#oh yes. That's the holy rule he should be always shorter

[fullofsunsetwhispers]

Chase, angrily: Why are you tall?

Wuya: The hell is your problem TODAY?

I just think that regardless of who he's paired with, Chase should be shorter than his partner.

[releasing-my-insanity]

Somebody got ACGAS 2020 s5e3 up on Dailymotion REALLY fast. Watching now. Will put thoughts here as I go.

Adding a cut for length and spoilers.

Maggie looks WEIRD. Why the wildly different look? What?

Did she steal Helen's blouse? It looks familiar but not on her.

Mollie Winnard with her dark blond hair that looks brown in so many lights looking very brunette here.

Maggie diagnosing Siegfried's car problems without looking is <3. She's so clever.

I see the ugly earrings are back. That's a new skirt right? I'm pretty sure the similar one we've seen her in is grey not black and white.

HOLY COW. MAGGIE HAS AUDREY PRIVILEGES? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN????? When was she given permission to call Mrs. Hall by first name?

Maggie calmly helping Mrs. Hall flaunt the rationing rules.

Hope you give her a piece of that cake as a thank you, Mrs. Hall.

James to Helen: You corrupted me. Me: I'm pretty sure TRISTAN corrupted you.

How did she lure you to the dark side James? Helen can't bake cookies therefore she has none. *Laughs at own joke for ten minutes.*

I can't read the month on the calendar thingy and it's bothering me. The 26th of WHAT?

That telegram boy looks very young.

Everyone said that telegram was obviously about Edward. I said it couldn't be because Mrs. Hall wasn't dressed for winter. I was right.

I know Maggie's helping her get stuff she shouldn't have, but Mrs. Hall at least PRETEND like you're following rationing in front of the Herriots Sr.

I love watching babies in shows. They either look deeply confused or they just don't care.

James mother drugged him to sleep as a baby apparently. Thanks for that info James.

James looking at his dad like "Please help me keep Helen from killing Mum tomorrow."

Helen's "man is coming home today" sweater.

Huh. I thought Tristan coming home was going to be a surprise to Helen and James. Siegfried did better at telling people stuff than I guessed.

I HATE Helen's probably unintentional implication that they didn't want Tristan at the christening. I doubt it was supposed to come across like that but it did.

Siegfried, eat your breakfast. Oh well, into the slop bucket for the chickens. That's what my grandparents always did. (Yes I know there are eggs in there. Didn't bother my grandparents so why would it bother these characters?)

"Never a thought for his own safety." Pot meet kettle.

Mrs. Hall and Maggie are apparently both trying putting new things in their hair. Maggie with a bow. Mrs. Hall with red barrettes.

Hello lovely outfits and train video. 10/10 aesthetics. Especially the woman in the green suit.

Tristan hiding to surprise Siegfried is so funny.

Mrs. Hanley has a lovely look.

James Sr. is SO done with his wife.

"Which one were you looking for?" And the shit-eating grin. Tristan found a good way to greet Mrs. Hall.

James bullshitting so hard to get away from Mrs. Hanley and go see Tris.

That dog's leash looks remarkably like one my dogs use. (Not on walks, just if they need to be on leash in the house or yard while a repairman comes or something.)

I don't know what that guy on Twitter was on about. James and Tristan did so hug. I'm satisfied with it. And I'm sure they hug more later.

James mocking the mustache. Finally.

I don't care for the "Til I'm redeployed" bit. But I sincerely doubt they'll take him away from us AGAIN.

James and Tris being right back to normal is <3

I am 10000000% on Tristan's side. They gave someone else his bed again and expect him to not care. He's right and he should say it.

Is it me? Or did Tristan's bed get shorter since we last saw it?

HELEN AND TRISTAN HUGGED!!!! What a relief! I was TERRIFIED they wouldn't give us that.

James' mum pretending she cares about Tristan for half a second.

Tris with baby. *Cries from happy.*

I WILL break things over Tristan not being godfather. I. Do. Not. Care. Tristan is Jimmy's godfather IN MY HEART.

Church of England website and Book of Common Prayer BOTH say THREE godparents and I am MAD. This show owes an apology to me personally.

No. No church bells. Those were literally illegal until later in the war because they sound like a warning. What is this?

Tris getting misty-eyed at the christening. I love him so much.

Tristan and Jenny should hang out 100% more often.

Jenny having infinitely more fun than everyone else.

It makes ME feel better that Tristan's reply to Jenny asking him if he fell in love in the army was just with his camel. I was worried for a while that he'd turn up with a woman in tow.

Okay just one more complaint and then I'll stop. TRIS IS HERE NOW! HE CAN BE GODFATHER TOO! THIS IS RUBBISH!!

There they go around that corner again from that filming clip I watched 2 million times.

Tristan back there. Pub. Pub! Pub!! PUB!!

Tristan's gonna start a riot if he can't go in the Drovers' right this second.

Mr. Alderson my beloved. Finally SOMEONE sides with Tristan on something.

Helen's gonna knock Siegfried out if he acts like she doesn't want Tris to be home one more time.

"A girl her age shouldn't be in the bar." Mrs. Herriot Sr? They let little tiny children wander around in pubs. Also her dad is there. It's FINE.

Maggie's smile when she sees Tris. I'm genuinely crying this time. And that pause there when Tristan said he and Arthur could have had a pint over....Darrowby. He meant Maggie and it was SO CLEAR. Tristan's always so close to confessing his love but he can't and he knows it.

Also, how TF did Arthur get out of France? He was trapped there last we heard. Resistance got him out I guess.

Tris and Maggie want to be together so bad and it's so not subtle and I'm a mess.

That closeup of Maggie laughing when Tristan says many of the men got their hearts broken by the local woman. I have feels over how much relief she must be feeling right then that she can't express.

Maggie over here breaking two laws in one episode by letting Jenny have a beer without food. Maggie says fuck da police.

Maggie's current hairstyle isn't great and I do not like the way she looks in red but she's SO happy see Tris and it's good for the soul.

Why do they keep leaving the baby in the furthest possible room from where they are? It's getting weird.

Tristan, you made Rosa up didn't you?

Maggie back to teasing him immediately. But also she does that RIGHT after he claims he was interested in some random woman.

"I need some air!" *Goes further into the pub.* Siegfried, you are weird.

Maggie is probably just shaking her head over the Brothers Farnon/Biggins argument.

Sorry Siegfried, you're driving the Rover. You can't do the make the seat fall over trick.

What are those drawers the dog toy was in for anyway? They're all labeled and empty except the one with the toy.

Tris with goat. Makes me smile almost as much as Tris with baby.

No Siegfried, I DON'T think Tris has said enough. I think you should try going to war then coming back to find that someone else is sleeping in your bed and that your brother apparently wishes you were still there. (From Tristan's perspective that's what just happened.)

Where are Jess and Dash? I didn't really watch the previous two episodes. But all I've seen is Carmody's dog. Are Jess and Dash okay?

Nile Fever. Hahaha. Sure Tris. Whatever silly thing floats your boat.

Tristan's face when he's making stuff up to mess with Biggins is *Chef's kiss.*

Tristan finding a subtle way to say "I love you" to his brother without it being too much for either of them in asking to hear his speech.

Finally! Jess! Where is Dash though?

I do love that those last two shots featured only the core cast and the dog who's been there the whole time. Also except for the two clients, the vicar, and obviously Jimmy, every human in this episode was there from season 1.

Final thought: Other than the godparent thing and the Tris/Maggie relationship STILL being on ice I quite enjoyed this episode. 8/10 because of the godparent thing.

[wooteena]

technoblade speedrunning adopting ranboo (high school edition): the fanfic

also on ao3!

hey remember this post? well i got so attatched and impatient that i wrote over 1k words for a pilot type chapter for it <3

chapter one: officer in my defense i punched that guy because he deserves it

-

Techno Blade-Minecraft would call himself smart. He got good grades without trying, learned second, then third languages with ease, read textbooks for fun, etcetera etcetera. Wisdom without experience was a rare thing to possess, especially in a high school senior but techno had it tight in his grasp, easily making him a ‘Model Student’. He understood he got unneeded attention from that, which sucked, but it was an easy trade-off to be the automatic teacher’s favourite.

But Techno was a man of wisdom, not a man of sense. So naturally, he remembered a fact about baby birds he learnt when he was six years old:

‘Classical "imprinting", as seen with for example, ducks or geese, means that the animal's instinctive programming says "the first big animal you see after hatching is your mom, follow them and look to her for food, warmth, love and learning’

Actually, Techno decided he was the man of Most Sense because at that very moment, the tallest, yet somehow weakest looking freshmen he’d ever seen was being cornered by a group of hefty looking seniors.

And the baby bird, with its innocent, scared eyes was looking right at him.

He looked around the hallway, a desperate scan for other students he could push his growing parental responsibility on to. It was a ghost town, as empty as the remakes of towns from the old west he saw on childhood school excursions.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuck.’

Technoblade took a deep breath in through his nose, then released it out of his mouth like if he breathed hard enough, his empathy could be taken away with the non existent wind in the soul-crushing grey hallways. It obviously didn’t work because Jesus Christ that kid looked helpless.

As quickly as one could without compromising a freshmen’s still intact nose, Techno examined the seniors. They all wore the school football team’s letterman jacket (‘what is this, Heathers?’), a classic pointer for internalized insecurity, toxic masculinity and most importantly unrightfully self diagnosed Strong Guy syndrome, which meant that they definitely were only beating up a freshmen because that was the most they could actually fight. One point to Technoblade. They also were all at least a solid five inches shorter than him, which Techno would have laughed at if the situation wasn’t so dire. Point two for Technoblade.

Catching himself before letting his wandering mind think up a full five paragraph M.L.A sighted essay to why he could crush these nerds, he decided that two points was enough leverage to still crush these nerds, but with slightly less confidence.

With as much patience as he could, he slowly walked up to the group like a silent lion hunting his soon to be, very dead* (maybe not dead, *slightly bruised) prey. The baby bird, trapped in one of his prey’s chokehold, stared at him like he was a madman. Techno’s objective changed: knock out the dickhead choking a kid.

They stood in a corner, the choker in the middle, the other two blocking off the only escapes and laughing cruelly at the baby bird. Completely distracted.

Techno curled his fist, aiming to punch that asshole’s teeth in or at least break his nose. He starts to run, about five feet away from his target and oh god this is a terrible idea he does fencing not hand to ha-

BAM.

Choker’s nose made a resounding crack and fell back onto the jock on the left. Probably because it’d be ‘too gay’, or whatever, the guy sidesteps and lets a knocked out, nose broken, probably popular kid by comparing his ego to the size of his dick, fall onto the ground

The two awake bullies look between their knocked out friend, then at Techno, then at each other.

“MISS NIIIIHACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!”

Techno knew they’d call a teacher because they’re cowards but really? Nihachu?

That lady is TERRIFYING what did he do to deserve this.

He let out a long, disappointed ‘bruh’ before with a jolt, remembering the whole reason he punched that jock in the first.

The child.

He doesn’t bother trying to pick up him up because holy hell he’s tall, but pulls one of the kid’s arms over his shoulder, and with his other arm holds their waist and sprints as fast as he can down the hall.

“What the…” murmurs the half dead lump on his back, and while Techno’s surprised his vocal chords aren’t dead? Not even a ‘thank you’? Techno thinks he should start doing charity work at this point.

He continues to run though, because he’s a generous soul, until slowing to open a door that opens the blinding sunlight of the free world outside their prison.

Despite himself, Techno lets his mouth slip into a big enough smile that actually shows his teeth because he just did that. His celebratory moment is cut off though, because the weight on his back suddenly felt even heavier and-

Oh my God the baby bird just fell asleep on me.

Am I a father now?

What do I tell Phil? Does this make him a grandfather?

I can’t just take him home.

What’s stopping you?

Oh my God, I’m a genius.

Techno may be a proclaimed genius, but he is not immune to the inherent propaganda of cute children, so he sets down the kid on the least grimey part of a battered metal bench to get his first proper look at the sleeping giant.

Apart from his injuries (a bleeding nose, bruises forming on his arms, a black eye and a red handprint on his neck) the kid looked… Weird. Techno had subconsciously noticed it while carrying him, but only now the complete oddity of him. His skin from the jaw down was a uniform, warm, dark brown, which was decidedly normal, but his face was… different. Not ugly, no, he looked average, if not perpetually awkward, even in his sleep. The right side of his face was a similar, if not slightly darker tone than the rest of his skin, but where it got weird weird was from the middle of his face and leftward, his face was pale. As pale as Techno, which is saying something because Techno himself has albinism; he has no melanin in his skin.

He found himself sympathizing for the kid again. Techno himself got bullied for his reddish eyes - a symptom of his albinism, and his naturally stark-white skin and hair. It got to the point that he dyed his hair pink, which decidedly made it worse because a guy dying his hair pink ? apparently high school treason to both students and the school rules. His bullies had a colourful range of insults, at least; Techno’s personal favourites being from after he died his hair: homophobic slurs. The teachers had constant complaints and even a couple suspensions, which didn’t stop Techno, obviously. What a wonder public school is.

So yes, Techno understood the baby bird, because despite Techno’s only weakness being himself (and apparently non-threatening freshmen?) as of now, it wasn’t like he came out of the womb a scary pink haired senior. He knew bullying like the hair dye aisle at his local department store.

He knew that helping the kid would make him more attached to the point of no return, but he’d accepted it. It felt like feeding a wild animal more food after making the mistake the first time, it’s not like it’ll get less annoying to have it following you around.

The moment Techno processed his own thought, his face blanched - somehow getting whiter despite literally being the textbook definition of a white boy.

He’d fallen into the ‘senior adopting a defenseless freshmen’ trap.

Shit.

Even more embarrassingly, this didn't deter Techno from pulling his first aid kit, for once his anxious over-packing doing some good.

-

acording to tumblr statistics, only a small percentage of people who like the post actually reblog it. so if you liked it, give it a reblog! it takes five seconds and you can always delete the reblog later.

[britishassistant]

Supervillain AU! I formally request the special addition of Yuu’s first kidnapping please.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

“Yoo-hoo, Reporter-chan? Wakey-wakey, it’ll be bad for you if you don’t get up soon~”

Yuu shakes their head groggily, the sing-songy voice not helping the pounding in their temple.

“Did someone get the number of the truck that hit me?” They mumble, blinking to try and get their eyes to focus.

“Dammit Deuce, you gave them brain damage.” A familiar, much more annoyed sounding voice said. “Their head’s gonna be all screwy and useless now, dumbass.”

“It was just a lovetap though!” A third voice, also familiar, protested.

The floor finally stopped moving in front of their eyes and Yuu realized some very important things.

One, the floor they were staring at was not the floor of the library where they last remembered being.

Two: Their arms and legs seemed to be tied tight to the arms and legs of an iron garden chair.

Three: There are many odd-looking people standing near them, all in clothes that are too coordinated not to be a uniform but too outlandish to represent a government group of some kind.

Oh Great Seven, Yuu thinks with a rising sort of hysteria. It’s finally happened.

Clowns have come to take me away for not brushing my teeth enough like Mom said when I was little.

“...Are ya sure you didn’t break ‘em?”

“...”

“Deuce.”

Yuu wonders if they should feel offended at being talked around like this.

“Enough of this nonsense!” A hand seizes Yuu’s chin and pulls their head up to face the latest speaker. An imperious-looking young man stands and walks towards the reporter, clicking his fingers. “Three of Clovers.”

A tall man in glasses hands the imperious young man what Yuu recognizes as their wallet. The shorter man glances at the contents disdainfully. “You. First and last name and age, now.”

“Y-Yuu Radcliffe, 23 years.” The reporter stutters, their initial hysteria morphing into a sinking feeling in their gut. If not the clowns, then... “Can I ask who I have the pleasure of talking to?”

“No.” The redhead holding their wallet snaps. “Current occupation and birthday?”

“Field reporter at TWST local news.” They force themselves to relax the fists their hands have balled into. “March 18th.”

Remember what Uncle Divvy always says. Stay calm, act cooperative, do or say whatever you need to to avoid injury. Any supervillains on this level trying to curry favor with or blackmail the dumb bird will have to go through Uncle Divvy first to contact him, and he’ll take care of the rest.

All Yuu needs to do is keep themselves alive until then.

They still can’t help but dread what they know is coming next.

The supervillain seems to notice their distress, and smirks cruelly. He takes his time walking forward and leaning down until he’s on the reporter’s eye level, hands resting on the back of the chair and eyes flicking over their face, almost as if he’s savoring the moment before he makes their life that much more painful.

Yuu braces themselves as he opens his mouth–!

“What is the best type of tea?”

Huh?

“Wait, what? I don’t—” Yuu asks, backpedalling as the supervillain’s face grows stormy at their lack of response. “Uuh...green tea? I guess? I mean, it’s the one I like the most, but I’m more of a coffee or hot cocoa person, so I’m not the best one to ask...”

The person holding their chin sucks in through their teeth and the annoyed familiar voice outside their periphary snickers “Oooh, busted~”

The supervillain is beginning to go as red as his hair, and the reporter can hear his teeth grinding. His hands are now gripping the back of the chair so tight Yuu would almost swear they hear the metal by their ears creak.

“Ri–Royal.” The man with glasses says.

The supervillain inhales and exhales almost violently, until what’s visible of his face under that mask is looking less flushed.

“The correct answer,” He says, voice trembling with emotion. “Was all teas at their due times. To drink green tea instead of rosehip at breakfast, or lemon tea at 8pm...the nerve of your arrogance is astounding!”

Yuu...genuinely isn’t sure how they’re supposed to respond to that. Instead they just go with, “I’m sorry, I’ve never had rosehip or lemon tea. Do you like them?”

“Do I—?!” The supervillain’s mouth works soundlessly, gradually going red again. He pushes off the chair sharply. “I—the ro—i-it’s not a matter of liking!! These are the Rules!! And the Rules must be obeyed!! Three of Clovers!”

“Yes, Royal Flush?” The glasses man asks.

“The reporter is forbidden from having any montblanc after dinner, and will take two cups of lemon tea at 8pm tonight and two cups of rosehip tomorrow at breakfast.” Royal Flush flashes them a cruel smirk. “Consider it a light punishment for your impertinence.”

Yuu blinks. Tries to make sense of what they’ve just heard.

Blinks again.

“You know if you just wanted to ask me out to dinner, I’d have taken a nice invitation or a bouquet. You didn’t need to knock me out and tie me up like this, I’m not that picky. I do have Tinder.”

Glasses guy makes a choking noise and erupts into a coughing fit.

The hand that’s been holding Yuu’s chin migrates to their shoulder for support as its owner lets out an undignified snort and gasps out something that sounds vaguely like “why wasn’t I recording, that was Magicam gold!” as he giggles. He’s a redhead too, but much more orange than his boss.

There’s a sputter of hysterical laughter that has Yuu twisting their head to see the two guys and the cat from the hydroelectric plant, both with these odd-looking metal collars around their necks, but otherwise unharmed. The talking cat is trussed up in so many ropes that it looks more like a bobblehead, also wearing a weird collar.

The third redheaded one is bracing his hands on his knees, wheezing out a litany of “holy shit, holy shit” between chortles. The dark haired one is holding the cat a confused expression, cutting off his friend’s laughter when he turns to ask, “Ace, what’s tinder?”

The momentary silence lets an odd squeaking noise be heard.

One that gradually grows in volume until it’s an outright screech coming from the supervillain in front of them. He’s so red Yuu is honestly worried about his blood pressure, pointing a shaking finger at them.

“I—YOU—YOU—OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!”

Yuu chokes a little at the feeling of cold metal materializing around their neck, dragging their head down with its weight. The supervillain continues screeching, refusing to even look at the reporter. “YOU—! DUNGEON! RIGHT NOW!! NO DESSERTS!! GO!!”

There’s an awkward moment as Royal Flush turns away from them, as if expecting them to get up and walk out of their own accord while his back is to them.

“...So, does that mean you want them to untie me or something, or...?” Yuu wiggles their firmly bound hands and feet for emphasis.

The supervillian makes a sound like a kettle whistling, before he barks out. “Two of Spades! Ace of Hearts! GET them OUT OF MY SIGHT until they’re WILLING to COOPERATE!!”

The dark haired young man quickly shuffles forward, grabs the back of the chair, and drags it and the poor reporter attached to it out of the room and into the corridor. The metal screeches as it moves from carpet to concrete.

“Wh—Two, no, untie them first.” The man with glasses says, despairing, appearing in the doorway. “You’ll mark up the floor otherwise.”

“Ah! Sorry, senpai!” Two looks between the cat in his arms and the knots on the chair, before shoving the cat into the arms of the redhead who answers to “Ace”. Neither of them look happy with this development.

“Fgnah! Quit squeezing, ya jerk!” The cat protests, wriggling as best it can.

“Oh? What’s that? I’m sorry, I just need to make sure that greatest, lamest supervillain in the city doesn’t escape to go setting random crap in the lair on fire again.” Ace says sweetly, grip tightening.

“Tha’s your fault, an’ you know it!” The cat wheezes out, thrashing harder.

Yuu winces. “Hey, quit hurting him. Whatever he did, he doesn’t deserve this.”

The dark haired minion barks out a laugh as he tugs the ropes away from their right wrist while his redheaded counterpart sneers at them.

“Oh really? Bet you’ll change your tune real quick once you learn it’s thanks to him you’re here in the first place.” Ace of Hearts mocks. “Dumb monster sang like a damn canary when Royal pressured him a tiiiny bit, saying it was all your fault his precious ingredient is now in the sewers.”

“Tha’s a lie!” The monster? cat blurts out too quickly for comfort. “It’s all these two morons, I swear!”

“Why you little—“

“I don’t care.” Yuu cuts in before Two of Spades can hit the animal. “I didn’t destroy that thing, but even if none of you said anything, your boss would’ve found out I was involved anyway from watching my report on it on the news. So I don’t care, just-just quit hurting him.”

There’s a tense moment as the two minions stare down at the reporter. They do their best to meet the gazes without flinching.

Then the Ace of Hearts tosses the cat into their lap as the Two of Spades sinks back down to keep working on their ankle. “Fine. Since you like it so much, you can take care of it. Just don’t expect me to cover for your ass—you still owe me for the power plant.”

“I’m sorry?” Yuu curls their free arm around the bundle of rope, fur, and yowling insults and pulls it closer to them. “Shouldn’t that be the other way round?”

“You locked me in a closet with him!” Ace hisses. “Do you know how hard it was to get out before the cops came with him freaking out and messing stuff up?!”

“Oi.” Two shoots him a dark look from where he’s finished untying the reporter’s left hand. “Like you weren’t whining about us being digested until you knocked a broom over!”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Well excuse me for trying to save your lives.” Yuu bites back, rubbing the rope marks on their wrists. “Next time I’ll just run and let the sludge monster eat your unconscious bodies.”

“It’d save us all the trouble of this shit if you did!” Ace spits, jabbing a finger at his collar. “At least then we wouldn’t be on Royal’s shit list!”

Yuu lets the piece of information they were just given marinate in their brain as they glare at him. Well, now what exactly was that supposed to mean?

“Ngh...this knot won’t come loose.” Two says from by the reporter’s left foot.

“How about now?” Replies an unfamiliar voice, as a disembodied hand pulls deftly at a loop in the rope.

“Ah!” Two of Spades brightens up as the rest of the rope falls away. “Thanks a lot—”

The disembodied hand punches him in the face.

Yuu cries out in alarm at the sight of the minion falling backwards into the Ace of Hearts, knocking him down like a bowling pin.

A pair of clawed hands are then scooping them up, extra cat and all, and the reporter finds themself looking at the unsettlingly wide smile and purple cat ears of one of the city’s top heroes, running at full speed while sharpened playing cards whizz past his face and Ace calls out behind them “Senpai! It’s him again!!”

There’s a percussive boom somewhere in the distance, and screams of how the flamingos are loose as the hero winks down at Yuu. “Seems you’re a popular one today, kitten! But let’s get you back to where you where before you were so rudely catnapped, yes?”

“Not so fast, hero!” The orange haired guy choruses from the entrance to the staircase, and—from behind them as well?

The reporter’s heart sinks as more and more versions of the minion keep popping up around them, to the point where the hero is forced to stand on the bannister of the balcony they’re on.

And based on the fact that the hero hasn’t used his invisibility? Intangibility? powers, it’s likely that he can’t use them while holding Yuu and the cat.

They’re surrounded.

“You really can’t keep your paws out of anything that’s mine, can you?” Royal Flush’s tone is clipped as he glares up at the hero.

“Hey R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero pouts, hugging Yuu closer to his chest. “I come a~ll this way to play, only to find you’ve got a nyew toy you’re already playing with without me! How mean! You guys really are cruel!!”

“We’re sorry about that.” Three of Clovers says, edging closer. “If you just hand the reporter over to Four, they’ll be put away and we can all “play” together, no distractions. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The hero makes a deliberating noise, holding Yuu out and away from him over the drop, tilting his head this way and that.

His grin grows unsettlingly wider.

“Look, R-kun, Three-kun!” The hero calls out. “Nyo hands!”

Wait, what—

The hero’s body vanishes.

Yuu and the monster cat plummet screaming past the illogically winding staircases of the evil lair.

Yuu tries to angle their body so that the frantically crying cat will be shielded from the brunt of the fall—!

“NO!!”

There’s a sound like glass shattering, and a feeling of being enveloped in something soft, cold and buoyant. The two of them bounce a few times and land back on it more gently each time.

Yuu cracks open their eyes to see that they’re seated on a strange, red, jelly-like mass. The cat in their arms tentatively sniffs, and then lunges to take a bite out of their cushion before the reporter can stop him.

“Shtrawberry?” He says through a full mouth. “Tashtes good!”

The reporter grabs him before he can go for another bite, a little thrown by his speed now that collar isn’t weighing him down. But where did this thing come from–?

Yuu looks up.

Royal Flush is leaning dangerously far over the balcony countless flights of stairs above them, one arm outstretched down towards them.

They stare at each other for a moment.

