fam!

Why did I not think there would singing during the Aof tribute?! It's a music video, so of course there would be singing.

I feel this is GMMTV's way of thanking Aof for keeping the lights on and the fridge stacked these past years because this man is giving this company its life!

I don't need these dolls, but gosh darn it do I want them!

My School President should get a sequel called My Doctor Boyfriend, and they should meet Tan and Bun of Manner of Death (WHERE IS TRANSPLANT?!).

I have no idea what was happening with the colors, which bothers me (and there was singing in a show about singing), but the salute to some of Aof's greatest hits with Tinn and Gun being Med and Thun were an excellent choice. Because of that, I'm going to give this installment the score Vice Versa's could've had before it decided to LIE!

9/10 CockTails for being a solid offering that delivered the same story but with a few twists.

Because A Boss & A Babe just ended last week, getting an Our Skyy feature immediately after feels like it didn't end, and we are simply getting another episode, so I'll be watching (and judging) this in its normal Friday slot before I watch Be My Favorite, that way I'll be too tipsy to care how either of them turn out.

Will we finally get to know the backstory about Jack's previous relationship?

[redinkscrawl]

My 2024 TBR Shelf

Well, most of it anyway. (I have more books coming... Because I don't have enough to read already!) So what do I plan on reading this year?

Well, I'm just getting back into reading, to be honest, so I've challenged myself to read a book a month. So far, I'm ahead of the game; between taking this photo and making this post, I've finished The Monster Baru Cormorant, book 2 of The Masquerade by Seth Dickinson. (I'll have to write a review of these books when I'm done, they are FANTASTIC.)

After book 3, The Tyrant Baru Cormorant, I'll be put out while the next book is being written, so I'll be moving on to my husband's childhood fave, Hold Me Closer, Necromancer by Lish McBride.

After that, I plan on reading GRRM's Fire and Blood, at least up to the very start of the Dance of the Dragons, so that I'm prepared for House of the Dragon season 2.

After that, Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao, Madman Walking by L. F. Robertson, and Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder (not pictured... still on it's way!) will have my attention.

After that? Who knows... Le Guin, Asimov, Gaiman, White, Williams? I'm hoping to read some of the scifi/fantasy greats!

I plan on posting thoughts/reviews on each of these! I'm new to bookblr so please feel free to send me asks! I just want to talk about what I'm reading so bad lmao.

And as a bonus, here's the books I'll be reading for school this semester that have arrived so far...

I'm most excited for The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions by Larry Mitchell and Bright Dead Things by Ada Limon. Might talk about these, might not.

[abirdie]

Gael Garcia Bernal: The Dear Heart Of 'Diaries'

Article from the Washington Post, 25 September 2004 (x)

By Hank Stuever

Gael Garcia Bernal: the Mexican actor, who is so very right now and here in town for, you know, just a day -- the whole thing with the big hotel suite and the half-eaten plate of fruit and dos publicistas tappa-tapping en los BlackBerrys over there. (Mujeres! Silencio!) He's promoting his new Che Guevara movie, The Motorcycle Diaries, and everyone who has seen it is going on and on about how saintly his portrayal of young Ernesto Guevara de la Serna is and how sumptuously the movie's 8,000-mile trek across South America unfurls onscreen and oh, btw, critics agree: Bernal's got Che's iconic, serious stare down pretty good.

Green eyes, we write in the notebook. (Big duh.)

Also can testify that Bernal is about 5 feet 7, though it long ago ceased to be news that the hotties of film are pocket-size. More notes: He turns 26 in November. He has a proud, long nose that sometimes blushes red when he laughs. He's wearing one of those Salvation Army-seeming plaid western-cut shirts that often turn out to be designer-label, a pair of deep blue vintagesque jeans and some scuffed lace-up boots the color of old asphalt. His hair is cut bubblegum-mishap short.

