#literally spent five minutes looking up flowers for that one bit of dialogue

[baskeigh-ball]

mission accomplished. now all that's left is to see where this goes >:)

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[rayj-drash]

Berlin Sketches pt 1

by T. Frank

My grandmother cannot fathom entering Germany. She was a child of the Great Depression and lived through the war safely from the Catskill Mountains of New York while her husband fixed radios on home turf. However, Germany represents a taboo in history for my grandparents as Jews. They would no sooner visit the Brandenberg Gate than they would try scuba diving without an oxygen tank.

 I constantly reflect on the trusted feeling of Home since I lived in Berlin for six weeks in fall of 2018. Previously, the longest trip I took was a ten-day tour of Israel through the organization Birthright: from the peak of a mountain overlooking three desert countries, to the crowded rush of the Jerusalem shuk, and my aversion to a display of American-Israeli nationalism on a military campus. The scenes and feelings form a whirlwind of hazy memories, much like any experience on new land. 

A few days after I arrived back in the Bay Area, I sat in Strawberry Creek Park watching the sun go down and the light blue sky grow faint as night approached, seeking those moments of "awe" that came so suddenly in Berlin. This bright green park reminded me of the open recreational space I loved over there, even though the grass was literally greener on this side of the pond!  I distinctly remember the moment when I scarcely had to look up at the street signs and felt like whichever path I took, I would find my way. Nevertheless, five months ago, I had sent in an application for an unusual art residency, an immersion into the study of grief. I reflected on those periods of my life that had led to some of my deepest creations. Drawings of cancer cells and lungs, struggles to breathe and heal in the midst of choking emotion, flowers and vines winding through the dark themes. I yearned to express my observations of the world through whatever moved me, again.

~~~~~

The journey to Berlin was a three-legged trip with two layovers, leaving Friday evening and arriving at 10:00PM on Saturday. A huge, crowded economy flight, cheap and minimal. I tried to rest as the crew turned off all lights on board. No sooner did I close my eyes than it seemed like the sun was creeping over the horizon, and we touched down to a windy, barren tarmac. It was 9:00AM, as all the passengers disembarked in Reykjavik, Iceland, we felt the chill burrowing through our thin layers and shivered.

On the second leg, as the plane glided to the lowlands, I appreciated the bucolic farmland. I was alone in the Copenhagen airport. The crowds in Reykjavik were more diverse, like a burgeoning metropolis.  By contrast, everyone arriving in this Danish terminal looked alike: tall, blond, and, permit me, Aryan. They traveled in clusters of family groups, chatting, gesturing, smiling. I dragged my suitcase past designer boutiques to a desolate, unfinished terminal, where passengers awaited their flights without customary notice; but learned to say, Takk, Danish for "Thank you". When I finally reached Germany, I connected to the U-bahn, the underground subway. The ride was over an hour long, and I gazed at the subterranean signage, lost once more. Until I arrived at Rathaus Neukölln, and my new roommate Shimon met me outside in the rain.

The next day, I left the mattress that our hostess Amelia had set up on the floor, staggering about with jet lag. Luckily there's oatmeal, my favorite companion. Shimon and his friend Devorah from Tel Aviv are home. We discuss the neighborhood. ‘What if I get terribly lost, not only physically, but mentally, too?’ I thought. ‘Is this a dream? Why am I so far from anyplace I know?’ Devorah suggested a walk to the canal, with a Sunday flea market. Late afternoon, I ventured outdoors and discovered a slice of paradise.

At the end of the block, a large mosaic mural adorned a staircase which I took to have the impression of a rooftop. A large concrete lot surrounded a beautiful community garden. Raised flower beds were home to a bounty of colorful flowers, tall green vegetables grew under the sunshine and painted poles flanked handmade structures. I spotted a concrete ping-pong table, and mustered up the courage to join two men playing. One of them wore a baseball cap with "Cal" emblazoned in blue and yellow; by chance, he attended law school at UC Berkeley, and lived several blocks away from me! After a few rounds of ping-pong, the Germans drank beer and suggested that I check out a nearby landmark before sunset.

