#more than with any artistic drive. It's utterly ridiculous

[fragmentedblade]

I should do something with my time other than hyperanalyse a gacha game

[nimblermortal]

I forgot what a pleasure it is to watch bad media. It just releases me totally from any need to respect artistic direction.

Netflix recommended I watch My Happy Marriage. According to Netflix, the plot is

that a girl who has been very abused (emotionally, forced labor, etc) for not having a magical gift is assigned by her dick family to marry Incredibly Prettyboy Kudo, who is from a great magical family, has a strong gift, and oh yes, just happens to be 80s fantasy levels of pretty. Oh, and he keeps losing fiancees, rumor has it they're dead.

It takes them an entire episode to establish that this betrothal is going to happen, and it takes Prettyboy less than an episode to figure out his latest fiancee is abused. They have this hilarious meetcute where he's all, "I expect you to obey every command I give. If I say die, you die" and she goes, "Oh yes of course thank you for explaining the rules in advance."

---

So in my head, they're scions of magical families whose gifts are utterly useless because the demon beings they're supposed to combat have been effectively wiped out already. They are trying to justify their existence in defending from magical attacks, but all of the magical attacks at this point are just families vying among each other for supremacy. Prettyboy as a scion takes this duty very seriously, possibly because he's inbred and not too bright, since he also takes very seriously the oath he swore never to give his father any grandkids.

The oath was in return for his own abusive upbringing, which was more on the lines of 'you're not good enough, train harder, privations' extremes, which sort of. Fell apart when they put him into military academy and he met all these other scions who are just so lazy and entitled. So he went home and killed his dad, and feels much better about life for having done so.

The oath was also because he's hella gay. He's being deliberately ridiculous about his rules for his wife because it gets rid of fiancees pretty quickly. He's actually screwing his aide - they're not in love, but the aide loooveeesss when he hears a new fiancee is coming because he gets dicked down so good when the fiancee runs off. So new fiancee comes, and Prettyboy goes, "Yep, uh huh, die if I say s- did you just agree?"

Meanwhile Friendly Serving Woman is giving every kind of wink she can manage to tell the Young Master to marry this girl, because when Protagonist arrived she gave Serving Woman a very innocent, very gay once over, and Serving Woman went, "Fan-tastic, this is the perfect woman for Prettyboy."

Side details include:

-Prettyboy cannot drive. Oh, he can keep the car on the road, but the reason they stopped by his workplace with the car? was so he could make his aide park it. He lives in terror of parallel parking. (He is in fact pretty bad at anything except magic and stamping his signature on papers.) -Every time Prettyboy tells of his aide for flirting with his wife, it's because he's having a really wtf moment about his boyfriend flirting with his platonic fiancee. Aide is of course doing this on purpose. -IT'S SO CUTE that protagonist decided to celebrate their relationship by inviting her future husband's boyfriend over for dinner -At some point they are going to go burn down Protagonist's family's house as a fun couple's outing. This will probably involve the awakening of Protagonist's latent Protagonist Magic, which is apparently going to be mind control? so maybe they'll make the parents burn it down for them. -Prettyboy is starting to regret killing his dad, pre-awakening of latent gifts. He really wishes he could summon his dad's spirit to say, "So you know how I told you I'd never give you Gifted grandkids? Well not only will I not be giving you any, but I will not be giving them to you with a woman who, herself, does not have a Gift." It would be so rewarding. Alas, necromancy is not in his impressive portfolio of Gifts. -when Protagonist's magic starts to awaken, he hopes a bit for necromancy

[esmealux]

I'll bite. 13 and 35 look like they might be fun together. 😈

Thank you so much for this fun prompt, Shelly ❤ The opportunities seemed endless, but in the end I went with this. I hope you like it.

Once again, I screwed up at brevity, so this is 1.9K (:

13. Someone does something stupid + 35. 'You wanna bet?' 'Care to wager?'

Never make a bet with the Devil.

A deal, if you must. But do not bet against him.

Not because he’ll take your soul or anything; he won’t even necessarily take your money.

But because he can’t handle it. He can’t. He’ll stop at nothing to win, and when he doesn’t—when he can’t shoot down a bottle of vodka with a slingshot from 400 feet away, or blow a soap bubble with his nose, or fly to Sweden and back in under thirty minutes (the latter he did do, but a drug test showed he’d taken EPO)—he’ll walk around in a pathetic cloud of self-pity, sulking and pouting to an unbearable degree for days on end.

So if you care about the Devil, don’t bet with him. It’s for his own good.

It really is.

And yet-

Chloe picks up the dirty plates from the coffee table as gunshots fire around her. It makes her a little uneasy, how real it sounds through their newly installed surround sound system. One so expensive she doesn’t even want to know.

Their just as overpriced (and unnecessarily big) TV is bathing Lucifer in white-blue light as he stares at the screen intently. He did want to watch the movie with her, but she’s not much of a Weaponizer fan, and she’d like to clean up before she snuggles up next to him on the couch and inevitably falls asleep. As she’s gathered all the dishes in her arms, however, she can’t help but pause and glance at the film for just a second.

‘Yeah, like that could actually happen,’ she snorts, watching the car jump across a considerable gap in a bridge, flip mid-air, and land on all four wheels on the other side. ‘I mean, no one’s ever done that.’

As soon as the words leave her mouth Chloe knows she’s made a mistake.

Lucifer pauses the movie—because God forbid he misses five seconds of a film he’s watched thirty times—before he looks up at her with a lifted eyebrow and a devilish grin.

‘Is that a challenge, Detective?’

Chloe glares at him, her jaw clenching. ‘It’s not possible,’ she states firmly, which is even worse, because now he can only reply with-

‘Care to wager?’

Chloe wants to kick herself.

‘There’s no way in Hell you’re doing that,’ she tells him, nodding towards the paused screen before she heads for the kitchen to start the dishwasher.

‘Why? Because my worried girlfriend won’t let me?’ he calls after her. ‘I’m invulnerable, remember?’

Chloe refills her wine glass, generously, and returns to the living room.

‘No,’ she objects, careful not to spill Pinot Noir on the couch as she settles against Lucifer’s warm, silk-clad side. ‘I just know you’ll never forgive yourself when your beloved Corvette rams into a cliff.’

Lucifer gasps and scoffs. ‘As if I’d ever risk such a sweet beauty like that!’ He plucks the glass out of her hand and takes a sip. ‘And even if I did, she would not, because I would succeed, first try.’

‘First try? Really?’

Chloe grabs the remote and replays the last fifteen seconds. Looking at it a second time, it’s even more ridiculous. The background is so obviously a green screen it’s not even funny, the flip is clearly made using some sort of outdated CGI, and they haven’t even bothered making it look like there’s a real person in the car. Also—Chloe doesn’t remember much from school, but she’s pretty sure the entire stunt defies physics as the car leaps, practically flies over the 150 feet gap, all the while rotating 360 degrees sideways.

‘Maybe third,’ Lucifer admits.

Chloe shakes her head and sighs.

‘I can do it, Detective.’ He looks at her like it’s a threat. ‘And I will.’

Oh, he will definitely try. The determination in his eyes leave no doubt about that. But he can’t possibly copy that stunt with an actual car and an actual gap. There’s just no way. And she shouldn’t spur him on. She really shouldn’t. But the idiot’s gotta learn at some point, and if she’s gonna have to deal with his childish disappointment (and she will), she might as well get something out of it.

‘Fine,’ she shrugs. ‘What are we betting?’

He grins at her, brown eyes twinkling with excitement.

‘If—nay, when I win,’ he answers promptly, and Chloe rolls her eyes, ‘I’ll finally get that thing I’ve always wanted.’

Chloe stares at him, comepletely clueless. If his tone and stupid smirk are anything to go by, it’s not a pet shark he’s talking about.

‘One... re-enactment for another,’ he clarifies slowly, his dark gaze gliding over her body before his eyes flicker to the glass doors leading to their terrace—and their outdoor hot tub.

Chloe fights the urge to roll her eyes again.

‘Okay,’ she agrees, internally reminding herself it doesn’t really matter. She gives him a cocky smile. ‘And when I win?’

Lucifer chuckles as if he finds her adorably naïve. Asshat. Still, he says, ‘You’ll get anything you desire.’

Chloe thinks. There’s not much she desires he wouldn’t give her anyway. She could have him do paperwork for a month, but he’d just mess it up, and she’d have to listen to his complaints about ‘torturous boredom’ and ‘purgatory’. She could also go for something funnier, like have him wear t-shirt and sweats to work for a week. But that would just be cruel, wouldn’t it?

‘I don’t know,’ she tells him, but the words are barely out of her mouth before Trixie’s enthusiastic voice sounds behind them.

‘I might have an idea!’

Lucifer sighs and gives Chloe an unimpressed look before he shifts slightly in his seat to look at her daughter.

‘Alright, but only because your mum lacks creativity like a sober Faulkner.’

Trixie walks around the couch and comes to stand in front of them, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘Please don’t tell me it’s a unicorn on the cheek,’ Lucifer huffs, taking another gulp of Chloe’s wine.

‘It’s not,’ she assures him and holds out her iPad for him to see. It’s a doodle of a small, fluffy goat with pink fur. ‘I was thinking something more… permanent.’ With the hand that’s not holding her tablet, Trixie pats a spot on the left side of her upper chest.

Lucifer slowly removes the wine glass from his lips, and the sheer horror on his face makes Chloe snort with laughter.

He stares at the small, inarguably adorable drawing like it’s a personal insult, glances down at his chest with dread, and looks back to Trixie.

‘You little Devil,’ Lucifer grumbles, but there’s no trace of hostility in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little impressed. He grabs Trixie’s iPad from her outstretched hand and studies the pink kawaii buck for a second, as if he’s seriously considering saying yes to the deal.

Eventually, he sighs. ‘I’m in.’

‘Lucifer-’ Chloe immediately begins to protest. He’s not gonna win this bet, and she knows how downright intolerable he’ll be when he’ll have to get a cute, chubby animal—one that, to him, represents mockery and misconception—tattooed onto his skin. She's tired already, just thinking about all the whining she'd have to deal with.

But it’s too late. Her boyfriend and daughter shake hands, and the deal is settled.

Chloe palms her face.

‘Wait, what do you get if you actually manage to… whatever it is this time?’ Trixie asks, her small hand still clasped in Lucifer’s.

Chloe looks up at him, heat creeping up her cheeks. Their eyes meet shortly before he looks back to her daughter, visibly conflicted.

‘Eh…’

It’s not so much a word as it is a breathy, high-pitched sound, partly stuck in his throat. But it’s answer enough for Trixie.

‘Forget I asked,’ she quickly says, her face scrunched up in disgust. ‘I’ll be in my room.’

She takes her iPad back and leaves them alone on the couch.

‘So, I guess it’s tit or tat, then,’ Lucifer remarks with a chuckle, glancing down at Chloe’s chest.

She snorts and smiles, despite herself.

‘But, I mean-’ He grabs the remote and plays the scene a third time.

He must not see the same utterly absurd and almost comically impossible stunt she (still) sees, because he leans down and whispers in her ear, ‘Better start rehearsing your lines, Detective.’

Chloe shakes her head at him and snuggles closer to his body.

*

‘You’re lucky I like your mother,’ Lucifer mumbles as the needle pinches ink into his chest.

He’d driven off in a ‘cheap’ Porsche this morning and returned eight hours later, looking like he’d literally been fed to the wolves and with no Porsche.

‘Hey honey,’ she’d greeted him, hiding her smirk behind her cup of tea. ‘How’d it go?’

He’d answered with a grunt, blamed the Germans for making their cars too ‘praktisch’ and the Italians for not making theirs fast enough (he’d controlled for variables) and finally concluded it was all his dad’s fault because He ‘created that pesky gravity’.

Then he’d handed her an ornate, black business card and looked at her as if he’d picked his own casket.

Chloe had bit her cheek and hugged him before driving all three of them to the high-end tattoo parlour he’d requested.

‘You okay there?’ she asks him, letting him grip her hand tighter. The fact that he isn’t feeling any actual pain—‘any physical pain, Detective!’—makes his wincing all the more pathetic. Still, she feels a little bad for him.

‘No.’ He bends his neck to peer down at his chest, and pouts. ‘I’m not.’

Trixie grins beside him. ‘I think it looks cool!’

‘Of course, you do. You’re a twelve-year-old girl.’

The smile on Trix’ face turns into a smirk. ‘A twelve-year-old who girl you lost a bet to.’

Sighing deeply, Lucifer turns his head to scowl at her like she’s his annoying little sister and not the stepdaughter he’d go to the ends of the universe for.

‘It’ll be gone in a few months,’ Chloe reminds him, earning her a funny look from the tattoo artist.

The muscle in Lucifer’s jaw ticks. ‘It’s not even finished yet and I already hate it more than I ever did my bloody wings! How am I supposed to endure this… horned cotton candy for months?’

Chloe takes a deep breath. She brought this on herself. She knew she shouldn’t have made that bet with him. She knew he’d be an insufferable drama queen.

She also knows, after hours of hearing him moan, that he’s not gonna shut up about ‘deceitful special effects’ and ‘useless laws of physics’, much less the ‘vile, little creature marring his muscled chest’. Not unless she does something.

So Chloe does something.

For the second time in her life, she gets naked in—and out of a hot tub.

‘No moaning, then,’ she tells him, giving him a stern look.

Lucifer looks her up and down in awe and hunger, dark eyes lingering on the tiny red bikini he knows she’ll take off in a matter of seconds. ‘Now, there’s a promise I can’t keep.’

‘About the wager,’ she clarifies, but he’s not listening.

With a sigh, Chloe sinks into the hot, bubbling water, loosens her bikini top, and gets into character.

She is never, ever betting with the Devil again.

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles - The Longest Night

Find the prompt list here! 

 Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Luka played assistant while Marinette got the kids all garbed in their costumes, making little final adjustments and snipping hanging threads and acting for all the world as if this was just as serious as any fashion show she’d ever worked, instead of the dress rehearsal for a small town library Christmas pageant. He followed her around, holding things, handing her what she needed, and trying not to get caught mooning over her like the lovesick sap he was. The kids already had plenty of ammo to use against him, so he tried to keep a professional demeanor—but that really probably only made them snicker harder. 

Mostly, though, they were too excited about their outfits to care. Marinette had found a way to interpret the costumes that felt true to who these kids were, and that was probably rarer than it should be. 

The angels in particular were a masterpiece, especially given how little white there was in his rock star wardrobe. They glittered and shimmered with all of the hardware and rhinestones, and their wings were dangerous-looking concoctions made of wire and trailing fabric and dangling crystals and beads. They looked like the kinds of beings who would have to announce their presence with “Fear not!” and it was awesome. 

The angels weren’t actually his favorite part, though. Marinette had gotten quickly flustered in the face of Rose’s eager excitement, and started making excuses to leave. She’d snatched his notebook out of his pocket, pulled the pen out of the coil and scribbled her phone number on the back, babbling only semi-coherently as she did so. Then she’d snatched up the lighted jacket, kissed him quickly, and fled. Luka had been too busy fending off Rose’s interrogation to even think to question why she had taken the jacket, until she brought out the costumes for Mary and Joseph. The holy family were now softly illuminated with cleverly concealed fiber optic lights in their hoods. Somehow Marinette had managed to turn off the flashing and camouflage the lights enough to give the children a soft glow, like a renaissance painting come to life (if renaissance madonnas had punk haircuts). 

That wasn’t really why he liked it, though. Marinette had removed the lights so carefully, and repaired the jacket so cleverly, that it was now as good as new, if a bit smaller than it had been, and she had taken to wearing it all the time. Catching a glimpse of his jacket under her big pink puffy winter coat made him grin like a fool every time.

She was wearing it even now, and he felt his grin turn dopey and soft again as he watched Marinette get down on the floor without a second thought to fix a hem that had come loose. She was so amazing, and the last few days had been wonderful, whether they were just driving aimlessly around town and chatting while they admired the lights, or lost in tender looks and touches, or just sharing space while they worked on their own projects. Luka knew without doubt that he was utterly in love with her. It might shatter him when she left, but they had four precious days left and Luka planned to make the most of them. Besides, who knew what could happen? It was the modern age, and long distance relationships were a thing, and surely there was something they could work out— 

Luka quashed those thoughts as quickly as he could. It wasn’t a good idea to be thinking that way, and he didn’t even know if Marinette would welcome anything of the kind from him. Better to stay in the moment. Something would work out; if she felt anything close to what he felt for her, she couldn’t leave him totally behind...and if she didn’t, then it was just as well for things to end now. He’d get over it. Somehow.

In the meantime, he’d enjoy every conversation, every soft look, every touch and kiss and sigh of his name from her lips.

Yep, he was absolutely basking in the knowledge of how completely hopeless he was.

Marinette stood up and backed away, looking at her handiwork with satisfaction as Rose began rounding up the kids to start the actual rehearsal. Luka sidled casually to Marinette’s side, letting his hand brush against hers. She wiggled her fingers in between his absently, and Luka grinned that stupid grin again, aiming it at the floor. 

Teenage giggling suggested that he wasn’t at all successful in hiding it. He rolled his eyes, but the grin remained. Beat it , he mouthed at the kid who was snickering, raising his eyebrows threateningly, but instead the kid burst into outright laughter and a chorus of juvenile “ooooohs,” suddenly filled the air. Confused, they followed the pointing fingers and looked up to find one of the youngsters sitting on the bookshelf behind them, holding a piece of mistletoe out over their heads. 

Luka rolled his eyes. “Oh, very funny, Rowan,” he scoffed, but then he turned and caught Marinette’s face in his hands and kissed her. Without lifting his lips from hers, he hooked one arm around her neck and the other around her waist and bent her backwards. The liplock itself wasn’t anything special—he wasn’t about to ravish her in front of a bunch of schoolkids, particularly since he knew all of their parents personally and did not need the earful they would give him—but it didn’t matter; the utterly cliche dip was as gross to them as a real kiss would have been. 

“EW!” screamed the younger children, while the older ones either whooped or groaned, and Luka sent them a wicked grin as he set Marinette back up on her feet.  

“Never bluff a Couffaine,” he told them, reaching out to ruffle Rowan’s multicolored head as he dropped down frm the bookshelf.  Rose gave him a smug look as she came to retrieve the delinquents, and Luka couldn’t even make himself glare at her. 

Marinette smacked his chest and he just winked at her, catching her hand and holding it to his heart. He got a little charge from the way her stern face twitched and then melted into a smile almost as silly as his own. He bent down as if drawn by a magnet and their lips met for a softer, more genuine kiss, and then she shoved his face away and turned back to watch the wise men start their parade to Bethlehem from the back of the library. 

Luka looped his arms around Marinette’s waist and shook his head slightly as he watched the shepherds, decked in shredded leather and ripped denim and artistically mussed as though they really had been lounging around a field, cower before the rhinestone-studded angel glittering brilliantly in the light of the old spot Rose had bullied or begged from somewhere. “You’re a genius,” he murmured in her ear. 

She tensed a little, but snuggled back in his arms. Luka sighed softly and nuzzled her temple, wishing he could help her, but whatever she was going through in her creative life, she was going to have to figure out for herself. He found her hand with his again and laced her slender, hard-working fingers through his own. 

They both jumped when the library doors flew open with a bang. Everyone jumped or stiffened, and a room full of wide eyes turned to look at the tall, blond woman wearing an absurdly large hat and a fur stole stomp into the library like it was a fashion runway.

Luka felt Marinette gasp, and tightened his hold on her. 

The woman looked around, and demanded in a voice that echoed off the walls. “Well, where is she? Marinette Dupain-Cheng, get out here this instant or you’re fired .”

Marinette pushed him away, and walked toward the tall woman, who spun on her heels to face her. “A-Audrey,” Marinette stammered. “What are you doing here?” 

“My dear, the question is, what are you doing here?” Audrey replied with a sniff, looking around the little library. “No wonder you haven’t been able to get any work done in this dismal place.” 

“Audrey, I’m on leave,” Marinette began, and Audrey flapped a hand dismissively. 

“Leave, schmeave. We have deadlines , Marinette. Deadlines you are appallingly behind on.” 

“B-behind?” Marinette stuttered, looking taken aback. “We were on schedule! I left very specific instructions!” Luka came up behind her and put a hand on her back in silent support.

“Those instructions were ridiculous ,” Audrey sneered. “The products were completely unacceptable. And since you didn’t deign to answer my calls, I came to fetch you myself. If you weren’t so talented I would have just fired you on the spot for abandoning things in such a state.” 

He felt Marinette tense under his hand, and her fists clenched. “Unacceptable—Audrey, you approved those designs! If the production team—” 

“ You are the designer,” Audrey accused, pointing an immaculately manicured finger in Marinette’s face. She flinched, and Luka had to fight every instinct in his body to keep still. “This is your failure. Now come along. You have a lot to make up for. Get in the car, we’ll stop and pick up your things on the way.” She turned and stalked to the door, clearly expecting Marinette to follow. 

Marinette stared after her with her mouth open. Then she closed it, swallowed, and straightened her shoulders—and moved to follow Audrey. 

Luka caught her hand without meaning to. “Marinette,” he said, and she turned her face to look up at him. For a moment they just stared at each other, and cold dread coiled in the pit of Luka’s stomach. 

“I guess this is it,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Luka. Goodbye.” 

Luka stared at her as her hand slipped out of his. She picked up her pink coat as she passed the chair where he had placed it earlier. She dug in the pocket a moment, and took out a box, putting it on the table. She took one look back at him, and then followed Audrey out, catching the door so that it closed with a quiet click instead of a slam. 

“Luka,” Rose whispered at his side, and he barely even felt her touch on his arm. He watched through the windows of the library door as Marinette, head down, shoulders bowed, got into Audrey’s limo. 

Only when the car pulled away down the street could he move. He closed his mouth, and swallowed. Then he went quietly to his own coat, and put it on slowly, aware of the eyes on him the entire time. 

He emerged into the sun and cold, fresh air, and looked around. The street was as it always was this time of year, with families and couples and individuals meandering through. Tinsel decorations sparkled on the streetlights, and the storefronts all had fake snow frosting the corners of their windows.

Luka blinked against the glare, so bright it brought tears to his eyes, put his hands in his pockets, and turned for home. 

***

Marinette didn’t even hear most of Audrey’s chatter on the ride back to the city. She couldn’t stop thinking about that look on Luka’s face. 

I should never have kissed him , she thought, staring out of the window. I knew better, and I let him make me believe . 

She sighed—silently, so as not to draw Audrey’s notice. She wasn’t being fair. Of course it was a shock, what happened. Neither of them had been expecting it. There had been no bittersweet farewell, no moment of closure. No last kiss goodbye, no one last diamond moment to hold on to as the sands began to flow again. 

He would get over it, once the shock passed, she thought mournfully, running an absent finger over the leather wrap on the door handle. He’d send her a text later, she was sure, something sweet and thoughtful, to let her know he was alright and that he was sorry things happened the way they had, but good luck and have a good life and oh, thanks for the present, that was really sweet.

And then he’d go back to his cozy life and forget her like he intended to all along. 

She was so stupid , letting him talk her into living that little fantasy for even a day, let alone— 

She shook her head slightly. This was better. It only would have been worse if she’d stayed longer. 

...at least she had the memories to hold in her heart, though. He’d been right about that. She could remember what it was like to feel like he loved her, his affection and pride and unwavering support, his warm, sweet kisses, and the way that he looked at her…the way everyone giggled at them in the cafe. The quiet, private times when she’d curled in the hollow of his body as he held his guitar around her and played just for her, and she hadn’t had to do anything or be anything. The time he’d taken her up on the hill and they’d stood amongst the young trees, cuddled close against the chill as they looked up at the stars and for once she felt like the universe was big enough to let her breathe...

She fingered the lapel of his jacket beneath her own. Okay, maybe he’d been right too. Maybe the memories were worth having. 

If only she could have stayed. 

She gave another small shake of her head, blinking back tears, keeping her face averted from Audrey slightly. 

“And the colors were atrocious —”

“I told you the color scheme was wrong,” Marinette said before she could think the better of it. 

“It’s your job to make it work,” Audrey snapped. “ You sourced those fabrics.”  

“According to your specifications,” Marinette shot back, her tone even but unyielding. “If you want to overrule me, that’s your prerogative, but don’t blame me for the outcome.” 

Audrey pulled off her ever-present sunglasses and looked at Marinette with narrowed eyes. “If you don’t want this opportunity,” she said coldly, “then say so and stop wasting my time.” 

