#okay this is less of a review and more of a summary under the pretense of reframing

[mirqmarq428]

Just finished listening to Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (wrote the Martian).

10/10 definitely pirate this one it's amazing (spoilers under cut, but seriously read/listen it first the pacing of reveals is perfect). Unless you hate space realism and germ science and interspecies bromance

Rocky's story is so tragic. His people built a space elevator straight away but never bothered going to the moon. They have no idea about Relativity or even radiation, yet they send a desperate mission of 23 experts and only. one. survives. Imagine. You just idle around the general vicinity of your best clue because you have no way to do the necessary science. For 46 fucking years. And then one day this meatsack in a tiny ship turns up and he's also the sole survivor of his mission. An actual alien lifeform who's affected by the same extinction level plight with mind-blowing scientific knowledge that explains every mystery of your tragic voyage. So you team up out of necessity and loneliness and move into his ship. Finally the two of you hatch a plan to get the world-saving biomatter and on the way out there's a problem with the fuel acceleration and your only companion, this magical savior man, falls upward under his chair and almost dies and you can't let him die, he's got a planet to save too, so you run out of your environment and pick him up even tho the air is way too cold and thin for you and the blood in your nose is burning off. And just as you're fading out you see him wake up so at least his people won't die.

And then you wake up a week later and find out he seriously injured himself saving you as soon as you saved him. And now both of you are so unimaginably lucky to be alive, especially since he tried to clean you out to speed up the healing and accidentally tore all your scabs off.

So together the two of you make the thing to save both your worlds, but it gets into the fuel so you have to clean it out. You part ways and you're puttering along back home on the course he plotted because you still don't understand the math that got you here. And all of a sudden your power is just. Completely gone. So you drift in the right direction slowly and you're trying every single thing you could think of to save the fuel source from contamination and two of your five appendages are badly dinged up but nothing works dammit.

And then. He comes back for you. He threw away his chance of going home and he's knocking on your wall and he knows exactly what happened and he has the solution and he's going to get you home and save your planet. And he's completely confident that he's going to die as soon as he gets you home because apparently your food is toxic to him.

So you return and save the world and the best minds come together and make your friend a nice little environment and he's alive and his lifespan is so short compared to yours but he's really impressed with your society and you can still hang out with him whenever.

Just. The emotion. I got really close to crying at least 3 times.

[needleandhammer]

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

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

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

[gammacousin]

Okay. I’m ready to real talk Black Widow. I don’t want to but as an activist there’s an obligation I have to share and educate. I nerd to forget but I suppose it shows the power of this movie if it brings something real into the light.

*Spoiler Warning. Trigger warning for everything.*

There are some things I want to say that could potentially spoil aspect of the Black Widow film. I also would advise you to skip this post if you have a darker past, if you aren’t interested in getting serious, or wish to skim by, I’m sincerely not judging! I come on here to avoid the universe as well. You do you, I totally still love you if you don’t read this and want to move onto something nerdy or more fun. This isn’t the post for you.

It’s taken me a while to process and organize my thoughts. Skip if you don’t want to hear deep, raw stories.

3

2

Okay. Nerd review first.

The level of girl power and any and all glass ceilings… There is SO much left to do. So much that needs to still be addressed. But seeing 3 women run this show: Yelena, Natasha, and Melina was an absolute joy to observe. This isn’t the end of some hard waged war, it’s the beginning and I beg you; Disney/Marvel. Please give us more of this? It’s so important for young girls to see other girls kicking butt and winning. Quick summary of nerd feelings; Losing Nat still burns. Yelena is a boss.

Okay…Real talk.

I have to get a little deeper here now. My personal story absolutely played into how I felt about this film and I wish I saw some trigger warnings about the material covered. Do I know Black Window’s story? Yes. In and out. I can read it, I can write my FF on it. However. Little to no one knows my story and so absolutely no one is to blame for not warning me. I was not expecting to come out this shook.

I’m sharing this because it’s happening now, today. In the real world. I doubt the film makers had this mind over other social issues, but after feeling like it’s irrelevant, that my pain is somehow less than, I’m realizing through my activism it’s not.