Awright, already, he's de-lish. Did we need to bring that dogeared copy of 501 Spanish Verbs with us? Of course not: Dude went to drama school for a while in London when he was a teenager; not long after he starred for six months in a Mexican soap opera called El Abuelo y Yo (Grandfather and Me), and this particular fact has dogged him in every interview. ("People think I did all these soap operas," he shrugs. "I did only that one. And it taught me a lot — it taught me I never wanted to do another soap opera.") When it comes to Spanish, he can bend it to his will, the way Nicole Kidman can do in English, with whatever accent directors like Walter Salles and Pedro Almodovar need him to speak in — Mexican, Argentine, Castilian.

During our interview, he spends an hour dissecting, in English, the current state of Pan-American politics, extolling his sensible, leftist-tinged childhood, and at one point he quotes from foreign-policy magazines.

We hold up our end of the conversation with such questions as:

"So, um, like, what do you do when you're not working?"

"When I'm not doing this?" Bernal asks, motioning around at the movie-star-with-movie-to-sell air particles of feature story nonsense. "I like to do all the things I cannot do as much. My common days are very different now. I would, if I could, I would be home" — Cuernavaca, just south of Mexico City — "and I would sleep until whatever time. Swim, play futbol. Read and go to lunches and the lunches become dinners. Visit family, organize a party for that night."

Halfway through the image of Bernal swaddled in high-thread-count sheets until whatever time, a half-theory privately knocks around in our pea brain:

Gael Garcia Bernal, or someone very much like him, is exactly why so many of us faithful, independent-minded filmgoers still cram ourselves into the creaky seats of dumpy art house cinemas, even as the years tick by and things like Netflix, the Sundance Channel and the nicer stadium-seating art houses came along to replace them. No, you want to see Bernal's movie surrounded by drabness, because you get a better transport to the happy, imaginative place that way. The stale popcorn, the Fandango.com ads, the bathroom with only two toilets. (Cineplex Odeon Dupont Circle 5, we mean you.)

We do it because we're always waiting for that next small-time heartthrob — male, female, or sometimes just the foreign scenery itself. It's the subtitles and the eyes. It's whatever we can't get from those American goofballs who do those blech movies that tend to be about guys who go on canoe trips where a horny bear in the woods tries to hump them. Or whatever.

Bernal would never do that to us.

Hollywood beckons and he rolls his eyes because it offers him roles like, uh, okay, here's the pitch: He's an undocumented leaf-blower yardman caught up in a caper that only Jackie Chan can make right, if only they could understand each other's Engrish, ha ha.

"I'm open," he says. "I am, I am. But so far in the U.S. what they have offered doesn't even get close to the kind of things that excite me. Nothing is quite right, so I think I'll just stick with what I'm doing. I have to stay … hmmm … congruent to myself."

And so that's why certain filmgoers are inclined to sneak off to his "small little movies" (as he calls them) in the middle of the afternoon, get the large Diet Coke and consider the combustion in contemporary Spanish-language cinema that the rare actor like Bernal can harness. You feel like you've just gone somewhere, talked fast, smoked cigarettes. They call him the Marcello Mastroianni of Latino film when they're not busy calling him the Marlon Brando of it.

All that smoldering, the aching of youth! One, please, for the 2:50 showing of Y Tu Mama, Tambien. (That hormonal breakout hit, a coming-of-age road trip from 2001 starring Bernal and his childhood friend Diego Luna — people mix them up, still.) Or the 4:45 showing of Amores Perros (from 2000, translating as wordplay for "Love Is a Bitch," a chronologically scattered tale of how one car wreck in Mexico City changes three lives). Or the 3:10 showing of El Crimen del Padre Amaro, from 2002, about the sinful lapse of a young priest (Bernal, natch) caught up in a small-town mess of church corruption. Its release in Mexico naturally put hard-line Catholics there in a state of non compos mentis, which both baffled and delighted Bernal.

Some of his key appearances have been as himself. Fresh from Y Tu Mama, he and Luna graced the Oscar ceremony last year, cleaned up in their tuxes, to present a small award, and Hollywood swooned. He was seen dancing all night at parties at Cannes. For a while he dated Natalie Portman (well, that's what the tabs reported) and you almost can't stand the fleeting idea of how gorgeous their children would have been. (Cancel that. They broke up.)

