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#IT IS LITERALLY AND METAPHORICALLY GARBAGE!

wolfywolfy · 4 months

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Lots of people keep saying that Astarion wouldn't peel an orange for you, which is objectively hilarious. But is it true? 🤔

For Ascended Astarion I think so, absolutely. There's no way he would peel that fruit for you. He would need to do you a favor that proves his power over the concept of giving you something. There would need to be a servant, somewhere, who would only ever serve peeled fruits to Tav. There would never be a peel seen inside of his house ever again, if he was asked to peel an orange. But don't get it twisted -- he'd peel the skin off of a man just for you, darling, if you wished it (because it proves that he is strong, he is powerful, he is in control, and that you enjoy this sadistic and twisted part of him that he has succumbed to). This is to say, any request you have, he will meet it in whatever the most condescending twist of power he can. He'd shower you with material things just because you mentioned liking 1 particular gemstone or fabric. You like a particular author? He'll "convince" them to write a novel specifically just for you. Anything to prove he "cares", in whatever way he truly does, and anything to secure you to his hip when he wants you there.

But Spawn Astarion? I dunno. I think he would peel an orange for you. Before you ever kill Cazador he says that one of the reasons he's interested in Ascension in the first place is for your safety, not just his (I'm inclined to believe this, as he sounds genuinely terrified of the concept of either of you being "unsafe" at that point). If you're playing The Dark Urge, he literally helps take care of you. In like, a very intimate and caring way??? And he'll stand up for you multiple times throughout the later acts if you've proven yourself to stand up for him when he needs it. I kind of think he would peel the orange. Honestly, with the way he acts during the graveyard scene, I can't really see him as anything less than utterly adoring of Tav.

Now, would it be a well-peeled orange? ..........no, but it's the thought that counts. He hasn't exactly eaten Real Food™ for 200 years, I don't think he knows how to peel any fruit.

Here's the thing though. I know it's all just a metaphor, the orange isn't necessarily an orange. You think this motherfucker wouldn't peel a proverbial orange for you, though? You think he wouldn't see a piece of jewelry or clothing or knick-knack or something and not immediately snag it (illegally or otherwise) just because he thought Tav would like it? He's like a cat. "Oh I know you couldn't get this for yourself 🙄 here you go, I got it for you." All the while he's trying to make it into not a big deal, but he really just wants you to acknowledge that he cares so he can be a leech to your affections.

Maybe this is all OOC garbage and that's fine, but!! Idk after the way he treats Tav at the epilogue party saying things like "we have forever, and I'm not going anywhere", he comes off to me as incredibly sweet and deeply attached. I do think he'd peel the orange. And I think he'd also be upfront and appreciate Tav for all the oranges they've peeled for him, too.

#im rambling #i just think he is genuinely very sweet!!!#doesnt mean he cant be sassy or belligerent #but i do think hes a sucker for receiving affection #and while doling out affection may not come to him naturally all the time i think he does warm up to it #look at the way he hugs tav during the epilogue and tell me he wouldnt do anything for them #astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3

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heyitschartic · 6 months

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Finally finished with the redone Undersiders as the Mall Cluster. Still cannibalized a lot of the secondaries from my previous attempt, but I'm happy with it. Entire thing is under the line cause I don't wanna clog people's pages.

Cluster Mechanic

Every night the group wakes up in the dream room. A rotating member of the cluster is given two tokens to hand out. Whoever is holding a token at the end of the dream gets an additional aspect of their primary unlocked.

Taylor

Trigger: Danny and Taylor made it out of Earth Bet as the world ended, but Annette didn't. Emma, after being attacked by a gang (potentially the Fallen) and saved by Sophia, turned on her. Bullied and abused, Taylor slowly began to fall out of society. Feeling less and less connected to others, feeling less and less like a person. Things came to a head when she's found by the Trio at the mall and locked inside a garbage room. As the flames grow closer and no one hears her cries for help, Taylor feels at her most trapped and alone, both metaphorically and literally. Trigger.

Primary: A master power with very rough control of bugs and a blink mover power that allows her to move between clumps of bugs roughly as big as she is.

Token Boost: When she teleports but before she reforms, she's spread throughout her swarm and gains a master power equivalent to Skitter. Feels at that moment however like she's trapped in darkness.

Sarah Secondary: A thinker power that allows her to understand potential angles of attack and a sixth sense of when they are coming as a slow building anxiety.

Alec Secondary: A master power that allows her to shout commands. Those who hear it feel their bodies moving without their control. Effects fade after a few seconds.

Brian secondary: Forms a cloud of inky blackness around herself. Affords weak brute powers, but mainly stranger capabilities, dampening noise and hiding her.

Rachel Secondary: Wet tinker power focused on modifying bats to increase sonic abilities, boost intelligence to follow simple commands.

Sarah

Trigger: After the end of the world, Sarah's family lost everything. While coping they found religion; the Fallen found them soon after. When her parents joined, her brother seemed to be the only one who managed to land on his feet. He made friends, formed connections, and kept their families standing while the rest of them felt like they were floundering. When he killed himself, it was a massive blow and the Fallen looked down on them for it. Pressure. Pressure from all angles to keep performing, to make up for it, and to do better. Sarah suffered the worst of it, including pressure from her parents that she should have done more, should have seen this coming. She picked up the slack and took his place at the mall attack. As she sees the fire rising and hears the screams of people inside, she realizes this is what her brother was trying to avoid so badly, he was willing to die to stop it. As the molotov slips from her fingers, she wonders what her brother would think of her now. Trigger.

Primary: A pre-cognitive zone thinker power, able to feel visceral sights/sounds of things to come in an area. However, this power is vaguer the further away from the event she is. Glimpses at a day, better understanding an hour away, perfect vision bare seconds before the event is happening.

Token Boost: Enhanced reactions and understanding during events, allowing for combat thinker capabilities.

Taylor Secondary: Blink mover ability dependent on damage. Transferring attacks on herself into a teleport that blasts out with force those she teleports near.

Alec Secondary: Master power to erode the will of someone, eliciting feelings of dread and despair after long enough. Power works through focused line of sight.

Brian secondary: Able to leak a smokescreen, thick and inky, from her pores. Loosely prehensile, can turn from a gas to liquid appendage that stings and numbs what it hits.

Rachel Secondary: Wet tinker power to modify sheep/goats with combat abilities, will act like guardians.

Alec

Trigger: Gold Morning upended many things, but Jean-Paul used it as his chance to finally escape the thumb of his father. Somewhere along the way, he met Olivia. They were inseparable ever since, moving place to place, though he always was looking over his shoulder for dear old dad. Not quite dating, never the right word, but together. In many ways, it felt like the first connection he ever had. Someone who drew things out of him that he thought were gone. Then the mall. They were separated in the rush and he spent his time looking for her. As he searches, half blinded and deafened by smoke and screams, he finally finds her body, trampled when the attack began. Trigger.

Primary: A single minion master. Forms a minion that resembles Olivia out of himself. She leaves with his emotions, putting him in a burnscar-esque emotional state. She's very swift and mobile, but weak to damage and Alec gets backlash from her breaking apart.

Token Boost: She radiates his emotions to others around her, intensly.

Taylor Secondary: Enters a mover state where he becomes faster and more agile while leaving behind a trail of harrying vermin.

Sarah Secondary: Thinker power to understand what others are thinking/feeling in an area. Surface level understanding without deeper insight.

Brian: Stranger power that gives him a sense when others are looking at him. Is able to blur the senses of one person of his choice, including powered sense.

Rachel: Wet tinker ability to modify birds with increased surveillance abilities, able to relay information.

Brian

Trigger: When GM happened, the Laborne siblings lost their parents. Reeling from the loss, but neither able to articulate it, they are forced to forge on. Brian takes the brunt of it, working construction jobs to try and make money. He doesn't have enough time to be with Aisha, to keep her in check, but as long as they're both safe, he's fine with that. They head to the mall on one of his free days to get her stuff for a new school year when the attack happens. Caught outside, they're ganged up by Fallen members and Brian is taken down by a blow to the back. He lies on the ground disoriented and unable to work up the strength or motivation to stand as he watches Aisha take her first few hits. Trigger.

Primary: Brian leaks a smoky mist he's able to form into a sword. The sword is weightless allowing for fast and continuous attacks, and hits with a force harder than it should.

Token Boost: The swords hits have the added effect of momentarily deafening and blinding who they hit.

Taylor Secondary: blink power to teleport around a set zone centered on his first teleport. Needs to move manually from first spot to change zone radius.

Sarah: A precog power focused on one person or thing to warn of incoming attacks. Allows for combat thinker-esque reactions to those warnings.

Alec: a single shot blaster power with good accuracy. Hits others with a sense of pacification. Emotion hits are cumulative, clouding judgement.

Rachel: Wet tinker abilities to modify offensive and defensive aspects of a single wolf.

Rachel

Trigger: A poor girl on the streets after the world ended, Rachel had to fight to keep what she had. Without a real connection to keep her safe though, she was one of thousands that slipped through the cracks. Like so many other people, she was found by the Fallen and press-ganged. Things were harder on her now because she didn't fit in. She was violent and could hold her own, sure, but she still couldn't connect to others, still couldn't quite understand them, and so she was pushed to the fringes of the group. She found herself caring for animals under Bamet, something she had proven good at. Things didn't get better and because of this position, she couldn't escape the stigma or try to improve with others. It comes to a head at the mall, when she see her dog Rollo get shot and go down. She rushes to save him and is pulled back by the hands of her compatriots. She in anger fights to break free, but can't shake so many and her pleas fall on deaf ears. Again, she can't even articulate or have them understand what she's trying to do. Trigger.

Primary: Wet tinker ability to modify dogs, granting some increased combat capability, but mainly making them more intelligent.

Token Boost: Able to make medication to grant temporary boosts beyond what her modifications can normally do.

Taylor Secondary: Master power to control a small group of rats. Power puts her in a dissociative state.

Sarah Secondary: Combat thinker power focusing on understanding her own body and movement with enhanced reflexes. Give vague feelings of intentions of others.

Alec secondary: Shaker power centered on herself. Those caught in the radius are forced into an emotion of Rachel's choosing.

Brian secondary: Striker power to imbue her strikes with mild smoke. Imparts an increased force (like a shove) and a cumulative disorientation/blindness.

#wormblr #undersiders cluster

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thepixelelf · 2 years

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Bouquets for a Friend (From a Friend)

Genres: romance, ceo au, secretary/personal assistant au Pairing: Reader & S.Coups (Seventeen) Words: 1.6k Warnings: cheol gets drunk off-screen Notes: another recasted fic because ceo cheol has me in a metaphoric literal chokehold sorry

Your boss gets flowers quite often. This time, when he does, he wants to get rid of them, and who are you to turn down free flowers?

It starts with a confession.

Two, if you really think about it.

A beautiful bouquet sits flat on your desk, the wrapping opalescent around the roses and baby’s breath. It’s a bit much when lying there on your average of average desk, but that’s fine. It won’t stay for long.

Confession #1:

A note reads,

Thank you for yesterday.

Let’s meet again. XOXO

…TMI.

“You have a director’s board meeting at 13:00, then Jang from marketing is coming to speak with you at 15:30, and you have dinner with the Park Family at 17:00,” you say, reading from your agenda. “Oh, and these arrived for you this morning.”

You hold out the bouquet without looking up, checking if you missed anything in your boss's itinerary.

“Who from?” Seungcheol asks. He takes the bouquet from you and picks out the note from the flowers.

“I don’t know, whoever you were with last night.”

You don’t miss the quick, distasteful scrunch of his nose. He reads the note, but he tosses it to the side without much thought and sets the bouquet haphazardly on his desk. Looking at the roses on their own, it actually seems quite sweet.

“They seem to like you. Will you take them out again?”

“I didn’t take them out,” he sighs. “My mother set me up with another heiress.”

Finally glancing up from your agenda, you raise an eyebrow. “Again? I thought you asked her to stop.”

He props his elbows on his desk, digging his palms in his eyes. You feel a bit bad for him; it’s not every day your mother tries to get you hitched with some stranger. Before you started working for Seungcheol, you never thought higher-ups – directors especially – had it hard, but apparently everyone has problems they have to deal with.

“You know her, once she sets her mind on something…” He trails off, and you know exactly what he means. You’ve met his mother more than a few times. She’s… a character, that’s for sure.

Seungcheol sighs again, picking up the bouquet to toss it away with the note. You lurch forward, catching the flowers just before they can fall into the garbage bin.

“…What are you doing?”

You straighten up, bringing the bouquet with you. Your lips shift into a pout as you run your fingertips over the soft petals. “Well don’t throw them away… that’s such a waste.”