I grew up in a cult where women are not relevant. You matter up to a point. You are useful, to a point. If you’re giving 24/7, you’re not giving enough. If you’re not smiling as you’re doing cult stuff, you’re complacent. In addition to why I’m about to share, my house growing up was not a safe space which is a story for another time. So it’s a stack…this janga-ish game that eventually just comes crashing down.

My trigger started moments after the film started the handing over of the kids. When Alexei chooses the job over the welfare of the girls. Alexei put his two “daughters” in danger to save ‘face’. To put the job ahead of two children…it hit home. In the group I’m from, fathers, mothers, grandparents, siblings will absolutely choose the group over blood. You are nothing and you mean nothing if you ‘defect’. If you break a rule. If you complain. If you say ‘no’. If you put in a bad review for a leader, if you have anything bad at all to say about the organization as a whole. You can confide something deep in someone you trust and it absolutely will come back to hurt you.

The title song shook me completely. This collage of video and images of brainwashing, treating these girls like absolute objects is disgusting in itself. But when you’re raised in this other world, there’s a level of brainwashing that is absolutely unmatched. Videos, books, quizzes, 12 hour lectures, weekly meetings.

People are unified to the point where you lose your own identity. There’s a language- a literally language- words you start to misuse. Verbiage only people in the cult use. Kids of any age will watch any rated film. Frequently the themes are about obedience and or cooperation and the consequences if you do not cooperate/obey. Death is a such a common theme that either you become petrified of your own shadow, petrified of breathing wrong, or turn completely numb. In sharing these videos, the goal is to instill this fear that you will never be enough. That you will die- turn into a charred hot dog of a figure if you do not obey 8 white men - the leaders, in New York. That your friends, classmates, neighbors, family will die if they don’t believe what you do. That you’re held accountable if you can’t bring them to your side.

The song for the credits hit me. I cannot listen to it. I have no idea what it was about.

When I watched the film, I couldn’t focus at this point at gosh barely 15 minutes in. I had already checked out. I heard keywords. “Entertainers,” “I feel stupid and contagious…”

In my world, I did not matter. What mattered was, what was presented to the public. To your group. Meeting some checklist of this perfect family at any cost. You’re not an individual, you’re a number. Literally. Your records are documented by men in the back room- your actions, your track record. But ultimately? You’re part of a numeral equation reported to headquarters. And if you’re a woman, you do not have a say in how you look, dress, act or in what you say. You are as the title song says, …“Entertainers”. You smile. You do your job, and you are ‘happy’ about it. Your job is to dedicate x amount of hours cleaning the room you gather in, and in recruitment of other members…

There’s a ‘job’ in the cult called a “pioneer”. Okay. No, we might not have been trained assassins. But you are trained to manipulate emotionally. To prey on the weak. You get books, magazines, movies, speeches, lectures- you rarely get a free Saturday. Oh and the job isn’t paid. So make sure you’re working (part time because full time secular work isn’t acceptable) at a desk job (because college and getting an education is not allowed). Don’t make friends with the people who work with you, they’re out to get you. Back at the club; You answer questions like it’s some schoolastic quiz every week and quote what your reading. It’s a brainwashing tactic. If you say something enough times, you remember it. You start to believe it. You spend hours reading these things, training… Your job is to target people who have lost- and have lost a lot because they’re vulnerable. You learn to go to cemeteries, and literally stalk people who are grieving. Like Val. If you can catch someone when they’re weak, senses are dulled. They’re desperate. And you bait them with this false promise. This idea that all THEY have to do is change all that they are, join you, and they’ll see their dead loved ones again. That they are doomed if they don’t change. Most pioneers draft 2-4 people per lifetime. If you’re a great saleswoman, you can draft more into this horrific world. And I regret the hours I spent lying, torturing people. For some cult that doesn’t give two cents about me.

