#look I am a sucker for people putting on weight as a symbol of them being comfortable and happy in a relationship

[auspicioustidings]

Very enamoured with Ghost getting teased because he's looking bigger recently. He always been a hefty chunk of hunk, but he's definitely putting on a bigger layer of fat. Eventually and without any warning he invites the team to his flat for dinner and they're all a bit flabbergasted because he's never seen them outwith work.

They meet his bird and it is immediately apparent why their LT put on some pounds. Soap is pretty sure he is going to need rolled out of there. Ghost's bird is an excellent host and a phenomenal cook and baker and honestly not at all what any of them would think Ghost would ever go for. She's just so wholesome, so gentle and kind and nurturing. And it almost makes Price tear up because now when Soap teases Ghost about being bigger all he can think is how happy his LT is, how comfortable and warm a home he has waiting for him.

[verobatto]

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. XCIV

It was a love story from the very beginning.

And you are not here... (Part. II)

(13x02/13x03)

Hello dears! We are here again, witnessing Dean's mourning for Castiel, and we are suckers for that.

I will try to convey in this meta two episodes, so let's see what happens!

The rejection

At the beginning of the episode, we had Sam and Dean talking about Jack. Dean keeps rejecting the kid because he put on him the weight of loosing Castiel.

They find a motel, and Dean plays the tv, and there's Scooby, and for a brief moment we saw him smiling. Then Dean gives Jack the Bible, and the kid opens it in the Book of Song of Solomon, which is from the Old Testament, and it talks plenty about a two lovers that try to find a way to be together. So the poems describe their passionate and beautiful love for each other, their sadness and their difficulties. Is narrated romantically poetic of that time.

This is very meaningful because the book could be symbolizing Castiel and Dean, trying to be reunited. And the kid is the one who will help to do that. Two lovers that were separated by death but also, who had lived a lot of difficulties together.

Also this quote from Asmodeus:

ASMODEUS: The pain, the, uh, the total humiliation… it forged an eternal bond between us.

Is just a little taste of a dark parallel to Destiel. Is a dark, toxic bond, forged by pain and humiliation, all the opposite of Destiel bond. And we are witnessing this quote because is in the next episode the one Jack will wake up CAS through Dean's mourning. The power of their bond forged by love. The lovers will be finally reunited again.

This scene is when Jack shows Dean is his role model... But also, let's check out the colors...

Go f credit @deansplushy

The room is blue (Castiel) and the kid is imitating Dean, Dean knows it and looks very done with it.

But the whole room is painted in Blue, as if Castiel were in Jack and Dean's mind the whole time.

Then, this foreshadow...

DONATELLO: Sam? Dean? Is God with you?

Donnie was certainly sensing the new God, but also these words...

DONATELLO: (...) So… a few days ago, I’m online, checking out condos in Boca, and I am knocked off my feet by this weird wave of power. Not exactly like God’s. More like… something new, something fresh. I was drawn to it. It’s here.

Something new, something fresh, that's a good description for a new God that just had bey born. Donnie knew it the whole way long.

After this they decided to brought Jack to tattooed the sigil... And this very symbolic dialogue happened between Jack and Dean:

JACK It hurt.

Gif set credit @demondetox

This is the description of grief. So, if Dean was trying to give himself a message and to push the kid into that idea, Jack took it well. He knows he has to endure it. Even if Jack is talking about physical pain, or emotional pain, it fits perfectly with the lesson is floating around loosing Castiel.

Another discussion about Jack happens and this time Dean explodes into hurtful words, and Jack flies away.

The scene in which Sam is talking with him is very beautiful, but also, the colors caught my attention again...

Gif credit @deansplushy

Again, the color blue behind Sam and Jack, is another reminder of Cas. We also have the green (Dean) behind Sam, and Sam is talking about him. Is a very nice played scene, because Dean is to Sam what Cas is to Jack here "a father" but the good one. And Sam trying to explain why Dean acts like this...

SAM: Dean doesn’t hate you. It… Look, sometimes the wires in Dean’s head get crossed and—and he gets frustrated, and then he mixes frustration with anger, and—and fear.

JACK: Why would he be afraid?

SAM: Because Dean feels like it’s his job to protect everyone. And right now, we need to protect you. But we may also need to protect people from you.

JACK: Maybe I’m not worth all this.

SAM: Your mom thought you were. So did Cas. So do I.

Sam is mentioning one of Dean's inner issues: THE BIG PROTECTOR, as a raised first born, and as a obedient soldier, Dean is trying to fulfill the order his father gave him the night their house were burning and Mary died. John Winchester gave Sam to Dean, and asked him to take care of him, so, the GUILT HERITAGE as I spoke so many times, is playing rudely in Dean right now. He wants to fulfill that mission, because his father asked him to. This is the toxicity in Dean's personality. In harmony with the quote that is said in this same episode: the sons that try to please their fathers.

The Anger and the Patience

When the episode starts, we are immerse into a psychic house, in the window we can see an eye, as a representation of psychic but also, the eye in the triangle represents God. And we all know Chuck is about to come in season 14.

We can distinguish too a book: 'The knowledge of ourselves" in Dede's house. Is an interesting reference to what I about to come: the whole season 14 will be a self-knowledge path Dean will take based on his experience of being faced with himself in the possesion. As I described in my metas, the experience of the possesion is similar to being in Purgatory for Dean: all his human necesites will be gone, and the purity in his heart will be exposed: What do you want?

When Dede is in front of the spectrum, she can see his true form, just like we will see through Anael's eyes, AUMichael's true form.

Let's jump onto Jack's scene watching a video Kelly left him. The mother's message is very pivotal in Jack's life.

KELLY: Hi Jack, it’s uh… I’m your mom. I guess I should tell you, um, I always wanted to be a mom. I’d play with dolls. I was that kind of girl and daydream about my baby.

Kelly is certifying here he wanted to have Jack, Jack was loved. Not rejected, but loved. Kelly says I WANTED TO BE YOUR MOM.

KELLY: Jack, don’t let anyone tell you who you’re supposed to be. Because who you’re supposed to be isn’t fate, it isn’t me, it isn’t your father. You are who you choose to be. And I know you’re going to okay. You are going to be amazing. You have an angel watching over you.

'It isn't me (not human) it isn't your father (not an angel)' is the perfect description of Jack, because he is gonna be the New God. And the last quote is a recall of Mary saying the same to Dean, when she was pregnant. And, emotionally linked to episode 15x18, in which Case says 'I got you' to Jack and then to Dean.

Dean keeps rejecting Jack, calling him a monster, is a blatant self punishment facing the huge guilt he carries in his heart after losing Castiel.

An important scene happens between Missouri and Dean. She, as a psychic, can sense Dean's mourning and depression.

MISSOURI: Oh honey, I’m sorry for your losses.

Dean looks surprised to these words, all the pain he was trying to hide, mostly in front of Jody and her, it shows.

Another self reflection in the mirror of the spectrum foreshadowing Dean staring at the mirror, possesed by Michael.

The conversation between Sam and Jack shows how Jack feels himself as a monster, also he has GUILT, we are witnessing here the GUILT HERITAGE from Dean to Jack, just like John did with him.

Also, Sam see himself in Jack, through his experience with the darkness in the past.

A parallel with Kelly's messages is reflected on Missouri goodbye words to her granddaughter Patience in the cemetery.

MISSOURI: I promise, no matter what happens, no matter where I go, I will always look out for you. You hear?

The words are different but the feelings are the same. Mostly because Sam was reading a book about how to help gifted kids, and this episode talks about two gifted kids: Jack and Patience. The two of them trying to control their powers. But Jack is encouraged to do that and Patience is not allowed to do it by his father.

A little bit interesting point we have in the spectrum WRAITH feeding by psychic's brain, is a continuity with AUMichael living inside of Dean.

When everything ends, Dean has some words with Patience that caught Jody's attention...

PATIENCE: I talked to my dad. He thinks I should put it away. Dad says we should just get back to normal. Maybe he’s right.

DEAN: He is. This life, hunting, monsters, there’s no joy in it. There’s nothing but pain, horror and death. So if you get a chance at normal, you take it.

Dean speaks directly from his broken heart, he had just lost CAS, so he lost everything. There's not meaning in keep living for him. He had seen the death that being a hunter brings. So, he had changed. Everything is sadness, grey and dark for Dean. There's no hopes, no light.

But Jody will speak again, just like Kelly did with Jack, using similar words for Patience:

JODY: Patience, wait. I may be out of line here but you don’t have to listen to him. To either of them if it’s not what you really want.

Not me, not him, Patience need to find herself, just like Jack. Just like the book prayed at the beginning of the episode.

Okay, we are going to focus now in theast scene, so so important!

When Sam sees Dean is back, they started talking about Jack again...

SAM: How was it? Uh, Jody told me about Missouri.

DEAN: Yeah, just another day at the office. How’s the kid? He go dark side yet?

Dean talks about Missouri here with apathy, emotionlessly. This is part of his depression. Then, Sam confronts him.

SAM: No, Dean. He’s messed up because of you. Dean, you said you’d kill him.

DEAN: It wasn’t exactly like that.

SAM: Then how exactly was it?

DEAN: I told him the truth. See, you think you can use this freak but I know how this ends and it ends bad.

SAM: I didn’t.

DEAN: What?

SAM: I didn’t ‘end bad’. When I was the freak, when I was drinking demon blood.

Sam sees himself in Jack in the good way, with hopes, but Dean sees himself in Jack as something that needs to be killed...

DEAN: Come on man, that’s totally different.

SAM: Was it? Because you could’ve put a bullet in me. Dad told you to put a bullet in me, but you didn’t! You saved me! So help me save him!

DEAN: You deserved to be saved, he doesn’t!

SAM: Yes he does, Dean, of course he does!

I will stop here, Dean reflecting himself in Jack is blatant here: HE DOESN'T DESERVE TO BE SAVED. Is the self knowledge of his inner GUILT and MONSTER. Dean sees himself as a monster that doesn't deserve to be saved.

DEAN: Look, I know you think that you can use him as some sort of an interdimensional can-opener and that’s fine, but don’t act like you care about him! Because you only care about what he can do for you! So if you want to pretend, that’s fine! But me? I can hardly look at the kid! Because when I do all I see is everybody we’ve lost!

(Gif credit @foxthefanboi )

Here, my mind went immediately at the scene from previous episode, because Jack behaves so like CAS, and Dean can see it. The pain in Dean's face is getting louder and louder, his eyes, the way he is talking, with cathartic anger will reach the high point when he starts mention the most important person he lost in his life... Castiel. All his pain and anger are because Castiel is gone.

SAM: Mom chose to take that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack!

But is not about mom...

DEAN: And what about Cas?

SAM: What about Cas?

Now, the pain and the anger are released in front of his brother. And Sam just confirms and faces it in silence.

DEAN: He manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!

(gif set credit @shirtlesssammy )

Sam is silent, he takes every drop of anger and pain from his brother, the very cause of Dean's grief is revealed to him. Dean is mourning Castiel. Dean can't forget CAS is dead. Dean can't forgive Jack, himself , for that. That's why. That's the truth. That's why Sam keeps silent.

But the kid is listening...

The grief and the longing is so huge, Jack is able to reach Castiel in the Empty through it. Just like Amara reached Dean through Castiel.

(Gif set credit @shirtlesssammy)

To Conclude:

These two episode showed us how Dean reflects himself in Jack.The guilt and the pain, together with the anger is so huge in Dean's heart, he can't barely hide it.

Sam is the one keeping the flag up for hopes, but Dean had lost everything.

The profound bond is important again now, because is the way Jack reacher CAS in the Empty and wake him up.

Hope you like this meta, see you in the next one!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weird-dorky-little-d @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@destielle @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @2musiclover2 @madronasky @anon-non2 @cea1996 @lisafu02 @asphodelesauvage @destiels-canonahhhhhhhhhh

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

If you wanna read my previous meta from season 13 go to this link.

Buenos Aires, December 27th 2020, 12:45 PM

[starlightshadowsworld]

So it's no secret im critical of RWBY, I am with most things I enjoy. But the keyword of that is "enjoy", I love RWBY, have since I first discovered it and I wanted to talk about the things I love about it.

The Characters

You can write the most fantastic plot on the world but it means nothing if you don't have good characters. Since the beginning RWBY has been about its characters, it's even named after them. And we're introduced to these 4 girls all with hopes and dreams and watching them reach them.

And watching them grow throughout the course of the show is both heartwarming and heart breaking.

When these discussions come up everyone brings up. Weiss, which is fair she's had the most significant change (and shes a queen). She goes from stuck up princess to a warmer person. I love that she remembers the lessons she learned, Volume 1 or even Volume 2 Weiss wouldn't be the one comforting Yang in Volume 5. She might try but I feel like it would come across as insincere or lack the weight it did if Ruby was in her place.

This Weiss knows the pain Yang's going through, and the first thing that comes to her is to be there for her.

But hese two have never been very close. They've taunted and laughed and fought for each other and for me this is when Nice Weiss was just the new natural Weiss. But without losing what makes Weiss, Weiss.

But it's also the little things. Weiss defending Blake against Cordovin, Blake wrapping Weiss in a blanket when she's scared. Ruby being awe and supporting her team. The train scene to Argus felt like we were back in Beacon, Blake reading her book, Weiss is rolling her eyes but going along with Ruby and Yang and Ruby are fighting over who's winning a video game.

And its not limited to them, seeing Qrow being a badass and reluctant parent is always a fun time. And his alcoholism being explored was interesting and I didn't think we'd end up there. (It really puts Ruby into perspective, trying to be strong and happy for everyone with the stance of a leader. Ruby is a leader, that question was undoubtly answered.

Seeing Jaune, this goofy coward with a big heart go at Cinder because of Pyrrah's death... That hurt... That hurt a lot. And I may argue about the Statue scene but I hope he gets closure. (And stays away from those thirsty Mantle mums)

Ozpin's and Ironwoods downward spirals and reveals were beautifully done. It really felt like their Oz counterparts, going from the all knowing wizard to the man behind the curtain and the tin man losing his heart. You see just how much Ozpin cared for others, how his actions hurt many but have always been built on good intentions and just how human he is.