Without you noticing, Seungcheol's eyes carefully follow the way you’re handling the bouquet he nearly threw out. “Then… you can have them.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” He clears his throat, hoping you don’t notice the way he was staring, and moves to look at his laptop screen even though it isn’t on. “I was going to throw them out anyway. Why are you so surprised?”

You play with the rose petals again, embarrassed to admit it.

Confession #2:

“It’s just… no one’s ever given me flowers before…”

•

You’re washing dishes when he calls. It’s nearly thirty minutes to midnight, and while it’s not unusual for your boss to call you this late, you honestly didn’t expect anything tonight. He should be home right now after his dinner with the Parks.

You wipe off a soapy hand on your apron to accept the call, squeezing the phone between your shoulder and ear so you can continue working on the dishes.

“Hello?”

There’s no answer, though you’d think there would be one since he’s the one calling you. Besides the white noise a phone call normally has, you can hear the hustle and bustle of someplace busy. Maybe a restaurant or something.

You try again, “Hello?”

“Heeeeeyyyyyyy…!”

You pause, hands frozen where they were scrubbing a tupperware container. Slowly, you pull your hands from the sink and wipe them both dry before taking your phone and properly holding it up to your ear.

“Mr Choi?”

“Hey!”

You take a second to look at your phone, and it is Seungcheol calling – or, at least, Seungcheol's number. His voice sounds a bit… slow.

“Mr Choi, are you alright?”

He says something, maybe, but you can’t discern any words.

“Are you… drunk, Seungcheol?”

“How come no one’s ever bought you flowers before, huh?!” he yells through the phone. He sounds whiny, like a child who’s had their toys taken away. “Why?!”

It’s a strange question, but if he really is drunk, then there are no weird questions. You decide to just answer honestly — arguing with a drunk person never goes the way it’s supposed to.

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve never been in a situation that solicited them. Where are you?”

“But you’re cool!” he bounces back, ignoring your question. “You’re cool and you’re nice and you have that stupidly cute smile and you bring me tea when I’m sick even though I don’t ask you for it!”

You smile. Despite the slightly worrying situation, the compliments still warm your heart. “That’s because you’re my boss, Seungcheol. Are you with anyone?”

“What about your partners from before? Didn’t they ever buy you flowers?!”

Draining the water in the sink, you move around the kitchen with your phone still at your ear to make sure nothing is a hazard for you to leave behind. “I haven’t had a partner in a long time, Seungcheol,” you answer, saying his name again to make sure he doesn’t randomly hang up. “Where are you? I should come pick you up if you’re alone.”

“I’ll buy you flowers! I’ll buy you a million flo—!”

He’s cut off by another voice.

“Stop bothering your secretary!” they yell, presumably yanking the phone from Seungcheol’s hand. You stop pulling on your coat. “Sorry about that, I’m just about to take this idiot home.”

“Joshua?” you ask, recognizing his voice.

“Yeah, sorry. We went out for casual drinks but I guess Cheol wasn’t feeling too casual. Don’t worry, I’ve got him.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. Goodnight.”

You swear you can hear Seungcheol whining before Joshua hangs up.

•

With your hands on the steering wheel of his car, you look at Seungcheol in the backseat, who’s keeping his eyes closed behind thick sunglasses, his arms crossed stubbornly in front of him. A minor headache, he calls it. A killer hangover, more like it.

Seems he barely even remembers calling you last night.

“After I pick up the suit, we’re going straight to the presentation. Will you be okay, Mr Choi?”

He groans, the frown on his face prominent. “I’ll be fine.”

You nod, knowing full well that he will not be fine, but you can’t do anything about it. The presentation has to happen today, hangover or not. “Okay, I’ll be back in a second.”

There’s a convenience store next to the dry cleaners, and you step in there for a second. After retrieving the suit, you knock on the backseat window.

“Drink this,” you say after Seungcheol rolls down the window, shoving a cheap hangover cure in his face. You hold up his suit with your other arm. “I’m going to put this in the trunk.”

He grunts and takes the drink from you. Normally, he’d argue that he’s not hungover -- he’s got a so-called headache -- but he concedes this time.

You struggle for a second with the trunk of his car. Maybe it’s so expensive that it doesn’t even have one, but you doubt that. Just as you think you’ve got it, the car door on Seungcheol's side opens and slams shut.

“Wait!” Seungcheol yells, panic clear even with his sunglasses on, one hand stretched out as if to stop you.

But it’s too late, whatever it is he wants to delay. The trunk pops open and for a second the world is still because you’re waiting for Seungcheol to talk. He doesn’t, and you follow his gaze to the contents of the trunk.

Bouquets. Lots of bouquets.

An obscene amount of bouquets.

The entire trunk is filled to the brim with flowers of every kind, the colourful petals contrasting with the sleek black of his car. You can tell they’ve been there overnight by the way they're all awkwardly compressed together. A bouquet of yellow roses topples to the road beneath it, and you bend down to pick it up. There’s a note attached, marked with nothing but your name. Looking at the other bouquets, they all have the same note.

“…What’s this?” you ask since you can’t think of any other question.

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair, messing up the way you styled it for the presentation. His lips set into a thin line, a grimace, almost, until he answers, “They're… for you?”

“I can see that.” You laugh. The awkwardness settles in just a second later, and you’re both just standing there, smiling at each other.

“Don't— don’t misunderstand,” Seungcheol stumbles to say, sliding off his sunglasses. “I just got you those because I… felt bad! I felt bad. You know, because no one’s gotten you flowers before…”

Your eyebrows twist in doubt. “Is that so? You got me—” You glance to the trunk. “—thirty bouquets because you ‘felt bad’?”

“Yes!” He clears his throat. “I got you thirty bouquets because I’m a good friend.”

“Ah, so these are platonic flowers.”

“Of course. What? You’ve never heard of giving flowers to friends?”

You nod, pursing your lips and studying the yellow roses. “Flowers for a friend…” you consider.

“Yes. Flowers for a friend.”

Looking up, you hold back from laughing at his flustered state.

“From a friend?” you ask.

He clears his throat again.

“Naturally.”

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maxwell-grant · 2 months

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Fuck it, can you expand on your thoughts regarding What Can We Know About Thunderman?

One of the funniest and most horrible things I've ever read partially because like 60% of it is just pages and pages of Alan Moore stating industry facts and names with the serial numbers filed off, and if you have enough comic book brainworms to be reading Thunderman in the first place there will probably be at least one or a dozen references here and there that will spring out of nowhere and hit you like a punch in the gut (the one I remember was the Jack Cole one). A lot of the stuff in Thunderman that reads as absurd funny parody or metaphors too stupid to be real are actual industry facts that Moore has knowledge of, and even the stuff that isn't you can trace a direct line of what exactly it's referring to or who exactly this is referencing.

This is a story in part about how horrible it is to be a sicko with comic book brain worms that is mainly understandable if you're exactly that kind of person. Besides all the references to real-life people and events, most of the modern stuff he's making up are still just as incisive and accurate because literally nothing changed, not even in regards to the movie paradigm ("At last he has attained a semblance to a religious figure. Can we stop now?"). Much of this is Moore dunking on Certain Industry Guys he probably knew and interacted with and indirectly bullseyeing on more recent guys, because a lot of these guys are the same. There are your extremes like the one con-goer here who is pretty much just Max Landis verbatim, but there's also so much that's brutally on-point for industry practices and writers ("What if we had Thunderman do something, and then something happened?") that you can fill in your own names.

It's also an incredibly personal and tragic piece because the core story of it, in between vivid descriptions of Greg Land's office space porn oceans and self-destructive daydreams and rolling catastrophes, is about a guy who deeply loves his art form, deeply loves the creators and artists who gave him so much for so little in his life, and deals with so much horrible toxic bullshit that the only way he finds to live, the only way he finds to not be complicit in the pigsty, is to leave it all behind and work the poison out of his system forever. Like he very openly talks about the protagonist leaving it all behind to go write the next big novel and writing that note, and the non-superhero ideas that will come after, as something that nobody is going to care about, but that he has to do. I don't think I could fully appreciate the sequence where he quits his job at comics and walks out of the office feeling better than ever, until I myself got fired from an incredibly stressful job that made a thing I love (video editing) into the bane of my existence, and no amount of money worries in the world could make me not feel at that moment like I was walking home to the sunniest day of the year.

It wasn't only how much better life was without comics that had startled him, but also how the comics business looked, viewed from outside. How small it was; how cruel and how ridiculous. All the warped personalities the industry either attracted, or else bent and fashioned for itself out of naïve enthusiasts who'd been expecting something else. He couldn't understand why he'd not bailed out of the business years ago, though in a way he could. Part of the answer was just plain human inertia, and part was the fact that, from the inside, comics people and their weird behaviour could seem almost normal.

Dan was grateful he'd escaped in time, though he'd admit that even that escape was qualified. Removing himself from the comics field was one thing, stopping thinking about comics was another. Constantly, he'd find his mind alighting on some decomposing gobbet from the mental garbage-tip of trivia that his career had left him with, when that was the last thing he wanted to be thinking of. He probably should have anticipated some sort of reaction - thirty-something years in any field would leave you with a lot of baggage, and especially an enterprise almost designed to be obsessional, like comics -

His fantasy that he could be a proper literary author, living miles from anywhere and shunning interviews like Salinger or Pynchon, had congealed over this last few months from idle dream to psychological necessity. He'd put his farewell dossier together, and it was published without eliciting much in the way of a reaction or response, but the important thing for Dan was that he'd written it. His lip was better and he could speak normally again, since, for some reason, having quit the comics world, he was no longer trying to eat himself alive. Dan was committed, now, to his new life, and there could be no vacillating. Change or die, those were his options.

And putting aside the fact that "Dan" is killed by the Vince Coletta stand-in and the story itself ends in a much bleaker and more horrible note, to me that feels like Moore being very honest, as depressing as it may be, that nothing else he ever does is gonna get the kind of buzz and following and money and praise that he did for his corporate superhero droppings, and he still doesn't regret one bit what he left behind, and he's going to make the weird magic lizard stories he actually wants to do until he dies and try to not think about superheroes ever again even though he will obviously never fully succeed. Not just because it won't leave him alone, but because it's a part of his life. He loves stories, he loves art, he loves comics, and if not now, he very clearly deeply loved superheroes once, and maybe he still does if he can put aside the sheer nightmare bullshit toxicity attached to them that he's dealt with. I'd even point to a recent occasion he did try just that, with the character of Captain Universe, who accomplishes maybe the only real heroic act in LOEG: Tempest when he stops an atomic bomb from leveling England and ends the story with his big heartfelt wedding.

LOEG is the dead last place you'd expect Moore to place a heartfelt send-off to his superhero work, and much of it gets obscured by that asylum sequence where he savages existing IP capes and the farcical elements of the team and other criticisms at the genre, but it's there, and it's maybe the only story that has a happy ending in the book even. With Captain Universe, a character who has no real history, Moore is able to put all feelings for superhero IP and the big two aside and do this platonic ideal of a superhero and the creative possibilities and hopeful fantasy of a superhero. He's willing to poke holes in the guy and ruthlessly make fun of his shitty allies and villains, but LOEG affords Captain Universe an almost shocking degree of dignity (plus the existence of the canceled Superverse, which was going to be a LOEG-esque project with superheroes done with Rick Veitch tying in to The Show, showing Moore had plans to try writing superheroes again on his own terms even after everything). I think Thunderman in large part is about conciliating these feelings with a large degree of autobiography.

That's one emotional core of the story, but mainly I remember Thunderman for being really fucking funny. The EC Comics hearing. The porn ocean odyssey. Stan Lee Stan Lee-ing so hard he nearly gets killed by gangsters over it and one chapter detailing his transition from person to Character. Marvel was all along a CIA conspiracy to promote radiation poisoning. The chapter that's entirely dedicated to Moore stopping the story to riff and review the Superman movies. This books swings widly and it's an incredibly entertaining read.

And maybe the most horrible thing about Thunderman isn't in the way it's protagonist meets it's end or in the final chapter or even *gestures broadly at all of it*, it might just be the chapter before Alan Moore drops his Superman movie reviews, because with it comes the realization that yes, Alan Moore has been to Reddit, and has looked enough into reddit superhero discourse to be able to plausibly imitate it, which means he probably has sat through at least one argument about him too many. The stand-out of that chapter is the bit where he's riffing on Cavill's mustache fiasco and the DCEU, but it also includes some bits that now read as pretty perfect bullseye jabs at the MCU's current state of affairs.

#replies tag #superheroes #alan moore #illuminations #what can we know about thunderman #comic books #superhero comics

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infoglitch · 6 months

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I have opinions. On jaune. (Shipping wise)

To clarify this is just my opinion. And my opinion is

garbage

But I want to talk about my favorite noodle so stfu Im talking.

And this is not me going "oh this is how jaune should be treated in every single shiping fic". This is just me acting like I have a huge dick and stating my terrible, terrible opinions.

