#Rust Belt Comedy

[thegabbonessoshow]

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[uniguinflutist]

College Divine Comedy Samples

@kusurrone I promised that I'd supply with some of the doodles of a Divine Comedy-related project I did back in college to help you with your comic.

What I forgot about it was how much of a coal mine aesthetic it had. For context, I'm from Pittsburgh, the heart of the Appalachian region in America, where mining and industry were important to our way of life up until the 1980s when the mills shut down because of overseas competition.

As kids, in history class we were taught stories about the coal mines; old legends and songs of them connected to the underworld and Hell, so I incorporated those rust belt tales into my comic.

I cleaned some of the pages up for you. I'll upload some more later. :)

[evanchantingpeters]

T(h)rust in me, I’m not over you... (Fanfic - Alex from Adult World)

Pairings ─ Alex (from Adult World) x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff

Summary ─ Y/N and Alex (aka Evan Peters in Adult World) are exes who haven’t quite let go. A friend’s birthday party turns into a comedy of errors when a black-out drunk Y/N accidentally enters Alex’s postcode as her own for a cab ride home. As Alex finds her at his doorstep and takes her in his place, old feelings resurface and steamy times go down in his bathroom.

Warnings ─ Swearing, smut, unprotected sex p in v, drinking, oral (m receiving), rough sex, nipple teasing, hangover sex, doggy, pretty smutty guys you’re being warned :)

Word count ─ 3.7K

18+ > If you’re a minor, DO NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

The birthday cake of your friend, Beatrice, stands proudly in the centre of her living room, decked out in colourful frosting and flickering candles.

You and the rest of the guests belt out the overdone ‘Happy Birthday’ song in what you think is perfect harmony. But here comes Jerry, Beatrice’s younger brother, who starts hollering the lyrics off-key, stealing the show. 

Snorting, the birthday girl nudges her brother away, leaning over the cake to blow out the candles. Just as she’s mouthing her wish, Jerry, wearing a wicked grin, swoops in and dips his sister’s face right into the cake. 

The room erupts in uproarious laughter as Beatrice’s expression goes from shocked to amused. She taps her cake-covered eyes to remove some chocolate. Then, she turns to Jerry with a look that’s half playful, half ‘I’m plotting revenge.’ 

“You’re in for it now, Jerry!” she barks. And just like that, an all-out frosting war breaks out, turning the room into a sugar-fuelled battlefield. Cake crumbs are flying in every direction, but you manage to dodge most of it with only a few cake-bulleted stains along the hem of your black dress.

You retreat to a corner of the room, sipping your Prosecco like you’re watching sitcom chaos unfold from afar. Suddenly, you notice a stranger in a fancy tux sauntering over, a sly grin playing on his plump lips. 

“Well, looks like you’ve stayed mostly unscathed… or shall I say un-caked?” he chirps, his voice deep and throaty as he nods toward the cake war raging on. 

You just shrug, tossing him a faint, uninterested smile, “Good reflexes, I guess,” you quip, giving him a quick once-over before turning back to the cake madness. You feel his dark green eyes scanning you as if you’re going through airport security. 

He chuckles, and leans in. “If you need someone to scrub the marks off your dress, I’m your guy,” he whoops, playfully thumping his chest. He extends his hand with an inviting smile. “Tony.” 

“Y/N,” you reply bluntly, your energy matching that of a deflated balloon. 

Unfazed by your meh vibes, Tony decides to turn up the heat on the handshake, taking you aback as he begins to stroke your wrist. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous,” he purrs, his eyes never leaving yours.

In a bold move, he lightly kisses the back of your hand, his stubble scratching your skin. 

You instinctively pull away, trying to force a polite smile, but a nervous twitch is all you manage. Your intrusive thoughts kick in, lecturing you (as usual), ‘Give the guy a chance, Y/N. Seriously, after Alex, all you think about is eye-gouging dudes with a spoon? Get a grip and move on!’

“Enjoying the party, Y/N?” he asks, snapping you out of your mental mess.  

“It’s not too bad. I’m here for Beatrice,” you retort, fetching a glass of wine from the buffet. Your eyes drift to the birthday girl, now caked from head to toe and giggling hysterically. You can’t help but crack a smile.

“Sorry, gotta go. Trice’s calling me,” you blurt out and lunge toward your friend, catching a muffled, “No, she didn’t” from behind as you’re practically escaping.

As the night barrels on, your party spirit is like the Energizer Bunny on steroids. You’re all in, downing shots and cocktails like they’re on a liquid clearance sale.

Yet, the question looms in the air: Are you drinking for the sheer fun of it or just drowning sorrows in that cocktail shaker? Alex heartache mode on. 

Before you know it, you’re totally sloshed, messily sprawled on a plush couch, using Tanya’s (another friend of yours) knees as your personal pillow. “Iiiiii reeeeally like your boooody, bodyyy, yeah. I reaaaaally wanna get naughtyyyyy I think you’re such a hottieeeee,” you croak out each word of the pop track with a slur, laughing uncontrollably. Your eyes are shut, lost in your boozy world.  

As you ramble on, Tony, who’s been lurking around, seizes the moment and leaps out from behind the couch. He casually nudges Tanya’s arm, yelling, “You heard that, Tansy?” with theatrical flair. “She thinks I’m a hottie!” His grin spreads wider than a rubber band as he arrogantly points at himself, acting like he’s the main character of your drunken karaoke.

Tanya clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and cuts in with a hiss, “Tony! Behave, man!” She softly kisses the top of your head in a futile attempt to soothe your booze-induced storm. 

“I offered to clean up her dress…” Tony goes on, hovering over the couch. “But, not gonna lie, I’d rather have it crunched up on my bedroom floor as she moans my name,” he murmurs, emphatically banging his fist on the couch before doubling up with laughter. 

“Oh, hush it, Tony,” Tanya roars and waves him away, turning back to you and your delirium, which has hit the roof. “I need to get you home, girl, and none of us is fit to drive…”

Tony, not one to give up easily, chimes in once more. “I volunteer! I’d give her a lift all day, all night.”

“No, we’re all catching a cab,” she declares with a tone that brooks no argument. She lightly pokes your shoulder. “Y/N, my love?” 

Your tipsy babbling starts to fade into a murmur that seems to be lulling you to sleep. “Y/N,” Tanya repeats. “What’s your postcode, sweetie?” 

Your alcohol-soaked brain struggles to register this simple question. “P-postcode? P-o-s-t-d, no. P-p,” you stutter.

“Yes, darling. Confirm your postcode for me, would you? I don’t have it saved,” Tanya says calmly, holding her phone in front of your face. 

With a grunt, you manage to sit up, but the world continues to dance spinning salsa around you. With an unsteady hand, you reach for the device, and your fingers fumble as you try to type out the letters and digits. 

Deep in your drunken haze, you unconsciously punch in a code that matches anything else but your address.

“To the hottieeeeee,” you shout, throwing your fist in the air before dropping yourself back onto your friend’s knees. 

“Ma,am, we’re here,” the taxi driver announces to Tanya that’s sat next to him, his hoarse voice slicing through the quiet of the car. 

Tanya swivels around to face the backseats, where you’re laid down, totally passed out. “Y/N,” she calls softly, giving your leg a gentle rub, but you don’t stir. 

She hops off the car and speed-walks to your side. With great care, she helps you out by wrapping her hands around you. Your arm is looped around her shoulder for stability. “Biyatchhhh, I saiddd whooo I saeee… who da biyaatch? Am da biyatchh,” you hoot, swaying and leaning heavily on your friend as you pinch her cheek with a goofy smile. 

“Y/N, just a sec,” Tanya huffs out as she shoves herself back in to retrieve your purse and coat from the car floor. 

You both stumble your way through the labyrinthine apartment complex. “You got your house key?” she asks, catching her breath. 

It takes a hot minute for the information to hit as you stare at your friend like a deer in headlights. With an unexpected burst of energy, you break free from Tanya’s hold, almost tripping a few steps away. “My Tanoushka, I'm sho happy you haar!” You cry out and lurch back toward her, showering her with enthusiastic smooches on her cheeks.

Then, in a theatrical whirl, you pop open the purse and jangle your keys in her face. “Jiggly, jiggly. Okiee, goooo, go, go!” you cheer in a wobbly dance, urging Tanya to get back into the car.

With an anxious look on her face, Tanya stands by the open car door. “Alright, phone me once you’re indoors,” she insists, her worried eyes laser-focused on you.

You shoo her away absentmindedly as you stagger toward the complex’s main door. You wrestle with the key, wriggling and twisting it into the lock, but miserably fail to get in the building. “Bad key,” you playfully scold, wagging a finger at the stubborn piece of metal before giving it a light slap. 

Soon after, your fingers impulsively begin to clumsily hit the buttons on the intercom, creating a cacophony of buzzing sounds that echo through the entryway. “O-o-o-pen uuup,” your slurred shouting rings through the intercom. “Shtupidd thaang,” you whine, practically bashing the device.

Out of the chorus of tenant voices that crackle through the speaker almost simultaneously, Alex’s familiar voice stands out.

“Y/N? Y/N is that you?” Hearing the shaky and uncertain voice, Alex doesn’t waste a second. He dashes down the stairwell and swings the entrance door wide open, facing a dishevelled Mia, rocking around about to collapse. 

“Y/N,” he gasps and sprints to you. “What happened? Why are you here?” His brows furrow in confusion as he observes your smudged makeup and dress that’s askew.

You look up at him with a lopsided smile, your eyes all bloodshot and half-lidded. “Alex, my hottieee. I mishhhsed you so muschh!” you exclaim, your sentences meandering as you lounge at him for a sloppy hug.

“Shit, you’re hammered,” he mutters, worry spurs him into action. With superhero speed, he scoops you up, your butt facing upwards, hands hanging loosely off his back. 

Your giggles echo as Alex carries you onto his shoulder with ease, making his way to the lift that leads to his place. In a soft, reassuring whisper, he says, “Don’t worry, baby,” and plants a kiss on your thigh that’s now resting on his chest. “I’ll take care of you,” he adds, giving you a playful spank on the ass. 

Once inside, Alex makes a pitstop in the kitchen for a water bottle while you dangle off his shoulder like a ragdoll, humming nonsense. He heads to the bedroom and gently lays you on the bed, making sure your landing is as comfy as a cloud. 

Kneeling beside you, he begins to delicately take off your high heels, rubbing your legs along the way. “Who needs a napkin when your dress can double as a tissue, right?” he chuckles softly, tracing the dry cake marks on your outfit, unaware of the sugary fight earlier. “You’ve officially introduced ‘cake couture’ to the fashion world,” he teases, trying to bundle you in a blanket like a burrito.

You slowly lift your head from the pillow, your neck muscles tightening with the effort as you stare at him with bleary yet intent eyes. “I want shyour cakey,” you mewl, wriggling under the blanket on a mission to liberate your hands.

You tug on his hoodie, pulling him closer until he loses his balance and topples onto you. Your bodies press together, and your voice comes out in a pleading whine. “Alex?” 

“Yes?” he rasps out, his dark brown eyes flicking down to your lips and then up into your eyes. 

“Kiss me,” you mumble and perk up, slowly grazing your lips against his, eyes shut. 

The strong scent of alcohol wafts from you, but, in that moment, Alex seems beyond minding. His heart races too erratically to care, and his breaths are too jagged and wild to bother. The room seems to shrink for both of you, and he swallows hard.

“No, Y/N,” he snaps, his voice firm and resolute as he jumps up. “I’d never let this happen... not right now... not with you being like this.” He snatches the water bottle from the bedside table, unscrewing it with a sense of urgency.