You see just how resilient and strong Ironwood is, how he's misguided but he will do whatever it takes. Really hit the theme of fear, especially with Ozpin's speech at the end.

The Music

Only gets better and better honestly. Casey you are awesome, the music is something I can never be prepared for. Until the End still makes me bawl like a baby everytime I hear it and they just reflect each and every scene, character and fight their placed in. The music in RWBY can feel as instrumental (see what I did there 🙃) to the show as the plot. Their intertwined, both telling these great stories. And they absolutely hold up, personally I love Weiss's songs and This will be the day and if that plays during the final battle I will scream.

They don't just hype up scenes, they add to them. I know ya'll were crying when Forever Fall started playing as the leaves hit the ground and Pyrrah's statue was revealed (... Not that I did.) And I'm already wondering about the songs for V8.

The writing and the Plot

Because despite some of the issues and criticism, it is good. I don't think we'd still be watching if we didn't believe that. Ironwood and Ozpin are my go to for awesome writing but their not the only instances of it. Yang and Ruby being reunited, Ruby instantly apologising and rambling and Yang giving her a big hug before bringing in Weiss, that was awesome.

Instantly we have Ruby, who up until now has been a leader crumble. In that moment she's Yang's little sister and Weiss is her best friend, nothing cemented that more for me that than moment after they've been apart for so long.

Ozpin's Backstory was long awaited and personally I loved it. You have two people, made us understand how much they loved each other and how their differing views changed the world and lead to the stare of remnant today. Do I prefer my headcannon? Of course I do, but that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy this any less.

Tai, Port and Oobleck talking with Yang, we needed that joy and she needed it too. It just felt real... You have these teachers and mentors who've seen war and destruction and they try to make her laugh. And I wish we could've seen more of that.

And the fact it keeps making us and them question things. Was it wrong for Ozpin to lie? Was it wrong for Raven for leave? Are we doing the right thing by going to Atlas? Should we tell Ironwood the truth? Should Ozpin have told Salem? Should Robin be trusted? Should Zwei be integral to the plot? The fact that they can do this, lay the consequences for what happened and still make us debate on the outcomes and the what ifs is impressive. (Although the Zwei one is fact)

Symbolism

Here's a few I found because I am a sucker for it and yes I know they may not all be intentional:

Both Yang and Adam have similar semblances. Except, Yangs takes time over a fight to build up, reflecting her thrill of a fight and how she likes to take risks. While Adam charges his into huge and constant attacks, showing his desire and eagerness to hurt others. Making them somewhat parallel the other, how they are quite alike in attitudes but not heart which is why Blake chooses Yang.

Ozpin having the relic of choice under Beacon because he values it so much, he makes sure everyone has one before they join him, before Pyyrah became the maiden. How one choice changed everything for him.

The White Fang wear Grimm masks, how they became more about spreading fear and they became more like monsters.

Ironwood having the relic of creation, the focus of innovation and robotics that's so prevalent in Atlas and how its energy was used to raise the city above the rest.

Ozpin being associated with gears and clocks.

Qrow and Raven's names mirroring their bird forms. But also because crows are seen as symbols of misfortune and Raven's are symbols of insight and prophecy.

Every Wizard of Oz and fairytale reference. There are too many to name so here's a few: Pinnochio being eaten by a Whale (giant whale grimmm and our protector of mantle), Tock is a crocodile Faunus who's semblance was dictated by a ticking clock, Ozpin glynda and Ironwood are Oz the good witch and tinman. Salem has flying gorilla grimm.

(side note for V8, from the trailer it seems Salem is looking for someone. She represents the Wicked witch, has her flying grimm.. And its been said Oscar represents Dorothy so get the missing posters ready)

Pyyrah being the one to unlock Jaune's aura and the idea of losing someone the way he lost her is what unlocks his semblance.

And that's all. Im well aware RWBY isn't a masterpiece and that it's not awful either. I love it for what it is.

[racebox-of-higgars]

Christmas Kisses - sprace oneshot

It may not be Christmas anymore but I’m still gonna write it 

Crossposted on Ao3 at Racebox_of_Higgars 

Enjoy! 

“I think I’m having a feeling,” Spot groaned, flopping down onto Jack’s couch. “Make it stop.” Jack looked up from his painting, frowning at Spot.  

“How did you get in my house?”  

“I picked the lock,” Spot said simply, as if it happened every day.  

“As you do.”  

“Yes.” Jack narrowed his eyes slightly, then shook his head. Today was not the day for questioning things.  

“What feeling?”  

“Fuck if I know.” Spot gestured at the air in front of him. “ Racetrack! ” That only made Jack even more confused.  

Spot, he didn’t really do feelings. He would always bottle them up and ignore them until they became anger, which was far easier to deal with than whatever it was before. That earned him his reputation as the kid with the anger issues, which suited him just fine. It meant no one messed with him, or people around him, and as long as they were okay, he was happy.  

“You got a problem with Race?” Jack asked, turning completely away from his painting. He was invested now.  

“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Jack grinned, finally catching on to what Spot was getting at.  

“You like him, don’t you?” Spot screamed into the pillow and Jack snickered.  

Jack loved Race. Not in a romantic way, but Race was pretty much his little brother, and he would do anything to make Race happy. He had seen Race fall in love too fast then each time they would leave and he’d watch Race fall apart, each time losing another part of himself. Slowly, it had worn Race down, and though he didn’t let it show, he was always hurting. Every time he got into a new relationship, he would keep his distance, trying not to get too close Every time he would get his heart broken. Jack never liked any of Race’s boyfriends, but he liked Spot.

“So what do I do about it?” Spot asked. “Do I ask him out, or do I like stab him?”  

“You ask him out, dipshit!” Spot screamed again.  

“What do I do?” Spot sat up slightly, looking a Jack, and he actually looked worried. God, he was whipped.  

“Ask him on a date.”  

“What kind of date does one ask Racetrack fucking Higgins on?” That was a good question. Thankfully, Jack had known the fucker since they were basically fetuses, and therefore knew exactly what he would want.  

“Take him to the ice-skating rink, then get hot chocolate together and watch a Christmas movie.” Race was a sucker for Christmas, and it being just weeks away now, it was perfect timing. “If you’re feeling bold put up some mistletoe. He loves that shit.”  

“Race loves Christmas, right?”  

“Yup. If your house isn’t decorated he’ll fly through there like a glittery rainbow tornado.” Spot smiled at that. He could practically picture it, and he felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Dude, you’re fucking whipped.”  

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll still kill you in your sleep.” Jack just smiled and turned back to his painting.  

“Enjoy your date.”  

Spot knew what he wanted to say, but actually asking Race out was a whole other story. They were in the library together, a usual hangout spot (hehe get it), when it was cold, and Race was rambling on about some new thing he had grown obsessed with and Spot had listened diligently, completely enraptured by Race’s excitement. His sparkling eyes lit up with a childlike glee and a grin spread across his face as he looked out the window.  

“Spotty, look!” He cried. “They’re turning on the Christmas lights!” Race was entranced by the lights, almost like a child, but Spot wasn’t watching them. Spot was gazing at Race. He watched as the colours flickered over Race’s pale skin and the rainbow of lights reflected off his eyes. God, he was so in love with this boy it hurt, and if he didn’t get at least a date with him soon he was pretty sure he’d combust.  

Plans went out the window.  

“Go on a date with me?” He blurted, screaming internally the second it left his mouth. Race turned to him, shock written all over his face.  

“What?”  

“I-uh-I wanted to know if you, maybe, wanted to go on a date with me?” Spot stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Race smiled, somehow wider than he had when he was watching the lights.  

“Really?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Yes!” Race rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he always did when he was excited and Spot couldn’t help his smile.  

“Alright, uh, I’ll pick you up at 7, is that okay?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Oh, and wrap up warm,” Spot added, thinking about how cold it was likely to be on the ice later. Race nodded.  

“Okay, I’ll – uh – I’ll see you later?”  

“Yeah, see you.” Fuck yes!  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS!!!!

Mom:  Do you really need that many exclaimation marks?  

SantaGay: GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS????

Mom: Don’t encourage him  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAAAAAAAAAAAYS!  

Mom:  What do you want?  

Racebox of Higgars:  SPOT ASKED ME ON A FUCKIN DATE!!!!

SantaGay:  HELL YEAH!  

Mom:  Finally

Mom:  It’s only taken him nine years.  

SantaGay:  what are you doing?  

Racebox of Higgars:  i don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me

SantaGay:  oooh, a man of mystery  

Mom:  Be safe.  

Racebox of Higgars:  i always am

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK WHAT AM I GONNA WEAR

Mom:  Did he give you a dress code?  

Racebox of Higgars:  no, he just said dress warm

SantaGay:  black skinny jeans, that cream turtleneck you literally never wear, your fancy black coat, doc martens, a lil bit of eyeliner  

Mom:  Jack, you have fashion sense?  

Mom:  Why do you never dress up nice for our dates?  

Racebox of Higgars:  o shit

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

For the fifth time, Race examined himself in the mirror, scrunching up his face. Something was missing from his outfit. He had to admit, Jack’s taste was good (the eyeliner was amazing), but something was still missing. He rifled through his drawers, eventually pulling out the silver chain Spot had bought him when they were 14. It was simple, plain, but spoke volumes.  

Race had only just come out as trans. He was slowly swapping out his wardrobe for more masculine clothes, and they were going through his old jewellery.  

He held up  a necklace with a small owl charm at the end, grimacing. He hated that necklace. It wasn’t anything against it particularly, but more to do with how feminine it made him feel. He hated it.  

“Y’know,” he began absent-mindedly, “I used to love this necklace, but now I can’t stand it. It makes me really dysphoric for some reason, which sucks since I love wearing jewellery and stuff, but I can’t wear most of this.”  

“You can get more masculine necklaces,” Spot answered from where he was sitting at the foot of Race’s bed.  

“Well, yeah, but I can’t really afford it.” Spot frowned. “I don’t get any money at the moment, and I can’t work.”  An idea slowly formulated in Spot’s mind.  

“Race, I got you something,” Spot said sheepishly. Race turned, brow furrowing.  

“It’s not my birthday, or Christmas. Why?”  

“It ain’t much, but you were saying about it the other day and then I saw it and thought of you.” He held the box out to Race, who took it tentatively.  

“This isn’t gonna explode or anything, right?” Spot laughed, but shook his head. It reminded him of their prank war a month or so before, which only ended when Spot had broken his nose.  

“It shouldn’t do.”  

“Alright, good.” Race tore into the packaging with a newfound fervour,  dropping it to the floor because he was a firm believer that gift-giving should always be carnage, no matter what the occasion, then opened the lid of the box. Spot watched nervously, suddenly thinking that this was probably a bad idea, but Race’s face cracked into a grin.  

“You bought me a necklace?” He said incredulously as he carefully lifted it out of the box.  

“Well, yeah. I was out with Hotshot yesterday and I saw it in a window and it reminded me of the other day. If you don’t like it I can take it back I jus-“ Spot was cut off by a weight crashing into him, and arms wrapping tightly around him.  

“I love it, thank you.”  

Since then Race had kept it in pristine condition, carefully making sure it didn’t rust or otherwise get dirty or break. He carefully lifted the chain out of the box, much like he did all those years ago, and fastened it around his neck. Looking in the mirror, he smiled. It offset the outfit perfectly, matching with the silver buttons on his coat and just providing that extra little touch to the outfit. He took a quick photo and sent it to the group chat.  

In Which Race is a Third Wheel

Racebox of Higgars sent a photo  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYS DO I LOOK OKAY  

SantaGay:  damn bitch  

SantaGay: if i wasn’t dating davey and you weren’t like a brother to me id tap that  

Mom:  He means you look good.  

Mom: He’s right, you do.  

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK HES HERE  

Spot shuffled slightly outside Race’s door, flowers in hand. Were flowers too much? Fuck it, it was too late now. Race opened the door and Spot’s breath caught in his throat. Oh god, Race was gorgeous. Spot’s eyes slowly glanced over Race, taking all of him in, from stylishly messy curls, to his bright eyes rimmed by just a little bit of eyeliner to make them stand out, to his breathless smile, to the necklace at his throat, to those criminally tightly jeans, and Spot needed to stop staring.  

“Christ, you look gorgeous,” Spot breathed, still hardly able to take it all in. A blush crept up Race’s cheeks as his eyes skirted over Spot.  

“You can’t talk, you’re-“ he gestured wildly at Spot, “beautiful.” Spot had been called a lot of things, hot, sexy, handsome, but never beautiful. It surprised him, he loved the sound of it on Race’s lips.  

“I bought flowers,” Spot said, holding them out. “I hope it’s not too much.” Race smiled taking them from him.  

“Cyclamen,” Race pointed out with a smile, taking them from him. “You remembered?”  

“I’ve been doing some research into flower symbolism,” Race said, half hanging off the end of his bed. Spot looked up from his homework.  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah. It’s actually pretty interesting. It’s weird to think that plants have so much  meaning . Like, take hyacinth flowers. Apparently they were created when two Greek God’s were fighting over one guys love  and one of them got hella jealous so fuckin killed the guy cus if he couldn’t have him no one could. The other one created the flower from his blood.”  

“That’s fucked up.”  

“I know. It symbolises rebirth now.”  

“Huh, but the guy wasn’t reborn?” Race shook his head. “Fair enough. Do you have a favourite flower?” Spot asked, partly out of genuine curiosity, partly out of hope that someday he’d be the one buying Race flowers.  

“Cyclamen,” Race answered easily. “They symbolise love and tenderness.” Spot smiled. Of course Race would like something like that. He was a hopeless romantic at heart. “Do you have one?”  

“Not at the moment. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you.”  

Spot liked lavender roses – blossoming romance.  

“Of course I remembered. I, uh, I had some lavender roses put in too.”  

“Your favourite,” Race recalled. “Blossoming romance, right?” Spot nodded, embarrassed. Race smiled. “I’m gonna go put these in some water real quick, wanna come in?”  

