#there was a bit where they told a quick joke and the captions completely cut it out

[nexus-nebulae]

I'm sorry, Charli D'amelio is on Dancing With the Stars??????

[aroclawthornes]

Blooming Brilliant, an Aroace Willow Park Manifesto

[id: a gif of a heart locket opening. One half of the locket displays a picture of Willow Park from The Owl House, winking and making peace signs with her fingers. Blue and yellow stars surround her. The other half reads "willow park my beloved." /end id.]

Greetings! It’s me, User Aroclawthornes, and instead of working on all the time-sensitive homework I have I sat down and wrote an essay explaining why I think Willow Park OwlHouse could plausibly be read as aroace, and why it would be a thematically enriching interpretation. I’ve never written anything like this before, so it’s oddly formal, a little pretentious, and contains a lot of qualifying language, but I'm confident that it gets my point across. I’m not intending to speak over other interpretations of Willow or assert that it's the only true way to read her, but it's a headcanon I find interesting, and I think there’s a lot of evidence to back it up, between certain elements that Willow’s arc employs to some good old overanalysed symbolism. If you're aspec, I hope this is validating; if you're not, I hope it's interesting; if you don't care, scrolling past it is quick, free, and easy.

Some disclaimers on terminology: I’m speaking from an aroace perspective, and so when I say “aspec coding” I’m generally referring to both orientations as a catch-all - a lot of the coding surrounding Willow could go either way. I’m also going to be talking about commonly accepted “aspec” narratives, but I’m aware of the limitations of this insofar as my experiences are only a single facet of the diverse range of aspec people in this world, so anyone who wants to add or argue anything - respectfully - is encouraged to.

Analysis below the cut!

The Thing About Plants

I’m not going to pretend that an association with plants is historically indicative of aspec coding, because, frankly, there haven’t been enough aspec characters to establish it as a convention, and it’s also a fairly wide-reaching branch of symbolism. However, I am going to propose that lighthearted comparisons between asexual people and plants (however misguided on functions of plant reproduction they are) are fairly common elements of budding ace teenage humour, as are related quips about photosynthesis.

[id: a screenshot of Willow from "I Was A Teenage Abomination", depicting her sitting on the ground while casting a spell over a small, pink flower. /end id.]

I’m also not going to claim that the colour green Belongs To Aromantics, and therefore that All Plants Are Belong To Us, but in tandem with everything else I’m about to cover, the connection between Willow and plants seems like a fairly plausible nudge to a relatively common element of aspec humour.

“Half-a-witch” Willow and the Late Bloomer Experience

[id: a screenshot of Willow with glowing green eyes, from "I Was A Teenage Abomination", depicting her summoning a mess of thorned vines. /end id]

Willow is literally nicknamed “half-a-witch”, in reference to her supposedly incomplete state - this is a sentiment eerily reminiscent of the pressure to find one’s “other half”, which affects aspec - especially aromantic - people particularly profoundly. She’s considered a late bloomer, someone who hasn’t reached the societal milestones of growth at the expected age, and who is derided and considered immature as a result of this perceived failure. However, we quickly discover that Willow is, in fact, an exceptionally competent and powerful witch - taken out of the restricting frame of the Abominations track, she’s able to grow into her own, “complete” person, therefore proving that she was never really lacking in anything in the first place. Like real-life aroace people, she was perceived as limited and immature based on the expectations and judgements of other people, but Willow was never deficient in anything, least of all herself.

[id: a screenshot of Willow and Luz from "I Was A Teenage Abomination". They are holding hands - the former is laughing with her eyes closed, and the latter is grinning, while covered in abomination goop. /end id]

As far as symbolism goes...the track Willow is initially put in literally requires her to conjure up another humanoid entity, with the expectation that she will therefore prove herself to be a whole and mature person. Only with this ability, she’s told, will she be successful and happy as an adult. The shapelessness of her attempts at conjuring an abomination reinforces this connection in my mind - if I may reference this quote from Ducktales 2017‘s (absolutely stellar) A Nightmare On Killmotor Hill, in which the protagonists explore their own subconscious fears via. the dream realm, for a second:

“I think that’s supposed to be my romantic interest, but I’m too threatened by the concept, so it never takes shape.”

A lot of young aroace people find themselves in situations where they attempt to convince themself of their interest in someone in an attempt to be “normal,” or end up lying in response to family members or friends’ questions about crushes. While Willow’s abominations, first and foremost, represent the expectations from her school, classmates, and family to be a successful, “complete” witch with a profitable future, I think that with an aroace interpretation of Willow they could also very easily be read as representing some latent insecurities over a lack of attraction, or pressure to find a significant other.

(I’m not condemning Willow’s dads, by the way - they seem like perfectly lovely fellas, and I’m confident that they were doing what they thought was best for her. They’re certainly very quick to drop everything to assure her future in Escaping Expulsion, so obviously they care about their daughter very much.)

Greens, Blues, and Yellows: Colour-Coding Willow Park

A while back, I made this post comparing Willow’s palette to the aromantic and aroace flags:

[id: a screenshot of a post depicting the aromantic and aromantic asexual flags, colour-picked from images of Willow in her Hexside uniform and casual dress respectively - these are overlaid on top of the flags. The caption reads "observations on willow park". /end id.]

The grey-and-green aromantic flag has long been the accepted mainstream symbol of aromanticism, and, as the above post - and many others - demonstrate, Willow’s palette reflects it near-perfectly. This could easily be a coincidence, owing to the palette of the standard Hexside Plant Track uniform, as well as her hair and eye colours - which are obviously supposed to be reflective of her plant-related abilities. However, given how fond of employing hidden meanings The Owl House has shown itself to be, I don’t think it’s far-fetched to claim that there’s at least a chance that her palette was constructed with the flag in mind.

The latter is...a bit more problematic for me, although it’s fun to joke about. The blue-and-yellow aroace flag was only created in December 2018, relatively late into The Owl House’s initial production, and it’s still relatively obscure, although on the rise in popularity as the accepted aroace flag (I only recently started using it myself), so I don’t know if Willow’s casual wear is enough to verify the presence of any deliberate subtext. I think it’s a fun coincidence, however, and (as was pointed out in this post) it’s cool that these blue and yellow stars surrounding Willow occur in the same frame as Luz’s bisexual decor:

[id: a photograph of Luz, Gus, and Willow, all surrounding a disgruntled-looking Principal Bump. Luz has flowers in the colours of the bisexual flag decorating her hair, while Willow is surrounded by bright blue and yellow stars. /end id.]

also seen above: powerful bi/aspec solidarity

Conclusion:

Do I genuinely believe that Willow is being deliberately written this way? If you’d asked me, say, two months ago, I’d have said probably not - as far as queer representation in kids’ cartoons has come, it has a ways to go, and focusing on transgender characters seems like a more obvious (and equally invaluable) route to go down. I can name maybe five explicitly aspec characters off the top of my head, two of whom have been written as alloromantic and/or sexual in adaptations or continuations of the source material (I have...some grievances with 2005 Doctor Who). But the emergence of Raine, an explicitly nonbinary character on Disney Channel, has given me a little spark of hope, and so, even if it’s never confirmed, it’s comforting to be able to see a character with such strong elements of aspec coding and think to myself, just maybe, that there might be some intent behind it.

I also...really want to see interesting things done with Willow. We’re halfway through Season 2, and despite some promising setup for her arc in the Season 1 finale, she’s sort of been left by the wayside lately in favour of developing the more “plot-relevant” characters, such as Luz, Amity, Eda, and Hunter. Frankly, I think it’s a disservice to her Season 1 development, despite how much I adore all the characters I just listed - beyond any personal motivation, the prospect that Willow could be aroace adds a lot of sorely-sought depth to her, and, as detailed, a lot of this has already been set up in her earlier episodes. I just...I think it’d be neat. Rarely do you get a kids’ show so brazenly queer in its themes as Owl House, and aspec people deserve to be included in that.

Willow would also be great aroace representation because, well - those five or so aspec characters I mentioned being aware of are all white or “raceless” (...also written as white, basically), and so an aspec Asian character would be a really lovely step forward in this area. Additionally, all the characters I referred to are also conventionally skinny, and Willow is not only fat, but written in a way that doesn’t treat this feature as a caricature. People who are more knowledgeable on these topics than I are absolutely free to make additions, as is anyone who feels like I’ve left certain details out.

tl;dr: Willow’s association with plants could be read as a cool nod to aspec humour, her “late bloomer” narrative is eerily reminiscent of some common aspec experiences, her palette speaks for itself, and it’d be really cool if we could diversify the so-far fairly bland sphere of aspec representation.

I’m going to conclude this by linking Rose by The Oh Hellos, because they’re my favourite band, they share The Owl House’s initials, and I also think it’s a good Willow song. Peace out.

[anthonyed]

I Can Explain

-//-

In his defense, Bucky consulted first.

What more, he consulted the person closest to Tony next to Jim, Miss Potts. Because Jim was out of radar on a mission and Bucky was in a rush.

He should have planned ahead. He should have learnt Tony's birthday a year before and asked Rhodey last Christmas.

But nope. It just so happened to be his luck that Bucky only found out about Tony's birthday two weeks prior and the best advice he could get was from Miss Potts.

In retrospect, maybe Miss Potts somehow found out about Bucky's little secret crush on her ex and was trying to sabotage...

Nah, she's a fairer maiden than that. What is Bucky even thinking?

"Hello?" Tony's curious call yanks him back to reality and he scrubs his face one last time before standing up.

He's not an idiot - at least, not as much as he was four hours ago when he'd dropped the package at the penthouse.

Not after Steve found out what his gift was and burst a vessel laughing his stupid ass off. Punk.

He knows what's coming the moment he opens the door... and yep.

"Is this from you?"

There it is.

He'd rather be stuck in cryo, that's how bad it is.

"I can explain,"

"Can you really?" Tony shoulders him aside to let himself in.

Luckily for Bucky, Steve's out and it's only him in their shared floor. At least that would spare him a fraction of his dignity (what's left of it).

With a deep inhale, he follows Tony inside after locking the door.

The sight of his 'gift' propped majestically in the centre of the living room couch stuns him into a brand new silence.

"He's quite handsome, I'll give you that," Tony pats his birthday present - two light slaps - before marching into the kitchen.

He scuttles around until he finds a clean glass and fills it half way up with water, "Gotta admit though, I was surprised," he gulps it down, two large swallows that work his throat distractingly and he adds, "It's really not that easy to surprise me, you know?"

Something unwinds within Bucky and he breathes out a sigh, "So you like it?" He asks, chancing another dubious glance at the gift he's second guessing with all his life.

Maybe it's Tony, maybe it's the crush, or maybe it's a little bit of both and a hell-a lot of the matter of his heart. But the fact remains that he's anxious.

Afraid he might have mucked up whatever chances he'd had with Tony before anything had even started between them.

"Water?" Tony asks.

"No thanks," Bucky shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest for the lack of things to do.

"Pretty sure it should be the other way around," Tony smirks, walking back to the couch.

Bucky watches from where he stands as Tony plops heavily beside the horrendous gift and starts channel surfing. He realizes he's fidgetting when Tony pauses to ask him about it.

"What's wrong?"

And it all come out in a single rush;

"I didn't mean to buy you a giant bunny for your birthday. I mean, I meant to gift you something you like and I wasn't sure so I asked Miss Potts and she told me you absolutely adored giant bunnies -,"

"I do adore giant bunnies."

"- so I bought the biggest one I could get and when I told Steve he said that Miss Potts probably said it in spite because you gifted her a giant bunny once, which was bigger than this scrawny stuff -,"

"Hey, don't call my bunny a stuff!"

"- and he laughed so hard he broke the coffee table. And I don't want you to think I meant this as a joke. I genuinely believed you liked giant bunnies -,"

"I do really like giant bunnies."

"And I'm sorry I couldn't afford to buy you a larger - a -what?"

"What?"

Bucky opens his mouth, closes, hands flailing at his sides and he gestures shakily at the stupid bunny, "You said- Did you - Do you really like giant bunnies?"

Tony cocks his head to a side, regarding him with a childlike curiosity that rings all of Bucky's suspicious alarm bells.

"I did say that didn't I?"

Bucky blinks. Tony blinks back at him, imitating.

"Are you fucking with me right now? Cause I -,"

"You what?"

He glares at the foot tall bunny accusingly. "I can return it. Give you -,"

"Nope," Tony cuts him off loudly. The 'P' popping in his tongue as he yanks the plushie from its seat onto his lap and hugs it tight. "I've officiated it, Mr Bunny is mine and any harm invoked on him will be punishable by law."

The thing is, Bucky doesn't know if he wants to laugh at the utterly ridiculous threat or at the way Tony, a 50 years old grown adult, looks, clutching onto a human sized soft toy with the adamance of a five years old.

The only thing missing was him poking his tongue out.

"Mr Bunny huh," Bucky gives up, finally sagging in relief after hours of worrying. "I don't know bout that... It lacks the Stark-special creativity."

"Give me a break, I haven't had my coffee when I came up with it," Tony huffs, scooting over to make some space for Bucky to sit.

"No thoughts of renaming him?"

"Why, you got something better?"

-

When Steve finds them, they're fully stuffed with pizzas, garlic bread and lasagna.

Tony's head pillowed on Bucky's lap/stomach or somewhere in between while Bucky himself was slouched like a sack of potato sliding off of the couch.

