#man literally slices another dude in half and we’re not supposed to think hes a villain

[too-kinky-to-live]

buffet

yes i know i teased this fic months ago but i finally got it finished! this is a pregame oum.asai fic (feat. mutual stuffing owo) 

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32253592

(based off a real experience i had in japan .3.)

Going out to a fancy restaurant was never a luxury Kokichi had.

Going to a standard sushi bar, however, was just barely within his reach. His new Danganronpa buddy, Shuichi Saihara, had invited him to dinner after watching the new episode. Shuichi was far better off than himself, so of course it would be no trouble treating Kokichi to a simple meal. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind paying for me? I’ll try not to order too much if that’ll help…” the smaller one mumbled, not meeting the other’s eyes. 

Shuichi gently put a hand on Kokichi’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just here to enjoy ourselves, and celebrate another great episode of the best show on television!” The purple haired boy gave a sheepish smile as the two walked into the restaurant and took their seats. A myriad of images flashed onto the screen on the wall next to their booth, showcasing the delicacies available to them. Such a variety was new to Kokichi, to the point where it felt overwhelming. Meanwhile, Shuichi wasted no time in selecting numerous plates of sushi. 

Truthfully, there was another reason Kokichi wanted to come. There was something special about watching Shuichi eat - the glimmer in his eyes and genuine smile when he bit into his favorite foods. His calmness was contagious and made the normally anxious Kokichi feel at peace with him. (And, well… it was nice for Shuichi to focus on something other than Danganronpa, for once.)

It didn’t take long for the sushi plates to slide along the wall’s conveyor belt, accompanied with a cheery chime. Five small plates containing two sushi pieces each were grabbed hastily by Shuichi and placed before him. Faster than Kokichi’s eyes could keep up, a piece of tuna sushi was popped into the blue haired boy’s mouth. Shuichi grinned and chewed a bit, before giving a hearty gulp. 

“Aren’t you gonna order something?”

Kokichi was snapped out of his stupor by the sudden question. “Y-Yeah, I’m still deciding.” Although that was easier said than done, considering his picky nature and the unknown options displayed. Settling for a couple plates of salmon sushi and a can of Panta, he placed his order and tried his best not to stare at Shuichi, who effortlessly wolfed down four of the five plates in front of him. The taller boy’s appetite never failed to amaze him. It was… cute. 

And there it was. It was getting harder for Kokichi to conceal his odd crush on Shuichi, given the circumstances. Watching someone eat so much wasn’t supposed to be cute, was it? He should be disgusted at the other’s brazen disregard for manners, but such an emotion just didn’t exist in this moment. It was mesmerizing, in a way. Just as Kokichi’s order was arriving, Shuichi casually ordered another 3 plates of varying sushi. 

“You okay, ‘Kichi? Your face is red,” he asked, taking a swig of water. 

The smaller boy hurriedly rubbed his cheeks in a futile attempt to cover his blush. “It’s just hot in here, that’s all.” Shuichi said nothing in response, but he could have sworn he saw a smirk on his face. 

Shuichi was on to him, wasn’t he?

Kokichi grabbed his plates and drink and stuffed a piece of sushi in his mouth. He was caught off guard with how fresh it tasted. He was so used to measly cafeteria food, he couldn’t help but smile. No wonder Shuichi was fixated on this stuff. By the time Kokichi finished his first plate, his friend had already cleaned his three new plates. The smaller boy’s mouth was slightly agape as he watched him lean forward to order a small bowl of ramen. Shuichi plopped back in his seat with a satisfied smile, resting his hands on his stomach. 

Kokichi couldn’t help but feel bad about his pace. Maybe he wouldn’t be so scrawny if he ate like his friend. With this new resolve, he shoved the rest of the food in his mouth and took a gulp of soda. Shuichi’s bowl had arrived just then, with the taller boy taking it off the conveyor belt. 

“There’s no need to rush,” he laughed softly. “Your food isn't going anywhere.” 

Kokichi looked up with a smirk. “Same to you, Shu.” 

Shuichi shrugged, but bounced back after a slurp of his noodles. “Dude, you gotta try this!” Kokichi foolishly expected his friend to let him try his, but Shuichi was already scarfing down the bowl. He chuckled quietly before ordering a bowl of his own. The smaller boy was comfortably full, but who was he to deny indulging his best friend? Surely he could handle a small helping of ramen. 

The taller boy went on to order a few more plates along with some side dishes while babbling on about the new episode. Kokichi listened intently as he ate the delicious ramen, finishing his drink straight after. By the time he finished, though, he felt a tightness at his belt. As discreetly as he could, he went to unbutton his pants. He was relatively shocked to see a small lump formed under his uniform. It was such a strange yet warm feeling. Placing his hands on his newly formed belly, he rubbed at it a little. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Shuichi lean in slightly. “Hey ‘Kichi, you want dessert?” 

The smaller boy looked up and blinked. “You’re still hungry?” Just how big was his crush’s stomach capacity? 

“Sorta, but I want to share it with you. You’ve still got room, right?” he asked. 

Kokichi looked down at his stomach, as if he could feel it voicing complaints about the prospect of more food. He did see a delectable-looking slice of strawberry cake on the menu, and he knew he’d regret passing it up. Of course, he also didn’t want to disappoint Shuichi. That was far more important in his eyes. 

“I think I’ll manage,” he replied with a cheeky grin. 

Minutes later, and the cake slice arrived. Despite his fullness, Kokichi felt a bit of drool form around his mouth as he took in the sight before him. A slight strawberry drizzle coated the top with a zigzag design, with a large strawberry sitting atop the back. The filling consisted of vanilla and more strawberries with a rich, creamy icing. Shuichi used his fork to slice it in half, giving the larger portion to Kokichi. Having a dessert like this would be a piece of cake, literally. 

...Or so he thought, until the last bit of strawberry sat on the plate in a taunting manner. His tummy definitely wasn’t happy with him at this point, but he was too far in to give up now. Slowly, Kokichi lifted the piece and brought it to his mouth, easing it in. The strawberry went down with a hard swallow, causing the smaller boy to lean back with a light moan. His fingers curled around the now-open seams of his uniform, feeling the shirt underneath. Kokichi's body was practically begging for a nap, and all the warm food inside him felt heavenly. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so at peace; but that peace was quickly interrupted by excess air rising up his throat. He quickly moved a hand up to his mouth to stifle a small burp before closing his eyes and leaning back once again. 

He peeked an eye open to see Shuichi’s twelve clean plates stacked neatly to the side along with his empty bowl and water glass. The taller boy was also panting a bit, seemingly fiddling with his own pants button. 

“Guess we’re both *urp* done, huh?” Shuichi asked tiredly. Kokichi could only nod in response. 

After a few minutes of struggling to stand, Shuichi paid the bill and the two headed out into the cool, quiet evening. The smaller boy finally got a good look of the damage on his crush, and… wow. Shuichi almost looked pregnant with how much he packed into himself. Kokichi’s belly looked so small by comparison, it made him look like he was exaggerating. He had never eaten so much in his life, he felt as though he would pop at any moment. 

Shuichi, however, seemed to be taking it in stride. “Man, that hit the spot! Guess watching Danganronpa really works up my appetite,” he sighed, giving his soccer ball belly a firm pat. Giving a brief look at his stomach, he suddenly looked at Kokichi with regret. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this, I probably looked like a pig…” 

Kokichi shook his head. “Not at all! You’re not gross. I, um, liked it a lot,” he blushed. For once, Shuichi returned the blush. “That’s a relief. I gotta confess something too, though.” 

The smaller boy looked at him curiously. “I wanted you to have a lot because you look so frail… I’m really worried about your health." He looked away, putting a hand behind his head sheepishly. "Er, sorry, that sounded rude didn’t it? I didn’t mean it like th-” 

“It’s okay, Shuichi. Thank you,” Kokichi gave a gentle smile, placing a hand on the taller boy’s warm stomach. “I’d love to go out with you again sometime.” 

Shuichi gave a large smirk. “So it’s a date, then?” 

Against all odds, Kokichi’s face became even more red. The blue haired boy merely laughed, bending down slightly to give a peck on Kokichi’s cheek. 

“See you after school tomorrow, ‘Kichi.”

#stuffedronpa #forgive me for i have sinned #lol jk #we need more mutual stuffing fics so heres my contribution <3 #pora's fix

[skylarmoon71]

AU Blind Murdock Reader x Leonardo-(TMNT2014/2016) Chapter 1

“This wasn’t how I pictured the night going.”

You grunted, holding your side as you walked through the alley. Crime fighting really wasn’t as fun as everyone seemed to think. There were good days, and then there were days like this, where you’d dodged a bullet, literally. Your most recent engagement wasn’t as simple. What you thought to be just a few drug dealers cutting a deal to sell weapons was in fact an organization moving equipment into the country. 

They weren’t especially happy when you blew up their entire shipment. That’s when the gunshots started. You winced at the blood rushing down your arm, clutching the injured limb. Although you managed to avoid any fatal injuries, one of the shots did connect, not to mention you had to fight off half a dozen men just to get out of there. Your body was battered and hurt, the only thing really keeping you up was your sheer will to make it back to your apartment before you passed out on the street from blood loss.

When you hands grazed the wall, you froze, titling your head. “Come out, I know you’re there.” There was nothing but silence for a few moments, then you heard a voice.

“Dudes how did she know we were here, we’re ninjas!” You heard a smack, and then a grumble as the individuals made themselves known.

“One...two, three four..”

Four of them. You straightened your form, Sliding your foot forward slightly, just to get a feel of your environment. If they were a threat, your hope was you could use something close by to fight back. The action gave you a general idea of what was around, it also gave you a slight sense of alarm. The vibrations from their movements weren't making sense.

“These guys are...huge.”

You clenched your fists, ready for anything.

“Stand down, we aren’t trying to pick a fight, My brother saw you struggling, seems you need a hand.”

“What are you?” Their heartbeats were all echoing in sync, and the size couldn’t be real. Maybe your senses were messed up from the beating you’d taken.

“Heh, should have expected that.” Another voice cut in.

“Be nice Raph, she’s hurt.” You were still guarded, and when one of them took a step forward, you braced your hands in front of your face.

“I promise you I won’t hurt you.” You don’t know what was crazier, the fact that these people were apparently giants, or possibly the way you felt reassured by the tenderness of his voice.

“Leo!” you’re head darted in the direction of the voice further away. Leo took a step over to him, and there was another pause.

“You’re blind.” surprise was evident on your face. Your eyes were blocked by the dark cloth, so how did he know. Who were these people? You didn’t like this.

“That’s crazy, how can she be blind, she looks like that picture I was reading about a few days ago. You know the vigilante.”

“We’re the vigilantes numnut!!” Another smack.

“No brah! That daredevil dude, now that I think about it she’s a girl. Everyone thought it was a guy..”

You took a few steps back, and one of them took one in your direction, reaching for you. “Wait you’re bleeding and we-” you grabbed his outstretched hand, raising your other hand to strike him in the chest but it collided with a hard surface. You gasped, pulling back your now bruised knuckles. “W-What the hell…” His chest was as hard as rock. His arm too, it didn’t feel human at all. It felt...scaly.

You needed to think fast. Turning your head, your fingers twitched.

“Sword.”

They all had weapons, but the one to the right had something you could use to get the upper hand. With a swift jump, you used the wall to pivot yourself in the air. As you flipped over, you grabbed the blade right out the strap he had it secured in. He turned in shock and as he moved forward, you pointed it at the other male's neck. Everyone was still.

“How did you do that…”

Now you were going strictly on adrenaline. You could barely feel the throb of the bullet wound in your arm anymore. “I don’t know what the hell you are, hell maybe I’m delirious, but make no mistake, I’m not gonna go down easy.” You pressed the edge of the blade to his throat, and you could feel his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“L-Leo..” This Leo guy must have been the leader.

“Woah...she’s a ninja too dudes!!”

“Are they kids?” This one sounded more excited than scared.

“She better move that damn sword from Donnie’s neck!” This guy was angry, and you heard him gripping at his own weapons.

“Calm down Raph.” He must have been talking to the angry one.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slice up my brother. Here.” When he reaches for his other sword, you hold tightens. He did everything slowly, unsheathing it and placing it slowly on the floor. The one you had hostage dropped his bo staff, and the other did the same, his nunchunks hitting the floor.

There was still one left.

“All of them.” you stated.

“Raph!” There was a grunt, and you finally heard the clanking of two sais on the concrete.

“Okay, now it’s your turn.” you didn’t respond immediately. For a few moments you just tried keeping track of all their positions in case they tried anything. You took a step back, still holding the sword. You heard a sigh of relief when you removed the sharp blade from his throat.

“Now talk.” you demand.

“You must have a hell of a lot of friends with that shitty attitude.” you frowned, raising the sword, and Leo raised his hands. “Come on guys let’s get along.”

“Talk.” you seethed.

“Well, I guess we should start from the beginning. My name is Leonardo, these are my brothers. We’re not your regular family. “

That was an understatement.

Yep, tonight definitely wasn’t turning out how you would have liked.

“Should have just stayed home and watched netflix.”

You were missing Law and Order for this.

“Listen whether you want to accept it or not, you’re hurt. I just want to help. Please.” your hands trembled.

He wasn’t wrong. It was a wonder you were still standing. You supposed your tolerance for pain was getting better everyday.

“You guys aren’t human.” you mutter.

“We’re not.”

Trust wasn’t your strong suit, but you could hear it in his voice, he was telling the truth. If you wanted to live through the night, you would have to go on faith, something you hadn’t done in a while. You winced when a wave of dizziness struck you. Seems the weight of everything was finally kicking in.

“Shit.”

You couldn’t even hold up the blade anymore. That little stunt might have taken out more than you realized. You dropped the sword, and your body was about to meet the same faith, but two strong arms caught you. You wanted to resist, push him away, kick his butt. Anything to get out of this situation, but as it stood, you’d probably lost more than 2 liters of blood by now. You raised your arm weakly to create some distance, but it did nothing. The male holding you scooped you into his arms with a sigh. “I know you’re scared, but no matter what I won’t let you die.”

Your chest was heaving, you could feel yourself slipping because the sound around you was starting to fade.

“Don’t cry.” you had to chant it in your head, because the last time you felt like this was when you found your father after his boxing match. The last one he’d ever done. Giving into the inevitable, you slumped. Body finally giving out from exhaustion.

“Grab your stuff, we have to get her to the lair now!”

“You’re joking, chick tried to cut up Donnie! Just drop her off at a hospital and let someone else deal with her. How do we even know she’s not some criminal.” Raph argued. Leo knew he was more pissed that he’d been forced to surrender than anything. He got his sias, still glaring at your unconscious body. Mikey and Donnie were getting their weapons as well.

“Mikey said she was the vigilante, she’s one of the good guys. She’s so young too. If we carry her to the hospital it’ll blow her cover, just imagine how many people want her dead. She’ll be vulnerable. ” Leo was more than a little stunned. The articles he browsed through, he was sure that it was a man, and someone much older. But it was a girl, around the same age they were, and she was blind.

“Leo’s right, if we don’t help her now she’s gonna die.” Donnie strapped on Leo’s sword since his hands were occupied, and they all followed as Leo took off.

“Hang in there.”

His one hope was he'd be able to help you.

#leonardo #tmnt donatello #fluff #love #hurt #loss #pain #blindreader #vigilantes #alternate universe #fear #meetings #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2014 #tmnt love #leo x reader #leo is bae #new york #NYPD #fights #crime #criminals #blood #teens #highschool

[venialsun]

to begin with, take warning (2/3)

[read on ao3]

1 | 2 | 3

When Damian found his way to his first class of the day, having missed something called homeroom and the first ten minutes, the instructor shook his head playfully and made Damian introduce himself and explain what he had done over the summer. He could not say he had spent the past few months traipsing across the globe, hanging out with killers and thieves, and dying more often than not as he tried to escape the oppressive feeling that had descended upon Gotham after years of tragedies and increasing catastrophes. So he said he spent some time with his mother’s family on their private island, which was close enough, took a seat at the back of the room, and listened to his classmates reconnect with old friends and talk about their vacations and holidays with an increasing sense of annoyance.

The rest of the morning classes were no better. The teachers would guide the students through introductions and some small talk, go through their syllabus, and sometimes begin a lesson that Damian was entirely bored by. A few of his classmates tried to speak with him, asking him questions about his family, about himself, and smiling welcomingly at him, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about that can of worms. He was not sure what he would say, how to spin his life into something half-truthful yet still benign. He’d never had to before. The rest of the students ignored him, and he was more than happy to ignore them right back.

By lunchtime, he was contemplating leaving and telling his Father he was done with this whole experiment. But Yanez’s yellow slip burned in his pocket, and Damian was not one to give up so easily. He would make it through the day, if nothing else.