Let's start.

1: jaune doesn't get bitches. The Bitches, get him.

Not to some of you I know you're all kicking screaming vomiting and crying because "obobobo b-but jaune has to pull bitches! I-its the only way I can escape this cr-"

SHUT

First, Jaune is not a self insert nor is he a character we project ourselves on. he is a character who has flaws and has his own personality.

He's an idiot and most of the times is a pessimist trying to be an optimist.

He gets things wrong, and he does really dumb stuff like faking his transcripts. He's not you, he's not me, he's not anyone else aside from Jaune

So when I say he doesn't get bitches, that's not being mean it's just kind of the truth, Jaune does not have a lot of confidence and when he does flirt he does it in really terrible ways, (just ask V1-3 Weiss)

But that's not everything I say because I also made sure to add that the bitches get him. Jaune is the kind of character who fails when he's trying because hes trying to seem like he's got things under control, he's going overboard which results in him comically failing, but when he's just being himself being a genuine person he does things really well. He is very much terrible at flirting and man has no skill with women, and he lacks confidence. Which leads to number 2.

2: Jaune is not cool. (In a good way)

Look I love my noodle man but even I can admit he is cringy. He does things to the max when he sets his mind to it which will fail. Because when he does those things he doesn't have either the confidence or the understanding he needs to do it. Take literally any attempt with Weiss he's tried asking her out, he's failed constantly because one he tries to impress which with Weiss makes him seem like he's just another fake face, after her heart for her name (which he isn't, it's just due to misunderstanding) he runs head first without the context or the confidence. He tries to impress but he comes off awkward like he doesn't know what he's doing. (Like that one time he tried asking her to the dance by playing the guitar and FAILING miserably.)

But just because jaune doesn't have the confidence or understanding doesn't mean he can't be cool.

He just can't be cool all the time. Jaune is a terrible liar and he's just upfront alot of the time. He's genuine and he is metaphorically unable to actually hurt people without getting welled up with emotions.

He's only killed ONE person, ONE actual person and we all know what that did to me. He broke and he was probably horribly traumatized.

Next is number 3

3: JAUNE IS NOT A SEX PRO.

Do I even need to elaborate on this? Please I don't want to elaborate on this!

I have to? Oh god... Ok FINE I'll elaborate

There are many, MANY jaune fics that I don't like in certain aspects. And if their smut expecting to see atleast one thing.

Jaune not being a Dom. Or you know, not having experience.

Jaune.. is a idiot and he's... He's not skilled in a lot of things. And one thing that just BURNS me is jaune switching up and being all dominant and aggressive (that's one of the things I wanna avoid writing jaune as)

Just let the noodle be tender or Inexperienced, At least if this is his first time.

And on a semi-related note I remember reading this one nightshade fanfic that I really liked, where it had Blake asking Weiss for advice on Jaune when it came to sex and in the fic Blake had experience meanwhile jaune didn't and was nervous if they did fuck he wouldnt reach a vague standard he put. It was a really good fic, it was really hot as well and I can't find it and it drives me up the fuckin wall because I really wanna read it again because it helped prove my point when it comes to jaune having sex and it's just- UGH. (Please if you know what the fick is just message me the link I beg you, PLEASE of you find send it to ME!)

Look I just REALLY like jaune (to a concerning degree even) and I just REALLY wanna talk about how I view him and I just... I just can't cause I suck at writing essays cause my brains just-

"ok I'm gonna write this- OH I GOT A NEW IDEA IM GONNA WRITE THIS- oh but theres also this and- BUNNY RABBIT"

Ugh I hate my brain and my attention span.

Anyway my trashy opinions on my second favorite character aside. Have a golden day and cheers.

Rock on till ya drop tata mothafuckers 🤘

#rwby #jaune arc #rwby ships #my opinions are terrible.

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invinciblerodent · 2 months

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yknow, no, i'm not done thinking/posting/being deeply angry about the whole "bbuuuhhh Astarion is gay and was made playersexual as a game mechanic bbbuuuhhhhhhh" garbage some people still spout.

like this type of sentiment is always annoying and wrong, but it's specifically this character for whom it's especially annoying to me, just because on top of all the regular host of issues, it also deeply contradicts what I believe is the central theme of his whole goddamn story.

(excuse the rant please.)

Like, my skin already crawls at that term, "playersexual". I hate it, and find its use either vaguely ignorant at best, or blatantly pan/biphobic at worst. but even just besides that....

This character is a man whose narrative intentionally shows his presentation of himself, and of his masculinity, as being contradictory with convention. This character is one whose entire arc is about discovering who he is beyond the boxes he was assigned: a spawn, a monster, a seducer, a tool, a predator, a plaything, a victim, a sexual object... these are all identities that were forced onto him. And if he's given space to discover them, turns out, none of them are things that he actually wants to be. if you give him space, and affection (romantic or otherwise), and acceptance, and help him attain closure and catharsis, he expresses desire to be... an adventurer, a lover, a friend, a protector, so many things, but all of them in his own way. That's the point of his story, control vs. autonomy.

How.... myopic does one have to be to see that story, to play that story, to play an active, participatory role in that subversion, that search for the self beneath the masks, and declare that actually, they made him this other box for him to fit into, so... it's fine, i guess, to ignore what he says?????? it's fine if they pick and choose among his expressed traits which ones to use and which to disregard, because they decided (based on frankly homophobic and rather misogynistic stereotypes) that he cannot be different from their perception, despite him literally saying otherwise????????

Astarion's entire figure is a succession of trope-subversions. I could write essays about all the ways in which, in the romanced spawn game, the narrative sets up tropes (primarily in act 1), only to then purposefully knock them down and contradict them as the game progresses.

Like..... He was to take revenge by taking power for himself (like he thought he wanted, like Cazador did to Vellioth): ended up taking his revenge and rejecting the power that could have come with it, and despite that having a price, being content and grateful for it (and realizing that the alternative would have had an even greater price he would have paid unknowingly). He starts out using sex and sexuality as a weapon, and a tool of manipulation, like he did for many decades: ends up expressing discomfort with being seen as a sex object, resuming his sex life by saying "I love you" before his partner would have, and proposing sex with them as a beautiful metaphor for his own rebirth.

His whole story starts out with him thinking he requires protection from the player and that the only way to get that is through using his body and looks as a bargaining chip: later he discovers in himself a desire to be the protector himself, which he talks about more than once, and expresses varying degrees of discomfort at the thoughts of both using his body to gain something, and needing a protector.

There's the "this is what I'm good for" type of attitude towards sex morphing into "I am so much more than a thing to be used". There's the whole thing about how important his looks were to both him and his "usefulness" back then, despite him not being able to even fucking see them, (which also kind of includes that silly lovely gremlin-face he sometimes makes), but those are just the ones off the top of my head.

The story, and the romance plot, is about... it's about him regaining ownership of himself, it's about autonomy, his whole recurring "what do you want" line is about respecting his choices and letting him find his way to them, it's about letting him show you who he is, believing him, and loving the man behind the facade.

how absolutely fucking short-sighted does one have to be to then take that incredibly reductive stereotype of "femme-leaning man with theatrical mannerisms who cares about his looks; must be exclusively homosexual and any attraction he shows to women is just a mechanic/fanservice/flattery" (which, that's so fucking insulting to gay men, and bi/pan men, an any man who might express masculinity in a less than conventional way, and to the women who may love them [eta: and of course nonbinary people, and the people to whom masculinity means something wholly different]), and assign it to this character on their own accord, despite him literally telling the player otherwise? despite him verbally expressing attraction to multiple women, and contradicting that stereotypical interpretation wholly and out of pocket??????

like, hello??????? did we play the same game????????? did we play the same fucking game??????????

like don't think for one second that it isn't the pan/biphobia that annoys me more, it absolutely is, but this character is such a particularly egregious example, it's almost fucking poetic.

#squirrel plays bg3 #i feel like this needs a tw but i just. cannot think of what #i'm just..... annoyed. and ranting. and my brain is full. and i'm hungry.#point is; where Gale's central theme boils down to an exploration of devotion #Astarion's is about autonomy #these are the only two i've done so far so i've not yet looked this much into the others #next is gonna be me ranting for hours about Shadowheart's theme of sacrifice; just you wait #(i hope the person who replied to this post; deleted their reply; and then blocked me #knows how heartily I just laughed at that little sequence of events)#(it's like seeing; idk; a bottle of nice healthy kale-spinach juice discarded in the liquor aisle of a supermarket)#(a telltale sign of DecisionsTM made)#(I can respect a “yknow i don't want to engage with this today”)#(even if i will just outright say that i believe i'm right)

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the-puppet-bracket · 5 months

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Spamton propaganda:

"You know someone had to do it.

This guy's whole thing is not wanting to be a puppet anymore, but uh-oh-spaghetti-o! Dude now has physical puppet strings!"

"Making a [SPECIL] deal by placing his [#1 SALE SYSTEM] into a [CLASSIC!] body, Spamton believed he could be more than [HYPERLINK BLOCKED]. But the strings told him otherwise. He lunged at Kris in [LIMITED TIME OFFER], trying with all his [50% OFF!] to be more than a puppet."

"Spam email bot who was exposed to something that drove him mad and he spent the whole rest of his existence trying to cut his strings, only to die (maybe?) when he finally manages it."

"He is the most tortured dumpster man alive. Also, not literally a puppet, but metaphorically!!! There's some mysterious outside force controlling him and limiting what he can say and god, he desperately wants to break free, trying to kill the protagonist (his only friend in years) for the chance of ""being let loose from his strings"". In his secret boss battle, he thinks he'll be free after getting a new body but he isn't, as his new powerful body has literal strings attached. You fight him, because he thinks your soul (long story) will gain him access to freedom. During the pacifist route of the battle, you cut his strings until there's one more left, he's ecstatic, being able to break free from the narrative of the confines of the game. He decides to break his own last string, and he falls to the ground into pieces. It turns out he relied on the strings after so long, and couldn't recover without them. Afterwards, he's deshevaled, hung up by vines in the dark basement that resemble his old strings and he says ""It seems after all I couldn't be anything more than a simple puppet."" This ties back to how Kris, the protagonist of the game is feeling the effects of being controlled by the player and really shows the core focus of the game and it's characters. And that's why I entered him into this poll!

Also he is genuinely so fucking hilarious bro just play Deltarune already what the fuck are you doing the chapters that are out rn are free dawg (play Undertale first though, it's like ten bucks or something you'll be fine)"

"Spamton best blorbo. Very good blorbo. Exquisite blorbo even. He's sad and adhd and insane and weird and I love him and you should too. Pipis"

"he spamt"

"[[NUMBER ONE RATED SALESMAN 1997]]"

"he's living in a goddamn garbage can. let the big shot win. it'll be funny. does he deserve it? that is up to viewer discretion. but he is our beloved tumblr sillyman and as such we need to pay him respect in some manner. <3

(iirc spamton is a puppet? probably. oh well if he doesn't count ignore this i'm not read up on

my deltarune)"

"frankly i'd be surprised if he's not one of the most submitted. anyway his whole Deal is about being a puppet and having other things control him and so he seeks to regain that control through either manipulating the player into murdering half the city or to take the red soul and use it to become a god. yet in his super powerful NEO form he still has strings attached to him (that he won't even notice if he succeeded in the player manipulation thing) and in either case he ultimately becomes an item you use just for stats. guy really isn't a fan of puppetteers"

"you propably knew this was coming lol

Tumblr's favorite awful little puppet desperately fighting to get rid of his strings

the pinocchio references are strong in this one

HA HA HA ... THIS POWER IS

FREEDOM.

I WON'T HAVE TO BE JUST A PUPPET ANY MORE!!!!

...

OR... so... I... thought.

WHAT ARE THESE STRINGS!? WHY AM I NOT [BIG] ENOUGH!? It's still DARK... SO DARK!"

"Tries to become a real boy, ends up as another puppet look guy. He's shady, he's a scammer, he's got cringefail swag and I love him"

"He's just a little fucked-up little guy"

#puppet bracket #puppet poll #spamton #spamton g spamton #deltarune #deltarune spamton

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heal2ninjagogirl · 1 month

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So I saw this one post about morro theorizing that he most likely died from starvation (well technically its not really a theory cause how else would he have died from when he was literally stuck in a cave with absolutely nothing to help him survive????) and I just want to say to that post WOAAAH because to me that is really dark cause in a sense, he was always hungry for something as in physically and metaphorically. Physically as in before Wu took him in we literally see morro having to resort to eating scraps from garbage in order to feed his hungerness and he doesn't even escape from it in the end as that causes his inevitable death as a human.

Metaphorically as in how much he desired and craved to be the green ninja so bad even when he's a ghost that hunger to be the green ninja before still plagues him and never leaves him which once again, causes his second(?? Idk what to call it...) death as a ghost.