Race couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he carefully organised the flowers in the vase. Spot had remembered the offhand conversation three years ago. Not only had he remembered, but he had gone out of his way to get the specific flowers Race loved. The blush on Race’s cheeks darkened slightly, doing a little dance as he placed the vase on the coffee table.  

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Spot pointed out. Race rubbed the back of his neck.  

“Yeah.”  

“You still have it?” Spot was genuinely surprised. That had been eight years ago now, and yet the necklace still looked like it did the day he bought it.  

“Of course I do. I’ve kept everything you’ve bought me over the years.” Spot laughed.  

“Even the stuffed dinosaur?”  

“Especially the stuffed dinosaur.”  

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid!” Spot cried, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Race laughed, holding Spot back with one hand as he clutched the wrapped gift in the other.  

“Nope!” He answered, popping the p. “I’ve never found anything you’ve bought me stupid, why would I start now?” Spot groaned and backed off slightly, rubbing a hand over his face. Race eagerly tore into the paper , throwing it onto the pile left by Spot. He grinned, laughing. “I love him!�� He said, pulling the blue stuffed dinosaur against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around it. “I shall name him Steeb.” Spot shook his head, laughing. He had genuinely thought Race would hate it or think it was stupid. Race had been going through an obsession with dinosaurs, and of course he was always a sucker for stuffed animals, and thus Steeb had been bought.  

“Steeb?”  

“Yup!”  

Race pulled him into a tight hug, still laughing. “Thank you.”  

“Where are we actually going?” Race asked as they walked outside onto the freezing street. Frost coated the grass, and their breath hung before them, pockets of heat suspended in the cold air.

“It’s a surprise,” Spot said simply. Race forced his hands into the pocket of his coat to shelter them from the cold.  

“You know I don’t like surprises,” he mumbled.  

“Yes you do, you just say you don’t to try to get me to tell you shit.” Damn Spot and damn the fact that he knew Race better than anyone.  

“You brought me ice skating?” Race asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  

“Yeah, Jack said you used to go a lot as kids.” Race grinned, kicking off his shoes and replacing them with skates, lacing them up tightly. Spot copied him, putting their shoes and bags into lockers.  

Race quickly made his way onto the ice, gliding like a pro and kicking off with a small spin, just to test it out. Spot got onto the ice and promptly fell on his face. Race, however, was lost in the moment, gliding and spinning and twisting, then leaping into the air. Spot watched in wonder as Race closed his eyes, lost in his movements.  

Race closed his eyes when he danced. Losing himself in the music, he would just close his eyes and let it take over. It would decide his movements for him, and he would follow along. Spot stood in the corner, mesmerised by the boy in front of him. A small smile crept onto his face as he watched Race. It was rare for Race to let Spot see him dance, so he took any moment he could. Watching Race, it was like he was made for this, with the way his body moved so gracefully, so purposefully. Spot loved every moment. No matter how hard he tried (not that he was trying), he couldn’t tear his eyes away.  

“Spot!” Race said excitedly, opening his eyes and pausing the music. “You came?” Spot smiled.  

“Of course I came, dumbass. I wasn’t gonna miss this.” Race bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly.  

“I’m on in half an hour. Just going through some basic stuff now to get ready.” Spot scoffed.  

“You call that basic?” Race ran a hand through his curls, damp with sweat.  

“I mean yeah, compared to what I’m doing in the show.”  

“What are you doing in the show?”  

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Race said with a wink.  

“Ever the cryptid.” They stood in silence for a moment, then Spot had to break it. “You’re not binding, right?” Race’s face fell and he subconsciously crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you know it’s not good for you. Can we take it off before you go on?”  Race shook his head.  

“I don’t have anything else to put on.”  

“I brought a sports bra, could you change into that?” Race hesitated for a moment, before nodding. Race always struggled being safe when binding, so when he had events like this, Spot would always bring a spare sports bra and one of his hoodies for Race to change into. Just in case.  

He handed Race the sports bra.  

“I have a hoodie for you to wear after,” he said, handing him the hoodie too. Race smiled as he went into the bathroom to change.  

“Thank you.”  

“Spot!” Race cried, skating over to his side and offering out a hand. “Are you alright?” Spot shook himself out of the memory and took the hand, shakily getting to his feet. He immediately slipped again, but Race caught him, laughing. “You can’t skate, can you?” Spot shook his head. “Why did you bring me ice skating if you can’t skate?”  

“Because I knew you’d like it.” Race took both of Spots hands in his, so they were facing each other, then he slowly began skating backwards, locking eyes with Spot.  

“Thank you.” Spot tried his best to mimic Race, and soon they had a steady speed and rhythm going. “By the end of tonight I’ll have you skating on your own.”  

“I doubt that.”  

“Bet.”  

Race won the bet.  

“Wanna go get hot chocolate?” Spot asked. “Not the shitty watery stuff they serve here, we’ll go and get the good hot chocolate from the library.” Race rubbed his hands together to try to regain some feeling in them and he nodded.  

“Hell yeah.”  

The library’s café was a big reason why they always hung out there. They’d found it while studying one night, and it had slowly become ‘Their Spot’ over the years. All the staff knew them and their orders, and always greeted them with a smile. They knew all the staff by name too.  

“Thanks for this, Race.” Spot said, setting his books down on the table. Race smiled, setting his bag down on an empty seat.  

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He glanced around. It was a cozy, quaint place. Squashy armchairs surrounded tables and the whole place was filled to bursting with old wooden bookshelves. Towards the back was the café, a large chalkboard with all the prices hanging above it. “Wanna grab food and stuff before we start working?” He asked, gesturing towards the café. Spot looked up, and nodded.  

“Yeah sure.”  

“I’ll pay,” Race said as Spot reached for his wallet.  

“But-“  

“No buts, I’ve got it.” Race tapped his card on the reader and took his mug of hot chocolate, laden with sprinkles, whipped cream and marshmallows back to the table. Spot sat down shortly after him, lifting the mug to his lips. Race took that moment to admire Spot, backed by the sunlight streaming through the large windows. His brow was furrowed slightly as he concentrated on his mountain of a drink, and the contended smile on his face brought out his laugh lines.  

There was whipped cream on his nose.  

Race burst into laughter at the sight of Tough Guy Spot Conlon with whipped cream on his nose. Said Tough Guy Spot Conlon looked up, brow furrowing more in confusion.  

“Is something on my face?” He asked.  

“There’s – there’s whipped cream on your nose,” Race said through laughter. Just to make Race laugh more,  Spot attempted to lick it off. He loved watching Race laugh. It was the most magical sound in the world to him.  

“Boys, can you quiet down a bit,” a waitress asked, “this is a library.” Race pressed his mouth shut to muffle his laughter and Spot wiped the cream off with his finger. That was the beginning of their library ‘study sessions’.    

They settled into what had become their corner of the library, curling up in two opposite armchairs, setting their drinks on the table. They had chosen a spot right next to a large window so they could watch people go about their days on the streets beneath them. Sometimes they would make up ridiculous stories about the people walking by, just to make the other laugh. Often, it would turn into a competition about who could come up with the funniest story. It would reach the point where they were howling with laughter, tears streaming down their faces, and the library staff would shake their heads fondly as they told them to quiet down.  

“Thanks for tonight, Spot,” Race said, a small smile on his face.  

“It’s not over yet.”  Race tilted his head. It had already been one of the best nights of his life, how on Earth was this not the end? “We’re gonna go back to my place one we’ve finished these, get takeout, watch a movie.” Race grinned.  

“A Christmas movie?” He asked excitedly.  

“Even better – a crap Christmas movie.” Race’s eyes lit up and he wiggled a little in his chair with excitement.  

“Oh my god, you are the best.” Race was obsessed with Christmas movies, but the shitty, cheesy ones that you laugh at because of how unbelievably  bad  they are, and Spot was his long-suffering companion who had put up with this bullshit for nine Christmases in a row now.  

“Can we watch a Christmas movie?” Race asked, draped over Spot’s lap. This was their first Christmas as friends, and Race was going to make it a good one.  

“Which one?” Spot smiled down at Race, automatically starting to run his fingers through his hair.  

“I dunno, something super cheesy. The kind so bad you have to laugh at it.” That was Race’s favourite kind of me. Probably why he enjoyed the Twilight Saga. Not because he actually liked the films (Edward was an abusive douche, he had physically fought someone on that before, and he would do it again), but because it was so easy to laugh at how unbelievably shitty they were.  

Spot nodded, opening Netflix and putting on some shitty movie.  

Neither of them actually watched the movie though. Spot was distracted by Race’s soft smile and how peaceful he looked. Race was distracted by the feeling of Spot’s hand in his hair and Spot’s arms around him.  

It had been a while since Race had been in Spot’s apartment, (they usually preferred to hang out at Race’s, he had a bigger TV for movie and game nights) and he looked around slowly. It wasn’t a big place, but it was still nice. He had a large, squashy sofa, plus an armchair, a coffee table that clearly had been cleaned recently. In fact, the whole apartment had that smell like it had been cleaned just a few hours before. Had Spot cleaned for him?  

“Do you want tea or coffee or anything?” Spot asked from the kitchen.  

“Coffee would be good,” Race answered, getting comfy on Spot’s couch. Spot set to work making it as Race glanced over the takeout menu. Then, he had an idea. “We should build a pillow fort!” Spot turned to face him, one eyebrow raised, a bemused smile playing on his lips.  

“A pillow fort?”  

“Yeah!” Race’s smile dropped slightly. “Unless you don’t want to. We don’t have to-”  

“Of course I want to.” Spot set the coffee mugs down on the table, plopping down next to Race. Race’s eyes lit up when he saw the mugs.  

“You still have those?” He asked excitedly.  

“Of course I do.”  

“Spot look!” Race exclaimed, pointing at a shelf. Spot put down the mannequin hand he was turning into a middle finger and turned to look at Race, who was holding up a matching mug set. They were plain white, except for black lettering. One said ‘his bitch’ on it, while the other said ‘his slut’. “They’re for gays!” Spot laughed, looking at the price tag.  

“And they’re only like, $3.” Race’s eyes lit up with mischief, the way they always did when he had a stupid idea.  

“We’re absolutely gonna buy them, aren’t we?” Race said.  

“Obviously.” Spot took them from Race and paid for them.  

Later, Spot handed Race the mug reading ‘his slut.’  

“Why am I the slut?” Race said indignantly.  

“Come on, we all know you’ve slept with like, half the guys in the school.” Race’s face fell a little.  

“You don’t mind, do you?”  

“You sleeping around?”  

“Yeah.” In truth, Spot did mind, but he wouldn’t say that. The only reason Spot had an issue with it was because of his  huge  crush on Race. But he supposed he had no reason to be jealous, it wasn’t like Race was his.  

“No, I don’t mind. It’s your body, you do what you want with it.”  

“Sometimes I worry if I’m doing something wrong. If, I dunno, whoever I end up dating doesn’t like it.”  

“Have you ever dated anyone long-term?” Spot asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Race shook his head.  

“Nah. There’s people I’ve seen for a couple months or so, but never longer than that. They realise I’m fucked up and leave.” Race laughed bitterly, trying to add humour to the situation.  

“You’re not fucked up.”  

“Mhm, that’s not what they think.” Spot took Race’s hand in his.  

“Look at me.” Race hesitantly met Spot’s eyes. “You  aren’t  too fucked up. There’s no such thing as too fucked up to be loved.” Race blinked back tears.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright, now shut up and take your slut mug.” Race laughed.  

“You do realise it’s gonna have to stay at your place, right? No home will let me keep this.”  

“We can keep it for special occasions.”  

They curled up together on the couch. Spot reached for the remote and started flicking through Netflix, putting on a shitty movie. Both pretended to watch the film, but they were both too focused on the close proximity. Both wanted to make a move, but neither knew the right moment. The distance between them was painful.  

Slowly, achingly slowly, Spot reached an arm around Race’s shoulders. Race wiggled slightly, getting comfy, before relaxing into Spot’s side, resting his head on Spot’s shoulder. Warmth spread from every point of contact, and he couldn’t believe he’d spent nine years missing this. He had spent so long pining for Spot, but never worked up the courage to make a move, instead throwing himself at any other guy who would take him to try to distract himself from his helpless crush, but nobody gave him the same feelings as Spot did. Spot was it for him, he had known for the last nine years, and he knew it now.  

Spot was screaming inside. Race was right here, in his arms, and he wasn’t pulling away. They were on a date, and it wasn’t painfully awkward. Since meeting Race, Spot had hardly dated anyone. He had a couple flings here and there, but none lasted long. None could hold a candle to the brightness of Race. Nothing could compare to the warmth in Spot’s chest he felt around Race, or the safety and comfort he hadn’t felt before, but with Race it seemed so easy. Everything was easy with Race.  

Race took the moment to look around the room. In the corner, there was a photo frame, with 9 photos in it. He looked closer at it, and realised it was one of the two of them together, each one taken a year after the one before. The first one was taken when they first met, before Race had come out, before he had cut his hair. The second one was just after he had cut his hair. He still remembered each one being taken.  

“Spot, can we take a photo together?” Race asked, fiddling with the ends of his hair.  

“Why?”  

“I like having photos with all my friends, I like keeping the memories.”  

“Sure. You want a selfie or are we gonna make someone take it for us?”  

“Should we get someone else to take it?” Spot nodded. “Can you ask them?”  

“Alright.” Spot took Race’s phone and walked up to a middle aged woman walking by. They spoke briefly, then Spot came running back, throwing an arm around Race’s shoulder. Race grinned, looking at the camera, wrapping his arm around Spot’s waist. A few seconds later, the woman gave them a thumbs up, and Spot ran back to take the phone back. Spot handed the phone back, leaning over Race’s shoulder to look at them.  

“Are they good?” Race nodded, smiling.  

“Yeah, really good.” Spot backed off slightly, wrinkling his nose.  

“Your hair got in my nose.” Race frowned.  

“Sorry. I’m gonna cut it shorter at some point.” Spot tilted his head.  

“Really? How short?” Now Race was gonna do a special trick called lying to avoid outing himself.  

“A bob, so around my chin length.” Spot smiled, picturing it.  

“Yeah, that’s gonna look good.”  

“You think?”  