Then clawed hands fasten around Yuu’s waist again with a cheery “Nyow wasn’t that fun?” and Royal Flush visibly tenses and begins screaming things after the escaping hero that are barely legible through his rage.

The hero deposits them both outside the TWST news station with their wallet and phone back in their pockets. He at least helps them untie the monster cat, who promptly declares he just let them protect him, and scarpers.

Of course the hero is gone too when Yuu turns back around, before they can ask him what the hell he was playing at, dropping them like that, was he insane?! If Royal Flush hadn’t interfered...

The reporter has to fight the urge to lose their lunch.

Their boss rushes out and envelopes them in a surprisingly powerful hug, the woman almost lifting the reporter off their feet as she babbles about whether or not Yuu needs a hospital after getting kidnapped by one of the seven major supervillains.

Yuuken is quick to join the embrace with a bear hug of his own. He pulls back, fingers prodding gently at Yuu’s bruised temple and declaring he’ll drive them to hospital to make sure they don’t have a concussion.

He graciously waits until they’re in the car to ask why Yuu smells so much of strawberries.

The reporter can only give a half answer, partly because they don’t want to worry him, and partly because they have another question of their own buzzing incessantly around their brain.

Why was Yuu kidnapped in the first place?

Royal Flush never even mentioned Crowley, despite all the chances he had to do so. Not even an oblique or confusing metaphor or code. Does that mean he’s ignorant of the connection between Yuu and the League?

But if that’s the case, it circles back around to the first question: why kidnap Yuu to begin with?

Somehow the reporter doubts it was to just ask their tea preferences or invite them to dinner.

Those minions referred to that monster as Royal Flush’s “precious ingredient”. Ingredient for what? Is there something that Royal Flush thinks they witnessed that’s integral to a scheme? Did they witness something and just not realize it’s significance?

Yuu’s reporter senses are screaming that there’s a deeper story to uncover here. Yuu’s common sense is screaming that investigating the dangerous plans of the supervillain they’ve just escaped from is a terrible idea.

Though he could have just...let them fall. But he didn’t. And won’t he just kidnap them again regardless?

...

This is a terrible idea.

But if Yuu’s common sense was stronger than their reporter senses, then they wouldn’t be in this city in the first place, would they?

[dreamties]

Slashers x S/O W/ Red Angel Wings

A/n- Y’know, when I first got this request I thought it was awfully specific, but after watching Carrie it’s making a lot more sense lol 

Decided to add a few other characters just for the heck of it! :)

Let’s just ignore the fact that wings probably don’t work like this,, at all. 

Characters: Carrie White, Billy/Stu, Norman Bates, Michael Myers, and The Lost Boys.

T/W: None that I know of- just let me know if you’d like me to add any! :)

Carrie White

You know Carrie from around school. About her overtly Christian mother, and how shy and secluded she was. And how strange and weird other people saw her. You never bought into that schoolwide belief- you just thought no one took the time to get to know her. 

(part of you related to that- though most people would have thought you were cool to start out with...and then have less than kind reactions when they saw what you were hiding)

You’d interacted with Carrie only a handful of times throughout your high school career- mostly in group projects, or letting her know she had dropped something, or simply trying to spark conversation. She had always been very nervous around you though- almost more so than others. (You’d later come to find out it was because she liked you)

It’s the first time you see each other alone- outside of class. It’s after class and Carrie’s been held behind- by one of her teachers asking her about this and that. While you’re hanging out at the back of the school, there’s no sports that day, so you don’t have to worry about any onlookers. Except Carrie, who decides to head out the back way. Thinking there would be less people she’d run into- less of a hassle.

And she doesn’t know what to do. 

The way you're framed in the light, you look like you're glowing. You look unreal, and so holy and beautiful. You’re so beautiful. but then she spots your wings. They're fitted tightly on your back, flitting open, and spreading out so beautifully- you're standing centered as they flare out. And she's shocked and unsure.

 Oh, she'd be mighty frightened.

 She's shaking and crying, and she's got her mama's voice running through her head. This is what happens when you don't follow the rules exactly. When you come into this world so impure.

And oh, your wings! She let's out a gasp, eyes widening. They're colored crimson- the Devil's color. And she's sure you've come down from the Heavens or- or come from down below...come to mock her. To punish her

She knows you know what she's done. What unknowing sins she's committed. [ my poor girl hasn’t actually done anything though :( ]

 And you look at her, confused. Then your eyes soften, and your wings slowly close behind you. You gently smile, “I’m not here to harm you, Carrie.”  

She begins to calm at the soft sound of your voice, and your pleasant aura. She’s still shaky all over, and part her says to run and hide- but you have your arms out wide, offering her to join you. And she gulps down nervously- maybe this was her accepting her fate. She slowly walks over to you, allowing you to wrap her into a hug. It’s feels so good to have your arms wrapped around her- she feels overwhelmed by the amount of positive emotions sprouting from your actions. You let her stay there, crying in your arms. “It’s okay, Carrie.”

After she gets passed the initial meeting, and the two of you start dating- which takes a lot of time for her to get used to you. Not because she doesn’t think you seem like a good person, but she’s skeptical, given how people have treated her in the past- plus she’s still dealing with the after effects from all the religious abuse with her mother :( 

She starts associating you (and your wings) as almost...protection!

Her favorite thing is to have your wings wrapped around her as she sleeps. She feels safe in them.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Y��all meet at a Halloween party.

It’s Billy & Stu’s favorite holiday, and they always go all out for it! With the costumes, the decorations, etc- maybe even a bit of hidden bloody fun for just the two of them.

You’ve always kept your wings well hidden- folded against your back, underneath big coats. But tonight? Ohh, tonight! You’re able to have them out, allowing them a good stretch. When people ask, you can pass it off as just crazy good mechanisms.

And well, the boys see your “costume”, and they get wicked excited about it! They’ve never seen someone with a costume like this before- it’s so realistic! And the fact you chose blood red, over the standard angelic white? Very impressed by your talent and ideas.

They start asking all these questions about it, cause it’s like, legitimately one of the coolest costume they’ve ever seen. How can you not think giant wings- that move- aren’t cool?? 

But then like Stu excitedly asks if it would be okay to touch it- and you get oddly quiet after that one. “Well, they’re fragile, y’know?”

Stu pouts, “I can be careful.”

You give him a skeptical look, “I mean- just be careful, like you said.”

“Woah, they feel so real!” Oh, if he only knew. “Billy, ya gotta check this out!” He says, nearly shouting, as he nudges his shorter friend.

Billy rolls his eyes, but gives you a look to see if it’s alright. You simply nod, smiling at him- feeling more at ease. As Billy’s admiring them, and finally leans in to touch them- another guest at the party harshly bumps into you. The force of it accidentally knocking their drink out of their hands, drenching your shirt. 

“Aw shit,” you mumble to yourself. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave for the night.”

Stu frowns, not liking the idea of you leaving quite yet. He’d been enjoying your company quite a lot, and he’s certain that Billy did too (even if it didn’t seem like it). “You can borrow one of my shirts,” he all but blurts out.

You can’t help but laugh at his offer, “Are you sure?” Stu eagerly nods.

 You’re in Stu’s bedroom changing, and you’re about to slip on his sweater, when the door is knocked open (not on purpose, of course). “Dude!”

They quickly apologize, but then take notice of your wings- exposed as what they truly were. They stare in awe and bewilderment. You’re still freaked out, and yet still try joking your way out of the situation. “Just, really good prosthetics?” 

It takes a bit of explanation on your part, but the boys accept you for what you are pretty quickly. As strange as this all might be. Stu will have a lot of questions for you, and Billy’s somewhat unsure of it for a while. 

Established Relationship Fun:

Okay, okay!! Soft idea!! When cuddling, sometimes you’ll wrap your giant wings around the three of you. so warm and cuddly.

when watching horror movies together, Billy’s always intensely focused on the screen(almost scarily so- but then again this is one of the faces behind Ghostface we’re talking about so...not too surprising), to the blood and carnage. But he always finds his hand idly playing with your feathers, even if you have them closed behind you. He’d never admit it, but he finds them comforting and extremely calming. He can just forget about all his little problems, and just stroke your feathers (plus, you enjoy it when he does that!! And he likes that it makes you feel good!!)

Norman Bates 

You’d be really nervous at first to tell him, because early on in your friendship/relationship, he introduced you to his hobby- taxidermy. And it kind of scared you seeing your feathered friends in such a state. But...Norman would never harm you. 

(Now...his mother on the other hand? Would be more than willing to discard this freak of nature)

(Norman won’t let that happen to you though- he promises) 

Norman is such an absolute darling. He couldn’t judge a single soul for who or what they are- and yes, that does go for your winged-body, too.

He’d be extremely surprised and intrigued though- he’d be all blushy and happy though that you felt safe enough to tell him!

He finds your wings just absolutely gorgeous though.

He’ll often get sorta shy about handling your wings at all. But he’s very careful with them.

And if you get hurt, he’ll be more than glad to help you patch up (while also being upset you got hurt :( ) - since you can’t really,, go to hospitals at all. Who knows what the general public would do if they found out something like you existed.

On that note- Norman will always be there to help cheer you up when you feel bad about having them. Like, it’s gotta be strange being the only being with wings surrounded by humans- and only humans. Norman’s very good at cheering you up though! He’s very soft and sweet about it. One of the few times he’ll touch your wings. He treats them delicately, as if they’ll break upon his touch if he’s not careful enough. Presses gentle kisses to them, and reminding you how much he loves you.

Michael Myers

You meet Michael during one of his hunts.

You never bring out your wings, unless you absolutely have to.

He’s surprised and a bit confused when he sees you, standing in the streets, giant red wings splayed out. The street lights reflecting your wings into pools of red on the ground. He watches intently, as you push yourself into the air with a loud whoosh. He nearly startles.

But besides this initial reaction, he’s fairly indifferent.

Michael knows no human should have wings like that, or even wings at all. And part of him is curious to know more, so the next time he sees you, he doesn’t try to attack you.

The Fun Stuff??

Michael would definitely be a little rougher with your wings than some of the other slashers. 

Mostly because a part of him recognizes you’re not entirely human, so he equates that to you’ll be able to handle more.

He’s still pretty careful though- because he would never want to hurt his S/O.

Michael enjoys killing alone, and he sure doesn’t need protection- but sometimes, when you convince Michael to bring you along, he finds he doesn’t actually mind your presence there. He kind of enjoys it. And, again, he doesn’t need your protection- but you can’t help to be worried about him, okay? You’ll use your wings as a shield when his victims try fighting back. If you get hurt a bit? Then I guess Michael will just have to help you patch up afterwards.

The Lost Boys

Aww, they are so hyped about it!

Most of the other creatures they interact with are human, so it’s so cool to them when they find out you’re a fellow supernatural being! They’re not,,, entirely sure what you are (neither are you, tbh), but that’s okay.

They get to fly around with you, which they wouldn’t be able to do with you if their S/O was a human or some flightless supernatural being.

Paul would love playing with your wings!

I mean, they all do to some extent. But Paul will play with them whenever. Even if you’re out in public. Like,, if anyone sees your wings they have ways of dealing with that, y’know?

Y’all sleep in the same bed together- kind of just like,, a constant cuddle pile lol. And you don’t always do this, but when the boys are feeling especially in the mood for it (like,, maybe they’ve had a long night, or they just really need to be as close to you as they can)  and you’ll just outstretch your wings, covering the four of them. The soft, familiarity of your feathers calming even the rowdiest of the bunch

They accidentally stay out too late, and you’ll use your wings to help shade them from the sun, as you make your way back to the cave.

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Agents of the Golden Throne

It took me longer than I wanted to write this, but here’s the follow up to the current story thread.  We see more of the Inquisition and their methods, we have what I sincerely hope to be a heartwarming moment, we touch on the subject of xenophilia, and, of course, we get to see the Grey Knights bust heads.  I hope you enjoy the story, and, as always, no one except Drake and his crew belong to me. 

“I carry with me an Inquisitorial Seal.  It is a small, unassuming object contained in a neat box of Pluvian obsidian.  It is a modest thing.   Relatively plain, adorned with a single motif and a simple motto.  Yet with this little object I can sign the death warrant of an entire world and consign a billion souls to oblivion.”  -Inquisitor Flast of the Ordo Malleus

“It is Mankind’s holy destiny to rule the stars, and rule them alone.”  -Lord Inquisitor Knael of the Ordo Xenos

“Do not worry: your memories will return with time.”  The deep bass voice of Lord Hector Rex cut through Vir’s headache.  He was aboard the Fury of Deimos, the heavy starship that served as the headquarters of Rex and the Grey Knights.  He looked around him, taking note of the gloomy gothic architecture and the massive cathedral windows of the hangar bay.  A cadre of humans stood around him; individuals that he was sure he knew but couldn’t really remember.  His memories were in the back of his mind, flitting things that he tried in vain to claw back to the forefront of his brain.  He remembered being on some strange planet… something that had to do with the color red.  There was some sort of white orb, too.  Nothing else besides that.  He couldn’t recall the interior of the Fury of Deimos, something Rex unabashedly told him they permanently deleted.  No one save the most powerful and dedicated servants of the Ordo Malleus could come aboard a starship of the Grey Knights and still leave with their memories.  It was explained to him as a simple security measure, but it still irked him.  He could, though, remember the probing, the strange devices… the pain.  It was the singular most painful experience he had ever gone through, and that was saying a lot.  Ripping through someone’s mind to make sure their soul was untainted did a number on the pain receptors of nerves, not to mention the utter wrongness of such an act.  

But, apart from the pain and the memories of the elderly Inquisitor guiding him through his recovery, he could remember nothing except brief hints; shadows of what he once was.  Then there were his companions, people who he was certain he should know but didn’t.  There was a brown haired, easy-going man dressed in a black and yellow jumpsuit.  It was something he would have found ridiculous except for the sense of respect he felt for the individual; that particular memory ran deep.  

Looking rather confused was a man with close cut hair, wearing what Vir vaguely remembered as a combat armor bodysuit.  Faint memories of competence, fighting side by side, something in common…  This man was some sort of friend.  Trustworthy.  

The third perplexed individual was wearing high boots and a leather jacket vest, similar to his own.  This one Vir held slightly in awe, somewhat like the first man.  He remembered hearing stories about this one, but, frustratingly, couldn’t remember.  

The last had a black coat and boots matching his equally black hair.  Blue eyes roved suspiciously around the hangar, looking with untrust at the Inquisitor and the other Imperials.  A series of conflicting feelings rose from the sight of this man: good advice, utter hilarity, slight insanity, and a disturbing amount of large explosions.  What the hell…?

“How soon will our memories recover?” asked the black coated man.  Rex scratched his head.  Vir could tell he was frowning behind his mask.  

“This is not an exact science.  I would estimate a day, perhaps two, for all of your memories to fully come back to you.  It could be as little as an hour, or, in the most extreme, as much as a week.”  Rex noticed the alarmed looks being cast his way.  “Though that is unlikely.  I can give you my utmost assurance that all of your memories, except for the ones of the halls of this ship, will return.”  Another man entered the room, this one dressed in a distinctly Imperial style, with an elaborate, overly-embroidered greatcoat and cap.  Vir remembered him… from somewhere.  He thought this man had been on his ship before.  His ship… what was his ship called?  Something fierce, he hoped.  The man bowed to Rex and spoke in a worried, but polite tone.

“Greetings, Lord Inquisitor.”  

“Greetings, Commissar Cain.”  All four of the non-Imperials in the hangar looked up sharply.  Cain.  They remembered him better with a name to go with a face.  “I trust your stay in the hangar has been satisfactory?” inquired Rex.  

“It has.”  Ah, yes.  Cain stayed here because he didn’t want to get mind wiped.  And he didn’t touch the orb, like we did.  That’s why we’re here!  The orb!  Cain cleared his throat.  “With all due respect, Lord Inquisitor, and I do recognize that this is your area of expertise, but was it necessary to completely mind-wipe them?”  Rex cocked his head curiously.

“We did not mind-wipe them.  Unfortunately, it is a side effect of the process that makes sure they are untainted.  If we could avoid it, we would, but there is simply no other way.”  Cain nodded.  

“Very well.  I thank you for your explanation, Lord Inquisitor.”  He glanced at the still confused four mind-wipe victims.  “May I take them back to their ships?”  

“You may,” replied Rex with a nodd.  He made a curious symbol on his breast, folding his thumbs together and outstretching his palms.  “May the Emperor guide you, Commissar Cain.”  Cain returned the gesture and bowed. 

“And you as well, Lord Inquisitor Rex.”  He gently guided the four to a shuttle.  “Come now.  We need to get you back where you belong.”

Rex watched them board the shuttle and take off.  They were strong of mind and soul, those ones.  That must have been why the Prognosticators of the Grey Knights had told him not to interfere with their business.  He had been annoyed that xenos had seen the Knights, but it was inevitable, he supposed.  After all, the Sons of Titan had teamed up with the enigmatic Aeldari to fight the daemons of Chaos when necessary.  More xenos, especially ones deemed necessary to the future by the seers of the Grey Knights, couldn’t hurt too badly, he supposed.  There were worse enemies out there.  He did, however, chafe that those pesky GA delegates were still around.  He had pulled rank and ordered the Knights not to destroy them.  That would cause too much of a political headache.  Though, he did discreetly mind-wipe them with his powers, and pull the orbital defenses of the Rundi homeworld from the chairwoman’s mind; information he had subsequently turned over to Inquisitor Vail.  They wouldn’t ever remember meeting him.  A good thing, all things considered.  They had neither the training nor stomach for fighting demons.  He spun on his heel and strode into the hall of the Deimos.  There was work to be done.

Aboard the shuttle

The shuttle had roved from ship to ship, dropping off passengers that barely remembered where they were going.  The yellow-shirted man, who had introduced himself as Kirk (some more slight memories came from that realization… something about a TV show?) was left on a ship called the Enterprise (a good name.  Adam hoped his ship was named something just as good.)  The First Mate, a tall thin man with strange pointed ears, had sighed as if this were a regular occurrence and led Kirk deeper into the ship.  

The short haired man was left aboard the Normandy (memories of beaches, and machine guns, and mass death in a war a long time ago.)  A raven haired woman wearing a bodysuit that left little to the imagination greeted them.  

“Ah, Commander.  Welcome back.  I trust everything went satisfactory?” she asked.  The other man stared at her.  

“You have a strange accent,” he said at last.  “Where are you from?”  The woman, who Vir presumed to be the First Officer of this ship, merely cocked an eyebrow.  Cain rolled his eyes and stepped in.  

“Ms. Lawson, the Inquisition performed an intensive interrogation on Commander Shepard, the side effects of which include the temporary, and I stress temporary, loss of memory.”

“He has no idea who I am.  Or anyone else,” stated Lawson bluntly.  Cain nodded and pushed Shepard from the shuttle.  

“Off you go Commander.  Hope the doctors don’t take you apart.”  The shuttle ramp closed, veiling the sight of a very confused Shepard and very exasperated Lawson.  It took off, slipping through the void.  The silver shape of a large, rectangular ship flitted through the viewport.  Vir looked out in wonder.  This ship… this one’s mine.  What is it called…?  Harbinger?  Harbinger sounds right… but… no…

The shuttle touched down in a large, open hangar.  A shorter, brown haired woman stood at attention there, waiting.  The ramp came down with a heavy thunk, and Vir and Cain exited.  

“This is our stop,” said Cain.  “Will you two be alright?” he asked the shuttle’s other two occupants.  The black coated man nodded jerkily, still staring into space.  

“What?  Oh.  Yes.  Don’t worry about us.  Commissar Cain.  Admiral Vir.”  He rattled off their unfamiliar names, the taste of the words strange on his tongue.  As the shuttle took off once more, the woman approached Vir and Cain.  

“Admiral,” she said with a crisp salute.  Vir looked her over, trying desperately to remember who she was.  Obviously some sort of ship’s officer.  

“Ah… yes,” he stalled, trying to buy time for his memories to return.  “Uh…”  The woman stared at him.  

“Are you… alright, Admiral?” she asked, perplexed.  Before he could do anything to embarrass himself, Cain stepped in.  

“Ah, Simone.”  Simone!  Yes!  Now he had a name to go with a face.  Simone was his… assistant?  Maybe?  “As you know,” continued Cain, “Admiral Vir was interrogated by the Inquisition.  The side effects of which include temporary memory loss.”  Simone’s mouth set in a hard line.

“Those utter-” she stopped herself, realizing who she was talking to.  “Ah.  Yes.  Commissar.”  She turned to Vir, clearly trying to ignore that she almost criticized the most deadly and powerful organization of Cain’s home government.  “Admiral… you really don’t remember me?”  Vir shook his head a miserable ‘no’.

“No.  I don’t.  There are bits, and pieces… but not much.”  

“Well, you should probably get settled.  Go to your cabin; someplace familiar.  I’ll make sure Kril doesn’t kill you,” said Cain with a wink.  He strode off, Commissar’s greatcoat swirling.  Simone watched him leave.  

“What did they do to you…?”  muttered Simone.  “I’m your First Lieutenant, Admiral.”

“Ah hah!” came Vir’s triumphant shout.  “Yes.  Simone.  I remember you are my first lieutenant.  It’s coming back.  A bit.”  

“Alright, then.  I’ll take my leave, Admiral,” she said.  Vir shook his head, still confused.  He wandered through the hangar, somehow knowing where the exits were and where they led.  He knew his cabin was somewhere towards the front area of the ship, near the bridge, but found his feet taking him a different way.  He walked through the bowels of the ship, saluting the crew he passed with automa-like precision.  It was mechanical.  He remembered none of them, but for an unknown reason kept walking until he reached a door near the engineering area.  He instinctively stepped inside, though he did not know where it led or why he did so.  

The room was bare, with empty metal walls and a corrugated steel floor.  The walls were covered with elaborate weapons blueprints and armor designs.  In the corner, huddled over a workbench, a large figure welded something.  Flying sparks illuminated a sleek blue carapace and four arms.  Vir had no idea who this was or what sort of creature it was… but he knew it.  He trusted it.  He felt safe here.  Hearing his footsteps, the figure turned around and lifted its welding mask.  

“Adam?  You got back already?” He felt something stir inside him at her (he knew it was a her) voice.  

“I… I can’t remember anything,” he confessed.  “The Imperials interrogated me… one of the side effects was temporary memory loss.”  The blue alien stood to its full height.  

“Those bastards…  You don’t remember me?” she asked.  Vir shrugged.  

“Tell me your name.  It helps with remembering,” he replied.  She stepped forward and took his arms.  

“Sunny,” she said.  Suddenly, everything clicked.  

“Sunny,” he replied.  It was a statement.  A sentence spoken by a weary man who has finally come home.  

“You… you do remember me?” asked Sunny with concern.  

“I remember your name,” said Vir with a smile.  “Clearness.  Blue skies.  Light.  Warmth.  Happiness.  Sunny.”

“Is… is that it?  You don’t remember anything else?”  Vir stepped forward and threw his arms around her.  He felt tears go down his face as he buried it into her chest.  She drew him close, her four arms wrapped around him.  

“Yes.  I remember that I love you.”  

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

The Falcon was full to capacity.  Nearly fifty individuals were crammed inside.  Han Solo and Chewbacca were quietly flying in the cockpit.  Not a single word passed between them, for the First Mate realized his Captain wished to be alone with his thoughts.  In the small recreational spaces of the ship, sitting morosely in the chairs that controlled the dorsal and ventral guns, slouching in the hallways and resting in the cargo holds were dozens of the Apocalypse’s armsmen.  

After Thomas Drake had returned from the Fury of Deimos, he had instinctively gravitated towards Richter and Ordelphine, whom he had told his predicament.  The two had immediately and bluntly set him straight, giving him the beginnings of his memories back.  He had been lucky; most of who he had been and what he was doing returned within the span of hours, no little thanks due to his First Lieutenant.  He had been scrolling through his computer files when a note to himself had popped up… and he had a sudden epiphany.  Which was why the Falcon was currently headed to a small but busy moon in the far reaches of this galaxy known as Noctopolis.  

The note, and the realization it brought, was simple.  The Holy Ordos of His Divine Majesty’s Inquisition and the laws of the Imperium of Man were harsh.  They were known to declare all those who dealt in alien technology Excommunicate Traitoris.  This meant that the individual in question was expelled from the Church and light of the God-Emperor and cast out of the human race to be hunted down and executed.  If such a punishment was fit for those who merely traded technology crafted by aliens, then what of those who romanced, or even copulated with aliens?  The punishment for such an act would be… unbelievable.  Unfortunately, xenophilia was an accepted act in five of the nine galaxies that now made up reality.   Should His Majesty’s Inquisition find out that such people were accepted, it would mean instant and eternal war.  

Drake realized the Inquisition could deal with aliens by themselves, for if the aliens fought alongside humanity against larger threats, then they were an asset.  However, if Holy Humanity debased itself with aliens, and to the Inquisition, if aliens were treacherous and convinced humans to perfore perverse acts with them, then the Inquisition would have no other choice but to step in.  This would result in any alien race that had any sort of xenophiliac history with humanity to be exterminated, and human civilizations that thought xenophilia was acceptable to be brought under Imperial compliance.  

The civilizations and the xenophiles themselves had no idea of the storm that was about to bear down on them.  With Inquisitor Amberly Vail of the Ordo Xenos now in this galaxy and presumably finding out whatever she could about it, Drake had what he believed to be four options.

One, he could do nothing.  The simplest option.  If he stood by, Vail would find or overhear that Admiral Adam Vir had convinced the Galactic Assembly that xenophilia should be legal.  In that case, Drake could claim plausible deniability and the Inquisition might believe him.  Regardless, the xenophiles would be rounded up, the GA destroyed, and this galaxy would become part of the Imperium of Man.

Two, he could turn the xenophiles over to the Inquisition.  For eradicating such a large heresy, the Inquisition would probably give him whatever he wanted: advanced weapons technology, one of those delightful gothic starships, perhaps his own private moon.  However, innocents would die, the Scoundrels would be broken up, and Vir, Quill, Kirk, and Shepard would despise him before being forever silenced.  

