#that cup one is so canon and it lives rent free in my brain

[kayomin]

normal jovier enjoyer

[painfullymeta]

In my feels again, tumblr

Back in 2017 or so I wrote a story about anxiety. It was absolutely rooted in the political environment of the moment; it was absolutely rooted in the particular stresses of the moment for someone who passes for cishet and is not. It's about a closeted, neurodivergent (unspecified but he has enough echolalia to be a PITA to write) trans man who is being increasingly hemmed in by the misogynistic component of creeping fascism and is forced to choose whether or not he becomes himself or lets the world win.*

The world is full of choices, and they don't actually get less scary when the moment passes, because gods know those moments are still out there waiting for their chance (if life were made of moments, even now and then a bad one— but if life were only moments, then you'd never know you had one**) and I'm just me. (Am I not hot when I'm in my feelings?***)

Sunday I had a chance to talk with the trans kid who was a big chunk of inspiring my last big in my feels tumblr post and tell him his speech meant a lot to me, as someone who doesn't know what the fuck I am. And to tell him my Tradition has a canonically transmasc god, because it does, and even if he isn't pagan anymore, he's someone it's safe to say that to.

The teens give me life, yo. (Nonbinary kid at the coaster park stabbing into their ice cream cup with a spoon and yelling at their jimmies, "I CAME OUT, WHY WON'T YOU" will live rent-free in my brain forever. In the good way. In the best way.) One of my kids made me a nonbinary flag friendship bracelet. I love everyone in this bar never mind that none of y'all are old enough to drink there.

I spend a lot of pointless brain cycles worrying about how much of my life I'll blow up if I make more of a point of anything. Though at least being at "now accepting all major pronouns and thon" about it makes the casual human interaction a little less fraught. But I loop back around and through the petty anxiety about it all the time.

Anyway. That is all setup for the bit I am actually in my feels about.

I happened to glance at Discord and saw activity in a server for a meatspace social group. So I went to see what it was.

What it was, was a friend who is, as far as I know, cishet, posting this:

Which I suspect he did because a) it's June and b) one of the other folks there has Star Wars as a special interest.

I peered at it, and I peered at my anxiety, and I replied to say that in related content, one of my kids made me an enby-flag friendship bracelet.

Within less than a minute, that comment of mine had a thumbs up react from a cis gay friend who hadn't even been logged in at the time I said it and I am fuckin' verklempt ever since.

It's such a tiny thing, but I have such anxiety about my whole deal in my meatspace life y'all and here's this quiet in-person-person in-community support and it means the world to me and...

... anyway I flapped my hands incoherently at him in DMs because it fuckn mattered. (And I know he can parse "I am too autistic to words usefully here".)

Never underestimate the power of a well-placed thumbs up emoji.

We are more than we're made to be We got more than meets the eye When we stand strong, together you and me We can save the world ****

* "The Company Store" was published in Recognize Fascism, an anthology edited by Crystal M. Huff and released by World Weaver Press in 2020.

** Yeah I'm putting in the echolalia because I talked about Rory's origin story it's just gonna happen that way and also I am deep in Alexithymia Bros right now so I'm talking around my feels. That's from Into the Woods, by the way, "Moments in the Woods", by Sondheim and Lapine.

*** "I'm Just Ken", the Barbie Movie

**** "We Can Save the World", Blaseball: The Musical (The Deaths of Sebastian Telephone)

[off-the-heezys]

Got any favorite Camp Camp Ships?? :O How about a list of them?? What would be your favorite to least favorite? Any reasons why??

I’ll give you my top 4 and then we can talk about others

Jaspvid (Jasper x David) - MY NUMBER ONE. when i tell you this is my comfort ship, i mean i would literally die for these two. I LOVE THESE DORKS. ive cried over them an embarrassing amount of times and they are so. so. so perfect. the way i view them in my head. they are everything i want. it’s the slow, long pining. it’s the longing. the YEARNING. GOD. of course, it would never happen in canon, for obvious reasons, but they live rent free in my head with my 100000 of AUs where Jasper is alive and well

Kevdan (Dirty Kevin x Daniel) - they’re so awful and perfect together. random crackship that i care way too much about and will explain how their dynamic is epic to the depths of space i have a spotify playlist for these bitches Pikemax (Pikeman x Max) - I blame @gh0stbunnie for this one. would never work out in canon. i can’t see this in canon. but fanon/au? thats where its at babey. also just a way for me to project stuff thats happened to me in the past but pshhhhhhhhh also, this is something that is brought up a lot, but Pikeman is canonically like, 12. miles and jordan brought it on during some commentary on the blu ray. i bring it up because people tend to think pikeman is like, 15

David x Cute Waitress - idk if these two have a ship name but ill think of something later. but omg. these two r so cute in my head. a little sweet southern doll with a silly, awkward camp loving man. i know they make each other giggle all of the time i just. this one hits different.

now lets move on to other ships lol

im pretty open minded when it comes to ships (except for a few) so like, i’ll just give my opinion of ships

let’s get this out of the way, if you ship maxvid, camvid, or anything of that nature, uh, get the fuck off my page. block me, i don’t care. i hope you have a fucking terrible rest of your life

Gwenvid (Gwen x David) - to be perfectly honest? i can’t see this happening in canon. it’s cute though! I have a handful of gwenvid AUs that i love dearly. Gwen is just. so physically and verbally abusive to David canonically. im fine w it, it just urks me when people go around saying its canon, y’know? cute tho in fanon/aus!

Danvid (Daniel x David) - hot take this ship is awful. I barely see anyone portray it in a not sexual light. There’s a handful of people (my friends) who do this ship justice, but other than that, this just isn’t my cup of tea. i love me a good onesided danvid tho

Gwenjaspvid (Gwen x Jasper x David) - I have yet to see a way people have done this in a way I like. so for now I’m rather neutral about it

Sneil (Snake x Neil) - this ones real, you cant tell me they weren’t each others bi awakenings this ones SO REAL TO ME Maxneil (Max x Neil) - tbh? eh. I like to think Neil had like, a little puppy crush on Max, but it never became more than that. it’s a real popular one tho and i can see why

Makki (Max x Nikki) - they r like siblings to me so :( thats gunna be a no for me. if you like it tho, totally cool- i know Yssa likes it

Harrison x Nerris - again, these r like siblings to me so nah, but i get how some people might be into the enemy to lovers they might see in them. personally just no for me Masha (Max x Sasha) - yes. i can so see this. i love how @queeniecamps portrays these two, sasha and her little purse bf, so slay

Sasha x Pikeman - LOOKS AROUND. MOTIONS YOU CLOSER. WHISPERS IN UR EAR. i think about them sometimes. theres untapped potential here and no one talks about it

Presmax (Preston x Max) - I think about these two to “Popular” from Wicked, and it’s epic. and that is it. how did this ship get so popular back in like 2017. where did the spark come from

Tabrin (Tabii x Erin) - yes i participated in the ship week. yes I will again this year. yes, this is a very, very casual ship in my brain. i’ve got like zero aus for it. very very cute tho

Tabii x Neil - no. next one

Neil x Erin - in @dingdongsditch DJ AU, 100%. but also in canon they’d be. kinda cute. wahh.

SpaceMax (Space Kid x Max) - listen. not in canon. but. BUT.

Me x David x Cute Waitress - this ones canon guys idk what to tell you we’re all happily married

and that’s about like, all i can think of right now without getting into like rlly obscure ones if you think of any I didn’t put on this list, feel free to ask me about it

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

Stories I haven’t read yet, but clearly need to put on my ever-expanding List.

~*~

Welcome back queen [Thank you, it’s so lovely to be back!] if ur still doing follower recs I gotta recommend I would wait for a thousand years by bleuett it’s soooooooo good

[This one was actually recced to me by two different people, the other of whom said, “ Maybe I'm crying a little so I feel like a should recommend ‘I would wait for a thousand years’ by bleuett on ao3.”]... it’s def. on my List!

I would wait for a thousand years

by bleuett (T, 10k, wangxian)

Summary:  During the worst of winter, a traveler comes to stay at Lan Wangji's inn. He wears a red ribbon in his hair.

“Do you see the rabbit?” Wei Ying asks and points at the moon. “That’s the moon rabbit, he helps make Chang’e more immortality elixir. He keeps Chang’e company.”

“I do not wish the rabbit for company,” Lan Wangji says tightly. “You are the one I want by my side.”

“And I’m here, Lan Zhan. If you go to the moon, I’ll follow you, I’ll always be here now.”

~*~

I just read a great fic by aisthuu "every love story is a ghost story", didn't see it in your recs so wanted to recommend it! LWJ is a guqin composer and teacher, buys a cheap guqin off eBay which ends up being attached to WWX's spirit from canon era. It's bittersweet, LWJ deals with Lan's homophobia (implicit in a Lan way) and his feelings towards the ghost. This is author's only ao3 fic and honestly I don't remember how I stumbled upon it, but I'm happy I did and hope you will enjoy it too!  [I’ve recently read this one, and loved it!]

every love story is a ghost story

by aisthuu (M, 59k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Summary:  The man is in Lan Zhan’s bed. Did they—he begins to wonder, eyes trailing to where the man’s body lies under the blanket. Had Lan Zhan—?

Then the sleep-fog clears and Lan Zhan realizes that the young man isn’t quite opaque around the edges.

“You’re a spirit.”

The spirit narrows its eyes. “I’m so much more than that.”

(Lan Zhan buys a guqin off eBay for a suspiciously low price, only to find that it’s haunted. And now there’s a ghost in his bed.)

~*~

Ok so I absolutely have to rec "see you yesterday" by glyphic. It's a wip, but it's currently at 101k so there's a whole lot there, and it's terrible and wonderful and beautiful all at once. The way the backstory of canon events is adapted to the modern-with-cultivation setting is brilliant, and then there's the amnesia, and then there's the time loop. This fic lives permanently rent-free in my brain.

see you yesterday

by glyphic (M, 101k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  

Wei Ying 21:09 hey lan zhan what’s the weirdest way youve died

Lan Zhan 21:11 Falling encyclopedias.

Wei Ying 21:12 omg no way that’s so rude turning books against you???

Lan Zhan 21:13 A betrayal I will never forget.

On Halloween night, an exiled demonic cultivator and a Lan disciple get stuck in a time-loop, find each other, and try to figure it all out.

~*~

If you are looking for recs for yourself I absolutely love (the complete!) story Just as the Snow Melts by draechali on AO3. It's a canon divergence where everyone lives, even WWX! ~ @airmidcelt

Just as the Snow Melts

by draechaeli (T, 67k, wangxian)

Summary:  Like a snowy mountain top in spring the residents of the Burial Mounds trickled down the mountain and joined the flow of society.

“I went to the Burial Mounds,” Lan WangJi said.

“Ah, yeah… I’m sorry Lan Zhan,” replied Wei WuXian, “I hadn’t thought anyone would come to visit. I am still not sure how it happened; I brought A-Yuan to Yiling to play by the river and then ended up somehow teaching a bunch of children swimming and writing along with him.”

~*~

Hello! It's come to my attention that you have not as yet read Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation! Please do! It's the only thing that gave me joy during 2020 😆 like proper belly laughs and disney villain style cackling. It is a wip, and it is long but so so worth it!! The author has reworked the entire canon through these message crystals and still conveys complex characters despite the tricky format. It's just so good!! Highly highly recommend it! ❤ ~ @theladypeartree  [Oh!  I’ve been subscribed to this one, and know that @swaglexander-the-great is a reliable provider of Hilarity, so I’m excited for it to be finished!]

Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation 

by Hades_the_Blingking (T, 49k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  The Untamed universe is exactly the same, except everybody has magical crystals that have a suspiciously familiar messaging system. The story is pretty much the same as the show, except everyone lives!! (so minor changes).

or in which Wei WuXian tries his darndest to date Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng possibly has a aneurysm, Jin ZiXuan is still the most awkward human alive, and Xue Yang makes me write some VERY cursed things. Written in chatfic format! :3

~*~

Chomrafy on AO3 deserves love and encouragement; she’s written a body of compact, poetic, and eloquent shortfics each of which can stand alone, but that comprise an intricately cross-referential and mostly internally-consistent universe. They’re grouped as chapters in works according to theme; for example, “in cupped hands” focuses upon Jin Ling and his second-generation baggage; “Departure in Autumn” portrays the last years of WWX’s first life. Follow the tag “Chomrafy’s MDZS shortfics.” [I don’t see this tag?]

in cupped hands

by chomrafy (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary:  Of secrets, of futures, of love. A Jin Ling-centric collection of 200-word fics.

Ch.1: Jin Ling repays a debt (JL, JC, & WWX). Ch.2: Jin Ling and a ghost in the mirror. (JL & JYL) Ch.3: A matter of friends (JL & the other kids) Ch.4: In this house we don't keep dogs (JC & WWX) Ch.5: In the end, he remains silent (JL & uncles) Ch.6: A first night hunt, of sorts (JL & the other kids) Ch.7: Jin Ling, forgiving, forgetting (JL & LXC & JGY) Ch.8: Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling argue (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.9: Jin Ling and his father (JL & JC) Ch.10: Jin Ling speaks up (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.11: Jin Ling and a piece of home (JL, JC, & WWX)

Departure in Autumn

by chomrafy (not rated, 6k)

Summary:  Four perspectives. A steady march to the end.

Ch.1: Because if anything happens to them, Wen Qing would never be able to heal with these hands again. Ch.2: As long as this is still home, Jiang Yanli will wait as long as she needs to. Ch.3: Five times Jiang Cheng reaches for Wei Wuxian, one time he turns away. Ch.4: Whether the road is broad or narrow, bright or dark, they would have to keep walking. Wei Wuxian digs Wen Qing's grave.

~*~

Hello, hope all is going well. I don't have an ask, by I do have a recommendation. I read this fic a while ago and found it again. I just wanted to recommend this for everyone. Let me know what you think please. Thank you. [Oh!  This one’s in my To Read list, but  I’d forgotten about it.  Mmmm, fox!wwx and dragon!lwj.]

Ten miles of Lotus Flowers

by Yukirin_Snow

M, 274k, wangxian

Summary:  He was a mischievous fox spirit, wreaking havoc where he went, about to depart on a journey that would span centuries.

He was a heavenly prince, a proud dragon destined to ascend the throne to become emperor.

Neither expected their paths to collide over the span of three lives.

~*~

I forgot if it was your blog 😥 that recommended “Bestseller” (when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528316/chapters/51318766)

But OMG IT WAS HILARIOUS!!! I LOVED IT!! And if it wasn’t your blog, I’m so sorry for how weird this sounds 😭😭😭😭 I just loved this fic so much that I have to tell it to someone 😢 [It’s on my List, but I haven’t read it yet!]

Bestseller

by pupeez4eva

M, 8k, wangxian

Summary:  He had written the book to prove a point. It was never supposed to be a big thing, and he certainly never intended for everyone — Jiang Cheng, Zewu-Jun, the Juniors, literally everyone— to be reading about his sex life.

Oh God, he definitely needed to make sure Lan Zhan didn’t find out about this.

(Or, when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit).

~*~

I’d like to rec On Your Marks, Get Set, Bake! by @blackwiresgrowonherhead

It’s one of my absolute favorites and I laughed out loud so many times when reading it

on your marks, get set, bake!

by BlackWiresOnHerHead

G, 41k, wei wuxian & juniors

Summary:  Jin Ling resumes thumping on the door to room 721, and the small collection of freshmen starts chanting “Senior Wei! Senior Wei! Senior Wei!” with increasing volume until finally Wei Wuxian opens the door.

“Yes?” he says with his widest, most innocent eyes.

“Senior Wei!” demands Lan Jingyi, shoving himself to the front of the group. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a contestant on this year’s season of The Great Gusu Bake Off?!?”

--

Several months ago, college student Wei Wuxian secretly competed in the most popular reality show in the country. The show starts airing in the fall. The freshmen in his dorm collectively lose their minds.

~*~

If you're in the mood for v. short ridiculous fun fic, may I suggest My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio by x_los It's 2k modern cultivators AU, featuring WWX calling LWJ's sword Bitchin' [omg I’m laughing so hard] and I think it's more fun going in blind?

My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio

by x_los

T, 2k, wangxian

Summary:  Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

[decepti-thots]

Fic recs - IDW gen

Eh, fuck it, "IDW gen fics" is as good a theme as any I decided, so here we go.

Dog of Law - Chi-chi-chimaera (gestalt1)

IDW, rated T, gen (background past pairings), ~60k

Summary:

When Rodimus and the Squad are thrown in a cell on Luna 1 by Tyrest, it isn't a small green and white mech they find waiting for them, but a small green and white turbofox.

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Dominus Ambus/Kaon(Previous), Minimus Ambus, Hot Rod | Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, The Rod Squad, Swerve (Transformers), Megatron (Transformers), Ravage (Transformers), Dominus Ambus, The Pet (Transformers), Dominus/Kaon briefly implied in Chapter 18 and 19, Alternate Universe, Turbofox Minimus, Trapped as an Animal, Brief Gore, Domestication

Notes:

This fic is a great big fun ride and I love it so much. It starts with the premise of "what if Tyrest fucked way more with Minimus on Luna-1" and takes it SO far with great flair and excellent characterisation. Also, Ravage is here and I love him.

who's a heretic now? - oriflamme

IDW, rated G, gen, ~4k

Summary:

They meet for brunch once a week.

Pharma doesn't want this. Story of his life.

And yet without fail he joins Megatron on the observation deck, drops hard into the seat across from the most prolific killer of their time, and stares blankly into the black of interstellar space until Megatron pours him a cup of gritty oil and goes back to pecking away at his datapad.

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Pharma/Megatron, Pharma (Transformers), Megatron (Transformers), Ratchet (Transformers), Drift | Deadlock, Whirl (Transformers), Velocity (Transformers), Hot Rod | Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Brainstorm (Transformers), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye (IDW), Being Pharma is Suffering, mild body horror, Who Mourns for Adonais?, Bonding Over Brunch and Mutual Despair

Notes:

look all i have EVER WANTED is fic where pharma gets dragged kicking and screaming into the Lost Light's insistence on helping out shitty assholes despite absolutely nobody on that ship being able to avoid abject nonsense for more than 0.5 seconds. my sole regret is that this fic is not longer. it is hilarious and sincerely touching in parts and i love it SO dearly

We Forget the Names Not Written Down - FourthFloorWrites

IDW, rated T, gen (background canon pairings), ~6k

Summary:

Technically, the iapetus is correct: the planet is uninhabited. But the silo that rises over the plain, a sterile glint of white metal, suggests this was not always the case. On a planet of one there is no need for names or addresses, but remnants of each remain etched into its walls, and under the rotting floor panels evidence of a legacy can still be found, half buried in the loam.

Tags: Major Character Death, Prowl & Rewind (Transformers), Chromedome/Rewind (Transformers), Prowl (Transformers), Rewind (Transformers), Post-Canon, Epistolary, Brain Damage

Notes:

This fic came into my house, punched me in the face, invented a bunch of different feelings I do not have names for, and left. It's... uh. It's an epistolary fic set far, far post-canon about Prowl and Rewind. It's very difficult to succinctly describe. I love it and it lives in my brain rent free.

Monument To Your Sins - Enfilade

IDW, rated T, gen, ~5k

Summary:

It was as though Deathsaurus was entirely neutral in the matter, doing nothing more than holding up a mirror, and Megatron could not bear the reflection he saw in it.

Dying of the Light AU where Deathsaurus takes Megatron prisoner while Tarn fights Overlord, and prisoner and warden have a little discussion.

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Megatron (Transformers), Deathsaurus (Transformers), Prison, Consequences, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Politics

Notes:

Just as the summary says. This is a GREAT angle to mine re: Megatron in MTMTE, and after reading this, a perspective I'm sad canon doesn't have- the question of MTOs is so interesting from a character like Deathsaurus especially, who is thoroughly unsentimental about himself.

Bodies (break) - ros3bud009

IDW, rated M, gen, ~2.5k

Summary:

“What? No. Well, some of them, but most are fine. Pleasant even. Why would you ask that?”

Rung simply nodded and smiled as he slotted his digits together. It was a pleasant smile.

“Good. So you realize that you’re the problem here.”

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Minimus Ambus, Ultra Magnus, Rung (Transformers), Body Horror, In at least three different interpretations of the term, Bad Rung, Because sometimes Gods are cruel and unempathetic, Reality blurring

Notes:

I'm biased bc me and Rosey talked about a lot of the stuff covered in this fic at length before they wrote it but also that's bc it's BALLER. Weird body horror fic! It's my JAM and VERY UPSETTING and I think about this fic ALL THE TIME.

The Senator/Prime/Empurata Victim, His Warden, and the Most Miserable Little Prison Ship in Space - ckret2

IDW, rated T, gen, ~1k

Summary:

When Shockwave asked if Prowl could execute him, Prowl said no.

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Shockwave (Transformers), Prowl (Transformers), Post-Canon, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts

Notes:

The end result of these two in a tiny ship for the next god knows how many years is either going to be depressing or terrifying, and both possibilities are fascinating.

Present Tense - Infini

IDW, rated g, gen (background canon pairings), ~2.5k

Summary: A slight hiccup sends Rodimus' time-travel team back to current-day Cybertron. But this isn't the present they remember: they find themselves faced with familiar names, and an unfamiliar punishment.

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Chromedome/Rewind, Dominus Ambus/Rewind, Rodimus Prime, Perceptor (Transformers), Riptide (Transformers), Cyclonus (Transformers), Tailgate (Transformers), Chromedome (Transformers), Rewind (Transformers), Rung (Transformers), Whirl (Transformers), Minimus Ambus, Dominus Ambus, Megatron (Transformers)

Notes:

I want to read like, a 100k fic set in this version of the functionist universe about what comes after this. Hell, I wish I could WRITE it. It makes me very sad and I adore it.

[lilyoffandoms]

Blades AU Drabble - Tyril x Raine

@choicesjunechallenge2021 Day Two (Cappuccinos).

A gift for @lxdy-starfury because her coffee shop AU lives rent free in my silly little brain. And she blessed me with all the freakin gorgeous Tyril art to see me through until the day Blades 2 appears. (Couldn’t remember your MC’s name so went canon name. Let me know what it is and I’ll switch it up.)

This is late and hasty and well, whatever. *throws it at y’all and runs*

Warnings & A/N: don’t think there are any warnings. Only thing I’d note is that this is an AU if that wasn’t obvious already.

The sunlight warms her back as she sips lazily on her drink. The frothy cream a pleasant contrast to the bitter beans. Laying her book down on the table she cups the drink in both hands enjoying the warmth as she scans the other patrons in the cafe. Her eye catching one in particular a few tables away as he hastily averts his piercing gaze from hers.

She smiles as she dips her head back to her book. Stealing occasional peeks from the corner of her eye to catch him watching at her again and again. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. If his face wasn’t set in such a scowl she’d have thought he simply found her attractive but it didn’t appear to be that sort of interest.

As she dared to take a closer look, his eyes snapped back to his work before him. His long, slender fingers gracefully, albeit angrily, stabbed at the keys of his laptop. Harder and harder, as his frustration seemed to get the better of him and he abruptly stood, his chair screeching back, gaining curious glances from most of the place, as he shoved his belonging into his pack and made his angry exit. Sparing one last glare over his shoulders at her. 

She shook her head, chuckling at him and wondering what she had so clearly done to upset the handsome stranger so. She shared a few confused shrugs and small smiles with some others in the cafe before turning back to her book and forgetting the whole incident until a few days later.

The sunlight once again warming her back as she sipped her favorite drink and read yet another book in the quiet corner of her now favorite shop. As she looked around at the peaceful setting she saw him standing just inside the doorway looking at her with an intensity that made her shiver. 