The technology atrium was between the main academic building and the arts auditorium. A squat addition to the main building with walls made of glass and supported by steel beams, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the dark slate stones and high neo-Gothic arches and spires of the rest of Gotham Academy. Damian glowered as he neared and realized this was not only the technology atrium but, according to the placard over the main entrance, the Kenneth H. Wayne Technology Atrium.

Of course.

Inside, rows of computers and long tables encircled a central desk where a young woman sat typing at a laptop. She looked up as Damian approached and asked, “What’s up?”

Damian fished out the yellow slip and showed it to her. “Principal Yanez assigned me community tutoring or whatever.”

She took the slip and scanned it. “Already? Dang, kid, what’d ya do?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. Hold on. Let me pull her notes.” She busied herself clicking and scrolling, then paused. “Oh, wow. I see. Well, hi, Damian. Glad to have you. I’m Miss Daisy.” She handed him back the slip.

“Daisy?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Well, Miss Daskalakis, but I got tired of all you runts mispronouncing it.”

“Miss Daskalakis,” said Damian, exactly.

Daskalakis smiled. “That was pretty good, actually. Okay, in about ten minutes, we should have some of the PSAT and SAT kids show up for their first prep. Make yourself comfortable at one of the tables, eat some of your lunch, and when they show up I’ll introduce you and explain the rundown.”

“Lunch?”

“You brought something to eat, didn’t you? Or you can go pick something up at the cafeteria.” She glanced at her laptop. “There’s still time, and since it’s the first day, there’s no rush.”

Damian hesitated. “Principal Yanez said I was to report here.”

“We’re not going to make you skip lunch, Damian,” said Daskalakis. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Here, what do you want?” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll message my assistant to bring you something. He should already be at the cafeteria.”

“Anything vegetarian,” he said.

Daskalakis gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

He went to sit at one of the long tables. Surreptitiously, he pulled out his phone to figure out what in the world the PSAT and SAT were supposed to be. He was puzzling his way through the most confusingly worded, backwards maths questions he had ever read, when the door opened. Damian glanced up and froze.

The red-headed boy at the entrance to the atrium also froze, eyes wide like he had seen a ghost.

“Colin!” called Daskalakis. “Hey, this is Damian. Thanks for grabbing lunch.”

“Colin,” Damian said.

“Damian,” said Colin Wilkes. “Oh, my god. Damian. Dude!”

“Do you two know each other?” asked Daskalakis.

“No,” said Damian, at the same time Colin said, “Yes.” Then Colin said, “No,” at the same time Damian said, “Yes.”

“Cool,” said Daskalakis, dragging out the oo. “Cool, cool, cool. Can you guys figure that out? We have, like, five minutes.”

Colin approached and deposited what looked like a rice dish with vegetables in front of him. “Um, this is for you. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you a taco bowl minus the taco.”

“Thanks,” said Damian, accepting the not-taco bowl.

“So.” Colin sat across from him. “Long time no see, huh.”

Damian snorted. “I’ve been busy,” he said.

“No shit. Your family has been freaking out for like the past six months, saying you’re missing and Robin went rogue or something. Then the old Robin came back. The Titans restarted. Then there’s video of another Robin sword-fighting crime all over the world. I assume that was you. Dude, I thought you were dead.”

“To be fair,” said Damian as he opened his taco bowl and mixed the ingredients, “I was. A couple of times. Doesn’t seem to stick.”

Colin laughed. “Your mom?”

Damian chuckled, startling himself. “Something like that. Though the first time was a few years back. I was—gone—for nearly a year, and my Father resurrected me with alien magic.”

“Sick. I remember that,” said Colin. “You dropped off the face of the earth. Didn’t come by the orphanage anymore or sneak out with me for patrols. People were saying Batman went crazy. I thought you just decided you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

“I—” Damian spooned some rice into mouth. Chewed, swallowed. Colin looked at him throughout, unrelenting. “I didn’t ignore you deliberately. And then after I came back, things were so…”

Colin waved a hand and unwrapped a greasy slice of pizza. He took a bite. “It’s cool, man. You literally just told me you’ve died multiple times. Plural. I can get over my hurt feelings. Seems kind of trivial in comparison.”

Damian frowned and ate some more rice. Colin ate his pizza. Then Damian set his fork down, resolute, grip tight on the handle. As evenly as he could, he said, “I apologize for not being a better friend to you.”

“Whoa.” Colin’s eyebrows shot up. His expression pinched with worry as he searched Damian’s face. “What happened, man?”

Damian swallowed.

Then the door opened again, and an older boy—sixteen or seventeen—peaked inside and asked, “Is this SAT prep?”

“Sure is,” said Daskalakis from the central desk. She stood and indicated Damian and Colin to follow her. “Come in, come in, I’ll set you up right over here.”

Damian stood. “Later,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

“Okay,” Colin agreed. “But if you disappear on me again, this time I know where you go to school, so there’s no use hiding.”

“Have you known me to ever hide from anything?”

Colin smirked and said nothing.

Damian’s face felt suddenly warm. “Shut up,” he said. “We have work to do.”

•

Surprisingly, tutoring his fellow students was not the disaster he thought it would be. There was some initial skepticism from the upperclassmen about being tutored by a fourteen-year-old, but after Daskalakis declared him “a genius prodigy or something, according to Yanez,” that eventually quieted. It helped that though the PSAT and SAT problems and questions were simple enough, the wording and specificity grated on him, and soon he was insulting the intelligence of the College Board and standardized tests in general. That endeared him to the upperclassmen, and afterward the rest of the lunch hour passed without trouble.

Colin sidled up next to Damian as he gathered his materials to leave and showed him a crumpled-up piece of paper. “What’s your next class?” he asked. It was his schedule.

“Physical education,” said Damian. He had already memorized his own.

“Oh, really? Sweet. Me, too. We’ll go to PE together. I met Coach Freeman at the orientation. I think you’ll like her. What about after?”

Damian listed off his afternoon classes: physical education, then biology, then ancient rhetorics, and ending with a free study period. They shared no core classes, only homeroom, lunch, and physical education. Colin teased him for taking the honors track, and Damian started to complain that the classes were not interesting let alone challenging. But then he got sidetracked by wondering why Colin was somehow not in the honors track but still Daskalakis’s assistant for community tutoring (which, Damian insisted, was a dumb idea for punishments and an even dumber name). Colin laughed and explained he mostly helped with the younger kids. He said he was good with them, thanks to all the practice he’d had helping the nuns wrangle traumatized orphans and foster kids while growing up in the orphanage.

“After all that, spoiled rich kids are easy,” Colin said. He nudged Damian in the ribs. “It’s why we’re friends.”

“I thought that was because we both liked beating up on creeps a little too much,” said Damian, wry.

Colin grinned, and for a moment his face seemed to take on the grisly severity of Abuse—Venom-distorted and menacing. “That too.”

Physical education—“Just call it PE, dude,” Colin said—was a bore, more than Damian had anticipated. After changing into their gym uniforms and the requisite round of introductions, Coach Freeman set them on an obstacle course made up of rubber tires and colorful ropes. Damian was not impressed. But he remembered what his Father had said about damaging school property and refrained from destroying the so-called obstacles as he passed his struggling classmates and returned to Coach Freeman.

“What now?” he asked. To his frustration, he had hardly broken a sweat.

“Excuse me,” said Freeman. “Why aren’t you on the course?”

“I’ve finished it.”

“You’ve finished it?” Freeman checked the stopwatch hanging from her neck. “In slightly under six minutes? I don’t think so. Did you take a shortcut?”

“No,” said Damian. “It was easy.”

“Right. Well, if it was so easy, then hop to it. Do it again,” she said. “And this time, I’ll be watching you.”

“Weren’t you already supposed to be doing that?” asked Damian, but he did not argue further and restarted the course. It was better than doing nothing and standing around like an invalid, anyway.

This time he forced himself to go slower, aware he had done something abnormal. But it wasn’t his fault he was above this child’s play. He jogged the 100 meters to the start of course, climbed up the wooden incline, jumped down, belly-crawled under the mesh ropes, alternated jumps between tires then between wooden slats, climbed the rope to ring a bell, balanced across the too-wide beams, swung from bar to bar, and finished off by climbing over three wooden walls of increasing height. At the last wall, he paused and pulled a girl who had been struggling for the last two minutes up and over. Then he jumped down and high-fived Colin, who had finished his first runthrough. Going slower had forced him to focus the strain on his muscles, and the burn in his body and clarity of mind was starting to feel comforting and familiar.

He jogged back to Coach Freeman. “Shall I go again?”

She clicked her stopwatch and stared at it. Then she stared at him. “Slightly under eight minutes,” she said. “What’s your name, son?”

“I’m not your son.” He crossed his arms. “And name’s Damian. Damian Wayne.”

“Wayne, huh?” Freeman grinned. “Well, Mr. Wayne, Gotham Academy’s happy to have you. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“Your sport, Mr. Wayne. Your sport. Everyone’s got one. And if you don’t, not to worry. The Academy’s got a team for everything. You’ll be attending the end-of-day assembly, correct?”

“It is mandatory,” said Damian.

“Perfect,” said Freeman. “The main teams will be doing showcases there. Scope them out, see what you think. General tryouts are in two weeks, and I expect to see you there.”

Damian grimaced. “Do you now.”

Freeman nodded. “Sure do.” Then her attention drifted; her nose scrunched, she blew her whistle and screamed across the field, “You two, under the mesh! Keep your hands to yourselves! No one needs to see all that!”

•

The rest of the day passed quickly. He ran the course twice more, for the hell of it, alternating between pausing to help a classmate over a particularly difficult hurdle or shouting at them to hurry the hell up so Damian could finish already. He got used to the rhythm of it, the formula of general teacher attention interspersed with student social-play. By Ancient Rhetorics, he was an old hat at describing his incredibly fun island adventure halfway across the world and not scowling whenever anyone bemoaned their envy at the life of a rich socialite without responsibilities or true problems. He had even managed to hold a few short conversations with two or three of his classmates, though for the life of him he could not remember their names. A day of nothing but introductions had thoroughly fried his brain and prevented him from retaining anything more complicated than Jessica—because there did seem to be an awful lot of Jessicas.

His phone buzzed as the early bell rang and he merged into the streaming crowd of students heading for the auditorium for the back-to-school assembly.

It was a message from his Father:

Dinner tonight.

He frowned and tapped out a quick reply.

“Hey, Damian, over here!”

Damian looked up. Across the auditorium, Colin was surrounded by a group of teenagers and waving him over. Damian approached, pocketing his phone as he went. Then he paused and groaned when he recognized the small girl with yellow hair ribbons hovering excitedly between Colin and another group of older-looking students.

Fuck it. Damian ducked behind some large boys in jerseys and helmets—not hiding, per se, just utilizing his extensive array of evasive maneuvers to achieve a desired outcome—but it was too late. She had already spotted him.

“Oh my crap! Damian! You’re here?!”

Damian sighed and accepted his fate. With as much dignity as he had left, he emerged from behind the football team.

“Of course you two know each other,” he muttered.

“Huh?” said Colin.

“It is you!” exclaimed Maps Mizoguchi. “Olive, look who it is!”

From the group of older students, a girl with platinum blonde hair glanced over and, seeing Damian, scowled. “Oh,” said Olive Silverlock. “I did hear a Wayne was coming to Gotham Academy. Weren’t you expelled already?”

“You’ll find I’m hard to get rid of, Silverlock,” said Damian.

“Yanez is a softie, of course she let you back in,” continued Olive, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Hammerhead would’ve rather died.”

“You guys know each other?” asked Colin, looking concerned and glancing between them.

“No,” said Damian and Olive, at the same time Maps said, “Heck yeah! We’re all friends!”

“Doth mine ears deceive me? Did I hear Wayne—as in billionaire, more-money-than-I-would-know-what-to-with, bordering-on-unethical-wealth Wayne?” An older boy with sunglasses popped up behind Damian and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Good sir, might I interest you in—”

“Remove yourself from my person at once before I break your arm.”

The boy held up his hands and stepped away. “Got it, got it. No touchy. I can respect that,” he said. “So, Wayne, how do you feel about acquiring some fireworks for your own personal mischief?” He tilted his sunglasses down, conspiratorially. “At a discounted price, of course. Us trouble-makers have to stick together, y’know.”

“Quit it, Colton,” snapped Olive.

“Yeah,” laughed Colin. “That was Damian being nice.”

“You associate with these people?” Damian asked.

Colin shrugged. “I’m a part-time member of the Detectives Club.”

“Pizza club,” corrected Maps.

“The what.”

“Nerd club that solves school mysteries and shit,” said a girl from Colin’s group of younger students. She waved. “Hey, I’m Jess. Nice to meet you.”

Another fucking Jessica.

“Damian,” said Damian, putting up a hand in greeting.

This started another round of introductions and names he immediately deleted from his memory. Who knew Colin was so popular? It was the first day of school; he had not thought it was possible to align yourself with so many friends so quickly unless your name was Dick Grayson.

Slowly, both groups of younger and older students shuffled forward to their seats, helped along by the half-hearted encouragement of manic-looking adults. Somehow, Damian found himself squished between both groups, Colin on one side and Maps on another, as they chatted across him about summer and clubs and the teachers they already hated. Sensing an opportunity Damian told them of his run-in with Headmaster Hammer that morning, which triggered another round of commiserating laughter and louder complaints about what a hardass Hammerhead was—for they called the headmaster Hammerhead. Olive and Maps were the only ones to defend him, citing his one-man defense of the Academy when Joker had tried to take over the city two years ago.

“So?” said Damian. “Joker’s a bitch. He tries to take over the city all the time. That’s not impressive.”

By which a stuffy-looking blond boy in the row behind them became offended, scoffing, and Damian begrudgingly felt his respect grow for Colin’s friends as they immediately dog-piled on the boy for his shit opinion. Then no one could agree who of the Gotham rogues wasn’t a little bitch. And the argument devolved from there until Olive said Batman was a little bitch, too. Everyone laughed.

The lights dimmed. An off-key note rang out as the school band warmed up, and Headmaster Hammer and Principal Yanez stepped on stage.

Slowly in fits and starts, the auditorium quieted, and the assembly began.

next ->

#spades #fic #damian wayne #colin wilkes #olive silverlock #maps mizoguchi #dc

[vaguely-concerned]

The Mandalorian S2Ep2 reactions

- I’m not an arachnophobe, but I can imagine this ep wasn’t much fun for those of us who are, I’m so sorry you guys

- I have never vibed with a character more than with Din when he said “Am I under arrest?”. I, too, am that level of exhausted. the ‘I guess this is happening but you literally cannot force me to have an emotion about it’ tier of tired

- much like the second episode of the first season, this second episode wasn’t about anything as trivial as plot development or starting a new arc; as every episode of the Mandalorian should be it’s about Din Djarin having a very bad no good horrible day that only keeps escalating on him and him being low-key exhaustedly bitchy about it while also stumbling through being a single dad, and I for one am living for it

- what did I tell you, they WERE saving up those dad & baby interaction resources for other episodes! a blessing 

-when baby cuddled up to his dad for the nap... the fact that as din sleeps he unthinkingly turns towards the baby a bit so that he’s basically shielding him with his body...... BABY’S LITTLE HAMMOCK IN THE SLEEPING COMPARTMENT DFHSDKJFHSDJKHFSKDJHF

- I’m choosing to believe din kept his armour (BOOTS INCLUDED) on while sleeping because he needed to be ready at a moment’s notice and because his hypervigilance won’t let him relax without it while there’s someone other than him and the kid around, not because that’s what he usually does, because that’s one level of crazy too far

- god, I love the razor crest so much, what a precious beaten up hunk of junk it is. din really pulled the ‘my car is too old and shitty to need plates’ and has gotten away with it for so long

that entire conversation was pure gold, honestly, up to and including the way he just went quiet for a few seconds upon realizing the game was up and then sent the whole ship into a sudden nose dive fshadfhsa. (that’s my preferred way of ending conversations too din it’s okay) the way you could see mando get tenser and tenser but there was also an underlying tone of comedy to it? exactly the sort of thing I was ready for today, tense but bizarrely funny is the mood of the hour (din IS pretty damn good at flying though! I wonder who taught him)

also they played the kuiil music while din was working to fix up the ship ;______;

- I’ve seen people say din needs to feed this baby properly (and it is very funny) but honestly din seems kind of surprised/taken aback at just how hungry the kid is all the time now, so I’m wondering if he’s actually in the beginning of a growth spurt or his brain is doing a lot of developing? we hear him get much closer to active babbling in this ep, I think his big lil force vibin’ brain needs a bunch of nutrients because it’s g r o w i n g 

- I like the way this show tackles star wars language barriers and the ways they can be solved, and not only because it’s hilarious to watch very talented actors belt out a series of unnatural noises with straight faces (well, straight helmets in din’s case I suppose) 

- I will reblog every single gifset of baby running towards his dad and being picked up safely. I will tattoo that shit on my heart.  

