#like actually. I keep half assing it and my ed thoughts aren’t going anywhere

[hopelessrromantix]

Content: religious themes, choking, degredation, f-slur, internalized homophobia

It was supposed to be a calm day. Nothing but the usual glances at the school freaks and maybe a rude comment from the basketball team.

But of course, Eddie and Jason were at each other’s throats. Again.

Jason had attempted to pick on the younger members of Hellfire, annoying both you and the group’s leader. Naturally, Eddie was furious. It resulted in a lovely marker drawing of a dick on Carver’s locker. Washable, yes, but enough to piss Jason off.

“You want somethin’ Munson?” Jason questioned, glaring at a very smug looking Eddie.

He’d managed to catch the group as they left that day’s session. He’d likely gotten out of basketball practice with the rest of his goons, most of which were trailing behind him.

“Of course not good sir!” Eddie smirked, giving the most sarcastic bow he could manage. You rolled your eyes. You’d much rather diffuse the situation, but Eddie was always one for dramatics.

“Don’t make it worse, Ed.” You crossed your arms over your chest “Just walk away, he won’t follow.”

Eddie hummed softly, as if he was considering your advice. You knew he wouldn’t take it though.

“Didn’t know you freaks had brain cells,” Carver chuckled, the comment clearly directed at you. You raised a brow. He had nerve.

“A lot more than you,” Eddie quipped. “Listen, I’d love to chat about sports or girls or whatever it is you gossip about in the locker rooms, but I actually have plans.”

Eddie Munson did not have plans.

“You aren’t leaving that easy, freaks.” Damn he was testing you today.

Eddie only laughed. “I know what you’re thinking and no, Chrissy isn’t at my place.”

The way Jason’s eyes widened was almost laughable. Fists clenched at his side, he strode forward, grabbing Eddie’s collar. You stepped behind your friend instantly, getting ready to push Jason off. The only reason you didn’t, is because Eddie gave a small wave, gesturing for you to back off.

“You stay the hell away from my girlfriend, you hear me?”

It was almost sad. How scared he was of losing Chrissy to Eddie. All the while spending most nights crying into your mattress.

“Loud and clear, big boy,” Eddie mumbled, patting the hand holding his collar.

You glared down at Jason, eyes boring into him. With one glance up, he dropped Eddie, taking several steps backward. He tried not to show his mild fear, keeping his expression cruel.

“Whatever,” He huffed. “I better not see you anywhere near her or me.” He didn’t wait for a response, instead walking past you with his group. He mumbled something to the rest of his friends before walking a different way.

“Well that was eventful,” Eddie said, sighing. “I’m probably gonna get my ass kicked, but I’m absolutely gonna find some excuse to talk to Chrissy.”

You shook your head fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.” He gave you a half-assed wave, walking toward his van while you went toward your car.

You weren’t very surprised to see Jason sitting on the curb on the other side, out of view from Eddie or his jock friends.

You rolled your eyes, gesturing to the car and unlocking it. After making sure the parking lot was clear (save for Eddie who was blasting Metallica so loud he was sure to go deaf), he hopped in the passenger seat, sinking down.

Most of the drive was silent, your attention focused on the road ahead of you. Eventually he sat up, his knee bouncing and fingers tapping nervously against the car door.

“You know I--”

“If you’re smart, you’ll shut your mouth.” You said, cutting him off. His mouth opened again, but he quickly thought better of it, going back to looking out the window.

You pulled in your driveway and got out of the car just as silently, whipping open the door to your house and leaving it open for Jason to follow. He did a second later, following you to your room.

No one but you was home, your parents on a week long vacation. Originally you were going to surprise him, let him know he didn’t have to sneak around this week. But now, you were just happy you wouldn’t have to gag him.

“You’ve got some nerve, Carver,” You said, smirking. He looked nervous, dropping his book bag by the door. “Comin’ after Eddie and me like that.”

“Just wanted him to stop messing with Chrissy,” He explained quietly, trying not to make things worse for himself.

“Want him to leave her alone, huh?” You asked, sympathetically. He nodded slowly, not sure where the kind tone came from. “Y’know, I think she’d hate it a lot more if she found out you were getting fucked stupid by those ‘freaks’ you hate so much.”

You stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He was unable to meet your eye, looking from the walls to the floor.

“I just don’t want--”

“I don’t give a fuck what you want, Jason.” Your hand moved quickly, gripping his jaw.

It was tight enough to leave red marks, though you knew he wouldn’t complain. “If you think you can talk however you want to me and get away with it, you’re dead wrong.”

He tried to open his mouth to speak, but couldn’t move with your hand in the way.

He was a sinner, that much he knew. God was surely frowning on his actions, on the way he shivered when you glared at him. But he couldn’t imagine himself stopping.

No matter how loud the voice in the back of his head was, all he wanted was to be good for you.

“Clothes off, on the bed.” You order, finally letting his jaw go. The reddened prints of your fingers stuck around.

“Bu-”

“Did I ask your opinion, bitch?” You watched as Jason shook his head, shedding his letterman jacket and shirt. He took off his jeans soon after, nearly tripping over them with how eager he was to sit on your bed. He was slightly slower taking off his boxers, eyes flicking to watch your expression.

Already twitching and all you did was call him a bitch.

It was always like this. He’d mock your friends then come home with you and get fucking railed. It was some sick fetish for him, not that you were mad about getting to make a pretty boy cry.

He felt sick at how eager he was. His eyes traced your every move, anxiously watching as you stepped closer to the bed. Your hand gripped his chin, much gentler this time. He refrained from leaning into your touch.

Fucking you was one thing. Showing up at your house or begging you to come over to his when his parents were out. Pleading until he got one of Hawkin’s resident freak to fuck him so hard he had to fake an injury in gym the next day.

But loving you? Loving you was something else. Something he couldn’t even consider, not when he was abandoning so many of his morals.

“So pretty like this,” You mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. “You wanna suck my cock, pretty boy?”

He nodded fervently. He could feel himself twitch, a bead of precum trailing down his dick. He knew you noticed, you always did. Eyes gleaming as you held back a laugh, knowing you could torture him like this.

He slid off the bed, undoing your belt and pulling your boxers down just enough to free your half-hard length.

He didn’t wait for you to say anything, instead completely throating your cock, shoving it as far back as he could. He could feel you getting harder in his throat, forcing him to gag the longer he went.

“Aw, so eager to get a dick down your throat that you choke yourself, huh?” You smirked, voice dripping with false sympathy. He tried his best to nod, tears gathering in his eyes. “Slut like you probably likes it, though.” He tried and failed to nod again, giving a low moan of agreement.

The vibration made you sigh, placing both hands on either side of his face. “I think I like you better when you’re quiet.”

He didn’t want to admit that he twitched at that, thrusting his hips up into empty air. You took hold of his hair, dragging him up and down your cock. He let out a mix of gags and moans, his face tinted red as he struggled to breath.

A few thrusts later you dragged his head fully down, burying his nose against your pelvis. You let out a sigh, relishing in the feeling of his throat contracting around you.

He looked so pretty like this, tears streamed down his face, gagging around your cock as he pushed against you. Of course, if he wanted to stop he only needed to tap you a few times. But he never did, no matter how long you choked him on your dick. You were almost certain he’d enjoy passing out, as long as you fucked him afterward.

His eyes rolled back, stuck swallowing helplessly as he ran out of air. Eventually you pulled him off, smiling as he coughed, inhaling as fast as he could.

“On the bed,” You ordered, gesturing your head toward the bed. It took him a second to react, eyes too glazed to process your statement. “Now.”

That got his attention. He moved slowly, sitting himself on the sheets anxiously. He was hoping you didn’t notice the cum dripping from his stomach. He knew you would, though. You always did.

The second you took in his full appearance you outright laughed. “Don’t tell me you came just from that?” He looked away from you, shifting slowly on the bed. “You really are a whore, huh?” He barely processed the insult, nodding along in agreement.

You scoffed at the action, putting one hand against his side. You flipped him over, making him gasp at the sudden manhandling. None of the girls he could date would treat him like that. None would want to rail big strong Jason Carver until he cried. But you would. You always did.

And everytime, he felt worse about himself. He knew the town would turn on him the second they knew he was a faggot, much less the one getting fucked. It was odd that way. As if him topping would make it all better. But he didn’t want to top, he’d never even asked to. He enjoyed the way you treated him too much. Like he was nothing more than dirt beneath your feet.

You gripped his neck, leaning down to meet level with his ear. “I’d go nice and slow to prep you, but I know you want it rough.”

And he did. He always did.

You spit roughly on his hole, chuckling at the soft moan he let out. You held your hand in front of his face, gesturing for him to do the same. He did so, listening as you used it to cover your dick.

“Imagine if your little team could see you now,” You laughed, pushing passed the tight ring.

His mouth fell open, head collapsing against the mattress. It probably would’ve hurt more if he hadn’t fingered himself to this exact scenario in the showers after everyone had left.

But he loved the pain, he loved how you laughed behind him, mocking his constant moans and mumbling. He could barely get a word out, the noises a jumbled mess of “please”, “sir”, “stop”, and “more”.

Naturally, if he really wanted to stop, he could. Just one word was all it would take. But no matter how far you went, he never used it. Not once. Not even when you left him tied up in your closest, vibrator shoved half way up his ass while you went to dinner. He probably could’ve gotten out of it if he really tried. But he hadn’t even thought of that.

His head was clouded, barely registering his second orgasm for the night. The only thing that brought him back was the sound of your mocking coo.

“Fucking whore came again so fast?” You didn’t slow your thrusts, speeding up slightly as he attempted to answer you. All that came out was an extended whine, voice breaking with each harsh thrust into him.

“Think I should call your little friends? Party at L/n’s, right? Let them fuck their ring leader ‘til he passes out?”

He shook his head rapidly, barely realizing he was chanting “nonono” on repeat.

“No? Don’t want your friends knowing you get fucked by a freak?” You questioned, giving a harsh slap against his ass, reveling in the whimper he let out.

“Just want you,” He managed to say, the words slurred. “Just want you using me like this.”

You froze for a second, nearly cumming right there. He whined at your lack of movement, thrusting himself backward.

“You reall are a fucking slut,” You punctuated the sentence with a thrust, earning a loud moan. “My slut.”

And that alone was enough to make him cum again.

#letters to stranger things #jason carver x reader #jason carver #jason carver x male reader #jason carver x top male reader #dom male reader #top male reader #seme male reader #sub character #stranger things smut #kinktober #jason carver smut #eddie munson #male reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things x male reader

[fawnoir]

the fact that I’ve found yet another thing that causes both undeniable (and likely irreversible) bodily harm and unmatched relief/euphoria….

#desperate for comfort #I’m 🤏🏾 close to binding again #because I actually can’t stand my body and this is something I can do to change 1…well 2 things abt it #I also NEED to lose weight #like actually. I keep half assing it and my ed thoughts aren’t going anywhere #so why not just listen to them??? fuck I’m tired and I hate this fucking body!!!!!!! #I wanna be skinny af w a flat chest but I can’t justify getting surgery ummmm #like how do I separate my body goals as it relates to gender from literal trauma that has probably permanently altered my self perception #if I had the money and resources would I get plastic surgery on my lips and nose too #would I also bleach my skin??? like I’m so scared of the answer to those questions #is me toying around w the idea of top surgery even comparable to thinking about ‘fixing’ my black features #HOW do I know and how can I ever know???? #I actually want to change everything abt this body and I’m so bitter that I couldn’t have been born into a better one #tw ed #personal

[gxenbev]

Reddie Prom AU

Based on this headcanon: https://gxenbev.tumblr.com/post/613860178007326720/hc-that-richie-and-bev-bond-over-reality-tv-and

Hope you enjoy!

“Richie, stop squirming,” Bev said around the pins in her mouth.

“I’m trying, Miss Scarlet,” Richie whined. When he suggested remaking Fashion Runway dresses, he hadn’t anticipated standing in front of Beverly for hours while she pinned layer after layer of fabric over him.

“Patience, Richard,” she mumbled as she stuck him with a pin for the fourth time in five minutes.

“Ouch! Watch it, Bevvie,” he screeched.

“Sorry,” she said, setting the pins down and stepping back to admire her work.

Richie looked down, but all he could see was a mass of ruffles surrounding his lower half. He looked up at her with curious eyes, but Beverly only smiled.

“We’re not even close to done, are we?” he asked.

“Nope,” she laughed, beginning to cut more crimson fabric.

“Maybe Eddie will finally think I’m hot,” Richie giggled. 

“He already thinks you’re hot, dumbass.”

“Is that what he says when he’s talking to you on the phone instead of cuddling with me?”

“Guess he loves me best,” Beverly shrugged.

Eddie wasn’t a fan of Fashion Runway. Richie thought he would love it, considering Eddie was the most judgmental person he knew, and that was ninety-eight percent of the show. Since Eddie wouldn’t indulge in his guilty pleasure show, he and Beverly watched it together.

“Will this eventually look like a dress?” Richie asked. Richie was confident in Beverly’s skills, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to move with the tight layer of fabric hugging his waist when she was finished,

“I sure hope so,” she mumbled.

“Next time, we’re doing this to Stan,” Richie whined.

Beverly laughed. Getting Stan to stand still and be patient wouldn’t be an issue like it was with Richie. Getting Stan to agree to wear something besides neat, pressed khakis and polos was the problem.

“That would be hilarious. I think we could wrestle Eddie into a mini skirt.”

Richie blushed. “Do I want to see Eddie in a mini skirt.”

“Oh, you definitely want to see Eddie in a mini skirt. Straighten your shoulders, I need to work on the bodice.”

“I think Tim Gunn would be proud, Bevvie,” he chuckled. 

Beverly took the red, lacy fabric and pinned it around Richie’s middle. There was a plain white, silky layer underneath the lace. She decided to pin it tight and leave it sleeveless.

“Open back or no?” Beverly asked.

“Damn, I don’t know. I just want it to stay on.”

Beverly called the boys earlier and told them to stop by for dinner just so she could show off her creation, but Richie was even more pumped than she was. 

Beverly continued to work for the next couple of hours while an antsy Richie wiggled around. She placed pins, took them out, sewed the pieces together, ripped seams, ruffled, ripped, and ironed fabric. By the time she was finished, she was exhausted and wiped a line of sweat from her brow.

“Alright, Richie, go look in the mirror.”

Richie carefully walked to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room, cautious of the mass of red layers surrounding his legs. He was absolutely stunned by his appearance. He looked amazing. Better than he ever thought he could look.

“Bevvie,” he started.

“You like it?” 

“I love it,” he told her, turning around to smile at her.

“Yeah, but I don’t know what we’re going to do with it after we show the boys.”

“Its worth just keeping around,” he said, twirling around in the mirror to watch the ruffles fly around him.

“Don’t rip it,” Beverly warned him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, still dazed by the dress.

When the others arrived, Richie opted to stay upstairs and make a big entrance.

“Where the hell is Richie?” Eddie asked.

“Scheming,” Beverly deadpanned and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Gentlemen,” they heard Richie yell from the top of the stairs. “You aren’t prepared for the beauty you’re about to witness.”

Richie walked down the stairs as properly as his lanky limbs would let him, holding his head high and keeping his shoulders as stiff as possible. He did a little wave as all the Losers stared.

“Beverly, how the fuck did you get him to stay still long enough to make that?” Ben exclaimed.

“It wasn’t easy.”

“Hey!” Richie squawked. “You’re supposed to be admiring my beauty right now.”

“It looks fantastic, Bev,” Mike said. 

“It looks great. Even better if it wasn’t on Richie,” Stan laughed and ruffled his hair when Richie gave him a mean look.