I 100% believed of I didn’t convince my classmates, neighbors, to join my side they would either turn me in or they would be killed by a divine being. From 2 years old I was supposedly handing out pamphlets. The doom is not a quick painless death, no. You have visuals. You have men getting up to talk in detail about what your ‘friends’ will look like as corpses. Visually descriptive to the point where I still feel a bit numb to it all. That you will have to bury their bodies after the whole divine destruction. That you will have to “clean up” the earth. You are numb- convinced- bullied to the point where you believe this is true.

If you’re hurt as MANY WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE, and you don’t have two people to testify and say they saw it- it never happened. Abuse is the norm. And if you speak up about it? You’re called a liar. Your friends cut you off. They think you’ll die along with everyone else if you put in a ‘bad review’ or leave. You’re bullied into submission and taught from a young age that you are not in control of your own decisions. You relinquish yourself under the pretense that the men you have such reverence toward are under some divine being’s control.

Your parents hurting you is acceptable. And don’t you dare speak against your father if he’s deeply involved. Don’t even think about approaching if he’s on a phone call. If you’re hit you take it- because you “deserved” it. And you smile. You shove that pain deep down. You hide the bruise, the cut lip, the depression, the bottles of pills you’re swallowing the whatever….You’re screwed if you faint, throw up, pass out, because you’ve missed a meeting. You better be dying for that to happen…

The idea that is portrayed in the movie (IMO) is that you can forgive family who hurts you. I see people forgiving Alexei and what’s her name. Look- that’s great. It’s a fun film. Alexei is funny. Here’s what I saw; it’s a toxic man- nay- father who can’t accept responsibility. He takes pride in what the girls have become- monsters. Not in who they are at their core. He has no idea who they are. And the mom has this photo album…I’m tearing up. She remembers this a certain way, a wishful thought. I’ve confronted my own mother about our past and had an album thrown at me, “We were happy. You were happy.” The fact is I was told the smile. You’re forcing this perception that everything was normal. That it’s okay to go back. (I’m not taking away Yelena’s view that everything was real to her, that’s fine for the sake of the story, and sweet. The moment between her and Alexei..fine. Milena turns and takes their side at the end, great.) The problem with how I saw this, is that’s not how the real world works. I don’t owe my parents forgiveness when I didn’t mean shit to them. When people leave the cult they’re cut off. Treated like they’re dead. I didn’t find these moments cute, I found them horrific. Hugging me, saying he’s proud of me is the toxic sh** my father would pull. Ignoring the holes in the wall, in my skull, the phony impression he gives to the rest of the group. Hugging me…after sweeping everything he did not only to me, but countless others under the rug because the cult…because 8 men in NY will protect him. Legally. Or otherwise.

I don’t need to forgive my parents. If you’ve been mistreated, you don’t owe anyone anything. They can “try” to do the right thing, that doesn’t somehow block out years of mistreatment. Years of trauma. Sheetrock only patches the surface of the broken walls. Wounds heal but some scars stay with you forever. Metaphorically or otherwise.

‘Entertainers’ was a trigger word because if you’re high enough in the ranking system you’re asked to “testify” or share a story. It’s in front of a couple thousand. It’s an “honor”. What it really is, is a three ring circus. You will only see women on the sidelines reading from the cards while only men stand at the main podium. They’re reading what they have told them to say. Stories are manipulated, cut, changed to fit a narrative that better suits the group of a couple thousand members.

Dreykov. I hate this. But I have to go there. I’m neck deep already, might as well. I think the worst part of all of it is that you can’t touch the person who made you this way. Those 6-7-8 leaders are untouchable. It doesn’t matter what you try. What legal entities, ex groups have tried. There’s a term for us and we are considered ‘mentally diseased.’ Members are told to avoid us. And in case you were curious, no, they can’t just break their nose on a table to be free- if only it were that simple. Gosh that got me. I would cut a limb, split my skull open, if it meant I could just cut a chord. It takes years of therapy and I still have nightmares. Urges to just, go. I’m OKAY. But most escapees are not. If you manage to escape with your life and don’t end it because the pressure, guilt, abuse that comes with leaving is too much. (This is sadly the fate of MANY LBGTQ+ members.)