- Stop Giving Din Djarin Serious Head Trauma Challenge 2020 (he was passed out for long enough that frost had started to form on his helmet???? That is NOT good for you!!!) 

- Frog lady using the corpse of Zero to communicate... perfection, but also why the everloving fuck did Din keep that fashfklahsd 

my man, your life choices

- "if you put one mark on him there's no place you will be able to hide from me" ooooooooh it’s the way he doesn’t even raise his voice, it’s not a threat, it’s just a straightforward statement of fact in his normal soft voice and it’s all the scarier for it

- local dad gets unkindly shaken awake from much-needed nap three separate times, does not deserve this, let him rest

- new republic dudes showing up like ‘don’t worry we’re the chill police. haha get it? ‘cause it’s an ice planet but also we’re (somewhat implausibly) letting you off the -- anyway have fun trying not to freeze to death lawl latrz’  

- some people seem upset that this is basically filler, and I sympathise with the distress but also... this is the ‘cheerfully wallowing in filler’ show. that’s like half of season 1 too. (personally I find that mix of old fashioned case of the week and slice of life thing they’ve got going on very charming and calming, but of course that’s down to taste. I’m in no hurry to get where we’re going, and I’m glad the show doesn’t seem to be yet either)

also I do think this ep is doing some thematic things with parents and children that might make more sense when you see the season as a whole -- you have mando with the baby and frog lady with her babies-to-be up against the big fuck-off spider with its fucking army of spiderlings, there’s something going on here with the empathy and recognition that the love you feel for your child is mirrored in another person’s love for theirs (I really liked that din and frog lady protected each other’s kids as well, just very wholesome and nice... except those eggs eaten by yodito I guess. uh well it’s not a perfect metaphor I suppose lol) 

- *the razor crest barely limping through space with loose parts dangling everywhere and sparks flying from places they definitely shouldn’t*

me: :’) that’s my dad’s car you guys

- mando’s flamethrower REDEMPTION! a time it was fully 100% useful! I’m so proud of it

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta #meta #pardon if this is all nonsense but my brain... is pure mush. I'm sure you understand

[thiswasinevitableid]

Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency. 

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people. 

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe. 

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools. 

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up. 

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal. 

Stern wants to reach through the  screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

------------------------------------

Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

--------------------------------------

What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus. 

Nope, not at all.

-----------------------------

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions. 

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

--------------------------------------

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on. 

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug. 

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty. 

“What’s your address?”

------------------------------------

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door. 

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times. 

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home. 

Barclay. 

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in. 

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens. 

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words. 

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous. 

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order. 

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere. 

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold. 

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough. 

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies. 

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker. 

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant. 

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world. 

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder. 

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook. 

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s  a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice. 

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.” 

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

---------------------------------------

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen. 

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does. 

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out. 

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

-----------------------------------

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot.   Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem. 

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best. 

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away). 

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

-------------------------

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs. 

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.” 

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist. 

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks. 

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk. 

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

------------------------------

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together. 

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was. 

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner. 

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek. 

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #taz amnesty #college AU

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

Apple Pie

Sam and Dean walked into the house Dean shared with his husband, Castiel, and immediately started gagging. The air was a thick black and the acrid smell of smoke permeated the air. Dean glanced at his brother with trepidation as they walked towards the kitchen. They both started coughing as the smoke filled their lungs the closer they got to the kitchen. They covered their ears as the smoke alarm started going, its piercing shrills breaking the silence.

“Cas,” Dean called worriedly as he rushed into the kitchen.

He saw his husband standing in front of the oven, black clouds of smoke billowing out of the open door. Cas had his shirt pulled up over his nose as he used a dishtowel to fan the smoke. When he heard Dean’s footsteps, he turned his head to stare at his husband. Cas’ eyes were wide with panic as tears fell from them. “Dean,” he coughed.

“Sam, throw every window open as well as the doors. We’ve got to clear this smoke out,” Dean ordered. “Cas, turn the oven off and pull whatever is in there out.”

Dean hurried to help Sam open the windows and doors. He grabbed the two fans from the hallway closet and plugged them in before turning them on. He hoped the extra air flow would help clear the smoke out faster. He then joined Cas at the counter who was staring sadly at some kind of burnt object.

Dean pressed his chest to Cas’ back and wrapped his arms around his waist. He settled his chin on Cas’ shoulder and looked down at the mystery object. He tried to figure out what it was supposed to be but finally gave up. “Sunshine, care to tell me what happened?”

A full body sigh escaped Cas. “I was trying to make a Dutch apple pie for you since I know it’s your favorite. It seems I should leave the baking to the professionals. It’s just you bake all the time for everyone else, I wanted to bake something for you for once.”

Dean squeezed his husband tighter and nuzzled behind his ear. “Oh sunshine, I appreciate the effort. It would be kind of nice to eat something that I didn’t bake for once.”

Cas looked at Dean over his shoulder, his blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. Cas had always been more sensitive than most. “Exactly and I can’t even bake a stupid pie. I have the entire periodic table of elements memorized perfectly and yet I can’t combine some apples, flour, and sugar. I’m pathetic.”

Dean gently turned Cas around so they could face each other. His hands came up to cup Cas’ cheek while he leaned forward and bumped their noses together. “Cas, you are so far from pathetic. So, you can’t bake a pie, who cares? I didn’t marry you for your baking skills.”

Cas’ lips curved up slightly. “Then why did you marry me?”

Dean lifted Cas up onto the counter and then slotted his body between his husband’s strong thighs. “I could fill a book with the reasons as to why I married you. A few are because you are the kindest, most selfless, smartest, and good-looking man I’ve ever seen. Not to mention, you totally put up with my crazy obsession with my car and you love Sam like he was your own brother.” Dean stood up on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Cas’ forehead between the thick black locks that fell into his eyes.

“I love you Dean. Thank you for not being upset about me burning the pie.” He looked at the charred black tin. “I still wish I could have made it properly for you.”

“How about I help you make it? We’ve got all the ingredients for it,” Dean suggested with a tender smile.

Cas’ eyes and nose scrunched up in delight. “That would be lovely. If I can handle lecturing over five hundred college students a day, I should be able to make a pie.”

Before Dean could reply, Sam walked in, still fanning the air. “Alright guys, all the windows in the house are open but it’s gonna take a while for the smoke to completely clear. It’s a good thing there’s not any chance of rain tonight. Cas, man, what the hell where you trying to cook?”

“A pie for Dean,” Cas replied sheepishly.

“Dude, your husband is a professional baker and you wanted to bake a pie for him. Why?” Sam asked confused.

“Shut up bitch. The reason doesn’t matter. I think it’s sweet,” Dean answered with a smile as he pressed a soft kiss to Cas’ lips.

“You are so whipped,” Sam said with a chuckle and an eye roll.

“I totally am, and I don’t mind at all. Now scram, Cas and I have a pie to make.” Dean made shooing motions with his hands.

“Alright, I’m going. Jess and I will see you guys Saturday.” Sam grabbed his bag of sweets from Dean’s bakery and headed out of the house.

Once he was gone, Dean turned back to Cas. “So, you ready to bake a pie?” Cas nodded eagerly. “Alright, first we’ve got to make the crust. We’re going to need flour, granulated sugar, kosher salt, apple cider vinegar, and butter.”

Once all the ingredients were gathered and sitting on the counter, Dean explained how to mix the ingredients together. After the dough had thickened enough in the bowl, he had Cas dump it out on the counter. He moved to stand behind his husband and guided Cas’ hands with his own to show him how to properly knead and flatten the dough.

“Alright, now we are going to wrap it in plastic wrap and let it set in the fridge for an hour. While we’re waiting for it to cool, we’ll start working on the filling,” Dean described as he grabbed the plastic wrap.

Once the dough was in the fridge, they grabbed apples, lemon juice, brown sugar, and cinnamon. Dean set the oven temperature and while it preheated, he and Cas started peeling and slicing the apples.

“Sunshine, how do you make peeling an apple so hard? You literally just stick the apple to the end of the peeler and turn the handle. It’s not rocket science which you can actually do,” Dean joked as he once again showed Cas how to load the apple on the prongs and then turn the handle until the apple was peeled.

Cas huffed as he replied, “Rocket science seems easier at this point. Here, let me try it again. I got a rocket into space; I can peel a stupid apple.” Dean watched with a smirk as Cas finally managed to peel one of the Granny Smith apples.

After cutting the six apples into half slices for the pie, they dumped them in a large mixing bowl along with the sugar, flower, lemon juice, and cinnamon. “Alright Cas, so mix it up until the apples are evenly coated. Make sure not to have any clumps of flower. I’m gonna measure out the ingredients for the crumb topping,” Dean said as he poured flour into a measuring cup.

Dean had to remeasure the flour three times because he couldn’t take his eyes off his husband. By now, Cas had somehow managed to get flour sprinkled through his hair and there were a few specks of apple filling dotting his cheeks. As he stirred the apples up, his tongue peeked from between his teeth and all Dean wanted to do was suck it into his mouth and kiss his husband senseless.

Cas glanced up. “Dean, you should probably pay attention to what you’re doing rather than me or else you’ll have to measure the flour for a fourth time.”

Dean blushed at being caught but quickly retorted, “At least I’ve managed to measure it out multiple times and keep my hair clean.”

“Oh, you have, have you?” Cas asked with a devilish smirk. In the blink of an eye, he reached into the measuring cup and pinched flour between his fingers before flicking them at his husband. He snorted at the flour that was now coating Dean’s face and hair.

Dean wiped at his face as he glared at Cas. “The only reason I’m not going to reciprocate is because I want this pie more than getting back at you.”

Cas rolled his eyes as he reached out to wipe as much of the flour from his husband as possible. “You and your pies. C’mon, let’s get this finished.”

Cas set the bowl of filling to the side and helped Dean measure out the ingredients for the crumb topping. Like with the dough, Dean stood behind Cas and held his hands to show him how to mix the crumb topping until it was just right.

Dean rubbed his hands against each other in excitement. “Alright, just gotta spread the dough out and place it in the pan, and then we add the filling and the topping. Then we’re sticking this bad boy in the oven and in an hour, we’ll have a delicious pie to enjoy.” He grabbed the dough from the fridge and a rolling pin from one of the drawers. “You want to roll the dough out?” He asked his husband.

“Of course. I told you I want to learn how to do this,” Cas replied with a smile as he unwrapped the dough. He placed his hands on each side of the rolling pin and then Dean blanketed them with his own. Using firm, even strokes, they had the dough rolled into a perfect twelve-inch circle in minutes.

They carefully laid the dough over the pan and gently pressed in into the glass. Dean showed Cas how to crimp the edges and then let Cas finish it on his own. His crimps were a little uneven and larger than Dean’s but not too bad for his first time. They added the filling and finished by sprinkling the crumb topping over it.

“Alright, stick her in the oven and let her cook sunshine,” Dean said eagerly.

After Cas had slid the pie into the oven and set the timer, he turned to Dean with a huge gummy smile. He pulled his husband into his arms and kissed him tenderly. “Thank you so much buttercup. I can’t wait to try it!”

“I’m sure it’s gonna be the best pie ever,” Dean whispered before slotting his mouth against Cas’. Cas parted his lips and Dean slipped his tongue inside. Their tongues danced with each other as they explored one another’s body with teasing touches.

When they broke apart, Cas said in a deep voice, “How long does the pie take to cook?”

“About an hour.”

“Good, that gives me enough time to ravish you,” Cas replied, already heading to their bedroom, dragging Dean behind him.

The pie turned out a little more done than Dean would normally allow but he was right about one thing, it was the best pie he’d ever made.

Tagging: @lonewolf34500 @notwithd @starrynightdeancas @flowersforcas @cockleslovesdestiel

#writersmonth2020 #My writing #my OTP #destiel #chef dean #professor cas #baking #applie pie

[nega-aria]

Gyro and Mark visiting a cemetery at night

Ok, I suck super hard at keeping things short, so these may go slower than I expected, but I’m having a lot of fun with this so thanks for the request!

“You First”

Rating: SFW

Characters: Mark Beaks, Gyro Gearloose, Falcon Graves, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera

Ship: semi Beaksloose but not very shippy

Warnings: mild swearing

“You go first.”

“Like hell I’m going in there first! What happened to youproving how oooh so much better you are than me?”

“Pfft, don’t gotta prove facts, bitch.”

“That’s literally how they become facts.”

“Look just go already!” Mark yelled, his voice quivering andshrill in the cool night air as he finally turned to face Gyro. “Unless you’drather go back to the party and tell everyone you were too chicken.”

Damn that party, and damn that smirk on Mark’s face. Gyroscowled at the outstretched arm that was extended towards the gate, hiding hisown nerves behind a demeaning attitude. “For the love of Mewton, you are such ababy!” Gyro scoffed, pushing Mark aside roughly enough to completely relocatehim. The frustration fueled anger lasted long enough for Gyro to throw themetal gates open dramatically, but he cringed in that entryway when the ironrods gave way to the inky abyss before them.

The obvious click of a phone camera went unnoticed as Gyrostarted wide eyed at the scene before him. Trees twisted in seemingly unnaturalways, their shadows casting an army of demented branches, muddled up into aportrait of madness. The hints of moon that could be seen in the cloudy skydisplayed as nothing but an ominous slice of light: a mere tease in theterrifying darkness. It was like a set, something unreal plucked out of themost cliché of horror movies, but it was real and that was enough to make tiredtropes truly terrifying.

“See, just a depository for dead people erected solely to appeasethe irrational religious beliefs of society,” Gyro stated matter-of-factly,crossing his arms over his chest casually as though his heart wasn’t literallyabout to leap right out of it.

Mark rolled his eyes at the pompous display. “Whatever yousay, professor,” he mumbled. He jumped sharply when a soft rustling in the darkthat answered him instead of Gyro. “Did you hear that?” Mark squeaked.  

“What, you scared or something?” Gyro taunted. Quitefrankly, it made him feel better about his own fear to bother Mark about his.

Mark’s feathers puffed on cue. Gyro knew they would, thesmug bastard, but that didn’t stop Mark from going on the defensive. “Of thislame spooksville? As if!”

Gyro didn’t say anything, not so much as a hint of laughter,but he might as well have been cackling manically. He didn’t even look back ashe began a slow trek into the foreboding landscape, and that crude brush-offinfuriated Mark more than a real retort ever could. He didn’t retaliate –that wasexactly what Gyro wanted, after all—but his silent seething provided more thanenough satisfaction.

They occupied themselves with investigating the tombstones,argument pushed aside to allow frayed nerves to settle on something less agitating.Just to the far wall and back and this stupid bet would be satisfied.

The age of those markers shifted like fluid with each stepfurther into the cemetery, as if stepping back through time itself so smoothlythat one couldn’t even tell they were no longer in the right century. The olderthe graves got the more ominous they looked and the more it felt as if theiroccupants would simply rise from the ground and drag any trespassers with themto hell. The rows of crumbling stone were no longer organized and well caredfor. Any people who might wish to visit long were ago buried alongside theirkin, leaving nothing behind but markers of stone and iron to indicate they wereever there at all. A mossy pile of decaying rock was all that was left to markthe final resting place of many poor souls, while others still boasted toweringmonuments, guardians with their angelic features twisted by time into abstract monstrosities.

Mark swallowed at the terrified knot in his throat, but nomatter how hard he tried it proved too tremendous to gulp down. He clung to hisphone with trembling fingers, pointing its flashlight ahead of his every steplike a cross to banish evil. A boring bunch of rocks didn’t make for the bestdistraction, but Mark did his best with what he had.

“What do you suppose this dude’s story is?” Mark asked,pointing down at the grave near his feet.

“Sorry, I left my Ouija board at home,” Gyro said with anexaggerated roll of his eyes.

He scoffed at Mark when an investigation of his silencerevealed the other man to be currently predisposed with yet more social medianonsense, using a tube of red lipstick (that Gyro truly did not want to know whyhe had) to turn the dearly departed’s surname from “Buttshide” into “here liesButts”.

Gyro had never felt second hand shame so intensely in hislife. He could swear the entire graveyard was judging him from bringing such aloser into their domain. “What are you, five?”

“Yeah, wellll I wish you were five!” Mark snapped back. “Youwere actually fun when you were five! Was before you had that ginormous stickup your butt,” he concluded, turning his beak skyward in a very snottypunctuation.

In an instant the snooty demeanor was dropped to allow Markhis oh-so important task of documenting the journey via selfie timeline. It madeGyro scowl harder as he watched the parrot demean himself even further bygiving bunny ears to a headstone. “I loathe you, you know that right?” he said,but those words were not demonstrated in what came next.