Slightly dazed, you touch your lips. “Tickles, tickles, ticklish,” you squeak, breaking into soft giggles. In a sudden and wobbly move, you shift position, popping up on your knees on the bed. “Huggies,” you whoop facing him, arms wide open for an embrace.

But, just as quickly, your mood takes a detour, and now you’re wincing, yanking at the fabric of your outfit in frustration, “This dresshh is prison, tightiee,” you grunt, hiking your dress up only to reveal your red panties.

His eyes can’t help but stare down there as he rubs the back of his neck almost compulsively, his breath hitching in his throat. At the sight of you half-naked, the dilemma of whether to give in or resist intensifies, swirling in his mind on end.

“Hold up, I don’t want you catching a cold or something. I’ve got a top you can slip into,” he says, puffing out his words while pacing toward his wardrobe to avoid looking at her.

“Heeey,” you yell with an unexpectedly stern tone that catches him off guard. But, just as swiftly, your face softens into a sweet, almost kiddish smile that instantly cools things off.

You wave Alex over, beckoning him to approach. “Come, come, comeyyy,” you coo. 

You perch next to him again, still rocking that mischievous smile. “It’s a secret, tiny winnie one,” you whisper-shout, pinching your index finger and thumb near your face, closing one eye for added drama. “Just between you and me,” you poke as you emphasise ‘me.’ 

Alex nods as his grin stretches from ear to ear. “Okay…” he chuckles, officially joining your light-hearted moment.

“Shhhhh,” you dramatically hush, squishing your index finger against your lips like you’re sharing classified intel. “Secret-t-t-t.”

Alex snorts. His rolls his lips into his mouth as he lowers his head to hold back a laugh. “My bad, my bad. Go on,” he whispers with exaggerated enthusiasm. He’s clearly having a blast with your goofy antics.

“Don’t tell Alex… Neva eva!” 

“I won’t, I won’t,” he assures you, theatrically raising his finger for a pinky promise. 

You take an unusually long moment to process his gesture and what it represents. A sober person would never… Eventually, you sloth-slowly glance back at him, nonchalantly deciding to give up on the symbolism behind the lifted pinky finger. “He’s the kindestsht… and p-p-prettiest boy I’ve eeeeever met,” you exclaim. Your fingers—guided by intoxicated conviction—clumsily roam over his face, stretching his nostril and trailing down to his bottom lip. 

Your drunken self radiates an innocent sincerity that makes Alex’s heart throb like a hammer. Flattered and charmed by your confession, he gazes at you bashfully.

His warm smile broadens as he keeps on staring and admiring you.

“He’s shhhuper,” you squeal, forming a heart shape with your fingers, peeking at him through it. “Do youse… hic… I should gimme… no… not me… him, give HIM head to say thank yew for treatin' spoooooon good?”

Alex can’t help but crack up, though his cheeks turn rosy—a testament to his shy nature. He cups his chin and narrows his eyes mischievously, like he’s in deep thought. “Hmm, if we’re talking about Alex, your ex...I think you should give him head, BUT,” he exclaims, throwing a finger into the air. 

You gasp, playfully covering your mouth like you’ve heard the most shocking news. Your eyes bulge with feigned surprise. “Beyond all,” he argues, “I think you should totally get back together. He thinks you broke up for something very silly, and he’s dying to be with you.”

You abruptly jerk away from him, gagging as if you’re about to throw up. You feel the blood draining from your face as a wave of distress washes over you.

Alex’s eyes widen with concern as he instinctively rises from the bed, “Off we go to the bathroom,” he insists, rushing to follow you.  

Your nausea takes a sudden turn, and you can’t hold back any longer. Barely making it to the toilet in time, you let it all out. Your body heaves with each retch, and you feel miserable.

Alex, the unsung hero, drops to his knees and chucks the water bottle on the floor. He gently pulls your hair back, creating a makeshift puke-proof barrier. All the while, he rubs your back to make the whole ordeal less horrible.

Then, he’s quick on his feet, grabbing some toilet paper for the post-barf clean-up. As you dab your lips, he hands you the bottle to rinse. “I’m disgustiiing, don’t look,” you grumble, shooing him away as you spit water in the toilet before flushing.

“You’re still a wonder to my eyes,” he whispers, running a hand through your loose hair. “And the timing—you puke just as I suggest we get back together, Y/N” he mocks, adding a sprinkle of humour to the less-than-glamorous moment.

You groan and let your head flop onto the toilet seat. “Ahhh, my moussth feels weird… bruushh,” you mumble, rubbing your lips. 

Alex lifts you up, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Not brushing yet, baby. We’re swishing with some hydrogen peroxide and water to protect the enamel,” he instructs you, preparing the said concoction in a small measuring cup next to you. “Here you go, wash off.”

“Shhh, you’re a niiieeerd,” you whine after spitting the liquid, feeling it sting your tongue. Giggling, you yank at Alex’s hoodie and playfully sway him back and forth, your minty breath fanning his face.

Then, you suddenly stop and fix him right in the eye. “Aleeex?” you whimper, lips pouting.

“Yes, Y/N,” he asks calmly, sweeping a few strands of hair off your face as a half smirk curls up his lips. He enjoys the banter that weaves through your drunken fog.

“Fuck me,” you plead, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. 

Alex’s pulse quickened for a second, held in an irregular rhythm. All the while, your fingertips caress his lower stomach, trying to slip through his trousers and onto his boxers. 

You let go when he clears his throat loudly, a deliberate attempt to regain composure. Breathing heavily, he manages a tight-lipped as he strokes your head, tenderly placing it on his shoulder.

“Ohhh, I knoooow,” your exclaim and sit up, your index finger playfully pressing against your mouth. “I willshh brush me an’ you fuck me.” 

Forty minutes later, you’re done with her hardcore toothbrushing session, complete with a few rounds of gargling mouthwash. Alex hands you a towel with a warm smile. You’re still wobbly but muster a grateful grin.

“Thaaank, yew rock,” you slur, clumsily patting your face dry. 

Alex chuckles, “Better?”

You hum, nodding, but your bleary eyes suddenly light up mischievously. Out of impulse, you slide into the tub, turning the water knob. You start splashing around, water welling up everywhere as you laugh uncontrollably. Alex, caught in the aquatic crossfire, shields himself with his hands.

“What’s the goal? Turning this into a water park?” he jokes, still trying to dodge the watery onslaught. But you’re having none of it. You grip his arm and drag him into the splash party.

Soon, you’re both a wet, tangled mess, laughing like loons, lost in the bliss of the moment. As water skims through the contours of your bodies, there’s a switch in the atmosphere. Amidst the fun chaos, your eyes meet inches away from each other, and the laughter mellows into a shared silence.

Before you realise it, your lips crash in a spontaneous kiss. You spread your legs, letting him wade through and tower over you. Soft moans escape him, and the vibrations against your mouth send delightful shivers down your backbone. You know that’s not just a collision of flesh; it transcends into a harmonious blend of passion and connection.

“I want you, Alex,” you sigh with newfound clarity, miraculously not stumbling over your words in an intoxicating joy for the first time tonight. You push the back of his head to deepen the kiss, your tongues now twisting and twirling in a sensual waltz.

He hungrily gropes handfuls of your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses across the crook of your neck.

“Y/N.. no... stop it,” he protests when your hand ventures down his trousers, rubbing along his growing bulge. Your quivering breaths mingle as he breaks the kiss. Skillfully, he turns off the water as he steps out of the tub. “It’s the alcohol talking now, not you.” 

You frown, clutching on the edges of the tub for balance. “The alcohol has shut up; I speak now,” you groan as you stand on your feet. Your drenched dress clings to your body, outlining your figure. Feeling the weight of the soaked fabric, you decide to free yourself from it. 

You strip down to your panties, and your soft, pink nipples rise like rosebuds in bloom, betraying a quiet anticipation. Alex sucks in a sharp breath as he watches your every move all mesmerised, eyes widening, lips parted.

“Ever seen someone redefine the art of walking a tightrope?” you chirp, water dripping down your half-naked body. Sinking to your knees, you get on all fours and slowly begin to crawl to him.

You sway your hips in a sensuous, almost hypnotic rhythm, eyes fixed on Alex. All the while, you trace a perfectly straight line to him, proving your recovered sobriety. 

Arriving at his pelvic level, you gracefully sit back on your heels with a coy smile, maintaining eye contact. “See?” you whisper, tilting your head as your eyes travel down at his erection. You don’t dare to touch; you just marvel at his full length (realistically speaking).

Staring down at you with a knowing, crooked smirk, he runs his fingers through your damp hair, tenderly petting your head. 

“Someone’s suffering here. Let’s free this big boy, shall we?” you purr, brushing your fingers along his hard rock crotch, feeling it twitch upon touch. 

He quickly nods in despair as if he’s unable to utter a single syllable. You slowly roll down his trousers and boxers. He gasps as you finally take hold of his large shaft.

You push his tip in your mouth, flattening your tongue, and swipe down the underside ridge of his stiff dick, humming in delight. He groans louder than you expected as you slowly work his cock in and out, grazing your fingers over the ridges of his abs under his t-shirt.

You pull him back out of your mouth just to slide all the way back down. He’s practically growling at this point, clasping onto the corners of the sink—his vein-y arms make your sex twice as moist.

You regain your slow, teasing pace just to gauge his reaction. Letting out a whine like he can’t take it anymore, he grips your hair tighter, pushing you all the way down his dick. His head is now building on pressure as it strikes the back of your throat, bringing tears to your eyes. His hair grip loosens as his breaths start escaping him in choked, punchy gasps. 

You’re sucking him whole, from his taint down to his balls, dripping your saliva all over him the harder you draw him into your mouth. Your swollen pussy is tingling for him as you feel him hardening in your mouth, forcing loud moans out of you.

Knowing that your next move will finish him, you slow down again and grab him by the waist, gazing up at him. That’s when you begin to take him in faster and rougher, feeling his hips thrust harder each time. 

And… proven! With the change in speed, he lets out a series of choppy moans only to shoot his hot cum in your mouth right after. He stares down at you breathless, mouth agape, as you gulp down his sweet taste with rapid, eager swallows, savouring his taste with a giggle. 

“My girl,” he rasps out as he picks you up from the floor effortlessly yet almost in a trance, his dick still throbbing in your hands. He peels his t-shirt off, turning you around so you both face the large bathroom mirror.

Positioned behind you, he holds you close and smacks your ass hard, making you squeal with surprise. The squeal soon turns into a moan as the pain fades into pleasure. 

You smile slyly as you observe his muscular hands travelling from your hips all the way up to your waistline and tits. You gasp softly when you feel his erection on your back as his mouth nibbles the flushed skin of your neck, leaving soft love bites in his wake.

“I want you to cum inside me, Alex” you blurt out and take hold of his shaft from behind, slowly sliding the head though your tight moist slit in short thrusts. 

“Oh, yeah,” he grunts, biting his bottom lip as he feels your wet lips wrap around him. He instantly fills his hands with your hard nipples, squeezing and rubbing them as he looks at your reflection. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he mutters against your ear in a low, husky voice before knocking himself deep inside you, balls deep, making you scream. His hands roughly grip your thighs to keep you steady and close to him.

Small sobs leave you as you instinctively grab the ends of the sink, bending over to cope with taking him deeper. “Just there,” you yelp, panting, as he starts pounding harder, your hair twisted around his hand. With each thrust, his sack slaps against your clit, making you lose your shit.

Every time your pussy gets to the base of his cock, you pump into him with an intense tempo and move your hips around, making his cock swirl inside your body.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you cry out with shallow, jagged puffs, rising and resting your head on his shoulder.

He pinches your nipples between his knuckles with one hand while with the other, he starts massaging your clit with circular motions. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper in pure ecstasy as a hot flush courses through you, your cunt aching and begging to release.