Cheered, I walked along and found an "I Love SF" sweatshirt at a pop-up flea market. More surprises awaited. I heard music, and pushed aside brambles to emerge in Hasenheide Park, where a large circle of guitarists and drummers jammed for casual onlookers. I saw an ornate mosque with blue and gold trim, a wide courtyard, and an outdoor faucet for washing hands or drinking cool, crisp water. Next door was Tempelhof Field. A former airport utilized during World War Two to fly-in supplies from the West, the unused tarmac was reinvented as an open recreational wonderland. I entered the gates and was met with flocks of activity: bicyclists, joggers, even a pair doing synchronized roller-skating. Dry, dull grass covered the fields, but a victory garden shined under the setting sun, and the barista of an on-site cafe recommended finding a good perch. 

I joined two boys from Afghanistan, Hasan and Muhamed, watching the sky from tall ladder-seats. Muhamed and I grinned, struggling to hold a conversation between the lack of a common language. Google helped, but broken English got us farther. "Do you know there are still American police in my country?,” he exclaimed. My conscience bristling, I say that most people do not speak of the Afghan-American war anymore. The sun set in deep purple and vivid pink hues. Hasan saw my eyes light up at the sight of his bicycle, and offered me a ride--so, I sat sideways on the frame, clutching his black leather jacket, and answering "Ya" when asked, "Alles Gut?"until I grimaced from discomfort and Hasan laughed--"Kaput!" The two friends saw me off at a bus stop, and I stumbled on board as the passengers stared.

~~~~~

The following Monday, I walked twenty minutes from the apartment to arrive in front of a white-painted gallery, and no one around. Feeling nervous that the entire program was a hoax (just like my parents thought when they read the acceptance letter from the dubious-sounding organization),  I noticed a middle-aged man at a computer in the corner. I knocked on the window, and he let me inside. Here was a room devoid of decoration, save for a long rectangular table and six chairs, three of which were filled by women. Soon, another man entered the room and offered tea, introducing himself as our "mentor". We never referred to him by any name other than his own, even when I suggested “Alek”. He's over six feet tall, shaved head, and wore all black from his long-sleeved turtleneck to his sturdy dress shoes.

The participants introduced themselves. Sarah researched environmental grief, such as the devastation left behind from man-made disasters. Gwen studied grief theories in graduate school. Jasmine hoped to connect to refugees of war. And Sara--no error, there are two--prepared to make an installation honoring a departed friend. Linda would join us the following afternoon and plunge into an exploration of feeling othered through found objects. After we went over studio policies, we shared a bit on why we study grief, bringing several girls to tears. It felt like a group therapy session--and it wouldn't be the last. 

~~~~~

Dear Talya, Gone to synagogue. It's a short walk from the canal. I forget the street name-'Pflug'-something. Come join me for Yom Kippur services. Love, Devorah. Without consulting a map, I asked for directions from three different shopkeepers to find the synagogue. Luckily, they understood English and didn’t express unsavory reactions to my Jewish-ness. Once I found the path parallel to the Canal, the temple came into view: a large building curving around a tranquil block, with stained glass windows and a grand façade. Security officers were stationed outside, and I was screened before entering. "Are you Jewish?" they ask.. "Yes." Unmoved, they question, "Do you pray?" 

In August, I went to Washington, DC for my cousin’s wedding. Her family and friends are modern orthodox, or, religious. The day before the wedding, we were in shul for Shabbat services. During the long morning prayers, I read the English version of the Torah portion. The text alluded to the treatment of rape by virtue of marriage or the punishment of execution. By coincidence, this was the same chapter I studied for my Bat Mitzvah twelve years ago, but I must have been too young to grasp such explicit content. I left the room and spent the rest of services out in the hallway, tending to the potted plants as a distraction. 

Did I pray? Not willfully on that day in the synagogue. Internally, yes, throughout my life: the inner dialogue between my spirit and the spirit of a G-d. But in practice, only with family over Shabbat blessings. So I answered, "No. But my Israeli friend is in there, can I go in?" 

Yom Kippur services were surprisingly welcoming in Germany. Although the congregation was divided amongst the men and women, the dress code was more relaxed (jeans, white t-shirts), and several of the men held babies on their shoulders as the rabbi sang in Hebrew. I found Devorah and stood beside her. I recognized the somber prayer, "Avinu Malkeinu", and it felt no different than my family's congregation. The prayer books here were German on one side, and Hebrew on the other.