“Yeah, it’s gonna be good.”  

Race pounded on Spot’s door, wiping the tears from his eyes.  

“Wha- oh.” Spot opened the door, face scrunched up in annoyance, but softening when he saw Race. “Oh, Racer, come in.” Race came in, sinking down onto the couch, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie.  

“Can I crash here for the night?” He asked, voice breaking. Spot’s brow furrowed with concern as he crouched down in front of Race.  

“Yeah. What happened?” Race hesitated, before pulling his hood down, revealing his messily chopped hair.  

“I cut my hair. I just- I couldn’t look at myself with long hair anymore. I got kicked out.” Spot frowned.  

“What do you mean you couldn’t look at yourself with long hair?” Race’s breath hitched and his heart hammered in his chest.  

“I-uh-I'm trans. I couldn’t deal with the dysphoria anymore. It hurts too much.” Spot’s eyes softened and he wrapped Race up in a tight hug.  

“It’s alright. I don’t care. Do you have a new name and pronouns you want me to use?” Race rested his forehead on Spot’s shoulder, trying to keep from crying.  

“Could you call me Antonio? I mean, I’ll still go by Racetrack and everything, but Antonio for my real name. And he/him pronouns.”  

“Sure, Antonio,” Spot said, trying the name out on his lips. Race’s face split into a grin at the use of the name.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright.” Spot reached up to touch the choppy hair. “Now how about I sort your hair out?”  

“Please.”  

Race ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, examining it from all angles in the mirror, and he smiled brightly.  

“Thank you,” he said, turning and wrapping Spot in a hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”  

“Why don’t we update that photo we took last year?” Spot suggested, and Race’s eyes lit up.  

“Could we?”  

“I don’t see why not.”  

Spot threw his arm around Race’s shoulders, just as he had a year ago, and Race wrapped his arm around Spot’s waist, and they both wore matching grins as they looked into the camera. The woman taking the photo gave a thumbs up and Spot ran to take the phone. They looked at the photo, then back at the one from the previous year.  

“You look happier,” Spot commented. Race smiled.  

“I am happier.”  

“You kept those photos?” Race asked, nodding slightly to the frame. Spot tore his glance away from Race momentarily to look.  

“Of course I did. They’re my favourite pictures.” Race smiled, settling back on Spot’s shoulder. A blush rose in his cheeks as he felt Spot press a kiss to his hair, then his hand replaced his lips, fingers slowly carding through his curls. Race hummed contentedly, wrapping an arm across Spot’s stomach and leaning into his every touch. Now this, this was something he could get used to.  

The credits rolled, and by that point it was well past midnight. Race slowly sat up, regretting the loss of contact with Spot.  

“I-uh-I should go,” he said, moving to stand.  

“I’ll walk you home?” Spot offered.  

“Are you sure? It’s cold out.”  

“I’m sure, c’mon.”  

Somehow, the street was even colder than when they had gone out before, but neither of them seemed to mind. A snowbank piled up on one side, and Race struggled to contain his grin as the idea formulated in his mind.  

He knocked once, twice against Spot, playing it off as an accident, before shoving Spot into the bank. He erupted into laughter, but maybe it was too soon, as Spot grabbed his coat on the way down. Both of them shrieked as they landed in the snow, Race landing on top of Spot. They breathed heavily, making eye contact for a moment, faces flushed, but whether that was the cold or something else was anyone’s guess. Just as they had been staring long enough for it to become awkward, Spot finally made his move. He leaned in, like he had been longing to for years, holding the back of race’s neck and gently pressing their lips together. Electricity sparked through his body and he couldn’t quite believe he had spent years missing out on this. One of his hands subconsciously moved to tangle in Race’s hair, who tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The world around them seemed to melt away, and all that mattered was them, and this.  

“Fucking fags!” A voice yelled next to them. Spot was about to shake his head at Race, tell him to leave it, but Race was already on his feet.  

“Hey! What fucking century are you living in? So what I happen to be dating a man, please inform me of how I’m hurting you by loving him.  

“It’s against God’s will. You’re digusting,” the man said, rounding on Race.  

“No, I’ll tell you what’s disgusting – discriminating against people who have done  nothing  to hurt you, just because of a fucking book that was mistranslated. Wake the fuck up. People fall in love, they don’t hurt you by doing that, they just do it.”  

“Fuck you!” The man spat, turning to walk away.  

“I bet it’s fucking tiny!” Race yelled after him, turning back to Spot, who looked at him in amazement. “Sorry about that.” Spot shook his head, taking the hand Race offered to him and pulled himself to his feet.  

“That was amazing,” he said honestly, smiling.  

“I just- I couldn’t let him just  say  that y’know? I mean, I’ve heard shit like that for years, but I wasn’t gonna let him say it to you.”  

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”  

“That’s not the point.” Spot leaned up to kiss him quickly.  

“Either way, that was wonderful.” Spot had never seen Race angry like that before. Not when the Delanceys had constantly torn him down, not when he moved from foster home to foster home, not when he had gotten detention just for trying to use the right bathroom. But one homophobic comment and he had gotten furious like Spot had never seen before, and god Spot didn’t think he could possibly love Race more.  

Race smiled, hesitantly lacing his fingers with Spot’s as they walked the last few blocks to Race’s apartment.  

“Your house wasn’t decorated,” Race commented.  

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”  

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you decorate.” Spot didn’t get a say in it. Race was gonna deck that apartment out in so much glitter and coloured lights it would be like a very gay tornado had gone through and left parts of itself all over. Not that Spot minded. He would take any opportunity possible to spend time with Race. “I expect you up early.” Spot’s face dropped. “I’ll bring coffee,” Race added, solely because he knew coffee was the only way to bribe Spot into getting out of bed before 10am.  

“Alright, I’ll be expecting greatness. It better live up to the expectations Jack’s given me.”  

“It’ll be worse, I promise,” Race said with a grin.  

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”  

They slowed when they reached the door to Race’s apartment, lingering a moment before Race unlocked the door.  

“Uh, thanks for tonight, Spotty. I had fun,” Race said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t really want the night to end, but at least he would see Spot tomorrow.  

“Yeah, so did I.” They shuffled slightly, neither wanting to end the night. “Are we- are we gonna do this again sometime?” Spot finally asked.  

“Are you kidding me? If we’re not doing this like, weekly, we’re doing something wrong.” Spot chuckled a little, before looking up. He laughed, seeing mistletoe hung in the doorframe. Race’s eyes widened, before he looked at Spot, blush rising in his cheeks.  

“Do you wanna-” Race’s question turned into a squeak as Spot crashed their lips together, pulling Race close. He was gonna take every damn opportunity to kiss Race that he could. He had already missed out on nine years, he wasn’t gonna lose any more.  

Slowly, they broke away, neither wanting to, but both knowing they had to. Their faces were flushed, eyes wide.  

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, or would it be today now?” Race asked.  

“Technically today.”  

“I’ll see you later today then,” Race said with a smile.  

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.”  

They kissed quickly once more, then Spot disappeared down the street.  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

SantaGay :  did you guys enjoy my surprise???  

Mom:  I told you not to.  

Racebox of  Higgars :  YES!

[marshmallowprotection]

Im sorry, angel demon au??? And high school hijinks??????

Who doesn’t love a good Angel/Demon AU? There’s a lot of weight to that symbolism and it’s always fun to give those types of stories a read through because I am a sucker for niche cliche tropes, I love good/evil, light/dark, etc. 

It’s hard to try and survive when you’re the son of the Devil and he doesn’t consider you and your brother to be worth anything. It’s even harder when the man wants to be rid of you before you can try and usurp the throne from him. at any moment. 

All both Saeran and Saeyoung can do is try and find spaces on Earth where they can live and hide from that man’s wrath. There’s always a lingering concern that he’s going to come and get rid of both of them at any moment. For the most part, they are able to survive thanks to the kindness of other demons. A couple of centuries would pass by, and things seemed like they would be alright. 

Of course, that would be if it not for the fact that Saeran encounters a very enchanting woman one evening in the gardens. At first, he thought that she was just a human. He thought that somebody had just come to appreciate things, and he strikes up a conversation with her... and they continue to meet like that for some time. 

She’s very intriguing. 

She’s very naive and doesn’t seem to know all that much about the world, it’s like she’s been sheltered or something, Saeran thinks. It’s actually kind of cute, as she’s always asking him about this and that, how things work, and about anything that he’s willing to tell her about. He knows that he really shouldn’t be spending so much time out in the open, but he’s never had some new to talk to. 

It isn’t until something happens that he realizes who she really is. There was a close call with one of his father’s goons, and he gets injured in the process of fighting back. When he comes to meet with Lila the next time, she sees his wound wrapped up and asks to take a look. She frowns when she sees the depth of it, and without thinking, she presses her hand to the lingering wound and it is healed in a matter of seconds. 

It’s warm. Her touch is warm. It’s like the sun is kissing his face on a warm summer day underneath the glimmering star. It’s so white-hot, pure, and light that it feels like she’s breathing life into him. That’s when it hits him. Everything that she’s done and said now makes sense to him. She wasn’t just some sheltered human. She was an angel. 

And she now knows what he is as well because the glow from her power was almost immediately rejected by his body and the wound went back to the way it was before she touched it. They’re both left to sit there and stare at each other in shock. She can’t heal him. Her powers only work on other angels and humans, not demons, not devils. 

They mean so much to each other but they’re from two different worlds and those worlds were never meant to meet in this way. If she continues to seek out the human world and his grasp, her wings will be taken from her. If he continues to meet with her then he knows that he will taint her holy wonder, and put her in mortal danger. 

And yet, there’s no denying that they both have feelings for one another... so, what is an angel and demon to do? 

Okay, so Highschool AU is actually kind of kooky. It’s one of my sillier AUs that doesn’t have a lot of imposing drama in the background. It’s a slice of life adventure with romance! Hilarity will ensure, so hold your horses, kids. 

Lila is an exchange student that came from abroad. She’s determined to try out something new and experience something new, and she’s got the good fortune of coming to the same school as the rest of the RFA. Which is just a club at their school in this AU, they do a lot of good for it by throwing dances and all sorts of events. 

The first person that she meets is a member of the student council, and his name is Ray. He’s a real sweetheart and does his best to show her around and help her with anything she needs. He goes above and beyond what’s expected of him, as usual. He just doesn’t want to mess things up. After all, he’s the one that suggested that they open their school up to the program, so she’s kind of his responsibility in a way, you know? 

He can’t help how strongly he feels for others. 

It’s obvious that he’s got a crush on her after the first couple of days that she’s there. It’s written all over his face with that goofy and clumsy smile of his that he just can’t seem to hide. He’s probably going to get teased over it by Seven and the others when Lila isn’t looking. 

Lila may feel the same way, but Ray isn’t sure. She’s always smiling and chatting with him amicably. It seems like they’re getting closer and that she likes him more than some of the people he knows but... 

Of course, this isn’t smooth sailing. 

After all, Saeran is just lingering underneath the surface, and he’s far different from Ray when he comes out. It happens more often when Ray is overwhelmed with his emotions, no matter what they may be, good or bad. You know when Saeran is directly speaking to you, he’s much blunter and frankly, a big old delinquent. He’s always getting into trouble and getting into spats with people over the smallest things. 

He can’t help his hairpin trigger. 

Unfortunately, Lila has a penchant for finding herself in danger, it seems like she’s just a sitting duck for anyone who wants to lash out at the pretty foreign girl. Because of that, Saeran begrudgingly (gladly) has to save her from a sticky situation. Much to his surprise, she had been more than ready to tell off the guys that dared to bother her in the first place and had been in the process of that by the time he decided to show up and scared them off. And oh fuck, what’s this feeling in his chest?

He thought that he was just going to have to save some stupid girl for Ray’s sake, but as it turns out, he realizes that he’s got a thing for her as well. This is where the hijinks ensue, kids. Both Ray and Saeran have feelings for the same girl and neither of them realizes that there are more reasonable ways to handle this; Because now, they’re both trying to win her affection before the other does like a couple of blind-sided idiots. 

So, here’s to Lila, flabbergasted by both parties and their actions. She’s caught in the middle of them and it’s like being stuck between a wall and a hard place as they both take their shot! 

[monsters-and-mystics]

How I (kinda) see my OC family, the Dagwoods: Amethyst, Cypress, Dale, and Chrysanthemum (Chris). 

The first pic is how they are seen by &/or present themselves to others. The second pic is their more private selves. (Except Dale. If he’s not being a flirt, he’s being unashamedly dorky.) More on that below!

I made them here! The art style is super cute, so if you like icon makers/dress-dress up games, try it out! The color choices are limited, but it’s chock full of hair/clothing options.

1) First up is my main character, Amethyst. (Amethysts are purple, and I’m a sucker for puns, so of course I put her in mainly purple.) She’s the only one who got an outfit/background change because she’s the one with the biggest difference between her “public” and “private” self; fun, friendly, theatrical teen vs. depressed, overwhelmed, hunted witch who can barely control her power.

One of Am’s main physical characteristics is her hair, which she describes as often looking like she “recently stepped out of a wind-tunnel, complete with twigs on occasion.” It turned out crazy but perfectly so. (The other, and more important, main identifier is her eyes, but there was no way for me to get the Mark of an Essence across in the game.)

She’s a huge music lover, so I gave her the rock symbol in the first pic. I also but a flower in her hair both to reference the “twigs” that sometimes end up in her hair, but also because she’s one of those kids who likes to make flower crowns (and it just looked cute shut up leave me alone). For the second pic, I put her in entirely witch attire just to show how heavily her being a witch/Essence impacts who she is. She’s also the Head Witch of her family when her mother is away, so full witchy garb yes

2) Now for the eldest sibling, Cypress! While Amethyst is in charge of all things magical and supernatural when mom’s away, Cypress is in charge of the everyday needs of the family. He tends to keep to himself and isn’t very comfortable around strangers. He tends to come off as quiet, reserved, and responsible — and always a touch exhausted. 