They all admired Bev’s handiwork for a little while longer before Bill said, “Its lovely. Such a shame Richie doesn’t have the balls to wear it in public.”

Eddie giggled and Richie glared. “Says who?”

“You wouldn’t,” Beverly laughed, making Richie frustrated.

“Sure I would,” Richie stated, not one to be insulted like this. Of course he had the balls to do it.

“Okay then, how about you wear that to prom?” Stan suggested.

Richie could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He couldn’t wear this to prom. He could only imagine all the horrid things Bowers would say, but he also couldn’t back down. He had a reputation to never back down from a dare, and he wouldn’t ruin it for shit.

Richie looked at Eddie. Prom was next week and he asked Eddie a month ago. He gladly accepted, but now Richie wasn’t so sure he even wanted to go. Eddie didn’t seem to care. He was laughing along with everyone else at the horrified look on Richie’s face.

“You won’t,” Stan said, crossing his arms.

Richie didn’t want to, but he would do anything to wipe that smug smile off Stan’s face.

“I will. I’m going to. Just help me out of this fucking thing so I can take it home.”

Richie tried to keep a steady face as Beverly helped him step out of the dress and handed him back his t-shirt and jeans, but he was feeling apprehensive as fuck. What would people say? Word spreads fast in Derry.

He took the dress home and hung it in the closet before going to bed, but it stared back at him through the open door. He couldn’t sleep. He got up and shut the closet door, but it didn’t help.

When Saturday rolled around, Richie knew he couldn’t procrastinate any longer. He had to look at the dreaded thing. He carefully pulled the dress out of his closet and laid it on the bed. He looked around for a pair of dress shoes, and really wish he went shopping earlier. He pulled his cleanest pair of chucks out from under his bed and decided they’d have to do. 

Richie cautiously stepped into the dress. It was mostly open back, so he could zip it up without any help. He turned around and looked in the mirror. He had to admit, he looked pretty nice, but his hands were shaking and his eyes look even bigger than usually behind his giant glasses.

Richie went straight for the hair gel once he stepped into the bathroom. He tried relentlessly to tame his mess of curls, but he didn’t have much luck. He parted it the best he could instead of leaving it in shaggy bangs across his forehead and called it good. It looked better than it usually did, which was the most he could ask for.

Eddie was picking Richie up before going to get their other friends. Richie didn’t have a car, which he whined about constantly, but Eddie bummed one off a family friend once he finally convinced Sonia he was a safe driver. 

When he heard the doorbell ring from upstairs, he rushed to get it, almost tripping on the crimson fabric falling to his ankles.

“Eds,” he grinned as he opened the door.

Richie was silent for the first time since he met Eddie. He looked stunning. His suit was neat and pressed and wore a little red bowtie that matched Richie’s dress. His hair was neatly combed and gelled and his wide smile made him look even better.

“You’re actually going to wear it,” Eddie laughed.

“Of course I fucking am,” Richie replied charismatically. “Ready to get the others?”

Eddie nodded and took Richie’s hand in his own. From inside the house, his mother called, “Richard! Your legs are gonna get cold!”

“I’ll be fine, Ma. Love you!” he called back before shutting the door and clambering into the passenger side of Eddie’s car.

Eddie looked over the console at Richie and frowned. He took Richie’s hand in his own and squeezed it tight.

“You look beautiful,” he reassured. Richie relaxed his shoulders a little, hoping Eddie wouldn’t worry about him. “What are you worried about, ‘Chee?”

Richie shrugged, but Eddie threw him a questioning look. He couldn’t get anything past Eddie, and he usually didn’t try. He trusted him with everything, and he could never lie to him.

“Bowers, I guess,” he whispered. 

“Oh ‘Chee, I don’t think Bowers will even show up to prom,” Eddie said.

Richie nodded. “But what if others tell him?”

Eddie squeezed his hand again. “If Bowers comes at you, I’ll beat his ass.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Babe, you’re like, almost a midget.”

“Fine, I’ll get Mike to beat his ass. He has ‘farm muscles.’”

Richie laughed. He felt safer with Eddie. He always had. Eddie was never anywhere near calm until he had to be for someone else, and that was one of the many things he loved about him. 

When they reached Stan’s house, Stan walked out the door looking as proper as ever. His hair was gelled neatly and he wore a light blue tie with his simple gray suit.

“Goddamn, Richie. I never thought you would go through with it,” Stan smiled, climbing into the backseat.

“You underestimated me, Staniel. Maybe next time you’ll estimate me.” 

Stan rolled his eyes but continued, “I have to admit, you pull it off.”

They were headed to the dance after Eddie picked up Mike. Bill and Beverly were riding with Ben. Eddie held Richie's hand as they drove across Derry and didn’t let go until they reached the school.

Derry High School was never superly financially stable, but the decorations in the gymnasium looked nice. The room was flooded with blue and purple lights and silky looking drapery hung across the walls. It was more than Richie was expecting. The dark lights made it nearly impossible to pick people out of the crowd from a distance. Richie’s nerves started to evaporate.

Bev, Bill, and Ben arrived just after the others. Beverly’s fiery hair stood out even with the fancy lighting. She looked absolutely stunning. Richie knew she made her dress herself, too, and it was even more beautiful than any other outfit he’d seen that night.

“Wow Rich, I should make dresses for you more often,” she said, admiring how it looked, even with Richie’s beat-up converse.

Richie smiled. He forgot about worrying what people were going to think. He got a few compliments from random students, but he wasn’t truly listening. He was focused on his friends. 

Mike and Bill were dancing together. Richie saw Stan leave, and he thought he saw him on the other side of the gym with Patty Blum. He didn’t know her very well. She was in his calculus class, but they rarely talked. He didn’t even know Stan knew her.

Beverly and Ben were laughing as Beverly tried to convince her boyfriend to dance. Richie shook his head. Shy Ben would do anything to make Beverly smile.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Eddie asked, tugging Richie towards the center of the room to dance.

“How good you look in that suit,” Richie said, waggling his eyebrows. Eddie dropped his hand and turned away, but Richie caught his shoulder and turned him back around. He giggled and bent down on one knee. “May I please have this dance, my spaghetti?”

“You’re so goddamn dramatic,” Eddie responded, pulling Richie up and putting his arms around his neck. He pulled him in close as Richie settled his hands on Richie’s waist. More couples flooded to the dance floor as the songs got slower and slower.

“Remember when you said you would never go to prom in middle school because you thought it was stupid?” Richie teased.

Eddie blushed, looking down at his nice dress shoes next to Richie’s chucks. “Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting someone to go with me then.”

Richie leaned closer to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “I was expecting it.”

He wasn’t lying. He imagined taking Eddie to prom with him for years. 

#richie tozier #Eddie Kasprak #bill denbrough #stanley uris #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #the losers club #it #it fanfiction #reddie #benverly #fuck gender norms

[thecleverdame]

The Assholes From Texas

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Omega!Werewolf!Reader, Dean, Harry & Ed.

Summary: On the cusp of a heat you find yourself trapped in close quarters with Sam, Dean and the Ghostfacers.

Warnings: voyeurism, smut, public shame

Words: 3800+

Beta:  @ilikaicalie

This story was available now on Patreon on 2/17 . Subscribe for a pledge of $2.50 a month and get early access to all my stories and other Patreon exclusive content.

-

It was supposed to be a quick in and out. Sam didn’t even want to bring you but Dean kept saying they’d just check the place out and get the hell out of dodge before anything hinky went down.  

The building is a dilapidated warehouse in the middle of nowhere that was abandoned two decades ago and sat vacant since. Over the years it’s become a Mecca for ghost hunters and supernatural enthusiasts. The only problem is that once a year the place goes from mild-mannered haunting to a lethal death trap. It locks down for forty-eight hours and whoever’s trapped inside turns into a bereaved-loved-one’s missing person’s case.

“I got nothing.” Dean hisses as his flashlight cuts through the grainy fog. “You two find anything?”

“No,” Sam confirms, reaching behind him to grab your hand. “But it’s not like I can really do a thorough search when I’ve got her to worry about.”  

It’s true. He’s spent the last half hour wandering around the building more concerned about making sure you’re within arm’s reach than doing any actual ghost hunting.

“I told you to leave her in the car.” Rolling his eyes Dean shifts his attention to the worn blueprint of the building in his hands.

“I’m not leaving her in the car. We’re in the middle of nowhere and we don’t know what this is. Anything could happen to her.”

“I’m right here!” You wave, both men pay you no attention. “A grown woman who can speak for herself.”

“Well, what about the motel?”

“I’m not leaving her anywhere, not when she’s like this.”

“If you ask me you two really need work on your codependency. It’s not healthy to be up each others ass twenty-four hours a day.”

“No one asked you.”

“Considered it free advice.”

“Get fucked, Dean.”

“You know what Sam? You should really thank your lucky stars-”

There’s a crash from somewhere in the dark. Dean looks to Sam, giving a nod as he raises his guns. Sam steps in front of you, aiming his own pistol with two hands.

“Stay behind me. Put your hand on my back,” Sam whispers to you, looking over his shoulder. “I want to know where you are.”

“You two are sick.” Dean groans.

“Shut up.” Sam squares off his shoulders as you place an open palm against the middle of his back.

You’re not a hunter. You used to be a secretary at a trucking company and at the moment you’re just an Omega who’s trying to find her place in the world of the Winchesters. Sam claimed you five months ago and it’s been a...interesting transition.

There’s a series of voices, a muted conversation coming your way. This is the first time you’ve ever been in the middle of one of their hunts. You had this vision of hunting being somewhat exciting but in reality, you’re just terrified, curling your fingers into the back of Sam’s jacket and squeezing your eyes shut.

The voices spill into the room and there’s silence. After a beat, you open your eyes and peak around Sam. There are two men with headlamps and video cameras, staring at Sam and Dean who look just as confused.

“Hey.” One of them shines a flashlight at Dean’s face. “Aren’t these the assholes from Texas?”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Dean snorts. “It’s the two idiots, from the ah, Hell House.”

“Fuck.” Sam relaxes, tucking his gun into the back of his jeans.

“What are you guys doing here?” The new guy with the beards asks, clearly annoyed.

“What do you think we’re doing here? Trying to keep people like you from getting killed.” Dean’s disgust is palpable.

“You know these guys?” You ask, inching around Sam.

The two unknown men look at you, the bearded one tipping his head to the side. “Who’s the babe?”

“Watch it,” Sam warns, reaching out to grab your wrist and pull you closer.

You were born a werewolf. A child of two parents who did their best to hide what they were and fit in with the rest of the world. You’ve always known how to control your impulses and keep your wild side at bay.

Sam and Dean are a different story. Sam was bitten by some a wolf in Louisiana and after a year of searching for a cure, Dean decided he wouldn’t let his brother suffer alone, and got himself a matching bite.

Sam had only presented as an Alpha a few weeks before he claimed you. Dean calls it poor impulse control and Sam says its fate. For better or worse you’re part of their lives for the long haul.

“That’s Y/N.” Dean flash his light toward you. “Don’t look at her the wrong way, Sam’ll kill you.”

“Dean,” Sam cocks his head. They’ve been at each other’s throats for a week now. Too many hormones, small motel rooms, and long car rides. “Can we focus on the matter at hand?”

“Hi.” You nod, looking at the two men, ignoring your Alpha and his brother.

“I’m Ed, this is Harry.” The rounder of two men speaks up.

“Nice to meet you.” While Sam and Dean might not like these two guys their nonverbals are telling you that they’re harmless.

“Enough with the small talk.” Dean starts toward Ed and Harry.

“Yeah.” Sam follows suit. “We all need to get out of here.”

“What? No way!” Ed looks aghast at the very idea. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been preparing for this?”

“We can talk about it outside, let’s go.” Dean’s waving his hand like he’s trying to herd cattle but no one is moving.

“You guys can leave if you’re too scared but we’re not going anywhere-” Harry stops mid-sentence.

There is a gentle vibration that starts in the floor and moves upward until the walls as shaking. Sam pulls you to him, tucking you under his arm. There’s a loud tearing sound as if the walls are going to be ripped in two and then nothing.

“Oh no,” Sam looks up at his brother. “No, no, no!”

Sam and Dean both make a beeline for the door. The handle doesn’t turn, the door won’t budge.

You start to panic as Sam looks around, grabbing a chair and trying to put it through a boarded up window. The wood breaks into a million pieces and the look on your Alpha’s face tells you all you need to know. This isn’t good.

“I can’t believe this.” Sam runs a hand over his face. “Fuck!”

“What the hell is going on?” Harry asks, looking at both Winchesters like they’re sideshow freaks.

“Supernatural lockdown. You two idiots got us all locked in. No one is going anywhere for the next forty-eight hours unless we kill this thing.” Dean throws his hands up.

“We can’t stay here.” Sam looks from you to his brother. “I’ve gotta get her outta here, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean confirms calmly. “But I don’t think we have a choice.”

“Dean, she’s…” Sam’s voice trails off as he looks up at Ed and Harry who are not only listening intently but filming the whole thing.

You’re in heat, well not a full on heat yet but in a few hours, you will be. It’s the reason Sam wouldn’t leave you back the motel, the reason Sam wanted to wait to search the place.

As if on cue you can feel the warmth spreading from your toes to the top of your head, cheeks burning hot. It’s the first wave of what will inevitably become uncontrollable lust. You’re trapped in a haunted, abandoned building, in a room, with strangers.

“Is she sick or something?” Harry asks, looking from Sam to you. “I’ve got water, you want some?”

“Sure.” You accept, taking the bottle from him. “I’ll be fine.”

“For now.” Sam grunts, tipping his head back in utter frustration. “We need to find a way out of here, now.”

“Alright.” Dean concedes. “We gotta find whatever is controlling this place and do our thing.”

Sam and Dean fall into a natural rhythm, while Ed and Harry continue to film, looking absolutely thrilled just to be there.

You, on the other hand, are trying to get yourself under control. The minutes tick away, becoming an hour, then two. You find a spot in the corner of the room and bring your knees up to your chest, curling into a ball and attempting and failing to ignore the building urge in your belly.

Sam’s on a chair, both arms outstretched as he tries to open a trap door in the ceiling. There’s a slice of his stomach showing, warm skin stretched over strong muscle. Your breath begins coming faster, sweat breaking out over your body.

Even before his claim, you thought Sam was near perfection, but now that he’s your Alpha you crave him in an all-consuming way. Especially when your heat sets in.

There’s throb between your legs, arousal that will quickly turn to pain if you fail to abate it.

“Sam.” You say his name as naturally as possible, but it comes out squeaky like you’re being squished in a vice grip. All four men instantly turn toward you. Sam immediately jumps down and walks over to you, crouching down.

“Shit.” He reaches out to cup the side of your face, thumbing through the sheen of sweat you’re covered in. He closes his eyes when he smells your pussy. At this rate, you’re going to soak through your jeans. “It’s bad?”

“It’s gonna be.” You force a smile, taking his hand from your face and pulling it down to cup the crotch of your pants. “Can you just-”

“What wrong with her?” Ed’s inching closer, trying to see past Sam.

“Stay back.” Sam’s on his feet in two seconds flat, growling at the idea of anyone coming close to his mate.

“Jeez!” Ed scowls. He looks at Sam’s face and freezes, backing up. “What’s wrong with your…” he gestures toward his own eyes with two fingers.

“Ho-ly fuck.” Harry is undaunted, stepping closer. There’s a mechanical whirl of his camera as he zooms in for a close-up. “What the hell is that?”

Sam’s eyes are glowing, a sparking orange that shimmers in the dark.

“What the hell are you?” Ed chimes in, his fear dissolving into interest.

