#I was but a wee teenager the last time I saw this guy

[rawliverandgoronspice]

I think what bugs me with TotK's Ganondorf, beyond the uhhh everything here and here, is that... This version, the reintroduction of this character after 17 years of patient conversations, tries so super hard to kill any ambiguity he once possessed? I have come across many posts here, on youtube and elsewhere that focus on, just, settling down the flicker of doubt and complexity that could have been extracted as: no, he was just an evil prick all along without any depth and layers, and those who saw anything more were both wrong and manipulated.

(which could have been absolutely great if the gerudos' perspective had been centered as his first victims and how exactly that played out for them tbh --but here it just feels... I don't know, patronizing, a little bit? It's not like people hallucinated these elements, they were present in the text and resonated with people in a way that wasn't cynical at the time)

Again: obviously the fandom will do something cool with ambiguity regardless, but... I don't know, I want the media I consume to be interesting and layered also? I'm not saying TotK should not have him be evil (I think it's good that he is, I was dreading the redemption arc personally), but just... maintain the doubt? keep the conversation going? especially since it kind of condemns any further apparitions as a variation on this one-note interpretation of the character (which I think will get stale pretty fast), and also retroactively tries to reinterpret his previous iterations in the same breath. I think it's partially why I'm a little hostile to this version, even beyond its role in the narrative: Zelda is great when it reinvents its characters, but I'm not fond of sweeping statements that try to simplify the entire canon of the series for the benefit of the hylian heroes and their absolutely undisputable moral purity (and everything it implies).

I don't know, I think I'm just a little sad for what could have been.

[lizardboiii]

XOXO, UR DUFF♡

꒰ ft. Kuroo Tetsurō x reader x Bokuto Kōtarō, slight Oikawa Tōru x reader

synopsis: finding out Aoba Johsai High School's volleyball team refers to you as the school's duff sends you into a teenaged panic. your two childhood friends take it upon themselves to help you out. the opposite of a duff? a slut.

cw: NSFW, 18+, hurt/comfort, threesome, dom/sub undertones, dumbification, slut shaming, non-con coercion, double pentration, all characters are represented as 18/19 yrs old

wc: 2.7k

"Like any unloved thing, I don't know if I'm real when I'm not being touched." - Natalie Wee

Maybe you soared too high - beared your teeth too wide. The fall from grace was longer than the climb, allowing scotching shame to burn away any feelings you still carried. Oikawa Tōru had played you for a fool. 

Otherwise, after a week of walking you to class and buttering up your fragile heart. He wouldn't have asked you if your best friend, Emi, was single. 

Propping himself up on your desk, Oikawa’s thick hands supported the bulk of his weight. His form seemingly dripped with unease. If you listened closely enough, you could hear the sound of his sneakers shifting beneath him. 

You hated every moment of it.

The star volleyball captain had just made it clear he never had any intentions of courting you. All he saw was a gateway to Emi. An easy in.

You paused for just a moment. Thoughts of confronting the man above you ate at your skin. You wanted to scream. Rage at him. Ask him why he led you on. He could have easily asked out Emi without your assistance. Was there a reason to ask you other than to be cruel?

But you didn't. 

Instead you smiled warmly, swallowing your pride, “Ya, Emi’s single.”

Oikawa’s grin brightened, “You can put in a good word for me right? Since we're friends n’ all?”

The corner of your mouth twitched.

“Of course.”

・❥・

A kick to the front leg of your desk rattled the metal. You flinched at the noise. Body tensing, you refused to greet the offender. Finding it easier to stay hidden in your arms on top of your desk.

“What’s up with you?”

Teary eyed, you finally looked up from your crossed arms to the deep voice above you, Iwaizumi Hajime. You internally groaned at the sight of him. Iwaizumi was the last person you wanted to see right now, aside from his flamboyant captain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “I think Oikawa likes Emi.”

Iwaizumi huffed, “I ​​could've guessed that.”

“What?” You searched his eyes for an answer, “You knew?”

“Ya,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Whole team does.”

Clenching your teeth, you balled your hands in frustration, “Then why did he even bother talking to me? He should've just went straight to her!”

Iwaizumi shrugged, “It's probably because you're her Duff.”

You felt the pit in your stomach drop, “Her what?”

“Ya know, her Duff. Designated Ugly Fat Friend,” he said it as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

The information hit you like a truck, “Excuse me!? I am not her “Duff”!”

Iwaizumi shifted uncomfortably, “Hate to break it to you, but…I think everyone is aware you’re Emi’s Duff other than yourself.” 

You fake laughed, “I think I'd know if people were calling me that.”

“It's not that big a deal. Just means you're more approachable,” he searched for his next words, “I mean it's easier to ask you if Emi’s single rather than face the embarrassment if not.”

Iwaizumi’s statement left you breathless, “Face the embarrassment? What about me!? Oikawa led me on for a week just to ask if Emi was single!”

He brushed you off, “It’s not like you're the only one. Girls come up to the team all the time to ask about Oikawa.”

Seething, you stood up from your chair haphazardly, “You know what? Screw you!” The screech of your chair echoed across the room, “I’m not just some thoughtless NCP you guys can use to help get laid!”

Iwaizumi frowned, “You know I didn't mean it like that.”

You didn't bother to respond, favoring to storm out of the mostly empty classroom. You’d prove to them all you could be more than just Emi’s Duff. You just needed to figure out how to first.

・❥・

“Can you believe he said that to me?!” Sitting on top of Bokuto’s bed, you straddled the pillow you were holding in anger, “I am not a Duff!”

Bokuto hummed below you, focusing more on the controller in his hand rather than what you were saying, “Didn’tcha only go on one date?”

Cackling, Kuroo bumped shoulders with Bokuto, “There wasn’t even a date. He just walked her tah’ class.”

Your face burned, “He carried my books! Who does that other than someone who cares!?”

Kuroo tilted his face back at you, resting his head on the bed, “Yer’ joking, right?”

Frowning, you swiped at Kuroo’s face with the pillow in your hands. The comb head merely caught the pancaked pillow with his dominant hand, ripping the fabric away from you. Then, he shot the pillow at your head, hard. You reacted quickly, lifting your hands up in defense. The pillow thumped pathetically against your forearms. 

Flipping him off, you tossed the pillow back at the headboard, “You always play too rough!”

A wild grin plastered itself on his face, “What? I thought girls liked it rough?”

You threw him a disgusted look, “Don’t be a freak.”

Chuckling, Kuroo’s already large smile grew impossibly wider. Clearly satisfied at your obvious discomfort.

Groaning at Kuroo’s smug smirk, you flopped backward on the bed, “It’s not fair! Emi always has a boyfriend and I’ve yet to have even one.” You emphasized the number with your finger.

Passing off the controller, Bokuto stretched his hands above his head, “Who cares? Ya don’t need a boyfriend anyways,” He pointed a thumb at himself, “You got us!”

“Says you! Both you and Ku have had girlfriends,” You flipped onto your stomach, “I feel like I'm missing out.”

Lip curled, Bokuto threw himself on top of the bed and grabbed your smaller form, “Aww, our poor sweet (y/n)!”

You wrestled against his tight bear hug, “Lemme’ go, Airhead!”

Bokuto smiled, “Never!”

Your legs intertwined as you tried to slither free from Bokuto’s relentless hold. However, the older male easily subdued you. Pushing and pulling you every which way. Eventually, Bokuto relented and slid you into his lab, wrapping his arms around your midriff. 

You huffed at his antics. It wasn't the first time Bokuto forced you into his lab - and you were sure it wasn't the last. Yet, that didn't stop the way your heart squeezed when his chest pressed up against your back. Or the way you shivered when he slotted his head into the crook of your neck.

It certainly didn't stop the way you secretly liked how Kuroo watched.

Face burning, you chewed on your lip. You were sick. Friends shouldn't be thinking this way about each other. Especially not when you have known eachother since diapers. You internally sighed. It's not like they'd be interested in you anyways. Who’d want to be with a designated Duff?

“Sometimes I wish I was more like Emi...”

The thought slipped out of your mouth without your brain's approval. Meek and mild. Your quiet voice sent the room into an abrupt silence. You had little time to curse at yourself before Kuroo’s uncontrollable laughter broke through the stillness. 

Dropping the gaming controller, Kuroo moved calculatedly. His toned body slowly crawling its way on top of the bed, joining you and Bokuto. Your breath hitched at the sight. If you didn't know any better, you thought you might be eaten alive.

Kuroo reached you at an agonizing pace. His hands moved to rest on your knees while Bokuto’s stayed on your waist, “Ya wanna’ be like Emi, huh?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you ignored the close proximity, “She always gets so much attention. I just wanna know what that feels like. Just once.”

Sulking, you missed the subtle glance Kuroo and Bokuto exchanged. Sly and cunning. The grip of their calloused hands tightened ever so slightly.

“Ya know why Emi keeps gettin’ so much attention?” 

Sinking back into Bokuto, you swallowed, “Because she's pretty?”

“Nope,” Kuroo’s grin widened as he slotted himself between your legs, “It’s ‘cause she’s a slut.”

Slut.

The word made your heart pang, “E-Emi’s not like that!”

Kuroo let out a scoff, “Course’ she is. You wanna be like that? A slut?”

Squirming, you tried to remove Kuroo from in between your legs. An action proving to be difficult very quickly, “No! I just don’t wanna be the school’s Duff anymore!”

Unimpressed, Kuroo’s large hands hooked under your knees and wrapped your legs around his waist. You only struggled harder. The thought of being trapped between the two large men was starting to make your head spin. 

Writhing in Bokuto’s hold, you halted when he groaned softly in your ear, “...Bo?”

“Look at that, Kitten,” Kuroo kneaded the fat of your thigh, “Already practicing.”

Bokuto buried his face deeper into your neck, nipping at the skin, “Ya wanna practice that bad, sweetheart?”

“I think she does, Bo,” Kuroo laughed cruelly, “Just look at her. Gettin’ ya hard already.”

Bokuto whined, “Can’t help it. She keeps rubbin’ that plump ass against my dick.”

On que, Bokuto’s hands shifted from your waist to your hips. His thick digits dug into your skin as he began to move your hips for you. Grinding his half hard cock into your clothed ass.

Your face was a molten red at the action, “Stop!”

“Please, sweetheart. Feels so good,” Bokuto’s words slurred as he grinded your bodies together.

You mewled, “We can’t!”

Kuroo snatched you chin, forcing your attention back on him, “Thought you were tired of bein’ the Duff?”

You could feel the beginnings of tears brimming your eyes, “I am!���

He smiled sickly sweet, “How are you gonna prove um’ wrong if ya can’t even do this?”

Swallowing thickly, your lips quivered, “I’m scared.”

Kuroo bore a mocking expression, “Sluts don’t get scared.”

Your whimper was cut off by Kuroo’s plump lips. The kiss was sloppy, desperate even. Kuroo’s tongue exploring your mouth like he owned it. Immediately, his hand found its way into your hair, tugging you further into the kiss. You cried against his mouth. Clutching at his wrist, you held on as he devoured you. 

Below you Bokuto shifted. His hand plunged its way into his sweats, pulling out his weeping cock, “Ku, lemme’ lift her up.”

Kuroo pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva following in suit, “So impatient you owl bastard.”

You had little time to gasp for air as Bokuto’s hands replaced Kuroo’s. His hands wrapped under the pits of your knees swifty. Lifting up your legs, you gasped when his exposed cock made contact with your thin shorts. 

“Bo, wait!”

Bokuto ignored your small pleas. Sliding his cock against the fabric, he traced the shape of your pussy, “Sweetheart, you’ll lemme’ put it in, right?”

You squeaked when he tried to push up, the fabric of your shorts keeping him out, “You can’t go in raw!”

Bokuto groaned when Kuroo clutched his length, rubbing him harder against your slowly dampening shorts. You whined at the attention. Your hole clenching everytime Kuroo massaged your clit with the head of Bokuto’s cock.

Kuroo purred, “Ya feel that, Kitten? See how good yer makin’ Bo feel?

A sobbed rocked through your chest, “No.”

Clicking his tongue, Kuroo pulled at the hem of your shorts, “Still playin’ difficult, slut?”

You suddenly regretted wearing such short shorts. Kuroo managed to pull them off you in record time, only readjusting Bokuto’s hold on you once. As quickly as the shorts were off - Bokuto was on you.

The head of his cock slid against your folds with an obscene sound, “Please lemme’ put it in, sweetheart. Please, please.” You could feel his hips snap against your ass every time he slid up and down your pussy.

The cord in your stomach slowly began to pull. The feeling of his cock rubbing against your clit was almost enough to send you over the edge. You wanted more. No. You needed more.

Whimpering, your breath hitched as his cock prodded your entrance, “Bo, please!”

“Ya hear that, Bo?” You could hear the smirk on Kuroo’s face, “Slut needs a fat cock to fill ‘er up.”

Growling, Bokuto wasted no time before shoving his cock into your entrance. You cried out at the intrusion. Unprepared, your tight hole stretched painfully around his cock. It felt as if he had split you in two.

Kuroo hushed your cries, “Poor, Kitten. I’ll make it better.” His fingers made their way to your dripping pussy, circling your neglected clit.

“Ku!” You moaned at the touch. The burning sensation in your torn hole was slowly replaced by dull pleasure.

“So tight for me, Sweetheart,” Bokuto slowly pulled out before slamming back in, “So fuckin’ perfect.”

You shuddered at his words, “Too much!”

Sucking on your neck, Bokuto groaned, “Just gettin’ started.”

You flinched when Kuroo’s fingers traced down from your clit to your entrance. His caloused pointer nudged at your puffy hole.

“Look how much yer’ stretchin’ her, Bo,” He slowly added a finger to your already stuffed entrance, “Bet we can stretch it further.”

You sobbed at the invasion, “It won’t fit!”

Kuroo’s darkened eyes made you squirm, “We’ll make it fit.”

One finger soon turned into three as Kuroo worked your already sore pussy open. You wailed loudly. Finally, the feeling of fingers leaving your hole made you sign in relief. The full feeling in your stomach slightly dissipating. 

Until you felt something much larger.

Kuroo placed his hand on your waist as he lined the head of his cock against your hole. You tensed at the sight. Bokuto hissed in your ear, surprised by the sudden clench of your pussy.

“Loosen up, Sweetheart,” Bokuto kissed the crown of your head

A small mewl escaped your lips, “There's no way!”

The men above you rubbed small circles into your skin, attempting to relax your tensed muscles. You moaned at the affection. Body loosening, you shoved your face into Kuroo’s chest as he pushed in.

“There we go, Sweetheart. So good fer' us,” Bokuto hummed against the back of your neck.

The initial stretch of your walls burned intensely. Even with prep, you still felt like you’d tear up the middle.

 “So full,” you mumbled incoherently. Unable to focus on anything other than the cocks filling your already bullied hole.

“Gonna start movin’, kay?” Kuroo’s cock bottomed out before you could even respond. 

They moved opposite of eachother. Bokuto’s cock slamming deep into your pussy while Kuroo’s dragged out of your weeping hole painfully slow. It was enough to drive you insane. You moaned shamelessly, far too drunk on cock to care how slutty you looked.

“Yer’ takin’ us so well, kitten,” Kuroo bit into your neck, leaving a trail of marks, “Like you were made for this.”

You quivered under his touch, “Want more, please.”

Bokuto’s hands slithered under your shirt, “Ya already want more?” His hands moved to unclasp your bra, “Such a slut.”

You bit your lip as Bokuto found his way to your sensitive buds, “Yes, sir.”

“Sir?” Bokuto licked up your neck, “Ya hear that, Ku? She really was meant tah’ be a slut.”

You could barely comprehend Kuroo’s response. Your ears felt like they were filled with cotton as the pressure in your stomach increased. Instinctively, your hips jerked against their movements. You were so close.

“Need tah’ cum, Kitten?” Kuroo fisted your hair, “Ya gotta ask nicely.”

Hot tears streamed down your face at the unreleased pressure in your abdomen, “Please let me cum, sir. Please, I wanna cum so bad.”

Kuroo traced his tongue up your cheek, savoring the salty taste, “Whaddya’ think, Bo? Should the slut be allowed to cum?”

Bokuto traced his fingers from your breast to your clit, “Maybe just this once.”

The chord in your stomach snapped as soon as you were granted permission. Head thrown back, a porn star moan fell from your lips. Your vision went white with pleasure. Long and intense, you trembled in Bokuto’s hold. 

Your chest heaved as your legs gave out, yet Kuroo and Bokuto remained relentless. Continuing their abuse on your sloppy pussy, they pushed you further over the edge.

You whined in overstimulation, “No more.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Bokuto ran his fingers through your hair, “We ain't done yet.”

Your eyes widened, “W-what?”

Kuroo smirked, “We haven't cum yet, Slut.”

・❥・

[eyesofshinigami]

WIP Weekend!

I was tagged by the always wonderful @shares-a-vest, so here we go!

The Rules:

In a reblog (or a new post w/ rules attached) post up to five (5) file names of your wips. Not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request!

The WIPs:

Teenage Dirtbag: where Eddie is a lot a bit of a creep when it comes to Stevie Harrington, but wouldn't you know it, but she's kind of into it too?

A/B/O Rarity: Where the Alpha and Omega genes are incredibly rare, but with Steve's luck, he's one of the few people who's got it. He hides it for years, until he can't/doesn't want to anymore, especially after he meets Eddie, who is the only other person he's ever met who also has the gene.

Adventures in Babysitting: another A/B/O idea where Eddie is an older Alpha and needs a babysitter/nanny for his young son, and cue them meeting Steve, the incredibly hot, young Omega babysitter who immediately pings every box he's ever had.

As for a snippet, here's one from Teenage Dirtbag that's a wee little spicy.

Things changed again, after that. Stevie abandoned all her old friends, stuck by Nancy and Jonathon Byers of all people, the three of them looking haunted and weary in a way that stuck in Eddie’s mind like a splinter in his finger. Gone was the ice princess who roamed the halls of Hawkins High like royalty, and instead was a girl who looked like she had Seen Some Shit. Eddie knew that look. He saw it enough in the mirror when it was a bad night. 

And still, it didn’t wane. It got worse again, where Eddie pictured himself as some kind of black knight that would ride in and make everything better. He thought about getting her flowers. Or asking her if she wanted to go to one of his concerts and watch him play. Wondered if she would like having a picnic by the quarry, where he could get his hand up her skirt and kiss her and tell her that she was a supernova that had completely consumed him. 

But he didn’t. Maybe there was too much Munson in him, too much of a coward to try and reach out and touch the untouchable. Stevie Harrington was always going to be the pipe dream, even more than Corroded Coffin getting discovered and him hitting the big time. Especially because she was graduating, and Eddie was still stuck spinning his wheels in this lame-ass school because he couldn’t figure out how to get his head out of all of his imaginary fantasies.

She was probably going off to some rich-kid school on a coast somewhere. She’d probably find some blonde-haired blue-eyed guy named Chad or Kevin or something and get married, pop out kids and live in the suburbs. 

Until she didn’t leave. Until Eddie was fucking assaulted with the sight of Stevie Harrington in a tiny sailor’s uniform, slinging ice cream at the mall. That skirt was criminal, even more than the stupid tennis skirts she wore to school all the time. 

His thoughts took a turn for the worst, sitting outside Scoops Ahoy like an absolute asshole and just drooling over the thought of bending her over the counter. Thinking about pulling her into the freezer and fucking her until neither of them could move, her clawing at his back and pulling at his hair and telling him what a fucking freak he was. 

No pressure tags: @ghostinthelibrarywrites, @just-my-latest-hyperfixation, @marvel-ous-m, @devondespresso

I'm sure people have already been tagged, if you have, please poke me and I'll go take a look!

[welcometogrouchland]

Amphibia and The Owl House for the ask! also hope your stomach gets better :(

Yippee my shows!! Also yeah I feel better now I just had to lie down for a while and drink a lot of water 👍

For TOH:

The first character I first fell in love with: ooh that's a toughie! I binged the first season right before s2 started airing so my memories are fuzzy. Maybe...Lilith or Willow? Luz hadn't quite cemented herself as my fav until season 2 and subsequent rewatches

The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: probably Amity? I went into season 1 knowing she had a redemption but when I saw her in her first appearance it was on SIGHT. I really warmed up to her though over the course of the show, and now I enjoy her a lot! I'm proud of how far she's come. Also probably Caleb bc we knew so little about him at first that I didn't see how he could become a fan favorite for anyone. Then Hollow Mind happened and. You get it. OH WAIT LAST ANSWER FOR THIS- Camila! Not because I ever thought she was a bad mom but because I didn't think they'd give a parent character so much depth. I love what they did with her in seasons 2 and 3 so much

The character everyone else loves that I don’t: uhh maybe Belos?? In certain circles at least. Interesting guy but I don't have much fondness/affection for him, y'know? Or Alador. He's aight but clouds on the horizon made him a bit...flat, for me. Also this is less of a thing now but not too long ago BOSCHA oh my god. Ppl acting like the show not spending time on her was a failure like. Okay! Sure! Let's just say things now, ig! I much prefer what they did with her in ftf. It's not redemption exactly but it's acknowledgment that she's just a kid. A shitty kid but still

The character I love that everyone else hates: KIKIMORA MAN. I know I know I'm also mad they spent all of follies at the coven day parade building her up as potentially sympathetic only to steer away from that route again and again as if they changed their mind BUT. I fucking love this horrible fail creature. No backbone, no morals, no prospects, no bitches. Beefing with teenagers and exiled from her family home and place of business. Pathetic. Get her ass!!!

The character I used to love but don’t any longer: oh that's a complicated one. I know I also said she grew on me unexpectedly but the answer to this one might also be Amity. Not in the sense that I stopped liking her, but in the sense that other characters caught my attention more as time went on. Rip to Amity, still love u. I am just a Willow and Luz girlie

The character I would totally smooch: most of the women I am being real with you this show is overflowing with cute character designs

The character I’d want to be like: honestly? Eda. Yeah she's got problems and she's not the ideal mentor you'd expect but she's just such a cool confident older woman who doesn't let ppl control her life

The character I’d slap: I'd say Belos but that'd be too obvious (and rewarding). Instead imma say Boscha. This is not the right way to deal with highschool bullies but I do not care. This isn't about her. This is about me. And I wanna slap her just a wee bit. It's fine I'm not that much older than her I'm allowed to

A pairing that I love: sigh. Hubtlow

A pairing that I despise: b*schlow. Bully/victim ships I hate thee. Loathe thee, even. Also I definitely don't despise it but can I please stop getting l*nter jump scared. I don't go there let me out. Stop putting it on my feed

NOW FOR THE FROG SHOW AHAHA!!!

The first character I first fell in love with: unsure tbh! Maybe Polly but I know she definitely wasn't as violent/funny at the beginning of the series. Probably Anne or (depending on how fast I binged, I cannot remember) maybe Sasha

The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: Anne or Sasha I think! Both start off as like. Semi-unlikeable characters (Sasha more so than Anne), which I appreciate now in retrospect, but at the time I couldn't picture myself getting as invested in them as I got. Also. How would you guys feel if I said andrias (I DIDN'T WANNA LIKE HIM. EVEN WHEN HE WAS BEING A JOLLY GOOFBALL I KNEW THE OTHER SHOE HAD TO DROP AND I WAS PREPARED TO HATE HIM. AND THEN THEY INTRODUCED DARCY AND GAVE US THIS NEW DYNAMIC AND CONTEXT AND JUST. MAN!!!)

The character everyone else loves that I don’t: okay, it's not that I don't love her, but Marcy is definitely my least fav in the calamity trio. Again, not because I dislike her, I just like Anne and Sasha a lot more, y'know?