Three, he could tell his compatriots or wait for them to do something.  However, Thomas Drake had succeeded and survived in life through one maxim: if you wanted something done right, then you did it yourself.  

Four, he could side with the xenophiles.  He would have to do this carefully, as, otherwise, the full wrath of the Inquisition would come down on his head.  He would have to get them underground, undercover, completely invisible from any prying eyes.  Already, he had sent warning messages to the Milano, Normandy, Omen, and Enterprise.  All were hand written and hand delivered, all written in Drake’s camera-less cabin.  No one could hack into handwriting.

The question was hard.  The answer was simple.  He was siding with the xenophiles.  Why?  At the moment, the xenophiles were sitting there, doing nothing.  The Inquisition, on the other hand, had gone and messed with his brain.  All moral concerns aside, he was siding against the Inquisition ‘cause fuck ‘em, that’s why.  Ah, spite.  That most excellent of motivators.  

The Falcon touched down on the putrid streets of Noctopolis, the polluted air swirling around the landing gear.  Drake and the armsmen disembarked, leaving Solo with Chewbacca to reclaim the last vestiges of his shredded memory.  The armsmen wore garb similar to Drake, all in heavy boots and trench coats.

Good: the trench coats were not armor or uniforms, and thus they would not be easily recognized.

Bad: a group of people wearing black coats and strutting about an overcrowded criminal-ruled moon would be seen and possibly remembered.

Best: trench coats could conceal weapons.  A lot of weapons.  Each of Drake’s armsmen wore clothing that was reinforced to stop bullets, and had enough guns on them to fuel an army.  No one would be messing with them today.  

They walked through the streets, their massive numbers and intimidating bearing making sure no one got in their way.  Making their way down fetid alleys and downwards, ever downwards, they reached a gorge with red smoke, pollution from some nearby factory, billowed.  They made their way through a deserted alley and reached a door.  Drake knew it hid a deceptively large building.  

“Fan out,” he ordered the armsmen.  “Surround the building.  No one in or out without my permission.”  The armsmen nodded.  Weapons were pulled from concealment, the larger ones assembled quickly by their wielders.  First Squad had drawn duty today, and Saul stood by Drake’s side.  Two black coated women stood next to the door, shotguns at the ready.  He wasn’t expecting it, but there could be hostiles inside.  You never knew when you might need a hot breach.  Drake rapped on the door.  There was a long pause.  Drake and Saul stood unmoving.  The armsmen were ready with their weapons, turning the door and the alley into a kill zone.  Eventually, a slit opened and a pair of human eyes peered out.

“What do you want?” asked a somewhat surprised voice.

“I’m a friend of Adam,” replied Drake, the grin on his face unable to hide itself.  There was a snapping and rattling of chains and locks being undone, and the door opened.  Drake and Saul stepped through, two other armsmen who had been ready to provide support with compact submachine guns hot on their heels.  A man with electric blue hair stared, frightened, at the quite obviously mercenary soldiers that had just walked through his door.  Before he could say or do anything rash, Drake held out a calming hand.  

“Relax.  In this case, I really am who I say I am.”  He held out a paper, which the man took and carefully scanned.  

I, Admiral Adam Vir, hereby state that Thomas Drake is a close confidant and can be completely trusted.

Drake had papers with similar messages from all the Scoundrels.  He had forged their signatures and had their fingerprints on file.  It was, perhaps, a breach of trust, but he would not be offended if they did the same to him.  It was just good business.  Plus, such documents were very useful.  Very useful indeed.  As the man puzzled over what was happening, Drake held up a finger to his comms device.  

“You know, you really should change your passwords.  And your back door code is 0-0-0-0.  Sloppy,” sighed Drake.  “Very sloppy indeed.”  The blue harried man gapped up at him.  Drake sighed again.  “Can we, perhaps, go somewhere to talk business?  That is, of course, why I came.”  The man nodded, still slack jawed, and led the mercenaries through what seemed to be some sort of club and into the back rooms.  A group of strangely dressed humans and aliens stood there, apparently summoned by the blue haired man.  Drake sat in a vacant seat, the cheap leather scratching through his coat.  Saul and the two other armsmen stood beside him, their coats open, ready to grab hidden guns at a moment’s notice.

“Are you here to kill us?” opened one of the humans abruptly.  The other faces at the table were silent, but held the same worry.  Drake sighed for a third time.  

“I only kill those whose deaths are necessary or deserved.  You are neither, so you have nothing to fear from me.”  There were a few audible sighs of relief.  

“Then why are you here?” asked a small, furry alien. 

“I come with warnings.  There are those who would kill you, and I wish to prevent that,” replied Drake calmly.  There was a splatter of derisive laughter before another human held up a hand. 

“Are you… one of us?  Why would you want to warn us?”  Drake gave a rictus grin.  Some of his table-mates visibly shrunk back.  

“No I am not.  Frankly, I don’t care about you or your opponents here.  Let us just say that it’s better off you weren’t mass murdered by zealots.”  That brought a series of murmerings.  

“What?” asked a Drev.  “I think you’d better start from the beginning.”

“Indeed,” replied Drake.  “It is always wise to start at the beginning.”  He settled into his chair.  “I’m sure many of you are familiar with the fact that there are now nine galaxies in this universe, not just one.”  A chorus of yeses greeted this fact.  “You may also be familiar that in one of these galaxies resides a government known as ‘The Imperium of Man.’”  A chorus of hissed curses greeted that name.

“Xenophobic scum,” muttered someone.

“Hmm.  Yes,” replied Drake neutrally.  He leaned back even further and crossed his legs.  “At the present moment,” he continued, “The Imperium’s secret police, known as the Inquisition, is here, in this galaxy, investigating a completely unrelated matter.”  More mutterings.  “They are bound to investigate everything they can about this galaxy, and when they do, they will find out about your existence.  If this happens, you will all be tortured to death, and the GA, with most likely every alien race here, will be exterminated, with the galaxy coming under Imperial rule.”  Drake smiled over their horrified faces.  “I do not wish to see that happen.  Which is why you must do as I say.”  They all leaned in, desperate to hear if he could save them.  “One, you must disperse.  Groups attract attention.  I found this place easily, because I knew what to look for.  The Inquisition is even more adept than me.  Two, you must leave this place.  If a trail can be found, something I am trying to erase, believe me, but, if a trail can be found, it will lead to this moon.  Three, you must never, ever practice any sort of xenophilia, or have anyone suspect what you are.  Four, if you do as I say, and are still captured by the Inquisition, you must tell them that you are alone; a singular degenerate alone and unloved in this universe.  They will ask you to betray your comrades; don’t.  They will kill you either way.”  There was a stunned silence, before the room went up in shouts.

“No!”  

“Absolutely not!”

“You ask us to give up everything!  Everything we’ve worked so hard for!  To no longer be ourselves!  Adam Vir would never do this!”

“Adam Vir is not here!” thundered Drake.  “You are dealing with me now.”  He stood and rubbed his forehead as he paced.  “Nothing I have told you, or will tell you, is a lie.  My colleagues are, to a man, all better people than I.  However, they are, at times, unbearably naïve.”  He spun around and fixed them with his most intimidating glare, the one that made corporate oligarchs, high generals and planetary governors quake in their boots.  “Be grateful that you are dealing with someone who knows precisely what they are talking about.”  The table sat back down and watched Drake.  He frowned.  “Now, I can get you off this moon; get you to wherever you want to go.  I can give you new identities, multiple identities, just in case, food, tickets, papers: whatever you need to start a new life.”  He paused.  “However, all things come at a price.”

“I knew it!” hissed one of the humans.  A tesraki held up a hand, silencing the other members around the table.

“What do you want?” 

“I want information.  And you are going to give it to me.”

“What do you want to know?”  The voice was resigned to its owner’s fate.  Drake leaned forward. 

“Everything about the LFIL, everything about Admiral Vir, and everything about this galaxy that I don’t already know.  Give it to me and follow my directions, and I can ensure you will survive.”

Aboard the Fury of Deimos

Lord Inquisitor Hector Rex stood on the command bridge of the Grey Knight’s ancient ship, surrounded by the mindless servitors that crewed it.  In front of him were winking holograms of Admiral Vir, Captain Kirk, and Commander Shepard.  Deep into the blackness of space, a space station, so sleek and unlike anything Imperial, orbited an empty planet.  A camera feed from inside the research station flickered through the terminal in front of him.  What it displayed was clear signs of daemonic presence.  

“We got word just recently that this research station went dead,” said Vir.  “They apparently had some sort of artifact they were studying here.  It only came alive in the past few days.”  The cameras showed an infestation.  The artifact had spread throughout the station.  Twisted masses of white bone, flickering with red energy and black ooze, clung to the floors and walls.  Dark energy, lit with crackles of red, pulsed through the ceilings as if the station were some living thing.  As if the red crackling were arteries, filled with blood, flowing to the artifact, the beating heart of corruption.  The station’s crew were all dead.  Their bodies were held up by tendrils of bone, some twitching slightly as the horrible mass grew inside them.  Bone spread through every empty space in their bodies, growing through their eyes and mouths, infesting their noses, even going through their very veins.  To the watching Scoundrels, it was horrifying.  To Lord Hector, it was just a regular day.  

“It was good of you to inform me,” he replied.  “Stay aboard your ships.  We shall take care of this.”  The Scoundrels nodded.  If there were people who knew precisely how to combat this sort of thing, then they would differ to their expertise.  Rex deactivated the holograms and turned, walking off the bridge.  As he strode through the ship, he sent a mental message to Doctor Strange.  Strange was aboard, just in case the Knights or Inquisition needed his help.  He was staying in the hangar bay, though, for he just didn’t want to take the chance of being mind wiped.  

Strange.  We are cleansing the research station here.  Stay aboard.  If you receive word of any other artifacts being activated, you are free to intervene as you see fit.  

Understood, Lord Inquisitor.  I’ll be keeping my eyes open on the areas that celestially connect to Polaris.  

The Scoundrels awoke from their induced slumber with a warning: there were corrupting artifacts, hidden in the locations that Polaris was connected to.  These artifacts needed to be destroyed.  Rex couldn’t agree more.  

Through the halls bearing the symbols of the Grey Knights he walked, until he reached the teleportarium.  The five Knights who had accompanied him on this mission stood there, silently waiting, weapons in hand.  Rex simply nodded at them.  No words were needed.  His sword was always at his side, his armor always on him; no need to go get them.  

The silent party of Ordo Malleus operatives stepped into a large circular chamber, mysterious machinery clanking along the walls.  A servitor trundled forward, and flipped a lever.  

With an almighty crack of displaced air, Lord Hector Rex and the Grey Knights teleported aboard the now derelict research station.  The pulsating mass of bone and energy crackled ominously around them.  They marched inexorably forward, untouched by the corruption.  

“They are coming,” spoke the rumbling baritone of one of the Knights.  “This thing defends itself.”  Without warning, a fallen scientist leapt at them.  It’s eyes were dead and gone, replaced by inky black spots of primordial darkness.  It’s mouth stretched impossibly wide, bone spurs ready to shred flesh.  

It was unnaturally, unimaginably fast.  

The Grey Knights were faster.  

Nemesis force halberds crackled to life with but a thought, pure blue-white energy flowing across their blades.  The Knight nearest to the lifeless abomination spun at speeds the mortal eye could not follow, his psychic powers enhancing his already enhanced body.  The blade of his halberd connected with the thing’s neck, cleaving through bone and thin, lifeless skin like a knife through tissue paper.  The once-human fell, the unnatural life in its eyes gone.  With its death, the station exploded.  

Tentacles of bone whipped forward, seeking to impale the intruders.  More infected bodies darted forth, running at the Knights with speeds that would have astounded a normal human.  The darkness seemed to grow deeper, an unnatural deficit of light swimming forward to fill the halls.  

Lord Hector unsheathed his blade.  The sword was called Arias, an ancient weapon carried by the Ordo Malleus’s greatest heroes, reportedly blessed by the Emperor Himself during the Great Crusade.  It glowed with faint golden light, repelling the darkness around them.  He now brought it forward onto a corrupted scientist; a quick slice, almost as if he were swatting a fly.  The infected form fell, cleaved in two by Hector’s power.  

The Grey Knights spun and swirled through the station as if they were smoke.  Untouchable.  Untaintable.  Their psychic powers churned through the air, leaving blessed purity where there had been corruption a moment before.  They moved in tandem, augmenting each other with their power, exactly in tune with their brothers’ minds.  They were a brotherhood of demigods, slayers of the demonic, a group that brought only death to the damned.  

Lord Rex spun Arias in a defensive pattern, the consecrated blade shredding every attacker that reached him.  He held out a hand, and a dead Vrul scientist that had leapt at him, bone-fangs ready to tear his throat, stopped in mid-air, suspended with his mind.  His fist closed.  The Vrul exploded into bone shards.  

A wall of force, crackling with golden energy, swept away the encroaching darkness, fueled by the combined might of the Knights.  The scientists were all dead now, shredded by the psychic ammunition of the Grey Knights wrist-mounted bolters or cut down by their crackling blades.  The tentacles and walls redoubled their efforts, desperate to make sure the Inquisition didn’t reach the artifact at the center of the station’s corruption.  

With a swipe of his hand, the Grey Knight’s sergeant flicked open the heavy doors that led to the artifact’s chamber.  They saw it, a small mass of bone, swelling with unnatural power.  With a flick of his sword, Rex cut the tendrils that suspended it.  The very station seemed to shriek underneath them, the bone tendrils spasming.  Rex held the thing in mid-air, unwilling to touch it.  

“What shall we do with it?” he asked the sergeant.  

“Put it in a box.  Take it back to Titan.  We must study this,” replied the deep voice.  Another Knight came forward with a purified small metal container, and Rex telepathically lowered the artifact inside and sealed the lid.  With a mental command to the servitor, the Knights and Lord Inquisitor disappeared, teleported back to the Fury of Deimos.  The starships of the Scoundrels and Inquisition erased any trace of the station, its memory gone forever.  In its box, the cursed artifact pulsed, another relic to be taken back to the headquarters of the Grey Knights to be studied.

I hope you liked it.  If you have any requests or want me to write about a specific group or person, please tell me!  Wherever you are, have a great day.  

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly prompts, 20 seems like it'd make a good ot4 nsfw..

Here you go!

20: you’re the town’s super villain and you take me hostage because you saw the super hero talking to me but I’m new in town and was asking them for directions

“I do not see what is so difficult about this.” Indrid leans against the console in his hideout, “simply agree that you will not, under any circumstances, go after Ursa Major, and I will let you go.”

“For the last time” the villain (oh, excuse him, the ‘writer who is new in town’) strapped to his chair stares him down with convincing confusion in his blue eyes, “I just needed directions, and he was the nearest person. I’m not a super villain, I swear. I don’t even know where you’re getting this idea.”

Indrid taps his temple, though the answer is really his SmartGlasses, “When I scanned you, the information was minimal, the kind of life that suggests you appear as mundane as possible to avoid detection. More importantly” he leans into “Josephs” space, ice in his grin and menace on his tongue, “I saw instances of you and him in combat, both costumed.”

His captive raises an eyebrow, but Indrid gives him nothing; he’s not about to just tell some upstart the crux of his powers.

Joseph sighs, “Alright, I think I understand. I’m really not a super villain.” He flashes a movie star grin, “but I am a superhero.”

The chair tips backwards, smashing when it hits the ground. Indrid curses, lunges at him and narrowly avoids an elbow to the chest.

“That changes th--ohno” he braces as his feet leave the ground without his permission and he flies backwards, slamming into a wall. He’s up before his enemy can ready another attack, hurls a destabilizer at him as he makes for the door. It catches his neck and he shudders, stumbling as he turns the nod.

“I’ll see myself out, Emperor Moth. Ugh” he holds his head, rips the device from his neck, “nasty stuff.”

“Thank you.” Indrid grins, “and don’t bother putting that little monitor strip on my door. I’ll be vacating this hide-out immediately.”

Joseph frowns, still having trouble with balance as he steps outside.

“I did tell you not to underestimate me.” Indrid waves, slams the door, and initiates the scrubbing sequence.

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

“It is just humiliating. I was so concerned with keeping him away from Duck, I didn’t bother to check why he might be interested in him.” Indrid grumbles, then hisses when Barclay touches the back of his head.

“It doesn’t sound like he was. I mean, maybe they’ll team up eventually, but if he’s so new none of us knew there was another hero in town, he probably needed directions.” The other villain finishes checking the bruise Indrid got when Joseph launched him into the console, “and hey, thanks to you we got an even earlier warning about him than we might have otherwise.”

Indrid stares at the floor, still wrongfooted by errors being met with kindness instead of punishment, “I should never have let that bear become so valued a nemesis. It is making me weak.”

Barclay bends, kissing the top of his head, “It’s okay, baby, you’re not the first villain to get territorial.”

“You never do.”

“Guess I just haven’t met the right hero.”

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

“Got a decent arm on you, blue eyes.” Barclay cracks his neck, standing from the crumple dumpster Joseph (AKA Roswell) punched him into when the trashcan he launched with telekinesis missed it’s mark.

“Same to you, but given your name I’m not surprised. Now hand over that remote and come quietly.”

“Not a chance.” He grabs Joseph when he swipes at the remote, Barclay strong enough to keep a hold on it even when Joseph tugs with his powers. Up close, he can see what Indrid meant when he said the hero had a face it would be a shame to damage.

Joseph flashes him a stunning smile as the remote begins getting hot. Fuck. Time for a new plan.

“You wanna know why they call me Bigfoot?”

“Wh--SHIT!” Joseph fights to free himself as Barclay shifts into his other form and hoists him over his head.

By the time Joseph pulls himself out of the dumpster, he’s no more than a disgruntled image in Barclay’s rearview mirror.

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

“Thanks for helpin me out, Joe.” Duck scans the Capitol Square for signs of trouble.

“Any time.” Joe studies the readouts on his communicator in case something elsewhere needs their attention.

Duck, like the rest of the Pine Guard, was skeptical when a new hero by the name of Roswell approached them and asked if they wanted his help protecting Kepopolis. Ned pointed out the distinct air of government about him, and Duck wondered why he’d chosen a city with a solid population of supers. But he’s helped them enough times in the last two months that Duck considers him an honorary member. Even more so since he started training with them.

Fuck, the guy’s got abs, looks so good doing his practice circuits that Duck has to face the other way to avoid whacking himself in the face with his whips. No one’s held his attention since…

No. No thinking of Emperor Moth that way. He promised himself that after the last jerk-off session about the villain. And the one before that. And the one before that one.

Even Joe’s backstory is hot; rule-following government man, stationed at a secret desert base, refuses to to help his fellow agents use confiscated, alien tech for weapons research. In the process of smuggling it out, it goes off. Everyone thinks he’s dead, but instead he receives heightened reflexes, increases intelligence, and telekinesis. How is Duck supposed to resist that?

“Um, Ursa? Is that who I think it is at your two? Right by the churro cart at the farmer’s market.”

“Holy fuck. Yep, that’s Indrid and Barclay all right. Huh. Guess even villains like local produce.”

“And Sunday dates. Look” Joe, now shoulder to shoulder with him, gently tugs his chin a little lower so he sees where the pair are holding hands.

“I’ll be damned.” Duck murmurs. Indrid is the same; same silvery hair, same wide smile, same face of enchanting angles and lithe, wiry limbs. He just looks lighter. Softer.

Happier.

Barclay holds out a doughnut and Indrid bites it, powdered sugar dusting his face. The bearded villain laughs, and kisses a spot of sweetness away. Duck’s confusion over why he’s glad Indrid has someone to do that for him is dwarfed only by his bafflement at why he wishes it were him.

Better to distract from those disastrous daydreams with doable ones.

“Hey, uh, Joe? You ever use your powers for more than restrainin’ villains?”

“Sometimes.” Joe turns so they’re chest to chest, smile downright mischievous, “are you hoping for a demonstration?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then when we’re off the clock, I say we go back to my place for a drink and some, um, hands on illustrations of what I can do.”

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

“What are they playing at?” Indrid peers from the rooftop into the Fun Center.

“I think they’re literally just bowling.” His boyfriend’s voice comes through his earpiece from where he’s stationed at their shared base

“But we could be plotting, be about to wreck havoc, and they’d never know.”

“Are you dropping hints?” Barclay sounds perplexed.

“No. I just do not understand why my hero wishes to waste time with yours.”

“He’s not mine.” Barclay mumbles, but Indrid can hear his blush.

“Wait, they have finished their game.” He watches Duck and Joseph stroll to the latters car. Before he can open the door, Duck taps him so he’ll turn. When he does, the shorter hero shoves him against the black vehicle, kissing him ferociously. Indrid stabs the bubble of jealousy in his chest before it even inflates, finds it unhelpfully replaced by the wish to be in the car, close enough to hear whatever Duck is whispering against Joseph’s neck. Close enough that instead of driving off to finish their tryst in private, they crowd into the back seat with him and render him speechless.

“Shall I come home early?” He murmurs, knowing full Barclay is seeing through his glasses.

Barclay’s response is a promising growl, “yeah, little moth, think you’d better.”

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

“Give it up, moth, you know damn well I’m strongerOWow, fuck” Duck grits his teeth as Indrid claws his face. He could deploy the knife in the palm of the right glove, but most futures show him escaping without that.

“Yes, but you lack imagination, my ursine nemesis. Now get off of me so I can collect my prize and go home.”

“No can doFUCK.” Duck curses again as Indrid flips them, making it the heroes turn to slam his back into the concrete floor of the Reconcore Warehouse.

“Ta-taAH! Release me at once!” Indrid writhes as the SmarWhip tightens across his back, knowing his InstaPicks are trapped between their bodies. He’s not about to meet the humiliation of defeat while literally wrapped up with his enemy. There’s only one thing for it.

He means to headbutt the hero, he swears it, would do so even under the worst tortures of his past. But instead he brings their lips together with enough force to crack the teeth of a non-super. He pulls back a beat later, so surprised at himself he can’t track the futures.

Duck licks his lips, “About fuckin time.”

Indrid rolls to his side without a fight, the whips going slack and clattering on the concrete as Duck holds tight to the front of his suit, sucking his bottom lip as the villain flails his legs to wrap around sturdy thighs. He wiggles his hips in a plea he doesn’t trust his mouth to form, and Duck slots his knee between them.

“That’s it sugar, c’mon” Duck kisses him messily as he weaves his fingers into dark hair, “this why you’re always runnin around and makin me chase you? So needy you’ll give it up on the goddamn floor.”

“Yes, yesyes.” Indrid groans as kisses find his throat.

“Don’t bother me none. Think it’s kinda cute, and real fuckin flatterin.”

“Duck” he holds tighter; Barclay tends to take things slow, so he hasn’t cum this fast in months, “Duck please.”

“S’okay, sugar, you can cum.” The kiss is softer this time, “been wonderin’ what you look like when you do.”

Indrid gasps as pleasure spikes through his system. He doesn’t want to think of what comes next, what happens when he raises his head and sees Duck’s face return to its usual determined set.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go.” Duck hastily stands, then kneels and kisses him once on the forehead. He’s gone before Indrid can even offer to return the favor.

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

It’s supposed to be a minor mission, the two of them scrambling the city’s traffic grid from the office near Kepler Dam.

“Oh no.” Indrid bursts from the car he entered a moment before, sprinting back towards the device they planted at one of the power boxes, “ohnohnono.”

“What-”

“Someone remotely tampered with my device!” He rips off the back, “and they still are! If, if it goes how they have programmed it to, it will take out the dam, it, it will, so many people-”

“Can we break it manually?”

“You could switch each command wire to the color that precedes it on the spectrum, but that would still make an explosion large enough to kill anyone within fifty feet, with no time to run. All, all those people, all my fault, again, I cannot, not again, I have to-”

Barclay understands two things; he won’t let Indrid live with any more disasters on his conscience. He didn’t throw off his past for that. And he can’t bear the thought of Indrid dying.

He sets a hand on each narrow shoulder, “Fly home, little moth.”

“No, I, you cannot do this-”

“We always promised each other that if it came down to it, we’d save ourselves and not the other.”

“Yes, which you are expressly contradicting!”

Barclay kisses him one last time, “I love you, Indrid.”

Then he hits the emergency autopilot button on Indrid’s suit, his wings carrying him up and away before he has a chance to protest.

Re-ordering the wires is fast and easy; as the explosion hits the air, he hopes dying will be the same.

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

“How is he?” Duck pokes his head into the med room; because Joseph lacked a formal base during his travels, he has a procedure for adapting wherever he lives to superhero needs. Thank the lord for that, because when they found Barclay, singed and barely alive at the sight of an explosion, he knew he wasn’t handing him off to anyone else.

It took them five hours to get him stable, and Joseph’s heart twists every time he looks at his battered face; Barclay is careful and Indrid’s engineering is impeccable. What went wrong? Was Indrid there in the smoke and rubble and they didn’t see him?

One of his windows--his triple reinforced, alarmed, bullet-proof windows--shatters in the other room. He and Duck hit the living room at the same instant to find Indrid in his full villain apparel, nightsticks drawn.

“Where is he?” The villain demands, unyielding ice in every word.

“He’s in my med room. You can’t see him yet, he’s still in very bad shape-”

“I am taking him back with me.”

“Nuh uh, you move him now he’s liable to die.” Duck steps forward and Indrid hisses.

“Liars. You will keep him here, hand him over to the police when he is well. I am not going to lose him.”

“Indrid, we’re not going to do that, I swear.” Joseph’s never seen Indrid look this way, hardened and dangerous. Like he could kill them.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

Indrid attacks him, is knocked off course mid-way there as Duck tackles him to the couch.

“‘Drid, for fuck’s” Duck holds the villain down, wincing as he slams his shoulders with his weapons, “we ain’t gonna hurt him or turn him in. You know I can’t lie, so calm the fuck down.”

“I, I will not, if I lose him I, I do not know what I will do with myself, he always takes care of me, I cannot fail him again, cannot leave him without care.”