“You take in me so well, baby. Give it to me,” he groans, his voice a throaty sensual rasp that makes you shudder.

“Yeees,” you scream, writhing and grinding against him until you feel warm liquid dripping down your legs. 

He keeps riding your orgasm out with you, fucking the liquids in back until he hits his own high. And then it happens—his cum gushing inside you, stuffing you up.

Out of breath, Alex pulls himself out of you, watching his cum leak out. He lazily grins at you, his curls sticking to his head, and you tuck them all back with trembling hands, giggling. 

“This pussy and her owner over here will be the death of me,” he chuckles, gasping for air as he pulls you in for a sloppy, heated kiss.

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@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[the-scifi-blob]

piece of a Penumbra Podcast fic!

opposite of a meet-cute (meet-heist?), aka Buddy & Vespa's origin story

just the first two scenes, written while procrastinating on studying

*

“Don’t pout, darling. It’s unbecoming.”

“You—“ Vespa’s so mad she can barely get the words out. Her whole face is likely red by now, and she can feel the handle of her dagger against her hip, her pulse racing frantically beneath it. “You stole from me, you – you big—“ She stutters on her words, trailing off. 

“Big what, dear? Hurry up now, we haven’t got all day.”

Across the dirty bar table, Buddy Aurinko taps her fingers against whiskey-stained wood. Her nails are perfectly manicured, and if Vespa glances up, she’ll be sure to see Buddy’s dark-red-rouged-lips quirked upward in amusement. 

The woman is dangerously perfect. She reminds Vespa of that Saturnite movie star (what was her name? Heplin? Auburn?) who’d starred in the first and last romantic comedy she’d ever watched, back on Ranga five years ago. The actress had been in her heyday at the time, with wide doe-eyes and curling hair, but Vespa hasn’t really kept up with her career since. There are no movie theaters in Outer Rim prisons, after all. 

Besides, it’s not like Vespa has any time for movies these days. Or dangerously perfect women.

“You know, I really thought you’d be able to use that mouth of yours more creatively.” Buddy leans forward, her wavy red hair falling into her left eye. “You certainly weren’t holding back last night.”

Her single visible eye glimmers in the light. The bar they’re sitting in has dirty lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling, a cheap attempt at decor, but when Buddy Aurinko leans forward, the glow catches on the curves of her face, and makes her red hair look like flames. 

“That’s–” Vespa feels her face heat up. Goddamnit. This situation really isn’t doing any favors for Vespa’s cardiovascular health. She gives her thigh a hefty snap-out-of-it pinch under the table. “Stop trying to distract me, you thief!”

“Thief? That’s a rather mighty accusation.” Buddy leans back, and the effect disappears; the dim bar lighting throws half her face into shadows. The other half pulls into a smirk. “This wouldn’t be a continuation of yesterday’s roleplay, would it? Handcuffs aren’t usually my cup of tea, but I’m willing to make an exception if–”

“My score!” Vespa shouts too octaves too high. “You took my score after we had sex last night!”

Around them, the few tables peter off into a shocked silence. The smile slips off Buddy’s face. 

This whole thing has been a huge mistake. Last night, Vespa had been sitting at her usual dingy underground bar after work, sipping her usual disgusting beer from a red-rusted metal cup. (Everything tastes a little like rust on Mars. Even after a month, Vespa’s still not used to it.)  

Then a shadow had appeared to her right, and years of training had her fingers darting to the butcher’s knife hidden at her belt – until she’d turned, and almost spit her beer onto the most striking red hair she’d encountered. Buddy Aurinko’s hair, tied into an updo, had looked like fire. Even after months on this rusted-over desert of a planet, the view was welcome.

Strangely familiar, too, although the nagging deja-vu was quickly shunted to the back of her mind.

“Are – are you looking for something?” she’d stuttered at the woman, face flaming.

“Isn’t everyone?” Buddy had drawled, leaning in as her fingers danced little patterns on Vespa’s chair. “What are you looking for, gorgeous?” 

One thing had led to another. All of it a huge mistake. Vespa’s fatal flaw, apparently, is beautiful and mysterious women. She’d rolled awake the next morning to an empty bed and piano score missing from the floor beside her mattress, a face-down business card in its place. Same time, same place? it had read. 

She’d flipped the card. Aurinko Correctional Facilities, and the memories had come pouring back: the alarms going off, the click of her cell door unlocking, the fan of red hair she’d followed to a tenth floor fire escape, and then finally to the outside world. 

She’d placed, with sudden dread, exactly where she’d met Buddy Aurinko the first time.

The prison warden’s daughter. The one who’d pulled the Aurinko Correctional Facility alarms and masterminded the prison break of a lifetime. The unlikely source of her freedom -- who had somehow, strangely, tracked her all the way to this Martian dumpster. 

“Give it back,” Vespa growls. Well–-tries to growl, and hopes her voice doesn’t sound too much like a petulant whine. 

“Careful, Ms. Ilkay.” Immediately, Buddy’s face is more guarded. “An underground bar in the Cerberus Province isn’t a good place to draw attention. This place is crawling with thieves and criminal runaways.” Her eyes are still shining as they skim the bar’s crowd. She’s elegant as ever, but Vespa spots the miniscule tensing of her shoulders. Vespa hasn’t spent years as an assassin, in the old life she’d left behind, without being able to catch every one of her opponents’ tells.

“Guess we fit right in, then,” Vespa grumbles, slumping lower in her seat. 

“Depends how you read things. I’m the warden’s daughter, and I let you walk. So you’re not really a runaway, are you? And I don’t typically charge for my services, but.” She clicks her pristine nails against the tabletop again. “I’ll consider that score your gift of gratitude. I’m quite a fan of piano compositions.”

“Giving me my freedom is not a service. I don’t owe you my music.”

“Oh, not for that!” Buddy clicks her tongue. “I’m no Board of Fresh Starts body trader. Lives aren’t for sale.” Her fingers inch forward again, tapping a rhythm on the table by Vespa’s elbow.  “No, the score is an advance payment for what I’m about to give you.”

“And what exactly would I want from a solar planet brat?”

“A job,” Buddy says.

Vespa blinks at her. “What.”

“A job. You’re a good medic, from what I’ve seen over the past few months. You’re smart—enough to see past all my father’s tricks at the Aurinko Correctional Facility. Plus you’re a specialized assassin from Ranga, which means you know how to fight. Even if I haven’t seen you in action.” In the strange lighting, Buddy’s lips twist into something that could be mistaken for disappointment. “You’re bored at your current job, aren’t you? I’d be bored if I were a trained assassin who had to sit around nursing people’s hangovers all day.”

“...You’ve been following me?”

“Of course! What type of crime boss would I be if I didn’t scout my talent?”

“You.” Vespa scoffs. “A crime boss.”

“I’m recruiting you to be my partner in crime, darling, not a parrot.”

“Look.” Vespa sighs. “I don’t know what joke you’re trying to pull, but the Cerberus Province isn’t a place for somebody like you.” She looks pointedly at Buddy Aurinko’s manicured nails, and her silk dress that screams Venus craftsmanship. “It’s dangerous to stay out here too long, and not just because there aren’t any radiation shields.” She swallows, looking away from the woman in front of her, who’s likely spent her life in shimmering places vastly different from the Martian desert outskirts. “Go home, okay? That’s the best advice I can give you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Immediately, Buddy’s eyes darken. She lifts up the hem of her silk dress, revealing a black strap along her thigh, and a string of knives and handguns. That’s hot, Vespa thinks, then immediately squashes down the thought like it’s a wayward beetle. “Well. It’s a good thing I take advice about as well as a cat takes to water. I don’t appreciate condescension, Vespa.” She lets the dress drop, morphing back into a wealthy socialite. “Seeing as I enjoyed last night, though, I’ll forgive you this once.” Rising from the table, she throws another business card down on the table. “We’ll continue this conversation in two days. Someplace less crowded.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” Vespa says, when she finds her voice again.

“Not yet. You’ll find that I can be very persuasive, darling.” Buddy winks, then turns, the dress swishing and sparkling and turning heads behind her. It takes another two minutes after her disappearance for Vespa to shake herself from stupor and down the rest of her lukewarm beer.  

Another five to realize that she’d forgotten to demand her piano score: the entire reason she’d dragged herself here for a dangerous second dose of Buddy Aurinko.

*

Life in the Cerberus Province is… well. It’s life, which means most days are no better than a pile of Martian rabbit shit. 

Vespa works at one of the government-underfunded pop-up clinics at the edge of town. It’s as terrible as it sounds; she spends her time bandaging up the bar-fight wounds of drunk thieves in their sixties, and doing her best to avoid their whiskey breath while she works. Sometimes, the screams of runaways from the Board of Fresh Starts will pierce the air – moments before they come barreling past security and into the clinic, their filtration bracelets flashing red, bodies already half-melted by radiation. 

She isn’t allowed to touch the Board runaways. Government policy. 

At night, she returns to a small two-room apartment, where her mattress sits in the opposite corner from the kitchen stove, and a door on the left wall opens to a tiny bathroom. It’s small, the heating scarce, and there’s a bar downstairs whose noise spills through the walls at night. The rent is atrocious. But it’s still a room in a concrete building, far enough underground to avoid the worst of the solar radiation. 

Living like this, she’ll last another five years. Probably.

Sighing, Vespa toes off her shoes at the apartment entryway. Red dust puffs into her face. She coughs it out. “Stupid desert,” she mutters under her breath. 

The eggs, she discovers when she pulls them from the fridge and tries to crack them into a frying pan, a half-hearted attempt at dinner, have started to fry in their shells. A white lump flops into the vegetable oil. “Stupid radiation,” Vespa mutters. She pulls a dagger from the scabbard at her hip, stabbing at the mess until it bursts. 

As she cooks, she can feel the edges of the card Buddy had left on the bar top digging into the front of her thigh through the fabric of her pocket. It feels heavier than paper ought to be, but Vespa thinks maybe that’s just because she still can’t get those stupid shimmery eyes and flaming red hair out of her head. 

Aurinko Correctional Facilities, the business card reads in a sleek sans serif typeface—but Buddy has scratched out the printed text with blue ink, and written in the margins, in a loopy cursive messier than Vespa would have expected: welcome to the Aurinko crime family. There’s an address underneath, and then a time. Tomorrow, 8pm.

When she’d first read it, Vespa had noted the strange way Buddy Aurinko wrote the ‘f’ of family—the end of the letter curling leftward in a little scroll-like spiral. 

It’s a stupid thing to notice. 

Ten minutes later, Vespa is seated on the floor beside her mattress, spearing pieces of scrambled egg with her dagger. “Stupid eggs,” she mutters when a piece flops onto her shit-green army pants. She daggers it and pops it in her mouth anyway. It tastes  metallic, which should trouble Vespa more than it does. 

Radiation sickness is inevitable in the Cerberus Province. Vespa knew this, but her stubborn ass had still jumped onto the first ship to Mars after the mass breakout from Aurinko Correctional Facilities — courtesy of Buddy Aurinko, self-proclaimed rebel and daughter of the warden. After ten years in that psychological hellhole, she’d been desperate to get as far away from the Outer Rim as possible.

Part of her wonders what she’s even trying to do here. It’s not like she’s accomplishing much with her freedom: Just work and household chores and more work, in a dry and endless cycle. Averting her eyes from radiation burns and blood filtration bracelets when she’s at the clinic. Turning into a lovely solar radiation slow-roast when she’s at home. She didn’t grow up with any far-fetched romantic aspirations for her own life, but still … her ten-year-old self would probably scoff at the life she’s leading now. 

If only her father could see her. 

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, nausea grips her stomach. She puts her plate down, taking deep breaths until it subsides. 