He couldn’t believe it. She was here. Again. Sitting in his spot. The spot that was offered the perfect vantage point. It was tucked away among a few plants, right against the window, and offered him a full unobstructed view of the cafe. Allowing him to people watch when the mood struck. Not only that but it allowed him an increase in his productivity. Without the distractions of others trying to make small talk or jostle him about or make annoying noises, he got so much more work done. And she was ruining it all.

With a huff, he approached the counter and ordered his drink, hoping against hope that she would vacate the premises by the time his order was in hand. Turning a few minutes later, he discovered he was not so lucky and he fought to control his frustration as he picked a different table to work at. Again. 

It wasn’t fair of her. No. It wasn’t fair of him. How was she to know it was his spot? How was she to know that her mere presence both in his spot and in this cafe distracted him beyond measure? She wasn’t. So it wasn’t fair of him to be angry about it and it certainly wouldn’t help him get any work done. So he resigned himself to his fate and got to work. Or, well, at least he tried until he felt her before him and watched in horror as she dropped into the seat opposite his own.

He couldn’t help the bitterness that laced his single word, “What?”

"What?” her laugh was light and her eyes danced with amusement at his pinched face and angry word. 

“You are asking me what, when you are the one that question should clearly be asked of?”

Again her laughter. It grated on him and soothed him at the same time and he hated it.

“You came over here and interrupted me. So I will repeat my question and give you a second opportunity to not be rude. What do you want?”

Ah, one of those, she thought as she took in his sharply dressed appearance and expensive clothing and air of superiority and entitlement. The tiny cup of straight espresso should have tipped her off from the start and she couldn’t help the amused giggle that escaped her lips.

“Well, your majesty, I was simply wondering what I had done to offend your magnificent self so. Your stares and daggers have wounded me so.” She placed a hand in mock injury to her chest and put on her best pout, “I feel I am being unjustly treated.”

He narrowed his eyes at her ridiculous reaction and words and watched her smirk grow.

"I have done nothing of the sort,” he scoffed.

"Oh please!” her grin morphed into the most innocent of smiles, “I have clearly angered you. Either that, or,” she smiled mischievously, “or you clearly have it bad for me. I mean, I cant say I blame you. I look damn good.” 

He fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. But he couldn’t help himself, so he let his eyes roam over her figure as she leaned back in the chair to give him a better look. And she knew it as her eyes met his as they trailed back up her body. She knew what she was doing to him. Damn her, he cursed.

After sputtering on his reply, and failing miserably to hide his blushing, he finally managed the words, “That is my spot.”

"What?” she laughed in surprised.

"Is that the only word you know?” he crossed his arms. 

He smiled at her genuine laugh that broke out over the whole of the place. It warmed in him ways he could not describe. They sat smiling at each other before he schooled his features and gained some control back.

“It is just that I work better and more efficiently in that location.”

“It’s a rather pleasant spot isn’t it?” she smiled at his nod of agreement. “But you know, everything is better when you share. So come on.” She stood and giggled at his shocked look. 

“I’m Raine,” she held her hand out to him and he took it, soft and warm in his own.

“Tyril.”

——————————

Choices Tag: @storyofmychoices

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I know we are all discussing the latest episode of Season 16, but I need to wrap up 11 for my own sanity (because there is a LOT to discuss in my Season 12 rewatch already), so without further ado - more rambling for you.

I’m not going to include 11x20: Don’t Call Me Shurley because I think I’d like to do an entire Chuck - arc - series.  Rob Benedict is a gift; that dad mug kills; and I love that the fan theories about Chuck spinning around this fandom for years turned out to be correct after all (WEIRD HOW THAT HAPPENS WITH CHARACTERS EH).  Moving on.

As you will recall, two recaps and many many many crackhead other posts from my corner of super hell ago, I ended the 11x18 recap with this image of Amara realizing...”something” after Dean said Cas’s name (just before she took Casifer with her), Dean/Amara unbreakable connection be damned. Speaking of unbreakable connection this post is partially the AMARA DISSERTATION.  Buckle up.

FF to 11x21: All in the Family; the boys are shooting the shit with Chuck and in the meantime, Amara is torturing Casifer.  Important to note that just recently the actual Cas was enlightened that Dean wants him to cast Lucifer out, so I presume he is a little more active at this point, and that strengthens the following hypothesis.  Look how Amara is looking at Casifer here:

And here, right before she touches him on the chest.

It’s the same look she gave Dean. She’s trying to decipher something; trying to figure something out. 

She appears to Dean in the VERY next scene, to show him how she is torturing Casifer.  But the real point is, of course, to show him how its affecting the physical form of Cas, reminding him its not just Lucifer who is suffering.  It works.  

DEAN 

Amara is – she's in my head. [Sam looks at him sharply] Hey, I didn't ask for it, okay? She just showed up. But she's showing me visions of – of Lucifer. By Lucifer, I mean Cas, and he looks like crap – like she's really doing a number on him.

***Note, yet again, despite the *connection* Amara/Dean supposedly share, all he can think about and talk about is Cas.

And Amara knows it.  That’s the realization she has in 11x18.  Dean loves Cas.  Then, in 11x21 she realizes Cas loves Dean.  So, she uses it to her own ends.  Smart girl.  

Enter Donatello (I love him), prophet of (not) the Lord.  He, Metatron, and Sam set out to rescue Casifer while Dean distracts Amara.  If we start with the presumption she now has the prior additional insight, the following snippets of dialogue hit a little different.

AMARA

This place, this world hasn't been especially easy for you. Why not at least consider my offer?

*********

DEAN

You're right. I am drawn to you. And it bothers the hell out of me, 'cause I can't control it.

AMARA

Then why fight it? What you're feeling is that I am the end of your struggle. 

***AHEM, this was not the FACE CUPPING I requested.

What keeps Dean from having it all?  What is his struggle?  It’s not the monsters or the hunting.  Dean’s repeatedly shown he loves this life; he doesn't want anything else (and the one time he did try it in Season 6, it was half-ass at best, and he left the minute Sam returned to go back to hunting).  Dean’s KEY struggle in the show is internal.  He represses his feelings, pushes his pain aside, resulting in a cycle of self-loathing and anger.  That cycle keeps him from having it all - accepting he can be loved, allowing himself to give his heart to someone else.  And at this point, Amara not only knows that someone else is Cas, she knows that Cas feels the same way.  Girl, welcome to super hell.  Take a damn seat by Sam.

11x22: We Happy Few

I’ll skim through this one so this post doesn’t completely make your eyes bleed due to the sheer length.  

The splicing with the scenes of everyone assembling different factions to form the new “line-up” needed to trap Amara is excellent. I’ve already done a short post on the brilliance of Dean heading to get Crowley and the ex-boyfriend mood of it all (Dean, of all people, telling Crowley to sober up gives me an ENTIRE head canon of the Crowley/demon!Dean unseen dynamic in Season 10).   And of COURSE Dean knows exactly what to say to convince Crowley to get on board. I also enjoy our future Sam-witch as the emissary to Rowena (”three’s a coven” would be a great tattoo, TBH).

BONUS:

I love her.

Big fight scene with Amara ensues, but this isn’t the finale so she cannot be beaten.  However, right before she mortally wounds Chuck, she does this:

[Yelling, LUCIFER charges her from behind again, but AMARA flings him hard against a support pillar across the room.]

AMARA

Goodbye, nephew.

[She banishes LUCIFER. CASTIEL slumps unconscious to the floor.]

DEAN: Cas! 

(He rushes AMARA, but she flings him away without effort.)

***She banishes Lucifer.  She could have just killed him.  Ended him entirely, and Cas along with him.  But she BANISHES LUCIFER.  Because of what she learned in the prior episode.  Because of the pain she saw in both of those idiots.

She does this for Dean.

Anyway, thank you Casifer FOR YOUR SERVICE.  I miss you already.

11x23: Alpha and Omega

There is nothing more precious than Dean sending his brother to check on GOD while he goes to check on his boyfriend:

DEAN: [Grunting]

Check on him.

SAM: [kneels next to Chuck]

Hey. Chuck?

[Dean kneels down next to Cas and puts a hand on his shoulder. Cas stirs and looks up at Dean]

CAS:

Dean.

DEAN:

Cas? Hey, is that you?

***All the heart eyes for the reunion!!

*********ALSO SHOULDERRRRRRRR

Chuck is dying, Rowena bonds with him.  Crowley is gold in this finale.  I MISS YOU MARK.  This line is NOT in the transcript/script I used, and it potentially being ad libbed makes it even better.

Dean decides to deal with the end of the world by drinking ONE beer, then deciding there is “not enough” beer and grabbing Cas for a beer (and....*feelings*) run.

DEAN:

You know what? This isn't gonna be enough. I better make a run.

[Sighs]

No reason to die sober, huh?

[to Sam]

You want to?

SAM: [frustrated] 

No!

*********************

DEAN:

Be right back.

SAM:

I'll stay here, find our Plan B.

DEAN:

Okay. Cas, come on.

Nothing makes me more pleased than the assumption that of COURSE Cas is coming with him.  I mean, he just got him back.  Also, Sam is frustrated because he is back in super hell, obvi ;)   

***Now we have the little “you’re our brother” bit in the Impala beer run dialogue, but to me it’s because Dean doesn’t know how else to express what he’s feeling.  Repression, people.  

The look of literal PAIN on Cas’s face at the “brother” line makes me cackle.  Misha Collins DESERVES AN EMMY; he is doing the Lord’s work with his Acting Choices here.

This little part before is what really gets me though, especially with all of the WORDS OF AFFIRMATION:

[Dean and Cas are driving in the Impala]

DEAN:

How you doing? You good?

I mean, you know, the whole Lucifer thing.

CAS:

I was just... so stupid.

DEAN:

No, no, no. It wasn't stupid.

You were right. You were right to let Lucifer ride shotgun.

Me and Sam wouldn't have done that.

CAS:

Well, it didn't work.

DEAN:

No, but it was our best shot, and you stepped up.

CAS:

I was just trying to help.

DEAN:

Well, and you do help, Cas.

***ITS JUST SO LOVELY.  Dean asking Cas how he is doing (what Cas always asks Dean); telling Cas he wasn’t stupid (throwback to Cas telling Dean he was stupid “for the right reasons”); acknowledging that Cas does HELP.  That he is important and appreciated.  THIS IS SUCH GROWTH.  I LOVE IT SO MUCH. Speak his love language, King.

Anyway, then Dean turns into a human bomb because martyr!dean gonna martyr and be “daddy’s (Chuck filling that role here) blunt little weapon��� and we get -

THE DESTIEL GOODBYE. Tell me they didn’t actually go canon for the FIRST time here.  I will fight you.

LOOK at Cas watching him in the background. 

These fucking desolate eyes. I’m crying.

THEY JUST GOT EACH OTHER BACK -  

(I recognize this .gif is meh quality but I love that he turns and walks to him and Cas just GRABS him in this crushing hug)

DEAN [accepts the hug good-naturedly but then looks sad]

Okay, okay.

***”good naturedly??? ok Jensen “Acting Choices” Ackles. That is not “good nature” that is BLISS.

AND THEN THIS -

SOBS IN ENOCHIAN.

***I literally had to remind myself that the reunion hug is coming; it’s just an episode away.  I’ll make y’all feel better too; here it is - A PERFECT PARALLEL. Curse this show.

MORE OF THIS “GOOD NATURED” HUGGING PLEASE.

Anyways, back to depressing subtext.  

DEAN:

Okay, look. I want a big funeral.

All right? I'm talking epic.

Okay? Open bar, choir, Sabbath cover band, and Gary Busey reading the eulogy.

*****This scene lives in my mind rent-free as PROOF 15x20 doesn’t exist.

I can’t skip over further growth in Dean’s goodbye to Sammy.