A soft snap echoed in the dark. A twig rustled by an animalmost likely, but the logic of that couldn’t quite stick; in that fog filledevening, it was most certainly the breaking of bones, some animal gnawing inthe night, perhaps even a creature of such unknown horror that they couldn’teven fathom its likeness even in the most heinous of nightmares, but it was mostdefinitely something wicked.

Be it stick or monster, it had Gyro in full flight responsemode, cringing close to Mark as the other man did the same to him. “What wasthat?” Gyro squeaked.

“Totally not a horrendous monster,” Mark whimpered. “I mean,that would be super lame, right?”

Gyro actually tried to be comforted by Mark’s absurdlyinadequate attempt at a dismissive laugh, but it proved quite foolish to eventry. “It’d be preposterous.”

The night mocked him with a far more disturbing sound, likedeath itself clawing at a grave. They stood shoulder to shoulder, wanting torun but too terrified to move.

“Gyro?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Is it bad that I reallywanna hold your hand right now?”

Yet another eerie sound pierced the night, and Gyro’sfingers answered for him, quivering digits entwining tightly with Mark’s. Hegripped tighter when a dark shadow darted through the misty graves, but Marktook it one step further by clinging to Gyro’s entire arm when that same inkyfigure got closer and its hideous noises along with it.  

“What the hell isthat thing?!” Mark hissed in a panicked whisper.

“N-nothing, because it’s not real!”

That entity swept closer, moved faster, and growled louder. Theywere being surrounded, voices whispering from all directions and death droolingdown their necks, famished for their flesh. A typically effeminate scream burstfree as Gyro launched himself into the embrace of the man beside him, holdingon as if his life truly depended on it.

“WHAT?!” Mark asked, the pure terror seething from his voiceas he frantically scanned their surroundings with wide, petrified eyes.  

“It touched my butt!!”

“Oh, great a horny ghost! Just what we need. We can get laidbefore we die!”

Gyro did not appreciate the sarcasm. “Hey, don’t get pissyat me just because my ass is so fine that the even the afterlife can’t resistit!”

“THAT pathetic thing? It’s already living in the afterlife!”

“What does that even mean?!”

“I don’t know! I’m nervous, okay?!”

Another sound, this time louder and more sinister than allthe others, had Mark crying pathetically. “Gyro, if we die I just want you toknow that I never hated you as much as I said!” he wailed as he cowered intothe other man. “I just wanted you to think I was cool!”

“That’s stupid,” Gyro replied in the calmest tone he couldmuster, “We’re not gonna die…and I’m physically incapable of thinking you’recool.”

All at once the graveyard grew silent. Mark and Gyrostiffened in the eerie quiet, both feeling the presence behind them but neitherdaring to face it. They could hear it drooling, feel its breath, sense itsfamished growls, but it couldn’t really be there… could it?

It was Mark that actually looked first, turning slowly ashis eyes widened and his entire body quivered. It was large and menacing, andin that inky darkness it was easily eight feet tall and capable of breakingthem both in half. Blood red eyes pieced through the night and wet fangsglistened. Mark could swear he saw it lick its drooling maw, but he wasn’tabout to stick around and find out what that meant. He took off before he evennoticed that Gyro had thrown himself into his arms, but the hitchhiker didn’teven phase his stride, and they clung to each other, screaming in unison theentire way out of the cemetery. Gyro had to give Mark one thing, he was prettysure he’d win the fleeing for your life contest.

Behind them the monster cackled, maniacal laugher quickly devolvinginto elated gasps for air that struggled to allow enough room to actuallybreath.

“I can’t take it,” Falcon wheezed as he watched them, flee. “They’retoo adorable.”

Falcon pulled the mask from his face, slipping from theoversized ratty mass of fur that he normally wouldn’t let anywhere near him ashe dropped himself to the ground beside the smaller man who had been assistinghis deception. He lit a cigarette, leaning against the large gravestone behindhim and still chuckling lightly as he released the fumes into the cold night. Callit foolish self-indulgence, but when this opportunity had presented itself,Falcon couldn’t resist, and he was sure he had never laughed so hard in hislife.

“Dr. Gearloose is gonna killme when he finds out about this. You know he will find out about this right?!This was a terrible idea!!” Fenton answered, his tone growing more franticuntil he was waving his arms hysterically by the end of it.

Falcon chuckled at his partner in crime. He would likely beforever grateful that Fenton had been steamed enough at his boss to even offertechnical assistance and tipsy enough to actually go through with it. “No itwasn’t,” he answered simply.  “This was bloodybrilliant.”

Immediately outside the gate both Gyro and Mark were pantingfor air, the latter asking himself how Gyro was so out of breath when he hadbeen doing all the running.

Gyro was oblivious to the annoyed look as he smoothed hisjacket and cleared his throat. “Now, when everyone else asks-”

“Oh, dude we were total badasses. Hashtag crushed it.”

“Very good.”

The wind let forth a gust, laughing at the irony as it movedthe heavy iron gate behind them just enough to make both Gyro and Mark shriekin fear and back a good distance away.

Mark gulped nervously. “…Gyro?” The other bird looked hisway uncertainly. “Will you hold my hand on the way back?”

Gyro sighed. “You do realize this is supremely pathetic.”

“…does that mean yes?”

The second sigh was even more pronounced. “Yes.”

They instantly linked fingers, both holding tighter thanthey would like to admit as they braved the dark walk back to the party. Patheticit may be, but it sure did make them both feel better.

#ducktales #gyro gearloose #mark beaks #falcon graves #fenton crackshell-cabrera #beaksloose #kinda #my stories #this was so fun #i need mark and gyro to interact more #kaylacolmanbirdqueen

[aknazer]

ML Fluff Month

Next >>

Read it on Ao3

In celebration of @miraculousfluffmonth second year running, myself, @saijspellhart, @ao3bronte, @yamina20-blog and @saoirse7ilysi are teaming up to cover the various prompts offered. Multiple authors, multiple ships, multiple universes!

1: Roommates

“What the heck are you doing?”

Several faces in various colors turned towards Kim and Max as they stood in the door to the apartment.

“Girl’s night.” Alya answered promptly. “Didn’t you get the text? Are the pizzas for us?”

“What text?” Kim asked.

“In our apartment?” Max echoed.

“Of course.” Rose grinned up at them from behind some kind of green face mask. “We had to christen your new abode!”

Kim leaned over, raising his hand to hide his mouth. “Don’t you normally do that by having sex in every room?” He whispered.

“We can hear you.” Alix offered from her upside-down position on the couch.

“That’s what I thought.” Nino faux-whispered back.

“So...are we safe to sit on the couch?” Adrien wondered aloud.

“Don’t worry Sunshine, you won’t get pregnant.” Alix grinned sharply.

“What a relief.” Adrien replied dryly. “Can we actually, say, come in, or should we take guy’s night somewhere where the couch cushions aren’t contaminated?”

“Where the heck else would we go?” Nino asked.

“Your apartment?” Kim shrugged.

“Those couch cushions are definitely contaminated.” Alya added helpfully.

“At least I won’t get pregnant.” Kim shrugged. “And not like I’m gonna take off my pants or anything.”

“That you know of.” Alix grinned sharply.

“I’m not sure I want to contemplate what kind of situation would compel Kim to start removing clothing in Nino and Alya’s apartment.” Max muttered, before shaking his head and striding towards the kitchen. “Regardless, this is my home too, and I would like to eat here.”

“But- girl’s night!” Rose protested, frowning as the rest of the boys filed in, Adrien trailing Max to add to the food pile.

“Alix barely qualifies.” Kim tossed out, ignoring the tongue she stuck out as he plopped down next to her.

“I’ve got the necessary parts.” She huffed. “And I do girl’s night, which, by definition, is for girls. No dicks allowed.”

“Sorry Tiny Tits, we’re invading.” Kim shrugged. “What kind of crap do you have smeared on your face, anyway?”

“We’re invading, but we did bring pizza.” Adrien added helpfully, sitting down next to Marinette. “Ohh, honey-oatmeal?”

“With a bit of sea salt for exfoliation.” Marinette nodded, leaning over to take a bite of the pizza he held up. “Want one?”

“Sure.” Adrien agreed easily. “Nino, you in?”

“Oatmeal isn’t my thing.” Nino piped up, rooting through the cupboards for a plate. “Babe, you want a slice?”

“Got any pepperoni?” Alya asked, nodding when he gave her a thumb up. “And I’ve got the charcoal one you like.”

“I’m down.” Nino agreed, piling slices onto a plate. “Max?”

“I haven’t done...face masks before.” Max frowned dubiously as he chewed a bite. “What is their purpose?”

“Oh!” Juleka spoke up for the first time. “The do a lot of different things. You can exfoliate, moisturise, clear pores, hydrate-”

“They make your skin feel nice.” Alix cut her off, ignoring the other girl’s scandalized look. “But if you guys join in, you gotta go full throttle.”

“What, exactly, is ‘full throttle?’” Max asked, eyes narrowing speculatively.

“Depends.” Marinette shrugged. “It’s not like we’re going to do makeup or anything, but we do have the stuff to do mani-pedis.”

“That’s a shame,” Adrien sighed, “I look really good with smokey eyes.”

“It’s unfair.” Juleka agreed as Rose and Alya nodded solemnly.

“You,” Kim shook his head, “are they gayest straight guy I have ever met.”

“Nah, that’s just model behavior.” Nino said around a mouthful of cheese. “Dude knows more about makeup than anyone except Juleka.”

Adrien shrugged. “You’re the most masculine bisexual I’ve ever met. It all evens out.”

“So are you in?” Alya asked. “Or as we saying thanks for the pizza and kicking you out?”

“This is our apartment - you can’t kick us out.” Kim refuted. “Like, literally. Max and Alix and I live here - not you.”

Alya frowned, eyes narrowing as she opened her mouth to refute that statement.

“So, wait.” Max spoke up, heading her off. “What do you expect us to do? Do we have to do mini-pedis and all of that as well? And watch whatever movie you’ve picked out? How does this work, exactly?”

“Mani-pedis. It’s short for ‘manicure and pedicure.’ And I mean, I guess we’d just do as much as you’re comfortable with.” Marinette mused as Alix grinned sharply at Kim. “I know Adrien and Nino will let us do pretty much anything-”

“Really?” Kim interrupted, looking at the two men sitting next to their respective girlfriends for confirmation.

“Sure.” Nino shrugged. “I look better afterwards, and Alya’s got some bomb-ass glow in the dark nail polish for when I’m working the club.”

“I’ve got you covered.” Alya winked at Nino.

“Compromise:” Max said, lifting a finger, “we’ll do face masks, but no nail polish unless we want to, and you let us play video games instead of watching rom-coms.”

“Deal.” Alix said as she rolled off the sofa, narrowly missing Rose and Juleka. “I need to wash this off my face. Come on, Kim.”

“What? Why-?” Kim blinked but didn’t struggle as Alix grasped his wrist and hauled him up.

“You gotta pick a mask - they’re all in the bathroom. Max, you coming?” Alix threw over her shoulder as she dragged Kim down the hallway and into the small bathroom. “Unless you want to change into your pajamas first or something.”

“The bathroom is crowded enough with two,” Max mused as he stood in the doorway surveying the crowded counter, “I believe I shall change first.”

“Cool. Hey, grab some pants for Nino and Adrien, okay?” Alix asked absently, wetting a washcloth under the spigot. “Kim, what kind do you want?”

“Um, I don’t know?” Kim shifted uneasily as he frowned at the various goops and torn pouches. “What the hell even are they?”

Alix’s lips quirked as she leaned in towards him, still scrubbing at her face as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Honestly? I don’t even know - I just put on whichever one Rose or Juleka tell me I need.”

“You have no idea what you’re putting on your face?” Kim’s nose wrinkled.

“I know it’s nothing dangerous.” Alix waved him off. “And I like spending time with the girls. It reminds me that I’m not actually a boy.”

Kim’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “Why-”

“But, um, yeah.” Alix interrupted, pointing to various ones. “I know the green one has avocado in it. I know it moisturizes, and...something, something acne. The blue one has some kind of clay and sea salt, it exfoliates dead skin and stuff. Marinette has on honey-oatmeal.”

“What does that one do?” Kim asked, bemused, brow still furrowed as he watched the smaller girl.

“No idea.” Alix shrugged. “I mean, I think it sounds like breakfast.”

Kim sniggered.

“Truthfully...what color do you like? That’s how I choose if someone isn’t around to tell me.” Alix grinned up at him.

“Rock on, rock on,” Kim hummed, turning to eyeball the offerings. “Um, you know, avocado works for me. Who wants guacamole, anyway?”

“I know, right?” Alix rolled her eyes as she grabbed another washcloth.

Twenty minutes later Alix was back on the couch, happily squashed between her two best friends as she destroyed them at Mario Kart. Max, the giant nerd that he was, had actually dragged Juleka into the bathroom to explain the various face masks to him to he could make an informed decision, so he still had a few minutes left before he could wash his honey-oatmeal mask off.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing breakfast on my face.” He mumbled, head tilted back with his arms slung across the back of the couch comfortably.

“At least you smell pretty good - ha! Suck on that, Agreste!” Alix cheered as she sent Adrien’s character careening off the screen. Nino was on the other side of Kim with Alya at his feet, so it was too cramped to easily rise, but Alix wriggled happily in her seat, fist-pumping her victory.

“Quit squirming, you’re ruining my pedicure!” Nino complained half-heartedly as her motions jostled Kim. “Kim, tell your girlfriend to quit it.”

“Not my girlfriend.” Kim grunted, intent on his phone. “Alix, quit it. You’re ruining his pedicure.”

“Why is he even up here?” Alix grumbled, leaning back in her seat and passing Nino the controller for his turn.

“It’s easier to get at his toes this way.” Alya replied. “Mari, tell your boyfriend to stop crying - Alix beats him like, every time.”

“She kind of does.” Marinette told Adrien, who had fallen backwards in a dramatic heap.

“My ego can’t take this kind of abuse.” Adrien whined, pouting at the ceiling.

“Says the man with red nail polish and a floral headband.” Juleka snickered.

“Hey, it’s Ladybug nail polish, thank you very much.” Adrien huffed. “And I had to keep my bangs off my face somehow.” 

“Speaking of, your mask is about done.” Marinette added. “Rose, how much longer does Max have?”

“Oh! He’s done!” Rose said, peering at her phone. “Adrien, want to go take him to wash it off?”

“Sure.” Adrien shrugged, passing the controller to Juleka.

“Don’t forget to moisturise!” Rose added as the two boys headed off.

“Of course! What do I look like, a heathen?” Adrien laughed cheerfully, grabbing Max’s arm as he squinted at the other man suspiciously.

Kim slid Alix a sidelong glance. “Moisturiser, huh?”

Nino laughed even as Alix’s face heated. “Alix is a heathen!” He sang.

“Seriously, how long have we been doing this now?” Alya asked, amused, as she leaned back to admire her handiwork.

“Shuddup, or I won’t share my popcorn.” She grumbled.

“You know, how am I supposed to look my best for Bianca if you’re forgetting the moisturiser?” Kim folded his arms behind his head. “Like, do you just not want me to get laid?”

“I don’t want to listen to you get laid.” Alix grumbled. “And isn’t this your first date?”

“Hazards of having a roommate, I guess.” Kim shrugged. “And, yeah, I’m not really expecting anything like that, but if I was…”

“You guys are the worst.” Alya grumbled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kim huffed as Max and Adrien wandered back in. Max sat back down on the sofa, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Kim’s lap as he handed Alix a tube of moisturiser.

“So, not to rain on the parade here,” Max said, “but did anybody think about sleeping arrangements?”

“Is this a sleepover?” Adrien, who had resumed his place on the floor, tilted his head back curiously.

“I’m in my pajamas. Alix had me get pajama pants for you and Nino as well. So, I assumed so.” Max shrugged.

“It isn’t usually. I just had you get the pajamas because everyone else is in comfy clothes.” Alix shrugged, squirting a bit more lotion onto her fingers and grabbing Kim’s face. “But I don’t care if you guys don’t.”

“I don’t care.” Kim mumbled, face squished in Alix’s grip as she rubbed lotion onto his face.

“Heck yeah!” Nino cheered. “Return of the Secret Sleepover Society!”

“Dude, we’re all adults.” Adrien laughed. “Secret from who, exactly?”

“Whatever, I will so sneak into Alya’s room.” Nino grinned.

“We share a room Nino.” Alya replied tolerantly. “We could always invade Marinette’s parents house, just for old time’s sake.”

“They would certainly be surprised!” Marinette laughed.

“Think we could get Chat Noir to sneak us into your old room?” Alya grinned, waggling her eyebrows.