It’s been over a decade since she’s last seen him. She hasn’t once gone back to the wooden shed they’d shared, at the edge of Ranga’s second largest swamp – although the shadows of that first home seem to dog her heels wherever she goes. You don’t grow up in the Rangian swamps without expecting to start survival training at age six and be dead by thirty-five. 

Now that she’s out of that place, with more time on her hands than she’d ever thought she could have, she can still feel the ghosts of Ranga all around her, like a grip she doesn’t know how to break. Whispering – often in her father’s voice – that even if she were to make it to the bustling center of the solar system, she’d feel no happier, no less alone, than she does right now. 

At least here, everybody calls her by her name. Nobody looks at her twice when she steps into the women’s restrooms, and nobody even bats their third eye at her green hair or tattoos. She’s spent her whole life yearning for this type of anonymity. Now that she has it… well, she’ll take what she’s given without complaint. 

A cockroach hops two inches from her foot. Nose wrinkling, she squashes it with the blunt handle of her dagger. Gross. Well, maybe a little complaint.

When she’s done with the eggs, she rises, scrubbing off her dishes in the rust-caked sink before setting them by the stove to dry. Then–only because the edge of the card is cutting into her thigh, irritating her to no end–she digs it out of her pocket, and flips it over again to the side with Buddy’s messy scrawl ruining the typeface.

welcome to the Aurinko crime family, it still reads. The ‘f’ of family is still as ridiculously frilly as Vespa remembers. And…Vespa isn’t stupid enough to trust a rich solar heiress like Buddy Aurinko. She traces the letter with her calloused left thumb, though, and thinks about that pesky leak in her bathroom roof, and the Martian dust she can’t seem to keep off her floors and furniture, and the way all her work days have seemed to blend together into an endlessly bleak stretch of time as of late. 

She’s got no idea what Buddy is really after. But whatever it is – it can’t be any worse than what Vespa’s already been through. Can it?

[incarnateirony]

oh look 2p0 is fucking up ratings again. Love that he outright lied on Walker's +3 by like 30% but pop off, .

whoever his TW nonnie is, ignore the guy. He's salty Walker is riding the cancel bubble on every reported site while those sites report Winchesters high, and the whole ratings world certainly knows better than some salty jared stan trying to mimic my ratings talk.

dude is shitting his pants pretending our DVR percentage was lower (it wasn't), and doesn't understand that either way about it Walker's +3s only catch up to Winchester lives, and then Winchester +3 and +7 after that utterly ass smashes it. So while he makes confused ape noises about percentages he fucked up, keep that in mind, and he can eat rocks.

All the mental gymnastics in all the world won't save him from Walker's premiere capping at 0.12 +3 as Winchesters hit 0.19, a solid third over above Walker. By the time Winchesters hit 0.22 in +7, Walker's in comedy dust. It's also the second show in +3 and +7 finals while he goes "I GUESS that's okay!!" and his shows rot at the bottom in finals. stargirl, kung fu, etc all come in the same, kung fu is a later slot so is already doing better, stargirl is improving above walker, the only thing doing worse than Walker is Windy.

it takes Winchesters having multiple locations in THEE biggest five TV markets and progressive areas knocked out to do as bad as walker. literally. walker proved it's dead in new england and didn't flinch because of its rust belt demo, but that same demo keeps Winchesters at about the same numbers, and 2p0 is trying to find a way to spin this as a good thing for Walker somehow.

Oh yeah execs LOVE to know their show is absolutely worthless in a sizeable geographical area and the largest markets, that's just what CW wants to hear. I DO know they want to hear their progressive shit works in the midwest, and it is because it's working as well as Walker even without DC/NY/etc. And that's the problem for walker 2p0 is plugging his ears pretending doesn't exist and will pretend is unrelated when Windy doesn't get season 2 and Walker gets a final season announcement, if lucky.

when we lose those areas, the TeRrIbLe NuMbErs wincels like 2p0 try to spin are [checks notes] the same as walker.

ok.

[realhankmccoy]

i'm so fucking old that i remember when america got an exciting glimpse of Super Mario Brothers 3 in this film with fred fucking savage

def i got a rust belt brain

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this Week # 150 (Year 3/Week 46):

We All Loved Each Other So Much, only my second by Ettore Scola (after 'A special day'), a sprawling saga of post-World War II Italian life and politics, dedicated to and with a cameo of Vittorio de Sica. Strangely episodic and focused on friendship and the cinema. At one point he's recreating the shooting of the Fontana di Trevi scene of La Dolce Vita, with both Fellini and Mastroianni re-playing themselves - very uncanny!

🍿

The four times is a wordless, award-winning slow-poem from 2010. Philosophically, it follows the Pythagorean notion about the four transmigrations of the soul, as exemplified in the lives of a human, an animal, a plant and a mineral. Visually, it follows a dying goatherd in a small southern Italian village, who mixes the dust from the local church floor with water to drink as medicine. Just as he dies, a baby goat is being born, then the story turns to a fir tree under which that lost goat had died, and finally into a pile of charcoal. The smoke from the burning coal turns into dust, which is what the old shepherd drank. It’s the cycle of life and death. It's a fragile and contemplative viewing, quiet and spiritual.

The trailer. 9/10.

🍿  

“Raise ravens, and they'll gouge your eyes out”…

Raise Ravens (Cría Cuervos) by renown Spanish director Carlos Saura. A mystical psychological drama about painful childhood memories. With the same little actress who starred in ‘The spirit of the beehive’. She watches her dying mother suffering in pain, fantasises about poisoning her father, relives her sad upbringing in a villa with an empty swimming pool in the back. That kind of story.

🍿

"Pi-Kan Pai!"

Another frequent re-watch: Best (?) modern romantic comedy, When Harry met Sally. Sweet Sally (Photo Above) and Woody Allen-lite Harry, the original obnoxious mansplainer, and "human affront to all women". How they fall in love in 12 short years. His deeply cynical misogyny is an unpleasant hindrance, but eventually even he changes, becomes softer, even nice.

With a shout-out to Mallomas, the American version of the Danish flødeboller (קרמבו). Still 10/10.

🍿

L’enfer (Torment), my 7th film by Claude Chabrol, a low-rent version of 'The Shining', about a husband who descends into madness. A paranoiac hotel owner starts suspecting that his wife is cheating on him, and his obsessive jealousy turns this whole story into an ugly, unpleasant trip. 3/10.

🍿

Wikipedia has a list of all movies with 100% score on Rotten Tomatoes and # 6 with the highest number of unanimous reviews (129) is Minding the gap, a 2018 Oscar nominee. The debut documentary from one Bing Liu is the tremendous chronicles of himself and his two blue-collar friends. Three young skaters from Rockford, IL, from their teens until much older and sadder, they look back at their disappointed, broken lives. Rockford, IL, a dying rust belt city with 100% empty streets. 9/10.

🍿

All inclusive, a lovely Danish comedy, made by an all-women team, about a 60-year-old mother and her two adult daughters on a Southern vacation to Malta. The one freewheeling daughter wants her mother to have some fun, so she pays a local bartender to flirt with her. My 3rd film with Danica Curcic. 6/10.

🍿

“Call me” X 2:

🍿 Call me Chihiro is a wistful feel-good slow-cinema fairy tale, about a 29-year-old free spirit in a small seaside Japanese town. She's a former sex worker but now she services as a cashier at a Bento shop. Kind and friendly to anyone she meets, she spreads good will to anyone who crosses her path. Always smiling, but nurturing a sad heart, it's a leisurely-told story that eventually meanders over 2 hours with heartfelt snippets of the various characters she touches, but with no resolutions. 7/10.

It made me realize how purely escapist are the all movies I watch. I am satisfied walking with her at sunset on the docks of this pretty, far away town.

🍿 Re-watch: Luca Guadagnino's sensuous Call Me by Your Name. Beautifully-shot, romantic love story of an upper-class Italian summer. Great acting by two hetero(?) players, and the irritating Jewish father.

You know what things... The incredible one-shot at the plaza.

🍿

Pull my daisy, an experimental "Beat Generation" movie, made by photographer Robert Frank in 1959. Written and narrated by Jack Kerouac, and featuring Allen Ginsburg, Gregory Corso and Delphine Seyrig (!), it's a jazzy, free-form poem with an improvisational Joycean flair. A bohemian group crash a party. Nice!

🍿

Apocalypse Clown, an absurdist apocalyptic Irish slapstick comedy about a troupe of washed out clowns, trying to find meaning after a freak solar flare wipes out electricity in the world. Silly and off-beat. 7/10.

The trailer.

🍿

3 by Mabel Normand, silent screen director and actress:

🍿 Mabel Norman was a major female director and star who collaborated with Mack Sennet, and directed Charlie Chaplin's first films.

Mabel's Strange Predicament was Chaplin's first film where he used the tramp persona and costume. It was 1914, and he was slightly less polished: It was obvious he was a drunk, a lecher, a big tipper, his make up had his mouth in a permanent frown. Her predicament was being locked out of her room wearing pajamas!

🍿 Caught in a Cabaret, another 1914 Chaplin 2-reeler. Here he's a waiter who fakes being the Prime Minister of Greenland. There's also a real giantess, maybe a 6'5 foot extra dancing in the background.

🍿 Mabel's Blunder is a gender-bender comedy, with a secretary being hit by both her boss and his father. This short was added to the National Film Registry.

🍿

Etgar Keret is an absurdist, postmodern Israeli poet. More that 100 of his existentialist plays were adapted to short international movies. I discovered him after reading a painful NYT essay ‘I Feel a Human Deterioration’ about the massacre in Gaza.

Wristcutters: A Love Story, based on a story of his, was a bizarre black-comedy experiment about the after-life station where people who had committed suicide find themselves. It opens with a tremendous surprising suicide, but all of its young actors are especially un-charismatic, the directing by some Croatian dude is distinctively mediocre, and even Tom Waits cannot save it. 4/10

🍿

David Cross's 2021 stand-up I'm from the future opens with a stark and powerful story, a woman’s journey to, and experience in, the gas chamber in Auschwitz. It's an angry, scathing criticism of right wing ideology, delivered remorselessly and without pity. 6/10.

🍿

Edgar Wright directed a fake trailer for a fictitious 1970’s exploitation horror film called Don’t. It was included in Tarantino & Rodriguez’s ‘Grindhouse’.

🍿

Oh, how I hated Scorsese’s cult comedy After Hours! The appalling, affected yuppy character, the typecasted Soho artists, the unfunny twists and turns of the journey to ‘get back home’. 1/10.

🍿  

(My complete movie list is here)

[spacevixenmusic]

Hi, i as wondering if you could recommend me some anime, please. I liked bleach, but it was hard watching it because there is so much. But my fav of all time is, “panty stocking and garter-belt”.

Hi! Always happy to recommend some shows!

If you liked Panty & Stocking, I definitely recommend checking out other shows Imaishi has worked on! Most of them feature the same blend of manic action and weird comedy, with just a touch of heart and soul to make it all feel complete. They're also fairly short, usually no more than 13-26 episodes. Check out some of these OPs and see if any of them look cool!

+ Kill la Kill + Gurren Lagann + Re: Cutie Honey + Space Dandy (not Imaishi but I highly recommend this one regardless!)

And here's a couple of extras, for something a bit more recent!