***He’s being serious. Seasons 1-3 Dean would never have admitted this.  I was a blubbering mess at this point.

So, Dean heads to Amara, and the rest of the gang heads to the bar.

CROWLEY:

Your round, Moose.

***I would love an entire bottle episode of Crowley, Sam, Rowena, and Chuck at that bar TBH.

And then, Dean saves the day.  BUT NOT by dying and sacrificing himself, letting himself be used as a weapon of mass destruction.  No, he fixes the DAMN WORLD by connecting to Amara emotionally, and bringing her and Chuck back together, because he understands that not to be alone is what she really needs; that her own struggle is the same as his - letting in love instead of raging against it and fighting her own need for companionship.   Because that’s where ELDEST SIBLING AMARA AND Dean Winchester CONNECT.  Amara isn’t in love with Dean.  She identifies with Dean.  She sees her own feelings in him, her own pain, and that’s why she exorcises Lucifer and saves Cas - FOR Dean.  Amara’s just a Dean girl, everyone.   And we know Dean girls protect Cas at all costs.

Yup.  Amara Dean Girl Darkness Heller.  

That’s it.  That’s the dissertation.

See you in Season 12, where I will attempt to figure out the reason behind the British Men of Letters, killing Hitler, the brain melt that is Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, the comedy of errors that is Cas playing Dean hot and cold, and the Mary Winchester of it all. 

[nulltune]

hakuno kishinami is an anagram of "kimi no na hakushi", meaning "your name is blank". i've seen people dismiss this as a cue for them to just insert their own name, but i actually really love it! it's a nice sounding and really unique name (i've never heard of another character named hakuno or kishinami before :shrug:), but what really sells it to me is how it ties in hakuno's character and story extremely well. 

hakuno starts off with no memories, looked down by her fellow competitors and has nothing. many scenes in the game acknowledges this and literallt describes hakuno as nothing. all she has to her is a name, but that may as well be nothing too. that's why blank is a very fitting word for hakuno. it's empty, it's nothing, but at the same time, it's space that can be filled. a majority of the cast (and even the mob characters) berate and look down on hakuno, but several characters recognize her potential to grow — and she does! hakuno's growth is that of a self-insert into a character, from nothing into something. hakuno explicitly says this in canon, thinking herself to be an empty cup, but now filled thanks to her friends and allies. 

Rin/Rani and [SERVANT YOU CHOSE]’s words have touched me. They fill my empty cup with water, so to speak. …I have no way of knowing if the water is pure at this point. Even so, I can see where I need to go from here.

i love this empty cup comparison because it really shows hakuno's inner struggles and doubts regarding what kind of person she is, but still choosing to move forward regardless. another motif that i really like for hakuno, and my hakuno especially, is a blank canvas. it's fitting in the way the word blank is for hakuno, but i personally really like this comparison because of one addition — a blank canvas is empty, filled with nothing, but it's also white.

we all know that white is a color associated with good, innocence, purity, etc. and these two lines from leo and rin respectively really live in my mind rent free (leo's outright describe her as pure and innocent ok!!) 

... but it's true that you have a charm others don't. the reason i was drawn to you might be because i sensed possibility within your pure, innocent nature.

you're soft-hearted and sentimental and... it's a reminder of how people really should be.

it's not just them though. tamamo describes hakuno as a pure unpolished gem, nero leaves a white rose (just like the color white, often used to symbolize purity and innocent) for hakuno at her grave and i'd list more here, but sadly, my brain is that of a gold fish. 

not what you'd expect to describe a literal artificial intelligence with a kill count of seven (fourteen if you count in the servants---) and i think some would argue "good" isn't something they'd use to describe hakuno, but i'd say hakuno is a very good-natured person. just forced into, y'know, a literal kill or be killed war. considering how she's treated the people she faced and how she went about a literal war (cried for someone who didn't care for her, took an opponent's advice to heart, saved a possible opponent, showed kindness to someone who deeply loathed her, etc.), i personally think it's pretty accurate.

and like a blank canvas and an unpolished gem, there's potential and possibility (which leo's quote also outright states!). i don't think i need to explain this because we already know that hakuno worked her way up from the very bottom, ultimately winning the holy grail despite being the weakest master on the moon. so... yeah!

what really sells this motif to me (and the reason i made this entire post tbfh) is the fact that advanced AIs do have souls, but the contents of which are colorless. NPCs like hakuno don't have souls, but extella materials stated that hakuno gained one with sentience. in my lynn take, i assume things to be like this: humans have colored souls and advanced AIs have colorless souls, which makes sense, because for all its human observation, the moon cell fundamentally cannot understand humans. (i know i say that a lot, but i can't stress it enough!!)

so---- what about hakuno? i'd say she's somewhere in between. this is a huge thing for my hakuno who’s forever stuck between human and npc + kiiinda ties in  with a point i'd like to bring up when/if i ramble about her last name too.

btw this is just my hakuno simp side speaking, but the large doe eyes hakunon has really adds to all that innocent charm......... 

vvvvv cute 😳

[welllpthisishappening]

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

With bright lights and beeping machines and out-of-date magazines. Roland’s career was supposed to end with confetti. Maybe a parade. At least some sort of cheering, because if there was cheering then it wouldn’t be possible to hear how difficult it was for Matt to catch his breath and if he started crying in the waiting room he was never going to forgive himself. 

Or: Roland Locksley gets hurt and Matt Jones doesn’t handle it very well. 

----

Rating: Teen, but like with a heaping side of angst Word Count: 5.2K or so AN: This story has been living rent free in the back corner of my mind that I reserve for angsty hockey head canons for as long as I can remember and last week I finally sat down and typed it. Anyway, this is as angsty as advertised, is basically just original characters at this point and I had no intention of actually posting it anywhere, but I thrive on forcing hockey words at the internet so here we go. Also, probably important to remember that Roland and Lizzie are together and that Taylor is Phillip and Aurora’s kid. I was not kidding about this really being mostly original characters.  

----

“Where is he? Is everything—”

Matt cut himself off. Nearly bit his tongue in half in the process too, but he also couldn’t quite come to terms with the overall circumference of Lizzie’s eyes or just how quickly Peggy had slid in the chair she was draped across. 

Both of their mouths dropped open. 

Audibly. 

“What are you—” Lizzie breathed, shaking her head slowly and she didn’t blink. Matt wasn’t sure she was capable. That was fair. Every time he blinked he saw the play all over again. In slow motion, even. Like his brain was trying to remind him of the wholly inhuman angle Roland’s leg had taken when he slammed into the boards and no one was supposed to slam into the boards like that. 

“MD,” Peggy said when the rest of Lizzie’s sentence drifted into the low hum of an exceptionally packed waiting room. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” “They do have cars, Mar.” “Was that supposed to rhyme?”

“And he doesn’t know how to drive,” Lizzie mumbled. Matt ignored that. “Where is he?”

Taking his time on every word felt like overkill, even as Matt was saying them, but he was also at least passably familiar with the accepted resting heart rate for professional athletes and his appeared close to beating out of his chest. 

Someone was walking towards them. 

And Lizzie still hadn’t blinked yet. 

“They took him to pre-op twenty minutes ago.” Matt startled at the new voice, not entirely surprised to see Taylor turning the nearest corner with three cups of undoubtedly shitty coffee clutched in his hands. “I didn’t get you any of this. Did you fly here?” “I don’t want your garbage coffee anyway. Probably burnt.” “You’re something of a snob, you know that?” Matt shrugged, trying to ignore the exact way his stomach continued to clench. Although when that same organ had spent most of the rented car ride from New York to Philadelphia trying to lodge itself in the middle of Matt’s throat, he supposed this was a step in the right direction 

Metaphorically speaking. 

Now that he was in the hospital, he wasn’t doing very much literal stepping. His legs felt like they’d frozen. 

Locked up. Particularly in the knee-type area. 

Knees were not meant to bend like Roland’s had. 

“What’s the kid doing here?” Matt nodded towards Taylor, who only grumbled a few choice words under his breath while he doled out garbage coffee and he must have bailed on his classes that afternoon. Apparently none of them could operate without at least a few of the others, because no one was entirely surprised when Taylor decided to go to school in Philadelphia and Temple didn’t have a hockey team, but that probably wasn’t really all that important. 

The Mills-Locksley plastered across the back of Taylor’s t-shirt looked bigger than usual. 

Peggy made a face as soon as she took her first sip of coffee, the expression quickly evolving into a glare. Directed entirely at Matt. That didn’t seem fair, honestly. He’d spent a lot of money on that car. “Does front office know you’re here? Or Henry?”

“Those two don’t go together.” She rolled her eyes. While Matt’s kept darting towards Lizzie — who, it seemed, was trying her best to bite her lip in half. Wringing her fingers together wasn’t doing much to help the anxious energy practically falling off her, the kind of pale that made it look like she hadn’t seen the outside world in several decades. 

She kept tapping her right foot. Five quick movements, the bottom of her heel colliding with the tiled floor, and a sharp inhale on every third tap. Her gaze had a distinctly glazed edge to it.

“Henry didn’t have any idea Matt was going to be here,” Lizzie muttered, not taking her eyes off him. It felt like she was staring through him. Or at whatever was directly over his right shoulder. 

Looked pretty interesting. 

Distracting, maybe. 

Matt could have used a distraction. 

“Didn’t say anything, at least,” she added, “neither did Gina or Robin. But, they’re uh—I mean they’re kind of preoccupied and—” Something wasn’t right. 

Less right. Than the piece of shit situation they were in now. 

He really hadn’t thought when he’d left New York. Just told everyone that he wasn’t going to be at skate that morning and made a few phone calls, sent a text to his parents and his brother, and the whole thing would probably end with some sort of lengthy discussion about priorities that Matt wasn’t particularly interested in hearing, but he really had lost track of how often he watched the video and people knew. 

What Roland meant. To him. To the game. To the way Matt was when he played. 

So, he’d sat in the backseat of that car, twisting his phone and resisting the urge to torture himself some more and maybe he should have told someone he was coming. Seemed almost redundant though.

People knew. 

Everyone knew. 

Something was incredibly wrong. 

“Lizzie,” Matt said, unable to stop himself from stretching the name out into some sort of reprimand. She blinked. He was suffocating. 

Shaking her head slowly appeared to be the only answer she was capable of giving at the moment, which wasn’t so much frustrating as it was a little overwhelming and Matt was going to set records. For self-inflicted oxygen deprivation. 

His mind raced. 

Tried to understand options and recovery periods and—this wasn’t the first time this had happened to Roland. Matt licked his lips. Several times. Didn’t help. Lizzie blinked again. And he kept trying to think. Because ACL injuries were common now, the inevitable cause behind most of the NHL’s publicized “lower body injuries,” and surgeries were relatively quick, but multiple issues with the muscle that basically allowed skating couldn’t have possibly been good or healthy and—

“No,” Matt exhaled. 

Lizzie closed her eyes. Lightly, as if she were giving into the feeling or everything she hadn’t said yet and it was Matt’s turn to shake his head. 

In disagreement. 

Of the strongest kind. 

“No, no,” he chanted. “That’s—c’mon, you guys are kidding me.” Peggy’s mouth twisted, as far away from a smile as the movement could be. “No one said anything, MD. Seriously, are you going to get in trouble for this?” “Fuck that.” “An irresponsible mindset.”

Something flew out of Matt — loud and wholly inhuman, like it was scratching its way from the depths of his soul and some deep, dark part of him where disappointment lurked and unfair things festered and this wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was right. 

He wanted time to freeze. To stop and give him a chance to understand, for his pulse to settle and his legs to move because he needed to move and Matt couldn’t move and there were tears on Lizzie’s cheeks. 

Machines beeped at the other end of the hallway. Outdated magazines moved as other people who did not have several worlds crashing around them at that very moment looked for something interesting to read in Philadelphia’s most brightly-lit waiting room. Orthopedic shoes squeaked on the floor. 

Voices drifted. Calls and pages and a slew of other words Matt couldn’t begin to think of or even pretend to care about. 