“You ain’t” Duck’s voice is so gentle Joseph could melt. Indrid does, going limp as Duck eases them into a sitting position, “he’s bein cared for here, I give you my goddamn word.”

“If that’s not enough” Joseph steps behind the couch, setting his hands on the recently vacuumed cushions, “you can stay here while he recovers. To make sure we take care of him the right way.”

A strange, high noise fills the air. It’s only when Indrid hides his face in Duck’s shoulder that he understands it’s coming from the villain.

“Shhh, s’okay ‘Drid, he’s okay. We’ll look after you.”

“I, hic, I do , hic, not need-”

“We both know that ain’t true.” Duck hugs him. When Joseph strokes his hair, Indrid sobs harder. In the dark living room, he wonders when was the last time Indrid allowed himself such emotions. It must have been with Barclay; he might be a villain by name, but Joseph sees the gentleness within the giant.

“I’m going to go check on him; I need to monitor his vitals and make a few adjustments so he’s comfortable.”

Indrid simply nods. Duck lifts Joseph’s hand and kisses it, “I got this one.”

As he checks the villain over, cleans dirt from his cheeks and combs his hair, he understands how Indrid must feel. He confessed to his crush on his nemesis the night Duck came home, radiating guilty arousal, and told him what happened in the warehouse. Joseph never held it against him; for starters, Indrid is quite the catch himself. More importantly, his territorialism around Duck long ago crossed from keeping other villains from his target to simply saving Duck’s life.

By the time he returns to the living room, Indrid is asleep atop Duck on the couch. Joseph slips onto the far end, and guides Duck’s head into his lap, petting his hair until he too drops into dreaming.

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

“Thought the whole ‘writer’ thing was just cover.” Barclay says softly. He’s still bedridden, which is why Joseph moved his work station into the med room.

“No, I’ve always wanted to write about the paranormal.”

“Any favorite cryptids?”

“Bigfoot, of course.” Joseph winks just to watch Barclay blush. It’s a new sight, one he’ll never tire of. Truthfully, having Barclay in his house is something he never wants to end; his recovery gives them ample time to talk, rather than banter, and lord help him is Barclay his type. The two of them are locked in a game of romantic chicken. Which is very different from-

“Sugar, I gotta go to work.”

“Nonsense, call them at once and tell them you are needed here. For...spring cleaning?” Indrid hangs off Duck, glasses slipping down his nose as he nuzzles him.

“Nice try.” Duck kisses him, slips free and kisses Joseph too, “I gotta patrol after work, so I’ll be in kinda late.”

“Be safe.” Joseph kisses him one more time, squeezes his ass when he turns around. Is it his fault his boyfriend has the nicest ass in the state?

Indrid waves goodbye as Duck leaves the room, then begins making his usual nest in the beanbag chair he brought from his own home a week ago.

“Y’know, I’m glad he came to you guys. And that he and Duck are kinda working things out.” Barclay opens his mouth as Joseph feeds him the nicest pudding that he’s also able to keep down. When Barclay first woke up, Indrid alternated between being livid at him for sacrificing himself (“I am far worse than you, the world needs you more you horrible, brave man”) and cuddling him as much as his recovery allowed.

“Me too.”

“He uh, he pretty much never talks about his past, but it doesn’t take super smarts to work out it was fucked up. Showing weakness, accepting affection...it’s hard for him. Which made things rough for us early on, because all I wanna do is take care of him. Got no idea how he’s gonna react to having two more people who want to look after him.”

The answers include: sleep in Duck’s arms, read with his head in Joseph's lap, kiss Barclay whenever he can, and generally seek out any kind of touches the others will give him.

“You wanna order lunch later today?”

“Is this just an excuse to show off how good you are at picking food for each of us?”

Barclay blushes again, “Maybe.”

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

“I see your evil plot now, Emperor Moth; you suggested we do a movie night so you could steal all my body heat with your fuckin icicle fingers.”

“Nonsense, I am not just stealing your body heat. I am also stealing Joseph’s body heat.” Indrid preens.

“Hmm, how shall we deal with such a cunning villain?”

“I got a few ideas.” Duck drags Indrid into a kiss while Joseph loops his arms around his waist to tease his inner thighs.

“Got a few myself.” A soft voice rumbles from behind them. Indrid sits straight, all his attention on Barclay.

“On your knees, little moth.”

Indrid drops to the floor, blanket tangled around him. Joseph and Duck trade an intrigued look; Indrid leans towards the submissive, but this is a new form of it.

“Head in Duck’s lap.”

Indrid obeys. Duck strokes his cheek, “good boy.”

Barclay circles the couch as Duck pulls down his sweatpants. Indrid licks his lips, then looks up at the hero.

“You can touch, sugar. Suck too, if you want.”

“So very much. Oh” he sighs as Barclay cups the back of his head, “h-hello dearest.”

“Hey, baby. C’mon, show Duck just how good at this you are.” He nudges Indrid’s head forward, keeping his hold on it until Indrid hims and Duck makes a deeply undignified noise.

“Fuuuuck, thanks for sharin man.”

“Any time” Barclay strokes Indrid’s head, “my baby deserves to suck whoever’s dick he wants.”

Barclay steps back, Duck’s hand instantly sliding to replace it, holding Indrid tenderly in place while he blows him. Barclay eases himself onto Joseph’s right side as the hero contemplates whether he should start jerking off now or wait to see where this goes.

“Joseph?” Barclay suddenly sounds shy, “Can I, uh, can I kiss you?”

He climbs into his lap in reply, beard scratching his palms as Barclay moans down his throat.

“Took you two long enough.”

“Agreed” Indrid kisses Duck’s belly before returning to his task.

“Hey, we don’t all get lucky and get our wires crossed in a fight in a good way.” Barclay busies himself making beard-burn on Joseph’s neck.

“But you do get lucky enough to recover ahead of schedule.” Joseph nips the corner of his mouth.

“Uh, not sure I’m all the way there. But I felt good enough to get up and wander around. Glad I did.”

“Me too. Although, I’m not sure how much you should exert yourself.”

“I’m pretty tough, babe.”

“I know. Just to be safe…” Joseph kisses his nose, “is this position comfortable?”

“Very. Oh, oh fuck” brown eyes widen beautifully as he finds he can’t move, “fucking-A that’s so hot, Joseph, babe, shoulda asked you to use these one me like this the first time we met.”

“Would that have kept me out of the dumpster?”

“....Okay maybe not. Point is, please use your fucking powers on me whenever you want from now on.”

“You like being put in your place, big guy?” Joseph slowly grinds on him as he undoes Barclay’s bathrobe.

“By you? Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“Good. Stay there while I slip into something more comfortable.”

“Cornball” Duck chuckles fondly, then moans as Indrid slips a hand down to join his mouth.

Barclay’s eyes darken as Joseph strips down. By the time he’s naked, the other man is growling and his teeth and fingers are sharper than they were.

“No shifting tonight; I’m not sure how it will interact with your recovery.”

“The, the futures suggest it could reopen some wounds.” Indrid grins, “but you should try it at a later date; it is very fun to ride him in that form.”

“Someone better start riding me now or I’m gonna rip the couch in half--uh, wait. I, do we need-”

“The accident made me infertile and unable to catch all known illnesses.”

“Nice.” Barclay grabs his hips and yanks him down, the two of them moaning together as he sinks onto his cock. He rolls and rocks, Barclay grunting in time with his movements, mouth going slack after only a few bounces.

“Sensitive, big guy?”

“Uh huh, fuck, Joseph” his hold is terrifyingly strong and Joseph loves it, “babe, you feel so good.”

“Look it too.” Duck blows him a kiss. Indrid gives a little “mmhmm” and bobs his head.

“Fuck, I’m, fuck this is gonna be really embarassing, fuck, you’re so fucking good, feel so good.” He yips, pleased, when Joseph bears down harder. A sharp “fuck” bursts from beside them; he turns to watch Duck cumming on Indrid’s face. The villain doesn’t miss a beat, scrambling into his lap to kiss him before turning his red eyes on Barclay.

“The next time I pick things up from the hideout, I shall get your cockring.”

“A cockcage might be better for this, nnhff, beast.”

“Yes” Barclay growls, holding him down so hard he can’t get free. He gives him back the use of his hips and he bucks up violently, “yes, yes, put me in one, make me wear it all day, but you better put that one in one too, you, fuck, you’ve seen how he gets.”

“Nah.” Duck kisses Indrid slowly, “think I’ll tie him up and wring as many orgasms outta him as I can.”

Indrid gives a high, trilling moan and dives in for another kiss.

“Good plan.” Joseph can see it now; he even knows which rope Duck will likely use. Then he can’t see anything at all, his vision blurry as Barclay bounces him on his cock. There’s a howlgrowlpurr and then he’s cumming, growling even louder when Joseph clenches around him for fun.

“Fuck that was hot.” Barclay plants kisses down his brow, “how, how do you wanna get off, babe?”

“May I suggest sitting on my face?” Indrid says hopefully.

“Like mike cum so much you’ll lick it outta someone else, little moth?”

“No. Well, yes, but my offer comes from both a desire to know the feeling of blowing each of you, and because the position allows Duck to use his fingers on me while you, dearest, work my cock.”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin smart sugar.” Duck hops up to retrieve the lube while the other two join Indrid on the floor. Joseph settles into position and immediately learns why Duck was being so loud.

“Lordalmighty, Indrid, you’re incredible.”

“‘Ank ‘ou.” Indrid closes his lips around his dick, humming until his toes curl. Barclay kisses him lazily, snickering when Indrid occasionally turns his head to lap at his softening cock.

“This is the best part.” Barclay murmurs as Duck pushes Indrid’s legs apart.

A muffled moan signals the other hero working his fingers in, Indrid twitching and whimpering as he fucks him. Joseph glances back to see Duck thoroughly entranced by the sight of his fingers opening that very cute ass up.

“You’re right, big guy, he sucks cock better when he’s screaming.”

“Learned that by putting a vibrating ring on his dick and making him cockwarm me.”

“Holy fuck.” Duck groans, “add that to the fuckin to-do list.”

Joseph lets himself be drawn into another kiss, stays there for a long, long time as Indrid’s cries coax his orgasm closer.

“Tell me when you’re close. Don’t want him cumming until you’re done.” Barclay whispers. Below them, Indrid whines. Barclay wipes cum from his boyfriend’s cheek, “you want to cum soon, better get Joseph off.”

“Shit” Joseph braces his hands on the floor, grinding his hips and dragging slick across Indrid’s chin, “shit, that’s it.”

“MMPPPHHHHH” Indrid thrashes as Barclay begins rapidly jerking him off. The villain even bends to lick the head once or twice, and Duck does his best to thrust harder whenever he does.

“Cannot fuckin wait to see you cum again, sugar. You looked so fuckin perfect last time.”

Cum splatters Joseph’s lower back, his own climax buzzing through his veins and bursting across his neurons, more intoxicating and invigorating than the neon green shock all those years ago.

He climbs off Indrid, flops back into what turn out to be Duck’s arms. Indrid shifts onto his side, curling his arms around Ducks leg and bumping Barclays knee with his thigh, “We are going to need a bigger house.”

Joseph believes in prudence and caution, in not rushing into relationships (especially with men who were once your enemies). But as he takes in the scene around him, the love flooding his chest, he knows Indrid is right.

He start researching listings in the morning.

[feminist-propaganda]

The Star Wars Saga Is A Meditation On Single Motherhood

It recently dawned on me that the entire story line of the Star Wars saga is built on the lives, loves and tribulations of 3 generations of single mothers. There are monsters to slay and aliens to find and planets to explore, yes, but if you think about the powerful message in the movies, you’ll come to realize it was mostly a reflection on the status of single mothers, the outcomes of their offspring, and the conflict that lives forever in their descendants.

Each trilogy, once reframed, becomes the story of one woman, who finds herself in a situation that is as old as time. She is with child, but the person who planted the seed in her is not by her side.

Shmi Skywalker or The Good Single Mother

In the Phantom Menace, Jedi Knight Qui Gon Jin meets Anakin Skywalker, a slave boy with a talent for repairing machines. The Jedi knight is impressed with the child’s abilities. He’s knowledgeable, intuitive, and most importantly he’s also kind and thoughtful. When a sand storm threatens the group of travelers, Anakin takes them to his own home and offers them shelter. 

We meet Shmi Skywalker, who in many ways is the archetype of the good single mother. She is not just quiet. She has completely erased herself. She has no personality, apart from being Anakin’s caretaker. She expresses no needs, no desires, no dreams. She simply loves Anakin, and when she sees an opportunity for him to leave the desert planet ruled by the Huts, she doesn’t stand in his way. 

In a now famous scene, Qui Gon asks her about the child’s origins and Shmi famously responds “There was no father”. The line continues: “I carried him. I gave birth. I raised him. I can’t explain what happened”.

The immaculate conception myth refers to the idea in Christianity that Mary, much like Shmi, was impregnated by some magical force, a holy spirit. Both are parabols: images we use to discuss painful topics. Single motherhood has probably always been a part of the human experience. Jared Diamond explains in “Why Is Sex Fun?” that in terms of evolution, it is more rewarding for human males to be “super spreaders “ rather than “good fathers “ . The “good father” gene does not pass down to future generations, because in effect, not sticking around to raise the child is a better strategy for a human man to pass on his genes to the next generation. Not convinced? Just count how many women have been impregnated by a rapper like Future (8 last time I checked). If you’re not into hip-hop, you can think of the offspring of the Mongol Genghis Khan

The purpose of the parabol is to provide an image, to extract ourselves from the technicalities of onr person’s story and to instead talk about all single mothers at once. Indeed, single mothers come in all shapes and sizes. Some are widowed, some are abandoned, others are lied to, and some run away from abusive environments.

Shmi raises her son the best she can, and her love for him is unconditional. She doesn’t bat an eye when he is freed while she is to continue her life as a slave. She doesn’t even seem to mind when Anakin leaves the planet and never returns to free her, even after he marries into some serious money. 

But the story of Star Wars tells us that Shmi’s relationship to Anakin, because it was so fusional, because it was all that he had, led to his undoing. In Episode 2, when he senses she is in danger, he jeopardizes his mission to protect Padme to go rescue her. When he eventually finds her, he is so upset about her ultimate death that he commits mass murder, targeting the Tuskan riders of the sea of Dunes.

When Yoda first lays eyes on Anakin, he senses Anakin’s pain, he is just a child whose been ripped away from the only human that’s ever cared for him deeply. The turmoil inside the boy is palpable, and Yoda advises against training him. 

Padme Amidala or The Bad Single Mother

Anakin develops feelings for Padme, and in Episode 2 the pair decide to secretly get married in the lake district of Padme’s home planet Naboo. Their relationship is very intense. Both share a strong sense of civic duty: Padme was elected queen of the Naboo when she was just 14 &  Anakin is a keeper of the peace. They care deeply about issues such as how the galaxy must be governed, how much action needs to be taken versus when diplomacy must be prioritized. 

Their strong sense of service has made them lonely young people. They’re far away from their families, surrounded by advisors, servants and droids - not friends. 

They jump into their relationship with an eagerness that suggests it is their original caretakers they crave for.

Padme becomes pregnant while the Clone Wars are raging, and immediately Anakin begins to experience trouble with his sleeping. He imagines Padme is dying in childbirth, and the visions haunt him during the day. His fear that she will die ultimately leads to his decision to join the Dark side of the force. Senator Palpatine has manipulated him into believing that Sith Lords have discovered the power to prevent death itself. 

Just like his mother before him, we need to look at Anakin’s story in terms of symbolism. It isn’t really about his specific experience with fatherhood : it’s about the universal conflict that men feel towards their own offspring. Even the way it is announced to him, in the Senate chambers, barely hidden from the rest of the Coruscant elite, implies some sort of entrapment. The columns around them seem to be like a cage that is closing in on his life. He is in the middle of the Wars - he should be celebrating his victory over General Grivious, but instead he is stuck with his wife and he has to absorb her anxiety & reassure her. 

Anakin makes a weird, forced smile and says : “This is a happy moment.” But neither Padme nor the audience believe him. Nothing about him feels happy, he isn’t relaxed: he is tense.

At the end of Episode 3, Anakin attempts to kill Padme when she condemns the mass murders he’s committed against the younglings in the Jedi temple. Hr uses for the first time his “strangling” trick, which becomes his signature move in the original trilogy. 

Palpatine makes Anakin believe that he’s killed Padme, but the truth is somewhat more nuanced. She dies of heartbreak shortly after giving birth to twins. For anyone who thought this was corny, it’s actually been proven by the scientific community that heartbreak reduces your life expectation (it diminishes the size of the telomeres in your body cells, which is the molecule that helps replicate your DNA). 

As Lisa Feldman Barret wrote in How Emotions Are Made: 

Emotional harm can shorten your life. Inside your body, you have little packets of genetic material that sit on the ends of your chromosomes like protective caps. They’re called telomeres. All living things have telomeres—humans, fruit flies, amoebas, even the plants in your garden. Every time one of your cells divides, its telomeres get a little shorter (although they can be repaired by an enzyme called telomerase). So generally their size slowly decreases, and at some point, when they are too short, you die. This is normal aging. But guess what else causes your telomeres to get smaller? Stress does. Children who experience early adversity have shorter telomeres. In other words, emotional harm can do more serious damage, last longer, and cause more future harm than breaking a bone

More severe cases involve patients actually dying of a broken heart, the myocardia just collapses under the weight of the sadness the human feels.

The original trilogy should be re-viewed with all of this new information we have. In the 80s, when Empire Strikes Back came out, the “I am your father” line became instantly iconic. But the plot twist was more like an “Oh My gosh!” moment rather than a profound reflection on fatherhood. The audience sympathized with Luke not because his father had been absent and negligent, but because his father’s job was to serve a fachist leader. It was the actions of Darth Vader as a political servant that were questioned, not his refusal to nurture a smaller being. 

Padme is the opposite of Shmi. She is the archetype of the “bad” single mother. The bad single mother is the single mother who can’t deal with the situation and checks out of it. She collapses under the weight that she feels on her shoulders. She can't get over the heartbreak, she can’t find the will to live. 

Society tends to punish the Padme’s just as much as it praises the Shmis. Television programs like “Teen Mom” are set up to shame the young deviants into adopting the correct behavior. The purpose of the show is to judge these young women into becoming self-sacrificing mothers.

Leia Organa - The Non-single Single Mother

Leia Organa is Anakin Skywalker’s daughter. She is raised by an adoptive frailly on Alderaan after she’s separated at birth from her brother Luke. Much like her mother, she becomes a dedicated public servant, a trusted leader and a beloved public figure. 

She is raised by a wealthy family in the central galactic systems. The Organas teach her the ways of the elite political class. As an adult she serves the cause of the Rebels, and when she meets Han Solo in Episode 4, the mediocre smuggler fascinates her. 

In the now famous scene from Hoth in Episode 5, Leia declares her love for Han Solo right as he’s about to be frozen in carbonite. The ultimate bad boy responds his chilling, because realistic  “I know”.

Han is nothing compared to Leia. He drives a broken down ship, doesn’t have any morals or even a simple code of conduct, much less a cause that he’s dedicated his life to. He has nothing to offer her, and is definitely not in her league. But still, in Episode 6, the pair become an official item.

The last Trilogy was an opportunity to explore Leia’s experience with motherhood. By now we know that Leia’s grandmother was a “Good single mother”, she completely sacrificed herself to protect her son & more importantly she never questioned her status of sole caretaker (remember the “there was no father“ line). We also know that Leia’s mother was a public servant, and a passionate woman who allowed herself to fall deeply in love with a sensitive young man with a non existing support system. Leia’s mother was the “bad” single mother: driven only by her career (Queen of the Naboo, later a Senator of the Old Republic) she did not step up to the task when her destiny revealed itself to her.

Leia seems to share her mother’s taste in reckless young men with a lot of attitude and no emotional security to offer. It’s the excitement she craves, not the tranquility.

Her fate will be the same as her foremothers. She has a child with Han, but when she sends him away to be trained by Luke, she loses them both.

Their dialogue in Episode 7 goes like this: 

Han Solo : Listen to me, will you? I know every time you... Every time you look at me you're reminded of him.

Leia : You think I want to forget him? I want him back.

Han Solo : There's nothing more we could have done. There's too much Vader in him.

Leia : That's why I wanted him to train with Luke. I just never should have sent him away. That's when I lost him. That's when I lost you both.

The last trilogy develops Leia’s character in a way that allows her to be something else than just a single mother. She loses her husband, she even loses her son to the dark side: but she never loses herself. Leia doesn’t allow her condition to define her. She becomes a leader of the Resistance even if it means going after her son’s New order. 

In Episode 9, Leia even destroys her son to protect Rey - the symbolism is that she’s overcome her role as a mother, she’s rejected the notion that she must sacrifice everything for her son even if it goes against her own self interest (like Shmi). She also rejects the idea that her partner abandoning her is the end of her. It isn’t. Unlike her mother, she finds the will to live, and to lead the next generation of freedom fighters and peace keepers.

The saga ends on a hopeful note for all of us single mothers out there. It comes with a message for us : we don’t need to choose between the austere Shmi and the weak Padme. We can instead decide that this “single mom” problem is kind of like beauty : it lies in the eyes of the beholder.

Single moms don’t need to think of themselves as failures, they don’t need to live in modest conditions, they don’t need to beg society's forgiveness for merely existing. They don’t need to be ashamed. 

Single moms don’t need to erase their brains and their lives, and sink into an ocean of denial either. They don't need to be obsessed with their careers or caught up in romantic entanglements that are only going to exhaust them.

Single moms can just decide that they’re women, with beautiful, inspiring personalities and kind, loving hearts. Mothers are first and foremost, the leaders of the young, the protectors of the realm and the makers of the future. It’s not that it doesn’t matter that they’re alone. It’s that they don’t have to be alone at all.

[meanwhileinthebroomcloset]

Mhm...  This post was meant to be much shorter, honestly. Not to mention it got super personal, which was not my intention. It actually made me a bit teary-eyed and I’m usually an emotional constipated dumbass. 

Am I ready for the potential backlash this is going to cause? Eh, probably not. Am I going to engage in the discourse this can cause? Ah, you wished. I have more to waste my energy on. I didn’t write this post to argument with anyone, anyway. 

Gonna risk it, still.

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

Isn’t it kind of ironic that it was witchcraft that made me fully return to Catholicism?

I mean, I kind of never left, hence the ‘’fully’’ in that sentence. But now I really know who I am. Although I don’t think Catholicism is the most accurate label (Christo-pagan, perhaps?) it’s the one I grew up with, and the one that comes more naturally to me.

Studying the beginning of it all, the commentaries of Pagans and Jewish writers at the time are just so fascinating and honestly beautiful.

Then everybody started chasing and killing each order, and it sure wasn’t fascinating anymore.... ‘’Stop being murderous revenge-driven assholes’’ I angrily mutter into my book, while frying my brains for High Middle Ages exams.

And then it split into Catholicism and Arianism (not that Arianism! The no-holy-trinity-on-my-watch one), and that was a totally different can of worms. Then Rome got pissy and the Orthodox Church officially became a thing that existed.

Man, why is religion so messy?

Faith is such a strange thing. So much power, so much potential for good and evil and everything in between. I started losing mine some years ago. 

Contrary to some horror stories you may hear, especially from people who are now no longer Christian, I was raised in a pretty open environment.

‘’Don’t be mean, have faith, give second chances... Here are the commandments. They’re perfectly acceptable, see?’’

‘’Yes, there are different religions, but you should always respect them and the people that believe in them. Remember, Jesus was Jewish. Here’s some historical context... ‘’

‘’What the hell kid, nobody here is going to hell. Also, you’re five, there are no children in hell. No, the cops also won’t... Lord give me patience... Are you sorry? Did you apologize? Are you going to try to not repeat it? Great! Then it’s all fine and dandy!’’

‘‘Man, we are definitely all going to hell... At least since we’re all gonna be there, we could form a basketball team. The devil can be the referee. He will be an awful one, but hey, we’re in hell’‘

‘’I know the bible says the earth was created in seven days, but when that story was written, people didn’t know dinosaurs were a thing. Science is cool, and we are not in the middle ages. ‘’

‘’Blind faith is dangerous, kid.’’

‘’Thinking thoughts and acting upon them are two very different things.’’

‘’Yes, the second mom in that Solomon story was willing to see another kid die for the sake of an argument... sometimes people are that bad.’’

‘’God is perfect. People aren’t. That’s the world we live in and it’s okay.’’

‘’There are people who do terrible things in name of religion or say they’re doing it because the bible says so. Don’t believe them. There’s no excuse for murder and abuse.’’

‘’Yeah, Portugal is very enthusiastic when it comes to Catholicism... ’’

Pretty good summary of religion in my childhood.

Still, I found my faith waning. I didn’t really know why and I’m still a bit iffy talking about that.

‘’What did witchcraft do, then?’’

 Well for once, it reinforced my ideas on how faith worked, and how strangely powerful it can be. Being skeptical is healthy but completely closing yourself off because something isn’t completely clear is too radical and you're just doing the equivalent of closing your eyes to the less brighter lights.

My god, I can hear the hardcore atheists coming...

Can I remind you there are more things in life that will not provide the proof you want, but that won’t mean they aren’t there? Relationships. Relationships are too complicated to have straight answers, a lot of the times. People hide their feelings, they fake them, express them and react to them differently. There are so many things we don’t understand or know about yet, like space and organisms that live on this Earth.

Sometimes what you need is a different approach to see they exist! It’s one of the things I learned with witchcraft.

There was also the religion itself. As I worked on my magic, I started seeing magic around me again. Not just with gods I had never considered and the one I was leaving behind, but with the faith I had always known.

The affection when someone says ‘’Our Lady’’ when talking about the Virgin Mary, my family calling upon Saint Barbara when thunder comes, children screeching excitedly because the Compasso has arrived to give us the news that Jesus has come to life again in Easter, the marble cemeteries, the comforting prayers, the masses I couldn’t ear because the local church’s echo is terrible, those boring long-ass weddings (oh my god, how many blessings do two people need?!), the loving dedication I see in every saint carved, my church's priest’s good humor... I never owned a rosary, but I always like the ones my aunts and grandparents keep.

