#the moment somebody claims that a show is crap and has always been crap

[ofstormsandwolves]

it's always funny to me when somebody says they think a show absolutely sucks but then they say 'it sucked in season 1 and it just got worse and worse every season'. like... you thought season 1 sucked so you... kept watching??? could you not find the tv remote? you didn't have anything else to do that night? nothing else to watch? is your tv broken?? do you only get one channel?

[pallasperilous]

Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda  AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” 

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

 And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

 Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

 Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him�� like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.”  He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

 There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade. 

 “So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

 Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod. 

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…”  and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

 It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

[loserslibrary]

pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier [Reddie], Stanley Uris/Patricia Blum Uris [Stanpat], Mike Hanlon/Bill Denbrough [Hanbrough] & Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh [Benverly]  written by: Ashley rating: Teen word count:  2,905 prompt: from @ticomat​ “Ok, so, for a prompt, how about the Losers having a Dinner night in which all pairings have big news they planned to tell the others, and end up collectively stealing each others thunder?”

Eddie knew that he and Richie were the boring friends. They had been for years, and Eddie supposed that was normal. When you’ve been in a serious, committed relationship since… well, forever, it seemed only natural that they wouldn’t have as many crazy stories as their friends. Especially since Richie had been banned from telling sex stories. Eddie didn’t mind, he was never bored with Richie, and he much preferred the most adventurous part of his month being he and Richie trying a new brand of pasta sauce that gave Richie stomach cramps over failed Tinder dates or coworkers setting him up on blind dates with horrible, poorly smelling people. 

Eddie and Richie have been together officially since he turned sixteen, but they’d practically been together for years before that. They’d had their rough spots like any other couple; choosing colleges had been one of the lowest points that Eddie could remember and he still sometimes felt sick when thinking about how close he and Richie had come to ending things when it came down to New York City vs Los Angeles. Richie had crawled through his bedroom window, crying and swearing to go to with him to New York City- or “wherever the fuck in the world he wants to go”- and Eddie couldn’t imagine them ever living anywhere else.

So, no. Eddie didn’t feel any lack luster in his life and he didn’t envy his friends’ wild stories whenever they got together the past couple of years. As they rapidly approached their thirties, Eddie was more than content with being settled down and married. Job he liked, financial stability, a loving husband in a surprisingly spacious New York apartment. It was more than Eddie had ever thought he’d be able to have growing up, and he wouldn’t trade it up for all the dating scene moments in the world. He wasn’t sure why anybody would. 

There was, admittedly, one thing in his life that he and Richie had been discussing. Something that could only make things even more perfect. And tonight, Eddie was sure that he and Richie would finally have the most exciting news at the reunion table. 

“You sure you want to tell them?” Richie asked, rubbing his hands between Eddie’s shoulder blades as Eddie used the mirror to do up his tie. Dressing up to Richie was a button up shirt with jeans that didn’t have rips in the knees or thighs, but Eddie always tried to go that extra mile when they were going out for a meal. Especially one that felt as important as this one.

“Yeah, of course.” Eddie said, finishing up the tie and pressing a quick kiss to his husband’s cheek. “I know that maybe we should wait until we have more news but- the Losers are as much family as your mom and dad, Rich. I want them to know.”

Richie smiled and pulled Eddie in for a quick kiss, and rubbed their noses together as he pulled back. “Alright, then I guess we better get going then. Bev is going to talk our ears off the second she sees us. Since the dweeb skipped Christmas.”

“I’m sure that her finishing the designs for her first leading collection  was more important than our Boxing Day dinner.” 

“You sound just like her.” Richie swung his car keys around his fingers as Eddie slipped into his jacket. “You’re such a sham, Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak. You don’t need a jacket from here to the freakin’ car. You just wanna show off your nice threads to our friends when we get there.”

Eddie buttoned up the jacket up and beamed at Richie. “So what if I do? My husband has a big fancy Saturday Night Live job now, so I can spend my salary on whatever I want. Jackets included.”

Richie rolled his eyes and guided Eddie out of their apartment door. “Yeah.” He said in a soft voice. “For now.” Eddie never thought he’d be so happy to have financial restrictions.

Bill and Mike were already sitting around the table when Eddie and RIchie were shown to the Losers’ usual table. “Hey guys!” Richie half-jogged over to them as Eddie thanked their hostess. He tossed an arm around Bill’s shoulders and tugged him into his side. “Mikey, I swear you get hotter every time I see you. How do you do it?” 

Bill yanked away from Richie and punched him in the side. Richie made a loud, wounded noise and Eddie came over to give him a patronizing pat on the cheek. “Hush.” He said softly, before smiling at their friends. “How was Florida?”

Bill and Mike exchanged small looks that made alarm bells start ringing in the back of Eddie’s mind, but they both quickly replaced the looks with smiles. “It was amazing!” Mike said happily, waving towards the entry of their private room as Stan came in with Patty on his arm. 

Stan had started dating Patricia Blum about three years earlier, and she had been an instant click with their tight knit group. It was rare for anybody to connect with the other Losers so quickly, more often than not the Losers’ partners found their little group hard to fit into. Patty hadn’t been like that, thankfully. She and Richie had been practically best friends by the end of their first meeting. 

This was made apparent again, as Richie launched himself from Bill’s side and rushed through the little room to scoop Patty up in his arms and spin her around. 

“I swear, Richard.” Stan rolled his eyes but there was smile spreading across his face. “We saw you not even two months ago.”

“Awwe.” Richie cooed, putting Patty back on the ground and moved to kiss Stan hard on the head. “You know me, Manly Stanny. I’m like a dog, waiting for you to get back from work. Very over excited when you come back inside because you forgot your keys.” 

Stan chuckled at Richie’s awkward analogy and flicked him in the face. “Yeah, you’re a big oversized lap dog. I don’t know how Eddie puts up with you.”

Eddie walked over and wrapped his arms around Richie’s mid section and stuck his tongue out at Stan. 

“I told you we’d be the last ones here.” Ben said, quickly undoing his scarf and giving everybody a forced smile. “Sorry, sorry! Somebody claimed the traffic wouldn’t be that bad.”

“Don’t blame me!” Beverly said, swooping into the room in all her usual beauty. She pressed a kiss to Mike and Bill’s cheeks before turning to look at Ben with her arms on her hips. “I live in New York! I don’t drive. I take the subway like any self respecting New Yorker.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Richie cheered, despite none of them having ordered any drinks yet. The group all started moving towards the big round table, chattering amongst themselves. Richie bumped his hip against Patty’s and grinned at her.

“Take your hand out of your pocket, baby doll.” Richie whispered in her ear. Patty turned him, cheeks turning a little pink even under the red tinge of the dining room. She just shook her head and Richie leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Well, congratulations. Even though I’m not supposed to know.” 

Patty smiled to herself, and reached out to grasp Stan’s hand under the table with her own. Richie couldn’t hide his own grin as Eddie took the empty seat next to him. Never one to disguise his affections, Richie leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to Eddie’s cheek. 

Beverly made overly loud gagging noises and Richie rolled his eyes lovingly at her. “Cram it, Marsh. Let me love on my husband!” 

“Oh I’m sure that you smother Eddie enough in the privacy of your own home.” Bill said with a chuckle. 

“It’s not smothering!” Eddie shot to him, before pressing an almost rough kiss to Richie’s stubbly cheek. He immediately pulled away and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Oh god, Richard, you need to shave. I’m not going to keep kissing you if it feels like rubbing my face against sandpaper.”

Richie tossed his head back and cackled, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulling him against him. Eddie whacked at his chest lightly, and Richie kissed him on top of the head.

“Truly disgusting.” Bill said with a roll of his eyes. “But enough of Dad and Dad’s domestic crap. How have you guys been. Some of us haven’t seen each other since the summer.”

“How targeted.” Beverly laughed, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher in the middle of the table. “But I’ll admit, I actually do have some news since the last time I saw you guys. And before you ask, no, it’s not about my new line so you don’t have to pretend to understand what I’m talking about.”

There was a moment of relief around the table, as they all smiled at their childhood female friend. Even after they’d started having more women in their group, Patty, or Bev’s roommate from college Kay, or Bill’s ex-girlfriend Audra whom he was still friendly with, they’d never really joined forces with anybody who was on Beverly’s level with clothes or trends. The closest was probably Richie- and only because with his career, he has to at least attempt to keep up.

Beverly reached out and tangled her hands with Ben’s on the top. Eddie looked at Richie from the corner of his eye, getting a raised eyebrow in return. Ben and Beverly had been having the ultimate will they or won’t they story in the history of the world, tracing back all the way to the eighth grade. They’d dated off and on all throughout high school, somehow always finding some sort of reason to break up, and then another to get back together. Two years earlier, they had rekindled the high school relationship and the Losers had been sure that they were going to be in it for the long haul this time. Then Ben’s job had promoted him six months into the relationship, sending him to live in Chicago, and they had broken it off once again. Not feeling as though the long distance could work for them. Though the two years had passed since then, the Losers could all tell that the feelings still lingered. Would possibly always linger between them. It was one of the few things that they all knew better than to interfere with. 

Ben smiled sheepishly, rubbing his thumb along the back of Beverly’s hand. “My company are starting a new project to create affordable living in New York City. They want me to head up the project.” His sheepish smile broke into a full blown grin. “I’m moving back. For good.”

The table erupted into cheers, which were quickly and embarrassingly quieted when the waitress came to take their drink orders. As she left, the gang all turned their attention back to Ben and Beverly, whose hands were still clasped together on the table. 

“So…” Richie sang, wagging his eyebrows. “Somebody’s gotta address the elephant in the room-”

“Jesus, Rich.” Bill groaned, though his voice hinted at laughter.

“Are you guys gonna be New York’s Next Hottest Couple or what?” Richie barrelled over top of Bill as though he hadn’t spoken. 

Ben and Beverly glanced at each other, stars in their eyes, before Beverly looked back at Richie and nodded. “That was my news. Ben and I are back together- and we’re moving in together.”

Softer, but no less enthusiast, cheers broke out then. Mike reached over and clasped Ben on the shoulder. The other man’s face had turned a bright red under the attention, always a shy boy deep in his heart, and started waving the others off. “Thank you guys! Really! But Mike and Bill! How was Florida?”

“Yeah!” Beverly jumped onto Ben’s attempts to deflect. “We want to hear all about it!” 

Bill cleared his throat. “It was great. You know, it’s always nice to go somewhere warm and know that your friends are all somewhere else freezing their asses off.”  

The group all grumbled and complained, while Eddie narrowed his eyes at his oldest friend. His hand was clenched around his glass and he used it to gesture towards Bill. “You’re holding back. Something happened. What is it?”

Bill and Mike glanced at each other. “Welll…” Mike said slowly. “I sort of feel like we’re stepping on Ben and Bev’s toes here but… Yeah, something did happen.”

“Oh shit, did you guys fuck?” Richie blurted out. Stan let out an exasperated “Richie” while Eddie swatted at his arm. “What!?! We were all thinking it!” 

“That’s not exactly the tactful way the rest of us would have put it.” Eddie said before knocking back the rest of his drink. 

Richie just rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat, pouting until Eddie reached over and rested his hand on Richie’s knee. Richie dropped his hand on top of Eddie’s and squeezed. 

“Okay, so that’s not exactly how we wanted to say it either.” Mike said with a small smile. Bill was watching him from the corner of his eye, leaving all eyes on Mike. “But yes. We’re dating now. We’ve taking it slowly because we weren’t sure what this was, so please don’t be upset that we didn’t tell you right away-”

Eddie burst out laughing. “Billy. Richie and I were together for like two years before you we told you guys. We’re the last people be mad about that.”

“We weren’t talking to you.” Bill said happily with a toothy grin. “We were talking to all our normal friends.”

“Well, that’s fucking rude.” Richie muttered under his breath. A small rumble of laughter moved through the group, even Eddie chuckling. “Whatever. I haven’t decided if I saw this coming or not, and my gaydar is definitely a little off, but I’m so happy for you guys!”

“There’s no such thing as a gaydar.” Ben said with confidence.  Eddie, Mike and Richie all exchanged looks and Beverly kissed Ben gently on the cheek. 

“Well…” Patty spoke up then, her face looking like her cheeks were about to burst with joy. Richie nudged Eddie and wiggled his eyebrows, while Eddie frowned at him. 

Patty lifted her hand up away from Stan’s and held it out towards the table. The light coming from above them reflected off the rather large diamond on her left hand.

“Oh my God…” Beverly whispered. A hush fell over the table following Beverly’s words, everybody silently awaiting the confirmation of what they’d already pieced together. 

“We’re engaged.” Patty said softly. Stan’s ears and the back of his neck were both a deep red under the attention. The group remained quiet for a moment, then broke into cheers so loud that Richie was surprised they weren’t kicked out of the restaurant altogether. 

Everybody jumped to their feet, quick to hug the happy couple. Richie scooped Patty up in his arms and spun her around slightly, nearly sending their table flying. Both laughing, Richie sent Patty off into a teary Ben’s awaiting arms and turned to find himself facing Stanley. Stan’s cupped the back of Richie’s head as he pulled him into a hug. 

“You’ll be my best man, right?” Stan whispered directly into Richie’s ear. Though his friends would often say he had none, it took every inch of Richie’s self control not to immediately burst into tears as he nodded into Stanley’s shoulder. 

It took a couple minutes to get everybody calmed down and back into their seats, and their poor waitress came in to take their food orders. Richie was sure that once they sat back down all the couples were holding hands under the table. They all gave small chit chat until their meals showed up, and Richie dug in excitedly. 

“Oh, wait!” Beverly lowered her spoonful of pasta and blinked dramatically. “We totally forgot! Eddie, Rich, what’s new with you guys? Anything big happening in your lives since the last time we all hung out?”

Without even needed to look at his husband, Richie knew exactly what to say.

“Nope. You guys know us.” Richie draped his arm around the back of Eddie’s seat. “28 going on 88. Watch the news, in bed by 7.” 

The table all laughed, and dinner carried on without anymore cheering. The meal was peaceful and comfortable, Richie feeling almost blissful with Eddie’s heat pressing into his side while surrounded by their closest and most beloved friends. 

After saying their goodbyes, Eddie and Richie walked hand in hand to their car. “So,” Eddie started, with a smile in his voice. “Not ready to tell them after all?”

Richie laughed. “Nah, we’re ready.” He said. “But I didn’t wanna steal anybody’s thunder. We got enough news tonight. Ours can wait.” Richie pushed Eddie up against the car and kissed his jaw lightly. “What do you say? Let’s keep it our own little surprise. Just show them all by posting it on Instagram. Show up at the next get together with a baby.”

Eddie grinned. “We wouldn’t be the boring friends anymore.”

“Hell the fuck no.”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.6

When Keith and Shiro left, Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Hunk’s father had to order parts from Platt city, leaving the two brother to spend the night at one of towns inns. Dropping them off, with Hunk, at Hunk’s family garage had been the first relief, the second was dropping Pidge and all her crap off at her house, and third returning home to Blue and a nice bag of blood. Stressed from his lack of sleep and house guests, Lance had drained a whole bag without thinking, something he had done since the time his Mami had had a fall at the home. She scolded him for fussing over her far too much, Lance not wanting to leave her all alone, despite the fact she was only in hospital overnight with a sprained wrist. All his Mami’s friends at her home had been jealous when he’d returned the next day with the biggest bouquet of roses he could buy. Taught to share, each little old lady was given a rose and a kiss on the cheek, more than one aiming for a cheeky kiss on the mouth. His mother all smiles and laughter over the attention he’d received. His Mami had such a great support network there, and he’d really lucked out on her care.

With his hunger quenched, next came cleaning through the house. Shiro and Keith had left their room neat, beds remade and everything else in order too, like they’d never been there to begin with. Not that he was looking, but Lance didn’t find a single strand of stray hair on their pillows. Almost as if he’d housed two ghosts for a evening. Letting his room dry out, and actively avoiding the mess, Lance cleaned through the whole first floor before finally admitting to himself he was procrastinating far too much. Stupid blood. His fatigue had melted away, now he had far too much energy, having already walked into the wall, kitchen table, kitchen counter, accidentally lifted the whole sofa in on go instead of just the end to sweep, and tripped face first over his coffee table. All his movements and actions were amplified by the blood coursing through his system, kind of like how he imagined popping Ecstasy. It was like some cosmic joke really. The worst he could expect was severe flu like symptoms if he accidentally drank bad blood, maybe a day or two of cramping then right back to being stupidly healthy. Bruises, grazes, cuts and scrapes all healed within a day or two, depending on how much blood he’d consumed. His dumb arse had fallen down the stairs before, broken his leg, and taken three whole bags of blood to heal the damn thing. He couldn’t win with his glasses on, and he couldn’t win with them off.

Doing a quick tidy through of the top floor, Lance finally faced his trashed bedroom. What he really needed was a maid... except he didn’t want a stranger in his house, and he didn’t want a stranger in his how’d he touching his things. All his bedding needed to be washed, his mattress needed to be stripped of its waterproof cover then aired once the rain stopped. Blue had had a few “accidents” on his bed, his mattress protector was an idea he could proudly claim as his own. Waking up to entrails between his sheets and seeping into his mattress wasn’t his idea of a good morning, no matter how happy Blue was over her caught mouse. He simply couldn’t find it in his heart to be mad at her, she was only doing what came naturally, and he definitely preferred the mice dead to running around messing up his stuff. Shit, maybe he should just join a coven and make a nuisance of at some other vampires lair... only, he didn’t get along with other vampires for the most part, and shacking up with a werewolf was asking for trouble. He was 44, it was well past time to put his big pants on and deal with things like an adult.

*

Wednesday was supposed to be a good day. He’d finished one of the family cases he was working on, his new window was installed with a nice new latch, he’d spoiled himself with a rather expensive bottle of red, and he’d assured Hunk that’d contacted Shay to confirm dinner was still on. He’d forgotten until that morning, almost spamming her to explain and apologise. Thankfully Shay was the awesome soul she was, understanding after he’d explained about his broken window.

Then it all went to shit.