Or maybe I'm just looking too deep into this let me calm myself down and remind myself this is a kids show....

(Btw kindaasrikal made the post I was talking about credit to them :33)

#ninjago #ninjago morro #lego ninjago #morro ninjago #i still hate him btw #like i said before. love the headcanons and interpretations of him. hate him as a character #absolutely DESPISE HIM....#but dang this is the first time i actually analyzed DEEP into a character #he is literally giving abbey by mitski

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anxiously-sidequesting · 1 year

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okay wait stop. okay wait for me, okay just- (steps around my mountains of garbage and slime)

Listen we all love Malorn Ashthorn (as we fuckin' should) but I just realized. okay, just how much undeserved mess that poor blessed soul went through

Like okay think about it for a second. He's introduced early on in the first arc as Malistaire's former top student and now impromptu Death Professor at Ravenwood, okay so we all know that. But the implications man. The implications, I didn't think about the IMPLICATIONS.

He's like this 12 year old kid, okay. Already even BEFORE his official appearance in the game, imagine being a straight A student, one of the very best (to the point where it's noted and revered amongst the other professors AND your fellow students), under THE Malistaire Drake, who, even before his villain arc, was also one of the most esteemed and powerful Death professors ever. Like I couldn't even keep a C in school that shit must be wild

AND THEN. And then, your professor literally commits several war crimes, causes irreversible damage and trauma, and becomes a national criminal against.... the universe???? Like Malistaite commits heinous terrible shit, and sinks the entire Death School along with him. And then it falls to Malorn Ashthorn, once again who's like a teenager, to PICK UP THE METAPHORICAL PIECES because he had no choice. He was literally the only candidate to fill in Malistaire's place, a legend turned monster, to teach and guide GENERATIONS of new children that are HIS AGE or even OLDER THAN Malorn is.

And then the actual changes in the school. Malorn, former student, now has to learn how to become a professor with his limited knowledge of Death Magic. Like imagine filling in for the college astrophysicist teacher when you've only graduated 6th grade. He has to change his SCHEDULE, from waking up early as a student to get up and get ready even EARLIER as a professor to prepare the classes HE comes up with. Not to mention late nights grading hundreds of papers from multiple students??? AND he either is the ONLY tutor (which means more overtime and work for him, to personally help individual students with different Death lessons), or he has to actually call upon help from other students to help him get his job done.

And then there's like the relationship aspect of it. Malorn is literally just a child, like any other student, but adopting a role as a professor, an adult, means that he also has to adopt a certain mindset. Malorn literally HAS to be patient, HAS to be guiding and nurturing, HAS to be the adult in every situation in order to be a GOOD professor. Malorn has to train hard not only in magic to be ahead of the others in order to teach them properly, but has to retrain his mindset to be ABLE to handle to teach properly. Like you can't be a regular tween teaching other tweens.

And then it's just the pressure after that. The PRESSURE GUYS, of not only living up to one of the most talented and accomplished the school has ever seen, but deal with the fact that the very same person also became a tyrant and war criminal and left Malorn, his most promised student, in his place. Like I could easily imagine the rumors, the judgement, and the fear surrounding that boy, wondering if he would ever turn out to be the same as Malistaire.

No one asked for this. This soap opera I mean, nobody asked me about Malorn Ashthorn or this long ass post but I don't care because I'm crying. Girls I'm crying my entire bed is wet with tears of despair and snot. Malorn is literally a sweetie oh my God he does not, and never will deserve this shit I'm so sorry honey. Sweetie Malorn baby I'm so fuckign sorry, i'm so so sorry,

#no im not actually crying LMAO but #malorn.......#his personality hasnt really changed from pre update to poet update #he was still very chill and welcoming towards The Wizard as always and whenever they speak #he's just a kid. thats it. just a kid #AND IM SURE HE ACTUALLY DOES RECIEVE HELP. like yeah i bet the headmaster and other professors help him out so that hes not totally alone #or like suffering in agony or anything #but all of that is STILL so much pressure on ANYONE #much less a child who has done absolutely nothing wrong #like malorn wasnt even prepared. no one but malistaire knew the shit that was happening #and all of a sudden in like a day malorn's entire lifestyle changed #i wonder how he actually feels about all this inside #hashtag get malorn ashthorn a therapist and support group please #let him go to therapy along with the wizard #wizard101 #w101 #malorn ashthorn #text posts

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adore-laur · 6 months

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THE WAY OF LOVE

— brandy meets a mysterious boy who gives her the best night of her life 🪩

——

LONG BEACH, 1972

Tizzy heels teetering like a playground seesaw.

Fizzy soda bubbling like a carbonated jacuzzi.

Dizzy vision warping like a kaleidoscopic mirror.

The Pike Amusement Park holds the key to all these buzzing delights. With striking colors and candy smoke, whirling rides and drunken carnies, electrified screams and chic ensembles, Brandy has been stung by the metaphorical buzz. She feels like she's stumbled into a thrill-seeking utopia or a timeless rotunda of adrenaline. Her focus blurs as she waits in line for the Ferris wheel. The red, blue, and yellow gondolas spin around, almost making her nauseous on top of the pungent scent of powdered funnel cakes and greasy cheese fries wafting throughout the summer air.

When the wheel stops with a rusty creak, a group of rowdy boys scramble out and usher themselves through the maze of metal bars to go for another ride. They flock behind her and laugh obnoxiously. They can hoot and holler all they want, but Brandy finds boys her age annoying. They're always arrogant and talk like they're taller than the trees.

The unoccupied red gondola awaits the next passenger, and before Brandy can take a step forward, she's pulled into it by her older sister, Shannon. They set their woven purses under the seats and then sit down. The wheel moves up one spot to let the boys on, and Brandy peeks over the edge to find them jokingly rocking their gondola to mess with their friend, who's still stepping on. She scowls at their immature antics. They're creating such a ruckus! All she wants is a quiet and peaceful ride to the top to admire the fair from a bird's-eye view.

"I just downed a slushy in record time, so I might vomit," Shannon informs through a hiccup.

Brandy twists back around. "What flavor was it again?"

"Cherry. I swear they spiked it with something."

"Hey, at least it'll match the color of our gondola. Just make sure to vomit in your purse and not on my new sneakers, please."

She'll be livid if her spotless Nike Blazers that took literally months to save up for get ruined.

Shannon rolls her eyes, but they quickly widen when the wheel jolts and starts up again. Brandy grips the edge behind her and looks down at the ground, which slowly becomes farther away. She can just barely see the boys doing the same thing.

She peers out at the fair when it comes to a standstill at the very top. Rides swoop, people parade around, and food trucks sparkle in the sun. She's appreciating all the excitement when suddenly an object faintly hits her shoulder. Something falls next to her thigh, and she picks it up with a confused dip to her eyebrows. It appears to be a piece of caramel corn. Is there a hole in the gondola above them? Is she hallucinating from all the vivid colors? Is it raining caramel corn?

Her ears tune into quiet snickering and hushing coming from below. Of course, it was those ratty boys, Brandy thinks to herself. She grumbles under her breath and moves to sit directly next to Shannon so she's out of their aim.

The wheel begins to spin again, putting the boys above them. They're prattling on and gesturing wildly about some sports game they desperately need to catch on television tonight. Brandy can hear athletes' names and statistics spewing out of their mouths, but she can't understand anything. Sports genuinely bore her to death.

Brandy and Shannon get stopped at the bottom after only two rotations. They both huff in disappointment, mutually hating how this Ferris wheel rips people off. Grabbing her purse, Brandy follows Shannon out and carefully watches her step so she doesn't trip in front of anyone. They walk through the exit gate, and Shannon strolls ahead to throw away her empty slushy cup in a nearby garbage can. A sharp whistle makes Brandy stop and look for where the noise came from. It conducts her vision up to the yellow gondola.

Great. She could've guessed that they were catcallers.

She just scoffs and continues walking. God forbid her shoulders are showing! All she's wearing is a dandelion-colored jumpsuit that's not even terribly revealing. She went thrifting a while ago to find something that looked like an outfit Cher, her inspiration, wore on television a month ago. It's not an uncanny resemblance, but it makes her proud.

"Hey!"

Brandy halts again at the deeply spoken exclamation. She closes her eyes and mentally prepares herself for what one of them will say to her. She's gotten used to hearing strange and creepy comments, especially since she lives in a tourist city, and she usually chooses to ignore them. She doesn't know why she's about to entertain this certain circumstance.

Rolling back her shoulders, she turns to face the dreaded gondola again. She's surprised at what her eyes land on. A boy is leaning over the edge and looking at her. He has long, curly hair flowing down to his collar bones, and he wears a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A few buttons are undone, revealing two gold necklaces glimmering against his sun-kissed chest. Black sunglasses sit atop his head to hold his lion mane back. With a sharp jawline, pink lips, salient cheekbones, hypnotically green eyes, and a dimpled smile with pearly bunny teeth, Brandy thinks his face must have been sculpted by Michelangelo. He appears to be a rich boy who dresses like he's running late to a casual business meeting. What could he possibly want other than to bug her?

Crossing her arms, Brandy waits for stupidity to leave his alluring mouth. Her gaze is locked onto his so she doesn't become entranced by his pillowy lips, the near exact color of the strawberry taffy that vendors are pulling by hand down at the beach.

The mysterious boy folds his arms along the edge, placing his chin on them as if mockingly teasing her impatient stance. Standing under direct sunlight, she's starting to swelter. Or is it his intense stare and unreadable smirk that's making her sweat? She hastily gestures her hand to get him to say something so she can leave.

Two of his fingers curl back to beckon her closer. She puts her hands on her hips and begrudgingly marches towards him, tilting her head even more to maintain eye contact. He licks the right crease of his quirked lips and circles his pointer finger. "Are you perhaps a fan of Cher?"

"Yes... why?" Brandy asks cautiously. If he even attempts to talk negatively of Cher, she'll have to climb up the wheel and kick his perfect teeth in.

"Your outfit just looks like something she wore recently, that's all," he says while tossing some caramel corn in his mouth. Was he the one who threw it? "I really dig it."

She rubs the back of her neck, feeling foolish for thinking he'd be another one of those arrogant boys she refuses to waste her time on. "Oh, thanks. She's my idol. Her fashion sense is unreal."

He nods his head as he chews. "She's far out. Do you watch The Sonny and Cher Show?"

"Every Sunday night on CBS. I always make sure I have no plans so I don't miss it."

A dimple indents his face. "They're hilarious, aren't they? They make my belly ache from laughing so hard."

"Totally." She steps closer when the wheel moves up one spot, raising her voice over the surrounding noises. "When Cher sings at the end, the entire world stops!"

"Exactly!" His palm cradles his cheek. "Hey, can I ask you something kind of random? I have two—"

"Let's go, Brandy, it's hot!" Shannon calls out.

She whips her head around to find her sister tapping an impatient foot and miserably fanning her face with her purse.

"Coming!" Brandy shouts. She smiles and waves to the boy before she begins walking backward. A peace sign and a wink are thrown her way. The last thing she sees before she turns around is his lips mouthing the syllables of her name.

She speeds up to join Shannon, who has a knowing look on her face as they head toward the gate to leave the fair. Brandy just elbows her waist. She'll never hear the end of it if she reveals the conversation that was exchanged.

On her way home, she realizes she doesn't know the boy's name. It doesn't really matter; she probably won't ever see him again.

——

Later That Night

It's nearing midnight when Brandy and Shannon arrive at Ruby's Roller Disco. Brandy is fond of partaking in the disco scene, but this is the first time she's been to this place. Shannon had told her it's where everyone goes nowadays. However, she prefers what she's used to, which is the old, rundown nightclub in West Hollywood that she's sure is going out of business soon because their only customers are her and elderly couples.

Striding through the open doorway, strobe lights and sequined fabrics immediately set the lively tone. The dance floor is packed with bodies roller-skating and grooving to the music under the spinning disco ball. Brandy has changed into skintight bell bottoms and a front-knot floral blouse so she's comfortable while skating. As she glances around, she can't help but notice how different the energy is here from the place she usually goes to. There are more people her age and much more space to move. Also, better music, she hates to admit. They play "Hey Jude" about three times a night at the other disco. And yes, they play the entire seven minutes of it. It doesn't take long for her to develop a migraine by the time she leaves. She's positive she'll be going home with a migraine here as well since a smoking lounge is to her right, the smell of weed and cigarette smoke penetrating the enclosed area.

Shannon has jetted off somewhere to rent skates for them both. Brandy sees people either making out to the slow song playing or passing joints around even though they're supposed to be doing that strictly in the lounge. Everyone seems to be minding their own business in their own dome of happiness despite the raging world outside, polluted with protests and violence. If anything, dancing with strangers is an escape.