Recently rechristened Mr Barney, is safely tucked under Tony's chin, pinned under a slim thigh and a tight clasp of engineer's hand sunk into its soft artificial fur.

Bucky's fingers are buried in softer, much real, curls, playing idly and Steve loathes to disturb them but Bucky was sitting on his workout hoodie and he desperately needs it.

Later, after Steve has been kicked out for 'trespassing and disturbance'. When Tony has to leave because "there are too much stuff to ignore more than I already did", he scuffs his expesive loafers on the floor and hesitates at the door with a big bunny hugged to his chest.

Bucky smiles, falters, smiles again and he can't deny the way his heart blooms and shuts and blooms all over again in its cage.

It's both absurd and marvelous, the way a little crush (that's what you keep telling yourself but you know it's more than that) can do to a grown ass man.

"So um,"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for this," Tony shoves the bunny a little at his face.

"Yeah, I uh - You're welcome," Bucky stutters over the gratitude, face and neck growing rapidly warm and he blinks fast as if that could help it away.

He's too distracted by his own nervousness that he completely misses the tell tale of a kiss coming his way.

It's a peck. A quick, albeit soft, unhurried peck.

Much, much later, he'd realise it's been timed perfectly.

A well planned peck to his burning cheek.

And a soft whisper of, "I like it," that sounded a fuck ton lot like "I like you."

Too similar that he's left gaping like a goldfish at the open door as Tony saunters his way to his workshop in that moment of distraction.

Too unfair because Bucky doesn't know what to do with himself after that until his phone pings and a message comes through and it says:

"Mr Barney would like to invite you for dinner tomorrow night"

Captioned under a photo of Mr Barney, sitting on Bucky's usual spot with a single red rose tucked under his paw.

[toddtakefive]

Can I Have a Ride Home? I’m at a Party and I Don’t Know Any1

fandom(s): Gravity Falls, Over The Garden Wall

pairing(s): Pinescone , Mabcifica (mentioned)

words: 5314

rating: M (reasons listed in trigger warnings + swearing)

work type: One-shot , AU

tw(s): homophobia , use of slurs , violence and references to past violence

Also on AO3!!

Wirt wasn’t entirely sure how Sara had managed to drag him along with her to Senior Prom, hell he wasn’t even sure how she had managed to get a suit for him when he’d refused to go in for a fitting, but now he was standing in a crowded gym full of high-schoolers and he already wanted to leave. In his defense, they’d already been there an hour and that was an hour longer than he was at most parties.

If he was going to be completely honest, the party wasn’t that bad. Sure the music would cut off whenever there was a swear - everyone would still sing it anyways -, and sure the punch tasted weird, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad party as most parties go. The reason it was a bad party is because it was a party full of nothing but high-schoolers, and high-schoolers are scary. At least to Wirt.

He lost Sara twenty minutes ago -he’s honestly starting to think she’s underneath the bleachers flirting with the girl from her Chem class- and he’s getting bored so he pulls out his phone and starts typing a quick text to Dipper.

‘Bored. Wish you were here :/’.

The reply is immediate, 

‘Lol r u a postcard??’ ‘Wish I wre ther too <3 drving rigt now txt you lter′. 

The next text he receives is a picture taken by the person in the passenger seat, likely Mabel, with a peace sign while Dipper attempts to get his phone back without taking his eyes off the road. The caption for the photo is ‘road safety laws are bogus B)’. He laughs to himself. Yup, definitely Mabel.

He looks up at the sound of steps approaching, expecting it to be Sara but instead seeing evil incarnate. He takes in a deep breath before plastering on a fake smile.

“Hello, Trevor.” he says. 

Trevor Martin. No offense to the British actor Trevor Martin, of course, but Wirt fucking hates this guy. He’s book smart, Wirt’ll give him that, but that’s his only redeeming quality. Not only is he a totally fuckwad, but he has the audacity to say he’s not and try to date Sara, a very loud and proud lesbian. Like, dude, at least Jason Funderberker had the decency to back off when she came out. Plus, never trust a guy with a first name for a last name.

Trevor, wearing his slimy little smirk like he always does, doesn’t even meet Wirt’s eyes. “So, where’s Sara? I figured she’d be with you, you know, since you’re like her fucking boyfriend or whatever.”

Wirt scrunches his nose just slightly, he doesn’t want this situation to escalate more than it has to. “I’ve told you this a thousand times, Trevor. She is not my girlfriend.”

Trevor rolls his eyes, “Sure. You get pissed off that I’m trying to date her because you aren’t her boyfriend. Got it.”

Wirt shakes his head, “I get pissed off that you’re trying to date her because she’s a lesbian. Which is literally common knowledge, by the way.” he throws away his plastic cup and walks out into the hallway. Trevor, being an idiot in everything but school subjects, follows him into the hallway.

“She’s not a lesbian, she’s just saying that to get me to leave her alone.” Trevor explains, causing Wirt to roll his eyes as he walks.

“That’s not how that fucking works, Trevor. Besides, if a girl is literally resorting to faking being a lesbian to get you to leave her alone, maybe you just don’t know how to take a hint.”

He hears Trevor scoff, “Well she’s dating you, so she isn’t a lesbian.”

“She isn’t dating me! And you do know people can be bi, right?”

“If she isn’t dating you then why are you always talking about your relationship in World Civ?”

Wirt, just wanting this idiot to leave him alone already, stops walking abruptly and turns around. Trevor runs into him and falls back a little bit, he has a look on his face that Wirt thinks is his ‘gotcha’ face, but he’s really had enough of the whole ‘Wirt and Sara are dating in secret’ thing when they’re both very out homosexuals.

“Because I have a boyfriend, Trevor.” he deadpans, and sees that smug look fall off of Trevor’s face. God he loves the look of confusion that floods his features, it’s pure poetry.

“What?” Trevor asks, with all of his genius.

“The reason you hear me talking about my relationship -in conversations that didn’t involve you, by the way- is because I have a boyfriend. He lives in California.”

Trevor looks as though his entire world view just got re-shaped. He’s between wanting to believe and wanting to think it’s a prank, but, to Trevor, Wirt isn’t cool enough to pull a prank like this with a straight face.

The long minutes of silence is starting to get awkward, but just as Wirt is about to walk away Trevor speaks up again, “Wait so,” he pauses, “you’re a faggot?”

Wirt tenses immediately. That word. God he hates that word. The first time he heard it was when he came out to his biological dad when he and Dipper started dating back in Sophomore year. It wasn’t a great conversation, and Wirt vividly remembers the bloody nose he got out of it.

“I- uhm. Y-yeah. I- yeah.” Wirt stammers out. Trevor’s entire demeanor changes.

“Wait, what the fuck?” he says, distancing himself from Wirt by a couple inches. This causes Wirt to snap out of whatever funk he was in. He raises an eyebrow.

“Me having a boyfriend isn’t new information, Trevor. You’ve heard me get teased for talking about him before.”

“Yeah, but I thought they were joking! I didn’t think you were actually. You know.” he makes a wild hand gesture in Wirt’s direction.

“Gay?” Wirt asks with a furrowed brow.

“That! That. I didn’t think you were that.” Okay, now Wirt’s getting pissed. Obviously the use of the slur pissed him off, but not even being able to say the word gay? Come on, dude.

“Is there a problem with that?” He asks, crossing his arms. He’s not entirely sure where this newfound courage is coming from, but he can think about it later.

“No it’s just, dude have you been checking me out in the locker rooms and shit this whole time!” Trevor asks, his stance becoming defensive.

Wirt flinches back a bit at the question. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re.” Another wild hand gesture. Dude, just say the word.

Wirt sighs, “Gay. Right, yeah. We’ve established that. But I don’t go around creeping on the guys in the locker room. That would be fucking weird. And, again, I have a boyfriend, and you also aren’t my type so we’re covering all the bases of ‘I’d never do that’.”

Trevor takes a step forward that causes Wirt to take a step back, “I don’t believe you.” he says, voice lined with anger.

Wirt, quickly realizing he should have just walked away while Trevor was confused, holds his hands up in defense, “Good for you, but I don’t really care.” he glances over Trevor’s shoulder to see if he could make a break for the door. That idea is quickly thrown out the window when Trevor grabs Wirt by the collar. Wirt laughs a bit to himself, “You know, this looks kinda gay.”

Trevor’s hold on the front of his shirt tightens, he brings his hands up higher to make sure he isn’t touching the other boy anywhere, “Okay! Okay, okay, okay! Okay. Look, honestly man, never watched you while you were changing! I don’t think we’ve ever even had a P.E class together, if I’m being honest. And besides, I don’t think watching sweaty teenage boys change is that appealing. Especially not you, cause no offense you’re not really anyone’s type. At least not any gay persons type I mean! I’m sure some girl at the college you attend will think you’re hot, she’ll probably have kinda low standards but a girlfriend’s a girlfriend, right? And she’ll marry you right outta college, and you’ll become a fucking accountant or something else just as soul sucking, and you’ll have two kids, and a dog, and feel free to cut me off whenever you like.”

There’s a crunch and a massive amount of pain that makes Wirt stop talking. His head is spinning faster than a tornado, but he knows the feeling of hitting the school floor well enough to know it happens somewhere within the time he gets punched in the face a second time and kicked in the stomach the first.

He’s not entirely sure how long he’s on the floor, but he does know that when he finally opens his eyes Trevor is standing above him, heaving, staring at his own hands like they’re covered in blood- oh they are. That is blood. That is definitely blood. That’s a lot of blood. Wow.

Wirt pushes himself off of the ground, there’s an ache in every fiber of his being but the floor is cold and dirty and he’d rather not be down there right now. As he rises, slowly, he can see a steady drip of blood coming down from his face. That’s not good.

By the time he’s fully standing, Trevor looks ready to burst. “Wirt! Oh my god, dude. I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t. I don’t know why I. I never. Fuck I didn’t, I just, shit are you fucking okay?” the questions are rapid fire. Wirt’s a little too out of it to be able to tell if they’re genuine or not, and he doesn’t really care if they are at this point. This guy eats paste.

“Trevor.” Wirt finally says, “Shut the fuck up.” his words are slurred, and it’s obvious he’s still scared if the tremor in his voice is anything to go by, but he really just needs it to be quiet right now. To his credit, Trevor does shut up, but he just stands there.

There they are, two guys standing in a hallway, five feet apart cause one just beat the shit out of the other for being gay. Prom night is great. In his delirious state, Wirt can faintly hear ‘Lover Is a Day’ by Cuco playing from the gym. The beats pulse under his feet, and it’s just adding onto the pain right now.

After maybe five minutes, Trevor speaks up again. “Wirt I really am sorry, dude. I don’t know why I did that. I was pissed and you wouldn’t shut up and I didn’t what else to do! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Trevor hits the locker to his right with the side of his fist. The sound rings through the otherwise empty hall, and Wirt just stares at the first still on metal.

Wirt runs a hand through his hair, “That’s great and everything, but was the getting on top of me and repeatedly punching me in the nose necessary? Or, you know, any of it? You just fucking committed a hate crime dude, do you even realize that?” he’s talking slowly, his voice is tired and he would rather be anywhere else.

“I know! I know it was! But it honestly didn’t have anything to do with you being,” he pauses, and Wirt is about to finish for him before he continues on his own, “Gay. It didn’t have to do with you being gay, okay. I just. I have like severe anger issues. It’s some fucking long ass name, but the shortened thing is IED. It’s not really something I have any control over, and it’s been a while since I’ve had an episode that bad, and I promise it has nothing to do with you being gay or anything! That fucking chill, man! This stuff literally just happens, I swear on my motherfucking yeezys!” Wirt, who is finally coming back down to Earth and is able to process English language again, raises his brow, “ Okay, I don’t own yeezys, but you know what I mean.” He looks down to the floor, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Wirt sighs, wiping under his nose with his suit sleeve. It doesn’t help, the blood keeps flowing and now his suit is ruined. Fuck Prom night, dude. “Look, Trevor. If you actually have a genuine mental illness that does that, you get a fucking pass on the beating the shit out of me part.” Trevor flinches at that, “But you’re still kinda homophobic dude.”

Trevor looks up from the ground, “What? How?”

Wirt shrugs, crossing his arms again. “Assuming someone isn’t a lesbian when they say they are is pretty high on the list. Actually, assuming a gay guy is checking people out while they’re changing is also pretty high on the list. Both of the things you said are pretty high on the list, actually.”

This time it’s Trevor who furrows his brow, “But she isn’t a lesbian. I asked her why she thought she was a lesbian a couple weeks ago and she said it’s because she thinks girls are hot and that she wouldn’t mind kissing them, but that’s normal. Like, I know a couple guys in my classes that I wouldn’t mind kissing or like fucking or something and I’m not gay or whatever. Everyone thinks like that.”

Wirt’s mind just fucking imploded on itself. He’s joking. He has to be joking. Oh fuck he is not joking. Oh dear. Wirt cringes to himself, “Oh Jesus.” he whispers, “Trevor, you do know that isn’t a universal thing, right? Like, you know not every guy would be fine with fucking another guy, right?”

“Wait, really?” Trevor asks, his voice quiet. Wirt simply nods and watches as Trevor seems to contemplate his whole existence in front of him. “But I’m not. My mom told me that I couldn’t be gay, I just needed to find the right girl and it would be fine. I don’t like guys like that, I’m not.”

Fuck, why does Wirt have empathy. If he was a dick he could just walk away from this situation and not feel a thing, but he can’t leave this guy in a crisis. Even if he did just beat his ass.