Stuck on an “urgent” call, Lance had made a mistake. He’d been talking with a mother trying to get sole custody of her three children, online, offering her his business number so she could call and get some free advice. Not even five minutes in, he could already see why she was finding it difficult. No judge was grant her custody when she was more concerned about the next needle in her arm than she was about her children. On his personal phone he’d already called the police to request a wellness check after he’d explained the situation, but as he waited for a response there, he was stuck with a raving lunatic yelling in his ear about how meth didn’t make her a bad mother. She hadn’t even noticed he’d put himself on silent as he’d made the call. It wasn’t something that left him warm and fuzzy inside, he genuinely wanted to help keep families happy, with an emphasis on what was best for the children involved. This wasn’t his first making this kind of call, but it never got any easier. The mother needed help, she needed someone to reach out their hand and help her, but the system could only do what it had the budget for. He’d had a similar case nearly a decade ago where the mother had attempted to murder her children rather than share custody with the remarried father. She wound up commuting suicide, something that weighed heavily on his mind each time this kind of situation came up. It was nearly an hour later that the police showed up, Lance listening to the whole thing until it finally got too much, and he had to hang up. Snuggling up for some serious cuddles with Blue, the TV played in the background just so he didn’t feel that prang of pain... until it finally became too much. Spurring an unplanned trip over to Platt for some serious hang time with his Mami.

As always, his Mami was happy to see him. She could tell immediately something was weighing heavily on his mind, unable to even fake a smile or politeness to the other residents. Feigning exhaustion, he’d “helped” his Mami back to her room, crawling into bed with her and settling himself with his head on her chest. Sometimes he wondered if he hadn’t developed properly after being turned so young. He didn’t fit the stereotype for his age bracket, nor did he fit the stereotype for a typical 26 year old. His Mami didn’t push for an explanation, instead she stroked his hair and held him tightly. After being turned, he’d suffered screaming nightmares for months. His Mami would climb into bed with him, holding him just like she was now.

Whether she’d forgotten, because as much as Lance was loathe to admit she’d been doing that much more often of late, or whether his brother also felt the need for a spur of a moment visit, but when Luis entered the room, his brother wasn’t pleased at all to see him there. Luis had been the first to cut him off. Maybe because he was the oldest, he headed our first to carve out a life for him and his wife Lisa. Luis knew he had above normal hearing, mumbling about how he was a money draining blood sucker. A bit rich coming from a man who chucked a sook over his inheritance from their papi. For the sake of their mother, Lance just wanted to get along, Luis ultra polite in front of Mami as he fussed over her, making Lance feel he didn’t have a place by her side.

The drive back was depressing, not even his usual playlist managed to make it bearable. Rax was working at Balmeria’s, meaning he had to go in and ask for the pump to be turned on, the little shit further pissing him off as he mocked him for his down mood.

The goddamn cherry on his shit-tastic day was arriving home to find his front door wide open, with none of the lights left on. This was how people ended up murdered. He was going to end up murdered... but after the day he’d had, maybe a little bit of murder would be the best thing for everyone. At least his house was in order if he was to meet his demise... his only regret would be leaving Blue... and Hunk and Pidge... and his Mami. For a dead man, he harboured a lot of regrets over his imminent death. Saying a prayer, he wasn’t sure if God had time for his type, but he hoped that maybe he did. He’d been a good vampire, never drank human blood, never attacked a human, went to church and loved his Mami... now he was off to be murdered and his body dumped in a rolled up carpet somewhere in the back lands of Garrison. What a depressing thought. Fuck it, if he was going to die, his glasses weren’t going down with him.

Leaving his glasses beside the front door mat, Lance stepped into his doom.

*

“Hello?! Can you please not murder me, I’ve had a shit day!”

Someone was in his house. He could tell from the smell alone there were two somebodies. His skin has prickled with goosebumps at the first sniffs of the scent.

“Look, I already know you’re here!”

Because talking to his murderers was just how he rolled. Following the scent to the living room, he found his room trashed. Great. Just. Fucking. Great. No power to the house meant no security alarm and no security alarm meant no alarmed Pidge, meaning no forthcoming rescue. No forthcoming rescue meant at least his friends would be safe, which was one small mercy.

“We’ve got you, bloodsucker”

Lance raised an eyebrow. A fucking hunter was on his doorstep, well, not literally but he’d been good, he should have had a few more years of safety with his alias. What really made his eyebrow raise was that despite being decked head to toe in black, that voice very clearly belonged to the “Emo Edgelord” himself, sir “I’m too much of a douche to drink your coffee without protest”, Keith. Behind him clad in an equally depressing outfit was Shiro. Talk about bad fucking karma.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“You’re blood sucking scum, and we’ve come to bring your reign of terror to an end”

Holy fuck, Keith must have pop-cultured hard. The kid sounded like he was straight out the lowest budget slasher movie known to man kind. Ignorance was bliss?

“I’m not quite sure I know what you’re on about...”

“Shut up!”

“Look, dude. Take a chill pill. How about we talk? Look, the names Lance. I’m a lawyer, specialising in family law”

“You mean you rip innocent families apart! You gain access to their children and bleed them dry!”

“Um, no?”

“Don’t lie to me! I know you’re kind. What happened to your friends? What did you do to Hunk and Pidge?!”

What was he supposed to have done with them...?... right. Vampire. Dah... murderer, yep, right... pffft... He could laugh at how serious Keith was being if it wasn’t for the fact that they were indeed there to murder him

“They’re at home? I dropped Hunk off with, so maybe I should be asking what you did to him?”

“Don’t you turn this back on me, you abomination”

Lance crossed his arms in offence. He’d made them breakfast, they should be a little more appreciative

“I didn’t ask to be like this”

“So you admit it!”

Shiro obviously hadn’t trained Keith about how adults used their inside voices

“Stop yelling at me! Inside voice is just fine”

“Shiro, he knows us. He’s admitted what he is. It doesn’t deserve to walk this earth!”

“Keith...”

“Fuck this!”

Again with the yelling. Poor Blue was going to be scared with all the yelling

“So we can’t sit down and discuss this?”

“As Blades of Marmora, hunters of unwanted trash, our sworn duty is to destroy beasts like you! The holiest hunters of the Vatican, your blood will stain our blades!”

“My what now?”

“We saw your fridge of blood!”

Lance was starting to feel second hand embarrassment for Keith. He took stupid to a whole other level. He had the disadvantage when it came to the house layout, he had the disadvantage of being human, and he had the disadvantage of thinking with his anger and not his head

“Hurrah. I get blood packs from Platt”

Keith let out an angry snarl, lip raised... as if that could possibly be threatening?

“I’m going to kill you, before you take more victims!”

Keith threw himself towards Lance, twin blades sliding from his from his suit into his hands, silver glinting as Keith’s hands wrapped around the handles

“Whoa! Man, wait!”

Leaping back, Lance leapt too far, snacking his back hard against the hallway wall

“Scum sucker!”

“Time out!”

“Die!”

Lance had time to think “Oh, shit!”, as he ducked and rolled, wincing as the blades were embedded into the plasterboard wall

“Dude! My house!”

Leaping backwards into the living room, Shiro seemed pretty damn content watching Keith attempt to murder him

“Shut up!”

“Or we could talk?”

Keith snarled at him again, Lance really didn’t want to hurt the idiot. He was human... with a flick of Lance’s wrist he could snap Keith’s neck by accident. Holding his hands up, he backed up

“Would you just calm down before you destroy more of my house?”

The backs of his legs hit something, Lance tripping backwards like a moron

“Whaaaa...!”

Keith lunged forward, blades coming down at Lance’s face. With the most manliness of screams, Lance flinched at his impending death

“Keith!”

Called by the man formally known as his brother, Shiro, Keith paused. Lance laying there like a moron

“Let me do this!”

“Wait a second, he’s not fighting back”

“Because he knows it’s pointless!”

Well, if it was that pointless, Keith didn’t need his blades. Wrapping his hands around the blade, he pulled both from him Keith’s grip, throwing them blindly behind him

“Excuse me, I am right here! Why...”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!”

Dumb with anger, Keith swung at his face, hitting him fairly in his open mouth.

Lance didn’t know who was more horrified. Him for being punched in the mouth, or Keith who’d cut his damn hand on Lance’s fangs. As the blood on his teeth touched his tongue, Lance’s eyes widened in horror. He’d never... he’d never drank from a human before... he... it was... so fresh... and... god, what was that fucking awful after taste?

“What the fuck?! He bit me!”

“Me?! You punched me in the mouth!”

And chipped his goddamn tooth by the feel of it. Stumbling back, Keith fell back onto his arse, hand clamped around the wrist of his bleeding left hand. Shiro rushed to his brother

“Keith! Hold on, you’re going to be okay”

“He bit me! I can’t... I can’t turn... I can’t be one of those”

“You’re going to be okay...”

Panicked enough to vomit, Keith threw up next to himself

“I don’t feel too well”

“Keith!”

Keith’s eyes rolled back, Lance spitting out the blood in his mouth in disgust

“Yuck. What the hell is that?!”

God... it tasted... like metal? But not the taste of blood... it was like he’d sucked on a fishing weight, his nose firmly wrinkled in disgust

“What did you do to him?”

“Nothing! He punched me in the mouth”

Tapping Keith’s face, Shiro tried to rouse his brother... that wasn’t his brother...?

“Keith? Keith, come on, it’s Shiro...”

So this wasn’t an act? Keith wasn’t faking everything to lure him close?

“Is... is he okay?”

“Does he fucking look okay?”

Shiro was panicked. Ripping his mask off, the man’s face was ashen. For fuck’s sake

“Take his mask off properly, let him get some air”

Shiro did as Lance said, Lance cautiously climbing off the ruins of his coffee table and edging closer. With the mask off, he could smell sickness on Keith

“Somethings wrong with him”

“You fucking bit him!”

It was hardly Lance’s fault that the Vatican couldn’t design a suit that withstood his teeth

“No... wait, his blood tasted strange. What breed is he?”

“What do you mean, “what breed?”, he’s human!”

“If he’s human, his blood wouldn’t have tasted like shit”

Shiro let out a groan, Lance shying back as Shiro started rifling through Keith’s pockets before drawing out a spent syringe

“That idiot!”

“What? What is it?”

“Silver concentrate... with mercury. He must have injected himself”

What a fucking tool. Normal, smart, people didn’t go around injecting themselves with silver! Let alone fucking mercury! The idiot had gone and poisoned himself

“Well do something!”

“I can’t! It’s in his bloodstream!”

Holy fucking shit. Nope. No way. He wasn’t having a damn hunter die in his living room

“Get out the way”

“Wha-...”

“Jesus Christ, fucking move”

Taking just a smidge or revenge, Lance tore Keith’s suit open, looking for the damn injection point. Shiro’s fingers moved to his own blade, at which Lance cast him a very disappointed look. He was obviously about to do something very goddamn stupid for sake of this dumbarse dead beat. Letting his eyes roam Keith’s body, he found the pinprick on his neck, able to see the slight amount of residue built up around the marking

“Go get me a bucket!”

“What?”

“Or a bowl! Just hurry up!”

Shiro scampered off, Lance closing his eyes and saying a prayer. He’d never fed off a living human before, and thanks to Keith, he was going to for the first time in 36 years. 44 years if he was being technical. Shit. He was nervous as hell. The one taboo he’d never broken. For this... Lance’s stomach clenched, he’d been nervous about plenty of things, but this was whole other level nerves. Every cruel thing ever directed at him for being what he was... but Keith had gone and poisoned himself. Cringing, Lance sank his teeth into Keith’s neck, the taste in his mouth was rancid, he wanted to throw it back up and his damn mouth felt tingly. Pulling back, cheeks bludging, Lance tried not to spit out the disgusting sludge in his mouth. When Shiro finally came running back in, Lance ended up spitting blood all over him and not the bowl

“You drank his blood?!”

Ignoring Shiro, Lance forced himself to bite back into Keith’s neck, he couldn’t take another mouthful after this, his mouth would burn and blister, opening sores. Drinking quickly, he pulled back, spitting into the bowl this time

“What are you doing?!”

Letting himself drop back onto his arse, Lance wiped his lips with the back of his hand. His body didn’t know what to do. Blood was supposed to be good... it was good. It was fresh... soooo fucking fresh... but revolting... and the way Keith’s flesh slid up his teeth... Clenching his fists, Lance forced a breath down to calm himself down, before spitting again. Yuck

“What did you do to my brother?!”

Shiro sounded like the worlds most disappointed father. No wonder Keith was such an arsehole, that tone went right through Lance’s heart. Being punched in the face would be kinder

“I sucked out what I could... I think I did it right... I’ve never... I’ve never even drunk from a human before in my life... I couldn’t... he... he could have died... why couldn’t we talk?”

Shiro’s expression shifted to something Lance couldn’t read... No, more like he didn’t want to read the surprise and pain all over Shiro’s face at his shocked babbling

“You...”

Lance was getting teary now, disgusted with himself. He was covered in Keith’s blood. Human blood...

“Take him to the bedroom, use whatever you need... I... can’t do this”

[matt0044]

Fandom has this... empathy problem we need to talk about.

Ironwood’s downward spiral was well set-up and written in a way where you could see yourself falling into the exact trap Salem had set. I’ve seen plenty of meta breaking this down... all at the expense of our protagonists. So many dogpile onto Team RWBY and Team JNPR for supposedly causing this because of them holding out on the information Djinn gave on how Salem was immortal.

Except that was not the cause period. Maybe it would lead Ironwood to distrust our heroes but Salem would’ve had him play right into his hand either way. I could go on but others have put it far better than I could’ve. @bloodraven55 and @luimnigh have posts that blow this mindset clear out of the water. What I’m hear to say is that it disturbingly reminds me of how often this will happened.

Not just in the FNDM but in many fandoms.

The Legend of Korra Book 2 has been over-hated since the word “go” with one aspect getting the brunt of it: Korra herself. Specifically when she took matters into her own hands when the law proved to be ineffective in solving the problem she faced. When her father is falsely incarcerated, she corners the Judge out on the open road and shoves his head right into her Polar Bear-Dog’s mouth.

Korra was scrutinized before for her decision to trust in Unalaq and come down harshly on her mentor for trying to do right by her (which I went over in another post of mine) but this was a whole other ballpark. Most came down on how she was a “bad Avatar” for acting in such a manner and made this moment one that was emblematic of the show’s “crap” character writing but... was it really now?

It honestly felt like something even a hero would do in a situation where her back was against the way and the law was proving to just either make things worse or spin its wheels. In all honesty, I would be surprised if she did do nothing when she was just making amends with her father and saw her own mother break down over her own helplessness. Yet empathy was a rare sight.

Many claimed that she needed to face consequences for her actions but it often felt like these people weren’t able to see things from her point of view and understand her feelings. It’s not like the show wasn’t clear about why she was going to such extremes. Korra was in a bad place and was starting to see that she was being played for a fool by one she thought saw her as a real Avatar.

Swinging back to RWBY, you also have the case of... Adam Taurus. Let’s put aside shipping for a second (if that’s even remotely possible) and remember that his fanon Anti-Hero characterization... was just that. Fanon. As in, totally extrapolated from the Black Trailer which gave us a glimpse of him at surface value with a lot of blanks to be filled and hidden depths to be explored later on.

So many cling to this image of Adam that had accumulated over the hiatuses prior to Volume 3 with Blake getting the brunt of this discontent. The abuse she got from Adam when it came to manipulating her emotions from when she was only just becoming a teen at the time is woefully overlooked. At best, it’s made to look like she either had it coming or was the one abusing Adam. Yeah, really.

This lack of empathy is something that has pervading in so many fandoms where there’s either a character getting dog-piled for something that shouldn’t be taken lightly or a character being demonized for the sake of a character who, let’s be real, has done EVERYTHING WRONG. It’s always a black-and-white mentality among those who tout their desire for complexities in their faves.

It’s easy to demonized and a challenge at times to sit down and see things from the other side but that’s what I like about fiction. I can find myself feeling for a character despite choices of their’s that feel abhorrent to me. I can find myself sympathizing with somebody who’s an utter scum-bag yet also acknowledge his status as said scum-bag. That’s why I like writing and writing theory so much.

If you can understand Ironwood’s position, maybe you can even see why the likes of Team RWBY might’ve held out on him just before poop had gotten real.

[villainever]

Touch Them, Talk to Them: Villaneve & Nuance in Villanelle's Psychopathy (2x07)

okay there is SO much to say about 2x07, but none of you want to read 10k words of analysis, so im going to pick one topic and stick to it (for now). in this post, im going to talk about how this episode is – I believe – a response to: a) villanelle’s season 1 claim that what she wants is, among other things, “someone to watch movies with”, b) eve’s question, “you really don’t feel anything?”, and c) martin’s assertion that to psychopaths, there are only “i / it” relationships. i think aaron is a fantastic opposite/parallel to villanelle, because i believe that a great antagonist doesn’t just provide practical obstacles in the plot-path of the protagonist, but removes obstacles in their character-path. an example of what i meant by this is that in season 1, villanelle killed bill, killed frank, ruined evidence, impeded the investigation, and messed eve around (obstructing her plot-path). but she also drove eve to confront the (sociopathic) personality traits that she’d been repressing, and helped eve find her sense of purpose, confidence and power (smoothing her character-path). in season 2, however, villanelle has been shifted from an ~antagonist~ (ostensibly, as she doesn’t fully conform to this reductive role) to a protagonist, and aaron replaces her as the mysterious Other. just as we had with eve/villanelle, he is both Like and Not-Like villanelle. it’s the likeness that makes him an interesting (and dangerous) opponent for her, but it’s the not-likeness that’s so significant.

in 2x06, villanelle has her iconic “boredom” speech, and monologues about how nothing makes her feel anything. so at the start of 2x07, eve asks her if that’s all true – although it seemed authentic, it’s fair enough of eve to ask, considering how often and easily villanelle lies while playing her characters, and that villanelle prompts her (“you’ll feel better if you talk about it”). villanelle’s reply is that she doesn’t actually KNOW if she’s telling the truth or not. i don’t think she’s deflecting here; she appears subtly, but genuinely, torn. she DOESN’T know. 

she wants to give eve a real answer, but she can’t. this is probably the result of a whole lot of mixed information: she’s obviously been told she’s a psychopath (by lawyers and therapists and fellow prisoners and konstantin, then eve), and she knows she enjoys killing people, controlling them, and she is often bored, too, like she said, but none of those things feels like enough. so she offers eve the most she can give: “i feel things when i’m with you.” and while she definitely means this – we could’ve guessed it, considering the lengths she’ll go to to even end up in the same country as eve – she’s still conflicted.

so then, in the last quarter of 2x07, we get this scene between villanelle and aaron:

he describes them as “voids”, and villanelle doesn’t hesitate before agreeing. she’s a psychopath, right? she must be a void. she’s not “nice and normal”. she doesn’t mind stabbing or suffocating or toying with other people. between her and aaron, there’s this heartbeat of dissonant kinship. she’s already joked that they might be “soulmates”, so here, she’s just chatting with him. she’s certain they’re fundamentally the same, and there’s not much to be learned from this, so she’s mostly humouring him. so she asks something out of mild interest, but she thinks she already knows the answer.