“Motherfucker.” Dean mumbles. He looks at Sam who’s stuck in a protective stance, clearly on the edge of killing anyone who gets too close. There’s no point in sugar coating it. “He’s a werewolf. All three of us are. And if you don’t back up you’re going to find out the hard way.”

“Are you serious?” Ed balks, squinting at Sam in fascination.

“No fucking way.” Harry breathes. “This is so...awesome. Her too?”

“Her especially.” Dean purses his lips. “And you better get away from her before Sam rips your throat out. She’s his and he’s a little territorial right now.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Ed asks, stepping away.

“Nothing.” Sam snips. As soon as both men have backed off he’s on his knees, at your side.

-

“This is un-fucking-believable,” Harry whispers. Dean is trying to pry the door off its hinges and Sam is busy with you, hunched over in the corner of the room.

“I know.” Breathing heavily, Ed snaps a replacement battery into his camera and begins to film again. “This is the holy grail.”

“What do you think her deal is?”

“Who knows. Werewolf sickness? We’re gonna have to do some major research when we get out of here.” Ed hits zoom, using his night vision to get a close up on Sam who’s crouched down in the corner.

“Wait a minute.” Harry murmurs, pulling the camera toward him. “Is he…”

The black and white of the night vision is grainy but it’s clear enough to see the bottom half of your body and Sam’s hand jammed down the front of your jeans, his knuckles moving against the material as he fingers you.

“No…” Ed gulps.

“Sam,” you moan softly. There’s no mistaking that.

“Should we, you know, stop recording?”

Ed shrugs. “We can edit stuff out if we need to.”

You whimper, and both of your legs stiffen on the small screen, toes pointed and then you go limp. Sam pulls his hand out of your pants, wiping his fingers on your thigh before turning around and looking directly at the camera.

He doesn’t need night vision to see in the dark.

--

“Hey, perverts.” Sam stands up and you want to protest but your entire body feels like jelly, still coming down from your orgasm. “Give me the fucking camera.”

“No.” Harry yelps, scampering to the other side of the room, putting a table between him and Sam.

“Give it to me before I have to come and take it from you.”

“Look, let’s just talk about this.” Ed gets in front of Sam, both arms outstretched, knees bent like he’s a lion tamer.

“We’re not the ones giving each other jollies in the corner!” Harry snaps. He’s about to add to his insult when Dean swoops in behind him, grabs the camera and smashes it against the wall.

“What the fuck!” Ed squeals. “You just ruined a two thousand dollar piece of equipment.”

“I don’t give two shits.” Dean snarls, kicking the shattered plastic. “We’ve got bigger issues here.”

“Tell that to them!” Ed points at Sam. “He’s f - doing stuff to his girlfriend while we’re trapped in here and we’re the bad guys?”

“She’s in heat.” Dean state matter-of-factly. “Which means things are about to get a hell of a lot more uncomfortable if we don’t find a way out of here.”

“Heat?” Ed blinks, his entire face turning beat red. “Like - like a dog?”

“Like a werewolf, asshole.” Sam spits.

“You better watch it.” Dean shines his flashlight from Ed to Harry. “She’s gonna need more and Sam’s gonna have less and less patience with you two. So I suggest you either help me or you hunker down and mind your business. And stop recording.”

-

You’re vaguely aware of the argument happening across the room. There’s pain radiating up from between your legs. Your entire midsection is beginning to cramp and this is only the beginning.

Sam managed to give you a few minutes of relief fucking you with two thick fingers, but it’s not what you really need. All it did was momentarily take the edge off.

“Sam!” You call out again, crying in agony. There’s an exchange of voices and then Sam’s back at your side.

“I’m sorry, baby.” His hands are on you instantly, one sliding under your shirt over the skin of your stomach, the other curling around the back of your neck, bringing you up into a sitting position. His touch helps with the pain, somewhat alleviating the symptoms.

“I need you.” You whisper, doing everything within your power to keep your voice down. “Please, I need to cum again.”

“Do you want me to…” His hand moves down toward your pussy and you sob in protest.  

“Please fuck me, I need your knot.” You beg, twisting his shirt in your fingers.

“I can’t knot you here.” He groans, leaning down to whisper into your ear. Dean will no doubt be able to hear him but at least the two humans don’t have superhuman hearing.

“I don’t care about them.” The truth is your mortified to be going through this in front of anyone other than Sam, but at the moment you don't have the luxury of being bashful.

“It’s not just them. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. I can’t be...stuck and have something happen.” He slides his fingers back inside your pants. “But I can do this.”

“No.” You protest. “I need your knot!”

That comes out louder than intended but neither of you care anymore.

“I can’t fuck you.” He insists.

“Then let me suck your cock.” You compromise, breathing faster and heavier at thought of having him in your mouth. It the next best thing to the feeling of him stretching your pussy.

Sam is silent, the room is silent.

“Please, Alpha.” You whisper, reaching for his belt.

He grabs your hands, stopping you as he clears his throat.

“Alright, Omega.” He grunts, standing up. Long fingers sliding leather through metal and unzipping his pants.

You rise up to your knees, impatiently pulling his swollen dick from his underwear and wasting no time taking him into your mouth. He’s thick, hard and salty and you take him into your throat until you’re gagging yourself on his shaft.

You’re aware that everyone else in the room can surely hear you. There’s no mistaking the wet, gurgling of him in the back of your throat and the squelching sound of your mouth as you begin to bob on his length, desperate to get a mouthful of his cum.

You moan and wedge your own hand into your jeans, rubbing your clit as you suck on his cock like it might save your life. Sam is huffing and puffing, doing his best to stay quiet and breathing in and out through his nose.

“Sam, you need to hurry up. We got problems.” Dean hollers.

“Y/N,” your Alpha stammers, fingers threading into your hair.  

The only response you offer is to shove yourself forward until your nose is pressed against the skin on his groin and his cock is farther down your throat than he’s ever been before. You hold yourself there, sputtering around his length, letting him feel you fight to keep him deep, before finally pulling back.

You’re close, so close to orgasm that nothing else matters. The finger on your clit moves faster and Sam groans, pulling your hair as he cums, unloading over your tongue as you earnestly swallow. The taste of his spunk gets you to your peak, cumming right along with him, empty cunt clenching around nothing as he’s spurting thick and warm into your mouth. You whimper on his cock, sucking and swallowing until the frenzy finally wanes and there’s a sense of both clarity and relief.

“Shit.” He whispers, running his thumb down your cheek as you stare up at him. “You alright?”

“Better.” You nod, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“I hated to ruin your romantic interlude, but we’ve got a fucking poltergeist over here!” Dean yells.

Sam snaps to attention, tucking himself back into his pants. “Ed, Harry, get over here with her.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Ed looks horrified. “You don’t want us to…”

Sam looks up from where he’s rifle through his duffle bag and rolls his eyes.

“What? No, here, take this.” He hands Harry a nondescript bag. “It’s salt. Make a circle. Get inside. Stay there.”

There’s a commotion coming from the other side of the room. Dean’s yelling for Sam and before you know it you’re sandwiched between two unfamiliar men.

Despite their chosen profession, Ed and Harry seem more frightened than you as the three of you huddle together, watching in horror as some invisible force picks up Sam and throws him halfway across the room.  

“What do we do?” Ed asks, pulling a cellphone from his pocket. He holds a shaking flashlight up as Dean unloads a shotgun blast of rocksalt.

“We stay put.” You hiss, shifting uncomfortably. You’re far from satisfied and it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in the throes of a spine curling heat. This was just the prelude. If this situation doesn’t resolve itself fast you’re doing to be doing a lot more than sucking Sam’s dick in front these two.

“Can’t you, you know, wolf out and kick some ass?” Harry looks at you expectantly.

“It doesn’t work like that.” You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself despite the complete chaos erupting around you. “I can’t shift on command.”

“She needs a full moon, you idiot.” Harry slaps him on the arm.

“Should we do something?” The three of you watch as Sam scrambles to draw a symbol on the ground. Dean’s holding onto a chair that’s suspended in mid-air, in the middle of tug-of-war with a poltergeist.

“I think they got it.” Harry nods, taking a seat on the cement floor.

“Yeah. They're in their element. We’d just get in the way.” Ed joins him.

You carefully sit down between them, pulling your knees to your chest as Sam uses a knife to cut across his palm and slaps the bloody hand down in the middle of the sigil. Light explodes through the room, blinding everyone as the force explodes outward.

And when the dust settles the overhead lights flicker on and the forgotten building hums back to life as if it’s always been in perfect working order. Sam’s standing up and Dean’s laid out flat on his back with the broken chair beside him.

“You alright?” Sam stalking toward you, wiping blood on his jeans.

“I’m good.” Dean calls from the ground, waving his hand at his brother. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I’m fine.” You carefully step out of the salt circle, legs wobbling as the Alpha takes your hand. “I need to get out of here though. I’m gonna need...”

You stop, turning to Ed and Harry who are getting their first clear look at you now that lights have come back on. They’re ogling you like a Frankenstein's monster, but you can’t blame them. You know you must look like a strung out mess. You’re sweating and flushed, and beyond humiliated.

“Come on.” Sam’s leads you outside as the others follow.

-

“Hand it over.” Dean cocks an eyebrow, holding out his hand. Harry rolls his eyes and begrudgingly gives him his phone. Dean turns to Ed. “Come on, I know you’ve got one too.”

“Oh come on man,” Ed whines but slaps his iPhone into Dean’s palm.

“I told you two to stop recording.” Dean cocks his head, dropping the phones to the ground stomping on both.

“Dean!” Sam calls with one foot in the Impala. “We gotta go!”

“I’m comin!’ I gotta get out of here before those two fuck in my backseat.” He grumbles. “And I don’t wanna see any blog posts about werewolves and Winchesters and blow jobs. All this, everything you saw in there, never happened. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Ed looks at Harry as he concedes.

“We got it.” Harry chimes in.

They watch Dean climb into the car with you and Sam in the back and peels out the driveway and onto the interstate.  

“That was messed up.” Harry laughs, unable to hide his excitement.

“We gotta write a book.” Picking up the pieces of his phone Ed looks at his friend. “You uploaded the footage to the cloud right?”

Harry looks at him like he’s the biggest numskull on the planet.  “As soon as I got a signal. We’re locked and loaded.”

-

#Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader #sam winchester x reader #alpha!sam winchester

[rainforestgeek]

If you lose your strength to stand (I”m gonna reach for your hand) pt. 12 “Enemies, and their Power”

Part 11

AO3 link

Being American, I reserve the right to make digs at the U.S.

--

Pidge took a deep gulp from her caffeinated fruit-tea (God bless Hunk, honestly). The hangar where Hunk, Lotor, and Allura worked on the quintessence ships was huge and had catwalks all along the walls. Pidge had hit dead end after dead end with tracking Haggar through the clone until she was absolutely ready to scream. Once she realized she was just staring at the wall instead of working, Pidge took her equipment from the Green hangar to perch on one of the catwalks.

Allura had just walked out to go to the bridge. She passed by Pidge’s perch close enough that Pidge overheard her conversation with Lance – those comm earrings were pretty loud.

Keith was such a fucking hypocrite.

Pidge had never quite forgotten the day that, over a year ago, Keith yelled at her for trying to leave Voltron and find her family. He’d hurled accusations at her like a firing squad. He’d called her selfish. That’d hit too close to home. She remembered his voice echoing in her head alongside the voices of school kids who’d said she was cold or weird or didn’t care about anyone but her robots. She didn’t get that expectation that she had to feel for strangers; it’s not like she had the time or energy to prioritize everyone in the world.

Of course Pidge had learned a lot since then. There was such a thing as caring without that visceral wrench in her stomach. She could understand and prioritize the good for people she didn’t know and love. There was such a thing as empathy without instinct.

But it wasn’t fair that Keith thought he could run away from the war he used to dive headfirst into. He’d been all invested when Shiro had been here, when he’d had his family. He shouldn’t talk about selfish.

Pidge hoped Lance would snap him out of whatever weird-ass funk this was. If she had to work despite her grief then so did Keith.

Meanwhile, the Shiro-clone was still in stasis. Presumably, if he was being monitored, manipulated, and controlled by Haggar, it would be through the mechanical arm. It’s probably not as efficient as having it hooked up directly to the brain, but Hunk was certain that access through the shoulder into the central nervous system was sufficient. Even with the change of scenery (which often helped her think) Pidge was about ready to throw her laptop at the wall, though, because no matter what she tried the arm software was a fucking dead end.

Actually, no, never the laptop no matter how angry or frustrated she got. That computer was her baby. She’d built it back on Earth and added a ton of Altean modifications to the hardware – including some incredibly impressive RAM that allowed her to multitask like a crazy person and put the computer’s original 64 GB to shame.

Pidge pulled up the clone’s medical records. The cryo-pod did a full body scan twice a varga and she’d linked the data to continuously upload to her laptop (thank you, alien random access memory), focusing on the CNS. And –

Okay, that was different. The original clone scans showed no distinction between those of the real Shiro, allowing for expected discrepancies on the cellular and molecular levels due to time passing. One of the things the pods monitored closely was an individual’s quintessence. She was no biologist, but Pidge did grasp the basic concepts of thermodynamics and the quintessence seemed to be deteriorating. She didn’t know what it meant, though.

A hefty creaking noise distracted her. Hunk pulled his way onto the catwalk and settled in beside her. “Pidge. Can I chew your ear for a minute?”

“Aren’t you busy?”

“Lotor went to make some, uh, conference calls, I think.”

Pidge glared at the computer screen and decided to fuck it, she’s not getting anywhere with this anyway. “Yeah, why not. Shoot.”

Hunk blew out a puff of air. “We’ve made a lot of progress on the technology. Allura’s been working on adapting the ships to travel between universes and I’m really close to finding the most efficient ways to collect and contain the energy. It’s just, um…what if we aren’t doing the right thing here, Pidge?”

She eyed him. “If we can end the war without more war, I’m all for it. I know I wasn’t on board at first, and I’m no economist, but this seems like a good way to stabilize the universe.”

“I’m just thinking. Humans and galra have one big thing in common: exhausting resources. Sure, the quintessence field seems endless now, but the same can be said for every single resource humans overexploited in history. We don’t know how this could affect the universe.” He was getting worked up.

“Hunk.” Pidge placed a hand on his wrist, knowing he takes comfort from even small touches. “You’re a huge part of this project. You and Allura can find a way to make this harvesting sustainable.”

He hummed. His bushy eyebrows drew together.

Pidge continued, “Is this really the only thing bugging you?”

“I’m not…convinced doing this harvesting will lead to peace. Like, I get why Lotor thinks this will solve things,” Hunk said in a low voice. “Increase supply, satisfy demand, spare bad harvesting practices etc. But what do the galra need all this quintessence for?”

“I don’t know, space ships? Power grids? Fuel?…Weapons?”

“Exactly. These guys have been conquering for thousands of years. How can we be sure they won’t just keep conquering when we hand over the power?”

Pidge massaged her temples. “I hear you Hunk, but I’m way out of my depth here. I’d rather trust that Allura and Lotor know way more about alien politics and economics than I do, you know, being born rulers and everything.”

“Since when did you trust Lotor?”

Pidge finally tore her eyes away from the screen and leaned in close to Hunk. “I trust Allura. Do you, do you think Lotor can pull the wool over her eyes?”

“Yeah, well, the man has only been a military strategist for several millennia, I think it’s probable.”

Pidge pulled up another window. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been keeping up with the news. Lotor is on the manhunt for any and all galra factions who don’t pledge loyalty to him. And most of the ones who have are extracting their control over recently conquered sectors. It’s a start.”