The character I love that everyone else hates: tbh I'm not in the fandom enough to know who is and isn't hated. Was Sasha ever hated? Maybe by some but idk

The character I used to love but don’t any longer: don't think this one really applies to anyone in amphibia? A weird one that kinda matches is I used to think valeriana was like. Mysterious and cool and then they didn't do much with her after the second temple and I was like. She's just kinda there now, huh?

The character I would totally smooch: IDK MAN THE SHOW IS 90% FROGS AND PRETEENS!!!! I AM NOT KISSING THEIR ASSES THEY ARE SLIMY (THE PRETEENS INCLUDED!)

The character I’d want to be like: again, 90% of them are frogs or preteens. Maybe Anne? I like how far she's come and how far she's still willing to go at the end, turning down ultimate power in the name of keeping the world safe and staying with the people she loves. Also I want cool anime powers /j

The character I’d slap: Sasha but only if it was s1-s2 Sasha bc I love her and I feel like she needs it. Girl. Get a grip

A pairing that I love: hehehe sashanne <3

A pairing that I despise: DON'T SHIP THE HUMAN GIRLS WITH FROGS. THAT FEELS LIKE THE EASIEST THING MAN!!!

[milfweirdal]

1 and 27

thank youoouou!

how did you first get into weird al?

when i was a wee child maybe like 9 or 10 my dad was like "hey listen to this guy called weird al yankovic hes really funny" and showed me the videos for amish paradise, like a surgeon, fat and eat it. and it was the funniest shit i ever saw. and then white and nerdy came out about a year later and it was just like. this might be the coolest guy who has ever existed. me and my brother were like casual weird al enjoyers throughout our teenage years - he was more into him than i was, though, which is very funny in retrospect. for the most part, i forgot he existed for a long time. then in december last year someone I follow reblogged that Germs live performance gifset and the rest is very recent history. autism activated. mission "be normal about that thing" definitively failed.

21. if you could say one thing to al, what would it be?

i would thank him for the fact that his fashion stylings and life philsophies have helped me give myself permission to be the unhinged queer rainbow-splattered 90s children's TV presenter that ive wanted to be all along - the importance of self-recognition through the other and so on.

[lassieposting]

You ever think about corrival deuce

And how he saw potential in an angry, reckless young man with a point to prove when all anyone else saw was a problem soldier

And how he took the time to earn the genuine affection and respect of the men under his command

And how he probably stood up with that young man at his wedding and fixed his uniform and told him "You'll do," when what he really meant was "You make me so very proud, and I love you"

And how he guided and moulded that potential into a general so formidable that bad guys still hesitate to face him 100+ years later

And how he probably cried when he heard about the murders, that brave boy and that sweet girl and the closest thing he would ever have to a grandchild

And how he worried when that boy came back different, came back wrong, and how he saw it coming a mile off when the stone cold killer who replaced his protégé deserted because he had nothing left to fight for

And how overwhelming his relief was when the boy came back a second time and was himself again, was funny and arrogant and cavalier again, and he never thought he'd miss the wee shite this much but he did, he did

You ever think about how he told his squad stories so often they all think they were there, can quote him exactly even years after they heard those stories for the last time

And how he watched them walk into the jaws of death a hundred times and come home laughing, and comforted them when they came back battered and bloodied and supporting a limp, lifeless body between them, and each time blamed himself for the loss of another brave soldier because they were his, his responsibility, his team, his boys

And how the war ended, and he found that he liked crosswords and cake and colourful waistcoats and watching his boys live their lives like they deserved to all this time

And how he took on the one that was floundering the most and taught him all he knew and spent a hundred years trusting him with everything he had, so proud that he was following in his footsteps, never thinking that he might ever betray him

And how he died, with an evil little scrap of darkness crawling out of his throat and a pool of blood for a pillow in the featureless corridors of a sterile facility, with those golden eyes staring down at him with what might be horror

You ever think about corrival deuce

and how in a bustling city built on his broken skull, a city he should've seen but didn't, a city he should've lived in but never could, there's a grand building with his name full of teenagers he's never met who don't even know who he was

While in a pretty, peaceful dublin cemetery, far from that city full of betrayal and deceit, there's a plot with a simple headstone where for some bizarre reason the ground grows flowers throughout the year, where sometimes a passing mortal might see a tall, thin man in a suit - a different man, each time - watch a sudden breeze blow leaves and dust from the headstone

You ever think about corrival deuce and how he deserved better

because i do

[summerofpinecestcontest]

My Pinecest

by angelilith

The right words," was the last thing he had said to her.

"You don't measure your words, you don't use the right words and even less to express what you feel."

But what precisely was it that he felt? If he dug deep inside his mind he felt the sweat on his hands the moment he opened the locker, his heart racing and in the end he just dropped his head inside it to lose himself in his garbage.

The days had been long, especially amidst the questions of all the curious as to why the surprise breakup with her boyfriend Demian had not been so formal but after a couple of months things were shaky between them. Or according to him, between herself.

Mabel was drowning between the corridors thinking if someone perhaps, could also think the same as he did. Although they had made an agreement that they would say it was a mutual decision, she knew it wasn't, that Demian had his reasons, his good reasons for ending it all, as much as he loved her, and that she claimed to feel the same way. To him, it was a lie.

She never measured her words, much less her feelings.

Worst of all is when that anguish could not even appear at home, from being seen between curious eyes, to that of his parents or his brother who also wondered the same thing. She could go through stray bullets of uninteresting questions and issues, in teenage matters as her mom excused, but with Dipper things were different.

Where were her feelings? She wondered over and over again in the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning in her bed, seeing if it was right to send a message to Demian, if talking to him again would help. Who else but she could help her in those wee hours of the morning? Where it seems like everyone is asleep, and she is the only stranger who is invaded by so many crazy ideas, and none of them seem to be right.

At that moment a soft knock on her door brought her out of it all, setting her phone aside, she shuffled her feet, finding her twin on the other side, full of worry.

- Are you all right? - He asked the moment he saw her

- Y- Yes... Why do you ask? I thought you were sleeping, by the time it's .....

- I can hear between the walls the noise that you make....

She lowered her head apologetically and wished him good night, trying to close the door, wanting to end that conversation quickly.

- Wait! - Quickly Dipper stopped the door - I couldn't sleep either, what happened at school?

- What do you mean? It's all good...

- I mean with Demian....

That question she had dodged it many times, more coming from her brother, where no matter what she would say, he would quickly realize that she would lie, and the truth at that moment even she didn't have it, because her now ex-boyfriend had only left her more doubts than something for granted, she didn't hate him or anything. But it wasn't right either.

- Only term...

- Just a term? That's all?

- Dip... I'm really tired, I really want to sleep...

- It didn't seem like a few minutes ago...! - His brother's voice grew louder with every word he uttered.

Dipper hated it when Mabel avoided him like that, when she wasn't honest with him, and even more so when something affected him and he couldn't help her, and this was one of those situations.

- Just go to sleep

- Answer me! Why don't you want to be honest with me?

- What do you care about this?

- You are not well, I have been feeling it for days and I want to help you!

- You help me by leaving me alone!

It was the last thing he said before Dipper gave up his arm and the door slammed shut.

Silence took over everything after that. Between Mabel's insomnia, and until the next day, during breakfast, class hours, lunch alone and now, just missing one more class before leaving.

She really wanted to just lie there in her locker without caring about the stares of others or the murmurs she could hear. She just wanted to survive a few more minutes and then get out of there.

She raised her head again, fixed her hair and looked for some books waiting to hear the bell.

No sooner had she closed her locker to stride forward to her classroom than footsteps stopped behind her.

- Mabel...

- Yes?

He turned to see his brother, it seemed that the last time he had seen him was last night in the midst of those screams, for he barely noticed his presence at breakfast.

- Sorry about yesterday...

- I should be the one to apologize, I didn't have to yell at you like that.

- No, I was meddling in your business....

Dipper's gaze was glued to the floor, he scratched his head nervously.

- Calm down silly, it's all right - I said while tapping him on his shoulder

- I know, I just think we need some time away from all this.

- Time out?

- Well, movie night, remember? We used to do it all the time. And I thought in a "peace accord" and before exams, some quiet would be great....

He slurred every word, sounded somewhat tense and avoided looking at her.

- Great, count me in

- Well... Well...

- I'll see you on the way out bro, we'll look for tons of junk food.

Mabel was whispering in his ear as the bell rang and they both headed to class.

On the way out, Mabel was looking for her things and leaving when she received a message from her brother, he would be a little late, he needed a book from the library for the weekend.

She went out to the parking lot looking for that gray car, a gift from her last birthday, but that lately Dipper ended up driving alone because she was going with Demian or taking the bus, like the last few days.

I needed to be alone at that moment.

I looked everywhere, seeing those who arrived and left quickly, or those who organized parties surrounded by several groups.

She didn't expect to see her ex before her brother, who approached her sweetly helping her, as her vehicle alarm went off.

Before he could hear her voice, a hail of gunshots rang out in the air, followed by screams, causing many to run everywhere, others to jump into their cars and speed off.

Mabel began to search through the crowd for her brother, calling out to him, but there was no answer. Demian grabbed Mabel pulling her away, but she insisted on staying.

The gunfire grew louder, and whoever was the perpetrator seemed to be approaching where they were.

- Let's go..! - Demian insisted

- No, I can't, Dipper was on his way, he might cross paths with him to look for me....

Demian was heard to grumble grumbling, it was nothing new to her.

Mabel struggled with the boy trying to get him to let her go in his "foolish" attempt to save her, but without any success, she had to give in.

Then we have to hide...

They both stood under the car, where they could only make out the feet of people coming and going.

Quickly the running came again, followed by more screams, and more gunshots. The shooter was right above them standing in front of the car. The tip of the rifle could be seen at his feet.

All Mabel could think about was where her brother was, Demian had pulled her so quickly that her backpack had been left on the hood of the car.

That person seemed to have chosen his point guard, he turned on himself over and over again while raising his weapon. The minutes just below their feet became eternal for both of them, Mabel's breath hitched not knowing what to expect and she could only console herself by holding the hand of the man who had been her boyfriend.

At that moment the sirens were heard, there were several patrol cars approaching, that guy looked nervous, but he raised his rifle again and charged it.

Letting hear a dry gunshot plummeting in front of both young men.

She let out a scream and Demian pressed her against him, waiting for someone to get them out of there.

Dipper took longer than he thought to get a damn book out for his report, no matter how advanced the internet was, many professors still liked to screw around with mandatory library bibliography for their papers.

He looked at his phone in search of a response from Mabel, but there was none, she was probably upset, leaning on the edge of the car with her arms crossed and a somewhat mocking look on her face.

As soon as he got it sealed so he could take it with him, he hurried his pace, but before he reached the door he saw many people running in shouting to close the doors.

"They're shooting outside!"

He was in disbelief when he tried to run out to look for his sister, but they stopped him by slamming the door in his face.

- The police are on their way, we must keep the students safe.

- Many were left out! - shouted Dipper

- If the armed subject enters here it could be much worse.

Some teachers separated the kids and led them in groups to the gymnasium, some nervously crying as they flagged down their parents to pick them up. Others were checking social media to see if there were any intrepid kids recording them live outside. Dipper, on the other hand, looked again and again at the exit door.

Although at first he had been positive to find his sister in the incoming crowd, he was discouraged at first, then dialed her several times in a ringing tone that exasperated him even more.

He didn't want to jump to conclusions, he was afraid to jump to conclusions that his worst fears would become real. He dialed again and again hoping to hear her voice, until the sirens stopped to the relief of many who were there.

Most parents and relatives had approached the school seeking the safety of the teenagers, or perhaps to make sure that their children were not among the number of children with serious injuries or deaths.

Dipper could hear as they said "there are five teenagers dead and over eight injured" those words had caused his whole body to shake and the insistence on the phone to return.

But only for a few minutes, when his mother's voice brought him out of his trance.

He stood up and hugged her tightly, for the look on her face reflected how frightened and worried she was. She would get him out of there, she would take him to Mabel.

At the front door, again, everything was surrounded by police, ambulances and yellow ribbons lining the street. Dipper ignored his mother, detouring his way to the parking lot. It wasn't too hard to miss Mabel's backpack on top of his gray car, as well as the fresh bloodstain on the ground right next to him.

He turned his eyes to his mother, waiting for answers, he knew she knew where his sister was.

- Come on Dipper - She repeated, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him towards her car.

He simply grabbed his backpack until he climbed into the vehicle, pulling his phone from inside with the thousands of calls on it.

- Where is Mabel?

- At home, she is fine

- Wounded? This wound?

- No

- Are you lying to me?

- Calm down, it's okay. Your father looked for her at the hospital...

- Hospital...

Something wasn't focusing on her mother's words, nothing gave her the security she felt, let alone peace of mind.

It took forever to get home, after passing a long line of cars on the way to school, cameras and other people who were just trespassing.

As soon as the woman parked, Dipper bolted out of the vehicle and ran to her house, turning the door handle down again and again, realizing it was locked. With the lights on inside.

Hearing the turn of the key, she saw her father on the other side, his eyes looked tired, he was still wearing the shirt he had put on in the morning, although she knew that he usually came home later, it was more than clear that he had gone out for "an emergency".

- You can calm down and be quiet," his father chirped.

Dipper took a big breath of air before stepping over the threshold of his home, seeing the living room surrounded by several pillows and blankets leaving him to notice his sister asleep on the edge of one of the couches.

Before he could run over her, he felt a gentle tug, from his father stopping his stride.

- Let her rest. She had a nervous breakdown, they took her to the hospital because they couldn't calm her down. And from there the school called me... She's still sedated...

- It's my fault," said Dipper, gritting his teeth. - If I had come out earlier...

- Don't say that son - She interrupted him - They are both fine and we are grateful for that...

- Well? - His eyes were beginning to water, for a few minutes before he had only tragedy in his head.

When the guy collapsed on the floor Mabel was sure she could see his eyes wide open along with the shot mark on a fully opened head.

Demian pressed her against his chest trying to avert his gaze as he crawled backwards trying to get out from under that vehicle.

- Don't worry, it's all over - I kept telling her over and over again.

She returned his embrace, wiping away her tears for the moment with the cuff of her sweater.

Police were approaching where the shooter's body was already lying, and others were approaching them.

- Are you all right? Ambulances are on the way

- We are both fine," said Demian, raising his hands in peace.

Mabel turned away from him looking around again and again.

- Dipper... Demian, I need to know where my brother is.

A policeman stopped her

- It is better that they stay where they are until some authority comes, there are several boys injured, and others dead. The best way to facilitate this is to stay out of our work.

- My brother was coming here before this started, he could be hurt...he could be....

- Mabel, they shot your brother! - shouted one of her companions who was being carried by a paramedic.

- No- no-no-no

She let go again trying to run, this time it was Demian who was pulling her to the ground to keep her still.

- You heard the officers, you may hinder their work if you interfere.

- What if he is injured?

- Look around Mabel, there are ambulances and others that will be arriving to help.

- And if this -

Demian just looked away, not knowing what to say...

- I have to see it for myself

- And what will that accomplish? You were going to risk your life just to look for Dipper, he can take care of himself too. He can take care of himself too. Can you?

She looked up at him, her lips trembling along with her whole body.

- I need to know where it is

Demian refused to let go of her no matter how hard she struggled, kicking or screaming. Even he couldn't recognize her under those situations.

She managed to attract the attention of the medical staff by forcibly assisting her.

After a few hours her father appeared at the hospital, taking her home, assuring her that everything was fine, that her brother would be home any minute. And although he repeated the same thing a thousand times, Mabel burst into tears, not believing anything as she hesitated, words without understanding, her face covered in tears.

For eternal minutes we both lay on the couch looking for something other than the news replaying the tragedy.

And before he could notice she was falling asleep surrounded by pillows and blankets.

Perhaps, when he wakes up he would be better off.

- It was just a scare - repeated the man, his son, giving a little peace of mind.

- Go take a shower, Dipper, and come on down. We'll wait for you here

Dipper looked at his parents and then at his sister who was sound asleep.

- She may not wake up until tomorrow, she'll be fine.

He climbed up at a slow pace while he thought about every action before that "accident" and reviewed everything in reverse, until he reached the moment of the fight.

He watched the half-open door to her room, before entering the bathroom and losing himself in the shower for a few minutes.

If I had done something different... Maybe things would be different. But in a good way?

Once downstairs, everything seemed to have calmed down.

Still, no amount of talk, no amount of questions could undo the knot she felt in her chest. Both parents' attempts were in vain.

After a few hours her father tried to carry Mabel upstairs, and she began to whimper, moving around and getting rid of him no matter what he said. Falling back onto the couch. covering herself under the blankets.

- And so it has been since he arrived," sighed the man.

- Can I - Can we stay here?

Asked Dipper stumbling over the words.

- Are you sure?

- You said it, we're fine...

Soon the lights went out and he lay on the sofa bed next to his sister.

He wasn't tired, but he wanted to give his parents some peace of mind, until they went to their room.

He waited a few minutes before crawling right to where Mabel stood whispering her name over and over again.

Suddenly hands came out from under the blanket colliding with her face, giving her small, slow caresses that made her heart race.

All a breath of air before discovering her removing the blanket and seeing a face drenched in tears, as she whimpered almost silently so no one would hear

- Hey, what's going on?

He moved closer to her who jumped up grabbing him by the collar, pulling him onto the couch beside her.

Dipper returned the embrace listening as she continued to cry.

- All is well. You are fine.

- You're here - She stammered

- I don't want to be anywhere else

- But someone said you were hurt...

- No- No, I'm fine look at me

Mabel forced a smile, unable to hold in all the pain, as she pressed herself closer to her brother's chest. Listening to his racing heart and how his arms pressed her tighter against him.

They were silent for a long time, no one dared to say anything. Their planned night was left in absolute darkness.

- Are you asleep?

- Demian told me the same thing again, the same words of the breakup....

- Were you with him?

- It was just a coincidence, the shooting started the second he crossed my path.

Mabel slurred every word. She was lying on top of her brother watching a muted television while he slowly played with her hair.

- He wanted to get away from it all, he dragged me along trying to get us to escape... but I couldn't abandon you.

- I was inside the school... it took longer than I thought in the library, I'm sorry...

- I wasn't going to abandon you, Dipper...And that bothers him.

- Wait... They broke up because of me? What?

- No, no... that's not it....

- What did Demian tell you?

- Your safety and your well being really matter a lot to me Dipper, I don't know what I would do if something happened to you.

- What did Demian tell you, Mabel?

- If only you could feel half the love you have for your brother with me... No matter what you tell me, no matter what you deny me, you don't measure your words Mabel and much less your feelings... And we ended up with

Dipper felt some of the air escaping from his lungs, his hands trembling.

- What are you talking about?

- In the hallways some spit a "weird" Demian is not bad, but....

- Are you wrong?

- I don't know, what do you think?

- That I didn't deserve you

He let out a slight chuckle causing his sister to stand up to face him a little surprised.

- What do you feel, Mabel?

- I don't know...

- Well, do you want to know how I feel? A few hours before I was so afraid that something was going to happen to you, I yelled to my mom hoping they would tell me about you. I had seen blood near the car and just thought the worst. You are my best friend in the whole world. And when I saw you okay, it was like being able to breathe calm again, I don't care what anyone else says, what Demian says. Wrong or not I care about you too much too, I would die if anything happens to you. I love you too much that many times I just hope to come home and see you. I just want to see you well, and I want you to be happy with someone, anyone, who can understand you with all you are....

Before he could speak any further he felt Mabel's lips on his, and before she could pull away he moved in closer deepening the kiss, letting his tongue enter his sister's mouth, feeling her breathing begin to quicken.

As soon as they parted they looked at each other somewhat surprised, but he was holding her hand and she was holding his face.

- Today you are all I need. You're all I want

The pieces fit together of how Mabel avoided him at times, how he really felt weird in the face of indifference, but they couldn't, no matter how much they wanted to, be apart for long.

And that early morning, both of them piled up on the couch proved it.

How their hands searched for each other at the same time as those longed-for embraces, and little kisses between dreams.

In the morning everything was totally silent. Her parents had gone out earlier.

Dipper was slowly opening his eyes, his whole body ached from how uncomfortable the two-person couch was, but Mabel didn't even seem to notice.

As soon as he tried to free himself, she woke up.

Her half-open eyes and a somewhat blank stare resembled his.

As good as everything had turned out, the last few hours left him with a raw hangover of honesty and reality.

Although at times they preferred to ignore it all by tidying up the mess in the living room. Facing each other at the breakfast table, it was hard to pretend there was nothing there.

He was the first to react by taking her hand to get her attention.

- Last night...

- It's okay... I think it was an impulse, we were nervous about what happened.

- What did you tell me about Demian?

- Just forget it Dipper

What else could be done? They couldn't just stop being siblings overnight, or start a relationship easily.

They tied a noose around their hands struggling with their feelings and doing the right thing. Fears arose at the mere thought that if they assumed their impulses the rest was uncertain and unsafe.

Would they take the risk and could their parents tolerate it?

They both looked on, their tired eyes forming. Maybe this way, without words, without actions they could understand that they should finish something that had never started.

For the best towards each other.

Mabel picked up his plate and went up to his room, and he only listened to the footsteps until his door closed, before holding his head in both hands, resigned, tormented with so many feelings that he couldn't even digest one.

He loved her so much, so much not to drag her down with him.

The whole scare to death just made everything I was feeling worse.

He understands that he was not losing her, they would simply take the distance that needed to be taken, she would never leave his side, would she?

He walked to his room, he would just let the hours pass, let time settle everything. For all he had in his head were bad choices.

But before she buried herself in her only shelter the door next door slowly opened revealing her sister.

- Aren't you going to tell me anything anymore?

Her words were full of fear, her crystalline eyes stared at him without wanting to turn a millimeter away.

- What do you want me to say?

- The first thing on your mind

- I love you

[mortedeveles]

Model For Me

Summary: Y/N has always been a timid, awkward person and artist when it comes to social interactions and it only gets worse when she asks her crush and best friend, Katsuki Bakugou, to model for her. And not just any type of modelling; Y/N needs to do a composition of a nude male body. Luckily for her, Katsuki's personality is anything but shy and he doesn't hesitate to undress in front of her. It's for art, he says. But something tells Y/N that the boy has hidden and devious intentions. 

Genre: fluff, humor, suggestive content (a wee bit of NSFW themes)

TW: cursing, sexual themes, nudity.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!artist!reader

HERE: PART ONE

PART TWO.  PART THREE.  PART FOUR. PART FIVE. PART SIX. 

a/n: this was originally going to be a oneshot but it was too long to be 1 oneshot, so the chapters will be rather short (1k-2k) but all of it together would be too long for a oneshot so it’s staying as a short story. i have two pointers for this short series!

1- reader is not white in this oneshot!  (i don’t specify reader being white in others, but skin color isn’t usually mentioned) (i’m using the term poc since i’m not sure what else to use) nationality or ethnic background won’t be stated so feel free to employ your own! this isn’t really relevant tbh but i just wanted to clear it up in case someone got confused.

2- reader’s best friend here is Aneko! i would’ve used (F/N) but it would have been more troublesome so i decided to name the friend! 

 enjoy!!

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles. Do not repost, plagiarize, or read my fanfiction without my permission. 

''This month's assignment is human anatomy,'' your teacher stated. She walked around in the cramped classroom, holding a beautifully drawn painting of the nude female body to her chest. 

Even though your classes weren't high end or expensive, you were still at awe at how talented your teacher was, especially since the classes were held in a small recreational center that was on the poor end. Since the classes were cheap, you would've thought that the art teacher would be inexperienced or an amateur. Sometimes you wondered how an artist like her didn't have more recognition.