+ Rust-Eater Bisco + Mob Psycho 100

[biggoldbelt]

Paul Rust Interview | The Great North | SDCC 2022

Paul Rust Interview | The Great North | SDCC 2022

Paul Rust Interview | The Great North | SDCC 2022 by Big Gold Belt Media Paul Rust (‘Ham’)–Synopsis:THE GREAT NORTH is an animated comedy series follows the Alaskan adventures of the Tobin family, as a single dad, BEEF (Nick Offerman), does his best to keep his bunch of kids close – especially his only daughter, JUDY (Jenny Slate), whose artistic dreams lead her away from the family fishing boat…

[funnelcloudd]

There’s something so unabashedly Midwestern about Tim Robinson’s humor. It’s most apparent in Detroiters obviously but even ITYSL. The way he says “IDK WHAT TO TELL YA BUDDY” during the coffin flop sketch. His whole comedy persona is based on an affable rust belt guy constantly experiencing a mental breakdown and it’s a delight.

[thegabbonessoshow]

Thank you for a Great 2022!

As we head towards to the end of another year, I am amazed at how grateful and thankful I’m left feeling.

The pandemic was scary for everyone, but I was one of the people where my career was deemed “unessential”. I was out of work from March 2020 until May of 2021 and even then I wasn't back to my normal full-time schedule. 

The beginning of 2022 had everyone scared of the Omicron variant, and my gigs were once again becoming remote, I was losing hope.

Then April hit, and everything changed. In-person gigs, schools inviting the Josh & Gab Show back for in-person events. I was even able to start traveling to do my Mental Health Public speaking engagements and it’s been a wonderful year ever since.

I just wanted to take a minute to thank every single organization that has hired me this year and given me a platform to tell my story and share my art. Words will never express my gratitude. 

Every gig gives me two essential things: (1) The ability to pay my bills (2) The ability to express myself through words and performance.

Thank you so much to the following organizations:

Crawford-Mercer-Venango Counties-Trauma Informed & Resilient Communities Conference Disability PA Dormont Arts Carnegie Library The Woodlands Allegheny County Parks Temple Sinai PA Care Partnership/UPMC Point Park University The Ryan Shazier Foundation Staunton Clinic Walk Productions Pennsylvania Rehabilitation Association The JCC Pittsburgh WQED TV “Teachable Moment” The Brillobox Rust Belt Comedy Karate Sleepover Speakeasy

It’s been an absolute pleasure and I hope to work with you again in 2023!

[wangxianfics]

Hiiiiiii!!!!!!! We all know that wwx is an oblivious gremlin when it comes to his feelings so have you ever come across any fics where he is aware of his feelings early on and isn’t as oblivious? It doesn’t matter what era or au or whatever! Thank you💙💙💙💙💙

Hi nonny!

Here goes our recs for “Not So Oblivious!WWX” :

This is a Love Song by brooklinegirl (20K, Explicit)

(Canon Divergence, Gusu School Days, Early!Wangxian, First Kiss, Feelings Realization, From the Beginning Onwards, Epic Romance)

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan, from beginning to end.

❤️ vinegar jug by dandelion_san (5K, General)

(Time Travel, LWJ meets LWJ, Older!LWJ, Jealous!LWJ, Smitten!WWX, Humor)

Wei Wuxian gains a taste of first love for the future Lan Wangji, following him like an adoring puppy. The present Lan Wangji chugs vinegar and tries his best not to kill his future self, or Jiang Cheng.

@dandelion-san

❤️ Pigtail Pulling by protos_metazu_izon (3+K, General)

(Gusu School Days, Teen Wangxian, Fluff, Humor, Beautiful!WWX, POV LWJ)

“Tell me I’m beautiful, Lan er-gege!”

“You are well aware you are beautiful,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian trips over Jiang Wanyin and sends both of them to the ground in a tangle of limbs and bruises.

@stopaskingme 

❤️ Romeo, oh! Romeo. Whyfore art thou-WEI WUXIAN?!?! by mondengel (1K, General)

(Gusu School Days, Teen!Wangxian, PDA, Humor)

WangXian happens a lot sooner and Lan Qiren is suffering.

@mondengel​

Spark and Kindling by longleggedgit (7K, Mature)

(Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Wangxian Evolution, Angst With a Happy Ending)

When they reached the water, Lan Wangji turned to face him, saying nothing.

“Oh, fine.” Wei Wuxian gave him an exasperated look—as if Lan Wangji were the unreasonable one—and kept walking, toward a stretch of boulders along a bend in the riverbank. “Will your delicate sensibilities remain unassaulted if I bathe over here?”

Lan Wangji merely waited. With a final eyeroll, Wei Wuxian disappeared around the bend, already untying his belt as he went.

“The Lan Clan is so prudish,” he said.

---

Moments in between that brought Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian together.

feed the fire in my soul by ShootMeDead (3+K, Mature)

(Canon Divergence, Gusu School Days, Secret Relationship, Secret Marriage)

Maybe, Wei Wuxian muses, he shouldn't have brought up Lan ancestors and traditions as references.

But Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian learns, flushes so prettily when he was annoyed, his voice trembles just the teeniest amount when he was passionate, his hands curls into fists as he exercised his vaunted self-control when Wei Wuxian was being particularly obnoxious. And Wei Wuxian wants.

~

Aka, the one where wangxian gets together in Cloud Recesses, and this changes everything.

@burningsoprettily​

Free Falling Forever by ShootMeDead (4+K, Teen)

(Canon Divergence, Humor, Protective Siblings, Gusu School Days, Teen!Wangxian, JYL Ships It)

Lan Wangji is infamous in the cultivation world. Wei Wuxian is a fan of the Twin Jades of Lan.

They meet for the first time in Cloud Recesses.

Or, pigtail pulling + mooning = wangxian.

[EXCERPT]

A sound closely resembling a squeak comes from Wei Wuxian as Lan Wangji glances at him. A disciple at the back snorts quietly.

@burningsoprettily

Marital Prospects by Vamillepudding (19K, General)

(Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives, Romantic Comedy, Misunderstandings)

Jin Ling's birth is the happiest occasion of Jin Zixuan's life. But every gold spoon has some rust: Wei Wuxian has taken up residence too. However, Jin Zixuan has a fool-proof plan to get Wei Wuxian out of his life for good: he's going to find him a spouse. And he's got the perfect person in mind: Nie Mingjue.

Lan Wangji has resigned himself to losing the love of his life without saying a word.

@vamillepudding

to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (35K, Mature)

(Soulmates, Hanahaki Disease, Canon Divergence, Chronic Illness, Feelings Realization, LWJ says Fuck)

"Lan WangJi is not sure he can bear meeting with a matchmaker yet again, but at the same time, if he wasn’t going to care deeply about the person he was going to marry, he could just as well have settled for Wei Wuxian six years ago ." or, Lan WangJi goes to a Discussion Conference and his soulmate is there. His soulmate, whom he doesn't love.

I am lonely for you by protos_metazu_ison (11K, Teen)

(POV LWJ, Curses)

For as long as Lan Wangji has been alive, he has been ruled by the family curse. He knows he will doom the one he gives his heart to. It is the reason the only life he’s known is within the four walls of the Jingshi.

That is, until a stranger slings one leg over the wall; two jars of liquor dangling from his hand and calling out a tentative hello.

Modern AU

puzzle pieces by yuisaki (6+K, Teen)

(Modern AU, College AU, Roommates, Friends to Lovers, Seduction, Pining, Sharing Clothes, Getting Together, POV LWJ)

“Sorry, I, uh. Laundry day caught up to me before I could catch up with it. I saw this shirt left in the washer a few days ago, and—“ Wei Ying blinks up at Lan Zhan through dark eyelashes that he wants to kiss, maybe, and gives him an uncharacteristically hesitant smile. “Do you mind?”

I mind the fact that we are not married, Lan Zhan thinks.

Wei Ying keeps borrowing Lan Zhan’s clothes. It is only mildly driving him insane.

@yuisakii

felt this was by crowing (10K, Explicit)

(Modern AU, College AU, Friends With Benefits, Praise Kink, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together)

The dim light in the corridor isn't much better, Wei Ying can't see Lan Zhan's face at all. He forces himself to laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Lan Zhan! You can not misunderstand. I did have a teeny, tiny crush on you but that was just in the beginning."

Lan Zhan's voice is small, barely audible. "In the beginning?"

And then, louder, "Wei Ying…...had a crush on me? I thought - your brother often says things to rile people up."

Wei Ying wants to sink into the floor at his own foolish oversight. Of course, Lan - Gossip is forbidden - Zhan wouldn't take a drunk person, let alone Jiang Cheng at his word.

With a sigh, he readies to lie in the grave of his own making. "Aiya, Lan Zhan, have you even looked at yourself? You were mean and hot. Of course, I was into that."

[Lan Zhan and Wei Ying stumble their way into a relationship]

My Land Beneath Me by longleggedgit (30K, Explicit)

(Modern AU, Best Friends, Pining, Friends To Lovers)

Wei Wuxian gets expelled from college and sent abroad in shame after getting caught up in a scandal. Lan Zhan follows him.

❤️ Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (108K, Explicit) 

(Modern AU, High School AU, Persuasion AU, Teen!Wangxian, Separation, Depression, Miscommunication, Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Emotional Roller Coaster, Angst With a Happy Ending)

Tempo Rubato: Italian; Stolen Time; The musical practice of diverging from the unrelenting and gradual rhythm for a short period of time in a piece, allowing for solo freedom.

Lan Wangji starts high school in perfect step with the rhythm of his uncle's expectations and his duty to his family.

He doesn't quite stay that way.

@spodumene  

❤️  Only Fools Rush In by mrsronweasley (28K, Explicit)

(Modern AU, Woke Up Married, Drunken Confessions, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, What Happens in Vegas etc etc, Smut With Feelings)

Lan Zhan watches as Wei Ying's eyes track down his body until… "Lan Zhan," he says quietly. "What is that on your finger?"

Lan Zhan frowns and looks down. "That," he says, then stops. Something cold trickles down the back of his neck. "That is a ring." His eyes automatically go to Wei Ying's left hand, where… "Wei Ying."

Wei Ying, being the brilliant man that he is, is already ahead of him. "Holy shit."

Lan Zhan clears his throat.

They are in Las Vegas. And now they have rings on their fingers.

There is only one explanation for this. One simple, idiotic, ridiculous explanation.

"We got fucking married?!"

also, check out our early!wangxian and notsooblivious!wwx tags for plenty other similar fics that didn’t make it to the list! 

[sambinnie]

1. On bank holiday Monday I woke two of the housemates at 4.15am, and we made a pan of hot chocolate and opened the door to hear the dawn chorus. One of them sensibly remained on a chair in the garden, insulated against the early May morning with a duvet and blanket and thick onesie; the other walked out with me, into the dark, and we tramped the streets together, along the silent pavements, towards the river and fields.

We discovered that a large ivy-covered tree is home to a bat colony, members of which flapped silently about our heads in their haste to return before full dawn. A cuckoo was audible across the water. A starling clicked its beak and jittered up and down the branch. The housemate called me a boomer.

Of all the odd things I miss from last year, it’s the silence of the roads that is the greatest loss. At 6 o’clock in the morning there would be almost no traffic at all; now the birds are almost drowned out by the constant roar, even some distance away. Whether it’s hormones or poor emotional processing or a rational reaction to a damaged world, I feel angry at the traffic. I’m not saying it would necessarily be a 100% smooth process, but I do wish the world could be run by peri-menopausal, menopausal and post-menopausal women for a year or two. Just to see.

2. I am still obsessed with Orlando Wood’s short book Lemon (I was banging on about it back in February), and am so grateful to have so many people in my life who care about those same ideas. We’re in a left-brain cycle of culture at the moment, he explains: the left brain has a tendency to “isolate parts from the whole and to see them in the abstract… It likes to break things up into smaller parts, to categorise, and therefore favours the familiar, consistency, repeatability and predictability”. It also “prefers to see things in terms of simple and linear cause and effect. It prizes utility, power and control, and its ability to abstract and isolate things from their context enables it to manipulate the world”. What’s that you say? Wider cultural discourse and rights of individual groups, inability to have dialogues about, you say? Mmm. 