“How do you completely reform a culture that’s built on war and conquest?”

“Rome and America became republics, didn’t they?”

Hunk groaned and rubbed his eyes. “It’s so complicated. I wish I could just fix up these ships and that would automatically make everything okay.”

She patted his shoulder. “I know the feeling. I’m confused here, too. Look.”

“Aren’t those scans of the fake Shiro? Why…man I can’t read these, why’s the blue glowing in the middle getting dimmer in each picture?”

“It’s his quintessence. It’s deteriorating. But look, it didn’t start until after we put him in stasis, see? The readings are exactly the same between the scan of Shiro and the very first scan of the clone.”

Understanding lit up Hunk’s face. Good, good, thermodynamics were safe, comprehensible ground. “And that’s when the energy started wasting away. Nothing’s regenerating the quintessence. Pidge, Haggar’s magic!”

She banged her fist on the catwalk. The echoing clang make Hunk flinch. “Of course! I should’ve figured that out. If it doesn’t make sense, then magic.” She huffed a sigh. “But if there’s no magic connected to the clone then that means I can’t trace it. It’s another dead end.”

Hunk was quiet for a few minutes, while Pidge stewed in her failure.

"Although," Hunk said, "Zarkon was obsessed with quintessence for his own personal use. He's gone now and if we get rid of Haggar too, then the demand should go down significantly. She's our biggest threat right now and with so much of the military devoted to Lotor he should be able to keep the rogues in check, right?"

Pidge shut her laptop. "See, you figured it out. What do you need me for."

---

“So let me get this straight.”

It was first thing in the morning, and they were in the Blade-equivalent of a conference room with Krolia and Kolivan. Lance pressed his fingertips to his temple like he was trying to organize something in his head (except in Keith’s experience, that usually happened out loud).

Lance gestured to Krolia. “You were undercover at Ranveig’s base, where he intercepted mega-powerful quintessence and accidentally used it to create a terrifying robeast but without the robot parts. Which you both then sic-ed onto a different general attacking the base so you could escape and presumably that thing is still on the planet.

“And you’ve tracked the quintessence to its source but it’s guarded by impenetrable space-time anomalies and we don’t know who was shipping it.”

Keith said, “It does fit Haggar’s M.O.”

Lance sighed. “We should call the Castle of Lions and get them in on this meeting.”

--

Pidge just about leapt out of her skin (and did leap out of her bed) at the loud, insistent banging on her door. She tripped over something on her floor and narrowly avoided face-planting in a pile of dirty socks.

“Pidge! Pidge, wake up!”

Vision still kinda fuzzy from sleep, she scrambled to her feet to slam her hand against the door panel. It hissed open as Hunk prepared to pound on it again. Had he been any shorter he would have punched Pidge in the head, but as it was his fist met thin air and he had to windmill his arms to not fall on her.

“Hunk! What is it? What’s happening?” Pidge demanded.

“Whoa, hey chill out. There’s no emergency.”

She glared at him. “Did you just scare me awake for shits and giggles? Do you have any idea how loud it is when you bang on a metal surface?!”

Because he was the worst, Hunk flat-out ignored her tirade. “Your brother, Lance, and Keith want everyone on a conference call. We’ve been trying to wake you up for half an hour.”

Pidge took a deep breath in through her nose. Then let it out. “If you value our continued friendship, you will get me the largest canteen you can find and fill it to the brim with the not-coffee. And it better fucking be hot.”

It was hot, and she and everyone else were soon in front of multiple huge screens showing her brother, her missing teammates, Kolivan, and another galra she didn’t recognize. The first thing that happened was Keith held up a placating hand before Allura could lay into him.

“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m sorry for leaving without telling you guys why. I got overwhelmed and needed to do something. But it won’t happen again.”

Allura drummed her fingers irritably. “It better not.”

“And by something,” Lance interjected, “Keith here means he had to have some face time with his LONG LOST MOTHER. Guys, meet Krolia, Keith’s galra mom!”

Pidge choked mid-drink and spewed liquid all over Hunk. Fucking what????

“Pidge, did you just do an actual spit take?” Lance demanded, blatantly ignoring the irritated glare Keith was shooting him.

“Did you deliberately wait until I was taking a sip to say that?”

“Depends.”

“Okay, you two can flirt later,” Matt said. Lance’s entire face and neck flushed. “We have important news.”

They proceeded to explain the quintessence the super-powerful quintessence, the spacetime equivalent of a minefield they’d tracked it to, and their suspicions that Haggar was somehow mining it to fuel her military and her magic.

Pidge downed the rest of her “caffeine” in two gulps.

“We believe the source is behind the quantum abyss, rather than the abyss itself,” Kolivan was explaining. “If we can cut Haggar off from her major quintessence supply then we stand a far greater chance at permanently vanquishing her forces.”

Krolia spoke, “The tricky part is navigating the abyss. It requires precise calculations and the consequences of being trapped inside would be dire.”

“Hunk, Pidge, think you can work through those calculations?” Keith asked.

They responded with a synchronous “probably.” Pidge thanked God she now had a new project to work on. One more day with the stupid clone arm and she was gonna lose her hair.

“I believe I know where that quintessence is coming from.” Lotor’s cool voice silenced the entire room. Pidge noticed with shock that his face had gone paper-white. He looked like the ghost of a general rather than a living emperor.

“It is a place I have not been to in some time."

Part 13

#plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #slowburn #hunk #keith #allura #lotor #krolia #lance #pidge #katie holt #kolivan #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld fix it #fix it fic #haggar #canon divergence #katt #matt holt #keith kogane

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S2 Ep 41: It’s Mai’s Turn to Get Electrocuted

Hey guys, welcome to the Christmas Break.

It’s TV watching season, so lets watch some TV and over-analyze a 20 yo kid’s show, you in?

Odion, after suffering from a lightning strike and getting impaled by many pieces of that fake millennium rod he was holding gets dropped off in the only room on this blimp that has sheets. He also had the added shock of witnessing his brother morph into a somewhat evil-er dude with saiyan hair, which I dunno, I’d want to take a nap too, that’s a lot to deal with.

(And thanks to some reader input, turns out this Marik isn’t so much a ghost situation so much. I mean, I guess it’s more of a Season Zero --this is your deep down scary personality taking over-- type thing but it’s not like I really finished Season Zero so...We’re just rolling with it.)

Glad we have an actual hospital wing--confused as to why Bakura isn’t here.

But I guess lightning strike is slightly worse than having a bleeding stab wound for 12 hours. I mean I’m no doctor, maybe it is? Anyway, Odion is hooked up to all sorts of computers and life support although there aren’t any cords attached to him anywhere on his body. Not even one piss-yellow IV bag.

Check out the size of that IBM. This is what a widescreen used to look like.

The rest of the Yuge Crew are here although I’m pretty sure that’s not how hospitals work. Pretty sure you have to be related to drop on in directly after being put in intensive care but like, they are on a blimp so I guess it’s different up there. But also, this guy has abducted them once already and just tried to kill Joey for the second time, and now they are like “We’re basically on BFF family terms with this Odion guy, lets visit that bedside.”

Although, mind you, his real family is Marik and Ishizu, both of which have never said aloud that Odion is their brother. This family is sort of bad at life, TBH.

Since we’re barrelling right into a Mai arc we have to confront one of her 2 big Mai character conflicts--which is either “this is why I don’t get married” or “OMG I am going to die forever alone.” Which is interesting, because last time we hung out with her, we did whatever we could to keep her independent, while in this episode Mai mourns that being independent is the ultimate curse. Girl wants whatever she doesn’t have, pretty much.

Ah, Miss independent, never thought I’d get that song stuck in my head again. Thanks, Mai. Except in this version, instead of falling in love, Mai just makes weird friendships with jail bait teenagers. Why can’t she make friends with like, Roland? He’s her age. Or maybe this nice doctor? But whatever, age is meaningless on this show.

(read more under the cut)

Anyway, Joey has decided to tell us all about that dream he had but leaves out the parts where he dropped everything he owns, and then knocked himself over a desk onto his face, and then in the same dream Kaiba kinda walked in from off screen, dunked on him, and then walked directly off screen again.

Mai is deeply touched.

And then, because she is Mai, gets extremely offended immediately afterward.

I can keep hoping it’ll be Duke Devlin but like...as much as I want him to do more on this show, I really think the only people who remember Duke Devlin at this point are all the animators who were like “HOW many people are in this shot?! Why did we make a season where every scene is a freakin crowd scene!?”

*I know the shading on her ass was supposed to be attractive but it looks like nasty sweat stains*

(Also what the hell computer-machinery is supposed to be behind them in this scene?)

This one time where Joey doth protest too much is the first time we have ever, ever on this show seen Joey act less than vague towards Mai. During the dream episode he blushed, but I thought that was because of Serenity being there for her brother in his dream. I didn’t at all think that was over Mai at the time.

But I guess this is happening now? I mean people kept saying “yes, Joey and Mai will be a thing” and I was like “they better start building up to that because like...nothing is happening.” but this show’s version of building up to that was by just not being vague one single time.

Which in this show is a big deal, I guess. Because shortly after this event, Tea remembers that her character description sheet says “Is bossy AF” with red underline and was like “OMG I totally forgot and it’s been like 20 episodes since I did anything, I gotta hurry” and she just lost her lid.

I’m regretting more and more that joke I made that TeaxKaiba was way more reasonable than TeaxYugi, because sometimes when Tea goes ham she may as well be wearing a long spiky coat with boots leggings. Tea had two very different personalities way before she ever got possessed by Bakura. Like, Tea is kind of a monster actually, but we rarely get to see it because she gets completely distracted and cries a lot when it just feels like...the other half of her, the half that bit a guy once--like she legit bit a guy on this show--that side of Tea would just never cry over cards. Or cry, period. She sure wasn’t crying when she bit that guy!

This is mostly because I think the writers didn’t know how to write a girl like Tea since she’s a mix of a Season Zero Tea and this more old fashioned-’feminine’ version I think they were trying to turn her into for this series. It’s weird. It’s weird that this group of friends have nothing to say about these very abrupt changes in her behavior. Then again, it took them a while to notice the abrupt changes in Yugi.

Anyway, Joey isn’t done getting harassed by everyone he knows yet.

We have Marik trapped in a blimp in the sky and the entire Kaiba security force, why are we dueling him anymore? I mean I know why, we are contractually obligated to show lots of card content in this show to sell cards, but at this point I feel like maybe they should drive the blimp over international waters and resort to maritime law. Give Kaiba a gun.

Actually don’t do that, it would be bad. Don’t give Kaiba a gun. Give it to Duke or something, he seems stable enough. He seems like he’d be able to shoot somebody but not everybody, if you know what I mean.

And because it’s the Mai arc, we gotta have Mai duel next. There’s only 3 people left to go against: Ishizu, Kaiba, and Marik. I think. There’s so many people on this show. Tea isn’t playing, right? I mean I really do feel like like I’ve forgotten someone--maybe Shadi? Miho? So many people are on this blimp.

Whatever, I’ll just roll with it, if I forgot someone I’m sure they’ll show up at some point.

Mai sure is that girlfriend.

Anyway, lets see what Marik’s up to. Ah, he really is visiting his older brother after all.

That’s right--Marik has to play twice. I mean obvi the first Marik was Odion, but still, it just feels like it’s Marik playing twice.

Also can we please talk about Marik’s cargo pants obsession for a little bit? This arch villain is in CARGO PANTS. Like, they have puffy pockets. He figured out that the hoodie was a bad look, but then he was like “I’ll just cover my tum-tum, and then put on my khaki cargo pants with a sensible belt.”

It just sort of insinuates that Marik only owns cultist robes and cargo pants. Just those two things. Imagine if every pant in your closet was cargo pants. Just imagine with me. You’d go mad, too. Imagine you packed for a trip, a nice vacay on a blimp, and then you opened your luggage and you were like “oops! all cargo pants!” you’d fly home.

Marik looks like he’s going to Casual Khaki’s Friday at the office from about the stomach down, and then stomach up up he’s ready to join piccolo and fuse brains or whatever the hell goes on in Dragonball Z.

And Yugi and his friends are late to Mai’s duel because they are teenagers and also of course they would. This whole season was introduced with Yugi being chronically late to stuff.

The bathroom joke in this episode is canon, PS. I skipped a Season Zero episode where Tristan went to the loo and so Yugi held his spot in line and it took like 30 minutes before Tristan finally got back. Tristan’s epic poops have apparently been Yugioh canon since the very beginning.

I’m learning so much about the lore.

Now that Marik no longer has to hide who he is, he has decided that he’ll just use the Shadow Realm willy-nilly now. Although Marik did this without playing any cards at all, it doesn’t seem to register to Seto Kaiba that this is not a hologram. Maybe Kaiba sneezed when Marik summoned it and just assumed he missed a card play or something.

So now, for our gimmick!

Every time we fight in the Shadow Realm it feels like the rules are a little bit different, and Marik decided to make this duel a memory fight.

The Shadow Realm seems to eat on your greatest insecurities, and for Mai it’s feeling all alone. Not sure how that works once the duel is over--her friends will still be there, so like...she can just get a heads up on the one day they went camping that one time and then boom, friendship rekindled, I think. But for now, this is very scary for everyone involved.

But I mean at least she isn’t a playing card, or being thrown into a graveyard by being played as a card, or being devoured by gloopy blobs, or rapidly dying because of the exposure to the shadow zone. As far as Shadow Realms go this one seems kind of tame.

But I guess we shall see if somehow losing Tea will effect her story in any way.

Depends on which Tea, in my opinion, but if we’re going for the normal boring one that only cries wellllllll I wouldn’t notice if she were gone, just saying. Now, if it’s the fun Tea that bites people and yanks their ears off their face, well being forced to lose my memories of her is what the writers do to me basically every episode of this show. Let Tea bite more people in the arm. Let that girl rage.

But all that will be for another recap where we can all watch Mai get Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-ed as if a memory wipe hasn’t happened at least once to every single person on this show with the exception of Mokuba. And Mokuba was a paper card for like I want to say about 10 episodes, so...

Anyways, if you just got here I do have these in chrono order from s1 ep1, here is a link.

#Yugioh #yugioh recap #photo recap #s2 ep 41 #Mai Valentine #Tea Gardner #Joey Wheeler #Yugi Muto #Seto Kaiba #Kaiba #Mokuba #Roland #Tristan Taylor #Duke Devlin #Serenity Wheeler #odion ishtar #marik ishtar #did I get everybody #theres so many people to tag now #cargo pants #plot coma

[kiss-my-freckle]

Dialogues

1x2 -

Red: Watch yourself with her, Donald. She hates men, and cops most of all.

1x3 -

Red: I prefer to play with myself in private.

Liz: He’s a myth. Red: That’s what they said about Deep Throat … and the G-Spot.

1x5 -

Red: She owns that nightclub. Last time I was there, we had a great deal of fun, until she tried to strangle me with her stocking.

Red: Or just bend over any available piece of furniture and let her slap you on the ass. She loves that.

Red: He knows you better than I do, and I know where that lovely little freckle is.

1x6 -

Red: Because Yuri talks faster than a cheerleader after a nooner under the grandstands. Probably not a metaphor you understand.

1x8 -

Red: Oh, my God. I’ve never been more scared of a woman in my life. She was thrilling in bed. What a pair of legs. I think she played field hockey in college.  

1x14 -

Red: I had a little talk with Rasil. We had a few laughs, compared notes about you. He told me all about that delightful thing you do with a trouser belt, which was a bit hurtful, since I was pretty sure it was our thing.