Cy’s is not the type to flaunt himself or his talents out to the world, but he’s actually a skilled painter and sketch artist. He’s also a bit of a dweeb (hence the peace sign). I gave him the rainbow flag because he’s the only Dagwood whose sexuality I am 100% certain of (he’s bi). I also gave him a coffee in the first pic because he works long hours to provide for his siblings and needs that bean juice. 

He’s the only Dagwood who actively rejects his magic so I tried to give him the most “normal” pupils the game offered. He wishes more than anything that he were Normal and didn’t have to deal with his memory talent or magic in general. (The winking eyes only had two options for pupils so I just gave up with the second pic)

3) The fan-favorite: Dale! (I’m a little annoyed with his hair because I found a more suited style afterwards but was too lazy to redo him.)

How to describe Dale... In Amethyst’s words, “He’s just one of those Spring babies who loves Love.” He’s a flirt with a heart of gold. He tends to fall in love quickly and deeply, but that’s not a good idea when you skip town as often as they do, “so he tries to make up for it by treating no girl different from the rest.” 

Because he’s the school’s beloved popular flirt, I gave him a smooch mark, heart fingers,  and Anime-style cherry blossoms in the background. The flower is because he’s a pretty-boy and not afraid of defying the patriarchy (pink is his favorite color) and the halo for being the fan favorite. (Also, just look at him in that first pic. Doesn’t he look so sweet and angelic?)

The second pic is his more... dorky side. He loves a good pun, quoting memes, and making people laugh. He’s a dork and I love him for being so unabashedly himself. (ngl, I identify with Dale the most out of these four ahaha)

4) Last but not least, the youngest Dagwood, Chris! She’s only 14 but refuses to be treated like a little kid who has no say in things. She’s got a poor temper and uses that (and her sharp tongue) to force others to listen to her and what she has to say.

All the Dagwoods inherited their father’s “gentle waves”, but Chris’s are more exaggerated thanks to her “dark choppy layers” that are “excellent for hiding in.” I really love how her hair turned out in this. (Chris’s eyes are supposed to be glowing slightly, but since that wasn’t possible in-game, I gave her squiggly pupils instead. cuz why not.)

Despite her rough exterior and many self-protecting layers, deep down, Chris would love to be as playful and carefree as Dale and Am act, but fears it would only worsen them seeing her as a kid. She doesn’t have this issue with Cypress because he’s always given equal weight to her thoughts and feelings. (she also sees him as more of a father figure than another older sibling, so it’s easier for her to let her guard down with him.)

I gave her a book because she loves reading novels (and spell books). She’s the only other Dagwood I gave a proper wand to because she takes her role as a witch very seriously (unlike Dale who’s really just living it up and therefore got a sailor moon wand instead lol)

[disruptedvice]

Creator tag meme 2018

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc!) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2018. Tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original!) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged by the lovely @startofamoment, and subsequently realized that I wrote over half of the fics I have on AO3 this year alone (67/109 total), so narrowing these down was fun. I joined new fandoms, so I had 3 OTPs that I mainly wrote for: peraltiago, starmora, thorkyrie (listed in the order I got into the fandom chronologically, of course) (and I just realized that even though I only chose one peraltiago fic, B99 is mentioned in three/four-ish of these reflections, so even if you only know me from one fandom, stick around, cause there’s a lot of cross pollination in these reflections)

Wedding Day -

As she sprinted through the fields, barefoot and free, it made her feel like a child again, racing through the fields of her home planet, because she had promised Mamma she would be home in time to help her with supper.

Her feet were dirty from playing outdoors all day, but, as green little toes pressed into the freshly tilled ground beneath her feet, she was fast, laughing like a wild child as she ran, confident that she’d make it in time to keep her promises.

This time, she had a different promise waiting for her.

It was a different ground beneath her, one she’d never been to before today, but running bare feet in the grass still felt good, just like she remembered. As she ran, long green toes were pressed into a soil that was a different color than she remembered, and her sprinting feet were long and sure as they pounded against the earth with the speed and grace of a gazelle in its natural habitat. Her feet were practiced now, balanced and efficient. This wasn’t the clumsy running of little feet slapping down with every step. This was quick, light, elegant movements, barely touching the ground before propelling into her next step, with long green toes covered in dirt of a foreign land.

Much had changed.

But she was still running and smiling like a wild child, racing home, because she had promises to keep.

If I had to pick an absolute favorite from this year, it would probably be this one, and the funny thing is it was almost never written at all. This was actually an anon prompt fic and kinda technically a starmora week fill. The prompt for day 6 was Wedding, and I made a self explanatory one shot titled Wedding Night

The day after I posted it, I received the anon ask “Starmora prompt: Peter and Gamora's wedding day.”

The thing is- I had no plans to ever write an actual wedding for them. I didn’t even have any ideas for what their wedding would look like when I got that prompt.

In an alternate reality that anon never sent that ask, and one of my favorite fics would have never even existed.

So really, to that anon, that you, because this is isn’t just one of my favorite fics of 2018, but one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written, so thank you for sparking it!

Whirlwind

The majority of my Brooklyn Nine Nine fics from this year were explicit peraltiago one shots, and this was no exception. Just the sex that immediately follows the decision to screw light and breezy on their second night. Kinda kinky, kinda awkward, kinda giggly, and definitely happy.

There’s a specific line in this fic that I love more than anything, and really don’t know why, just that I do.

Amy kissed him like finally and supposed to be.

Honestly, I think this is my favorite line of the year.

Like I just love the way it sounds, reading it aloud in my head. It just fits.

It’s always the best when people leave their favorite lines/parts in comments, and I’ve found that nothing pleases me like writing a mundane sort of detail and finding out that really made an impression on someone. There were a few specific lines left in the comments, but one comment really stood at to me, just in general and also cause of the line they chose:

She felt him stroking at her slicked up curls

Someone left a comment about just that line as a subtle detail being something they really liked. And I was like ‘huh, interesting’ because as far as just regular details go, I didn’t think anything of that line, and I had no idea how good it would feel in the center of my chest when someone left a comment on how much they loved what I just considered a regular sorta line

Healing

“There’s more to healing than what’s just physically necessary,” Val replied calmly, choosing to focus on treating and bandaging hand injuries rather than the weight behind her words. It’s a process, she thought, but didn’t say. She had a feeling he already knew.

Okay, so I actually got the term hand whump from a comment left on one of my older b99 fics, but it was so perfect the first time I read it cause like, that’s my favorite type of whump! I’m glad I’m not alone in being a sucker for hand injuries in the fanfic community. I don’t know what it is. Symbolism??? Maybe???

The first time I saw Thor Ragnarok, I was barely dipping my toes into the MCU fanfiction community with GOTG, so it wasn’t until I watched this movie again for the second time that I wrote my first Thorkyrie fic, cause, I mean, how could I not? How can you not just love everything about them?

Our Stories can Heal

“S’okay. I know this stuff is hard for you. Thanks for trusting me with that.”

Her heart swelled at that. There was a little ache at how he said that like it wasn't clearly just as hard for him, but mostly her heart felt warm and full.

“Thank you for being the kind of person I know I can trust,” she replied, and that earned her a chuckle.

This one is near and dear to my heart as a sexual abuse survivor myself- plus, I have a thing for badass couples supporting each other (can’t you tell from my OTPs?)

I pretty much wrote exclusively for B99 for almost three years, and while I love digging into emotional issues with a generous serving of comfort, I guess the most severe emotional issues I’d ever explored in a Peraltiago fic was Jake’s abandonment issues. While I’m clearly not opposed to exploring themes of support for traumatic experiences, I was never really able to do that until I had a ship that I could do that with in starmora.

It’s much easier for me to explore things like traumatic pasts in starmora fics because A: it’s canon that they both had traumatic childhoods with physical abuse and were both raised in just traumatic environments in general, and B: with pretty much every hurt/comfort fic I write (whether hand injuries or emotional issues) I like starting at the healing point.

With Peter and Gamora, the trauma already happened in the past, and I don’t have to establish it as an author (plus in the MCU meeting each other in the first movie and starting the Guardians of the Galaxy is where every member of the team’s life starts to get better). That’s all established canon.

If I were to write a soft peraltiago fic of  healthy relationships and emotional support involving past sexual abuse for either of them, I’d have to CREATE something in their backstories that led to that situation, and that’s just something that I honestly don’t wanna do.

I only have two starmora fics that touch on this, and tags for both of those are “implied/vaguely referenced past non-con” because I never actually state anything about it directly in the fics, and never go into what actually happened.

Seriously, in both fics, it’s impossible to tell if it was past CSA or if it was a past incident of sexual assault. That’s how vague it is. And I’m able to be that vague with it, because I don’t have to establish traumatic pasts, because their traumatic pasts are canon. Rather than having to create a trauma like I would have to if I wanted to explore these healing themes with peraltiago, with starmoa I just have to go sideways from what’s already canon, you know? (In Our Stories Can Heal they’ve both had vague past trauma, in this fic right here, Peter is the only one who’s had extremely vague past trauma- both are about healthy relationships and healing and emotional support)

The Hourglass Runs Out of Sand

Here is the exact summary for this

“You are always telling me that I am more than what I was made to do,” Gamora reminded him gently.

“Yeah, but you weren’t made for it,” Peter said, looking up at her with a sudden intensity she wasn’t ready for. The anguish in his eyes made her chest pang with a dull, resounding ache. “Your parents made you so you could be a kid, not a weapon. That’s what you were made for. To be a person. You weren’t supposed to be used to kill people or the entire universe. That’s not why you exist, not like me.”

(Or: Peter’s body isn’t reacting well to losing Ego’s light is one of the author’s favorite tropes)

This was such a self indulgent work of all my favorite tropes and themes. Emotional hurt/comfort? Check. Physical hurt/comfort? Check. Mutual comforting? Check.

I even put in the freakin’ summary that it’s written for my favorite tropes. So, I mean, of course it’s gotta make my top 5 of 2018

Plus, I actually had some fun working in ideas that I didn’t actually use, but still love as concepts.

And it was actually thanks to the comments on this fic from Wawa_Girl / @marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches that pushed this over into something extra special as an author.

She made a much better in depth analysis of this fic than I ever could, and her entire long ass comments on this fic made my entire fucking year

Like damn, you get yourself a cheerleader who leaves 2,000+ word comments on your fics, cause I got mine.

Here are just 3 subsections of her comments that meant the fucking world to me:

First of all, I love the very premise, the specific types of emotions and trauma Peter is going through here. It's twofold, and it's fascinating. 1) The idea that he was only "made" to be "used," discovering and contemplating and becoming self-loathing over the fact that the entire reason he was conceived was to be used to as a battery, a tool, a thing to help destroy the universe. WOW. That is a take I had never really considered, or at least never thought about for long. That would fuck anyone up, create serious identity problems, that at least on the side of his father, he was intentionally created for evil purposes, and not just to be a person. 2) Guilt over the thousands of innocent people he hurt while being used as a battery, although it was greatly out of his control. Because to someone who wants to be a hero and with such a big heart, the knowledge that he even involuntarily killed anyone through Ego's power is horrifying, to the point where the guilt is so high he feels he deserves any physical pain/illness/injury. Awww man, another take I would have never strongly considered. We've seen fanfics where Peter feels guilty in the aftermath of Ego, but it's usually in relation to how he treated the main characters (never appreciating Yondu or realizing he had a father all along; not listening to Gamora and yelling mean things to her during their fight; being too cocky and rude to Rocket in the beginning, overall wanting to be a better person/hero/boyfriend). NOT insane guilt over the strangers and planets he destroyed via Ego's light. Goddammit. :( This is the first time I've seen a fanfic address these two ideas. And it's realistic and creative and GOOD.

- How Gamora originally thought Peter "felt" the other children, his siblings dying, how seeing the bodies scared her for Peter's well-being so much, and how making Peter relive their deaths seemed like Ego's brand of sick, psychological torture. But also that Peter actually meant he felt the other strangers dying due to the expansion, scared and running away and being buried. Feeling that is horrifying, of course he would feel insane levels of guilt. The comparison that, despite Gamora's guilt over her victims under Thanos, she never felt them die, and not all at once but over the course of years. Again, great contrast. I still love her reminder "That wasn't you." That could never be Peter.

- Peter breaking down crying when Gamora says "Earth" instead of "Terra." That's so interesting, one of the most original concepts in this piece, how that slight name change would resonate with him so much. Fascinating. And heartbreaking. He held it together well, and that was the thing that broke the thread. Poor baby.”

If you’ve got anyone in your corner who builds you up like that, then you’re set for life, baby.

(I think that Gamora misinterpreting Peter’s statement and thinking he meant the other children when in fact he meant the people that died during the expansion is the example of working in ideas I didn’t actually use but just love as concepts)

And that last one kinda goes to the point I made in Whirlwind reflection about people liking what I thought of as regular/sorta mundane details- like obviously the part about Earth/Terra was supposed to be emotional and I wrote it that way on purpose, but I didn’t intend it to be even in the top 8 emotional hard hitting moments in this fic, so what she wrote about that little bit has always stuck with me

And turns out her favorite part was a last minute addition, which always makes me feel extra special, I don’t know why. Finding out that last minute inclusions are things that people loved just makes me glow

If you have a reader who sometimes gives you comments even half as good as marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches gives hers, then you too can consider yourself truly blessed (she writes freakin’ amazing starmora fics too, so she’s the kind of commenter I aspire to be as a fanfic writer, you know? If you don’t have your own marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches, you go be somebody else’s marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches. You go make somebody’s year just by being you)

I’ll be tagging @thehoneymoonbinder, @marypoppinswasmyfatherbitches, @ephemeralcontinuum, @nymphrea, and @startsrose3

Honorable mention for Falling, or the fic that made me realize that I have a pattern, and every time I have a new OTP, the first fic I post for them must be a pregnancy fic. First B99 fic? Peraltiago pregnancy one shot back in 2015.  Last February? Published my first GOTG fic, a starmora pregnancy one shot. Back in June? My first fic ever written for any of the Thor movies- Falling- a, you guessed it, Thorkyrie pregnancy one shot.