My favourite part of the book is when Wood breaks down two adverts: Heineken’s ‘Water in Majorca’ from 1985, and GoDaddy’s 2018 ‘Make Your Own Way’ ad. Remember that? No, me neither. ‘Make Your Own Way’ is full of colourful images, isolated people, or tiled with images of themselves to make a ‘conveyer belt’ effect, and clean-face words which could be applied to almost any product or company (watch it to cure your insomnia/trigger a panic attack); everything is buzzword-y, inspirational, keynote, statement, unilateral, and utterly, utterly devoid of humour, humanity, or engagement. 

One of the most striking things about Wood’s ad breakdown is that, once you’ve read it, you can’t stop noticing how in, say, three ad breaks within an hour-long programme, there might be one advert at most which doesn’t fit this left-brain pattern. Adverts for products as diverse as cars, period reusables, white goods, clothing catalogues, insurance, snack food, and supermarkets all, to some extent or another, fit the mould: bright images, little human connection, bland Instagram visuals, large slogans, spoken-wordlessness (better for the global market), a vague puff of do-gooding, and absolutely no wit at all. The only one I’ve seen recently attempting anything different is Maltesers, about a breastfeeding mother and her mother-in-law, which I admired for the milk-leak and loathed for the Hahahaha, aren’t women awful to each other?.

It’s draining to imagine the flat meetings and endless audience segmentation that enabled this ad trend: this sector engages on social media in the evenings and this demographic prefers a friendly looking home and our audience here is more about food as a pleasure. I’m loathe to break it to them, but for all that laser-focused research you are all making the same ads. And as Wood exposes so brilliantly, those ad campaigns are costing more and more to receive less and less engagement. Congrats, lads. 

3. Speaking of left- and right-brain world views, as so often happens this episode of Hidden Brain popped up serendipitously, with the wonderful host Shankar Vedantam interviewing Iain McGilchrist about his 2010 book The Master and His Emissary. It’s just over 45 minutes and is worth every second — McGilchrist is so clear and insightful about how to tell what type of brain is leading at any given time, what we lose in a left-brain society, and what we need to do about it. (I went back and checked and only then saw the book is in Lemon’s bibliography. Bliss.) 

4. For various reasons, a small toilet room here has been stuffed with balloons for the last week. It’s absolutely staggering both how not one of us thought to remove the balloons, instead bobbling through them to reach the facilities at any given hour of night or day, and also how immensely relaxing it is to go in there since they’ve been removed and humanely destroyed (I assume). It’s A Squash and a Squeeze in action, a life philosophy I cling to pretty robustly and find pays dividends. A housemate pointed out recently that whenever they are travelling in my car, they play a game to see if they can ever see another car in worse condition, and they say they never, ever can. It’s the Squash and a Squeeze philosophy that, in part, enables me to drive the dented, rusting, bubbled, scratched, lichen-furred, beloved piece of garbage I do, having previously had no driving license for almost two years after my seizure. It’s such a delight to drive any car at all. 

5. We’re rewatching Ghosts, which of course I recommend, and I suddenly realised that the Captain (Ben Willbond) is the speaker of possibly my favourite newspaper-based gag in the entire run of The Thick of It. Please watch all of Ghosts and all of The Thick of It, then perhaps The Death of Stalin? All thoroughly excellent, and the latter two contain my favourite kind of Muriel’s Wedding-type comedy, where I am tearfully wheezing with laughter one moment, then gaping with discomfited horror the next. 

6. I made Nigel Slater’s cardamom-spiced rice pudding this weekend, (although I times everything by 1.5 except the rice, which I up to 200g) and it was as good as always, if I say so myself. Cardamom, like capers, coriander, and pistachios, is an ingredient I’ve only come to love as an adult — I often long to make cardamom buns but am in such an emotionally entangled relationship with my sourdough starter that I never have yeast in the house, so have to rely on my favourite local coffee shop for a hit every now and again. If someone wedges themselves against the fridge door this weekend, I might attempt these. 

[vcg73]

Witch!Kurt #42: The Calm Before the Storm

As promised, I got back to work on this.  :)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Adam hummed as he moved through the kitchen, fetching plates, cups, and cutlery from their cabinets and drawers before dishing up the two servings of eggs and sausage links he’d just finished cooking.

He pulled a large orange from the refrigerator and cut it into halves, placing one on each plate. He really preferred grapefruit, but Kurt hated even the scent of them, so he compromised by purchasing a large bag of Mandarins on his last shopping trip. It made him feel better, since Kurt had ceased purchasing his own former staple of strawberries once he had discovered that Adam was allergic. Adam had insisted that there was no need for Kurt to give up a favorite food, and Kurt had made a noise of agreement but Adam had noticed soon afterward that their grocery list never had that particular fruit on it anymore. The bottle of strawberry pancake syrup that had formerly graced their little condiment shelf had also mysteriously vanished. It was the sort of sweet gesture that his husband tended to make without thought, and Adam was determined to show that he appreciated it in just as subtle a fashion. He refused to be another one of those people in Kurt’s life who took his generous nature for granted.

Pouring a steaming cup of tea for himself and coffee for Kurt, he smiled at how delightfully domestic this was. Other than company, the thing he had missed most during his seemingly endless span in the emptiness of the Void was simply having something to do. Getting his hands on some small chore and keeping busy with it. Adam had never been an idler, never one to just sit quietly with his hands folded and wait for something to come along. From earliest childhood, he had been a doer, taking satisfaction from playing games, cooking meals, scribbling notes, inventing choreography, learning some new skill, or sorting out an activity for others. He and Kurt had that in common, along with having work and living spaces that tended to stay tidy and well organized, though neither took it to neat-freak levels. Adam had missed being able to set his hand to a thing and see it completed, and a small part of him thrilled at the mundane little task.

It bothered him more than he liked to admit that he was still slightly off his game when it came to getting his nerve up for comings and goings beyond the loft, even after six months back in the real world, but having a full time stay-at-home job now helped immensely. Most of his daylight hours were kept busy making calls, booking online appointments, and sorting out talent for various casting calls about town. It made him feel useful again, and after only two months on the job, he was already earning praise from his employers and glowing reviews from their clients. That little boost to his self-esteem was making him bolder about going outdoors and meeting people again. Now that winter was over, greenery was beginning to pop up everywhere and the days were becoming mild and pleasant, beckoning him to take a nice walk through the park, or down to Bui’s for a spot of tea on his lunch hour. He no longer worked for Mrs. Bui, having given up his position as stock-boy to an eager young high schooler once his schedule with H&B had been set, but he still liked to pop round for a hot cup, two or three delicious chocolate biccies, and a nice gossip.

And then there was Kurt. How lucky he felt each day to wake up to the sight of that beautiful face on the pillow next to his, to phone him at lunchtime to say ‘how are you’, ‘what would you like for dinner’, and ‘I love you’. Such simple words, but so full of delight to them both. And he liked to be here, finishing up his work for the day, or bustling about getting the evening meal when it was his turn to cook, having it ready when Kurt came home from work or school, and seeing his face light up with joy at the sight of him.

“Hello, husband,” Kurt would say, with that loving look in his beautiful eyes as he came forward for a kiss and a fond embrace. “How was your day?”  

Kurt took positive delight in that greeting, and Adam enjoyed hearing it just as much. He supposed over time the shiny newness of being married would wear off, but for now it was still great fun.

Adam buttered four newly popped slices of toast and once again divided them between the waiting plates, adding a quick smear of marmalade to his own half and a dribble of honey to Kurt’s. He added a bit of honey to his tea as well, then used the spoon he’d stirred it with to mix a helping of nonfat creamer and a packet of sweetener into the coffee. He took a small sip of the latter to test the level of sweetness, and then grimaced, wondering what he’d been thinking as he took a quick swig of tea to banish the taste. Kurt had grown up drinking Burt Hummel’s noxious brew, and he still preferred his coffee strong enough to degrease an engine or melt the spines off a cactus.

“Breakfast is ready, husband of mine,” he said, setting a plate and the coffee on Kurt’s side of the breakfast table just in time to greet him with a kiss as he wandered out from the bathroom, wearing a towel about his waist, skin fresh and still ever so slightly damp after showering.

Kurt kissed him back with a smile and immediately went for the cup, taking an experimental sip followed by a large happy slurp. “Mmm, this is great!” he said. “You used hazelnut creamer, didn’t you?”

Vaguely amused at his enthusiasm, Adam said, “I did. I used that cocoa infused espresso you bought last trip, and I thought hazelnut would be a nice complement to it.”

“Nutella in a cup,” he sighed blissfully, belting back another swallow. He kissed Adam again, on the cheek this time and said, “Be right back.”

Kurt disappeared into the bedroom, and Adam had just enough time to top up his cup and add another good dollop of creamer before Kurt emerged again wearing a smart new outfit of gray checked trousers, black shoes and belt, and a shimmery green, patterned button down. Now that he had truly got the hang of using his assorted magics, Kurt could get himself dressed for the day in the literal blink of an eye. The only delay would be in choosing which outfit to wear. It was the one power that Adam envied him, though he doubted that even being able to instantly don and discard clothing would give him the impeccably chic and polished look that Kurt always had.

After all, even his own power to whisk his hair into order with a thought did not give him the ability to look sexily tumbled when rising from his pillow of a morning the way Kurt typically did. Adam usually looked as though he’d received electric shock until he got himself under a hot shower, and he knew he could potter around in his closet for a good half hour trying on assorted items and still look like he’d just escaped from a harrowing ride through a clothes dryer. Lucky for him that Kurt found the rumpled look attractive.

“What’s funny?” Kurt asked, sitting down to breakfast. He hadn’t been gone long enough for the food to grow cold and he tucked in with an appreciative appetite.

Adam just waved a hand. “Oh nothing. Just musing about how unfairly gorgeous you are for first thing in the morning.”

Flattered, he blushed a bit, his eyes sparkling at the compliment. “You look nice too.”  

And he did. Adam had a video call with a producer this morning, someone his agency had landed for casting of a big-budget film. Adam’s job was simply to take down the particulars of cast size, shooting schedule, and what sort of roles they were looking to fill, and then he would take down their availability and set up a second meeting with one of H&B’s more senior casting agents. But even that required a bit more spit and polish than usual.

He told Kurt as much. “I must let them see that Hanover & Bradley is a posh firm, even down to the lowliest of booking clerks.” He straightened his black and gold striped tie before lifting his nose in the air and sticking his pinky out with extreme dignity as he took a sip from his teacup.

As he had expected, Kurt laughed. “Well, I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. I wish it wasn’t considered unprofessional to suggest casting yourself. I glanced at the script spec you were reading last night and that movie sounds right up your alley.”

Adam smiled. “Appreciated, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for the chaos of a film set yet. Though I must admit that I have been growing bolder of late. I’ve been considering scraping the rust off of my acting skills and joining the Lightning Circle for one or two evenings a week.”

For a moment Kurt looked blank, but then he brightened as the name clicked. “That’s the Improv group that your friend Joey runs, isn’t it?” At Adam’s nod, he clasped his hands. “Adam, that would be amazing! It’s a perfect way to stick a toe in the water and find out whether or not you’d be comfortable on stage again. Joey was an Apple, so he’ll totally get it if you’re not quite ready to get out in public yet. You two were really close during my freshman year, so I imagine it would be like slipping into a favorite pair of shoes to work with him again. It won’t even matter if you’re rusty, because figuring your way around an awkward moment is the whole idea of Improv.”  