1x18 -

Vlad: You slept with my wife. Red: How is Fadila? Vlad, it was a mistake. I can easily blame it on the hashish and the grappa, but the truth is - may I speak freely? You’re better off without her. She’s fickle.

1x19 -

Red: Calculus. I can’t even think about derivatives without thinking of that tutor in manor hall. Cindy something-or-other. Never wore a brassiere. Always a bounce in her step.

1x20 -

Red: Ah. Smells like decadence and vice.

2x1 -

Red: They know your habits, the banks you use, the pills you pop, the men or women you sleep with.

Red: Lord Baltimore. Aren’t you a surprisingly saucy minx.

Samar: Aren’t we confident today? Red: I’m confident every day. Samar: And I thought we had nothing in common.

2x7 -

Red: Keep your plum covered. We’re not alone.

2x10 -

Red: Luther, I never thought I’d enjoy having anything in my mouth as much as Petty Officer Virginia Sherman, but this - My God! It tastes so good! I hesitate to swallow, and I certainly don’t want to spit it out.

2x2 -

Red: Mmm! Tastes just like Patty Sutton.

2x3 -

Red: Titillating. But what Laskin and Russo do with or to one another in their spare time is none of my concern. Red: A threesome? Interesting. Based on his sartorial splendor, I gather this is Mr. Vargas. Does that even look like real hair?

Red: You poor thing. Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. It boggles the imagination. B.B., you don’t look well. Are you alright? Let me guess: irregular heartbeat, shortness of breath, perhaps a little tingling in your nether regions? Those drinks you’ve been enjoying on the house? They weren’t from the house. They were from me. I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of adding a special surprise ingredient, something to treat any localized dysfunction you may be suffering. Has the little man been falling down on the job? It’s a miracle drug, not so much for a glutton with a bum heart, however. But look on the bright side, you’ll die with a marvelous erection.

2x11 -

Red: The other one, the watercolorist, she - legs like a shot-putter. She gets me in this headlock. I black out. Next thing I know, I wake up - no sheets, vaseline everywhere. The lipstick on the mirror overhead reads, “Same time next year?” I haven’t missed an art expo in Basel since.

Red: Ah. A Russian milonga. Watch closely, Lizzy. Everything you need to know about negotiation is there in the tango milonga. At the outset, they are opponents. Each has something the other wants. They size one another up, assessing risk, setting boundaries, challenging each other to breach them. A sensuous battle - violence and sex balanced on the blade of a knife. Nothing given that is not earned - nothing taken that is not given. This is the pure essence of negotiation. Not a poker game, but a milonga. A tango. A seduction.

Red: And I assure you my bed accommodates a broad spectrum of behavior.

2x12 -

Red: Samar, my dear, bump in the road I can help smooth over, or have the clouds finally parted and this is a social call?

2x14 -

Red: Careful there, boys. You don’t want to bruise the merchandise.

Red: Really, I’m all for being thorough, but at this point, you’re just taking the nickel tour.

Red: Oh, the Dinky. No matter the time of day, that damn train is always full of hungover frat boys and co-eds in the throes of morning-after regret.

Red: Good heavens, Earl. You’ve never had any feeling in your heart, but now it looks like there isn’t much going on below the waist. Earl: I do all right. The wheelchair is just a little memento of our time together in Bolivia. Red: No hard feelings, I trust.

2x18 -

Red: Because, Mr. Jasper, you strike me as a man who would prefer to pitch rather than catch.

2x20 -

Red: Don’t look so glum, Kenneth. You just spent 10 minutes being ridden hard by Agent Navabi. I’d die for five.

2x21 -

Red: She makes her real money consulting. Costs a fortune. She did, however, let me name a lipstick color - “Fire In The Hole.”

Kimberly: I can only tell you what they’re doing. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you who they’re doing it to.

3x7 -

Hasaan: What do you want? Red: Well, another spin of the bottle in Melanie Reichman’s basement, but, I’ll settle for you.

3x8 -

Red: When’s the last time you got any of that, Pablo? Or have you? Pablo: We share everything.

Red: No wonder Cash doesn’t trust you with anything more important than babysitting. Pablo: That’s big talk coming from a guy who’s -

3x9 -

Red: I prefer that slight curve at the small of the back, the swell of a breast, the soft nape of the neck to quicken my heartbeat.

3x21 -

Cynthia: I read his e-mails. Ever since I found him with the nanny, I look at everything. Samuel: We don’t even have a nanny! It was a movie. Red: A nanny movie? Cynthia: Not just nannies. Schoolteachers, nurses, and a ridiculous threesome with two completely unbelievable policewomen. Samuel: Cynthia, they’re just movies. I have never cheated on you. And besides, I don’t think he wants to hear about it. Red: Yes, I want to hear about it. All about it. Unfortunately, I do need to hear about your contract with Halcyon. So business first, and then, Cynthia, I’ll be all ears.

Red: I had an enlightening meeting with Samuel Rand today. More to the point, with his wife, Cynthia.

Scottie: Howard didn’t take that job. We haven’t had sex in four years. We’re rarely in the same country, let alone the same bed. Red: What bed have you been occupying? Scottie: I’ve been assuming a larger role in a management position lately. Red: You don’t say.

Red: You have it all wrong, dear. I didn’t come to kill you. I came here because you and I are about to climb into bed together, just for a quickie.

3x23 -

Red: Aram… set him up with someone, for God’s sake. He’s like a kid with his first erection on the school bus.

4x7 -

Red: My sympathies to your significant other. And if your flag is flying at half mast, rest assured, I find in the privacy of one’s boudoir, pleasing others is the key to pleasing oneself.

4x14 -

Red: Oh, my goodness. This is tedious. I’d give almost anything to have a scratch. But seeing as how, given your profession, David, you might be more inclined to squeeze them rather than scratch them, I won’t impose. I’ll just wait for the next break.

David: Forget having your testicles scratched. You’ve been castrated.

4x20 -

Red: Baldur, you and I are deal-makers. We buy low and sell high. Getting that cruise line on the cheap was better than sex with your mistress. Either of them. I’m a little down on my luck. A penny stock. Invest in me now and when I rise, you’ll be able to afford three mistresses.

4x22 -

Red: I do wonder what else Donald’s men will find in your nightstand. Are you a vibrator kind of gal, Laurel? We’ll see.

5x1 -

Car guy: How’d she do? Red: Like Bergita Olofson in her parents’ rumpus room on a Saturday night.

5x2 -

Cooper: No, he’s playing grab-ass by the pool between naps and happy hour.

5x10 -

Isaacson: Bite me. Red: Hmm. A woman after my own heart.

5x12 -

Red: Joro spiders. In Japanese folklore, the joro is said to be able to change its appearance to that of a beautiful woman who seduces men, binding them in her web before devouring them. Hence its name “joro-gumo,” or “whore spider.”

5x13 -

Red: Imagine the confidence a man has to have in his own genitals to take on a nickname like “Big Willie.”

5x15 -

Red: Yes. Very impressive. What a gymnasium - a real shrine to athleticism. I can just feel the testosterone.

Fagen: You promised me a sure thing, gives me Viagra, and all I have to show for it is a four-hour erection.

[deleted scene]

Smokey: You’re a sucker, Red.  Everyone thinks you’re soooo tough with the hat and the shades and the people you kill but I know better.  Circus folk know a sucker when we see one.  You’re a sucker.  You’re a sucker for the pets, you’re a sucker for Heddie. And God knows why, you’re even a sucker for me. Red: I suppose I am.   Smokey: Well, that’s good for me. I’ll follow you anywhere. Red: Well, let's start in the back. I believe we have some cash to count.

5x19 -

Red: This apartment. Right here. Oh. My God. To have been the proverbial fly on Clyde Tolson’s duvet. Liz: Clyde Tolson lived here? J. Edgar Hoover’s lover? Red: This was their secret hideaway. Imagine the conversations. Cooing over JFK’s lovers. Slandering Dr. King. What peignoir to wear to bed. When I saw the apartment was for sale, I couldn’t resist. Liz: You own the apartment where the homophobic head of the FBI carried on his affair with his boyfriend? Red: Allegedly. I wouldn’t admit this in mixed company, but J. Edgar and I have a surprising amount in common. For instance, we both always get our man.

5x21 -

Red: I’ve heard steroids make your penis shrink. Have you found that to be the case?

Liz: Gonzalez called you. Red: His guard, actually. We developed something of a bond.

6x2 -

Red: Through five marriages, numerous lovers, allegedly both male and female.

Red: Cary Grant once said after a particularly evocative LSD trip, “I imagined myself as a giant penis launching off from Earth - “like a spaceship.”

6x4 -

Red: Baldomero, what do you say we call this whole thing off? What happened in Iztapalapa was a terrible mistake. I regret it dearly, and I had no idea she was your mother. Baldomero: You were in my bed. There was a picture of me on the nightstand. Red: Okay, in our defense, it was incredibly dark, and we’d been drinking heavily. Honestly, I regret the entire weekend. Of course, don’t tell your mother that.

#dialogues

[jon-daddy-dominus]

Kitten's Collar

Chapter, 28

Leaning back, and furrowing her brow, Alexis asked. "What?"

"The night those pictures were taken, was the third time I'd been to the hospital since I started staying with him, but Daddy, and Maw Maw were gone, so there wasn't anywhere else for me to go. Uncle Des, had always been a hateful man, but when he got to drinkin, it got way worse..." Clint paused for a moment, and took a long breath. "The pictures don't really tell the whole story, Sweetheart. They don't show the broken ankle, and cheek bone, or the fractured ribs, and jaw bone, he gave me." He continued, in a sorrowful tone.

"But how though?" Alexis asked, still slightly shocked at what she'd just learned.

"Desmond was drunk, and I pissed him off, so he started beatin on me again. He actually stopped before it got too bad, but I was mad, cause he said something about Daddy. So I yelled at him, and he started back in on me. He'd already beat me pretty bad, but he started choking me, and punching me in the face. I just wanted him to stop... and when I started to pass out, I thought I was dyin, so I grabbed something off the counter, and started hittin him as hard as I could. I didn't even know it was an ice pick, until after he let me go, and fell down. That's when I realized what I'd done."

"Oh my god, that's terrible!" Alexis whimpered, beginning to cry.

"Please don't cry, Sweetheart." Clint said softly, pulling her into his arms.

"But you were just a little boy. Why would he do that to you? I just don't understand why people hurt kids like that." She mumbled into his chest.

"Some people are just fucked up, Sweetheart. They're cowards... and cowards like easy targets. But I'm fine now, and I don't want you cryin, because my uncle was an asshole... Besides, I'm alive, some kids aren't that lucky."

"I know, but it makes me so mad!" She growled, leaning back, to sit up straight, and wipe her face.

Clint placed his hand on her shoulder, rubbing small circles on her back.

"Did you get in any trouble, because of what you did?" She asked.

"Not as much as I could have, I guess. I must have been screaming pretty loud when he was hittin me, cause one of the neighbors called the law. When the deputies came in, I was still balled up on the kitchen floor, holdin my face, and ankle. I think they knew what happened, cause they were all real nice to me, even before I told them. One took me to the hospital, so the doctors could look me over, and one of the others showed up later, with a cheeseburger, fries, and a shake he'd bought for me."

For the first time, Clint began to cry, as he remembered the tears streaming down the faces of the officers, as he told them the reason for the beating he'd taken.

"Officer Woods, was real good to me. I stayed with him for a couple of days, before I went to court. He said, he wanted to adopt me, but social services wouldn't let him."

"Why not?" Alexis questioned, softly.

"Honestly? I don't think it was social services... I think his wife was scared to have me around their kid, because of what I did to Desmond."

Angrily, Alexis snapped. "But you didn't have a choice! He could have killed you."

"At the time, I felt the same way, but looking back on it? I don't blame her. As a parent, your number one priority is supposed to be, to protect your children. And I was a strange kid, that they knew absolutely nothing about, other than I stabbed my uncle to death with an ice pick. I wouldn't want some homicidal stranger around my kid either. No matter how old the kid was. She did the right thing."

"How can you say that? You were a kid! Your momma was gone, your Daddy, and Maw Maw had died, and your sadistic uncle was beatin the shit out of you! You were a traumatized little boy, that need somebody to love him! Not turn their back on him!" Alexis snapped, at Clint.

"Sweetheart, I lived it. I know exactly what happened, and who I was. But some kids go through similar things, and come out with serious issues. She just wasn't willing to take that chance with her kid, and I don't have any hard feelings towards her, for it."

A little angry with him, for not being mad at the officers wife, Alexis grumbled. "So, what happened when you went to court?"

"The judge ruled it self-defense, and I was placed with foster parents, until I was eighteen."

"You stayed with the same family the whole time?"

"No, I only stayed with the first couple, for a few months. The second couple I lived with almost four years, then juvenile detention for a year, then a group home until I aged out."

"Why though? I mean... why all the bouncing around?"

"The first couple I stayed with were really nice, but she got diagnosed with some type of cancer, and they couldn't keep me. The second couple was okay, then I got in trouble, and had to go to DJJ for a year."

"Wait, why didn't the other people keep you? Was it because you got in trouble?" She asked puzzled.

"Yeah, pretty much." Clint said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What'dya mean? What did you do?"

"I got in a fight with my foster dad." Clint mumbled, turning to look at the floor.

"Why?"

"Can we just agree that my childhood was a little fucked up, and leave it at that? It took me a long time to get passed all that shit, and I really don't like talkin about it."

Alexis reached over, placed her hand on his cheek, and gently turned his head to face her. Softening her expression, and her voice, she said. "I thought we were gonna be honest with each other?"

Clint didn't say anything, but his face turned hard, and she could tell that his memories were making him angry. Alexis had a feeling, she knew what had happened to him, but wasn't sure if she should push for an answer.

Taking a sharp breath, she cut her eyes up at him, pressing her lips tight together, her eyes filling with tears.

With a half ass grin, Clint began shaking his head. "Baby, please don't cry. I promise, it doesn't bother me anymore."

"When I was six, momma started datin Craig, and he treated her better than any of the other guys she ever dated. He took her on real dates. He bought her flowers, and candy, and jewelry. He fixed things around the house that momma didn't know how to... And, he was super nice to me too. He took us to the movies, the zoo, the aquarium... pretty much anywhere I wanted to go. Sometimes, Craig would meet me at the bus stop when momma was at work, to keep Granny from havin to drive all the way across town, to get me off the bus, and sit with me for an hour, until she got home."

Alexis stopped, as her lip began to tremble, and she lifted her cheeks, in a feeble attempt to keep herself from crying.

"And then one afternoon, momma had to stay until closin, to cover for one of the other girls, at the bar she was workin at. So, Craig told her not to worry, I had already finished my homework, and after we ate supper, we were gonna make popcorn, and watch a movie..."

She paused to wipe her eyes, and continued. "We did all that, and when we started watching the movie, he put me in his lap. I didn't think anything of it, cause I'd sat in his lap, a bunch of times before, and nothing happened. But this time, all he was wearin was a t-shirt, and a pair of sweatpants. For a while, we just watched the movie, and he rubbed my leg a little bit. Then I felt it poking up, through his pants. I was too young to understand what he was doin, but it seemed weird, so I tried to pretend I didn't notice when he started touching himself, but after a while, I asked him what he was doin, and he said, "he was itching, and it felt good when he scratched it." He didn't touch me that night, but I seen it, and felt the wet spot on his pants, when he was done."

Alexis wiped her eyes again, took another long breath, and continued. "After that night, every time we were alone... Well... he would do stuff, and every time, he got a little bit braver."

By this time, Alexis, and Clint were both sobbing, terribly.