''Since I'm familiar with all of your abilities and weaknesses, each of you will have a specific kind of rules,'' she said. She passed the papers around the rectangular table and once you got your hands on your copy, your face paled.

The bold words GENDER: MALE stared back at you as you swallowed nervously.

While you weren't shy or timid around the opposite gender, having to sketch a naked guy with his dick out sounded... unpleasant.

Your eyes only widened as you continued to read the rest of the rules.

The assignment must be done in a live session with the model, do NOT use images or any other type of resources.

Male must have a muscular and athletic body.

Preferably, the model should be in a position in which they are using their quirk. 

Medium: charcoal.

The model must be drawn with the background as well. This assignment also includes a linear perspective. 

You slowly raised your hand as you bounced your thighs nervously with the tip of your toes. The teacher raised an eyebrow and beckoned you to speak.

''Ma-Ma'am, is it necessary to do the assignment with a nude male model? Can I change it?'' You said nervously.

You could hear your friend snicker beside you and you elbowed her in the stomach without glancing, keeping your eyes on the art teacher. A soft 'ouch!' was heard from your left. 

She sighed in response and stared at you through her glasses.

''Yes, Y/N. Everyone received different requirements. I will revise the progress every three days and I expect the project to be done by the end of the month. Remember that this assignment won't be done in class, so try your best and remember to use your knowledge to your advantage.''

You nodded and ducked your head, swallowing nervously. Who would you even ask to model for you? Money was tight at the moment, you were too broke to hire a model. And besides, most of your money would go to the art supplies you needed to restock on for the assignment.

''Aww, is the baby too shy to see a guy naked?'' your friend's teasing voice made you snap back to reality. Pouting, you turned to face her evil grin and stick out your tongue at her.

''Shut up, Aneko... I'm not shy! I've just never...well...'' you stammered, fiddling with your hands.

Aneko smiled smugly in response as she lowered her head to meet your nervous gaze,

''Never what...?'' 

You shook your head in response, refusing to admit that you'd never seen a naked guy. Scratch that, you had, through a screen of course, but being in the same room as a naked guy...? Nope. Hell, it was a rare occasion for you to be alone in a room with a boy. But staying with a naked boy?! You sighed. You can already feel the headache forming. 

The teacher's firm voice snapped you out of it. ''Very well. The class is over. I'll see you all next week. Have a great weekend!'' 

Everyone rose from their seats, stashing away their art supplies and heading out of the small classroom. You stayed behind with your best friend Aneko, chatting about nonsense.

''So, who are you going to ask model?'' she said casually, stuffing her can of spray inside her ratty backpack.

''I don't know...'' you mumble. ''I don't really think I'm close enough with any guy to ask him to model for me...''

''Don't say that!'' Aneko chided. ''Well.. there is one person you can ask....'' she grinned at you as the two of you walked out of the classroom.

You furrowed your eyebrows at her words. Who was she talking about? From all the boys you knew, someone who was a male had an athletic build and a flashy or useful quirk, you'd say it would be...

Katsuki Bakugou.

Suddenly, you froze in the middle of the hallway. Aneko raised her eyebrows and she stopped as well, questioning your actions.

Thank god for your dark skin, otherwise, Aneko would've noticed you were blushing. She tugged your hand and urged you forward. But nope, once his name had surfaced, you were frozen. Thoughts of undressing your friend Katsuki were all over your mind, making you feel more flustered with every passing minute. 

''Y/N, is something wrong? Why are you...'' she trailed off and her voice died down. But a devious grin rose from her lips and something told you that she knew exactly what you were thinking.

''Ohhh. Naughty Y/N! You're thinking about him, aren't you?! Asking Bakugou, your big, fat crush to be na-'' her next words were muffled violently as you pressed a hand against her mouth and with the other one, grabbed her ear and dragged her out of the run down the recreational center. 

Aneko was screeching in protest, but her noises were muffled by your hand, keeping a firm grip around her. Once the two of you were outside of the center and no one was around to hear, you dropped your hand, grimacing when you saw that Aneka had tried biting you. Several times.

''Ouch, ouch! Why'd you do that?'' she grumbled, rubbing her sore ear.

''Don't say that when we're in public!'' you hissed, rubbing your warm cheeks.

''Even though he's still a student, Katsuki Bakugou gets a lot of attention from the media! Not to mention, I'm a U.A student too! If someone heard a word of this, who knows what they would've done with it! I don't want to be part of a teenage scandal!"

''Sorry...'' your friend mumbled as she glanced towards the ground. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

''It's okay, Anne, just please be more careful next time,''

Aneko smiled sheepishly and gave you a thumbs up. You smiled and shook your head in disbelief and the two of you began to walk home.

''Do you really think I should...ask Katsuki to model for me?'' you blurted out. Aneko shot you a glance as the two of you crossed the road and continued walking forwards.

''I think Bakugou is the type of person that will never back down from a challenge,'' your friend said. ''And besides, he'll probably agree so you don't ask another guy to strip for you. He'll get really mad.'' she snickered.

You gasped and you felt the familiar warmth travels across your face. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you shook your head in denial and frowned.

''No he wouldn't!'' your voice was a pitch higher and what was intended to be harsh, ended up sounding like a harmless squeak. 

Your friend laughed loudly and her laughter turned into relentless wheezing as she bent over her knees and leaned against the wall. Her lips were quirked upwards and her eyes danced with amusement.

''It's so funny seeing you all riled up when I mention your crush,'' she cooed.

Scowling, you stomped away and you were so angry that fumes were basically rolling off your body. You could hear Aneko's joyful laughter as she picked up her speed and caught up to you. 

You were frowning deeply with your arms crossed, gaze focused anywhere but your cruel, cruel friend.

''Come on babe, don't get upset! You know I say it because I know it's true!'' there was a hint of pride and smugness in her last sentence, making you stop dead in your tracks and point a finger at her.

''You don't know that. He'd never like me...'' you mumbled. ''I'm too awkward and a dumbass to be with someone as confident and loud as him,''

The hope in your heart was quickly extinguished when you realized she was merely joking. Huffing, you shook your head and grabbed her by the ear, dragging her all the way home, though she kept complaining and whining the entire time. 

''Don't you get it?'' the look in her eyes was sincere. Slowly, you could feel a hint of hope growing in your heart. ''You guys are a perfect combination!''

''He's a tough and strong grunting caveman and you may be a dumbass, but you're his dumbass,'' she cooed. ''He'll protect you from anything!''

''Please don't tease me a lot of that,'' you spoke up once you had reach your door. Your gaze drifted to your doorknob. ''I know you don't mean any harm but...it just makes my hopes get up. And in the end, it never works out. And I just get myself hurt for no reason.'' You smile at Aneko's pained expression and opened your door.

''I'll see you later, Anne. Take care and don't forget to text me once you get home, okay?''

Your friend nodded mindlessly and walked away, sending you a final wave. You waved back, smiling softly. Once she was out of your sight, you closed the door and leaned against it. With your phone in your hands, you shakily texted a risky message.

Katsuki had been your friend since the beginning of U.A, since you were quick to befriend him, despite his violent and rude attitude. You didn't mind. It was funny and endearing seeing him react to the smallest of things.

Y/N: hey katsuki, can you stay behind after school tomorrow? i have something to ask you.

Once you had hit SEND, you threw your phone on your couch, a giddy smile on your face as you spun and looked like a clown for a few moments until you calmed down. Sending the message had sent a surge of adrenaline and confidence into your heart. 

Maybe Aneko was joking, but if you were up to the task, you could get closer to Katsuki. And if you were lucky, you'd score a date with him. 

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles. Do not repost, plagiarize, or read my fanfiction without my permission.

[myhauntedsalem]

Funeral Home Workers Describe The Creepiest Thing They’ve Witnessed On The Job

1. Corpse sits up all by itself

“My neighbor awhile back before I moved was a mortician. One night he had a body he was preparing for a very early morning wake or service (whatever was going on, it was unusual, and it required him to work into the wee hours of the morning on this particular corpse).

So as he’s working on it, he turned his back to grab some tools or supplies, and the angle he was standing at with regard to the corpse left the body visible just out of the corner of his eye.

As he was looking down at whatever tools he was getting, in the corner of his eye he saw the body slowly start to sit up.

His fight/flight instinct immediately kicked in, and he ran to the stairs as fast as he possibly could, but he was so clumsy trying to get up the stairs he tripped and was pretty much crawling and clawing his way to the top.

He was just near the top before his senses finally came back, and he knew it was rigor mortis. He collected himself and started to laugh at how absurd it all was.

He had been doing this for 15 to 20 years at that point, and he had never had a freak out like that before where instinct overtook knowledge and experience.

He actually sheepishly admitted he had to go clean himself because he had soiled his pants in the panic.”

2. Dead man holds on to medical technician

“I used to work in tissue recovery. My least favorite part was prepping a donor for recovery, as it included shaving the arms/legs. Once, we had a donor who was very freshly deceased. I held his hand to shave his arm, and his fingers curled around my hand as rigor mortis set in.

That was exceptionally creepy.”

3. They groan as they are moved

“If the deceased have a lungful of air, then moving them causes it to release. When the air travels through their throat, you get some minor vocalization, but it’s usually just a liquidy gurgle. It still gets me sometimes, though, if I’m working alone.”

4. Lights flicker every time a new body is brought in

“I’m a nurse, and the only place I’ve ever seen the lights flicker is just outside the morgue. They are fine almost all of the time but when we bring a body down the lights always flicker. Really creeps me out.”

5. A body shivers in the presence of a living one

“I was filling out paperwork over one of the bodies while working late when it shuddered. Never saw that before or after, no explanation.”

6. Funeral home lights go on and off by themselves

“I’ve only experienced something one time and that was around 10PM, after two years with no activity at the location. I had turned all the lights off in the chapel, and when I went to check the casket door, the lights turned back on. I was nowhere near the switch.”

7. Ceremonial doves are devoured by hawks

“I’m a funeral director/embalmer and I have seen… just so many bad funerals. One that really stood out was the time that a family released doves in a rural cemetery, after being told not to, and a hawk ripped one to pieces.”

8. A woman with a glass eye requested it be left open for her service

“I was a part-time funeral director’s assistant. We once had an elderly woman with a glass eye who requested it be kept wide open for the service. Gave me a hell of a fright when I saw her in her casket.”

9. Man has his dead dog waiting for him at funeral home

“My mother worked in a funeral home. One day, she was asked to go up in the attic to look for some old records, and came across a baby coffin. She went to move it with her foot, and could tell it wasn’t empty. Immediately went back downstairs and asked the director about it.

Apparently it’s a client’s embalmed dog that’s being stored until he dies, so that they can be buried together upon his death.”

10. Identical twin shows up to funeral in the same outfit as his deceased brother

“My mom works in the funeral business. Sometimes I would come to work with her and help her set up the chapel for a service.

One service in particular was of a little boy who drowned. His parents dressed his identical twin brother in the same outfit as him for the funeral.”

11. Funeral workers dress as clowns for a funeral

“We had a clown one time. This person was buried in full clown costume with makeup and all.

At the family’s request, the funeral directors were clowns too. They supplied costume and did our makeup. Family and friends had one teardrop painted on near the eye.”

12. Funeral tech is asked to clean eyes that aren’t there

“One of the creepiest for me was having to clean a gentleman up…I was supposed to clean his eyes, as well.

Opened those up only to see two empty sockets. No eyes. Apparently, it was a post-autopsy embalming.”

13. A man punches a corpse while paying his last respects

“I worked at a funeral home for a while when I was a teenager. After an open casket viewing a man came in saying he wanted to pay his respects privately. No big deal, that is fairly common.

We led him into the viewing room, opened up the casket and told him to take his time.

A couple of minutes later we’re sitting in the office and hear a really loud popping sound, followed by running and the door slamming.

We ran into the viewing room and the deceased’s mouth was hanging open and the skin was odd looking. The best we can figure is that he punched the guy and took off”

14. Woman tries to steal her child’s body during the funeral

“I have a sad one from a funeral director’s perspective. Separated parents were mourning the loss of their toddler at the visitation before the funeral. The mom was grieving unlike any mother I’ve seen grieve over the loss of a child – almost fake.

She proceeded to pick up the deceased child, “hide” him in her coat, and walked out the door when no one was looking.

The other funeral director I work with found the mom running to her car where he stopped her and grabbed the kid. We found out two months later that the mother and her new boyfriend had physically abused the kid.”

15. Decomposition so bad, that cremation was only viable option

“A man was brought into us after lying dead in his garage for 3 weeks in the summertime. He was covered in bugs, his skin was black and green, and the skin sloshed right off the bone. I couldn’t do anything for that case, he was cremated.”

16. Woman’s hair and nails keep falling out

“We were prepping and washing the body of a 90 year old woman. One of her toenails fell off, and the hair on her head kept falling out. It took a good 3 hours to get her hair put back in one strand of hair at a time to make it look acceptable.”

17. A man brings his new girlfriend to his wife’s funeral

“Both my parents are funeral directors. At one service, the wife of an older gentleman had passed away. The widower showed up to the funeral with his new girlfriend who was much younger and was wearing a very revealing outfit.

Whenever the husband would begin to cry, the girlfriend would bring his head to her bosom to comfort him while stroking his hair.

Shortly after the ceremony ended, the husband asked one of the funeral directors about the flowers from the funeral.

He wanted to know if he could take them with him for the wedding he was having that weekend with his new fiancé.”

[talicat713]

It’s Positive (1/4)

Jax Teller x reader

Part One

**GIF NOT MINE CREDIT TO: @barnes-and-parker and @charliehunnnamm​**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Positive Masterlist

A/N: Hi all.  This is my first Jax story.  This will have four parts which all will be posted this week (hopefully!)  Wanted to thank @rebel-without-cause-x for getting me hooked on SOA.

Warnings: language, pregnancy, childbirth, labor, brief breastfeeding, 

Taglist: @rebel-without-cause-x  @chibsytelford

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jax had known each other for years. You were like a daughter to most of the men in the MC, but mostly Tig. Your father had taken a bullet for him, and he promised to protect you for the rest of his life.

You had been in love with Jax for a while. But in the beginning he saw you as just his best friend. He was always preoccupied with the club and whatever girl he was sleeping with. He did however still make time for you once a week to hang out and have movie nights.

You weren’t around when he was with Tara as a teenager. You and your father rolled into Charming soon after. You were the one to help pick up the pieces from that failed relationship, but he still slept with tons of women to get over the pain.

When he announced he was marrying Wendy, your heart shattered. It was right around the time your father had died and you were a mess. Jax had been there for you as much as he could, but you and Wendy didn’t get along. Drugs had killed your mother at a young age, so you knew all the signs of an addict. When Wendy pushed him away from you, you turned to Opie.

You and Opie had a small fling after that. Jax was a little jealous. He had never had to share you with any other guy because you never dated. It wasn’t because you didn’t want to, you were so hung up on Jax and Tig did EVERYTHING in his power to scare every guy away from you. Eventually, you and Opie broke things off, so he could be with Donna, but stayed friends.

Jax and Wendy’s relationship was always messy. He had sent her to rehab a few times, but she never stayed. He filed for divorce after the last straw. You didn’t know that they had tried to rekindle their relationship until she showed up one day with a pregnancy test. Jax got scared and ran, so you made it your mission to help Wendy despite not liking her.

You tried really hard to keep her clean while she was pregnant, but it never worked. She had drugs hidden all over the house, so when you would take one stash, she would go to another. You and Gemma were the ones to find her on the kitchen floor bleeding. You instantly thought the worst. Gemma has sent you to go find Jax while she waited for the ambulance.

You were there when Jax saw his son for the first time. The tears in his eyes killed you, but he didn’t want comfort from you. That’s when you realized that Abel's doctor was Tara.

You sat at the hospital everyday just watching the baby. You had to admit that Jax having a baby made you a little excited. You had always wanted to be a mother, but having polycystic ovarian syndrome and an irregular cycle, you knew that might never happen. In the back of your mind you knew Wendy wasn’t going to be a constant mother figure in his life and Jax wasn’t going to be around as much, so you were determined to make sure that little boy had someone constant in his life.

When Jax brought Abel home and you were waiting with open arms to take care of him. That was when Jax realized he had feelings for his best friend. Jax never told you about his feelings, and he continued his relationship with Tara. The two ended up having a baby of their own, another boy, Thomas, who you also fell in love with.

But once Tara got overwhelmed with being a mother, being a doctor, and dealing with Jax and the club, she ran away again, leaving Jax with both kids. Jax had called you that night crying and you stopped everything you were doing to go be with him. That was the night you became a mommy to those little boys. He admitted his feelings soon after and you two started dating.

Jax asked you to be his old lady one day when you had brought the boys to visit him before a long run. He had been talking to the guys about asking you for a while. Asking Tig for his permission since he was the closest person you had as a father. Tig made sure to playfully grill him, but ultimately agreed. He had even given Jax the ring your birth father kept for you.

Seeing you walk over to him with both kids on your hips made his heart explode. He looked at the guys, silently telling them he was proposing right then and there. Once you got close to Jax, Chibs took the boys out of your arms and Jax got down on one knee.

“I knew from the moment I met you, that you were going to be in my life forever. It wasn’t until Abel was born that I realized my love for you was more than just friends. You’ve been by my side and have been my rock though out everything. I don’t know where I would be now without you darlin’. So what do you say, will you be my old lady forever?” Jax said as he smiled up at you. Of course, you said yes and one month later you had a small wedding.

That leads us to today, one year later. You were sat in Jax’s room in the clubhouse waiting for the results of the pregnancy test you just took. It had taken longer than you’d hoped to have a baby of your own. Jax could tell you were getting frustrated, but always reassured you it would happen when they least expected it and if it didn’t they had two beautiful boys.

You were taken out of your thought by the timer on your phone going off. Cursing under your breath, you looked over at the boys sleeping on Jax’s bed hoping not to have woken them. Sighing in relief, you got up from the bed and grabbed the test off of the desk. You started to cry when you saw the two very bold pink lines. You were pregnant, finally.

After you had composed yourself, you put the test in a plastic bag, then tossed it into the diaper bag on the floor. Grabbing the baby monitor, you walked out and shut the door quietly. Jax was over working on a bike so Tig was the only person in the clubhouse.

You stood next to him and wrapped him in a hug against the bar. “Hey doll, you feeling better?”, accepting your hug.

You chuckled,” I’m pregnant Papa Tiggy,” hugging him tighter.

Tig pulled out of the hug, complete shock and excitement on his face. He was about to start screaming until you cut him off,” I literally found out five minutes ago so Jax doesn’t know. Also, I have sleeping children down the hall, keep quiet.”

Tig pulled you back into a hug and kissed your head. He was so excited for you and your little family,” Oh doll, I’m so happy for you. When you gonna tell Jax and everyone? You know I’m terrible at keeping secrets.”

“I’ll tell Jax soon, but you have to promise not to tell anyone! Not even the ladies you sleep with,” you warned.

“My lips are sealed doll, I promise,” he replied, making the locking his lips and throwing away the key gesture.

You just smiled and pushed him playfully, then you noticed the time. It was time for church. You rushed to the club door standing in front of it so no one could get through. Jax walked over and kissed your lips, making the guys behind him roll their eyes.

“Hey darlin’ you're in my way,” Jax said while kissing you.

You pulled away,” I know I’m doing it on purpose,” you then pushed him back a little so everyone could see you,” I’ve got two sleeping babies in there. If ANY of you wake them up, I’ll cut ya!”

They all laughed a little and nodded, following you into the clubhouse. They all filed into the room as quiet as they could. You checked on the boys who were thankfully still asleep and then went about cleaning up around the clubhouse.

A little while later, everyone filed back out loudly, which you knew would wake the boys. Jax walked over to you grabbing your face in his hands,” You feeling any better baby? You're still pale.” You just nodded and pulled him into a hug. You hadn’t noticed Abel and Thomas come walking out of the room.

Chibs noticed the boys and ran over to pick them up. When he did his eyes widen at what Thomas was holding,” Uh Y/N what’s the wee lad holdin’?”

You turned to them and cursed under your breath, walking over to grab Thomas from him.

“Y/N? ,” Jax asked nervously.

Sighing as you turned to everyone,” It’s a pregnancy test,” everyone’s eyes widened curiously,” I didn’t want to announce it this way but... it’s positive. I’m pregnant.”

Cheers erupted in the room. Jax walked over to you, handing Thomas back to Chibs, then pulled you into the hallway. He grabbed your face in his hands again, “how long have you known baby?”

“Only a few hours, but I’ve suspected for a few weeks. I’m so sick and my boobs are sore. You're not mad I didn’t say anything right? I didn’t hear them get up and I shouldn’t have put the test in the diaper bag, knowing they both go in there,” you questioned panicking a little.

Jax then placed lips onto yours, “Darlin’ I’m so fucking happy I could scream it to the world,” he then placed his hand on your belly and smiled,” Just be happy Gemma wasn’t here. She’s going to be mad she wasn’t the first to know. Good thing, that’s where we are heading.”

Gemma knew something was up the minute you and Jax walked through the door. She brushed it off when she saw her grand babies. You managed to keep the secret until after dinner. You had just put the boys in their room to play for a while, then walked back into the kitchen to help Gemma do the dishes.

“What’s going on with you and Jax? I can tell you're keeping something from me,” Gemma asked curiously.

On cue, Jax walked into the kitchen, wrapped his arms around you resting them on your belly. Jax then looked up at his mom over your shoulder and smiled,” We’re havin’ a baby.”

Gemma gasped, then pulled you both into a hug, “Oh my babies, I’m so happy for you both!”

Jax smiled,” Thanks Mom.”

A week later, you made an appointment with the doctor. You dropped the boys off with Gemma and drove over to the hospital. Jax had left early in the morning so you hoped he remembered the appointment. When you pulled up do didn’t see him or his bike.

After filling out all the paperwork, they called you back into the exam room. As you were waiting for the doctor, you got a little emotional. You really wanted Jax to be there with you. A knock on the door brought you out of your thoughts. A nurse walked in stating there was a big blonde haired man with a biker vest demanding to come back to you. You rolled eyes and told her to let him back.

“Baby I’m so sorry I lost track of time. Wait, were you crying? What’s wrong? ,” he asked as he walked over and stood in front of you.

“I thought you weren’t coming. The doctor hasn’t been back yet,” you said as wiped your eyes looking down.

Jax grabbed your chin so you would look at him,” I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” as he placed his other hand on your belly.

After a few minutes, the doctor came back to go over everything with you, then they got the ultrasound ready. As you pulled up your shirt and laid back, Jax notices a slight swell in your belly. It almost looked like you had eaten too much, but he knew that it was your baby. He smiled and grabbed your hand.

“Mr and Mrs Teller, has anyone from your families ever had twins? ,” the doctor asked. You and Jax looked at each other wide-eyed, shaking your heads no.

“Well then congratulations, you are having twins. Looks like you're almost twelve weeks along. Let’s take a listen to the heartbeats shall we,” the doctor continued.

You were speechless and scared. You were going to have four kids under the age of five. Jax sensed your nervousness and have your hand a squeeze. Then the sound of a heartbeat played through the machine, and then another heartbeat. You and Jax looked at each other, tears filing both your eyes.

Once the doctor finished, she left the room to send the nurse back in to schedule the next appointment.

“Fucking twins Jax,” you exhaled running a hand through your hair.

Jax stood up and kissed you, but was cut short by the nurse from earlier. She scheduled your next visit and handed you an envelope. Inside were a few pictures of your little babies inside you. Jax took one and placed it in the pocket of his Cut.

“We will be fine darlin’. You're the best mom in the world, and we have world's best grandma in our corner as well,” he said as he helped you off the bed.

“Now where was I,” he said, pulling you into a kiss, placing his hands on your belly again. You smiled into the kiss. Jax always knew the right things to say to make you not worry.