 After the ceremony, we passed by plenty of people enjoying the balmy weather at dusk. Devorah was reminded of holidays in her country, riding her bike freely while everyone took time off to relax. Shimon met us to break the fast with noodle phơ. I was lucky to connect with "my people", thousands of miles away from home. As a child, I remember feeling like my relatives’ religious differences divided us. However, my cultural upbringing is something I've retained and appreciate. Joining Israelis in Germany for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, was akin to sharing a secret amongst friends.

~~~~~

  As the weeks went by, I developed a habit of visiting the community garden, mornings before heading to the studio and nights on my way home. One weekend, I felt antsy as I read a book called The Truth Will Set You Free by Alice Miller. There was a campfire at the garden as they observed summer changing to chilly Autumn. I surveyed the party scene before resting into a corner of a homemade wooden bench under the dim glow from industrial lights around the lot.  Although the setting was not condusive to reading, I was shy to join the group. But, when I repositioned myself next to the fire, it was apparent that these young, hip, multinational guests preferred to speak in English. Rosa asked what I’m doing in Berlin. When I told her I’m studying grief, her voice got excited and she invited her friends into the conversation.

Annika was vivacious and full of life. I noticed her wisps of fuzzy blonde hair, bright in the glow of the fire. She was working on a memoir, and was also the subject of a photoshoot documenting her journey with cancer. As she spoke, I folded a paper crane and gave it to her, provoking a sense of delight. My idea for the residency then was to make a handmade book for participants to share their experiences of grief, and to make origami together. Annika agreed to be interviewed the following week.

~~~~~

I took the S-bahn, the above-ground trolley, several miles northwest where the buildings  are close to the city center. Annika told her story: how, at age 26, she discovered the cancer in her breast and rushed into several months of intensive treatment including antibody therapy, anti-hormone medicine, and chemotherapy. She ultimately received a double mastectomy and chose breast implants. For a month after surgery, Annika couldn't lift her arms over her head. It was painful, but her energy was focused on how to function normally again. Now, she was in recovery, undergoing radiation and daily physical therapy. She wholeheartedly embraced her body, and I felt a mixture of awe and love for her resilience and positive attitude.

I encouraged Annika to leave her mark in a communal scrapbook of stories. She drew a breast in pastel colors with words circling the nipple, such as "soft"-, "round"-, "hope"-, and "loss".- After I left the apartment, I boarded the train and closed my eyes. In the dark, I envisioned a bare, cream-colored orb, shiny and wet, like a peeled lychee fruit. Perhaps, I reasoned, this represented Annika's true self.

Back in the studio, I was at a loss to contribute during our group discussion. I almost broke down, overcome with emotions that arose from the interview. So I took a break from the sterile white walls, and sat under the chestnut tree in the courtyard. I picked up a spiny shell, cracked it open to reveal a creamy-brown belly. I wrote a meditation on the seed of the tree. I reflected on impermanence, on patience, on Annika taking her time to heal yet reveling in every healthy moment. I like taking my time.

"Hey Aleksander," I remarked in the midst of studio time, "Since the interview with Annika, I’ve been feeling down.” My mentor was sitting at a desk, drinking tea and writing in one of his many small notebooks. "Do you feel your own grief surface?," he replied. "No, more like I put myself in her shoes, and feel compassion." He advised, "Keep a journal--one just for yourself, your thoughts and daily experiences. And one for your work in the residency; write down everything you're thinking. It'll help, trust me."

----- Talia Frank lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. She contributes to the Donut Club, an East Bay writer’s group. Visiting Berlin in 2018 inspired a love of community gardens and allowed her to re-examine Judiasm within a global context.

Reach the author: tfrank@cca.edu 

Visual art: www.cargocollective.com/taliafrank

Blog: https://wanderlustblumen.wordpress.com

[ilovemygaydad]

18 ON THE DIALOGUE PROMPTS SORRY I FORGOT TO SPECIFY

it’s cool lol. I used two of the 18s because... it fit idk.