“Trevor, why do you like Sara?”

“She’s funny, and kinda cool, I guess. I just want to hang out with her more, plus my friends kept saying I should go for it, so I figured why not.”

“Dude, you just want to be her fucking friend. That’s, what you want is a friendship. Jesus dude, you don’t even actually like her do you?”

Trevor shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, she’s cool and everything.”

“Would you kiss her.” Wirt asks.

“What?” 

“Would you kiss Sara. Or any girl for that matter.” He asks again, slower this time.

Trevor rolls his eyes, giving Wirt a look that suggest the answer should be obvious, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. It stays open for about ten seconds before he frowns. “No I. I wouldn’t” he lets out a dry laugh void of humor. “Holy shit, I fucking wouldn’t. What the fuck.”

Wirt sighs taking a few steps over to Trevor, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Go home, Trevor. You have had more than enough action tonight.” his hand slides off and he turns around to find the nearest bathroom, he about to round a corner when he remembers something and looks over at Trevor, who hasn’t moved an inch, “Try to refrain from using the f-slur before you figure out your whole mess, maybe?” He gives the other boy a quick smile before walking away.

The nearest bathroom is way too fucking far away, in Wirt’s humble opinion. And why are half of the lights off in these hallways? God, he feels like the character about to die in a horror movie. Thankfully, the light switch in the bathroom was easy to find so he isn’t completely in the dark.

He grabs some paper towels and wets them, and then he finally looks in the mirror. Jesus fucking Christ.

Trevor did a number on him, and if it were any other situation that required less brain power he would be kinda impressed. His nose is definitely broken, if the aching and gushing blood are any indicator, he’s got a black eye, a busted lip, bruises across his face and collarbone -and if the amount of times he was kicked in the stomach is as many as it felt, he’s got them there too- and, the cherry on fucking top, his suit jacket ripped a little bit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he finishes wiping the blood from his face, but his nose is still bleeding. Pulling his phone out of his back pocket he finds two new messages. One from Sara, saying she scored with the girl from her chem class and that she has a date next Saturday, and one from Dipper saying they’ve finally stopped driving.

Wirt texts Sara back congratulating her on her suaveness that she most definitely didn’t have (see: nearly puked on a cute girl for complimenting her shoes once) before opening up his texts with Dipper and taking a picture in the mirror holding up a peace sign. He masterfully captions the photo: ‘babys first hate crime <3′. 

His phone rings immediately.

He picks up right away, and is greeted with a very frantic, “Where are you?” there’s faint music in the background, they must be at their dance right now.

“Uhm. The bathroom in hallway E, I think. Why?” Wirt asks, throwing away the bloody paper towels.

“We’re on our way.” Is all he gets in response.

“What? You’re in California how are you supposed to. Did he fucking hang up on me?” Wirt pulls his phone away from his ear, “Wow, okay.” He pockets his phone and stares at himself in the mirror for a few seconds. It’s gonna suck having to explain this to anybody, and he knows his mom will go full Godzilla mode on the school board if he tells the truth, but he can’t just out someone. Fuck, man.

The door to the bathroom swings open and two rapid sets of footsteps approach him, he’s almost expecting to be beaten up again until he’s turned around and hugged tightly. His confusion only lasts for a second when his land on Mabel, but then it flares up again because what the fuck that’s Mabel.

He pushes away from the person hugging him and is met with a person he both did and did not expect to see.

“Dipper.” He not shocked that Dipper did actually find hallway E, they broke in last summer to investigate if the place is actually haunted (it is), so he learned the layout pretty well in that instance, but he’s shocked that he’s even in the room. “Wait. Am I concussed? Is this a hallucination?”

“Er, wrong!” Mabel says, pushing Dipper out of the way and hugging Wirt tighter than a strait jacket. He lets out a sound of pain and she lets him go immediately. “Sorry! I forgot you’re like, dying right now.”

“Not dying, per se, but getting there if my nose doesn’t stop bleeding soon. I didn’t even know I had this much blood, if I’m being honest.” Mabel laughs a bit and wow did he miss that sound. He missed them, really. It’s always better when they’re around.

“What happened?” Dipper’s voice finally enters the conversation, and it makes his heart flutter but also reminds him the situation in which they’ve been reunited. Especially if the pissed off tone is anything to go by.

Wirt shrugs, “I got into a fight?”

Dipper gives him a look, “You called it a hate crime, before.”

Wirt laughs, “Yeah, I know. But it wasn’t, technically? I don’t know I’m still having trouble processing the whole ordeal. But I just got into an argument with Trevor, you know who I’m talking about, and he got really mad so he fucking beat the shit out of me and,” Dipper turns to walk out the door but Wirt pulls him back by the arm, “don’t walk away, I’m not done yet. He has a thing called IED, or something? He didn’t know the full medical name for it, but he said it had to do with like uncontrollable anger? Like it just happens or something.”

Dipper nods, “Intermittent Explosive Disorder.”

“Yeah, probably. But he felt really bad after, and I can’t blame him for having something he can’t control, dude. That would be a dick move. But yeah, we talked it out I guess. I think I just made him question the entire universe.”

Dipper sighs, still tense but loosening now, “So you called it a hate crime, because?”

“Well, I mean, okay. At first I thought he did it because I was gay, but from our little conversation we had after, it was definitely not that.” 

Both twins raise eyebrow, “Are you gonna give us any more info, or?” Mabel asks and Wirt just shrugs. Dipper lets out another, deeper sigh. He’s known Wirt long enough to know that little shrug means ‘never in a million years ever’. 

“What are you guys doing here, anyways? I mean, I’m happy you’re here, but I live in Arizona? It’s like an eleven hour drive.”

Dipper shrugs, taking Wirt’s hand. “Guess I missed the ‘Team Roping Capital of the World’.” he teases and Wirt groans.

“Shut up! You know I think that’s stupid as shit.” He says, and as the twins laugh at him he takes a second to admire his boyfriends face. Dipper always laughs freely, and Wirt thinks that’s one of the reasons he fell in love with the younger (”by two days!”) boy at summer camp. His hair isn’t in his usual baseball cap with a pine tree on it, and is styled just the right way to cover his birthmark. He looks happy, if not still tense about the fact that Wirt got his ass beat. An easy smile finds it’s way onto Wirt’s face as Dipper calms down.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Dipper says, leading him towards the door. Mabel follows quickly behind, flicking off the light. She runs ahead of them, twirling around the hallway and nearly falling over herself in the process.

“So, I know Wirt is gonna wanna bounce because he’s covered in human juice.”

“Stop calling blood human juice.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Dipper. But what are we gonna do when we skedaddle out of here?”

Both twins look to the brunette for an answer, he huffs as he tries to think of something. “We could get burgers and shakes at McDonald's? And then head home, probably. Greg’s gonna be super excited to see you guys.”

“Oh! I can’t wait to see him! We’re here for the next four days, by the way, god I can’t wait!” She pushes open the doors to the gym and the music floods over them. Jesus, was it always that loud? How long had Wirt been away from the party?”

“What time is it?” He asks Dipper, trying to ignore all of the strange looks that are being sent his way. He can’t blame them, it looks like he got mauled by a pack of wild dogs.

“It is, nine forty-eight.” The other boy responds, Wirt nods as they exit the gym into the parking lot. Dipper’s car is still as messy as it was the year before, if not more, but Wirt thinks that just adds to the charm.

Sara, who had apparently been in front of the gym the whole night, drops her punch at the sight of Wirt. “Oh my god! Wirt!” she rushes over.

“I’m fine, Sare. Really. It’s all good.” He gives her a smile, but she doesn’t stop giving him a look.

“Trevor did this, didn’t he? You know he came out here like thirty minutes ago fucking covered in blood and looked like he pissed himself when he saw me. So don’t cover for him.”

“I’m not covering for Trevor! There were circumstances that I don’t know if I’m allowed to share.” Wirt says, gesturing wildly with his hands, thankfully Dipper doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wirt, if he’s blackmailing you just tell me. I can fix it!”

“Sare, I appreciate the thought, but this is really something that should be left alone, alright? I might tell you on a different day, but right now it is confidential. No I’m not being blackmailed, if anything the information I got out of him after everything could be considered blackmail, just. Not tonight, okay?” He can tell she doesn’t want to give up but he really can’t explain all of this right now, “Please?”

She sighs, “Alright. Fine. But I expect a detailed report of what happened tomorrow morning.” Wirt nods and it’s then Sara finally notices the twins, “Oh. You found him. Cool, see you guys.” The twins giver he simultaneous ‘later’s’ and she walks back to the girl from her chem class.

Mabel moves to get in the front seat before she’s stopped by Dipper, “Ah ah ah!” he says, gaining her attention. He passes her the keys and she whines but moves to the other side anyways.

“You fucking suck, Dip-stick.”

“Sorry that I want to be able to comfort my boyfriend in the backseat of my own car and can’t do that when I’m driving.” he opens the back door and motions for Wirt to get in, and once they’re all set they drive to the nearest McDonald's.

Ordering food had thus been the easier part of Wirt’s night, but he’s hoping things will start going up from here.

The food sits in the passengers seat in the quiet car before Mabel presses play on the car stereo. Wirt immediately looks up from where his head was buried in Dipper’s shoulder, a smile crossing his face.

“Isn’t this the mixtape I made you?” He turns back to Dipper, absolutely beaming.

Dipper’s face is red, but he nods. “Yeah. I listen to it sometimes.”

“Liar! He listens to it all the fucking time. I have it memorized by now.” Mabel calls from the front. Dipper kicks the back of her seat, “Shut up! At least I don’t have an entire folder dedicated to pictures of him on my phone!”

“My Pacifica picture collection is none of your business! And you have like eight hundred Polaroids on him on your wall, don’t even try that shit with me!” 

Dipper’s rebuttal is cut off when Wirt presses a kiss to his cheek. The younger boy turns and immediately presses their lips together in a kiss. It’s soft because of Wirt’s busted lip, but it’s still incredible. It’s never not incredible when it’s the two of them.

Mabel makes fake barfing noises, causing Dipper to flip her off, causing Wirt to laugh. They pull up to the drive way, walk through the front door, and are immediately greeted by Greg. He rushes into Wirt, giving him a tight hug. Even at ten years old, Greg still has as much energy as he did at six.

“Welcome home, brother o’ mine. How was, whoa what happened to your face?”

Wirt ruffles his little brothers hair, “I got into a fight with a dragon, dude. I won, obviously, but my jacket didn’t make it out alive.”

“I can fix that for you.” Mabel says taking his suit jacket, she’s almost knocked over when Greg charges into her next which makes her laugh. “Hey there, space cowboy. I missed you too!” She pulls him into a tight hug twirling him around the foyer before setting him back down. Dipper gives him a hug as well, just as tight but without all the spinning, and then Greg’s attention is back on Wirt.

“Okay. Why was this dragon mad at you?” He asks. This had become their thing ever since The Unknown. They would talk as if they were still there, or at least like they were in a fantasy world, and explain things to each other that way. Wirt thinks it helps them cope, but it’s probably just a result of being some weird kids.

“Anger issues.” Wirt says. That’s way too simple a phrase for it, and he knows that, but Greg is nine. He can explain it another day, but this is now and it’s ten o’clock.

Greg gives him a goofy grin, “Alright!” he says, skipping into the kitchen. The three teenagers follow him, Dipper once again takes Wirt’s hand.

“What were you doing in here little man?” Dipper asks, noticing that all of the chairs at the edge of the kitchen.

Greg picks up Jason Funderburker, the frog, and smiles again. “Well, Wirt was at his dance, and I wasn’t allowed to go with, so I made my own! Mom and dad are out tonight, too so I can play is as loud as I want!”

Greg being allowed to stay home alone tonight was a big decision. Not because no one trusted him but... okay yeah no one trusted him. Plus, it was dangerous! But, tonight was their mom and Johnathan's ten year anniversary and his mom didn’t want him to miss out on his Senior prom -no matter how much he assured her he could live without having gone- so it was the only option. No one was available to babysit, again prom night, and they couldn’t exactly take their nine year old to a bar. It doesn’t look like anything is on fire or broken yet, so Wirt can say it’s been a success so far.

“Alright then,space cowboy, lets get this party started!” Mabel says as she turns up the music. The song is ‘You Really Got Me’ by The Kinks, how Greg knows this song Wirt has no clue, and it bounces off the walls echoing up the stairs.

Greg does his weird jump step thing that he’s been doing since he could walk. It’s literally just jumping side to side to music, with the occasional dangerously fast spin, but it’s not a bad move. Jason Funderburker looks sick from all of the motion and Greg stops his movement just to let the frog go.

Mabel has always been a crazy dancer, just jumping around, arms flailing, hair going everywhere from her shaking her head. She’s probably going to poke someone’s eye out one of these days, but at least she’s having fun. Or, maybe she’s trying to poke someone’s eye out. Either way, she’s having a good time.

Dipper makes sure his arm movements hit every beat, spinning around for the parts where there are no hard beats to hit but smiling nonetheless. He looks like an idiot, and he knows he looks like an idiot, but what’s the point in being around all of your favorite people if you can’t look like an idiot in front of them?

Wirt, not much a dancer in normal circumstances, is going all out right now. He’s much more graceful than Mabel is being, but other than that they’ve got practically the same vibe. Except that Wirt actually did hit Dipper in the eye on accident earlier, but that’s in the past now.