(posted 07/13/2020)

[thesassenachswiftie]

Lover - Chapter 8: “Me!”

Read on AO3

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7

Summary: Jamie and Claire are finally reunited!! We left our lovers under the bleachers, where Claire whispered "take me home." I'm sure you can imagine where this is going. 🔥

Notes:Thanks so much for reading and bearing with me through all the angst!! If you have issues with smut, maybe skip this chapter (the very beginning and very end are safe, but not much in between). 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 Follow me on Twitter (sassenachswifty) because I need more friends on there.

Chapter 8: Me!

In spite of the chill in the air, Jamie felt warm for the first time in months.  He had been living in winter and Claire was his summer--returned to him after their time apart. Somewhere in the distance, a teenager reluctantly shouted “strike the band up...1,2,3”; from the sound of it, the game had ended and the marching band was playing the crowd out. They had already made their way to the parking lot and arrived there before the throng, Jamie’s arm firmly planted around Claire the whole time. Jamie didn’t ever want to let her go again. He opened his car door for her in the parking lot and winced to let her go for the few moments it took to walk around the car to the driver’s seat. Once inside the car, he planted his right hand firmly on her left.  He never let go for the entire ride back to his apartment, caressing her hand gently with his thumb and stealing glances at her at every stop light. He could still hardly believe she had come back to him. He never wanted to see her walk away again. The last time they had been in a car together she wouldn’t let him touch her--would they have even been apart if she had? Having that physical connection made open and honest conversation easier between them. “Claire, are you really here? Are you really mine?”

“Jamie, when you ran after me and called my name, that was it for me. I couldn’t run away again; I couldn’t leave well enough alone even if I wanted to. I don’t know what it is between us. It’s not usual. It’s different.”

“Aye, I ken what you mean, Sassenach.” he briefly pulled the hand he’d been holding to his lips, kissing just under the knuckles.

Claire laughed gently, “one of these things is not like the others” she chanted, smirking.

“Well, there’s a lot of lame guys out there” he chucked back to her. “Babydoll, when it comes to a lover I promise that you’ll never find another like me.” Jamie was beaming, his world felt like a rainbow with all of the colors now that his Claire, his sorcha, his light was back in his life.

“Mmm… I don’t doubt it.” She closed her eyes, picturing just the kind of lover he was, grinning and blushing as she imagined where they would end up this evening. “I don’t doubt it one bit.”

           When they arrived in the driveway below his apartment Jamie was again remiss to let go of Claire’s hand to exit the car. Immediately, their arms were around each other again as they made their way up the narrow staircase to Jamie’s above-garage apartment. As soon as they closed the door behind them, Jamie grabbed Claire’s curly mane and brought her lips to his own, kicking off his shoes as he did so and guiding her into the studio apartment towards his bed. Their lips only separated to pull clothing over heads in a whirlwind of passion--a coat on the floor in the entryway, a shirt draped over the kitchen chair, a pair of jeans strewn across the coffee table, Claire’s bra discarded on an end table. Panting, they arrived at the bed where Claire sat and peeled off her skinny jeans and underwear before assisting Jamie in stripping off his boxer briefs. He stood before her beside the bed and she lay back. For a moment, they stared at each other, taking in the sight of each other's naked bodies, comparing them with their memories of a month ago. Jamie was the first to break the silence. “Sassenach, I’m bewitched by you--completely under your spell.”

           Claire reached up for his forearm, pulling him down on top of her, “Mmm… Spelling is fun” she cooed, pulling him in for another impassioned kiss. She wrapped her legs around his waist and they began rubbing against each other’s most sensitive areas. Claire had been so deprived of pleasure in the past month, she felt that just this simple action could be enough to take her over the edge. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Jamie felt the same, feeling just how much he wanted her against her.

           “Christ Sassenach”, he whispered in her ear, moving to kiss her earlobe, and down her neck. He adjusted his position to keep himself from finishing too soon, allowing her to rub on his strong thigh instead as his lips made their way to her breasts. He kissed and sucked each nipple generously, settling to work on the right one while his left hand caressed the other.  He devoured her skin ravenously; this was a meal he hadn’t had in a month and it was more delectable than he remembered. After satisfying both her breasts, her nipples engorged and erect, he continued kissing down to her stomach, her hips, her thighs, her inner thighs. He knew he was teasing her, but every inch of her skin was missed and delicious to him, he wanted to savor every bit of her. Feeling Jamie explore these untouched places caused Claire to involuntarily giggle, the scruff of his chin and delicate caress of his tongue tickling those sensitive spots. “I will never tire of your wee noises, Sassenach”

           “I do not make wee-e-e, oo- oo- oo--” Claire’s protestations were interrupted by Jamie’s mouth finally making its way to that bundle of nerves she had been anticipating for what simultaneously felt like moments and eons. Claire panted and hummed as he sucked and licked, knowing just when to change pressure to keep her pleasured yet wanting more. Finally, he brought her to that place where she saw stars behind her eyelids, and cried out his name in pure ecstasy.

           “Ya do make wee noises, Sassenach, and baby, that’s the fun of you.” he stated smugly, clearly proud of himself for eliciting such a reaction from her.  

           “I know I tend to make it about me, but allow me to return the favor, my darling” she elicited, sitting up and moving to her knees on the floor, beside the bed.

           “Who would I be to deny the lady’s request?” he mused, taking her position on the bed.  

           “God Jamie! It’s bigger than I remember!” she exclaimed, taking his cock in her and gently stroking it.

           “I know, I’m a handful, baby uh--” he groaned as she took him between her lips, “and a mouthful, apparently.” He attempted to wink at her for the second time that evening, his owl-like expression and smug smile meeting her whiskey eyes staring up at him. Using her hand to grasp and stroke his base in time with her mouth on his shaft, she ran her tongue and lips along him until he was the one letting out unrecognizable noises and sharp inhalations. He tangled his fingers in her curls as if he were holding on for dear life. “Oh God Claire!” he cried out, spilling into her mouth.  She swallowed, wiping her lips after releasing him. They were both breathless. He drew her up onto the bed with him and then down to collapse on the bed in his arms.  

“Come here, mo nighean donn, let me keep you company.” He brought his lips to hers for the umpteenth time that evening, worming his tongue between her lips.  They shared another passionate kiss, this time slow and lingering, savoring the taste of themselves on each other’s lips--something that was new for Claire.

“No one’s ever done that before,” she rasped when they released.

“Done what?” he questioned, his blue eyes peering deep into her whiskey-colored ones.

“Kissed me after… well, after what I just did to you.” Claire, blushed, averting her eyes to his piercing gaze.

“There’s a lot of lame guys out there, Sassenach. I’d kiss ya even if you just ate a tuna sandwich with onions dipped in garlic and topped with stinky cheese, this is nothing.”

Claire exploded with laughter at his comment. “Mmmm… how appetizing,” she sputtered sarcastically between her chuckles. She’d missed how fun he was to be around.  He certainly would never bore her. She’d forgotten how wonderful it was to laugh in his arms, in his bed. When was the last time she laughed? Had it really been since that night in Montauk? The night she didn’t think before she jumped in and told him she loved him? The same night she also thought too much and decided to ruin everything? How had he allowed her back into his arms so easily after what she’d done to him. She was lying beside him now--her curls and one of her delicate hands spilling over his firm chest, and he was gently stroking her hair. “Why’d you let me come back to you Jamie? You could have anyone else, you’re the kind of guy the ladies want. Why me? After all I put you through.”

He pulled her chin up so their eyes could meet. “In truth, I don’t always ken myself.  I’ll admit I was angry after I found out what ya did to me, but I meant what I said earlier. I forgive you. I can understand why you did it, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want it too--even if the circumstances weren’t exactly my idea of honorable. I’m glad you told me though--I felt I hated you for it at first, but it’s better to be honest with each other.”

“I’m so sorry Jamie, I should have never toyed with your honor like that. All I could think of that first night was how much I wanted you, but it shouldn’t have been like that. I should have left Frank right then and there. I’m afraid I was a coward.” she admitted. “I’m afraid you never get just what you see with me, but I want to change that. I don’t want to lie to you anymore. I feel like my heart and my head have been battling since we met and I’ve only been able to show you one or the other. Like I’ve been two completely different people. I want to be able to show you all of me, the only one of me.”

“I’d like that very much, Sassenach” there was a truth in her eyes that he saw and understood. For the first time in their torrid relationship, she was completely vulnerable and exposed to him. Free from the weight of any hidden baggage, the air around them felt light, like they could float together, right off the bed and into the stratosphere. Everything was out in the open and they were free to just be. Claire felt it too, the weight that had been bearing down on her their whole relationship was gone from this meeting. She had aired her dark secrets and he still accepted her in spite of her shortcomings.

Jamie pulled her into a kiss--slow, lingering, passionate. Their tongues danced lazily, in no rush to do anything but enjoy each other’s company. Carefully, Jamie rolled Claire onto her back, positioning himself on top of her. He began to kiss, suckle and roll his tongue across her earlobe, causing her to moan and squeak with pleasure and anticipation. He brought his hand to the space in between her legs, gently stroking the place he knew she wanted him too, caressing the moist folds of her skin, teasing around her entrance with his fingertips. “Jamie” she whispered in his ear, “I want you inside me--please.”

He guided himself inside her in one smooth stroke. Their bodies quickly found a gentle rhythm, synchronizing completely as if they were created to fit together, two halves of the same whole joining. They had started their evening at homecoming, but now they were coming home. Their desire for each other swelled and grew together and the pace of their movements followed. “Don’t stop, Jamie!” Claire cried out, on the edge of her passion.

“I won’t stop, baby.” he panted back to her, nearing his own precipice. Moments later, Claire let out a piercing cry of his name, fingers clawing into his shoulders, her whole body squirming with pleasure. That was more than Jamie needed to bring him toppling over the edge with her, his own pleasure bursting behind his eyes.

He dismounted from her, handing her a box of tissues from the nightstand so they could clean themselves up, and laying on his side next to her, his curly red mop propped up on his large hand, taking in the naked beauty lying beside him. “I’m so glad you’ve come back to me, mo nighean donn.” He gently stroked the skin of her breast.

“I didn’t think you’d miss me after a time, you’re a very attractive man, and there’s a lot of cool chick’s out there. Surely, you could have found someone else.”

“There is only one of you, Sassenach.” he smirked, kissing her curly mane “no one else could compare.”

They continued to lie together in silence. Jamie continued softly caressing Claire’s milky skin, taking in everything inch of her, memorizing her every curve. Eventually Claire broke the silence.

“Jamie?” there was a hint of anxiety in her tone.

“What is it, mo chirde?”

“When are you leaving?” she whimpered.

“Not for another few weeks yet, I’ll help Jenny and Ian with the pumpkin harvest but I have to be back before the end of the month to get my wee tree farm up and running before my own busy season. It seems to be starting earlier each year.” he mused. Jamie ran a Christmas Tree farm on the outskirts of London, something Claire had learned the night they met.

“What happens then? With us?” There was a pleading in her golden eyes as she looked into his.

“Och! A wee ocean isn’t going to stop the way I feel about you.” he insisted, kissing her forehead. “It’ll be different, yes, but I’ll call you every night, and we can visit each other when you have breaks from school, right?”

“That sounds like it could work. I’ll miss this though.” She ran her hand up and down his body, making it clear exactly what she met.

“And I’ll miss this.” He reached around her body, taking a generous handful of her arse. “I swear we’ll make this work, Claire; I never want to be parted from you again.” In truth, he was imagining her joining him in England. Making space for her in his home. Perhaps she would grow a small herb garden behind the kitchen, and they’d laugh together as he washed dishes and she dried in the evenings. Eventually, they’d have a bairn or two running around the place, keeping them on their toes. It was all so beautiful and real in his head, but he knew it was too soon to ask. He knew it would be a huge decision for her and she’d been through so much in the past few months, he didn’t need to throw her a curveball like that. She had only just returned to him, only just been able to open up to him. For now, all he could do was silently vow that someday, he would make that fantasy a reality.

----------

           Jamie and Claire continued kissing, caressing, and humming sweet words into each other’s ears well into the small hours of the night. They enjoyed each other’s company more than they ever had before now that the walls between them had crumbled. Eventually, the week caught up with Claire and she fell asleep before Jamie did, using his shoulder as a pillow.  Jamie stayed awake, taking her in, stroking her soft curls, and imagining their future together.  When he was sure she was asleep, he kissed her cheek softly and whispered in her ear, “I promise that nobody’s gonna love you like me.”

[ghostiewriter]

I know you're beta-ing my fic (love ya) but couldn't resist. Number 25 or 26 for the drabble challenge please 🙏

Ngl I really like this one!! Also it’s unedited so beware 💀and if you guys haven’t checked out Alex’s stuff, you should!! It’s amazing!😉

Word Count: 1.7K

Prompts: “Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?” // “I’m stuck! Help me!”

Motherhood was never a route Kiara saw herself going down.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a mother, it was just that with all her dreams and ambitions and goals for the future…it just happened to clash with what she knew she definitely wanted. But that’s how these things always go, doesn’t it? Just when you least expecting it, shit hit the fan and you’re left scrambling around as you try and wrap your head around everything. That’s what happened with Kiara and motherhood. She wasn’t expecting it, it wasn’t planned. But she also wasn’t as opposed to the concept like her younger self was.

Kiara was fourteen when she decided she wanted to travel the world, to see new places and experience new cultures and open her eyes to a world beyond the small island she grew up on. And she did just that, lucky to enough have someone to share the experiences with. With the money they gained from the treasure, JJ and Kie had enough money to go wherever they wanted (after Pope made sure they kept some in the bank so they wouldn’t be idiots and spend it all, well to make sure JJ didn’t). But it was great, it was everything Kiara could’ve wished for her future, for their future.

Except on one of those breaks between adventures, Kiara found herself thrown into the deep-end of adulthood and she was lucky enough to have someone as supportive as JJ by her side.

And that, my friends, is how James Maybank was brought into the world.

Kiara had never seen herself being a mother until the second she held her son in her hands. Tears in her eyes and a wide smile on her face as she looked at the little human she and JJ created was enough for Kiara to realise that having a child didn’t change any of her plans. She and JJ would still travel and have their adventures, they would just have an extra little explorer with them.

James Maybank was the perfect mix of his parents. In terms of looks, he was truly a kid that drew attention to himself. Tousled brown hair that was an exact copy of his mother’s, with little strands of dirty blonde running through his little curls. His skin was tanned and sun-kissed, a warm golden-bronze so fitting for a summer baby. But his eyes—it was his eyes that caught people’s attention. Bright blue just like his father. It was a shock to both parties when they saw those little blue eyes of his. At first, the doctor told them it was common for new-born babies to have blue eyes and their natural eye colour will develop over the next few weeks. Except James’s eyes remained blue—vibrant and captivating and complementing his tanned skin so well and framed so neatly by the little round-rim glasses he wore. Like mentioned before, he was the perfect mix of JJ and Kiara: his eyes and her hair, his nose and her lips, his bone structure but her cheekbones. The perfect product of JJ Maybank and Kiara Carrera.

However, despite the physical similarities she shared with her son, his personality was driven straight from the chaos of his father. Wild and rambunctious and energetic. He always kept the couple on their toes: JJ’s scheming skills and Kie’s intelligence was a dangerous combination that James just so happened to have. A little troublemaker even at the ripe age of three.

It’s usually why Kiara avoids leaving the two of them alone together for long periods of time, because who knows what nonsense they would get up to.

And of course, Kiara’s point was proved once again.

It was a hot summer day when JJ suggested they head over to the mainland for a wee day trip, just have a little family day before the big Pogue family trip next week to California. Most of the summer had been spent with the other pogues—not that she minded—and James being coddled by her parents, so Kie was all up for them to spend some time as just the three of them. It was the ideal day: walking around the mainland boutiques, grabbed some ice cream and walked along the beach as they ate it, all before heading towards the little play area that was on the pier that James had been eyeing all day.

They had put all their stuff down at a small café table where Kie was able to grab a seat outside. There was the perfect view of the play area from here. But before she could head over with James, JJ was pushing her down in a seat, telling her to relax and assuring her that he could watch over James while she had a coffee or something. So like the fool she was, she went ahead with JJ’s plan (as though their teenage shenanigans hadn’t taught her that JJ’s plans were always the worst).

However, things were going fairly smoothly. Kie was able to order a tea for herself and indulge in a book she had just bought that day. She was able to relax in the sunshine and enjoy a few moments of piece without her favourite hectic boys. Well, only for a short amount of time before a distressed James came running up to her.

“Mama! Mama!” He was panting and huffing, exhausted from how far he ran on his little legs. His fists gripped the hem of her shirt, tugging on it to gain her attention. And when Kie placed her drink and book down, she noticed how dishevelled his appearance was.

“What’s up, bub?” She asked as she gently fixed his askew glasses so they rested comfortably on his nose. However, before she could even attempt to fix his hair, James was grabbing her hands and attempting to tug her up.

“C’mon!” He whined and Kiara only laughed a little as she finally stood up. In an instant, he began to drag her towards the play area where she assumed that he had built some sandcastle in the sand pit he wanted to show her or even show her some neat trick he learnt on the jungle gym.

But it’s safe to say that she wasn’t expecting to see the sight in front of her.

She pressed her lips together, trying to stop herself from bursting into laughter. “JJ?”

“Kiara!” JJ’s head snapped up, looking relieved to see her. “I’m stuck! Help me!”

JJ Maybank: surfing legend, notorious troublemaker, a little schemer since he learnt how to walk. JJ Maybank: the boy that became the biggest pain in the ass to the OBX police force since they were probably first formed. JJ Maybank: the boy that shocked everyone and became a better man than anyone with his last name ever could.

And now he was JJ Maybank: the 26 year old moron who was currently stuck in a children’s jungle gym. It looked like one of those tunnels that kids climbed through to get from one side of the climbing frame to the other. Except instead of being able to crawl through completely, JJ had his head sticking out whilst everything below his shoulders was stuck in the tunnel.

“Oh, baby, this has gotta be a new record for stupid things you’ve done.” Kiara commented, hand over her mouth but he could tell by the shaking in her shoulders that she was laughing.

“Is Dada gonna be okay?” James spoke up, tugging on Kie’s hand he hadn’t let go of as he glanced between his parents. In an instant, Kie’s expression softened up.

“He’s gonna be fine, bub,” She assured him with a smile as she kneeled down to his height. “No need to be worried, in fact, you should be laughing!” She told him.

“Kiara!”

“Oh.” James muttered, turning to look at his father with his head tilted before he burst into a fit of giggles.

“Great,” JJ muttered bitterly as he stared at the ground. “Now ever my own son is laughing at me!”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s funny!” Kiara countered, arms wrapped around James with her head resting on his shoulder as they both snickered at JJ’s current predicament.

“Just help me get out!” He whined out. “I really need to pee.”

Eventually, Kiara headed back to the table at the café to grab her phone. After taking enough photos for her own amusement later, she called the local authorities that sent a team out to help break JJ out of the jungle gym. It took a total of two hours, by which the time JJ was finally free from his entrapment, the family had to head back to the island if they wanted to catch the last ferry.

“I can’t believe you.” Kie murmured as she leaned against JJ, the young boy fast asleep on their laps as they headed back to the mainland. They spoke in quiet whispers, letting James get the rest he deserved after such an eventful day.

“It wasn’t my fault!” He hissed quietly, looking down at James and gently pushing some hair out of his face. “It was his idea.” He added with a childish pout.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?” She countered, a small smirk tugging on her lips.

“He’s a troublemaker, I’m telling you. Flashes you some puppy dog eyes and suddenly you’re crawling through some hellhole that is designed for Oompa Loompas.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the sleeping child. “He’s like an evil little mastermind.”

“Just like his father then.” Kiara commented, only causing JJ to look at her with a shocked expression. “Oh don’t look at me like that! You know I’m right, Jay. You were probably worse than him!”

JJ’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded. “Yeah, no fair enough.” He murmured with a nod before he grinned down at his son. “Ah, I feel like such a proud father knowing he is going to be such a charmer when he’s older.” Kie let out a scoff as she lightly elbowed him, but they both had massive smiles on their faces.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t take years to finally make a move like his father.” Kie commented.

“Oh, wow, really? That’s the game you’re playing?” He retorted. “You literally made up a whole rule that stopped me from making a move.”

“Should’ve read between the lines.” She said with an innocent shrug. But then she turned to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I’m glad you finally did make a move.”

JJ grinned at her before he looked down at James, who was still fast asleep with small snores escaping his lips.

“Yeah, me too.”

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Deck the Halls with Boughs of Silly

Summary: Take three ghosts and a teenage girl, who happen to be in one band. Have them organize a Christmas party, with decorations, gifts exchange, dancing, caroling, and friends. What you get is the best Christmas EVER, Phantoms-style. A @jatpdaily Secret Santa 2020 gift for @bisexualrhee

Also on AO3.

Merry Christmas Emilia!!! I hope these holidays are going to bring you lots of joy, and the next year is going to be much, much, muuuuch better than this one! Stand tall! Anyho-ho-ho, here’s your story! I hope you like it!

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * 

At first they planned a small celebration purely for Luke. It’d been his family tradition and since he obviously couldn’t celebrate with his mother and father, the band decided to orchestrate a little Christmas party to take Luke’s mind off of things like another anniversary of him running out on his parents, or being - you know - a musician spirit. 

But it sort of snowballed from there and as usual things were never simple for long when Sunset Curve was around.

***

Julie went absolutely nuts with Christmas lights, turning the studio’s ceiling into a miniscule version of the Milky Way. Ray happened to wander inside as she was installing a wee galaxy under the roof, balancing carelessly on a tall ladder. 

After the mandatory lecture on safety Ray smiled slyly and asked if Julie intended to communicate with any missing colleagues from the Upside Down. 

Julie flashed him a panicked look before laughing stiffly. “What?” she asked.

“The Upside Down? Demogorgon? Joyce communicating through lights with Will?” Ray explained. “Come on, we’ve watched Stranger Things like two weeks ago!”

“Ah, Stranger Things,” his daughter chuckled nervously. 

“Stranger indeed,” someone murmured at the bottom of the ladder, for her ears only.

“So… that’s a lot of Christmas lights, huh?” Ray decided to change the subject.

“Yeah, for ambience, you know,” Julie busied herself with the cords. 

“And totally not for a-ny-thing supernatural,” a second voice from the other side of the ladder assured mockingly. Julie had to purse her lips to keep herself from laughing.

“Good. That’s good,’ Ray swung his arms, taking a few long strides towards the door. “Well, then, have an ambient evening!” He disappeared outside.

“Thanks, Dad!” Julie yelled after him, trying to be louder than Reggie, who uttered a cordial “Thanks, Ray!” upon the man’s departure.

“Reggie, Luke!” Julie chided. “You were supposed to hold that ladder, not chat with Dad!”

***

Reggie, to Luke’s disappointment, called dibs on dressing up as Santa Claus. Julie couldn’t imagine a better suited candidate than the happy-go-lucky bassist. Although - she chuckled to herself - it would be funny to see a possibly sleeveless Santa.

The self appointed Father Christmas poofed out and was back a few seconds later sporting a shiny red leather jacket and a matching cowboy hat with a white fluffy fringe around the broad rim. A false beard hung loosely around his jaw. Red cowboy boots completed the look. Now Julie was sure, a sleeveless Santa could never compare.

“You like?” Reggie asked as he swaggered proudly around the studio, showing off his outfit. 

Julie cleared her throat. “Cooooool,” she breathed, fighting off the silly grin that threatened to betray her real opinion. Miraculously, she kept a straight face, even though all she wanted to do was to collapse in a fit of giggles. 