Title: Captive Heart

Prompts: “What’s that? Why is the sky like that?” “What? Have you never seen a sunset before?”; “Please answer me.”

Pairings: Prinxiety (well... it’s kind of more platonic/pre but it’s still cute okay)

Warnings: death mentions, gun mentions, mass shootings, prisons, dystopian societies, executions mentioned, physical fights, being mean to others, mentions of wounds, amputations, prosthetics, a metric ton of swearing, panic attacks, anxiety, IVs, hospitals, and i think that’s it but... there’s a lot of shit that goes down

a/n: this got.... very long........

**don’t rip out ivs it’s Really Bad and i know this is a trope but uhhhh virgil doesn’t know any better because he literally has the knowledge of like a 7 year old child who has only seen the outside world like 50 times in 21 years

Roman was so excited to go on his very first raid mission. He had spent the last twenty-one years training for this very day, and now he was finally able to do it! And on his birthday, no less. It was an exciting day, even if Logan was being a giant thorn in his side.

“Roman, do remember that this warehouse is over twenty klicks away on rough terrain, and we are only going to be able to bring enough provisions for us for the next twenty-four hours. Don’t go off-route, and certainly don’t lag behind. This is a very important mission for us to gain supplies; I will not have a rookie like you messing this up.”

“Oh my gods, Specs!” Roman sighed. “First off, you’re only twenty-two, so it’s not like you’re some seasoned veteran like Patton. Second, give me a break! I’m far more reliable than you’re making me out to be. I wouldn’t have made it into L-1 if I was stupid.”

Patton set down the bag he was packing with a grimace. “Well, kiddo, you did go off course in the sim to save that ‘child’ that ended up being a trap. And then you died in that sim. And there was also the time you lagged behind because you were sure that you had found something in the woods and wound up getting lost until we were on our way back. Oh, and what about--”

“Okay! Okay, I get it. I’m a horrible soldier. However, I know that this is far more dire than a sim. I won’t screw up, promise.”

Logan glared at him for a second, but he wave his hand in dismissal. “Fine. Just remember that I am the captain of this mission, so you are to report back to me if anything goes awry. All thirty of us will have comm-packs, so it shouldn’t be an issue to contact me; however, if something does happen to your comm-packs, I will be notified of such.” He handed Roman his bag. “Shall we?”

“Fuck yes!”

“Roman Sanders,” Patton chided as he readied the gate.

“Um… Heck yeah!”

“Better.”

The supplies raid didn’t end up being a supplies raid at all. It was a warehouse full of prisoners. And, gods, it was a bloodbath. As soon as the rebel soldiers had been spotted, instead of shooting at the soldiers, the Savior guards began to kill off the prisoners. Roman had desperately wanted to run ahead--to try and save even one of those people, but he knew that he couldn’t jeopardize himself or the mission like that. He had promised.

So, instead, he followed Logan’s orders to the letter, and he watched countless children and adults die. These innocent people were killed right before his eyes, and all he could do was hang back and stay safe while the others secured the perimeters and took the guards as prisoners. Roman was too important to lose.

All of that hurt--it hurt so fucking bad--but none of it was as awful as having to go around from room to room and check for survivors so they’d know who to loot and bury. It was a slaughter that he had not been able to stop, and they were just going to take the useful clothes and other items and dump the bodies into unmarked mass graves. Roman loved the cause that he was fighting for, and he knew that he was on the right side, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Each time that he went to find a pulse on a kid not much older than his brother, he felt his soul crumble that much more.

He had gone through four or so rooms without finding anyone still living. Logan had ordered the search to cease in five minutes before regrouping to determine a burial strategy, so Roman only had time to go through one last room. There were only three bodies in this one, all huddled together in the back corner, so it was easy to go through it quickly. He made it through the first two with the same results as before, but the body farthest back… had a pulse.

“Holy--Oh my gods, wake up!” Roman shook the boy in front of him gently, willing him to wake up. “Are you alright? Oh, please answer me!”