Marinette shrank slightly. “Of course I do,” she sighed miserably, looking back out of the window. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” 

“And don’t you forget it,” Audrey sneered, sliding her sunglasses back on. “Or I’ll find someone else to clean up your mess.”

Marinette gritted her teeth and clenched her fists in her lap, willing herself to stay silent.

Speaking up wouldn’t do any good anyway. 

***

He was still sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly into space, when Rose got home. Luka didn’t even hear the door open, but he did hear Rose’s footsteps approaching over the wood floor. 

“Luka,” Rose said softly, but he didn’t look at her. She set a small box on the table in front of him. “I’m pretty sure this was meant for you.” When he didn’t move, she slid it over until it touched his fingers. “You should open it.”

She waited a moment longer, and when he didn’t move, she sighed. “I’m sorry, Luka.” He listened to her retreat, leaving him alone again. 

Sometime later he felt fingers slide through his hair, and the familiar song of his mother’s jangling jewelry was quickly followed by her scent surrounding him as she bent and pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’m proud of ye, son,” she told him. “Take as long as ye need.” 

He sat there until it was dark outside, without really thinking about anything in particular. He just felt...numb. 

Finally he looked at the box Rose had left him. He contemplated it for a moment, and then drew himself up with a sigh, and picked up the box. It was a nice box, lined in silver ribbon. Trust Marinette to pay attention to every detail. He fumbled it a little before he managed to slide the top off. 

There was a pair of black leather gloves inside. Luka frowned slightly, picking them up. The leather was buttery soft, like it was already broken in, and...he slid one on his hand and flexed his fingers.

It fit perfectly, with none of the tightness or resistance that had always bothered him in the past. “You little sneak,” he murmured, tears stinging his eyes even as he smiled. “How’d you pull this off, hmm?” 

Luka remembered suddenly how they’d been talking at Sally’s, and she had walked her little fingers over each finger of his hand, like it was something completely idle. He’d thought it was cute at the time. He’d thought she was just teasing him, since she pulled her hand away every time he tried to take it, but…

He’d be willing to put money on it that she had used some of the leather from his wardrobe to make these, and she’d chosen something he’d worn enough to take the stiffness out of the leather. And the accents around the cuffs and along the darts at the back of the hands...those were from the jacket she’d kept. The one she’d had to cut down when she took the lights out.The one she’d still been wearing, when she walked out today.

Luka swallowed a lump in his throat. All that work that she’d done, on the children’s costumes, and she’d found time to do this for him as well. Because she cared about him, and she loved his music, and she wanted him to take care of his hands. 

“Marinette,” he sighed, letting his head fall on the table. “You’re killing me here.” 

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there after that before Juleka’s hand rested lightly on his back. She didn’t say anything, just stayed there, and after a minute, he lifted his head and leaned it back on her. She stroked his hair just like his mother had. 

“You need a ride to the bus station in the morning?” Juleka asked. 

Luka closed his eyes. “Yeah.” 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #439

“all the other kids with the pumped up kicks, you better run, better run, outrun my gun”

Have you written a letter to a soldier? No. Ever been in a perfect relationship? I thought so. But no, those don't exist. The last song you listened to? "Broadcasting From Beyond" by Motionless In White. Have you ever wished you could hurt somebody as much as they hurt you? I... have, but I don't wish that at all anymore. Has a dentist ever screwed up on anything when working on you? No. Would you rather be a successful writer or artist? Artist. Who are you in love with? Nobody. Does someone’s view on homosexuality affect how you feel about them in any way? It sure as fuck does. How about someone’s view on religion? Nah. Well, usually. It depends on the beliefs themselves and to what extremity. What is something you wear that others might consider unfashionable? Flipflops, like... year-round, lmao. What kind of pill did you last take? It's called Lamictal, the catalyst for my primary mood stabilizer. Do you like wearing glasses? No. I'd wear contacts if I had the patience and non-shaky hands. What first comes to mind when thinking of 10th grade? Jason. -_- That's the year we started dating. What’s the scariest thing that’s happened to you? A traumatic breakup. Has an ambulance ever came to your house? Yes, for my mother. The person you’re thinking about - what are you thinking about them? Well, because you mentioned him, I'm thinking about Jason and just how I fucked shit up 'n stuff. How many different cars have you driven? Uhhhh I want to say two? But maybe just one? Was the last person you hung out with single? I guess that would be my mom, in which case yes. Have you ever attended a private school? My last college was a private school, yes. Have you ever been in an abusive relationship? No, and for that I am incredibly grateful. Have you ever cooked for anyone other than yourself? Yeah. I've made scrambled eggs for my family before as breakfast, and I did the same for Sara, too. Would you rather live in the city, the suburbs, or the rural area? Ugh, take me back to the middle of nowhere, please. :/ Do you know someone who is really ambidextrous? Sara! Are you adopted? No. Who was the last person that cried in your presence? Probably one of my nieces or nephew. Can you write your name in a foreign language? Uh, I think? In the German alphabet, "y" isn't actually a letter, and my name is Brittany, so I'm not entirely sure if it would be spelled that same way or not, but I think so. Who is the person you often go to for venting? My mom. Was the last person you kissed male or female? Female. Do you say “I love you” even when you don’t mean it? No. That shit can scar people (aka me) so goddamn deep when they don't mean it anymore. What’s the one thing you regret more than anything? Things I wrote to Jason in letters after the breakup. I would literally give a limb (no, I'm not exaggerating) to take it back. There are times I actually do wonder if we would've gotten back together if I wasn't just... a bitter and ridiculously hurt fuck that took it all out on him. Do you like vanilla? Yes. Do you own a bean bag chair? No. I actually do want one for my extra room/"office," though, to read on. Have you kissed any friends on your Facebook? Yeah. Do you get snow where you live? Occasionally, but it's very rarely a lot. What’s your favorite flavor of Doritos? Cool Ranch. Do you ever worry about what the world will be like when you have kids? Good thing I ain't havin' 'em. Have you ever seen a hippo in person? Yes. Do you like the band A Skylit Drive? I've actually only heard their "Love The Way You Lie" cover, which I do like. Have you ever been to any professional sports games? Yeah, with my dad. What’s the most boring sport to watch? Golf. But I don't particularly enjoy any. Do you like lip rings on the opposite sex? MHMMMMMMMMMMMMM. If you suddenly went deaf, what would be your most missed sound? Music. Would you rather have a poodle or a Rottweiler? If I actually wanted a dog, a Rottweiler. Which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain? Emotional, for sure. Would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum? Zoo. Would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes? I know damn well I'd say yes to Jason in a heartbeat. Literally before even getting to know the current him. That's how emotionally attached I am to him, even with the trauma. I'd get back together with Sara if/when we both are more stable emotionally and with clear direction, which is mostly on my end now. I also don't think I'd be ready until one of us is able to move for the other. Is there a certain quote you live by? No. Do you have any tattoos? I have some, but not nearly enough. :( Are you friends with the last person you kissed? She's my bestie! :') Green or purple grapes? I don't really have much of a preference, so long as they're crisp. What is your ringtone? Just something that came with the phone. If someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you? Fuck no. What is something you wish you had more of? Adventure, for one. Have you ever trusted someone too much? JASON. HOLY FUCK. It was FACT to me that we would, could, never break up. It just... wasn't possible in my head. It was like breaking the laws of the world. When he told me he loved me and would never leave, I believed that shit as if it was God himself promising that. I've never and will never trust someone like that ever again, because it wasn't healthy in the slightest. Do you sleep with your window open? Noooo, that would freak me out. Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring? Yeah; Tyler had snakebites. Did you go to high school with your current best friend? No; we live in different states. Whose was the last funeral you attended? Ummm I'm actually not sure. Do you avoid using public restrooms? Yes. Do you like eggnog? Nooooo. Who is the person you dislike the most? It's so fucking stupid... I know it is STILL the girl Jason dated after me. I don't even think they're together anymore, so why the fuck does it matter? I know NOTHING about this poor girl that just found someone she really liked and got dumped FOR THE SAME REASON AS ME. It shouldn't fucking matter, at all, but it still does in my head. Do you take part in paying the bills for your household? No, because I don't have an income. What is your favourite way to eat rice? As pork fried rice. What is the longest relationship you’ve ever been in? Over 3 1/2 years with Jason. Do you currently have any alarms set? No. How many cars can fit in your driveway? Barely even two. What was the first television show you were obsessed with? Pokemon. Do you eat chili when you get a hotdog, or do you like it plain? I don't like chili. Would you ever tell your mom about the things you’ve done sexually? Not EVERYTHING, no. I wouldn't tell her anything at all unless she asked. I don't like talking about that stuff. Have you ever been in a car wreck? Yes. Has anyone ever told you that they think you have ADHD? Yes, which was absolutely, utterly ridiculous. Has anyone ever called you a sociopath before? No. Has anyone ever taken your own clothes off you before? Yes. Is there someone you want to kiss right now? Probably always will. -_- Have you ever had a real tea party? Or been to one? Ha ha no, but my little sister used to love to have little ones with her Disney princesses plastic tea set. She would always ask Mom or me to have one with her. Have you been called a tease? Only playfully. Did you kiss the last person you really wanted to kiss? Yes. Would you ever go to a protest or be involved in a protest? So long as it was peaceful, yes. When playing rock, paper, scissors, which do you usually pick? Scissors. Have you ever tried to write a book? Yes, when I was younger. Have you ever been hit by a chunk of hail? No. Is it true that if you don’t love yourself, you can’t love another? Absofuckinglutely not. I'm proof of that. That idea is such bullshit. Do you share a bed with anyone? Just my cat. Who is one very unique celebrity/musician/whatever that you love? MARKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK. Could you handle babysitting two small children at once, such as two children under three years old? OH FUCK NO. Would you say that people consider you a major flirt? Definitely not. Do any of your friends have children? Yes. Would you rather cry in public or make someone else cry in public? I would FAR rather cry myself. I would feel so, so bad for making someone else cry, not even just in public. Would you rather re-live today forever or not live? Not live. Would you rather be just rich or rich and famous? Just rich. Who was the last person of the opposite sex to be in your bedroom? My nephew, I believe. He and Aubree wanted to see the snake. What’s your favourite kind of Cap’N Crunch? The "All Berries" one. What is your favourite Pepsi product? Mountain Dew. Is the computer you’re using yours? Yes. Do you get upset when a dog jumps on you? Not at all. I got used to that, and besides, it's cute to see them so excited. Is there a video or computer game that you can get lost in for hours? World of Warcraft, sometimes. I usually play it daily, but there are some days where I just am not interested in it. What do you like on your pizza? Meats and/or jalapenos. Do you get breadsticks with your pizza? Mom usually gets 'em, yeah. Did you ever have a waterbed? Yeah. Not one anyone slept on regularly, but just like, a plastic one or whatever the material was to sleep in if someone was staying over. What toy from your childhood do you miss? I wish I didn't get rid of my big crocodile toy that I was obsessed with. :'( He was like the main character in the world I made up for him and his family. Have you ever been to a rock concert? Yeah. \m/ What is your religion? None. Do you like listening to love songs? Meh, I have to be in the mood, plus it depends on the song. A lot of them trigger me. What is one meal that you like to eat while sick? I'm nervous to eat when I'm sick, so I mostly just have saltine crackers and ginger ale. Have you ever fed bread to ducks or geese? Yeah, when I was a kid and didn't know it was bad for them and the water. I never would now. The name of the last board game that you played? I think it was "Sorry!" with the kids. Has anyone ever commented on your weight? I mean, doctors, but not in a judgmental, belittling way. Just in a way that expressed concern for my health. Have you ever thought about joining the military? NOOOOOOOOOO. Have you ever felt like you were going out of your mind? Yes. And I don't mean that as an exaggeration; I believe I've literally qualified as insane at a point after the breakup. I was so fucking delusional and desperate and just going in circles. Are you ever jealous of happy couples? Meh, sometimes. Lately, who has spent the most time on your mind? Take a guess. .-. It's been pretty bad lately. Do you ever feel like someone would be disappointed to see your body or are you comfortable with your body enough where you don’t think that? I have a HORRIBLE body image. My body fucking disgusts me. I don't even like my mother seeing me get changed or anything like that. I don't want ANYBODY seeing me naked. What is your favorite flavor of Monster? I don't like any that I've ever had a sip of. Have you ever ran from the police? No. That never goes well. Do you have any trophies? Yeah. Do you like screamo music? No. What does your wallet look like? It's a checkered Harley Quinn one. Is there something nobody knows about you (and what)? Yes. Why would I share that if I don't want anyone to know? Does your family have a secret? No. Do you do anything to help the environment? We recycle. Mom also cuts up those plastic things that come with soda bottles packed together, as well as some other plastic wrappings. We are both disgusted by people who litter, so we avoid that. I also try to conserve water where I can, like by turning the sink off when I brush my teeth. There are other little things, but I wish I did even more. Do you like to take pictures of yourself? FUCK NO. It is so rare I do that nowadays. When/where are you most likely to sing? The car. Would you ever wish to explore a cave? OH MY GOD, PLEEEEEAAAAASE <3 What is the most illegal thing you’ve done? Pirated an expensive editing software, oops. :x Have you ever seen somebody get shot? LKJ;ALSDJFA;JWELKRJLW;Q NOOOOOOOOO.

[onestowatch]

Will the Gossip Girl Reboot Soundtrack Live Up to the Original’s Absolutely Wild One?

Spoilers ahead for the nearly decade-old run of Gossip Girl.

This week sees the revival of a cult show quite like no other—Gossip Girl. The original infamous 2007 series followed the high school (and later college, albeit to lesser success) lives and exploits of New York’s elite and one lonely boy. The HBO Max reboot will bring that messy vision to the modern-day as a new flock of New York’s privileged elite deal with a Gossip Girl who knows how to use a VPN. 

The original Gossip Girl was everything a teenager in the late 2000s could ask for; it had sex, fantastically awful depictions of the rich, and most parents hated it. However, I’m not here to discuss whether or not Dan should have ended up with Blair (my own awful hot take for another time) or whether or not the reboot should be woke, because there’s nothing I need more than rich kids explaining neoliberal theory to me. What I am here to talk about is the absolutely wild soundtrack of the original Gossip Girl and whether or not the reboot has any hopes of living up to it.

The original run of Gossip Girl was a show with the audacity to firmly rope me in for half a decade to leave me with one of the most lackluster and confusing endings in existence. Dan, really? He wanted to fit in so badly that he would go so far as to leak details of his sister’s sex life, inevitably driving her from the city? Anyway, plot holes and Taylor Momsen’s music-driven departure aside, what honestly sticks with me all these years later is the audacity of the soundtrack. This is the show that dared to ask teenage me if I’d enjoy a side of Sonic Youth with my cocktail of St. Vincent, Lady Gaga, and Cyndi Lauper.

Led by Alexandra Patsavas, the famed music supervisor behind The Twilight Saga, Grey’s Anatomy, The O.C., and plenty more, the three-time Grammy nominee was largely responsible for the original’s genre and generation–spanning soundtrack. In its first episode, we open on Peter, Bjorn and John only to jump between the pop star stylings of Rihanna and Justin Timberlake before delving headfirst into a flashback scored by French space pop duo Air. Yes, the same Air who scored Sofia Coppola’s debut film, The Virgin Suicides. And this is not to make any mention of the other artists featured in the show’s pilot, from Akon to Amy Winehouse, from Albert Hammond Jr. to Timbaland.

Gossip Girl’s omnivorous approach to music direction is something that would continue throughout its show run, helping to establish it as an hour-long block where anything could happen. And I mean anything. When I passively mentioned Lady Gaga, St. Vincent, and Cyndi Lauper earlier, it wasn’t just because their music was passively featured on the show, but because it was commonplace for artists themselves to feature as prominent plot points.

The Mother Monster-centric episode in question revolves around our hero-villain Blair convincing Lady Gaga to perform a Snow White play based on her songs, all in the hopes of impressing the theatre kids at NYU’s Tisch. And that wild sentence doesn’t even begin to touch upon the fact that Dan Humphrey aka Gossip Girl is currently dating Hilary Duff (whose character is playing an actress because this show knew nothing of subtlety). The natural theatrics of the Blair-centric episode were admittedly a perfect fit for Lady Gaga’s own, and did make slightly more sense than Robyn’s private performance for Blair’s 20th birthday.

However, the one musical guest that stands out most to me now is Sonic Youth, who rush from New Hampshire to a Brooklyn loft, so they can play “Star Power” for a wedding party full of kids who presumably don’t know the first thing about Sonic Youth. Rewatching the show for the third time earlier this year, the moment sticks out all the more, because I am 100% certain that middle school me was in the same position as half the guests at that wedding party. There’s very little chance I had any idea what was going on or why it was such a big deal to have Kim Gordon officiate your wedding, but it’s something that present me appreciates to no end.

And that’s one of the many things I love about Gossip Girl to this day. Subconsciously or consciously, Gossip Girl helped shaped my then-nebulous music identity. My first exposure to Conor Oberst, The Rapture, Death Cab for Cutie, The xx, St. Vincent, and a host of other indie bands that would score my high school years was in-between scenes of New York’s elite battling to be the worst possible version of themselves. It’s that same sense of oddball music discovery that I hope the reboot can capture, but I fear may be difficult in a time where music discovery is so calculated and widespread, driven by algorithms and a seemingly endless barrage of new music at our fingertips.

Because while I have little to no doubt that the Gossip Girl reboot’s soundtrack will be great— actually, I’d take bets on it being amazing, maybe too amazing—what made the original Gossip Girl’s soundtrack so memorable was how ridiculously camp it was. It mirrored the ridiculousness of the show itself, presenting a vision that felt surreal and utterly detached from reality. It wasn’t trying to follow trends; it was daring to create them, unafraid and unbothered by whether it turned out to be a flop or cultural touchstone.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #442

Top Ten Transformers Gimmicks

There was a time when I felt that this blog was pretty much wall-to-wall Robots in Disguise. Seems I couldn’t go more than two or three weeks without some list or another ranking my favourite Autobots, Decepticons, issues of the Marvel UK comic, issues of the IDW comic, my favourite artists, my favourite alternate modes, my favourite ways Optimus Prime came back from the dead… basically, what I’m saying is I used to write about Transformers quite a lot.

Recently, though? The last year or two? Not so much in the way of sentient mechanoids round these parts. I think partly this is a result of the ending of the original IDW continuity; whilst the rebooted Transformers comic is good, I must confess it hasn’t grabbed me the way the (for want of a better term) More Than Meets the Eye era did. I don’t think it possibly could; the interweaving continuity, the shared universe, the multi-layered world-building and puzzle-box writing, all combined to form a perfect storm around my most beloved of franchises. Did it go too deep, too dense? Occasionally. Did it end too soon, rushing into a climactic conclusion without the room to allow every plot twist and character death to sufficiently breathe? Yeah, a little. But on the whole it stuck the landing, not too shabby a feat for a galaxy-spanning epic that, under various creators, had managed to tell a more-or-less consistent story (papering over the cracks of several soft reboots) for over a decade at that point. As I’ve written before, I loved that Transformers so hard, it was almost inevitable that whatever came next would suffer by comparison, because by definition it could no longer be my Transformers.

So, yeah, that’s one reason. But another is, it’s been harder to think of things to write about. I’ve talked about favourite characters and stories; where else do I go but the increasingly obscure? However, I wanted to give it a try. Last weekend should have been TF Nation, the delightful Transformers convention held each year in Birmingham. I usually go; I gave last year a miss, but I’d been fully intending to make the trip again this year. And then 2020 happened, being all 2020 in our faces. This is a weekend where I might have shared my favourite moments from TFN! Pictures of cosplay! Of friends and creatives I admire! Of toys I can’t afford! But no; instead I’m watching my wife play Stardew Valley and writing this blog (which, I’ll be honest, is actually quite a pleasant way to spend the time, but let’s not get too deep into the weeds over here). Anyway, to celebrate TF Nation, and the stay-at-home “Big Broadcast of 2020” online show that they put on, I’m returning to the Nucleon Well once again with another Transformers-themed Top Ten.

This week: my favourite Transformers toy gimmicks!

Transformers, of course, are cars and whatnot that turn into robots or what-have-you, but across the years Hasbro has experimented with different modes and features to keep the toys fresh and unique, and also to sell a bunch of new ones to impressionable kids. Some of these are sublime; some, frankly, ridiculous. So this week I will explore my ten favourite ones; my ten favourite sub-brands of the franchise, so to speak. Some of these I think are genuinely fantastic as a concept; some, I just liked because it seemed cool, or was made cool by the fiction; and some are just daft crap that I enjoy. Make of it what you will! I’ve decided, incidentally, to focus on “gimmicks” here as being different modes of transformation, or other associated features, rather than define them by what they turn into. So there are no Insecticons or Dinobots, because whilst bugs and beasts are cool, really those are both normal types of Transformer that turn from one thing into another thing. Make sense?

Good. Now roll the eff out.

Combiners (1985): what’s better than one robot? How about, like, five or six, and they all clip together to form another massive robot? Clipping machines together to make bigger machines seems like a cornerstone of any sufficiently advanced civilisation, and whether we’re talking the complexity of OG combiner Devastator, the hot-swappable fun of the likes of the Aerialbots or Stunticons, or even Dreadwind and Darkwing combining in vehicle mode to form Dreadwing, it’s always great. Plus it makes you want to buy all the toys so you can make the big robot! Everyone’s a winner!

Headmasters (1987): robots whose heads – get this – come off and turn into little robots. What’s not to love? And the little robots (what are the heads) then can sit inside the big robots’ vehicle modes, and, like “drive” them and stuff. Although they had some plot gymnastics to perform to make sense of the fiction (quite why the heads had to be Nebulons and not just other Transformers I don’t know), but as a toy gimmick, they were fab. And that’s before you get to most-wanted Fortress Maximus, whose head turned into a robot whose head turned into a robot.

Pretenders (1988): man, I loved Pretenders, even if the concept outstripped the toys a lot of the time. Basically humanoid shells that hide Transformers, later iterations also allowed for animal shells, vehicle shells, even transforming shells; we got new versions of classic Transformers, and one of the all-time great villains in Thunderwing. All this despite the first lot of toys being bulky and awkward, and the whole idea of “disguising yourself as a thirty-foot human” being somewhat suspect in the first place.

Triple (and more!) Changers (1985): if a robot turning into a thing is cool, then turning into two things must be twice as cool, right? Right! Boggling the mind as to how this chunky figure could also be a car and a helicopter, Triple Changers were great, even if you ended up with a helicopter that really, really looked a lot like a car. Of course, they got bigger and better, with Six Changers, who turned into six different things that all looked a lot like each other.

Powermasters (1988): back to the “Masters” concept of little robots that interact with bigger robots (it’s such a shame Pretenders couldn’t have been “Disguise Masters” or something), the idea that the toys transformation – the big gimmick behind the whole range, remember – is unlocked by an “engine” robot is very cool, the smaller toy acting as a key. A tad clunkier than that, in real life, but still great fun, and of course it brought us one of the best toys of the eighties in Powermaster Optimus Prime.

Targetmasters (1987): robots turning into guns is quite cool, but for me the Targetmasters aren’t quite as successful as their other “Masters” siblings, probably because the guns aren’t quite that exciting to transform or play with. But the concept still rocks, and some of the toys were really good, and it was nice to see the Movie characters get folded into the line too.

Jumpstarters (1985): I loved the original Jumpstarters (Top Spin and Twintwist) because they were weird, with their sci-fi alien designs amidst a sea of Earth vehicles. But their gimmick was they transformed themselves. Pull ‘em back and they jump – literally – from vehicle to robot. Self-transforming Transformers are always cool, even if usually it means that their robot modes end up blocky and simple (Jumpstarters are the opposite, pretty cool robots with chunky and unreal vehicles). Also want to shout out other pull-back-and-go Transformers such as the Battlechargers (never had them, sadly) and the utterly, utterly fantastic Throttlebots. God, I love the Throttlebots. I had all six! How much did I rock.

Cities (1986): I guess now these guys are all called “Titans” aren’t they, and they have their own carved-out portion of the TF mythos. But back in the eighties, they were just big burly dudes, the biggest you could get; Transformers that turned into actual cities, playsets that the smaller Transformers could actually interact with. Metroplex was the OG city-bot, and we’d squint and pretend that he really was Autobot City from The Transformers: The Movie. Huge toys are always fun, of course, as are playsets for your other toys, so these ticket loads of boxes. Fortress Maximus, the later Autobot Headmaster base, was ginormous and never came out in the UK, giving him a mythic status few toys ever had; as I said above his head turned into a robot which had a head that turned into a robot, a sort of Babushka doll of robotic head-swapping. Shout-out too for any bot who had some kind of “base mode”, such as Powermaster Optimus Prime and his funky trailer.