“do you ever get lonely?” villanelle does. she finds being cooped up by herself to be tedious, and uses the time to prepare her next interactions – elaborately faking her death for konstantin; planning new presents or tricks or reminders for eve. importantly, in defiance of the “incapable of ‘i / you’ relationships” idea, she is able to apply this notion of isolation to eve. in 2x06, she tells konstantin she’s texting eve “because [eve] might be lonely”. sure, villanelle primarily wants to know how much of an impact she had by killing someone right in front of eve, but she’s not really lying; she can follow and understand the emotional process of “niko left - today’s been a high-stakes day - eve is alone - eve might want somebody to decompress with”. and she feels compelled to offer eve that, to make things better for her. but:

like i said, villanelle has been trying to reach out on the common ground she percieves them as having. she expects to relate to aaron in every way, because he’s a psychopath, too. except aaron goes on about how he knows so much about people, how he observes them. villanelle often does this as well – stalking eve in clothing stores back in season 1, googling her, watching through her windows, etc. but that’s not even near to enough of eve for villanelle, so her reaction is one of confusion. “you don’t want to talk to them? touch them? sleep with them?" 

"god, no.” aaron’s inflection is almost one of disgust, and definitely one of superiority. it’s like she’s asked him if he’s interested in hanging out with rocks. he can’t imagine having any involvement behind mild amusement at the opportunity to manipulate people, like toys. “do you?” he asks.

“yeah! i do. all the time.” it’s an immediate knee-jerk response, and though it’s soft, it’s emphatic. villanelle doesn’t doubt her answer. as the shot pans out, she gives a slight gasp, and almost smiles (mirroring that slight smile through her sobs in amsterdam). aaron remains impassive.

i believe that this exchange is maybe the MOST important of the episode, second only to eve/villanelle’s semi-sex scene. i also believe that it’s this conversation with aaron that leads villanelle to breaching that last unspoken barrier between her and eve. to be clear, i’m not trying to say villanelle isn’t a psychopath. one revelation does not fifty people un-kill. just a handful of hours before this moment, she murdered gemma with a plastic bag. so i’m not suggesting villanelle is just like any of us. she’s not, eve’s not, and we don’t want them to be. my point is that this moment clarifies a lot for villanelle. she’s been trying to figure out her own capacity for emotion and connection. one thing that she’s considered a fact about herself since before the pilot is that she “wants someone to watch movies with”. she expresses this desire to eve and konstantin with no hesitation; she’s sure, and this becomes a tacit premise in a lot of her reasoning over the whole show. i suspect villanelle doesn’t have any long-term understanding of what that really means, but she wants it anyway. she also plans most of her life around being able to get closer to eve, whether by teasing her or helping her or steering those in eve’s life to create the required conditions for a confrontation.

which is why aaron telling her he has NO need for human contact is such a big deal. because villanelle obviously DOES. she needs it, she wants it, she always has. anna, eve; villanelle develops romances that run deep – even though she’s no longer obsessed with anna by season 1, she still clearly feels a connection to her, and i don’t think she’d have killed her if anna hadn’t killed herself. then there’s konstantin, and she’s a little shit to him, but she definitely missed him, if the way she ran into his arms in 2x03 after being forced to put up with raymond for ten minutes is any indication. villanelle and konstantin have a rapport, and they trust each other (in that they both know each other well enough to guess when they might betray each other, and can account for it accordingly). essentially, until now, villanelle has been running with the equation “aaron = psychopath; me = psychopath; thus, aaron = me”. she’d assumed that part of psychopathy was just the level of human interest she has – which is why she doesn’t have an issue telling eve “like us, you mean”, even though eve has a long-term relationship and friends: that amount of involvement is still realistic for them, right? but aaron doesn’t have this need for people. so now, “aaron =/= me” for villanelle.

crucially, this interaction gives villanelle CONTEXT. rather than dealing in absolutes, she now has a spectrum of psychopathy: “aaron –> me –> eve –> carolyn –> konstantin –> etc.” aaron has inadvertently told her that what she feels is real. maybe she’d almost believed that, seeing as psychopaths can’t feel anything, can only have the “i / it”, that what she experienced was an infatuation or illusion (although this was shaken by eve stabbing her and by crying in amsterdam); but here’s aaron confirming that the idea of fascination with/caring for people has never even occurred to him. and it does NOTHING BUT occur to villanelle. eve runs circles around her head.

let’s look at that in practice. aaron’s most significant relationship is with his sister, who he treats like crap. he’s got her babysat, won’t listen to her opinions (“the grownups are talking, amber”), disrespects a friend she likes, calls her a “thickie”. then villanelle, the closest thing he has to a friend – he watches her without her consent, plays dress-up and stay-still like she’s a doll, tells her what she’s going to do (“spit it out”) and instructs her on how she should feel (“you’ll be bored”). but villanelle? her most important relationship is with eve. and sure, she makes really fucked up choices, but she also makes an effort to consider how eve might feel, what eve might want, what might appeal to her. AND, she’s IMPROVED at that. for example, in 1x03, she kills bill to get eve’s attention, but it’s at the price of hurting her. by 2x07, though, villanelle won’t kill niko. it’s mostly selfish – she doesn’t want eve to be mad at her – but if it were aaron, he’d try and force eve to be un-mad somehow, with money or threats, etc. (not that aaron would bother; he wouldn’t mind if she hated him) villanelle, though, she wants eve to ACTUALLY love her, not to HAVE to love her. villanelle is manipulative, obviously (e.g. telling niko that eve stabbed her to cause a rift between them), but she sees these indirect manipulations as a way to arrange things how she wants (it doesn’t really occur that there might be an alternative), and attempts to course-correct when eve sometimes gets upset. this is huge for villanelle. aaron gives her something NOBODY else can, by being like her, but less like her than she’d believed. the distinction between them might seem minute to viewers who have the full range of emotions/empathy, but for villanelle, that small difference means the world. it means her and eve are REAL, or real enough. martin said, “don’t add, take away”. but aaron proves that that can be true by degrees; villanelle is dotted with minuses, but fewer minuses than aaron. this is set up throughout the episode, kicked off thematically by eve’s question, but compounded by aaron’s consistent use of villanelle like a thing. THIS is an “i / it” dynamic. “stay there, exactly like that”. “wear this”. “these are your clothes now”. “we’re leaving”. “you’ll get ice-cream, and i’ll watch you eat it”. to him, villanelle is a totally disposable puppet. but over and over and over we’ve been shown that this ISN’T how villanelle perceives eve, and that’s definitely cemented in amsterdam, when villanelle breaks down over eve “forgetting” her. 

aaron, like villanelle, has up until this point mistaken them for exactly alike, but they’ve been miscommunicating all along. at lunch, villanelle said, “i dont like rich men” – meaning, i like women, specifically eve, and i have my own resources. aaron counters, “but you like money”. he’s misinterpreted, and thinks villanelle means, like him, that she never wants to have sex or talk with other humans. instead, he concludes that she likes the material object of money, and the subsequent ability to aquire items which might spark some kind of response – and this lines up with villanelle’s later remark about liking to buy and own things, which aaron recognises in himself. they’re replying to each other, but really, they’re having slightly different conversations. so what does this mean, overall? we’ve known forever that villanelle wants eve to be the person she “watches movies with”, but this conversation tells villanelle she could maybe be that person to eve, too. villanelle can “love” in her own unique way, can be present. and because eve’s stepping off the ledge and meeting her in the middle, neither of them will have to be anything other than who they actually are. and they can be who they actually are, together. this analysis got a lot more muddled than i wanted it to, because im a lil wine drunk after haning out with some friends, but i had Thoughts. i have many more Thoughts about the villaneve hookup, hugo, gemma’s death, why aaron is such a creepy villain, carolyn’s plans, etc. but i’ll leave it here for now. i hope this made some sense lmfao.

[callmethehunter]

Maggie and Robert

Here’s a new chapter!  I hope you like it.  Thank you to @firethatgrewsolow​ for feedback and help with editing.  As always, there’s a recap of the previous post, followed by the new material.   RECAP:   After a passionate and funfilled night on the beach with Robert, Maggie now has to face the music…aka her old man, Steve

End of Part 3:   As Robert’s silhouette grew smaller in the distance, she knew that she needed to see him again. She simply HAD to see him before he left for the UK on Saturday.  He was magical.  The passion and connection that she had felt with him during their brief encounter was exactly what was absent with Steve and what she deeply craved.

 When she lost all sight of Robert, her eyes swept over the skies.  The sun was beginning to rise, dispersing the quiet darkness of the night...a night she would treasure always.   She sighed wearily, turning her back to that golden sunrise as she headed back home to a man she did not truly love or even respect.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -Part 4:  Steve and Schemes

Maggie slowly made her way back to the Bahia Mar just as the dawn lightened the skies.  It was as if the sun was awakening from the depths of the sea to continue it’s restless journey.  There was something about the light and the retreating darkness that made her feel exposed, unable to hide from others or from herself. With each step, closer to Steve, her dread mounted. She replayed the moments with Robert, reliving them as she put one foot in front of the other.  It distracted her from the looming anxiety about having to face Steve and explain where she had gone off to the previous evening.

While she believed that honesty was the best recourse, she decided to make an exception in this case. Just this once, she thought.  She rationalized that it was none of Steve’s business how she chose to spend her time, given that they weren’t married and he had no claim on her.  

They had shacked up for convenience sake. Their initial arrangement had been that each of them paid half of all expenses, which then gradually became Steve paying a larger share.  She had quit bartending at the Elbo Room back in January so she could attend community college.  

But Maggie knew his cash flow came from dealing in weed and acid, not from a 9 to 5 job.  In her opinion, it was easy money since the hippies had started congregating at the northern end of Fort Lauderdale Beach where housing was cheaper, granting Steve access to a booming clientele.

It was the age of tuning in and tuning out.  Timothy Leary advocated the use of psychedelics such as acid as a means to spiritual and personal growth. The drugs  practically came with an endorsement, for crying out loud and added to the Free Love movement that was spreading like wildfire especially now that the Pill was in greater use.  In fact the media was touting last summer of 1967 as the Summer of Love.  

Her internal dialogue was interrupted when she heard her name being shouted repeatedly.  She spotted Steve sitting in the shiny red Camaro, his prized possession. It was one of the only vehicles in the lot this early in the day.  He started the loud engine and practically peeled out of the parking space headed towards her.  

Oh fuck!, she cursed under her breath. Here he comes... The smidgeon of peace that had remained from her magical evening with Robert went flying out the window, replaced by a deep annoyance at having to explain herself to Steve.

“What the fuck, Maggie!” Steve barked as he pulled up next to her. “Where have you been all this time? I was worried about you out there trippin’ all by yourself.” He gestured wildly towards the beach. “One minute you were there, then the next time I looked you were gone. Man, I thought you drowned!  I sure hope it was worth it to keep me hanging like that,” he berated her.

Maggie’s tactic when he became this belligerent was to placate him and act contrite. “Steve, I know...I am so sorry you had to go through all that.  That purple microdot was so strong I don’t even know what all I did, I just remember being at the Jetties, and laying down somewhere looking at the sky...probably for hours.  The stars looked as if they were dripping wax from candles on the beach and the colors were so bright!” 

She ventured a glance at his face, which appeared calmer. “You know how it is, babe, I didn’t mean to worry you.” See?  she said to herself, telling half truths was not really lying, she rationalized again. But in her heart she knew that she was skating on thin ice.

“Yea, I know, that shit’s groovy, man, but you can’t just walk off and not tell me what you’re doing or where you’re going for hours!”   The fact that his voice was back to a normal decibel was promising.

 “C’mon man, get in the car. I’m starving thanks to having to sit there all fucking night waiting on you.” As usual, the crisis had become all about him.

“Steve, seriously, who are you kidding? You know damn well you and your friends were partying all night... You barely missed me, seeing as Shannon the chipmunk was hanging on your every word when I left.”  She wasn’t buying his ”holier than thou, concerned boyfriend” crap. It might work on Shannon but it wasn’t going to work on her.

That must have been what happened, because Steve did not respond as he sped down AIA towards the House of Pancakes.  By the time they pulled into the lot, they had toned it down.  Steve had a short memory, probably from all the weed he smoked, and now that they were going to eat, his self-righteous attitude diminished.  After they were seated, he studied the menu, commenting on what he should order.  

Maggie breathed a sigh of relief.  She had been right in only revealing where she’d been and not who she was with...Only the sexiest and most intriguing man she had ever laid eyes on, she said to herself.  Had she divulged that small yet crucial detail, she would not have heard the end of it.  

Yet Steve was the one who had brought up having an open relationship when they shacked up the year before. They were more like friends on equal footing back then but somehow he seemed to have developed a sense of ownership.  Nowadays he acted as if he was her sugar daddy or had some claim on her.   The longer she allowed Steve to finance her life, the longer she would be in this rut. She had become lazy and complacent.  The realization deeply troubled her and she vowed to take action, once and for all.

After ordering a breakfast platter, Steve mentioned he had been looking at a boat that was for sale at the docks near the Bahia Mar.  It was  last year’s model, a 1967 Chris Craft Cavalier, he said, as if that would explain it.  

“Well, tell me more about it.  I don’t know much about boats,” she added, “except that some have cabins and some don’t.”

“Man, I gotta teach you about the finer details of boating! if I can get this dude to go down on the price. I think he will, seeing as I fronted him 100 hits of acid and some weed last week and he still hasn’t paid me.”

“You know what, Steve? One of these days somebody’s gonna screw you over so bad or you’re gonna get busted by the fuzz, man,” she chided him. “You gotta be more careful, people talk…”

“Maggie, shut the fuck up, you don’t know what I do or don’t do.” He spat out bits of the omelett he was chewing, with how forcefully he replied. “I've been doing this shit since I was 16, so for over 10 years now, I ain’t never had a problem...well, except with a Cuban dude that tried to rip me off one time. But anyway,” he continued, “I don’t have to do shit, you hear?”

She hated when he spoke to her with disdain, belittling her intelligence, sometimes right in front of his friends. Most of the time, she sucked it up and went with the flow, letting it roll right off her back.  But lately, this type of behavior angered her and she had been growing increasingly resentful towards his snide remarks.

  “Fuck you, too, Steve” she countered, setting her toast down on the plate, suddenly losing all appetite.

“Whatever...Look, Maggie, do you wanna go see the damn boat or not? You’re lucky I’m even asking for your opinion seeing that we’re gonna be spending a lot of time on it.”

“Oh really?” she replied, “what if I don’t like boating, did you ever think of that? What if I always get sea sick, huh?” she asked but he just looked at her, mouth agape.

“Steve, you know I don’t like it when the water’s really deep, you can’t just assume I’m gonna feel comfortable on that boat day in and day out…”

“Why not?” he asked incredulously. “You should see the cabin, Maggie. It’s got a full sized bed, mini bathroom and little kitchen. It’s sweet, baby, you’re gonna forget all about that you’re on the water...It’s gonna be like being in a camper on land. You’ll love it, baby.”

She cringed at the familiar way he disregarded her feelings, bulldozing over them and then pretending she had been the one to suggest whatever it was he manipulated her into doing.  This was insanity!  He’s never gonna change!, she realized. 

Almost in a defeated tone, she answered “Yea, maybe you’re right, Steve. Let’s go take a look when we leave here.”   

He reached over the table and patted her hand, “Thata girl. We’ll go right after I pay.”

With that, he signaled to the waitress to bring the check, took a wad of cash out of his pocket, and glanced over the bill.  

Maggie looked out the window and realized they were only a few minutes away from Tugboat Annies.

She mustered up all her courage and nonchalantly asked  “Hey, sweetie, if we were to get the boat, could we dock it over by Tugboat Annies? It doesn’t cost as much as the Bahia Mar and you can pull up through the intercoastal, dock it in the back, and you’re right at the bar....There’s actually a really good band playing this weekend,” she continued, “if we had the boat, we’d look so cool pulling up in it, right?”

She knew Steve well. He was a show off and loved to appear important. The idea that the hip people at Tugboat’s would notice his latest purchase was irresistible to him.   His growing smile told her everything she needed to know, and her heart soared as she thought about seeing Robert again.  She ached with longing for him.  That gorgeous blonde, that sexy man. 

She smiled back sweetly at Steve, proud of herself for having turned the tables and being the one who manipulated the outcome, making him feel he was still in control.  

Her self-congratulation faded as a tinge of anxiety surfaced.  Steve was a narcissist, that much was true, but he was no dummy and he was extremely possessive of her time.  How was she going to manage making contact with Robert while Steve was hovering nearby? How was she gonna pull this one off?  

Different scenarios ran through her mind.  She suddenly realized that the answer lay in having distractions... Lots of distractions.  They would put the word out and invite all his cronies out to the concert, in part to celebrate and party on the boat.  People could step out onto the marina behind Tugboat’s and score, getting their stash for the week in the privacy of the boat’s cabin.  She’d wait to suggest that part later… 

After the waitress brought back the change, she grabbed her bag from the back of her chair, stood and followed Steve out of the diner, this time with a light heart and a bounce in her step.

To be continuied at Tugboat Annies....