Struggling to catch his breath, Clint inhaled deeply, causing him to cough. His nose was already running, but the cough made it worse. He quickly caught his nose in his shirt, as he hurried to the kitchen to get a paper towel.

When he returned to the couch, he handed Alexis a paper towel, as he sat down. Seeing she was still crying, he hugged her from the side, and pulled her in close, and whispered. "Sweetheart, you don't have to talk about this, if you don't want to."

She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and whimpered through her tears. "No baby, I want to know everything about you, and it's not fair of me, to ask you to be completely open about your past, if I'm not completely open with you, about mine. So, I want you to know."

Wiping her eyes one more time, she took another long breath. "Anyway, like I said, he got braver over time... He never like, full on raped me, but he did plenty of other stuff. One afternoon, he took off all our clothes, and was gettin ready to do something, when he went in momma's room to get something. But while he was gone, Granny came in the side door, and seen me sittin neck-ed on the couch, with porn on the t.v. She started cryin as soon as she seen me, and got a big knife out the kitchen. When Craig walked outta momma's room neck-ed, and his penis was hard, she told him to, "Get the fuck outta that house!" and if she ever laid eyes on him again, she was gonna, "cut his puny little pecker off!" And that was the last time, I ever saw Craig."

Clint was weeping heavily, as he squeezed her in his arms, whimpering. "I'm so, so sorry Sweetheart. God, I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, but don't be, Honey. I didn't tell you, because I wanted you to feel sorry for me. I told you, because I want you to know, that bad stuff happened to me too, and I know how hard it can be to talk about. But I want you to know, that I feel comfortable telling you anything, and I want you to feel the same way about me."

"I do feel that way, Alexis. I haven't talked to anyone about, Desmond in a very long time."

"I don't want to push you into anything, so I'm gonna leave it alone. But whenever you're ready, I'd really like you to tell me what happened with your foster dad." Alexis said, sympathetically.

"If you wanna know, I'll tell you now."

"If you're not ready, I don't want you to." She said, rubbing his back.

Nodding his head, Clint said. "No, I want you to know... When I first moved in with Stacy, and Ryan things were pretty good, but after a while I started noticing that their relationship was kinda strange."

"What'dya mean?"

"They rarely touched each other. They never kissed, and even though they slept together, they never closed their bedroom door. I guess, because they never did anything. Anyway, I was almost thirteen the first time it happened. Stacy was visiting her sister, and me and Ryan were just hanging out, and he asked me if I wanted a beer. Of coarse I said yeah, and the next thing I know, I was drunk, and he asked if I'd ever watched porn. When I said no, he put some on. I must have passed out, because I don't really remember much after that, until I woke up, and he had my dick in his mouth."

"What'd you do?"

"Nothin... I didn't know what to do. I was scared that if I said something I'd have to go to another foster home. And, I didn't wanna leave, Stacy was really good to me, I loved her to death, and up until he got me drunk, and started blowin me, I actually kinda liked Ryan too. So, I pretended I was asleep."

"Did it work? I mean... did he stop? Wait, does "it" still work if you're asleep?"

Laughing a little, Clint answered. "Yeah, "it" still works when a guy's asleep."

"But I thought you had to be like horny, or turned on, for it to get hard?" She asked, looking puzzled.

"Yes, and no. If I start thinking about something that turns me on, I'll get hard. But guys are visual creatures, so if we see something that we really like, we might get hard, but we also have physical reactions. So, even if we're not horny, or thinking about something we like, or seeing something we like, with enough physical stimulation, we will still get hard. That's all assuming the guy doesn't have erection issues."

"Wait, so even though you pretended to be asleep, he was able to keep going?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. I was out when he started, so I didn't have any control over what was happenin, and he must have been doin it for a while because when I realized what was goin on, I was already close. Have you ever heard someone tell a guy that if he cums too quick, he should think about baseball, or naked grandmas?"

"Yeah, cause thinkin about stuff that doesn't turn you on will make it go down, right?"

"Exactly, but because of the physical stimulation, distraction, doesn't always work, and you go anyway. So, even though I'm not turned on by men, because of the physical stimulation, I came even though I didn't like what was happening. And that part really fucked me up... cause at the time, I didn't know any better, and I thought that even though I'm not attracted to men, that because I orgasmed, I might have been gay... or at least bi, because I knew I liked women."

"I get what what you're saying... I hated the things Craig did to me, but physically, some of it felt... I don't wanna say, "good", but I don't know how else to explain it, you know? I'm not not saying, I liked it, at all, cause I didn't, it's just really confusing. I think that's what messes so many kids up." Alexis said.

"I completely understand. That's pretty much how I felt too." Clint agreed.

"Did you ever tell anybody?" Alexis asked.

"I was gonna tell Stacy, when she got back, but the morning after it happened, Ryan told me that he knew I was awake, and that if I said anything, he was gonna tell everyone that, "I was gay," and that, "I tried to have sex with him, and attacked him, when he refused".

"What'd you do?"

"Nothin. I was confused, about how I felt, and I was pretty sure that everyone would believe him over me. He was a married, professional, with a good reputation. I was a twelve year old kid, with problems, who had killed his uncle. And after what happened with Desmond, even though I told the cops, and the hospital, he didn't, I'm pretty sure everyone assumed Desmond had been molesting me, along with the beatings. So, I kept my mouth shut. And I guess that gave Ryan the green light to do whatever he wanted, cause he knew I wasn't gonna tell."

"So, he did it again?"

Clint looked down at the floor, and nodded sadly. "Yeah. He did pretty much every nasty thing he wanted to do, and made me do some pretty fucked up shit too... The really fucked part is... when he wasn't raping me? He was actually a really nice guy."

Flexing her jaw in anger, Alexis grumbled. "No, he wasn't. He was a horrible person."

"I guess you're right. I'm pretty sure he was only being so nice, out of guilt, but every once in a while, I got the feeling that he might have actually cared, and felt bad about what he was doin."

"I felt the same way about Craig, for a long time, but now I know he was only being nice, because as long as he stayed on my good side, I was less likely to tell on his sorry ass."

"True." Clint, agreed.

"What about Stacy? She didn't know, or she just didn't say anything?"

"No, she didn't know until I told her, and that was the night I fought with Ryan."

"What happened?"

"Well... Stacy was actually the reason we fought. When I told her what he'd been doin, she lost it, and flipped out on him... and when he hit her, I jumped in."

"Oh, so you felt comfortable enough to tell her?"

"Not at first, but we got pretty close after my fourteenth birthday party, and after about a year, I felt like she would believe me."

"What happened at your party that caused y'all to get so close?"

"I wasn't very popular, and Stacy felt bad for me, so she invited all the kids my age from the neighborhood, to the party she'd planned. The only person that showed up, was the lady from two houses down. And she only came to drop off a gift, and tell us her son was sick. I told her it wasn't a big deal, and not to worry about it, but Stacy was pretty upset. So, to make it up to me, she told me we could do whatever I wanted. Since Ryan had been feeding me alcohol on a pretty regular basis, whenever Stacy wasn't around, I had grown to like drinkin quite a bit. So I told her I wanted to get drunk." Clint chuckled.

"Wait, so where was he at?"

"Ryan? He was workin out of town that weekend, so it was just us."

"So, did she let you get drunk?"

"Yeah. I had to work for it, but eventually I was pretty drunk." He laughed.

"What'dya mean, you had to work for it?"

Clint smiled a big smile, as the memory crossed his mind. "Stacy knew I didn't like talkin about the shit with Uncle Desmond, but she thought it would be good for me to talk about it. She also knew I wanted to get drunk pretty bad. So, she made a deal with me, a "truth or dare", "never have I ever" kinda thing. She said, that she would ask me a question, and I had to be honest with her, then I could have a shot. And then, I could ask her a question, and she would take a shot."

"Oh, okay. Did it work?"

"Yeah, we asked each other questions, and went shot for shot."

"So you told her about everything that happened with your uncle?"

"Yeah, it was hard at first, but after a few drinks, it got a little easier."

"What kind of stuff did you ask her?"

"To start, just stuff about her childhood, her parents, how she met Ryan... stuff like that, but the more I drank, the bolder my questions got." He chuckled.

"You mind if I ask, what they were?"

Clint laughed, "Nosey much?" but quickly continued, still laughing. "Once the shots kicked in, I asked if she would get me a stripper."

"No you didn't!" Alexis smiled. "You must've really liked her? You smile alot when you talk about her."

"Yeah, I thought a lot of her."

"So... did she get you a stripper?"

Clint grinned a soft smile, as he described his memories to Alexis.

***Sitting on the floor, on opposite sides of the coffee table, teenage Clint slammed his shot glass down, and swallowed hard. The tequila burned his throat, causing him to shake his head, and let out a harsh breath.

"You said, "I could have whatever I wanted, right?" Clint grinned.

Opening her eyes big, and cutting them at Clint, Stacy replied. "Yeeeeeaaah, but why do I get the feeling you're getting ready to make me regret saying that?"

"Will you get me a stripper for my birthday?" Clint smiled brightly.

"Uhh... that's gonna be a no-go!" Stacy chuckled. "I love ya, but I don't wanna go to jail, just so you can see some boobs!"

"We don't have to tell no one. I'm not gonna tell no body!" Clint kept grinning.

"And what happens if the girl gets here, sees how young you are, and decides to call the cops?" She laughed.

His smile fading, Clint mumbled. "I guess, you're right."

Seeing the disappointment on his face, Stacy chuckled. "I'm pretty positive Ryan doesn't have any nudy magazines around here, but if that's really what you want, I guess I could run to the store, and get one."

"No, that's okay. I've seen magazines before. I just kinda wanted to see the real thing, ya know?" Clint said, twisting his mouth, and shaking his head.

"Clint, don't worry, you're a really attractive guy. Pretty soon, all the girls at school are gonna be trying to show you the "real thing", just be patient."

"I doubt that. The girls at school won't even look at me most of the time." Clint stated sadly.

"I guess I could order you a movie on pay per view?"

"I've seen movies before too... It's not that big a deal, but it doesn't hurt to ask right?" Clint half smiled.

"Now I feel bad... I mean... I never imagined you'd ask for a stripper, when I said you could have whatever you wanted, but I know you haven't had it easy, and I just thought you should have things go your way for once." Stacy said sympathetically, pouring them both another shot.

"It's okay, even without a stripper, this is still one of the best nights of my life!" He smiled. "Thank you for being so nice to me."

Stacy sat there looking at him, thinking to herself. "How shitty has this poor kids fourteen years of life been, that sitting on the floor, drinking cheap tequila, with his foster mom, on his birthday, qualifies as "one of the best nights of his life"? No! He is way too good of a kid to have such a shitty life."

Stacy threw back her shot, and slammed the glass down. "Fuck it! You know what Clint? You're an awesome kid, and I promised you, anything you wanted, so... if you want a stripper? I'm gonna get you a stripper!"

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Niles was on crutches, watering his garden.

It was late Tuesday afternoon, and we’d just put the Wednesday edition of the Star to bed. Despite the fact it was mid-October, the weather was still summery, with a light wind rustling its way up the valley. The Slocan River had a magical sheen in the distance as my RAV broke out of the trees. Brutus was running laps of the yard with a dog I didn’t recognize, too busy to bark at my arrival, so I followed the driveway around to the barn unmolested and parked beside a mud-spattered, half-deconstructed Jeep. Niles had invited me over to discuss his latest manuscript submission, which was over 100,000 words long. It sat hefty and dog-eared on my passenger seat, riddled with highlighter and scribbled notes, alongside a six-pack of Blue Buck. I wasn’t looking forward to this feedback session, because I wasn’t sure if he was mature enough to hear what I had to say.

“We’ve got the house to ourselves tonight, Goon. I’ve got the second season of Fargo queued up, plus I’ve acquired some fabulous Afghani Kush that will blow your hair back,” Niles said, his crutches squelching in the mud as he clopped over to my side door.

I lifted up his manuscript, which was called The Fox and the Fawn. “Did you forget about this?”

Since my arrival in Nelson I’d been keeping a small roster of three to five students, helping them develop everything from a fictional account of the Rwandan genocide to a fantasy novel about an autistic teen adventuring through an alternate dimension. The trouble was, I was starting to feel like an imposter. My repeated attempts at finishing Whatever you’re on, I want some hadn’t resulted in the fame and glory I was imagining, and now I was wondering if I’d been kidding myself this whole time. Yeah, I had my Master’s, but so what? Could I really be a writer? And if not, was I really worthy of being a teacher? Who was I kidding?

“I figured you would’ve burned that thing the moment you realized what a gargantuan turd it is,” Niles said, his blond hair hanging limply around his dishevelled face. He wasn’t looking healthy.

I climbed out and shut the door. “I read some of it to my new roommate Mika, actually. We had a little reading in my living room.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah, she wanted to hear the sex scene.”

Niles roared with delight. That’s what he was always looking for, an audience to the lewd reality of his existence. As far as he was concerned, he was the best kind of criminal — the kind that never gets caught. The Fox and the Fawn was a fangirl tribute to himself, to his gangster exploits as a Slocan Valley weed king. With legalization finally here, he felt it was time to tell his story. The manuscript was Bukowski mixed with Kerouac, demented and perverse and shockingly violent. At one point he even casually admits to date rape, including a scene where his girlfriend rages at him for taking advantage of her while he was drunk.

“I didn’t know you had a new roommate,” he said. “What happened to Brendan?”

“Nothing. I just found a new place, levelled up. Teamed up with this girl Mika who works at my pot dispensary. She’s got a pet rabbit.”

“You’re still getting your shit from there? Why aren’t you coming to me?”

Niles was wearing a brown bathrobe. He opened his front door, told me not to worry about my shoes, then handed me the crutches while he hopped on one foot up the carpeted staircase. He grunted and sighed with each step, muttering swear words under his breath. I’d never seen him like this. When we reached the top I gave him his crutches and the beer, and he motioned for me to take a seat in the living room. As I passed by the familiar John Cooper paintings, I noticed that he’d hung the self-portrait I’d given him as a present a month earlier. I’d painted it with Natalya.

“You hung my painting upside down?”

He laughed, opening the fridge. “Yeah, I dunno why I did that. Just seemed to me like it looks better that way. I get a kick out of it.”

I shook my head. For the past month I’d been painting furiously, and it felt like a swirling green portal had opened up inside my brain. My writing may have stalled, but this was a way to channel my creativity into something other than journalism. I was getting sick of the Star, getting sick of taking the same pictures of the same fundraiser events, getting sick of the constraints. My relationship with Ed and Kai was strained too, as they were tired of my entitled laziness. Maybe they knew I was stoned every day, slumping into the office uninspired and half-assing my stories. I felt like the universe was wasting me, but painting had become a soothing therapy, something I did exclusively for myself. I was giving myself permission to be sloppy and flamboyant and outrageous, slathering my canvases with dribbling glitter and chaotic streaks of inspiration. This painting I’d given Niles was my first.

As he banged around in the kitchen, I walked over to the living room window and looked out at the Slocan Valley. The trees were the colour of flames, red and orange and electric yellow, and they matched the darkening sky. Lately I’d been feeling a subtle dread, like the magic was slowly draining from my surroundings. Winter is coming. I hated being single, hated being a chronic stoner, and hated how much of my life I spent stressing out about money. In university I’d become so convinced that I had life sorted out, that I was on a consistently upwards trajectory, that it was only a matter of time before I would be rewarded with creative success and lifelong fulfillment. Now I wasn’t so sure. It was easy to blame Paisley and all the drama she’d brought to my life, but she’d been gone for over a year now. At some point I would have to address my own shit without using her as a scapegoat.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, man.”

Niles scuffed back into the living room holding our beers. “This?”