Her sister returns, holding two pairs of skates, and hands the pastel pink ones to Brandy. They quickly tie them and then roll out onto the dance floor as a sultry song ends. A guitar riff kicks in, and "Strange Kind of Woman" by Deep Purple booms through the speakers. The skaters begin coasting mid-tempo, finding a partner on the floor or dancing alone. Brandy's not a fan of rock songs, so she moves to the edge of the floor and waits for the next one. On the other hand, Shannon has already found a man to grind with. She looks like she just fell in love with him.

Just as Brandy starts swaying her hips to the chorus, two hands land on her shoulders from behind. She's about to turn around and smack whoever did it, but the warm palms leave just as fast as they came. Suddenly, a tall boy is standing before her. Not just any boy, though. It's the one from the fair. He's chewing bubblegum with a beaming smile like he just won the lottery. He's sporting a blue, sparkly two-piece outfit made of denim. The trousers are tight against his legs, and the matching long-sleeved shirt is tucked into them with only one button clasped out of the four. Flecks of glitter are spread on his exposed chest. His hair is pulled back into a low bun, and a few curly strands are left out to frame his face.

"You're the caramel corn boy," Brandy blurts over the music.

"And you're the girl with the bangin' fashion. I love a pair of bell bottoms." His eyes trail up and down her body. He then snaps his fingers twice as his face twists in thought. "It's Brandy, right?"

She smiles, watching the lights dance across his face. "Yes. I didn't catch your name at the fair."

"Harry Styles," he says while tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "I've never seen you around here before."

"This is my first time here, actually. I usually go to the Slug Bug nightclub in West Hollywood."

His nose wrinkles with a teasing grin. "Slug Bug? Isn't that where old people go?"

"No!" She scoffs. "Well, yes. It's just calmer there, you know? I really vibe with the place."

"I'm just pulling your leg." His hands rest on his hips as he looks around. "You here with anyone?"

He smacks his gum and raises his eyebrows like the smuggest man Brandy has ever seen. She usually hates people like that, but she finds it somehow attractive when he does it.

"I'm with my sister. She's probably making out with a guy she just met."

"Wow," he says with a laugh before glancing behind him. "Wanna dance with me? I can show you some stellar moves."

As the words leave his mouth, "Love Is Life" by Earth, Wind & Fire begins playing. Everyone starts skating slower as the lights turn from cool to warm tones.

"You don't have skates on, so dancing with me might be a little difficult."

"You underestimate me, Brandy," he drawls, leaning closer. "You're looking at the smoothest cat at Ruby's. Ask anyone."

Brandy juts her hip out and crosses her arms. "You talk a big game, Harry Styles. Show me what you got."

He blows a perfect bubble with his gum until it pops. "Turn your pretty self around, then."

Biting her lip, she spins around on her skates so her back is facing him. Harry puts his hands on her shoulders and guides her to the dance floor. He stops amid the dancing crowd, touching her waist and swaying her to the groovy bassline. Brandy uses the toe stop on one of her skates to keep from straying.

"Weak moves!" she tells him.

Harry's mouth lingers next to her ear. "Oh yeah? Stay here. I'll be right back."

Brandy feels the absence of his touch and looks behind her to see him striding over to the DJ booth. She decides to skate a lap around the floor as she waits. She peeks a glance at Shannon, and her assumptions are correct: her tongue is down a man's throat. Good for her.

Moments later, she hears the familiar opening of a song she can never escape — "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" by Looking Glass. The song came out a couple of months ago and has been at the top of the charts, playing on the radio constantly. Hearing her name in a hit song is a blessing and a curse. It's a great song, but she always gets teased whenever she mentions her name.

Brandy parks herself back in her spot and sees Harry shimmy over to her, making jazz hands with a grin plastered on his face that the turquoise lights motion over. He leans back and rolls his shoulders, singing along as he grooves to the horns.

He spreads his arms out when he reaches her and says, "I just bribed the DJ with a nifty fifty. Please tell me no one has done that for you before."

"How many other girls do you know named Brandy? This happens round the clock." She grimaces. "Well, not the bribing part. And did you say fifty dollars? Are you joshing me right now?"

Harry clicks his tongue. "Damn, I thought I was being clever. And yeah, fifty dollars. No biggie."

Brandy shakes her head in disbelief. "Okay, so your name is Harry. Has anyone ever played you "Harry Braff" by the Bee Gees?"

His arms drape over her shoulders as he sways with her. "My last name's not Braff."

"My name's Brandy, but I'm not a fine girl."

"I beg to differ," he says with no hesitation. He twirls her before asking, "What other artists do you listen to, Brandy?"

She squints one eye as she thinks. "Cher, obviously. Diana Ross, Barbara Streisand, Aretha Franklin... any female powerhouse, really."

"I think you're the love of my life."

"Oh, shut it." Brandy holds her palm to her warm cheek. "Why, do you like them too? Shannon, my sister, only listens to Tony Bennett, so I have no choice but to be the sibling with good taste in music."

"Is she sixty years old?" he teases with a laugh.

"That's what I say! She's trying to get me to see him at some opera house, and I keep making excuses not to go."

"My heart goes out to you in this challenging time. But to answer your question, yes, I listen to all those women. They're sick, so how could anyone not?"

"A lot of men are scared of successful women, especially in the music industry." Brandy shrugs and moves closer to him. "They're just talking a bunch of jive."

Harry nods. "Personally, I think Cher could kick them all to the curb. Men don't like that she knows what she wants."

"How have I not met you before? I think you might be the love of my life too."

His lips tick upwards. "What's your favorite Cher song?"

She grasps where her heart is at the impossible question. "Gosh, probably "Do You Believe in Magic" from her Backstage album. It's a cover, but it's way better than the original. What about you?"

He plays with the ends of her hair and replies, "Mine is "Lay Baby Lay." That one is so groovy."

"That's such a good one. I love the—" Brandy is cut off when someone suddenly gropes her ass as they fly past on skates. She freezes, blood rushing to her ears. The music drowns out as she tries to determine if what happened was real. She feels like she's underwater. The only sound is her heartbeat on high alert. She slowly looks at Harry, seeing his nostrils flare and his darkened eyes gaze over her shoulder with spine-chilling intensity. Seconds or minutes pass by, Brandy doesn't know for sure, before she witnesses his posture straighten and jaw tense.

When the man flies past again, Harry quickly brushes past her and grabs the collar of his shirt to stop him. The force is enough for him to stumble on his skates and tumble to the floor.

Harry crouches and sizes him up. "You have a death wish or something?" he threatens, chewing his gum faster.

"Chill out, dude," says the man as he tries to unleash himself from the tight grip. "You're acting crazy."

"Go take a look in a fuckin' mirror, you bogue piece of shit," Harry spits before standing back up and kicking the man's calf.

Brandy's hand is swiftly taken in his grasp as he leads her out the door of the disco. Her skates are still on, so she lets go and moves in front of him to glide backward on the pavement.

"I could've handled it," she mutters, letting the fresh air cool her skin.

Harry doesn't say anything as he pulls out his car keys. A beep echos, and Brandy turns her head to see the headlights of a yellow Ferrari flash. As he opens the passenger door for her, he asks, "Do you smoke?"

"Um, only weed. No cigarettes or anything like that."

He hums and gets in the driver's seat. "Wanna share a joint?"

She's thankful that what just happened isn't being dwelled on. She'd rather obliterate it from her mind. However, there's palpable tension severely present.

"Sure," Brandy says, getting in his car. "Wait, I have to return my skates before I forget."

Harry laughs to himself. "You really think they'll notice they're gone? Everyone who works there is higher than a kite."

"Oh," she breathes out. "Sorry."

He starts the car and rolls the windows down. "Want the first hit?"

"Is it laced?"

Shannon had taught her to always ask that. His eyebrows scrunch as he shakes his head genuinely. Brandy watches him lift his butt up on the seat, taking out a bronze lighter from his back pocket. The streetlights reflect off the metallic shine of the case as he opens it. He then opens the glovebox and shuffles through junk before finding a container of pre-rolled joints. His nimble fingers pick one up, bringing it to Brandy's lips. She holds it while Harry lights it, never breaking eye contact. She inhales and rolls her eyes back from the addictive smoke filtering through her body, letting it ooze down to her lungs before exhaling it out the window. Harry's eyes are now transfixed on her lips.

Brandy passes it to him and says, "This is a really nice car."

"Thanks, I stole it," he mumbles around the joint.

"What?!" she exclaims with a cough.

"Psyche. Relax, yeah? I bought this bad boy a couple of months ago."

"Don't tease me like that."

"How would you prefer me to tease you, then?"

"You're a chump!" She takes another hit before passing it to him again. "Listen, I should check on Shannon. If that guy who groped me is any telltale sign of the type of boys in there, I don't want her to be alone."

"Did you both drive here?" he asks before hollowing his cheeks and inhaling more smoke.

"No, we walked from our house. We live together on Brayton Avenue."

"I'll drive you guys home. I'm not letting you walk around past midnight."

Brandy stares at him. "You're not a serial killer, are you?"

Harry smirks, spreading his legs more comfortably. "If that were the case, I think they'd have my face plastered in every newspaper."

"Not unless you're clever," she mumbles under her breath. "I just met you, so I have a right to be cautious."

"I know, Brandy," he says with a laugh. "I respect that. Now go, I'll find some tunes to play."

She takes one last hit before she gets out of his car and skates toward the disco entrance. She feels the weed take effect rather quickly; Harry must get the good stuff.

Sliding across the dance floor, she quickly spots Shannon in her neon pink top. Brandy coasts up to her and takes her hand. "We're leaving!"

"What?!" Shannon replies with a frown. "Why? We just got here!"

"I don't feel safe. The boys in here are all weirdos."

"Did something happen?"

"No," Brandy lies. "C'mon, I'll go to that stupid Tony Bennett concert if we can just leave."

Shannon inhales deeply. "Fine. But Brandy Jean, you better keep your word, or else I'll kick you out of the house."

"I pinky promise. That boy from the fair earlier is going to drive us home. And before you say anything, I trust him."

"He's here?"

"Yes, Shannon, for goodness' sake. He's very kind." Brandy leads her away from the dance floor and toward the exit. "Also, don't worry about your skates. They won't notice."

They grab their shoes and skate out the door to Harry's awaiting car. His front door and the back one are open, and she can see him fiddling with the radio dial while holding the joint between his teeth.

Brandy shoves her sister in the backseat. "Harry, Shannon. Shannon, Harry," she introduces promptly.

He removes the joint and puts it out while glancing at the rear-view mirror. "How's it hangin'?"

"Hi! You must be the guy my sister is in love with."

Brandy twists back in the passenger seat and pinches Shannon's knee with the full intention of having it hurt. She then makes a gesture of cutting her throat before turning back around.

"Is that so?" Harry asks smugly.

"Ignore her. Pretend she isn't here. She's a hologram."

He just laughs and begins driving down the street. On the way, "Someday We'll Be Together" by Diana Ross & The Supremes plays on the radio. The windows are down, and the California breeze whips their hair around.

Eventually, he parks in their driveway after being given directions. Shannon pats his back as a thank you, then hops out of the car and stumbles through the front door, not even bothering to take off her stolen skates. The door shuts, and she turns on what seems like every single light in the house. She's high out of her mind.

Brandy faces Harry and says, "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate you not killing us."

She's joking, but crime in California has been at an all-time high lately, so she's technically not. She won't tell him that, though.

"'Course," he replies, taking his bun out and messing with his untamed hair. "Look, I'm sorry about that guy tonight. He shouldn't have touched you."

She sighs dejectedly. "Obviously, he shouldn't have touched me. It's fine. I'm glad you knocked some sense into him."

"It's not fine, Brandy," he insists with sincerity. "Don't downplay it. The prick should be in jail."

"I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay, we won't," he says gently. A few beats of silence pass before he raises his finger and takes something out of his pocket. "Change of topic. Remember at the fair when I was going to ask you a question, but your sister interrupted?"

Brandy squints at the small pieces of paper in his hand. "Yeah. Go ahead and ask me."

"So, here's the lowdown. The reason I talked to you in the first place was because I noticed your killer outfit. Then, when you said Cher was your inspiration, I remembered something I had bought a while ago. It's a crazy coincidence." He holds out two paper stubs before continuing, "I have tickets. I was so bummed when I thought I'd never see you again, but fate must be working its magic today."

"Tickets?" Brandy's eyebrows furrow. "For what?"

"For the best night of your life," he says with a boyish grin. "Would you like to come to The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour with me in Hollywood tomorrow night? None of my friends want to go with me because they think it's lame, but—"

"I thought those sold out in less than a day!" she interrupts, her mouth open in shock. "If you're razzing, Harry, it isn't funny."

"Brandy Baby. Hush for a second, yeah?"