“Chat Noir helped you into Marinette’s old room?” Rose sat up to peer at the other girl curiously.

“Even better - Chat Noir caught Marinette and I sneaking into Alya’s room!” Nino laughed. “He called us idiots.”

“You were.” Adrien added. “Seriously, how the heck did you even fit on that ledge?”

“Shit, you got a superhero to help you break into the Ladyblogger’s room?” Kim’s eyebrows were hovering around his hairline. “And, wasn’t Alya’s house, like, three stories up?”

“Chat was an old friend of mine.” Marinette shrugged. “He knew Alya and I were friends.”

“Yes, it was three stories up and yes, I did it, because I was a ninja.” Nino added.

“Babe, you were never a ninja. I heard you breaking in every time.” Alya said fondly.

“Shh, let him have this.” Marinette shushed her friend, giggling.

“Did Ladybug ever show up?” Alix asked curiously. Even Max was distracted, watching the others intently.

“Oh, once in a while.” Marinette smiled. “She wasn’t as frequent as Chat, though.”

“Mari and Chat, sitting in a tree~” Nino sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

“Seriously?” Kim gaped. “You were macking on Chat freaking Noir?”

Marinette sniggered. “I’m a woman of many mysteries.”

“I’ll say.” Alix shook her head. “Shit, Marinette.”

“It wasn’t really something we advertised, because it could make me a target.” Marinette said apologetically, “and it didn’t last that long - though we are still friends, and I know he swings by the bakery from time to time.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of macking on Ladybug now.” Nino nodded.

“I still say they’re not as hot as Rena and Carapace.” Alya hummed. “Those two are so sexy.”

“Okay, but we’re getting off track.” Max shook his head. “Are you guys sleeping here? And how would that work?”

“Well, we do have three beds.” Kim pointed out reasonably.

“And one of those beds is mine.” Max replied. “Another is yours. The third belongs to Alix.”

“I don’t mind sharing, if everyone wants to stay.” Alix shrugged.

“Alya and I can take the couch - it folds out, right?” Nino asked, admiring his toes.

“Yeah, we’ve got some spare blankets.” Alix hummed.

“Mari and I can take one bed.” Adrien shrugged. “Rose and Jules can have the other - are you three going to be able to fit on one bed?”

Alix blinked. She had been thinking she could sleep with Juleka and Rose, or crash on the floor, but-

Kim shrugged. “I’ve got a queen size. A little small for three people, but Alix is, like, half a person anyway.”

“Would you be alright with that Max?” Alix asked the other man lowly.

“I don’t see why not - but you get the middle. Kim kicks.” Max replied.

“Great.” Adrien said. “Now that that’s decided, pass a controller.”

“You back for more pain, Agreste?” Alix laughed.

“Hell no.” Adrien snorted. “Hand Max the remote - at least then I’ll have a chance of winning.”

By the time everyone made their way to their beds, it was so late it was early. Rose and Juleka had gone down first, with Kim carrying a sleeping Rose into Max’s room, easily lifting the grown woman with a grin and a laugh. Alya had turned in not long afterwards, taking Alix’s bed and citing a long day at work as well as an afternoon shift the next day. Nino and Max had gone down not long after. Marinette, used to late night design binges, had lasted the longest, but sometime around two, she and Adrien had pulled out the couch, thanking a sleepy Alix for the armful of blankets and pillows she’d passed over. She’d waved them off with a sleepily before retiring to crawl over Max and into the space between him and Kim.

“Hey, Alix?” Kim whispered as she settled in. Apparently he wasn’t as asleep as she’d thought. Alix rolled to face him, tugging their shared blanket up a bit higher as she did so.

“Yeah?” She whispered back.

“What did you mean earlier, about remembering you were a girl?”

Alix blinked in surprise. “What?” She said, louder than she’d intended, and Kim shushed her as Max stirred at her back.

“Earlier.” He said, once Max had settled down. “You said you do these girl’s nights so you don’t forget you’re a girl.”

“Oh.” Alix shifted, glad her friend couldn’t see the heat crawling up her neck in the dark. “Um, well, everyone treats me like a boy. I’m one of the guys - I have always been one of the guys. And that’s not a bad thing! I like having you and Max as my friends, and doing things like skating and hiking and stuff. But it’s like you don’t ever see me as anything else.”

“I know you’re a girl.” Kim huffed.

“Kim,” Alix whispered wryly, “two weeks ago you accidently walked in on me getting out of the shower and screamed about a girl being in the house.”

“Ah. Well.” Kim coughed awkwardly, “In my defense, it was six in the morning. Also, I got a whole eyeful of how not a guy you actually are.”

“Yeah, it was embarrassing all around.” Alix agreed. “But not like you’ve never seen me in a swimsuit. Or in a dress. Those aren’t typical guy clothes.”

“True, but it’s kind of hard to remember I found your panties in the dryer when you’re burping your ABCs.” Kim refuted.

“You’re just mad I got further than you did.” Alix snorted.

“That’s beside the point.” Kim rolled his eyes. “The point is, none of the other ladies do that kind of stuff with us.”

“Yeah, I know.” Alix sighed. “And...most days, it doesn’t bother me. Mostly it’s when you’re like, blasted and hitting on girls that it gets uncomfortable, you know? You’re flirting, and they’re looking at me like I have some kind of say over what you do. Or I get these pitying looks like ‘can’t you keep your boyfriend in line?’ and then I have to explain you’re not and I don’t even know why I want to explain anything - I don’t owe anyone an explanation. But I have the world looking at me like a girl, and my friends treating me like a guy, and it gets confusing.”

“I...can see that.” Kim admitted lowly. “I guess I’ve just never questioned it, you know? You’re not a girl or a guy, you’re Alix. My partner in crime for sixteen years running.”

“Literally.” Alix sniggered.

“Hell yeah. Ironman for the win.” Kim grinned back.

“New Zealand, here we come.” Alix nodded. “But, um, yeah. I’m so used to being ‘one of the guys’ that I kind of...forget that I can be a girl, too.”

“So you do girl nights.” Kim hummed.

“So I do girl nights.” Alix affirmed.

“Well,” Kim yawned, “tonight was actually pretty cool, and my face feels like a baby’s rear end, so if you need someone to help you smear mashed fruit on your face, I’m down.”

Alix laughed. “My hero.”

“Damn right I am.” Kim muttered. “Now go to sleep Mighty Mouse - we’ve got to rescue some of that fruit for breakfast.”

“I kind of want oatmeal.” Alix agreed. “I’ve been smelling it all night. Max still smells like it.”

“With honey.” Kim mumbled.

“With honey.” Alix agreed softly, eyelids drifting closed as she listened to Kim’s breathing even out. Max’s arm sliding across her waist was the last thing she remembered as she drifted to sleep.

Author's Notes: Kim, Alix and Max - I love these nerds, even though they're damn hard to write, because they're not overt the same way the traditional love square is. However, they're probably going to be the focus for my portion of the Fluff Month prompts, because I feel like they just don't get enough love.

Also, this is my second run with Fluff Month - I participated solo last year (and it was an absolute bear). Nino made reference to the Secret Sleepover (Society), which was actually one of last year's prompts that I had a lot of fun with and wanted to revisit. If you're curious about their Secret Sleepovers (and Nino's days as a ninja), check out chapters 13, 17, and 21.

Next up is Saijspellhart, covering the prompt safe.

#mlfluffmonth #mlb #FairiaWrites

[schraubd]

Review: The Last Jedi

*Warning: Spoilers* We saw The Last Jedi last night at a theater in Destin, Florida. Apparently, the goyim know about the "see a movie on Christmas trick" (I suppose they all could have been Jews, but we're on the panhandle, so I doubt it). Overall, I thought the movie was very good. But before we go any further, I should probably address the issue that's at the foremost of everyone's mind. To wit: The Last Jedi decisively proves (as if there ever was any doubt) that Poe Dameron is no Wedge Antilles. By my count, Poe's impulsiveness and "I know best" arrogance ends up ruining carefully-laid Resistance plans not once but twice. Losing the bomber squadron may have been forgivable, but Vice Admiral Holdo's escape plan would have worked were it not for the infiltration plot that Poe decided he just had to try. Poe Dameron has the deaths of literally half the Resistance on his hands thanks to that stunt. Okay, that's out of the way. Overall, The Last Jedi is clearly better than The Force Awakens. If the latter was a shot-for-shot remake of A New Hope, the former is an amalgamation of Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi. But not only is it different enough from both of these films to not feel derivative in the way The Force Awakens clearly was, focusing on its original-trilogy predecessors distracts from the bigger influence on The Last Jedi: Rogue One. One of Rogue One's greatest strengths was how it started to turn away from the "one true hero whom everything revolves around" tenor of the series, in favor of a narrative equality between main characters and side players. Like Rogue One, this is a grim movie, and not only does not everyone get a happy ending, not everyone even gets a glorious, cinematic ending. In both major revelations and smaller, more subtle moments, The Last Jedi continues to reinforce a refreshingly egalitarian message that to my mind opens up more storytelling potential untethered to the "What are Luke/Han/Leia and/or their children/relatives/secret lovers up to" well. Obviously, the big iteration of this is the strong implication that Rey is, in fact, nobody. Not a child of destiny, not secretly related to the Skywalker clan, just ... a nobody, who happens to be force-attuned. But for me, some of the most powerful moments in the film were where it made clear that every member of the Resistance has a rich inner life and story that (for them at least) is on par to that of any of the main characters. The knowing nod between two starfighter pilots as they prepare to take off -- only for both of them to be vaporized when a proton torpedo enters the hanger bay. The bombardier clutching her necklace charm as she desperately tries to complete what she now knows is a suicide mission (this was an effective scene even without the later revelation that she's another major character's sister). None of these characters "matter" in the grand scheme of the narrative. But people who don't matter, still matter. They have their own lives, motivations, relationships, and personalities, and The Last Jedi does a very good job communicating that throughout the film. What makes these sequences so effective is that they are not emphasized or given any special significance. Most directors don't bother to pay attention to such side players at all, and those that do often revel in accentuating the head fake ("Oh you thought so-and-so was going to be a main character? Surprise! Laser to the face!" Looking at you, Joss Whedon). By playing it straight, The Last Jedi reinforced one of the most powerful narrative themes there can be in a war movie: everybody has a story, everybody has a narrative, and so having a story and a narrative doesn't make you special and doesn't offer any protection. From a fan-boy perspective, I appreciated some of the new tactical permutations that were shown in space combat. Getting to see B-wing bombers was pretty cool, and the "slice open the Star Destroyer by hyping through it" was a neat trick (though if that works, its unclear why the Resistance wouldn't have used it more often as a Kamikaze tactic -- it is a brutally effective way of neutralizing the First Order's capital ship advantage). We can quibble with some details (has nobody invented autopilot yet?), but for the most part I was able to suspend disbelief. Obviously, the newer iterations of Star Wars are light-years ahead of their predecessors in terms of gender equality. A slew of excellent female characters are well presented and fully fleshed out -- and again, what's most important aren't their presence among the leads (Rey and Leia, though they both are fantastic) but as integrated up and down the supporting cast. Plenty of action movies have one or (maybe) two Strong Female Characters surrounded by a sea of indistinguishable dudes. Rarer is the film wherein women are just a normal part of the universe -- occupying mid-level command posts, serving as infantry grunts, working as unremarkable technicians, and so on. The Last Jedi is exceptional along this front, and deserves much credit for it. Overall, The Last Jedi was to my mind the best Star Wars film since the original trilogy. I don't really understand the backlash against it, and I do think it works very well as a strong second act setting up a potentially epic Episode IX. So well done Disney, and well done Rian Johnson. The Force is strong in this one. Assorted bullet thoughts:

Where are all the aliens? If the Resistance and the First Order are finally gender-integrated, the conflict still seems strikingly human-on-human. Aside from Chewbacca, I counted one indeterminate alien starfighter pilot and one Sullustan (apparently Nien Nunb -- his fan club can rest easy). There actually could be something darkly amusing if this huge galactic conflict really was basically an intra-human spat and the other species of the galaxy just didn't care ("Humans ... there they go again"), but that doesn't seem to be the message of the film.

Captain Phasma continues to hold the "Boba Fett character who seems like a total badass even though she actually doesn't really do anything award. The Praetorian Guard certainly made a good run at it, though.

I love the humor in The Last Jedi. All the major laugh moments do it for me, but the one that really killed me was when Rey "reaches out" to grasp the Force. Mark Hamill's eye roll game is on point.

Speaking of, I have mixed feelings towards how Luke is portrayed in the film. I neither love it nor hate it, but I do think that Mark Hamill gives it everything he has. His "brush your shoulder off" move is also on point.

Kylo Ren is turning into a pretty solid villain. It might have been interesting had he succeeded in turning Rey, though. Now that would have been a plot twist nobody would have seen coming.

I appreciate Vice Admiral Holdo is shown to be competent along all dimensions. Again, her escape plan would have worked had Poe not ruined it. And she also seized an opportunity to escape her captivity when it was presented.

Man, Jedi have gotten a lot more powerful in the past few decades. Remember when Yoda could impress us by lifting one starfighter out of a swamp?

via The Debate Link http://ift.tt/2pDXJR1

#movies #reviews #Star Wars

[cannibalghosts]

Blade Runner & Rape Culture

You know those grim realizations you have about the things you’ve loved for a really long time? You know what I’m talking about. The ones that kind of come out of nowhere and totally upend your whole idea of what you used to think. They hurt, right?  Well, I recently had that happen with Blade Runner, one of the most influential sf movies of the last fifty years, and, until very recently, a personal favorite.

Without any context, without any of the before or after, I’d like you to take a couple minutes and consider this scene (start at 2:20 for the cliff’s notes version):

…Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s fucking atrocious.

That scene always made me sort of uncomfortable, but only when I was rewatching this movie for the first time in ten years was I physically outraged. I just kept thinking to myself, How did I miss this all these years? How the hell did I miss how monumentally fucked up that is? Have I spent all this time looking at this movie all wrong?

And I suppose the answer is, Yeah, I think I have.

Let's rewind here for a second.

For the uninitiated: Blade Runner is a 1982 science fiction film by Ridley Scott, adapted from the novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick. Half of the plot concerns Rick Deckard (Harrison Ford), the eponymous “blade runner,” a special sort of detective in near-future Los Angeles tasked with the hunting and “retirement” (read: trial-less execution) of human-identical (and human-adjacent) androids, known as “replicants,” whose presence has been declared illegal on planet earth.

The other half is centered around Deckard’s assigned quarry, four renegade replicants: Roy Batty, Pris Stratton, Zhora Salome and Leon Kowalski, an unofficial “family” that has returned to Earth from offworld, simply seeking a way to extend their factory-warranty-limited lifespans while avoiding Deckard’s grasp (and his gun).

Over the course of his investigation, Deckard finds himself involved with a young woman named Rachel, who we all just watched get brutalized in that clip up there. Rachel’s a replicant who doesn’t know she’s a replicant—she’s an experimental model who’s had memories implanted in her software to make her believe she’s a human being, and this naturally leads her to discovering her own thoughts and feelings and experiences.  It leads her to actually become human.

And Deckard rapes her.

Given that perhaps the BIGGEST THEME OF THIS MOVIE is the ever-shifting nature & definition of humanity, and whether or not the replicants are in fact “people” as traditionally defined, or if it’s possible to grow beyond your original “programming,” it’s a HUGE MORAL/THEMATIC PROBLEM that the ostensible protagonist forces himself on her, because either:

A) He doesn’t consider her to be a person, or B) He doesn’t care whether she is or isn’t, or C) He recognizes her burgeoning humanity and does it anyway.

No matter how you slice it, that’s SUPER FUCKED UP because, and I can’t believe I have to spell this out, but:

She says no.

She does not consent.

And then he does it anyway.

Now, across the wasteland of the internet, the common defenses of this scene (also, two quick asides: 1. That there’s such thing as a “common defense” of this scene should broadcast that there’s something really wrong here, and 2. It’s pretty much always some condescending dude defending this scene and maybe that should tell us something) tend to come down to, in no particular order: 1. ”It was purely an act of passion! Sometimes passion is violent! That’s some people’s kink, you know!” 2. ”He was teaching her to be human! She was only just figuring out her own emotions!” 3. ”She’s a replicant, which means she’s an inanimate object, not a human being! You can’t rape the inanimate!” 4. ”Oh come on! She just shot Leon in the head, so she was going through a lot! Deckard was only helping her sort through that trauma!”

But none of those hold up, even when placed under the lightest possible scrutiny. Check it: 1. They don’t know each other. They haven’t discussed kinks/safe words/whatever. In no way was this safe, sane or consensual. This wasn’t passionate, it was a violent power move. It was rape. 2. Rape is not a rite of passage. It’s just not. Full fucking stop. 3. She’s not an inanimate object, she is absolutely a person. That is literally the entire point of the movie. 4. Remember how I just said Rape is not a rite of passage? Forgot to include this: it’s also not a way to help someone sort through the trauma of having committed their first murder. Duh-doi.