“Your take on Santa is truly astounding.” Alex announced with poorly veiled sarcasm. “Also I’m starting to regret some of my earlier decisions,” he added under his breath.

Luke looked like he was torn between mocking Reggie and sulking, but he ultimately decided to move to the next point on their agenda. “Gifts! Gifts! Gifts!” he chanted.

“Darn right!” Reggie rubbed his hands. “Now that your Santa is here, it’s time for presents!”

He opened the huge sack filled with packages of various sizes. “Me first!” he announced, pulling out a set of envelopes. There was one for each of the band’s members. “Don’t mean to brag, but these are real pearls,” he winked.

“You got us real pe-… okay…” Alex ripped the envelope and pulled out a page with sheet music. He inspected the score, humming quietly. “Hey, it’s a country song!”

“Mine too!” Julie piped in from over her sheet.

“No way!” Luke showed his own page. He burst into laughter.

“This is going to get awkward pretty soon,” Alex sing-sang.

And as if he was a fortune teller, right on cue came Reggie’s squeal of delight. 

He’d just fished out a package with his name on it and pulled out a… page of sheet music. He skipped over the notes and lyrics. “OH-MY-GOSH!” he cried. “You wrote me a country song, Julie!”

“Julie?!” came a surprised shout from both Alex and Luke. “But-”

“Oh, here’s another one for me,” Santa dived into the bag only to pull out another envelope and… yes, another page tightly covered with notes and lyrics, definitely less reader-friendly than the first one. “Oh, Luuuuuke!” Reggie awed. 

“Luke?” Now Alex turned to the lead guitarist, eyes as large as saucers. 

“I wrote him a little bit of something, country style,” Luke smiled benevolently, “I had to reciprocate for his gift of the horse song, you know.”

“‘Bike Shack Polka’ sounds AWE-some!” Reggie pressed the page to his chest. “You guys are just... “ he wiped a tear, that might have been only a little bit imaginary, from his eye.

“Is there- “ Alex squeaked, then cleared his throat, “is there maybe another envelope?” he asked.

Reggie shot him a surprised look, but obediently rummaged in the sack and indeed found another envelope. He opened it and-

“You have got to be kidding me!” he shrieked. 

Alex grinned with satisfaction. “Not bad for the first time, even if I say so myself.”

“Not bad? Not bad?” Reggie was still staring at the page. “Alex, this has ‘our first country single’ material written all over it!” 

“Country single?” Now Julie and Luke looked up from their own pages. 

“Best Christmas E V E R!” Reggie announced, proudly presenting the three country songs he received. “With the ones I wrote for you we are close to having enough numbers for an entire album!” he squealed with joy.

The rest of the band looked at each other in quiet stupefaction.

“What have we done?” Alex mouthed.

“You’d better start learning how to fiddle really fast, Julie,” Luke whispered, raising a brow.

Handing out the rest of the gifts went relatively smoothly. Julie awed at the gorgeous notebook with a dahlia patterned cover. 

“For all our greatest hits,” Luke murmured into her ear. He already finished attaching the new strap to his six-string. It had a cute motif of little glittery ghosts that Julie had painstakingly applied, rhinestone after rhinestone. 

The gifts from Alex were - as one might suspect - thoughtful and endearing. For Julie he selected a pink hoodie, a smaller version of his own. He must have noticed her envious looks, but now the only thing he saw in her face was joy, as she sank inside the soft garment. Luke got a tank top with “MY name is LUKE'' printed in big letters, with a small font addition of “Really. Definitely NOT Trevor nor Bobby'' underneath.

Finally the drummer unwrapped the last gift: a baseball cap, one of those he wore so often, with a set of reindeer antlers at the sides. He immediately put it on and raced to Reggie.

“Let’s go, Santa!” he crouched allowing for the bassist to jump onto his back, piggyback style. Then he cantered around the studio, to Julie’s impromptu “Run Rudolph Run'' a cappella performance. 

They’d probably switch to gallop really soon if it wasn’t for Luke’s frantic gestures. “Reggie!” he shouted, meaningfully raising his brows.

“What? Oh, put me down!” Santa demanded. “I forgot there’s one more gift!” He disappeared outside following Luke’s lead.

The boys opened the door a little wider and carried a huge box inside. It took them both to lift it, although it didn’t seem heavy for them. It was the size that was giving them trouble. They put it in front of Alex and patted their backs.

“Go on,” they encouraged. “Open it.”

Alex untied the wide ribbon that held the box together and its sides fell down.

“Oh- Wow,” Alex’s voice broke and he blinked a few times. He reached out, as if grabbing something.

“What?” Julie pushed to the front. “It’s… empty?” She looked questioningly to the drummer, then to Luke and Reggie. “You gave him an empty box?”

The boys knitted their brows in confusion. Luke was faster to understand. “She can’t see him,” he noted.

“See who?” The girl was at a loss. “There’s no one there.”

“Oh, right!” Reggie slapped his forehead in sudden realization. “Hang on, I got this!”

He poofed out again, appearing a few seconds later with Julie’s dream box in his hands. She zeroed in on him, the scolding of the year on the tip of her tongue, but Reggie just waved a hand.

“Calm down, Jules, it’s only for the glitter,” he pulled out a bag of shiny particles. “Now look!” he instructed. He spilled a bit of the substance onto his palm and then blew it in the direction of the box. 

Julie watched obediently, as the glitter cloud traveled through the air until it reached the box. And then she saw him. There was another boy standing on the cardboard, squeezing Alex’s hand. When he noticed she finally saw him he bowed.

“Julie, meet William,” Luke introduced the newcomer. 

“Call me Willie,” the boy smiled a glittery smile. “Nice to finally meet the famous Julie. I’ve heard a lot about you!”

“You’re Willie!” Julie replied with a smile of her own. “And likewise.”

***

“I’m finally here!” Flynn called from the door. “Are you alo- oh, who’s the glitter boy? And where’s the rest of the guys?”

“One thing at a time, gurl,” Julie laughed. “This is Willie. He’s a friend of Alex’s.”

Flynn gave a little wave. “And the boys?” She looked around as if she could ever see them without music. 

“They’re here alright, just- Alex, wait, what are you doing with that?”

Poof! Now there was a second glittery silhouette next to Willie. And once Flynn focused on the shape, she could also hear the voice. 

“Hi, Flynn! Long time no see,” Alex quipped.

Poof! Now a third glitter-boy became visible, waving enthusiastically at the girls. 

“This is awesome,” Reggie said. “Best Christmas ever!”

“So now we’re only missing Luke,” Alex pointed to something that to Flynn looked like empty air. “But apparently he’s above covering himself with glitter,” he added sourly.

“Wait, I have an idea!” Julie announced. She untangled a string of Christmas lights from one of the shelves and proceeded to decorate the empty space, wrapping the cord around it until it formed a vague shape of a man. 

The rest of the group nodded appreciatively, though brilliant as they were, the lights didn’t solve all of the problems - the shape still had no visible face, hence no voice.

Julie tapped her lip thoughtfully. “At this point it’s either glitter, beauty powder or we start playing, which is gonna be exhausting.”

Flynn thought she heard the slightest sigh from Luke’s light form. Julie nodded and went for her purse. She produced a round box of pressed powder and handed it to Luke. He applied it gingerly and finally Flynn could see his face. Kind of. At least now she had an idea where his face was and what was his current expression. The final result - of a powdered face floating over a spiral of Christmas lights - was rather weird, if not disturbing.

“Happy now?” Alex asked. He looked as if he was having the time of his life. 

“Happy,” Luke grunted. He didn’t sound particularly happy. “Can we do something else now?” 

“Awww, had I known a Christmas tree was an option, I wouldn’t want to be Santa,” Reggie jested. 

***

The party was in full swing and once they started singing and dancing, the boys became easily visible to Flynn. No aids were required at this point, but Luke refused to take off the lights. He stuck a star to his beanie, completing the Christmas tree look. It didn’t stop him from showing off his dancing skills. Julie suspected it was to top Nick’s performance at the dance rehearsal, which was a rather silly thing to do. Yet she smiled to herself at the thought of Luke feeling he needed to compete for her attention.

“Luke, you make such a nice snake,” Flynn commented after a particularly showy worm move . She nudged Julie in the ribs, “He’s definitely a Slytheryn, right?”

All the ‘musical spirits’ gave her a blank stare.

“A sly-what?” Reggie was the first to talk.

“Awww,” Flynn continued, clearly not having read the room, “you and Alex are definitely Hufflepuff material.”

Alex frowned and turned to Julie. “Is she ghost shaming us? We don’t huffle and puff, we’re well-mannered ghosts.” 

He didn’t get his reply as both of the girls, and Willie as well, collapsed in a fit of laughter. 

***

When they finally got tired of dancing and prancing, they decided to give a few old classics a new spin.

“On the twelve day of Christmas my true love gave to meeee,” Reggie belted out, pointing to Alex.

“Twelve drummers drumming,” Alex carried on, pointing to Julie.

“Eleven dahlias blooming,” Julie nodded to Luke.

“Ten terrific gigs,” Luke rasped, nudging Flynn to go on.

“Nine whole brain cells,” Flynn tried to pat Willie on the shoulder. Her hand went through glitter, but he got the message.

“Eight wheels a-skateboard,” he sang in a surprisingly warm tenor. He turned to Reggie closing the circle.

“Seven country a-songs,” the bassist wiggled his eyebrows at Luke, changing the order

“Six best friends forever,” the guitarist sang without missing a beat.

“Five dirty candies,” Alex twirled gracefully, eliciting a bout of laughter.

“Four cute ghosts,” Flynn wrinkled her nose.

“Three deadly hotdogs,” Willie chuckled.

“Two awesome girlfriends,” Julie squeezed her friend’s hand. 

“And a Luuuuke as a Christmasy treeeeeeee!” The said Luke bellowed, in an opera worthy baritone.

They all sank to the ground and laughed, laughed, laughed until their tummies hurt and tears appeared in their eyes.

Alex moved closer to Willie, his back against the couch. He looked around to his company. His friends. His family. Their family.

That’s what it was. Loud. Mismatched. Messy. Hardened by life and death. A little bit silly, a little bit damaged. Supernatural at places, magical to the core. It was theirs and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

 * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * ~ *

Many thanks to @goblin-alchemist for betareading and her advice!!!

[morgannalefey]

My abortion stories

I am 56 years old in 2021. I've had four abortions. They were all performed over a four-year period between 1983 and 1987. My first pregnancy was when I was 17, my last when I was 21. I was using birth control every time I got pregnant. What no one told me at the time was that antibiotics and weighing over a certain amount both interfered with how well birth control pills worked. At that time I regularly had to take antibiotics because of chronic lung infections. Turns out (this is something I didn't learn until I was in my 30s) that I also have polycystic ovary syndrome. This led to weight gain. None of the medical practitioners that I worked with to get my pills explained how these things would make my pills not work (or maybe they didn't know). I didn't find out about these impacts on birth control pills until I was in my mid 40s and well past when I needed to know.

I wasn't raised in any church. My father was agnostic and my mother was a lapsed catholic. They left me to make up my mind about faith, though both were willing to discuss it with me if I ever wanted to. This meant that I didn't have any ideas about the embryo/fetus being sacred.

I'd had a lot of sex before I got pregnant the first time. I started having intercourse when I was 15, and was quite eager. I'd been with a lot of different guys and had a whole lot of fun throughout high school. They were using me, but I didn't really care because I was using them, too. I wasn't interested in monogamy or falling in love or anything. Until I met C. I fell for him hard. He fell for me, too. The chemistry was powerful and he broke up with his girlfriend and started up with me. We were both 16. It was June of my junior year that we met. We were together for nine months. I had a lot of firsts with C. First shared sunrise (in his car after being out all night just talking and having sex). I was his first sexual experience. First formal dance. First fancy dinner out with a guy. On our six month anniversary, he sent six red roses to me at school (my first roses). I got called into the office to receive them (he went to a different school in a different town).

After around nine months, his feelings changed. We were supposed to go to a semi-formal winter dance. A few days before it, after I'd bought a dress, he broke up with me. So I went to the dance with another guy who'd had a crush on me for a long time (very sweet person, didn't deserve my yanking him like that). C went with my best friend (who immediately became my former best friend). When he saw me at the dance he was all horny for me again, and I thought I'd won him back. We agreed to meet up after the dance for some sexy times. He said we'd get back together and he still loved me. I was so happy. I gave my date short shrift on the good night and raced home to sneak C into my bedroom where sexy times commenced. Then he left in the wee hours.

The next day, the very next fucking day, he calls me to say it was all a mistake and he didn't want to get back together afterall. So. Ok. Cue teenage broken heart montage. Thing progress normally until a few weeks later I start puking in the mornings. I feel like utter shit. We are now into the home stretch of my senior year in high school. I had exactly one class in the morning, and I kept missing it because I was so sick I couldn't keep food down and get to class. I figure out I need to take a pregnancy test.

I look in the yellow pages (this was a physical book in everyone's home that had listings of businesses within the local area) for pregnancy tests. The first place I end up at is a "crisis pregnancy center". I don't know that's what it is. I get a pregnancy test and it's positive. The woman there comes in and is all happy for me that I'm pregnant. Starts asking me if I plan to keep the baby, making it very clear that she thinks abortion is evil and of course I am not evil so I will keep the baby. I feel zero compunction about lying to her face, telling her that I was going home to tell my parents and make plans. I just wanted to get out of there so I could think without her spewing her misguided ideas at me. There was no way I was keeping this pregnancy. I had plans to go to college in the fall. I had a life to live. I was not ready to be a parent. I had zero moral qualms about this. For me it was about bodily autonomy and a mass of cells that I didn't want inside me.

I find a Planned Parenthood and they reconfirm the pregnancy and do a pelvic to see how far along I am (right around 8 weeks). I know exactly when I got pregnant, it was the night of the dance. There just was no other sex other than that night. So C was the other parent. The Planned Parenthood I was at doesn't perform abortions. I ask around and find out there is exactly one abortion provider in our entire area, Dr. Roddy (I am not protecting that fucker's name). The cost for an abortion from him is $260. I don't have $260. I don't want to talk to my parents about this AT ALL.

I called C. I told him I was pregnant. He was great. Said he'd be there for me and we'd go through this together. Then I never heard from him again. He utterly ghosted me. I tried so many times to get him on the phone to talk about this, but he refused my calls. Wouldn't respond to messages. At one point I called and his mother, whom I had greatly admired and looked up to, told me that I was being immature in not accepting that C didn't want to talk to me. I didn't tell her why I was calling. I -should- have, because her calling me immature stung so much. But I was afraid she'd involve my parents. The clock is ticking.

I have another friend (not my former best friend) whose boyfriend was expecting a Pell Grant to come in and he generously offered to pay for my abortion. I made an appointment with Dr. Roddy's office. I was told it would be a two-day procedure. I had to pay in cash. I don't give them my real name. I gave them the name of a classmate who had always been vile to me (who me, petty?). They didn't ask for ID, just asked me to say I was 18 (I was around 3 months from 18, yeah I lied). The first day I go in and they insert a slim piece of wood in my cervix. This will gradually absorb fluids and expand in size, dilating my cervix as it does. This, I am told, is going to cause cramping. Holy fucking hell did it cause cramping. I spend the rest of the day and night in bed in a fetal position. The next day I go in for the procedure.

I am given some valium to relax me. I'm on the table, legs spread, and Dr. Roddy tells me "I'm inserting the speculum now, it will feel like a penis going in." In my dopey state I'm thinking "What the fuck? That does NOT feel like a penis, why would he say shit like that?". He does not use pain killers. He tells me "This will hurt, but try not to move, if you move I could perforate your uterus." He uses instruments to scrape out the contents of my uterus. This procedure is called a "Dilation and Curettage". It hurts like fucking hell. The nurse tries to comfort me by telling me that maybe this remembered pain will help me not get pregnant again. Finally it's over and I'm in the recovery room. Dr. Roddy comes in, gives me some birth control pills and tells me to take them at bed time every night, and that it should be easy to remember because "bed is where you have sex."

After the procedure I felt wonderful. Physically tired and sore, but so relieved. My friend and her boyfriend took me to her place so they could keep an eye on me. We ordered ribs and I ate a ton of ribs and beans. I couldn't pay him back for his help for nearly ten years, but I did eventually return that $260 to him. I never once felt anything but relief that it was over. No guilt, because it was a mass of cells about the size of a wart. Who mourns a wart being removed?

I saw C at a swimming party at the quarry the week before I went to college. Several of my friends were cold to him. I didn't talk to him. He threw someone's flip flop into the quarry in a fit of pique. I was the only one still in their bathing suit so I sighed and went back into the water to get it. When I got back I was thanked and said "It's ok, I'm used to having to fix C's mistakes." I felt pretty proud of that line.

Before college I'd picked up again with a guy (D) I'd been with a lot before C, who was one of the popular guys in school who would use me for sex but wouldn't acknowledge me in school. I went to a college a few hours away, and closer to a big city. I had gotten pregnant by D and went to college pregnant, around six months since my last abortion. I was very embarrassed. I didn't bother to tell D about it. My roommate was really awesome (two years older and much wiser) and helped me out. I had school money from my parents I was able to use to pay for the procedure which was, again around $250. THIS time it was at a women's clinic in Minneapolis. The I was astounded by how different experience there compared to what happened in Dr. Roddy's office. Everyone was kind, caring, and non-judgmental. The whole thing took around 45 minutes. They used pain killers. They were furious when I told them about my previous experience, and that's what helped me realize how fucked up it was. Again, the feeling of relief when it was over.

I made it through two quarters of college but, pregnancy aside, I just wasn't ready for college. At the start of the third quarter, I took the money my parents gave me for school (I was starting the quarter on academic warning), and ran away to Minneapolis to be near another fella I was trying to have a relationship with. I eventually contacted my parents and they helped me get some therapy. I spent some time in a relationship with another guy, M, and got pregnant AGAIN, around 9 months after my previous pregnancy. He stood by me through the abortion this time (at the same clinic as before, same price, he paid this time). Again with the feeling of relief. Nothing ever but relief.

Eventually I decide I really need to go home. I quit the crap job I'd gotten and head home. I get a crap job there and try to figure out what I want to do with my life.

Back home, I reconnected with A, a guy that I had briefly been "going out" with in high school before C. He hadn't taken our break up back then well, but I ignored that. By this point I hadn't been pregnant for a year and a half and I was taking birth control pills religiously. Thought I was fine. A. looked good to me now we were both out of high school. The fact that he was living with his parents and had never had a job (after three years out of high school, this was an unusual thing in 1986) didn't raise any red flags for me. Long story short, I ended up pregnant again. This time went to a women's clinic in Des Moines. He went with me we split the cost of the procedure (another $250). This clinic was great and kind to me, as well. Again with the feeling of relief.

I never felt any sort of guilt over any of my abortions. I was very embarrassed about having gotten pregnant when I clearly wasn't ready to have kids. I felt like I knew better. But the truth was, I WAS doing what I was supposed to do. It just wasn't working. I spent a very long time blaming myself and thinking poorly of myself when the it was failed medicine, not me.

I became an evangelical christian for a while, and then I felt guilty for not feeling guilty about having had four abortions. I delved deeply into the bible. I studied it intensely for a long time. I looked to really truly understand what god might have to say about my abortions. I could not find anywhere in the bible where it taught that abortion was murder. This isn't wishful thinking on my part. I was TRYING to find the parts that would make me feel guilty. They just aren't there. The bible doesn't teach a single thing about abortion. Further study on my part, this time looking into some of the Jewish traditions and teachings, I found that really, there is no condemnation of abortion.

So not even god was angry about me having a medical procedure. I'm no longer christian. I'm firmly an atheist. But I know a fuck ton about what the bible has to say on abortion. Or more significantly, what it doesn't say.

How are things for me now? I have been with my spouse for 33 years. We built a house in 2004 in the woods in New England. We've been able to take many trips abroad since around 2010. We paid off the mortgage on our house in 2020, when I was 55 years old. This made it possible for me to retire at age 55 from my job as a database developer that I'd been doing for 21 years. I've been retired for just over a year (working part time at the same place, though, making some money so my spouse can retire in a couple of years). I have financial security and a spouse who adores me and who is someone I love more than anyone else in the entire world. I do not have any children. Turns out the that polycystic ovary syndrome made me infertile in my mid 20s. We'd talked about adopting, but I eventually realized that I didn't want to be a mom. My spouse never wanted kids, but had been willing to be a parent so I could be one if I wanted. So that worked out well for us both.

I have no more regrets or guilt over having had four pregnancy terminations than I have over getting my gall bladder removed when it started causing me regular pain.

[davidmann95]

So... Morrison’s 10 part interview on All-Star Superman, along with all other older Newsarama articles, just seem to have ceased to exist. One does not simply live without having those interviews available to reread... Can I find them anywhere else?

Rejoice! I finally borrowed a computer I could put my flash drive into, and emailed myself my copy of the Morrison interview. Here it is below the cut, copied and pasted direct from the source way back when, available again at last:

Three years, 12 issues, Eisners and countless accolades later, All Star Superman is finally finished. The out-of-continuity look at Superman’s struggle with his inevitable death was widely embraced by fans and pros as one of the best stories to feature the Man of Steel, and was a showcase for the talents of the creative team of Grant Morrison, Frank Quitely and Jamie Grant.

Now, Newsarama is proud to present an exclusive look back with Morrison at the series that took Superman to, pun intended, new heights. We had a lot of questions about the series...and Morrison delivered with an in-depth look into the themes, characters and ideas throughout the 12 issues. In fact, there was so much that we’re running this as an unprecedented 10-part series over the next two weeks – sort of an unofficial All Star Superman companion. It’s everything about All Star Superman you ever wanted to know, but were afraid to ask.

And of course there’s plenty of SPOILERS, so back away if you haven’t read the entire series.

Newsarama: Grant, tell us a little about the origin of the project.

Grant Morrison: Some of it has its roots in the DC One Million project from 1999. So much so, that some readers have come to consider this a prequel to DC One Million, which is fine if it shifts a few more copies! I’ve tried to give my own DC books an overarching continuity intended to make them all read as a more coherent body of work when I’m done.

Luthor’s “enlightenment” – when he peaks on super–senses and sees the world as it appears through Superman’s eyes – was an element I’d included in the Superman Now pitch I prepared along with Mark Millar, Tom Peyer and Mark Waid back in 1999. There were one or two of ideas of mine that I wanted to preserve from Superman Now and Luthor’s heart–stopping moment of understanding was a favorite part of the original ending for that story, so I decided to use it again here.

My specific take on Superman’s physicality was inspired by the “shamanic” meeting my JLA editor Dan Raspler and I had in the wee hours of the morning outside the San Diego comic book convention in whenever it was, ‘98 or ‘99.

I’ve told this story in more detail elsewhere but basically, we were trying to figure out how to “reboot” Superman without splitting up his marriage to Lois, which seemed like a cop–out. It was the beginning of the conversations which ultimately led to Superman Now, with Dan and I restlessly pacing around trying to figure out a new way into the character of Superman and coming up short...

Until we looked up to see a guy dressed as Superman crossing the train tracks. Not just any skinny convention guy in an ill–fitting suit, this guy actually looked like Superman. It was too good a moment to let pass, so I ran over to him, told him what we’d been trying to do and asked if he wouldn’t mind indulging us by answering some questions about Superman, which he did...in the persona and voice of Superman!

We talked for an hour and a half and he walked off into the night with his friend (no, it wasn’t Jimmy Olsen, sadly). I sat up the rest of the night, scribbling page after page of Superman notes as the sun came up over the naval yards.