Her heart skips a beat. "Don't fake me out, please. I would do almost anything to see her in person."

"Shh..." He rests his pointer finger against her lips. "I wouldn't joke about Cher, sunshine. The ticket is yours if you want it. Unless you want me to sit all by my lonesome."

She whispers, "You're serious?"

"Cross my heart," he says, making the gesture.

"I-I would love to, Harry. That's so thoughtful of you to ask. For you to ask me out of all people, I mean... I'm honored."

He plays with her moon pendant, looking up at her through his eyelashes. "You've got this energy about you—enigmatic, tantalizing. I think we'll have a wonderful time together."

"You think so? I might faint when I see her."

"I think it'll be life-changing, Brandy."

She can't reply because his palm places itself on her cheek, rendering her speechless. Before she can process his touch, his lips pucker and slowly meet with her opposite cheek. They're damp and cold but somehow spark a flame inside her body.

Harry leans back and stares at her parted mouth. It feels like minutes pass as she waits for his next move. His hand moves down to the side of her neck. He leans forward slightly and leaves the softest kiss to her pulse point. Butterflies break out in her stomach, her breathing becomes shallow, and her skin grows hot. Her knees almost give out when his teeth nip the spot he just planted his affection on.

"All right, I gotta skitty," he says, like nothing just happened. "I'll be waiting out here tomorrow at six-thirty on the dot. If you're not ready, you'll be in trouble. Time doesn't wait for Cher."

Brandy has to blink several times to bring herself back to reality. "Okay. Sounds good. Gosh, I'm so stoked. Wait, what do we wear? I need to plan an outfit. Agh!"

Harry looks her up and down. "Something foxy."

She smiles shyly and fidgets with the knot of her blouse. "I'll try my best. We both need sleep for tomorrow, so I'm going to go inside. Get home safe, Harry."

"Always do," he says while twirling his keys. "Peace out, Brandy. Dream with me tonight."

"I don't think I'll be able to fall asleep. And I expect you to wear something foxy as well."

He runs his tongue across his teeth with a wide smile before kissing two fingers and holding them out in a peace sign as he retreats to his car. He revs the engine and reverses out of the driveway, speeding off into the night.

Brandy can't help but agree that fate really has worked its magic today.

——

Tomorrow Evening

Brown silk and pearls galore. If Harry wants foxy, Brandy is giving it to him tenfold.

She carefully adjusts the thin straps of her mid-thigh dress in her vanity mirror. The single layer of ruffle that dips into her cleavage is tight against her shimmering skin. The long pearl necklace wraps twice around her neck and then drips down to her navel. White platform heels heighten her generously, and a matching leather purse completes her accessories for the evening.

She peeks at the Kit-Cat Klock on her bedroom wall--only one minute until Harry is supposed to arrive. She exhales a nervous breath and makes sure she looks presentable.

Bold mascara on top and bottom eyelashes—check. Glossy lips from her sister's coconut balm—check. Beige eyeshadow with winged eyeliner—check. Lacy black lingerie—check and check again.

She's gambling with her luck, but from what she's seen, Harry oozes sex appeal, and it'd be a shame if nothing happened tonight.

She hears a honk from outside her window as she sprays her citrus Dior perfume all over her body. He's here. Shutting off the lights, she practically skips down the staircase to open the front door. Shannon isn't home tonight, so she doesn't have to worry about her big sister's protectiveness about where she's going and who she's with. She walks down the concrete steps and toward his car. She hasn't even looked up yet, too focused on each step so she doesn't humiliate herself and trip over her clunky heels.

The sound of keys jingling has Brandy eventually gazing up at him, and she almost trips at the sight. There Harry stands, leaning against the door of his yellow Ferrari with his ankles crossed over one another. His hair is let loose, and the curls seem more defined than before. He wears a geometric-patterned suit with plum and olive colors, the pristine blazer left open over a black button-up. On his feet are dress shoes that are polished to the nines. However, the most noticeable part of his outfit is a single strand of pearls around his neck.

He must notice her staring because he laughs at the coincidence. "Seems like I've got a copycat on my hands," he says.

"I wouldn't have taken you for a man who owns pearls," Brandy admits as she stops in front of him. "My mistake."

He hums deeply. "I wouldn't have taken you for a woman that could just about drop me to my knees. My fuckin' mistake."

She smooths her palms over the lapels of his blazer. "You look very handsome, Harry. This suit could put Sonny to shame."

"Quite the compliment, doll. Dare I say that Cher has nothing on you tonight?"

She narrows her eyes at him. "You don't mean that. No one can look as good as Cher, and you know it."

"Doesn't matter because we" — he attempts to slide across the hood of his car but only gets halfway before he stumbles off slightly — "are going to have the best night of our lives. Got a cassette tape ready and some Cola for the drive there."

Brandy amusedly watches him open the door for her with a dramatic bow. She maneuvers around the car and sits in the plush passenger seat. He closes the door before jogging over to his side, but not before tugging up his pants, adjusting his collar, and teasing his hair in the side mirror. She laughs at his antics and gets comfortable in the leather seat of his Ferrari.

Once he's in, he turns the key in the ignition and presses a button on the radio to fast-forward the cassette tape already in the slot. He places a hand on the back of her headrest to reverse out and begins driving down Brayton Avenue toward Hollywood. It's about a thirty-minute drive to the CBS Television City venue where the show is being held. The seating time is at seven, so they should arrive on time.

The cassette stops at "Sentimental Lady" by Fleetwood Mac. Brandy grins at his choice.

"Know this one?" Harry asks while turning it up.

"I do."

He flicks his blinker on and smoothly merges onto the interstate. "Sing with me. Don't go shy on me now."

She brings her knees up on the seat. "I'll only sing if you do."

"Deal."

They drive down the boulevard and past the palm trees, singing along to the voice of Bob Welch the entire way there and drinking ice-cold bottles of Cola. Before they know it, the building comes into view, which is a black and white structure with a large parking lot in front that's packed. There's orange tape surrounding it for the show being held tonight, and hordes of cars coming in are being directed by security.

Brandy can feel the excitement and the buzz. It's something she wants to experience all the time.

"You ready for the night of your fuckin' life?" Harry asks, fixing his hair in the rear-view mirror.

"Fuck yes," Brandy says.

"Atta girl." He nudges her side. "You should swear more often. Life's more fun that way."

They eventually get out of the car and begin following the crowd, tickets in hands and heels clicking on the pavement. When they reach the door, they show their tickets and are ushered to the room where the show will be held. Brandy assumes they'll be part of the live studio audience tonight. She's never gone to a variety show before, and it's exhilarating.

Once they're situated in their seats, which are far back from the stage — but it doesn't matter since she's about to see Cher fucking Sarkisian — they wait for the show to start.

"Gonna faint yet?" Harry teases from beside her.

"I genuinely might."

"I'll pretend to also faint so it's not as embarrassing for you."

"Gee, thanks," Brandy mutters with a crooked smile.

Over the next half hour, they converse about what songs they think will be sung tonight or what they will joke about. Brandy can't get over how handsome Harry looks in a suit. She notices his eyes keep gazing down at her pearls, burning her cheeks. She feels so comfortable around him. There are no awkward pauses in conversation since they have so much in common.

When they're in the middle of talking about what the best flavor of soda is, the lights suddenly go down, making everyone gasp. It's starting!

A spotlight shines on the stage, music starts, and the screen lifts as Sonny and Cher walk out. The crowd goes wild, whooping and hollering for America's power couple.

Brandy could cry. Her idol is in front of her, dressed in a white dress with pastel polka dots of pink, orange, blue, and red. Sonny wears a matching button-up under his white suit as they take center stage, holding hands. They sing a short opening song and then introduce themselves before getting right into the jokes.

Throughout the show, Brandy and Harry laugh until their stomachs hurt. The dynamic between Sonny and Cher is unlike anything she's ever seen. The timing of the jokes, the chemistry, and the love are so magical to witness in real-time. After a hilarious and dirty joke, Brandy looks at Harry and sees him slap his knees in laughter, eye crinkles, and dimples on his gleeful face. It makes her swoon. The venue is cracking up, an infectious joy that only a room full of people gathered for the same thing could bring.

At the intermission, some people leave their seats to go out and smoke or talk to others. Brandy is admiring the stage when Harry's hand suddenly nudges hers on the armrest. His pinky strokes the back of her hand. Her eyes are glued forward, but she feels it. It's the only thing she can focus on.

His palm slowly wiggles under hers, and he interlaces their fingers together. They stay in that position until they have to clap when Sonny and Cher come back out.

At the end of the show, Cher comes out by herself to sing a song to close the night. The golden spotlight behind her sets the intimate ambiance. She walks to the middle of the stage, and Brandy is blown away by her ethereal beauty. She wears a pink, frilly dress and a matching flower clip in her sleek black hair.

"The Way of Love" starts, causing the room to go completely silent as she sings the bittersweet tune. Everyone's eyes are on her. Everything is still. It's like it's just her in the room.

During the song's crescendo, Brandy can feel Harry's gaze on hers as Cher's powerful voice belts for the audience. She doesn't want to look away, but when she feels him lean in, his musky cologne invades her senses as he squeezes her hand. A kiss to her temple is planted, blooming into heat that spreads over Brandy's face. She turns her head and whispers, "What was that for?"

His green eyes glimmer in the low light. "You just look really pretty," he whispers back. "And happy."

She smiles giddily and continues watching the performance. When the song ends, everyone gives a standing ovation as Cher bows and exits the stage. The cheers continue long after she's gone, and Brandy looks around the room in awe. She feels like she's in a dream. It went by so fast.

"Let's skitty," Harry says in her ear while clapping. "The traffic will be terrible getting out." Brandy nods and grabs her purse. Harry intertwines their fingers together and leads her towards the exit.

It's dark when they reach outside. People are talking loudly about the show and smoking by their vehicles. Harry starts his car once they're both in, turning the headlights on and tapping his finger along the steering wheel. A whole minute passes, and he still hasn't started driving. His eyes are zoned out on the dashboard.

Brandy waves a hand in front of his face. "You okay?"

He looks over at her almost shyly. "Would you want to stay at my place tonight? I've got plenty of room for us to chill."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'd regret saying goodnight to you so soon."

Brandy contemplates the offer. She hasn't stayed at a boy's house in a while but trusts Harry. She's had such an enjoyable time tonight that she'd hate herself if she just went home.

So, she says, "I'll stay with you. Do you have a phone? I'd need to call my sister before she calls the fuzz and they show up at your house."

"I have a wall phone in the shape of a heart if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't, but that's cool," she replies, mesmerized by how his lips form around certain words. "You know what else is the shape of a heart?"

His elbow leans on her headrest. "Sock it to me."

Brandy smiles and places her forearm on the console. "Your lips."

Harry swallows, then asks, "What else about my lips?"

"They're the color of strawberry taffy. Not sure if they would taste like it, though."

"You know what they say, right?" He glimpses at her mouth. "There's only one way to find out."

Brandy doesn't know whose lips crash into whose first, but it doesn't matter because they taste better than any sweet in a candy shop. Their lips part with a wet pop, and Harry mimics the noise with his mouth. Brandy giggles and kisses his bottom lip hungrily.

"Coconut," he murmurs, twirling a strand of her hair around his pointer finger. "Far out."

Some glossiness from her lips has transferred to his own, so Brandy wipes it off with her thumb. "Let's head back before it ends up in other places," she suggests boldly.

Harry gives her an open-mouthed smile, then kisses her cheekbone before palming the wheel and reversing out of the parking spot. During the drive, he shows her new cassette tapes he bought recently, gushing facts about the artists and pointing out the guitars used in certain songs. Brandy listens the entire time with intrigue in her eyes.

After thirty minutes, Harry pulls into his driveway. His house is much smaller than expected for someone with decent money. It's a yellow ranch-style home with a collection of neatly trimmed landscaping, including shrubs and a single sycamore tree. The garage door is see-through, and the house's white trim pops compared to the dull neighboring houses on the street.

Brandy's trance is broken when Harry opens the passenger door for her and holds out his hand. She takes it. He guides her to his front door, lets her step past the threshold first, then flicks the lights on.

"I'm gonna change really quick," he murmurs in her ear before brushing past her and strolling into another room.

Brandy takes the opportunity to observe his multifarious decor and interior design. The copper-colored carpet in the living room feels cloud-like beneath her feet as she wanders around. Assorted sizes of orange, yellow, and white low tables are placed around the conversation pit, and potted ferns contrast nicely with the overload of orange. A yellow leather couch is embedded around the pit, and a table in the middle has a vase of dahlias and a collection of glass bongs. An inlet in the farthest wooden wall holds a box television and a piano. Drawers, books, and a radio surround the remaining space.