[fernlomwrites]

Chronicles of Tenaria: The Tour Begins

Life was not any easier for Harmons without the mask on. He could still feel Pinstripe in him, his voice in his head

“Come on lawman, find me a new victim. A new sucker for me to possess. I’ll make your life a living hell if you don’t”

“Is that a threat? Am I being threatened by a ghost?”

“A ghost that can very easily take over your body. Watch and learn badge boy”

Suddenly, as if he could not control his own body he un-holstered his side arm and pointed it to his temple.

“Tell me boy scout, you think you can survive a bullet to the brain?”

“What?? Can you? You damn psychopath?!”

“Of course I can. Do you know how much easier it will be to possess you if your brain dead? Fortunately for you, I need you as a pawn, not a body.”

Slowly, the gun was lowered and returned to its holster.

“Sleep, you are useless to me tired.”

“I should have never put on that damn mask”

“Yes, you are an idiot. Now sleep”

“I swear when we find you a new host, as soon as you bond to him or her, I am going to kill you”

From deep inside his mind Harmons felt the eerie laughter grow into a horrendous cackle.

“No you wouldn’t. You are limited by your stupid sense of honor bullshit. You would never kill me out of the fact that you would also kill an innocent person. You law types are all like this, too focused on what’s ‘right’ to make the tough decisions. It’s your idiotic sense of justice that got you into this mess in the first place. Now sit your ass down and get some sleep.”

Harmons felt his legs fall out from underneath his weight and fall face first into the bed’s comforting embrace. With a sigh he allowed himself to drift off into a deep sleep. Though it felt like he slept for only a few minutes, he woke to find he slept through the night and almost to the afternoon, only to awake from the sound of knocking on his front door.

“Urgh, Pinstripe you bastard!” Quickly, Harmons rushed out of bed, not bothering to change out of the suit from last night and swiftly opened the door.

“Your late deputy. Are your bags packed?” Cal stood at the door guitar hung over his back, cowboy hat replaced with a ragged old truckers cap, brown leather jacket over a grey flannel, old jeans and a large belt buckled designed like a horseshoe.

“Yes Cal, my bags are packed. Let me grab them so we can go”

Cal grunts under his breath and walks across the lawn to the Bus parked by the curb, marked with the OFFkeys logo. OFFKEYS. Surrounding by each of their individual necklace charms. Portions of the buss themed after each of the members, the front simple, and black for Clarice, afterwards red is mixed in a blood and fire like pattern for Mike, then more brown and silver is added for Cal, then the reds and browns are replaced with blues and purples for Jenny, then the blacks and silvers are replaced with a rainbow of color for Pandora, and the bus ends with neon colors, and pixel patterns for Eric.

Harmons looks at the buss in puzzled bewilderment. “H-how…how is it that works together…how?”

“All music is fundamentally the same” Clarice answered as she approached the bewildered deputy “So it is very easy to meld our different genres. And make something beautiful. Your friend Chris is on the bus already…is that your only bag?”

Harmons looks down at his solitary, small black roller bag “well…yes…should I have packed more?”

Clarice scoffs “Depends, how long did you expect to be with us?”

He shrugs “I…I guess a week or so…”

“Try a couple months. That’s how long the tour is Deputy”

Harmons almost choked on air “M-months? Are you serious?”

“Of course she is” Mike walked up and handed Harmons the mask “Clarice isn’t exactly humorous. Then again, neither am I.”

Harmons reluctantly takes the mask and puts it into his bag “And if I find a new host for Pinstripe sooner?”

“Unless you just have money for a plane ticket back here laying around yourself, you’re stuck with us deputy”

Harmons sighs and picks up his bag “Where do I put this?”

Mike gently takes the bag from him “I’ll take it for you, just get on the bus”

“Come on Deputy~” Jenny takes his hand and slink away with him into the bus “Let me give you the tour~”

Where the outside of the bus was a mix matched color disaster, the inside was much more uniform. A gold and brown color design filled the interior of couches, beds, and seats. Dr. Krins was sat on the center couch, chatting with Cal, Eric, and Pandora.

“So then this guy decides he wants my bag of stuff. And you know its not a good idea to threaten Santa. So, I brought out my canes and broke his jaw. I left a lump of coal in his pockets.”

“Geez Krins. That’s…badass.” Cal took off his hat in respect.

“Wait. Wait a minutes” Harmons walks up to the group, visibly confused “Did you say Santa?”

Dr. Krins chuckles to himself “Ho, ho, have I never told you?”

Harmons drops to the couch “My best friend…is Santa?” Slowly he drops his head into his hands “Can my life get any weirder?”

Cal tries to pat his back comfortingly “I know Deputy; I was the same way”

Dr. Krins chuckles “I wasn’t even hiding it. No one ever thought I was real is all. I thought I was obvious.”

“It…it was…but like you said, I didn’t think Santa was real.” Harmons slowly looks up “and did you say you broke someone’s jaw with your canes?”

“Oh yah, I broke Rodney’s legs last year when he was on his little murder spree. He tried to take my charm. I swiftly broke both his legs, and them left him a box with a little surprise inside”

Mike turns and faces Dr. Krins. “What was in the box?”

Krins smirks rather slyly “His first victims charm. He thought it was gone. His first victim could actually control his body if he wore his charm so he got rid of it. I found it”

Harmons stands up “I remember that charm. He wore it when me and the mayor took him down. It was a silver key with neon green gems in an atom formation. When the spirit of the charm took him over, he started steaming when the fight started. He eventually exploded, and what was left…. was his first victim. Professor Ilions. “

Eric was the only one to seem surprised “My dad…I forgot he was the first one dead. He is alone in his lab so often I never noticed he was dead. It wasn’t until he came back did he spend time with mom more”

The rest of the band silently stand by Eric and comfort him. Dr. Krins hands him a box of tissues, seemingly from nowhere. Harmons was the only one not by Eric. “Geez…that’s terrible Eric…”

Eric clears his throat and puts his glasses back on “Let’s get going now. Her Brady! Let’s get moving!”

Siting at the driver’s seat was a thin, scrawny man, with a simple chain necklace, its charm a flaming wagon wheel. He smiles politely before lurching the bus forward and down the road. For a while the bus seemed to be driving slowly, before suddenly shooting down the road as his charm glowed a bright fiery red.

The whole band and Dr. Krins stayed standing, seemingly unaffected by the sudden speed, but the initial lurch forward was enough to knock Harmons back down into his seat, and the speed increase kept him pinned.

Clarice laughed “Not used to Brady’s driving huh? Not many people are, he was a natural born driver, that’s why we hired him to drive our bus. We save so much time getting to our concerts when he drives.

“You know Deputy, it’s great that you came with us. Sometimes our...fans…can get a little close” Cal stands up and walks over to the fridge of the bus “And having a cop can be real convenient”

Harmons staggers to his feet “You think you are in danger? From your own fans?”

“They aren’t our fans. They know our power and want us dead”

Dr. Krins solemnly nods his head “Of course. Who are they?”

“They are called The Legion of Full Power. They believe if everyone in the world had powers, there would be peace. We know that is stupid. As does everyone else in town. Members have their symbol marked on their hands. The left hand has an anchor wrapped in chains, their right hand has a jagged key, engulfed in flames. Whenever we see someone with those markings approaching town, we swiftly turn them away”

“A cult. A cult has been trying to invade our town. Why does that not make me happier about the constant supernatural attacks. I should be happier about that since that is easier to deal with, but I’m not. A cult is so much worse, why can’t we just be a normal town. There are pirates at the docks, I was just visited by a mystic cowboy from the old west, and now I am haunted by the ghost of a damn assassin who killed my cousin.”

Mike tilts his head slightly “You had a cousin?”

“Yah, his name was George, his charm was purple pocket watch over a purple stone. He could control time, and unfortunately he decided to steal from Don Lomas. Bad idea on his part. I tried to protect him, but Pinstripe was too much. Funny thing is, Pinstripe knew how powerful the charms are, yet he left George’s. He didn’t want to take it. We put it in the vault, before we buried him.”

“You cousin tried to steal from the most powerful mob boss in the states? Was he stupid?”

“Yes he was Clarice, but he was still my family. As much as I never liked admitting. He was cunning like the rest of us. Doesn’t make him any less of an idiot though.”

Harmons staggers over to the fridge with Cal. “What do you guys have to drink here?”

“What would you like?”

“Beer preferably”

Cal opens the fridge and pulls out a can of beer for the deputy

“A lot to take in I’m guessing”

“Yah. I guess”

He opens the can and slowly drinks “Ugh, so, where is the first stop?”

“Portland. We should be there soon actually.”

“How? Portland is like a four-day drive from Keypers Cove. “

“Brady.”

Harmons turned and looked out the window expecting to still see the icy glaciers of Alaska, but instead saw a blur of blues and greens as the bus sped down the highway at impossible speeds.

“This…should not surprise me as much as it does”

“Yet it does. Funny right?” Eric softly pats his back “Just don’t spill the beer”

“Funny Eric. Very funny” Harmons smirks and returns to his seat

“Hmm, Portland ey~ Yes, my next host is definitely there~”

Harmons shivers “oh god, I forgot about you, I can’t wait to get your stupid voice out of my head”

“Who’s voice?” Cal looked up. Harmons made eye contact “oh right. So, yah, I’m kinda being haunted by Pinstripe”

“How…wait, never mind”

Mike reaches into his bag and pulls out the Mask. “Would it help if someone wore it for now?”

Harmons looked up and took the mask “Yah. Me. Turn away everyone. This is going to be bright”

The group looked away as Harmons slowly moved the mask to his face, before the bus was filled with a bright light, and Harmons was no more, only Pinstripe.

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

Chrono Link

[rayalez]

Notes for the Leader — II

click here for Notes for the Leader — I

He looks peaceful, as one should when dead. I noticed a slight smile on his face when I went up to the casket to pay my respects. The dreadful wail of the widow fills the funeral hall behind us. We’ve all taken to drink, passing around a flask, well out of view of the widow and the family.

“This is fine whiskey,” say Colonel Kim.

“Thank you. It is not American,” I reply.

“Where’d you get it?”

“From that Chinese guy on People’s Struggle Road.”

“He’s very good at smuggling in American liquor,” says Kim.

“He is.” I reply, raising the flask in toast and taking a gulp.

“Poor Min,” I say. I pass him the empty flask, shaking it to show him I’ve just finished off the last drop. “As lowest ranking officer, you miss out on the booze but have to carry the flask.”

Min calls us a bunch of assholes.

“I heard he was found in a whorehouse,” says Colonel Kim, probably a bit too loud.

“Yes, he was. However, truthfully, he died working diligently at his desk,” says a lieutenant.

“If he died at his desk, why was he found at a whorehouse?” asks Min.

“Remember, officially it was not a whorehouse,” I tell Min.

“Min,” says Colonel Kim, “common sense would say that if you die at your desk then you are probably going to be found at your desk. We are not dealing with common sense. We are dealing with the truth.”

“What was the cause?” asks a Lieutenant with a crooked nose and thinning hair.

“Truthfully? A heart attack. Judging from the man’s girth, I’m inclined to believe that truth too,” says Kim.

The widow lets out another wail in the background and we turn our heads slightly aback for a second.

“I heard it was the whorehouse on People’s Road,” says another colonel.

“Officially that whorehouse has been shut down by our compatriots, the municipal authorities. In all honesty, however, I think you’re right.” I say.

“You know, he was a pretty good looking officer when I first knew him, before he packed on the weight. It was only in the last few years that he had to resort to the whorehouse,” Kim says.

“Who will be taking his position?” asks Min.

“Perhaps you, my buttercup. How would you like to run our Strategic National Electronic Espionage Unit?”

“I have no experience in computers or coding,” Min replies in a deadpan fashion.

“Judging from the former head of the unit, who now lies in that casket, I don’t think that is a qualification for the job,” says Kim, missing Min’s sarcasm. I look over at the casket, keeping my eyes fixed on the large banner depicting the Leader’s face that’s hanging above the dead man’s body.

“So you knew him when he was younger?” I ask. “What kind of man was he?”

“He was ambitious, but somewhat dim.”

“Was he a good man or bad man?” I ask.

“We are at his state-sponsored funeral. The banner of the Leader hangs above him. Officially, he was a good man,” says Kim.

Another piercing wail from the widow.

“Is that wailing because she’ll actually miss having a 300 lb. manatee trying to mount her or because she now gets evicted from general’s housing? Sorry if I’ve just caused you all to picture a preying mantis mounting a pile of playdough” Kim muses.

“I think she’ll be okay financially, if he did his duty and squirreled away some money. He was a member of the Showshin Group so he should have had a lot,” I say.

“What’s the Showshin Group?” Min asks.

“You’ve heard of Showshin,” Kim interjects. “The most accomplished protégé of the Grandfather’s favorite painter, Chouen. Years ago a group of high-ranking government officers and generals got together and created Showshin,”

“What do you mean? Showshin is a real person. I’ve seen his paintings,” Min replies.

“You’ve seen paintings that are called Showshin paintings. You haven’t seen Showshin’s actual paintings because Showshin wasn’t a real person.”

Min stares at Kim.

“He was created,” Kim continues. “This cadre wanted some extra cash. Chouen’s paintings were so expensive and profitable that they decided to just make up a guy, slap a name on him and say he was Chouen’s protégé to give him the necessary pedigree. Of course, they claimed he had been killed fighting counter-revolutionaries in the great steppe. That accomplished two goals. First, dead artists always fetch more. Second, they wouldn’t have to worry about getting some actor to pretend he was the artist.”

“I don’t believe you,” Min says matter of factly. He’s been egged on by Kim one too many times.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true — well, not officially of course.”

“It is true, Min,” I chime in. “Kim’s not just being an asshole, like usual. These guys created their own market and made thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars. All it took was for this group of guys to start pretending to clamor for these supposed masterpieces and the suckers joined in.”

“But what about the paintings of Showshin?” asks Min.

“They had some guy make some paintings. Tell me, do you like Showshin’s paintings?” Kim asks

“He’s my favorite painter if I had to name one from our country.” Min says.

“What about Showshin’s paintings is so great?” Kim continue.

“I like his style. He’s famous. He has a….”