Sparkabots/Firecons (1988): these were not necessarily the most fun toys to transform (the Sparkabots, anyway, I never had a Firecon), but their gimmick was cool – or rather hot. They breathed fire! Well, not really, of course; they sort of shot sparks, in what I thought was a slightly underwhelming fashion even as a seven-year-old. But having a Transformer that could, in some way, fire for real was a huge thrill. Also, Guzzle was always just legitimately cool.

Action Masters (1990): yep, I’m going there. What, did you think I’d have Micromasters on here?! Yeah, okay, the very concept of Transformers that don’t transform is inherently silly and counter-intuitive, but the toys themselves were cool, finally offering cartoon-accurate renditions of classic favourites, with nice articulation and fun vehicle playsets. There was definitely a sad sense of a brand in decline about them, but taken on their own, they were good, fun toys, full of character, and I’ve always thought they’d still be cool as a side-line to the main (actually transforming) toys.

I feel bad for slagging off Micromasters up there. They were good, I suppose, but their small fiddly nature and basic transformation just wasn’t as fun as some other toys. Plus there were so many, and they usually came in sets, so I never really had that same bond with individual characters that I got from other Transformers; they were probably the first toys I owned whose names I forgot. And they felt, even at the time, like such a response to Micro Machines that it was almost embarrassing. Action Masters were probably a response to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but at least, y’know, Soundwave didn’t come with nunchucks and a skateboard.

Anyway, I think we can all agree, Transformers are cool, and I should write about them even more.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na RACIST! (how Dobson thinks Batman is a supremacist, why I think Batman is not so good and Frank Miller is problematic

Over the last couple of years, Andrew Dobson has mad eit clear that he is not a fan of the character of Batman much (or anymore), calling him a Mary Sue and an embodiment of toxic masculinity as if that term means something nowadays considering how often it is thrown around. And don’t get me wrong, if you don’t like Batman as a character, that is completely fine with me. I myself am not the biggest fan of Batman myself. Or rather should I say, his overexposure in the comics.

Cause honestly, I do not hate the character on concept. I watched reruns of the Adam West Batman show from the 60s and the animated 90s show long before I even saw the Burton versions. Batman Brave and the Bold is one of my favorite animated shows of the 2000s. And I think that there are quite a few good Batman stories, shows and games out there overall. I do however believe that when it comes to Batman in the mainstream comics, things have taken a nose dive for a long time. Writers like Grant Morrison, Scott Snyder and Tom King in particular have over the last 10+ years (at least in my opinion) not just attempted to write stories about Batman as a hero, but also put him into the center of ever escalating events and philosophical wang fests so often, the comics and its characters (Batman and his villains alike) have become quite ridiculous. As a result Batman as a comic series is at times just too edgy, people get sick of certain characters (I like the Joker, but the way how he was handled in some of Snyder’s stories was ridiculous to the point they should have just called him Satan) and Batman comes off as a Gary Stu almost by default, cause the only way a “normal” human could even dare to deal with the over the top situations he faces, is by being even more over the top and smart and awesome by default.

 Now that we got my soapboxing regarding why I think Batman is not as good as a comic character anymore out of the way, lets see what Dobson’s take on Batman is and why he thinks he is turning Bat- I mean bad.

 He believes that Batman turns into a fascist.

... I would ask if that is a joke, but I know that Dobson does not get humor at all or can tell a good joke if he was possessed by Leslie Nielsen.

Okay, so lets just try to dissect why this is dumb.

First off, while I did not talk about it in detail, I did mention that there are different incarnations and versions of Batman to enjoy. Hey, Dobson himself said that the one he enjoyed the most was the Batman of the animated series in the 90s. Which btw I highly recommend. And so do others. But here is the thing: There is not one “ultimate” version of Batman to stick to. There are different interpretations of the character. And most people are okay with that. Heck, there are more than enough people who both enjoyed the 60s Batman and Burton’s Batman. The important thing is, that all those interpretations need to have a certain key element of Batman still in order to make the character recognizable as who he is to be. Which in my opinion is the willingness to fight for good even in the face of some serial killer level baddies and show also once here and there his smarts as well as a bit of heart (guess what people, Batman can be compassionate too if he needs to be) while at the same time wearing a costume as he does and try to convey the image of being “the night” to put fear in the hearts of those cowardly criminals.

 Which is why people in general will call writers out on being bad, when you do not “get” Batman or what people in general associate Batman to be. But Dobson seems to insinuate at least indirectly that people are dumb for not understanding it. That he is supposedly the only one who “gets” Batman right. No Dobson, you are not the only one. The shitton of people who mocked Batman vs Superman of which you were a part of, are proof enough.

 Next, I have to admit I find it hilarious that he believes that Frank Miller’s version of Batman is what he believes people consider slowly the mainstream version of the character. No they don’t.

 Let me try to explain it with this version a bit, seeing how Dobson does not and in doing so is utterly misinformative. In the late 2000s, comic writer Frank Miller, known for work such as Sin City, 300 and his run of Daredevil in the 80s, was tasked by DC comics to write “All Star Batman and Robin” a miniseries in 12 issues. While the thing has actually pretty good artwork by Jim Lee (an artist Dobson wishes he could be), the story itself is very, very bad. While Miller was in the past quite respected and was the man behind “The Dark Knight Returns” in the early 90s (a comic even I think is pretty decent as a story about Batman as an older man taking the cowl up again)  , his work in general even at this point was not that good. Miller had become an openly racist person towards people of muslim background after witnessing 9/11 in New York in person, Batman in his work became a vigilante who gets away with levels of assault, violence and edgy philosophing and beating his meat (metaphorically) that it just became pretty obvious that Miller had turned into a racist grandfather with power fantasies whose ideas oozed into his work. I am not denying the accusations Dobson throws here at Miller. His Batman in All Star is violent, acts like a self righteous psycho, kidnaps an underaged boy and does at one point consider that if he had Green Lantern’s power ring he could make the world “better” than Hal Jordan. Which considering his actions so far in that comic makes any person with self preservation instincts and empathy  wonder, what “better” means. Additionally, other characters like Superman, Wonder Woman and the mentioned Green Lantern don’t really fare good either when it comes to having likable personalities, making you wish a villain like Luthor would just get rid of those “heroes” already just to assure us they could not go crazy next tuesday.

So yeah, it is a shitty version of Batman, despised by many to the point All Star Batman is mocked to the nth degree. Miller himself became even more controversial and hatred when he wrote and got Holy Terror released, a beast I do not even want to touch upon at the time righ now. I just say it is bad as shit and one of the worst writen and drawn things I ever saw.

 HOWEVER… this version of Batman is not the mainstream one. I repeat: this is not the mainstream one, “accepted” by a majority of people. As the paragrpah previously show.

The character All Star Batman is considered ONLY associable with Millers miniseries of the same name, that did not even properly conclude as it was put on endless hiatus with issue ten. It has never become inspirational for any other portrayal of the character so far and DC comics also does not endorse the character in correlation with its main universe, even if they still sell tradepaperbacks of the series.

This, if you have any reading comprehension, points towards one of the biggest lies in Dobson’s comic: The idea, that THIS Batman is the one that’s been popular for the last 15 years or so, as STATED by Dobson himself in the second panel of his comic.

 No. No, this “Batman”, the violent psychopath who uses guns and drives a tank, is not the mainstream and never was so in the last 15 years. Or I should rather say 20. See, this comic was published like in 2015. Meaning he is referring to Batman from between 2000 till 2015.

Lets see what versions of Batman were popular at this point

So we got a Batman who was there for a girl dying cause of something done to her brain, a 60s inspired Batman who still was badass and worked well with other heroes and saved the world a few times, a videogame Batman who would not even have let the Joker die when his poison finally got the better of him (Arkham City), a Batman who travelled backwards through time into the present and then tried to use his fortune to support heroes in other parts of the world to do good (I acknowledge though, the Batman shooting Darkseid thing was crap, even if Darkseid is the god of evil in DC) and we even got (though not shown here) a Batman who even when he drove a freaking tank did not run over peolpe with it (Batman, Nolan trilogy) and would rather accept people hating him than being a hero, by taking on the blame of Harvey Dent being killed to not taint the laters reputation. Oh and did I forget to mention that Nolan’s Batman almost sacrificed himself to prevent Gotham from nuclear destruction?

And before someone says “gotch’ya” by pointing at another rinfamous work by Miller, known as the Dark Knight strikes again… I said popular. That comic from the early 2000s was not popular and again NOT referenced much by mainstream media or mainstream fans as good.

 Now I will say, Batman as in the mainstream comics at the same time got unfortunately darker to the degree I hinted on when I made this post. Cause the last 15 years were comic wise the time of Morrison, Scott and others in particular. Who were involved in such “brilliant” moves as the Court of Owls story, the introduction of Professor Pyg, turning Joker into a satanic archetype villain stu, Batman having the brilliant idea to go Big Brother Eye, the No Man’s Land shit, having to deal with more brutal murders than previously etc. Yes, mainstream Batman got more violent. But the violence was less in the character itself as more within the world he was part of. Mainstream Batman comics took on a more violent tone than there was before. But ironically, even if Batman had to face more brutal beatdowns and villains, by comparison he is one of the most “kind” characters compared to the ones he faces or even works with. This is a character who had to teach his own son that murder was not okay, cause the kid was raised by an evil murder cult.

 And even with the mainstream comics such as Detective Comics and Batman main series becoming darker… they are not pro-fascist or go into that direction. I read a lot of DC in general, not just Batman, and Batman is not going sieg heiling or beating up people because of the color of their skin or because they are poor. When Lex Luthor was president, Batman was one of the main heroes opposing him. Mainstream Batman is beating you up for being a murderer and highly violent criminal with a gimmick, independent of your political agenda. And the writers are also not pro fascist, including even post 2015 Frank Miller.

 Yeah. Frank Miller, whose work I am not fond of and who I think is a racist asshole who had things coming for Holy Terror,  is not really writing (or at least publishing) racist Batman anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think the guy is bad and I believe if he had a chance to get his opinion out unfiltered, we would be in for a shitstorm. But I actually read up on his Dark Knight 3: The Master Race thing because I was worried how racist that is and how DC would recover from that dud. Turned out… it was not as bad as you would expect with a title like this. The “Master Race” referred in that story to a group of racist kryptonians who thought they should take over earth because their powers made them superior. While Batman was not the most positive character in it, he was fighting against them with many other heroes. This Batman was actually a vast improvement personality wise from Batman in Dark Knight strikes again and All Star. So yeah, Batman written by racist grandfather was still a hero. Granted, I think a lot of that was also thanks to the fact that DC had partnered up Miller with someone who kept things tighter around him, but still. Fascist Batman is not a thing the comics and the majority of fans want.

 Ironically, if you want to see how a publisher taints the image of a hero people look up to by making him more racist… well, Dobson’s “praised” and woke Marvel did once something called Secret Empire. Which had Captain America turn into the Fuehrer and taking over America. And the Nazis for a lack of a better word, were “competent” enough in the story that the heroes really only won in parts thanks to a shitton of asspulls. So… yeah.

I mean, the event still ended with the good guys winning and the bad guys defeated, but still.

[ladyofriverrun]

20 Questions!

I was tagged by @wasaporcupine

Do you make your bed: Yes, always. I make it after breakfast. Unless one of my cats has climbed in after I’ve got up, and then I make it as much as I can, whilst leaving them undisturbed, because, there are rules. 

Favorite number: 7

Your job: Actor/Writer (Wractor?)

If you could go back to school: Like school school or university school? I would never go back to school school. Who would want that? And university...in all honesty, and all my friends agree, if we were to go back, we wouldn’t go to university. We’d do apprenticeships and education-supported internships. They help you a lot more in getting a job, experience, while still learning. And then you’d be able to go to university at a later day to do anything you want. 

Also my A-Level English Language teacher told us all to pick any subject at uni regardless of what job we wanted to have because all anyone needs to see is that you can learn and can apply learning. None of us listened to him, thinking ‘no if we want to do this, we have to study this’. I wish we had listened, because he was right. (For those who want to know, I originally studied Archaeology and Anthropology (at a really good uni actually, but I didn’t realise until everyone was always impressed I got in), before going to study acting (which I did combined with Lit/Writing for Performance). All of my studies, both drama-related and not, have helped me, but I think I would have done the timing and order differently if I went back. I’d also have focused on getting an SIELE qualification a lot sooner, as a way to earn money in between acting and writing jobs. 

But, side note, stuff I learned studying anthropology has come into use so many freaking times, and it’s also great to come out with archaeological knowledge and people being like ‘wait, how do you know that?. No one ever expects me to have studied a degree in that.

Can you parallel park: No, because I cannot drive at all. 

A job you had that would surprise people: I used to be a proof reader at a company on Broadway. It’s more the ‘on broadway’ that surprises people. The job also involved dropping off said scripts at actor houses, and I nearly collapsed from heat stroke at John Cusack’s since it was like a hundred degrees in the middle of summer. I did get severely dehydrated at Lauren Graham’s and her doorman ordered me a cab and shoved water at me. I quit that job after only a month, because the company was ridiculous about the care of their staff. The day I got fucking stranded in the middle of Brooklyn due to my metro card malfunctioning and my boss didn’t even give me the money to get the cab back and then complained I’d been gone all day was probably the last straw. Especially as it HAMMERED down and I got so wet that my suede flat shoes fell apart. 

Are aliens real: I have no doubt there are other living things out there in this very large universe, especially considering the scientific proof of the high likelihood of parallel universes, but little green men I do not believe in, if that’s what you mean by aliens. 

Can you drive a manual car: Again, I cannot drive at all. Driving and Lana are like non-mixy things. 

Guilty pleasures: I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. When people are like ‘oh cake is my guilty pleasure’ ‘oh listening to the spice girls is my guilty pleasure’. That’s not a guilty pleasure. What’s to be guilty about? Guilty is when you do something that is utterly terrible but you do it anyway. Like you...like to stalk women just to see where they live, but you never actually do anything. I’d say that’s a guilty pleasure, that you should stop doing immediately. But guilty pleasure over food or a hobby? Ridiculous. Stop being guilty and enjoy life. 

Tattoos: None currently, but I’ve been thinking about one for a while. But it’s taken me ages to find a tattoo artists whose style I like WHO LIVES IN THE UK. But I finally found one, so now it’s just about planning, time, money and also waiting for this horrifying crisis to be over. 

Favorite color: Red  primarily, since, as I said on another post, I was like 3 or 4? I have red nails right now, I’m sat in a red chair, with my red phone case, and I have my red boots. Red always appeals to me. But I love the colour teal as well, teal is like the calming opposite of red, but has the same bold-peacock-of-colour energy. I don’t like washy colours at all. Feck off with your pastels. 

Things people do that drive you crazy: Being stupid. I have very little patience, and to be honest I’m a lot less nice than people seem to think I am (I think nice and kind are very different things. I can be kind, but nice? Eh), and I have so little patience for stupidity, wilful ignorance. To the point I will literally walk away mid-conversation if you’re stupid. And I don’t mean ‘oh someone doesn’t understand maths’ or ‘they struggle to understand concepts’. I mean stupidity. Like ignorant, what-fools-these-mortals-be stupidity. 

Phobias: Arañas originally, but I recently overcame that enough for it to be levelled down to fear. Like I don’t like them, and don’t be bringing any near me, but I no longer run out of the house and scream bloody murder. I have put quite large ones in catchers to be put outside, which I would never have done a year ago. Also, oddly, I’ve never been afraid of tarantulas even slightly. 

Favorite childhood sport: I didn’t do sport as a child. I mean I was an active child, but sport? I got into figure skating when I was in my teens, and I was at a competitive level, but that wasn’t childhood so.....but in general the only sport I’ve ever enjoyed is ice skating. I used to be good at hurdles and javelin in school though, but don’t think that counts either. 

Do you talk to yourself: A lot, but in my own head. Rarely out loud. 

What movies do you adore: It varies.But I hate zombie movies (they make me feel sick. I can always smell and taste the rotting flesh), horror movies bore me (they never scare me, and I’ve been watching 18 rated with my Mum since I was 7). I think I like movies to be escapsim with good writing. If the writing is predictable, or immediately makes the woman to be an idiot, I turn it off. One of my favourite movies of all time is Separate Tables. 

Do you like doing puzzles: Not really? I get bored with them pretty quickly. I can enjoy a jigsaw puzzle though; it’s therapeutic. 

Favorite kind of music: I don’t have a favourite genre, but I tend to listen to more Spanish-language songs than English, as far as modern music goes. I have so many Natalia Lafourcade albums, and I love Jesse y Joy, and I recently really got into Kany Garcia. I just can’t get enough of Natalia’s Danza de Gardenias. I can’t help but dance and sing every time I hear that. But I also love Tina Turner, Pat Benatar, Hall and Oates, The Cranberries, Barenaked Ladies....but really I can like any song, there’s no specific artist or genre they need to be. 

Tea or coffee: I’m not really a hot drink drinker,  but if I do, it’s usually coffee. With coconut milk and a dash of caramel syrup instead of sugar. 

The first thing you wanted to be when you grew up: A vet

Tagging: I don’t know who has already done this, so whoever wants to, can do it and feel free to say I tagged you!

[xoruffitup]

Adam in Burn This (6/12)

I saw Burn This again on June 12th and HOO BOY, for this show I’ve got nothing but flail! I think I’ve already worked through most of my critical analyst urges already, so this is gonna be just pure, chaotic Adam fangirling. :’)

The man was robbed of his Tony. Pale is this character who I would absolutely hate on the page or in abstract. But then Adam, the utter jerk, barges and flails his way on stage and makes Pale so human and compelling and just absolutely riveting to watch that hating him becomes physically impossible. I mentioned before how the play functions to make the audience Anna’s proxy (down towards the end of the second section here), and never has that been truer than last night. I literally was Anna, okay. I was repelled and intimidated and scandalized by Pale’s uncontrollable, massive presence; his encroaching, searing physicality; his unpretentious, guileless anger and passions and frenetic creative energy.

One second, you’re watching this massive brickhouse tumble into crying, sniffling pieces so vulnerable and wrecked it could tear your heart out. The next he’s cracking a joke, flirting, cussing, and every single swing is so bracingly authentic that you’re literally pulled to the edge of your seat, unsure if in attraction or revulsion. Either way, you’re along for the wild ride with him every step of the way, feeling the same conflicted and unwilling compulsion towards him Anna is. Pale doesn’t just unwittingly seduce Anna; Adam absorbs every single audience member’s attention like a black hole and before you know it the audience is caring for him even before they have any hope of deciding whether they even like him. (Evidenced by the collective gasp of fear that rises from the audience when Pale, drunk, climbs outside onto a fire escape.) To call him magnetic, electric, a revelation to watch – They’re all woefully inadequate descriptions. He’s a literal inferno, blazing even when he’s silent.

So even though I have yet to reach a personal resolution on whether I accept Pale from an ethical perspective, I am nevertheless complete trash for him because Adam really leaves me no choice in the matter. Damn him. <3

Last night I sat in the upper balcony for the first time, but my friend brought binoculars we passed back and forth (lol, yes really) and I actually saw so many new, detailed nuances to Adam’s acting. I’ll go through the moments that really stood out – though it’s honestly hard to pick because he really is that Extra during the entire damn play.

Act 1

When he puts his leg up on the couch to show Anna how “fucked up” his pants are, then kind of realizes he’s standing there with his leg all weird up on the couch, asking her to look at his pants… Then just smoothly lifts his leg over the table before he lowers it, then makes the coyest face ever at her while he does this slow, deliberate twirl with the most shit-eating look on his face. The audience dies, then he cracks “I coulda been the dancer,” and the audience falls apart again.

The way you can feel his momentum and buzzing energy begin to darken, right before he breaks down completely. When he stops pacing around for the first time and his voice changes, going soft as the guilt and sorrow creeps up on him in the form of physical pain he feels driving straight through his heart. And it’s alarming, when he goes still for the first time.

I swear I’ve never seen him cry so much as last night. Once he broke down, the sniffling was constant, with these utterly, completely broken sounds mixed in whenever he tried to talk.

“Nah, this ain’t me…” “I’m trying to picture him here.”

And he keeps aggressively pushing his hair back while he’s crying, as if he can force the tears away with brute force.

OKAY so watching their first kissing scene through a pair of binoculars was like being personally undressed and ravished, holy god. A bomb could have gone off in the theater and he wouldn’t have looked away from her, he had such consuming focus. When he slides close to her, the first thing he does is slowly lift a hand to touch her hair, his eyes darting between where his fingers brush the strands and her face, gauging her reaction. And then when he leans in so slowly for the kiss, watching her first before his attention shifts to her mouth, and the kiss is slow and deep and….

Yeah I felt things.

From up in the balcony.

Adam’s kissing sex appeal is literally so flaming strong, I felt that heat from the damn balcony. I dare you to show me another man with such raw, intense sex appeal. Go on, I’ll wait. He asks her, “You okay?” when he pulls back, and she says in a sort of daze, “I’m fine.”

….Girl, I feel it too.

AHEM ANYWAY MOVING ON.

And then in the next scene, as if totally oblivious that he’s a literal tornado of sex, he just sweeps out the door with an over-the-shoulder “Alright I’m outta here” and it’s so blasé and masterfully hilarious.

Act 2 When he’s laying on the couch alone, half-asleep, and starts vaguely waving his arm in an attempt to remove invisible blankets. Then, without a single word, he reduces the entire audience to hysterics when he spends a solid two minutes pulling at the collar of his coat in a completely futile effort to take it off. That’s the level acting we’re dealing with here. He’s one-hand fighting his own coat and trying so damn hard and it’s the most entertaining thing of your entire year like WHAT EVEN.

God alsdfjsdlakjf okay when he comes out in the kimono robe and it’s open at first, for like 30 blissful seconds that massive, toned chest is out there to see above those tight black briefs and it is SO MUCH I blacked out and couldn’t even process the sight the first time I saw the play. …. Then he closes the robe, carefully ties it, fights with the sleeves because they clearly aren’t built for massive fuckin arms like his, and in an instant he’s the softest being I’ve ever seen and I’m confused as hell as to how I’m aroused and ‘omg bb’ adoring at the same time??? I think I need therapy? Or Adam needs to stop being massive and sexy but also awkward and soft at the same time, for the sake of my sanity?

I fail to imagine an image that will make my life more than giant Adam in this tiny bright purple silk kimono that barely reaches his thighs, bare foot, tying a dish towel around a pot of tea he just made like a tea cozy, then oh so carefully carrying the tea pot over to the table with his one arm still out of the sleeve and this look of intense focus on his face. I was overwhelmed and could not even begin to name the feels.

Let’s make it even WORSE shall we? When he hands Anna a cup of tea, kisses her forehead twice, says “That tea’s no good for a bad stomach. You want some milk?” then strokes her hair back, then asks “You want some eggs?”

GOD PALE GET OUT WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT

(^ We are all Anna)

The part where he sneakily picks up the phone to eavesdrop on Anna and Burton’s phone conversation, and stays completely silent for a long minute before hilariously bursting out, “YA GOT SOMETHIN’ TO SAY, BRUCE?!” And then AND THEN Anna angrily storms out of the bedroom and the bastard hides his face behind the empty robe sleeve and bats his eyelashes at her and bends at the knees in this cutesy little sorority girl squat and IM….?! “Real cute,” Anna says, trying real hard to be unimpressed, while the audience is in an uproar and everyone’s desperately trying to process all these newfound perplexing Adam Driver feels (WELCOME TO HELL, BITCHES. IT DOESN’T GET BETTER)

Okay okay there are SO many juicy bits during the exchange when Anna’s explaining she wants things to end between them. I was watching through the binoculars and when Anna says, “We’re apples and oranges.” He immediately gets this hella adorable smirk when he goes, “Oh yeah? Who’s the apple and who’s the orange?” Then the smirk grows when he’s all “Ever had an apple tart glazed with marmalade?” And then he’s just grinning because he’s so damn proud of how clever he is and he’s still in the FUCKIN purple kimono and he is ridiculous, I’d hate it if he didn’t own me body and soul.