To her left is his kitchen. A small island with a basket of bananas is surrounded by oak cabinets. More plants are either on the refrigerator or hanging from the ceiling. Everything is organized. Everything is placed with purpose. Everything is Harry.

Speaking of the devil, Harry returns wearing what looks like pajamas, and Brandy laughs at their luxuriousness. He has on a red, floral check-print jacket and matching pants that could be straight from a fashion catalog for all she knows. He's shirtless underneath, nothing but a cross necklace on his chest, and his feet are bare as he walks toward her.

"It looks like you're just wearing another suit."

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in. "It's totally a suit."

She snorts. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Harry flops backward onto the couch and rests his hands on his stomach. Brandy thinks it's the most endearing thing in the world.

"Stop starin' at my paunch," he says with a grin. "Can't help that Cola makes me bloated."

She sits next to him. "It's cute. The butterfly tattoo is a nice touch to your paunch."

"Yeah? Is that a kink of yours? My paunch?"

"Let's stop saying paunch. And no, you dork, it's not a kink. I'm just not a fan of boys with rock-hard abs and steroid-pumped biceps. I like a natural body."

His knuckle runs along the exposed part of her thigh. "Same here."

Her skin heats under his touch. "Can we smoke weed together again? Let's end the night on a high."

"Oh, she's a comedian now?" Harry groans, gets up, and walks to a table in the corner of the room. "You take a girl to one comedy show, and suddenly she thinks she's Joan Rivers," he mutters teasingly.

"Get bent! I'm funnier than you; just admit it."

He cackles, and she turns to watch him put a vinyl on his portable record player. She notices that his hair has transitioned into a middle part sometime throughout the night.

"Chain of Fools" by Aretha Franklin crackles through. He walks back to her with a joint and a lighter, then boldly straddles her thighs on the couch. Brandy just about dies.

Harry lights the end of the joint and asks, "Do you know how to shotgun kiss?"

Her eyes widen. "I know what it is, but I've never done it. I've always wanted to try."

"It'll rock your world." He shifts on her lap to get more comfortable, and she can thoroughly feel his cock through his pants. He must not wear underwear to bed. It should disgust her, but her mind is too frazzled at their current position to care.

Harry takes a hit from the joint, keeps the smoke in his mouth, and then cradles her cheeks with gentle palms. He leans in and places his thumb on Brandy's bottom lip to open her mouth, resting it on the bottom row of her teeth. The smoke releases down her throat. The feeling is euphoric, intimate, and sensual.

She breathes out, the residual smoke blowing in his face, and she falls into a trance, looking at his lustrous lips. "I thought you're supposed to kiss someone when you do it."

He twists her pearls around his finger and gives them a light tug. "C'mere, baby. I'll kiss you all you want."

His hand holds her head as he guides her lips to his. They connect, and it's like ecstasy unfurls in her heart and stomach. With unhurried movements from the weed, their lips move against each other like they're the last drop of water in the desert oasis.

Harry's tongue slips into her mouth, so she sucks on it tenderly as her hands linger on his waist. He's still straddling her, his bulge pressing against her. His free hand holds the joint away from her as they move their lips until they're numb and swollen. Brandy eventually breaks from the kiss to catch her breath, leaving Harry whimpering helplessly.

"Can I please touch you?" he begs with bruising kisses to her neck. "Tell me what you like. What makes you feel good. Where it feels good."

"You can touch me."

"Where? Tell me where it aches, honey."

Brandy lets out a soft and short whine. "Everywhere."

"Where do you need my hands? Talk to me."

"My neck. It feels good when I'm choked." Her eyes snap open at what she just exposed. She immediately backtracks by adding, "But we don't have to do it if you're not—"

"Don't move," Harry interrupts, springing off her and dashing to his bedroom.

Brandy can hear shuffling and drawers opening and closing. She toes her heels off as she waits, then stands up to roam to his record player. She sifts through the stray vinyl on the table, eventually removing the Aretha Franklin disc and replacing it with an Ike & Tina Turner one. She meticulously places the needle so it plays "Come Together."

Brandy is admiring his wall art when she feels something cold against her arm. She looks down and has to do a double-take at what she sees. Is that a dog collar?

"I'm not into barking like a dog for a man," she says, head completely empty while gazing at the black leather.

He kisses the pearls at the back of her neck. "This isn't for you, Brandy. You've already got a choking toy."

He tosses the collar onto the nearest table, then reaches around her front to wrap her pearls around his hand until they're tight and restrained. His other hand fidgets with the zipper at the back of her dress.

"May I?" he asks.

What she's wearing underneath will surely come as a surprise to him. She nods, eyes rolling back from the pressure. His fingers trail along her upper spine until they reach the zipper. Brandy can feel his breath on her skin as he slowly pulls it down until the material loosens against her body.

"Fuckin' hell." Harry nudges his nose into the side of her neck and moans softly. "What's this, hmm? Been hiding this from me?"

Brandy feels him bring the straps of her dress down her arms. She turns around, Harry's grip on her pearls leaving, and she shimmies the silk material down her legs the rest of the way while keeping eye contact with him. The lace lingerie is revealed, and Harry's eyes are glued to her chest like a teenage boy. He walks backward until he bumps into the table, bending down and blindly grabbing the collar from behind him.

"Put it on me," he says breathlessly like he can't get air in his lungs.

She takes it as Harry turns around, taking off his own pearls so she can fasten them around his neck. He holds his hair up so Brandy can loop the collar belt through the clip. She doesn't tighten it too much, but just enough so a pleasurable pressure should be felt.

"Good?"

He hums. "Perfect." They walk down into the conversation pit. Brandy waits for Harry to initiate something.

"Lie down for me, love," he says while he drapes his pearls over the television. "Legs spread."

She bites her lip to hold back an excited smile, then lies on the couch, obeying his command by spreading her thighs. Harry takes off his jacket and sits on his knees between her legs. His fingers run along the lace detailing of her lingerie.

Brandy squirms from the tension and whines. "Touch me. You said you would."

"Patience. You said I can touch your neck. I've got two hands, baby, so where do you want the other one?"

She palms her core and moans at the sensitivity. She's wet already. "Here. I need you right here."

His fingers move the fabric covering where she needs him, circling his fingers in her wetness and pushing them into her. Her back arches, and she reaches her hand around the back of his neck to tug the collar's strap. His head tilts back, his mouth parting from the choking sensation.

Harry pulls her strand of pearls as two of his fingers begin slowly thrusting in and out of her. She breathlessly moans, her airway restricted. She moves her hand to squeeze his cock through his pants.

"Don't do that. You'll make me lose it right now."

"Make me come. Please, Harry."

His fingers thrust faster and curl skillfully to hit all of her sensitive spots, his thumb pressing down on her clit to bring her to her climax. He balances on his knees to get more leverage, his necklace dangling over her body. Brandy grabs onto his wrist, which flicks with each movement.

"You're fuckin' beautiful under me and falling apart like this."

"I'm almost there. Keep going. I feel it."

He grinds against the couch. "Where do you feel it?"

Her hand presses against her lower stomach. Harry removes his hold on her pearls and places his hand over hers. "Yeah? Feel that pressure? I'll make it feel better, I promise."

He moves his mouth down to lick along her entrance, and that's what does it for Brandy. She cries out as the pressure pops like a needle in a balloon. She comes around his fingers, holding onto his bulging, tattooed arms.

"Harry... oh, it feels amazing."

He removes his fingers and brings them to his mouth to taste her arousal. "You did so good for me."

Once Brandy winds down from her orgasm, Harry gets up and walks to his kitchen. She hears the faucet turn on, and he returns with a damp towel soon after. He wipes her with the lukewarm fabric, then sets it on her stomach for a bit, the warmth feeling heavenly on the slight pressure still there.

"Come to bed with me," he says lowly, removing the collar. "We can smoke and giggle until we crash."

"Don't you want me to take care of your... you know, boner?"

He shrugs. "Sometimes it feels good if I let it ache until morning. Plus, I'm high and drank, like, a gallon of Cola, so I don't think it'd taste any good."

"Fair point." Brandy reaches out her arms. "Take me away, Casanova."

He laughs and pulls her up, then quickly grabs his lighter and another joint before guiding her to his room down the hallway. His bedroom is simple, with several shelves and drawers along every wall. His bed is low to the ground and stays with the house's orange theme.

Harry climbs into his bed and points to his dresser. "You can wear one of my shirts if you'd like."

Brandy opens it and searches through endless ripped and faded T-shirts. She removes her lingerie and grabs a Blue Öyster Cult tour shirt to put on. She then crawls onto the memory foam mattress.

"Did you know," Harry says slowly, "I'm fuckin' stellar at doing a Cher impression?"

Brandy notices the weed he smoked throughout the night, which makes him talk more deeply and languidly than he already does. "Say psyche right now."

His head on the pillow whips toward her like a meerkat. "No joke. Give me a song to sing with her voice."

He's totally bullshitting, but she goes along with it anyway because his being high is incredibly endearing.

"Okay, do "All I Ever Need Is You"." She flips on her side to face him. "Let me sing Sonny's parts. I bet I could do his voice."

"You go first. I don't want to be outshined."

Brandy takes a quick hit of the joint before clearing her throat. "Honey, all I ever need is you," she sings, trying to imitate Sonny's unique voice. She feels like she's floating from the weed in her system, and she's never felt happier.

"Winters come, and they go," Harry joins in loudly, and Brandy loses it as his terrible impression. "And we watch the melting snow!" He belts the lyrics with one hand on his chest and one in the air. "Sure as summer—" He chokes on the last word and eventually gives in to the giggles. They laugh hysterically until tears brim their red-rimmed eyes, and their sides cramp.

Brandy looks over at him, finding his nose scrunched up. His laughs come out silently, and she's absolutely enamored.

Once their laughter dies, she sighs happily and rolls onto his chest. "That was gnarly and not in a good way."

"Like you were any better."

She sticks the joint between his teeth. "We'd make an awful tribute band."

"You'd have to dress up as Sonny," he mumbles around it. "Can you grow a mustache?"

"Better than you could. Can you pull off Cher's wardrobe?"

He removes the joint and exhales smoke up toward the ceiling. "I think I could wear a dress, yeah. But I don't think it would flatter my paunch very well."

"Here we go again," she says lightheartedly. "'Bring back paunchy men' should be your new advocacy."

He laughs, pinches her hip, and then reaches over to shut the lamp off. After stamping the joint out in the ashtray on his nightstand, Brandy feels his arms wrap around her body. She nuzzles further into his cozy chest, feeling his long curls tickle her cheek.

Pure ecstasy courses through her bloodstream. The weed heightens every touch, every graze of his fingers, and every breath he takes from under her. Suddenly, his lips move to her ear, soft puffs warming her skin as his legs tangle with hers. He murmurs in a sleep-laden voice, "Dream with me, Brandy Baby."

She stays silent and sinks deeper into his embrace. Little does he know that every second spent with him so far has already felt like a dream that no psychedelic could ever bring about.

——

The Morning After

Soft, melancholic piano notes wake Brandy from a deep slumber. It's a haunting composition with drawn-out notes that echo into the bedroom, where she lies under the warm sheets alone. Harry must be the one supplying the morning serenade.

She's too drowsy to place her finger on what the song is, so she stretches her sore legs and swings them over the edge of the bed to follow the wistful melody. It leads her to his living room, the rising sun casting golden light beams on the carpet. Dust particles float, and birds chirp outside the open windows. Soon enough, she finds Harry sitting in the glow of the dawn, his back turned to her as his nimble fingers run along the glossy piano keys like it's second nature to him. The brass pedals groan and creak under his sock-clad feet, his head bobbing to each note that beautifully flows out. He's wearing a grey turtleneck sweater tucked into black slacks, and his hair is pulled into a loose bun.

He pats the wooden stool beside him, sensing her lingering presence. "Sorry I couldn't give you a morning snuggle. I woke up with weed brain."

Brandy walks over and sits next to him. "What are you playing?" she asks, watching him press down on the keys.

""Crescent Noon" by the Carpenters. It reminds me of a mournful autumn."

"It was a nice sound to wake up to. You're very talented."

"Thanks," he says with a faint smile. "I always try to play a little before I go to work. It starts my day off right."

It hits Brandy that she really doesn't know much about his personal life. "Where do you work?"

He stops playing, mumbling, "It's lame."

"Tell me," she encourages, sticking her cold hands under her bare thighs. "I won't judge. I'm a lousy waitress if it makes you feel any better."

He sighs and shuts the piano lid. "It's volunteer work, more like. I read books to the kids at the public library on Victoria Street."

She gasps. "That's awesome! I might have to stop by sometime."

"My friends always tease me for it," he says, his ears flushing pink. "But I really like it there. Seeing their faces light up when I sit them on my lap or do a funny voice makes my day sunnier."

"I'm sure it makes their day sunnier too. What time do you have to leave?"