“There it is!” Kim shouts. Others glare at him and he quickly lowers his voice to a whisper. “There it is. That word — famous. You like him because he’s famous. If he was some guy who painted out of his alleyway and you stopped by one day, you wouldn’t think those paintings were fantastic. You’d think they were mediocre. But people tell you the paintings are great, so you think they are great. And therefore, you pay a lot of money for them — well, you do if you are a member of the Leader’s family or some corrupt businessman and not some underpaid sergeant in the military.”

Kim continues. “It’s basically printing your own money if you are a member of the Showshin group. You have some anonymous guy paint something for you and you put it up at auction. If some previously undiscovered Showshin just happens to show up on the market one day, they have a ‘group’ of experts declare it as authentic but only if the owner is a member of the Showshin group. Anyone else and they declare it a fake.”

“How the hell do you know this?” Kim asks.

“My well-connected uncle once bought a Showshin. It cost him a fortune.”

“Did the group tell him the secret after he bought it?” Min asks.

“No, he learned the secret the hard way,” Kim says, fussing with his shirt collar. “He had a falling out with some higher-ups. Turns out one of them was a member of the Showshin group.” Kim says. “How did he find that out?”

“The day after the fight, his painting was declared a fake.”

I chuckle, gazing up at the store window advertising a sale on notebooks. Walking inside, I am greeted by a young female storekeeper who bows deferentially at the patron dressed in full military uniform. I peer down and see a three-foot tall, life-size Eschuan, an elfen-like rabbit creature that’s been manufactured to serve as the symbol and inspiration of the People’s Struggle for children. It grins back at me, an axe in one hand and a hoe in another. An older man, probably her father or grandfather, makes his way from the back of the store and gives me a polite smile. I feel bad intruding on people like this. The uniform causes trepidation, though everyone tries their best not to display it, and I feel guilty. I feel guilty because they kiss your ass and they especially kiss my ass because I’m nicer to them than most high-ranking officers. This always catches them off-guard. Soon the fear melts off their faces and the confusion they experience, mixed with the unexpected relief, molds into an almost ecstatic gratitude reflected in their eyes. But I don’t know if I act the way I do to them because that’s who I am or because I selfishly want to see that gratitude. I am either a good person or a truly awful person. And if I do not know which I am, I am certainly the latter, I think, remembering what Sun had said.

“Hello, Most Honored Fighter,” the old man says, using the mandated term of endearment for high-ranking military officers. “May I help you find something?”

“Hello, my esteemed compatriot and worker. I see you have been advertising for paper supplies.” Here, I could easily say I want a notebook, but I wait, extending the conversation.

“Yes, Most Honored Fighter, we are. Do you require some paper supplies?”

“Yes, I may. Is business good?” I look around, noticing the entire aisle devoted to Leader merchandise: scented candles imprinted with the face of the Leader, Leader action figures, Leader books and good luck charms, Leader-recommended medicines and topical ointments.

“It is. Each day we are constantly striving to improve the People’s betterment, true to the Leader’s behest.” The last line is delivered in a textbook manner.

“You do not need to speak that way with me, friend.”

He looks confused at me. “Sorry, Most Honored Fighter. I will do better.”

“No, you don’t understand. No need for robotics. I am a boy from farm country. I know normal speak, esteemed compatriot and worker.”

“Normal?” The man looks at me, a bit off put. I start to get annoyed. He’s either sincere in his beliefs or too cowardly to let down his guard. I don’t know which is worse.

“Forget it. Please lead me to your paper supplies. I need a notebook.”

“They are in this aisle. Do you require any special kind?”

“Something small enough to fit in my back pocket,” I reply.

“Of course. Take a look at these,” he says, handing me several leather bound notepads. As I look over the selection, I feel his eyes on my face. I look up from the stack and see him avert his��gaze.

“Are you on duty today, Most Honored Fighter?” he asks, almost in a hushed tone. I look at him and sense that he’s smelled the whiskey on my breath.

“Why do you need to know that, citizen?” I ask, switching to a standard form of address for the commoners.

“You have such an important job. I figure there’d be no way you’d have time to honor our little store with your patronage on a day you must devote your energy to protecting the Leader’s land.” A subtle chide at me for being drunk on the job. This is, according to true believers, not patriotic behavior and we must always — always — evince patriotic behavior. It rankles me that he would risk upsetting a high-ranking official for the sake of such blind, stupid devotion. My presence, right here and now on this man’s floor, captivating his entire view, his entire mental processes; these illustrious medals, shining and glimmering on my chest before his eyes; my odor, the smell of liquor and well shined shoes and hair gel and cigarettes welling up in his nostrils; my side arm, loaded and black, uncaring and ready to kill; all my supposed raw power: they have all been trumped by some ethereal propaganda, some false truth that’s never seen but always there.

“My energy is never not devoted to protecting the Leader’s land, even on my off days,” I say sternly.

“Of course,” he says, staring blankly at my chest. I see the young woman in the back begin sweeping the floor.

“Tell me, citizen, have you served in our Eternal Struggle,” I say, referring to combat.

“During the Epic Conflict, I was racked with tuberculosis, unfortunately. I did everything I could, helping to fashion clothes and armaments in my bed.”

The man reminds me of my grandfather and I long to hug him.

“So you have no risked your life for our Most Glorious People?” I say, disdainfully.

“Not as you have,” he says. I notice the young woman has been sweeping the same spot behind the counter for ages.

The old man looks up at me meekly and I want to cry. I peer at his shoes, torn and soiled. His sweatshirt has the stains of a man who has worked long hours for very little. His pants sag from his waist. An old belt musters its might to keep them up, cinched tighter than it was ever intended.

“You seem like you come from the countryside.”

“Yes, I do. Five miles from Ancestral Mountain.”

“Very auspicious. How’d you make your way into the city?”

“My wife died and I thought I could help in the struggle more if I was here.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure she was a good person. How did she die?”

“Old age.” By this, he means either starvation or disease.

“Well, I am sorry. Is that your daughter?” I smile and give a nod. The young woman keeps her eyes on the floor.

“No, my granddaughter.”

“What did you raise in the country?”

“Goats and chickens mostly, and then I was recruited to work as a school teacher.”

“You must have been very smart, and very busy. Most of the rural school teachers also worked for the Rural People’s Re-education Program.”

“I would have been happy to serve the Leader wherever, but the fatherland saw fit that I just serve as school teacher.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” I know it is not. “My father worked for the Rural People’s Re-education Program,” I tell him.

The old man begins straightening boxes and cans, lining them up so they just touch the edge of the shelf in front of him.

“He would’ve been your age, I suspect,” I continue. “He said it was hard work. He said in those days there was lots of necessary re-education. There were many rats skittering in and out of the farm fields back then. Rats from across the border. Many traps had to be set. It was very hard.”

“I’m sure you are very honored by his service for such a just cause, but perhaps we should not speak about his noble efforts. It is better not to throw a rock at the tail of a passing tiger. That is what the Just and Kind Grandfather once said.”

“But hasn’t the Leader said, ‘When sailing down the River of Glory, keep one eye looking ahead and one eye looking behind. For someday the journey might take us back upstream, and it will helpful to remember the location of the rocks we first passed.”

“You may be right, Most Honorable Fighter.”

“Who are we to believe then — the Leader or the Grandfather?”

“We believe them both.”

“But, if they are irreconcilable?”

“These are not questions to be asked,” he muffles.

“How many surviving children do you have, my friend?”

“I do not have any. I once had three.”

“I am sorry to hear that. The three children — were their deaths prescribed or was it the natural order?”

“Two had their deaths prescribed. One died by natural means.”

“I am very sorry for your loss.”

“Death is natural, but thank you,” he says.

“But prescribed death is most unnatural.”

“Death prescribed by the Leader is more natural than any kind of death.”

“Except death by actual nature, I suppose?” I ask, pulling out a cigarette and twirling it unlit in my fingers.

“No, even more natural than that,” the old man responds.

“And how do you figure?”

“The Leader is Father of All. If he prescribes it, it is done by nature.”

“And he is good — isn’t he?”

“Without any doubt he is.”

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” I say. “I have no doubt this is a difficult topic for you, though you certainly don’t show it. Tell me, friend, does it ever bother you that some of us are born naturally good and some are born naturally bad?”

“No, I suppose that is the way of things.”

“But, there’s consequences for being bad isn’t there? The Leader says that before we are born the spirits of the afterlife have already foreseen our entire lives. And when they are molding us, they know how deep or shallow our every breath will be, how far we will walk with our first steps, how many times our heart will beat during our first kiss. They know if we will be good or bad. They know who will ascend into the Ultimate Glory, and they know who will descend into the depths of the great suffering for eternity.”

“The spirits of the afterlife are all knowing and good. Of course they know all this.”

“Ah, you say they are good, and that’s what we are taught, isn’t it?” I ask, raising my voice. “If they are so good, so benevolent, and if they are all knowing — able to predict the future — why then do they make bad people?”

The man stares at me.

“It’s cruel, can’t you see? In their very hands, they possess clay and they shape it and mold it and this entire time, while their hands are still moist and sticky with the residue of our eventual existence, they know if what they are molding is good or bad. If they sense it will be a bad person, they know it is doomed to suffer an eternity of hellfire. Then, I ask, why make such a pitiful creature, knowing full well its awful fate? Why, if they are so good, do they make something only to have it suffer for the rest of the ages? Is that not the cruelest thing that can be meted on a being?”

“I wish I knew the answer. I am just a simple shop keep.”

“I hardly doubt that is true. Your granddaughter — where will she be going to university?”

“The Great Father’s University of Science,” he says, quickly looking up at me. He realizes he’s made a mistake.

“Oh, the University of Science. Very prestigious. I’m very happy for you,” I say looking over the shoulder of the old man at the young girl. She gives a faint smile and keeps sweeping.

“It is very difficult to get into the University of Science. One needs to be close to the Leader’s heart, as they say. I am happy the Leader, in his righteousness and wisdom, has decided to open such doors to us, the rural peasantry. Of course, he has always been very generous to those who do such nasty work on the People’s behalf.” The old man looks at me at first uncomfortably, but then his expression changes and for the first time I see it in his eyes, that cold, dark, calculating expression. It is the look he must have given hundreds, if not thousands, of times in the fields. The subtle winds pushing the tops of the wheat where he stands resolutely. Women cowering and screaming for mercy before him, clutching their babies while houses burn in the distance. His pants are tattered and he is holding an AK-47 and he points it at the object pleading at his feet.

“Was it all worth it?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“Did they all deserve to die? Even the children?”

“Truthfully, yes.” He stares at me.

“Let us have tea in the backroom,” he says after a moment’s pause, his voice quivering for the first time.

“Yes, lead me to your backroom. I need to show you something,” I say.

I rest my hand on his shoulder and hear a scream.

“Good lord, will she ever stop with the wailing?” Kim asks, as I keep my hand resting on him. The casket is being lowered into the ground as dozens stand grazing about.

“Maybe she will calm down once he’s out of sight,” Min whispers, replying to Kim.

“Let us hope so. The People’s Struggle was never meant to be easy, the Leader tells us, but there’s only so much one man can endure.”

“You’re just pissy that we’re out of scotch,” I tell him.

The National Anthem starts to play and we bow our heads. I pass the time by looking at the shoes surrounding me. Most are military, black and well-polished. Some of the women wear dress shoes and heels. A few of the men in civilian suits — the political class — get away with brown leather. As the anthem reaches climax a pair of high heels steps right in front me, toes pointing toward me. I look up and see Mari.

“I mean this in the most sincere way. You have always been good at fucking,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she says, unstradling me and making her way towards the bathroom. I stare at her as she walks, her gymnast body fluttering around the bed, looking almost like a ghostly apparition in the darkened room.

Notes for the Leader — II was originally published in Fiction Hub on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Discover more awesome fiction at https://medium.com/fictionhub

[thesinglesjukebox]

AVRIL LAVIGNE - HEAD ABOVE WATER

[7.25]

"Your search for 'avril lavigne head above water nightcore' returned about 128,000 results"...

Alex Clifton: I am admittedly a fan of songs that come after Major Life Changes; in this case, Avril's first real single in five years comes after a nasty battle with Lyme disease. It's unlike anything I've ever heard from her, either. I associate Avril's music with brash brattiness, which in a lot of ways makes this more heartbreaking; I see a lot of parallels with Kesha's "Praying" in that they're both sweeping ballads that show off the singer's vocals while also addressing a difficult subject. I've never heard Avril sound so scared or vulnerable like this, and that includes all the angsty teenage songs where it felt like she was skittering around telling us her real feelings. At times, "Head Above Water" becomes weighted down with its own production -- I think it could've done to be a bit more stripped down -- but it still remains a song that stopped me dead in my tracks when I first heard it, and that counts for something. [7]

Anthony Easton: This is not the kind of work that I expect from Lavigne, and it is very much a Praise song even before God is mentioned near the end. Even the image of the altar has a certain, desperate fervor. I am always moved by this call for capitulation and for rescue, this uncynical call for help. Extra points for the crashing piano, extra extra points for the slight Kelly Clarkson edge to the whole enterprise. [8]

Taylor Alatorre: I don't presume to know Avril Lavigne's precise religious beliefs, and it's likely better that I don't. But in this I hear the passion of the doubting faithful -- those who are not sure if there is a God listening on the other side but desperately need there to be. "Keep my head above water" is sung with the intensity of someone who knows drowning is a real possibility, and the congenitally hopeful CCM structure is tempered with a distinct post-grunge edge. Above all, it's refreshing to hear a mainstream pop song in which God is addressed directly, as a proper noun rather than an interjection. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: As someone who nearly drowned in the Pacific Ocean during a service trip with my church ten years ago, I'd like to think that "Head Above Water" is the perfect song for remembering that experience. In reality, it more succinctly captures how one's survival shapes any reflection on such an event. As a song birthed from Avril Lavigne's fight with Lyme disease, "Head Above Water" is sung with a conviction that knows she'll survive. Despite any doubts she may speak of here, her singing is an act that turns her desire to believe into actual belief (or security, or peace). She may not have willed her survival into existence but a song like this shows how submission to something bigger than oneself can sometimes be beautiful. But oh how thin is the line between humility and denigration of self, between recognizing one's smallness and a stoking of self-hatred. "Head Above Water" succeeds because it feels so far removed from the world itself to invite such cynicism or mistrust; it places you in a direct channel with God. The verses employ a chord progression that recalls various CCM songs' attempts at sounding like contemporary hymns. It grants the song a formal, ceremonious aura that's rounded out by a stadium-ready chorus. There, the drums pound like a series of crashing waves while Lavigne's voice sounds like she's controlling them at one moment and caught inside them at another: a concise portrait of life's unexpected downturns. Having been through all this, she's announced that she's "stronger than ever and looking forward to sharing [her] renewed voice and energy." It turns out these waves weren't just a symbol for tribulation, but of newfound life: a sort of regenerative baptism. [7]