Then it gets BETTER when he says, “You told me you ain’t been with no one else since you was with me a month ago. Me either. I figure one more time and we’ll have ourselves a hat trick.” And oh my GOD the shit eating grin! He looks at Larry, just grinning like a 5 year old and Larry gives him this hysterical disapproving, unamused shake of his head, but Pale just looks back at Anna full-on sunshine smiling and I’m like WHY ARE U MY PERSONAL BABY

(PS: JJ – That is what we need to see on Ben Solo’s face in TROS. You better deliver!)

He says some of my favorite dialogue here – The bit about “people walking down the street don’t mean a thing they’re doing.” He grows somber here, and this is a portion of the play’s call to its characters to strive for both emotional and artistic authenticity no matter what the price.

And then the scene gets heavy…. He stands up, disappears to get partially dressed, comes out, they start arguing, he’s still determined to make her see what’s clearly between them… And then she drops the definitive bomb over everything: “I don’t like you and I’m frightened of you.”

I watched his face through the binoculars while she delivered the blows, and it was literally like seeing a candle snuffed out. His expression melted like ice – Resolute and hard and determined one moment, and the next moment her words rush over and visibly crush him as the certainty melts from his face and leaves him empty and shell-shocked. Three seconds of silence when nothing moves but the set of his mouth and the light and strength in his face, but you’ve seen a grown man utterly crushed.

Ah, the last scene. In the first performance it was devastatingly, beautifully heartbreaking. In later performances it was humorous even while tragically inevitable. Either way, it’s brilliantly written and exquisitely acted. (Though as I’ve expressed before, I do prefer the more serious, helplessly sad versions.) I’ve never seen the two of them clutch each other as desperately and heart-rendering tenderly as they did in this performance. She fell into him on the couch, and he cradled her entire body to himself – Reaching a hand down to her thigh to pull her across his lap so his arms could engulf her entirely. They rocked together, and she clutched his arms still tighter to herself, and he kissed all over her hair while they made sounds near tears. And then Pale does break open a bit with something approaching a sob, before he curses and objects “I’m gonna cry all over your hair.”

But he only holds her tighter, as if they’ve both lost all conscious control over their bodies at this point, in the face of the all-powerful compulsion drawing them into each other’s orbits. The ending of this performance was absolutely stunning, leaving you with a myriad of unraveled emotions that are at once painfully incomplete and ill-defined, and yet just as bitingly complex and untamable as the most compelling moments of reality.

Over all, it’s nothing short of incredible to see how Adam continuously succeeds in upping his game throughout the course of the play’s run. He already brought the house down at the very first preview, and yet he manages to find new twists and interpretations to embody each and every time. What struck me this time is how boldly natural he’s become in the role – The way he leans into the accent like he’s really spent his entire damn life using the hard edges of the pronunciation like verbal brass knuckles. Adam has gotten to the point where just a single emphasized vowel sound brings the audience to hysterics:

“I heard that mollaaases you were pourin’ over maaam. Needed a shot o’ insulin.”

“Good niiiight, sleep tiiiiight.”

“Drinkin’ and thinkin’, man. Worse than drinkin’ and drivin’.”

“Fuckin’ hate Christmas. Look out… ribbons.”

“Get outta here; You’re useless!”

“Lemon will kill yaaa!”

“That was me and youuu up there.”

He has mastered how to pitch his voice for perfect, killer comedic effect. What’s more is how effortless he makes it seem; How utterly guileless. How he can swing from ugly crying to casual insensitive quip in the span of a minute, and make it just seem like the routine (if highly irregular) over-active synapses of a guy on coke. Even just his body language, the way he paces around the apartment in Act 1, completely out of sorts and out of his depth, like he’s never seen a coat rack or a stove before; A physical embodiment of his discomfiture with the emotions that don’t feel like they belong within him. His presence is imposing and even threatening, and yet his body language is alert and defensive, sometimes even self-flagellate. He embodies so many idiosyncrasies and tensions, it’s easy to see why his emotions burst from him in such tidal, chaotic floods.

I’m so thankful to have tickets to the final performance next month! I shudder to think of the feels I will drown in over how absolutely legend-level powerful Adam’s performance will be at that point. What a talent. What a man. 

I’d be overjoyed to receive any and all questions/thoughts about the play! :) Thanks for reading!

[master-sass-blast]

Paint it Red

DEAR GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER. HOLY SHIT.

Summary: You and Piotr celebrate Valentine’s Day together --and because Piotr is Piotr, he knocks it out of the park by spoiling you at every turn.

This is a fluff fic. Not a drop of angst in sight. You’re welcome.

Rating: E for HOLY SHIT HOW DID SO MUCH SMUT END UP IN THIS?

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol, roadhead (drive safe, kids), and graphic (consensual) sex.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Tag list: @marvel-is-perfection

Side note: The lyrics in the beginning portion are from Paramore’s “The Only Exception.”

Special thank you to @starman-thorsus-canos-jock for beta reading this! If you hadn’t, this wouldn’t be getting uploaded tonight because I wouldn’t have had the guts to do it!

“When I was younger/ I saw my daddy cry/ And curse at the wind...”

You hum along with the song playing on your phone, swaying back and forth slightly as you work on applying your makeup for the evening.

You’d never celebrated Valentine’s Day as a child --save for once, when you’d been on your uncle’s farm when the holiday had rolled around, and he’d decided to celebrate with you by fixing both of you massive ice cream sundaes and telling you about all the ridiculous bad dates he’d been on.

Sometimes, you think that man’s the only reason you have any sense of humanity in you.

Wade, technically, had properly introduced you to the holiday once you arrived at Xavier’s. He’d tossed five different bags of red, white, and pink wrappered candy in your lap before putting some sort of classically bland and saccharine rom-com on and watching it with you.

You still have some of the wrappers saved, tucked away in a box in your closet.

Piotr, though, had been the one to introduce you to Valentine’s Day to a whole new level; he’d kept things tame during your first year together, at your request, but the night --an evening picnic in his art studio, complete with candles and flowers--had been completely and utterly perfect.

This year, though, you’d given him free reign to do what he wanted --he’s the planner of the two of you, with legal access to a car and legally earned money in his bank account

--and thus far, you’re completely and utterly swept off your feet by what he’s come up with.

He’d told you to pack an overnight bag last night, with reasonably detailed instructions on what to pack: a nice dress and things to pair with it for an evening out, pajamas, and comfortable clothes for the drive back the next morning.

And toiletries, makeup, etcetera etcetera --not the fucking point.

Because the fucking point is that the next morning he’d surprised you with breakfast in bed before telling you to get dressed and grab your bag. And then  he’d driven you to the fanciest fucking hotel you’ve ever seen and revealed that not only had he booked a room for the night, but he’d made reservations at a restaurant that --when you’d taken a moment to look it up on your phone--was so expensive it nearly made you fall over.

How he could afford it was beyond you, but leave it to Piotr Rasputin to blow every guy on the face of the planet away on Valentine’s day.

A day out of the mansion, away from everyone, just for the two of you.

There’d even been a vase of roses and a box of chocolates waiting in the room, as per instructions your wonderful boyfriend had left with the hotel staff.

Again, leave it to Piotr Rasputin.

He’d taken you out to lunch, then to a nearby art museum and showed you around with the intensity, passion, and mild distractedness that only an artist could have in such a place.

And you’d watched him, entertained and enthralled and endlessly endeared.

And now, now you’re back at the hotel, getting ready for what promises to be a fabulous dinner.

“You are/ the only exception/ You are/ the only exception--”

You sing along with the song, swaying as you continue working on your makeup. You’re almost done and all you’ve got left is to change into your dress --you’d thought it best to leave it off until your makeup was done and put away, thus making spills impossible--and put on your shoes. You grumble as you try to get your eyeliner done --and realize that, perhaps just maybe, swaying isn’t exactly conducive to making even eyeliner wings. “Why. Is. Eye-line-r so damn hard? Why. Is. Eye-line-r so damn hard?”

A loud snort from the bathroom door makes you pause.

Piotr’s wiping at his eyes as he braces himself against the door frame. “Did you mean to sing that with the song?”

You smirk and shrug. “Hey, I think I’m onto something. Just you watch, it’ll be the greatest hit of the year.”

“Are you almost ready, myshka? Our reservation is soon.”

“Yeah, yeah --fuck it.” You cap your eyeliner pen and toss it in your makeup bag. “Who needs wings? They’re just a pain in the ass anyway.” You swipe on some lipstick, do an obligatory lip pop at the mirror, and then change into your dress for the evening.

It’s a relatively modest, lacy, red number that neither clings to you like a second skin or hugs your every curve. It does, however, fit you properly, match Piotr’s tie perfectly, and make you feel like a princess or a superstar when you wear it, and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

(For the record, it is.)

You put on your shoes --a pair of black pumps with enough heel to make you sound fancy without being high enough to risk twisting any ankles--then fluff your hair before doing a little spin. “How do I look?”

He smiles at you, dreamy and almost shy. “Krasivaya. Always.”

Beautiful.

You can’t help but preen a little at his praise, and take the arm he offers to you. “Take me to dinner, Mr. Rasputin.”

He chuckles as he opens the door that leads to the hall for you. “But of course, dorogaya moya.”

The restaurant is located near the Hudson river, and is out of the city enough that you don’t have to worry about getting clipped by a taxi when you get out of the car.

It’s the small things in life, really.

Piotr hands his keys to the valet before opening your door and holds out a hand to you. “Moya lyubov’.”

Some whimsical, inane, distracted part of your brain whisks you away in a bizarre sort of fantasy, where’s he’s actually a Russian crime lord and you’re some kind of waitress or college student or otherwise financially strapped young woman that’s being seduced by the trappings of luxury and crime, and he’s in turn being charmed by your plucky personality and down-to-earth sensibilities.

Granted, it’s not the weirdest thing your mind’s ever come up with, so you just giggle and let him escort you inside.

Given how all out Piotr’s been going for the holiday, you’d half expected to be seated in some sort of private room --and are grateful when you aren’t. You enjoy the background hum of the other diners and the opportunity to people watch; it keeps the lulls in conversation from feeling too stifling.

Besides, it’s not like you needed a private dining experience to make the evening any more memorable. The view of the river is divine, ripples and currents glittering as the lights from the city refract off the water. And the dining room itself is heavenly, all white linens and tea light candles and soft, jazzy piano music being piped through seemingly invisible speakers.

You’re feeling more and more the part of the seduced, ho-hum citizen, almost dizzy from the heady thrill of it all. You can’t help but giggle when he pulls out your chair for you --and pushes it back in, ever the consummate gentleman--and peek at him coyly from beneath your lashes when he sits down across from you. “You’re going all out for tonight.”

He smiles back and takes one of your hands in his --careful to avoid the little tealight candle sitting at the center of the table, ever the consummate worry-wart. “You deserve to be spoiled. Today is good excuse.”

You arch an eyebrow at him, smirking playfully. “You need an excuse?”

He winks at you. “Only to get time off work.”

You open your mouth to say something else--

And then a perfectly coiffed blond man dressed in an chef’s uniform is walking up to your table with a smile. “Piotr. It’s good to see you.”

Piotr stands and shakes the man’s hand with a smile of his own. “Grant. It has been too long.”

“No kidding.” The man --Grant--glances at you with a smile. “Are you going to introduce me to your date?”

You can’t help but preen a little --again--when Piotr does, basking in the glow of his affection the way a cat basks in the glow of a sunbeam.

(They may as well be the same damn things, as far as you’re concerned.)

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you and even lovelier to see that Piotr can, in fact, do something other than pine in the presence of a pretty girl.”

You giggle when Piotr shoots Grant an indignant look. “I mean... how long were you calling me ‘myshka’ for before you told me it was a term of endearment used by couples? A year? A year and a half?”

Grant groans quietly as the tips of Piotr’s ears go red. “Dude. No.”

“I kissed him first, too, if that counts for anything.”

“I think everything ended up fine,” Piotr says emphatically, trying to end the conversation before it gets too out of hand.

“Says the glacier,” Grant teases before refocusing on you. “Piotr’s an old friend of mine; we studied at Xavier’s together, and he encouraged me to pursue my love of the culinary arts when I felt like I couldn’t keep up with the X-Men. Oh, he did the artwork for here, too.”

You twist in your seat to survey the dining room --and sure enough, you recognize Piotr’s style. You make an approving noise in the back of your throat as you smile at your boyfriend. “I’m surprised I didn’t recognize it earlier.”

“It’s not my best work.”

“Pete, if it wasn’t your best work, I wouldn’t have it hanging up. I know what I’m about.” Grant grins and clasps his hands together. “At any rate, when Piotr called me and asked me to help him, quote, ‘give the love of his life the most memorable Valentine’s Day she’s ever had,’ I couldn’t say no.”

You smile bashfully and duck your head, feeling ever drunker off the depths of Piotr’s love for you and the lengths he’ll go to show it.

“So, far be it from me to tell you what to order or how to order it, but I do hope you’ll let me pick your wine for the evening; a personal favorite of mine, pairs well with just about anything.”

It takes a moment to realize that Grant’s waiting for your approval, not Piotr’s --you’re the lady of the evening, and things’ll go however you want them to--and when you put it together you lift your head with a little giggle and nod. “That sounds great.”

The wine is excellent.

Not because it has undertones of oak or berries or whatever the fuck terms wine snobs use when describing wine. It’s just good. Rich.

It tastes like luxury without the ‘Buzzfeed Worth It’-toss-a-bunch-of-gold-leaf-and-fucking-truffles-on-top-to-sell-the-‘luxury’ ridiculousness to deal with.

The food is excellent. For the same reasons as the wine, but also because it’s delicious.

The inane, fantasy spinning part of your brain --which has been significantly boosted thanks to the wine, not that it needed much encouragement to begin with--is on some tangent about how this is the way to do proper seduction. No ridiculous, cheesy, trendy five star restaurant that puts truffle on everything so they can pump up the prices, or encrusts things in diamond because they could. No over the top shopping spree to start off the day or limo ride on the way over.

It’s about quality. About letting the activities serve as an accent, a backdrop, to the affection you feel for the recipient.

And, fuck, Piotr’s good at it. He’s always been good at getting things ‘just so,’ at finessing everything just right so that you feel like the center of the world without being overwhelmed by some sort of ostentatious display.

“Alright, I have to know,” you say as you take another bite of mashed potatoes that are so damn smooth they may as well be made of silk. “How long did you spend planning this?”

“Most of the year,” he admits. “To make sure I could get proper reservations. I did not want to get caught short.”

“Well, this has been completely and utterly spectacular,” you say.

“It’s not over yet,” he says with a glint in his eye that tells you he’s thinking about exactly the same thing as you.

You can’t help but squirm in your seat a little, excited and impatient. “No, it certainly isn’t.” You drink a little more wine --you’re almost done for the night, you’ve learned your limits by now--and smile at him. “You know, last year, when I told you that you could go all out, I almost expected... I don’t know. Everything big and flashy --rose petals on the bed, or something.”

He catches your meaning and arches a thick eyebrow at you. “Is that what you would have wanted?”

You shake your head immediately. “No. It would’ve been too much. But this... this is perfect.”

He smiles, cheeks pinking at your praises, and holds out one of his hands to you. “I like to think I know you well.”

“You were tempted to go that far though, even if just for a moment,” you press, amused and endeared because you know him too, as you place your hand on his. “Admit it.”

“I was,” he confesses without any trace of shame or embarrassment. “Because you are my world and I want to give you everything in it.”

You can feel tears threatening to well up and you bite the inside of your bottom lip to hold them back because you worked hard on your makeup, dammit. “Well, count me as curious, because I really want to know what stopped you.”

“You’re always curious.”

“And if you were actually complaining about that, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

He smiles. “I will never complain about your curiosity. It is one of the things I love most about you.”

“You keep talking like that and my heart’s gonna actually melt.”

“I know some good healers,” he says with a wink.

You can’t help but laugh, soft and drunk on love. “Okay, but how did you figure out this wouldn’t be too much for me?”

“You think I don’t know you?”

“No, I know you know me, I’m curious about the process. C’mon, babe, humor me a little. Show me how the fascinating mind of Mr. Piotr Rasputin works.”

He chuckles and rubs your knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I know you can be... overwhelmed by affection at times. That gestures too grand make you anxious because you don’t know how to handle them. So I opted for... a quiet glamour, if you will.”

You honestly can’t think of a better way to describe the evening. “Well, you nailed it. I almost feel bad for not having anything for you.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. I wanted opportunity to spoil you, and you let me have it.”

“That honestly sounds like a load of crap.”

“You do so much for me every day without realizing it.” His face goes unexpectedly serious, and you know it’s because he’s getting emotional. “As much as you think you offer nothing to me, you are wrong. I may not deal with struggles as severe as yours, but--” he pauses to swallow and find the words he wants “--there are many days where I feel lonely. I know that I come off as idealistic, naive, to others. A ‘glorified hall monitor.’ I know that people don’t always respect me.”

You squeeze his hand. “Babe--”

He shakes his head and smiles. “The people who I care about most respect me. I don’t care about others. Point of matter is, you make me feel loved and appreciated. The parts of myself that people make fun off, you make feel... good. Respected.” He looks up at you, and his eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. “You make me feel like I’m enough.”

Dammit, now you’re gonna cry. “You’re enough, Piotr. Just as you are. You’re so much more than enough.”

“Well, you make me feel like it.” He smiles politely when the server clears away your empty plates, nods when they ask if the two of you want dessert menus, then reaches into his pocket as they walk away. “Ah. Before I forget--”

“Babe --what?” Your heat hammers as he places a red velvet box on the table and scoots it towards you.

You know it’s not an engagement ring. You don’t have a diagnosis yet for your episodes, and the last conversation the two you had about marriage, you still wanted to wait for one and he was still fine with that. If that had changed, he would’ve talked to you about first.

That, and the box is a little too big for it to be a ring box --not to mention the fact that if Piotr was proposing, he’d already be down on one knee.

You open the box and gasp as a tasteful, elegant diamond necklace on a dainty silver chain glitters up at you. “Piotr...”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, moya lyubov’.”

You press your hand against your mouth, eyes watery, and smile. “It’s... it’s really fucking beautiful, Piotr. Will you help me put it on?”

“Konechno.”

He stands as you --carefully, you don’t want to break the chain--extract the necklace from the box, then takes it from your hands and moves behind you.

The combination of the cool metal against your skin and his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck makes you shiver.

And then he’s pressing his fingers against the underside of your chin and tilting your head up so he can press his lips against yours.

It takes all your willpower not to moan into the kiss; it’s closed-mouthed, it’s not like the two of you are Frenching each other in the restaurant, but you can still feel the passion and want behind it.

Your toes do curl in your shoes, though, and you do get a few chuckles out of some nearby patrons at the sigh you let out.

And then your sever’s back with the dessert menus, gushing about how cute the two of you are and complimenting Piotr on his taste in jewelry as he heads back to his seat.

Your hand flits to your neck, feeling the gems in their settings, and once you get your head back you ask “How did you even afford all this?”

He glances around the dining room --at his art on the walls--with an amused smirk before opening his dessert menu. “I know better than to work for free.”

You know you have to make the first move.

Now that lunch and the art museum and getting ready and the drive over and dinner and the necklace and dessert are all out of the way, you know that you’ve only got the drive back to the hotel to capitalize on the burning, throbbing sexual tension between the two of you and get your fun in.

Because as soon as the door to your hotel room closes, you know full well that Piotr Rasputin, the world’s most perfect boyfriend and gentleman extraordinare, is going to fuck your brains out.

You’ve seen the way he’s been looking at you all evening; you know damn well that it doesn’t matter that the dress you’re wearing isn’t a skin-hugger or a cleavage trap. To him, you’re still the most beautiful woman in the world, and his desire for you isn’t something that’s solely stoked by how much skin you’re showing at a given moment.

(Which isn’t to say that showing skin doesn’t rev his engine. You’ve spent enough mornings figuring out how to walk again after prancing around in your underwear while he got ready for teaching to know that it does.)

You’ve also spent enough time being horny for and with Piotr Rasputin to know that he’s his own damn textbook. If he’s hungry for you and can’t get a fix right away, he still can’t keep his hands off of you. He’ll play with your hair, rub his thumb against the nape of your neck, splay his hands against the curves of your waist--

--or, if the two of you are in a car, he likes to put his hand on your thigh.

And you know that if his hand hits your thigh before your hand hits his, it’ll all be over. You’ll be too flustered and wound up to do anything that might drive him out of his skull.

And you really want to. He’s spent the whole day lavishing affection and time and gifts on you, and now you want to repay the favor and drive him out of his mind. Just a little.

You wait until he reaches the part of the drive that isn’t too horribly twisty or bendy --making him less likely to outright reject what you’ve got planned--and go for it. You put your hand on his thigh --midway between his knee and his hip, nothing too conspicuous to start--and let your head rest against his shoulder with a happy sigh. “Tonight was... amazing, Piotr. I can’t believe you actually thought of all this.”

He chuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, I think on fairly regular basis.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you say with a snort. “But no, really. I don’t think I’m ever gonna forget tonight.”

“That was the idea.”

“Stop brushing everything off and let me thank you, dammit.”

He laughs, full on. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Well, I want to. Seriously, you made me feel like a princess today. Or, I dunno, some sort of waitress that’s being seduced by a Russian crime lord.”

And that’s definitely the wine talking, because you wouldn’t have told him that otherwise, and you have to take a minute to check to make sure you’re not hitting a nerve, with what his mom’s history is like.

He’s still smiling though, amused. “Oh, really?”

You bite your lower lip and slide your hand up his thigh, squeezing the thick muscle there. “Yeah. You’ve pretty well swept me off my feet, babe.”

He shifts a little in his seat, which is how you know that you’ve got his attention with the placement of your hand. “The night is still young, dorogoy.”

“Yeah.” You go in for the kill, sliding your hand up his thigh and over to his crotch. “It is.”

He inhales sharply as you start rubbing at his cock through the fabric of his slacks. “Myshka, what are you doing?”

“Making the most of the night.”

His hips flex a little and his teeth come together with an audible click. “Y/N--”

“Eyes on the road, Piotr. This is what you get for driving me nuts all night.” You rub your palm against his half-hard member --proof that his mind is right alongside yours in the gutter--then bring in your other hand into play to undo his belt buckle and start working at the button and zipper on his pants.

“What--”

“I’m gonna make you lose your damn mind, Piotr.” And, with that, you manage to free his cock from his pants and briefs and lean over to put your mouth around his tip.

You don’t take things slow. You know that roadhead is definitely one of those things that falls into the category of ‘dangerous, do not try’ for Piotr, and that if you want to have any sort of impact on him before he calls you off --because you won’t push it after he asks you to stop, you respect him too much for that--you need to move fast.

So you do just that. You work his cock over with your mouth, using one hand to hold him steady at the base while you lick, kiss, and suck him to full mast--

And he’s not stopping you.

Piotr.

Isn’t.

Stopping.

You.

He’s groaning, panting in his seat, gripping the wheel like he’s trying to strangle it, pressing his foot down harder against the gas pedal--

But he’s not asking you to stop.

Your thighs clench together and you moan around your mouthful of his dick when you realize just how fucked you’re gonna be when you get back to your hotel room.

He moans and reaches down with one hand to grasp at your hair --but he isn’t pulling you off. “Myshka--”

“Both hands on the wheel, Piotr.”

He obliges with a keening noise at the back of his throat.

Piotr Rasputin. The world’s most perfect boyfriend, gentleman extraordinare, and putty in your hands.

Mouth.

Whatever.

You keep going until his hand comes down on your shoulder and he’s saying something, voice so wrecked and accent so thick you can barely understand him--

“We’re almost at hotel.”

You release his cock, more than fully hard now, from your mouth with a pop and set about tucking him back in his briefs and pants and getting everything back in order. You don’t need any extra explanation to know that he doesn’t want to get caught doing this, and you’re happy to oblige him on that.

Give and take. The foundation of any good relationship.

Before you know it, you’re pulling into the parking garage connected to the hotel, and Piotr’s parking the car and turning the engine off--

--and then he’s kissing you, growling as his tongue swipes between your lips and into your mouth.

You moan and arch into the kiss, fingers digging into the edge of your seat. Your heart’s pounding in your chest in time with the desire throbbing between your legs, and you simper when one of his hands slides up your thigh, making the skirt of your dress ruck up around your hips.

Seduced and drunk on love, swept away in a torrent of passion. God, what a way to go.

“Maybe we should head up to our room,” you manage when he breaks the kiss. You shiver as his thumb rubs up and down the length of your neck and smile prettily at him. “As fun as this is, I don’t think I can squeeze into the front seat with you. You kinda take up a lot of space, big guy.”