[lucahqs-blog]

❛ ✶  —  did you see LUCA MARTÍNEZ walking around campus earlier ? i hear a lot of people talking about the TWENTY-ONE year old JUNIOR . from what i know , they are studying HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY while minoring in ILLUSTRATION and are a part of PHI KAPPA DELTA . they come across as + DIPLOMATIC but also - NON-CONFRONTATIONAL , which makes since because on their instagram ( LMHQS ) it says they are a LIBRA . when i see them , i think of LONG 2AM ROOFTOP CHATS, 100% GREEK & DEAD POETS SOCIETY CHAOTIC ENERGY, MESSY ROOM COVERED IN ART & PROJECTS, DOG-EARED TEXTBOOKS, CIGARETTE SMOKE. the most interesting thing i’ve heard about them though , is the fact that [  REDACTED ] , but don’t tell anyone i told you that .

hello, loves !! this bean goes by rue ( she / her pronouns ), and i’ll be playing this Mess™, luca ( with fc by froy gutierrez ). below you can find his bio, enjoy ! + disclaimer: there are mentions of mental health and cancer, so please read at your own discretion.

biography

When someone hears the name Martínez, they automatically think of words like prestigious, wealthy, and perfect. And who wouldn’t? With the father being a State’s Attorney and mother owning her own real estate business, you had to think like that. In the public eye the Martínez family was flawless. Diana was the always supporting wife who thrived in raising money for fundraisers and showing off her cooking skills and David was being a husband who brought home piles of money and was devoted to his family. Everyone wanted what they had. Luca Martínez was born into a world where perfection was of the utmost importance. The Martínez family are one of those prestigious families that has always been full of wealthy and high-class snobs, and Luca’s parents were no exception. He grew up learning how to be charming and handsome, and aware of his superiority over those of inferior to him. Luca’s childhood years consisted of him sitting restless at various fancy parties and dinners, while his father kept him from all the treats so that he would grow up to be fit and strong. Luca’s father was always cold and emotionally isolated from him; only after a perfect son to show off to the world.

He has brother, who is three years younger than him, named Nathaniel. His relationship with his brother, however, is a bit estranged just like with their father. As much as he loves his brother and wishes they could see eye-to-eye, sometimes they tend to butt heads often. Whether that might mean your typical sibling arguments or full-on blown out fights, they just cannot seem to see get along.

As a young, restless little child, Luca sought escape from his shallow, chilly life in the form of a friend. His friend taught him that there was such thing as warmth and friendliness, told him lots of stories of Greek mythology, and he learned that his father had been lying about “tactless individuals” being horrible people. However, when his father found out about his associations with his friend, within a week, the boy mysteriously disappeared. Since then, Luca kept all his unapproved-of friends to himself. Unfortunately, as time went on, Luca grew up to become a lot colder and more isolated like his father—leaving the feeling of pure joy of meeting that friend he met long ago, had vanished. With his family situation being completely dysfunctional and rottenly horrible, he never experienced what being happy was all about.

Sometimes calling someone selfish is a gross exaggeration, but in Luca’s case its right on-point. Eventually in his early teens he became distracted, always preoccupied with his own affairs and matters of interest. Whether it was schoolwork, his multiple and usually explosive relationships, or his many existential crises, Luca was one for waving people away and turning the conversation back on himself. This was not necessary out of narcissism or some hidden agenda: Luca genuinely does not know who he is. Perpetually fidgeting and restless, it is not uncommon to see him rapidly flicking a cigarette lighter, or playing with his hair, or bouncing on the balls of his feet. In high school he was brilliant: it was that simple. He was the golden boy. Prone to spilling into intellectual spiels - and labelled a know-it-all - he internalized everything, memorizing tiny details, eyes skipping here and there. His intelligence is among his most useful traits and is by far the thing he values most about himself. Much of his ego is built around the confidence that he is effortlessly smarter than almost anybody he encounters. Knowledge is power, and he weaponizes his superior intellect, using his brains more than brawn to protect himself and intimidate the people he does not care for.

Although his parents were the bane of his experience 100% of the time, his mother was not all that insufferable when she had her moments away from his father and not trying to be this pristine ‘perfect’ woman beside her husband. In fact, throughout his childhood she often encouraged Luca’s belief in extraordinary things and hoped he had carried it throughout his life growing up. His mother had always made him promise to have courage and be kind to others, for—as she explained to him—kindness has power, and that she would see him through all the trials that life could offer, in life and death.

Cancer/mental illness TW—when he was thirteen, his mother had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. Upon hearing the news, Luca’s whole world clasped. Not only was he at a pivotal stage in his life where everything was changing and becoming more stressful ( becoming a teenager, starting high school, going through puberty ), the only important person who had actually showed him any kind of love in his life had be claimed by the deadly disease altogether. So many thoughts and feelings were going through his mind at the time, that he ran himself physically sick and had experienced his first panic attack. He has since been medically diagnosed with panic disorder. Thankfully, the cells on his mother’s cervix were diagnosed at precancerous stage and the doctors were able to treat it because it developed and spread. However, that didn’t and doesn’t stop Luca from being in a constantly state of panic every time his mother so much as feels pain or coughs due to irrelevant reasons. The entire year had changed him and his family for a while.

He is now attending Beaumont University currently in his Junior year studying Human Physiology and minoring in Illustration. The university is his parents’ alma mater and he joined his father’s former fraternity after he was convinced it would be a ‘father-son bonding experience’ to have shared the same Greek house. Not to mention, his family has pretty decent ties at Beaumont, making Luca pretty well known become his parents. Sure, his family is wealthy, well known in the socialite community, and has basically grown up with this sort of life from an exceedingly small age, but to say he actually cares about all that crap is an overstatement. He is nothing like some of the spoiled and entitled students at his school and rather vibe with himself than gossip about the latest trend.

Despite issues with his own family, Luca has a lot of personal of his own he deals with. He is capable of enduing tremendous hardship. Though he may not handle difficulty in the healthiest or best way, often repressing emotion, he mostly like emerges on the other side. He does not know how to express his emotions in a put together way, but rather fumbles it all up and starts to ramble. Rarely opens up because of this. He usually distracts himself from his insufferable emotions with hobbies such as playing the piano, painting, and reading some of his favorite classics. After he moved out the house at eighteen to pursue college and became more independent, he started to come into his own style with his wardrobe. To put it simple, he is like a hippie dippy child of the universe.

No joke. No seriously, his place at home and his dorm is full of sensual shit and art. It is getting out of hand and somebody needs stop him soon. Catch him rocking the Greek philosopher and Dead Poets Society aesthetic around campus. He strongly believes that art is an umbrella term that relates to expressing of oneself—not just through photography and painting—and that everyone has the freedom to express themselves however they please. Because of his beliefs, he chooses to break gender roles like bread and wears whatever the fuck he wants because yolo. His appearance pretty much represents his hippie dippy lifestyle with him wearing all sorts of hipster shit. His clothes can be very flowy like, but don’t let that fool you. He doesn’t miss the opportunity to represent his upper class within his style, so he does dress to impress, let me tell you. His hair color changes sometimes too depending on his mood but it’s generally never too eccentric.

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Somebody Save Me

This case might just be the death of a young detective. Sleepless nights and stress filled days haunt the young detective Kim Taehyung but he’s determined to find her. Even if it’s the last thing he may do…

Warnings:angst, mentions of torture, mentions of murder, strong language, detective au

Word count:1652

A/n: Short one but it’s been ages since I updated this and I just...idk we’re coming up to wrapping this demon of a fic up. Anyway hope ya’ll enjoy and sorry for the long hiatus~

<<Chapter Eleven---Chapter Thirteen>>>

Chapter Twelve: Unsuspected Suspect

Daddy’s still here.

We spent a lot of time yelling at each other. And I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind.

But...what else do I have left to do besides argue with a figment of my imagination. After all… if I’m going to die here, I might as well have company right?

“What are you even doing here?”

“Witnessing the end of my family.” His face is pulled in a sneer, always mocking always watching.

The burning in my chest has spread, across my arms and down along the symbols they’d carved and on into my fingertips. I flex my fingers, watching the last of my muscles bunch beneath the glowing purple flames.

I’m losing my mind…

“Would that you had just accepted the situation for what it was…” Daddy sounds like he’s contemplating me again.

“Accepted? How, all I know is hunger and pain Daddy…”

“If you’d stop fighting it, the pain would stop.”

“Stop...the pain.”

I can hear the smile in his voice as the flames on my arm brighten.

“Yes dear daughter. Accept me. Bring me into your heart. Allow the Whistler to see through your eyes and taste with your tongue.”

I sigh, staring up at his blurring form as the flames spread to the rest of my body. The pain...it’s fading. And I can hear...a laughing in the distance, through the ringing in my ears as the door to my cage is opened.

***

“So forensics came back with the blood sample. Confirmed it matched the victim’s. The lab also showed some interesting issues with the scrap of fabric Tae found at the site.” Hobi paced along the office floor, pausing only once to motion to the file in Yoongi’s hands.

They’d come back to the detective’s office, knowing that all of the evidence to date was much more compartmentalized here and that they wouldn’t be interrupted on Yoongi’s end by police work of any kind.

“It came back positive for a special type of lichen that only grows in the cold and dampness of basement areas and underground caves.” Yoongi nodded up at the map, to which Namjoon took over.

“Taking that into consideration I mapped out all of the warehouses and empty homes that had false leads called in on them since the beginning of the case. Hence the shape now pinned on the map.”

“It’s the exact same shape as the symbols her mother painted. The same shape that showed up on the sticky notes I found at their house and the website Hobi hyung found about that cult.” Taehyung glanced down at the file in his hand.

“We’ve got our boys staking out the sister of the suspect. He’s been released on bond to her so if he or she makes a move at all we’ll know straight away and be able to take them in on suspicion of involvement. But we really don’t have much more to go on than that.” Yoongi groaned, stretching in his chair as he glanced at those milling around the room.

Hoseok had finally sat down and was now busy on his computer, searching for anything in the area that the arrow on the map pointed to that might lead them to their next clue. Namjoon was once again involved in a staring contest with the map as if staring at it long enough would lead them to the information they needed to know.

Taehyung similarly was staring at the file, reading for the hundredth time everything that they’d learned in the hopes of  gleaning some piece of information they might have missed.

“I’ll go make a fresh pot of coffee.” Yoongi huffed as he rose from the chair and left the room.

“Alright. So according to the old city records I found, that area used to be the site of a coal processing facility. It was closed down due to some labor union bull crap about 60 years ago. The building was torn down but the site itself was pretty much left to …’return to the wild’ as the locals called it.” Hoseok leaned back on the sofa, stretching his arms above his head as he looked up with blurry eyes at those around him.

“Anything on who currently owns the property?” Tae asked, tossing the file onto the table in frustration.

“Nah. Not in the public domain. There’s no record of it ever having been reclaimed by the city. It’s just this grayed out portion of the property maps.”

Yoongi walked back into the room, carafe of coffee in hand and his cell phone pressed to his ear as he listened in to the voice on the other end.

“I see...and has the boy said anything since you brought the two of them in?”

He paced around the room, filling everyone’s cups as his eyebrows pressed closer and closer together.

“What did you say the suspect’s name was?” He glanced over to Taehyung, ensuring he had the detective’s attention as he repeated the name spoken to him. “Jeon Jungkook...I see.”

Namjoon and Taehyung instantly went on alert, minds flashing back to the nervous young man they’d interviewed only days ago.

“And he’s claiming to know where the girl is?”

The two detectives bolted for the door tossing their jackets on as Hoseok looked on in confusion.

“What the hell?” Hoseok asked Yoongi as the two followed close behind the frantic men.

“They interviewed the boy a while ago. He claimed not to know anything about the case and here he is cropping up again out of nowhere…”

Hoseok shook his head as he dragged his coat on. “What the hell?”

Yoongi frowned, closing and locking the office door behind them. “What the hell indeed…”

***

The four men crowded into the police precinct, elbowing cops out of the way as they hurried towards the interrogation rooms.

Namjoon reached it first, ducking his head in order to see through the small view window into the room. 

The man sitting at the desk was a far cry from the man they’d interviewed before. Where once sat a well kept young man, though nervous in an almost over sized suit, there now sat a far more confident though unkempt person.

His hair, before pulled back off his forehead, now hung limp and greasy in his eyes. His clothes seemed as if he’d slept in it, while buried beneath several feet of soil. His eyes seemed to be taking in the room, as if familiarizing himself with it in some way.

“Shit, that’s him alright, but what the hell happened?” Namjoon huffed as Taehyung pushed him aside.

The young man growled, reaching as if preparing to barrel his way into the room.

“Nuh uh Mister Kim. Not your jurisdiction. “ Yoongi clamped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him harshly from the door.

“I knew that kid was suspicious from jump. We should have taken him in ages ago.” Tae growled under his breath as he allowed Yoongi and Namjoon to guide him to the observation room.

Hoseo whistled as they walked in the small room. “So this is what’s on the other side of the glass, huh?” He shook his head, very obviously unimpressed.

“The three of you chill here. I’ll go talk to him.”

Tae seemed ready to protest Yoongi’s orders, but a quick and icy cold glare stopped him short.

“Alright Chief. I’ll get him to behave.” Namjoon smiled reassuringly, taking Taehyung’s elbow and guiding him to stand in front of the one way mirror.

Yoongi nodded, departing swiftly and reappearing inside the room on the other side of the glass.

The two talked in hushed voices and Tae quickly realized that the microphone that usually fed the dialogue into the observation room wasn’t turned on. “Are you kidding me?”

“Tae chill, we’ve been doing this long enough you should be able to read body language.” Namjoon spoke, eyes never leaving the two figures hunched in conversation.

“This is bullshit…” Tae growled,arms crossed over his chest as he glared at Yoongi.

“Tae…” Namjoon’s voice was filled with warning and the younger man slouched a bit before turning away from the glass.

After a moment more of speaking with Jungkook, Yoongi walked back in the room, shoulders drooping as he stared at the two detectives with weary eyes.

“Apparently he’s dating the sister of our suspect from before. They’d been trying to recruit him into the cult that took our victim. He’s willing to lead us to her, but won’t talk beyond that. Hoseok was dead on with the abandoned building. Apparently that’s where this cult is holed up.”

“Did he say anything about their motives or why they have her?” Hoseok asked, stepping to the side to allow Yoongi space in the small room.

“Only that they’re using her as some sort of vessel for their god or some shit.” Yoongi shook his head, fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure in his head.

“You can’t seriously be thinking about letting that kid lead us in there? I say we go full force, bash whatever doors in we have to and arrest every one of those cult scum bastards.”

Yoongi shook his head, giving Tae a sympathetic look. “We can’t do that. Storm the place and we may not get to her in time. That complex is massive, she could be anywhere Taehyung. They could kill here before we even get to her.”

“No...no you’re right…” Tae’s body seemed to collapse in on itself as he leaned his back against the wall.

“So we let this kid lead one of us to her? If we’re lucky we get there in time and save her, let the rest of the cops take everyone else in. Case solved right?”  Hoseok smiled, eyes hopeful as he tried to cheer them up. “Piece of cake. We’ve got this case in the bag.”

[klaineanummel]

(b)romance

Everyone does dumb shit in high school. Some people skip classes too many times, or cheat on their tests. Kurt Hummel gets drunk and eats thirty-five diet pudding cups. 

guess who isn’t deaddddddddd. big thanks to mailroomorder who encouraged me to just write a dumb one-shot to get back into my creative writing gear. this is based off a tumblr post i saw the other day that inspired me in the way only dumb shit can (link to the post on ao3 -- link to ao3 in the sidebar). hope you enjoy!!

i.

It all starts at a dumb party Kurt’s junior year of high school.

Finn makes him come, claiming he wants his friends to get to know his new step-brother better. Kurt tries to argue that he’s actually known all these people since kindergarten, just as Finn has, and they just have different interests, but Finn is insistent. Kurt should have known that his dad marrying the most popular guy in school’s mom would come back to bite him in the ass.

Finn spends the entire ride to the party telling Kurt in great detail about everybody on the baseball team, going into the specifics of why he thinks Kurt will get along with each specific person.

“—and Ryder puts a lot of care into his hair, no idea why. And Mike is super into dancing and musicals and shit, so you’ll have a lot to talk about. And Puck may not look it, but he’s actually super invested in skin care for some reason. Oh, and Blaine is really into fashion, and musicals, too. He and Mike are actually always talking about—”

On, and on for the entire twenty minute ride to David Karofsky’s house.

By the time they arrive, Kurt is more than thankful that Finn agreed to be the designated driver for once, because Kurt really doesn’t think that he’ll be able to survive the evening sober if Finn is going to keep that up all night.

The first thing he does when he arrives is force Finn to show him where all the drinks are, and to show him how to make the mixed drink with the highest alcohol content but least amount of alcohol taste.

He knows he’ll probably regret it, but as soon as Finn finishes the drink, he downs the whole thing in as few gulps as possible, then holds out his cup so that Finn will make him another. Because Finn is a terrible influence, instead of suggesting he maybe stick to just one for now, he grins and says, “Fuck yeah, Kurt!” and pours even more crap into his cup.

The second drink doesn’t last long either, as Kurt feels the need to take a long pull from it every single time Finn drags him to someone new and says, “Hey, this is my new step-brother, Kurt,” to somebody that Kurt has literally known his entire life. He then has to take yet another drink when whoever it is inevitably says, “Yo, hey, great to meet you!” as though it actually is the first time they’re meeting.

To be fair, Finn and Kurt seem to have arrived a bit late, and so most of these people are already three sheets to the wind, but still.

The only person who doesn’t respond that way is Blaine Anderson, who stares at Finn for a few moments after he introduces Kurt, then sends a confused smile Kurt’s way and says, “Finn, you know that I know Kurt, right? We have calculus together and were in the same class every year in primary school.”

“Well, yeah,” Finn replies. “But now he’s Kurt my step-brother. So, you know. It’s different.”

Kurt’s eyes widen and he looks down at his nearly empty cup before lifting it to his lips and draining it. When he looks up, he sees Blaine giving him an amused smile and then saying, “Top you off?”

“Please,” Kurt says, allowing Blaine to finally drag him away from Finn.

He’s feeling pretty tipsy by the time Blaine hands him his new drink. It’s different than what Finn made him, but still good, and Kurt drinks half of it in one go.

“Whoa, there,” Blaine says, chuckling as he pours himself a drink. “Rough night?”

“Oh, you know,” Kurt says, glancing around the room. “Just enjoying being paraded around like a new toy and realizing just how inconsequential I’ve been to the people I’ve gone to school with for literally ever.”

Blaine snorts. “They’re just drunk, and probably indulging Finn a little bit. Guy’s really happy you two are brothers now.”

“Clearly,” Kurt replies, eyes falling on Finn who is excitedly pointing in his direction as he talks to a couple of cheerleaders. “Thanks for acknowledging we’ve met before.”

He turns back in time to see Blaine raise his cup and take a long drink from it. Kurt raises his own as well, then downs the rest of his own drink. He winces a little as he does it, but then holds his cup out to Blaine for one more. Blaine presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows, but still pours him another one.