Adam beamed at his support. “Exactly right. I had a talk with Janice during my last session about wanting to take baby steps back toward my aborted career. She suggested testing the waters in some small way, then reporting back on how it went. I was thinking Community Theater, or joining the Lexington retirees for one of their in-house productions, or a sketch comedy night somewhere. Then I recalled Joe telling us at the last Apples get-together that he’s renting a space in the Village. His troupe rehearses a few nights a week and performs on Sunday evenings. They write sketches, work out the framing, and then sort of fill in the blanks before an audience. I know for certain that I’m welcome to join.”

Kurt was grinning. “Then you should totally do it. Maybe we could start by attending a performance on the weekend, just to see what it’s like. That way you can make an informed decision about whether or not it’s something you want to do. I think it would be so good for you, honey. I know how refreshing it can be to put your problems aside and just be someone else for a little while. Plus it sounds like a lot of fun!”

Pleased at how easily Kurt had not only accepted the plan but dove straight in with his support, Adam said, “So, it’s a date then?” 

Privately he was thinking that if this worked out, it might be a bit of fun they could do together. The others always asked after Kurt, and seemed quite interested in his progress at NYADA, so they would be glad to have him.

“It’s a date,” Kurt confirmed. Munching the last bite of his breakfast, he glanced at his phone on the table beside him and made a startled sound. “Oh, gosh! Is that the time already? Isabelle asked me to help choose the summer dress selections for the website today and I don’t want to be late.”

Adam nodded. He needed to get himself ready for the meeting soon as well. “Have fun and I’ll see you this afternoon. Is it your turn for dinner tonight?”

“It was, but I’ll do it tomorrow. Brittany called earlier and asked if she, Santana, and Tubbington could join us. They’ll pick up something from the Golden Lotus on the way here.”

He was used to this. Members of their witch family dropped by at odd hours all the time and usually brought food with them, so Adam nodded. “I’ll text and ask them for an order of sweet and sour, or maybe some General Tso. That pineapple and green pepper concoction they picked out the last time was revolting. I was belching peppers for two days straight.”

Kurt laughed. “I already asked. Santana likes that stuff, but Brittany agrees with you, and of course Tubbington would probably stage a revolt if they didn’t get his beloved Kung Pao Chicken, so nobody balked at my request to add Pork Fried Rice and General Tsao.”

Taking one last swig of coffee, Kurt took his dishes to the kitchen, then hurried to the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth. Giving his husband a minty kiss goodbye, Kurt grabbed his bag and a light jacket and was out the door.

Adam stared fondly after him for a moment, then willed the magical ward back into place and went to his own work.

~*~*~*~*~

“What’s happened?” Adam asked when Kurt came through the door without his usual cheerful greeting. 

The buoyant mood Kurt had left home with this morning had transformed throughout the day into a feeling of tense foreboding that had been palpable the moment he walked in the door. Before that, actually. A more tamped-down version had been singing along their emotional bond for the past couple of hours. 

Adam found himself wondering if their idyllic breakfast this morning had just been the calm before some great storm. Whatever it was, he suspected that their Sunday theater plans had just been cancelled. “Is something wrong in Ohio?”

“No,” Kurt said, speaking the word with a hint of hesitation. He made an impatient gesture with his hands as he amended it to, “Not exactly. Nothing’s really wrong, but I had a text from Sue Sylvester today and I suspect it’s no coincidence that she sent it to me on the same day Brittany and Santana suddenly decided to drop by for dinner.”

Adam agreed that this was unlikely. Sue had kept her promise to keep tabs on the Blaine situation for them, but she wasn’t the ‘just dropping a friendly line’ sort of person. “What did it say?”

Pulling out his phone, Kurt showed him the message. ‘Red Alert. Paddington has taken a flea dip.’ “What on earth?”

“Sue always codes her messages,” Kurt explained. “She thinks satellites are sharing them with the C.I.A. or something. Paddington is the nickname she gave to Dave Karofsky after he came out as gay. Y’know, as in a baby bear.”

Adam snorted, picturing the hulking young man he had briefly glimpsed on his aborted surveillance trip to Lima dressed in a duffel coat, red hat and wellies. “So in her own peculiar way, she’s telling you that Dave has rid himself of a certain pest?”

“That’s how I read it,” Kurt agreed. “He must have broken up with Blaine. Either he shook off Blaine’s persuasive influence somehow, or he just wasn’t as taken in by it as we assumed. I’d be interested to find out what happened. The important thing for now is that if Dave is gone, then Blaine doesn’t have anyone handy to power-dump his stolen magic into. That might make Blaine vulnerable.”

“Or it might make him more of a problem,” Adam reminded him, willing away the shiver of apprehension that skittered down his spine at Kurt’s words. “If Blaine has suddenly found himself alone and forced to return to what Santana colorfully calls the ‘snatch and splooge’ technique of transferring power, he could be extremely dangerous.”

Kurt shook his head. “That’s assuming he hasn’t stored power in half the innocent Standards in Lima. He was always unnaturally good at swaying a crowd to his side, long before the soul-polluting began. He’s a lot easier to deal with one on one than with a pack of supporters behind him. Especially ones who are convinced against all logic and evidence that he can do no wrong.”

Reading his meaning in that, Adam said flatly, “You are not going to face him alone, Kurt.”

“Well, I’m not sending you to spy on him again,” Kurt countered with a trace of heat. “I don’t want you going anywhere near him.”

“Nor I you, so if you think I’m going to just sit here safely on the sidelines while that nasty blighter attacks you, then …”

“Adam, I’ll be at twice as much risk if I’m worrying about what might happen to you,” Kurt interrupted. “I’m not an idiot. I know how dangerous he can be, and that you both want and deserve to be with me when I face him, but he nearly killed you once, and then just seeing him for an instant all but paralyzed you! The last time you two were face to face, you were at full strength and he still nearly destroyed you. What if he finds out that you’re not only still alive, but that I’ve married you, and once and for all torpedoed his plans for me? He’ll go berserk and I don’t want to risk him taking that out on you. If I put you in his line of sight, I might as well be pulling the trigger on you myself.”

Adam wanted to argue back that he would be equally devastated if Kurt were to face their enemy alone and be killed or sent to the Void. Which might well be the same thing, since none of their group might be able to find and rescue him if he were to be banished to that place without an anchor. But Kurt would resist such reasoning. For all his instinctive mother-henning of loved ones, he could be remarkably blind when it came to his own well-being.

“Darling, what with all the Lima people who came to our reception, I highly doubt that Blaine has remained oblivious to my miraculous return from the great beyond. I’m safer with you, and the members of our coven, than I ever would be alone.” He struggled to keep his voice calm, even though he suspected that his emotions were broadcasting loud and clear anyway. “I may not be as physically strong as I was the first time I encountered him, but magically I’ve grown stronger. One of the upsides to being part of a good coven. Since Joining with you, I’ve gained new levels of control. But what you’re forgetting is that neither one of us is in this alone. We have a group of excellent witches and Familiars at our back, as well as friends and family. It may turn out that Blaine has put together an army of brain-washed sycophants, but if the Intelligence we’ve received thus far is true, then we also have Coach Sylvester’s magically-inclined Cheerio squad to counter them.”

As he had hoped, Kurt responded to the logic of this statement. “That’s true,” he said slowly. “I hate the idea of putting kids at risk, but I’d put my money on the Cheerios over Blaine’s personal Fight Club any day of the week.”

“I wouldn’t discount Sebastian’s influence over his former prep-school peers either,” Adam pressed. “Or for that matter Finn and Sam’s influence over your old Glee Club, which might even have countered Blaine’s a bit. Just because you’ve been left with that self-enamored tosser as your sole responsibility in the past, doesn’t mean you still are. You were a lone ship on a stormy ocean once upon a time, Kurt, but now you’re the captain of a veritable armada, and the rest of us are just waiting for an order to fire a shot across Blaine’s bow.”

Kurt’s mouth, which had fallen open during Adam’s impassioned speech, clicked shut and he gave him a wan smile. “I’m not sure you aren’t being just a little too optimistic here, but you have a good point.” The smile widened. “You like to claim that you’re not much of an orator, but you give a darned good rallying speech.”

“I think so too,” Santana said by way of greeting, making the two of them jump in surprise as she opened the door and walked casually into their discussion. Kurt had dropped the ward as he came inside, and left it down knowing his friends would be arriving right on his heels. “And he’s right, oh Captain my Captain. If you go back to Lima and cut us out of all the fun after keeping us waiting for months to kick Anderson’s bubble butt, we’ll disown you and elect a new coven leader. I hear Drumsticks has his eye on the spot.”

“Johnny? But he never…oh,” Kurt said in chagrin, laughing a little when he realized she was teasing. “I guess I’m being kind of stupid.”

“Never bothered us before,” she replied, a wicked twinkle in her eye. “I take it you heard from Sue?”

Brittany and Tubbington, who had come in behind her, put their sacks of food down on the kitchen island and Brittany said, “She sent us a message this morning before I called. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything then.”

“Paddington?” Adam queried, wondering if they’d got the same text Kurt had.

Tubbington gave him a frown and said, “Dawn Patrol”.

Not as familiar with Coach Sylvester’s unique personal code as the rest of them, Adam said, “What does that mean?”

“Be on alert because it might be time to come to Lima and get Blaine out of everybody’s way,” Santana translated casually.

Seeing his confusion, Kurt said, “Dawn. You know, as in the dish-washing soap that’s supposed to be extra good at clearing away greasy messes? It … never mind. The point is that Blaine has been dumped, and Coach thinks it might have him off balance enough for us to make our move.” He looked at their guests and said, “Adam was reminding me that we’re a team and that Blaine is no longer just my problem.”

“He’s right, Junior,” Tubbington garbled as he pulled a steaming box and a pair of chopsticks out of the nearest bag and stuffed a large bite of food into his mouth while he spoke. “I been keeping tabs on your family through Sebastian and he tells me that Blaine has already started sniffing around your house now that Sam is living there again.”

“What?” Kurt said in alarm, jumping up from the chair he had just taken.

Brittany patted his arm. “Don’t worry, nobody is in danger. That’s part of what we wanted to tell you tonight. Your dad has Fam, that’s what Sam and Finn call themselves when they’re not being individuals, did you know that? Anyway, Burt has made them wear that cologne Adam made for him at Christmas, just to be safe. He offered some to Sebastian too, but a Familiar can’t be influenced by Wild Magics so he didn’t need it.”

“I should mix them up a fresh batch if Burt is sharing,” Adam mused, already considering ways he might beef up the recipe while still keeping the cologne smelling pleasant. Having been victim to Blaine’s venomous influence once, Sam and Finn might be more than usually vulnerable, and that wasn’t a risk he wanted to take. “Perhaps I could mix it into a deodorant, so there would be no danger of anyone forgetting to wear the potion. ‘Magical Musk for Men’, or some such.”

“You should do it,” Santana agreed, shrugging when she saw that nobody was bothering with food except for the always voracious Lord Tubbington, and going for plates and forks, which she spread around the table before helping herself to a serving of fried rice. “The old stuff does its job, though. Sebastian reported to L.T. that Blaine showed up at the house last night, God only knows why, and Burt met him at the door with a wicked set of hedge-clippers in hand.”

She cackled at the thought and everyone else had to grin at the picture it painted when Brittany added, “Your dad told him he’d had a feeling that it was time to prune away the obnoxious weeds that were in his yard. Then he clacked the blades just a couple of inches from Blaine’s crotch and stared him down until he ran off.”

“Didn’t stop moving until he hit the Lima Bean, from what I hear,” L.T. said with satisfaction, treating them all to a window-shaking belch as he picked a stray vegetable from his beard and popped it into his mouth. “Damn, that’s great. The Lotus must have a new chef.”