The only hope is either the group eventually runs out of money or they’re taken down legally. Both of which are impossible since many older members will leave all they have to the group rather than to their family. It’s a complex billion dollar publishing company that plays monopoly with people’s investments, homes, and lives.

If you speak up, you’re the liar. So you cannot free your friends, who have turned on you, already cut you off, and discarded you the day you walked out and didn’t come back.

Watching Natasha, and Yelena free their sisters made me think of every woman who is stuck in this cult. For every woman, child, currently being sexually/physically abused and can’t say sh** because they literally believe god will kill them. If I say anything to them, they block me. If I expose what’s happening they will lie in court. That’s what is happening. And it’s not in the news, it’s not talked about. Because you can’t. You’re forced into silence. There’s a block. A literal legal force field that you cannot penetrate. They have their own lawyers. You can’t break into it. You’ll lose every, single, legal battle you try to fight.

Was this a decent movie? Yes. Was I expecting to share this days after release, no. I’ve been forced into silence for so long, told that people have it far worse and that I shouldn’t talk about it. But just today I saw a grown ass couple in an escapee group, talking about how one trigger word sent them into a depressive spiral. Wondering if some god damn lightening will come out of the sky and knock them dead. And we frickin struggle in silence. People will just shrug and go “oh it can’t be that bad,” while my gay best friend can’t catch an effing break. While someone else suffers at home because god wants it that way. Someone else will bury their kid today, maybe not even hold a funeral for them if they were ‘mentally diseased.’

For people like that couple I met today, like me, if you don’t just see a fun film but a darker past or maybe it’s brought up some memories for you, I’d honestly love to chat!!! Message me! I feel like for as painful as this is to hash out not too many people know about what goes on behind a group of smiling, well dressed woman who come knocking on your door. “It’s just a religion.”

I guess I didn’t realize…the criminal aspect of what happened to me. You’re so ingrained to keep quiet. To smile. To ignore, to suppress. I can smile, joke laugh, but visualizing…inadvertently seeing this mirror was so unbelievably uncomfortable. I would always rather help someone else because it takes me out of my head. Live in a bubble where I can call my trauma a ‘fantasy’. What’s real is when someone like me has a bad day? Lol! Look, my husband literally checks his phone to make sure a conversation never touches a couple hundred trigger words that will absolutely send me into the closet with a gallon of ice cream or a bottle of whiskey. I can’t imagine what someone else, what some other traumatized individual goes through. (Maybe that’s why the Bucky stuff makes me all angry She-Hulk too..)

Look, talking people ex members of this group, out of suicide is a daily endeavor to the point where it’s borderline on autopilot. But having this, I suppose, brilliant, piece of cinema turn the camera around left me raw and writhing and angry. Not for me, but for everyone else still stuck. With every year you spend in that cult, add ten more to therapy.

If you feel like me at all, you’re not alone. Not anymore. We were raised to feel alone in the world. That the universe is somehow out to get us and that’s simply not true. You don’t need the people who raised you if they were absolute shit bags. And you DO NOT have to forgive them for keeping you in that environment. Family isn’t family if they’ve hurt you. You owe them nothing. It is healthy to feel your feelings (and you and your feelings are valid. )

Anyways! I hope to be able to talk about more fun Marvel topics soon. But this felt important so thanks for listening. I’m really not hating guys, this is just…it’s heavy. And I beg you to do your research into cults and to help out where you can.

Love and light,

-M

[gavillain]

Mother Knows Best: A Tale of the Old Witch by Serena Valentino Review

Serena Valentino's villain series is... interesting. I really loved Fairest of All when I first read it, then A Beast Within was disappointing and cluttered, then Poor Unfortunate Soul was awful and weighed down by an over reliance on Valentino's OCs and running plot, then Mistress of Evil was literally the worst Maleficent thing I've ever wasted time on, and then The Odd Sisters was "no payoff” incarnated into a single book. I had skipped over Mother Knows Best (which is actually the fifth novel in the series, set before The Odd Sisters) originally because I'd been burned by Valentino before and didn't like Gothel enough to give it a try. But my friend said it was actually on the better end, and I'd already suffered through the rest so, hey, might as well complete the series.