He kisses you again, mouth hot and wet against yours. “As you wish, moya lyubov’.”

The two of you barely refrain from sprinting through the hotel lobby.

You do power walk, though, and between your excited smile and the fact that there’s no good way to hide the hard on Piotr’s sporting, you’re pretty sure the staff know full well what the two of you’ll be doing for the rest of the night.

The elevator the two of you get on is completely empty, and for a moment you wonder what’ll happen when the doors close--

--and then you don’t have to wonder anymore because the doors do close and Piotr practically yanks you against his chest and kisses you hard.

You cling to him, head spinning with delight. His sudden lack of control or care for keeping up appearances has you reeling the best ways possible.

(Part of you realizes that it’s because the two of you are alone, and there’s no chance of Wade or one of the students catching you, and God what is married life even going to be like if the two of you wind up getting a whole house to yourselves?)

And then your back’s pressed against one of the elevator walls and Piotr’s mouth is on your neck.

You arch into him, run your fingers through his hair as he runs his tongue over the length of your neck, gasp his name when his hands skim down your back to cup your ass--

And then the elevator stops and the door opens to let on a handful of other passengers.

You let out a little yelp and giggle out apologies as you get a mixture of eyerolls and faintly amused smiles and move your hands to Piotr’s chest.

Piotr, for his part, just kisses your hair and moves his hands to your arms. He doesn’t turn away from you or even acknowledge the other people in the elevator --probably to save himself from melting with embarrassment.

You let your head rest against his chest, thrill of the moment ebbing into mildly embarrassed contentment. You let your eyes close as he rubs gentle circles against your shoulder, lightly massaging the muscle there, and just bask in his love for you.

And then the doors open again on your floor, and it’s back on.

The two of you laugh as you dart down the hall to your room. You’re pressed between the door and him, mouthing at his neck as he fumbles with his wallet for the room key. He’s got one of his thighs between your legs, holding you up and pining you in place.

You’re like a couple of teenagers, borderline making out in the hallway because you want each other so bad you can’t wait to get to the bed.

Piotr manages to get the keycard into the slot on his second try, and he picks you up with one arm and carries you into the hotel room.

You giggle as the door schincks shut, grab onto the lapels of his jacket as he sets you down and kiss him as he walks you back towards the bed. You wobble on your heels, low as they are, and break away so you can kick them off properly. “Hang on. These aren’t helping anything.”

When you look back at him, Piotr’s gazing at you like a dying man seeing civilization for the first time in years. His eyes are impossibly soft as he studies your face, full of love and reverence.

You sigh, happy, when he cups the side of your face with one of his massive hands and lean into his touch.

“I love you, Y/N. More than anything.”

“I love you more than anything too, Piotr.”

He presses his lips against yours once more, tender and gentle. He keeps kissing you as he moves his hands to your back, starting just above your ass and sliding them up to the collar of your dress. His fingers fidget with the zipper for a moment before he whispers a husky “May I?” against your lips.

The answer’s yes. The answer’s always yes.

You shiver against him as he slowly unzips your dress, goosebumps spreading across your skin as the dress falls into a pool of fabric around your feet, leaving you in your tights and underwear. You slide his jacket off his shoulders --and occupy yourself with undoing his tie when Piotr takes over so he can lay the jacket out neatly on the desk. You toss it across the room with an impish giggle, then focus on unbuttoning his shirt when he sighs.

“What is it with you and making messes?” he murmurs as he trails kisses down your cheek.

“What is it with you and organizing everything?”

He toes his shoes off --chuckles when you finish unbuttoning his shirt and toss it as far as you can, too--and slowly presses you back against the bed. “I guess we balance each other.”

“I’d say so.”

And you don’t say anything intelligible after that, because Piotr starts kissing your breasts and all coherent thought goes out of your mind.

You let out a soft sigh and arch your back off the bed so he can unclip your bra --and you promptly chuck it across the room.

He laughs. “Stop doing that.”

“Distract me better, then.”

It’s a challenge you know he’s more than capable of rising to.

His hands and mouth go to work, caressing and groping and licking and sucking at your breasts until your hips are rocking against the bed.

You whine as he gently teases one of your nipples with his tongue while tweaking the other between his forefinger and thumb. You thread your fingers through his hair, wriggling lower as you do, and gasp when you grind against his crotch.

He’s hard and straining against his dress pants, and he groans as he rocks his hips back against yours. “Bozhe moi --lyublyu…”

You wrap your legs around his hips as he starts grinding against you in earnest, mouth sucking a scattering of hickeys across your breasts. You clutch at his back, dig your nails in when he rubs against you just right. “Fuck.”

Piotr moves his mouth to your neck, but his hands move downwards until his fingers reach the stretchy waistband of your tights. He hooks his fingers around the elastic material --and then he’s sitting back and rolling the tights down your legs.

You yank your legs out of the tights and wriggle out of your underwear as fast as you can. “Pants off. Underwear, too.”

He chuckles as he shifts off the bed and starts working at his belt. “Impatient.”

“So what?” You crawl towards him and tug at his pants as he slides the belt out of the last loop. “Hurry up.”

He laughs softly and widens his stance a little to keep you from yanking his pants off. “Wait --wait. We need--” he retrieves a condom from one of his pockets “--we’ll be needing this.”

“Don’t care.” You tug at his pants until they’re halfway down his thighs, then straighten up on your knees and start kissing a trail up his chest.

“Y/N--”

“Fucking whatever, Piotr, just get undressed already!” You bite down --not too hard, but enough to prove your point--on the muscle between his neck and shoulder.

He growls --actually growls--and then he’s pushing you back against the mattress, nude, muscular body pressing against yours. “Patience.”

You squirm against him, trying to get any sort of relief for the ache between your legs. “No.”

He nips at your ear as one hand skins down your torso, towards where you both want it most. “You can do it.”

“The fuck I won’t--”

And then he’s sliding two fingers inside you and any complaints you might’ve had evaporate.

You moan as he curls his fingers against your g-spot and rock your hips against his hand. “Piotr!”

He chuckles. “Not complaining now, I see.”

You open your mouth to retort --and whine when he presses the pad of his thumb against your clit. You pant as he rubs circles over your sensitive nub in time with the movements of his fingers against your walls. “Oh --fuck--baby, I’m gonna--”

He shushes you gently, kissing your hairline with a tenderness that belies the utter sinfulness of what his fingers are doing. “Just enjoy it.”

And enjoy it you do, right up until the point --and past the point, to be clear--when your toes curl and your eyes roll into the back of your head and you climax with a groan.

Piotr slows his movements, working you through the aftershocks as you pant and gasp, only sliding his fingers out when you push weakly at his arm.

You open your eyes just in time to see him sucking your juices off his fingers and moan. “Piotr --baby--just fuck me. Please.”

“What if I would rather make love to you?”

“I don’t care! Just get your dick in me ASAP!”

The two of you pause, and then you both start laughing.

You nuzzle your face against Piotr’s neck as he slumps on top of you, body shaking with laughter. “Did I really just say that?”

“Da.” He kisses your cheek. “You are… so ridiculous, myshka. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Piotr.” You arch your back as he presses his lips against yours, relishing the way your chest goes flush against his. Your hands skim up the planes of back, holding him to you as he thoroughly plunders your mouth with his tongue.

God, you love this. You love the way he kisses you, the way his body presses against yours, the way--

“I should probably put this on,” he says with a laugh and a vague gesture with the condom as he breaks the kiss. “Before we get carried away.”

You laugh with him and sit up. “Yeah. Here --let me.” You rip the foil packet open, then pause to wrap your hand around the shaft of his cock.

He’s already completely hard, but going the extra mile never hurt anyone.

You give him a few pumps, relishing the way he groans and jerks into your hand, then push at his chest. “Roll over.” You straddle his thighs when he does and carefully roll the condom over his cock. When you look up halfway through and realize he’s watching you, desire burning in his eyes, you duck your head bashfully. “Like what you see?”

“Always.”

You take the hand he holds out to you once you’re done putting the condom on him and let him help you get positioned. You can feel the head of his cock brushing your folds, prodding at your entrance--

And then you’re sinking onto him, and he’s filling you up, and everything else in the world other than the two of you and what you’re doing right here, right now ceases to be of any importance.

You whimper at the feeling of him, the stretch, the exquisite fullness, and rock your hips against his. “Piotr--”

His hands come up to grasp your hips, holding you tight but not stopping you. “Slow. Go slow.”

“Yeah --sure,” you pant as you plant your hands against his chest and --slowly--start to ride him. You take your time --you’ve got nothing else you need to do, other than him--and savor every inch of him, every shift of your walls against his member, every gasp and groan that leaves his lips.

You’ve got all night, just for the two of you. No obligations, no distractions. Just this room, this bed, and whatever the fuck the two of you feel like doing.

He moans underneath you, hips rolling up to meet yours as you pace quickens ever so slightly, and slides his hands back to grope at your ass. “Khorosho?”

Good?

You can’t help but smile; he always has to make sure you’re alright, that you’re enjoying yourself. You nod. “Yeah. You good?”

By way of answer, he lifts one hand to the back of your head and pulls you down for a kiss.

It’s a little awkward, given your height differences; he slides halfway out of you in the process, and you can’t really get him all the way back in your current position. You giggle a little --because it’s ridiculous and kinda funny, really--and brace one hand against his chest so you can reposition yourself and keep moving, as it were--

Piotr’s hold on the back of your head tightens, his other hand slides to the small of your back, and his hips snap up against yours. Hard.

Oh.

The hand of yours that’s not on his chest grips the pillow next to his head when he does it again, and you moan when he does it a third time--

And then the bed starts shaking as he starts doing it in earnest, pumping in and out of you in deep, even, strokes.

Well, if that’s what he wants to do, you’re not gonna stop him.

You squeeze your eyes shut and rock your hips back against his thrusts as best you can. He’s skimming your g-spot with each movement of his cock inside you; not enough to fully turn on the pleasure, but plenty to wind up you up and drive you completely insane.

His mouth is hot against your jaw and neck, and he’s murmuring --and occasionally groaning--a nonstop string of Russian against your skin. “Ty takaya krasivaya ... kazhdyy raz, kogda ya smotryu na tebya, moye serdtse bolit…”

You grit your teeth together and whine as the shaft of his cock just barely rubs against your g-spot for the umpteenth time. “Piotr --baby, please--”

He lets you up when you push against his chest this time, eyes burning as he watches you, steadies you, helps you get repositioned.

You tip your head back and moan, a mixture of pleasure and relief at finally getting pressure and friction right where you want it, as you start bouncing up and down on his cock. You grab his hands when they grip your hips and relocate them to your chest.

He takes the none-too-subtle hint with zero complaining and starts groping at your breasts, caressing and squeezing them before focusing on your nipples.

You gasp as a soft thrum of pleasure courses through you and nearly fall --not that he’d let you, he’ll always catch you. You brace yourself against his chest even harder, arching against his hands while your hips keep working against his.

You can feel your orgasm starting to build in the slow tightening of your core, in the urgency that’s buzzing underneath the pleasure. You pant as you roll your hips harder, faster, feeling sweat drip down your back.

For all your working out, you don’t quite have your boyfriend’s stamina --at least, not when it comes to doing all the heavy moving.

You barely have to gasp out two words before he’s taking care of you, holding your hips to his as he rolls so that you’re on your back and he’s positioned above you. Before he can start moving though, you swing your legs up so your calves are braced against his shoulders.

You’re flexible enough. You can handle it.

He groans when you say as much, face flushed and expression utterly debauched, and he shifts the two of you down the bed before letting more of his weight bear down on you, pressing your knees against your chest and effectively pinning you against the bed. Then, he adjusts his hips and slides all the way in.

You groan and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You thought you were full before, but clearly you were wrong. You completely stuffed now, filled to the brim and whatever other euphemisms erotica writers use to convey being full past the point of reason and believability. You could float away of the sensation, the satisfaction alone, completely lost to the world save for the feeling of your boyfriend’s cock buried deep inside you--

And, without fail, Piotr brings you back down to earth.

A simple kiss to the forehead is all it takes, and you’re back in the hotel room, back with him, able to hear what he’s saying--

“Khorosho?”

Good?

God help you, you love this man so much.

You nod, still too out of breath to make forming words a feasible goal.

He smiles softly, kisses you gently on the bridge of your nose --and snaps his hips against yours with a lack of hesitation that can only be described as ruthless.

You moan loudly as he starts taking you in earnest, then whine when you realize you can’t arch your back or writhe against him in this position. You’re utterly pinned down, completely at his mercy as he pumps himself in and out of you; even with your hands free, there’s not much you can do or reach, definitely not enough to distract from the feeling of his cock driving in and out of you.

You’re here to do one thing and one thing only: take.

You’re moaning with each thrust now, gasping as he works you towards your climax without hesitation or doubt. All you have to focus on is the pleasure you’re feeling.

It’s completely overwhelming. Too much despite the fact that you haven’t actually come yet. You’re drowning in it, going insane from it, choking on it as you take your boyfriend’s cock over and over and over and over…

What a fucking way to go --pun intended.

You let out a high-pitched mewl as he speeds up. You can tell he’s close from the way he’s swearing in Russian and gripping your hips; he’s quite the picture of focus, actually, mouth open and lips pulled back over his teeth as he tries to reign himself in, tries to get you off first.

Ever the fucking gentleman --pun intended again.

And then one of his thumbs is rubbing against your clit, and it’s all over.

You scream his name as you climax --noise complaints be damned, you can’t be assed to give a shit right now--and clutch at the bedspread as hard as you can. Your orgasm sweeps through you in waves, cresting and ebbing again and again--

And then he’s coming too, albeit quieter than you did. He groans your name and presses his hips flush against yours, rocking against you as he rides out his own orgasm.

The room goes silent, save for the sound of your mutually labored breathing.

And then he’s sliding out of you and collapsing next to you on the bed, seemingly as fucked out as you are.

You stretch with a groan and take a few deep breaths as you come down from it all. Your cunt’s still twitching from your release, but you find it in yourself to push through the haze of the afterglow and roll over to face him.

He’s already reaching for you, arms curling around your body and pulling you in so he can shield you with his warmth and love. He kisses the top of your head and pushes the errant locks of hair away from your face, smoothing them as he goes.

You let out a shaky breath, then sling an arm around his neck and kiss his cheek. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“And I love you, dorogoy.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Pete.”

He huffs a gentle laugh. “It certainly is.”

[secretly-a-plant]

Head Underwater (PRB 2019)

Here is the fic I wrote for the @phandomreversebang 2019! Thank you so so so much to @lovelydeps and @phanandpenguins for being an amazing artist and an amazing beta! I couldn’t have done this without them. (Reblogs, likes, and comments appreciated!)

Ao3 Link

-Dan’s POV-

The ocean is a beautiful and serene place. Dangerous yet peaceful, mysterious yet full of joy. And forbidden. Completely and utterly forbidden. Ever since I was born I've been told horrific stories of winged creatures flying too close to the waves and getting lost in the blue depths. Unable to escape because their wings are sodden with saltwater and the tears of drowned sailors. I’ve been told that every creature that lies below the surface is my mortal enemy, destined to destroy me. That I should never venture to the sea for as long as I live. And yet, I seem to have an unhealthy fascination with the sea. Specifically with a dark-haired merman whose eyes shine brighter than every star in the sky.

I first saw him years ago. I had just gotten into a fight with my parents. This wasn’t a rare occurrence, it seemed that my father and I were always at each other’s throats, and my passive mother almost never took my side. I had stormed off in my usual manner, but instead of retreating to my room, I found myself walking the seldom tread path to the coast. I sat on a rock, closer to the sea then I had ever been before. I was gazing off at the skyline when my eyes caught a shimmer of light in the shallows. Curious and feeling rebellious, I moved closer. It was then that I locked eyes with the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Full of terror and amazement I quickly turned away and ran back up to the sanctuary of the forest.

And here we are. I’ve been coming back every day since to try and catch a glimpse of the mysterious sea dweller. Pathetic, I know, but I can’t bring myself to stop. One more look I tell myself, just one more complete look and then I’ll be satisfied. Today is a gloomy sort of day. Dreary and cold. The type of day that sinks through your skin, chilling you from the inside out. I don’t expect to see him today, but my subconscious seems to be driving me towards the water anyway. I walk past the cliffs that surround the cove. Craggy and leering, like giants sent to protect the land. I feel my feet sink into the sand as I close my eyes and breath in the ocean air. I feel the mist settle on my skin and the wind whip through my hair. The serene moment is interrupted by a loud splash. I jump at the sound and dive behind a rock. I cautiously peek out from behind my hiding place to be met with the exact thing I had been searching for. I tell myself that I have to go. I’ve gotten what I wanted and now I must return back to safety. But I can’t tear my eyes away. He turns, and quickly I duck down, but I know he’s seen me. I hear the gentle sound of water lapping against the coastline and tentatively emerge from behind the boulder. In front of me is a merman. Dark hair, pale skin, shining blue eyes, and a long scaly tail. He looks nothing like the drawings of mermaids that are in history books. Those mermaids are fearsome and ugly. Eyes full of rage and mouths full of fangs. The creature standing before me looks like he was crafted from sunbeams, and wrapped in layers of serene waves. Once my mind has started working again I realize that he’s looking at me with as much unfiltered awe as I am with him. Has he never seen a human before? But surely he must have if the tales of these creatures are correct. I come to my senses and abruptly turn around. I can’t just stand there and let myself be distracted by how he looks. Looks can be deceiving and while his skin may be devoid of imperfection, there are horrors in his mind. I get no more than two steps when I hear a gentle timid voice.

“Wait!” He says, his voice apprehensive as if testing it out. “Please stay.”

I turn around and see the look in his eyes, curious and pleading. I take a few steps back and sit down on the sand a few paces away.

​“Hello,” I say, with a surprisingly steady voice. I know I should be scared, terrified even, but I can't bring myself to feel anything but wonder.

“Greetings, I am Phil”

I feel a small smile start to spread across my face, matching the one that Phil has adopted.

“I’m Dan.”

 -Phil’s POV-

 ​I’d never seen a fairy before. I’d heard about them, horrible winged creatures sent down from the sky on thunderbolts, with a personal vendetta against the ocean. But looking at the being standing before me, I don’t know how he could be dangerous. His eyes were ringed with red as if he’d been crying, and every part of him from his curly hair to his oversized jumper to his soft gray wings looked safe and warm. Such a contrast from the harsh blues and steely grays of the coastline. Suddenly he turns around and starts to run. I think “No, wait!” but the words are stuck in my throat and I watch as he disappears among the cliffs. And then he’s gone, so quickly that I was certain I imagined him. I sat there for a moment before slipping back below the waves.

​That was years ago. I thought I’d never see him again and that it was probably for the better. When I had gone back to the ocean teeming with excitement at my discovery, no one believed me. They couldn’t fathom that a fairy would come anywhere near the water. And so I waited. I resisted the urge to go back up to the surface to try and catch another glimpse of the boy I had seen so long ago. Today was different. It was a dreary mid-October day. The ocean floor was empty, my parents always went away once the leaves changed to seek warmer waters, and most of the marine life went with them. However, I seemed to be the exception. The brisk weather had given the ocean a dreadful chill. The sun was not strong enough to pierce the layer of waves and seafoam and warm the sand underneath. I made the decision to go on the shore. Maybe I could find a nice rock to lay on, and the sun could chase the chill from my bones. As my head breaks the surface, I see a creature standing on the shore. A creature with curly hair and soft gray wings. My eyes widen in surprise. It couldn’t possibly be the same fairy, could it? But it must be. His wings displayed the same patterns that had lived in my dreams for years. Slowly he turns around, and stands motionless, looking me directly in the eye. Then he jolts, as if startled, and turns and starts to run. This time I manage to voice the words that I hadn’t been able to say last time.

“Wait! Please stay.” I say, immediately self-conscious of the tremor in my voice.

He hesitantly turns around. Finally facing me, he takes a few small steps in my direction and sits on the sand.

“Hello,” he says, his voice calm and smooth.

“Greetings, I am Phil.” I wince at the overly formal greeting, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I begin to smile. He does too, a shy grin growing on his face.

“I’m Dan.” He says, then hesitates and blurts out a sentence so fast I can’t understand what he’s saying.

“What was that?” I ask, with a slight chuckle in my voice. He is clearly embarrassed, his cheeks flaring red as he stumbles over his words.

“I’ve been, um, waiting for you. For a while. Since I was young. I’ve been coming here every day hoping to see you again.”

“So you are the same fairy! I’d hoped I wasn’t making a mistake.”

“Um, yes. That would be me, I think.”

“So. Dan. You’re a fairy. Aren’t you supposed to hate me?”

“Oh, uh, well not exactly hate you. Resent and fear you more than anything else. And frankly, shouldn’t I be asking you the same question? Isn’t your species hell-bent on killing off every single fairy?”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve never hurt a fairy in my life. Neither has any other merfolk that I know. I’ve always been told that it was fairies that were set on destroying my species.”

“The only reason we ever wanted to hurt you was because of the pain and suffering you’ve caused us. Do you have any idea how many faires your relatives have drowned?”

I start to feel anger replace the curiosity that had bloomed inside me. What right does that boy have to come down to our ocean and start accusing my ancestors of murder?

“Maybe you should go. Who knows, if you stick around maybe my murderous grandma will emerge from her home and eat you.” And with that, admittedly petty, comment I sink below the waves, making sure to splash some of the icy water back up on the shore.

 -Dan’s POV-

 At first, all I'm feeling is rage. But slowly it starts to turn into guilt. He was just defensive of his family, if I had been in his position I would have done the same. Besides, he clearly had very little knowledge of the bloody rivalry between the two species. Maybe if I go back and apologize we can come to an understanding. But not yet. He probably won't be back today, if the way he stormed off was anything to go by. My shoes were now soaking, which definitely made me a little less apologetic. If I give a little time for the dust to settle hopefully we can ease the tension a little bit. For now, I should probably just go home and try not to catch a cold.

When I first wake up I have no memory of yesterday's events. As I drag myself out of bed my conversation with Phil comes back to me. I stand still for a minute, trying to process what had happened and where to go from here. I eat a quick breakfast and gather a small collection of things to bring to Phil.

​When I return to the small cove, I see no sign of Phil. I move closer to the water, probably closer than I’ve ever been, and hesitantly call his name. I wait a few minutes,  then come to the realization that he’s not going to show up. Maybe he’s still mad about yesterday, or maybe he just didn’t feel like indulging a stranger who accused his family of murder. As I’m about to turn away, I instead decide to sit down on a warm rock dangerously close to the coastline. I never realized how peaceful the ocean was until now. I start to zone out until I hear the sound of something moving in the water and I quickly snap back to attention. It’s Phil. He looked like he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

“You came back.” He says, sounding confused, and then his expression shits to annoyance. “You’re not here to slander my species’ reputation are you?”

“No,” I said indignantly. “I actually came back to apologize. Plus, I brought peace offerings.”

I begin to pull a couple of sweet rolls out of my bag. “I don’t know what you eat, but these are some of my favorites.” I hand him the food, and he takes it, looking at me suspiciously. He takes a hesitant bite and I immediately see his eyes light up.

“They’re good, aren't they?” I gloat with a slight smirk on my face.

“These are quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted!” He exclaims loudly.

I let out a short bark of laughter at that. He quickly finishes both of the rolls and proceeds to come a little closer, resting his elbows on the rock I’m resting on. I find myself inching back instinctively, but instantly regret it after seeing the downcast look on Phil’s face.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For assuming that you and the rest of your species were murderous beasts? I brought one of my history books so you could see it from my perspective.” I slowly pull the book out of my bag and hand it to him, making sure not to drop it in the water. He opens it and flips through the pages. Then, to my complete and utter surprise, he bursts out laughing. Hysterically laughing. Laughing so hard that his tongue pokes out of his mouth. He quickly puts the book on the rocks so that he doesn’t drop it.

“Why are you laughing? I thought you would be...well I don’t know what I thought your reaction would be, but certainly not laughter!”

“I’m laughing because this is simply the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen. Merfolk’s don’t look like this! They all look like me! Well, similarly to me anyway. If I looked like this I would have converted a long time ago.”

“Converted?” I ask, confusion evident in my voice.

“That is what I said yes. Any merfolk can choose to become human. It’s complicated, supposedly painful, and it doesn’t happen very often, but it is an option.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, there seems to be a lot of things you don’t know.” He sounds teasing as if he was talking to an old friend and not someone he had met yesterday.