Taylor downed the rest of his coffee. 

“Might not be good, Mattie,” he mumbled. 

And that was it. Of all the things that could do it, Matt wasn’t entirely surprised when a decades-old nickname was the thing that pushed him over that metaphorical edge. Directly into what felt like a never-ending chasm of knowing and understanding and Peggy really was very quick on her feet. 

Moving into his space, her hands on his chest were most of the reason Matt didn’t fall over right there. Plus his knees. Which refused to function, still. She had to press up on her toes to curl his t-shirt into her fingers, saying things he didn’t hear and didn’t want to understand and the feeling of weightlessness on his descent into that metaphorical chasm was oddly pleasant. 

He figured that would end relatively quickly. 

“What—” Matt’s voice didn’t sound like his. Rasped out of him through lips that were quickly turning chapped, and that didn’t make sense either. It was April. Playoffs were just starting. 

It was so goddamn sunny out. 

He resented it, honestly. 

“What, uh—what have the doctors said so far? That’s...I mean, I know it was shitty, but Rol’s come back from—” “—Yeah,” Henry said, appearing out of seemingly nowhere with neither one of his parents nearby, “that’s not really what he wants to do anymore.”

“Be more specific, old man.” “Ah, that’s just rude.” “It wasn’t just last night,” Lizzie whispered, and Matt genuinely did not know where to look. He had to pick somewhere. He couldn’t glare at all of them at once. 

He tried anyway. 

“What does that mean?” “Something about a camel and last straw, I think.” “Grandma is not here, Elizabeth.” Narrowing her eyes only made the red in them more pronounced, a thin line across her face that Matt was sure had, at one point, been her mouth. “You know better than anybody, Mattie. Teams don’t disclose injuries like that. We—” Lizzie huffed, another quick shake of her head that only served to make her hair flutter against her cheeks, “He’s been playing banged up all year.” “Banged up? That’s what we’re going with?” “What would you like?” “Hurt?” Matt snarled, marginally disappointed when he couldn’t control the volume of his voice. Anger mixed with fear, manifesting itself into a weird tightening around his core and possibly the general area of his spleen. 

He wasn’t ever sure what the point of his spleen was, exactly. 

“It’s....it hasn’t been easy,” Lizzie explained. “This season, at least. Playing so long last year didn’t help with his knees and skating isn’t—” “—Easy?” “If you’re going to be a dick about this, you can get back in a car I know you paid way too much for and go home.”

Deflating wasn’t exactly a word Matt wanted to think about in that moment. But for as quickly as the fight had risen in him, it disappeared even faster. Leaving nothing more than a sharp emptiness in the very center of him. 

None of it made sense. 

“I really paid way too much to get here,” Matt admitted. 

Lizzie sniffled, dragging her hands down either one of her cheeks with enough force that she left angry red streaks in her wake and it didn’t look like she’d slept in several days. Possibly this whole season. 

“How bad was bad, then?” “Bad,” she echoed. “He’d kill me if he knew I said this, but getting to the Conference Finals took a lot last season. All those extra games and that triple overtime was a fucking disaster and...you know, there’s something about the way he plays. Never the biggest guy, or the most physical, but it—” 

Lizzie tugged her lips behind her teeth, another inhale that affected Matt’s respiratory system and this was why. Why he didn’t waste time thinking. Why he wouldn’t look at a single newspaper article the next day. Why he had to be here for a surgery he’d spend sitting in a mass-produced plastic chair. 

Because he knew. What this game meant to Roland. And what losing it would do to him. 

“Spent half his mornings in PT this year, and never really said anything, but I—” 

Lizzie always had exceptionally straight teeth. 

When they were kids, Matt thought it was entirely unfair that she hadn’t needed braces or a retainer or anything. She simply existed and everything was great. That had been some sort of trend for most of their lives. Lizzie knew. She had a plan and a list, and she got shit done. No matter what else was going on or who else said it was impossible, and when people had started muttering and questioning, whispering about how much older Roland was than her, she’d flashed them that kind of hundred-watt smile that usually distracted opposing counsel and, quite easily, told them to go fuck themselves. 

Lizzie never broke.

She never wavered. She believed and she knew and she fixed everything. 

None of this could get fixed. 

At least not entirely. 

And every one of her perfectly straight teeth was on display when she grimaced. 

“It hurt to skate,” Lizzie breathed, “every time he got on the ice. But he’s an idiot, so—” Matt chuckled, a sniffle of his own and eyes that couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him anymore. “Anyway, uh...we’d talked about it, a little. What would happen after the season, but that always seemed like such a far away thing and then there’s playoffs and that’s just another season, isn’t it? I’m rambling. Aren’t I?” “A little,” Matt agreed. 

“You really came down here.” “That wasn’t a question.” “More a slightly stunned observation.” Matt’s smile felt carved onto his face, nothing more than muscles that weren’t all that inclined to move the way he wanted them to. “Was he playing on the tear?” “No, no, no,” Lizzie promised quickly, but Matt lifted his eyebrows and Taylor snickered into his empty coffee cup. “Might have been strained.” “Likely,” Peggy amended.

Widening his eyes, Matt hoped he didn’t look as deranged as he felt. “You might have been right about the camel and the straw.” “Is that two different cliches?” Lizzie asked. “Yeah, absolutely. Grandma really would be impressed.” Another less-than-impressive laugh fell out of Lizzie at the same time her chin dropped to her shirt. “You play through the pain, Mattie. As idiotic as it’s always been. That’s the game, isn’t it?”

“It’s a dumb one.” “Yeah, it is. A good one too, though. Sometimes. Most of the time, really. All those cheers and the people and every stupid opinion on TV shows and tweets. You play for that chance. To be something bigger than yourself. To leave it all behind, for people to remember you by. You play for the possibility of it all, and sometimes you forget what losing that will mean.”

Matt’s hands moved. Darted, really. Onto Peggy’s shoulders and she grit her teeth at the force of his grip, but she didn’t tell him to move and he was going to have to take her to Serendipity for that. 

“You’re going to dislocate something in her,” Taylor chided lightly. He dropped into Peggy’s forgotten chair, catching one of Lizzie’s hands when she started wringing her fingers again. She didn’t pull away, either. 

Matt shook his head. He wasn’t sure what he was objecting to anymore. “I don’t think I have that kind of dexterity in my fingers, actually.” “Good word,” Henry murmured. 

“How long have you been here?” “Since last night. There was some talking and,” he shrugged, “planning and discussion. Now, Luce and Ella are back at the apartment trying to make sure no one starves after this operation—” “—Awfully pointed,” Lizzie interrupted. Taylor squeezed her hand. Her head fell to his shoulder. Which couldn’t have been very comfortable with the armrest looking like it was poking rather prominently into her ribs. 

“What have you eaten since the game?” “Uh, like...some saltines.” Peggy groaned. “Liar, you took at least two bites of my egg sandwich this morning. Please stop spreading rumors like that.”

Lizzie’s answering laugh sounded far too watery. 

“And,” Henry added, “Mom and Dad are outside talking to El and Liam who just got here and had to park several miles away, or so they claimed.”

“My parents are here?” Lizzie asked. “Probably texted you several dozen times.” Without letting go of Taylor’s hand, Lizzie threatened to dislocate her own shoulder as she yanked her phone out of her back pocket. She let out a low curse at the number of messages she’d missed, and Matt was getting a little frustrated that no one had actually confirmed anything to him yet. 

He also didn’t object when Peggy curled against his side. 

Made it easier to rest his chin on top of her head, anyway. 

And none of them flinched when the automatic doors slid open, four more sets of footsteps and muted discussion in obviously worried tones — but Lizzie wasn’t much more than a blur when she moved, launching herself into Aunt Elsa’s outstretched arms. 

“It’s ok elskan, it’s ok,” Aunt Elsa said, one of her hands coming up to cup the back of Lizzie’s head as she pressed endearments into her temple. None of the words were in English. Peak Jones comforting techniques. In addition to losing track of how often he’d watched the video, Matt couldn’t even begin to guess how many times his parents had done the same thing to him, quiet assurances and guarantees that worked when he was young, but might have rung a little hollow now and maybe he was just some sort of pessimistic asshole. 

No one had said the word actual yet. 

He wouldn't believe it until Roland told him. 

“C’mon MD,” Peggy said, tugging him back towards a pair of empty chairs on Taylor’s other side. “I can’t support your weight forever.”

He let her direct him, not sure if his lack of fight was a reaction to Lizzie or how blotchy Gina’s face was when she followed Robin into the waiting room, or how at some point in the next three hours he’d become the de facto contact point for anyone not in Philadelphia. 

Dad texted him and Mom called him — another round of those quiet assurances that Matt tried desperately to believe, but the growing lump in his throat made it difficult to respond and time was going backwards, he was sure. Chris FaceTimed. Four different times. 

“Nothing to report, kid,” Matt said, for at least the seventy-sixth time. Peggy was pacing a lopsided circle in front of him, Lizzie’s head resting on Aunt Elsa’s leg and her feet propped against Uncle Liam’s knee. 

“That’s bullshit.” “Saying it over and over is not going to help, Toph,” Henry muttered, not bothering to open his eyes. It was the middle of the afternoon. 

Matt couldn’t imagine any of them had slept the night before. What with life-changing conversations to have, and everything. 

“Lizzie eat yet?”

Matt’s eyes darted towards his cousin, but she didn’t so much as move — let alone show any signs of hunger, and he very much doubted she’d even tasted those so-called bites of sandwich she’d taken that morning. 

“Gets in her own head,” Chris mumbled, “can’t think about anything as human as sustenance.” Sliding down in his chair wouldn’t help the covertness of a conversation that should have had headphones, but Matt was getting more desperate the longer he sat there and he was even more convinced Lizzie wasn’t paying attention to him. “At some point, I’m pretty positive Aunt Gina’s just going to take over and start doling out rations to everyone and—”

He cut himself off. 

Suddenly. Sharply. As soon as he processed the specific squeak moving towards them and how quickly it stopped in front of Lizzie. 

She swung her feet back onto the floor. 

“Got quite a party out here, don’t you?” the doctor asked, like that was a joke and he was allowed to smile and both Peggy and Chris clicked their tongues knowingly. At Matt. Who couldn't see his face, but knew all too well the glare it had almost immediately shifted into. 

His shoulders rolled forward too.

“Like he’s going to check the goddamn medical professional,” Peggy muttered conspiratorially. Chris rolled his eyes. 

“Get fined, suspended and arrested, maybe?”

“That’d be a fun distraction.” “I will kill both of you,” Matt hissed. Peggy scrunched her nose when she nodded. For added effect. And obnoxiousness. 

And he was so busy doling out threats that Matt barely heard the updates. Something about feeling good and still a little groggy, but coherent and Lizzie nodded in what could only be described as understanding and possible hope while the doctor listed post-op plans and medicine schedules and then they were moving and squeaking and Matt was back to waiting.

Impatiently. 

He picked up Peggy’s route, ignoring the lingering looks from Henry and Taylor and Aunt Elsa caught his hand before he was entirely ready for it. 

“You’re making me dizzy,” she smiled, pulling him next to her. Still no fight. The lump in Matt’s throat was enormous. 

“Sorry.” “Ridiculous.” “Is that a compliment or an observation?” “Eh, little of column A, little of column B. How’s your breathing going?” Blushing was stupid, all things considered — but Matt suddenly felt like he was ten years old and getting caught for shoving Peggy into the pool because of course the Vankald-Jones’ moved into a house outside of D.C. that had a pool. Perfect family life demanded such things. 