Before I say what I thought of the book, I need to address my opinions of Tangled and Mother Gothel in general. So I like Tangled. I don't love Tangled. I think it's on the better end of Revival era Disney movies but on the lesser end of Disney movies on the whole. It really took me until the Tangled TV show to come around to liking Rapunzel and Eugene as much as I do, and I definitely feel like the show made me appreciate the movie Tangled more than I did at first. Likewise, my feelings on Mother Gothel are about the same: one of the best villains of the Revival era but one of Disney's weakest overall. My issue with Mother Gothel is that, though she was basically the last real Disney villain, it doesn't feel like the writers were that invested in making her a character in her own right. Unlike Dr. Facilier one movie earlier, her motivations are only told to us by the opening narration and she gets only two very short scenes from her point of view. For the most part, she exists only as she pertains to Rapunzel, just there to fill the role of Rapunzel's abusive mother without having much character of her own. And having my default Rapunzel story in my head being Into the Woods (the stage play, btw, not Disney’s compressed film version) with a really complex and nuanced Witch character, Gothel was never satisfying. As a result, I feel like Gothel was always ripe to be filled in with more information to flesh her out and make her feel less like a stereotype and more like a character. As a result, I ended up loving this book. Well, okay, my bar for Valentino books at this point is super low, and this one cleared the bar so I probably am grading it on a curve. Don't love it as much as Fairest of All, but it's an easy second place in this series. I had a good time reading it, and I got sucked into Gothel's character and struggles. Here's the thing: if I liked Tangled more then I probably WOULDN'T like this book because it takes a sledgehammer to Tangled's film lore and also gives very little room for any of the TV show events or characters to exist. That said, I find the book's original ideas to be engaging and fun, and I think they're cooler than the movie's. A quick plot summary (spoilers ahoy): Gothel and her two sisters Primrose and Hazel are the three daughters of the witch Manea, the queen of the Dead Woods. Gothel and her sisters are set to become real witches by Manea sharing her blood with them. However, Primrose detests how evil their mother is and the wicked things she does, and she tries to rebel. This leads Manea to try to kill Primrose. Unwilling to let her sister die, Gothel burns her mother's magic Rapunzel flowers, causing Manea to crumble into dust by rapid aging. Gothel and her sisters attempt to move on with their lives and pick up the pieces, but Gothel's sisters soon become terribly ill following Manea's spirit coming back for revenge. The three Odd Sisters arrive under the pretense of helping in exchange for Gothel sharing Manea's magic books with them. However, despite all of Gothel's efforts, her sisters succumb to their illnesses and die. Gothel is devastated, and the Odd Sisters give her a spell that puts her to sleep for centuries. Gothel's undead servant Sir Jacob keeps her alive as she sleeps by using the last surviving Rapunzel flower. When Gothel awakes, she becomes obsessed with reviving her sisters. However, when the armies of Corona storm the Dead Woods to find the Rapunzel flowers, Gothel flees with her sisters' tombs and one single Rapunzel flower and goes to live in a cottage far away. She lives there peacefully with her cook Mrs. Tiddlebottom for a time, but eventually word gets out about the remaining flower and the Coronans come for it. Gothel, desperate for the flower to keep her alive and one day possibly revive her sisters, goes and kidnaps the princess whose hair now has the flower's power. Gothel names the child Rapunzel after the flower and leaves her to Tiddlebottom to raise and take care of whilst she studies her witchcraft to revive her sisters. On Rapunzel's eighth birthday, Tiddlebottom walks in on Gothel and the Odd Sisters