“Maybe you could teach me?”

“Are you really willing to learn? You still seem scared of me.”

“I am still a little scared, to be honest, but it seems that our historians got some things wrong when it comes to the ocean, and I want to know the truth.” He smiles brightly, and in that moment I knew that I would do whatever I could to see that smile again.

 ----

To my surprise, visiting Phil has become my favorite past time. I bring him food and books and stories, and in exchange, he teaches me about his life, tells me stories, and gives me the gift of friendship. I am going back home after one of such these days when I find a letter from my parents. Great. I love my village, I’ve got a small house perched on top of a tree, and I love visiting the markets and walking on the soft pine needle carpeted floors. That being said, everything about my home is tainted by my family. I was never anything my father wanted to be. I stopped studying and became a pathetic drop out living off of odd jobs and his parents’ financial support. So getting a letter from them asking to come over for dinner is far from good news. Nevertheless, I prepare to endure the endless streams of questions such as ‘Do you have a job?’, ‘Are you eating enough?’, Or perhaps most annoying of all, ‘Do have a girlfriend?’ My parents are obsessed with micromanaging my life. They’re constantly trying to set me up with horrible banking jobs and nice mellow mannered girls from good families. I hate it with a passion. And yet I don’t have the courage to tell them that I don’t want either of those things. I arrive at my parents' house. I take a deep breath and knock on the door.

 ----

 Dinner is awkward, to say the least. There’s a blanket of silence that lays over the table that almost never accompanies family dinners. It’s nice, peaceful even. It allows me to have the illusion that I’m not a disappointment to the family name. That is until my father clears his throat.

“So, Daniel,” I hate when he calls me that. “Where have you been going every day? Did you find a job?” I stutter and nearly choke on a bite of potatoes. They noticed. Of course, they noticed. I’ve been so stupid. They cannot find out about Phil. It would only end badly for both of us.

“Oh, not exactly.”

“Care to explain?”

“I’ve been um, studying uh, history?” I grab at the first excuse that enters my mind.

“History? Where?”

“The next town over has a nice library. I’m thinking about pursuing a career in it.” There, that should keep them satisfied for now.

“Oh! That’s wonderful Dan!” My mother says with a warm smile on her face. I begin to feel guilt growing in my stomach. If she knew what I was really doing would she still be smiling? Certainly not. And I hadn’t seen her this proud of me since primary school. I smile weakly and try to eat more food even though I now feel sick to my stomach.

 -Phil’s POV-

​After a few months, Dan slowly becomes my favorite part of my daily routine, and I often find myself missing him when he’s not here. Although there are other things to look forward to, my parents are visiting today. It’s still too cold for them to stay here for long periods of time, but they claim to miss me, so they’re swimming down for a day. I’m waiting for them just outside of our house, rubbing my arms together to try and ward off some of the chill. I begin to see their dark silhouettes emerging from the murky water, and I quickly swim out to meet them. My mother quickly embraces me with a warm hug, and out of the corner of my eye, I see my father smile warmly. My father has never been as affectionate as my mother, but over the years I’ve learned that he shows his affection in different ways.  

​The minute we get back in the house my mother immediately comments on the lack of nutritious food.

“Goodness, Phil! Have you been eating at all?”

“Um, well…” I stammer at a loss for words, unsure how to explain to her that I’ve been eating large amounts of fairy food every day.

“No matter,” She interrupts my mildly panicked mumbling “Fortunately I predicted this and brought some food with me.” She begins to pull food out of her sack, far too much food for three people I might add, and I chuckle fondly.

“So Phil, what have you been doing lately?” My father inquires. I freeze. Should I tell them? I can trust my parents with anything, can’t I?

“Well, I’ve um, been spending some time on the beach…”

“Not too much time I hope,” My mother says jokingly “We wouldn’t want you to grow legs and run off somewhere!” I chuckle weakly.

“Well actually, I’ve been making some friends,” My mother looks at me confused and before she can interrupt I rush to continue “His name is Dan, and he’s very nice, I’ve been teaching him about merfolk culture.”

“This...Dan, he’s not a pixie is he?” My father says apprehensively, sharing a worried look with my mother.

“Well yes, but…” My father breaks me off. “Absolutely not. Fairies are dangerous. All they want is to hurt us. Humans I could possibly allow, but I will not see you talking to fairies.”

“I know dad, and I thought that he wanted to hurt me at first too but he’s actually very caring, and he just wants to understand,” My father stands up abruptly.

“We need to leave, and this time you’re coming with us. I can’t have you endangering yourself and others.”

“What? No! I’m staying here! I like it here!”

“Phil,” My mother says weakly “Please don’t do this. We need you to stay safe.”

“Why does everyone hate them so much anyway? What did they ever do to us?”

My mother and father share another loaded look.

“A long time ago, when your grandmother was still a young girl, fairies discovered the ocean. They were fascinated, naturally, they had never seen anything like it before. And the merfolk were scared. These creatures were coming to close for comfort, and tensions were running high between the two species. One day, a curious fairy wandered to close to the water. There was a mermaid there, the boy was fascinated, he’d never seen anything like her before, not knowing what she was he tried to capture her. The mermaid, scared and confused, tried to get him to go away,” My father breaks off, his voice choked up. “And when he didn’t, she drowned him. After that, the two communities were at each other's throats. Merfolk began mercilessly killing off fairies, and fairies were hunting and capturing merfolk by the dozens. Eventually, the fairy council and the merfolk council made a peace treaty. No more fighting, no more killing. But you can see why we don’t exactly get along.”

I sit in stunned silence. We had both been right, me and Dan, our ancestors had tried to kill each other. Finally, my father speaks breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

“Phil I can’t force you to do anything. But please consider what I’ve told you.” He turns to face my mother “I think it’s time that we go.” She rises nodding silently and goes to hug me, just as tightly as before, although this time it was lacking warmth and joy.

---

As soon as I saw the end of my father’s tail disappear into the fog, a thought struck my brain. I have to tell Dan.”

 -Dan POV-

​

When I get down to the beach the next day, Phil is already at our meeting place looking anxious. When I approach he looks up suddenly as if startled out of his thoughts.

“Are you ok?” I ask, worried about my normally chipper friend.

“There's something I have to tell you.” Anxiety swirls in my stomach, those words almost never lead to something good.

“Last night my parents visited.”

---

By the time Phil finishes recounting the horrific event, I feel sick to my stomach. I stand up quickly the minute he finishes speaking. I don’t know what to do. My thoughts are running wild and nothing is making sense.

“Please don’t go” I hear Phil’s voice say. He sounds scared and confused, his voice reflecting  my thoughts exactly.

“I know it’s awful and confusing, but I’m hoping that we can work it out together. Just because our species have a bloody and dishonest history doesn't mean that we can’t be friends.” He sounds nervous as if there is any universe in which I wouldn’t be his friend.

“You’re right. I want to be friends.” I say with a small smile. I sit back down on the rock and Phil sets his elbows up next to where I’m sitting, causing water to splash up beside me. I flinch, my natural reaction when coming in contact with ocean water. Phil must have noticed because a small smile starts to form on his face.

“Have you seriously never been in the ocean before?”

I shake my head no, and Phil lets out a startled laugh.

“You have to try it! It’s the best thing ever!”

“Nope. No. Definitely not.”

“Please Dan? For me?” He looks up at me pouting with big blue eyes and how could I possibly say no to that?

“Fine. But only so you’ll shut up.” I say, rolling my eyes. I try to feign nonchalance but my heart is racing. Surely the water can’t be that dangerous. I cautiously dip my feet in. It’s cold and slightly terrifying, but calming at the same time. I stare in fascination at the spot where my feet disappear under the water, waves lapping at my ankles.

“That doesn’t count! You barely dipped your toes in!” Phil looks at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes and the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. Suddenly I understand Phil’s train of thought.

“No, Phil-” But it’s too late. Pale hands wrap around my ankles, pulling me down into the ocean. I emerge sputtering and wiping water out of my eyes to find Phil doubled over in laughter.

“You absolute twat! I could have drowned!” He scoffs.

“You wouldn’t have drowned. Not only is it shallow here, but I’m also here to pull you out if you were in any real danger.” I huff, but in spite of my annoyance, I feel a smile building up inside of me. I look at Phil, and I feel pure unfiltered joy. I wish I could live in this world forever, just me and Phil. My sentimental thoughts are interrupted by a shiver that wracks through my body.

“Bloody Hell, Phil! It’s fucking cold!” Another wave of laughter hits him before he opens his arms invitingly.

“Come on, a hug will warm you up.” I try to keep up my pretense of being cross, but I can’t resist the temptation to tread through the water into his arms. He wraps me up into his arms and I immediately warm up. He seems to be a swimming heater. I stay there for what feels like hours but was in reality probably less than a minute. I pull back slightly and find my eyes locked onto his. Mine brown, like the earth I had walked on since I was a very young child. His blue, like the ocean in which we were currently standing. We were so close together I could feel his gentle breath on my face, and I feel my gaze subconsciously dropping to his lips. I break away from his embrace and chuckle nervously.

“I should probably go, I don’t want to catch a cold.”

“Yeah, that’s, uh, probably a good idea.” He seems so disheartened compared to a few minutes ago, and I long to say ‘No wait! I made a mistake, I want to stay here forever!’ but I need time to process the thoughts running through my head. I slowly pull myself out of the water. I stand up and turn to walk away.

“Dan?” I turn around,

“Yeah?”

“I- I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely.”

---

By the time I get back to my home, thankfully without being spotted in my sopping wet clothes, I have come to the inevitable conclusion that I fancy Phil. This is a terrifying thought because there is absolutely no way that Phil could ever reciprocate my feelings. I suppose the best solution is to ignore these feelings until they go away. After all, it’s just a little crush.

---

This isn’t working. Every day my feelings for Phil grow stronger. It’s like a rose blooming in my heart. Soft beautiful petals representing the happiness I feel when I am around him and the hope that perhaps he could feel the same way, while the thorns represent the facts of reality.

 -Phil’s POV-

 Ever since I got Dan to come into the ocean, I can hardly keep him out of it. Nearly every time he visits he immediately jumps into the waves. This has done nothing to help my growing feelings for the other boy. When Dan was on land and I was not, there was a clear, visible barrier between us that helped keep my feelings at bay. But now that he is in water with me, so close that I could reach out and touch him, I find my feelings snowballing every day. How could someone not fall in love with Dan? He’s perfect. Absolutely, amazingly, perfect.

---

A few more weeks pass, and I think I have to tell Dan how I feel. It’s getting impossible to bottle it up. Dan’s constantly being flirtatious, without ever officially making a move. The hope that my feelings could possibly be reciprocated continues to grow. But how? In what way can I possibly reveal the romantic feelings  I harbor without humiliating myself? The question hangs over my head, making the task seem even more daunting.

---

It’s a beautiful day, sunny and warm. Dan is lounging next to me on the same sunny rock that he sat on the first time we talked. We’re not talking, but the silence isn’t awkward. With Dan, gaps in conversation are never uncomfortable. The quiet understanding covers me like a blanket. Instead of talking I take time to simply sit and watch Dan. His eyes are closed, face turned up to the sun. He has a small smile on his lips making his dimples pop. I’m struck with the sudden realization that I might be in love with him. It’s terrifying, but my brain is invaded with thoughts of growing old with him, of living together, of having a family with him. The tidal wave of emotions causes me to take a sharp breath. Dan turns to look at me, his warm eyes gazing at me fondly.

“What’s up?” I feel my heart burst in my chest and I know I have to tell him.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

“And that is?”

“Um I- I like you. Actually I mean I might love you, but that’s a rather recent development so I’m not completely sure-” I pause at the look on his face. He has turned fully towards me, and his mouth is open in shock. I immediately feel shame growing inside me and rush to apologize.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, and you probably hate me now -” I’m cut off by Dan once more, however this time it is from Dan pressing his lips to mine. I melt into the kiss, his lips lotting into mine like they are pieces of the same puzzle. He pulls away, his face splitting into a  shy grin.

“I think I might love you too.”

 - Dans POV-

​ 

The months after we confessed our feelings are some of the happiest of my life. The many months that I’ve spent with Phil have been a roller coaster of emotions. Curiosity, anger, fear, infatuation, and now we seem to have fallen in sync with each other, a feeling that can only be described as love. But alongside the happiness there’s also pain. I can only see him for a few hours every day, and even then I can only hold him close to me for a small fraction of that time, and I’m sick of having to sneak back from visiting him everyday because my clothes are dripping with saltwater. These thoughts have been plaguing my brain for weeks now, and after a lot of research I think I might have found a solution.

---

​It looks like it’s going to rain. Not ideal for visiting the ocean, since I usually get soaked anyway and the rain adds an extra layer of chill.  I sit on the rocks, dipping my feet in the water, anxiously waiting for Phil to arrive. When he finally swims to the surface my eyes light up with excitement.

“Phil!”

“Dan!” He exclaims, mocking my excited expression. I take a deep breath, a cocktail of anticipation of nerves swirling in my stomach.

“I have an idea to propose to you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and we both know that our situation isn’t ideal, to say the least. I did some research, and I think that there’s a way for me to become human. I know you’ve mentioned converting before, but I know it’s a hard and permanent decision. But even if you don’t want to do it, I still think I will, I love you more than I can put into words, and I want to escape this prison that I’ve put myself into. The past between our species horrifies me, and I hope that by converting I can begin to break down that barrier. I want to be able to hold your hand and go on adventures with you, and I-” My voice breaks and I realize that I’ve started to cry.

“Dan,” Phil says, voice cracking with emotion, “I want that too. All of that, and honestly I’ve been thinking about the same thing, and if you’re sure you want to do this, I want to join you.”

“Okay, alright, then let’s do this,” I say smiling as I wipe a tear from my face.

“Let's do this.”

---

My first thought when I get back to the forest is that I have to tell my parents. At least my mom. If I disappear off into the human world, she deserves at least some sort of explanation. With that thought I change directions and head to my childhood home.

---

I approach slowly and knock faintly on the door. Despite how quiet my knock was, my mother still answers within seconds.

“Dan! What a wonderful surprise! Please come in, I just finished making biscuits.” We walk in to the warmly lit kitchen and she ushers me to the stools by the kitchen counter. I take a seat, and she bustles around gathering plates and mugs. She sits down, placing a mug of tea and a plate with a biscuit on it.

“So dear, not that I don’t love it when you visit, but why are you here?”

“Well,” I start, I break eye contact and instead gaze into the murky brown of my tea. “I-I um, I think, and I’ve thought about it a lot, and done some research, and I uh, want to become human.” She looks at me with soft eyes.

“You met someone, didn’t you?”

“Well I mean, yes. I met someone.”

“Who is it? What girl is so special that she can draw my baby into the human world?”

“For starters, his name is Phil,” my mother’s eye brows raise in surprise. “And he’s not exactly human, in fact he’s actually a mermaid. But don’t worry! He’s very sweet! Probably the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, and he’s going to convert too, and-” I break off in surprise as my mother rises from her seat and quickly envelopes me into a hug.

“Darling, I want more than anything for you to be happy. And I trust you to make good decisions about who you spend your time with. If you need help, I’m always here.” Instead of words, I decided to just pour all of my love and gratitude into the hug.

---

“Now Dan,” My mother is once again seated across from me, this time her face serious. “Converting isn’t easy, and it’s permanent.”

“I know. I’m not rushing into this.”

“I know.” She smiles. “It’s not complicated, you must simply have someone cut off your wings at the very base. Now the tricky part is that if you have any reservations about it, any at all, it will be extremely painful. More painful than anything else you will ever feel. That being said, if you believe that you are truly doing the right thing for yourself, the cut will be quick and painless.”

I swallow, nerves swirling in my gut. But then I think of Phil, of his eyes and his smile, and all my doubts melt away.

“Can we do it now?”

“Now?”

“Yes. I want to do it as soon as possible, and there’s no one that I’d rather have do it then you.”

“I- alright then. If you're sure.”

“I am.” I hear her take a deep breath as she rustles around looking for a knife. I hear her come up behind me.

“Can you, take off you shirt for me dear? It will be easier that way.” I do as she says, and then take a deep breath to steady myself. I feel the cold metal against my skin, and then a soft tingling, similar to the feeling you get when your foot falls asleep. I feel my wings fall, and for a moment I feel my skin melding together, leaving no trace them. I turn around and see my mother smiling.

“Did it hurt?”

“Not at all.”

“Then you should go to him. I’ll always be waiting for you if you ever need to come back.” I hug her tightly a few tears falling from my eyes onto her shoulder.

“I love you.”

She gives a wet chuckle, “I know, my darling.”

 -Phils POV-

​

I decided a long time ago that I wanted to convert to human, and now that Dan’s doing it too my decision is set in stone. I also decided a long time ago that I didn’t need my parents’ help or acceptance. The merfolk history nauseates me, and now that I know the truth I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life as one of these creatures. According to Dan, his conversion was easy with no complications. When I saw him walking down to the ocean, a large grin replacing his wings, I cried tears of joy. He jumped into the water and wrapped me up in his arms. Unfortunately, the merfolk are a little more dramatic. In order to properly convert, it has to be a full moon. I have to remove ten scales and then my tail will supposedly fall away to reveal legs. Technically, no one else had to be there, but I told Dan many times that I want him with me regardless. As I gaze at the ocean, lounging on a rock while waiting for him, I hear him approach.. I turn around excited to see him. He looks tired and disheveled as if he’d just woken up. Which, to be fair, he probably did. I curiously look at the bundle of clothes he has in his arms.

“What are those?”

“Oh, uh, those are clothes. For you. After you transition, I mean.”

“Oh yeah, of course. I didn’t even think of that.” I give a nervous chuckle. He sits down next to me and pulls me into his arms.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” His whisper tickles my ear.

“Of course.” I pull away slightly and begin tugging at my scales. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. I hesitate. Dan locks eyes with me and gives me a small smile as he gently squeezes my hand. He says so much in that smile. He says ‘I love you’ and ‘I will support you no matter what you do.’ I take a deep breath as I pull the last scale.

---

I inhale sharply in amazement as my scales begin to slide off of me, forming a puddle around where I am sitting. I begin to see pale skin replace the deep blue. Dan passes me a shirt and a pair of trousers and I quickly turn and dress. Or try to. I’m clearly not used to legs, or being on land. Dan laughs loudly, and quickly stands up to help me stand. I fall into his chest and join in his laughter. He pulls away slightly and places a gentle kiss on my lips.

“Do you want to leave now? Or wait?”

“Now. I want to get started on my new life with you.”

---

As we’re walking through the forest, on the way to a train station that can take us to London, Dan pauses behind what must be his parent’s house. He looks and suddenly the back door swings open. A kind looking middle aged woman walks out, Dan’s mother I’m assuming. She looks at us. At first her expression is shocked, but then it slowly transforms into one of happiness and love. She winks, then turns around and closes the door.

 -Dan’s POV-

 Dear Mom,

​I’m sorry I haven’t contacted you before now. Phil and I are really happy in the human world. It wasn’t easy at first, we had to find someone who could give us fake information to make everyone believe that we had been in the human world forever and didn’t just spawn into existence a year ago. I am going to give this letter to the agent that helped us, and I sincerely hope it gets to you. Fortunately, this letter is filled with happy things. I wrote a book, about the magical ‘fantasy’ world of fairies and mermaids, and Phil has been working as a marine biologist ever since he found his ‘land legs’. We have a house, a dog, and a gaming system where we spend way too much time playing mario kart. Don’t get me wrong, there a lot of things that are bad here. Take taxes for example. But at least here me and Phil can have the life we’ve dreamed about. In fact, I’m trying to put some of those once distant plans in motion.  After I finish this letter I’m going to propose to Phil, that is unless I back out, and I hope with all my heart that he’ll say yes. Because I love him. So so much. So much that someday I want to have a family with him, as scary as that is. I want you to be a part of that too. Please write back, maybe we can plan a time to meet. I want you to meet Phil, formally this time.  

​Much Love,

​Dan

 I put my pen down and fold my letter into an envelope. I put it on the kitchen counter, nearly tripping over Otto, our corgi. I walk out to the back garden where Phil is sitting on a bench looking out at the sea. I place a gentle kiss on his forehead before sitting down next to him.

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever miss it? The ocean?”

“Sometimes. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re worth a million oceans.” I shove him lightly, a fond smile on my face. I take a deep breath and pull the rings out of my pocket. Phil gasps, and it takes a lot of self restraint to not burst into laughter at the look on his face.

“Phil, you are easily the most important person in my life. I would cross continents for you, and it is my deepest hope that you would do the same for me. So with that thought in mind, I would like to ask you to marry me.”

“Oh my god Dan, yes! Of course yes.” I smile as I slip the ring onto his finger. It’s simple, containing a small bit of feather from my wings. It matches mine, the same design but with some of Phil’s old scales instead of feathers. He laughs.

“What are you laughing for?” I say indignantly.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so cheesy.”

“Shut up, it’s supposed to be cheesy.”

[klove0511]

Pride and Joy

Title: Pride and Joy

Author: @klove0511

Artist: @angel-with-a-moonsword

Beta: klove0511′s lovely spouse

Rating: T

Ships: Gen

Warnings: Brief show level violence

Tags: pansexual!Sam, ace!Jack, aro!Jack, mother-hen!Dean, Season 13, Set between 13x22 and 13x23, Bloodlines (Episode 9x20) references

Summary: Things have been different since they rescued Jack from Apocalypse World, and Sam hopes a road trip and festival can help them reconnect.

Read on AO3

 “Say that again.”

Sam barely suppressed his flinch. Dean sounded pissed, and he wasn’t sure why. “I want to go to the Chicago Pride Fest with Jack.”

“This weekend,” Dean said.

Sam nodded, still hesitant.

“What the hell for?” Dean asked.

That probably should not have been an unexpected question. He shrugged lamely. “I think it could be a good experience for him. Some time for us to bond. There hasn’t been a lot of time for that since we got back.”

“Because we’ve been working, Sam.” Dean huffed and pulled a beer out of the fridge.

“And we’re between hunts right now. It’s great timing.” Sam really didn’t know why this was pushing Dean’s buttons. They didn’t have to do everything together. Or was it because it was a pride parade? They’d never actually talked about Sam’s preferences, but it was because they just didn’t talk like that, not really. He’d never thought Dean would actually have a problem with it. Hesitantly, he asked.

For a minute, Dean was actually stunned into silence, and Sam felt his anxiety levels spiking. When Dean found his voice again he was indignant. “Of course I don’t care about that! So long as you aren’t screwing another demon then we’re good. The problem is that you want to go to Chicago without proper backup.”

Sam remembered their last Chicago case. Of course he did. The city had been quiet for years though. It might still be overrun by monsters, but then, apparently that was true everywhere. He told Dean so, then said, “Taking Jack isn’t exactly going without backup. Besides, we’re not going to be hunting.”

Dean grumbled under his breath.

Sam rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like he’d been asking permission. Asking for Dean’s opinion, maybe. Letting Dean know he would be gone for a few days, definitely. But not asking permission, and Dean knew it.

“Fine. Check-in every few hours though, or I’ll bring the cavalry.”

“Once a day, unless there’s trouble, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam smiled and left to go pack.

 Convincing Dean had been one thing, but Sam wasn’t sure where to start with Jack. He’d been distant since they’d returned from Apocalypse World. Sam didn’t know how much of it was because he’d lost Lucifer and how much was just him avoiding Sam. Because it was just Sam he’d been avoiding. Dean and Cass had been teaching Jack to hunt, and while Sam was always there, ready to help however Jack needed him, Jack just…didn’t. He went to Dean or Cass first. It stung, but Sam supposed they were the logical choices, after all.

Sometimes Sam thought he was imagining it. They would all be together, and Jack would be utterly normal with him. No one else seemed to notice anything either. But Sam would. He’d catch a glance or a look from Jack that made his heart sink. Like he wasn’t really part of Jack’s family anymore.

So, maybe he was being selfish, hoping Jack would open up to him if they went on a road trip together. But hey, it had always worked for him and Dean. You know, eventually.

Sam rapped his knuckles lightly against Jack’s door. “Can I come in?” he asked.

Upon hearing Jack’s affirmative, he pushed open the door to reveal Jack slumped on the bed poking at Sam’s laptop. He looked every bit the sullen teenager, though Sam knew better.

“Hey,” he started. “I’m thinking of taking a trip for a few days. How would you feel about seeing Chicago with me?”

Jack looked up, eyes narrowed. “What are we hunting?”