His movies are always in exotic, crumbly locations, and we are there, because Bernal is there: the back roads of the Mexican interior, or ascending to Machu Picchu as a soul-searching Guevara or click-clacking around the cobblestone streets of Spanish villas in transvestite stilettos seeking revenge against priestly pedophilia at a boarding school, as he does expertly in Pedro Almodovar's next surrealistic offering, Bad Education, which will open this year in New York. (It's scheduled to open in Washington in January. Sorry, kids. Delayed for possible Oscar-sensitive reasons of timeliness, and to not get in the way of Diaries. He's one of those stars: Two big projects colliding in the art houses of the world.)

If Salles' Motorcycle Diaries, which opens Friday, doesn't make you feel like an earnest college sophomore with a crush on the Marxist professor who teaches your Latin American history class, then we don't know what will. Predating the muss and fuss of the Cuban revolution, the film is an epic, richly hued journey into the formative years of Che, back in 1952 when he was Ernesto Guevara de la Serna, an Argentinean med student in his early twenties.

Ernesto takes a year off school to travel on a 1939 Norton 500 motorcycle with his best pal, Alberto Granado (played by Rodrigo de la Serna), across and up the South American continent.

Guevara, a devoted diarist as a young man, took notes about the people and places he saw, and the gulf between rich and poor (it helps to open his eyes when his rich girlfriend dumps him). The further Guevara and Granado go, the more Che becomes Che, seeing native people and their lives transcending the bourgeois notions of government and ownership and greed. By the time Che's working with lepers in the Amazon, Salles' movie (and Bernal) have reached a subtly beatific realm. In case you're not quite feeling it, Salles ups the noble-people quotient with black-and-white still portraits of the working-class people the young men encounter along the way.

"We prepared for four months," Bernal says of the research phase, and the crew shot the film more or less chronologically, following Guevara and Granado's original itinerary. "I read 1,001 books about the land and biographies [of Guevara]. We traveled. We practiced on the motorcycle three times a week. We asked permission from the gods, and also the local political and cultural centers…. When finally we started shooting, I wondered if we were prepared enough for this daunting task. We got on the bike and the road started to appear and things started to happen the right way, without you even noticing."

Bernal was born in Guadalajara and raised in Mexico City. Both his parents are stage actors. He has been thinking about Che Guevara for half his life — and even played the revolutionary in a two-part miniseries on Showtime about Fidel Castro, which he would appreciate it if everyone forgot. It goes back, for him, like most kids, to middle-school social studies class.

"It happens when you are about 12 or 13," he says. "When you grow up in Mexico you have a very strong connection to Cuba. As a kid you listen to this story, it's incredibly, incredibly exciting to hear. [The revolutionaries] changed Latin America forever and they changed the world. So you start early, identifying with where [Guevara] comes from, and identifying with his ideas in a way, and identifying with the struggle, and therefore you're able to agree with it or criticize it. Leftist ideas redefine themselves constantly. I think my generation is much more critical of what works in Latin American socialist movements and what didn't. There used to be a stigma that any leftist revolution had to come with violence. I don't think we believe that anymore," he says, mentioning Zapatistas in jungles who carry wood carvings of rifles instead of actual guns, just for the symbolism.

You think this sounds a little pinko coming from the mouth of a movie star? Well, you try embodying Che Guevara and see what you feel like talking about when it's over. When Bernal speaks of politics and the world, it's not with fire. He leans back. He almost whispers. It's seductive, in a way.

Early in the shooting, Alberto Granado, now 82, was visiting the set, Bernal says. And he offered this advice to the actor: "He told me, don't try to copy Ernesto's voice, or his mannerisms. He said, 'Use your own voice. All Ernesto was was a 23-year-old Latin American like you. Traveling around. Seeing things.' And I realized that what the movie needs is that universal experience. Granado was right. I have a right as does any person to tell the story of Che."

When it was over, months later, having lost weight to play the asthmatic Guevara as the trip takes its toll, Bernal found himself still wanting to travel.