“Pace yourself, yeah?”

“Will do, Mom.”

Blaine laughs, shaking his head a little. “You’re alright Hummel, you know that?”

Kurt shrugs and gives him a, ‘Duh’, face, which just makes Blaine laugh some more.

“Come on,” Blaine says, grabbing Kurt by the wrist. “I’ve just decided I want you as my beer pong partner for the night.”

Kurt’s never played beer pong before, or really any party game, but he goes along happily. Anything to get him away from Finn’s endless crusade to introduce him to every single popular kid at their school.

**

An hour later finds Kurt sitting on a ratty old couch, wasted, with an equally wasted Blaine Anderson laughing up against him.

“We’re so bad at beer pong,” Blaine says, head falling onto Kurt’s shoulder as he laughs. “So, so bad.”

Kurt laughs along with him. “So bad,” he closes his eyes as he laughs some more, then widens them as he lets out a loud burp. He and Blaine stare at each other for a second and then burst out laughing again.

“So much for pacing myself,” Kurt says, covering his mouth with his hand. It just makes Blaine laugh some more.

They laugh and laugh until Blaine sits up a little bit and says, “I’m so hungry.”

Kurt frowns, suddenly realizing that he’s hungry as well. “Well, let’s go eat something, come on.”

Blaine stares at him with wide eyes, then nods and says. “Yes. Yes, amazing idea.” He stands, wobbling a little once he’s on his feet, then drags Kurt up with him. Kurt wobbles a little as well, grabbing onto Blaine’s shoulders to steady himself. Once they’re both good, Blaine grabs his hand and says, “Come on, I know where Dave’s parents hide the good shit.”

The good shit, it turns out, is an insane hoard of diet pudding cups. Apparently Dave’s parents have been dieting together for a while, and diet pudding cups are the only sweet they’ve allowed themselves, because there are really a ridiculous amount of them in the back of the pantry.

“Oh, my god,” Kurt says as he stares at them. “I love diet pudding cups.”

“Me, too,” Blaine says, grabbing a butterscotch one and digging in. Kurt just keeps staring at all of them, taking in all the flavors, completely overwhelmed.

“Blaine, I can’t choose,” he whines after a while. Blaine is already scooping out the last of his own pudding cup and stares up at him with giant eyes.

“Well, here,” Blaine says, handing him one of the spoons they grabbed from the kitchen. “Just like, eat all of them.”

And Kurt, of course, being the idiot drunk teenager that he is, grabs the spoon and says, “You have the most amazing ideas,” before picking up a random pudding cup.

In Kurt’s defense, everybody does stupid shit in high school.

ii.

Kurt still barely feels human by Monday morning. Finn laughs at him the entire ride to school, and Kurt silently bares it until they reach the McKinley High parking lot. There, he storms out of the car and walks away, throwing Finn the middle finger as he goes because, dammit, this is his fault.

He doesn’t turn back to see Finn, but he can hear him laughing as he hurries to follow Kurt into the school.

He’s just settled all his things in his locker and grabbed what he needs for his first two periods when Dave Karofsky and Blaine Anderson walk up to him. Blaine looks just as hellish as Kurt feels, which he has to admit is a relief. Dave looks about as amused as Finn, which basically throws all the relief Kurt’s felt at seeing Blaine out the window.

“Hey there, Diet Pudding Cup Boy,” is how Dave greets him, and the sheer words cause nausea to swirl in Kurt’s stomach.

“Please don’t,” Kurt whispers, shutting his locker shut.

“No, dude, I’m super impressed,” Dave says, clapping him on the back and causing Kurt to wince. “I think I counted thirty-seven empty cups when I was cleaning up the next day. Never knew you had it in you.”

“In my defense,” Kurt says, closing his eyes for a moment, “Blaine ate two.”

Blaine groans, and yeah, Kurt realizes that that’s not really a great defense.

“So, thirty-five diet pudding cups.” Dave laughs, then claps him on the back again and says, “My fucking man,” before heading down the hall, leaving Kurt alone with Blaine.

Kurt turns to the other boy and glares. “This is your fault.”

Blaine has one eye closed. “Yep.”

“I threw up four times on Saturday.”

“Oh god, shut up,” Blaine says, leaning his head against Kurt’s shoulder.

“I ate thirty-five diet pudding cups, Blaine.”

Blaine raises his head and asks, “Does it make you feel better to know that the entire baseball team thinks you’re a legend now?”

Kurt sighs heavily, shaking his head. “At least they’ll all actually remember me now.”

Blaine smiles at him, chuckling a little. “Oh yeah. Nobody is forgetting Diet Pudding Cup Boy anytime soon.”

Kurt groans and Blaine laughs at him the entire rest of the way to Calculus.

iii.

“Yo, Pudding Cup Boy,” is how Blaine greets him as he settles into the spot next to Kurt in the library. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

Kurt turns away from his laptop to give Blaine an unimpressed stare. “You know, I think I liked it better when I was Diet Pudding Cup Boy. At least it gave the semblance of health.”

“Too long,” Blaine says, waving his comment away. “Seriously, though. All the schools you applied to are in New York?”

Kurt frowns. “Yeah? I thought I told you that.”

“Uh, no,” Blaine says, shaking his head. “What the hell! We could have coordinated. Made sure we applied to places in the same area so we could be roommates.”

Kurt’s frown instantly turns to a grin. “Wait. So, you—”

“Yes, you freaking dork.”

“Oh, my god!” Kurt throws his arms around his friend, pulling him in for a tight hug. Blaine laughs as he hugs Kurt back, briefly tucking his head into Kurt’s shoulder as he does. “Blaine, this is amazing!”

“I know,” Blaine grins as they separate. “Pudding Cup Boy and Shortstop Supreme take on the Big Apple.”

“You know, I’m too excited about the fact that we’ll be in New York together to even care that you just said that.” Kurt says, which makes Blaine laugh some more. Kurt keeps grinning at him for a moment, then says, “Actually, no—”

“Kurt, come on, this is going to be great! I was so nervous about moving to New York, you know, not knowing anybody. Now turns out one of my best friends is going to be there with me!”

Even though it’s been over a year since the fateful baseball party that brought them together, Kurt sometimes still can’t believe that Blaine Anderson considers him one of his best friends. It makes his insides feel all warm inside every time he hears Blaine say it.

“I can’t believe we didn’t talk about this. I could have sworn I told you I was applying to NYADA and NYU.”

“You didn’t, you rascal,” Blaine says, knocking his shoulder lightly. “It’s fine, though. I’ll forgive you if you promise you won’t abandon me for all your cool theater friends when we get there.”

Kurt scoffs at that. “Please, Blaine. As if Pudding Cup Boy could ever abandon his trusty sidekick… what did you call yourself?”

“Shortstop Supreme. And, no offense, but you’re the sidekick.”

Kurt stares at him, bewildered. “Um. No.”

Blaine laughs. “Kurt, you’re Pudding Cup Boy. Come on, man. You’re the sidekick.”

Kurt opens his mouth to argue, but then another thought occurs to him. “Oh, jeez. I just realized Pudding Cup Boy is going to follow me to New York, isn’t it?”

Blaine throws his arm around him and pulls him close, grinning and saying, “You know it,” before the librarian finally comes over to tell them to shut up.

iv.

Blaine greets him by shouting, “Hey, Pudding Motherfucker,” from about twenty feet away. Despite himself, Kurt can’t help but laugh as Blaine continues walking towards him, holding two cups of coffee in his hands.

Kurt stands up from the bench he’s on just moments before Blaine arrives to wrap him in a tight hug. Kurt hugs him back just as tight, then pulls away to grab his coffee from Blaine before anything unfortunate happens to it.

“I don’t think that’s an upgrade from Pudding Boy,” is how he replies after taking a careful sip of his drink.

“Well, it’s what you’ll continue to be until you make more time in your life for your best friend.” They sit down on the bench, Blaine instantly shuffling closer to Kurt. “I mean, come on, Kurt. It’s been almost a month since I last saw you.”

“We literally text every day,” Kurt says, chuckling. “Also, if I recall correctly, we were going to hang out two weeks ago, but somebody cancelled at the last minute because the cute guy in his Creative Writing class asked him to get coffee.”

Blaine scowls and turns away. “Whatever. At least I cancelled to get laid. You always cancel for lame reasons, like work or homework.”

Kurt snorts at that. “Blaine, you told me after that he was the most boring person alive, and that when he asked you for your number after coffee you told him you didn’t believe in cell phones.”

Blaine’s cheeks color, and Kurt bursts out laughing. Blaine mutters, “Shut up. See if I ever buy you coffee again.”

“Oh, whatever,” Kurt says, tapping him on the shoulder. “You know you will, because you love me.”

“Nope,” Blaine says, throwing his chin up in the air. “You’re a dick, and I hate you.”

“You loooooove me,” Kurt leans his head on Blaine’s shoulder and stares up at him, fluttering his eyelashes. “Admit it, Shortstop. You love me. Come on, say it.”

“Pudding Motherfucker is right,” Blaine grumbles, which just makes Kurt cackle.

“Come on,” he says, pulling them off the bench. “Let’s take a walk while I remind you of all the reasons you love me.”

“There are none,” Blaine says, and it just makes Kurt laugh some more.

v.

Despite attending different universities, by the time their junior year rolls around Kurt and Blaine have somehow managed to find a decently sized group of mutual friends. They’re a mix of Blaine’s Columbia classmates, Kurt’s classmates from NYU, and a few NYADA strays they picked up after a night at a karaoke bar.

It’s surprising to Kurt how many of his close friendships have been forged over drunken nights out.

It’s hard for all of them to get together on the regular, due to conflicting schedules and the fact that they’re all widely spread throughout the city, but when they do it’s always a blast.

“Hey, Puddin’,” Blaine says, greeting Kurt by hugging him from behind. Kurt leans his body into it for a moment, enjoying the closeness his friendship with Blaine always affords.

“We dropped the boy, huh Shortstop?”

“Too much of a mouthful,” Blaine says, shrugging and placing a large glass Tupperware on the counter of Kurt’s kitchen.  “Can I help you out with anything?”

Kurt points in the direction of a cabinet and says, “Can you grab the veggie plate thing for me and start throwing these on there,” he nods his head down to the large selections of vegetables on the cutting board in front of him. “And then the hummus and ranch from the fridge? I’m almost finished cutting these up.”

“You got it, boss,” Blaine says, moving around Kurt’s kitchen with the ease of somebody who spends way too much time in someone else’s house. “Did Rachel tell you that she’s bringing some guy with her today?”

“Oh, god. Another one?”

Blaine laughs, pulling down the serving plate. “Second this semester. How long do you think this one will last?”

“No idea, but I can tell you this – if by the next one of these she’s got another one in tow, I’m not making the effort to get to know him anymore. I can’t keep investing all this small talk in random straight guys I’m never going to see again.”

“What a struggle,” Blaine simpers, tapping Kurt on the back with the plate. “Our life is so hard.”

“It is,” Kurt replies, sticking his tongue out at his friend. “Now, come on. Get to vegetable serving. You said you wanted to help.”

Blaine chuckles. “Aye, aye Captain Pudding.”

“You know, Blaine,” Kurt says as Blaine starts to place the vegetables on the plate. “A lot of people would probably be offended that you still call them a dumb nickname born of a night of drunken idiocy when they were sixteen.”

“Yeah, but those people aren’t you,” Blaine says, grinning up at him. “I mean, name someone else as legendary as Thirty-Five Pudding Cups Hummel.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “They were diet pudding cups, thank you very much.”

“See?” Blaine bumps their hips together. “Legend.”

Kurt chuckles and finishes cutting up his carrots, Blaine practically pressed to his side as they work.

vi.

“You have to sing it with me,” Blaine is holding his arm tightly, dragging Kurt down so that they’re eye to eye. His breath smells like vodka and raspberries, and his eyes are wide and wild. “Come on, Kurt. Come on, come on, come on.”

“Blaine, I told you, I have a firm no songs before the 80’s rule.”

“It’s a classic. Please, Puddin’, for me?”

Kurt stares at him, the three shots he’d done early making his thought process a little slower. “Oh, my god,” he says, jaw dropping. “That’s why you want to sing it with me.”

“What?” Blaine pulls away a little, face filling with completely put-upon confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Build Me Up Buttercup? With Pudding Cup Boy? Uh-uh. No way, mister.”

“Kurt,” Blaine drags out the ‘u’ in his name, clinging to Kurt once again. “Please, you have to!”

“Oh, my god,” Elliott says, suddenly appearing beside them. “Can you just give your man what he wants? Jesus Christ, Kurt.”

“I don’t want to,” Kurt replies. “He just wants to sing it because—”

“Who fucking cares. It’s like a three minute song, just do it and get it over with.”

Blaine is staring up at him with those dumb puppy dog eyes of his, eyelashes fluttering wildly, lips pouted. Kurt groans.

“Fine.”

“Yes!” Blaine jumps up, presses a quick kiss to Kurt’s cheek and then hurries off to sign them up to sing.

“Thanks for the support there, El.”

Elliott shrugs, clearly unapologetic. “Come on, man, you know the saying. Happy wife, happy life!”

Kurt scowls. “Blaine is far from my wife, Elliott.”

“Whatever, potato, po-tah-to. Keep your man happy and everything will be good. Trust me on that.”

He pats Kurt on the back, then heads over to the table filled with their mutual friends. Kurt watches him go, brain still working far too slowly to catch up to the implications of what Elliott is saying.

Elliott is already long gone by the time he finally manages to say, “Blaine isn’t my man.”

“What?” Blaine asks, appearing next to Kurt.

Kurt jumps a little. “Jeez, Blaine. You can’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Not my fault I’m so tiny you never notice me,” Blaine huffs, chest puffing out in fake annoyance.

Despite it all, Kurt laughs. “You are tiny. Short stuff.”

“Uh, wrong,” Blaine holds up a hand. “It’s Shortstop, and I prefer to go by my Christian name, Shortstop Supreme.”

“Whatever, short stuff.”

Blaine scowls up at him. “I think Pudding Motherfucker might have just made a comeback.”

Kurt laughs again and wraps his arm around a pouting Blaine, leading him back to the rest of their friends.

vii.

The graduation party is held at Blaine, Sam, and Mercedes’s apartment, since all their graduation ceremonies were almost a full week after everybody else’s, and they insisted that nobody else could party until they were all officially graduated.

It’s a small party, for just their close friends, but you’d think that there was an army invited by the amount of alcohol their hosts provide.

“I don’t know when the next time we get to let loose like this will be,” is how Blaine explains it to Kurt, clinging to his side. It’s clear that Blaine had already broken at least a couple of these bottles in before everybody else arrived. “Since we’re all graduated and adults now. Have to get jobs and shit. Ew.”

Kurt laughs and doesn’t bother to tell Blaine that the next time they’ll ‘let loose’ like this will probably be within the month. Instead he just makes himself a drink and lets Blaine wrap his arms around his middle and rest his head against his shoulder blade.

“We met at a party; do you remember?” Blaine asks.

Kurt snorts. “We met in kindergarten, Blaine.”

“Well, yeah, but we officially met at a party. I made you a drink, and then you ate thirty-five pudding cups.”

Kurt chuckles, picking up his drink in one hand and wrapping the other around Blaine’s shoulders. “How could I forget when you still call me Puddin’ to this day?”

“Such a fun nickname,” Blaine says, grinning. “Although, hey. Full disclosure. Mercedes and Sam think we’re dating because of it.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yes. And also because of how you’re always here, and we get dinner with them all the time. They call them ‘double dates’.”

“And do you correct them on that?”

Blaine looks up at him, frowning a little. “Do I?”

Kurt laughs. “Oh, Blaine.” He pulls his friend in closer. “Whatever. They’re not the first people to think that.”

“Yeah, and guess what? People can think whatever they want.”

“They sure can.”

“Because you’re my Puddin’. Forever, and ever. Okay?”

“You know it.”

Blaine grips his forearm tightly with both hands, staring up at him with slight crazy eyes. “I said, okay?”

Kurt laughs, then pulls Blaine back to his side and says, “Yes, Blaine. Forever and ever. Okay.”

“Good,” Blaine says, leaning his head against Kurt’s shoulder. “Now can you please hurry up and get drunk? This all feels very uneven.”

“You got it, boss,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes fondly as he starts to drink.

viii.

“Hey,” Rachel and Mercedes are already sitting at a booth by the time Kurt arrives. Mercedes looks behind his shoulder and says, “Isn’t Blaine joining us, too?”

Kurt nods, settling himself into the booth. “He got held up at work, but he’ll be here in a few.”

“Good, good,” Rachel says, nodding. “So, things are going well for him then, I assume?”

Kurt nods again, picking up the menu. “From what he’s told me. I mean, he’s basically a glorified intern at this point, but everybody’s gotta start somewhere, right?”

The looks the girls give him tell him that they know exactly what he’s talking about.

When the waiter arrives, they give him their drink orders, with Mercedes encouraging Kurt to order for Blaine. Their drinks arrive before Blaine has, and so Kurt decides to just order Blaine’s food for him as well. They’ve all been to this restaurant enough times that he can make a fairly educated guess as to what his best friend will want after a long day.

“It’s sweet you guys know each other so well,” Mercedes says once the waiter walks away with their menus and orders. “I don’t think Sam could order for me, even if he tried.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Well, Blaine is pretty obnoxiously open about the things he enjoys. Makes it hard not to know what he likes.”

“You still pay attention, though,” Rachel says. She sighs. “And he’s the same with you. Just wait until you see what he got you for your birthday, I swear you’re going to die. Even I didn’t remember that you’d said you wanted that, and I pride myself on my attention to detail.”

“That’s kind of what happens when you’re best friends for…” it takes him a moment to calculate. “Wow, going on seven years now. Jeez, when did we get so old?”

Mercedes and Rachel share a look, then Rachel starts in on a story about the theater company she’s currently working with.

Blaine finally arrives just as Rachel is finishing up. He scoots into the booth next to Kurt and says, “Sorry I’m late,” to everybody. Then, he grins at Kurt and says, “Hey, Puddin’.”

“Hey,” Kurt responds, ignoring the fond smiles that Rachel and Mercedes shoot at them. “We already ordered, sorry if you wanted something different.”

“Kurt got you some Greek salad or something,” Mercedes says.