My entire approach to Superman had come from the way that guy had been sitting; so easy, so confident, as if, invulnerable to all physical harm, he could relax completely and be spontaneous and warm. That pose, sitting hunched on the bollard, with one knee up, the cape just hanging there, talking to us seemed to me to be the opposite of the clenched, muscle-bound look the character sometimes sports and that was the key to Superman for me.

I met the same Superman a couple of times afterwards but he wasn’t Superman, just a nice guy dressed as Superman, whose name I didn’t save but who has entered into my own personal mythology (a picture has from that time has survived showing me and Mark Waid posing alongside this guy and a couple of young readers dressed as Superboy and Supergirl – it’s in the “Gallery” section at my website for anybody who can be bothered looking. This is the guy who lit the fuse that led to All Star Superman).

After the 1999 pitch was rejected, I didn’t expect to be doing any further work on Superman but sometime in 2002, while I was going into my last year on New X–Men, Dan DiDio called and asked if I wanted to come back to DC to work on a Superman book with Jim Lee.

Jim was flexing his artistic muscles again to great effect, and he wanted to do 12 issues on Superman to complement the work he was doing with Jeph Loeb on “Batman: Hush.” At the time, I wasn’t able to make my own commitments dovetail with Jim’s availability, but by then I’d become obsessed with the idea of doing a big Superman story and I’d already started working out the details.

Jim, of course, went on to do his 12 Superman issues as “For Tomorrow” with Brian Azzarello, so I found myself looking for an artist for what was rapidly turning into my own Man of Steel magnum opus, and I already knew the book had to be drawn by my friend and collaborator, Frank Quitely.

We were already talking about We3 and Superman seemed like a good meaty project to get our teeth into when that was done. I completely scaled up my expectations of what might be possible once Frank was on board and decided to make this thing as ambitious as possible.

Usually, I prefer to write poppy, throwaway “live performance” type superhero books, but this time, I felt compelled to make something for the ages – a big definitive statement about superheroes and life and all that, not only drawn by my favorite artist but starring the first and greatest superhero of them all.

The fact that it could be a non–continuity recreation made the idea even more attractive and more achievable. I also felt ready for it, in a way I don’t think I would have been in 1999; I finally felt “grown–up” enough to do Superman justice.

I plotted the whole story in 2002 and drew tiny colored sketches for all 12 covers. The entire book was very tightly constructed before we started – except that I’d left the ending open for the inevitable better and more focused ideas I knew would arise as the project grew into its own shape...and I left an empty space for issue 10. That one was intended from the start to be the single issue of the 12–issue run that would condense and amplify the themes of all the others. #10 was set aside to be the one–off story that would sum up anything anyone needed to know about Superman in 22 pages.

Not quite as concise an origin as Superman’s, but that’s how we got started.

NRAMA: When you were devising the series, what challenges did you have in building up this version of the Superman universe?

GM: I couldn’t say there were any particular challenges. It was fun. Nobody was telling me what I could or couldn’t do with the characters. I didn’t have to worry about upsetting continuity or annoying people who care about stuff like that.

I don’t have a lot of old comics, so my knowledge of Superman was based on memory, some tattered “70s books from the remains of my teenage collection, a bunch of DC “Best Of...” reprint editions and two brilliant little handbooks – “Superman in Action Comics” Volumes 1 and 2 – which reprint every single Action Comics cover from 1938 to 1988.

I read various accounts of Superman’s creation and development as a brand. I read every Superman story and watched every Superman movie I could lay my hands on, from the Golden Age to the present day. From the Socialist scrapper Superman of the Depression years, through the Super–Cop of the 40s, the mythic Hyper–Dad of the 50s and 60s, the questioning, liberal Superman of the early 70s, the bland “superhero” of the late 70s, the confident yuppie of the 80s, the over–compensating Chippendale Superman of the 90s etc. I read takes on Superman by Mark Waid, Mark Millar, Geoff Johns, Denny O’Neil, Jeph Loeb, Alan Moore, Paul Dini and Alex Ross, Joe Casey, Steve Seagle, Garth Ennis, Jim Steranko and many others.

I looked at the Fleischer cartoons, the Chris Reeve movies and the animated series, and read Alvin Schwartz’s (he wrote the first ever Bizarro story among many others) fascinating book – “An Unlikely Prophet” – where he talks about his notion of Superman as a tulpa, (a Tibetan word for a living thought form which has an independent existence beyond its creator) and claims he actually met the Man of Steel in the back of a taxi.

I immersed myself in Superman and I tried to find in all of these very diverse approaches the essential “Superman–ness” that powered the engine. I then extracted, purified and refined that essence and drained it into All Star’s tank, recreating characters as my own dream versions, without the baggage of strict continuity.

In the end, I saw Superman not as a superhero or even a science fiction character, but as a story of Everyman. We’re all Superman in our own adventures. We have our own Fortresses of Solitude we retreat to, with our own special collections of valued stuff, our own super–pets, our own “Bottle Cities” that we feel guilty for neglecting. We have our own peers and rivals and bizarre emotional or moral tangles to deal with.

I felt I’d really grasped the concept when I saw him as Everyman, or rather as the dreamself of Everyman. That “S” is the radiant emblem of divinity we reveal when we rip off our stuffy shirts, our social masks, our neuroses, our constructed selves, and become who we truly are.

Batman is obviously much cooler, but that’s because he’s a very energetic and adolescent fantasy character: a handsome billionaire playboy in black leather with a butler at this beck and call, better cars and gadgetry than James Bond, a horde of fetish femme fatales baying around his heels and no boss. That guy’s Superman day and night.

Superman grew up baling hay on a farm. He goes to work, for a boss, in an office. He pines after a hard–working gal. Only when he tears off his shirt does that heroic, ideal inner self come to life. That’s actually a much more adult fantasy than the one Batman’s peddling but it also makes Superman a little harder to sell. He’s much more of a working class superhero, which is why we ended the whole book with the image of a laboring Superman.

He’s Everyman operating on a sci–fi Paul Bunyan scale. His worries and emotional problems are the same as ours... except that when he falls out with his girlfriend, the world trembles.

Newsarama: Grant, what are some of your favorite moments from the 12 issues?

Grant Morrison: The first shot of Superman flying over the sun. The Cosmic Anvil. Samson and Atlas. The kiss on the moon. The first three pages of the Olsen story which, I think, add up to the best character intro I’ve ever written.

Everything Lex Luthor says in issue #5. Everything Clark does. The whole says/does Luthor/Superman dynamic as played out through Frank Quitely’s absolute mastery and understanding of how space, movement and expression combine to tell a story.

Superboy and his dog on the moon – that perfect teenage moment of infinite possibility, introspection and hope for the future. He’s every young man on the verge of adulthood, Krypto is every dog with his boy (it seemed a shame to us that Krypto’s most memorable moment prior to this was his death scene in “Whatever Happened To The Man of Tomorrow.” Quitely’s scampering, leaping, eager and alive little creature is how I’d prefer to imagine Krypto the Superdog and conjures finer and more subtle emotions).

Bizarro–Home, with all of Earth’s continental and ocean shapes but reversed. The page with the first appearance of Zibarro that Frank has designed so the eye is pulled down in a swirling motion into the drain at the heart of the image, to make us feel that we’re being flushed in a cloacal spiral down into a nihilistic, existential sink. Frank gave me that page as a gift, and it became weirdly emblematic of a strange, dark time in both our lives.

The story with Bar–El and Lilo has a genuine chill off ammonia and antiseptic off it, which makes it my least favorite issue of the series, although I know a lot of people who love it. It’s about dying relatives, obligations, the overlit overheated corridors between terminal wards, the thin metallic odors of chemicals, bad food and fear. Preparation for the Phantom Zone.

Superman hugging the poor, hopeless girl on the roof and telling us all we’re stronger than we think we are.

Joe Shuster drawing us all into the story forever and never–ending.

Nasthalthia Luthor. Frank and Jamie’s final tour of the Fortress, referencing every previous issue on the way, in two pages.

All of issue #10 (there’s a single typo in there where the time on the last page was screwed up – but when we fix that detail for the trade I’ll be able to regard this as the most perfectly composed superhero story I’ve ever written).

I don’t think I’ve ever had a smoother, more seamless collaborative process.

NRAMA: The story is very complete unto itself, but are there any new or classic characters you’d like to explore further? If so, which ones and why?

GM: I’d happily write more Atlas and Samson. I really like Krull, the Dino–Czar’s wayward son, and his Stalinist underground empire of “Subterranosauri.” I could write a Superman Squad comic forever. I’d love to write the “Son of Superman” sequel about Lois and Clark’s super test tube baby.

But...I think All Star is already complete, without sequels. You read that last issue and it works because you know you’re never going to see All Star Superman again. You’ll be able to pick up Superman books, but they won’t be about this guy and they won’t feel the same. He really is going away. Our Superman is actually “dying” in that sense, and that adds the whole series a deeper poignancy.

NRAMA: Aside from the Bizarro League, you never really introduce other DC superheroes into the story. Why did you make this choice?

GM: I wanted the story to be about the mythic Superman at the end of his time. It’s clear from the references that he has or more likely has had a few super–powered allies, but that they’re no longer around or relevant any more.

For the context of this story I wanted the super–friends to be peripheral, like they were in the old comics. The Flash? Green Lantern? They represent Superman’s “old army buddies,” or your dad’s school friends. Guys you’ve sort of heard of, who used to be more important in the old man’s life than they are now.

NRAMA: Some readers were confused as to how the “Twelve Labors” broke down, though others have pointed out that Superman’s actions are more reflective of the Stations of the Cross (I note there’s a “Station Café” in the background of issue #12). Could you break down the Twelve Labors, or, if the cross theory is true, how the storyline reflects the Stations?

GM: The 12 Labors of Superman were never intended as an isomorphic mapping onto the 12 Labors of Hercules, or for that matter, the specific Stations of the Cross, of which there are 14, I believe. I didn’t even want to do one Labor per issue, so it deliberately breaks down quite erratically through the series for reasons I’ll go into (later).

Yes, there are correspondences, but that’s mostly because we tried to create for our Superman the contemporary “superhero” version of an archetypal solar hero journey, which naturally echoes numerous myths, legends and religious parables.

At the same time, we didn’t want to do an update or a direct copy of any myth you’d seen before, so it won’t work if you try to find one specific mythological or religious “plan” to hang the series on; James Joyce’s honorable and heroic refutation of the rule aside, there’s nothing more dead and dull than an attempt to retell the Odyssey or the Norse sagas scene by scene, but in a modern and/or superhero setting.

For future historians and mythologizers, however, the 12 Labors of Superman may be enumerated as follows:

1. Superman saves the first manned mission to the sun.
2. Superman brews the Super–Elixir.
3. Superman answers the Unanswerable Question.
4. Superman chains the Chronovore. 
5. Superman saves Earth from Bizarro–Home.
6. Superman returns from the Underverse.
7. Superman creates Life.
8. Superman liberates Kandor/cures cancer.
9. Superman defeats Solaris.
10. Superman conquers Death.
11. Superman builds an artificial Heart for the Sun.
12.Superman leaves the recipe/formula to make Superman 2.

And one final feat, which typically no–one really notices, is that Lex Luthor delivers his own version of the unified field haiku – explaining the underlying principles of the universe in fourteen syllables – which the P.R.O.J.E.C.T. G–Type philosopher from issue 4 had dedicated his entire life to composing!

You may notice also that the Labors take place over a year – with the solar hero’s descent into the darkness and cold of the Underverse occurring at midwinter/Christmas time (that’s also the only point in the story where we ever see Metropolis at night).

It can also be seen as the sun’s journey over the course of a day – we open in blazing sunshine but halfway through the book, at the end of issue #5, in fact, the solar hero dips below the horizon and begins the night–journey through the hours of darkness and death, before his triumphant resurrection at dawn. That’s why issue 5 ends with the boat to the Underworld and 6 begins with the moon. Clark Kent is crossing the threshold into the subconscious world of memory, shadows, death and deep emotions.

Although they can often have bizarre resonances, specific elements, like the Station Café, are usually put there by Frank Quitely, and are not necessarily secret Dan Brown–style keys to unlocking the mysteries. I think there might be a Station Café opposite the studio where Frank Quitely works and the “SAPIEN” sign on another storefront is a reference to Frank’s studio mate, Dave Sapien. At least he’s not filling the background with dirty words like he used to, given any opportunity

NRAMA: For that matter, do the Twelve Labors matter at all? They seem so purposely ill–defined. They seem more like misdirection or a MacGuffin than anything that needs to be clearly delineated.

GM: They matter, of course, but the 12 Labors idea is there to show that, as with all myth, the systematic ordering of current events into stories, tales, or legends occurs after the fact.

I’m trying to suggest that only in the future will these particular 12 feats, out of all the others ever, be mythologized as 12 Labors. I suppose I was trying to say something about how people impose meaning upon events in retrospect, and that’s how myth is born. It’s hindsight that provides narrative, structure, meaning and significance to the simple unfolding of events. It’s the backward glance that adds all the capital letters to the list above.

Even Superman isn”t sure how many Labors he’s performed when we see him mulling it over in issue 10. 
When you watched it happening, it seemed to be Superman just doing his thing. In the future it’s become THE 12 LABORS OF SUPERMAN!

NRAMA: And on a completely ridiculous note: All–Star Superman is perhaps the most difficult–to–abbreviate comic title since Preacher: Tall in the Saddle. Did you realize this going in?

GM: Going into what? Going into ASS itself? In the sense of how did I feel as I slowly entered ASS for the first time?

It never crossed my mind...

Newsarama: I’d like to know a little more about Leo Quintum and his role in the story. He seems like a bit of an outgrowth of the likes of Project Cadmus and Emil Hamilton, but in a more fantastical, Willy Wonka sense.

Grant Morrison: Yeah, he was exactly as you say, my attempt to create an updated take on the character of “Superman’s scientist friend” – in the vein of Emil Hamilton from the animated show and the ‘90s stories. Science so often goes wrong in Superman stories, and I thought it was important to show the potential for science to go right or to be elevated by contact with Superman’s shining positive spirit.

I was thinking of Quintum as a kind of “Man Who Fell To Earth” character with a mysterious unearthly background. For a while I toyed with the notion that he was some kind of avatar of Lightray of the New Gods, but as All Star developed, that didn’t fit the tone, and he was allowed to simply be himself.

Eventually it just came down to simplicity. Leo Quintum represents the “good” scientific spirit – the rational, enlightened, progressive, utopian kind of scientist I figured Superman might inspire to greatness. It was interesting to me how so many people expected Quintum to turn out bad at the end. It shows how conditioned we are in our miserable, self–loathing, suspicious society to expect the worst of everyone, rather than hope for the best. Or maybe it’s just what we expect from stories.

Having said that, there is indeed a necessary whiff of Lucifer about Quintum. His name, Leo Quintum, conjures images of solar force, lions and lightbringers and he has elements of the classic Trickster figure about him. He even refers to himself as “The Devil Himself” in issue #10.

What he’s doing at the end of the story should, for all its gee–whiz futurity, feel slightly ambiguous, slightly fake, slightly “Hollywood.” Yes, he’s fulfilling Superman’s wishes by cloning an heir to Superman and Lois and inaugurating a Superman dynasty that will last until the end of time – but he’s also commodifying Superman, figuring out how it’s done, turning him into a brand, a franchise, a bigger–and–better “revamp,” the ultimate coming attraction, fresher than fresh, newer than new but familiar too. Quintum has figured out the “formula” for Superman and improved upon it.

And then you can go back to the start of All Star Superman issue #1 and read the “formula” for yourself, condensed into eight words on the first page and then expanded upon throughout the story! The solar journey is an endless circle naturally. A perfect puzzle that is its own solution.

In one way, Quintum could be seen to represent the creative team, simultaneously re–empowering a pure myth with the honest fire of Art...while at the same time shooting a jolt of juice through a concept that sells more “S” logo underpants and towels than it does comic books. All tastes catered!

I have to say that the Willy Wonka thing never crossed my mind until I saw people online make the comparison, which seems quite obvious now. Quintum dresses how I would dress if I was the world’s coolest super–scientist. What’s up with that?

NRAMA: Was Zibarro inspired by the Bizarro World story where the Bizarro–Neanderthal becomes this unappreciated Casanova–type?

GM: Don’t know that one, but it sounds like a scenario I could definitely endorse!

Zibarro started out as a daft name sicked–up by my subconscious mind, which flowered within moments into the must–write idea of an Imperfect Bizarro. What would an imperfect version of an already imperfect being be like?

Zibarro.

NRAMA: I’d like to know more about Zibarro – what’s the significance of his chronicling Bizarro World through poetry?

GM: It’s up to you. I see Zibarro partly as the sensitive teenager inside us all. He’s moody, horribly self–aware and uncomfortable, yet filled with thoughts of omnipotence and agency. He’s the absolute center of his tiny, disorganized universe. He’s playing the role of sensitive, empathic poet but at the same time, he’s completely self–absorbed.

When he says to Superman “Can you even imagine what it’s like to be so different. So unique. So unlike everyone else?” he doesn’t even wait for Superman’s reply. He doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own, ultimately.

NRAMA: The character is very close to Superman, so what does it say that a nonpowered version on a savage world would focus his energy through that medium? Also, does Zibarro’s existence show how Superman is able to elevate even the backwards Bizarros through his very nature?

GM: All of the above. And maybe he writes his totally subjective poetry as a reflection of Clark Kent’s objective reporter role. The suppressed, lyrical, wounded side of Superman perhaps? The Super–Morrissey? Bizarro With The Thorn In His Side?

But he’s also Bizarro–Home’s “mistake” (or so it seems to him, even though he’s as natural an expression of the place as any of the other Bizarro creatures who grow like mold across the surface of their living planet). He feels excluded, a despised outsider, and yet that position is what defines his cherished self–image. He expresses himself through poetry because to him the regular Bizarro language is barbaric, barely articulate and guttural. And they all think he’s talking crap anyway.

It seemed to make sense that an interesting opposite of Bizarro speech might be flowery “woe is me” school Poetry Society odes to the sunset in a misunderstood heart. He’s still a Bizarro though, which makes him ineffectual. His tragedy is that he knows he’s fated to be useless and pointless but craves so much more.

NRAMA: Zibarro also represents a recurrent theme in the story, of Superman constantly facing alternate versions of himself – Bar–El, Samson and Atlas, the Superman Squad, even Luthor by the end. Notably, Hercules is absent, though Superman’s doing his Twelve Labors. With the mythological adventurers in particular, was this designed to equate Superman with their legend, to show how his character is greater than theirs, or both?

GM: In a way, I suppose. He did arm–wrestle them both, proving once and for all Superman’s stronger than anybody! And remember, these characters, along with Hercules, used to appear regularly in Superman books as his rivals. I thought they made better rivals than, say, Majestic or Ultraman because people who don’t read comics have heard of Hercules, Samson and Atlas and understand what they represent.

For that particular story, I wanted to see Superman doing tough guy shit again, like he did in the early days and then again in the 70s, when he was written as a supremely cocky macho bastard for a while. I thought a little bit of that would be an antidote to the slightly soppy, Super–Christ portrayal that was starting to gain ground.

Hence Samson’s broken arm, twisted in two directions beyond all repair. And Atlas in the hospital. And then Superman’s got his hot girlfriend dressed like a girl from Krypton and they’re making out on the moon (the original panel description was of something more like the famous shot of Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr kissing in the surf from “From Here To Eternity.” Frank’s final choice of composition is much more classically pulp–romantic and iconic than my down and dirty rumble in the moondirt would have been, I’m glad to say).

Newsarama: Tell us about some of the thinking behind the new antagonists you created for this series (at least the ones you want to talk about...): First up: Krull and the Subterranosaurs...

Grant Morrison: We wanted to create some throwaway new characters which would be designed to look as if they were convincing long–term elements of the Superman legend.

We were trying to create a few foes who had a classic feel and a solid backstory that could be explored again or in depth. Even if we never went back to these characters, we wanted them to seem rich enough to carry their own stories.

With Krull, we figured a superhuman character like Superman can always use a powerful “sub–human” opponent: a beast, a monster, a savage with the power to destroy civilization. For years I’ve had the idea that the familiar “gray aliens” might “actually” be evolved biped dinosaur descendants, the offspring of smart–thinking lizards which made their way to the warm regions at the Earth’s core.

I imagined these brutes developing their own technology, their own civilization, and then finally coming to the surface to declare bloody war on the mammalian usurpers! It seemed like we could develop this idea into the Krull backstory and suggest a whole epic conflict in a few panels.

Dom Regan, the Glasgow artist and DC colorist, saw the original green skin Jamie Grant had done for Krull, and suggested we make him red instead. Jamie reset his color filters and that was the moment Krull suddenly looked like a real Superman foe.

The red skin marked him out as unique, different and dangerous, even among his own species. It had echoes of Jack Kirby’s Devil Dinosaur that played right into the heart of the concept. A good design became a great design and the whole story of who Krull was – his twisted relationship with his father the Dino–Czar, his monstrous ambitions – came together in that first picture.

The society was fleshed out in the script even though we see only one panel of it – a gloomy, heavy, “Soviet” underworld of walled iron cities, cold blood and deadly intrigue. War–Barges that could sail on the oceans of heated steam at the center of the Earth. A Stalinist authoritarian lizard world where missing person cases were being taken to work and die as slaves in hellish underworld conditions.

NRAMA: Mechano–Man?

GM: An attempt to pre–imagine a classic, archetypal Superman foe, which started with another simple premise – how about a giant robot villain? But not just any giant robot – this is a rampaging machine with a raging little man inside.

Giving him a bitter, angry, scrawny loser as a pilot turned Mechano–Man into a much more extreme and pathological expression of the Man of Steel/Mild–Mannered Reporter dynamic, and added a few interesting layers onto an 8–panel appearance.

NRAMA: The Chronovore – a very disturbing creation, that one.

GM: The Chronovore was mentioned in passing in DC 1,000,000 and would have been the monster in my aborted Hypercrisis series idea. It took a long time to get the right design for the beast because it’s meant to be a 5–D being that we only ever see in 4–D sections. It had to work as a convincing representation of something much bigger that we’re seeing only where it interpenetrates our 4–D space-time continuum.

Imagine you’re walking along with a song in your teenage heart, then suddenly the Chronovore appears, takes bite out of your life, and you arrive at your girlfriend’s house aged 76, clutching a cell phone and a wilted bouquet.

NRAMA: One more obscure run that I was happy to see referenced in this was the use of Nasty from the old Mike Sekowsky Supergirl stories. What made you want to use this character?

GM: I remembered her from the old comics, and felt her fashion–y look could be updated very easily into the kind of fetish club thing I’ve always been partial to.

She seemed a cool and sexy addition to the Luthor plot. The set–up, where Lex has a fairly normal sister who hates how her wayward brother is such a bad influence on her brilliant daughter, is explosive with character potential.

They need to bring Nasty back to mainstream continuity. Geoff! They all want it and you know you never let them down!

NRAMA: Speaking of Mike Sekowsky, I’m curious about his influence on your work. I have an odd fascination with all the ideas and stories he was tossing around in the late 1960s and early 1970s – Jason’s Quest, Manhunter 2070, the I–Ching tales – and many of the characters he worked on, from the B”Wana Beast to the Inferior Five to Yankee Doodle (in Doom Patrol), have shown up in your work. The Bizarro Zoo in issue #10 is even slightly reminiscent of the Beast’s merged animals.

GM: Those were all comics that were around when I was a normal kid, prior to the obsessive collecting fan phase of my isolated teenage years. They clearly inspired me in some way, as you say, but certainly not consciously. I’d never have considered myself a particular fan of Mike Sekowsky’s work, but as you say, I’ve incorporated a lot of his ideas into the DC Universe work I’ve done. Hmm. Interesting.

While I’m at it, I should also say something about Samson and Atlas, halfway between old characters and new.