trying and failing to use Rapunzel's hair to revive Hazel and Primrose and interrupts the ritual. The Odd Sisters wipe Tiddlebottom's memories, and Gothel decides to whisk Rapunzel away to the tower until her hair is long enough to complete the spell. However Gothel, having no interest in being a mother, has the Odd Sisters place Rapunzel in an enchanted sleep where she would dream of living out her days with a loving and doting Mother Gothel. After ten years, Rapunzel's hair is finally long enough and she awakes from her decade long slumber, blissfully unaware that her life had all just been a dream. The events of the movie happen and Gothel dies, her ambitions unfulfilled. Maybe a not so quick plot summary XD It's a fairly long book, and a lot happens, as you can see. The flower is no longer a single mythical sundrop hoarded by Gothel, but, rather, a breed of flower cultivated by the witches of the Dead Woods. Gothel doesn't even TRY to be Rapunzel's mother, and most of Rapunzel's childhood is nothing more than a dream. And there's a lot of extra lore with the witches. So, what I like MOST about this books is everything up until the destruction of the Dead Woods. The Dead Woods is a decaying forest where the neighboring villages are ordered to turn over their dead to. If a village tries to hoard their dead bodies, then Manea sends an army of the undead to slaughter their village. The setting is very macabre and gothic, and its got a great Halloween feel to everything that takes place in this setting. It's creepy and fun, and Gothel's mother Manea makes for a great villain despite her limited appearances. I'm not super fond of Primrose or Hazel, and I feel like they're kind of generic in personalities, but I do like Gothel having someone she cares about THAT much. And Primrose being the one disturbed by Manea's evil leaves Gothel plenty of room to be kind of enthralled by it in a way that makes her stand out nicely. In fact, Gothel is fittingly really good in this book. Her personality is not really the one we saw in Tangled, but the book explains that the movie events are Gothel trying to put on a motherly act after having not done anything for a decade. And, to be honest, I like her personality in the book more than the movie version. She talks more like a person than a stereotype, which is nice. She's not just some vain woman, but someone smart and cunning who is not without compassion but who will tolerate and commit any depravity as a means to an end. I found her to be a fun and engaging villain protagonist. I also appreciate that while Gothel never gets to become a full out witch with powers because Manea never completely the blood ritual, she's constantly surrounded by witchcraft and necromancy and her lack of magic is actually an important plot point and disadvantage that she works to overcome. Again, something I always felt missing from Movie-Gothel was magic and witchcraft so I appreciated this book giving it back without contradicting the movie. While Poor Unfortunate Soul and Mistress of Evil both had the problem of their focus villains being only supporting characters while Valentino's OCs were the main characters, Gothel in this book is fully and completely the point of view character outside of a hand full of chapters. Valentino's OCs don't get in the way as much in this book. The Odd Sisters kind of do get annoying and in the way at a few points (a lot of the recounting of the movie events are literally "The Odd Sisters watch Tangled with wacky commentary"), but they're not as bad here as they are in some of the other books. We don't find out in this book, but in The Odd Sisters, they're revealed as Gothel's half sisters, so there's a bit more relevance to them here than in, say, Maleficent or Ursula's stories. So, yeah, overall a pretty good read, imo. Maybe not the best thing in the world, but I'm glad I went back and grabbed this one. Gave me a new appreciation for Gothel. Also, you gotta love these covers under the dust jacket with the alternate faces.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Ray of Sunshine From Behind the Clouds(baon)