“You,” Blaine points at him, finger directly in Kurt’s face. “Are amazing. A true gem.” He then uses the finger to bop Kurt on the nose and then slides closer to him in the booth until their thighs are pressed together.

“Yeah, I know,” Kurt replies, with a smile. He shifts a little, his right arm stuck between him and Blaine, until he manages to pull it out and sling it over the back of the booth. “Did you get that… what was the problem again? Broken printer? Fax machine?” Blaine is smirking up at him, clearly amused. “Whatever, did you get it sorted out?”

“Mostly,” Blaine says. “It was a corrupted hard drive, and it was the big boss’s, so you know. High pressure. I think it’s fine now, but I’m going to have to head back in early tomorrow to triple check.”

“Freaking IT nerd,” Kurt says, chuckling.

“Whatever, drama queen. Oh!” Blaine’s eyes widen and he turns to fully face Kurt. “How’d your callback go?”

“Callback?” Mercedes and Rachel ask at the same time.

Kurt blushes. “Uh, yeah. I got a callback for that off-Broadway revival of Dear Evan Hanson.” Turning to Blaine, he says, “I think it went well. I mean, I feel confident about it. They said they’d get back to me by Friday, so. Fingers crossed.”

“You’re gonna get it,” Blaine says, patting him lightly on the knee. “I know you are. I mean, there’s no way anybody even close to your level of talent auditioned.”

Kurt snorts. “Sweet talker. You know flattery will get you everywhere, right?”

“Of course I do,” Blaine grins at him.

Kurt smiles back, then glances over Blaine’s face and notices something different. He frowns, then brings his hand down from the back of the booth to pull on one of Blaine’s curls. “You didn’t gel your hair.”

“Don’t even start with me,” Blaine says, turning so that he’s facing the girls again. “Today was literally the morning from hell.” He starts to explain all the horror’s of his day, everyone listening with rapt attention.

It’s only when their food arrives that Kurt realizes he’d been playing with Blaine’s hair for the entire duration of the story.

ix.

“Honey, I’m home!” Blaine calls out as he enters the apartment. Kurt rolls his eyes as he finishes shaking the butter into the giant bowl of popcorn.

“Honey, you don’t live here!” He calls back.

Blaine laughs, padding into the kitchen and giving Kurt a hug from behind. “Roommates out?”

“Santana has a hot date,” Kurt says, passing the giant bowl to Blaine. “And Elliott is… god, I don’t even know anymore. That guy has so much going on I can’t even keep up.”

“Don’t we all?” Blaine says, heading towards the living room. “I thought we were busy during college, but sheesh.”

“Well, you see some of us have to work hard for what we get. We can’t get fancy pants promotions less than a year after starting at a company.”

Blaine tuts at him. “Don’t be jealous, Puddin’. It’s not a good color on you.”

Kurt chuckles and grabs a couple of sodas from the fridge.

“Besides,” Blaine says as Kurt walks into the living room, “it’s not like you can talk. Ensemble in Dear Evan Hanson off-Broadway to ensemble in Wicked on Broadway a year after graduating. Tony by Thirty, here you come.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Kurt says, settling on the couch and grabbing the remote. “What are we watching, by the way?”

“Shitty rom-com that Netflix put out a couple of weeks ago,” Blaine replies as Kurt pulls up the Netflix app on the TV. “It looks like it’ll either be garbage, or a real tearjerker, so I figured we’d take the odds.”

“Wonderful,” Kurt says as Blaine sits down next to him on the couch, bringing the popcorn with him.

“Hey,” Blaine holds up a piece of popcorn. “Nothing but the best for my Puddin’ Pop.” He then taps the popcorn against Kurt’s lips and feeds it to him when Kurt opens his mouth.

They start the movie and, honestly, it’s more shitty than good, but they still laugh and make stupid comments to each other about it. Blaine feeds Kurt pieces of popcorn a little more often than necessary, until it becomes another stupid joke and Kurt stops grabbing his own popcorn full stop.

The movie is just finishing up and Blaine is forcing a giant handful of popcorn into Kurt’s mouth when Elliott arrives. He stares at them for a moment, Kurt with his cheeks distended from the snack, Blaine with his hand fully covering Kurt’s mouth, their movie completely ignored. Elliott then shakes his head and says, “I don’t even want to know,” before disappearing into his room.

They’re quiet until they hear his door shut, and then burst out laughing, causing half of the popcorn in Kurt’s mouth to spray all over Blaine’s face. This just makes them laugh harder.

x.

It feels like lately Blaine is the only one of his friends he gets to see. His roommates always seem to be out, Santana with her new girlfriend and Elliott with his ten million gigs. Rachel just got cast in the national tour of Moulin Rouge! and has barely had time to breathe, let alone see her friends, and Sam and Mercedes have been apartment hunting for their own place, having decided it was time to try living as just a couple, without the roommate.

Of course, that roommate happens to be Kurt’s best friend, who is sulking on his couch and slowly taking out an entire family sized bag of Cheetos by himself.

“It’s going to be okay, Blaine. You know that, right?”

“I’m going to be homeless, Kurt.”

“You are not,” Kurt rolls his eyes. “They’re leaving, not you. You still have the apartment.”

“Uh yeah, an apartment whose rent I am paying a third of. I can’t afford the full rent of that place!” He huffs, shoving more Cheetos in his mouth. “Maybe I could swing half, but that means I still have to find another roommate. Fuck everything.”

“Oh, come here,” Kurt laughs and wraps his arm around Blaine, bringing him in against his side. He pulls the bag from Blaine’s hands, then grabs a tissue from the coffee table in front of him and starts wiping the dust off his friends fingers. “It’s going to be fine, Blaine. Really.” Blaine huffs. “No, listen. I know it seems tough right now, but you already knew they were thinking about this. Yeah, it’ll be weird at first, but you’re going to get used to living alone, or with a new roommate that isn’t Sam and Mercedes. Besides, you literally just got promoted at work, and I happen to know that you’re making more than enough to afford that place on your own, at least for a bit.” He finishes wiping Blaine’s fingers, then smiles up at him. “You’re going to be okay, Blaine. Really.”

Blaine stares at him for a moment, face slowly cracking into a smile. “What would I do without you?”

Kurt shrugs. “No idea. You’ll never have to find out.”

Blaine chuckles, then leans into Kurt, head resting against his shoulder. His now-clean fingers trace a pattern on Kurt’s knee, and Kurt closes his eyes, enjoying the closeness.

“Hey, Kurt.”

“Yeah?” Kurt asks, keeping his eyes closed and head leaning back against the back of the couch.

“Are we in a relationship? Or a brolationship?”

Kurt lifts his head slowly, opening his eyes to look at Blaine. “What?”

“I mean, this. Us. Are we dating? Or do we just have one of those epic bromances that straight people are always talking about.”

He’s still tracing patterns over Kurt’s knee, and Kurt sucks on the inside of his cheek, thinking.

“Huh,” Kurt says. “I, uh. I guess I haven’t thought about it, really. I mean, I know people have made comments to me assuming we’re dating, but…”

“But…?”

Kurt looks into Blaine’s eyes, those stupid huge, wide eyes. He can’t really remember a time in his life when they weren’t right where they are now, staring up at him in question, in glee, in frustration.

Kurt smiles, then says, “We can be dating, if you want.”

His stomach flips as he says it, and it’s weird because in eight years of friendship he’s never even thought about Blaine that way. At least not consciously. The thing is, that doesn’t really register to him, because then Blaine is smiling up at him and he realizes that maybe that’s not totally true. That maybe he has thought about Blaine that way, he’s just never realized it because Blaine’s just always been there, teasing him, laughing with him, cuddling with him and calling him Diet Pudding Cup Boy since they were sixteen years old.

“Okay,” is how Blaine replies, and then he leans up and presses his lips to Kurt’s in a soft, light kiss.

Kurt smiles into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup Blaine’s jaw, deepening the kiss ever so slightly.

It’s not weird, not in the way kissing your best friend might be. Actually, Kurt thinks it’s weirder that they haven’t always been doing this.

“You taste like Cheetos,” he says.

Blaine laughs, head falling back as he does. He then rests his forehead against Kurt’s shoulder and says, “You taste like pudding.”

Kurt snorts. “I do not.”

“No, but it would have been pretty hilarious if you did.”

He keeps laughing, and so Kurt does the only thing he can think of. He grabs Blaine’s face in his hands and kisses him again.

xi.

“You two seem touchier than usual,” Elliott comments over dinner a couple of weeks later. He and Santana are sitting across from them, with Sam and Mercedes each at an end of the table. Blaine has had his arm over Kurt’s shoulders the entire meal, and Kurt has kept a hand firmly on Blaine’s thigh since he sat down. “Did you get engaged, or something?”

Kurt snorts. “Uh, no.”

“We’re just, you know. Officially dating now.”

Santana’s eyes narrow. “Were you… not before?”

“Yeah, what are you even talking about? You guys have been dating for like, years,” comes from Sam.

“We were bromancing for years,” Blaine says, squeezing Kurt’s shoulder. “Now we’re just straight up romancing.”

Kurt wrinkles his nose and says, “Gross.”

“Whatever, Puddin’, you love it.”

“So…” Elliott glances between them. “That, right there. The Puddin’ thing. That’s just like… a random nickname you have for Kurt? It’s not a pet name?”

Blaine frowns. “Is that why everyone always thought we were dating? Because I call him Puddin’?”

“Well, and all the touching and cuddling and heart-eyes,” Mercedes says. “But initially, yeah, it was the Puddin’ thing.”

Kurt snorts at that, and Blaine laughs before saying. “Uh, I call Kurt Puddin’ because the night we became friends he got drunk and ate thirty-five diet pudding cups.”

For a moment nobody says anything, the only sound in the room Kurt and Blaine’s snickers.

It’s Elliott who breaks the silence by staring at Kurt says, “What the literal fuck, Kurt. Thirty-five pudding cups?!”

Kurt and Blaine’s snickers turn into full-on laughs, Blaine resting up against Kurt as they laugh. Mercedes and Sam start to chuckle as well, though Santana and Elliott still look slightly too horrified to join in.

After several more minutes of laughing, Kurt wipes at his eyes and says, “Yes, El. I ate thirty-five diet pudding cups when I was sixteen years old.”

“The greatest Pudding Motherfucker to ever live,” Blaine says, bringing his hand up to card his fingers through the hair at the back of Kurt’s head.

Kurt grins at him and says, “Diet Pudding Cup Boy and Shortstop Supreme for ever.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Blaine replies, leaning in and kissing Kurt lightly on the lips. They giggle into the kiss.

Santana finally breaks her silence by saying, “You two are fucking weird.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and then, unable to stop themselves, burst out into even more giggles.

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Would you do the sfw alphabet with polly gray and female reader?:)

Polly Gray SFW Alphabet

*** This isn’t expressly female x female but I’m trying to do all of the SFW Alphabets gender neutral so they apply to more people :) Sorry it’s not exactly the request but I hope it still works *** 

__________________________________________________

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Polly shows affection through caring acts. Even in a relationship, she can be somewhat motherly because she’s so used to being that mother figure so many around her. 

Physically, she’s kind of hot and cold depending on the situation. Especially since she’s a sexual assault survivor, she can become uncomfortable in physical situations very quickly and you work really hard to make sure that she always feels safe and comfortable. Other times, though, she loves to kiss you and she definitely has needs, if you know what I mean ;P 

 B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Polly is the kick ass best friend. She’s the one that you make stupid decisions with but you can also rely on each other to help the other one out. You tell each other EVERYTHING. You guys are actually more like really close siblings really. 

 C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Polly feels smothered very easily so a lot of times, cuddling is just lying in the same bed and gently running your fingers through her hair (or vice versa) and telling each other how much you love each other. 

 D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Polly can’t deny the aching to return back to her Roma roots, pack up a wagon, and just go see the world. She’s become accustomed to a life of luxury since Shelby Company Ltd. picked up and she likes the financial security but she’s got a wild soul and wants to share her world with you. 

 As far as cooking, Polly is a really good cook. Like her food is amazing. 

As far as cleaning, she’s eclectic. Her house isn’t a pigsty or anything but she has her fair share of small trinkets and objects around. 

 E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

She would hate to have to break up with you but if she had to, she would be secretly heartbroken but would keep it together long enough to get out of the room when she was done before breaking down completely. 

 F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

She wouldn’t totally jump the gun on engagements, not because she doesn’t love you, but because she’s hesitant when it comes to love. She’s lost so many people that she loves and then been used by others that it almost scares her when she feels it as does the possibility that she could lose you. 

BUT of course she wants to marry you! She wants to more than anything. She wants it to be a cute little simple wedding in a field with wildflowers and… yeah. It’s safe to say she wants to get married.

 G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Like I said earlier, she has a motherly energy around her so most of the time, she can be fairly gentle, physically and emotionally. She never wants to actually hurt your feelings (and she would NEVER hurt you physically).  

BUT she will not hesitate to call you out when you’re acting stupid or making her upset or anything. She loves you but she won’t allow you to walk over her or make decisions she knows will hurt yourself. 

 H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Polly is a big hugger. Well, not so big into them that she has to have her hands on you every single second of the day, but you guys definitely average on at least one or two hugs a day. 

Her hugs are warm and enveloping and they manage to make you feel safe and needed all at once. 

 I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It takes her a little while to finally say it but when she does, she is so sure that she means it that it’s not even something that she has to think twice about. 

 J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Polly doesn’t get jealous. Like at all. You guys have a very solid, trusting relationship so there isn’t a worry that the other one will cheat. That doesn’t mean that there isn’t the occasional insecurity but it’s never all that well-founded. You’d never cheat on the other person. 

When Polly starts to feel insecure, she’ll distance herself from you or from the situation and get herself a drink. 

 K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Her kisses will either be deep and passionate or quick pecks but there’s always so much love behind each one. 

Polly’s favorite place to kiss you is your lips. She feels like her connection to you is so much stronger when you kiss on the lips. 

 L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Polly loves kids. When she first found out she was having Michael and his sister, she was hesitant as to whether or not she’d be a good mother but then she lost them and found herself wanting nothing more than to have her children back. 

Even with Michael back now, she can’t help but think about the childhoods she missed out on witnessing. She would love to have that experience but knows that she’s too old to have her own children again. She can’t deny that she secretly hopes you will come across a poor orphan child and have to raise them as your own. 

 M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

When she’s sober, she wakes up before you most mornings. You’ll wake up to an empty bed but you can usually feel when she’s home or whether she’s left early. When she’s home, you can find her sitting in the living room with coffee and a book or the daily paper. 

 N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are spent pretty lovey-dovey between the two of you. I’m talking laying in bed having deep conversations or staying up late laughing over a glass of wine (okay, maybe a bottle). 

 O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It takes Polly a while to open up to you. It started when Tommy brought Michael into the picture. You knew that she’d had children in the past but it wasn’t until he was reunited with the family that she began to open up to you about her past. 

You were always aware of her second sight, though. It’s not something that she really hides anyways but, unlike a lot of other people in the family, you actually believe her. You don’t just claim to believe her to appease her. 

 P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Polly is not the most patient person in the world. She’ll put up with some crap if she knows that there’s a positive end goal but she’s pretty good at seeing when things are going to go to shit and when it’s one of those situations, there’s very little patience on her end. 

 Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Polly really does try to remember most of the things that you say but she’s under a lot of stress with those damn Shelby boys so there are some slips in memory sometimes. 

On the flip side, though, she’ll know things about you that you never told her because of her second sight. One time, she just started asking you questions about your childhood that would have required past knowledge and when you asked how the hell she knew about any of it, she told you that she’d been speaking to your grandmother who’d passed. 

 R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Her favorite memory by far was when the two of you spent the night camped out under the stars just outside of town. It was just the two of you, watching the sunset and then the sunrise the next morning. 

 S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Polly will literally FIGHT someone for you. She’d honestly kill for you (in a totally warranted kinda way… you know the Peaky Blinders are). Anyone messes with you, dealer's choice. You want somebody emotionally destroyed, she’ll insult the hell out of someone. Someone needs to get their ass beat? Polly has got it covered. NOBODY fucks with the person she loves.

 T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Polly likes sweet and simple. For her, it’s the thought behind everything that counts and not necessarily the monetary value behind it.

 V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

She definitely wants to look good. She’s put her time in mucking through all the crap but now she’s ready to look like a mother fricking queen. 

 W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

I’m gonna be honest here. No. She loves you more than anything except perhaps Michael but after losing everyone she’s loved at one point or another, she’s learned to not rely on other people to feel like a complete person. 

 Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

You love this woman to death but she’s got a bad habit of drinking a little too much sometimes and when she does, she just sort of passes out anywhere and everywhere. Although it’s getting better, you’ve come home before to find her passed out very very close to a roaring fire. 

[mst3kproject]

1009: Hamlet, Prinz von Dänemark

I spent a buck-fifty Canadian to download this movie. There’s not much you can get for a buck-fifty Canadian.  One sour soother, maybe, or a chipped coffee mug from a garage sale that has a photo of somebody else’s grandparents on it.  So now you know how much Hamlet is worth.

We all know the story of Hamlet, whether we wanted to or not. King Hamlet of Denmark was murdered by his brother Claudius, who then married Queen Gertrude and stole the throne.  We can’t be having that, so the king’s ghost appears to his son, Hamlet Jr, and tells him he must take revenge.  Junior then spends the whole rest of the play wandering around pondering the afterlife and battering his girlfriend Ophelia before finally running Claudius through during a climactic duel during which pretty much everybody else dies, too, except for the ones who were already dead.  Nobody has ever given me a convincing explanation of why these people have names like Horatio and Laertes instead of Svend and Rolf.

I’m definitely not going to try to review Hamlet itself, Shakespeare’s play, because I don’t know a damned thing about Hamlet.  I deliberately went out and murdered those brain cells with alcohol immediately after writing my final exam.  Instead I’m going to have to talk about this movie in itself, how it fares both as a film and as a retelling of this story.

That second point is a big one.  Hamlet has been done, a lot, and as the bots point out with their sketch about their all-percussion version, it’s really hard to do anything unique with it anymore.  If you’re an acting troupe who wants to give it a try, that’s cool because it means people will get to see live theatre, but if you’re making a movie you really need to bring something new to the table.  An interesting interpretation, an actor or director that people really want to see, an unusual setting or time period, something like that.  This Hamlet has none of that.