“The Kootenays. The Star. I got into a bit of a scrap with Kai and Ed today, in the newsroom,” I said. “Over our coverage of Me Too.”

He laughed, sinking into his recliner. “You’re too radical for them?”

I shook my head, crossed to the couch. “I’ve just been seeing all these posts, right? Women sharing their trauma, men self-flagellating, but the discourse isn’t actually going anywhere. It’s not actually accomplishing anything. But I wanted to do something tangible, so I interviewed the superintendent and a bunch of principals about how they’re responding to it. Just to get it official, on the record, how they plan to change things.”

He snorted. “I’m sure they loved that.”

“So I hand in this 1200-word behemoth of a story, with all these different angles and perspectives, and they told me it didn’t have any teeth. They said it’s just a bunch of talking heads. I tried to argue, you know, that it’s important to be holding these people accountable and that their words are powerful, but they weren’t hearing it. They said if I’m going to write a story about sexual assault then I need a real sexual assault.”

He frowned, shrugged. “So what’re you going to do?”

I felt myself getting worked up. For the past few days I’d been endlessly scrolling through Twitter and Facebook, feeding on the outrage and vitriol. It was bringing everything up, Trent and Galloway and my strange obsession with crucifixion. The topic of sexual violence was like an intricate bomb I was trying to defuse with nothing but a screwdriver. As far as I was concerned, the conversation had to move beyond the rage to solutions. Men had to own their complicity, with more than just empty words, and propose tangible solutions. I was determined to prove Kai and Ed wrong, to show that my journalism had real teeth.

“Well, I’ve already started writing a column about it. About my personal feelings on the subject. And I’m going to illustrate it with a picture of my face with the words ‘Part of the Problem’ scrawled across my forehead.”

Niles laughed. “That should piss off the right people.”

“Not only that, I’ve found two girls who are willing to go on record about their assaults. One who was a student at Elephant Mountain Secondary, and the other from Selkirk College. If I do this right, this could be the most powerful story I’ve written since coming to the Star. Like, I think it could be a really big deal.” 

“Well, Goon,” he said. “I think your saviour complex is alive and kicking.”

Eventually we pivoted to discussing his manuscript, and I flipped through it on the coffee table as I took him through my notes. All of his female characters came off as interchangeable, he had a tendency to summarize scenes rather than depict them, and by the end of the narrative he came off as completely unlikeable. Being self-deprecating is one thing, but it was like he was going out of his way to shock the reader with his shitty behaviour. It felt like he was daring his audience to hate him. At times it reminded me of the memoir A Crowbar in the Buddhist Garden, by Stephen Reid, so I recommended he check it out for inspiration. I felt Reid struck a fine balance between owning his mistakes and aspiring to be a better human being.

“That’s the bank robber?”

“Yeah, they made a movie about him. Point Break.”

“That surfer movie with Keanu Reeves?”

“I think they fictionalized it a bit. The point is, there’s a guy who has actually grappled with his own soul. That takes balls.”

He nodded. “A Crowbar in the Buddhist Garden. I like that.”

Once we were finished with notes, Niles padded off into his bedroom and returned with an elaborate dragon-themed bong. As we smoked together I thought of the caterpillar from the animated version of Alice in Wonderland, asking in his condescending tone “Who are you?” That was the sort of question that was getting harder to answer all the time. Thinking about rape culture all day had me hating myself to the point where I felt physically sick, but at other times I was convinced of my own prophethood, my special destiny to save the world somehow. If I could tackle this Me Too story from exactly the right angle I knew it could have a legit impact. Everyone was encouraging women to speak while men listen, but I had been listening. And now I had something to say. I leaned back in the couch and examined the light fixture in the ceiling, composing my column in my head.

“Here,” Niles said. “You want another hit?”

The Kootenay Goon

[tialovestelevision]

After Life

Dragon and I are doing this one as a dialogue! We’re going to watch this episode, pause after each scene, and talk about it. You get to read that! Aren’t you lucky?

{*\../*} : Hello again, all. ruckafangirl returning to sprinkle cheer, fire and lit crit on your Buffy watchalong. Aren’t we all excited to see how Buffy is coping with her PTSD from literally battering her way out of her own grave?  Anyone? .... Anyone?

T: I have to admit that I very much am not. I am, however, looking forward to being through this one and one step closer to the relative shelter from the misery of the beginning of this season that is “Once More, With Feeling.” Yes, I know that one’s depressing too, but at least they sing. If they sang all the misery, I’d enjoy it more.

{*\../*} : Except Alyson Hannigan, who will not sing. Not ever. Not if she can help it. Anyway, on with the show! We’re not getting any livelier (unlike Buffy).

T: That was awful. Anyway, Previously On. There’s the trauma.

{*\../*} : Buffy makes PTSD face to wrap up. We resume with the town still on fire and demons fleeing, and Anya speaking uncomfortable truth. Willow is engaging in rationalization a lot.

T: That whole conversation was uncomfortable. Nobody involved actually has any real idea where Buffy was or what’s happened since then, other than that she had to claw her way out of her own grave. Which, y’know, would break pretty much anybody. I’d say she needs years of therapy, except who would actually believe the story. “I sacrificed my life to keep from letting the world be destroyed, then my friends raised me from the dead, but they didn’t think to dig me up so I had to claw my way out of my casket, and now I have to say that acute claustrophobia is the least of my problems.”

{*\../*} : “I was dead before and I didn’t have these problems, doctor. I mean, just for a few minutes that time instead of months.” Willow is REALLY invested in the whole hell-dimension theory, I suspect because it’s the only way she can justify pulling her big-ass violation of the rules of nature, and the way that she seems to be panicking over the idea that Buffy might not get over it makes me think of her lack of forethought when she put the book in front of Dawn in “Forever.” For a smart girl, she doesn’t engage in a lot of following things to their logical conclusions.

T: To be fair, the Hellmouth isn’t going anywhere, and it had been three months since the last apocalypse (“It has been X months since the last apocalypse” being a sign Anya needs to get for the Magic Box), and the living Slayer and bearer of the line is in jail somewhere in southern California for various high crimes and misdemeanors. I suppose they could have broken Faith out of jail, but I don’t think Willow would do that on account of those times Faith tried to murder her.

{*\../*} : Personally, I’d be more down with breaking out Faith than trying to bring Buffy back from, you know, the dead. But I’m conservative that way. Anyway, while they’re wandering the streets and experiencing justified existential dread, we cut to Dawn taking Buffy back to the house and talking to her like she’s a wounded puppy. Which, to be fair, she did just talk her out of jumping off a collapsing Glory-scaffold-thing.

T: About to hit play again, but I’ll note that the place I most want to go after I’ve been raised from the dead is the site of years of emotional abuse and neglect. Dawn says they’re home and okay now, then opening sequence. No Tara.

{*\../*} : Yes. Okay. That is definitely why we have ominous dark outside lighting instead of, say, a cheery kitchen scene. Everything is going to be juuuuust fine. Pay no attention to Buffy’s “Fire bad, tree pretty” face.

T: So Buffy does a walkthrough of the house, noticing all the things that have changed and kind of listening to Dawn but not really acknowledging her except to ask questions. Walking out of rooms while Dawn’s speaking, not looking at her, stuff like that.

{*\../*} : Points to the director for the fact that she keeps actually walking out of the frame - we stay with Dawn while she does that, which really sells how jarring it is, and she keeps walking into dark rooms with Dawn trailing after her and turning on lights. Also, Buffy is still wearing the clothes she was buried in and that’s really, really creepy the longer it goes unremarked.

T: Might I point out how bizarre it is that, in late 2001, it’s “obvious” that the run-of-the-mill Macbook belongs to Willow? Or that it’s “computer stuff?” That’s weird, right? Like… a relic of the fact that TV doesn’t actually understand how people use tech.

{*\../*} : Comes of being made by people who’re a decade plus behind the characters they’re trying to write. Quick cut, and now Dawn has Buffy in fresh clothes and is washing her in a very mother-washing-her-child way that’s honestly wigging me out. I think it must be wigging Dawn out, too, because she trips right into a classic bit of teenager too-trueness. “Knew you were under that dirt somewhere.” Awkward pause. Buffy says nothing. Awkward mother-referencing joke. Still nothing. And now we’re bringing attention to the fact that her knuckles are still laid open from punching her way out of her coffin.

T: Great makeup job there, by the way. Dawn decides to deal with Buffy’s shirt before getting to the blood, which seems like the wrong priorities from both a first aid perspective and a fashion perspective. It’s a white shirt. It is at this point that I realize that newly resurrected silent Buffy may actually be more traumatic for Dawn to interact with than talkative but in all the wrong ways constant reminder of dead sister robot Buffy, and from Dawn’s expressions around the robot in “Bargaining,” that’s saying a lot.

{*\../*} : Speaking of the robot, Spike has now arrived downstairs and is shouting for Dawn. “It’s just Spike,” she says, which makes me queasy. The fact that he’s ranting about how he could just kill her (graphically) for scaring him does not help. Interesting that she’s still working up to the explanation when Buffy comes downstairs, and he only mistakes her for the robot for about half a second.

T: I think Spike would join you in being made queasy by “It’s just Spike.” And.. yeah. I think we’re supposed to draw from that the idea that it comes from how much he thinks about her, but a better explanation, to my mind, comes right out of “The Gift.” “It has to be blood.” Of course Spike would know the difference between a robot and a person almost at a glance.

{*\../*} : Thought given the amount of time he spent obsessing about both robot and non-robot Buffy, I wouldn’t be surprised if he could give you a short volume of on-sight differences. And isn’t that just a happy thought?

T: He can get into their house whenever he wants. Let’s press on, on that thought.

T: Spike is the one who she asks how long she was gone. Given his obsession with her, he’d know. He also knows how her hands got that way, given personal - is it “personal” if you’re not technically a person? - experience. In an odd way, I can see why he’s the one she wants to talk to. She doesn’t know how long she’s been dead, and there’s one very important thing about Spike - he is dead. He doesn’t grow. He doesn’t change.

{*\../*} : The director and the camerawork here - not to mention James Marsters’s acting work here, which is brilliant and given lots of closeups to work with - are really trying hard to sell me on this moment of connection. Given the whole death/undeath/rebirth parallels, they’re almost succeeding. Except that he’s a soulless monster and having him count the number of days she’s been dead does not, does not, does not make me feel better about this connection they’re displaying. If anything, it’s selling the broken state of Buffy for me even harder than her non-interactions with Dawn.

T: It is successfully making me sympathize with both characters involved. Spike is a monster, which is something the scripts often seem to forget, but he has free will and his feelings are at least some close approximation of real, if broken in ways that make things like real love and compassion impossible He’s been hurting, a lot, for months, and has rebuilt his being around the restrictions of his life to continue to survive. Well, to keep the “un” in his “undead.” Buffy, meanwhile, is so urgent for connection that this single shared experience between her and an actual, real soulless mass-mudering monster is valuable to her. I don’t think this is HEALTHY in any sense, but the writers and performers are selling me that the feelings of these characters exist.

{*\../*} : And in bursts Willow at the head of the group. Her first question is “Is she here?” which is interesting. Not “Is she okay?” or “Have you seen her?” but “Is she here?” Let’s see how this goes.

T: Spike walking out as the others approach.

{*\../*} : That is a great touch, isn’t it? And so, so busted. The whole two-couple crew. Bust-ed. The flood of questions and Dawn’s counter-interrogation are just starting to get rolling when Buffy breaks out with a rousing ‘I’m okay, you brought me back, everything is going to be fine’ riff that has no credibility whatsoever. Points to Sarah for selling Buff’s snowjob here, and to the other actors for selling how bad their characters want it to be true. The camera shot of the four of them all staring at her is particularly grim.

T: Tara’s expression. She and Anya have the highest emotional intelligence in the cast. And we see them both - and hear Anya - know that something is very, very wrong.

{*\../*} : Xander and Anya come out and find Spike crying - the camera is very subtle, so you don’t see him full on, but that’s clearly what’s happening - and he and Xander have a set-to. Xander trying to call him on the obsession thing is fair, if ill-timed, but he counter-attacks with some very pointed observations about why Willow locked him out (in case they had to put Buffy down) that Xander is clearly in deep denial about. What I find fascinating about that little scene is how Xander’s line about Spike seeing Buffy being “the happiest moment of your existence” runs right past the obvious problem - it isn’t that he’s wrong, it’s that using Spike’s happiness as a barometer for their actions is a very clear sign that they’ve gone ‘round the bend. Spike isn’t unhappy she’s back, and he’ll take the consequences he can see coming, but he’s self-aware enough at this point to know that his standard for okay isn’t what sane humans ought to be aspiring to.

T: I’ll remind you that this is the guy who once spent an inordinate amount of time and money on the building blocks for an invincible demon capable of burning people up at long range using their human feelings as fuel in order to impress his girlfriend. When Spike is the one with a sense of consequences, everything has gone wrong.

{*\../*} : So now we get a lightly intercut scene of Buffy sitting alone in her room - fully dressed when she said she was going to sleep - and staring into space while Willow and Tara talk. Willow starts off selling the ‘everything is okay’ pitch like she wants herself to believe it, but Tara isn’t having any of that. “This is the room where you don’t have to be brave” is a wonderfully romantic line, I have to say.

T: Willow asks if having hoped that Buffy would thank her makes her a terrible person. Tara doesn’t answer, instead basically saying to give Buffy time. The answer is, to a degree, yes - it is prioritizing her own feeling of value over the needs of someone who, even if she was right about everything, would be suffering from unspeakable trauma. But that’s kind of a mundane sort of bad person, well within human norms.

{*\../*} : And the kind of bad you get to admit to your girlfriend in the dark. That’s kinda part of the point of having a girlfriend, after all. But it does set up an interesting question for later - is Willow worried Buffy hasn’t thanked her because she feels on some level that she did something wrong and she needs the reassurance, or because she feels like she did something heroic for her friend that proves she’s special and isn’t getting an positive feedback for it?

T: Pretty sure both.

{*\../*} : Also, is it just me or does the way Alyson inflicts “intense” when she’s describing the resurrection spell have a slightly creepy/sexual vibe to it?

T: You’d have to be REALLY into snakes to talk about a situation in which you coughed up a snake in that tone.

{*\../*} : Cut back to Buffy, staring at pictures of her with her friends like a semi-dead person, and then all the pictures go to creepy skulls for a moment. She shuts her eyes, opens them again, pictures are back to normal. Cut to black for commercial while we all get tense on cue.

{*\../*} : Creepy monologue Buffy is throwing things at Tara and Willow and berating them for being unclean in some fairly impressively ugly language. Willow’s eyes get huge and betrayed, and then she leaps out of bed and turns on the light. No Buffy in the room. O-kay, that’s genuinely creepy, I gotta give it that.

T: No, that was actually scary. Well done. What the Buffy-apparition is accusing Willow if is stuff Willow actually did in preparation for the ritual - she summoned that deer that was apparently pure and innocent - so, in this universe, probably not something I’d use the word “hart” to describe - and cut its throat to drain its blood into the Urn of Osiris. She got blood all over her hands in the process. And she never told any of her friends about it - even Tara. Looks like SOMEBODY was watching, though.

{*\../*} : Interesting that it’s addressing Willow and Tara in the collective ‘you,’ you - the plural of “bitches” gives that away. Is Tara being held culpable because the apparition is nasty, because she worked the magic with Willow, or because she hasn’t asked and is somehow complicit? Regardless of which it is, she looks spooked (also really cute, but spooked). There’s no glass, so they know it wasn’t “real.”