“That’s what I thought,” Aunt Elsa nodded, “you know, sometimes you are so much like your dad it is amazing.” “Oh, that didn’t sound like a compliment either.” “It wasn’t,” Uncle Liam said, a soft laugh clinging to the words. “Nice shot the other night, by the way. When you guys start the next series?” “Once Carolina and Pittsburgh finish. They’re probably going to go seven, though.” “Carolina’s a better match for you guys, right?” Matt shrugged. “Both of ‘em have their strengths, but—” He desperately needed to finish his sentence. That proved impossible when he heard Henry’s smile stretch across his face, and Uncle Liam didn’t bother to hide his own look, a distraction that almost took root in the form of a politically correct and PR-approved answer and—“It’d be fun to fuck up Pittsburgh” Matt finished. “That center of theirs is a bastard.” “That’s the spirit.”

And, really, it didn’t take long. For Lizzie to come back and Aunt Gina to pretend like she hadn’t been crying, and Uncle Robin’s hand appeared cemented to the back of his neck, but then Matt was standing and Henry was standing and neither one of them double checked. They went in at the same time. 

To a room that was also questionably bright, bouquets of flowers already dotting a variety of flat surfaces. An IV wire ran towards the bed, the same one Roland was propped up in with more pillows than the hospital could have ever provided. 

“Your mom bring those?” 

Roland's grin threatened to split his face. The ache returned to Matt’s chest. “Don’t act like you aren’t jealous. And it smells like a goddamn rose garden in here. They’re going to have to drag me out.” “Don’t tell Lizzie that, she might not ever forgive you.” “She likes all those sweet smells at home. Vanilla, sugar cookie, cinnamon, coffee house whatever.” “Is a coffee house inherently sweet?” “Yes,” Roland replied, “and it’s our biggest disagreement ever.” Matt stopped short, not sure when he’d crossed so much of the room or how close he was to the bed and more beeping machines. “That so?” “Huh. You want to do this now, then?” Anger really was the most ridiculous reaction. It wasn’t Matt’s knee. Wasn’t his career or his legacy — which was stupid in its own right because Roland was this team and this city and the only reason they’d even gotten to the fucking Eastern Conference Finals the season before was because he’d set up the game-winner the series before and it had been a seven-game series and if Matt actually started crying in this overly bright hospital room he was never going to forgive himself.

“Is that the reason for the face?” “You cannot hold a conversation by only asking me questions,” Matt argued. 

Roland smiled. Asshole. “Can’t I, though?” “He’s going to have a coronary in front of you,” Henry chided, hooking his foot around the only chair, “and it will be your fault.” “Ah, well we’re in the right spot for it. And that wasn’t a question, Matt. Means I’m winning.” “This isn’t a competition,” Matt objected. “Are you serious about this?” And for half a second Roland almost looked like he regretted it. What could have been. What hadn’t happened. What had happened. Losing in five in the Eastern Conference Finals. But then it was gone. Replaced with something far closer to resolve and an understanding Matt couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around. 

“The first time sucked,” he said. “Getting back and trying to get my speed again and—” “—You are not a fast skater,” Matt interrupted. “Yeah, well you’re some freak of genetic nature. So we can’t all be like you, can we?” “‘Nother question.” “Conversational marvel, you are.” Matt huffed, blinking quickly and biting down on his lip until he tasted blood to keep himself from unraveling over something that didn’t belong to him. “It’s ok,” Roland said, “all of it is, really. It’s—this is the end, kid. And I’m not as freaked out as I thought I’d be, honestly.” “No?” “No. My knees are fucked. Even if I came back, it’d take months. I wouldn’t be ready for the start of next season and I don’t want to be that guy, Mattie. Showing up in fucking January, like some replacement. Clinging to something that’s passed me by already. Taking a spot from some other kid. Playing fourth line.” “But that’s not—” “—I’m not playing fourth line minutes, Mattie.” Twice. He’d said it twice, that nickname and all the meaning that came with it and Matt didn’t think. Again. Thrusting his hand forward he held onto Roland’s with enough force that someone’s knuckles cracked, but he could not begin to guess whose and that was probably some sort of metaphor. 

For the way they grew up and how much the game had twisted its way into both of their lives and—“Gotta be the star, huh?” Roland’s laugh echoed around them. Nothing about it was watery or disappointed, but rather certain and confident and Matt’s dad had always been his favorite player, but he’d been a kid when Killian Jones was captain of the New York Rangers and there was something different about now. About watching Roland come into his own in Philadelphia, a spotlight that was his on his own, not because of the name on his back, but because of how good his wrister was and how much those kids did look up to him. Matt included. 

“Face of the franchise, Mattie Jones. So, uh,” Roland continued, “this is it, kid. Not quite perfect. But you know I hate those farewell tours anyway.” “Could have gotten some good gifts,” Henry pointed out. “Bringing home some garbage merch from a bunch of Eastern teams that hated me every other day of the year really would have driven Lizzie insane. Plus, think about all the networks that’ll be clamoring for my face on their pre-game shows. Retirement’s got it’s perks.” There it was, kind of. 

One word and one decision and Matt was briefly worried about the blood flow to Roland’s hand, but he figured one of the machines would alert them to any problem before it happened and— “I’m going to retire,” Roland said, like he knew Matt needed to hear it. “Announcement coming in the next couple of days, probably. I’m almost looking forward to the tearful goodbye videos.” “God, you’re an ass,” Matt grumbled. “One who’s going to rake in that TV money.”

Smiling continued to feel more than a little unnatural, but it was some sort of innate reaction in that moment and Matt didn’t have to say anything. Roland didn’t expect it either, which felt like a bit of a twisted reward, but then he was walking and moving and Henry was still in the room. 

No one was in the hallway. 

Made it easier, that way. 

To quickly and completely go to pieces. 

Sliding down the wall, Matt’s legs tangled in front of him, tears on his cheeks and oxygen staging some sort of revolt in his body and he wished his girlfriend was there and he wished his dad was there and Peggy still had his phone and— “Hey, hey, hey, at least get your hands out of your hair.” The words didn’t connect immediately, another noticeable knuckle crack as Matt’s fingers dug into the strands he’d started gripping at some point. Uncle Liam groaned when he crouched, stymying the threat to Matt’s scalp as he ducked into his eye line. 

“If you tell me it’s going to be ok, you don’t have to. I—” Matt’s inconsistent breathing was even more annoying than his sentence structure. “I know it’ll be fine. Rol’s choice and for the best and...God, fuck, shit, damnit.” “Last one wasn’t very impressive.” “I ran out.” “Ah, don’t lie to me, kid. I know we taught you way more creative words.” “Mostly use that on the ice.” Uncle Liam hummed knowingly, finally letting go of Matt’s hands when it seemed he trusted him not to start yanking on his own hair again. “It absolutely isn’t fine. None of it. It’s bullshit and unfair and knees are worthless joints anyway.” Matt blinked. 

His neck ached with the force of his head jerk, gaping and staring and Uncle Liam’s smile shifted slightly. Into something almost like understanding. He knew. 

He knew. 

“Game like this, it...it sinks into you, doesn’t it? Has to, that’s the only way you can get through it. Because it’s not like other ones. No grass, no court, no sunshine. Fuck, any sunshine just makes it even harder to see on the ice. And that makes it worse and even better. Because for every time you’ve managed to sweat through your pads while shivering at a shitty rink, there are game winners and brekaways and hitting some bastard who thought he was better at faceoffs than you.” “They measure things like faceoffs now, y’know?” “I’m giving you a motivational speech.” Matt nodded. 

“Point is, a sport like this, it...for as much as it gives, it takes a little bit too. Because you’ve got to give yourself to it. Understand that the bumps and the bruises and the incessant cracking of your joints is payment in kind.” “For?” “For the way it felt. The way it’ll always feel, even when it doesn’t end the way you planned.” Letting out a shuddering breath, Matt barely felt his head when it dropped against the wall. “He never won. That’s—of all the things, that’s the worst.” “Sure he did. You don’t think so?” “Unless I forgot about a parade.”

“That’s not how this stuff works, kid,” Liam sighed. “All those runs when you were growing up, even before you were born, those were Rol’s as much as they were Locksley’s. As much as they were your dad’s. And anything you do, that’s his too. Not just because you stole his wrister. Which is kind theft four-times removed, actually.” “How you figure?” “Well, Rol stole it from your dad who ripped it off me, so. You’re welcome.” He might need oxygen sooner rather than later. And a tissue. More than one tissue. “The point I’m getting at,” Uncle Liam said, “is that there’s no perfect way for this to go. Happily ever after isn’t guaranteed, but it doesn’t wipe out everything else that happened. Doesn’t change how good this game is or how good it will keep being. You play with a team, right?” “Sounds like a cliche.” “You grow up in that house, some things become entrenched.” “Yeah, I get that.” “I know you do. Your sister was talking to your parents before, I’m sure they’re waiting for you to get back out there.” It wasn’t the dismissal it sounded like, especially when it came with a hand clasped on his shoulder — but Matt nodded all the same, muttering a quiet thanks and Uncle Liam had been right. Mom had totally been crying too. 

And it wasn’t perfect. Wasn’t the ending that Roland deserved, but eventually Matt started to wonder if it was actually the end and as the years went on he started to know it wasn’t. Not with weddings and kids and a whole subsection of the internet that was decidedly preoccupied with the cut of Roland’s suits on postgame television spots. 

They kept going. Games and hits and a few more injuries, and, eventually, when the Stanley Cup came back to New York and back to that brownstone downtown, Matt didn’t hesitate. He handed it to Roland. 

And took a picture. 

With both of their kid sitting in the goddamn thing. 

[elv--eyera]

So today, I’m gonna talk to you about the most cursed creative decision I’ve ever seen Disney make with one of their Broadway shows.  

Night of The Living Chippy

Literally the most awful, cursed moment in Beauty & The Beast. 

I sincerely have no idea if anyone else will find this as flippin’ cursed as I do, but this moment just jumped out at me five years ago, and it has lived rent-free in my head ever since. God, I need to know how the world feels about this. Please PLEASE let me know your thoughts if you’ve seen this show on a tour or seen a video of the Broadway production.

Here’s context (because I spent too much time writing it)

Beauty and The Beast was the first of Disney’s animated movies to be adapted into a musical, and adapting BatB in particular was ambitious for several reasons. Specifically, how do you create the enchanted objects onstage? How do you make a person look like a clock, or a candlestick, or a teapot, without being unnerving? When you consider what the characters looked like in the Disney World staged version…

… yeah, translating these characters to real life could get weird. The creative team tried out using heavy prosthetics and special effects for the enchanted objects, but realized much of the inhuman elements just looked, well, inhuman. They scrapped them for more natural takes on the looks – for instance, Lumiere has a brilliant white pompadour instead of a melting head – and in general the choices made ended up looking gorgeous and avoiding the uncanny valley look. Here are some pictures of the Broadway costumes:

The writers working on the adaptation modified the Enchantress’ spell to support the more humanoid designs, as well - In the movie, the characters are immediately fully turned into objects, but in the musical, the characters are gradually turning more and more into objects, and are in the near-final stages of becoming fully inanimate objects. (Occasionally, there’ll be a costume change between Act 1 and Act 2 to show the progression.)

Here’s a picture from a national tour of Beauty & The Beast, featuring the enchanted objects. Note Chip and the cart he’s in, in the center of the picture. There are mirrors carefully placed inside the front of the cart to create the illusion that the cart is hollow and there’s nothing beneath his head on the plate. It’s a nifty little magic trick! I saw this tour live in 2015, and the mirror illusion was really convincing. 

Basically, this is how Chip’s design has always been - the cute lil’ kid just sits in the cart, Mrs. Potts pushes him onstage and offstage for the first scene, and that’s how it’ll go until he turns into a human child at the end, and it never takes a unnerving turn -  

Except it does, and if you wanna watch what I’m talking about, just click here, (make sure it starts at 30:17) or here. Or if you just wanna look at gifs, scroll down, but I really, really think hearing Chip will give a better sense of what i was feeling.

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So 30 minutes into the show, Mrs. Potts walks onstage carrying a platter with Chip - sorry, Chip’s head - on it. And It bobs its creepy dead-eyed doll face back and forth to mime along to the chirpy pre-recorded voice of Chip. (Do you prefer heavy (below) or minimal (above) neck movement?) 