The song ends and another begins and that cycle repeats for an hour until they’re all too tired for it anymore. Wirt sits down in one of the chairs, looking out over the kitchen. Greg is sitting on the floor with Jason Funderburker while the twins argue over what terrible movie to watch simply to make fun of it.

They both turn, “Wirt,” Dipper says, “What do you think?”

Wirt smiles. Maybe Prom night isn’t so bad after all. 

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 19 | Morgan Rielly

A/N:  Prepare your feels, guys.  I apologize in advance because it gets a bit dark. TW: mention of abuse, alcohol abuse, death

“So, like…how old were you when you learned how to skate?” Bee asked nervously as her leg was tucked between Morgan’s thighs.  

“Three,” he said, concentrating more on tightening and fastening the skate on her foot; he wanted to make sure it wasn’t too tight so her feet had enough room to breathe, but so tight as to suffocate them.  It was a delicate balance.  

“So you’ve had a little bit of practice then,” she said, making a bad joke.  Morgan looked up at her, a smirk on his face.   “Sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be nervous, Bumblebee,” he said, tightening the laces one last time.  “It’s not like I’m gonna throw you out there and let you fend for yourself.”

“I know,” she nodded her head, looking out at the rink in Hollyburn Country Club and all the people skating on it already.  “I’m just nervous about making a complete ass of myself.”

“Impossible.”

“How so?”

“Cause you’ve got a great teacher,” he winked, grabbing her other leg and putting it between his thighs.  “How does the first skate feel?”

“Good.”

“Yoohoo!  Over here!” they both heard Shirley’s voice call from beside them.  She had her phone in her hand, pointed towards them.  “Smile for the camera!”  They did as they were told, and she snapped a cute picture, giving them thumbs up before walking back towards Andy, who was waiting for her at the entrance to the ice.  

From behind Morgan, Connor knocked on the glass, and Bee could hear him yell “Hurry up!” through the glass before skating away.  She giggled as she watched Morgan tie up the skate and set her foot down.  “How does that one feel?”

“Good.  You promise not to let go?” she asked as she stood up.  

“Just like swimming,” he nodded his head, getting onto the ice before her.  “Bend your knees a little bit, okay?  You can’t start with stiff knees.”

Bee held on to Morgan’s hands as she stepped out onto the ice, slipping almost automatically, unable to keep her balance.  Morgan’s strong arms pulled her back up as she yelped in fear.  “Heeeeyyy hey hey hey, calm down, calm down.  Take it slow.  You can’t be Connor McDavid right away.”

“Who’s Connor McDavid?”

“Forget it,” he laughed.  “Just stand, okay?  Forget trying to make strides.  Just stand and get used to the feeling of the blades under your feet.”

Bee listened intently to Morgan as he patiently, painstakingly, taught her how to skate.  She clung onto his hands for dear life half the time, pleading for him not to let go, and he was so patient with her, not once telling her to let go unless she was ready.  When she finally was, he was her biggest fan, cheering her on as he skated backwards and she skated towards him.  Eventually, she grew confident enough to skate away from the boards, not relying on them to save her in case she fell and had to get up.  She was even skating with her hands relaxed at her sides and not straight out to help her keep her balance.  She even held hands with Morgan as he slowed down to skate with her, helping her stop and turn when she got too close to the boards.  She wasn’t exactly Connor McDavid – whoever that was – but she was gliding along the ice nonetheless.  She couldn’t believe she’d waited 23 years to skate.  

After about an hour and a half, Bee was tired and Shirley had approached Morgan to tell him some kids were waiting for him to get his autograph and a picture.  Bee gave him a quick kiss before she skated off and Morgan skated towards the kids.  She sat on the same bench as she had before when Morgan was fastening her skates, resting her legs as she watched him pose for picture after picture.  She felt her phone buzz from her back pocket and moved to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Angie’s voice was heard on the other end.  “What are you up to right now?” she asked.  They had been texting throughout Bee’s time there, so Angie didn’t need to ask how everything was going.  

“Just watching Morgan sign some autographs,” she said.

“He took you to an autograph signing?”

“No no.  We’re at the country club his family are members of, and all the kids swarmed him on the ice after he taught me how to skate.”

“A country club?  That’s adorable,” Angie said quickly.  “Um, listen.  I’m calling you to ask you for a favour.”

“What favour is that?” Bee asked, worried about Angie’s quick tone.

“I think it’s time to put your Instagram on private now, and I’d delete everyone you don’t know personally.”

Bee’s heart skipped a beat.  She and Angie had talked about the messages, but this was the first time Angie had cautioned her to go private.  Usually, Angie contributed a ‘fuck them’ or ‘You should put on all the most expensive stuff you bought and take a picture with Morgan and caption it go to hell’.  She’d never sounded so serious about it a she did now.  “Why?”

“Listen, I don’t want to freak you out, but they’re adding me now, and asking me questions about you.  I’m not saying they’re harassing me – quite the opposite actually because I’m the one telling them to fuck off – but I don’t want them to start doing that to anyone else,” she explained.  “I think it’s great that you don’t care about what they have to say, but I don’t want them bothering more and more people.”

“Yeah.  Yeah of course,” Bee said absent-mindedly.  “Fuck Angie, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said.  “They’re desperate and they don’t know boundaries.  When everybody shares everything on social media, they think they’re entitled to see everything about your life, and they don’t get that they’re not.”

“Exactly.”

“Just be careful.  Work on it as soon as possible.  Again, I know you don’t care about what they have to say, but I think now is the time to cut them off.”

“Yeah.  Yeah okay,” Bee gulped.  “Angie, what did they say to you?  Was it horrible?”

“No, nothing like that.  They’ve just been asking question about you, like what you do and if you’re dating Morgan.  One girl asked if I had any pictures of you two together.  It was really weird.  But I told them all to fuck off.”

“Angie, I feel horrible.”

“Don’t feel horrible because they don’t know boundaries.  It was fine if it was just one or two of them, but then there was a horde and it just became annoying,” she explained.  “And you know me, I’m a petty person – at least I can be.  If I were you, I’d post a single picture of you and Morgan before you go private and delete everyone.  Kick ‘em where it really hurts.”

Bee couldn’t help but laugh at her suggestion.  “I’ll think about it.”

***

Later that day, during their last night in Vancouver, Bee found herself at dinner with Morgan and his parents at the exclusive Gotham Restaurant in downtown Vancouver.  Morgan wanted to go out with a bang, apparently, because caviar was $150, then they had to get a round of oysters, the bottle of cabernet franc from Napa Valley was $345, and Bee’s filet and lobster with mashed potatoes and asparagus was a $100 plate alone.  He told the waiter everything like it was an order at McDonalds.  Though she was somewhat getting used to the big spending – at least to her standards – this was pretty extravagant.  But all she could do was blink and smile as she tallied the expense of everyone’s order.  Maybe she should have become a waitress instead, because theirs was going to get one hell of a tip tonight.  

Despite trying to feel accustomed to the extravagance around her, she was genuinely having fun with Morgan and his parents.  They were sharing stories of Morgan’s youth and what he was like as a kid, and Shirley kept sharing pictures she had on her phone of him as a kid (“I always keep some on here in case Hockey Night in Canada wants to do a quick something on him when the Leafs come to town.”).  Andy and Shirley even went so far as to tell embarrassing stories of what he would call about during his first year in Toronto when he was attempting to cook for himself.  Bee learned that he was completely useless, and that eventually the calls stopped because he just admitted defeat and ordered most of his food.

As they continued to laugh and share stories, Bee felt her phone buzz from inside her bag.  She decided to ignore it at first, but not even one minute later it was buzzing again, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore.  She quickly unclasped her purse and looked at her phone.  In large caps lock font, ‘TORONTO POLICE SERVICES’ flashed on her screen.  

Her heart began to race.  She looked up quickly at Andy and Shirley, and looked down at her phone screen again.  She couldn’t tell them that that the police were calling her, but she needed a way out.  She had to think fast.  “I’m really sorry,” she announced, getting up from her seat quickly.  “I’m really sorry, but U of T is calling me.  I have to take this.”

“That’s alright honey,” Shirley smiled.  Bee was thankful they had already finished their meal and were just waiting on their dessert orders anyway.  “You go ahead.  I’ll make sure Morgan doesn’t eat your crème brulee.”

Bee made a beeline away from the table and swiped across her screen to answer the phone call so she wouldn’t lose it again.  She made her way towards the long hallway that led to the washrooms, hoping she’d get decent service and enough silence to be able to hear.  “Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking with Ms. Briony McTavish?”

“Speaking.”

“Ms. McTavish, my name is Greg Campbell.  I’m calling from the Toronto Police Department, 51 Division.  Do you have a few moments to speak with me?”

Bee furrowed her brows.  “Uh, of course.  Is everything okay?” she asked.  She didn’t remember doing anything illegal, and the only other reason they could be calling her was the break and enter from November.  She figured since so much time had passed, they never found anything.

“Ms. McTavish, are you currently residing in Toronto?”

“Y-Yes…” she answered.  “I mean, I’m not in Toronto right now – I’m in Vancouver visiting my boyfriend’s parents – but yes, I live permanently in Toronto,” she explained.

“And Ms. McTavish, according to records I have on file here, you were legally emancipated from your mother, Ms. Sharon McTavish, when you were sixteen years old.”

Bee’s body stiffened at the mention of her mother.  “Yes I was.  My mother was a serious alcoholic.”

“Have you been in touch with your mother since you were emancipated from her?”

“No,” Bee said definitively.  “She barely showed love or affection throughout my whole life with her, and I thought it best for my mental health not to keep in contact with her after the emancipation.  She has never tried to contact me either.”

“Ms. McTavish, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with these questions – I just need to get the specifics of the case --”

“What case is that?”

Greg hesitated on the other end.  “Ms. McTavish, I regret to inform you that your mother has passed away.  She was found dead on the morning of Friday, January 25th due to cirrhosis of the liver.”

Bee went quiet.  Her mother was dead.  Found dead.  Dead due to cirrhosis of the liver.  Dead.  Morning of Friday.  Whale watching.  She was whale watching and her mother was dead.  The silence between the two was long before Bee verbalized her first thought out loud.  “She’s dead.”

“Yes ma’am.  She passed away early Friday morning.  Her body was found by a volunteer at the homeless shelter where she was staying that night.”

If it was possible, her body stiffened even more.  “She was homeless?”

“Well, temporarily.  She was at the Fred Victor Homeless Shelter here in Moss Park.  According to the facilitators she was in-between housing, but that’s where she was,” Greg said.

Bee took a sharp breath in hearing that name again.  She took a moment to collect herself before trying to formulate a thought other than ‘She’s dead’.  “Um…so, what are my next steps then?”

“Well Ms. McTavish, you were the only person listed as being of relation to Sharon, so you automatically become in charge of her estate,” Greg explained.  Bee was thoroughly surprised she was still listed under anything to do with her mother, even after the emancipation.  “There is…not much, as you can imagine, but some decisions still have to be made.  And as the defacto executor of her estate, you may choose the next steps – if you would like her buried, or cremated…”

“Um…” Bee looked quickly back at Morgan and his parents sitting at the table.  His mom was taking a sip of wine while Morgan was nodding at something his dad was saying.  Morgan broke out into a grin soon after, as did his dad.  Morgan looked over to Bee’s empty seat.  “When…I mean, when do I have to make these decisions?”

“Well I understand that you’re in Vancouver, but is there an expected date for your return?”

“Um, I’ll be back Friday night, actually.”

“Well, then I will give you my contact information, and when you get back, I can meet with you at the station and explain your next options,” Greg offered kindly.  “I don’t want to rush you to make decisions, and I know you were clearly not close with your mother and haven’t been in contact with her for a while, but do you think there will be a funeral service?”

“No.”

“Or a burial?”

“Cremation. I don’t…I don’t want anything fancy.”

“Alright Ms. McTavish.  We will speak when you’re back in Toronto.”

Bee hung up the phone, looking down at it until the screen went dark and she couldn’t even formulate a coherent thought about the conversation she just had.  Her mother was dead.  Her mother – whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to for seven years – was dead.  Her mother, the serious alcoholic.  The emotional abuser.  The not-a-mother-at-all.  She tried to compose herself, even though she wasn’t crying at all, as she looked back at Morgan and his parents.  They were still laughing about something.  

She returned to the table, trying to mask her uneasiness at the phone conversation she just had.  She pulled out her chair, getting the attention of everyone.  “Everything okay?” Andy asked as she settled back into her seat.

“Everything’s fine,” she nodded her head quickly, tucking herself in and stuffing her phone back into her bag.  

“You sure?  Who was it?” Morgan asked, grabbing her hand gently underneath the table.  

“It was just a registrar from U of T,” she lied, smiling at him.  “Just wanted to confirm something on my transcript before they printed my copy for the interview.”

She could feel his thumb rubbing her hand gently as his dad recapped the story he had been telling quickly before continuing it.  She felt bad about lying, but there was no way in hell she was going to say something and ruin such a perfect night.  Though she smiled and laughed along, squeezing Morgan’s hand as it rested on her thigh, all she could think about was the image of her mom lying on a bed in a homeless shelter.

Dead.

***

When they arrived back at the Rielly house that night after dinner, Bee made sure to pack up her belongings, save for what she was going to need tomorrow morning and wear on the flight.  To be respectful to Morgan’s parents, she and Morgan had stayed in their respective rooms the entire trip, not daring to try to sneak into each other’s, but tonight he was with her, helping her pack and getting everything ready.  His parents had already called it a night and were in their room at the opposite end of the house.  The house was so big that they probably wouldn’t even have known or heard if either of them had snuck into the other’s room at night.  