Sam shook his head. “Nothing. There’s a festival I want to go to, and I thought you’d like to come with me.”

“A…festival?” Jack said, slowly.

“Yeah, a celebration. With food and street vendors. There’s a parade on the last day.” Sam shifted awkwardly, feeling uncomfortably large in the small room.

“Is Dean going?”

Sam tried not to let his disappointment show. Of course Jack would ask about Dean. “No. He really doesn’t enjoy big cities much these days. He and Cass are staying here.” He sighed, letting it turn into an embarrassed laugh. “I just thought it would be fun. Never mind. Have a good night, Jack.”

Sam turned to go, prepared to make a hasty retreat to his room.

“Wait, Sam.” He heard Jack call out before he could clear the door. He half-turned, acknowledging Jack with a quirk of his eyebrow. “I’d like to go with you.”

Sam smiled. “Great. Then pack a bag. We’re leaving in the morning.”

 They had perfect driving weather. Warm enough to keep the windows down, just overcast enough that the sun wasn’t blinding, not a hint of rain. They took turns finding radio stations as they faded out. The one they were listening to was beginning to dissolve into static, and instead of spinning the dial to something new, Jack snapped the radio off.

Sam braced himself. Jack had been working up the courage to say something for an hour, and he’d apparently decided now was the time. “Why did you ask me to come with you, Sam?”

Sam glanced to the passenger seat. Jack’s brow was furrowed. He looked almost afraid of how Sam was going to answer his question. So, he paused before he answered. He wasn’t sure what Jack was afraid of, but he wanted to reassure the kid. “I know things have been tough this past year. Just thought we could both do with some celebration.”

Jack nodded, slowly. “What kind of festival is it?”

Sam considered his answer. “Have you ever heard of a pride parade?”

Jack shook his head. Sam smiled, and they filled the rest of the drive with conversation, mostly about the various facets of the LGBT community.

 Chicago in late June could be surprisingly miserable. The buildings and asphalt raised the temperature downtown to an uncomfortable degree, and the lake did nothing but provide stifling humidity. To top it off, for a place called the Windy City, the air today was oppressive and still. Sam would have killed for a breeze as they wandered the festival.

The weather didn’t kill the festive air though. All around them were people laughing and shopping. There was an abundance of glitter and leather, and rainbows were everywhere. Jack was marveling at a pair of women with matching rainbow hair while Sam purchased a pan rainbow tank top. If tomorrow’s weather was anything like today, that would be what he was wearing to the parade.

“Cute kid. He yours?”

Sam turned toward the voice. It belonged to a gorgeous woman with long blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She was almost as tall as he was, and judging by her Adam’s apple, broad shoulders, and Trans Pride pendant, she hadn’t been born into a female body. She wore her femininity well, from long earrings to flowing flower skirt, and she was looking at Sam like she wanted to eat him. It had been awhile for him, a long while, and he was plenty interested, but no. This weekend was about reconnecting with Jack.

“He’s—my nephew. We’re just in town for the weekend.”

She smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Some friends and I are meeting up at a club later. Maybe you two would like to join us?”

Sam grinned, flattered. “Thanks, but I think we’re just going to crash in our hotel. I’m not really looking for extra company this weekend.”

She shrugged. “Can’t blame a girl for trying, right?” She raised her eyebrows once more, suggestively, before disappearing into the crowd.

Oof. Flirting, being flirted with. It felt good, even if he was rusty. He’d never sought casual hookups at Dean’s pace, but once in a while that release felt damn good.

He turned around to find Jack watching him, expression unreadable.

“That was a woman?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, she was,” Sam said.

“And she wished to have sex with you.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“But you didn’t want to. Because of me?” Jack said, clearly trying to puzzle something out.

“This weekend is about us spending time together. Reconnecting. Not about me hooking up,” Sam said firmly.

They found a relatively quiet spot to rest for a bit, out of the main flow of pedestrians. Sam startled when he heard his phone ring, even though he quickly realized it was probably Dean making sure they hadn’t been murdered by a shifter yet. He loved his brother, but Dean in mother-hen mode was ridiculous.

“Hey, we’re still alive, jerk.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean growled. “You guys hit any trouble?”

Sam frowned. There was something in Dean’s voice that was setting off alarm bells for Sam. “What kind of trouble do you mean? Our kind?”

“You haven’t heard the news?”

Sam glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention to them. “No, what news?”

Jack turned to watch Sam, now paying attention to the conversation.

“People are getting jumped leaving the festival. Three so far, at least.”

“It’s a pretty big city, you sure it’s not just random violence? I hate to say it, but this is Chicago. Three muggings doesn’t really sound like our kind of thing.”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m saying you’re at the damn festival, which makes the two of you targets. Watch yourselves.”

Sam could appreciate the concern, even if it confused him. Dean knew he was more than capable of handling some thugs—oh. He supposed it had just been a few weeks ago that the vamps had taken him down in that cave. He’d come back so many times now that it had hardly registered for him. Just another trauma in a long line of trauma. For Dean, though—

“We will. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll call you tonight.” He hung up and turned to Jack. “Ready to keep going?”

They moved back into the crowd and had purchased ice cream before Jack spoke again.

“I have been imagining myself in various scenarios, after that woman flirted with you. And they all seem very unpleasant to me.”

Sam looked sidelong at Jack. “What kind of scenarios?”

“All kinds. Sexual encounters, pre-sexual encounters, and with a variety of genders. None of it seems appealing. I believe I may be asexual,” he stated, more confident than Sam had heard him all weekend.

“Ok. Her flirting with me made you realize this?” Sam wasn’t sure he saw the connection, but he supposed that didn’t matter. If it helped Jack discover something about himself, then it was a good thing.

“You looked very happy. So, I wondered if it would have made me happy too. But I don’t think it would.” Jack had been eating his ice cream intermittently while he spoke, and was nearly done, while Sam’s was starting to drip down his fingers. He hadn’t been paying attention to it, too focused on Jack to eat.

 They shopped and ate and people watched for a few more hours before they both decided they were tired enough to head back to the hotel. It was still plenty light out and still oppressively muggy and warm, so Sam opted to cut them through some back alleys. A stupid risk, probably, but he didn’t think anyone would want to jump a guy as tall as himself, especially since he wasn’t alone. He was wrong.

“Hey, Winchester!” the would-be mugger shouted, brandishing a gun.

Fantastic. Any mugger that recognized him was probably a monster, and he wasn’t exactly armed for a hunt. Sam instinctively pushed Jack behind him and said, “What are you?”

“Ghoul,” a familiar voice snarled from behind Sam, the woman that had flirted with him earlier. “You know what happens when you cross territory lines, vulture.”

Without further warning, she transformed and leapt at their attacker, slashing him deeply across the chest. The sound of a gunshot boomed, echoing in the narrow alley. Pain bloomed in Sam’s side and the world wobbled dangerously. Distantly, he heard Jack calling his name, and he felt rough concrete under his hands as a dark haze encroached on his vision.

The next things he became aware of were Jack’s face hovering over his and a bone deep ache he recognized from when Castiel healed some of his more egregious injuries. He was laying on the ground, in a puddle of something, if his damp clothes were any indication. Given the lack of rain, that only left disgusting, possibly body fluids options. Gross. Jack didn’t seem to care, as he flung himself onto Sam.

“What happened?” Sam coughed, voice rough. His throat felt like it was filled with sand.

“Please stop doing that. Please.” Jack was mumbling into Sam’s chest, repeating himself over and over in between hitches of breath.

He carefully dislodged the boy and sat up. The puddle turned out to be blood, and a lot of it. Judging from the dark stain on the front of his clothes, it had been his blood. That explained a lot. He hugged Jack close and muttered his apologies for getting hurt again.

The woman was watching them, obviously curious. “So, I hit on a Winchester. Huh. Guess you really do have nine lives.” She grinned.

Sam wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The ghoul was still on the ground, bleeding. The woman—the werewolf, Sam corrected—stood over it, claws pressing firmly into its throat. This was not a fight he especially wanted to get in the middle of.

“You two should go,” she said. “This part of downtown? Cops are probably already on their way.”

“What about you?” Sam asked, standing and helping Jack to his feet.

She smirked. “Plenty of wolves on the force. I’ll be fine.” She gave Sam one last long, appraising look. “My earlier offer still stands, by the way, if you’re ever out this way again.”

 Once they were away from witnesses, Jack flew them back to the hotel. He was still upset, and Sam was feeling the crash from an adrenaline rush he hadn’t noticed having.

First things first, make sure Jack was ok. Then he could shower and check in with Dean. Dean, who definitely did not need to know what had happened tonight.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked.

Jack was pacing the room, obviously still too agitated to sit. Sam grimaced when he saw the blood spatter on Jack’s shirt. Maybe he’d let the kid have first shower. Mutely, Jack shook his head. “You—you almost died tonight, Sam.” His voice was shaky. “I’ve never healed anyone before. And—and you’re my family. But you almost died. Again. Why did you step in front of me? I would have been fine. But you—why?” The longer he spoke, the more hysterical he became.

Finally, Sam pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m ok, thanks to you, and I’m not going anywhere if I can help it. All right?” He closed his eyes. “Besides, I thought you were mad at me. You’ve been avoiding me since we got back.”

Jack’s arms squeezed Sam tighter. “Thought it would hurt less. If something happened again.” He shrugged helplessly. “I was wrong.”

Sam huffed a small laugh. “I’ve been there. Sorry. I promise to,” he paused, thinking, “to at least try to be more careful. But I’m not going to stop trying to protect you. Like you said, we’re family.”

Dean was furious when Jack told him on the phone that night, too fast for Sam to stop him. Sam left out the werewolf. No need to make all of Dean’s nightmares come true. It was bad enough his concerns had been justified. Sam wasn’t going to hear the end of this for a long time.

 In the morning they made their way back to the festival to find a good place to watch the parade. It was already packed, no surprise since Sam had heard on the news that morning that they were expecting over 1,000,000 people to be in attendance.

They both wore their spoils from the day before—Sam in his pan tank and Jack wearing an aro flag draped around his shoulders. He’d picked up ace and aro wristbands, too. Sam still wasn’t sure if their bags had escaped unscathed last night by sheer luck or if Jack and his grace had something to do with it.

The weather was already hot and muggy though, despite a decent breeze, and Sam had pulled his hair into a small ponytail. What he could, anyhow. It was better than nothing. The massive crush of people made the heat worse, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could diminish the air of excitement around them.

Like yesterday, there were rainbows everywhere, in every color pattern Sam knew and several he hadn’t seen before. He watched friends connect and find each other from across the crowd, some obviously having not seen each other in a long time. This was what it was about. This event, bringing people together.

As the parade started, he hoisted Jack onto his back, so they could both see over the crowd. He thought about what had made him originally bring Jack to this. It had brought them closer, again, too. If nothing else, he had a better understanding of why Jack had been distant lately, but this morning the kid had been full of excitement and energy. It reminded him so much of the case in Dodge City (before it had all gone to shit) that Sam couldn’t help smiling. They were family, no matter what happened, and they would all take care of each other.

[ray-rabies]

highlights after today’s live reading of Broken Music by Sting Smig It is around this time that I first meet Miles Copeland, the man who would become our manager, Svengali, mentor, and agent provocateur. Miles Axe Copeland III, the eldest of the Copeland brothers. Intimidating, intelligent, opinionated, and utterly serious. Miles had a reputation even then for being sharp, arrogant, and ruthless. I like him immediately. Though It was a year before he could remember my name. "Listen to me Stewart," he would shout in his nasal drawl just loud enough to be in earshot in the corridor outside his office. "Gene October is the real deal. He can't sing for shit but he's got that street thing. He's a real punk. You got this guy in the band, whatsisname, Smig? He's a goddamn jazz singer." "His name's Sting," Stewart would reply huffily. "Yeah, Yeah!" Miles would say waving his brother away. Ian, the middle brother, agent, amateur bass player, and Vietnam veteran, had become my favorite Copeland over these first few months. Less fanatically driven than the other two to succeed, he had the easygoing, relaxed philosophy of a man who'd been under fire and survived, as if the violence he'd witnessed had given him a broader perspective on the important things in life. Very little seemed to faze him; his agreeable humor became a constant that could be relied on as a counter to the often hysterical rantings of his siblings. He would call me Leroy, just as he called everyone else Leroy. For the sake of consistency, he even called himself Leroy. "Sting huh?" "Yes sir," I reply. "Sting," he says again savoring the word in his mouth like a gob of spit. "You've got the biggest fuckin head in the world." his voice is no more than a malevolent whisper. I'm a little shaken by this to say the least. "What exactly do you mean er Miles [Davis]?" "Saw ya in a fuckin movie man and your head filled the whole fuckin screen." x

"And lastly, Sumner 2- yes that's right 2 percent. Do you know why you got 2 percent in the maths exam lad?" "er no I don't sir." "Because you managed to spell your bloody name right." "Thank you sir. Stewart's swanky Mayfair address that so impressed me has turned out to be a squat. He and Ian and Sonja have only been there a few months. The flat is actually owned by an American lady named Marcia McDonald, Muhammad Ali's publicist. She lent the flat to a friend who then refused to leave, this is George, the large lady who almost knocked me down the stairs when I first arrived. On the suggest of Miles Copeland Jr, Stewart's and Ian's father and a friend of the owner, the Copeland brothers have been brought in as ... subsquatters to make life as uncomfortable as possible for Georgina, so Marcia could regain possession of her flat.If this sounds like a ridiculously convoluted CIA plot, it's probably because it is. The RCA pressing plant in County Durham is a shrine to Elvis Presley. His picture seems to be on every wall in every corridor in the place. We are led into one of the listening rooms, and through a common glass window is another listening room with six ladies all in advanced middle age. They sit like religious devotees under their portrait of Elvis with a blank look of people in a trance. They could be listening to Puccini or Ziggy Stardust but they don't care. I feel like I've walked into some obscure suburb of hell and must force myself not to look at them. 'it's a goddamn classic, its a fuckin smash' [Miles][[Copeland]] moves to kiss me and I instinctively recoil, sinking in abashed gratified modesty. I receive copious slaps, as if I am one of his pet mastiffs. Wayne is a shy, sensitive, complex individual and I like him very much, although with songs like "If You Don't Wanna Fuck Me, Fuck Off" he clearly isn't from quite the same romantic tradition as I am when it comes to songwriting, but he is a fascinating performer. Me caterwauling at the top of my range over Henry's approximations of the chords and the indigested panic of Stewart's drumming. He is a superb drummer and quite capable of driving a small power station with his energy, but he needs to relax more. Andy has a youthful, intelligent face, framed with angelic golden locks. He is urbane, good-humored, something of a dilettante in things artistic, well dressed, and alert to any slightly that may be directed towards him intentionally or otherwise. When I get to know Andy better I will appreciate how well read he is. He has a large collection of books, with a leaning toward the esoteric, an encyclopedic knowledge of film, and is highly opinionated in all matters cultural. All of this might have made him a terrible bore but for his excellent and often absurd sense of humor. He can be the best company and having been on the road most of his life has learned the survivor's knowledge, that to maintain a modicum of sanity when everyone else is losing theirs, you need to occasionally send yourself up.He does this with the same ease and grace that he displays as a guitarist. Stewart and I will dub him the 'art monster' which he will accept as the greatest compliment. i don’t believe i need to share the unremittingly horny anecdote of Smig’s first time with Stew, i feel we’ve all already seen it. for those who haven’t, well.

[randomnumbers751650]

So, I'm writing this because I'm trying to understand psychological horror, focusing on two animes from last year: Angels of Death and Happy Sugar Life. I wanted to write this because I got inspired by discussions on the Netflix's Ted Bundy show, Explanation Point's video on HSL (which made me watch it), and because I made the mistake of reading AoD's prequel manga Episode 0. Spoilers abound.

Due to way I was raised, I have difficulty in understanding stories that villains are the protagonists. Why would anyone cheer for them? Sure, there are many logical arguments, like the attempt to understand how his mind works and the cathartic feeling of being able to do feelings you know you'd be wrong. I have a RP blog and I once talked to with a friend on trying to understand how musing an utterly despicable muse could be so cathartic and she wondered if it's because it allows her to vent her stress and negative feelings on fictional characters, instead of real people. Logically, it makes sense, but I still feel odd about it.

I first watched Angels of Death because I really enjoyed the portrayal one of my best friends in the RPC had of the protagonist, Rachel Gardner. I honestly think it was a well-written anime, Rachel telling Zack that they weren't tools and the climax with the building on fire were my favorite moments. AoD also had a great advantage because it was self-aware, the banter between Rachel and Zack was pretty hilarious, and Cathy and Danny were also evilly funny. I always wondered how AoD managed to get to be an anime and Ib not...

Also, another thing that AoD makes sure to show is that every single named member of the cast is a murderer, and the man behind everything judges himself God for the sake of an experiment. It shows Zack murdering people in flashbacks and enjoying every single minute of it. In fact, the biggest plot twist is that the apparently innocent Rachel is probably the most dangerous murderer of them, the moment when she tries to kill Zack in her floor was a moment that actually got me on the edge of my seat (said event was properly foreshadowed).

When I say all characters of AoD are well-written, I say this in a "technical" sense - given their backstories, they act in a way consistent to what they are. Zack had a really crappy childhood and turned into a murderer; Danny was bullied and indirectly caused his mother's suicide; Cathy is subconsciously guided by a desire to punish sinners that caused her parents' death; Eddie was rejected so hard that he saw killing what he liked as the only way to preserve; and Rachel also had a crappy childhood, but parents who hated each other and killing her father in self-defense just broke her, her emotionless insanity is what guides her death wish (funnily enough, it doesn't seem that Gray has anything but a god complex). In other words, while they might be nearly a caricature, they still show to act on motives that make sense for them.

The question that guides the series is "what does it mean to be human?" In the end, we all want to avoid loneliness, as Gray says to Danny while the building explodes. Danny had a really pathetic death - he was a "love to hate" villain, even if he had a childhood excuse, nowhere implies that we should sympathize with him, on the contrary, he's one of the creepiest waste of air type of characters - if we showed his portrait in the game, one could put a sub "Most Likely to be a Pedophile").

But then I decided to read the prequel manga. I hated it. A lot. The characters are nothing but violent dicks to each other, in a grand scheme to get the role of "angel" in Gray's experiment (I used to muse Dr. Danny in my RP blog, it was fun to protray him as a pathetic peepermaniac, but I lost my drive after it). It doesn't try to be nuanced or anything else, but I guess if the objective was to remind us that the characters were murderous scum, it succeeded. The effect was so bad on me, that made me question the entire point of AoD itself.

I thought about this for a while. In Aod, we're basically siding with two murderers and Zack's popularity is immense, he's a Chad of murderers. The question is why?

It would be easy to dismiss his popularity as an example of the "bad boy fantasy", mostly associated with women who latches on a "bad boy" type in hopes of "fixing him", but that alone is insufficient to explain (and although it's usually recognized as a 'feminine fantasy', I want to avoid any implication of sexism, even though I don’t doubt this has been discussed in woman’s studies).

At point a friend of mine linked me Explanation Point's video on Happy Sugar Life. Why is Satou, a murderer and near pedophile (near pedophile because she doesn't engage in actual sexual activities with Shio, but it's not less disturbing), a sympathetic character? I won't recap the entire video here, but Satou is sympathetic because of many factors, such as the fact almost everyone around her is worse (arrogant rapist manager, sadomasochist actual ebebophile Danny's long lost brother, lolicon, an actual succubus in human form, obssessed copycat stalker, mad artist - the only developed characters that save themselves are Shoko and Asahi (and not 100% in his case, his determination was his downfall) - I honestly dislike Shio because she's annoying), had a crappy childhood, and that she seems sincere in her feelings for Shio.

The issue, in the end, it's about the way it's framed. Lindsay Ellis has a pretty good video on framing, on explaining how Mikaela actually had potential to be a well-written character in the first Michael Bay’s Transformers movie, but it was ruined by the way she was framed - as mere fanservice, instead of a strong character. The same principle applies to Happy Sugar Life, just pay attention to the way Satou is framed, as a strong character, in “pure” love, flowers appears on the screen when she’s thinking of Shio.

Framing is one reason why HSL failed or, at least, lost a part of its power as a cautionary tale. In the last episode, the way her imagination exploded with images of what her happy life with Shio could be, sprinkled by sappy imagery. Even if Satou killed herself to save Shio as a way to defy her aunt, it still gives a mixed message.

If we apply EP’s argument on Satou to Zack, I think we have even better “case” for Zack. Let’s count the reasons why one should sympathize with Zack:

Antagonists (Danny and Cathy) are worse people

Strong and powerful, to the point of turning into a shonen protagonist when cutting rocks in the last episode

Has a code of honor, only kills people who are laughing

Has standards, refuses to accept godhood from Rachel

Enjoys what he does, he’s probably the most sincere character of the cast

Has a twisted sense of humor

Has a sad backstory, that offered the chance of following another path (but the old man died)

Recognizes he’s messed up

Ridiculously loyal to Ray in the end

We never get to see the PoV of his victims and when we do, the frame actually makes Zack sympathetic - for example, the woman in his flashback, we see her lying to him and him killing her for it - it’s a bad thing, but the scene is framed in a way that Zack is the offended party (it was his PoV anyway)

He’s hot - granted this only works for the anime, because in the game he was some sort of tall mummy gremlin

As another friend of mine said, when I brought this to her, in the end you’re kind of cheering for them to escape police and continue murdering others. And, in the end, they do get away - Zack (and Ray, to some extent) is never punished for his crimes, even though the ending is ambiguous most people believe they escaped anyway.

In HSL we have a similar situation: even though Satou killed herself, Shio is still irreparably damaged, preferring to live her “happy sugar life” in her head than the real world. In fact, HSL’s ending is one of the most hopeless that I’ve ever seen recently, that the entire surviving cast is apparently beyond repair (as worse as Shio worse is Taiyo - it’s quite rare to portray female on male abuse on such a realistic way, any other anime would make a semi-hentai scenario on him, but here, I wouldn’t be surprise if he died starving himself to death in his room). HSL’s ending managed to be much more hopeless than AoD’s ending.

But, returning to Zack, the way his story is framed makes him a sympathetic character. However, while I argue that Zack is a well-written character, he’s not a very realistic one for one simple reason: he’s too conspicuous to be a successful serial killer, he’s too loud and messy; actual serial killers are methodic people, they plan a lot to not leave clues. Meanwhile, Zack is dumb as a rock, which might add him being an escapist character another trait of him.

And that’s where the comparison with Ted Bundy enters. It might be a stretch comparing a fictional character with a real person, but I still think it has some merit. While I haven’t seen the Netflix series, I read the debate on whether it glorifies Bundy or not. Basically the way the series frames Bundy is an argument for the glorification, but the interview with the victims who escaped him and loved ones of his victims is an argument against it. But the fact remains that both have their fans.

If we criticize Bundy’s fans for not noticing how much of a pathetic and deranged person he actually was, why can’t we do the same for Zack’s fans? Well the fact that one is real and the other fictional might be one reason, and being fictional he acts as an outlet for our own frustrations and tendencies just as I discussed with my friend above, but I feel that alone is insufficient, there must be a further reason... but I can’t think of anything else. Otherwise an argument has the danger of turning into the fallacy “videogames make kids violent” sort of thing.

One thing that has to consider is that both AoD and HSL are psychological thriller/horror series. If Zack, Ray and Satou got caught, the shows would be lesser works of art, because one function of psychological horror is to challenge our perceptions of justice.

Horror challenges our perceptions of safety and we are used to the bad guys being punished in the end, it’s a safe assumption. Instead, in horror, the bad guys get away and might be sympathetic, making us sympathetic to their getaway. It’s horror in the sense our own safe perceptions of morality and justice are twisted upside down.

I could go on and approach the thorny question of whether AoD glorifies murderers and HSL glorifies yanderes with children, but this essay is already getting too big, so I leave it for another occasion.

[nova-enjane]

Many days and many nights I have been ever so frustrated with myself, that I allowed such a wonderful and creative drive be annihilated by such a spiritual malaise. To have the passion I that filled me with a light to deafen even the largest of stars in the Cosmos, be drained. For years all I could do is mope and mull over my lost soul, the thing that drove me to live, a thing that was apart of me as much as I was apart of it. It loved me, I knew, but the heart is a fickle thing; an ounce of resistance and it's ready to cave. Or maybe I just wasn't well equipped enough to forge a heart of pure diamond, one marvelous and indestructible. Certainly, my years of stagnation can attest to this. So rather than take the reigns of my life and charge forward to carve down any challenge that entered the fray, I put up my blade and armor and shield. Eventually, this became destructive and more times than I am comfortable sharing with no more than a handful of people, I attempted suicide. None could be said to be serious attempts. I mean, yes, I was serious about wanting to kill myself, but cowardice runs both ways it seems.