A million thoughts sear through my mind.

Oh my god, this is a decapitated mannequin child head on a platter. Oh GOD, it's talking. Oh no, I hate that the little kid voice is coming out of it. 

. Who are they trying to fool here? KIDS?!

Would it be better or much, much worse if the puppet looked less creepy and more like the kid playing Chip?

- How is Chip even talking with no neck?! -

okay, that is a dumb question because he’s a magic cup, but please forgive me - when he has a human child face, my brain feels a NEED to ask some questions - 

- Oh god, I don’t even like the cart design concept anymore because they’re  still trying to make it look like he’s JUST A HEAD. Who on the creative team was like “so my concept is to make the kid look like a severed head at all times-” 

So by the time Maurice is being taken away from Belle, I finally stop thinking about how the actress who plays Mrs. Potts deserves a special award for having to act motherly to ChipSaw’s cold, empty little kid-puppet eyes. I enjoyed the rest of the show, but ended up watching a few early bootlegs of the show on YouTube a week later, and realized that not only was puppet-platter-Chip in the original production, the concept stayed in the show and the subsequent productions / tours for 30 freakin’ years. And I was kinda blown away by that because it seems like if I had such a wild reaction to it, someone on the creative team somewhere along the way must have too, right? 

Anyway, I have absolutely no idea why this is coming to my mind today, but my reflections on it in 2020 are thus:

This is Disney. They have the Hall Of Presidents. Some higher up should have seen that terrifying puppet and been like “uh, we can do better”

Why did they specifically cut the other “inhuman” bits to avoid being uncanny, but keep this moment, which is definitely a little uncanny because it’s a kid’s head on a platter, in the show forever?

Somewhere, there exists a Nick Jonas Chip Head.

I’ve seriously been trying to find a good picture of this scene or of the head backstage for a while because even though it haunts me, I want a good look at it up close to see if it’s better or worse than the bootlegs make it out to be.

So if the musical changes the backstory of the enchanted objects to be going through a gradual transformation into inanimate objects... Were they turned into humanoid objects initially, or did they start out as fully human and then gradually become more object-like?! Did Chip ever have a body? What happened to the rest of Chip?!? I hate that I can’t rationalize it as “he’s the cart AND the cup” because he obviously isn’t if Mrs. Potts is just carrying his cup head around. 

My goal here is absolutely not to inspire anyone to write body horror BatB fic. But god, slowly turning from a human being into a brick wall (this is canon in the musical) sounds terrible for everyone involved.

And finally - my first thought at the time was that it’d be so easy to cut Platter Puppet Chip and have her push the cart he’s normally in, but now I realize that there’s probably a valid reason for it that we just don’t know about. It totally sticks out to have her only carry it for one scene that’s a minute and a half long. Maybe they wanted to make it easier on the kid wrangler, or on Mrs. Potts, (who is very clearly the only hero of this post)

There’s no moral here, only a creepy little puppet child head, but just - PLEASE let me know if you think it’s weird. I literally hate it so MUCH, I can’t believe it made it into the show and stayed for 30 friggin’ years, and I need to know I am not alone.   

[artificialqueens]

A Long December (Shalaska) - jazz

Summary: A story about how Sharon and Alaska (probably) met, inspired by this old quote from Alaska:

“We met almost four years ago. We were both drag queens and knew each other from Myspace. We’d comment on each other’s pictures and check each other out that way, but it wasn’t until I came back [to Pittsburgh] from L.A. to visit for Christmas that I met him out of drag. I was just like, “This person is so fun and so funny… and he has a really nice ass.” That was it. So I went back to L.A. to close up all my affairs and I moved into his house in Pittsburgh and never left.”

A/N: So, this is pretty canon. Getting back to my roots with 4.k words of some non-AU Shalaska! Many thanks to Rosie for reassuring me that I did their meeting story justice <3

The thing Alaska loved most about the holidays was the Christmas lights.

He loved the sheer abundance of them: loved them when they sparkled, loved how they illuminated his neighbors’ front yards, loved even the ones that were so hideously ugly they hurt his eyeballs.

It reminded him of home, of dragging the worn cardboard box up from the basement as a child and attempting for hours to untangle the mess of rainbow string lights that’d been collecting dust for nearly a year. He’d cry when one of the little bulbs went out, as if there weren’t hundreds of other twinkling bulbs to make up for it.

He used to drive around aimlessly for hours just to look at them, not that there was much else to do in northwestern Pennsylvania.

Los Angeles winters – less glittery, distinctly lonelier, and a hell of a lot more chintzy – just didn’t have the same appeal. So, with Christmas quickly approaching, Alaska packed his bags and hopped on a connecting flight back home to Erie, away from the blown auditions and the callbacks that never came, the late rent checks and the overpriced headshots that he couldn’t reallyafford.

But Alaska wasn’t about to worry about any of that tonight. Tonight, he’d made the short two-hour drive from Erie to Pittsburgh. He had some old friends that lived in the city, and they’d gotten him an invite to a house party that a certain someone was rumored to attend.

Alaska smiled in spite of himself. Sharon Needles.

He kept a mental catalogue of all the things he knew about Sharon so far.

He did drag, first of all, something that he and Sharon had bonded over almost instantly. Sharon’s drag was edgy and hideous and horrifying and beautiful, and Alaska was in awe of it. He thought that Sharon might be the smartest person he knew, probably.

He was from middle-of-nowhere, meth-addled Iowa. Alaska had never been to the Midwest, but he’d heard that there was a lot of corn there. Alaska shook his head. Yeah, no, don’t talk about corn tonight, he chided himself.

Besides, Sharon was a total Pittsburgher now, adopting the city’s strange dialect and practically bleeding its colors, black and gold. It suited him well, Alaska thought.

He knew that Sharon had blue eyes – sky blue, he could make out from his profile photos and their select Skype conversations – and a tattoo of Tammy Faye Baker on his upper arm, and that he was perfect, potentially.

Alaska knew better than to get his hopes up, though. Sharon might not even be interested. They’d been exchanging messages online for a few weeks now, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Alaska cringed at the possibility.

It meant something on his end, at least.

Alaska trudged on down the sidewalk, a thin layer of packed snow crunching satisfyingly underneath his feet. He was getting ahead of himself. First, he’d have to show up to the party – a half hour late, obviously, so he didn’t seem over-eager. He’d have a drink – or two or three – to calm his nerves a bit.

Then, he’d ask around for Sharon, all buzzed and aloof, and they’d embrace, and it’d be magical. Or something like that.

He clutched onto the brown-paper-bagged bottle of whiskey he’d decided to buy last-minute.  Bringing a gift felt like the polite thing to do, but now he just felt clumsy and awkward as he approached the small house, alcohol in one hand and a dumb Santa hat in the other.

Alaska wiped his boots on the doormat, mentally preparing himself for the night ahead, before letting himself in.

The place smelled strongly of burnt sugar cookies and hard liquor, and he didn’t recognize many faces. Someone was singing along to a Mariah Carey cover in the other room, and Alaska found himself wishing he were already a little tipsy.

He made his way through the throngs of guests, all clad in varying shades of red and green, and tossed his winter jacket onto a nearby armchair. His heart sank at the possibility that maybe Sharon had decided to skip the party altogether.

Alaska was about to question why Sharon’s attendance even mattered to him at all when he spotted him from across the room, in an oversized Christmas sweater that had definitely seen better days, cigarette burns garnishing the sleeves he’d cuffed twice around his wrists.

Suddenly, Alaska couldn’t have cared less about his surroundings.

His chest expanded as Sharon’s eyes locked with his own, an expression of pleasant surprise washing over his features, before striding over to Alaska purposefully. Alaska watched him approach in slow motion, his vision tunneling in to focus only on Sharon.

“For me? You shouldn’t have, Alaska.” Sharon smiled, his dimple on full display, as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Alaska’s hand and took an emphatic swig.

Alaska’s jaw dropped, his breath catching at the way Sharon said his name, how it rolled off his tongue with ease. “I, uh… you’re welcome, I guess?”

It was hardly the reception Alaska had envisioned for their first meeting. He racked his brain for a proper conversation-starter, something that said, I can be super fun and flirty, but also interesting and smart, and I think you’re really great, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself staring at Sharon’s ass, forgetting why he’d cared so much about talking in the first place.

Sharon turned on his heel to walk away then, a signal that, to Alaska, meant their interaction was over. He frowned, until Sharon looked back and extended his free hand.

“You coming, or not?” he asked, lips pursed. “Let’s get you a beverage.”

Alaska placed his hand in Sharon’s without thinking, felt his universe crumbling and rebuilding itself in that instant.

He let Sharon lead him into the kitchen, too-small and dark, bumping his hip awkwardly against the counter in the process. His fingers were tingling and Sharon’s hand was cool against his own and he hoped Sharon wouldn’t let go any time soon.  

“Oh, by the way,” Sharon said flatly, “don’t drink the eggnog.” He made a face over his shoulder.

“Noted,” Alaska laughed.

Sharon disappeared into the refrigerator for a moment, allowing Alaska just enough time to try to compose himself, unsuccessfully. If Sharon backed up a few inches, he’d be pressed right against him, and Alaska felt dizzy at the thought. He hopped up to sit on the counter behind him for something to do, shimmying backwards so that his legs didn’t touch the ground.

“Here.” Sharon turned and handed Alaska a plastic cup half-full of red liquid, eyes wandering over Alaska as he inspected the concoction. “I’m not gonna poison you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How romantic,” Alaska deadpanned, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

“I can be.”

Sharon lowered his voice, taking a step closer toward Alaska and parking himself in between his legs. His tone was playful, but Alaska couldn’t be sure – not when he could practically feel Sharon’s body heat radiating off of him in waves, sending the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. Alaska brought the cup to his lips in an effort to distract himself.

“So you’re liking Pittsburgh?” Alaska asked abruptly, hating how his first instinct was to make small talk, and how Sharon’s eyes glinted at it, like he thrived on Alaska’s jitters and nervous energy.

“America’s filthiest-kept secret,” Sharon said with a flourish of his hand. “You’re out in L.A., yeah?”

“Yeah, but…” Alaska trailed off. “I dunno, it’s not really working out for me there.”

He was conscious of Sharon’s middle finger tracing the rim of his cup that he held in his lap, his eyes flicking up to meet Alaska’s when he noticed him watching.

“Noted,” Sharon repeated, smiling slightly.

“What?” Alaska drawled, blushing. “What’s that face for?”

“You’re cuter in person, is all.”

Alaska grinned into his drink.

Guests filtered in and out of the kitchen as they chatted, and Alaska hardly noticed any of them, too caught up in how easy it was to talk to Sharon. He told Alaska that he’d been following his drag career out in California for a while now, that Alaska’s style of drag impressed him and reminded him a bit of his own, and when it got too crowded for their liking, Sharon pulled Alaska outside onto the patio that connected to the kitchen.

Sharon lowered himself onto a bench and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, let it hang from his lips as he brought a lighter to the butt end. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

“Oh, no – not at all,” Alaska sputtered.

“Some people don’t like the smell of it,” Sharon said, taking a long, contemplative drag. “But not me.”

Alaska stared at him, watched the smoke leave his lips and dance above his head, forming a carbon monoxide halo around his mop of bleached blonde hair, sticking up in every which direction. His nose was pink from the cold and Alaska wanted to kiss it, just once.

“Addiction’s a funny thing, y’know,” Sharon mused.

Alaska nodded solemnly. He had a feeling he’d agree to just about anything that came out of Sharon’s mouth, if he were being honest.

“What’re you addicted to, Alaska?”

The question hung in the air, cool and heavy.

You, his heart was screaming, threatening to burst right out of his chest. I’m addicted to you.

Alaska gulped down the rest of his drink to avoid Sharon’s intense gaze, felt the liquid travel through his body and warm his limbs almost instantly.  

“Should we head back in soon, see what everyone else is up to?” Alaska tried. “It’s getting kinda cold out here.”