I found Christian and Catholic witches on this site and I finally got to my conclusion. It’s really there. I just needed a different approach to it!

These things made me believe again, but also in new things.

‘‘But you can’t do that! You can’t combine magic and christianity’‘ 

Oh, watch me. And also watch the centuries of cunning women and witches in European history and those still alive today. The women that make ‘’mezinhas’’ and other types of favors in Portugal sure as hell are doing witchcraft, but you can bet your ass they don’t think they’re any less Catholic than anyone else. They don’t care about your opinions and I will hopefully do the same.

Relationships with deities are personal, and my relationship with God, Jesus and all of them is no different in that regard. I am a witch, I am human, I am catholic. I’m a follower, not a fucking mindless sheep.

You know what? I always compared God to Aslan. The lion wasn’t always there for Narnia, he wanted his people to solve their problems on their own. Get their independence, as a good parent does. They both don’t come up all mighty, that’s a posture reserved for evil and people who need a good slap in the face. They come to your level. God may come through one of the less eldritch abomination looking angels, though...

‘‘Well, if you have god, you shouldn’t need anything more. He's everthing. Why are you also a witch?’‘

Excuse me, do I look like a goddamned saint to you?! What part of human did you not understand?

And before you bitterly start quoting the Old Testament, let me remind you that it’s Old for a reason. Christ came to this earth to give us new rules since he technically saved us and things became different. That’s why Jewish people follow the Old Testament, for them, the messiah hasn’t arrived yet. Not to mention that to them that testament is not Old, it’s just the Torah.

You can keep quoting the bible to me all you want. But in my short twenty years of life, I was thankfully able to learn a few things. One of them is that the world isn’t black and white. Yes, I know this sounds obvious but there are some really dumb people out there. Also, this is the hellscape that we call tumblr.

Anyway, as I have mentioned several times before, I’m a never-ending knowledge seeker I found the world beneath my feet is not pure myth and I want to explore it. Look at me go.

I keep a critical mind with everything. Faith and religion are not an exception. I’m not overly skeptic about faith itself, but I am of its writings, interpretations, translations and etc... I study history, it’s a skill you naturally develop.

And there’s quite a few plot-holes, characterization differences and much more. It was written by humans that couldn’t do a cohesive collaboration even if their lives depended on it. Godphones sometimes don’t get a good reception. There’s a ton of cultural context to unpack. I hear people saying all the time that taking the bible’s words literally is one of the most stupid things you can do.

And when I say people, I mean priests, clergy, theology students, etc... I didn’t hear this from my drug dealer in the street corner..

...... I don’t have a drug dealer.....

Anyway...

There are many problems with the catholic church. There are many problems with a ton of catholic and christians out there. I will never deny that. Shit needs to get fixed and maybe even chucked into the trash.

But I still believe in God, I still believe in the saints but I also still believe there are more gods and spirits out there. And those things are separate.

I have no interest in converting you. I’m just yelling into the void.

If you are one of those that no longer is a christian, or catholic because some dipshits banged self-hate onto your head, I’m really sorry. I hope you heal well and get the help you need in your new faith or lack of it. Banging the ten commandments back onto their heads repetiedly and tell them to actually read the damn book is optional, though.

In the end, if you are (or are trying) to be good, you deserve respect and freedom to worship whoever or whatever you want. You don’t need to be perfect, you can just strive to be the best you can be in your situation.

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

And now back to our schedueled programing.

[the-mykie-show]

Leather and Lace (Neganxreader)

Before the apocalypse Negan was your favorite teacher who you also had a massive crush on, the two of you are reunited in Alexandria and you discover that the fire between you is far from extinguished. 

Gif is not mine, full credit to the maker. 

Requested by @you-are-electric-temptation-girl 

*rating* explicit. 

*Warnings* Negan's potty mouth, graphic descriptions of sex, Negan tormenting Rick, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral sex, fingering, come licking, leather kink, student/teacher relationship, age gap, underage sex mentioned but never actually happened, mention of death and Canon typical violence. 

“they're here!” you heard someone whisper from the crowd that had gathered around the gates of Alexandria, fear in all their eyes as they watched Rick open the gate for the convoy of Saviors here to collect their tribute. 

You weren't there on the night of the lineup where the Savior’s leader had brutally killed two Alexandrians in retaliation for Rick taking out a Savior outpost with the help of Jesus and the Hilltop, but Negan wasn't a common name, and the odds that you knew the brutal leader were looking more and more likely. 

Negan was your teacher before the outbreak, not only was he your favorite teacher, you also had a massive crush on him. So massive it was embarrassing, you were very grateful he never found out. Not only was Negan married, he'd also never sleep with an underage girl. 

A demented little voice in the back of your head reminds you that you're not underage anymore if the leader of the Saviors is really the same Negan. 

You turned 18 a few months after the world fell, if the apocalypse would've waited another 2 weeks you would have graduated with honors. Instead you and your family fled to the Alexandria Safe Zone where you'd lived ever since, and your entire high school career seemed like a different lifetime, Negan included. 

When the gates opened your suspensions were confirmed. 

It was definitely your Negan. He looked different now, he'd traded in his old gym t-shirt and running shoes for a leather jacket and biker boots, he looked older, with more lines on his face and grey hairs in the scruff on his jaw, and he wore his hair different now, slicked back and shaved down shorter on the sides. He was still just as hot as you remembered him, maybe even hotter if that was even possible. 

He stops to talk with Rick, grinning from ear to ear, and obviously getting off on tormenting Alexandria's leader. You were a little ashamed of yourself for thinking it, but you would love to get him off in another way. 

He asks to see the armory as his men park their trucks and start looking for things to take, Rick begrudgingly begins walking toward the armory with Negan following behind him looking absolutely gleeful. 

He looks up and makes eye contact with you, and you see immediately that he recognizes you. 

“Holy shit! Y/N? Is that really you?” you nod, you're a little surprised he actually remembers you, but part of you couldn't be happier. 

“Yeah, it's really me.” the Alexandrians look shocked. 

“Well hot damn. You been here all along?” he asks. 

“Yup, pretty much since the start.” 

“You know what Ricky? I think I'd rather take the tour with Y/N here, we got some catching up to do.” Rick looks irritated and so done with Negan's shit he's probably actually glad he doesn't have to give Negan the tour. He nods exasperatedly. 

Negan throws his arm over your shoulder and you walk to him to armory with several Saviors in tow.

“So you're like what? A warlord now?” you finally break the silence. 

“Not exactly, although I do rule with an iron fist. I keep my people alive and relatively well off, that's more than most can say these days.” 

“What about your wife? Lucille?” 

He looks sad “She died, cancer, right after the outbreak.” he swings the barbed wire wrapped baseball bat down off his shoulder holding it up on display. “This is all I have left of her, named her Lucille after her.” 

“Oh, I'm really sorry Negan.” 

“What about that boyfriend you had? He still around?” he asked as you open the door to the armory, he waves the Saviors off and they take up guard by the door, which Negan closes behind you and locks. You feel like that should make you nervous but it doesn't. 

“Didn't make it, he died in an altercation with another group.” 

“I'm sorry, that's rough kid.” 

You shrug “It was hard but it wasn't like we were married, not like you and Lucille. I'm passed it. ” he picks up one of the guns and starts turning it over in his hand before removing the clip and examining the bullets. 

“Can I just be honest for second?” he hands you the gun and picks up another. 

“I wouldn't expect anything less.” you wonder if always knew guns this well or if it was a skill he acquired post apocalypse. 

 “I always thought that guy was a douchebag and you deserved better.” he admits and you laugh. 

“He was kind of a douchebag wasn't he?” he holds up two guns weighing his options. 

“Oh yeah, definitely. Don't know you ever saw in his.” you didn't know what you expected from Negan, but it wasn't this, it wasn't playful flirty banter. 

“Okay, ya know…” you start to say but he cuts you off. 

“I thought about you, after. Wondered if you made it, I went to your house after Lucille passed, but you were already gone.” 

“Why?” you ask. 

“I didn't want to be alone.” he admitted, the look in his eyes tells you that he was alone, and probably alone for quite a while after that. “And then I came across this group of men, not that they even deserve to be called that… the shit they were doing to women in their group- God it was so fucked up. All I could think about for the longest time was wondering if you were with people like them.” you were genuinely surprised and touched by his words. 

Almost immediately his smug smirk returns with a vengeance. 

“You used to have the biggest fucking crush on me back in the day.” you want to deny it, but you can already feel your blush heating up your checks and you know there's no point in trying to play it off. 

“For what it's worth I had a thing for you too.” he says while loading up some of the guns he chose into a duffle bag. You're too shocked for words and all you can do is stare at him. 

“Probably would have acted on it if you weren't so young and my student too.” 

You don't think before you speak and the next words out of your mouth come as a surprise even to you. “Well I'm so young anymore, and not your student.” 

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?” he asks, and when you see that sexy smirk cross his face you can't help but feel you're making the right choice. 

“Maybe, what do you think I'm saying?” he pushes you up against the wall, pinning you in with his body, and his hand raises to brush your check, while he leans in close to your ear. 

“I think you're saying you want me to bend you over this table and fuck your brains out.” you feel his breath on your ear and a rush of warmth goes straight to your core. 

Your hands grab the lapels of his leather jacket, he smells just as good as you remember, like whiskey and leather with a hint of something spicy and masculine that reminds you of a forest somehow. 

You lean in and kiss him, which he returns in full, quickly taking control of the kiss with one hand grabbing a handful of your hair and the other sliding down over the curve of your ass. His tongue slips in your mouth, making you moan against his lips.

He breaks the kiss, his hand going to the zipper of his jacket. “Take off your clothes babygirl.” 

Negan's lips are against your neck when you regain the brain power to protest “We can't Negan, not in here. Someone will hear us.” 

“It's fine, I got guards on the door, they won't let anyone in.” he reassures you. “Just relax and trust me,” he whispered against your ear, softly nipping your ear lobe on the way down your neck, planting kisses and sucking on your skin as he went. Once he reaches the juncture of your neck and shoulder you feel his hand snake under your shirt “Can I take your shirt off?” you nod letting out a shaky breath as he pulls your shirt over your head,leaving your bra on he stands back and takes your body in. 

His hands slide down to button of your jeans, popping it and sliding the zipper down, “Take off your pants and touch yourself for me.” you find yourself immediately following his orders, toeing off your boots and stripping your jeans off, wiggling your ass as you pull them down, putting on a show for him. 

Once they're off and you're left in your bra and panties you let your hand drift to your core. 

“Just over the panties.” your fingers trace the arousal that had already soaked through your panties, and rubbed yourself through the lacy fabric desperate for some friction, just when you fall into a rhythm and it really starts to feel good Negan's hand grabs your wrist, stopping you from pleasuring yourself. 

Your hand is replaced with his, and you feel his leather clad fingers move your panties over and slip into your folds, you have to bite your lip to hold in your moan of pure pleasure at the feeling of smooth leather, slick with your arousal, teasing your clit. 

“Damn darlin’ you're fucking dripping. You that happy to see me?” his fingers slip lower, the tip of one teasing your entrance, and God do you want him to fuck you with them so badly. 

“Or is it just that you haven't gotten off in a while? Tell me, how long has it been since somebody touched you like this?” 

“Awhile.” you admit, whimpering with need. 

“Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to slip my fingers into that tight little pussy and fuck you until you come?” something about his voice made your walls clench. 

“Yes!” you practically whine. 

“Good girl.” he smirks and then presses two fingers inside you with one smooth flick of his wrist. The feeling of leather inside you is a little strange but definitely not unwelcome, there's something so arousing about it. His thumb rubs your clit in slow rhythmic circles while his fingers find that perfect spot deep inside you that makes you throb in all of the right places. 

It doesn't take long before your on the brink of your orgasm. 

“You always this responsive to a little finger fucking?” he asks. 

“No, I think it's the leather.” you admit with a moan, starting to thrust your hips against his hand. 

“If I knew you liked it kinky I might have just fucked you back in the day.” he admits with a wink, still stroking your sweet spot perfectly. 

“Now come for me, show me how good I make you feel.” it only takes two more thrusts of his fingers and you come around them, the leather feels even more amazing rubbing against your walls when your body is clenched with pleasure. 

When he pulls his hand from between your legs it's soaked in your juices. 

You lean against the table behind you, still coming down from your high, but Negan has other ideas and leans down to kiss you again, he pulls your panties down to join your jeans and shirt on the floor. 

Slipping his tongue in your mouth as his hands slide down to the curve of your ass, giving you a little squeeze before lifting your up and sitting you down on the table. 

He drops to his knees in front of you, hands sliding up your inner thighs to part your legs his smug smirk staying on his lips until his mouth starts exploring your folds. 

His tongue laps at your clit and teases your entrance before dipping inside your already desperately needy pussy. He alternates between fucking you with his tongue and sucking on your clit, the combination of the two is enough to make your eyes roll back in your head. 

You would almost swear your crush on Negan was just women's intuition trying to point you in the direction of a man who knew how to lick pussy at this point. 

And oh my God did he know exactly what he was doing, your thighs rest over his shoulders, while you desperately move your hips against his mouth, needing his tongue to be everywhere at once. 

You lean on your elbows and make yourself open your eyes and look down. The sight of Negan on his knees with his tongue inside you is enough to put you on the edge of another orgasm, and all it takes to push you over that edge is one more soft lick up your clit. You have to bite your lip to keep from immediately alerting all of Alexandria that you just let their worst enemy make you come on his fingers and then lick you clean until you came again. 

Negan finally pulls away from your folds once he's satisfied he's lapped up all your come. 

“Damn babygirl, you must've been so needy for that it hurt.” he wasn't wrong, you felt so satisfied but also still achy and needy, you needed to be fucked. You needed to feel his cock inside you, filling you up and stretching you. He reaches down and starts undoing his belts, and opening his pants. 

“Now I'm gonna fuck you, nice and hard, until you come on my cock.” 

He drops his pants and you aren't really surprised to see he's very well endowed, long and thick, he's already rock hard and dripping precome. 

He pulls you down off the table, turning you around and bending you over it and gently kicking your legs further apart. 

His hand squeezes your ass again and gives it a light smack. 

“You have a fantastic ass, maybe I'll fuck it next.” he whispers in your ear before taking his tip and lining it up with your entrance. 

He slides in slowly, you can feel every single inch of him stretching you, you can even feel the vein on the underside of his cock, the angle is perfect and makes you feel so deliciously full. 

“Fuck you're tight.” he moans starting to thrust, he finds a perfect rhythm and angle, it makes you lose your breath every time he fills you again with each thrust, and you whimper and moan every time his head hits that spot inside you that makes your walls clench tighter and your toes curl. 

“Goddamn babygirl if you keep squeezing my cock like that I ain't going to last much longer.” he groans still thrusting hard in and out of you. 

You whithred against him, desperate for another orgasm, and then you feel his gloved hand between your legs, the tip of his finger rubbing your clit. 

“oh!” you moan in a combination of pleasure and surprise, his leather clad fingers rubbing and teasing your already so sensitive and swollen clit combined with his cock filling you so completely is enough to make you almost scream in pure pleasure. 

“Negan!” you moan his name as you feel the coil of pleasure start to build in your core.

“That's it baby, come for me.” he says against your ear. And you feel your third orgasm wash over you, your walls clenching him so tight it feels like you're exploding with how full you are, while his fingers rub your clit all the way through your orgasm.

When the last spasm fades you fall limp on the table and he stops rubbing your clit, but keeps roughly fucking you until he reaches his own release, and you feel his come spill inside you, making you moan again as the hot spurts of his come fill your overstimulated core. 

He turns you around, giving you a kiss and gently stroking your hair. 

“That's my dirty girl, you took my cock so good.” he takes a washcloth off a shelf and gently wipes you clean. 

You lean there against the table, still undressed and dripping wet, while he grabs the rest of the guns he wants, tucking them inside the duffle bag. 

“After what we just did I feel like it would be wrong not to offer you a place at the Sanctuary. You would have everything you could possibly want, you would be protected and taken care of, you'd stand at my side and be treated like a queen. And most importantly, we could do what we just did every night. It's all yours if you want it.” you start to dress yourself again, you assume that the Alexandrians are probably getting suspicious at this point. 

“I don't know Negan… how would I explain that to Rick and everyone else? What would they think of me if they knew?” you buckle your belt back in place, and fix your hair, trying to make it at least reasonably like it did when you walked in here. As if that would somehow cover up the smell of sex on both of you. 

“Does it matter what they think? It's your body, you're free to do whatever you want with it, or let me do whatever I want with it.” he said with a grin. “And you won't have explain shit, I'll do the talking and there's not fuck all Rick can do about it.” 

“I don't know. Can I think about it?” you ask. 

“Yeah, of course. I'm not forcing you to do anything, and I won't ever. The agreement is completely consensual.” he takes you in his arms again, “I'll be back next week, and you can let me know what you decide then. Until then thanks for the awesome fuck,” he digs in the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out an extra black leather glove that matches the one on his hand that he fucked you with, and puts it in your hand “And if you just can't wait that long, here's a little something to remember me by. There's a catch though, if you play with yourself wearing this, you have to let me watch next time.” somehow that doesn't sound like a catch to you, but rather a good time. 

“Deal” you say, and he kisses you, roughly nipping at your bottom lip when he pulls away. 

He grabs his bag of guns and opens the door to a very confused looking Rick, leaving you standing in the armory with his come dipping out of you and his leather glove in your hand. 

He shoots you a sexy crooked smirk over his shoulder “See you around sweetheart.” 

[ceejay1163]

The Teal* Bronco (*Turquoise)

First off I want to tag the amazing @aquadolan whose hilariously accurate reaction videos make me laugh cry every time I see them and makes me feel like we are experiencing the video together and having a laugh like a couple of mates despite being in opposite sides of the world.

Now for my reactions to 'Tricking my brother into thinking his car was flipped'

The ring mmhmmm just yes

The clapping tho? Not about it

Ethan has a shorter attention span then me and that's impressive

I did not pick the boys to like roller skating although they ice skate so it makes sense

Little bitch haha

I like the jumper. It looks fuzzy and cozy

How long did this take to plan? Honestly it seems like it would be taken forever

Roasting the matchingness to the car

He seems to actually be jealous that Gray's favourite car isn't the one he bought. That's adorable. Fuck I'm not even 2 mins into the video

And now the car is broken

Wait did I fuck up? Am I recording?

The gum Ethan. Eww for fuck sake mate don't be a pig.

'I have really bad attentional problems' yeah.. your English might need some work too

When's the last time I ate? -literally something I say most days

Roast him for dropping out of school and not remembering common phrases and sayings

Why do all Ethans pranks involve Graysons cars?

Also not wanting to say what time you wake up. Same

Laughing at yourself

I'm cool, I'm cool actually no I'm not

Groggy or drunk?

Slap. Pain kink anyone?

That damn projector

Air quotes

Did anyone understand the car mumbo jumbo? Like at all? Did anyone care?

Good job keeping a straight face Ethan. He won't suspect a thing.

Fun-ny

Why do boys turn everything into challenges? My nephews do it all the time

Full actor mode

Too many words in Google mate. Google doesn't care why you need a Photoshop artist

More air quotes. Except out of sync.

It's just a prank bro.

Bitter he can't go skating. Poor bubba

Morning voice half an octave lower. Yes please

Groaning. Thank you

I always end up falling asleep at least twice after waking up the first time before getting up. V relatable

Him jumping into bed to pretend to be asleep reminds me of being a kid and bolting through the house in the middle of the night after getting up to get a drink or something, trying to avoid monsters or waking up the parents

Jumpers with shorts?

He's got slippers. Awww

Realising a flaw in his plan when the car doesn't work.

Too many cars in the driveway

CRINGEY PHOTOS. WOO.

Fucking drama queen

That stupid photoshopped photo

Real us. Not actor mode us haha

Mr Dolan 😏

Doesn't analyze it too much. Good idea

He has such bloke-ish child like writing

The calf tattoo 🥺

Socks and slides Grayson? That's almost as bad as socks and sandals. Fucking hell

Love a man in light grey sweats

Run Ethan go back to bed. You're so grounded (idk)

He pulled Ethans hip so hard. Jesus

What is that bike thingy in the background?

WHO DOESN'T LOCK THEIR FUCKING CAR??? YOU FUCKING IMBECILE

Now Gray let's put on our big boy thinking caps. It's not Ethans fault. Entirely. You also didn't lock the fucking car

Booty 👀

Not knowing if you have insurance. Mate you should look into that. (Also a very me thing to not know)

Gray is loosing it. Like actually looks like he's gonna do the frustrated crying thing

"That's not chill you need to fix that." Pretty sure sleeping is pretty chill. Also how does one fix being a heavy sleeper (other then by having kids)

"You need to be able to wake up in the morning and get shit done" no need to call me out like that

Let me call the *mumble mumble mumble*

It's fucking turquoise- whelp fuck have to change the title

Who steals a turquoise car at 9am? He's loosing it

Awe he doesn't want people to get hurt. Cutie

Seriously why hasn't he called the police yet? When I got home from my nanas funeral to find my house broken into the first thing I did was call the cops. And then cry cos it was like 10pm and I'd just driven like 12 hrs so I was hella tired

He's V loud. And then V quiet.

You motherfucker. Ok rude but understandable

That sigh of relief and the laughter

All of the adrenaline just left Gray immediately. Also hiding under a blankie? adorable

"Where did you put it?" Immediately forgets haha

Did you ruin it and turn it pink or something? You're getting a rep E and why does Gray assume it would be painted pink?

The sound effect over Gray pulling up his pants to hide his plumbers crack 😂

You need to rub it out. I mean ok sure

"I kinked up bro" just why 😂

Slap. SPINNING. It's a theme park ride

You stole my car- Dude where's my car movie anyone?

Car upside down you say? Forshadowing

Grayson gives up on life.

Nope never mind he's dramatically throwing himself onto the bed and screaming into the blankets like a teenage girl

Also booty

FROG

Don't dance Grayson

It's all in the puff bro

Mr Dillon, not Dolan, Dillion

Grayson has left the building look

Nose boop

The eye movement. Wait you what?

Beard pulling

Give me the phone. No you are having the phone. Ok fine.

Intense eye contact for real tho

That dumbass look on his face. Grayson is shooketh to hell

Do they even understand any of this car mumbo jumbo? Does it even make any sense?

I don't know shit about insurance. Seriously dude that's not smart

MY CAR

That's not chill bro that's not chill at all. Putting them on a ban for the words chill and bro. More to be added. They use those words more then I use the word mate and that's impressive

I'm taking the phone and subtly suggesting human error (negligence) and a potential law suit

Oh you have footage? Talk to my older brother

I don't know much about cars. Dude

More stupid looks from Gray

I don't wanna see it

More screaming

More yelling Grayson

We can move your car but it's gonna cost you more money

Not falling for that pic

Just put it on the next one. Gray it's not a fucking bus. There's no schedule to have the next one come out. Use your head darlin'

More yelling in the car and swearing

How did he organise the street thing? Like actually.

Also surely it's illegal to pretend to have roadworks and fuck up traffic

VROOM. You go lil blue car

BULGE 👀 this is when I stopped paying attention the first time I watched it.

What is the camera guy (kyle?) wearing? Who said that be one were allowed to be a thing again? I'm not impressed

Grayson is v frustrated

DON'T LITTER

Neither of you should be allowed to dance. Its not good

That's the wrong question to ask about the camera guy's clothes

Fist clap

Wait where's the car? Is it safe? Poor Gray his brain is malfunctioning

Camera goes to Grayson. Ooh look bulge. Pans away. Move back ooh bulge.

If they keep upping the ante someone's gonna get hurt

I don't know what's inside of me. Never a good thing to say

Still allergic to dogs 🥺

HOLY SHIT THAT HAPPENED

I haven't heard you scream that much for that long 👀

Grayson's pretty loud. I would like to test that. Please and thank you.

Deep breathing

SOOOO HARD. (I volunteer)

I am going to prank the actual s out of Ethan. Really taking the not swearing thing seriously huh

Sure whatever you say. He doesn't believe you'll get him back Gray. Kick his ass

Bruh

Eric deserves a medal for his phone acting. Well done faceless dude named Eric

I give up. I give up on everything. If that's not a fucking mood

Double bitched sounds like it should mean something else. Just saying

Boob caress

My guard's up. No your guard can't be up. Pretty sure that's not how it works Grayson

Just don't hurt me. Grayson is so not listening to him. He's still mad

No rules

It was fake There's no rules

Ethan being hurt Gray doesn't love his present

Still mad.

Rubs sweat all over comfy jumper. Childish

HE STILL LOOKS FUCKING LIVID.

Alrighty take three of finishing this thing. Tumblr crashed yesterday after I spent like 2 hours writing this and deleted half my comments. I couldn't finish it then cos it was almost 2am and I had work today so I redid it from like the 20 minute mark of the video. Then I saved it to my drafts And published it but it deleted the last like 5 minutes of comments so I had to redo them again. Here's hoping Tumblr sorts it's shit out cos it's late and I have work again tomorrow. 🐨

[vmheadquarters]

Happy Birthday @spookykinney!

For your birthday, surfer-Logan and FBI-Veronica are teaming up in this delightful remake of Point Break as told by our very own @cheshirecatstrut! We hope you have a great birthday and that you enjoy this first chapter of Taking the Drop.

It’s not like Veronica thought, while fighting tooth-and-nail to win a job at the FBI, that a law enforcement career would be glamorous. She assumed ‘high-risk’ and ‘life-consuming’ went without saying… but jumped in with both feet because everyone assumed she’d fail. Throughout those years she waged battles with a stacked system, though, to earn her gun and badge—she never once imagined the work would be BORING.