Or, put another way: 1. She said no. 2. She said no. 3. She said no. 4. SHE SAID NO.

By any definition of the word, Deckard rapes Rachel. Per the written + performed narrative and the thematic content of the movie, she is a thinking, feeling, sentient being acting of her own accord that is, at that very moment, trembling and on the edge of tears, and Deckard bullies, cajoles, demands, orders, restrains, makes clear (and follows through on) the threat of violence, and ultimately forces himself on her, regardless of her opinions or feelings on the matter.

I don’t know about you, but that sort of behavior sounds kinda fucking familiar to me.

Oh. Right. Turns out sick, entitled fucks in positions of power do this all the time.

Now, look: a lot of this movie is centered around the mirroring going on between Deckard and the replicant leader, Batty, and the similar-but-different (however both often violent) paths they cut through ruined-future Los Angeles. They hit the same beats, they shadow each other, over and over.

So, let’s just go ahead and run the numbers on these two dudes from opening crawl to end credits, shall we?

In a fit of grief and rage, Roy Batty kills Eldon Tyrell, the genius creator of the replicants, when it comes to light that this God/Father is in fact just another mortal, powerless to grant any more life to his children. Remember this. It gets important later. (Also, in the same scene, Batty also probably kills JF Sebastian, one of Tyrell’s contemporaries, except we never see it actually happen, so your mileage might vary).

However, I think it’s more telling that Batty also goes out of his way to spare Deckard’s life in the climax of the movie; moreover, Batty actually rescues the piece of shit from falling to his death. Consider that for a second: in the final moments of Batty’s life, he uses it to save the man who has hunted and killed his entire family, and he does so selflessly and earnestly. He’s not a terrorist, he hasn’t come to earth looking to do any damage to anyone. He just wants to live longer, wants it so desperately that it was worth coming back to a place where his very existence was a death sentence if he and his loved ones were discovered. Have you ever wanted anything that bad? Can you imagine the depths and complexities of emotion required to take that risk?

(Also, side note, BATTY NEVER RAPES ANYONE. Writing tip: if the alleged villain in your movie rapes less people than your so-called hero, you’ve got an enormous problem because, obviously.)

(Also there’s some breaking & entering, property damage and general menace perpetrated by the replicant family, but it’s so low-involvement it’s barely worth mentioning, but let’s try and be somewhat comprehensive here.)

So for the sake of fairness, let’s look at the frankly astonishing laundry list of the crimes committed by Rick Deckard, sociopathic government-backed murderer:

He executes two people, Zhora Salome & Pris Stratton, for no crimes other than having the gall to be alive on earth. Neither are self defense, either - Zhora is running away when she’s unceremoniously gunned down, and while Pris attempts to defend herself by any means, let’s not forget that the framing of that scene is that Deckard came to her hideout with the express purpose of putting a bullet in her brain.

He gleefully smashes apart Rachel’s illusions of humanity, seemingly for no reason. Remember, kids: Rachel thought she was a human being, and early on in the movie, in his contempt and his pettiness, Deckard disabuses her of that notion because he can, or because he hates replicants, or because whatever.  The result’s the same: Surprise! You’re a robot, and fuck you anyway. After he does this, she understandably leaves his apartment in tears, and he seems BAFFLED by this reaction.

Later, Deckard calls Rachel from a bar to harass her into meeting up with him (again, this is not long after he’s torn her world asunder), and she hangs up on him. Yet this does not deter him.

Later still, after Rachel saves Deckard from a lethal curbstomping at Leon’s hands by shooting the other replicant in the brain, Deckard, instead of “retiring” Rachel like he’s been ordered, takes her back to his apartment under the guise of comforting her in the aftermath of her having killed another person. When she rejects his clumsy romantic advances and tries to leave, he gets angry, and vicious, and brutal. As if he’s owed something for saving her life. That brings us back to the scene up at the top.

In the fiction of the movie, Replicants have a lifespan of four years. We’re never told how old Rachel is specifically, but since she’s walking and talking (and yeah, thinking and feeling) we can safely assume it’s somewhere under that wire. Now, she’s got implanted memories and all, but as previously mentioned, Deckard viciously dashes those apart pretty early on, causing what has to be some very serious mental damage. I’m not sure the formula to calculate age of consent from physical age/mental age/amount of trauma received, but Rachel acts pretty fucking scared and childlike in basically every scene she has after she meets Deckard, for good reason. From every angle conceivable, this gets really sick, really fast.

In fact, Deckard exclusively hurts/kills women through the entirety of the film. Never men. Sure, he swings on Leon once and Roy a few times at the end, but Roy and Leon shrug his attacks off like they’re nothing because they are nothing to them. He is an ant struggling against Panzer tanks. But that’s exactly the point. Deckard is repeatedly emasculated and dominated by every other major male character he interacts with in the movie: -Bryant, sociopathic old cop that he is, bullies & threatens Deckard into taking his old job back -Gaff, for most of the movie, speaks in a language that Deckard doesn’t comprehend, only deigning to communicate in english when he’s got something to shove in Deckard’s face - a power move if ever there was one -Tyrell can’t help but lord his intelligence + achievements over Deckard’s head -Leon, who is kind of an idiot, bests him in single combat -Roy also bests him in single combat AND THEN LETS HIM LIVE WITH THE SHAME OF DEFEAT! (As Rutger Hauer, Batty’s actor, puts it, at the climax of the film, Roy Batty “shows Deckard what a real man is made of.”)

Deckard. Is. Impotent.

And he takes that broken, impotent man’s rage out in some very ugly (and sadly predictable) ways. Even in the fight with Pris, he’s nearly beaten to death, saved only by a lucky shot from that gun of his.

Speaking of guns: it’s worth noting that only Deckard and Leon use firearms in this movie (with the brief exception of Rachel that one time, which I will get to in a second). I know that the gun-as-penis/replacement-penis metaphor is not new or dynamic, but the way it’s deployed across the board here is, if nothing else, both interesting and telling: –Leon shoots and kills another blade runner, Holden, early on in the movie. The force from the shots is, well, potent enough to blast Holden through a wall, establishing Leon’s typical—if overwhelming—masculinity. –However: Batty, the most dangerous of all the replicants, never uses a gun, because he doesn’t have to; his identity, his value are never in question. He loves his friends. He wants them all to live longer, he cares for them and he grieves when, one by one, they die. In combat, he uses his hands, further emasculating Deckard, both directly (the final battle) and indirectly in the viewer’s mind (literally the rest of the movie before the two of them ever meet). –Deckard’s gun is on full display when he goes, barechested, to pour himself a drink moments after tearing apart Rachel’s reality in their first scene in his apartment. –The only time a woman uses a firearm in this whole movie is when Rachel picks up Deckard’s pistol and puts one in Leon’s head when he’s about to kill the shit out of Deckard. There’s a lot of subtext going on here, but I don’t think it’s off the mark to read this as a further emasculation of Deckard, him having to be “rescued from the bad man” by a woman he’s viewed up until this point as a damsel in distress/possible sexual conquest. He is castrated by this woman who turns around and utilizes his own genital metaphor far better than him (earlier in the film, Deckard had to shoot Zhora twice to take her down, whereas Rachel does Leon in one, from about the same range). This goes a long way toward ratcheting up his insecurity and aggression, both of which metastasize later in the film. –Go back and watch that scene at the top again (if you have the stomach); dude starts the scene off barechested and sweaty, again signalling toward the traditional masculinity that’s thus far been denied him (and will continue to be so) throughout the film; a portent of what’s to come immediately after he moves to kiss her and she recoils.

I really used to love this movie. I’ve watched it a ton, and I got something new out of it every time. But this most recent screening might be the last. Don’t get me wrong, I do recognize how hugely influential it’s been on a genre that I love over the course of the last thirty-five years, but this isn’t something I think we can or should quietly ignore anymore. Something like this should be treated as repugnant, because it is.

I think I’m done, and I think I finally understand why Batty kills Tyrell:

If your gods fail you, then they’re not gods. It doesn’t matter how how influential they’ve been, it doesn’t matter what they changed, or how, or why. And if they’re not gods, then they’re just shitty, fallible mortals like the rest of us, destined to wither and die and rot, and should be held accountable as such.

Maybe it’s time for me—for all of us—to stop worshiping.

###

Stray thoughts:

*How many other Harrison Ford movies feature some sort of scene where he, in one way or another, forces himself on a woman? None so blatant or mortifying as Blade Runner, but just off the top of my head, there’s: Empire Strikes Back Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade ...oh, shit.

*I know that “female roles with shitty in-universe jobs” is not a new thing in Hollywood, but in a movie with this many problems with women, it deserves special fucking mention: Rachel is a Secretary, Zhora is a stripper, Pris is, *ahem*, a Pleasure Model, and every other woman in this movie is a cook, a showgirl, or a geisha. Uh, yeah, one quick question about all that: Are you fucking kidding me?

*More Deckard’s Gross Views On Sex shit: in the scene with Zhora at the strip club (just before he runs her down and murders her in cold blood), Deckard gains access to her dressing room under the pretense of being a moral watchdog protecting the integrity & safety of the dancers on staff. Is this his/the movie’s idea of a sick joke, or is he/it really just that dense?

*Just going to leave this one Batty quote here at the end: “Not very sporting to fire on an unarmed opponent. I thought you were supposed to be good!”

#bladerunner #rick deckard #rapeculture #patriarchy #roy batty #toxic masculinity #breaking up is hard to do

[drawingsdrawingseverywhere]

Trollhunters Dadswap AU part 9!

Here it is, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals. The main event. It’s been building up the past few posts. The rematch with Bular. 

oh and Vendel is here for a few scenes but who cares about him ok he’s still an a-hole rn.

Jim and Toby get picked up by Barbera at the police station, but Strickler soon arrives. 

A) because Barbera calls him like she did in canon

B) because JIM IT’S OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE THAT WE FIND THE BRIDG-hello Barbera I mean uh Jim it’s very important you remember the test on monday *whispers* we need to show Vendel the Bridge before it’s completed, or both our worlds are doomed!

Barbera grounds Jim until he apologizes to that “poor old man who owns the museum! You two could have frightened him to death!”

“you have no idea, mom.”

“what?”

“nothing! I’ll be sure to do that as soon as I can.”

Few nights later, the team is back at the museum. Jim and Toby climb in through the window again, at least comforted that Strickler and Angor Rot have already taken care of the security cameras.

Vendel is still a terrifying sight to behold, especially now that he’s outside of the Market. He doesn’t seem too convinced about Strickler’s explanation yet, and not even with a photo from Toby is he willing to listen. He wants physical proof. 

Jim and Toby lead the group back into the exhibit hall and pull back on the cloth to find the bridge... gone!

“How could I have expected anything else from you, Strickler”

Vendel quickly turns on the group, he and Strickler getting in an argument similar to his argument with Blinky in canon.

“Impure are never to be trusted, so why should I have even given you a sliver of my time?”

“Vendel, I promise on my life that the bridge was here! You need to trust-”

“the only one here I should have any inkling of trust towards is Angor Rot, and even that is questionable at best!”

“how many times must I prove myself to you, Vendel???”

“A human trollhunter actually being capable of fighting a troll, the Kilahead bridge being rebuilt, what’s next? The Heartstone crumbling?”

“Vendel-”

“Enough. You have wasted enough of my time, Strickler. Time that could have been spent training your hero. If you are so keen on leading me on some wild half-breed chase, Strickler, I suggest you first take a look at yourself and your soulless companion in a mirror.”

“....”

“May I remind you, Strickler, if you give me even the slightest assumption that you or Angor Rot are in service of The Witch, I will not hesitate to eradicate you both.”

Vendel looks over to Angor Rot.

“Angor, take me home.”

Angor rot hesitates, taking a moment to look at Strickler, before following Vendel out. Jim takes a step forward.

“You saw it. We all saw it. Vendel is wrong about you.”

Strickler looks up at Jim and scoffs.

“You praise me too highly, Young Atlas.”

Toby chimes in:

“We mean it! The Bridge was here! I don’t know what Vendel meant about you and Angor Rot working for some hag, but he’s wrong! We’ve seen what changelings do when they want to kill us! You aren’t like that!”

Strickler weakly smiles before straightening his posture.

“We know the bridge was here. Clearly they’ve moved it once we discovered it. If I know Heimdrel, as impatient as he is he wont risk discovery. Especially not Vendel. We’ll find it again.”

“there’s the Knife Dad we know and love!”

“Knife...?”

“Oh sorry I forgot to tell you,” Toby pulls out a notebook. “I’ve been trying to give us all codenames. Jim is Trollhunter, obviously. Meanwhile I’m War Hammer, and Angor rot is Shadow King. Knife Dad is the only thing I could think of for you besides something with the words Avocado or Vulture in it. You don’t have a problem with that do you?”

“no no it’s just... hm. I suppose Knife Dad is alright.”

Toby gives him a thumbs up.

“Now then, Vendel was right about one thing, though. We really should brush up on your skills before your match with Bular.”

“Which is... tomorrow!”

“looks like we’re pulling an all nighter! We gotta pump you up and fast before Bular turns you into a Jim smoothie!”

“oh boy”

Next day at the rematch, while Bular is literally sharpening his swords with his arm to make sure they’re extra deadly, Jim is trying to review. He’d been going over his trollish textbooks for hours, and his brain is a tad fried from anxiety (but of course who wouldn’t be terrified of fighting Bular when he’s allowed to kill you?). 

“Ok so rule one is always be afraid, rule two.... something with the fight.”

“finish the fight”

“yeah that! Always finish the fight, and Rule number 3 is... uh...”

“Combatants! to your starting positions!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine! On a side note though, if you don’t survive this do I get your stuff?”

“Toby!”

“Kidding! I’m behind you 100%! Go team!”

Jim shifts into his armor, knowing Bular didn’t even give him time for that during their sparring match.

“Just remember what I’ve taught you, JIm! In and out of the forge!”

“got it!” Jim looks forward towards Bular. “just find his weakness, Jim. if you can find that, you have a chance of living through this.”

Bular folds his arms.

“Surprised you decided to come at all. I was certain I’d see you running for the hills with your tail between your legs. Makes me wonder if your eyes actually work.”

“oh yeah? Well I’ll tell you this much, my nose works just fine!”

“why you little-”

“begin!”

Jim and Bular’s swords clash back and forth for what feels like an eternity- Bular clearly being far more skilled, but Jim somehow surviving if only barely. That is until Bular pulls a cheap move and knocks Jim onto his back by swinging his sword under his feet. Bular laughs under his breath darkly and approaches, his swords cutting through the stone beneath them in a dangerous and menacing way.

“Any last words, trollhunter?”

“just a few: RULE NUMBER THREE!”

A swift kick sends Bular crumbling, giving Jim enough time to escape and regain his stance. Bular looks up at him with unbridled fury. Good going Jim. before he just hated you. Bular becomes a rampaging bull- swinging his swords with such precision and hatred that Jim almost doesn’t survive the first charge.

 It’s when Jim dodges and climbs up onto a higher platform that he finally realizes Bular’s biggest weakness: even though he’s been moving with fury and precision in this entire fight, when Jim has dodged the momentum of Bular’s strike has been causing the troll to have to take a moment to regain his balance. Claw marks decorate the arena, all caused by Bular shifting his position to charge again.

Jim ducks and rolls over to one of the edges of the forge, and picks up a rock. He tosses it and Bular slices it in half with his sword.

“you want this amulet, big guy?” Jim sheathes his sword and challenges his with his hand. “come and get it.”

Bular roars and charges- and Jim just barely dodges with another roll forward underneath the pouncing troll. Bular digs his claws into the stone to stop, but too late! He slips off the edge and is clinging to the side- his claws digging into the edge and almost desperately trying to climb back up.

Jim stands tall, and slowly turns towards Bular.

it was time to finish it.

Jim walks towards him and looks over the edge to see Bular clinging to the edge. His features have changed. What was once blind rage and arrogance was now a shamed and almost terror filled being. Jim unsheathed his sword and held it up to strike. Bular shut his eyes tight- trying to brace himself for his end- when suddenly Jim shakes his head and stabs the sword into the forge stone with a twirl.

Bular opens his eyes and looks back up to see Jim crouching down on one knee and holding out his hand for Bular to take.

“The fight is to the death.”

“House Rules, not mine.”

“You know I wouldn’t do the same if our places were switched.”

“yeah. Guess it’s a good thing I’m the one offering.”

Bular’s eyes narrow and he thinks it over.

“Come on dude. Don’t make it weird.”

Bular takes his hand and the extra strength of Jim is enough to finally give Bular the leverage to climb back up. Bular looks away, ashamed.