T: Two theories: Either the apparition wasn’t watching, but does know what’s required for the spell, in which case either it can sense magical talent or Xander and Anya are going to have a very unpleasant visitor quite soon, or the fact that Tara has the tools at her disposal to know - she’s a witch, she knows what books Willow went through, things of that sort - makes her not knowing not really an excuse for her involvement.

{*\../*} : Watching Tara and Willow work the problem together is cool right up until the moment when Tara asks if Willow knows what the apparition was talking about and Willow straight-up lies to her face. Not even all that well. Chalk one for ‘guilty conscience.’

T: At least they have the right initial plan - call Xander. It takes the house rattling at them to get them there, but Xander and Anya are almost certainly in some sort of danger here.

{*\../*} : Meanwhile, over at the Harris residence, Anya can’t sleep and is trying to get Xander to play word games with her. Xander is either the world’s heaviest sleeper or ignoring her on purpose. Heaviest sleeper, apparently, but the phone knocks him right out of it.

T: She deserves so much better than him. And that was amazingly creepy as hell.

{*\../*} : Anya doing the Joker laugh and cutting her cheeks with a knife? Eeep! No sleep for me ever, ever again.

T: We know where he got those scars now. Crime lords shouldn’t be involved in resurrections.

{*\../*} : I love that the next scene is the four perpetrators discussing the situation out in a brightly lit outdoor space with a maximum of ‘normal.’ Like they’re actively trying to hide from whatever’s haunting them by being as suburban cookout as possible without the actual cookout.

T: I adore Anya, but I don’t think I’d want her around on a bad day.

{*\../*} : Truth is uncomfortable and pointy. Also, is it just me or does everyone in that little circle radiate massive discomfort the moment Buffy walks in to ask what needs killing? Either they’ve all got guilty consciences, they’re trying to wrap her in cotton because they think she might break or both.

T: With an additional side order of “she’s strong and fast enough that, if she is broken in a way that leads to violence, we’ll all be dead before we notice.” Anyway, they think it’s a haunting, but not a normal haunting because it can be in more than one place. Anya’s theory - and she has personal experience - is that something hitchhiked back from the afterlife with Buffy. They’re going with that.

{*\../*} : Xander tells Buffy that having her back is “so, so important” and something clicks sharply for me. For all the talk about Buffy being trapped in a hell dimension, the resurrection spell is absolutely a product of Willow and Xander being pathologically unable to accept Buffy’s death, isn’t it? And on some level, they both know it, because they’re both radiating guilt and covering like mad.

T: Yeah, pretty much. I mean, they have all sorts of justifications, but the fact that their favorite one to go to is personal - “We can’t leave our friend suffering” - gives that away. If they weren’t doing it out of personal need, they’d be gravitating toward “It has been three months since the last apocalypse.”

{*\../*} : Research time! Dawn is reading over Willow’s shoulder. Five types of demon and counting. And Buffy cannot be out of the room with her friends fast enough. Cue creepy Dawn eyes while she’s making a lot of noise about how safe she’ll be with the others.

T: Did Dawn’s eyes go creepy before she started talking or after she finished? Her back was to the camera the whole time.

{*\../*} : Pretty clearly deliberate ambiguity. “I miss Giles,” Buffy says, and Willow jumps to being a poor substitute in the research department. But that’s not what Buffy’s talking about at all - she’s barely looking at the book in her hand. Sarah’s reading of that line gives me a very deep “I miss my father figure who could make my world make sense” feeling.

T: Yeah. The line was actually pretty heartbreaking. They haven’t noticed, have they? That Buffy is only talking when she’s saying something really important. It’s almost never the words coming out of her mouth, but she’s always communicating something - it’s never small talk or an obvious statement.

{*\../*} : They are aggressively busy trying to will her and themselves to be okay, and don’t seem to be able or willing to see her straight.

T: This episode is one of our more uncomfortable looks at who Buffy’s friends are, but I can’t say it’s taking them out of character.

{*\../*} : More on that in analysis later. To patrol with Buffy! Or not. We get one shot of Buffy with an angel tomb in the background and then we’re back to Anya delivering coffee and possessed Dawn delivering more judgement. “You stupid children, did you think the blood wouldn’t reach you? I smell the death on you.” I am... uncomfortably in agreement with that line, and the actors are selling the heck out of guilty terror. Well, except for Michelle, who’s just killing it as the vengeful possessing apparition breathing fire at them.

T: I think she actually does a better job as the apparition than Sarah, though she’s helped by the fact that her voice makes its vocal effect a ton creepier. Also, pretty sure the ante for the episode just went up… even after Dawn collapses, things are still on fire.

{*\../*} : “Evil things have plans. They have things to do.” Aaaand we cut to Spike damaging his hand punching the wall. Then laughing hysterically.

T: Is that a barber chair? Did Spike buy a barber chair? Well… he’s Spike. Did Spike steal a barber chair? He’s still got the chip. He couldn’t even eat the barber. Did Spike steal a barber chair from a demon barber?

{*\../*} : Spike’s crypt makes a hella creepy set, I gotta say. And here’s Buffy standing in his front room. And they’re comparing notes about their damaged hands while Spike makes creepy knife innuendo and remarks on Willow's power level. Funny but not funny. He drops the act. Now he’s talking about his feeling of failure for letting Dawn be taken and Buffy die. James is selling the hell out of Spike’s obsession here. “Every night I save you.” For 147 days. Damn.

T: James Marsters never forgets he’s playing a monster. The writers do, but he doesn’t. Even at his most sympathetic, his most pseudo-heroic, like he is here… he’s a monster. This is obsession, and your heart breaks for him.

{*\../*} : But there’s Buffy, knowing exactly what he is, sitting and staring at him. Same vaguely empty look, but she seems more comfortable with him by far than with her friends. Not healthy....

T: So Xander and Tara are talking, which I will note hardly ever happens - Tara and Xander are in rooms together really often, but they rarely address each other. Xander asks Tara about whether this is a consequence of the spell, and whether anyone knew. “Anyone” has an awfully specific meaning here. Tara is having none of it.

{*\../*} : “Willow is a talented witch and she would never do anything to hurt anyone,” bursts out Tara, in a glaringly suspiciously specific denial. Xander’s “I know, I know, huh? Backing up quickly, hands in the air” is not delivered in the voice of someone unaware that they’re both up to their eyeballs in a certain river in Egypt.

T: Pretty sure Xander crossed a line by accusing Willow, even if the accusation is accurate, in Tara’s mind. Of course, if Willow knew this - or something similar - could happen, she was crossing a line by not telling them. These people need to either trust each other more or not work incredibly dangerous magic together.

{*\../*} : Willow interrupts their moment with putting the plot together, so now we’re contemplating the prospect of having actually created a demon as the price of their spell. Which leads to Dawn panicking about the prospect of them undoing it. The line that jumps out at me is “you can’t just mess with people’s lives this way.” Something to come back to. Meanwhile, these people are still terrible at information security and now the demon knows the only way it can avoid dissolving over time is to kill Buffy.

T: Well… I’m not sure the CIA has protocols for noncorporeal, invisible, possessing demons. But they probably should, given that they’re basically demon hunters. … Does the CIA have protocols for noncorporeal, invisible, possessing demons?

{*\../*} : If they didn’t before ‘01, I imagine they do now.

T: They’d better not tell me. I don’t have protocols.

{*\../*} : Back to the house for some creepy white creature following Buffy off the stairs. With the lights off, because she’s walking around the house in the dark.

T: The demon was more menacing as both an invisible apparition that occasionally possessed someone and a mobile floor bump than that special effect. I don’t believe that special effect can kill Buffy. I don’t believe that special effect can kill George the Most Fragile Fly Ever.

{*\../*} : They need protocols. Also, the scene of Dawn and Anya and Xander driving to the house kills the shit out of what tension the show had going. Having to sit through Tara and Willow doing a revolving solidifying spell doesn’t help.

T: The fight isn’t very good either. Sarah’s obviously acting around a green screen, and they don’t really give her much to go on, while the special effect is terrible. The solidifying spell gives us… an old woman thing with white hair. Buffy beheads it. This episode’s climax didn’t.

{*\../*} : And now we’re getting a shiny happy sunny morning with Dawn coming out the door and cheerful music. Why am I more disturbed by this than I was by the monster? Oh, right, because there’s six and change more minutes of episode to go and Joss Whedon hates my happiness. Buffy made lunch for Dawn. Very cute.

T: And, unlike the robot, she didn’t mass produce lunch.

{*\../*} : The gag about repeating history in summer school is pretty funny. And Buffy’s crack about charging money for everyone who asks her if she’s okay is also amusing. But then Dawn rolls out with the “everyone will be better when they can see you being happy. It’s all they want,” line and I want to hide under the couch. Buffy’s face is downright haunted, too.

T: Yeah. No pressure to hide your trauma here, Buffy. None at all. Certainly not piling more on top of the preexisting pressure that comes from you being a destined (to die) hero and a battlefield commander. Nope. Nothin’ to see here.

{*\../*} : Buffy goes to tell them something. Then she tells them about being in a hell dimension, and thanks them, and she’s not looking at them. Then she does look at them, and her face is just killing me. How can they not see she’s lying through her teeth? She ducks out early and finds Spike in the alley. Then she says the most telling line in the episode about their relationship: “I can be alone with you here.”

T: Spike owes her a nickel. But he also knows that she’s lying. She says he can’t do anything for her. That she was happy, wherever she was. “I was happy. At peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time didn’t mean anything. Nothing had form. But I was still me, you know? And I was warm. And I was loved. And I was finished. Complete. I don’t understand theology or dimensions, any of it, really. But I think I was in heaven. And now I’m not. I was torn out of there. Pulled out, by my friends. Everything is hard, and bright, and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch, this is hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that, knowing what I’ve lost.” Then she gets up, tells Spike they can never know, and walks away. Fade to black.

{*\../*} : James Marsters acts the hell out of Spike’s reactions while she’s talking. What he does with his face is just amazing. Then she leaves him standing in his over-bright shadow.

T: I have to say… that was better than I expected it to be. Still grim as fuck, but… an honest sort of grim, maybe? It has something to say. I’m not sure what all it’s saying, but it means it.

{*\../*} : The writers seem to have really committed to the idea that they’re telling the story of a fated heroine who wrapped up her fate, got her eternal reward and then got dragged out of it and back to the hard ugliness of life by her needy, well-intentioned friends. And if that’s not a metaphor for depression mixed with toxic friendship, I’m not sure what is.

T: Also, for the situation the show itself is in. It was pretty much cancelled before UPN picked it up for this season and the next, and I think it had said what it had to say at the start. Seasons 1, 3, and 5, in particular, basically handled Buffy’s journey.

{*\../*} : So running themes to watch in the forthcoming 19 episodes: life after purpose, coping with hiding your trauma and depression from your friends, seeking unhealthy outlets for your emotions with people you can be alone while you’re with... anything else?

T: Dawn. I think Dawn is someone to keep an eye on going forward. She never knew Joyce the Abuser - the monks wouldn’t have let her - so to her experience of the world she’s lost her (quite excellent) mother, her sister, then her sister has come back to life. If they don’t do a lot with that, they’ll have failed badly as writers.

{*\../*} : So, solid marks as an episode and good set-up for the season. For as great an hour of serial television as you can have in an action show without an action climax, I sure didn’t enjoy it much.

T: Yeah. That’s the thing with this season, isn’t it? When it’s bad, it’s bad. When it’s good, it’s about depression and misery. Either way, it’s not actually enjoyable to watch. You can tell enjoyable stories about depression - I’m told Zoe Quinn did a bang-up job of it - but the people writing Buffy, at least so far, seem incapable of it. “This was good but wasn’t fun” is not as uncommon an issue as I’d like it to be in either Buffy or Angel, and this episode is pretty much the pinnacle thereof. Maybe it needed a great action scene… that would at least have given something fun to remember after.

{*\../*} : I could have done without the car scene and the spinny camera spell, too. Speaking of the spell, Willow’s glowy light and dark eyes moment when she said “Solid” gave me chills, and not the good kind.

T: There’s a good kind?

{*\../*} : Not in front of the readers, honey.

T: Hai. Anyway, yeah, the car scene in particular killed the pacing of what climax there was, and the spinny camera made me kind of regret the popcorn we were eating as we watched this. Willow’s eyes going black started in the episode with the bag of knives, though I think this is the first time it’s happened without her eating evil.

{*\../*} : That’s surely not going to end badly for everyone involved, right? Right?

T: Nah. It’ll be fine. Anyway, I think we’ve said what there is to say about this one. We’ll have  to do this again for an episode that’s, y’know… good? Okay, this one was good. Worth our watch?

{*\../*} : Not crushingly sad. That’d be a good start. Anyway, I now return you to your regularly scheduled Tia-viewing. See you around, everyone!

#dialogue post #buffy the vampire slayer #after life #buffy season 6 #season 6

[askfornoguarantees-blog]

Classes & Traveling

I haven’t had a chance to write about my classes yet (probably because they aren’t that important, sorry Dad) but I really do enjoy them so far. I am taking 20th Century British History, Analyzing and Exploring the Global City, International Economics, and Introduction to Modern Art. Two of them count towards my major and one of them is a Gen Ed I need to graduate so the credits actually work out well. Unfortunately, we cannot take any classes pass fail so all my grades will count towards my cumulative GPA but so far it doesn’t seem like it will be too hard to keep up good grades. Each class is only once a week but 3 ½ hours long which is a lot more torturous than I thought it would be. Thankfully I only have class Monday through Wednesday, but that means 7 hours of class on Wednesdays with only 1 hour of break for lunch. It’s not enjoyable but it does mean that I get 4 day weekends to travel and explore the city more so it is definitely worth it. In my history class, my teacher is at least 70 years old and walks with a cane but is possibly the cutest old lady I have ever met. We go on 3 field trips to museums throughout the semester which is great because it gives me an opportunity to explore places that I might not have a chance to go to otherwise. In my Analyzing and Exploring the Global City class, our teacher is Canadian which you think would be fine but she pronounces everything so differently than both American English and British English. About half of our classes are field trips or as she calls them “field experiments” so that will also allow me to explore a lot of the city that I wouldn’t normally get to. My International Econ class is by far my favorite so far. The teacher is somewhat of a hard ass but he has a great sense of British humor and is constantly mocking the US, the monarchy, and basically anything that he deems hypocritical. But he gives a very unbiased view of economics. Aka he doesn’t lean right or left, he just teaches the material as its supposed to be taught which I really appreciate. The material itself is also very interesting so I am really excited for the rest of the semester. Lastly, my Introduction of Modern Art class will probably be the most difficult for me just because I really don’t have an appreciation for art nor do I really care much about it (sorry mom). However, we do go to a bunch of art galleries throughout the semester including the Tate Modern which actually seems really fun since it’s one of the most famous museums in the world. In terms of traveling outside the UK this semester, I’ll be hitting 11 cities in 9 countries (not including London or anywhere in Britain). The list includes Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, Dublin, Galway, Rome, Florence, Split (Croatia), Budapest, Berlin, and Vienna. The last 3 cities I listed will be our spring break since it is in February and there won’t really be anywhere warm for us to travel. Maegan and I will be doing Brussels and Amsterdam just the two of us, although Constance, Sammie, Charlie, Phil, Ben, Rupali, and Liz will be in Amsterdam too so we will get to see them for one night. The Paris trip we booked through CAPA and everyone I named above minus Liz and Phil will be going on that. Ireland and Italy will be when Logan comes to visit and Split, Croatia will be the last trip of my semester and the second weekend in April. I am actually most excited for Budapest and Croatia just because of all the good things I have heard about both places. But pretty much everywhere I go will be amazing and I am extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to go to as many cities as I am.