When nothing happened, Roman decided that he obviously needed to save this boy. He was so frail; it looked like he hadn’t had a proper meal in… well, ever. With an uncomfortable amount of ease, Roman scooped him up into his arms and rushed back to the rendezvous point. Most of the crew was there already, save for Patton and a few others.

“Logan, I--”

“Roman, why are you carrying a body around?”

“It’s a survivor! We have to take him back with us.” Roman took a step forward, but Logan held out his hand to stop him.

“Absolutely not. We will leave him here for the night and bring him back with the Savior guards tomorrow.”

“Logan, please--”

“What,” Patton interrupted, stepping into the room. “Is going on here?”

Logan gestured frustratedly at Roman. “He wants to take this survivor back with us tonight even though we don’t have the supplies to do so.”

Roman felt angry fire burn through his veins. “Have a heart, will you, Logan? He. Will. Die. We have to take him back tonight. He is injured and starving, and I am not going to just leave him here--completely alone, mind you--because you’re too set in your ways to even budge a little.” He turned to Patton, pleading. “I’ll keep him as my sole responsibility. No one else has to even think about him; I promise! Just let me take him with us. Please.”

“Well, Logan… I know that it’s not ideal, but Roman does make a good point.”

Logan glared at both of them. “Whatever. Fine. But you are taking care of him the whole way back, and you will be in charge of him at camp. He is not my responsibility, nor anyone else’s. Do you understand, Roman?”

“Yes! Oh, thank you so much. I promise that you won’t regret it.”

Roman may or may not have underestimated how much energy it would take to carry the survivor back to camp. Sure, he weighed maybe forty-five kilos, but that was a lot to carry for a twenty klick hike. The other soldiers were starting to get farther ahead, moving much faster. Logan would kick his ass if he got lost, but it wasn’t like he could ask for help. His stubborn nature had brought this upon himself, and he had to deal.

“Hey, Ro… Do you want a break? You look like you’re about to pass out,” Patton asked gently.

Roman nearly dropped the boy due to his shock. “God, Patton. Warn a guy next time.”

“Whoops, sorry, kiddo. Seriously, though. Let me take him for a while, okay? We don’t have to tell Logan.”

Before an argument could even form in his head, Patton had scooped the survivor into his arms. There wasn’t anything that Roman could say that would make Patton do anything else. The twenty-nine-year-old was the oldest and most successful in their sector. If it weren’t for rules, he probably would have made it into raid teams at sixteen. Patton was a six-four, two-hundred pound beast with intelligence to rival Logan, who was undisputedly the smartest person to ever join the rebellion. And Patton had a heart of gold, so he was a bit more stubborn than anyone else on the team when it came to helping.

Roman did appreciate it, though. He was actually able to chill out and look at the landscape. Their sector was surrounded by forest. They weren’t allowed to go out very far for fear of traps that had been set by the Saviors, so Roman hadn’t seen most of it, but he was able to see tons of flowers and plants that didn’t grow near their base. Little blue flowers grew along the sides of the path, and wild violets--Patton had pointed those out--were sprinkled around the ground further out into the foliage. If he wasn’t tied so strictly to the rules that he was already technically breaking, Roman would have been eager to run out and be among the nature.

But he didn't. He just fell into step with Patton, and they idly chatted until they were back at the base.

Virgil… couldn’t feel his arm. He tried to think if he’d fallen asleep on it, or maybe Raleigh or Sel accidentally did, but his last memories were fuzzy at best. His eyes cracked open slightly, and he was met with bright, white light, which was even more strange than not being able to feel his arm. Prisoners were always woken up before being brought outside to watch the executions, so why…?

Wait, where the hell was he?

Virgil sat up lightning fast. He raked his eyes around his surroundings and saw absolutely nothing familiar. A weird, clear snake-thing and bag of liquid was hooked into his arm--oh, shit, was he going to die?--and he was on a soft table of some sort with a scratchy piece of cloth draped over him. Someone he didn’t recognize was slumped in a chair--is that what a chair is???--in a corner asleep. There was a huge window on one of the walls, and a crate-like thing below it with a few metal things on it.

And his right arm was just fucking gone. Just not there. His right shoulder now ended up in a stump. He had lost his arm.

Holy shit, he had no idea where he was, and his arm had been cut off.