She’s currently reading email nine-thousand-three of more than forty-six thousand, however, so she can catalog contents to make a searchable database; and the sheer tedium has her reconsidering her position. Because sure, she MIGHT find the smoking gun in this stash, and put an international fraudster behind bars. But since right now she’s transcribing vet bills for a Pomeranian’s impacted anal glands, she has her doubts.

Voices filter back to her small and grimy cubicle, her reward for graduating Cum Laude from Columbia Law; she perks up as she hears the words, “…see if an agent’s available.” Since she’s fresh out of the Academy, and most junior on staff, Agent in Charge of Random Bullshit is usually her.

Approaching footsteps bolster this theory, so Veronica pitches her gum, straightens her somewhat-wilted blazer. Turns expectantly towards the entrance, alert-and-professional expression in place, just as Logan Echolls lounges against the frame.

He looks GOOD, she thinks illogically, even as she wilts like her sport coat. Tanned and buff and fifty times healthier than he should, considering those six years of tabloid-chronicled hedonism since she dumped him. He’s in old jeans and flip-flops, his ‘Live Fast, Die Young’ t-shirt both worn and snug; faint sun-wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen when he notes her disappointment. Darla from reception waves and OH-MY-GOD’s behind him as he says, “Why am I not surprised you turned a felony kidnapping investigation into a job?”

“Why am I not surprised you’re still wasting your potential at the beach?” She gestures up-and-down at his ensemble. “And what on Earth are you doing in the San Diego field office, Logan? Are you planning to make another romantic drunken speech? Maybe you saw a joke flyer advertising kegs, and the metal detectors failed to deter you?”

“You wound me, Veronica,” he says, clearly not wounded, as she shoos away Darla. “You know full well I’m always the host. Like I’d deign to turn up at some random loser’s party.”

She snorts, and his grin faintly manifests. “Tragically, though, there’s a distinct lack of revelry and booze at this locale, so how about I cut to the chase? Can I interest you in a theory regarding bank robberies?”

Her eyes widen and she sits back, gesturing towards the uncomfortable guest chair. He unfolds from his lean and slouches into it, stretching out his long legs and making the cube feel minuscule.

“Now what would a boy like you know about felony theft?” She taps her lower lip while he crosses his arms, entertained. “I’m guessing very little, unless you learned on a film set—but I’ll admit you’ve disappointed me before.”

“I’m talking, specifically, about high-yield local jobs—the ones you guys have bungled like Keystone Cops for three years?” He bobs his brows, tone ever-so-slightly-patronizing. “The robbers wear Ninja Turtle masks, and collect massive hauls with a crew of four?”

“I may have heard a mention,” V says, with irony, because this case is the local Holy Grail. “As has every cable-news watcher in America.”

“Any lovers of partisan coverage realized yet the jobs only take place in the summer?”

She rolls her eyes. “Give us a little credit. We’re the FBI over here, not credulous guest stars on Scooby Doo.”

“And has it further occurred to you,” he leans forward intently, elbows on knees, “that these are the prime surfing months in So-Cal? For the rest of the year, surfers travel to the best waves…which costs more than people other than me can afford.”

He’s close enough now for her to smell his cologne, the sun-baked scent of his skin. Her voice, when she speaks, is husky. “Logan, what have you heard?”

Shrugging, he reclines against the wall, satisfied he’s piqued her curiosity. “Rumors,” he says, with a hand wave. “Nothing substantial. You know how it goes, when we reprobates toast marshmallows and gossip. High-denomination bills are turning up among locals, lately…and I’m the only guy who hasn’t spent his trust fund.”

“Rumors,” she repeats flatly, disappointment washing over her. Decides he looks and smells too lickable for pointless conversation to continue. “Well if that’s all you’ve got, no need to prolong the awkwardness. Thanks for stopping by--we’ll look into your allegations and touch base if necessary. Appreciate the good citizenship, blah-blah, God bless America.”

She finger-waves, and he stares for a moment, disbelief fading into cynicism. “Fine,” he says at last, pushing up out of the chair. “Your loss. I’ve had fun exchanging insults again, Veronica—it’s been a while since my last creative tongue-lashing. Good luck with the glamorous new career. Oh, and…excellent choice, reverting to shorter hair. There’ll be less to tear out when ignoring my clue gets you nowhere.”

He winks and strides away. She runs a palm self-consciously along one side of her sleek bob, and watches his back muscles shift as he goes.

XXXXX

Veronica submits a form detailing the interaction, per procedure, then tries to re-focus on the mind-numbing emails. The memory of Logan’s disappointed expression nags…but what did he expect, showing up out of the blue with no evidence? She WANTED to believe him; just like she wanted, once upon a time, to have faith he’d give up reckless self-endangerment. But leaping without looking is Logan’s thing--and the best way to protect him is to NOT inquire into crimes of his nearest and dearest.

She’s a professional, though, and the bigwigs want their database yesterday. So she dutifully enters emails till it’s eleven and she’s wiped. V then drags herself home to run on the treadmill, eat a frozen dinner, and feel both sad and glad she’s got no hungry dog waiting.

When her alarm goes off (too early) the next morning, she staggers into the kitchen to grab a bottled coffee; slumps half-awake at the breakfast table to chug. Mac’s gone for the day, probably practicing Tai Chi in the park, but the San Diego Union-Tribune’s on the table, neatly folded to show the front page. Veronica’s bleary gaze passes over it…then swings back, focuses. She grabs it in both hands, cursing.

The headline reads, ‘Wild in the Banks? Surf Wax Found at Multiple Robbery Sites, Source Claims’. The article beneath, written by some pompous windbag named Julian Grac, details the theory Logan laid out yesterday…along with several bits of evidence she’s sure were kept from the press.

“That asshole talked to the PAPER,” she mutters, crumpling newsprint in her fists. “When I kicked him to the curb, I should have kicked HARDER!”

Her rage sustains her all the way through her shower and commute. But when she gets inside the forbidding white-stone-blue-glass building, and finds a summons from Agent Morris waiting? Anger gives way to foreboding.

Morris still holds a teeny-tiny grudge about the whole getting-outsmarted-IN-RE-Duncan thing. And continues to view Veronica with unreasonable suspicion--which is troublesome because right now she’s V’s boss.

Her fearless leader’s planted on the desktop when Veronica enters, legs crossed casually, arms folded. The ‘lazy housecat, circling’ routine Morris uses to intimidate is getting old; so V goes full can-do chipper in response. “You asked to see me, ma’am?”

“Mars, am I right in assuming we work for the same department?” Morris arches one eyebrow, and Veronica has to bite her tongue to contain sarcasm. “It’s not something I hallucinated, due to lack of sleep from investigating bank heists?”

“Last time I checked, ma’am,” V replies breezily. “Unless there was a re-org this morning while I was stuck in traffic.”

“And when a potential witness for said case appears in said department…” Morris pauses, for dramatic effect, Veronica assumes. “Shouldn’t the interviewing agent, who’s incidentally my subordinate, notify me ASAP?”

“I passed the information up the chain as per FBI rules,” Veronica says. “And you must have received it, or I wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Yes, but if you had walked Mr...” Morris consults a sheet of paper on the desk by her hip, “Echolls upstairs personally, instead of sending him on his way and writing a bare-bones report, I would’ve received the information YESTERDAY. BEFORE he ran to the paper, and spilled critical intel to perps. I might’ve even convinced him silence is golden, since you didn’t find it worthwhile to try. Here’s a hint—fake sympathy and charm work wonders.”

Veronica finds this claim dubious, but all she says is, “Ma’am, he was passing along rumors. He didn’t give names or offer proof. And I doubt he’s a witness to anything but his own moral decline.”

“Be that as it may,” Morris says. “He HAS made the acquaintance of this pain-in-my-ass Julian Grac. Who somehow knows about the beeswax residue at six of nine robbery sites--the chemical composition of which matches a well-known surf product. Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax, to be precise. Bubblegum scent.”

Veronica contains an eye-roll. “A detail which was kept out of the press.”

“Right.” Morris levers herself up to standing. “My question is, HOW does Grac know? Did he learn this tidbit from Echolls? And if so, where’d Echolls hear?”

“Logan parties a lot.” Veronica shrugs, hoping she comes off unaffected. “And snoops. Probably he stumbled into the wrong crowd and overheard a conversation. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yes, I was interested to learn you and Echolls share a history.” Morris consults the paper again; Veronica wonders whether it’s a car-wash receipt or actual research. “He was your boyfriend after Duncan Kane fled the country, correct? It’s great you didn’t disappear him, too, because we can use that relationship to get close to his sources.”

“Logan Echolls isn’t big on being used,” Veronica says, lightly. “You might not find him accommodating.”

Morris sighs. “Look, Mars, we’ve been praying for a break on this case for years. And, as I’m sure you’ll be shocked to learn, none of our agents surf. He does, though—Echolls—I understand he’s pretty good. He also trusts you enough to hand you dirt on guys he knows. It might be…” she trails a finger along the edge of her desk, slants V a sly look, “…advantageous to your career to demonstrate team loyalty, Mars. Convince the guy to be our confidential informant. Get an introduction to some surfers, find out who’s flashing mystery cash. His social circle’s no doubt heard about your turbulent former romance. He could help us infiltrate the locals-only crowd, none of whom like talking to Feds.”

“But if I go undercover,” Veronica tries to conceal her mounting excitement, “who will log the last thirty-thousand Sanderson emails?”

“Let me put it this way, Mars.” Morris smirks. “If you DON’T go undercover? I got a server in today from Atlanta containing another hundred-k.”

“You know I’m a professional, ma’am.” Veronica folds her hands behind her back to conceal the involuntary fist. “Whatever my task may be, I’ll work hard to exceed expectations.”

“So you say.” Morris lays the paper, gently, down. “I’d rather you prove ‘my task’ means ‘anything the FBI asks’. Not ‘whatever I feel is right, even if it’s against the law’.”

Veronica nods, giving away nothing. Morris contemplates her in silence. “We’re working on an alternate post-Hearst background for you,” her boss continues, after a tense thirty seconds. “You’ll have it by the end of the day. I’ve also called in a favor from the owner of Neptune’s Net, a local surf hangout—congratulations, you’re waiting tables. You’ve got a month to produce actionable evidence, plus I want weekly reports, in person. And Mars…from now on, don’t leave ANYTHING out.”

“I would NEVER.” Veronica presses a palm to her heart. Morris narrows her eyes, then waves a dismissive hand.

XXXXX

Once back at her desk, V pulls up tools that make Prying Eyez look like a toy and researches Logan. Within two minutes she’s got a list of his petty crimes, including one drunk-and-disorderly sophomore year and two expunged charges…destruction of a police vehicle, and assault of Mercer Hayes. But since junior year at Hearst, Logan’s flown under the radar. He earned a political science degree, with honors, followed by a Masters in English from YALE; and then…he bought a house in San Diego by the water, and a dog from the SPCA. She copies down the innocuous address, cracks her knuckles and considers.

High-tech’s getting her nowhere, so Veronica decides to Google; finds a ‘What happened to Logan Echolls?’ article which reveals precisely nothing. Next she turns her attention to Julian Grac, which at least has the benefit of novelty. It yields links to crime stories in the Union-Tribune, and an article about ‘ten great authors you’ve never read’.

Frowning, she clicks through, only to realize it’s name confusion. But the phrase ‘a writer who prefers obscurity’ catches her attention, so she speed-reads the autobiography of one Julien Gracq; a turn-of-the-century novelist who rejected awards, refused to do book tours, and lived as a hermit. His masterpiece, ‘Chateau D’Argol’, was about a rich man whose best friend brings a poor girl into their social circle. After which the girl seduces, then ruins, them both.

At this point Veronica throws her pencil holder across the room. Because this is EXACTLY the kind of pseudonym Logan Echolls would adopt, and smirk about regularly, knowing few had the insight to penetrate his ruse.

She doesn’t need to use the search tools on Grac, at this point; but doing so reveals his paychecks languish in a shell account. Suspicions confirmed, she picks up the phone. Adopts the sugariest Southern accent she can muster, just because, and spins a tale to the Trib’s receptionist about the tip of a lifetime for ‘Monsieur Grac’. The voicemail box she’s transferred to boasts an inspirational quote (‘All news, as it is called, is gossip, and they who edit it are old women over tea’), recited in a drawl she recognizes. She hangs up, high on triumph, and decides a long-distance chewing-out won’t serve.

XXXXX

Veronica leans against a lamp post across the street to wait; within half an hour, Logan bounces out of the brown skyscraper housing the Union-Tribune. He loosens his tie as he walks, laughingly calling goodbyes to co-workers. He’s in designer flat-front slacks and a white oxford, hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it--his impersonation of clean-cut and trustworthy is so cute she has to grit her teeth not to smile.

The street is packed with cabs, so it takes him a minute to notice her. When he does, he pulls a theatrical double-take before jaywalking, hands in pockets, smiling wryly.

“So,” she says, as soon as he clears the road, “Can I interest YOU in a theory about people who lie to FBI agents?”

“I didn’t lie, per se,” he counters, rocking back on his heels as his grin grows Grinch-like. “I just wore my weekend clothes and kept my mouth shut. The Veronica Mars Express Train to Paranoia-ville did the rest.”

“This is a serious federal investigation, Logan,” she chides, folding her arms. “Bringing evidence to the authorities isn’t a game for personal amusement.”

“What, exactly, are you mad about?” He lifts his brows. “That I gave you a hint instead of handing over story notes? That I failed to shout my job history from the rooftops? Or maybe you’re just pissed I’m not an alcoholic loser, since it makes you ditching me seem…selfish?”

“I could’ve had you subpoena’d and interrogated under oath,” she says, faux-thoughtfully. “But browbeating you in person seemed much more fun.”

He laughs. “THERE’s the Veronica who ran afoul of the Russian mob. So what convinced you my theory was worth pursuing, sugarplum? Not my charm, surely. Some fact in the article your colleagues missed, perhaps?”

“Like I’d discuss cases with a reporter,” she scoffs. “Why’d you go with ‘robberies only happen in summer’ when you had physical evidence in reserve?”

“Like I’d reveal my sources.” He grins. “Gosh, Veronica, seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“My supervisor wants to use your connections.” She goes sardonic in response to his glee. “I’d ask if you have experience undercover…”

“…But you know first-hand my skills are professional-grade?”

She narrows her eyes. He cocks his head, amusement warring with calculation. “If I help you, what do I get?” he asks.

“First crack at the story immediately following arrests,” she says. “With our full cooperation. And any information you gather solo you can use…unless, of course, it’s classified.”

He removes car keys from his pocket; stares, considering, into the distance as he flips them around one finger. Returns his gaze to hers and locks on, Logan-style. “I assume my role is to introduce you to suspicious surfers? Since I further assume you won’t let me handle this and report back?”

“You know what they say about assumptions,” she says, by way of answer. “Of course, you’re an ass already, so maybe you don’t care.”

“I should warn you, a lot of our high-school classmates have stuck around.” He holds his tie down with one palm as a breeze shifts it sideways. “This may suck for you, but you’ll have to pretend we’ve reconciled.”

She nods, and he extends the non-key-containing hand. “Give me your phone.”

V shouldn’t violate protocol; but Logan’s trustworthy, within limits, so she types in the code and does. He enters his number in the contacts and gives it back. “There’s a party tonight at Black’s Beach—should be locals-only, very exclusive. Text me an address, I’ll pick you up at eight. Oh, and dress like a surf bunny, even if doing so offends your sensibilities. Not all these people are stupid, you’ll need to blend.”

“Gee, I was hoping you’d refuse to cooperate,” she says wistfully, pocketing her cell. “Then do something worse than jaywalking, then flee, so I could knock you down and cuff you.”

“Maybe later, if you’re REALLY nice,” he says, leaning confidentially towards her ear. Then walks off, whistling, while she tries to purge the image from her brain.

XXXXX

Veronica’s sitting on the porch of her rented condo when Logan pulls up at 7:55—in a dusty black vintage Range Rover, not the shiny orange Porsche she envisioned. She considers, as she stands, whether she also makes too many assumptions. But his appreciative whistle while he opens her door is distracting.

“Guess it slipped my mind how much you love playing dress-up,” he murmurs. She doesn’t miss the quick once-over he gives her as he releases the brake. “You look great, Veronica, love the sarong. And friendship bracelets are a nice touch.”

“This is actually a tablecloth.” She strokes the fringed white linen, embroidered with red roses, she tied over one hip so she’d feel less naked in her green bikini. “I favor a no-nonsense black wardrobe these days, because Cup ‘o Soup stains don’t show.”

“Wise,” he says, and clears his throat. He’s in linen too, a short-sleeved, half-buttoned summer shirt over cargo shorts; she notes with amusement the shark’s tooth necklace has reappeared. “I figured we’d start at the top of the food chain and work our way down, since most surf crews around here are big on punching but short on brains. Brains being a prerequisite for smoothly-planned bank jobs.”

“Sounds fair,” she agrees, watching his arm muscles shift as he changes gears. “This party is where we’ll find apex predators?”

“Black’s has the most challenging waves in the area—ten, twelve footers courtesy of an offshore trench. It takes stamina to swim out and ride, so this spot attracts real athletes…the ranked surfers that compete on TV. And Zen masters, who just want to be one with the ocean.”

She makes a face, and he says, serious, “It’s not a joking matter to these people, Veronica. They don’t welcome posers in their midst. I vividly recall you disapproving of fistfights and vandalism, so be warned; the elite surfing community makes me, way back when, look like a piker. Crews are similar to those biker gangs you inexplicably love, although these are black sheep from MIDDLE-class homes--plus more ethnically diverse. This particular group is Mother Nature mystical in a way you’ll loathe and mock; so expect pot and hallucinogens, free love interspersed with showdowns. Stick close to me or you’ll be propositioned…and whipping out a taser would break your cover.”

“Understood.” She studies his face, surprised to see concern there. Gentles her tone in response. “I’ve gone undercover before, Logan. And agents are extensively trained in hand-to-hand combat. I can handle myself in a fight now.”

“Like you couldn’t before?” A smile plays across his lips; a street lamp illuminates his face as they pass beneath, then he’s cast again in shadow. He turns into a parking lot at the edge of a cliff and kills the engine. “I’m not worried about your moxie, Veronica. I just don’t want you to mouth off and find yourself surrounded. Out here, surfers make the rules.”

“I have full faith in your ability to fight dirty defending me,” she says softly. He laughs, gaze tracing her face, and she’s reminded of previous evenings with him in a parked car.

“Nice to see some things don’t change,” he murmurs, then climbs out to help her down. His hands linger on her waist as he lifts her from the seat, skin-to-skin.

They pass, in the moonlight, a brown sign that reads ‘stairway unstable due to rains’. He walks behind her down a narrow path with a rotting rail, hand on her shoulder like he’ll catch her if she falls. It’s nice, this unwavering focus, his concern for her well-being despite angry words. She used to take it for granted, the way she drew male eyes. But she’s grown up, post-Hearst; and she realizes now most men don’t pay attention as completely as Logan did.

At the base of the cliff, past a saucer-shaped observation tower, a bonfire sends smoke spiraling into the sky; loud music blasts, Dick Dale with the bass maxed. Seventy-ish people cluster near the crackling flames--on either side, a ribbon of sand stretches off into the dark. The water looks black, boasting military-formation-regular waves, and the rock wall at her back is smooth, forbidding.

The crowd’s uninhibited as advertised, drinking and making out, smoking and laughing. A few guys dance in a circle with much hilarity, like they’re having some Lord of the Flies moment or praying for rain. A knot of humanity encircles loose boulders at what’s clearly the party’s center.

It’s obvious Logan’s no stranger, despite his current respectability. He greets people with grins and backslaps, jerks of his chin, less unaffected than he seemed addressing work colleagues. Almost, he slides back into his high-school persona—the 09’er general who dictated popularity, who slashed tires and started shit when his judgments were questioned. But there’s a watchful tension to the set of his shoulders, and he glances left frequently to make sure she’s beside him. That, more than words, convinces her there’s danger.

They take an indirect path to the cluster by the boulders; Logan accepts a shot en route, which he tosses back, unhesitating. Cracking his neck, he meditatively surveys the throng, then coughs to get her attention as a gap opens.

“Guy holding court at the center,” he murmurs, indicating a ropily-buff Asian man with longish hair and ratty swim trunks. “That’s Bodie Chang, he was a year ahead of us at Neptune High. You remember?”

Veronica nods, watching Bodie gesture lazily from his semi-reclined position. Watching the crowd guffaw when he speaks, soak up his every word. “He’s come a long way since I interviewed him for the school paper. I remember Chang being shy.”

“He’s one of the top twenty-five surfers in the world, now.” Logan shoulders aside a drunk dude-bro to attain the inner sanctum. “In this place, he’s King.”

She opens her mouth to reply; but Dick Casablancas erupts from a log like the Ghost of Shitty Memories past, and drapes a wasted arm around her partner-in-crime. “Lo-GAN!” he shouts, like Logan’s not next to him. “Mr. Echolls in the house, now the party can START!”

“Enticing ladies again with the scents of puke and Jagermeister, I see.” Logan shoves Dick off, not without affection. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight, dude. Something about college cheerleaders and a hot tub?”

“They had emergency PRACTICE.” Dick accompanies a raspberry with a thumbs-down. “Seriously, how much do you need to rehearse waving pom-poms? It’s not like anybody looks at the props. Hey, who’s the wahine?” He squints, attempting focus. “Nice boobs, looks sort of familiar. Maybe I’ve seen her in a por…oh, holy SHIT! Dude, why the FUCK did you bring V…”

“Hey ECHOLLS!” a voice calls, mercifully drowning out Dick’s fit. Logan spreads a palm across V’s back to steer her--towards Bodie Chang, his summoner, and the makeshift royal throne. The King of Black’sBeach looks them both over impassively. “Thought you were too busy for our modest shindigs these days, man.”

Logan shrugs, nonchalant, but shakes the proffered hand. “You know how it goes,” he says, easily. ”All that money to spend, all those waves to ride. Plus too much temptation here to drink to excess. My body’s a fine-tuned machine.”

“I can respect that,” Bodie says, with a faint smile that reminds Veronica forcefully of Agent Morris. “Looks like maybe you’ve had other distractions lately, too. Who’s your date?”

“This,” Logan says, pairing a smile with a warning glance, “Is Veronica Mars.”

Then he snakes an arm unexpectedly around her waist. His hand finds the gap in her makeshift sarong, cups her hip; he pulls her flush against his side and adds, “My girlfriend.”

[elleberquist6]

Believe in Me - chapter four

Summary: Dan Howell is living at home while he’s saving money for college, which isn’t easy since his parents don’t understand him. Unlike them, he loves dogs, is a vegetarian, has no interest in the family business, and he despises the supernatural. He struggles to accept things that are illogical, even though he is a kitsune. Kitsune are foxes whose powers involve the ability to cast illusions, but Dan just wants to be normal. Phil Lester has just moved to London, where he works as a dog walker. When his path crosses with Dan, Phil is eager to get to know him. Unfortunately, Phil soon finds that being friends with Dan is far more complicated than he could have imagined.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 1561 Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

—

Kitsune fact: Kitsune are emotional and very vengeful. Kitsune will lose their temper at the slightest provocation. Once someone has earned a kitsune's enmity, the kitsune will begin enacting revenge that can become quite extreme. On the other hand, those who have earned a kitsune's trust and loyalty will see a friendship that can last through many trials. [https://littlespacefox.weebly.com/kitsune-mythology.html]

Phil really didn’t want to, but he waited a day before calling Dan. After attempting to kiss Dan without asking, he felt it best to at least follow one rule in the dating rulebook in an attempt to not come on too strong. Finally, he allowed himself permission to ring the number the next day.

A woman answered in a morose voice, saying, “Howell’s Funeral Home. This is Trudy Howell speaking. How may I help you today?”

“Hi, um, I’m calling for Dan?” The woman didn’t say anything, so Phil went on, “His cellphone is broken, so he told me that I could reach him at this number.”

“Of course. Sorry, no one ever talks to Dan, so I was surprised. One moment, let me get him.” Phil heard her place the phone on the desk, and he winced sympathetically for Dan. He would die of shame if his mother had said something like that to someone calling for him. He hoped that Dan’s mother wasn’t always like that.

A few moments later, Dan said in a breathy voice, “Hello? Is this Phil?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I was calling to see if you were still interested in seeing a movie.”

“Sure, what movie?”

“I’m dying to see Thor, but I don’t know anyone nerdy enough to accompany me. Can you think of someone?”

Dan laughed and then sighed dramatically. “I don’t know. I unfortunately might not be nerdy enough to enjoy the film. Oh, but could I please come with you to appreciate the beauty of Chris Hemsworth?”

Phil made a sound like he was debating it. “That should suffice.”

Phil returned home after the movie, feeling like he was glowing from spending time in Dan’s company. They hadn’t talked as much as they had on the first… he still wasn’t sure if it was a date, but they hadn’t talked as much and they had only touched on the shared armrest of the movie theater chairs. Still, it was great. They were both relaxing in each other’s company. Phil had never felt so comfortable with someone he had just met.

At the end of the night, Dan told him that he had replaced his cell phone and he gave Phil the number. Phil was lying in bed, debating if he would annoy Dan by texting him this late at night or if Dan was expecting a text. Phil shook his head, deciding to toss out the dating rulebook. He really liked Dan and he didn’t want to feel restricted by anything – he just wanted to fling himself into this exciting wave of emotions and enjoy the ride, not caring where he ended up.

Phil texted, I had so much fun tonight, thanks for coming with me :D

A response came from the number Dan had given him, who is this i don’t know you i'm calling the police and they are going to trace your number

What?? Dan, it’s me. This is Dan right? Phil texted back hastily.

yes, just messing with you, haha i had fun, too, thanks Dan replied.

You’re evil, I was really thinking some random person was calling the cops on me. My heart is racing.

sorry XD

Phil was quickly realizing that he would never be able to stay mad at Dan, no matter what he did. He sent a last text, Night Dan, sleep well.

you too :)

Phil placed his phone on the bedside table. His head was so full of thoughts of Dan that he started to set his alarm, but at the last moment he remembered that tomorrow was his day off and he could sleep in. He happily settled into his pillows, not intending to move from the spot until noon tomorrow.