Harry glances at the ticking clock on the wall. "I need to be there at nine, so in about five minutes."

"Oh," Brandy whispers, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry for waking up so late. I'll let you get ready."

"Uh, I can take you home on my way."

"Sure thing. I'll go grab my stuff."

While roaming his house, she picks up her dress, lingerie, heels, pearls, and purse. Once everything is messily balanced in her arms, she sees Harry holding the front door open. He has on dress shoes that tap almost impatiently as he waits for her.

Something feels off. Brandy swallows a lump of trepidation and walks out the door, ignoring the bizarre energy shift. Harry shuts it behind her and quickly slides into the driver's seat of his convertible as she gets in the passenger seat. He starts the engine, then turns on a random radio station before driving toward her house, which she's surprised he remembers. "My Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder plays quietly. The drive is otherwise silent, and it doesn't feel right.

Seven minutes pass before he pulls into her driveway. The sun peeks over her roof, making the pavement sparkle. Shannon's car is parked in the garage. Hummingbirds flutter their wings by the trumpet honeysuckles lining the sidewalk. All these things should bring her comfort, but she feels nauseous instead.

Harry wipes his palms against his slacks, fiddles with the air vents, scratches his head, then shatters the silence.

"I think this should be a one-time thing."

Well, that's definitely not the first thing she wanted to come out of his mouth.

He clears his throat and continues, "I'm not really a relationship guy, you know? I don't think I could provide that for you if that's what you're looking for."

Not a relationship guy. Didn't he basically ask her out on a date? Selflessly granted her the best night of her life? Ignited her skin with bruising kisses and touches? Apologized for not snuggling with her in the morning? Did she get the completely wrong idea?

"Sorry, I'm a little confused," Brandy says, shaking her head.

Harry lets the car run, its rumbling engine filling the dreadful atmosphere. "You're not the problem. I should've told you sooner, and that's my fault." He shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "I like being around you, yeah? It's just... well, I'm in my early twenties, so I want to coast through life for a bit before I get into anything serious. Figure shit out. Figure myself out."

The unexpectedness of it all makes her clam up. A surge of humiliation sears her throat when she says, "Oh, okay. That makes sense. I understand where you're coming from." She's saying everything she doesn't want to, but the words keep spewing. "I had fun last night. Thank you for letting me experience Hollywood."

"Thanks for catching my drift. The last thing I want to do is lead you on."

"You didn't." He sort of did. "Timing doesn't work out sometimes." It felt like it was working perfectly fine.

"Timing's a bitch," he says, knocking on his dashboard. He then checks the radio clock and sighs. "I should go before I'm late."

Brandy swallows roughly. There's no point in trying to change his mind. She won't hold him back from living how he wants to. But why is he being so nonchalant about it? She feels like she's being flung to the side without warning or care. It almost feels like last night meant nothing to him.

After nodding and unbuckling her seatbelt, she says, "Well, I hope everything runs smoothly for you. With the volunteer stuff and all."

"Appreciate it," Harry replies, sticking a piece of gum between his teeth. "Hey, what restaurant do you waitress at?"

This boy is giving her whiplash.

"Um, Cheyenne's Café. It's on Cudahy Street, right off Pacific Boulevard. Kind of a hole-in-the-wall place."

"I might have to stop by sometime," he says with a grin, repeating her words from earlier.

Brandy suddenly feels annoyed at his apathy for her heart, which he ruthlessly stomped on and crushed, so she opens the car door and steps out before her emotions get the best of her. Boys disappoint her and only keep their word for a short time. She doubts Harry will visit; he's probably letting her down easily.

"Maybe you should," she says, a hidden bite in her tone. "They have mouthwatering banana waffles."

He closes his eyes and groans deliciously. "That's it. You've convinced me."

She plasters on a fake smile and gathers her belongings. "Goodbye, Harry. Enjoy the sunshine today."

Harry's hand lightly grasps her wrist as she's about to walk around his car to reach the front door. Consecutively, there is a stroke of his thumb, a skip to her pulse, and another crack in her breaking heart.

"See you later, Brandy."

One last stroke is given before she reluctantly lets go and opens the door. She slams it shut, making the entire house rattle, then throws her things onto the nearest flat surface. Her sister is sitting at the kitchen table reading the daily newspaper and drinking a tall glass of orange juice. Brandy huffs, remembering she forgot to call her last night. Shannon glances up at the sound and leisurely takes in her appearance. At that moment, she realizes Harry's shirt is still on her body. It makes her bottom lip tremble.

"Where were you?" Shannon asks warily. "Why do you look like you're going to cry?"

Brandy covers her face with her hands and lets out a wretched sob. "Harry…"

Shannon immediately envelops her in her arms. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Remember the boy that drove us home? I stayed the night at his house, but he said it should only be a one-time thing because he's not looking for a relationship right now, and I pretended that I was okay with it." She sniffles against Shannon's chest. "But I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it, but I-I got scared because he looked so sure of himself. I didn't want to force him to fall in love with me."

Shannon sways her consolingly. "Why didn't he say something before he took you to his place?"

Brandy shrugs. "I don't know, Shan. Boys are dumb."

"That's very true. Why don't you take a shower while I fix breakfast for you? Let's talk more about it later."

"Okay," she mumbles, wiping her useless tears away and moping to her bedroom. She curls into bed and pulls the covers over her entire body. She can't bring herself to take a shower. Her throat and head hurt. Her heart aches.

It's impossible not to think about yesterday and how divine everything was. How Harry had kissed her with his strawberry taffy lips, touched her with sheer desire, and made her feel like she was floating through a dream. The words he spoke were enthralling. The music he played her bared his soul. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed could make just about anyone fall head over heels. How could she forget the moment he looked at her in the venue with an expression she thought could be love?

Brandy throws the duvet aside and sulks over to the record player on her dresser. Cher's Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves is already placed on the platter from when she got dolled up last night. She carefully adjusts the tonearm and crawls back into bed.

The first track begins, and it can't erase her sorrows since it's the same song Cher sang to the crowd.

Damn those lyrics that will forever remind her of Harry. Damn his ravishing smile, his alluring voice, and his sugarcoated ways of stringing her along.

Above all, damn their fate. The course of fate can be a cruel thief. It can be by chance or by choice. It can come when least expected and give a person the right feeling at the wrong time.

Brandy realizes fate is like that Ferris wheel she rode. It led her on with its appeal and took her for a spin. Then, before she could even soak up the feeling, it stopped. It let her off, and she never reached what she yearned for the entire way around.

Perhaps that's just the way of love.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #the way of love #adore-laur

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formerheroeswhoquittoolate · 10 months

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why I'm unhappy with secret invasion: an accidental essay that turned out WAY more aggressive than I wanted it to (sorry about that)

I'm furious about how Secret Invasion is going. It feels like Marvel just went ahead with a Samuel L. Jackson vanity project, but and it's barely interesting and it's fucking with canon characterization. And it's fucking Secret Invasion! This could be meaningful! But instead it feels like it's trying to redo what TFATWS already did and did better. We already HAD a show about a global terrorist movement and the evils of white privilege, and it was actually really good, so what is this show supposed to be again? Oh. I see. It's different because Nick Fury is in it. Gotcha.

Oh, and [spoilers for ep 1 and 2]

They killed Maria Hill in the first episode. Not only did they kill her (which is bad enough from this studio, considering they've also killed Gamora, Natasha, and Wanda), but they fridged her. And not even kind-of-fridged, like with the aforementioned characters, where the death was required and mostly reasonable by in-universe circumstances, even if it was an easy out. No. Maria was literally, actually, to-the-letter fridged. They even confirm that in the dialogue of the second episode. Fury actually says that Gravik killed her to hurt him. She didn't have to die -- hell, if she wasn't going to be relevant to the rest of the show, she didn't even need to be in it in the first place! (More on that in a minute.)

And the thing is. The thing is. I would be so much happier with the show if the roles were reversed. Canon Fury is all "I still believe in heroes! There's good in people! Befriend the aliens!" He's a badass spymaster, yeah, sure, but he's also pretty optimistic about people. And then there's Maria Hill.

[Image description: Maria Hill, saying "Best advice you'll ever get from me, a dedicated law enforcement officer, to you, an amateur looking to go pro: 'Assume everyone is a broken, nightmare, garbage person and then be pleasantly surprised if it ends up not the case.' It'll save you a lifetime of disappointments."] [Image credits: Bendis and Pichelli's Spider-Man #12 (2017)]

That seems to have carried over into the MCU fairly well. And to see her? Struggling to fulfill Fury's goal after his death, operating without her mentor for the first time, trying to figure out how to reconcile his faith in the Skrulls with her natural instinct that everyone is lying all the time? To see her actually doing the work, speaking to the security committee and telling them to piss off, because Fury was in Moscow to do a hero's work and he died a hero, no further questions? To see her, the character who has long been reduced to the sidekick of male characters with a much shorter stint in Marvel's canon, fully come into her own as the protagonist of this series? It would have been perfect. We could have actually gotten a show full of espionage and intrigue instead of a hamfisted... racism metaphor? I'm not even sure at this point. This could have actually been something besides a Samuel L. Jackson vanity project. I know I said that already, but I am going to say it again. This show is here so Jackson can look cool and badass and also be a funny old man. And I wouldn't care if they weren't reducing every other meaningful character in the series to a Skrull, a corpse, or a realpolitik adversary. Like, fuck this false advertising. Maria Hill, Everett Ross, and Rhodey were all in the trailer like they were going to be relevant. As if this was going to be an interesting web of an ensemble cast. Instead, it's the Nick Fury show with a few redeeming scenes from the terrifyingly cheery British spymaster lady.

It's almost like Marvel knew no one would want to watch the show if they just straight-up said it was going to be all Nick Fury. And I haven't even started on the bullshit that was the train conversation (a whole monologue about sitting in the colored section on trains and then straight-up telling Talos there's not enough room for his people on the train? Was I the only one thrown off by that?) or the dialogue between him and Rhodey in the bar ("even when I'm out, I'm in.") or the Skrull wife reveal (which felt like it wanted to be some big important twist but it also had exactly zero setup) or... whatever is happening with Talos and Gaea. The next episode comes out in two days, and I'm still crossing my fingers that a miracle of plot will happen and it will get better. But it's going to take a miracle.

#marvel #mcu #secret invasion #nick fury #maria hill #skrulls #marvel cinematic universe #talos #everett ross #james rhodes #comics #fridging #rant post #except I have evidence #so it's really more of an essay

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desertsongpdf · 1 year

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VIDEO ESSAYS (part ??? 2/2) [parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 3.5 / 4 / 5 / 6], *=personal fav

why are batman movies afraid of robin?

a world of gothic horror: the problem with modern batman stories

batman and robin: when the abyss stares back

how the mandalorian solved hollywood's helmet problem

andor: anti-fascist art

the craft behind succession

how succession crafted the best episode of the year

destroying the old lie: what makes a film truly anti-war

why gods and generals is neo-confederate propaganda (and objectively sucks)

the green knight: the uncanny horror of masculinity*

tenet: nolan has an exposition problem

chicken little is neoliberal propaganda

oops! disney's cars did eugenics*

tim burton's alice in wonderland was a mistake

alice in wonderland's not good sequel

the decline of tim burton*

sherlock is garbage, and here's why*

the kingsman franchise could've been great*

the tom cruise paradox

the autistic horror of don't hug me i'm scared (s1)

the art of overanalyzing movies

james cameron's avatar: dances with white saviours

dont look up - a problematic metaphor for climate change?

dont worry darling: an enigmatic mess

why don't worry darling doesn't work …

3 interpretations of summer

ferb fletcher and the power of stoicism

why 'literally me' characters are so important

analyzing evil: lou bloom from nightcrawler

fight club: a warning for weak men

the time disney remade beauty and the beast

how i wrote fight club

how did they make this?

the revisionist world of disney: mary poppins, walt disney and saving mr. banks

what makes terence fletcher one of the most terrifying villains in film history

sustaining stupidity: cinemasins is terrible

dahmer (2022) should not exist

marvel's defenders of the status quo

the rise and fall of disney's weirdest sitcom

loki, the mcu, and narcissism

why cosmic horror is hard to make

the conspiracy theory iceberg*

pewdiepie is a nazi

jake tran's rise and ...

nft's are legally problematic

why are nft’s so ugly

the most hated artist you probably recognize

who's afraid of modern art: vandalism, video games, and fascism

the nightmare artist

alexander cabanel: fallen angel and academicism

the canvas of babel

ivan the terrible and his son ivan*

the death of graphics in fashion

'degenerate art' in nazi germany

banksy, kurt cobain, and the paradox that claimed them

money killed art. here's how we take it back

7 deadly art sins

everything is television

the manipulative power of design

the hidden histories of queer art

#video essays

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