Kurt, no longer surprised that his father hadn’t reported the visit, sighed and sad down, taking a spoonful of rice and another of steaming beef & broccoli. Adam and Brittany likewise sat down and helped themselves to a serving of mouthwatering entrees. Adam happily sailed into the box of spicy chicken, also accepting a spoonful of beef & broccoli when Kurt shook the box with an inquiring look. Santana pulled out a second container of Kung Pao, having known from experience that nobody else would have a chance at the initial serving of Tubbington’s favorite, and passed it around.

“If Blaine is already trying to get in good with Sam again,” Kurt mused after a moment, “then it really does support the idea that losing Dave must have come as an unpleasant shock. To his ego if not his magic-stealing. There’s no way he could know that Sam isn’t alone anymore, right?”

“No,” Adam said, “I’m sure he doesn’t know. After all, he believes that he murdered Finn, just as he thinks he did to me. But if he’s seen him around Lima, then even without Sight he must realize that Sam is suddenly a good bit healthier than he was when their friendship was broken off. I could see so clearly, and I don’t even know the poor fellow well.”

Brittany nodded. “We went to visit my folks a couple of weeks ago and I looked in on Fam. Sam’s almost back to his old self again. You did a really good thing for him when you joined him with Finn.”

“Technically that was Sebastian’s idea,” Kurt said, giving credit where it was due. “And all of you helped.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who actually did the heavy lifting,” Santana countered, having no patience for self-effacement. Not when it came to an act of combined delicacy and power, not to mention personal risk, that had left even her cynical self in awe. Sounding baffled by her next words, she added, “And Finn is happy riding around in the back of Sam’s brain. I thought sure he’d be going crazy by now, given how much he liked being the center of attention back in high school. Instead he seems to think he’s some kind of secret agent. As long as Sam lets him take the wheel and do what he wants a couple of times a day, he doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck that nobody else knows they’re taking to Finn Hudson, ex Lima superstar.”

“I suspect without the influence of power-hungry girlfriends, he’s actually happier out of the spotlight,” Kurt said dryly. “He liked being part of the Quarterback-Head Cheerleader power couple, until it became more pressure than fun. Then he hooked up with Rachel and she was a cattle prod in the backside as far as the craving for fame and popularity went. It wasn’t until they went long-distance and Finn didn’t have anyone to give him orders, or any independent direction of his own, that he kind of crashed.”

Brittany nodded. “And Sam always felt more comfortable having an image to hide behind, so he probably likes being able to sit back and let Finn take over some of the time.” She smiled gently. “I think the people who used to know them both are a little confused, though. People never seem to see things clearly without a map.”

Remembering some of the mind-bending leaps of logic this woman had taken in the years he had known her, Kurt had to agree. Brittany always saw things clearly, it was one reason she had the most powerful gifts of Sight and magical intuition he had yet encountered, but unfortunately her idea of clarity rarely matched up with anyone else’s. At least not without a lot of practice in translating her thoughts. He had become far better at ‘speaking Brit’ over this past year than he had ever done when they were schoolmates.

“Makes sense,” he said. “Okay, so assuming my family is safe, Fam’s secret is still intact, and Blaine is beginning to lose control, how much time do you think we have to deal with this?”

“Not long, I would say,” Adam said, brow furrowing in thought. “When I confronted him two years ago, he panicked and went into immediate attack mode. Same with your brother. If he’s reeling from the insult of being dumped, and possibly from the withdrawal of whatever power he’d stored up in your friend Dave … well, I fear we’ve left this kettle boiling too long as it is.”

Tubbington cut in, “Oh, he’ll be feeling it, I’m sure of that. I don’t know if that other kid is still in town or not, but if he broke off their relationship it’s a cinch Dave’s not willing to let Blaine cozy up for a nice easy power withdrawal. Whatever magic had been stored in him would have started draining away almost immediately once he was at a safe distance.” 

At Kurt’s querying noise, Adam said, “As you know, magic has a shelf-life. We can only do so much before we’re either starving or exhausted from having used up our reserves. Storing magic in a prepared object allows it to stay viable for a while, like storing perishables in the freezer. But storing it in a person would mean using their physical reserves. Like storing those perishables in a hot garage. The power would begin to ‘go bad’ in a very short amount of time, and while the vessel could be damaged in the long term, they could also be helped by it in the short.”

“In what way?” Kurt asked, resting his elbows on the table and pressing his lips to steepled fingers as he unconsciously adopted a studying pose.

Santana answered, “Like, if Sam had been critically injured and Blaine had siphoned a portion of his own power, his own life-force, into him to keep him alive until they could get medical help, that would be okay. Noble, even. Not that something that selfless would ever occur to him.”

Tubbington agreed, “I’ve been around long enough to see that happen a couple of times, but before the human litter-box came along, I’d never even heard of a witch, regular or Wild, stealing magic from other witches without their knowledge and power-dumping it into some poor unwitting Standard. Only to steal that power back for their own personal use with no thought as to how much damage they were causing. That he did it to supposed loved ones?” He made a sound that suggested he was about to reject the box of Chinese food he had just inhaled.

“The sorts of things we can do as witches gives us an advantage over the majority of society,” Adam resumed. “And it is widely accepted throughout the community that that sort of privilege gives us a firm ethical responsibility to not misuse our power, nor go mucking about in the lives of Standards. I have wondered from time to time if the general bias against the weak, uncontrolled power of most Wild witches hasn’t led to the rest of us dropping the ball there. After all, if one never knows they’re a witch, how is one to develop the ethical foundation that is, quite frankly, expected of us? Blaine Anderson is an extreme case of self-aggrandizing moral decay, but I doubt he’s alone in it.”

“Well, there’s a cheerful thought,” Santana said sourly. “You’re saying all this is somehow our fault?”

Surprising them all, Kurt who said, “No. I spent months, years even, blaming myself for all the crap Blaine pulled when we were together. I’ve finally accepted that I wasn’t responsible for his actions or responses, only for my own. I’m not going back to thinking otherwise. Blaine was hypocritical, oblivious to other people’s feelings, and painfully self-absorbed long before he and I first started having problems. I was just too infatuated at first, and too emotionally beaten down later, to actually see it. I suspect from certain things he’s told me about his childhood that he always has been that way.”

Adam nodded. “True, and we’re speaking of Blaine as though he were a child, with no ability to recognize how destructive his behavior has been. He’s not.”

Brittany nodded. “There are a lot of bad people out in the world who got there without any help from magic. People who commit terrible crimes every day. Blaine is just doing his the easy way.”

Making a frustrated motion with his hands, Kurt said, “If the magical community is at fault in any way, it’s in not actually behaving as a community. NYADA is as much a school for witches as a school for performing artists, but you’d never know it until something goes wrong.”

“Do you know they actually had the nerve to send us a sternly worded letter after our wedding, admonishing us for performing a Major Working without a senior coven official present?” Adam said to Santana, Brittany, and Tubbington in response to his husband’s disgusted tone. “Basically they scolded us for not asking permission. Kurt was ready to go down to NYADA on the spot, likely leaving a few scorch marks in his wake, but I convinced him to not ruin a promising academic career, and to take a different approach.”

Smiling slightly, having come to appreciate Adam’s occasionally twisted sense of humor, Santana said, “What did you do to them?”

He blinked at her with calculated innocence in his too-wide blue eyes. “I merely passed the letter over to Gran, with a gentle hint that she wasn’t being properly respected for her status as a Senior level witch, and reminding her that Carmen and her crew never did apologize for their laxity in my own rescue.”

She laughed, “Oh, you are evil!”

Kurt laughed as well. “We got another letter that same week advising us to ‘please disregard the former missive’ and congratulating us on our wedding and a ‘difficult job well done’.”

“Honestly it was as close to groveling as I ever expect to see from the Almighty Carmen,” Adam chuckled. “Gran must have given them a tongue-lashing they’ll never forget.”

A sigh came from Kurt. “That’s what’s so frustrating, though! If powerful coven leaders like Madame Tibideaux, whose business is supposed to be education, would only make it their mission to trade information, help those who need it and make sure nobody falls through the cracks the way Finn and I almost did, and assessing and training those with power without treating those with unusual types of magic as second-class or unimportant, the world would be a much better place. They have the power, and they could make sure that cases like Blaine’s wouldn’t happen, because someone would always have their eyes open to step in and redirect someone who’s going the wrong way before they turn into a complete disaster.”

A swift interested chain reaction of glances and nods passed between his companions. Every good coven eventually developed a higher purpose, something beyond mere friendship and the occasional Major Working. Kurt had, without quite realizing it, just hit upon theirs. Their peculiar mixture of powers and creative problem-solving, Adam’s interest in the history of witchcraft, Johnny’s fascination with the mechanics of spell crafting, the unexpected co-mingling of Animagus and Purebred Familiars, Kurt’s own seeming magnetism toward all manner of people, both magical and Standard, drawing even Wild witches and the extremely rare Magic Dampers into his sphere; all spoke to the blending of a wider, more open overall community.

Oblivious to their silent communication, Kurt went on, “I guess that’s why I still feel like confronting Blaine is up to me. Or rather, to us.”

“Well, you know you can count me in,” Lord Tubbington said. “I’ve wanted to flex my claws on that ugly little scratching post since the first time I saw him.”

“Mine too,” Brittany said with no trace of irony. “I knew he was up to something bad the first time he came to Glee Club dressed like male Rachel.”

Still smirking a bit, Santana said, “I’ve been waiting to kick his ass since last Thanksgiving. What do you say, Kurt?”

He nodded. "Let’s get Dani, Johnny, Monica, and Elliott over here. I think it’s time we put together a plan.”

THE END

[bigwordsiknowbyheart]

Big Words I Know By Heart Episode 50: ‘Licentious’

Big Words I Know By Heart Episode 50: ‘Licentious’

Before I say anything else, it needs to be said that the above crotch grab was real.  I didn’t think that guest Rick Matthews was really going to go for it during pictures, but it actually happened.  In addition to everything else about the comedian, he is committed to his craft.  He’s in it to win it.

I’m very late in posting this (having just wrapped Episode 51), but I’d been hearing about…

[violeteyedvampiremolloy]

Meme: Muse Aesthetics

Tagged by @everarddelanden

BOLD any which apply to your muse! Add what you’d like!

Mortal years

BOLD both

Tagging: @viiolinwept @whitehowler @amadeo-child-of-the-renaissance @angel-in-oils @horridevil

[COLORS]

red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. rose gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. ocean blue.

[ELEMENTS]

fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise.sunset. dewdrops.

[BODY]

claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. beards. piercings. tattoos. lithe.

[WEAPONS]

fists. sword. dagger. spear. arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. fire. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staves. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. kitchenware. fangs.

[MATERIALS]

gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. crystal. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. carbonate. rubber. synthetics.

[NATURE]

grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. pansies. lavender. petals. thorns. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rainforest. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. garden.

[ANIMALS]

lions. wolves. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. worms. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. foxes. bunnies. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. unicorns. pegasi. dragons. rats. doves. tigers. macaw.

[FOODS/DRINKS]

sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. vodka. hard liquor. beer. ale. cider. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon.vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. soup. cheese. meat pie. sandwiches. cheesecake. soda. blood. rum. whiskey.

[HOBBIES]

music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. stand-up comedy. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. CDs. records. vinyl. cassettes. piano. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding. eating. climbing. running(away). parkour. spinning. walking. magic. languages. antiques. driving

[STYLE]

lingerie. armor. cape. dress. tunic. vest. shirt. t-shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring(s). cuff links. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sun glasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. cane. suit. leather pants. robe(s).sneakers. shell suit. Bold pattern jumpers.

[MISC]

balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power. percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. loneliness. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. dreaming. nightmares. daydreaming. silence. noise. politics. anger. pity. cars. mechanics. alchemy. religion. travel.