Breaths were coming in short, wheezing patterns, but Virgil was completely unable to calm himself. Who wouldn’t flip the fuck out when they woke up in a weird room and missing a fucking appendage? Tears welled up in his eyes as his brain raced through the possibilities. The guy in the corner seemed unarmed. If he could find something sharp, he might be able to escape and find out what the hell was going on.

As quietly as one having a panic attack could, Virgil slipped off the bed and ripped out the snake that had been inserted into his arm for mobility. He attempted to compose himself--and admittedly failed--as he stalked over to the crates under the window. After a few minutes of poking around, he found exactly what he was looking for. A sharp, pointy metal stick had been sitting on a tray of other equally sharp and pointy sticks inside the crate. Carefully, Virgil picked it up, holding it tightly by the handle. Now, to--

“Oh! You’re awake. Hello!”

Virgil spun around violently, swinging out his arm in an attempt to maim the person behind him. The stick pointed out in front of him as he stared, chest heaving, at the man. He was the one who had been asleep in the chair just moments prior. He looked afraid. Good.

“Um, if you would please put that scalpel down, sir…” He spoke too well. He had to be one of those awful doctors that the other captives whispered about when one of them was taken away and never seen again. Virgil swung his arm again, but the man jumped backwards just as fast. “Woah! Stop! Dude, please, I just want to ask some questions so that I can figure some things out about the Saviors.”

There was a second of hesitation, but Virgil lunged this time, throwing the stick to the side and using his hands to claw at the man. Well, he tried to do that. Within a second, Virgil was pinned to the ground with a knee resting just between his shoulders.

“Can you please calm down? I’ll explain everything if you’d just stop trying to kill me.”

Virgil hissed. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I--Wow! That’s extremely rude, you know, to say for someone who saved you from that dreadful Savior warehouse and almost single-handedly carried you twenty klicks back to our base.”

“Motherfu--wait, what?”

The man huffed. “Honestly, what does it take for a valiant soldier to get some recognition around here? I find the one survivor in the whole facility, and I’m almost told to just leave him there to die. However, I fight for this survivor and convince my hardened leader to allow me to bring him back with us. I stay with him day and night for the next two weeks as he fights off a nasty infection and a coma, and then this happens! He tries to kill me! How absolutely rude is that?”

“One survivor?” Virgil processed what he’d heard. “Oh my god…” Raleigh and Sel were dead. They were actually dead. Not only was he in a place that he was completely unfamiliar with, his only friends were fucking dead.

“Yes. It was absolutely devestating--”

“Get the hell off me.”

“Wha--”

“Get. Off.” The pressure on his back immediately lessened, and he could see that the man slumped against the crates next to him. Virgil pushed himself into a sitting position and curled up, trying not to cry. He couldn’t show weakness. He didn’t want to be punished for crying.

“Did you… were those two people in the room with you your friends?”

Virgil couldn’t find his voice, so he nodded slightly, taking care to not make eye contact.

“I’m very sorry about that. From what I saw of the aftermath, they are responsible for your survival. They took most of the bullets, and you escaped with only one shot in your right arm. The wound did end up becoming heavily infected due to the lack of attention I was able to give it before our arrival here, and your arm needed to be amputated, but we are working on making you a prosthetic.”

“A… prosthetic?” Virgil flicked his eyes up in confusion.

“Yeah, a prosthetic.” The man said it as though it were obvious.

“Oh… Right.” He had no fucking idea what he was talking about.

The man didn’t comment on Virgil’s hesitation if he even noticed it at all (which, honestly, Virgil doubted because he seemed rather… unobservant). “Is it alright if I call the nurse to replace your IV? It’ll help you feel better.”

“Sure.”

“Alright. I’ll be back in a minute.” The man stood up and started to exit, but he paused at the door. “I forgot to ask. What’s your name?”

“Virgil.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Virgil. My name is Roman.”

It had been a few weeks since Virgil learned what scalpels and prosthetics and IVs were. He’d learned a lot of things during that time. As it turned out, being held captive since you were a toddler led to a lot of lost knowledge of the world. Virgil learned about beds and cabinets and spaghetti and so many other awesome things like swords. Giant, shiny, stabby pieces of fucking metal! It was amazing.