To be completely honest, Bee wanted nothing more than that to happen tonight.  She didn’t know what she was feeling in relation to the news she got after dinner, but she knew that she didn’t want to be alone.  She knew that she wanted Morgan with her, around her in some capacity.  

When they were finished packing everything and had changed into their pajamas, Morgan watched as Bee stared at the wall absent-mindedly, something obviously bothering her.  He came up behind her and sat on the bed beside her, giving her a quick kiss on the temple and leaving a trail of kisses on her shoulder.  “Briony…” he mumbled against her skin.

“Hmm?”

“Are you sure it was just U of T that called at dinner?” Morgan asked.

She knew he would ask sooner or later.  She’d tried not to let anything show, but besides Angie, there was nobody more in tune with her emotions than Morgan.  She knew he’d pick up on it.  “Why?”

“Listen, I don��t mean to pry.  It’s just I noticed that you were a bit different since you got back.  My mom noticed it too because she’s sensitive about these things but she didn’t want to say anything.  Is…is everything okay?”

Bee let out a shaky breath, one that, truthfully, she had been holding in since she got the call.  “Mo…”

He grabbed her had and brought it up to his lips to kiss it gently.  “What’s the matter, Bumblebee?  Tell me.”

“It wasn’t U of T that called.”

“Okay.  Who was it?”

“It was a guy named Greg Campbell.  He’s a police officer with 51 Division in Toronto.”

Morgan looked at her skeptically.  “You’re telling me after all this time they found your stuff?”

“No…it’s not…” she shook her head.  She let out another shaky breath before continuing.  “Um, he called me to tell me my mom passed away.  A volunteer at a homeless shelter found her, and she died from cirrhosis of the liver.”

Bee could practically see Morgan’s heart fall into his stomach.  He opened his mouth a few times to say something, but nothing came out for a while, until, “Oh my God, Briony…wh…why didn’t you say something?”

“I wasn’t going to say something at dinner with your parents,” she said.

“Briony, your mother passed away.”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.  She’s dead, and I always knew she was going to die from the alcoholism, so this isn’t as much of a surprise to me as you think it is,” she explained.  “I don’t…I’m not upset by this.  I haven’t spoken to her in seven years.  She was abusive.”

It was the first time she had said the words so definitively out loud.  She was abusive.  They weren’t pretty words, but they needed to be said.  And Morgan needed to hear them.  It was the reason she wasn’t crying.  She couldn’t feel sadness or sympathy for her abuser, or for a woman who wasted her life on alcohol instead of caring for her daughter.  

Morgan had no choice but to accept what she was saying.  He could tell her ‘But that’s your mom’ over and over again until he was blue in the face, but it wasn’t going to have an effect on Bee.  To Bee, Sharon wasn’t a mom.  There was nothing that could convince her that she was.  And truthfully, Morgan knew she was right.  And if that’s the way Bee felt, then that’s the way he felt about it too.  If she didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, then he would try not to make a big deal out of it either.  “She…cirrhosis of the liver?  What is that?”

“It’s complicated, but just know it’s not good.  It’s a common by-product of severe alcoholism,” she explained.  “But the fact of the matter is that she died.  When we go back to Toronto, I have to deal with her funeral and her estate.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said automatically.

“You don’t--”

“I want to,” he interrupted her.  “What did I tell you?  You don’t have to go through this stuff alone anymore.  We’re going to go through this stuff together.”

Bee looked at him.  All 6’1” of him, blonde hair, blue eyes, muscles tucked into pajama shorts and an old t-shirt.  He was so boyish and so handsome and he had his pick of any girl in Toronto and he managed to choose the one with the fucked up childhood and alcoholic mother who had just died.  And he was still here after learning all that.  He still flew her to Vancouver to meet his parents.  He still volunteered to see a dead alcoholic’s body ravaged by cirrhosis.  She didn’t deserve him.  “Morgan?”

“Mhmm?”

“Can you…can you just like, hold me?”

“C’mere, Bumblebee,” he moved to hold her in his arms as he tucked them both into bed.  She used his chest as a pillow as he wrapped both his arms around her.  “I love you Briony.  We’re going to get through this together.”

“I love you too.  And I know we will,” she said, looking up at him.

He gave her a quick kiss.  “I don’t know what you’re feeling right now, and I know I won’t be able to understand, but you’re allowed to feel whatever you want,” he said.  “I know that she was your mom, but she was a horrible mom, so there’s gonna be, like, a range of emotions.  But you’re allowed to feel it all.  Don’t think you’re not.”

“I’ll be okay, Mo,” she said, giving him another quick kiss before relaxing her head on his chest.  He ran his fingers through her hair soothingly, reducing all the stiffness and pent up emotion she had in her.  She knew he would try to stay awake as long as possible, just in case she said anything or wanted to talk about it further, but after a while, she felt his heartbeat steady, and she knew he was asleep.

***

Bee had slept all of twenty minutes at most.  When she looked over at the alarm clock and it read 3am, she sighed heavily.  She didn’t know what to do.  She wanted to sleep, she really did, but every time she closed her eyes and her mind started to drift, an image from her childhood would reappear, and she’d snap her eyes open and be wide awake again.  Images of her mom passed out on the couch when she got home from school; of sitting at the kitchen table doing homework, watching her mom open another bottle on the kitchen counter; of looking up at her mom sleeping on the bed in the homeless shelter while she was sleeping on the floor using her backpack as a pillow.  

Slowly but surely, she manoeuvred herself out of Morgan’s grasp, sitting on the edge of the bed for a while, staring out the window into the pristine darkness of the West Vancouver sky.  Her mother was dead.  She always knew she would have to say that one day, but she didn’t imagine it being so soon.  A small part of her actually thought she wouldn’t have to say that one day, because nobody would contact her to tell her, so she wouldn’t know at all.  But she knew now, and she couldn’t get it out of her head.  

After coming to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she thought going to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water was a better alternative to looking out of a window into darkness.  She tip-toed quietly down the stairs and made her way there, grabbing a glass and trying to figure out how to work the built-in icemaker on the Rielly’s new fridge that looked like it belonged in space rather than a house.  When she couldn’t figure it out, she resorted to just getting water from the tap and drinking it warm.  

“Are you okay?” Bee suddenly heard a voice whisper.  She jumped dramatically, turning around to see Andy standing at the entrance of the kitchen in his pajamas with a bathrobe on.

“Oh God.  I’m sorry.  You scared me,” her hand went over her heart.  

“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, laughing a bit.  “You thirsty?”

“Uh, yeah…” she said, looking down at the glass of tap water in her hand.  “I couldn’t figure out how to use your space fridge to get ice though.”

Andy snorted.  “Maybe we should go back to using ice trays,” he laughed, pulling open the fridge door to get out the orange juice.  He grabbed a glass and set it down on the table, pulling out a chair.  “Sit, honey.”

Bee didn’t want to say no.  There was no reason she could have, anyway, so she took the invitation and sat in a seat opposite of him as he poured orange juice into his cup.  She watched as he took a long gulp, swallowing almost half of the juice he just poured, before he focused his attention back to her.  “Was everything okay after dinner?”

Bee tried to look away from him but she couldn’t.  He was staring right at her and she was sitting across from him and there was no way in hell she could deny him an answer.  The only thing she could do was prolong it.  “Why do you ask?”

Andy shuffled a bit in his seat.  “Listen.  I don’t mean to pry,” he said, starting the conversation the exact same way Morgan did.  God, now she really knew where he got it from.  “Shirley and I just noticed a little bit of a…shift when you came back.  I just want to make sure everything is okay.”

She decided to just come right out with it.  “How much has Morgan told you about my mom?”

Andy looked taken aback by the question.  It wasn’t like she was trying to call his bluff or anything – she knew Morgan had told his parents about it, as evident from the conversation she had with Shirley on their first day here – but she wondered if he talked about it more with his mom, or if Shirley told Andy.  His answer was important because it determined how she would start and handle the conversation.  “Morgan’s told me about her addiction issues.  How she was an alcoholic,” he clarified.  “A pretty severe one, it seemed.  And how you guys moved around a lot because of it.”

Bee nodded her head.  “Well, that phone call at dinner was from a police officer named Greg Campbell.  He called to let me know my mom passed away.  She was found dead in a homeless shelter due to cirrhosis of the liver.”

Andy stayed quiet.  It wasn’t a lot of information to take in, but it was a stab in the heart nonetheless.  Over the past few days he’d been able to see how happy she made his son, and it was something he loved to see.  To hear that she had gotten a phone call like that, on her last night of what was supposed to be a vacation, was horrible.  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said solemnly.

“And that’s the thing – I’m not,” she admitted for the first time out loud.  “I know…I know that sounds harsh and rude and completely…inhuman, but I’m not sad about it.  I’m not sorry.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t be sorry for someone that never acted like a real mother,” she said gingerly.  She ran the risk of exposing her entire heart and soul to her boyfriend’s father over the kitchen table at three o’clock in the morning, but right now, she didn’t care.  “She was never loving.  She was never caring.  She never did anything to prove herself worthy of the title of being called mom.  She cared more about herself and her addiction than she ever did me.”

“That’s understandable --”

“Plus,” she inadvertently interrupted him, “she never worked to make herself better.  I can’t feel sad for a person that caused me so much pain in my life, regardless of whether or not she was my mother.  She never acted like it.  And after not seeing her for almost seven years, I don’t even feel a connection to her anymore.  Quite frankly, even when I was living with her, I hardly did.”

“I get it, Briony.  I get it as much as I can get it,” he said.  She was thankful he acknowledged that he could never truly know.  “I know how much pain she caused you and I know she didn’t make your life easy.  You don’t have to feel sympathy or sadness.  She doesn’t deserve that from you and I get it.  But you have to be feeling something.”

Bee was scared to reveal what she was really feeling.  She knew if she verbalized it, if she put it out in the open, that it would become real.  It would no longer just be something she felt internally, something she could lie about to people’s faces to make them think she was fine.  “I feel…I feel relief,” she finally admitted, to herself and to Andy.  A stray tear fell down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.  One tear was too many to shed.  “I feel like I giant weight has been lifted off my shoulders.  I feel like it’s finally…over.  That I can move on.  I don’t have to think about her anymore.  I won’t toss and turn at night thinking about what has happened to me.  I won’t lie awake thinking about what she could be doing or who she could be with or what she could have been up to these seven years, if the alcoholism got worse, if she got into anything else.  I just…I don’t have to think about it anymore.  It’s done.  It’s done.”

Andy moved his chair so he was closer to her before putting a comforting hand on her forearm.  “It’s okay to feel that way.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.  Absolutely,” he said firmly, nodding his head.  “You have every right to feel that way and it is one hundred percent validated by what you went through, and don’t let anybody try to convince you otherwise.  She was an awful mother, and you separated yourself and got out of that situation as quickly as you could, and if anybody needs to be commended in this situation, it’s you.”

“There was one time…” she began, shaking her head to herself, wondering if she should even tell him the story.  The only other person she’d told was Angie – she hadn’t even told Morgan.  “There was one time, I must have been 11 or 12.  I was so angry at her one day.  We had no food in the apartment, nothing – I had been eating saltine crackers for dinner for at least four days.  She was standing at the kitchen counter opening another bottle of vodka she’d bought instead.  And I was so angry.  I asked her, ‘Why are you like this?’  And she looked at me – she didn’t even bother answering the question – she just looked at me and said, ‘You’re staring into your future, Bee.  It’s inevitable.  What I am is what you will be.’  And I told her that hell would freeze over before I became a degenerate like her.  And she grabbed…” Bee paused, remembering the moment so vividly in her mind, as if it had just happened yesterday, even going so far as to pretend to grab a glass with her hand for emphasis, “she grabbed the glass that was on the counter, and she hurled it straight towards my head.  I ducked, and it hit the fridge behind me and shattered all over the floor by my feet.  We stared at each other for a few seconds before I said, ‘I hate you with every fibre of my being’.  She didn’t even respond.  She didn’t even grab another glass either, she just took the bottle straight to the couch and began to swig it.”

It was clear Andy was uncomfortable.  To think that a parent could ever do that to a child was incomprehensible to him – it was incomprehensible to most people, not just him.  And yet, she had to live through it.  He quickly wiped a tear that had fallen onto his cheek.  “You were born for a life so much better than what you were placed in,” his voice was soft, still reflecting and picturing the scene she had painted for him in his mind.  

“That’s what I left behind.  That’s the weight that’s been lifted off my shoulders.  I don’t have to think about that anymore.”

“Did it ever happen again?  Did your mother ever hit you?” Andy asked.  

Bee shook her head vehemently.  “She was always too drunk.  It was more so emotional, if we’re referring to abuse.  And, you know, neglect.”

“You deserved so much better.  No child should have had to go through that,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’m so happy you found us Briony.  I’m so happy that you overcame that and you’re here with us now.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“There’s no reason to thank me.  You did it all yourself.  I’m just thankful that you’re part of our family now.”

A sob escaped her at his last comment.  She couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she let go, letting the tears well up in her eyes despite telling herself she wouldn’t cry.  She didn’t want to shed tears over her mother, but she could shed tears over Andy saying something like that to her.  “You have no idea,” she said, shaking her head.  “You have no idea how amazing these last few days have been.  I’ve never felt so whole in my entire life.”