I am reasonably sure that what the movie is trying to do is to look like a stage play, much as The Magic Voyage of Sinbad was trying to look like an opera.  Sinbad pulled it off with extravagant sets and operatic bombast.  By contrast everything in Hamlet, from pillars to thrones to flights of stairs, looks like it’s made out of concrete.  There is very little music, which somehow makes the whole thing feel even more doom-and-gloom-y than Hamlet already does.  The costumes go for a semi-fantasy look somewhere between Elizabethan and medieval, which is very stagey, and the effect is heightened by the fact that most of the characters never seem to change their clothes. The actors don’t look comfortable in them, though, which means they look uncomfortable in their characters as well. Queen Gertrude in particular looks like she’s too worried about damaging her gown to move easily in it, and the giant chain around Claudius’ neck is absurd.

Adding to the impression that the movie was shot in somebody’s basement, it’s lit very pootly when it’s lit at all.  A lot of shots are quite dull, lit in a way that shows where things are but doesn’t create mood or drama.  The film is in black and white and the characters wear black, or at least colours so dark you can’t tell the difference, which leaves night shots (such as the one where Horatio and the guards are chasing after the king’s ghost) looking like a bunch of heads floating around.

It is, of course, very difficult to judge a dubbed performance. The actors we’re watching appear to be going for a sort of heightened melodrama, part of the idea that we’re meant to feel like we’re watching a stage play.  The dub actors, on the other hand, don’t seem to have gotten the memo.  A lot of them mumble, particularly Maximilian Schell as Hamlet, which is really weird because he’s dubbing himself.  Sometimes they manage to make the Shakespearean English sound very natural, but that often jars with the physical performances.  I have no idea what sort of accents some of them think they’re doing. There are a few who don’t seem to be trying to do an accent at all, while others sound like they’re aiming for British (because it’s Shakespeare?), German (because the movie’s German?) or Damn Worwelf.

Most of the actors are kind of bland-looking, and those who stand out do so because they look weirdly wrong for the parts they’re playing.  Polonius with his little mustache looks like a physics teacher who feels naked because he’s not wearing a necktie.  He’s also dubbed by John Banner, so if you keep hearing this is so klandinkto! every time he speaks… that’s why.  If Hamlet himself looks familiar, it may be because Maximilian Schell was Dr. Reinhardt in The Black Hole, or maybe it’s because he looks a lot like the guy in Atlantic Rim that I referred to as MacGuyver. He’s a very fine actor who won an academy award for Judgment at Nuremburg, but he’s way out of place as Hamlet.  His Hollywood good looks and crooked little smile make it feel like he’s trying to play Hamlet as a dashing heartthrob.

For all that, there are a couple of moments in this movie that I quite like.  The scene in which Hamlet is nodding and smiling to the wedding guests while the Too Too Solid Flesh soliloquy begins in voiceover is quite nicely done.  It gives you a very visceral sense of this man who is forced to bottle up his anger and grief.  I also like that during the Murder of Gonzago scene, the camera focuses not on the players but on the audience reaction.  Claudius and Gertrude smile at each other when the players talk about love, and then grow uncomfortable as the play condemns re-marriage.  Ophelia’s embroidery is an attempt at symbolism, the arum being a popular funeral flower.  Too bad it’s so in-your-face that it loses all subtlety.

On the whole, though, Hamlet is just dull.  The spartan, ugly sets and dark costumes offer us very little to look at, and in some of the darker scenes there’s almost nothing to see at all. The physical and dub performances don’t match, and neither hold the attention.  Watching it feels like a two-hour slog through a tarry morass of depression.

I kind of wonder what the purpose of this movie was supposed to be. It was made for TV in the sixties, and I guess it was an attempt to capitalize on the Germans’ love of Shakespeare – because Germans do definitely love Shakespeare, sometimes considering themselves to have a better claim on him than England because unlike the English, they respect him.  More Shakespeare plays are performed in Germany every year than in England, and in the leadup to World War II the Nazi regime tried to get rid of him, couldn’t, and had to settle for picking and choosing which translations were ‘German enough’ for them (this always reminds me of the joke about Hamlet being better in the original Klingon).

If this is the case, I would like to know what the Germans who saw this movie in its original broadcast thought of it.  Sixty-year-old reviews of made-for-tv movies in foreign languages are hard to find even online, so I honestly have no idea.  I know that people who have seen this English version hate it, and I have a hard time imagining it being much better in German even when you love Shakespeare unconditionally.  The fact that the Germans do love Shakespeare just makes it seem that much more likely that they’d consider this dreary pork-filled version an insult to him.

It’s also interesting to think about what made the Best Brains pick this one out as an MST3K project.  The movie is definitely bad, and in its own way it fits right in with a lot of the black-and-white crap from the Joel era that tries so hard to be important and just ends up being depressing.  Yet the source material remains as something a lot of people would consider untouchable (the Germans being high on that list… although Shakespeare himself, purveyor of fine penis jokes to Her Majesty the Queen since 1591, would probably be totally okay with the MST3K treatment.  He must have heard way more vicious audience commentary).  My guess it was something they considered a challenge to themselves, in the same way as RiffTrax tackled Casablanca just to see if they could do it.  The Amazing Colossal Transplanted Sci-Fi Channel Episode Guide entry on the episode is kind of interesting, as Kevin mentions the feeling that they had to be funnier than usual in order to live up to the play’s legend.

My high school English teachers (the same ones who inflicted The Most Dangerous Game on me) insisted that Hamlet is a play which should make you think.  I’m pretty sure this is not what they meant, but the thing I’ve always found myself thinking about while watching or reading it is the idea of marrying one’s brother’s widow.  The church of the time said that this was equivalent to marrying one’s own sister (Claudius indeed calls Gertrude our sometime sister) and frowned upon it most heavily, and this would have been common knowledge in Elizabethan England because it was Henry VIII’s excuse for divorcing Catherine of Aragon and marrying Anne Boleyn, Queen Elizabeth’s mother (never mind that he’d also fucked Anne’s sister Mary).  By portraying this as villainous behaviour, Shakespeare was sucking up to the Queen, emphasizing that her mom’s marriage was way more legit than Catherine’s.  Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[didon]

My two cents on this whole Taylor Swift drama

I normally only reserve my rants for tv shows, but I’ve seen enough crap in the last day that I kinda want to add a little to it.

First of all, I’m not a swiftie or whatever her die hard fans call themselves. Do I like some of her music sure, but there are other songs that make me cringe the same way there are things that happened with her that made me dislike her and others where I’m now looking back at and thinking that it was just me wanting to fit in and that it was ‘’cool’’ to hate on her. Cause I think that there really is a movement where you have to hate on successful women because they are not perfect until the point where they are no longer human beings but actual mythological creatures that we must revere or die otherwise (Beyonce and the Bee Hive come to mind). Has Taylor always been right? Nope. It’s that simple, she has done some not so great things and instead of trying to understand them, I just went with the motion of hating her because I thought it made me special (it did not).

Secondly, to the people saying that he didn’t bully her, that it was his client, remind me his job again? Dudebro is a manager. His job is literally to MANAGE people, to make sure that the celebrities he has under his care not only receive the best but are also perceived as great. Seems like him allowing Bieber to post a dig at a woman for no reason and then not issue an apology right after was a bad managing decision because the only thing it did is make him and his clients seem like pissy little boys that can’t take people not agreeing with him. Him allowing Kanye (because tell me how he could not have vetoed that whole video that I’ll talk about later) to show someone that he knew Kanye had a troubled relationship with naked WITHOUT that person permission is a bad management decision. Especially since it could have led to more than one lawsuits toward his client. I feel like a manager normally tries to avoid his clients getting sued. So either he allowed her to be bullied by his clients and probably had his own hand in it or he’s shitty as his job and should not be allowed to manage anybody. Because it has to be one or the other, there is no third options where he didn’t advise his clients not to do bad things and had no knowledge of it. If anything, he could have at the very least if that was the case wrote his own appology for being in Bieber instagram. No instead he chose to stay silent, giving his approval toward it and to keep people that were attacking a female celebrity for pissy reasons as clients.

Thirdly, concerning the whole Bieber thing. Dude has to stop talking. He is not someone that can truly speak having grown up being influenced by Dudebro. Didn’t he sign Bieber when he was still a minor and everything? And yet he allowed him to make a fool of himself more than once, to be agressive toward more than one person knowing that it could cost sales. Dudebro was both a bad manager and a bad friend toward Bieber. Bieber who seems to act as if a lot of his fanbase isn’t young influencable girls that he is pushing toward not only bad decisions like bullying someone else because the friend of a friend doesn’t like them and also supporting people that are homophobic. Because let’s remember that for a long time (and I think still now but I’m not 100% sure), Bieber was friend with this pastor who was known for being homophobic. You can’t call someone coming at your friend a bully, but then have one of your close friend be someone telling others that something they have no choice in makes them bad, evil in some cases and that the one person that is supposed to love them (I’m talking about God here for the Catholics) hates them. How many queer people are we going to lose to suicide because they are constantly told by some biggots that God hate them, that they are going against everything that is good, that they shouldn’t be allowed near children, etc.? And no saying that just because you attend his congregation and hang out with him doesn’t mean you don’t agree with him. This isn’t the same as someone prefering strawberry milk over chocolate milk, this is someone spewing hate to who not only are you giving a platform by being near them (because yes it does), but are listening to. How many young teens are going to see that guy and go ‘’hey Bieber follow him so maybe he’s right’’? When you chose to be a celebrity, yes it means that you lose part of your privacy, but it also means that you should be obligated to lend your voice to those who aren’t listened to. Taylor Swift did that with her letter against homophobia, with her video and her support of queer artists. Bieber does that by giving a biggot relevance and then getting mad when his ‘’friends’’ are called out on their bad behaviours.

Fourtly, the whole Kardashian/Kanye thing. I can’t believe it’s 2019 and it has to be addressed but it is NEVER okay to showcase somebody else’s naked body even if it’s for ‘’Art’’ without their permission. His video was not only revenge porn, it’s an attack on her. Revenge porn is mostly defined as sharing private pictures of someone. This isn’t the case. She didn’t send his a naked wax art of her body. As far as I’m concerned, this is straight up violating her privacy and her body. And not only hers but the one of everybody else included in that video. Sure he probably has the signed statement from his wife saying it was okay, but does he has the one from every single other person? Also stating where their wax double would be placed? Because I’m pretty sure that Rihanna wouldn’t have said yes to her body being exploited by a man and placed next to someone who’s biggest relevance is the fact that he ABUSED her. It’d be the same as a celebrity asking fans to stop drawing porn of them and then getting backlash from their fans because they believe that they own that celebrity body. Your body is your own and no egomaniac should be allowed to have a naked wax statue made of it and put it in his video. Speaking of videos, Kim’s one is void. Not only is it clear that the video has been edited, but it was ILLEGAL!! A court would not take it as proof of anything just based on this alone. This is the same as a cop breaking and entering to get proof to arrest someone because a warrant takes too long and he’s sleeping with the other suspect. I don’t care if she actually agreed to one line and not the other or whatever. The whole video is void and should never be mentionned because it’s something illegal that again violated someone’s privacy which a celebrity should really know about. Especially Kim. The whole claim that Kanye made Taylor famous is ridiculous too. Bitch didn’t make her famous, he made an ass of himself. She became famous with her own hard work and good strategy (something her manager might have a hand into). What he did at that award show was just stealing a moment from a woman because he was prissy he didn’t get his way. There’s a reason why Beyonce gave the stage to Taylor and that everybody got mad at him. He took a young woman achievement and try to ruin it because it wasn’t what he wanted. That shows clear immaturity and if anything it made him more famous that it made her. She wasn’t known as Kanye’s victim, she was known as a singer while he was known as the guy that made an ass of himself and ruined a 20 years old big moment. I don’t care who deserved the award more or if he was right, nobody else does it and for a good reason. I may not have always have agreed with award winners, but you haven’t seen anybody stopping Matthew McConaughey speach saying sorry to interrupt but Chiwetel Ejiofor had one of the best performance ever. It’s almost like his manager should have stopped him from making a fool of himself.

Fiftly, just a little mention for Demi Lovato that came to Dudebro defence. Girl is coming out of a very emotional situation, is probably not 100% okay yet so don’t send her hate. Plus, she has known him about two months and he makes money off her so he has probably not been a dick to her. Her entire defence may even have his hand in it since people around her may be employed by his company. I almost killed myself over a year ago and I know that I’m still very emotional and that people can still have a big influence on me depending on how I’m feeling. I can’t imagine being around people that may not have your best interest 24h/7. On her claim that he is not homophobic because he signed her though, I will say that she can’t refute somebody’s experience with the man simply based on her own especially since she’s a famous artist that probably brings him a lot of money. Plus, while she’s a queer woman that consider herself fluid (and good for her tbh), it doesn’t mean that she has the same experience as a gay person. She has (mostly) dated men in the recent years and biphobic people will use it as an excuse to say that while she is ‘’fluid’’ she’s mostly straight (which is bull, but that might be how they see her in her mind). She can’t come at a gay man and say that because she’s also queer, the man cannot be a bigot toward anybody in the queer community. Heck, queer people in the queer community are bigots toward other members. How often do we hear transphobia or biphobia coming from queer people? The answer is too often. Especially black queer people who are often erased from their own history (*cough* stonewall and camp *cough*)! My own father was super friendly toward a trans tennant he had, calling her by her name and the right pronouns like it was nothing, only using her deadname on the official papers since it wasn’t officially changed, but to me he told me that if I came out as trans he would kick me out because I am his daughter not his son. If you asked that woman than yeah my dad is a great ally, but she wouldn’t know how he interacts with other queer people including his own daughter.

Finally, on the whole master thing. Shut up. She wrote the songs so I don’t care who owns the right right now or if they gave her a chance to ‘’buy’’ them back. This is her own work. When Devianart started selling artists art without their consent because they ‘’owned’’ it, how many people did I see on this website calling for a boycott? How many people were pissed and swore that it was horrible and that no artist should ever lose the right to their own art? Well, it’s exactly the same for her. Yes even for those songs of hers I hate. She put her time, her effort in them and so they should be hers. The idea that some white dudebro has right over them is ridiculous. The fact that he will own her feelings, a part of her soul should be upsetting especially since one of his artist already violated her body by showing it naked without her consent. I would be furious if I was raped and a friend of my rapist got the right to some of my writing. Heck, I would probably be a lot more agressive than she was in that post. The fact that she managed to stay polite and calm is a miracle if you ask me. Especially since he will be making money of a video that his friend and client didn’t even deem good enough to win an award!! Cause let’s remember that as cringy as it might be to look back at how we were all obsessed with some of her music video (god knows I was even though I would have never admitted it at the time), a man representing someone who put her down for one of them is going to make money off them. 

This is in no way acceptable and I encourage people to raise their voices against this and to keep those boys (because they are not men let’s be honest) accountable for their actions. Cause when Kesha needed help getting away from her rapist, Taylor Swift gave it to her and no matter how famous you are, you deserve to have people stand up for you. I’m not saying send hate, but keep holding men accountable for their shitty behaviours and for the creepy thing they say about women. We are not their objects, they do not own us in any way and we need to unite to stop them disrespecting us!! No matter your feeling on Taylor Swift and her music or her previous actions, this is something hateful that’s happening to her and women need to stand up and support each other! We own it to each other!!

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 29-32

I realize leaving y’all hanging for a whole year like that in the snark, where our beloved heroes Andi and Dex had just been shot in their empty little heads, was very cruel of me. You guys must’ve been just DYING to know what happened.

Quick recap: Andi & Co are space pirates. They are captured by Andi’s ex Dex and the father of Andi’s childhood friend, whom she “murdered” by landing a ship bad. He asks her to get his son, who is in a dank dark prison. Andi does the thing with the help of Dex and her ragtag bunch of generic archetypes. 

We good?

Let’s go.

Chapter 29

We interrupt the 100% totally real threat of Andi and Dex being shot to death to have another boring-ass moment with Nor. She walks around in an underground lab feeling sorry for herself and thinking about how tragic her backstory is. We’re introduced to a two-headed scientist who could’ve been interesting in the hands of actually talented authors, but who doesn’t appear in the book after this point so she’s wasted. For some reason she’s also referred to as one person when the heads are clearly different individuals? Irl when there are two heads sharing one body the heads are different people with different names. You know, because the person is stored in the brain? Idk why Shinsay did this.

“Slowly, you dolt!” the right head screeched to the left. 

The left head huffed in annoyance. “I’m merely trying to give our queen a glimpse of her new toy.” 

“It’s a wonder I’ve been able to put up with you all these years,” the right head retorted. 

“You haven’t a choice, my dear,” the left said back.

I think this is supposed to be funny, but all I can think if is how everyone’s dialogue sounds exactly the same. 

We find out that this is where Nor’s people are developing the titular Zenith (except it’s not named yet, spoilers), and Nor wants to know if they’ve made any progress.

The two-headed scientist, Aclisia, says that the weapon is ready and that they only need a test subject. Did they develop this mind-altering thing without any previous test subjects? I mean I guess it makes sense that they’d need somebody unaffected by previous versions to test out the final product, but like ... Did the previous subjects die? That doesn’t bode well. 

Anyway, the test subject they have is one of the guards on Lunamere, where Andi and Dex were in the previous chapters. Nor is displeased that the guard “let them go,” and I want you to remember this line:

“You had one of the Unified System’s most wanted fugitives in my prison. And instead of keeping her there, where she could have been persuaded to join the right side of the galaxy...you lost her. [...]”

File that away for future reference, my pretties. 

Anyway, we end the chapter without even finding out what the drug does, because Shinsay love breaking their own pace and suspense because they have to rely on cliffhangers to keep people reading. 

Chapter 30

Oh Christ oh God it’s our girl Klaren again. It’s year twenty-four and despite five years passing this woman is still all about how she’s destined to die and everything in her life is crap, which, idk, mood I guess?

Xen Ptera is losing the war and Klaren is sick because of all the poison air or whatever. The king wants her to hide because enemy troops are closing in, and Klaren takes another moment to think about how she wasn’t supposed to fall in love and yadda yadda. 

Who’s ready for another Smaasism?

She wished she could go back. She wished she could change that passionate night they had shared, the careless days after and the tonic she’d forgotten to take...

tOnIC

You’d think in advanced space times they’d have more reliable birth control. 