Samson, Atlas and Hercules were classical mainstays of old Superman covers, tangling with Superman in all those Silver Age stories that happened before he learned from his friends at Marvel that it was possible to fight other superheroes for fun and profit, so I decided to completely “re–vamp” the characters in the manner of superhero franchises. Marvel has the definitive Hercules for me, so I left him out of the mix and concentrated on Atlas and Samson.

Atlas was re–imagined as a mighty but restless and reckless young prince of the New Mythos – a society of mega–beings playing out their archetypal dramas between New Elysium and Hadia, with ordinary people caught in the middle – and Superman.

Essentially good–hearted, Atlas would have been the newbie in a “team” with Skyfather Xaoz!, Heroina, Marzak and the others. He has a bullish, adolescent approach to life. He drinks and plunges himself into ill–advised adventures to ease his naturally gloomy “weighed down by the world” temperament.

You can see it all now. The backstory suggested an unseen, Empyrean New Gods–type series from a parallel universe. What if, when Jack Kirby came to DC from Marvel in 1971, he’d followed up his sci–fi Viking Gods saga at Marvel, with a dimension–spanning epic rooted in Greek mythology? New Gods meets Eternals drawn by Curt Swan/Murphy Anderson? That was Atlas.

Samson, I decided would be a callback to the British newspaper strip “Garth.” Although you may already be imagining a daily strip about the exploits of time–tossed The Boys writer, Garth Ennis, it was actually about a blonde Adonis type who bounced around the ages having mildly horny, racy adventures.

(Go look him up then return the wiser before reading on, so I don’t have to explain anymore about this bastard – he’s often described as “the British Superman,” but oh...my arse! I hated meathead, personality–singularity Garth...but we all grew up with his meandering, inexplicable yet incredibly–drawn adventures and some of it was quite good when you were a little lad because he was always shagging ON PANEL with the likes of a bare–breasted cave girl or gauze–draped Helen of Troy.

(Unlike Superman, you see, the top British strongman liked to get naked. Lots naked. Naked in every time period he could get naked in, which was all of them thanks to the miracle of his bullshit powers.

(Imagine Doctor Who buff, dumb and naked all the time – Russell, I’ve had an idea!!!! – and that’s Garth in a nutshell.

(Sorry, I know I’m going on and the average attention span of anyone reading stuff on the Internet amounts to no more than a few paragraphs, but basically, Garth was always getting naked. In public, in family newspapers. Bollock naked. Let’s face it, patriotic Americans, have you ever seen Superman’s arse?

Newsarama Note: Well, there was Baby Kal-El in the 1978 film...

(Brits, hands up who still remember the man, and have you ever not seen Garth’s arse? Do you not, in fact, have a very clear image of it in your head, as drawn by Martin Asbury perhaps? In mine, Garth’s pulling aside a flimsy curtain to gaze at the pyramids with Cleopatra buck naked in foreground ogling his rock hard glutes...).

Anyway, Samson, I decided, was the Hebrew version of Garth and he would have his own mad comic that was like an American version of Garth. I saw the Bible hero plucked from the desert sands by time–travelling buffoons in search of a savior. Introduced to all the worst aspects of future culture and, using his stolen, erratic Chrono–Mobile, Samson became a time–(and space) traveling Soldier of Fortune, writing wrongs, humping princesses, accumulating and losing treasure etc. Like a science fiction Conan. Meets Garth.

Fortunately, you’ll never see any of these men ever again.

Newsarama: How have your perceptions of Superman and his supporting characters evolved since the Superman 2000 pitch you did with Mark Waid, Mark Millar and Tom Peyer? The Superman notions seem almost identical, but Luthor is very different here than in that pitch, and so is Clark Kent. Did you use some aspects of your original pitch, or have you just changed his mind on how to portray these characters since?

Grant Morrison: A little of both. I wanted to approach All Star Superman as something new, but there were a couple of specific aspects from the Superman 2000 pitch (as I mentioned earlier, it was actually called Superman Now, at least in my notebooks, which is where the bulk of the material came from) that I felt were definitely worth keeping and exploring.

I can’t remember much about Luthor from Superman Now, except for the ending. By the time I got to All Star Superman, I’d developed a few new insights into Luthor’s character that seemed to flesh him out more. Luthor’s really human and charismatic and hateful all the same time. He’s the brilliant, deluded egotist in all of us. The key for me was the idea that he draws his eyebrows on. The weird vanity of that told me everything I needed to know about Luthor.

I thought the real key to him was the fact that, brilliant as he is, Luthor is nowhere near as brilliant as he wants to be or thinks he is. For Luthor, no praise, no success, no achievement is ever enough, because there’s a big hungry hole in his soul. His need for acknowledgement and validation is superhuman in scale. Superman needs no thanks; he does what he does because he’s made that way. Luthor constantly rails against his own sense of failure and inadequacy...and Superman’s to blame, of course.

I’ve recently been re–thinking Luthor again for a different project, and there’s always a new aspect of the character to unearth and develop.

NRAMA: This story makes Superman and Lois’ relationship seem much more romantic and epic than usual, but this one also makes Superman more of the pursuer. Lois seems like more of an equal, but also more wary of his affections, particularly in the black–and–white sequence in issue #2.

She becomes this great beacon of support for him over the course of the series, but there is a sense that she’s a bit jaded from years of trickery and uncomfortable with letting him in now that he’s being honest. How, overall, do you see the relationship between Superman and Lois?

GM: The black-and-white panels shows Lois paranoid and under the influence of an alien chemical, but yes, she’s articulating many of her very real concerns in that scene.

I wanted her to finally respond to all those years of being tricked and duped and led to believe Superman and Clark Kent were two different people. I wanted her to get her revenge by finally refusing to accept the truth.

It also exposed that brilliant central paradox in the Superman/Lois relationship. The perfect man who never tells a lie has to lie to the woman he loves to keep her safe. And he lives with that every day. It’s that little human kink that really drives their relationship.

NRAMA: Jimmy Olsen is extremely cool in this series – it’s the old “Mr. Action” idea taken to a new level. It’s often easy to write Jimmy as a victim or sycophant, but in this series, he comes off as someone worthy of being “Superman’s Pal” – he implicitly trusts Superman, and will take any risk to get his story. Do you see this version of Jimmy as sort of a natural evolution of the version often seen in the comics?

GM: It was a total rethink based on the aspects of Olsen I liked, and playing down the whole wet–behind–the–ears “cub reporter” thing. I borrowed a little from the “Mr. Action” idea of a more daredevil, pro–active Jimmy, added a little bit of Nathan Barley, some Abercrombie & Fitch style, a bit of Tintin, and a cool Quitely haircut.

Jimmy was renowned for his “disguises” and bizarre transformations (my favorite is the transvestite Olsen epic “Miss Jimmy Olsen” from Jimmy Olsen #95, which gets a nod on the first page of our Jimmy story we did), so I wanted to take that aspect of his appeal and make it part of his job.

I don’t like victim Jimmy or dumb Jimmy, because those takes on the character don’t make any sense in their context. It seemed more interesting see what a young man would be like who could convincingly be Superman’s “pal.” Someone whose company a Superman might actually enjoy. That meant making Jimmy a much bigger character: swaggering but ingenuous. Innocent yet worldly. Enthusiastic but not stupid.

My favorite Jimmy moment is in issue #7 when he comes up with the way to defeat the Bizarro invasion by using the seas of the Bizarro planet itself as giant mirrors to reflect toxic – to Bizarros – sunlight onto the night side of the Earth. He knows Superman can actually take crazy lateral thinking like this and put it into practice.

NRAMA: Perry White has a few small–but–key scenes, particularly his address to his staff in issue #1 and standing up to Luthor in issue #12. I’d like to hear more about your thoughts on this character.

GM: As with the others, my feelings are there on the page. Perry is Clark’s boss and need only be that and not much more to play his role perfectly well within the stories. He’s a good reminder that Superman has a job and a boss, unlike that good–for–nothing work-shy bastard Batman. Perry’s another of the series’ older male role models of integrity and steadfastness, like Pa Kent.

NRAMA: There’s a sense in the Daily Planet scenes and with Lois’s spotlight issues that everyone knows Clark is Superman, but they play along to humor him. The Clark disguise comes off as very obvious in this story. Do you feel that the Planet staff knows the truth, or are just in a very deep case of denial, like Lex?

GM: If I had to say for sure, I think Jimmy Olsen worked it out a long time ago, and simply presumes that if Superman has a good reason for what he’s doing, that’s good enough for Jimmy.

Lois has guessed, but refuses to acknowledge it because it exposes her darkest flaw – she could never love Clark Kent the way she loves Superman.

NRAMA: Also, the Planet staff seems awfully nonchalant at Luthor’s threats. Are they simply used to being attacked by now?

GM: Yes. They’re a tough group. They also know that Superman makes a point of looking out for them, so they naturally try to keep Luthor talking. They know he loves to talk about himself and about Superman. In that scene, he’s almost forgotten he even has powers, he’s so busy arguing and making points. He keeps doing ordinary things instead of extraordinary things.

NRAMA: The running gag of Clark subtly using his powers to protect unknowing people is well done, but I have to admit I was confused by the sequence near the end of issue #1. Was that an el–train, and if so, why was it so close to the ground?

GM: It’s a MagLev hover–train. Look again, and you’ll see it’s not supported by anything. Hover–trains help ease congestion in busy city streets! Metropolis is the City of Tomorrow, after all.

NRAMA: And there’s the death of Pa Kent. Why do you feel it’s particularly important to have Pa and not both of the Kents pass away?

GM: I imagined they had both passed away fairly early in Superman’s career, but Ma went a few years after Pa. Also, because the book was about men or man, it seemed important to stress the father/son relationships. That circle of life, the king is dead, long live the king thing that Superman is ultimately too big and too timeless to succumb to.

NRAMA: There is a real touch of Elliott S! Maggin’s novels in your depiction of Luthor – someone who is just so obsessive–compulsive about showing up Superman that he accomplishes nothing in his own life. He comes across as a showman, from his rehearsed speech in issue #1 to his garish costume in the last two issues, and it becomes painfully apparent that he wants to usurp Superman because he just can’t be happy with himself. What defeats him is actually a beautiful gift, getting to see the world as Superman does, and finally understanding his enemy.

That’s all a lead–in to: What previous stories that defined Luthor for you, and how did you define his character? What appeals to you about writing him?

GM: The Marks Waid and Millar were big fans of the Maggin books, and may have persuaded me to read at least the first one but I’m ashamed to say can’t remember anything about it, other than the vague recollection of a very humane, humanist take on Superman that seemed in general accord with the pacifist, hedonistic, between–the–wars spirit of the ‘90s when I read it. It was the ‘90s; I had other things on my mind and in my mind.

I like Maggin’s “Must There Be A Superman?” from Superman #247, which ultimately poses questions traditional superhero comic books are not equipped to answer and is one of the first paving stones in the Yellow Brick Road that leads to Watchmen and beyond, to The Authority, The Ultimates etc. Everyone still awake, still reading this, should make themselves familiar with “Must There Be A Superman?” – it’s a milestone in the development of the superhero concept.

However, the story that most defines Luthor for me turns out to be, as usual, a Len Wein piece with Curt Swan/Murphy Anderson– Superman #248. This blew me away when I was a kid. Lex Luthor cares about humanity? He’s sorry we all got blown up? The villain loves us too? It’s only Superman he really hates? Genius. Big, cool adult stuff.

The divine Len makes Lex almost too human, but it was amazing to see this kind of depth in a character I’d taken for granted as a music hall villain.

I also love the brutish Satanic, Crowley–esque, Golden Age Luthor in the brilliant “Powerstone” Action Comics #47 (the opening of All Star #11 is a shameless lift from “Powerstone”, as I soon realised when I went back to look. Blame my...er...photographic memory...cough).

And I like the Silver Age Luthor who only hates Superman because he thinks it’s Superboy’s fault he went bald. That was the most genuinely human motivation for Luthor’s career of villainy of all; it was Superman’s fault he went bald! I can get behind that.

In the Silver Age, baldness, like obesity, old age and poverty, was seen quite rightly as a crippling disease and a challenge which Superman and his supporting cast would be compelled to overcome at every opportunity! Suburban “50s America versus Communist degeneracy? You tell me.

I like elements of the Marv Wolfman/John Byrne ultra–cruel and rapacious businessman, although he somewhat lacks the human dimension (ultimately there’s something brilliant about Luthor being a failed inventor, a product of Smallville/Dullsville – the genius who went unnoticed in his lifetime, and resorted to death robots in chilly basements and cellars. Luthor as geek versus world). I thought Alan Moore’s ruthlessly self–assured “consultant” Luthor in Swamp Thing was an inspired take on the character as was Mark Waid’s rage–driven prodigy from Birthright.

I tried to fold them all into one portrayal. I see him as a very human character – Superman is us at our best, Luthor is us when we’re being mean, vindictive, petty, deluded and angry. Among other things. It’s like a bipolar manic/depressive personality – with optimistic, loving Superman smiling at one end of the scale and paranoid, petty Luthor cringing on the other.

I think any writer of Superman has to love these two enemies equally. We have to recognize them both as potentials within ourselves. I think it’s important to find yourself agreeing with Luthor a bit about Superman’s “smug superiority” – we all of us, except for Superman, know what it’s like to have mean–spirited thoughts like that about someone else’s happiness. It’s essential to find yourself rooting for Lex, at least a little bit, when he goes up against a man–god armed only with his bloody–minded arrogance and cleverness.

Even if you just wish you could just give him a hug and help him channel his energies in the right direction, Luthor speaks for something in all of us, I like to think.

However he’s played, Luthor is the male power fantasy gone wrong and turned sour. You’ve got everything you want but it’s not enough because someone has more, someone is better, someone is cleverer or more handsome.

 Newsarama: Grant, a recurring theme throughout the book is the effect of small kindness – how even the likes of Steve Lombard are capable of decency. And Superman gets the key to saving himself by doing something that any human being could do, offering sympathy to a person about to end it all.

Grant Morrison: Completely...the person you help today could be the person who saves your life tomorrow.

NRAMA: The character actions that make the biggest difference, from Zibarro’s sacrifice to Pa’s influence on Superman, are really things that any normal, non-powered person could do if they embrace the best part of their humanity. The last page of issue #12 teases the idea that Superman’s powers could be given to all mankind, but it seems as though the greatest gift he has given them is his humanity. How do you view Superman’s fate in the context of where humanity could go as a species?

GM: I see Superman in this series as an Enlightenment figure, a Renaissance idea of the ideal man, perfect in mind, body and intention.

A key text in all of this is Pico’s ‘Oration On The Dignity of Man’ (15c), generally regarded as the ‘manifesto’ of Renaissance thought, in which Giovanni Pico Della Mirandola laid out the fundamentals of what we tend to refer to as ’Humanist’ thinking.

(The ‘Oratorio’ also turns up in my British superhero series Zenith from 1987, which may indicate how long I’ve been working towards a Pico/Superman team-up!)

At its most basic, the ‘Oratorio’ is telling us that human beings have the unique ability, even the responsibility, to live up to their ‘ideals’. It would be unusual for a dog to aspire to be a horse, a bird to bark like a dog, or a horse to want to wear a diving suit and explore the Barrier Reef, but people have a particular gift for and inclination towards imitation, mimicry and self-transformation. We fly by watching birds and then making metal carriers that can outdo birds, we travel underwater by imitating fish, we constantly look to role models and behavioral templates for guidance, even when those role models are fictional TV or, comic, novel or movie heroes, just like the soft, quick, shapeshifty little things we are. We can alter the clothes we wear, the temperature around us, and change even our own bodies, in order to colonize or occupy previously hostile environments. We are, in short, a distinctively malleable and adaptable bunch.

So, Pico is saying, if we live by imitation, does it not make sense that we might choose to imitate the angels, the gods, the very highest form of being that we can imagine? Instead of indulging the most brutish, vicious, greedy and ignorant aspects of the human experience, we can, with a little applied effort, elevate the better part of our natures and work to express those elements through our behavior. To do so would probably make us all feel a whole lot better too. Doing good deeds and making other people happy makes you feel totally brilliant, let’s face it.

So we can choose to the astronaut or the gangster. The superhero or the super villain. The angel or the devil. It’s entirely up to us, particularly in the privileged West, how we choose to imagine ourselves and conduct our lives.

We live in the stories we tell ourselves. It’s really simple. We can continue to tell ourselves and our children that the species we belong to is a crawling, diseased, viral cancer smear, only fit for extinction, and let’s see where that leads us.

We can continue to project our self-loathing and narcissistic terror of personal mortality onto our culture, our civilization, our planet, until we wreck the promise of the world for future generations in a fit of sheer self-induced panic...

...or we can own up to the scientific fact that we are all physically connected as parts of a single giant organism, imagine better ways to live and grow...and then put them into practice. We can stop pissing about, start building starships, and get on with the business of being adults.

The ’Oratorio’ is nothing less than the Shazam!, the Kimota! for Western Culture and we would do well to remember it in our currently trying times.

The key theme of the ‘Dark Age’ of comics was loss and recovery of wonder - McGregor’s Killraven trawling through the apocalyptic wreckage of culture in his search for poetry, meaning and fellowship, Captain Mantra, amnesiac in Robert Mayer’s Superfolks, Alan Moore’s Mike Maxwell trudging through the black and white streets of Thatcher’s Britain, with the magic word of transformation burning on the tip of his tongue.

My own work has been an ongoing attempt to repeat the magic word over and over until we all become the kind of superheroes we’d all like to be. Ha hah ha.

 Newsarama: The structure of the 12 issues involves both Superman’s 12 labors and his impending death. Do you feel the threat of his demise brings out the best in Superman’s already–high character, or did you intend it more as a window for the audience to understand how he sees the world?

Grant Morrison: In trying to do the “big,” ultimate Superman story, we wanted to hit on all the major beats that define the character – the “death of Superman” story has been told again and again and had to be incorporated into any definitive take. Superman’s death and rebirth fit the sun god myth we were establishing, and, as you say, it added a very terminal ticking clock to the story.

NRAMA: When we talked earlier this year, we discussed the neurotic quality of the Silver Age stories. Looking at the series as a whole, you consistently invert this formula. Superman is faced with all these crises that could be seen as personifying his neuroses, but for the most part he handles them with a level head and comes across as being very at peace with himself. You talked about your discussion with an in–character Superman fan at a convention years ago, but I am curious as to how you determined Superman’s mindset.

GM: I felt we had to live up to the big ideas behind Superman. I don’t take my daft job lightly. It’s all I’ve got.

As the project got going, I wasn’t thinking about Silver Ages or Dark Ages or anything about the comics I’d read, so much as the big shared idea of “Superman” and that “S” logo I see on T–shirts everywhere I go, on girls and boys. That communal Superman. I wanted us to get the precise energy of Platonic Superman down on the page.

The “S” hieroglyph, the super–sigil, stands for the very best kind of man we can imagine, so the subject dictated the methodical, perfectionist approach. As I’ve mentioned before, I keep this aspect of my job fresh for myself by changing my writing style to suit the project, the character or the artist.

With something like Batman R.I.P., I’m aiming for a frenzied Goth Pulp-Noir; punk-psych, expressionist shadows and jagged nightmare scene shifts, inspired by Batman’s roots and by the snapping, fluttering of his uncanny cape. Final Crisis was written, with the Norse Ragnarok and Biblical Revelations in mind, as a story about events more than characters. A doom-laden, Death Metal myth for the wonderful world of Fina(ncia)l Crisis/Eco-breakdown/Terror Trauma we all have to live in.

The subject matter drives the execution. And then, of course, the artists add their own vision and nuance. With All Star Superman, “Frank” and I were able to spend a lot of time together talking it through, and we agreed it had to be about grids, structure, storybook panel layouts, an elegance of form, a clarity of delivery. “Classical” in every sense of the word. The medium, the message, the story, the character, all working together as one simple equation.

Frank Quitely, a Glasgow Art School boy, completely understood without much explanation, the deep structural underpinnings of the series and how to embody them in his layouts. There’s a scene in issue # 8, set on the Bizarro world, where we see Le Roj handing Superman his rocket plans. Look at the arrangement of the figures of Zibarro, Le Roj, Superman and Bizaro–Superman and you’ll see one attempt to make us of Renaissance compositions.

The sense of sunlit Zen calm we tried to get into All Star is how I imagine it might feel to think the way Superman thinks all the time - a thought process that is direct, clean, precise, mathematical, ordered. A mind capable of fantastical imagination but grounded in the everyday of his farm upbringing with nice decent folks. Rich with humour and tears and deep human significance, yet tuned to a higher key. We tried to hum along for a little while, that’s all.

In honor of the character’s primal position in the development of the superhero narrative, I hoped we could create an “ultimate” hero story, starring the ultimate superhero.

Basically, I suppose I felt Superman deserved the utmost application of our craft and intelligence in order to truly do him justice.

Otherwise, I couldn’t have written this book if I hadn’t watched my big, brilliant dad decline into incoherence and death. I couldn’t have written it if I’d never had my heart broken, or mended. I couldn’t have written it if I hadn’t known what it felt like to be idolized, misunderstood, hated for no clear reason, loved for all my faults, forgotten, remembered...

Writing All Star Superman was, in retrospect, also a way of keeping my mind in the clean sunshine while plumbing the murkiest depths of the imagination with that old pair of c****s Darkseid and Doctor Hurt. Good riddance.

 Newsarama: This is touched on in other questions, but how much of the Silver/Bronze Age backstory matters here? What do you see as Superman's life prior to All-Star Superman? (What was going on with this Superman while the Byrne revamp took hold?)

Grant Morrison: When I introduced the series in an interview online, I suggested that All Star Superman could be read as the adventures of the ‘original’ Pre-Crisis on Infinite Earths Superman, returning after 20 plus years of adventures we never got to see because we were watching John Byrne‘s New Superman on the other channel. If ‘Whatever Happened To The Man of Tomorrow?’ and the Byrne reboot had never happened, where would that guy be now?

This was more to provide a sense, probably limited and ill-considered, of what the tone of the book might be like. I never intended All Star Superman as a direct continuation of the Weisinger or Julius Schwartz-era Superman stories. The idea was always to create another new version of Superman using all my favorite elements of past stories, not something ‘Age’ specific.

I didn’t collect Superman comics until the ‘70s and I’m not interested enough in pastiche or nostalgia to spend 6 years of my life playing post-modern games with Superman. All Star isn’t written, drawn or colored to look or read like a Silver Age comic book.

All Star Superman is not intended as arch commentary on continuity or how trends in storytelling have changed over the decades. It’s not retro or meta or anything other than its own simple self; a piece of drawing and writing that is intended by its makers to capture the spirit of its subject to the best of their capabilities, wisdom and talent.

Which is to say, we wanted our Superman story be about life, not about comics or superheroes, current events or politics. It’s about how it feels, specifically to be a man...in our dreams! Hopefully that means our 12 issues are also capable of wide interpretation.

So as much as we may have used a few recognizable Silver Age elements like Van-Zee and Sylv(i)a and the Bottle City of Kandor, the ensemble Daily Planet cast embodies all the generations of Superman. Perry White is from 1940, Steve Lombard is from the Schwartz-era ‘70s, Ron Troupe - the only black man in Metropolis - appeared in 1991. Cat Grant is from 1987 and so on.

P.R.O.J.E.C.T. refers back to Jack Kirby’s DNA Project from his ‘70s Jimmy Olsen stories, as well as to The Cadmus Project from ’90s Superboy and Superman stories. Doomsday is ‘90s. Kal Kent, Solaris and the Infant Universe of Qwewq all come from my own work on Superman in the same decade. Pa Kent’s heart attack is from ‘Superman the Movie‘. We didn’t use Brainiac because he’d been the big bad in Earth 2 but if we had, we’d have used Brainiac’s Kryptonian origin from the animated series and so on.