“I know sweetheart.  I can tell.”

“I can’t even begin to, like…” she couldn’t find the right words as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.  “I immediately felt this sense of like, warmness from the moment I met Morgan.  He made me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore.  That I had somebody.  He’s been so good to me, Andy.  So patient.  You have to know how good he’s been.  So understanding.  You have to know you raised a good kid.”

“I know, sweetheart.  Morgan adores you.”

“And then this week happened and you and Shirley and Connor have just been so nice and I…I know it’s sad to say but the only other people I’ve felt that with is my best friend’s family.  But you guys are just so good, and I’ve had to pinch myself constantly this entire week.”

“I --”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that comment you just made, about being part of your family.  I don’t…I don’t know.  But I love Morgan so much, and I know he loves me, and I know I’m gonna spend the rest of my life thanking my lucky stars that all this happened.  And you have to know, you have to know, if hockey ended tomorrow I’d still love him with everything I have in me because he makes me feel so whole --”

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, I know,” Andy stressed, grabbing hold of her hands and squeezing them tightly as she let out a quick ‘I’m not in it for that’.  “I know.  You don’t have to prove yourself to me.  I can see it.  Shirley and I – we can see it.”

“I just don’t want you to think --”

“I was never thinking that at all,” Andy shook his head.  “You’re the farthest thing from what you’re implying and I know how much you care about my son.”  He let go of her hands so she could wipe her remaining tears away.  “Listen to me.  You are deserving of every little good thing that comes your way, via my son or otherwise.  You can’t feel like you don’t deserve it.  Everybody deserves good things to happen to them.”  Bee nodded her head at his words, trying to internalize them as much as possible.  “You’re a great girl Briony, and you deserve the world.  Everybody around you sees it.  You just need to start seeing it too.”

Bee took a couple of minutes to calm down.  She knew that everything Andy had just said was right, and she needed that time to really take it in.  To accept it and own it and live with it as her new life mantra was going to be a separate battle, but right now, she needed to acknowledge the deeply intense heart-to-heart she’d just had, and how she felt much more clear about things – about her future – than she had coming into the conversation.  “Thank you for listening, Andy.”

He smiled.  “There’s no reason to thank me.  This is what dads are for, Briony.”

“I’m sorry if I --”

“Don’t apologize for a single thing,” he said.  “You just remember what I told you.  That’s the only thing you need to do here.  Remember that you are deserving of love.”

“Is everything okay?” Morgan’s voice, groggy and sleepy, was suddenly heard form the entrance of the kitchen.  He stood in his pajamas, taking in the scene before him.  

“Briony and I were just thirsty,” Andy said quickly, giving Bee a quick wink before getting up and putting his glass in the sink.  “She couldn’t work our space fridge to get ice, either.”

“We should go back to using ice trays,” Morgan quipped.  Briony couldn’t help but laugh – he and his father were truly the same person.  She walked towards him, a small smile creeping on her face.  He hoped that in his state, he wouldn’t notice that she had been crying, or that her eyes were red from the tears.  “You okay?” he whispered.  

“Yeah.  Let’s go back to bed,” she said, looking back at Andy.  “Thanks again, Andy.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he smiled as they disappeared down the hallway.

When they got back into bed, Bee cuddled closer to Morgan, draping her arm over his torso so she could feel the warmth of his body heat against hers.  “You sure everything is okay?” he whispered.

She nodded her head.  “Yeah.  Andy’s a really good dad,” was all she could say.

“He’s the best,” Morgan agreed, his eyes fluttering closed.  “He’s who I want to be.”

“You’re already there, baby,” she whispered before they both fell asleep.

[hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger]

Superior Spider-Man #17-19, 23, 27-32 and Superior Team-Up #5, #7 Thoughts...Sorta

Because of the 2099 event coming up I have ambitions (and lord knows if I will succeed) of re-reading the 2099 centric stories published in the 2010s, chiefly Peter David’s Spider-Man 2099 solo-books. I never actually finished reading that stuff nor did I finish writing posts for each issue/arc but I’m willing to try again.

It’s been so long though and now the stuff has been collected I thought it’d be best to not simply pick up where I left off but both refresh my memory and be more of a completionist about it.

Hence I decided to skim  the Superior issues featuring Miguel O’Hara and to a lesser extent Alchemax with a mind towards the scenes featuring both. This is both to save me time (no pun intended) and because you know...fuck Superior.

As such this is far from comprehensive and I’m likely missing information but for the sake of completion I’m making these posts.

So first of all I’m not going to overly critique the inherent concept of Superior, Otto’s characterization, or anyone else’s characterization (sans 2099 relevant characters); especially as they relate to the Superior concept. It’s shit. I’ve said that endlessly before. If you are chomping at the bit to hear specifics regarding these issues then all I shall say is Slott writes Otto as cartoonish with Saturday Morning style villain dialogue whilst Yost in Team-Up, just like virtually EVERY writer sans Slott to handle the character, did better.

NO ONE hearing Otto talk as Spider-Man should be fooled into thinking he’s the real Spider-Man because he doesn’t sound anything like he did before he changed his outfit, started using more violent methods, employed supervillains as part of his Superior Six, had 4 metal arms come out of his back and had a hold gang of henchmen at his beck and call. But in spite of that at least Yost’s dialogue was more nuanced. Whilst it sounds like something Otto would say it also sounds like the Peter Parker Spider-Man merely skewed. He’s more condescending, egotistical and bluntly insulting than Peter ever was but he also doesn’t sound like a middle aged man from a 1960s comic book.

This brings us to the dialogue in general in fact. As a fan of the MC2 universe and older comics I ENJOY older style dialogue...in MC2 stories or older comics. The MC2 universe was it’s own off to the side sandbox that was deliberately trying to evoke the Silver Age, but it could break from that when appropriate. And older comics were just written by the standards of the time. Slott though his dialogue was written if anything in a more antiquated style than what the MC2 usually went for. Seriously all he’d need is to throw in some old fashioned words and social attitudes and it’d be ripped from the 1960s.

In a mainstream, main universe set title the dialogue style should be reflective of the times, whilst obviously avoiding the bad stuff regarding modern dialogue. One of my frustrations with many modern comics is that characters will speak outloud because modern standards dictate that thought balloons for anyone who isn’t the lead character of the story are bad for some asinine reason. On that front I do give Slott credit as he avoids this. He has no problem giving any character he wants internal thoughts and even still makes the lead, Otto, stand out as he has thought captions not thought balloons like everyone else. It’s just literally the word choices he makes that’s the problem. It’s inorganic even by comic book standards and is overly exposition laden. This is where editorial boxes or the recap pages could help out by getting that exposition out of the way. But instead we need to explain a story from over 20 issues earlier twice across 2 issues or alternatively just take it on faith the reader remembers the stories.

It doesn’t help that he inconsistently will use the third person narrator once in a blue moon.

The dialogue also impacts upon the characterization because frankly Miguel and Tyler Stone are...off...

In fact a lot of the characters besides Otto feel rather bland and samey because they are just actors in the plot that is being told and nothing more. Miguel is distinct for little reason beyond his use of future slang. Now I’ve only read the first trade of Spider-Man 2099 so maybe some of these terms pop up later but if Slott invented ‘bithead’ and ‘jammit’ it’s cause for cringe. The larger issue though is that Miguel’s status quo is set up by Slott but not his you know...personality. Okay in fairness he gets across Miguel has a little bit more edge to him than the regular Spider-Man and is not as prone to the same kind of humour in battle. But the latter is likely less Slott getting the character and more him just writing him pretty generically. The sarcasm, the arrogance, the sardonic aspect of Miguel is totally absent.

This is a problem if you were a 2099 fan showing up to see your fav or if this was intended as set up for a spin-off which it absolutely was. I mean shouldn’t set up for a spin-off character give you an impression of their personality. Shouldn’t you want to follow the character as opposed to the admittedly interesting situation the character is in?

But that’s Slott all over. He’s awful on characters 99% of the time but he’s good on concepts 50% of the time. The initial 2099 arc is a great microcosm of this.

Miguel wants to avert Alchemax’s evil influence in the future but we are merely TOLD that it is evil but see little evidence to corroborate that. He is willing to destroy himself, his grandfather and his family lineage to do that but then he has a change of heart. The set up for that change of heart is briefly presented and we smash cut to after it has already happened, we see none of the internal gears turning to demonstrate his mind changing, not even a quick panel of his eyes narrowing or his brow furrowing.

O the flipside (again no pun intended) though I genuinely adore the idea that Liz Allan and Norman Osborn in effect founded Alchemax and the involvement of Tiberius Stone and the conundrum of Miguel needing to protect him. In fact Tiberius comes off as one of the more interesting characters in this. I liked how he deduced his own relevance to the future and was just a sleazy asshole.

Another thing compromising the introduction of Miguel is his presentation.

The arc is rather bewildering because it introduces functionally an alternate version of the original Spider-Man 2099 but also takes it on faith you already know about Spider-Man 2099 in the first place.

Which frankly wasn’t a reasonable presumption.

Like okay sure people know OF Spider-Man 2099 because if you are a comic book or Spider-Man fan long enough your pick up there was a future version of him sooner or later, it’s just plain osmosis. And he’d been featured in two video games in the then recent past.

But not everyone plays video games, watches Let’s Plays, or would have read comics from 20 years ago, especially considering the 2099 stories haven’t even been collected in trade yet. Hell the last time A version of Spidey 2099 appeared it was in 2009 and was a distinctly different version altogether.

So Miguel’s reintroduction should’ve been handled differently, the first shot of him in action should have been the Stegman splash page not him preparing to leap off into action, we should’ve seen his supervision in action instead of just being told about it, we should’ve had his other abilities demonstrated to us. I mean I  know what they are and how they work for the most part but how would someone who’s a new/unfamiliar fan have a clue?

Perhaps the worst example of this is the fact that Slott’s stories, both in the initial 2099 arc and later, reference Miguel and Peter meeting before. There is no further exposition, there is no editorial caption referring to when this occurred (in the initial arc anyway), you are just supposed to accept this has happened before. That is until Superior #32 but more on that in a moment.

But even for new readers this is bewildering. Newer fans might in their head’s wonder if this is referencing the Edge of Time or the Shattered Dimensions video games, which it definitely isn’t because those are clearly not canon to Peter Parker. Older fans like myself might immediately jump to the Spider-Man Meets Spider-Man 2099 one shot from the mid 1990s. But that’s never explicitly referred to until Superior #32 which was published not just after Superior wrapped up but in fact after Miguel’s solo-book had been launched!

More confusingly  IIRC the one shot factors into the original 2099 series so it shouldn’t apply to this alternate version of Miguel and indeed the marvel.wiki lists the one shot as featuring the original Miguel NOT the one starring in these stories. Much like Spider-Girl #10 Slott decided to canonize something he had no business canonizing.

Anyway one final little criticism I have of these stories in terms of writing is that Miguel helped create Spider Slayers using future technology (why would you fuck up the timeline like that??????) and he was able to deduce Otto wasn’t the true Spider-Man. How the fuck can a guy from the future who met Peter Parker ONCE and very briefly tell Superior Spidey is an imposter but Aunt May, Kaine and Mary Jane can’t?

Because contrivance thy name is Slott.

Let’s briefly discuss Superior Team up and Superior #32.

Miguel’s involvement is essentially meaningless in the former and he’s absent from the latter but credit where credit is due Slott did give us a fun little jaunt through the 2099 future...which is not the setting of Miguel O’Hara’s solo book so you know...that was kind of pointless beyond setting up Spider-Worst (not my joke but it’s appropriate). I have little else to say on the issue beyond that seeing more murdered Spider-Heroes sickens me.

Finally let’s talk art.

These books were drawn by Ryan Stegman (Superior #17-19), Marco Checchetto (Superior Team-Up), Humberto Ramos (Superior #23) and Giuseppe Camuncoli (Superior #27.NOW, #28-31).

Ramos is Ramos which is to say anatomically offensive though seeing him briefly draw Miguel wasn’t too bad. Camuncoli was better but I’ve never liked his style. True he got better but still not great.

Stegman meanwhile I think was good. Now this is 2013 Stegman. His RYV, Venom and Absolute Carnage work runs rings around his work back then and before that. It’s very stylized but it’s still good. In fact the stylized look of it works for the concept behind the series. Characters look darker, edgier, in a way uglier and somewhat caricatured which fits in a series about a villain. His double page spread for Miguel though looks awesome, one of the all time great images of the character.

Checchetto meanwhile was the stand out. His work just look gorgeous to look at but it was still evoking a darker aesthetic it fit the idea of a book about a villain very, very well.

Not much to say about these issues. I am debating if I’m going to make a similar multi-issue post when I skim through the Miguel parts of Spider-Verse since I never posted about them back when it was happening, but we will see.

So I recommend reading these?

No. No I do not. I recommend flipping to the pages of Miguel in costume and looking at the art but that’s it.

[paradisobound]

I Want It, I Got It: Chapter 2

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well. 

Word Count:  1.7k (this chapter) 

Warnings: Occasional swearing 

Rating: Mature (for right now)

Updates will be every Sunday at 1pm EST until I have the fic finished and then it’ll be twice weekly

**MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3**

Daniel Howell. 