     And the years moved on by with their humorous stride, laughing at me all the while, I imagined, as my youth would surely be wasted, and those beautiful Summer nights in a home I bought for my family would never come. We had even gone to Amana and Heartfield, Michigan to see if that would set alight some creative flame within me. Alas, it had not. My passion was gone, and who would be to blame for that? Everyone has a different answer for that, either sugar-coated or given with a lead fist to the heart. Thinking of who or what to blame isn't what matters anymore though because Spring has come once again. I will bloom once more! And the first thing I want to write about is a dream I had one night as I slept in my ex's bed, him the little spoon, body warm against mine, after a night of bed tumbling, no doubt. His mother asleep in the room adjacent to ours. The world was dark and everything was alright despite what demons I had been fighting at that time. Right then and there I could not have been more content with my life, I will be forever grateful for that. I drifted off to sleep with his plump body in my arms, knowing my arm would be nearly dead when I awoke. The dream I had, although short, filled me with the sort of seeking spirit I had so longed for. One strongly vivid.

     The advent of another night's sleep is always an exciting thing, like beginning a new novel or film.  For me, dreams served as a great respite from the pains of my waking world. No matter how terrifying, I was always eager to see what each night's internal play would be. For any artist, I guess, dreams would be a great source of joy and inspiration. I was always fascinated by the brain's amazing ability to translate waking experiences into vivid films where we or someone else star in. They're a part of our inner selves, our deepest emotions, thoughts, hopes, and dreams; they are a reflection of how we perceive the world around us. A microcosm of our daily lives, should I say? And besides my philosophical feelings toward them, I am just mesmerized by how wacky they can be.

     One moment you're back in school on the day your teacher made you call your mother in front of the entire class after your friend's new haircut urged you to connect your hand with the back of his head. Only this time she's naked, her breasts and sex laid bare for the entire world to see, and your principal turns out to be Godzilla in a suit. Or maybe you're a part of your favorite horror film, only this time your dog is the villain, your grandmother their accomplice. Maybe you dream of promenading through a city with your lover, everyone looks on in envy, it's perfect. When suddenly a dragon swoops in and terrorizes the city and it is up to you and them to save everyone. Then there are those dreams so utterly mystifying that they stick with you for the rest of your life. Dreams so unbelievably beautiful you never want to wake up. You think this is the world that's meant for you, you'll stay here, and your waking body can rot for all you care. And your entire life you may be trying desperately to recall that one dream, that is so perfectly envisioned in your mind, every night you fall asleep.

     Some people subscribe to the notion that our dreams lay in the astral realm, where our highest selves reside, and dreaming is just one of the ways we can enter this state. Ever the skeptic, I usually scoffed at such ideas; how could one know this, how could one prove it? But as I stood there at the end of Juniper Rd. and Falcon dr., gawking at what was an ethereal version of the woods of the park in the waking world, I had begun to doubt my own skepticisms.

   Dreams will always, no matter what, evoke awe in me with each new experience, but it wasn't only what I saw that struck me, not really. It is only natural that one encounters the insane, the irrational, the ridiculous, for that is their nature. All of it just felt so unbelievably real; the surging euphoria; the racing of my heart; the sweat beads that emerged on my forehead; the clenching of my toes; the breeze against my skin; my rapid breathing; and I swore there was a sweet pang in my privates. And tears welled at the back of my eyes; it was like nothing I had ever felt before.

   All of this gave me a sense that I was there, that I had simply left my lover's home and traipsed right on down Juniper for a casual walk through the woods. But this

was nothing like the park in the real world. Where in reality it was any old

plain wood, right before me was something far grander, far more beautiful than that.

   It was suffused with a faint golden aura, as if the color itself lived in the very air, living just above every other color, trying to overtake them. And the trees! Cosmic lord, they must have scratched the sky itself, they were so tall, their leaves were an odd shade of twinkling purple. Two massive sentinels flanked the entrance to the wood, making me think of two guards standing aside, permitting me entry into a castle of a great legend. I could see milky white spots dotting their bark.

   There was a voice, loud and powerful. Was it a sort of sighing? No, it sounded more like the musical humming of a woman -multiple women, in fact- sounding off in perfect unison.

I thought that maybe I had just died. maybe I somehow died in my sleep next to my lover, and this is my place of eternal rest, I thought as I beheld this heavenwood. Had I? I had no real basis for that assumption, but I felt this is what it must feel like after death.  

     I stepped forward, seemingly tugged forward, as if the wood itself was eager for me to enter, like a lover guiding their significant other to their sweet place. I was elated to once again be able to explore another strange realm, though underneath this I remembered a faint sense of dread inching its way into my body, like a cursed worm burrowing its way into the soil of a lively garden. Despite this, I took a step forward, and another, another, smiling as I did. The pull becoming stronger with each step. I simply had to go, I had to know what secrets may lie within.

Dreams have a penchant for teasing us, waking us up before the moment of climax, to deny us that one amazing moment. That is what I expected here, to be instantly thrust from this dream by invisible hands into the waking world. But as I passed the two sentinel trees I was surprised, yet ever grateful, to still be standing there.

     Being inside of the wood was like passing through a veil of darkness. Where the outside world was harsh and spiritually bereft, here all was immediately set to rights. There was a feeling all was right with the Universe, though something in the core of my being trembled briefly, like some other unknown emotion was trying to surface. It gripped my throat, tightened my chest, and pushed at the back of my eyes. Why should any negative emotion be felt when surrounded by such beauty?

      I looked up, from what I could see between the trees, the sky was an odd hue of gold. The trees themselves were turning pale, flecks of gold stood out on their bark like HIV blisters. There were white flowers growing under each of them, hundreds of them huddled together like lost children in a harsh winter storm. They were bent in dejection, but there was a force within them, trying to resist this, I could feel it.

       As I walked through the trees a caring breeze blew through the trees. I sucked it in at once, feeling at once alive and so at home. The air was sweet with the familiar smells of apples and oranges, of strawberries and lemon and pineapple mixed in with the aroma of the flowers. There were strange and unfamiliar smells as well, all pleasant. I inhaled this cacophony of smells and was once again surprised by how real this all felt. How absolutely right it felt.

    I gasped as I saw animals suddenly emerge from the trees on either side of me. They traveled solemnly, soundlessly, through the trees ahead. I could see that not all of them were critters of Earth, some, I was sure, was the fantastical creations of this dream world. They just had to be.

    In my dazed astonishment, I moved with them as silently as I could, for fear of disturbing something so peaceful, so serene, so amazingly wonderful. A rosy, iridescent avian creature with two sets of wings flew ahead of me, another, blue this one, flew after it. I walked among them for a while minute before some movement to my left snatched my eye, so fast I wasn't sure I had seen anything at all. I moved over in that direction between two trees, where under them pale and purple flowers were blooming. Or at least attempting to. I kneeled to take took a closer look at these, wide-eyed to see planets shining brightly in their pistils, Slowly turning on their axis. The sight was so mesmerizing, seeing miniature worlds in such pretty flora. That feeling once more arose inside of me, this time threatening to burst from my body, but I held willed it away once more. What was odd was that as this was happening, every flower pointed in my direction and stretched toward my face, as if trying to plant a kiss.

   Suddenly there was this warm pressure on my back, then I felt something lick the nape of my neck. What the everlasting hell? I thought,  trying to feel whatever had landed there. Then it was gone like a ghost. I whirled trying to see what had thought to make my back its seat and my neck its licking post. But there was nothing. The animals solemnly on their way, ever so quiet, paid me no mind, so I couldn't have been them. I waited for a moment. Again, nothing. Finally, I decided to continue my walk among the flood of animals. I only took two steps before something descended before me, moving so fast it was a blur. It darted in the air from side to side like an especially prankish fly.

      A moment later it slowed, moving up and down in the air as if it were traveling on small waves. At first glance, one could mistake it for a salamander, but a closer look told otherwise. It had to be no bigger than a human head, its body was plump, its belly translucent, eyes burning green opals. Its skin, I could see, was white, pearlescent and covered in mesmerizing patterns. The head reminded me of the glans of a penis. I tried making out more of its features before it began a series of flips and turns. It twirled in the air once again, arcing around and around twice, then curled into a perfect ring, spinning like this twice vertically, horizontally, then shot all four its feet outward, it's belly facing me. Its long tail swayed from side to side like a pendulum, glowing a faint and murky green, like a dying candle. It looked as if it had just finished a show of acrobatics and was saying "Tada!", waiting for me to give it applause. I did so with a smile of delight, chuckling; the creature was adorable, how could I not? It fell on its back -in the air, mind you- and rolled back and forth, giving off what sounded like laughter, sounding just like the winding of a music box key.

    Finally, it ceased its laughter, then twirled around my body and kissed my cheek with a faintly radiant tongue. It left a tingly feeling that was surprisingly pleasant. Then it went off a little ways ahead. Stopped. Turned to notice I wasn't following and made a series of noises that only made it sound eerily similar to a child, but rather than unnerve me, I thought the sound made it cuter.                                                    

     So I followed it through the trees, wandering beside the flood on either side of us, through trees of remarkable size and shape. Their purple, nearly black leaves swaying morosely in the wind.            

       As I went along with this alien looking salamander,  I began to notice more of its species. They crawled and swam on every tree, some seemingly asleep, some flitting about, frantically secreting some kind of fluid onto the trees from their mouths. We crossed a rusty and dingy bridge, under which was a dying version of what must be the creek. Along its edge were more of these creatures, desperately supping from what was left of its waters. The one I was following made a sound of dejection at this depressing sight, slumping in the air. And again, that feeling came to me like a hot arrow to the heart. Guilt and shame mixed in with this as well. I wish I could help them somehow. If this is a dream, my dream, then I can do something about this, I thought. I could conjure this substance for them to drink. So I crossed the bridge, walked down a dirt slope to the creek. The alien salamanders watched me, some licked their lips, others laid where they were, watching in anticipation. I held out my hand to the creek and concentrated, focusing on trying to spring life in it once again, to give them what they so desperately needed. Though no matter how hard I focused, nothing would happen. All of them made a sound of deep disappointment, all sounding eerily human, and this did give me gooseflesh. I made an apology, my friend resting on my shoulder, made that same sound. Some drank from what was left of the creek, while others simply flew away. I wished there was something I could do for them, I felt it was my responsibility to do so.

   My salamander friend flew from my shoulder, and so we continued onward to the Cosmos knows where, the musical humming never stopping, becoming stronger even, as we ventured deeper. This wood, or what I was now thinking of as a forest, was mighty sad indeed. There was a sense of great loss of something essential. One could see it in the moping lean of some of the trees, the desperation of the flowers at their base that wanted to bloom vibrantly. Even these animals that walked through them appeared despondent. We went on and on amongst the universe of trees, and as we went the singing grew louder and louder. Coming from everywhere, the sky and the trees, the flowers, the air,  the ground beneath my feet. And that pulling sensation, becoming ever stronger.

   We eventually came to a wide clearing in the forest, where the trees were sparse, destitute, their bark shone a shocking shade of white that was almost blinding. Some lay on the forest floor, curse-rotted and withering away, while others leaned, ready to fall over on their neighbors. The field was covered in billions of withering white and purple flowers. This was opposed by the fabulous golden sky above, that shone like a sunset fire opal, the clouds looking like great flying kingdoms that wanted to escape from this destitute land. Far ahead of me were three figures, girls from the look of them, floating in the air. A dark figure stood below them. Behind them was a tall glass edifice, poking possibly a hundred feet into the sky, branch pointed in every direction. There, the land rose slightly and didn’t seem to continue on. The humming lowered to an almost mournful whisper. That pulling sensation intensified here, I could feel it reaching inside of me, moving past my flesh and bone, reaching for my core, then seizing it like someone who has dropped an important item in some dark hole and has finally got a grip on it.

      There were many more of those salamander creatures here in this field, some of them looked nearly as big as a house, their bellies nearly depleted of that strange fluid. These two large alien salamanders began to fly around and around a tree, gnarled like an ancient grandfather,  leaning on a friend (who seemed to be lifting from its roots as well), who seemed to swear to carry both their burdens. They did this slowly at first, but they soon picked up to a suicidal speed, creating a sound like the high-pitch drone of hoard wasps. As they did this, the tree began to rise off its friend and re-root to its original posture. Its friend feeling ever grateful and resuming its original position as well. The others were also trying desperately to heal whatever sickness was ailing this land, exerting every last ounce of energy they had.

      Something feeling of profound gratitude welled up within me at the sight of this; there was a rock in my throat; my sinuses felt blocked by cement; my eyes began to sting. I fell to my knees and began to sob, the pain I felt was enormous, my body was shaken, I could not control it. My salamander friend glided to me and laid against my body, its arms squeezing me gently. I hugged it gently against my belly. It looked at me, appeared to smile, made that child-like sound again, then began licking the tears from my eyes. My grieving quickly turned to bewilderment, and then laughter as my tears were sucked clean from my face. It laughed its strange laugh as well, when it stopped, it bid me follow once again, into the field of pale, withering flowers, brushing my hands against the alien flora as I did. I could see that the pilgrimage of animals was heading this way as well, emerging from the milky sea of trees and from the sky above.

    What do we say when we experience something beyond our comprehension, that makes us feel like no other experience has? That there were no words to describe such a thing, that no human language has even one word to ever come close to conveying how an event made you feel. Sometimes I just think some of us lack the vocabulary for such a thing, or maybe imagination. Certainly, I am a victim of this as well, as many amazing moments, I found myself pulling from great murky depths for that one apt descriptor. Though words never need come to mind. Why should they? When your face, your voice, and how you felt is far more than enough to convey what words never will. Sometimes, that's all one needs.

   When we reached the three girls the singing stopped with an echoing sigh. And then the world took on an eerily quiet texture, like you could feel the silence. I stood in awe at this woman that stood before me, naked and odd and beyond beautiful. Her body swam with colorful nebulae and stars and galaxies. It was absolutely mesmerizing. I thought if I touched her I would simply fall through her, and be lost in the depths of space. She spoke to me. Her voice was like a cool breeze on a warm Spring day; it set my heart to rights instantly. She said she was called Cosma. “Great All’s tits, you have returned to us, after so long. All of you, those above and below, you see this? They have come again. Nnar will be ecstatic!” I turned to a great garden of creatures of all kinds, waiting in attendance. All gazing at me. Off in the distance, the alien salamanders did their work, tending.

   The three girls descended from the air, each looked about ten years old. One girl was black, one Asian, the last girl, white. This one stood between the other two, messy golden hair covered in the lovely iridescent white flowers, eyes blazing in the sun like purple fire. She wrapped her arms around the two other girls, pulling them closer to her. My salamander friend wasn't taking too kindly to her, making a low, childish growling noise. I cared nothing for that sly regard like she was privy to something no one else was. They were all wearing gorgeous dresses that must have been spun from the Universe itself.

     “Please don’t ever make us wait like that ever again,” the blonde-haired girl says. “Mother and the other gods have had enough of it. I mean, what the hell is with you? Look at this. It’s rotting!” The reproach in her voice was almost palpable, a sharp knife in the ear. It was enough to fill me with profound guilt and shame. I lowered my head. She shook her head, star earrings twinkling. “Tsh, you’ve got some good nerve. You get a good look at the shit you left? That ain’t even half of it.” Her dress twinkled with the light of multiple constellations of which I have never seen or heard of, against the backdrop of a colorful cosmos. All twenty of her nails were painted a glowing white. Her lilac eyes beamed at me, though her smile never faded.

   All I could do was apologize, to tell them that what I have done was nothing short of cowardly, that I will fight to never let it happen again.

   The black girl walked over to me, her large amber eyes showing nothing but the deepest compassion. Her dress moving and pulsed with the light of myriad galaxies. She had the cutest afro puffs and a wavy line of hair down the side of her face, on which glowing tree had been painted. She wrapped an arm around one of mine, some of her fingers covered in ornate cuffs. She looked at her sister defiantly, said: “What is done is done, Nissia, dah; now we can focus on healing,”

   “Now we can focus on healing,” Nissia mocked in an eerily good imitation of the other girl’s voice. “Fuck that!” She began to growl something in an alien tongue, looked with narrow eyes at the Asian girl, “Amaterasu?”

   Amaterasu skipped merrily over to me. She looked like a mix of Japanese and Korean. Her hair was in two large plaits that hung from her shoulders, bouncing as she came. She looked up at me, eyes jade marbles, with nothing but respect and love. She wrapped an arm around mine and said, “You did leave this place poorly tended, but we know you were in such great pain; you couldn’t have taken on that responsibility, as despondent as you were.” she said. Looking at their dresses made me feel as though I could fall right into them if I had a mind to touch them. The salamander I had been following rested on her shoulder. “But we must get to work. You have many years of it ahead, but we’ll be there, right alongside you," she said, with a reassuring smile, her lovely choker of many jewels glinted in the sunlight.

   “Mother, permission to destroy both her and Dolomiah,” said Nissia, as she held out her both her hands, the palms glowing brightly, two small bright orbs emerged from this light. They looked like small stars. “I shall make it quick, for they are my sisters.”

   Cosma put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and said: “You’ve had enough time to grieve; now it is time to weave out the Great Nexus and tend to your garden, for us and for All. You understand, me? ” Those bright eyes regarded me intensely, and I knew the seriousness of what I had done, but I had returned and now I had a job to do, one I could not afford to fail at.

   “And it all starts through there.” She moved aside, her arm outstretched toward their glass edifice up the small slope. It went up-up-up into the golden sky above, so reflective the world may have lived inside it, the sun appearing to reflect from within, the trees in that reflection were tall and beautiful, their leaves a lovely azure, the flowers were a shocking hue of red. What I saw almost made me weep once again, but I held my composure, I could not grieve again, that was over with. There was an opening at the base, inside it was nothing but blackness. This is where the pull had been coming from.

   Dolomiah and the Asian girl lead me up to the opening, the golden-haired girl following behind. That pulling sensation was no longer eager, it was demanding. I thought my skin, my bones, my utter soul would be crushed beneath that pull.

    "It'll be okay. Okay? My Brightest star, tell them," said Dolomiah. She looked at Amaterasu.

       She closed her eyes and smiled, tilting her head to the side. "You'll see some frightening things, but you won't hurt. Promise." She nodded and looked at the Dolomiah.

     “Promise,” softly, warm and comforting.

     "Tch, yeah, you two know that ain't true. Stop fucking with them and let's do this," the golden-haired girl said impatiently. I felt two hands push against my back and that was it. I was sucked in immediately It didn't hurt. Not in the way I thought, but there was emotional distress nonetheless.

Chain of Existence

   Universes and galaxies and stars and nebulae and planets all twirled upward, our faces changing color as we spiraled upward. I saw entire Universes born and then die, I saw galaxies being consumed by serpentine creatures, worlds colliding, stars collapsing, a red nebula in the shape of a dragon, it’s maw open wide, ready eat us, and then blackness. And then the visions started. I was thrown to and fro from scene to scene, each emerging around me as if they were coming up from an ocean.

   Winter was nearing its leave in Amana, Michigan, the weather felt relaxingly cool, the sky was a pellucid blue. There was a girl, her jet black hair tied in a ponytail with white baubles, blue eyes looked up at the sky, pale skin bright in the sunlight. Her face was a display of grief and agony. She was deep within a wood, in great emotional turmoil, forehead starting to swell. A small eye began to protrude from the middle of her skull. They both peered at me. She said, “Why me? Why? I am just a teenager! It hurts! Do you hear me?! It. Hurts!”,  and then they were sucked back into that black sea.

   Two red-haired girls, one younger and with glasses, are traveling with a special forces group deep in the ranges of Heartfield. They have come to a large cave. The older one is ecstatic. She kisses the younger one on the side of her lip. The younger girl looks reluctant, dejected even. She kneels to pet their dog. What have they just found? They too were sucked into the sea.

   Heartfield Michigan appears once more, and here I see a task force, led by a black man with glowing blue eyes. They are transporting a large mysterious box that hums and thrums as the drive through the woods. They have sent a small group ahead to scout for enemies. A woman stands on a hill farther away. She knows what is ahead isn’t just enemy territory. She has to warn them, something large a terrible lurks as well. The black sea took them before I could see what.

  A little girl made contact with an exquisitely made doll, it's dress an intricate display of stars and planets, its hair is long and nearly starch colored. The doll's face showed it was delighted to find a new friend, her purple eyes twinkling, her children also wanted to play with their new friend. Then the black sea pulled them in.

      A young Chinese woman works in the tallest building in Amana, it is night time and most of the workers have gone home. A black-haired girl is walking toward her office, the woman has no idea what is about to happen. Somewhere on the other side of Amana is a black man in his early twenties… He was the first I abandoned. He is walking home with his friends. A black-haired girl is following him home. And then they were gone into the eternal blackness.

   I saw a world, one as large as our star, in great and utter turmoil. The beautiful alien species had just had the largest battle they'd ever had to fight, the architecture of their buildings grander than anything I'd ever seen before was destroyed. One of their moons had been annihilated, shards of which scratched the surface of their atmosphere, creating burning red sores, as they made their descent to the surface. A man is kneeling on a battlefield, so massive I was sure he towered over everyone else when he stood, he was wrapped in muscle, swollen beyond belief. He was shaken with grief, his long hair concealing his face from me. He was holding a girl in his arms, her hair blue, her white dress in tatters, revealing her pale skin. A woman sobs furiously in front of him, caressing the girl's hair. There was another girl behind him, her hair blonde, eyes two great blue seas. She kneels beside him and tries to comfort him. She says a name. Ark, I think. There are many more floating above them, all quiet and morose. Suddenly he looks up, and over. He is looking at me, and he is livid. His beautiful features not marred but made even more beautiful somehow by his fury. He yelled at me, blaming me for what just happened, blaming me for all of it. He said he was going to kill me. And then he was gone.

   A girl sat barefoot in a chair in a garden of flowers and fruit, the smell is amazingly strong, the air hot and not at all unpleasant. Her hair was silver, she wore a cute dark red polka dot dress with a fluffy white hem.  She had her legs crossed and was writing fiercely in a large book. Her pencil was black, its eraser was as well, though it looked more like a hole. Suddenly she stopped, looked up at me and smiled. She had gorgeous crimson eyes. She lifted her pencil, the tip of which was a star, closed the book, sat back in her chair, and closed her eyes. A dog comes over and she pets it. She seemed at peace with herself and the world. I wished to achieve this state of being as well. And then she was gone as well, like all the others.

   The Blackness Dissipates

   A great egg laid hatched like a geode, nestled in a place beyond space and time, in the outer reaches of all worlds, all existence, all that ever was and will be. Deathly pale, the large slit revealed a deep dark purple, fluid gushed from this like a Cosmic waterfall, and from it, many unspeakable things were borne. We heard a wailing, we turned to it and saw something, something as large as life itself… So many eyes, you could hardly make out what exactly those eyes belonged to. This thing, larger than life, scratched against billions upon billions of Universes, bending them, pulling them in to meld with its form. I watched, terrified and fascinated. Dolomiah and Amaterasu both keened at this, overcome with grief and terror. Nissia watched as if this were an everyday occurrence.

   It saw us, it saw me. Hundreds of trillions of eyes large and small looked at me. I felt the essence of my very existence being analyzed and then stretched. I was being pulled closer and closer to its many eyes. One giant eye emerged, pushing against the others, its pupil expanded and then squeezed to a pinpoint. Lava raged in my head and I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed. I was torn in two, my other self drifted into light that shined from its now widening pupil.

   And then I awoke.

   The light of early morning greeted me, the sunlight coming through the window a warm and caring parent, hugging my body as if it knew the terror I had just experienced. My lover still asleep beside me. I laid there for a while, contemplating what just happened. My body felt heavy, I was sweating all over, and there was this burning sensation in my forehead that quickly disappeared. And I couldn't be quite sure, but I swore I could smell the faint,  fleeting aroma of fruit.

   Years later and only now am I getting the courage to write this… I apologize, to those three girls especially. That weakness hadn’t yet left and I was mired in emotional turmoil. Now a book, intricately made book sits on my desk, a black pencil next to it. The tip where the lead should be glows with the light of Sol. Amana is quite warm this morning; it is perfect for the beginning of my journey.