Summary: Look, don’t ask Edge about his relationship with Stretch. He doesn’t know, either.

Prequel to the series, set after “Seeing Stars Through Clouds’ and ‘Pillars of Creation’

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Pre-Relationship, Mentions Of The Seven Human Souls, And the deaths of the children, Light Angst

part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

If someone asked him to qualify his relationship with Stretch, Edge would tell them to mind their own business, to begin with.

But even if he refused to answer, he would be left with the question and he would have to admit, if only to himself, that he didn’t know.

Their former antagonism wasn’t completely vanished, but these days it would more likely fall under teasing, with less aggression than even his own brother’s. Edge found that he wasn’t merely tolerating Stretch’s company, he was often somewhat enjoying it. The glimpses of lively interest he could show, hands moving excitedly as he talked. The brilliant mind he kept so carefully hidden beneath a concealing layer of sarcasm and apathy was slowly revealing itself, like a shy ray of sunshine coming out from a behind a cloud.

He supposed he could admit that he liked it. Sometimes.

But he couldn’t name it.

For example, how could he properly explain Stretch’s newest ploy? It consisted of Edge getting a text on a random day of an address and a single word beneath it.

lunch?

It was usually followed by a ridiculous emoji of a sandwich, perhaps or a croissant.

The first time it came, Edge nearly declined. He was particular about his food and wasn’t interested in any greasy slop that Stretch might offer.

He’d already typed a refusal, his finger hovering over the send button…and remembered the coffee shop. His newfound daily pleasure in the Beanery was enough for him to delete the message and send a wary agreement, along with a time.

The thumbs up emoji that followed made him roll his eye lights, but his curiosity was piqued. Besides, if it turned out to be someplace like Grillby’s, he hardly needed to stay.

Instead, it turned out to be a small restaurant with no more than four tables, covered in checked tablecloths and dripping candles despite the hour of the day. There were braids of garlic hanging from the ceiling along with yellow globes of cheese. The overhead fixtures were plain and rustic. His doubts grew at first sight and vanished when he took the first bite from a plate brought to him by a large, enthusiastic Human whose booming voice nearly demanded enjoyment of the food.

Until then, Edge’s experience in pasta was limited to dinners with Papyrus and a few dishes he’d made on his own.

But this…one twirled fork filled with noodles and Edge could reassure their anxious waiter that the food was delicious. Lunchtime conversation was mostly Stretch rattling on about the history of Italian food, with the Human, Mario, occasionally interjecting.

It was…acceptable. And if sometimes the bright gleam of excitement in Stretch’s eye lights sent a twinge to his soul, well, a quick rub over his sternum usually chased it away. Usually.

Since that first text, Edge had eaten in many different places that were as unlikely as they were unusual. Stretch knew of plenty hole-in-the-walls where he chatted with the owners in their own language, Spanish, Italian, ones Edge didn’t recognize, from food trucks and storefronts with handwritten signs. They would sit at small tables with clean table cloths and eat food that was brought steaming on platters, or Stretch would secure them paper plates of food that was delicious and sometimes so spicy even Edge needed a drink.

Today, they were sitting together at a rickety picnic table, three dishes between them laid out on a scattering of clean napkins. If Edge was out of place in his business suit with Stretch who was in a sweatshirt and sneakers, the owner hadn’t given them a second glance.

“this is a kimchee roasted veggie bowl,” Stretch announced, pointing his fork at one dish. “caprese skewers, fried rice balls, and korean barbecue.”

Edge took a bite of the aforementioned veggie bowl, humming in appreciation at the heavy spice as he forked up another. The young woman in the food truck gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Edge waved somewhat stiffly back to her. “You certainly know a lot of people.”

“i told you, i like people,” Stretch mumbled around his own mouthful. It was a struggle not to grimace at the way he slurped up his food, but Edge couldn’t argue that it wasn’t delicious.

“I would have thought you wouldn’t care for Humans, to be honest,” Edge said, carefully. Perhaps not the best choice of luncheon conversations, but it was a question that had bothered him in the past. “Blue said that your Human in Underswap was much different than Frisk.”

Once, before a trip to a planetarium and a scattering of lunches, Edge likely wouldn’t have noticed the way Stretch tensed, his smile becoming less easy and more fixed, “yeah, pretty different.” He shrugged, plucking up one of the skewers and nibbling at it. “most humans are okay, you know? most of them aren’t much different than us. they love their families and they have fun and they like to laugh. most of them are fine.”

“Some aren’t.” Edge thought of his children at the Y, the stories he knew they hid.

He was taken off guard by Stretch’s flat reply, “asgore killed six kids and people think he’s okay.”

Edge frowned. “That’s different, he was doing what was necessary for his people as a King.” But thinking of it made him uncomfortable in a way it hadn’t in the past. Before they’d come to the surface, Edge had never met a Human, and now—

“yeah? maybe humans who do bad things are doing what they think is necessary. why does asgore get a pass?”

“You don’t like him.” That much was obvious, Stretch never made any pretense in the few occasions Edge saw him around Asgore, much the same as he’d never made any pretense around Edge not that long ago.