When the film was finished, "I felt serenely confused, like in a serene state of almost understanding something bigger, and then not quite understanding it. All the time I felt like that," he says. "It redefined my priorities. I have moments where I understand what has happened to me, and then moments where I don't. I wanted to just get back on the road and travel to anywhere." (He sort of does that now, subletting apartments in New York and London, spending four months in Spain working with Almodovar on Bad Education, spending a little time back home in Mexico. He recently spent a month in Austin, shooting an independent film called The King in which he plays a character named Elvis — "the bastard child of an evangelist preacher," he says.)

He says he can't believe how hamstrung American actors arewhen it comes to saying anything political. He wonders if the United States has forgotten how to hold a real election, with real debates. He shows up in gossip columns lamenting the lumbering, impervious quality of American imperialism.

"The U.S. is a great nation that's becoming a war machine. But it is a great people, which can save it," he says. "Some of us fall into traps where we can't say what we think. But it shouldn't be this way. Actors are free. That's the nature of being an actor, to do anything you want to do, to say anything. It's why we're here. And if I were an American, I could be pigeonholed for what I just said."

He'd go on, but our lecture has to end here, for it is time to throw us out and escort in another reporter. It happens to be a student journalist from American University, and she seems excited to meet the Mexican Marcello Mastroianni, but trying to keep it all in check, remain cool.

She shakes his hand, ready and willing for her revolutionary inculcation in the hotel suite of Gael Garcia Bernal. She's exactly the age where a young woman's thoughts turn to putting that Che poster on the wall, and we envy her.

[ma1eficar]

Okay so I'm still just thinkin about the latest S*las discourse. it's not really that serious to like or dislike a fictional character, but this line of thinking does have harmful real world implications especially when we know Bioware took inspiration from real life peoples for their fiction.

I just wanna get these thoughts off my chest, so I'm censoring words to hopefully keep it out of main tags but I do apologize if I forget something and it ends up in those main tags anyway

So anyway there's a pretty significant difference between criticizing a society, and acting like that society's flaws are somehow inherent to the type of people they are.

Like yes the colonizing and totalitarian nature of a government based on the Q*n is bad. But the thing that S*las (and some fans apparently??) is wrong and fucked up about is that he acts like the things that are bad about the Q*n are like, inherent to q*nari. Remember he says some fucked up stuff to Ad*ar, despite the fact that in cannon Ad*ar has never lived under the Q*n. Why would he do that if he didn't have bias against the q*nari themselves as a group of people?

It speaks to the biggest flaw I think S*las has as a character, which is that he dehumanizes (for a lack of a better term in this context) entire groups of people.

He basically dehumanizes everyone who isn't an ancient elf on some level, which is why he's so willing to go forward with a plan that would apparently result in mass death if carried out successfully.

It's why he's so bitter about the D*lish and S*ra, because he sees them a shadow of ancient elves, and not people deserving of respect and consideration in their own right

It's why he's a dick to Ad*ar despite cannon Ad*ar not being a follower of the Q*n

And it's why he says that line about everyone in the world being like Tranquil as a way of justifying his plans, because he dehumanizes the Tranquil and does not see them as worthy of saving

This flaw of his is also a big part of why he's so lonely and depressed, because he sees himself as standing alone above every living person. Even and perhaps especially L*vellan.

This flaw was deliberately written into his character and it's why he was being set up to be an antagonist and (in my opinion) will still end up being an antagonist later in the game. It's supported by his actions and words in the text.

And despite this pretty terrible flaw, it's perfectly fine to still love the character, because he is indeed a fictional character. I like the character just fine myself, although he does make me (clenching teeth emoji) sometimes

Pretending that the actual cannon S*las isn't really shitty about people sometimes is doing a disservice to the character. It's reducing him to a flat and idealized version of what he was intended to be

And, much more importantly, it's ignoring the reasons why nonwhite fans and disabled fans might be uncomfortable with or even hate the character, because dehumanization does happen in real life and it has horrific outcomes. It's not a personal attack on S*las fans to point that out. But on the other side, it actually is talking over marginalized fans to pretend like his actions and words aren't fucked up.