I also used quite a few elements of John Byrne’s approach. Byrne made a lot of good decisions when he rebooted the whole franchise in 1986 and I wanted to incorporate as much as I could of those too.

Our Superman in All Star was never Superboy, for instance. All Star Superman landed on Earth as a normal, if slightly stronger and fitter infant, and only began to manifest powers in adolescence when he’d finally soaked up enough yellow solar radiation to trigger his metamorphosis.

The Byrne logic seemed to me a better way to explain how his powers had developed across the decades, from the skyscraper leaps of the early days to the speed-of-light space flight of the high Silver Age. And more importantly, it made the Superman myth more poignant - the story of a farm boy who turned into an alien as he reached adolescence. I felt that was something that really enriched Superman. He grew away from his home, his family, his adopted species as he became Superman. His teenage years are a record of his transformation from normal boy to super-being.

As you say, there are more than just Silver Age influences in the book. Basically we tried to create a perfect synthesis of every Superman era. So much so, that it should just be taken as representative of an ‘age’ all its own.

In the end, however, I do think that the Silver Age type stories, with their focus on human problems and foibles, have a much wider appeal than a lot of the work which followed. They’re more like fables or folk tales than the later ‘comic book superhero’ stories of Superman when he became just another colorful costume in the crowd...and perhaps that’s why All Star seemed to resemble those books more than it does a typical modern Marvel or DC comic. It was our intention to present a more universal, mainstream Superman.

NRAMA: In your depiction of Krypton and the Kryptonians, you show the complexity of Superman’s relationship between humanity and Earth even further. Krypton has that scientific paradise quality to it, but the Kryptonians are also portrayed as slightly aloof and detached, even Jor-El. But from Bar-El to the people of Kandor, they’re touched by Superman’s goodness. What do you see as the fundamental difference between Kryptonians and Earthlings, and how has Superman’s character been shaped by each?

GM: My version of Krypton was, again, synthesized from a number of different approaches over the decades. 
In mythic terms, if Superman is the story of a young king, found and raised by common people, then Krypton is the far distant kingdom he lost. It’s the secret bloodline, the aristocratic heritage that makes him special, and a hero. At the same time, Krypton is something that must be left behind for Superman to become who he is - i.e. one of us. Krypton gives him his scientific clarity of mind, Earth makes his heart blaze.

I liked the very early Jerry Siegel descriptions where Krypton is a planet of advanced supermen and women (I already played with that a little in Marvel Boy where Noh-Varr was written to be the Marvel Superboy basically). To that, I added the rich, science fiction detailing of the Silver Age Krypton stories and the slightly detached coolness that characterized John Byrne’s Krypton, which I re-interpreted through the lens of Dzogchen Buddhist thought, probably the most pragmatic, chilly and rational philosophic system on the planet and the closest, I felt, to how Kryptonians might see things.

We also took some time to redesign the crazy, multicolored Kryptonian flag (you can see our version in Kandor in issue #10). The flag, as originally imagined, seemed like the last thing Kryptonians would endorse, so we took the multicolored-rays-around-a-circle design and recreated it - the central circle is now red, representing Krypton’s star, Rao, while the rays, rather than arbitrary colors, become representations of the spectrum of visible light pouring from Rao into the inky black of space. In this way, the flag, that bizarre emblem of nationalism becomes a scientific hieroglyph.

Showing Krypton and Kryptonians was also important as a way of stressing why Superman wears that costume and why it makes absolute sense that he looks the way he does. I don’t see the red and blue suit as a flag or as rewoven baby blankets. There’s no need for Superman to dress the way he does but it made sense to think of his outfit as his ‘national costume‘.

The way I see it, the standard superhero outfit, the familiar Superman suit with the pants on the outside, is what everyone wore on Krypton, give or take a few fashion accessories like hoods and headbands, chest crests and variant colors. In fact, all other superheroes are just copying the fashions on Krypton, lost planet of the super-people.

Superman wears his ’action-suit’ the way a patriotic Scotsman would wear a kilt. It’s a sign of his pride in his alien heritage.

 Newsarama: Although All–Star Superman ties in with DC One Million, you style of writing has changed dramatically since then.  How do you feel about One Million now?

Grant Morrison: I just read it again and liked it a lot. Comics were definitely happier, breezier and more confident in their own strengths before Hollywood and the Internet turned the business of writing superhero stories into the production of low budget storyboards or, worse, into conformist, fruitless attempts to impress or entertain a small group of people who appear to hate comics and their creators.

NRAMA: Obviously, this book is the most explicit SF–Christ story since Behold the Man, only...happy.  Superman/Christ parallels have existed for decades, but this story makes it absolutely explicit, from laying his hands on the sick and dying to...well, most of issue #12.  You’ve dealt with Christ themes before, particularly in The Mystery Play, but outside of the comics, how do you see Superman as a Christ figure for the “real” world?

GM: The “Superman as Christ” thing is a little too reductive for me, and tends to overlook the fact that Superman is by no means a pacifist in the Christ sense. Superman would never turn the other cheek; Superman punches out the bully. Superman is a fighter.

When did Christ ever batter the Devil through a mountain?

The thing I disliked about the Superman Returns movie was the American Christ angle, which reduced Superman to a sniveling, masochistic wreck, crawling around on the floor, taking a kicking from everyone. This approach had an odd and slightly disturbing S&M flavor, which didn’t play well to the character’s strengths at all and seemed to derive entirely from a kind of Catholic vision of the suffering, martyred Jesus.

It’s not that he’s based on Jesus, but simply that a lot of the mythical sun god elements that have been layered onto the Christ story also appear in the story of Superman. I suppose I see Superman more as pagan sci–fi. He’s a secular messiah, a science redeemer with tough guy muscles and a very direct and clear morality.

NRAMA: Continuing the religious themes, in issue #10, you have Superman literally giving birth to himself, both philosophically and as a character – a nice little meta–moment showing how Superman inspires a world where he is only fiction.  How did that idea come about?

GM: It came from the challenge we’d set ourselves: as I said, issue #10 had been left as a blank space into which the single most coherent condensation of all our ideas about Superman were destined to fit.

I wanted to do a “day in the life” story. So much of All Star had been about this threat to Superman himself, so we wanted to show him going about a typical day saving people and doing good.

Then came the title “Neverending,” which comes from the opening announcement – “Faster than a speeding bullet!...” of the Superman radio show from 1940, and seemed to me to be as good a title for a Superman story as any I could think of. It seemed to distil everything about Superman’s battle and his legend into a single word. And the story structure itself was designed to loop endlessly, so it went well with that.

 On top of that went the idea of the Last Will and Testament of Superman. A dying god writing his will seemed like an interesting structure to use. Then came the idea to fit all of human history into that single 24 hours. And then to show the development of the Superman idea through human culture from the earliest Australian Aboriginal notions of super–beings ‘descended” from the sky, through the complex philosophical system of Hinduism, onto the Renaissance concept of the ideal man, via the refinements of Nietzche and finally, down to that smiling, hopeful Joe Shuster sketch; the final embodiment of humanity’s glorious, uplifting notion of the superman become reduced to a drawing, a story for kids, a worthless comic book.

And also what that could mean in a holographic fractal universe, where the smallest part contains and reflects the whole.

Of course the next panel in that sequence is happening in the real world and would show you, the reader, sitting with the latest Superman issue in your hands, deep within the Infant Universe of Qwewq in the Fortress of Solitude, today, wherever you are. In “Neverending,” the reader becomes wrapped in a self–referential loop of story and reality. If you actually, seriously think about what is happening at this point in the story, if you meditate upon the curious entanglement of the real and the fictional, you will become enlightened in this life apparently. According to some texts.

NRAMA: On a personal level, you’ve explored all types of religions and philosophies in your work.  What is your take on religion and how it influences humanity, and the Christian take on Jesus Christ in particular?

GM: I think religion per se, is a ghastly blight on the progress of the human species towards the stars.  At the same time, it, or something like it, has been an undeniable source of comfort, meaning and hope for the majority of poor bastards who have ever lived on Earth, so I’m not trying to write it off completely. I just wish that more people were educated to a standard where they could understand what religion is and how it works. Yes, it got us through the night for a while, but ultimately, it’s one of those ugly, stupid arse–over–backwards things we could probably do without now, here on the Planet of the Apes.

Religion is to spirituality what porn is to sex. It’s what the Hollywood 3–act story template is to real creative writing.

Religion creates a structure which places “special,” privileged people (priests) between ordinary people and the divine, as if there could even be any separation: as if every moment, every thought, every action was not already an expression of dynamic ‘divinity” at work.

As I’ve said before, the solid world is just the part of heaven we’re privileged to touch and play with. You don’t need a priest or a holy man to talk to “god” on your behalf: just close your eyes and say hello. “God” is no more, no less, than the sum total of all matter, all energy, all consciousness, as experienced or conceptualized from a timeless perspective where everything ever seems to present all at once. “God” is in everything, all the time and can be found there by looking carefully. The entire universe, including the scary, evil bits, is a thought “God” is thinking, right now.

As far as I can figure it out from my own reading and my own experience of how the spiritual world works, Jesus was, as they say, way cool: a man who achieved a state of consciousness, which nowadays would get him a diagnosis of temporal lobe epilepsy (in the days of the Emperor Tiberius, he was crucified for his ideas, today he’d be laughed at, mocked or medicated).

This “holistic” mode of consciousness (which Luthor experiences briefly at the end of All Star Superman) announces itself as a heartbreaking connection, a oneness, with everything that exists...but you don’t have to be Superman to know what that feeling is like. There are a ton of meditation techniques which can take you to this place. I don’t see it as anything supernatural or religious, in fact, I think it’s nothing more than a developmental level of human consciousness, like the ability to see perspective – which children of 4 cannot do but children of 6 can.

Everyone who’s familiar with this upgrade will tell you the same thing: it feels as if “alien” or “angelic” voices – far more intelligent, coherent and kindly than the voices you normally hear in your head – are explaining the structure of time and space and your place in it. 
This identification with a timeless supermind containing and resolving within itself all possible thoughts and contradictions, is what many people, unsurprisingly, mistake for an encounter with “God.”  However, given that this totality must logically include and resolve all possible thoughts and concepts, it can also be interpreted as an actual encounter with God, so I’m not here to give anyone a hard time over interpretation.

Some people have the experience and believe the God of their particular culture has chosen them personally to have a chat with. These people may become born–again Christians, fundamentalist Muslims, devotees of Shiva, or misunderstood lunatics. Some “contactees” interpret the voices they hear erroneously as communications from an otherworldly, alien intelligence, hence the proliferation of “abduction” accounts in recent decades, which share most of their basic details with similar accounts, from earlier centuries, of people being taken away by “fairies” or “little people”.

Some, who like to describe themselves as magicians, will recognize the “alien” voice as the “Holy Guardian Angel”.

In timeless, spaceless consciousness, the singular human mind blurs into a direct experience of the totality of all consciousness that has ever been or will ever be. It feels like talking with God but I see that as an aspect of science, not religion.

As Peter Barnes wrote in “The Ruling Class”, “I know I must be God because when I pray to Him, I find I’m talking to myself.”

 Newsarama: When we spoke earlier this year, you talked about some of your ideas for future All Star stories. Are you moving forward on those, or have you started working on different ideas since then?

Grant Morrison: I haven’t had time to think about them for a while. I did have the stories worked out, and I’d like to do more, but right now it feels like Frank and Jamie and I have said all there is to be said. I don’t know if I’m ready to do All Star Superman with anyone else right now. I have other plans.

NRAMA: You end the book with Superman having uplifted humanity – having inspired them through his sacrifice and great deeds, and with the potential to pass his powers on to humanity still there. Do you plan to explore this concept further, or would you prefer to leave it open–ended?

GM: I may go back to the Son of Superman in some way. At the same time, it’s best left open–ended. I like the idea that Superman gets to have his cake and eat it; he becomes golden and mythical and lives forever as a dream. Yet, he also is able to sire a child who will carry his legacy into the future. He kicks ass in both the spiritual and the temporal spheres!

 NRAMA: The notion of transcendence – always a big part of your work. But the debate about All Star Superman is whether or not it "transcends its genre." Superman becomes transcendent within the series itself, and inspires the beings on Qwewq, but does the work aspire to more than that? Is it simply the greatest version of a Superman story, and that’s enough?

GM: That would certainly be enough if it were true.

It’s a pretty high–level attempt by some smart people to do the Superman concept some justice, is all I can say. It’s intended to work as a set of sci–fi fables that can be read by children and adults alike. I’d like to think you can go to it if you’re feeling suicidal, if you miss your dad, if you’ve had to take care of a difficult, ailing relative, if you’ve ever lost control and needed a good friend to put you straight, if you love your pets, if you wish your partner could see the real you...All Star is about how Superman deals with all of that.

It’s a big old Paul Bunyan style mythologizing of human - and in particular male - experience. In that sense I’d like to think All Star Superman does transcend genre in that it’s intended to be read on its own terms and needs absolutely no understanding of genre conventions or history around it to grasp what’s going on.

In today’s world, in today’s media climate designed to foster the fear our leaders like us to feel because it makes us easier to push around. In a world where limp, wimpy men are forced to talk tough and act ‘badass’ even though we all know they’re shitting it inside. In a world where the measure of our moral strength has come to lie in the extremity of the images we’re able to look at and stomach. In a world, I’m reliably told, that’s going to the dogs, the real mischief, the real punk rock rebellion, is a snarling, ‘fuck you’ positivity and optimism. Violent optimism in the face of all evidence to the contrary is the Alpha form of outrage these days. It really freaks people out.

I have a desire not to see my culture and my fellow human beings fall helplessly into step with a middle class media narrative that promises only planetary catastrophe, as engineered by an intrinsically evil and corrupt species which, in fact, deserves everything it gets.

Is this relentless, downbeat insistence that the future has been cancelled really the best we can come up with? Are we so fucked up we get off on terrifying our children? It’s not funny or ironic anymore and that’s why we wrote All Star Superman the way we did. Everything has changed. ‘Dark’ entertainment now looks like hysterical, adolescent, ‘Zibarro’ crap. That’s what my Final Crisis series is about too.

NRAMA (aka Tim Callahan): Continuing with the theme of transcendence: The words "ineffectual" and "surrender" are repeated throughout the book. Discuss.

GM: Discuss yourself, Callahan! I know you have the facilities and I should think it’s all rather obvious. 


NRAMA: What was the inspiration for the image of Superman in the sun at the end? (I confess this question comes as the result of much unsuccessful Googling)

GM: I didn’t have any specific reference in mind - just that one we‘ve all sort of got in our heads. I drew the figure as a sketch, intended to be reminiscent of William Blake’s cosmic figures, Russian Constructivist Soviet Socialist Worker type posters, and Leonardo’s ‘Proportions of the Human Figure‘. The position of the legs hints at the Buddhist swastika, the clockwise sun symbol. It was to me, the essence of that working class superheroic ideal I mentioned, condensed into a final image of mythic Superman, - our eternal, internal, guiding, selfless, tireless, loving superstar. The daft All Star Superman title of the comic is literalized in this last picture. It’s the ‘fearful symmetry’ of the Enlightenment project - an image of genius, toil, and our need to make things, to fashion art and artifacts, as a form of superhuman, divine imitation.

It was Superman as this fusion of Renaissance/Enlightenment ideas about Man and Cosmos, an impossible union of Blake and Newton. A Pop Art ‘Vitruvian Man‘. The inspiration for the first letter of the new future alphabet!

As you can see, we spent a lot of time thinking about all this and purifying it down to our own version of the gold. I’m glad it’s over.

NRAMA: Finally: What, above all else, would you like people to take away from All Star Superman?

GM: That we spent a lot of time thinking about this!

No. What I hope is that people take from it the unlikelihood that a piece of paper, with little ink drawings of figures, with little written words, can make you cry, can make your heart soar, can make you scared, sad, or thrilled. How mental is that?

That piece of paper is inert material, the corpse of some tree, pulped and poured, then given new meaning and new life when the real hours and real emotions that the writer and the artist, the colorist, the letter the editor translated onto the physical page, meet with the real hours and emotions of a reader, of all readers at once, across time, generations and distance.

And think about how that experience, the simple experience of interacting with a paper comic book, along with hundreds of thousands of others across time and space, is an actual doorway onto the beating heart of the imminent, timeless world of “Myth” as defined above. Not just a drawing of it but an actual doorway into timelessness and the immortal world where we are all one together.

My grief over the loss of my dad can be Superman’s grief, can trigger your own grief, for your own dad, for all our dads. The timeless grief that’s felt by Muslims and Christians and Agnostics alike. My personal moments of great and romantic love, untainted by the everyday, can become Superman’s and may resonate with your own experience of these simple human feelings.

In the one Mythic moment we’re all united, kissing our Lover for the First time, the Last time, the Only time, honoring our dear Dad under a blood red sky, against a darkening backdrop, with Mum telling us it’ll all be okay in the end.

If we were able to capture even a hint of that place and share it with our readers, that would be good enough for me.

[callme--starchild]

as a team

Game nights weren't Donald's favorite nights. Someone who has had the misfortune to meet him and witness his horrible temperament must have enough neurons to connect the dots and realize what a bad idea it was to connect him with the rush that was during each game, especially when you were related to the Clan. McDuck, a line of character and pride.

Those who had had the – bad – luck to have been involved which night said that he was similar to his Uncle Scrooge in that respect, to the surprise of the duck himself. He and Della happened to be on the same team against his uncle, the sailor's mind too focused on victory to pick up on those minute details.

It wasn't until he found himself on the same team as Scrooge McDuck 24 when he was 24-year-old that he realized, and didn't know whether to laugh at how dense he was, insulted because what person likes to be equated with his father figure, or feeling nostalgic because deep down he was still a McDuck.

"My, my, look at the Team Uncle mastering this game night," Della scoffed, one hand on that bulging belly that he was observing from time to time, not very discreetly, "you will soon find each other against children, I hope they don't inherit your competitiveness."

Before laughing, conjuring a smile on Donald's face. Soon they would be and his niblings, and the mere thought have his stomach churned, strangely, in a very nice way. The thought that one day he would become an uncle had never crossed his mind, but in a few weeks, his twin will find herself laying her eggs.

The last thing he had wanted to think about at the moment was the father because Donald was more than willing to take that role if the guy preferred not to get involved in spite of his interest in knocking him out.

Uncle Donald. Team Uncle. He really loved the sound of it.

And judging by the look on the face of the oldest duck, he knew he thought the same.

"Oi! Those wee ones will be McDucks, one way or another t'ey will have that competitive spirit of thei' dear Uncle Scrooge!" He assured looking out of the corner of his eye to his nephew, playfully ruffling his hair feathers with a tender smile. "It will be interesting to have new competition, dinnae ye think so, lad?"

It was a stark contrast to the grumpy old man from literally seconds ago, and he snorted with a wary smile, knowing that everything would be fine.

But then the Spear of Selene happened, and those future game nights were gone when the uncle became the legal guardian of triplets, and the game nights consisted of the way they were so similar to his sister and uncle that it burned, even if he had remarked multiple times that the most important thing was to have fun.

Dewey was the least subtle about it, doing his best to distract his playmates. Huey, despite being the one who best followed his mantra that everything was a game, had unfortunately inherited his temper, and on more than one occasion he found himself reassuring a furious duckling. Louie, of course, was the most discreet, and Donald couldn't help but wonder who he got it from: he might seem the least interested according to the game they played, but ultimately he was victorious.

And he? He couldn't awake in him that same competitive spirit that Della scoffed at so much, unable to be the same grumpy and sometimes tricky duck with those children who had crept into his heart.

At the least, it was until the kids' 10-years until he found himself back on the roof that had tried to avoid that that spark was rekindled, meaning the return of Team Uncle.

Actually, it was little to keep his place in the will – a place that even he did not know after leaving the mansion – and more for his uncle's idea to team up with someone with the same hard head as him.

"Team Uncle fur the win!" Scrooge exclaimed before hugging him, making his heart beat in a way that took him unawares, hiding his face in the nook of his uncle's neck while reciprocating the contact, a smile marking his bill.

He hadn't realized how much he missed that contact until the two of them parted, shaking their hands as if doing business.

And it wasn't until they faced off against the Gyroputians that they teamed up once more that, in addition to discovering what his uncle thought of him, he discovered something else after tucking in the triplets:

"What a long night, eh lad?" Scrooge came to him that night, an exhausted smile on his face as Donald prepared himself a cup of coffee.

Donald shrugged nonchalantly, the weariness even more evident on his face. "I'm used to them, though I'd forgotten what it was like to have them after an affair."

There was no hesitation in his words, his concentration on the concoction too much for not to notice the way Scrooge flinched.

Yes, it had been a long time since then.

"Do you want coffee?"

He blinked owlishly, immediately noticing the questioning look his nephew was giving him, and for a moment he noticed how much he had aged that decade.

"No thanks, son, I'm fine." Donald's eyes widened, and he thought he saw them sparkle before he shook his head and looked back at his work.

"I thought I was a food-stealing parasite." But despite the sarcasm in his speech, having more than 20 years of experience understanding the boy allowed Scrooge to recognize the pain behind his words, particularly by the way his shoulders were sagged.

It seemed that he had taken his words very seriously, and he couldn't help but wince. What else could he have personally taken without him knowing?

"You know I didnae mean it, Donald, it was... because of the adrenaline of the battle against those Gyroputians" unfortunately, that attempt at an explanation didn't work when Donald rolled his eyes the instant he hesitated. "You will never be a parasite, m'boy."

His answer? A shrugging, though he could see how his body trembled with suppressed sobs.

"Ah couldnae be part of the Team Uncle withoot ye. Besides, ye're a good companion on game nights, when we are nae a couple of knuckleheads who make everyone their enemies."

Finally, the sailor showed a sad smile as he poured coffee, and Scrooge smiled triumphantly to the achievement. Both of them remembering the heated nights when it wasn't just them.

"You cheated, Unca Scrooge!," a duckling complained, pouting and arms folded as he sat on Duckworth's lap, his twin mimicking his expression as he took the stacked crackers.

"It's nae cheating, boy, it's finding a new angle and using it tae yer advantage." He laughed out loud.

Scrooge laughed at the reminiscence.

"It's not fair! Della covered my eyes!" A teenager chided, pushing Della who guffaws as she took her prize, a pair of bills that actually were trifling.

"I just followed Uncle Scrooge's old advice: see the angles" the girl smiled, proudly shaking the bills against the face of her brother, "you got distracted, I simply took advantage of the opportunity."

Donald smiled, wiping the tears from his eyes before they gave him away.

"Oh? So now we make teams, huh?" The young adult smiled knowingly, taking her place next to the butler and crossing her legs. Donald simply shrugged with presumed innocence, sitting across from his sister accompanied by the Scotsduck.

"No one said it was against the rules" he justified, resting his arm on his uncle's shoulder "now, let the games begin..."

"It wasnae wha' Ah had in mind fur our first game night as a family," the sailor looked up, noticing the melancholy look that his fath– uncle gave him, "but wha' better bonding than to follow the family tradition in an adventure?"

" Of course, Uncle Scrooge." Donald rolled his eyes once more, though this time the smile on his face didn't go unnoticed.

The bazillionaire watched from the corner of the eye his nephew's coffee, saying nothing when he sipped wordlessly. Though given the schedule, it seemed unusual.

"I'll go to work in a few hours," he argued before he could be questioned, though Scrooge noted the mystery in his words, "though I can't wait for the next game night."

Before leaving the kitchen with an “I'll clean up later", the apex of a smile as he drank his coffee again.

At least, that was something else they both agreed on.