He was walking with a black hoodie on, the hood up over his hair. Sunglasses were perched on his face, covering his eyes. He was being rushed inside by a set of guards around him. When they reached the door, Daniel stepped inside and pushed the hood down to reveal curly hair. He kept the sunglasses on though. Immediately people began to run for his side, surrounding him and asking him questions. 

He was shuffled to one of the rooms that was guarded and he disappeared inside with the hoard of people following him. 

“I didn’t just imagine that, right?” PJ asked in a whisper as the woman began to show them to where they needed to be. 

“Nope.” 

“That was actually Daniel Howell.” 

“Yep.” 

PJ blew out a breath and Phil just nodded. Because he really didn’t want to admit it but he was a little bit star struck. 

Even if he didn’t get much of a look at him. 

“So both of you are set to be the extras in this office right here. Literally all you have to do is when we announce we’re filming, you’ll sit in these two office chairs.” She points to these two vacant seats around a table. “And you’ll just talk with each other. You’re honestly not going to really be in the movie. Just in the background.” 

She brought them to a separate that had a paper sign that said “Extra’s lounge” on the outside. “In the meantime, can you fill out these simple forms giving us your consent for filming you? The BBC has done all of the other paperwork, but we just need a written signature from you both.” 

She handed a sheet of paper to them both and a couple of pens. “We’ll call for you when you’re ready but you both can just hang out here until then.” 

“Love that the BBC volunteered us to be extras and we’re just going to be sitting here all day on our arses waiting for them.” 

Phil sighed and scrabbled his signature on the form, remembering what the BBC had emailed him the night before about this being a scheduled work day for him technically. 

“I don’t even recognize anyone here from our department.” Phil says, looking around the room to see what looked like random people all on their laptops or cell phones. 

“Gemma must be crushed right now.” PJ says with a slight chuckle. “I mean, I feel bad that she’s not here but at the same time, it’s probably for the best. Especially with our little viewing of Daniel earlier.” 

“You got to see Daniel Howell?” A voice from the corner pipped up and Phil turned his attention to the male. “Where did you see him?” 

“He was walking into the building.” Pj says, nodding his head. 

“Oh wow.” The male says, sitting on the edge of the rolling chair he was poised in. “Do you think our scene will have him here?” 

“I doubt it.” Phil says, cutting the person off. “The woman who greeted us at the front door told us that we’d barely be in the movie. Just in the background.” 

“So the BBC is wasting our time by having us here?” 

“Pretty much.” 

There was a collective sigh throughout the room and Phil sat back in the chair, pulling his phone out of his pocket. This was going to be a long day. 

Phil unlocked his phone and went to Twitter. He was immediately greeted by the same Twitter moment that PJ had told him about before. The one with Daniel Howell being the front page story. 

He clicked on the Twitter moment and read through some of the tweets. 

@danielhowell 

Just arrived in London! Here to film a new movie for a few weeks. 

to @danielhowell 

Why didn’t you sign any autographs? Fans were waiting for hours! 

to @danielhowell 

Me and my friend waited all morning for a photo and you never even stopped! #rude 

@danielhowell 

I really appreciate all you guys but I would like my privacy while filming and on set. I appreciate you all immensely but please do not wait around where I am. 

to @danielhowell 

if you didn’t want people to know where you were, then why tweet your location? 

@danielhowell 

I like to keep my fan’s updated but that’s not a reason to follow me. I’d much appreciate the privacy. Xxx

Phil exited off from Twitter and went to Instagram next. He scrolled through his feed and didn’t see anything new so he went to exit when he decided he would try to see what his explore page had. He might be able to keep himself occupied with some dogs or slime. 

Low and behold, Daniel Howell’s Instagram was the first photo to come up on his explore page and he curses the fact that all social media platforms are essentially linked in this way. 

But he finds himself clicking on the photo and looking at it. 

It’s a photo of Dan with a dog in his arms. The caption reads: the only reason I come home for christmas sorry literally every other family member. 

Phil hasn’t ever kept up with celebrities enough to know much about them but Phil has to admit that if that was Dan’s dog, it was a cute dog. 

“I see you Instagram stalking Daniel.” PJ says over his shoulder. 

Phil jumps and closes out of the app. 

“You don’t have to be cheeky about it.” PJ continues with a laugh. “I don’t mind if you secretly fancy him and get off to his photos in your spare time.” 

“Peej!” Phil exclaimed as PJ stifled a laugh. “For your information, his photo came up on my explore page and I happened to click on it.” 

“Oh...happened to click on it. Right mate.” PJ says with a laugh. “Cheers.” 

The door to the room they were in opened and the same woman that had spoke to PJ and Phil earlier was peeking her head in. “PJ and Phil, we’re ready to film part of the background scene you’re in. If you want to give me your forms and follow me, we can get you in and out within a few hours.” 

Phil wanted to groan. A few hours?! He could have been at home with Spike but instead he had to have Martyn come over and have a play date with Spike because he didn’t know how long he was going to be. 

He stood up and grabbed the paper and then he followed PJ out of the office. The women directed them to a smaller office on the other side of the floor where there were already people waiting with the cameras and lighting set up. 

“Okay, we just need you both to go sit in those chairs and talk. That’s literally it. Just keep as calm and relaxed as possible.” 

Phil nodded and walked over to the chair and PJ followed and sat down as well. The director was sitting in his chair a fair ways away from them and the way the cameras were situated made Phil feel a little bit better because his limited film knowledge gave him the impression they were definitely not the focus of the shot. 

And that became even more clear that they were not the focus of the shot when he caught someone walking to set out of the corner of his eye. And that person was currently speaking to a shorter woman next to him as he walked closer to the director. 

Daniel Howell was going to be in this shot too. And he was standing right there on the edge of the set, with his hair perfectly styled and his suit impeccably tailored―completely wrinkle and spot free. And when he flashed a smile at the director, it was actually blinding. 

“Phil...” 

Phil snapped out of his stare and turned to PJ. “Huh?” 

“You were ogling him Phil. Like full on drooling.” 

“Was not.” Phil says, settling into the chair and putting his arms over his chest. 

The director interrupted them and went over how the scene was going to go and then before they knew it, they were filming and it was happening. It didn’t feel too terribly awkward but Phil found it hard to carry on a conversation with PJ in the background while Dan was filming a scene less than ten feet in front of him.

When the director yelled cut, a bunch of people immediately ran over to Daniel and began to prod him and redo his hair and makeup although Phil couldn’t see where there was any change in what he looked like. 

As he continues to watch and stare at Daniel, Daniel suddenly turns and looks at him. It’s a quick glare but it reaches inside of Phil’s soul. It’s like their eyes met and just sunk into each other. 

But then, as if the small glance wasn’t enough, Daniel lifted his chin and flashed him a big smile before drawing his lips into a tight line and turning to go back to the makeup artist who was brushing something over his forehead. 

“Daniel just smiled at me.” 

“Never pegged you as a fan girl.” PJ joked. “Not after all you said about him yesterday.” 

“But this was a genuine smile.” Phil comments. “Like he looked right at me and smiled.” 

“Calm down, mate.” PJ laughed. “I’m sure he smiles at most people. He’s not a robot.” There was a pause. “Besides, how did your mind change so fast after all you said yesterday?” 

“I’m not saying my mind changed!” Phil countered. “I’m just merely commenting that he smiled at me and it was...” 

“Phil, you;re actually going to have an anxiety attack over this. Calm down. It was just a smile.” 

Phil huffed but he found himself laughing. PJ was right. It wasn’t something to get worked up over. 

Phil doesn’t know how many times they called to redo the shoot but he was extremely glad to be done so he could head home. He was dismissed a little later into the afternoon with PJ and they exited the BBC building ready to go back to their flats and take a nap. 

Last Chapter | Next Chapter 

[chmergess4ever]

His Redhead Girl (Part 2)

Hey Everyone! So here it finally is! I’m sorry it has taken so long. Because of the first part being posted so long ago the story takes place during the timeline of the tour when Val was still dating Amber. This chapter got very long but I didn’t think anywhere fit to cut it into two. I hope you enjoy it. I will post a link to the first chapter, so you can read a refresher if you like. 

Part 1: http://chmergess4ever.tumblr.com/post/156948077081/his-redhead-girl

Like/Reblog! Enjoy! 

“Babe, is everything alright?”

“Not really.” Val ran his hand through his hair as he looked at Sharna who was staring at him, questioning this terrible decision. “We just- I just-”

“You what?”

“I just need to tell you because-”

“Tell me what?” “I haven’t been completely honest with you. Actually, I haven’t been honest with you at all.” “Continue.” “I’ve been talking to someone else.”

Amber went silent. Val could hear her purse her lips. “Talking? Or sleeping with.”

“Talking. Kissing, here and there. Flirting.”

After taking a moment to digest what he had said Amber yelled into the phone, “You fucking asshole. I trusted you!”

“Amber-”

“Don’t you fucking “Amber” me. You’ve been having sex with someone else when I have been dating you. Being loyal as fuck to you.”

“I have not been having se-” “Oh Bullshit. Val Chmerkovskiy does not, not have sex.” “It was her rule.”

“Whose rule?” “You know I won’t tell you that. But I haven’t been sleeping with her. Cause she said she wouldn’t do the cheating thing. She said I had to break it off with you if I wanted her. I was going to wait till I got off tour so I could do this in person but I couldn’t-”

“Cause you needed to have sex with her?”

“Fuck no! Amber. Because I’m in love with her!” Val dropped silent realizing what he had just said. Sharna started back at him shell shocked.

“Wow. Just plain wow.”

The producer of the tour came into the backstage area, “Val, you’re on in 2.”

“Coming!” He called. He spoke back into his phone. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“No you won’t. Fuck you.”

Val hung up his phone and handed it to Sharna as he walked away and followed the producer to the stage. She looked at it and clicked the home button. He had reset his background to a picture of the two of them. She looked at it as she realized that she didn’t say anything back. She heard the music start playing to the next dance he was in but ran up the stairs to the stage anyway. She stood in the wing and watched him dance, when she caught his eye she mouthed the three simple words she had been scared to do. “I love you.”

Val smiled and wiped his head forward releasing more energy into the dance. Sharna walked back down the stairs, walking back over to the wall. He came off shortly after and met her there pushing her into the wall. “Yes. I can have you.” He captured her mouth in his own. There were cheers from the guys that saw it and a lot of smiles and “aww” from the girls. All of a sudden the both of them felt a vibrating.

“Oah, babe. Don’t get too excited.” She bit her bottom lip, looking into his eyes and she teased him.

“I’m not-” He smiled and laughed and then looked down into her hands where she was still holding his phone. It was Amber. He slid the button to the right. “Thought you weren’t going to talk to me again?”

“It’s her isn’t?”

“Who?” “I just need to know.”

“Amber-”

“Val, tell me it’s Sharna.”

“I won’t”

“She’s the redhead.”

“What?”

“She’s your redhead.”

“Amber- I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You never do, Val. I was told to stay away from you. I was told that there was only one girl you loved, that you would end up with inevitably. And stupid me, giving you a chance-”

“Amber, I don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say. You screwed up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear “I’m sorry.” I just don’t want to be played anymore. I needed to hear it was her. I needed to know.”

“It’s her, Amber. It’s always been her.”

“Right.” And with that statement she was gone.

Val looked down at the home screen of his phone acknowledging what had just happened. Sharna tilted his chin up so he was looking at her. She stood on her tippie toes to align their mouths. “Hey. I love you. That’s what matters.”

He kissed her and they heard the producers voice interject again. “I’m sorry, guys. But you need to get changed for the finale number.”

Val looked at her and nodded. She turned to walk away from Sharna to the costume rack and she called after him. “Hey babe!”

“What?” “Zero days.”

Val laughed and smiled. “Zero.”

Later that night after the show finished, Val and Sharna walked outside towards the bus holding hands. They decided they didn’t care who knew, hiding was going to make their relationship so much bigger of a deal than it needed to be. The fans that were waiting for autographs acknowledged it and asked if they could take pictures with them together. They happily obliged and shortly after got on the tour bus, which was headed to a nearby hotel. Once they got there and were checked in, the group decided they were going to go to the hotel restaurant for a quick bite to eat but Val and Sharna decided to skip out and head upstairs.

They settled on spending their night in Sharna’s room. Their bodies pressed up against each other and they walked intertwined with each other. They fell down on the bed with Val on top of her. “Yes.” He unzipped the black hoodie that she had put on after the show and kissed her stomach right above her waistline. He stood up and lifted his shirt over his head. “You were really serious about the wait.”

“You didn’t think I would be?” “I thought you would be, but I also thought that I would be able to convince you.”  

“It’s going to be so much better now though babe.”

They undressed each other and made love for the next two hours.

Val rolled off of her and put his arm behind his head. “Wow.”

“Worth the wait?”

“Yes, and a thousand times over.” He turned his head to face her and pressed his lips to hers. Sharna reached for her phone on the nightstand and opened instagram. She noticed Alan was on instagram live. She pointed at it for Val and they opened it. She sat up and she cuddled under his arm.

The rest of the cast was in Alan’s room and they were playing Cards Against Humanity. When it wasn’t Alan’s turn to judge he began to read the questions out loud that were popping up on the screen. “What’s my favorite color? Blue. Which dance is my favorite? The argentine tango. Where are Val and Sharna?” Alan smiled looking at the last question and spoke to the rest of the cast.

“Where are Val and Sharna, guys?”

They all began smiling and laughing. “Gleb, where are Val and Sharna?” Alan flipped the camera towards Gleb, and he looked straight into the lens. “Val and Sharna, are spending some much needed alone time together right now.”