“you should have killed me.”

Before Jim could reply Bular walks away, retrieving his swords and leaving the arena- now dishonored and despised. Jim steps forward to go after him when Angor Rot puts his hand on his shoulder and silently shakes his head.

“Nothing you could say would restore his honor.”

Jim watches Bular lurk into the shadows and disappear, before he is tackled by Toby and gets his hair ruffled by Strickler.

“YOU DID IT!!! YOU DID IT! I DON’T HAVE TO HAVE YOUR ROOM!”

“Well done, Young Atlas! Excellent form!”

The group turn their attention to the sound of a slow clap, and see Vendel.

“....Well done, Trollhunter. Perhaps you do have potential. My Prior statement still stand, Strickler. But I suppose I no longer have objections to allowing you to train the boy.”

#Trollhunters #Dadswap AU #these posts just keep getting longer and I'm only kind of sorry #this post was supposed to be even longer than this #but I decided to cut it off at the Bular fight

[glittership]

Episode #57 - "You Inside Me" by Tori Curtis

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Episode 57 is a GLITTERSHIP ORIGINAL and is part of the Autumn 2017/Winter 2018 issue!

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    You Inside Me

by Tori Curtis

  It’ll be fun, he’d said. Everyone’s doing it. You don’t have to be looking for romance, it’s just a good way to meet people.

“I don’t think it’s about romance at all,” Sabella said. She wove her flower crown into her braids so that the wire skeleton was hidden beneath strands of hair. “I think if you caught a congressman doing this, he’d have to resign.”

“That’s ’cause we’ve never had a vampire congressman,” Dedrick said. He rearranged her so that her shoulders fell from their habitual place at her ears, her chin pointed up, and snapped photos of her. “Step forward a little—there, you look more like yourself in that light.”

  Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip episode 57 for May 21st, 2018. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to share this story with you.

GlitterShip is now part of the Audible afflilate program. What this means is that just by listening to GlitterShip, you are eligible to get a free audio book and 30 day trial at Audible to check out the service.

If you’re looking for more queer science fiction to listen to, there’s a full audio book available of the Lightspeed Magazine “Queers Destroy Science Fiction” special issue, featuring stories by a large number of queer authors, including  John Chu, Chaz Brenchley, R.B. Lemberg, and many others.

To download a free audiobook today, go to http://www.audibletrial.com/GlitterShip and choose an excellent book to listen to, whether that’s “Queers Destroy Science Fiction” or something else entirely.

Today I have a story and a poem for you. The poem is “Dionysus in London” by Tristan Beiter.

Tristan Beiter is a student at Swarthmore College studying English Literature and Gender and Sexuality Studies. He loves reading poetry and speculative fiction, some of his favorite books being The Waste Land, HD’s Trilogy, Mark Doty’s Atlantis, Frances Hardinge’s Gullstruck Island, and Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles. When not reading or writing, he can usually be found crafting absurdities with his boyfriend or yelling about literary theory.

  Dionysus in London

by Tristan Beiter

  The day exploded, you know.

Last night a woman with big bouffant hair told me, “Show me a story where the daughter runs into a stop sign and it literally turns into a white flower.”

I fail to describe a total eclipse and the throne of petrified wood sank into the lakebed.

James made love to Buckingham while I pulled the honeysuckle to me, made a flower crown for the leopards flanking me while I watched red and white invert themselves, white petals pushing from the center of the sign as the post wilted until all that remained was a giant lotus on the storm grate waiting to rot or wash away.

I let it stay there while the Scottish king hid behind the Scottish play and walked behind me, one eye out for the mark left when locked in. You go witchy in there—or at least you—or he, or I—learn to be afraid of the big coats and brass buttons, like the ones in every hall closet; you never know if they will turn, like yours, into bats and bugs and giant tarantulas made from wire hangers.

The woman showed me our reflections in the shop window while one or the other man in the palace polished the silver for his lover’s table and asked me who I loved; I decided on the cream linen, since the wool was too close to the pea coat that hung

by your door. I suppose that the cat is under the car; that’s probably where it fled to as we walked, knowing we already found that the ivy in your hair was artificial as the bacchanal, or your evasion, Sire, of the question (and of the serpents who are well worth the well offered to them with the wet wax on my crown). I

suppose the car is under the cat, in which case it must be a very large cat, or else a very small car. I eat your teeth. I see brilliantine teeth floating in her thick red lipstick. James tears apart the rhododendron chattering (about) his incisors and remembering the flesh and—nothing so exotic as a Sphinx, maybe a dust mote or lip-marks left on the large leather chaise. Teeth gleam from the shadows where I wait, thyrsus raised with the cone almost touching the roof of the forest, to drown

in a peacock as it swallows (chimney swifts?) the sun—or was it son—or maybe it was just a grape I fed it so it would eat the spiders crawling from the closet. It struts across the palace green like it owns the place, like it will replace the hunting- grounds with fields of straggling mint that the king would never ask for.

The woman teases up her hair before the mirror, filling the restroom with hairspray and big laughs before walking back into the restaurant, where we wait to make ourselves over—the way the throne did when the wood crumbled under the pressure of an untold story, leaving nothing but crystals and dust.

We argued for an hour over whether to mix leaves and flowers, plants and gems, before settling on four crowns, one for each of us.

Her hair mostly covers hers. The cats will love it though, playing with teeth that were knocked into your wine in the barfight (why did you order wine in a place like that, Buck?) and you got replaced with gold, like I wear woven in my braids as the sun sets on the daughter that, unsurprisingly, none of us have. But

if we did, she would turn yield signs into dahlias and that would be the sign to move on with the leopards and their flashing teeth and brass eyes and listen. To the walls and rivers, to the sculpture that is far whiter than me falling. And to the peacock which has just eaten another bug so you don’t have to kill it. Get yourself a dresser and cover it with white enamel it’ll hold up, and no insects live in dressers. Keep

the ivy and the pinecone in a mother-of-pearl trinket box with your plastic volumizing hair inserts and jeweled combs. And put a cat and dolphin on it, to remember.

    Next, our short story this episode is “You Inside Me” by Tori Curtis

Tori Curtis writes speculative fiction with a focus on LGBT and disability issues. She is the author of one novel, Eelgrass, and a handful of short stories. You can find her at toricurtiswrites.com and on Twitter at @tcurtfish, where she primarily tweets about how perfect her wife is.

CW: For descriptions of traumatic surgery.

  You Inside Me

by Tori Curtis

  It’ll be fun, he’d said. Everyone’s doing it. You don’t have to be looking for romance, it’s just a good way to meet people.

“I don’t think it’s about romance at all,” Sabella said. She wove her flower crown into her braids so that the wire skeleton was hidden beneath strands of hair. “I think if you caught a congressman doing this, he’d have to resign.”

“That’s ’cause we’ve never had a vampire congressman,” Dedrick said. He rearranged her so that her shoulders fell from their habitual place at her ears, her chin pointed up, and snapped photos of her. “Step forward a little—there, you look more like yourself in that light.”

He took fifteen minutes to edit her photos (“they’ll expect you to use a filter, so you might as well,”) and pop the best ones on her profile.

Suckr: the premier dating app for vampires and their fanciers.

“It’s like we’re cats,” she said.

“I heard you like cats,” he agreed, and she sighed.

    Hi, I’m Sabella. I’ve been a vampire since I was six years old, and I do not want to see or be seen by humans. I’m excited to meet men and women between the ages of eighteen and sixty-five.

“That’s way too big of an age range,” Dedrick said. “You want to be compatible with these people.”

“Yeah, compatible. Like my tissue type.”

“You don’t want to end up flirting with a grandpa.”

I’m excited to meet men and women between the ages of twenty and thirty-five.

I’m most proud of my master’s degree.

You should message me if you’re brave and crazy.

    It took days, not to mention Dedrick’s exasperated return, before she went back on Suckr. She paced up the beautiful wood floors of her apartment, turning on heel at the sole window on the long end and the painted-over cast-iron radiator on the short. When she felt too sick to take care of herself, her mom came over and put Rumors on, wrapped her in scarves that were more pretty than functional, warmed some blood and gave it to her in a sippy cup. Sabella remembered nothing so much as the big Slurpees her mom had bought her, just this bright red, when she’d had strep the last year she was human.

She wore the necklace Dedrick had given her every day. It was a gold slice of pepperoni pizza with “best” emblazoned on the back (his matched, but read “friends,”), and she fondled it like a hangnail. She rubbed the bruises on her arms, where the skin had once been clear and she’d once thought herself pretty in a plain way, like Elinor Dashwood, as though she might be able to brush off the dirt.

She called her daysleeper friends, texted acquaintances, and slowly stopped responding to their messages as she realized how bored she was of presenting hope day after day.

    2:19:08 bkissedrose: I’m so sorry.

2:19:21 bkissedrose: I feel like such a douche

2:19:24 sabellasay: ???

2:20:04 sabellasay: what r u talkin about

2:25:56 bkissedrose: u talked me down all those times I would’ve just died

2:26:08 sabellasay: it was rly nbd

2:26:27 bkissedrose: I’ve never been half as good as you are

2:26:48 bkissedrose: and now you’re so sick

2:29:12 sabellasay: dude stop acting like i’m dying

2:29:45 sabellasay: I can’t stand it

2:30:13 bkissedrose: god you’re so brave

  (sabellasay has become inactive)

    “Everyone keeps calling me saying you stopped talking to them,” Dedrick said when he made it back to her place, shoes up on the couch now that he’d finally wiped them of mud. “Should I feel lucky you let me in?”

“I’m tired,” she said. “It’s supposed to be a symptom. I like this one, I think she has potential.”

He took her phone and considered it with the weight of a father researching a car seat. “A perfect date: I take you for a ride around the lake on my bike, then we stop home for an evening snack.”

“She means her motorcycle,” Sabella clarified.

He rolled his eyes and continued reading. “My worst fear: commitment.”

“At least she’s honest.”

“That’s not really a good thing. You’re not looking for someone to skip out halfway through the movie.”

“No, I’m looking for someone who’s not going to be heartbroken when I die anyway.”

Dedrick sighed, all the air going out of his chest as it might escape from dough kneaded too firmly, and held her close to him. “You’re stupid,” he told her, “but so sweet.”

“I think I’m going to send her a nip.”

    The girl was named Ash but she spelled it A-I-S-L-I-N-G, and she seemed pleased that Sabella knew enough not to ask lots of stupid questions. They met in a park by the lakeside, far enough from the playground that none of the parents would notice the fanged flirtation going on below.

If Aisling had been a boy, she would have been a teen heartthrob. She wore her hair long where it was slicked back and short (touchable, but hard to grab in a fight) everywhere else. She wore a leather jacket that spoke of a once-in-a-lifetime thrift store find, and over the warmth of her blood and her breath she smelled like bag balm. Sabella wanted to hide in her arms from a fire. She wanted to watch her drown trying to save her.

Aisling parked her motorcycle and stowed her helmet before coming over to say hi—gentlemanly, Sabella thought, to give her a chance to prepare herself.

“What kind of scoundrel left you to wait all alone?” Aisling asked, with the sort of effortlessly cool smile that might have broken a lesser woman’s heart.

“I don’t know,” Sabella said, “but I’m glad you’re here now.”

Aisling stepped just inside her personal space and frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, “but are you—”

“I’m trans, yes,” Sabella interrupted, and smiled so wide she could feel the tension at her temples. Like doing sit-ups the wrong way for years, having this conversation so many times hadn’t made it comfortable, only routine. “We don’t need to be awkward about it.”

“Okay,” Aisling agreed, and sat on the bench, helping Sabella down with a hand on her elbow. “I meant that you seem sick.”

She looked uneasy, and Sabella sensed that she had never been human. Vampires didn’t get sick—she had probably never had more than a headache, and that only from hunger.

“Yes,” Sabella said. “I am sick. I’m not actually—I mentioned this on my profile—I’m not actually looking for love.”

“I hope you won’t be too disappointed when it finds you,” Aisling said, and Sabella blushed, reoriented herself with a force like setting a bone, like if she tried hard enough to move in one direction she’d stop feeling like a spinning top.

“I’m looking for a donor,” she said.

“Yeah, all right,” Aisling said. She threw her arm over the back of the bench so that Sabella felt folded into her embrace. “I’m always willing to help a pretty girl out.”

“I don’t just mean your blood,” she said, and felt herself dizzy.

    It was easier for Sabella to convince someone to do something than it was for her to ask for it. Her therapist had told her that, and even said it was common, but he hadn’t said how to fix it. “Please, may I have your liver” was too much to ask, and “Please, I don’t want to die” was a poor argument.

“So, you would take my liver—”

“It would actually only be part of your liver,” Sabella said, stopping to catch her breath. She hadn’t been able to go hiking since she’d gotten so sick—she needed company, and easy trails, and her friends either didn’t want to go or, like her mom, thought it was depressing to watch her climb a hill and have to stop to spit up bile.

“So we would each have half my liver, in the end.”

Sabella shrugged and looked into the dark underbrush. If she couldn’t be ethical about this, she wouldn’t deserve a liver. She wouldn’t try to convince Aisling until she understood the facts. “In humans, livers will regenerate once you cut them in half and transplant them. Like how kids think if you cut an earthworm in half, you get two. Or like bulbs. Ideally, it would go like that.”

“And if it didn’t go ideally?”

(“Turn me,” Dedrick said one day, impulsively, when she’d been up all night with a nosebleed that wouldn’t stop, holding her in his lap with his shirt growing polka-dotted. “I’ll be a vampire in a few days, we can have the surgery—you’ll be cured in a week.”)

“If it doesn’t go ideally,” Sabella said, “one or both of us dies. If it goes poorly, I don’t even know what happens.”

She stepped off the tree and set her next target, a curve in the trail where a tree had fallen and the light shone down on the path. Normally these days she didn’t wear shoes but flip-flops, but this was a date, and she’d pulled her old rainbow chucks out of the closet. Aisling walked with her silently, keeping pace, and put an arm around her waist.

Sabella looked up and down the trail. Green Lake was normally populated enough that people kept to their own business, and these days she felt pretty safe going about, even with a girl. But she checked anyway before she leaned into Ais’s strength, letting her guide them so that she could use all her energy to keep moving.

“But if it doesn’t happen at all, you die no matter what?”

Sabella took a breath. “If you don’t want to, I look for someone else.”

    Her mom was waiting for her when Sabella got home the next morning.

Sabella’s mother was naturally blonde, tough when she needed to be, the sort of woman who could get into hours-long conversations with state fair tchotchke vendors. She’d gotten Sabella through high school and into college through a careful application of stamping and yelling. When Sabella had started calling herself Ravynn, she’d brought a stack of baby name books home and said, “All right, let’s find you something you can put on a resume.”

“Mom,” she said, but smiling, “I gave you a key in case I couldn’t get out of bed, not so you could check if I spent the night with a date.”

“How’d it go? Was this the girl Dedrick helped you find?”

“Aisling, yeah,” Sabella said. She sat on the recliner, a mountain of accent pillows cushioning her tender body. “It was good. I like her a lot.”

“Did she decide to get the surgery?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask her to choose.”

“Then what did you two do all night?”

Sabella frowned. “I like her a lot. We had a good time.”

Her mom stood and put the kettle on, and Sabella couldn’t help thinking what an inconvenience she was, that her mother couldn’t fret over her by making toast and a cup of tea. “Christ, what decent person would want to do that with you?”

“We have chemistry! She’s very charming!”

She examined Sabella with the dissatisfied air of an artist. “You’re a mess, honey. You’re so orange you could be a jack-o-lantern, and swollen all over. You look like you barely survived a dogfight. I don’t even see my daughter when I look at you anymore.”

Sabella tried to pull herself together, to look more dignified, but instead she slouched further into the recliner and crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe she thinks I’m funny, or smart.”

“Maybe she’s taking advantage. Anyone who really cared about you wouldn’t be turned on, they’d be worried about your health.”

Sabella remembered the look on Aisling’s face when she’d first come close enough to smell her, and shuddered. “I’m not going to ask her to cut out part of her body for me without thinking about it first,” she said.

“Without giving her something in return?” her mom asked. “It’s less than two pounds.”

“But it’s still her choice,” Sabella said.

“I’m starting to wonder if you even want to live,” her mom said, and left.

Sabella found the energy to go turn off the stovetop before she fell asleep. (Her mother had raised her responsible.)

    12:48:51 bkissedrose: what happens to a dream bestowed

12:49:03 bkissedrose: upon a girl too weak to fight for it?

12:53:15 sabellasay: haha you can’t sleep either?

12:53:38 sabellasay: babe idk

12:55:43 sabellasay: is it better to have loved and lost

12:56:29 sabellasay: than to die a virgin?