Not only that, but Virgil was making new friends. He’d met Patton and Logan, who Roman claimed to be his “best friends,” even though Logan seemed less than enthused to be categorized as such. Patton was a sweetheart, and he was the one who designed Virgil’s awesome prosthetic arm, and Logan was just really smart and calming. He liked them both.

Over the weeks, he spent the most time with Roman. The soldier had helped him heal, and he had even brought him out to watch training sessions a few times as entertainment. He’d sworn to secrecy not to tell another soul that this had happened, but Roman allowed Virgil to spar with him a few times, and they discovered that, due to his small size, Virgil was extremely agile.

“Hey, Virge. What are you thinking about?”

Virgil snapped out of his reminiscence. “What? Oh, sorry. I was just zoning out.”

“Good.” Roman grabbed his hands and pulled him out of the cot (Virgil’s own cot because he actually had his own room now). “I want to show you the roof!”

“Gods, Roman, I’ve already seen a roof. This isn’t some learning opportunity. You’re just being weird.”

“Hush and let me take you outside. The weather’s very nice, and neither Patton nor Logan are willing to come out with me.”

A smirk tugged at Virgil’s lips, and he teased, “Roman, I’m hurt. I can’t believe that I’m your last choice.”

Roman laughed and continued to drag him around the facility. “Whatever.”

When they entered the fresh air outside, Virgil felt so refreshed. He closed his eyes and inhaled the clean, cool air. That was something that he had never gotten used to--being able to go outside virtually whenever he wanted. It was incredible. He opened his eyes to take in the view--

“Roman, what’s that? Why is the sky like that?! What is going on?” Virgil pointed at the orange and pink sky and clung to his companion.

“What?” Roman held Virgil back, but he did look very confused. “Have you never seen a sunset before?”

“A what?!”

“A sunset. Between day and night, there are periods of time where the sun rises and sets. During that time, the sky turns different colors due to small particles of dust.” His gaze softened. “It’s nothing to worry about, Virge. I promise.”

“But--”

“Hey, how about we sit down and watch the sky. Nothing bad will happen, but if you truly start to feel upset, we’ll go back inside. Alright?”

Virgil looked into Roman’s eyes for a few moments. If he had learned anything since his emancipation from the Saviors, it was that Roman never broke a promise. “Okay.”

It wasn’t long before Virgil and Roman had both fallen asleep in a tiny pile on the roof in a puddle of silver moonlight.

[majorxmaggiexboy]

THE PLAY WAS MAGNIFICENT

first of all no rendition of Romeo and Juliet has ever gotten me to experience a single emotion, at all, ever, it’s just “ah this is a pleasant way to pass the time and also aesthetically pleasing” BUT THIS ONE?  THIS ONE RIGHT HERE? THE SCENE, OKAY, the scene where my girl Juliet has just faked her death and her parents come in and think she’s dead, right after they’ve both just been so horrid to her to force her to marry Paris-  okay this scene went on a bit and my eyes! would not! stop misting! they wouldn’t leave me alone i kept getting choked! the whole little funeral sequence- people were putting flowers and candles at the front of the stage while this Balthazar character (WHO WAS PLAYED BY A GORGEOUS LADY IN FLANNEL WEARING A SWORD) sang a song and the parents are just standing there crying and the nurse is crying and I WAS. FEELING THINGS AHHHHHHH

the whole script was exactly as willshakes wrote it in terms of dialogue but it was set in the 50′s/60′s with a sort of dilapidated school as the main background and ROMEO WAS WEARIN FLANNEL. BALTHAZAR (MY HERO) WAS WEARIN FLANNEL. THERE WERE WAISTCOATS AND THAT- WHAT, TWEED? MERCUTIO  HAD ON A LAVENDER LEATHER JACKET. THERE WERE T-SHIRTS AND JUST. GOOOOOOOD COSTUME. THE MUSIC WAS LIT AND THEY SANG SEVERAL SONGS WOOOOO

it cannot be overstated that Balthazar was played by this like. very incredibly smol lady whose sword was almost bigger than she was and she walked with this. swagger. and had a fantastic voice and delivered a flat “what” at one point and was wearing a green flannel like wendy from gravity falls  and she spent the whole play 100% dishing callouts and very clearly wanting to fight some people and during the masked ball scene she danced with another lady who might or might not have also been playing a dude and she also danced with mercutio’s ghost at one point and was just. 15/10 amazing and deserves her own spin-off.