Val smiled and Sharna gasped.

Alan whispered from off camera. “They’re doing the nastayyyyy.”

Sharna let out a scream and Val started laughing. Sharna typed in a comment. “We most certainly are not.”

Alan saw the comment and read it outloud. “Guys, Sharna’s on here. She’s typing in.”

“Hey Shar!!” The girls yelled. “Text us the deets.”

“Guys! Stop!” Sharna typed again.

Val opened it on his phone and began typing comments as well. “Are you guys really playing that game right now?”

“Nice diversion, Val, not gonna work!” Alan spoke to the camera.

Alan continued talking. “For those of you that haven’t heard yet. Val and Sharna are a thing. I think you guys call them chmergess?”

The girls laughed from off camera and you can hear them all cheering with Lindsay’s voice saying “Chmergess!!!”

Alan read more of the comments coming in. He laughed as he pointed to one on the screen. “Yes, Chmergess is alive.”

Sharna put her head down and laughed into Val’s shoulder.

Keo echoed Alan saying “Alive, alive. Alive.” In a joking manner.

Sharna commented again. “Hate you guys.” She added with the laughing emojis. “We’re leaving.”

Gleb typed in the chat. “We all know where you guys are going.”

They both laughed again. Val typed again. “Ha. Ha. Very funny. Bye.”

ALan spoke to the camera again. “Have funnn.”

Val and Sharna both got out of the stream. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Did they really just do that to us?”

“They did.” Val span his phone around in his hand. “We’re public.”

“We are.”

Val opened his twitter and received an influx of tweets about him and Sharna, him and Amber, his relationship status. He closed twitter and opened his notes, composing an explanation that he would tweet out. Sharna looked over his shoulder as he typed. She pressed a kiss into his neck, calming him down. He wrote:

“To all my fans that are asking about Me and Amber, and Me and Sharna, I will address this only because I don’t want anyone getting undeserved hate. I have been dating Amber Rose for a little over 4 months. She is a great woman, with a great personality, who I have absolutely nothing but respect for. She’s not too happy with me right now but I hope that over time we will heal and we can be friends. She has reasons not to be happy but I don’t want to apologize for falling in love. The thing is, I didn’t fall in love with her. I noticed after all this time that I’m in love and have been in love with Sharna Burgess. She’s the love of my life and dragging Amber along when knowing this, seemed like the wrong thing to do. I’m not sorry for loving Sharna, I’m sorry for hurting Amber. But, Sharna and I don’t want to hide. We want to be public with our relationship, so please be respectful. Respectful of us and our relationship and respectful of Amber. We want to share as much with you as we feel comfortable with so show us that we can.”  

He attached a picture of the note to a tweet and sent it. Then he opened instagram. And attached a picture of the two of them, that someone had caught when they weren’t paying attention. He captioned it. “Guess I have a thing for redheads.”

Sharna smiled and looked up at him. “I’m your redhead girl.”

“That you are.”

[jupietersky-blog]

a joke.

the god must be playing a joke on me. or was it you, E?

i was perfectly happy and fine with my life until you came and turned it upside down. i wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind you swept me into. you walked into my world and swept me off to lala-land and then you pushed me down the infinite vortex of emotional turmoil. how cruel and how selfish you are. i couldn’t get you off my mind, i just couldn’t. not because i was head over heels in love with you, but because of the way you shut me off. i wasn’t prepared to be hurt that way. no one, and i repeat, no one has ever shut me out like this before and i can’t seem to brain this. why did you do this? i thought you were different, at least, you seem to have your way with girls. you said things we wanna hear but you don’t really mean it, do you? i fathom i should write this down and get it off my chest and get this over with. so here’s our story.

it was a stormy night when i was stucked in this noodlehouse with a friend who casually suggested me to download the tinder app. i did. and that must have been one of the biggest mistake i have made this year. i thought, what harm could an app do to me? i was just swiping for fun, just to see if any familiar faces pop into the screen and suddenly, within less than 5 minutes, i got a match. my first tinder match, and that was you, E. 

you seemed nice initially. polite and friendly. being new to online dating app, i didn’t know what to expect. at that time it seems fun to chat with someone new. someone out of my small circle of friends. being in a new city, i could make do with local friends, i reckoned. and just as i thought, i would have a new ‘friend’. pure innocence or stupidity? sigh.

you seemed to be  so interested in my life. you said i’m too good for you. i’m too nice. you asked me tonnes of questions, sending me links to personality tests, compatibility tests, etc. and you were eager to meet me. i wasn’t really comfortable meeting you at the beginning of the first week so i declined. and when i went back to my hometown for a short trip, the conversation halted for days before you would text me out in the blue again and this time it was like a bushfire spreading fast rapidly. you asked me when will i be back. and not too long after that, we met in a waffle place. you were late for the first date. i waited patiently with a friend, excited to catch a glimpse of you and that friend you brought along with. finally you arrived and i was attracted by your dashing good looks. tall, fit, fair, and attractive. i couldn’t deny it but you do have a charming smile. that night, i spoke more to your friend than you. i thought the date went well, but slightly awkward as you were not actively participating in the conversation. i attributed it to ‘shyness’ or were you just trying to observe me silently? i don’t know. but i guess you liked me enough that you asked me out for a second date. this time around, it was only us in a quaint little coffeehouse along this quiet lane. it was a sunny weekend and i spent 2 hours there talking about my life with you, a complete stranger. a goodlooking stranger who seemed so keen to make me an acquaintance. you shared parts of your life with me, showed me videos of your adorable little nephew. at that moment, i was so indulged into your words that i thought, how lucky i was to have met you. deep inside, i had a good feeling about this new ‘friendship’. you seemed ‘genuine’.

we would text on daily basis, be it morning, noon or night time. it felt like you’re constantly thinking about me, texting me all the time. we would talk about work, family, friends. i thought, oh my god we clicked so well. when i told you i couldn’t believe you did not have an istagram account, you created one the very next day and added a few pictures of yourself hiking, doing charity work, etc. i must say, i was quite flattered and you grew in me. youalso  took pictures of your home-cooked dishes and at that moment, i began to like you, E... i began to really, really like you.

when i added a picture in my instagram, you would reply with a picture in yours, with an almost similar caption. i knew you wanted to catch my attention and i did reciprocate. when you told me you would join me on a hike with my friends, i had butterflies in my stomach. i mean, i barely know you and you seemed so interested in spending time with  me. when i saw you hiking up towards us, i couldn’t help but smiled. seeing your silhoutte beneath that glaring sun, my heart skipped a beat. then, you raised your arm and waved happily at me from afar. i waved back and my smile grew wider. you’re too cute. 

it was on that day i first saw you smoke and found out that you had a tattoo on your back. i didn’t fancy you smoking but that tattoo was smoking hot. i didn’t know if you purposely removed your top to show off that tattoo of yours or what, but you got me. i was attracted to you, mentally and visually. i knew i was looking forward to meeting you again and again and we did. you asked me out all the time. we went for movies, food festival, coffees, late night singing sessions, drinks, fried chicken wings, etc etc. we took a few pictures and i loved them. we walked under the rain in a park, how romantic. when i came back to your city from my short holidays, you picked me up from the airport. i was happy about it ‘cause it made me felt as if you couldn’t wait to see me. it was all good when suddenly, during my study break, things started to feel different. 

the texts were getting lesser and less frequent. it felt as if i was single-handedly trying to keep our dying communication alive. you said you didn’t want to bother me studying. initially i bought that. but i missed having you constantly around, talking to me, asking me what’s up. it’s fine. maybe i should really focus on my exams and maybe you did it for my own good.... 

finally, exam’s over and i’m back to your city. this time around, things were really different. i had this tiny hope growing inside that you will make things official once my exams is over, since we have been dating unofficially for nearly 2 and 1/2 months now. but i hardly get your texts anymore. i put my ego down and i texted you first. multiple times. you replied my questions in a friendly manner but you did not continue the conversation. i wonder, don’t you have anything to say to me anymore? what happened to you, to us? i felt as if i have to work hard to keep things going. you were confusing me with your silence. then suddenly, for 3 days in a row, you did not say a single word to me. oh, boy. i was confused. very very confused. i didn’t know what and where went wrong. i didn’t know why you’re doing this to me now. and then i realised, i have been GHOSTED. 

GHOSTED.

GHOSTED.

GHOSTED.

 the initial confusion became anger. i was so annoyed and finally i have decided to cut ties with this ghost. i posted a picture in instagram with a long caption, summarised as i’m moving on bitch. right after i posted that particular picture, you sent a ‘hellooooooooo jupieterrrrrrrrr. what you up to?’ to my whatsapp. i left you for hours before replying coldly. you seemed friendly all of a sudden and i thought, ok probably i was just over-reacting a little too much? i let that go and chatted in my usual manner. things were good for only a few days.

and as sudden as you have approached me, out of nowhere you stopped talking to me, again. cold. aloof. not present. and i tried to reach out to you, again and again by dropping you text messages like hey how you doing today. and each time you would reply in a friendly manner but it stopped there. fullstop. no questions asked. as if you have lost your interest in me. you no longer seem to care about me. have you ever truly cared about me... i don’t know. you made me feel so unappreciated. just when i have finally opened up my heart to you, you decided to shut me out.

i left you to be. i would torment my mind almost everyday, staring at my phone. every morning when i woke up, i would checked on my phone to see if you have finally dropped me a ‘good morning’ text. it felt so foreign not having your attention when i had it so close once.

and one fine day, out of the blue, you asked me if we’re still goin to that festival which we had planned a month ahead. i said ok, still trying to give it a try. i was excited and happy that you didn’t forget your promise to me.

i told myself, right, this festival will be the last day i hang out with this person. if he doesn’t appreciate me, doesn’t show me he truly cares about my feelings, then so be it. alas, i was disappointed.

 the chemistry we had was no longer there. it has vanished. god knows when.

we talked, a bit. he smoked, a lot. after the festival, he stopped talking to me. and me being me, i betrayed myself again. i asked him out for a movie. i told myself again, this time, this time, will be the last time i see him. if he disappoints me again, this will be the END. i have opened the door for him to stab me in the heart that night. after the movie ended, he walked abruptly to the lift . i followed suit. we talked abit about the movie we had just watched. i intended to ask him out for supper but suddenly, he stepped out of the lift at level 1 while i was still in the lift. puzzled. he said hurriedly , throwing quick glance at me , “i’m getting out here. bye.”

and then he vanished into the crowd. the lift door closes. i was surrounded by a few strangers but i felt so alone. my face turned hot, i flushed in anger. did he just leave me there , alone, in the middle of the night? disbelief.

i walked angrily to my car. i felt like crying but i couldn’t. i wanted him to know how annoyed i was and how rude it was to just leave me in the lift by myself. i wasn’t expecting that kind of treatment from him, not when he used to shower me with all his attention and adoration. i picked up my phone and texted him, telling him how i have intended to ask him for a supper but since he left so hurriedly , i guess not. he replied almost instantly. apologizing, explaining why he left, in the text. apparently he had to attend some birthday party but that wasn’t a good excuse to leave rudely. he could have at least told me in person, properly, before he left. but no, he did not. 

ever since that night, i stopped. i stopped texting him. i picked up my ego where i have left them and i hold myself back from the urges to text him. i guess i sank too deep, too fast, in this sinkhole. this so called ‘courtship’ was formed from an online dating app, with no solid base to fall back to . we were not friends to begin with. we were just 2 strangers getting to know each other, too fast, too rapidly. and i fell hard because i thought, it was real. to me, it felt real. the connection we had seemed perfect, like beautiful sparks of fireworks lighting up the dark sky. but like the sparks, it didn’t last. he grew bored of me.

subsequently after that incident, i learnt that he has been actively swiping girls in tinder and and getting it on with girls during the period while he was still dating me. i wanted so much to believe that this was untrue but i have all the proofs. i knew he was trouble when he walked in. dashing, bad boy who convinced me that he is trying to be good. i guess a leopard can never change it’s spots. i remembered asking him once, “how many girls have you dated from tinder?”. “3 to 4″ he replied. “what happened to them now?” i asked. he smirked and said, “sometimes the communication just dies down and then we stopped seeing one another. i’m not in contact with any of them now.”

looks like i’ve been included into that statistic. 

once upon a time, i told myself, if you tell me that you love me, i will love you wholeheartedly despite the many lackings that you have. i will see beyond all those superficial things and give you my heart. i will shower you with hugs, cuddles and kisses and care. 

but now, all i want to do, if i ever see you again, is to flip my hair, not acknowledging your presence, plant my feet firmly to the ground and walk away from you. 

E, i no longer want your presence in my atmosphere. i no longer want to speak to you because you’re toxic for me. i no longer want to wait for your texts. i no longer want to dream about you texting me, calling me, apologizing to me. i guess i have fallen far too deep, far too deep. by writing this long entry, i’m pouring everything that has been bottled up inside of me into this vast space where no one else will read. only bored strangers like you (yes you, the one who is reading this).

E, i’m done having sleepless nights replaying the scene where you abandoned me in the lift. i had wanted to cry, but i have no tears. i don’t know why. i just don’t. anyways, all is good. i didn’t waste any precious tears on you. you may be hot, tall, goodlooking, charming but if you treat a girl bad, you’re nothing. 

p/s to E : i’m sabrina, the amaru of your night.

signing off,  jupietersky.