“What is so interesting about you?” said a voice.

A voice in his apartment, which should be empty. One of Phil’s greatest fears was burglars. On his first day moving into his college dorm, he was informed that he was given a bedroom closest to the door since he was the tallest and would be expected to overpower anyone who broke into the dorm. Since that day, wherever he lived he couldn’t sleep without first checking that all the doors and windows were locked. He knew that he had done this tonight.

As Phil sat up with a scream, he saw the dark silhouette of a man in his bedroom and saw that his half-decade of preparation had come to this – a burglar was going to kill him. Phil grabbed a pillow off his bed and threw it at the man. He knew that he had aimed it well, but the man showed no reaction to being hit.

Phil scrambled out of his bed. He ran like the dogs of hell were chasing him and he made it to the bathroom, locking the door between him and the man. He patted the empty pockets of his pajamas, though he knew that his phone was on the nightstand in his bedroom. The burglar would probably take it, the tv, and Phil’s laptop, but Phil didn’t care as long as the man left.

Then, the world went mad. That’s the only way that Phil could describe the sight of a transparent man sliding through the solid wood of his bathroom door. The laws of Physics didn’t make sense anymore. The universe no longer had rules. This wasn’t rational.

Phil gaped at the man who shouldn’t be standing in the same room with him. The man wasn’t exactly solid. Phil could see the grain of the wood door behind him. Also, light and shadows didn’t seem to touch him in a way that was normal. Phil could make out the color of his clothes and his brown hair, but he seemed washed out, like a watercolor painting.

As Phil focused on the man’s face, his jaw dropped open further. The man looked like Dan, but wrong somehow. His jaw was firmer and more masculine. His wavy hair was cut shorter and slick with hair gel. There was something dark and mischievous in his eyes. He was like Dan, but nothing was right about him.

The transparent man shook his head, and it seemed like he had been assessing Phil as much as Phil had been him. “What does my brother see in you?”

“What? Who is your brother?” Phil couldn’t believe that he was talking to something that had just glided through his bathroom door – it seemed insane that things that glide through doors have families, even as he realized whose brother this must be. The man didn’t say anything, so Phil answered his own question. “You’re Dan’s brother. He told me about you.”

“Oh?” Dan’s brother’s interest focused on Phil, and the glint in his eyes made Phil realize that he did not want to attract this thing’s interest. It was like being spotted by a shark in the middle of an empty ocean. “What did he say about me?”

“Not… not much,” Phil stammered. “Just that you’re dead.”

The ghost laughed, and his laugh was nothing like Dan’s. It was deep and there was no mirth to it. Then the ghost shook his head, jaw gritted with unmistakable anger. “I’m not dead. He lied to you.”

“Do you see a light? You’re dead. Go to the light.”

The ghost stared at him in disbelief. “Are you trying to Ghost Whisper me?”

“Maybe.” Phil turned on the tap in his bathroom sink, filling it with a shallow pool of water. He mumbled a quick prayer over the water. In truth, he was trying to channel Buffy more than he was God, but he hoped that it worked just the same and that the water in his sink was now Holy Water. He turned back to the ghost. “You’re my friend’s dead brother, so I’m going to ask you nicely first – please leave my home. You’re not welcome here.”

The ghost glanced at the sink. “What was that you were doing with the water?”

Phil scooped up a handful of water and flung it at the ghost. The water splattered on the bathroom door while the ghost blinked at him. Then the ghost grinned. “I get why he likes you now. You’re a weirdo like him. Later.”

Phil exhaled in relief as the ghost drifted through the bathroom door, and hopefully out of the apartment. He drained the Holy Water from the sink, thinking that Buffy would be proud of him. Phil returned to his bedroom, which was thankfully empty, and he collapsed into his bed in exhaustion.

Phil woke up much earlier than he’d intended to wake the next day. He would have found it easier to forget last night if he hadn’t stepped into a puddle on his way into the bathroom – it was the water that he had thrown at the ghost.

Phil got dressed quickly. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but he knew that he had to talk to Dan.  

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 05/12/2020

Earlier this week, I finished and released by end-of-year list of the Top 10 Best Hit Songs of 2020, which, for once, was on time, being released on the 1st – or 2nd – of December, depending on your time zone. That means I’ve already spent hours discussing music, and to be honest, I have a pretty bad headache in addition to this, so you know, I’m not really in that chart-reviewing spirit. Thankfully, we have very few songs to review here, and a lot of it should be pretty inoffensive. Now, before that, let’s talk about the actual state of the charts because it is looking ridiculous. Ariana Grande’s “positions” spend its sixth week at #1, and welcome to REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

Much like last week, it was an absolute bloodbath for any non-Christmas song this week, and this especially affects the hip hop and R&B on the chart. In the UK Top 75, which I cover every week, there’s a drastic difference to the US Billboard Hot 100, and that is the lack of radio. Radio impressions or plays have never been counted on the UK Singles Chart, and whilst in the States, I understand that a lot of Christmas songs rely on the radio, this is not true at all across the pond, because, for whatever reason, Christmas songs are streamed and bought a lot here even 60 years after the song’s original release. This is likely due to a smaller, arguably less diverse population and the immense amount of streaming service-curated playlists, which serve the same purpose as radio and often have the exact same label gimmickry and payola. Regardless, there is a stupid amount of drop-outs and fallers this week, for pretty big tracks as well. Now as I said I only cover the top 75 of the UK Singles Chart because it’s just easier and really, who cares about those last 25 songs? On the UK Singles Chart proper, Lewis Capaldi’s “Someone You Loved”, one of the biggest hits of 2019 and 2020, just spent its 100th week on the chart, which is insane, especially for a modern song. I think the song is dreadful but it is one of the biggest songs of all time here on the Isles, and since we’re going by my measures, it just dropped out (after spending seven weeks at #1, mind you). Of course, that’s not the only notable drop-out – and to be notable, you have to have spent five weeks on the chart or peaked in the top 40 – this week. Let’s list them, shall we? We have “Watermelon Sugar” by Harry Styles, which spent 40 weeks on the chart, as well as #1 hit “Savage Love (Laxed – Siren Beat)” by Jawsh 685 and Jason Derulo, “Giants” by Dermot Kennedy, “Mood Swings” by the late Pop Smoke featuring Lil Tjay, “Lighter” by Nathan Dawe and KSI, “Take You Dancing” by Jason Derulo, “Holiday” by Little Mix, “Tick Tock” by Clean Bandit featuring Mabel and 24kGoldn, “Come Over” by Rudimental featuring Anne-Marie and Tion Wayne, “Lasting Lover” by Sigala and James Arthur, “Holy” by Justin Bieber featuring Chance the Rapper, “One Too Many” by Keith Urban and P!nk, “Papi Chulo” by Octavian and Skepta, “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals, “Deluded” by Tion Wayne and MIST, “Confetti” by Little Mix, “pov” by Ariana Grande (to make way for another one of her songs we’ll get to – also probably the only actually good song that dropped out this week) and finally, “Life Goes On” by BTS off of the debut at #10. On the chart proper, this is one of the biggest free-fall drops of all time, and honestly, who wasn’t expecting this? Speaking of falls, we have a lot of those too. Whilst these are fallers, you should consider how impressive they are for even trying to survive the holiday season, which just can’t be done for a lot of these songs, even the biggest hits of the year, some of which we just mentioned. One of the funniest parts of this to me is that KSI of all people survived the overload of Christmas songs through his Craig David chorus on “Really Love” with Digital Farm Animals down to #17. For a former YouTuber, he has an immense amount of star-power and it’s kind of worrying. Otherwise, our notable fallers include “Paradise” by MEDUZA and Dermot Kennedy at #24, “Train Wreck” by James Arthur at #25 (not a good week for either of these guys – or anyone), “Monster” by Shawn Mendes and Justin Bieber at #26 off of the top 10 debut, “Mood” by 24kGoldn featuring iann dior at #27, “Head & Heart” by Joel Corry and MNEK at #29, “Get Out My Head” by Shane Codd stripped of all of its gains at #31 (seriously, whilst most of these songs were fading naturally prior, this is worrying), “Lemonade” by Internet Money and Gunna featuring NAV and Don Toliver at #34, “Lonely” by Justin Bieber and benny blanco at #42 (giving him four songs as a lead artist on the chart – OCC, that’s not how your dumb rules work; be consistent), “See Nobody” by Wes Nelson and Hardy Caprio really having the most intense combination of streaming cuts and Christmas music at #44, “Wonder” by Shawn Mendes flailing at #45 (it will probably rebound next week), “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd at #46 (same here), “Golden” by Harry Styles at #47, “Loading” by Central Cee at #48, “What You Know Bout Love” by the late Pop Smoke at #49, “i miss u” by Jax Jones and Au/Ra at #50, “Sunflower (Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse)” by Post Malone and Swae Lee at #52, “UFO” by D-Block Europe and Aitch at #55, “Plugged in Freestyle” by A92 and Fumez the Engineer at #56, “Princess Cuts” by Headie One featuring Young T & Bugsey at #60 (which happened to play as I was writing this), “Looking for Me” by Paul Woodford, Diplo and Kareen Lomax at #61, “WAP” by Cardi B featuring Megan Thee Stallion at #62, “Diamonds” by Sam Smith having the biggest fall to #63, “Ain’t it Different” by Headie One featuring AJ Tracey and Stormzy at #65, “Chingy (It’s Whatever)” by Digga D at #69, “Come Over” by Jorja Smith and Popcaan at #70, “SO DONE” by The Kid LAROI at #71 and finally, “Flavour” by Loski and Stormzy at #74. A YouTube comment on the video version of this chart read, “RIP to hip hop and R&B in the UK, 2020-2020”, and, I mean, it’s a fair assessment. That’s not all though, folks, as we have the returning entries, most of which are very explicitly Christmas songs. Let’s start with “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” by Sam Smith at #75, and continue up the chart with “Cozy Little Christmas” by Katy Perry at #73, “Christmas Lights” by Coldplay at #72 (always the best song on the entire chart whenever it returns), “A Little Love” by Celeste from the John Lewis advert at #64, “Feliz Navidad” by José Feliciano at #54, “Santa Baby” by Kylie Minogue at #57, “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!” by the late Dean Martin at #54, “Sleigh Ride” by the Ronettes at #52, “Mistletoe” by Justin Bieber at #43, “Happy Xmas (War is Over)” by the late John Lennon, Yoko Ono and the Plastic Ono Band featuring the Harlem Community Choir at #40 (always the worst song on the chart whenever it returns), “Wonderful Christmastime” by Paul McCartney at #39 (this is an accurate ranking of the Beatles), “Jingle Bell Rock” by the late Bobby Helms at #38, “Holly Jolly Christmas” by Michael Bublé at #37 and “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” by the late Andy Williams at #36. Yes, that’s five consecutive Christmas songs returning to the top 40, made all the more ridiculous when you realise it’s topped off by “HOLIDAY” by Lil Nas X... at #41 – and it actually gained this week! Oh, and we don’t stop there either as not only do we have “Santa Tell Me” by Ariana Grande returning to #16 as well, but we also have all of the gains this week. All of our notable gains are in the top 40 and all but one are Christmas songs, so let’s start with “One More Sleep” by Leona Lewis up to #33 (our greatest gain this week) and continue up the chart with “Merry Xmas Everybody” by Slade at #32, “This Christmas” by Jess Glynne at #28, “I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday” by Wizzard at #23, “Driving Home for Christmas” by Chris Rea at #22, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” by Justin Bieber and Brenda Lee at #21 and #19 respectively, “Underneath the Tree” by Kelly Clarkson at #20, “Step into Christmas” by Elton John at #18, “Do They Know it’s Christmas?” by Band Aid at #15 (looking at this chart, I think we ALL know exactly what time it is), “Merry Christmas Everyone” by Shakin’ Stevens at #14, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas” by Michael Bublé at #13, “Fairytale of New York” by the Pogues featuring the late Kirsty MacColl at #9, “Last Christmas” by Wham! at #3, and finally, “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey at #2. I don’t know if I’ll be happier if a 1994 classic hits #1 for the first time this Christmas, or an Ariana Grande song about sex positions takes the Christmas #1, given, of course, that LadBaby doesn’t pull something out of his ass last minute. Christmas also actually lands on a Friday this week, so there’s potentially two Christmas #1s: the #1 on Christmas Day and the #1 that includes Christmas Day. I mean, there’s this issue every year but since the chart week literally starts and ends on the day this year, I guess we’ll just have to see what the Official Charts Company decides. For now, after not-so-swiftly covering all of that garbage – and there’s three weeks more of it to come, folks – let’s discuss some of our new arrivals, none of which I imagine will be all that interesting but, hey, at least they’re not Christmas songs. In fact...

NEW ARRIVALS

#68 – “Body” – Megan Thee Stallion

Produced by LilJuMadeThatBeat

...It’s the antithesis of what it means to be wholesome, commercial and festive. You all know and love Megan Thee Stallion by now, and whilst I didn’t listen to that debut record yet – it is 17 songs after all – I have heard pretty positive reception so I will check out Good News at some point. Rico Nasty did release a record that’s only one less track and 13 full minutes shorter, so to be honest, I’m a lot more excited to check out that album, even if it won’t have any impact here. I did laugh at the track list when I saw “Intercourse (feat. Popcaan & Mustard)” though, which is one of the few times I have genuinely laughed at just a track list. “Shots Fired” is a pretty great Tory Lanez diss track though, so I’ll say that. “Body” is relatively deep into the track listing, yet seems to be the biggest hit, mostly because of that polarising earworm hook and the music video. Oh, yeah, and it straight-up samples a woman having an orgasm, so don’t expect this to stick around. In fact, that’s the only melody behind this dirty South bounce-adjacent track, and even with that, it only comes in on that chorus, which is less annoying to me as it is just catchy. It’s not like men haven’t done the same thing, though, I mean, Dr. Dre famously – or infamously – “paused 4 porno” on his album 2001, and just in 2018, Kanye released “XTCY”, a song that is hilariously lacking in any kind of moral compass, let alone born-again Christianity. It did the same thing that “Body” does with the moaning yet it also covers it in this really eerie sample, as well as spare 808s and a drum beat that doesn’t feel like it gets in the way of whatever the hell Kanye’s doing on this track. It also helps that the moaning doesn’t just come in on the chorus, instead we have a string swell to distinguish it, and that Kanye has more of a comical lyrical nature on “XTCY”. This comparison is only fair when looking at the production, though, as whilst Kanye has “sick thoughts”, Megan is just bragging about her own body-ody-ody-ody-ody, etc. over a pretty mainstream, accessible beat, even if it has really ugly, loud 808s that kind of do get in the way of the rapping here. Thankfully, Megan rides this beat forcefully – no pun intended – and with some really great wordplay, even if there are a few immediately dated references here and there. That third verse is also pretty funny, and whilst I don’t want to focus too much on this song – it’s a family show after all – this is pretty lively and whilst I’m not a fan of this beat, Megan makes it worth sitting through and honestly, the song sounds a lot shorter than it is. Check it out.

#67 – “Love is a Compass” – Griff

Produced by PARKWILD

I didn’t say the word “compass” on purpose knowing this song would be next, although perhaps I subconsciously snuck the word in. Maybe I should have made it seem like I foreshadowed this song, but honestly what about this warrants foreshadowing? I don’t mind Disney music at all. In fact, a lot of the films are full of really classic compositions that have aged incredibly, including the Renaissance era of their films, especially. In fact, “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” from Mulan – the original – is one of the few soundtrack songs that is directly related to and featured in the film yet I can still listen to outside of that context. I’ve not even watched either Mulan – or have Disney+ - so it’s not like I’m a big fan, but I can appreciate the music when I find it, even if I mostly despise everything Disney stands for as a company. The issue with this is that it cannot apply to “Love is a Compass”. I’m sure Griff and her producer PARKWILD are talented musicians, but this is purely a product. This wasn’t even made for an original animated feature, or a painfully weak adaptation of one of their original animated features starring Will Smith as the Genie. This is a generic piano ballad made for an advert, because just like literal shops and manufacturing companies like John Lewis, Disney has a Christmas advert. There’s nothing artistic about this. This “emotional” piano ballad is layered in reverb and egregious Auto-Tune that drains Griff of whatever emotion her delivery could have had. It doesn’t sound good in this context at all and it is so obvious, which is unfortunate because her voice, Auto-Tuned in a similar way, could easily work over more lo-fi and interesting production. As it is, this is repulsive, sonically and on every other level beyond that.

#66 – “Angels Like You” – Miley Cyrus

Produced by Louis Bell and watt

So, Miley Cyrus dropped her album, Plastic Hearts, last week and I expected more impact on the chart but the two singles are really THAT big that not any of the album cuts had much of a chance, even if “Prisoner” dropped a few spaces. Other than that, “Midnight Sky” is still in the top five and near the end of the chart, we have a debut: “Angels Like You”. It’s clear why this charted because this isn’t just a highlight from the album or a personal favourite of mine, but it’s a fan favourite honestly, a career highlight – which may not be hard to make, I mean, it’s Miley Cyrus we’re talking about �� but it still impresses me with how much I really love this song. This is more of a mellow ballad than many of the tracks surrounding it on the record, with Cyrus’ raspy country twang finally met with a fitting blend of acoustic guitars and a genuine orchestral swell in the chorus, even if at times it decides to start clipping. The shift in guitar tone to a dirtier, aggressive one after the first chorus is a genius touch, and even the pretty stiff drum machine here feels like it adds a lot to the power of this song, especially when it starts kicking behind the screeching guitar solo, leading into an admittedly anti-climactic final chorus... that might even be fitting for the content, which is a break-up song but not one that decides to deflect blame or even focus entirely on the break-up, rather being an acknowledgement of what both parties here did wrong, and why they ended up in the relationship to begin with. Both Cyrus and her ex-girlfriend Kaitlynn Carter were in rough spots coming off of previous relationships in late 2019 and those dark spots are what Cyrus understands lead to the collapse of this relationship. She discusses the lack of connection between the two in the first verse, leading to a literally nameless relationship where it was full of romantic gestures but not any depth. The chorus is a complex look at how Cyrus knew she would look back on the relationship as little more than a fling, but how she regrets that this is her only view of the relationship. She didn’t want anything more and split after things started getting too serious, and feels genuine guilt for using Carter to heal her own depression, because “misery needs company”. She uses the biblical metaphor to demonstrate how she feels she tugged down her girlfriend, described here as an “angel”, to the hell Cyrus thinks she resides in, which may be melodramatic, sure, but I’d be lying if I said Cyrus doesn’t completely sell it here, with some of her best vocals to date, backed up by gorgeous production and really well-written lyrics. This is a genuinely brilliant ballad, give it a listen.

#58 – “Naughty List” – Liam Payne and Dixie D’Amelio

Produced by TMS

I’ve been writing these producers as “TM5” for so long without realising it’s an abbreviation for “The Music Shed”. Anyway, I hope we can all agree that Liam Payne is probably the worst off when comparing the One Direction boys and their solo careers so far. Harry Styles is one of the biggest stars in the world, making a twist on 70s classic rock that I don’t like at all but he IS making headlines and having massive chart success. Niall Horan is having mild success making rock and folk albums that are honestly alright, ZAYN has two albums under his belt that may not be listenable but at least the first one was a success and he did go into a more mature R&B direction, and Louis Tomlinson might not have been met with any success from his album earlier this year but at least there’s some quality there. Liam Payne, however, has been releasing straight garbage to no fanfare for the past three years, dating back to “Strip that Down” with Quavo, and continuing down the path of feigning maturity and development with music clearly not backing it up, demonstrated by the bisexual fetishism on his delayed debut album and how his collaborations went from relying on Zedd to relying on J Balvin to relying on TikTok stars on a sexually-charged Christmas single that couldn’t even crack the top 50. I have no idea who Dixie D’Amelio is other than seeing her sister’s controversies on Twitter in passing, but it is depressing that a major-label pop star needs D’Amelio to chart this high – and no, given his most recent singles with bigger features like A Boogie wit da Hoodie and Cheat Codes, as well as the shoddy performance of his last Christmas song, I’m not even considering that it’s the other way around. This immediately, in its first 15 seconds, makes sure you know this will be awful, with its tedious acoustic guitar strumming fused with cheap sounding sleigh bells and dated trap percussion, even with little “hey!” gang vocals straight out of 2014 that make this sound a lot less new and fresh than I think Payne thought it did. Also, something about these lyrics sounds really odd when you consider the age gap between the two vocalists. I mean, D’Amelio’s 19 years old, so it’s not like this is illegal in any way (and they didn’t have any chemistry to begin with), but the childlike imagery in the chorus just makes this gross. “Santa saw the things we did and put us on the naughty list”? This has less subtlety than 3OH!3’s Christmas song they released this year. Yes, that happened, and somehow the two washed-up early 2010s pop stars made a “dirty” Christmas song that is miles better than Liam Payne’s, probably because of the more interesting lyrical detail, and that, you know, it isn’t a duet. Check out “KISSELTOE” if you’re interested, it’s really good. I liked their comeback single with 100 gecs too so I’m pretty excited for whatever comes out of 3OH!3’s recent productivity. This song, on the other hand, as well as the upcoming joke, is just Payne-full.

#53 – “No Time for Tears” – Nathan Dawe and Little Mix

Produced by Tré Jean-Marie and Nathan Dawe

Okay, so, I understand the marketing of releasing a single after a long time of not releasing a single and after your singles have all dropped out of the chart, but Little Mix are just being managed horribly here. Why would you release a single in the Christmas season that you want to be big? This isn’t a holiday song in any way and doesn’t even sound like one, so releasing it this early into the Christmas season is just begging for it to be forgotten and eventually flop. Nathan Dawe is an EDM DJ so he doesn’t need this type of promotion as long as he can tour next year and he’s got big features, and Little Mix don’t need any extra singles because they’re still in the top 10 and they’ve branched out to reality television. Just let the girls breathe for a second and enjoy their success. Oh, and this song isn’t just logistically unnecessary, it’s sonically unnecessary, acting as a house-pop club banger with that standard piano sound reminiscent of 90s house that has been adopted recently by DJs, with any of the infectious melodies and genuine drive sucked out of it, especially if Dawe is going to add a Goddamn trap breakdown in the second verse with the most pathetic set of percussion I’ve heard in years on a house track. It’s not like Little Mix are saving this either because the lyrical content is re-tread and their performances are largely unrecognisable from each other and songs they’ve made before. Yeah, this isn’t offensive, but it isn’t interesting, outside of that bridge, but even then it builds up perfectly to a chorus that’s interrupted by a pointless, repetitious interlude. This song isn’t just uninteresting, it’s inherently unnecessary on all fronts, which if anything, is just kind of sad.

#35 – “All You’re Dreaming Of” – Liam Gallagher

Produced by Simon Aldred and Andrew Wyatt

Surely out of all of these songs, I’d have the most to say about our top 40 debut, with Liam Gallagher, former frontman of legendary rock band Oasis,  and his new lead single, right? Well, no, because here are some unfortunate truths: Oasis made two good albums, and they’re not as good as you remember. Liam Gallagher is an awful person who continued to rip off his own band with his new one, without the songwriting ability his brother Noel had. Liam continues to be persistent in his making of enemies for no other reason than publicity. Noel’s reaching out to Liam for the sake of at least reconciliation goes completely unnoticed, ignored or criticised by Liam for no discernable reason other than an on-and-off again facade that’s been going on for more than a decade. Noel wasn’t even that great of a songwriter, relying mostly on musicianship and other people’s melodies he liked to co-opt for his own tracks. None of their solo work has been listenable yet still gathers attention that I imagine is to the dismay of those other band members in Oasis who, ultimately, made those classic albums as much as the Gallaghers. Where’s the praise for Bonehead, Guigsy or even Gem Archer, who stuck it out despite decreasing popularity, utter lack of musical quality and increasing tensions between the people who kept the band afloat until they decided to break up? Both Noel and Liam look at Oasis with regret or admiration depending on how they feel that day but when you look at who REALLY won that Britpop battle tabloids liked to hype up in the 1990s, you realise how far away Oasis was from Blur or even Pulp in terms of not only their songs but having their stuff together. This new song is complete garbage as well, with a pretty awful mixing job, Liam being as distinctively nasal and infuriating as he is with any of his songs let alone his uninteresting ballads, and the COVID-19 charity pandering that comes off as really false, especially since even after Noel released an Oasis track this year as a result of the lockdown – and Liam whining about how he wants to bring the band together to help the NHS – he criticised the honest release of the demo, which Noel wrote and sang himself. It’s also especially telling how the proceeds are only going to benefit charity for its first month of release. Afterwards, Liam and the label can scrape up whatever leftover streams they get from diehard fans. I don’t like Band Aid at all, in fact the song is pretty damn rancid, but at least they keep on recording updated versions to give to modern charities. Liam, you’ve got a bank account the average Manchurian would dream of. This charity single is a fraud, and a pretty hypocritical, immoral one at that.

Conclusion

I think on principle on how fake it is and how awful the song is, I have to give Worst of the Week to Gallagher... but I have a rule against crowning any kind of charity single with that title. At the end of the day, at least something at some point is going to the people who need it. Worst of the Week in that case goes to “Naughty List” by Liam Payne and Dixie D’Amelio, with a Dishonourable Mention to the product that is Griff’s “Love is a Compass”. Best of the Week should be obvious as it’s going to Miley Cyrus for ��Angels Like You”, with an Honourable Mention to Megan Thee Stallion’s “Body”. Here’s this week’s top 10:

May I remind you this is the first week of December? Anyway, I doubt Shawn Mendes will make anything through the barrage of holiday tracks, but if he does, that’s next week. Thank you for reading and follow me at @cactusinthebank for more ramblings of this sort, I suppose. See you next week!