juliet was stunning, fabulous, loved her and would fully protect her from all harm. 

every person in the play was. very. very handsome too  which was a huge bonus and there was a lil guy named Peter who mostly ran shrieking from combat and got ordered around by Nurse but he also played in the band and was cute as hell and i would die for him. long live peter

PARIS WAS SO SWEET IN THIS VERSION WHAT AN ANGEL? HE SANG LIKE ONE OHHHH YES HE SANG A LITTLE SONG! AT THE PARTY! IT WAS VERY SWEET!

Mercutio was also in the band and could also sing really well and i don’t actually have words to describe his performance but like. momsauce says he looked like a young, dark-haired Sean Penn so make of that what you will. Benvolio looked like Burton Guster from Psych and man were they a comedic duo

I LAUGHED A LOT IN THIS PLAY? THE WHOLE FIRST ACT WAS HYSTERICAL ACTUALLY from Mercutio’s antics to Benvolio’s teasing to overdramatic!Romeo (AND BOY WAS HE OVERDRAMATIC IT WAS BEAUTIFUL) i was near about wheezing before the first fight scene (poor peter)

in the beginning of the play Benvolio got a cut on his hand and they bandaged it and when he held up his hand there was blood on the bandage but then later whenever a character was literally dying of being stabbed there was not a drop of blood they just kinda rolled around on the floor and made sounds and then flopped it was great

ROMEO NOW, ROMEO. BABY BOY. Romeo has never been my type but THIS ROMEO SURE WAS first of all he looked like a young, fluffy-haired Sebastian Stan okay like exactly like a Sebastian Stan so already that’s trouble but then HE WAS JUST SO DUMB. SO OVERDRAMATIC. SO STUPID AND THEN HE SAW JULIET AND WAS ALL SOFT AND AWKWARD AND  S T U P I D  i’m gonna cry he was such a dumbass and he kept doing this idiotic hair flip he was insanely adorable

during the whole pilgrim/lips thing Juliet said something vaguely afronted about her lips taking sin from Romeo’s and he kind of panicked and was like “GIVE ME BACK MY SIN” and they went in for another kiss

their morning after scene had absolutely NO business being as cute as it was

everyone was hella obscenely tactile and i was LIVING FOR IT the entire time like Juliet was 10000% aware of how floofy and soft Romeo’s hair was and she was FOR IT but A L S O Benvolio? and Mercutio? And their other friend whose name was never spoken aloud? SO TACTILE. MERCUTIO KISSED ONE DUDE FULL ON THE MOUTH AND IT WENT ON FOR A GOOD FIVE SECONDS OR SO THE ABSOLUTE MADMAN HE WOULDN’T BE STOPPED. THERE WERE HUGS, JUST. CONSTANTLY. HUGGIN EVERYWHERE. CUDDLES LIKE CONFETTI ROMEO EVEN HUGGED THE FRIAR

romeo’s actual death was actually very disturbing because he didn’t just flop after drinking the poison he like. really sold it and idk where his oscar is for convincing me that he as a person actually needed some paramedics but it genuinely hurt me to listen to him choke for what had to be a full three minutes but honestly could have been any length of time because it was horrific and i’ll probably have nightmares :’)

bUT I MEAN OTHER THAN THAT CAN WE JUST GO BACK TO THE FACT THAT EVERYONE WAS ABSURDLY ADORABLE AND I ACTUALLY? REALLY LOVED THE CHARACTERS AND THEY ALL CAME TO LIFE AND THE MUSIC WAS MMMMMMMMMMMONPOINT AND IT WAS JUST. VERY. VERY. INCREDIBLY SATISFYING AND I CANNOT WAIT FOR SEPTEMBER BECAUSE I AM SO READY FOR HAMLET EEEEEE