“Sit with me, then.” Sharon patted the cushioned spot next to him on the bench, and Alaska’s pulse quickened. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle being that close to Sharon without doing something dumb and impulsive, breathing in his smell and scanning his face and hearing his voice – not behind a computer screen, but right here, close enough to touch.

And Alaska wanted to touch him, badly.Sharon was so real that it hurt, and Alaska’s bones ached from it.

He thought that, maybe, Sharon was the realest thing he’d ever known in his life. When Sharon looked at him, it was inquisitive and sharp, and Alaska felt fully seen, like Sharon had him all figured out without saying a word. Alaska didn’t know what to do with that, wasn’t used to feeling so exposed.

He gravitated toward Sharon, settling into the space under the arm that he’d draped casually over the top of the bench. They sat there like that, in comfortable silence, for what felt like minutes.

“I like you, Alaska,” Sharon said, matter-of-fact, snubbing his cigarette out on an ashtray. “A lot, actually.”

His boldness caught Alaska off guard, and he half-considered that maybe the nicotine, or the alcohol, or some combination of the two, had damaged Sharon’s better judgment.

“You’re special, I think,” he continued.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Alaska drawled. He hiccupped, likely from chugging the remains of his drink too quickly, and giggled nervously at the possibility that Sharon really meant it.

—–

Over the course of the night, Alaska learned that Sharon was nothing like he’d expected – but somehow, even better than he’d hoped.

He was fun, and he was hilarious, and, when Alaska caught himself staring at him for far too long as Sharon danced to a pop remix of “Last Christmas” on top of an old couch, mouthing all the words at Alaska like he was singing it just for him, Alaska knew he needed a moment to collect his racing thoughts.

He shot Sharon an apologetic smile as he ducked away and disappeared into the sea of partygoers, darting toward the staircase in hopes that it might be a little quieter upstairs, that he could freshen up and maybe get it together.

He wandered into the room at the end of the carpeted hallway, expecting a bathroom but instead finding a spare bedroom. He sighed, dragging his hands over his face. Alaska was in too deep, he could feel it, didn’t know whether he wanted to be sick or if he wanted to run straight into Sharon’s arms.

It’s just a crush, Alaska told himself, unconvincingly. He pictured the way Sharon’s lips had closed around his bottle of whiskey, how delicate his hands had looked as he balanced a cigarette between his fingers, and wondered how those same lips and hands might feel running over his own body tonight, and tomorrow, and maybe the next day after that.

“What, I didn’t scare you away down there, did I?” Sharon asked.

Alaska jumped, spinning around at hearing Sharon’s voice from behind him. He looked almost sheepish, arms hanging at his sides, and Alaska could see his veins from where he’d pushed up his sleeves.

“Oh, no, this is just… a lot,” Alaska tried, licking his lips absentmindedly. “It’s a lot.”

Somehow, Sharon seemed to understand. He closed the door, traveled the rest of the distance between them and took Alaska’s hands in his own. “Look at me,” he said.

Alaska hesitantly locked eyes with him, fully aware of how close they were standing now, how alone they were, and his heartbeat thudded in his ears.

Sharon reached up and tucked a finger underneath Alaska’s chin, made sure he couldn’t look away. “You feel this, too, right?” Sharon asked, quietly.

Alaska wasn’t breathing. He thought he gave a small nod, but his knees were shaking and he knew that if he leaned in, right now, he’d be done.

Luckily for him, Sharon was the first to fall.

He shoved Alaska against the dresser, hands cradling his face as he kissed him, hard and impatient. Alaska was putty underneath Sharon’s grip, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body.

Sharon was kissing him.

Sharon was kissing him firmly like he’d been starving, and Alaska was his remedy – and maybe he was, as Alaska instinctively wrapped his own hands around Sharon’s thin wrists, willed with his tongue for Sharon to understand that he felt it, too.

It wasn’t long before kissing wasn’t enough. Sharon had a thigh rutted between Alaska’s bowed legs and he pressed down on it greedily. Alaska moved his fingers to coil in Sharon’s blonde hair, and when he tugged gently, he felt Sharon audibly whimper into his mouth, the sound shooting straight to his abdomen.  

Alaska had been with plenty of guys before, but not like this – Sharon was clinging to him like he was afraid Alaska might slip through his fingers otherwise.

“Sharon, I…” Alaska began, and then trailed off, lips ghosting over Sharon’s cheek, his nose. He realized all at once that he didn’t have the words to articulate what exactly was taking place, just that it felt distinctly important.

“Yeah,” Sharon breathed, in between kisses. “Me too.”

Alaska sunk to his knees at that, shoving Sharon’s jeans down to his ankles as he went. Sharon’s pupils were blown out black as he watched Alaska, who was palming Sharon’s already-hard cock over the fabric of his underwear. Alaska didn’t think about what he was doing, not really – didn’t dwell on the fact that he wanted to please Sharon more than he’d wanted to please anybody, or that he’d been semi-hard, seeing stars as soon as Sharon’s lips touched his.

He just hollowed his cheeks, tried to take as much of Sharon as he possibly could into his mouth.

Sharon clutched onto the edge of the dresser for support, lips parted. Alaska developed a steady rhythm, used one hand to move in tandem with his tongue as he bobbed his head to suck at Sharon’s hardness.

When Alaska moaned, so did Sharon.

Alaska flattened his tongue against the underside of Sharon’s length, hummed around him. Sharon began to rock his hips forward, hitting the back of Alaska’s throat with each thrust, before abruptly pulling out.

He tugged Alaska back to his feet, smattering kisses along the curve of his neck. “Wanna make this last,” Sharon explained hoarsely.

Alaska could tell that Sharon was leaving marks, and was glad for it: he wanted to wake up tomorrow and remember where Sharon had been, see and feel where he’d paid special attention.

And then Sharon was spinning him around and maneuvering him towards the bed, yanking Alaska’s shirt up and over his head impatiently as Alaska kicked off his own pants, a clumsy dance of flying fabric and tangled limbs. Alaska’s hands flew to Sharon’s bare shoulder blades, his chest, warm and soft underneath his fingertips.  

It felt surreal, that they were doing this – and yet, it didn’t surprise Alaska in the slightest. He felt surprisingly comfortable, safe, even as Sharon pushed him backward onto the bed, pinning him underneath his body.

Sharon hovered over Alaska for a few moments, scanning him with those eyes again, before Alaska pulled him down by the back of the neck, cocks rutting together as Alaska’s tongue traced the shell of Sharon’s ear.

“Please,” Alaska begged, breathless. “Sharon, fuck – I need you. I really, really need you.”

Sharon closed his eyes and let out a huge breath, like the sound of Alaska’s voice, whiny and broken, did things to him. Alaska looked up at him, his hair falling into his face, tried to scoot his hips closer towards Sharon’s lap.

Sharon didn’t need much more encouragement than that.

He flipped Alaska onto his stomach, and Alaska wiggled his ass out for Sharon, who soothed his hands over the smooth skin. He felt delirious, how badly he wanted Sharon to fill him up, make him muffle his screams into the pillow.

And he knew that Sharon would be good to him – he could tell from the way Sharon made sure to kiss every notch on his spine, open-mouthed and careful. Alaska frantically reached over to the bedside table, ransacking two separate drawers before finding a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms, and he said a silent prayer.

Sharon’s hands were trembling as he slicked up his fingers, uttering a hoarse, “You sure, Lasky?”

Alaska had never been more sure of anything, nodding feverishly at the headboard, trying to remember how to breathe.

He didn’t know what any of this might mean moving forward for him and Sharon – if there even was such a thing as a “him and Sharon” – but he refused to worry about that now, not when Sharon eased one finger into him and then two, reducing Alaska to a moaning mess as he arched his back at the contact.

Sharon bowed his head and pressed his lips to Alaska’s shoulder blade, and when he finally entered him, it was with a slow roll of his hips, breath still dancing on Alaska’s back.

Alaska’s jaw went slack, his mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Then Sharon began to move: small and shallow thrusts at first, clearly restraining himself. “Oh, shit, Lasky, you feel so… so good.”

“Sharon, I need… move, Shar, please…”

“W-wait, hold on,” Sharon said, pulling out of Alaska decidedly. Alaska whined at the loss, until Sharon turned him over, scanned his face. “I wanna see you.”

Sharon appraised Alaska’s features: his cheeks, flushed pink, and his kiss-swollen lips, which Sharon leaned down to kiss again, quick and sloppy. Alaska drew his knees up, reaching down to guide Sharon back inside him.

Alaska watched as Sharon’s forehead crinkled, lips parted to let out a breathy exhale. Alaska couldn’t keep from staring, from committing his facial expression to memory – until Sharon shifted his hips the tiniest bit, reminding Alaska of his own throbbing cock, the desire welling up in the pit of his stomach.

He tilted his head back and moaned, exposing his throat for Sharon to nip at as he slammed into him, skin slapping against skin.

Alaska fell apart beneath him, grabbing Sharon’s ass to urge him on, lifting his legs so Sharon could go deeper, harder – a frenzy of clawing hands and salty kisses, more lips brushing against lips than anything else. When Sharon reached for Alaska’s neglected cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, Alaska spilled into his hand, sobbing Sharon’s name almost incoherently, over and over again, the only word that mattered.

Sharon followed suit, shuddering into Alaska before letting his head drop to Alaska’s collarbone.

“God,” was all he murmured, and it was as good as I love you.

“I know,” Alaska breathed.

Alaska slid out of bed on shaky legs after Sharon cleaned them both up, bent down to grab the first article of clothing he could find on the floor – Sharon’s Christmas sweater. He tugged it over his head, smiling at the feeling of Sharon’s eyes glued to him, his body.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

Alaska giggled, crawling back into bed with Sharon eagerly, nuzzling against him like they’d done this countless times before. In some ways, it felt like they had.

“Tell me how much you like me again,” Alaska purred.

“More than I know what to do with,” Sharon replied, and the honesty in his voice was jarring. “Probably too much.”

Alaska stared at the adjacent wall in silence, considering the full weight of Sharon’s words, realizing all at once that he felt the same way – and remembering suddenly that they lived on opposite sides of the country. It hit him like a punch in the gut.

“I don’t think I can do long-distance right now,” Alaska choked out. “I just can’t.”

Sharon rolled onto his side to face Alaska, propping his head up with his hand. “I wasn’t expecting you to, Lasky,” he said, his voice quiet.

Alaska squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel himself ruining the moment, and wished he could’ve just left good enough alone. Sharon probably thought that he was clingy beyond belief, and embarrassment burned hot in his cheeks.

“So what now, then?” Alaska asked, bracing himself for what was sure to be a letdown.

There was a pregnant pause before Sharon replied.

“So, move in with me.”

“What?” Alaska stammered, rolling over hurriedly and getting tangled in the sheets. He searched Sharon’s face, looked for any sign that he might be kidding, but instead only found a set of blue eyes, locked with his own.

“It could be like this, all the time,” Sharon said softly.

“You… you hardly know me.”

“I know enough.”

Alaska swallowed the lump in his throat, fought the urge to smatter kisses all over Sharon’s dumb face, which was sporting a small, hopeful smile now.

Alaska wanted it – he wanted all of it. He wanted to share a closet and take up too much space in the bathroom, wanted to wake up on Christmas morning next to Sharon and watch Bette Davis documentaries in bed. He wanted to feel Sharon pressed against him when he fell asleep at night, wouldn’t even care if Sharon ran hot or snored lightly into his neck. He’d let Sharon show him around town, too; they’d go out and make fools of themselves on stage and Sharon would take Alaska home at the end of their gigs, fuck him hard into the mattress and kiss him on the lips afterward.

Alaska knew he’d say yes before the words were even out of his mouth. This was right. This felt right.

He threw his body on top of Sharon’s, bare legs straddling his torso, and repeated yes against his lips until he was forced to come up for air, Sharon’s eyes twinkling like the Christmas lights lining the snow-covered street outside.