Stretch stabbed at a rice ball with his fork, and muttered, “i don’t want to fight.”

“We aren’t.”

“okay, then no, i don’t,” Stretch snapped. “and i’ve never been shy about saying it. he can have all the excuses he wants but the truth is, he killed those kids. i’ve seen their souls, you know i have, we all saw. they were kids and she just—“

“She?” Edge interrupted softly and Stretch clicked his teeth shut and looked away.

“he. whatever. look, the point is, he killed them. that doesn’t make me want to look at him like some fuzzy-ass savior.”

“I’ve killed.” There was no denying it and he’d never tried, not when a simple Check would reveal the truth. He wasn’t ashamed of it; he’d done what was necessary and no more, enough for him and his brother to survive.

“yeah, i know, kinda hard not to when i saw your lv the first time we met,” Stretch blew out a sharp breath and his sudden smile held no humor, “you ever killed a helpless kid?”

“No.” That much at least he could claim.

“i have. so i’m a hypocrite, too.”

That…was impossible. Stretch had no LV at all. Edge grabbed his wrist as Stretch tried to stand, “What do you mean?”

“let me go.” There was a tremble to those words, but it wasn’t fear Edge heard.

He let go.

He watched as Stretch walked a distance away, downwind, and pulled out his cigarettes. Flicked his lighter and lit one, exhaling a pale cloud. He smoked as he watched cars driving past, Humans pulling up to order their own food and giving them curious glances or the occasional look of outright disgust. No one approached them, no one said a word, and Edge worked his way through the bowl of kimchee, watching Stretch as he watched the world.

He dropped the butt on the ground, grinding it out beneath one untied sneaker, then picked it up gingerly between two fingers to toss on the trash bin.

Stretch walked back to the picnic table, hands in his pockets. He breathed out slowly, then asked, “can we talk about something else?”

“Yes.” His curiosity suddenly didn’t seem worth seeing that anguish again on Stretch’s face, not right now. He pointed his fork at the plates laid out in front of them. “Kimchee with roasted vegetables. Last week it was curried goat roti. How do you find these places?”

Stretch grinned and the sudden flood of warmth in Edge’s soul must have been from the heat of the kimchee. “twitter. i have a weekly thing i do where i take restaurant suggestions and then i sort of review it.” He gave Edge a wink. “i did ‘seoul food’ a few weeks back and thought maybe you’d like it, spicy as you are.”

“My temper isn’t that bad,” Edge said with exasperation. He couldn’t say why, but for some reason, Stretch’s grin turned closer to wry.

“nah, your temper is fine, edgelord. hey, listen, i’m gonna go to a new chinese place next week for a review, wanna come with? i promise i won’t mention you by name.”

Edge paused, his fork hovering over the barbecue. This was the first time Stretch had invited him out for lunch in advance rather than springing it on him, and to a restaurant he hadn’t yet visited. That, too, was something new.

But he couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed their lunches…

“No pictures,” Edge said sternly, and Stretch’s expression lit up with delight.

“nothing but selfies and the plates, cross my soul!” Stretch made an ‘x’ over his sternum with a long finger, then snatched up his fork again. “okay, now quit hogging the goods.”

As Stretch reached for the bowl, at the last moment Edge used his own fork to pull it out of reach, sending Stretch’s to clang uselessly against the picnic table. His disbelief morphed into a peal of laughter and Edge had to resist the urge to smile, rubbing again at his sternum.

Honestly, he might have to have his soul Checked if it kept throbbing like that. For now, he scooped up the bowl, working on keeping it away from Stretch who had actually crawled onto the table trying to reach and would probably have more success at getting a forkful if he could stop laughing.

Something like friends, Edge decided at last, giving over the bowl before it ended up a mess in one of their laps. That’s how he would describe their relationship if he were asked. Similar to what he had with Antwan, someone he could share a meal or a conversation with.

And if they were friends, then he could admit he was looking forward to more than the food next week.

Especially if Stretch laughed like this again.

-finis-