1:00:18 bkissedrose: I guess I don’t know

1:01:24 bkissedrose: maybe it depends if they’re good

    “It’s nice here,” Aisling confessed the third time they visited the lake. Sabella and her mom weren’t talking, but she couldn’t imagine it would last more than a few days longer, so she wasn’t worried. “I’d never even heard of it.”

“I grew up around here,” Sabella said, “and I used to take my students a few times a year.”

“You teach?”

“I used to teach,” she said, and stepped off the trail—the shores were made up of a gritty white sand like broken shells—to watch the sinking sun glint off the water. “Seventh grade science.”

Aisling laughed. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“I like that they’re old enough you can do real projects with them, but before it breaks off into—you know, are we doing geology or biology or physics. When you’re in seventh grade, everything is science.” She smiled and closed her eyes so that she could feel the wind and the sand under her shoes. She could hear birds settling and starting to wake, but she couldn’t place them. “They’ve got a long-term sub now. Theoretically, if I manage to not die, I get my job back.”

Aisling came up behind her and put her arms around her. Sabella knew she hadn’t really been weaving—she knew her limits well enough now, she hoped—but she felt steadier that way. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I don’t think they expect to have to follow through,” Sabella admitted. “Sometimes I think I’m the only one who ever thinks I’m going to survive this. My mom’s so scared all the time, I know she doesn’t.”

Aisling held her not tight but close, like being tucked into a bright clean comforter on a cool summer afternoon. “Can I ask you a personal question?” she said, her face up against Sabella’s neck so that every part of Sabella wanted her to bite.

“Maybe,” she said, then thought better of it. “Yes.”

“How’d you get sick? I didn’t think we could catch things like that. Or was it while you were human?”

“Um, no, but I’m not contagious, just nasty.” Aisling laughed, and she continued, encouraged. “Mom would, you know, once I came out I could do pretty much whatever I wanted, but she wouldn’t let me get any kind of reconstructive surgery until I was eighteen. She thought it was creepy, some doc getting his hands all over her teenage kid.”

“Probably fair.”

“So I’m eighteen, and she says okay, you’re right, you got good grades in school and you’re going to college like I asked, I’ll pay for whatever surgery you want. And you have to imagine, I just scheduled my freshman orientation, I have priorities.”

“Which are?”

“Getting laid, mostly.”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“So I’m eighteen and hardly ever been kissed, I’m not worried about the details. I don’t let my mom come with me, it doesn’t even occur to me to see a doctor who’s worked with vampires before, I just want to look like Audrey Hepburn’s voluptuous sister.”

“Oh no,” Ash said. It hung there for a moment, the dread and Sabella’s not being able to regret that she’d been so stupid. “It must have come up.”

“Sure. He said he was pretty sure it would be possible to do the surgery on a vampire, he knew other surgeries had been done. I was just so excited he didn’t say no.”

Ash held her tight then, like she might be dragged away otherwise, and Sabella knew that it had nothing to do with her in particular, that it was only the protective instinct of one person watching another live out her most plausible nightmare. “What did he do to you?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she said, and then—grimacing, she knew her mother would have been so angry with her—“at least, he didn’t mean anything by it. He never read anything about how to adapt the procedure to meet my needs.” She sounded so clinical, like she’d imbibed so many doctors’ explanations of what had happened that she was drunk on it. “But neither did I. We both found out you can’t give vampires a blood transfusion.”

“Why would you need to?”

She shrugged. “You don’t, usually, in plastic surgery.”

“No,” Aisling interrupted, “I mean, why wouldn’t you drink it?”

Sabella tried to remember, or tried not to be able to, and tucked her cold hands into her pockets. “You’re human, I guess. Anyway, I puked all over him and the incision sites, had to be hospitalized. My doctor says I’m lucky I’m such a good healer, or I’d need new boobs and a new liver.”

They were both quiet, and Sabella thought, this is it. You either decide it’s too much or you kiss me again.

She thought, I miss getting stoned with friends and telling shitty surgery stories and listening to them laugh. I hate that when I meet girls their getting-to-know-you involves their Youtube make-up tutorials and mine involves “and then, after they took the catheter out…”

“Did you sue for malpractice, at least?” Ash asked, and Sabella couldn’t tell without looking if her tone was teasing or wistful.

“My mom did, yeah. When they still wanted her to pay for the damn surgery.”

    Aisling pulled up to the front of Sabella’s building and stopped just in front of her driveway. She kicked her bike into park and stepped onto the sidewalk, helping Sabella off and over the curbside puddle. Sabella couldn’t find words for what she was thinking, she was so afraid that her feelings would shatter as they crystallized. She wanted Ais to brush her hair back from her face and comb out the knots with her fingers. She wanted Ais to stop by to shovel the drive when there was lake effect snow. She wanted to find ‘how to minimize jaundice’ in the search history of Aisling’s phone.

“You’re beautiful in the sunlight,” Ais said, breaking her thoughts, maybe on purpose. “Like you were made to be outside.”

Sabella ducked her head and leaned up against her. The date was supposed to be over, go inside and let this poor woman get on with her life, but she didn’t want to leave. “It’s nice to have someone to go with me,” she said. “Especially with a frost in the air. Sometimes people act like I’m so fragile.”

“Ridiculous. You’re a vampire.”

Her ears were cold, and she pressed them against Aisling’s jawbone. She wondered what the people driving past thought when they saw them. She thought that maybe the only thing better than surviving would be to die a tragic death, loved and loyally attended. “I was born human.”

“Even God makes mistakes.”

Sabella smiled. “Is that what I am? A mistake?”

“Nah,” she said. “Just a happy accident.”

Sabella laughed, thought you’re such a stoner and I feel so safe when you look at me like that.

“I’ll do it,” Ais said.  “What do I have to do to set up the surgery?”

Sabella hugged her tight, hid against her and counted the seconds—one, two, three, four, five—while Ais didn’t change her mind and Sabella wondered if she would.

    “I have to stress how potentially dangerous this is,” Dr. Young said. “I can’t guarantee that it will work, that either of you will survive the procedure or the recovery, or that you won’t ultimately regret it.”

Aisling was holding it together remarkably well, Sabella thought, but she still felt like she could catch her avoiding eye contact. Sabella had taken the seat in the doctor’s office between her mother and girlfriend, and felt uncomfortable and strange no matter which of their hands she held.

“Um,” Ais said, and Sabella could feel her mother’s judgment at her incoherence, “you said you wouldn’t be able to do anything for the pain?”

To her credit, the doctor didn’t fidget or look away. Sabella, having been on the verge of death long enough to become something of a content expert, believed that it was important to have a doctor who was upfront about how terrible her life was. “I wouldn’t describe it as ‘nothing,’ exactly,” she said. “There aren’t any anesthetics known to work on vampires, but we’ll make you as comfortable as possible. You can feed immediately before and as soon as you’re done, and that will probably help snow you over.”

“Being a little blood high,” Ais clarified. “While you cut out my liver.”

“Yes.”

Sabella wanted to apologize. She couldn’t find the words.

Aisling said, “Well, while we’re trying to make me comfortable, can I smoke up, too?”

Dr. Young laughed. It wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t promising, either. “That’s not a terrible idea,” she said, “but marijuana increases bleeding, and there are so many unknown variables here that I’d like to stick to best practices if we can.”

“I can just—” Sabella said, and choked. She wasn’t sure when she’d started crying. “Find someone else. Dedrick will do it, I know.”

Aisling considered this. The room was quiet, soft echoes on the peeling tile floor. Sabella’s mother put an arm around her, and she felt tiny, but in the way that made her feel ashamed and not protected. Aisling said, “Why are you asking me? Is there something you know that I don’t?”

Dr. Young shook her head. “I promise we’re not misrepresenting the procedure,” she said. “And theoretically, it might be possible with any vampire. But there aren’t a lot of organ transplants in the literature—harvesting, sure, but not living transplants—and I want to get it right the first time. If we have a choice, I told Sabella I’d rather use a liver from a donor who was born a vampire. I think it’ll increase our chance of success.”

“A baby’d be too weak,” Aisling agreed. Her voice was going hard and theoretical. “Well, tell me something encouraging.”

“One of the first things we’ll do is to cut through almost all of your abdominal nerves, so that will help. And there’s a possibility that the experience will be so intense that you don’t remember it clearly, or at all.”

Sabella’s mother took a shaky breath, and Sabella wished, hating herself for it, that she hadn’t come.

Ais said, “Painful. You mean, the experience will be so painful.”

“If you choose to go forward with it,” Dr. Young said, “we’ll do everything we can to mitigate that.”

    Sabella had expected that Aisling would want space and patience while she decided not to die a horrible, painful death to save her. It was hard to tell how instead they ended up in her bed with the lights out, their legs wound together and their faces swollen with sleep. Sabella was shaking, and couldn’t have said why. Ais grabbed her by her seat and pulled her up close.

“You said you couldn’t get me sick?” she asked.

“No,” Sabella agreed. “Although my blood is probably pretty toxic.”

Ais kissed her, the smell of car exhaust still stuck in her hair. “What a metaphor,” she murmured, and lifted her chin. “You look exhausted.”

Sabella thought, Are you saying what I think you’re saying? and, That’s a terrible idea, and said, “God, I want to taste you.”

“Well, baby,” Ais said, and her hands were on Sabella so she curled her lips and blew her hair out of her eyes, “that’s what I’m here for.”

Sabella had been human once, and she remembered what food was like. The standard lie, that drinking blood was like eating a well-cooked steak, was wrong but close enough to staunch the flow of an interrogation. (She’d had friends and exes, turned as adults, who said it was like a good stout on tap, hefty and refreshing, but she thought they might just be trying to scandalize her.)

Ais could have been a stalk of rhubarb or August raspberries. She moved under Sabella and held her so that their knees pressed together. She could have been the thrill of catching a fat thorny toad in among the lettuce at dusk, or a paper wasp in a butterfly net. She felt like getting tossed in the lake in January; she tasted like being wrapped in fleece and gently dried before the fire; her scent was what Sabella remembered of collapsing, limbs aquiver, on the exposed bedrock of a mountaintop, nothing but crushed pine and the warmth of a moss-bed.

She woke on top of Ais, licking her wounds lazily—she wanted more, but she was too tired to do anything about it.

“That’s better,” Ais whispered, and if she was disappointed that this wasn’t turning into a frenzy, she didn’t show it. They were quiet for long enough that the haze started to fade, and then Aisling said, “I couldn’t ask in front of your mother, but was it like that with your surgery? They couldn’t do anything for the pain?”

Sabella shifted uncomfortably, rolled over next to Ais. “I was conscious, yes.”

“Do you remember it?”

It was a hard question. She wanted to say it wasn’t her place to ask. She tried to remember, and got caught up in the layers of exhaustion, the spaces between the body she’d had, the body she’d wanted, and what they had been doing to her. “Sounds and sensations and thoughts, mostly,” she said.

Ais choked, and said, “So, everything,” and Sabella realized—she didn’t know how she hadn’t—how scared she must be.

“No, it’s blurry,” she said instead. “I remember, um, the tugging at my chest. I kept thinking there was no way my skin wasn’t just going to split open. And the scraping sounds. They’ve got all these tools, and they’re touching you on the inside and the outside at the same time, and that’s very unsettling. And this man, I think he was the PA, standing over me saying, ‘You’ve got to calm down, honey.’”

“Were you completely freaking out?” Ais asked.

Sabella shook her head. Her throat hurt. “No. I mean—I cried a little. Not as much as you’d think. They said if I wasn’t careful, you know, with swallowing at the right times and breathing steady, they might mess up reshaping my larynx and I could lose my voice.”

Ais swore, and Sabella wondered if she would feel angry. (Sometimes she would scream and cry, say, can you imagine doing that to an eighteen-year-old?) Right now she was just tired. “How did you manage?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I think just, it was worth more to me to have it done than anything else. So I didn’t ever tell them to stop.”

    “Please don’t go around telling people I think this is an acceptable surgical set-up,” Dr. Young said, looking around the exam room.

It reminded Sabella of a public hearing, the way the stakeholders sat at opposing angles and frowned at each other. Dr. Young sat next to Dr. Park, who would be the second doctor performing the procedure. Sabella had never met Dr. Park before, and her appearance—young, mostly—didn’t inspire confidence. Sabella sat next to her mother, who held her hand and a clipboard full of potential complications. Ais crossed her fingers in her lap, sat with a nervous child’s version of polite interest. Time seemed not to blur, but to stutter, everything happening whenever.

“Dr. Park,” Sabella’s mother said, “do you have any experience operating on vampires?”

Dr. Park grinned and her whole mouth seemed to open up in her face, her gums pale pink as a Jolly Rancher and her left fang chipped. “Usually trauma or obstetrics,” she admitted. “Although this is nearly the same thing.”

“I’m serious,” Sabella’s mom said, and Sabella interrupted.

“I like her,” she said. And then—it wasn’t really a question except in the sense that there was no way anyone could be sure—“You’re not going to realize halfway through the surgery that it’s too much for you?”

Dr. Park laughed. “I turned my husband when we were both eighteen,” she said as testament to her cruelty.

Sabella’s mom jumped. “Jesus Christ, why?”

She shrugged, languid. Ais and Dr. Young were completely calm; Ais might have had no frame of reference for what it was like to watch someone turn, and Dr. Young had probably heard this story before. “His parents didn’t like that he was dating a vampire. You’ll do crazy things for love.”

Sabella could see her mother blanch even as she steadied. It wasn’t unheard of for a vampire to turn their spouse—less common now that it was easier to live as a vampire, and humans were able to date freely but not really commit. But she could remember being turned, young as she had been: the gnawing ache, the hallucinations, the thirst that had only sometimes eclipsed the pain. It was still the worst thing that she’d ever experienced, and she was sure her mother couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to do it to someone they loved.

“Good,” she said. “You won’t turn back if we scream.”

Dr. Young frowned. “I want you to know you have a choice,” she said. She was speaking to Ais; Sabella had a choice, too, but it was only between one death and another. “There will be a point when you can’t change your mind, but by then it’ll be almost over.”

Ais swore. It made Dr. Park smile and Sabella’s mom frown. Sabella wondered if she was in love with her, or if it was impossible to be in love with someone who was growing a body for them to share. “Don’t say that,” Ais said. “I don’t want to have that choice.”

    The morning of the surgery, Aisling gave Sabella a rosary to wear with her pizza necklace, and when they kicked Sabella’s mom out to the waiting room, she kissed them both as she went. “I like your mom,” Ais said shyly. They lay in cots beside each other, just close enough that they could reach out and hold hands across the gap. “I bet she’d get along with mine.”

Sabella laughed, her eyes stinging, threw herself across the space between them and kissed each of Ais’s knuckles while Ais said, “Aw, c’mon, save it ‘til we get home.”

“Isn’t that a lot of commitment for you?” Sabella asked.

“Yeah, well,” Ais said, caught, and gave her a cheesy smile. “You’re already taking my liver, at least my heart won’t hurt so much.”

They drank themselves to gorging while nurses wrapped and padded them in warm blankets. Ais was first, for whatever measure of mercy that was, and while they were wheeled down the dizzying white hallway, she grinned at Sabella, wild, some stranger’s blood staining her throat to her nose. “You’re a real looker,” she said, and Sabella laughed over her tears.

“Thank you,” Sabella said. “I mean, really, for everything.”

Ais winked at her; Sabella wanted to run away from all of this and drink her in until they died. “It’s all in a day’s work, ma’am,” she said.

It wasn’t, it couldn’t have been, and Sabella loved her for pretending. Ais hissed, she cried, she asked intervention of every saint learned in K-12 at a Catholic school. A horrible gelatinous noise came as Dr. Young’s gloves touched her innards, and Ais moaned and Sabella said, “You have to stop, this is awful,” and the woman assigned to supervise her held her down and said hush, honey, you need to be quiet. And the doctors’ voices, neither gentle nor unkind: We’re almost done now, Aisling, you’re being so brave. And: It’s a pity she’s too strong to pass out.

Sabella went easier, hands she couldn’t see wiping her down and slicing her open while Dr. Park pulled Ais’s insides back together. She’d been scared for so long that the pain didn’t frighten her; she kept asking “Is she okay? What’s happening?” until the woman at her head brushed back her hair and said shh, she’s in the recovery room, you can worry about yourself now.

It felt right, fixing her missteps with pieces of Ais, and when Dr. Young said, “There we go, just another minute and you can go take care of her yourself,” Sabella thought about meromictic lakes, about stepping into a body so deep its past never touched its present.

END

    “Dionysus in London” is copyright Tristan Beiter 2018.

“You Inside Me” is copyright Tori Curtis 2018.

This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.

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Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a reprint of “The City of Kites and Crows” by Megan Arkenberg.

  Episode #57 – “You Inside Me” by Tori Curtis was originally published on GlitterShip

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