Alfred Soto: She co-wrote "Head Above Water" with Stephan Moccio, who specializes in loud productions, and I appreciate her delight in loud, uncomplicated emotions (she was an artist my students a decade ago helped me get beyond "Girlfriend" and "Complicated"). She sounds fine. The chorus drop is a return to the "I Knew You Were Trouble" well. [6]

Julian de Valliere: When I was younger, I read an Avril Lavigne interview in which she shared that she often couldn't bring herself to get any writing done if she wasn't being forced into a studio. I remember being so taken aback by this information at the time. Being so used to hearing songwriters talk about these random flashes of inspiration, and the constant rush to capture those ideas before they faded from memory, the knowledge that one of my favourite artists had to literally will herself to write the songs I loved seemed almost like a betrayal. Now, as I sit here trying to translate my thoughts into words for a fourth consecutive hour, I understand her situation better. Unfortunately or not, some people not only have to push harder than other, but they also find it harder to do that pushing as well. It doesn't necessarily mean they don't want to -- just that the thought of the struggle alone can be quite dissuasive. But even when she's not putting in all the effort, Avril still has a real knack for pop; her approach of settling on a certain emotion and then slamming every button necessary to crank that all the way to a hundred has delivered us many a banger over the last sixteen years. When she goes for greatness though, the difference is so stark that it's hard to fully embrace the former -- even if that is well above functional. It's that extra stuff that makes Under My Skin and The Best Damn Thing the albums they are, that makes cuts like "Remember When" and "17" out-dazzle the tracks surrounding them. It's what makes "Head Above Water" such a jolt to the senses. After two albums that seemed to signify a pop star being worn down by compromise, label disputes, and decreasing dividends for all her efforts, "Head Above Water" marks a change of heart. Suddenly, Avril's broaching territories she's never attempted before -- lyrically, vocally, and structurally. The song itself, with all its undisguised fear, is a monumental emotional moment on its own -- but to recognise that, and then understand the sheer force of the terror that must have led her to this change makes the experience of hearing "Head Above Water" far more powerful than just its engineered elements could manage. It's a bittersweet triumph, and one that feels strange to truly celebrate -- but despite her struggles, and because of them, Avril's pushed herself to greatness, once again. [10]

Rebecca A. Gowns: As I opened up this video, my toddler leaned over and hit my keyboard rapidly, and ended up making the song play at twice the speed. Suddenly, it was transformed from a plodding inspirational pop ballad into a hot inspirational dance track. D-d-d-DJ Toddler! *airhorns* [4]

Tobi Tella: I'm a sucker for cheesy power pop, and so one of the queens of the genre Avril Lavigne returning from her hiatus with her best song in years is a very exciting prospect. The reason for her absence being her struggle with Lyme disease gives the song infinitely more power as well; it gets kind of morbid when you realize the song is literally about not dying. Don't let her drown, pop radio! [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[trainingbrahs-blog]

Patched In: The Artistic Brah

The Bro Series honours a variety of bros and gives us the opportunity to get to know some of our favourite little buddies a bit better. Knowledge is power sisters and brothers!  Our fifth interview in the Bro Series is with Zoe, the stand-up-bro-turned-jits-bro, also known as the Artistic Brah.

We should probably mention that apart from being a tough blue belt that loves judo, Zoe makes amazing jiu jitsu inspired art, which we obviously asked her exactly zero questions about because we were too busy talking about gross things and Gucci Mane.  You can see Zoe’s excellent art here and here.

Vicky - Ok.  Why do you think ringworm is called ringworm?  It’s not a worm.  So why make it any grosser than athlete’s foot?

Zoe  - You know what?  I’ve thought a lot about this for the last ten days.  I’ve read every single… My first 2 pages of google, all the titles are purple because I’ve clicked on them and I really think they should change the name.  I think the history is that they used to think it was a worm because it makes that circle.  Do worms even make a circle?

V - There’s the snake that eats its tail, but that’s symbolic.

Z - So yeah, my symbolic worm disease. I honestly think if it had a different name, people would be chill about it.  I would be chill about it.

V - Right?  Athlete’s foot.  Or athlete’s circle?

Mike - That sounds like a store.

Darcie - I would shop there.

V - It’s something that happens to someone who’s fit and active.

Z - I dunno make it sound like at least not terrible.  Can you please not?  Can this please not happen to me right now?  Everything is terrible.  Why am I having ringworm too?

V - How much hair do you think you’ve lost in jiu jitsu?

Z - Not enough.  My hair’s still really puffy and big.

V - Do you lose it from the back, the front, or the side?

Z - I think it gets torn out from deep within the clump.  My hair has no back front or side.  Especially once I’ve been rolling for a bit. It’s very sweet when guys crossface me then go “oh oh oh your hair!”  But you’re already crossfacing me.  Why are you concerned about my hair?

D - That’s why I just got an undercut.  It solved all of my problems.

V - Don’t you think it’s weird when they sort of gently brush it out of the way?  They lift your head up then smooth your hair.

M - I do that to guys with long hair too.  It’s like come on, man.

V - But sometimes it’s oddly intimate, like you’re being cradled?

M - From now on, never again.  Oddly intimate with other men?  No.

V - It touches me!

M - Does it touch them too?  I’m not staring at your tender hair.

D -- Everyone should just get an undercut.

V - Yeah, we’ll talk to you again when you’re growing that thing out.

D - How do you feel about competition?

Z -  I enjoy it when I grab their lapels, but everything up to that point including the two weeks prior pretending that I’m not doing it is just very uncomfortable.  I never regret it, even if I lose miserably.  I do enjoy the excitement, even if I’m losing tremendously.  I like to be in it, I just don’t like to get there.  My mind is my problem.  I like it and I’m going to challenge myself and do no gi for my next competition.

M - ooh.

D - Does Mike know about the challenge?

M - What challenge?

Z - haha yes.  Chad told me that I should challenge Mike to no gi because I could probably take him..

M - Probably.  Challenge accepted.

D - We should market this

V - Like a superfight?

D - Yeah.  But you should get some sort of… you know.  Mike has weight and more years of jiu jitsu.

V - So like a handicap.

D - I didn’t want to use the word handicap, but yes.

M - A seven point lead?  Is that what you want?

D - I dunno a hammer or something.

V - Or like Zoe gets to do slap jiu jitsu and Mike doesn’t

M - If it’s a gun, I’m ok.  I just did firearm self defence this week.  I’ll take you on with a gun.

D - So we’ve written a lot of posts on cutting weight and not cutting weight because it’s for suckers, but tell us about the last time you made weight.

Z - Alright.  I was cocky.  Because the previous competition I was underweight because the scale at our gym was six pounds over.

D - Still is.

V - Is it really?

D - It’s over by quite a bit.

V - Thank god.

Z - So I was super cocky and was like, “I’m not gonna be careful at all.  I’m just gonna have a hamburger and onion rings the night before and I’m gonna drink coffee in the morning with four bananas.” Then I was in the car with Shannon and I was getting this feeling of “Ahh I gotta compete.”  I dunno I have a feeling.  The go to to calm my nerves is to vomit.  It works like a charm.  It relaxes me.  Honestly I’ve been vomiting to relax myself since I was like 4.  Whenever too much stress was happening I’d vomit.  Almost without warning, especially on playgrounds and stuff.  Someone would upset me or something and that was my go to.  So  I know this about myself.  So I knew.  I was like, “Shannon, I don’t know if you have to pull over when we’re driving but I’m gonna have to throw up soon.”  She was like, “no problem.” Anyway we found parking and I knew it.  Shannon had walked off to put money in the meter and I knew it.  I felt it.  But the vomit doesn’t just come out.  I have to like force it out.  It’s just that sick feeling in my stomach so it’s just like “blech.”  It’s really, really hoarse and forced but I have to expel something.

M - Oh my god, your face.

Z - I only had like 4 bananas and two cups of coffee.

V - That’s a lot of bananas.

Z - So I was in the parking lot and I was kind of embarrassed because there were a bunch of construction guys having lunch so I was trying to hide, retching behind a tree at BCIT and my stomach wasn’t full enough so it was just like that gooey stomach acid bile. But, I managed to throw up my coffee.  Then Shannon told me I didn’t look so great, but I was good to go.  So then I’m waiting for my fight and I thought “oh I might as well weigh myself” and then I step on the scale and I was just so confident.  Like you know, I’ve done this before.  TWICE already.  So I got on the scale and then I looked at the guy’s face and he was like, “ohhhhh you’re at the limit” and I was 141.5.  I was at the cut off.  And I was like “oh no, thank god I threw up in the parking lot, otherwise I would’ve missed weight!” So I scraped by and I learned a hard lesson that I shouldn’t eat junk food 12 hours before I fight.  And to keep my retching vomit to a minimum.

V - Zoe, I will never forget you at the in-house competition.

Z - What the one I did after two weeks?

D - Yeah, that’s why we decided we were going to adopt you.  Well that and because you came out dancing after.

V - Yeah, you showed up for two weeks, we barely even knew who you were and you had the most laser focused insane maniac look on your face and you just destroyed everybody.  It was terrifying.  And kind of amazing.

Z - Well thank you, also I really don’t remember it.  I remember Rodrigo had said “Zoe, it’s ok.  Two weeks.  Whatever just do it.” and I said “well you know what, ok.”  My mindset like that works for me sometimes, when I’m almost naive to what is actually happening or if I don’t really understand the situation, I just usually say yes and I usually have a really good experience from it.  I remember when I woke up that morning, it was about 10:30 and I said “oh yeah, I’m about to do this competition at 11:30” and I didn’t even know what that meant.  So the sense of relaxation and chill that I had was the best that I ever felt in terms of thinking about going to compete.  I didn’t know what I was doing and now when I watch white belts I’m like, “Is that what I was doing?”

V - Yeah, you had no chill.  It was amazing though.  Really.  You just came out of nowhere and just destroyed.  So you’ve been working at the gym for a while now.  What’s the grossest thing that you’ve found there?

Z -  Well today I found a bandaid on the wall.

V - That’s nothing.

Z - I know that’s nothing.  Mike handed me a bag of vomit once.  I said, “I’m not touching that without gloves” and he’s like, “Oh that’s a good idea.”

M - It really stunk too.  It’s like thick foamy.  A guy was like, “My daughter threw up.” It was me and Zoe only.  We were way overwhelmed with kids and one kid barfed.  It was just a little girl. She was 3 or 4, but the amount of throw up that came out of her was like the size of her.  I was looking at her and looking at it… and looking at her.  It didn’t match up.  That’s an adult barf.  So I brought the garbage can and I was like, “How are we gonna navigate this?” So I swept it all up and it was all over the edge of the bag and my hands and Zoe was just like, “No fucking way.  GLOVES.”

Z - Mike, you know that’s a biohazard.  You need to not pick vomit up with your hands.  That’s the one that comes to mind but honest to god, I’m disgusted by people everyday.  

V - If you had to tattoo something on your face what would it be?

Z - uhhh my… That’s a good question

V - Is it?

Z - I would have to research more.  Actually it would probably be something… I was going to say decorative.  I dunno I couldn’t go full ice cream cone.

M - Gucci Mane?  It’s Gucci that has that right?

V - That’s a thing?  He has an ice cream?

M - It’s the whole side of his head.

V - Shut up.

D - I’m so glad we get to put a picture of Gucci Mane on the blog.

V - I don’t understand.  Are these spikes coming out of the ice cream cone as well?  Seriously.  Can somebody look up why?  There’s gotta be some meaning behind that.

Z - It’s because he always says ice cold.

V - Ok but you could do like an ice cube.

Z - Ice Cube is taken.

M - He’s the ice cream man.  It’s because he chooses to live his life cool as ice.

V - That’s stupid.  It’s an ice cream cone on his face.

D - Ok let’s go straight to Interview Sharktank.  It’s one minute.  I think Brancao still holds the title.  He answered like 35 questions or something ridiculous.

V - I still think we stopped timing him.

D - We’ll have to look it up.  Anyway, we’re not going to ask you what your walkout song is because we already know from Manuel’s birthday party.

V - for the record it is…

Z - Oh for the record, it’s Kate Bush, Running Up That Hill

D - So if you were practicing for sharktank, we’re not going to ask that.

V - Practice?  That’s how Brancao beat everybody.  And go…

D - Favorite sub?

Z - What?... Favorite?  I was gonna say turkey!  

M - Go!  Next question!

D - Favorite Subway sub!

Z - I said!  It’s turkey!

D - What’s Chad’s walk out song

Z - Oh no.  A Handsome Man?

D - Gi or no gi?

Z - No gi

V - REALLY.

D - Best thing about jiu jitsu?

Z - Everything

D - Worst thing about jiu jitsu?

Z - Everything!

D - Broken nose or broken toe?

Z - Both.

D - Name a country that starts with A.

Z - America

D - Staph or ringworm?

Z - Ringworm

D - Cher or Dolly Parton?

Z - Cher

D - Best take down.

Z - Osoto gari

D - Give us your favorite Louis quote

Z - Oh my god.

V - done!

D - Oh I wanted to hear it.

V - Does Louis have quotes?

D - “You can’t arm drag me!  I’m already sitting down!”

M - “You should’ve cut that big toenail, that’s gross” [for the full story, see Patched in- the Original bro]

11 questions.  Aaaaaaaaaaaand stilllllllll Brancao remains the Interview Sharktank champion.  Thanks for sitting down with us, Zoe.