[esmeralda-elite]

Act 1, Scene 3| Happy Girlfriend

2018

IT WAS FINALLY  LUNCHTIME AND ESMERALDA WAS WALKING OUT OF HER ART CLASS WITH A FELLOW CLASSMATE BY THE NAME OF CYNTHIA GOMÉZ. She was a curly haired girl that was very blunt and talkative, and both girl’s could talk the entire hour of their art class. The short latina was telling the girl about Marina’s party since the red haired girl had told her to invite others if she wished. Of course, Esmeralda had only stretched the invite to Cynthia.

“You should come! We’re getting our nails done together, then getting ready for the party together. You could join us!” Esmeralda says, excitedly.  “I don’t like parties. Too many people.” Cynthia says, shaking her head with distaste.

Esmeralda pouts, but nods at the girl. “That’s fine I just thought I’d ask.”

The two have spoken a lot about their personal anxieties. Parties being one of Cynthia, but she admitted that she likes being included even if she didn’t go. “Thank you. Uh, tell Marina I said good luck on finding a husband though.” Cynthia says, smirking. The short latina laughs, and nods. “Alright, I have to go and meet Guzmán.”

“Right… The boyfriend.” Cynthia says, knowing the boy was an asshole to everyone except the short latina beside her. Esmeralda laughs at the girl’s distaste, and waves as she turns down the hall in the direction of the boy’s class. “See you later, Cynthia.”

“See you!” The curly haired girl says, walking off to her next class.

Esmeralda smiles walking in the direction of her boyfriend’s class. On the way to the boy’s class she sees Mateo, Lucreia, and Guzmán standing outside the Headmistress’s office. She narrowed her eyes at the three, and stood behind her boyfriend to figure out what the three were looking at. “What are we looking at?”

The two boy’s jumped at the sound of the girl’s voice. Her brother and boyfriend look at the shorter girl who looked at them with narrowed eyes. “Nothing.” Guzmán said, stepping towards the girl, and wrapped an arm around the girl.

Esmeralda raises an eyebrow at her boyfriend and decides not to question the boy knowing it would probably anger her. It wouldn’t be the first time Guzmán has done something that would anger her since when those moments happened he was with Mateo and Lucreia. The girl rolls her eyes then motions down the hall. “Walk me to lunch? Marina’s redoing a math test, and Jenicka doesn’t want to be alone with us… Besides, I need to finish my history notes.”

“Uh… Yes. Let’s go.” Guzmán says, spinning the girl around and walking with her down the hall to the cafe. The boy wraps his arm around his shoulder, and smiles down at her. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“Kiss ass.” Esmeralda says, scoffing at the taller boy. He chuckles and leans down to kiss her cheek sloppily. The girl couldn’t help but giggle.

Inside the Cafe, the three scholarship students and Vincent Santiago were sitting at a table trying to catch up on the work they need. The Santiago boy was helping the three with getting caught up since he was at the top of his class and it wasn’t that hard to learn new things. Vincent was helping Nadia when his sister walked into the room. The girl smiles sweetly at the four and walks past them to an empty table.

“You know her?” Christian asks, looking at the girl as she walks past them with Guzmán. He turned back to the boy and wanted to know more. “She’s my sister.” Vincent says, looking at the boy with a raised eyebrow.

“And she's dating the asshole?” Christian says, getting amused smiles from his fellow scholarship students. Even Vincent couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. “Yeah, they’ve been dating for about a year now.”

The four turned to where the couple were sitting and saw Esmeralda sitting on one of the stools with Guzmán standing beside her whispering into her ear. They couldn’t hear what was being said but they could hear the girl’s giggles. Esmeralda pushes the boy away from her as he raises his hands in surrender. There was a smirk on Guzmán’s face, and he winked at her teasingly. A smile grew on the boy’s face as the girl mumbled some smart comment. They all could see a difference in the boy when he was around his friends and when he was with the girl.

Guzmán seemed to smile more when he was around Esmeralda. With her it was easy there were no high expectations. He felt safe with the girl, like she would protect him from anything. Then with his friends he felt the need to protect them, or be this tough guy who wasn’t affected by anything. Guzmán could be two different people and everyone could see it.

“I know it may be hard to believe, but they balance each other out… In their own twisted way.” Vincent says, watching as the boy kisses his sister’s head gently. Esmeralda must have said something to make her boyfriend laugh, since there was a smirk on her face as blush started to rise on Guzmán’s face and neck. The middle Santiago shakes his head then goes back to doing his work, and so do Samuel and Nadia. Christian on the other hand watches as two girls and three boy’s walk into the cafe and make their way to the table where the couple resided.

Esmeralda continued writing and did the rest of her history notes, Guzmán, Mateo, and Ander stood to the right of the girl talking, Polo sat on the left of Esmeralda talking to Carla and Lucreia who sat in front of him.

It was a little more than halfway through the lunch period when the silence was broken. “Who do you think calls the shots here?” Christian says, making the three at his table look up at him. They saw the table he was looking at and scoffed.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying about other things now? Like the fact you speak no French, for instance.” Samuel says, shaking his head at the boy. “Come on, it’s not… nothing, huh? A little butt. I got it all under control. You lend me your notes in English, and I translate them online to know what it’s all about.” Christian says, pointing to Nadia.

The girl narrowed her eyes at Christian. “I’m not going to give you my notes… And you shouldn’t be here. You’re taking a spot somebody else actually needs.”

“Wait, do you think I am here to study? No, no, no! I’m here to meet the people who rule the roost. They are not those with the best grades, but those who make the best friends. Watch.” Christian says, smirking. “Actually, it is the one that gets the best grades.” Vincent says, thinking of his sister. He knew that she was well on her way to making the top of her class. As was Marina - who he also wouldn’t be surprised at getting top of their class.  

The confident boy across from him shrugs and stood from his chair and made his way towards the table to hear the blonde - that kept looking at him - speak up. “Hey, Esmeralda. Do you know what time the party is?” Carla says, turning to the occupied brunette.

The girl looked up to answer the blonde, but was cut off by Christian. “What party? Hi, I’m Christian.” The boy says, resting his hand at the back of Esmeralda’s chair. Esmeralda tensed up at the presence behind her, then when she saw it was the harmless new boy she couldn’t help but smile. That kind smile was lost when the girl’s spoke up again.

“Yes. Hello! Do you speak Spanish?” Lucreia says, leaning toward the boy in a mocking way. Esmeralda rolls her eyes at the girl as Polo and Carla laugh. The short latina’s boyfriend and brother look up from their conversation with Ander to glare at the new student. “I was talking to my friends.” Guzmán says, looking Christian up and down.

“Oh, sorry.” Christian says, waving the boy off and turning to the girl’s. “Um, by the way, are you on Instagram? I can give you my username if you want.”

“Oh, yes! Yes, please!” Lucreia says, wanting to see if there was anything embarrancing about the boy. “It’s ‘pekechristian007’. The first one is a K.” Christian says, coming around the table to see the girl type the name into her phone.

“Pekechristian. Oh, no, no, no.” Lucreia says to herself, as she types the name into her phone. Esmeralda smiles at how happy Christian was that the girl’s that just might follow him. He seemed nice, and even fun to be around. A part of Esmeralda hoped they could be friends. She could definitely see the boy hanging out around the girl’s and herself.

The short latina frowns when she hears her brother grunt in displeasure. Guzmán also made his annoyance known. “I’ve fucking had it with these people. I don’t understand how they got into this school. I don’t.”

“Holy shit, this video! Look.” Lucreia says, laughing at a video of Christian dancing. She showed the others before looking back at the phone. The boy went to scroll but the girl snapped at him. “Do not touch me!”

“Lu, don’t be mean.” Carla says, rolling her eyes at the girl The boy walked away from Lucrecia to stand to the left of Esmeralda once more. “Ignore my friend.” The blonde girl adds, sending the boy a smile.

“So, what about this party?” Christian says, sending the girl a flirty smile. Esmeralda could feel Guzmán and Mateo standing on the other side of her, and her boyfriend was the one to  speak up. “My sister’s coming-out party is private, like our conversation.”

Of course, like always Polo has to be Guzmán’s echo in an argument. Esmeralda turned in her seat as Christian shrugged Polo’s arm off his shoulder. The boy’s girlfriend pulls on his ear to tell him to knock it off. It amused Esmeralda how wrapped around Carla’s finger Polo truly was. The blonde treated the boy like a pet.

Emseralda and Guzmán would never do that to one another. They would always back the other up in an argument, and later discuss why they thought the other was in the wrong. There was a mutual respect between the two. They both do their best to keep that balance.

“Who do I need to talk to about getting an invite?” Christian says, turning to wink at the blonde that defended him. “You’ve never partied with me.”

“A roof collapsed on you, right? Maybe the blow impaired your ability to take a hint. Shall I say it in French? So you get it? Au revoir.” Mateo says, to the boy as if he were a child. The new students clearly didn’t like the way he was being spoken too and decided to test Mateo’s patience. “And if I don’t feel like it?”

Esmeralda couldn’t help but be impressed by the balls on the boy. Everyone knew Mateo and knew never to test him. Guzmán had the same reputation. So, it was a surprise to see someone standing up to the two.

“Look… Because you’re slow, you don’t get how things work here.” Guzmán says, condescending. All the boys seem to take a step closer to the boy circling him in like vultures. “Guzmán.” Esmeralda says, warningly. She hoped the boy’s knew better than to start a fight out in the open. The boy’s also knew that Emseralda hated when they fought, so a part of them held back.

“No, leave him” Lucrecia says, waving the girl off. She seemed to enjoy the temperamental sides of the boys. Especially Guzmán. The short latina turns to glare at the taller girl. “Shut up, and go back to looking at yourself in the mirror.”

“But you friend there is starting to get it.” Guzmán says, motioning to the table that Christian walked away from. The boy’s girlfriend sends Ander a pleading look, and he nods grabbing a hold of Mateo’s arms. “Come, let’s go, Mateo.”

Ander pulls the boy away with the others following, as Emseralda quickly packs her things. Her boyfriend had not moved and continued to glare at the boy. The girl jumped off her stool, and grabbed Guzmán’s hand. She pulled the boy out of the cafe.

“Can we not pick a fight with someone for one day?” Esmeralda says, looping her arm with Guzmán’s as she looked up at the boy. She was annoyed with how her brother and Guzmán were acting towards the new students, but she just decided to ease the tension in her boyfriend’s body. “What’s the fun in that?” Guzmán says, smirking.

“Might not be fun for you, but it does make for a very happy Esmeralda when you don’t pick fights.” The girl says, jokingly before pouting. “And don’t you want your girlfriend to be happy?”

“Of course.” Guzmán says, stopping in the middle of the hallway. He gently grabbed her face in his hands and leaned down. “I can think of many other ways to make my girlfriend happy.”

Esmeralda smiles, as the male kisses her sweetly. “I think your ideas make you far happier than me.”

The dirty blonde smirks, and nods. “Yup… Especially the clothing optional ones.”

A laugh escapes the girl as the boy teasingly pulls at her skirt. Guzmán then throws his arm around the girl as they walk out the building to walk around for the rest of their lunch period.

Thankfully the end of the day came quickly.  There didn’t seem to be any more problems with the two males and the new students or there weren't any of the two classes Esmeralda was in, the other three classes weren’t spoken of to the girl. She’s decided it was probably best not to know.

Esmeralda was walking out the building with her Cello hanging off one shoulder. She was looking for keys in her purse when she ran into someone. The bag fell from her hands as a surprised gasp left her mouth. She looked up to see Christian about to apologize to whoever he ran into but smirks instead when he saw Esmeralda.

Like a gentleman he bends down to collect the things that fell from her purse. The girl soon follows as she gently puts her instrument on the ground to collect her things. She grabs her keys that fell out and took the purse from the boy when he helped her stand again. “Thank you.”

“No. I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Christian says, shaking his head. The girl hums watching the boy pick up her instrument. He looks at the large thing and frowns. “You play the violin?”

A laugh escapes the girl, as she shakes her head. “It’s the Cello. And yes, I play… I play a few instruments actually.”

“Really? My father taught me how to play a few notes on the guitar, but that’s where the talent ends in my family.” Christian says, fixing his grip on the instrument to not break anything. “That’s one of the instruments I know. Ever think about taking lessons?” Esmearlda asked, taking the instrument from the boy who was holding it awkwardly.

“Like I could afford them.” Christian says, scoffing. He watches the girl as she throws the strap over her shoulder. It was strange seeing such a small girl carrying a large instrument. “Well that was before. You’re at La Encinas now. Lessons are free to students that ask.” Emsearalda says, smiling.

The boy shakes his head. “I don’t think your friends will be too happy about me joining more classes they are in.”

“My friends don’t play instruments. They all stopped taking their lessons two years ago. I was the only one to continue… I could take you to a class one time? The music teacher is very chill and would even excuse you from that period. He hopes to get more students or the music program will get cut next year… I’d love to have a friend in that class.” Esmeralda says, hopefully. She could see the boy hesitating, so she decides to drop it for now since he was at a maybe. “Think about it. My next strings class is in two days.”

“String?” Christian says, frowning. “I also play the flute and drums. Those students that want to play different instruments are on an A, B, C schedule… I can explain it all to you if you want to join. Anyways, I have to go pick up my little brother from school. See you tomorrow.” Esmeralda says, walking away from the boy.

“Oh!” Esmeralda says, stopping and turning around with a smirk on her face. “My instagram is @itsesme.”

The girl made her way to her car where her boyfriend stood waiting for the girl with Jenika and Marina. The girl’s were talking as the male leaned against the car looking at his phone. Jenicka was the first to catch sight of the girl. “Finally! What the hell were you doing? Making out with your other boyfriend?”

Marina lets out a laugh as Guzmán turns to glare at the afro-latina. Jenicka makes an ‘oops’ face and pats the boy on the back. “Sorry you had to hear it like this, brother.”

The boy scoffs and walks towards his girlfriend. When he meets her halfway he takes her instrument and kisses her. “There’s no other boyfriend, right?”

A laugh escapes the short latina’s lips. She gasps dramatically, pushing the boy away from her. “Like I’d tell you… I’m joking!” Esmeralda says, seeing the look on her boyfriend’s face.

“Only a little.” Esmeralda says, getting laughs from the girl’s. “These new boy’s aren’t that bad looking.”

The look on Guzmán’s face made Jenicka want to roll on the ground in laughter. Marina was also clutching her stomach at how gullible her brother could be. They all knew that Esmeralda had a lot more class than to cheat on someone. She would break up with him before she could ever think about cheating on Guzmán.

“I’m kidding.” Esmeralda says, walking towards her boyfriend who just grunts and walks to the back of the car to put the instrument away. “Baby!”

“Unlock, Esmeralda.” Guzmán says, making the girl gasp dramatically. She knew the boy wasn’t actually upset with her but she would still treat the boy like a baby. The girl unlocked the car and smiled at the girls to greet them. She made her way to the back of the car and wrapped her arms from the male from behind.

“Sabes que te quiero, ¿no?” Esmeralda says, kissing the middle of the boy’s back. {You know I love you, right?}

The boy’s tense body loosened up, as he turned around. “Yes… and your other boyfriend too, right?”

“Well, yeah.” Esmeralda says, jokingly. She gets an unamused look from the male as she laughs again. “I’m kidding!”

The boy tried to get away from the girl, but she pulled him down to her level to kiss him properly. Guzmán wouldn’t let the girl go farther, so she gently bit his bottom lip which earned a groan from the boy. “Ya deberías saberlo, Guzmán… Siempre consigo lo que quiero.” Esmeralda says, smirking up at the boy - who still had his eyes closed. {You should know by now, Guzmán… I always get what I want.}

Esmeralda gently bites his lip again, and pulls away slowly as his eyes open to watch the girl’s seductive actions. A groan left the boy as the girl pulled away from him completely. She giggles making her way to the drivers side. “Let’s go! Erik is waiting for us.”

The short latina starts the car as Guzmán closes the trunk and gets into the passenger seat grumpily. Marina was messing with her phone and Jenicka couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut. “Awe, is little Guzmán mad that his hot girlfriend didn’t go all the way?” Jenicka says, in a baby voice.

“Cállate.” Guzmán says, glaring at the girl. He put his hand on his girlfriend’s thigh as she drove out of the school parking lot.  {Shut up.}

Esmeralda allowed Jenicka to take the aux cord as she found a parking spot in the elementary school. “Want me to go with you?” Guzmán asks, as the girl unbuckles her seat belt.

“No, it’s fine… But do you mind getting his carseat from the back?” Esmeralda says, motioning to the back. “Okay.” Guzmán says, getting out of the car with the girl. She walked to the building where a ton of kids were waiting for their parents or guardian.

“Esme!” Erik yells, running towards his sister with his new prize in hand. The girl smiles and bends down to pick the boy up in her arms. “How was your day?”

“Good! I got a prize for collecting five sticks in a row!” Erik says, excitedly. He showed his sister the animal eraser top. “Wow! What animal is it?” Esmeralda asks, excitedly.

“A dinosaur… They say Roar!” Erik says, growling like the prehistoric animals. The girl laughs, shakes her head as he puts the boy down. “You and your dinosaurs.”

Esmeralda turns and sees the boy’s teacher. “How was he today?”

“We worked on our names. He’s got the spelling down, but I want him to work on when and when not to use upper and lower case letters.” Ms.Julia says, smiling at the younger girl. Esmeralda hums, nodding at the woman. “Yeah. I noticed that too.  We’ll work on that at home.”

The woman nods, knowing the girl was good about making sure her brother was up to date with all the other students. She knew that the girl had absent parents and her brothers were no help with Erik. The seven year old always spoke about Esmeralda more than anyone else. “I know you will. See you two, tomorrow!”

“Well, say bye to Ms.Julia, Erik.” Esmeralda says, grabbing her brother’s hand. “Bye!” Erik says, pulling his sister in the direction of her car.

“Bye!” Esmeralda yells, back to the woman letting her brother pull her towards the parking lot. “Guzmán!” Erik yells, excitedly once he sees the boy standing outside the car.

“Erik!” Guzmán yells, smiling. The girl let’s Erik run once they are close enough. Guzmán picks the boy up and hugs him. “How was your day?”

“Good! I won a dinosaur!” Erik says, showing the older boy his prize.

[hekate1308]

Bunker Magic

Crowley isn’t gone until I say so. Enjoy!

Dean’s been suspecting the bunker is magical for a while now. And no, not in that “We’ve finally found a home“ way Sam would probably think if he explained himself. No, in the literal sense. Some hallways seem shorter or longer than they actually are, or the room Dean is walking to is suddenly nearer than he thought it would be.

Must be a relict of the Men of Letters and their magical experiments.

Now and then, he has wondered if he should pursue his theory; would be pretty cool to have the power at his fingerprints just in case some psychotic Brits show up.

The truth of the matter is, Dean has always been more... attuned to their home than Sam, maybe because it’s the only one he’s ever truly known since their first went up in flames, and Cas hasn’t been living with them for very long; and since he decided to fall once and for all, he can’t pick up anything with his angel senses anymore anyway.

So when things go awry, Dean doesn’t know whether they really do or he’s finally snapped.

But he could have sworn he got two loaves of bread instead of one from the store the other day. And why is there so little butter anyway?

In the end, he decides he must be getting old, starting to forget things. Maybe he should do one of Sam’s nerdy crossword puzzles now and then.

At least that’s the explanation until he’s walking to the library and could swear he hears the tell-tale rushing of water in the old pipes meaning someone is taking a shower, only to find both Sam and Cas buried in old books.

What the hell?

He returns to the hallway, but it has fallen silent.

Is he going nuts now?

Dean starts paying closer attention to the noises in the bunker, especially at night. He even loses sleep over it – which doesn’t matter much because he sleeps much better these days, except for when he thinks of their losses, one in particular he shouldn’t even be thinking about because neither Cas nor Sam have mentioned him, will mention him, and he’s the only one who’ll mourn him.

Dean continues to believe that until one of his bad nights, when he’s sitting in the war room drinking Craig because the thought of any other beverage turns his stomach.

Cas finds him and quietly sits down next to him.

After a few minutes of silence, he says “He did a hero, in the end.”

“Yes he did.”

“Remembering him is not shameful. You were something like friends.”

Dean snorts. “Doubt he would have said the same.”

“That doesn’t matter. I still mourn for my fallen brethren, even if they wanted to fulfil God’s work and start the Apocalypse.”

Dean nods; that makes sense.

And then Cas, who doesn’t like anything harder than beer, pours himself a glass to and they toast the late King of Hell.

Dean has no more nightmares that night.

But meanwhile, weird stuff continues to happen. He’s beginning to wonder if there’s something the matter with his ears, because he keeps hearing the water running when no one is in the bathroom, and he could swear that sometimes books dis- and reappear from the library.

From time to time, he even perceives footsteps, but when her ushers to the room he thinks they emit from, no one’s there.

It’s all rather confusing because he’s basically living through a haunting in a movie. All the classic signs are there, only that real haunting don’t work like this, as he well knows. So what is going on?

He tries to explain one day at dinner but ends up getting lecture by Sam about drinking less and “auditory hallucinations connected to alcohol” as if he’s a freshman out on his first binder, Cas just shrugging and calmly explaining that he hasn’t heard anything, which makes no sense to Dean whatsoever because if anything, the noises are growing more and more prominent.

One night, he wakes up to hear the shower louder than ever, and he tries to ignore it, but then the footsteps return as well, and he gets up. He’ll find out what’s behind this once and for all.

Following the footsteps, he arrives at one of the store rooms, the door of which is – glowing? Whatever, he’s dealt with much weirder.

“So” Dean declares, bursting the door open, “Finally – “

The words die on his tongue.

Because right there in front of him, as always impeccable clad in a suit, is –

“Crowley?”

To say the former king has some explaining to do is an understatement. The second Dean registers that yes, that is indeed Crowley in front of him, and more – he’s raising his hands, probably in order to do some magic – he acts.

Once he has Crowley in an arm lock against the wall, he says calmly, “Not so fast.”

“Let me go, Squirrel” he hisses while vainly struggling against his grasp.

Whoever this is – Dean has not yet ruled out a spell or a shapeshifter – they’re not a demon. Crowley would already have thrown him to the ground and disappeared.

“No, first we’ll make a few tests.”

After he has established the man in front of him doesn’t react to holy water, salt or silver, he steps away from him.

“Crowley?”

“How did you guess?” he drawls, rubbing the wrist Dean grasped.

He swallows, telling himself it’s ridiculous to feel guilty. “What did I call you when I asked for help during our hunt after the first hellhound?”

“Peaches”.

The answer is prompt and, much more importantly, true.

Dean shakes his head. “I can’t believe it. Who brought you back?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up in front of your little man cave here.”

“So you decided to play around a bit?”

It doesn’t make sense. Why would he hide out in the bunker and tell no one?

Crowley shrugs. “This was the safest place for me to be.”

“I agree. No demon gets in here unless we want him to” Dean says simply.

Crowley looks – surprised? “Yes. Well, so I decided to – “

“Crowley, I get why you are here, I don’t get why you didn’t tell us. At least I could have bought more bread.”

“You could have – “ Crowley begins, only to shake his head. When he looks at Dean again, his face is blank. “You do not have to pretend because I am human. We both know you want me to go.”

“Why would I want that? Asmodeus will come after you the second you step out” Dean points out, starting to feel like there’s something he’s not getting. How long will Crowley need to understand that its just not safe for him to leave?

Also, to be honest, he’s a bit angry at not having been told Crowley’s alive.

“The last time we saw each other you punched me in the face” Crowley points out and the penny drops.

“You didn’t think we’d want you here?”

Crowley snorts. “What gave it away? That I just told you?”

“Crowley...”

“Look, I’ll be gone in the morning, no reason to call Moose and Feathers...”

“Crowley... look at least let’s have a drink before you pack up.”

He still has the bottle of Craig he and Cas drank from the other night, thankfully.

“So how did you do it? Stay hidden, I mean” he asks.

“This bunker has lots of magical potential. I learned a thing for two from my mother.”

“Sorry about that, by the way” Dean says, wincing.

“Oh, you mean Rowena’s death?” Crowley shrugs. “Like I said, I would have ended up killing her anyway.”

Dean knows it’s more complicated than that – if he goes from his own experience, mother stuff often is – but he lets it slide. Crowley is back from the dead, and that’s enough for the moment.

“Alright. So you can do magic; what did you do exactly?”

Crowley looks thankful that he doesn’t bring Rowena up again.

And he has to admit: Checking out all the rooms he never knew existed because, as his – friend explains, they are “in the same space but not the same plane as the others” is – fun.

“Is that a Claymore?” he asks in a room containing nothing but swords.

“Yes.”

“You ever used that?” Dean continues excitedly before he remembers and finishes lamely “For sewing and stuff?”

“I was tempted more than once to hack a client to pieces. Does that count?” Crowley asks innocently.

Dean snorts. “Too bad, would have loved to have seen that.”

“I bet you would.”

They get caught up in yet another library where Crowley throws him a first edition of Slaughterhouse-Five. “Don’t look so spooked, Moose doesn’t have to know.”

Point is, they quite forget the time and stumble upon Sam as he prepares for his morning run.

“Dean, how the Hell did you get in – Crowley?”

“Yeah, he’s back” Dean says, walking past him towards the coffee maker. “Crowley, coffee?”

“Milk and sugar, please.”

“Dean – “

“I already did the tests, don’t worry.”

“I – “ Sam swallows, then nods. “Fine enough. We have enough rooms.”

Dean sees Crowley throw his brother a surprised glance. “And hey, at least he and Cas can talk about being newly human or whatever.”

“Who can – oh, Crowley.”

Naturally Cas isn’t that surprised. He himself got resurrected (again) not that long ago.

“Feathers. Long time no see.”

“You are going to enjoy this, Sammy” Dean says, “Crowley hacked the bunker’s magic.”

“How?”

“Experience. Just a couple of hundred years of experience.”

Sam rolls his eyes but smiles.

Crowley nudges Dean to the side. “Let me. Now that I can finally use the stove, I’ll take advantage of it.”

Of course he can’t just admit that he just wants to make them breakfast.

Dean smiles. At least he knows now he’s not going crazy.

Not crazier than he already is, anyway.

@dmsilvisart

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