Also ... wouldn’t the king expect an heir anyway? Like, we’ve seen that even the title of “general” is inherited in this shitfest of a universe, so wouldn’t he eventually catch on and insist on having a kid? Or if she claimed she couldn’t produce one, surely there would be tech to get around that? Idk. For all the future-sight this bitch had, she sure didn’t have any common sense. 

Klaren tells the king to take Nor and fuck off, and Darai says something about how she’s the strongest Yielded and how she must fulfill her duty. 

Which apparently includes going into the battlefield, which is conveniently right outside the palace, and mind-control General Cortas into wanting to fuck her so bad he forgot she was his enemy. 

Her husband was wrong. 

Hope was not dead. 

Hope, in the form of the queen’s sacrifice, had only just flickered to life.

This is framed as tragic and beautiful but she is about to mind-rape a man for years soooo get ready for some extremely uncomfortable shit.

Chapter 31

We’re back in Andi’s POV, except it’s still a fucking flashback. This time it’s to when Andi was still Kalee’s Spectre and lived with Valen and the other dingdongs. And then we get actually good writing?

During meals, when Andi and the other Spectres stood guard, she’d watch him curiously. Valen usually sat in the farthest seat from his father, hunched forward as if he were battling some deep, silent pain. Sometimes she’d catch him staring at her with his strange, unblinking hazel eyes, his paint-stained fingers gripping his golden fork like a weapon he didn’t want to use.

Like I’m into this. It’s showing and not telling, mysterious and intriguing without being on the nose, and for once Andi doesn’t have all the cards and knows what Valen is inside and out, so his character doesn’t become obvious. Like, he’s battling some pain, but he’s also reluctant to use a weapon? That could mean anything! In a good way!

This good chunk is also immediately ruined by the following descriptions, which point out that indeed, all the other kids talk about Valen and how WEEEEYOOORDDD he is, and how he’s constantly covered in paint, because that’s what artists look like, I guess. Catch me bodyslamming a freshly painted park bench to prove I know color theory.

We’re also told that Valen never got a personal Spectre for spooooooky reasons. He just doesn’t feel like a proper part of the family, ya know? I wonder that it all could meeeeaaaaaan. 

This is all told to us just so we can revisit the part where Valen tries to stop Andi and Kalee from going on a joyride. Kalee insults him for a bit, and then Valen drops some more foreshadowy dialogue about how he hopes this birthday is everything Kalee wants it to be. 

Subtle. 

Chapter 32

OH MY GOD WE’RE IN LIRA’S POV NOW. YOU’RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE SHINSAY, WE KNOW YOU WOULDN’T MURDER YOUR PRECIOUS CELAENA AND RHYSAND RIPOFFS IN CHAPTER 29 WHEN THERE’S A BILLION MORE CHAPTERS LEFT.

Lira has been literally counting seconds since they left Andi. 

Yeah.

She recaps everything that happened three chapters ago, saying they executed their secret plan with the “ultimate amount of finesse” before noting that despite obeying Andi’s direct orders to run, she feels like a traitor. 

Your captain is in chains, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. You should be by her side. Instead, you’re running. 

All you ever do is run.

I have literally no idea how this is even a little bit relevant considering that they’re waiting for Andi and Dex to return and aren’t moving anywhere. By the way, Andi and Dex are thirty minutes late. Which freaks Lira out because THAT WASN’T IN THE PLAN. 

Her scales start freaking out and she’s about to overheat. Holy shit, how are you still alive? 

Honestly, this is a pretty accurate depiction of someone with an anxiety disorder, but I think we’re supposed to think Lira is emotional or analytical or loyal or whatever. I doubt Shinsay have the finesse required to write something like this on purpose, so this just reads as incompetence. 

Apparently Andi said that if they’re late, the girls are supposed to flee and save themselves, and Lira is starting to get antsy. 

Ok so ... just moments ago you were worried about how you’re always running away. So why is your first instinct when your beloved captain is THIRTY MINUTES LATE to book it? Like. Calm the fuck down. Thirty fucking minutes, in space? Can you chill??? 

Lira whines more about how this is the second time this week that she’s second-in-command and she hates it. Hey why not give that responsibility to Breck, who’s always calming everyone down? Would that make too much sense? 

Lira goes to her room to mope and angst about how she likes being alone. It’s riveting. She thinks about how this crew is her SOUL and how much she LOVES them. Which we can see by her sitting alone in her room thinking about how much she loves them, obviously.

She continues to angst about how her dad died of Space Plague, and her mom became a drunk because ... Idk, that’s what moms do in books like these. But lo, she and her brother got taken in by their Cool Aunt, who then wanted them to Do Things when they grew up, and Lira doesn’t want to Do Things, she wants to fly around and Crime. 

So she left her home planet because her Cool Aunt wanted her to Do Too Much Stuff, and the weight of her expectations crushed Lira, who must soar the skies like the beautiful bald blue bird she is. 

The other girls interrupt this godawful exposition dump by inviting Lira to play some Not!Pokémon. And we get this exchange, which I included in my review, and yes, it’s real:

“Hope is a raging asshole,” Gilly said. 

“Explain to me, Gilly,” Breck said with a sigh, “how exactly can an asshole rage?”

Lira choked on a sudden, unexpected laugh. “I swear, the two of you. You were both born with my brother’s sarcastic soul.”

This bloated and repetitive nonsense that apparently passes for character development is interrupted by Alfie, who’s gotten out of the waste bay. We’re reminded that this ship doesn’t have any mechanics, because of course, and Alfie makes a reference about how the ship’s AI’s voice is turning him on. 

It appears Lira has gotten a message from Soy to come and get Andi and Dex.

*sigh*

[romanovanatalia]

I just saw Bohemian Rhapsody and I could talk about it for hours. Growing up, Queen was huge in my house. My dad is a huge fan. He was able to see them 3 times when they came to Argentina in 1981, so of course, he would play Greatest Hits and make me and my sister watch Live at Wembley '86 and Rock Montreal. When I was 12 years old, I learnt english because of their songs. When I was a teen I listened to Queen every day, bought all of their albums, watched all the videos. I sat alone, taking refuge in their music (you know, like Radio Gaga says) during times I was depressed and couldn't even bring myself to get out of bed. Today, their music means every day more and more to me, as I grow up, I can relate even more to their lyrics. They saved my life. They are MY life soundtrack. In 2015, Brian and Roger came to Argentina with Adam Lambert and I could see them live. I cried at the stadium because of how much they mean to me.

I waited for this movie 10 years. 10 years of news of "will they finally make it", recasts, never endings "we are close to make it a reality". I still can't believe we finally have this film so I'm gonna talk about it as much as possible.

Acting: Rami Malek is amazing. His fake teeth made me cringe a bit but he gave so much of him to this role that it's unbelievable somebody could be able to portray Freddie. Still, I knew he was never gonna fail me. Gwilym Lee and Joe Mazzello are out of this world as Brian and John, they became Brian and Deacy. You could see how much dedication they put and I'd like to give a shoutout to Joe for being able to become Deacy without having him to guide him, unlike Gwilym. Ben Hardy was good, but I still believe his characterization is the poorest. I usually give Roger Taylor a lot of crap, but he's my favourite, and I cringed so hard seeing Ben with his baby face and long hair portraying an almost 40 year-old Roger who aged a lot from the early 80s to 1985.

Story: overall, it was good. I felt it was rushed a lot, especially the first half an hour, but I understand it was necessary to fit 15 years in 2 hours. As longtime Queen fans, my sister, my dad and I had no problem understanding the set ups, characters and stories, but people who know little about Queen could find it very fast paced and hard to gather so much information in so little time. I understand the need to put Freddie's diagnosis in 1985 instead of 1987, but the historical innacuracy of some events (conquering South America in the 70s instead of 1981, John Reid still being their manager until the 80s, the creation of WWRY, the band not playing live together for years before Live Aid) really annoyed me because following the true timeline wouldn't have hurt the film's structure. They show Freddie being queer and diagnosed and enough of his private life for those who claimed they were erasing that part of his life because of the comments of that Sacha Baron Cohen asshole (still, as a Freddie admirer I'd have preferred to show as little as possible about Munich because I know he wouldn't have liked it).

And now, my list of moments I enjoyed/complained about:

I hated the Somebody to Love version at the opening credits. It wasn't that hard to use Freddie's real voice. That song was the one who meant the most for him, after all.

Freddie working at Heathrow and being Brian and Roger's biggest fan. AMAZING.

Tim Staffel (Smile's original singer) is the unluckiest dude in the world.

I'm sad we couldn't see Freddie and Roger sharing and apartment and working together at Kensington Market because some great anecdotes happened during that time (Freddie having guests and making them tea on a teapot in which Roger had weed hidden and accidentally making everybody high, Roger stealing Freddie's clothes and selling them at the market after a discussion)

Some A+ chemistry between Freddie and Brian.

Bomi, Jer and Kashmira ❤️

Freddie's birthday party scene was hilarious.

Deacy sent to the basement at Ridge Farm, poor little thing

Also, why did they change the name of the farm? Idc, I'll still say Ridge Farm.

The whole I'm In Love With My Car issue!! I can't believe they did that without including the cupboard incident.

Love that Roger criticized Brian's "you call me sweet / like I'm some kind of cheese" lyrics in Sweet Lady because I've always dragged him for that.

Brian and Deacy not batting an eye at Roger after he threw them food but screaming "NOT THE COFFEE MACHINE!!" the moment he grabbed it (during that time, Rog had some anger management issues he controlled by destroying his drumsticks and electronics)

They really had Mike Myers in the film to say "Bohemian Rhapsody is not a song teenagers listen in the car while they bang their heads"

Their anger the moment I'm In Love With My Car was suggested as the lead single.

Kenny Everett!!

I'm not much of a Mary fan but Lucy was great.

I'm glad they showed Freddie playing scrabble for a tiny moment.

Why the fuck did they do a 1973/4 montage with Fat Bottomed Girls and a 1977/78 montage with Now I'm Here? Was it really that hard to switch the songs to their respective eras?

Jim Hutton ❤️ he truly deserved all of the 80s scenes. He really needed to be more. I don't understand why Freddie goes looking for him during the Live Aid day but they were wearing their engagment rings. I really deserved seeing Freddie and Jim referring at each other as "my husband"

I really wanted Freddie and Jim's real meeting at that pub. "Jim! Freddie Mercury is hitting on you!" "Who?" Lmao I love Jim for not having idea of who Freddie was.

That Paul Prenter asshole, I swear to god. I always hated him. I deserved less of him and having Phoebe Freestone (whom I met years ago at a Queen tribute band concert in my city and was a total sweetheart!) in the film instead.

Rami is allergic to cats so they had some clever editing there.

A few scenes showing the ongoing feud between Brian and John. Interesting.

What the fuck were Gwilym, Ben and Joe doing in the couch at the background during the I Want to Break Free video shooting scene?

"Without me you'd be Dr. Brian May, an astrophycists whose published thesis hasn't been read by anyone" WEEEELL

"And Deacy... well, I can't even think what you would have been without me" EXCUSE ME?! Freddie would have never treated John Richard Deacon that way, he adored him.

Deacy's one liners were HYSTERICAL. They made a good work showing his peculiar sense of humour.

Once more, Under Pressure proves that it can make me cry like a baby. That song is so powerful.

It was horrible that they erased Bowie. Horrible. They could have started a classic rock cinematic universe with Bowie appearing and having a cameo of Taron Egerton as Elton John, who was a close friend of Freddie.

"Freddie, could you give us a minute?" "Why did you do that?" "I just felt like it"

Their reunion scene has all my uwus

They put a lot of effort in the costume department, I appreciate that.

"What do you think of David, guys? I think he's gay" I SNORTED

Bob Geldof YASSS!!

The Live Aid scene ugh. I was ok singing along to BohRap and Radio Gaga but the moment Hammer to Fall started (just my favourite song EVER), I started crying like a baby again and didn't stop until the end.

That girl wiping her tears after We Are the Champions? ME

The ending with Don't Stop Me Now was beautiful.

Some good extra soundtrack songs like Super Freak, Sultans of Swing, Carmen's Habanera.

The Show Must Go On as the credits song? I'm still crying.

[flawlesspeasant]

oil stain.

hey guys! yes, i’m back. yes, this is the old flawlesspeasant and yes, I do still write!

But I don’t write much fanfiction anymore. Only if I’m feeling particularly inspired. With that being said, this is something I wrote a few months ago when Link was first introduced into the show and because Jo is about to meet her mother in the show, I figured I could post it since it’s going to be proven wrong in a week anyway.

It’s just about Jo deciding to meet her mom for a DNA test. Kinda boring. But I thought maybe somebody would like it.

Sometimes, when I look around the rest of the room — at the clock on the wall in front of me or at the receptionist making that annoying clack-clack-clack noise with her acrylics on the keyboard — I forget about it and when I forget about it, I don’t irrationally hate my husband but as always, I get impatient watching the hand on the clock turn after another minute passes, and my eyes fall down on the knee of my pants again and there I am, back at square one with a giant teardrop-shaped oil stain on my pants and it just really, really makes me hate my husband.

Or maybe I just hate the universe and its inherent need to constantly punish me for things I did when I was younger.

When I woke up this morning, I still didn’t have any idea what I should wear. I went to bed last night thinking that maybe black would be more appealing, because I’m told it makes me look a bit older and more mature, but then I remember reading somewhere that wearing white in a makes you look innocent and my head started spinning because I don’t know which one I need more; to look mature or innocent. I hoped that sometime in my sleep, the answer would just come to me, but since I spent the night mostly tossing and turning instead of actually sleeping, it’s needless to say that I still had no idea what to wear when I woke up.

I even took a shower to rid myself of the bags under my eyes, and wove my hair into a really intricate little bun so every strand of the faded blonde I’ve been waiting to grow out isn’t visible. Then, I stood in front of my closet with my towel wrapped around my body and just stared. At all of my options.

It wasn’t until I stuffed my legs into a pair of beige dress pants and buttoned up my silky white t-shirt that Alex came in my room, just to “see how I was doing.” Really, he just came in to be nosy and see if I was crying again, but he helped me clasp a pearl necklace around my neck, even after explaining why he felt like a pearl necklace “wasn’t me.” In some ways, I agreed with him but I don’t know how to tell him that I’m not quite sure who I am anymore.

He stepped back, looked me from head to toe, and told me that I looked “beautiful” and gave me his usual half-smile of approval.

What he did next is what makes me hate him.

Instead of letting me throw on a few pumps of the same Victoria’s Secret perfume I’ve been wearing since I turned 15 — the kind that smells like red plum and freesia — she insisted that I use body oil to smell good instead of body mist — because he claims the scent wears off and I smell like wet dog after a while — and slathered my neck and forearms with this cheap-smelling crap.

I mean seriously. He dug through the boxes of old wedding gifts that we still haven’t put away yet, found some that a nurse from the fifth floor bought me, and rubbed it on my body with his own two hands.

So now, after spending all night and half of the morning fretting about what I need to look like to be presentable, I have to walk in that room looking like a sloppy mess with an oil stain on my pants and try to prove to this woman that despite what I look like, I am not a sloppy mess even though I sound like one from all the things she’s heard about me and now, because of my husband’s stupidity, I even look like one.

So, yeah. The more I look at the oil stain on my pants, the more I burn up with hatred for Alex.

A bead of sweat rolls down my back and makes me shudder, so I loosen the collar of my shirt to let a little bit of air in. It’s the dead middle of winter, plus I’m pretty certain they have the air conditioning system on in here, but I’m still sweating bullets. I probably should go to the bathroom to check and see if my makeup is running or if my hair is damp, but I don’t really know if I can move. The lump that’s been sitting in my stomach since I sat down ten minutes ago is starting to turn sour and I think if I move, I’m going to throw up.

As much as I hate him right now, I think I wish Alex would’ve come. He wanted to, he did. He even started to take the morning off and work the afternoon. But I told him I didn’t need him to, and I really didn’t think I did. But I was wrong, I’m a coward and I really wish I had someone sitting next to me that was on my side.

If I look to my left and a little bit down the hallway, he here. I sat in my car for a few moments before I came in here, just trying to get ahold of myself, and I saw his car pull in. He’s sitting no more than a hundred feet from me, cleaned up in his dapper suit, head down and thumbs tapping on his phone screen. I thought that seeing him would make me feel better, in some way. Because even though Link thinks that I’m making a big mistake, I know he’s always just looking out for me. Like maybe everything would be okay as long as I had a familiar face, even if that familiar face thinks I should have a snowball’s chance in hell at actually feeling good about finding this woman. But he saw me, didn’t even acknowledge me, and sat down.

Sure, it means a lot knowing that he came in the first place. I know he’s only coming to be my “witness”, to say that the DNA test hasn’t been tampered with and he can legally testify to that, but I really do wish he would at least speak to me. Even if I am doing this and going against everything he ever advised me to do in regards to finding my mother.

I already know how this is going to go.

My therapist prepared me a whole lot for this. She tipped me off to the kinds of questions she might ask me and she told me that she might ask me about my past. She told me that it’s okay for me to feel however I feel about today but I don’t know how I feel.

Why do I have to talk about my past at all?

Shouldn’t the only thing that matters be where I’m at right now? And how I got to this point? And how I’m doing better?

The door in the corner of the room swings open, and like its second nature, my hand flies down to the hard parts of my stomach. I know it’s her walking through the door and as much as I thought I was prepared to do this, I realize that I’m not.

Because even though my stomach has been a mess since the day I found out I was pregnant six months ago…

I can’t even fathom how someone with my DNA could possibly not see their child.

“Jo,” Link taps me on my shoulder and I shiver as I come back to reality. “It’s time to go in.”

I nod my head and stand up, smoothing the wrinkles out of my pants. Before I go inside, I glance at myself in the mirror to make sure my makeup hasn’t run, and the blonde tips of my hair are all hidden away. She — my mother — walks through the double doors and I just follow Link. I can’t explain how I know it’s her, I just do. It’s a feeling I get in the pit of my stomach. A connection I feel that I just can’t explain. It’s like magnetic — like we’re two opposite ends and there’s a hole being filled in my existence that I never even knew was there.

So to keep my sanity, all I focus on is hiding the oil stain on my pants from that woman, because even though I don’t know her and the only reason we’re here today is to get a DNA test to prove that she IS my mother…

I don’t want her to think that I’m a sloppy mess. I pull my shirt down over it and hope it stays there until I sit down and she can’t see it anymore.

This oil stain really makes me hate Alex.