aogaroi

[soullessjack]

unstoppable force (desire to post about how pretty and gorgeous jack is) vs immovable object (knowing it will flop because everyone is still under the shared delusion that he’s a baby) vs unstoppable force (needing to express how absolutely beautiful and lovely he is anyways) vs immovable object (ingrained notion that little to no traction renders my online presence worthless)

[imaginepirates]

Modern! Jack

Another modern au where Jack stumbles upon your house in the woods. This is an outdoorsy one for everyone who loves Jack being Jack. You try to convince Jack that the mountains are just as beautiful as the sea. (Poll: which do you like better?)

@emdrabbles​ @tesserphantom​ @paljonkaikenlaista​ @viper-official​ 

~3000 words

~~~~~~~

          The wind whispered through the trees, the light dappling through the leaves to fall across the ground in mesmerizing patterns. You stood under them, watching the movement in the undergrowth. Mice scuttled through the bushes, insects skittered across the ground, and a thrush took flight from its place in the grasses. You walked along a path that led away from your small home and out into the woods. You lived in a secluded area, away from the hustle and bustle of city life. It was nice, out in nature. It was relaxing, and your walks always took you somewhere new.

          You stepped off the path, letting your feet lead you. You knew the area well enough that you wouldn’t get lost. You made your way to a small brook, using the stones jutting out from the water as a pathway across. The stream burbled up at you as you crossed. You were glad to have this space to yourself. Sometimes, hikers came along, and you held pleasant conversation with them. They came down from the hills behind your home, a beautiful range of white-topped mountains that stretched for miles, carved out by glaciers. You could swear that they were the most beautiful land formations on earth. A bird cawed somewhere nearby, taking off from its perch. You watched it fly overhead, admiring its deep blue coloring.

          You noticed the man not long after. He came stumbling through the trees, looking disoriented. He carried no pack, and you worried that something might have happened to him while he had been out hiking. Your fear was amplified by the fresh bloodstain on his shirt. You both stared at each other a shocked moment before either of you moved.

          You moved toward him, taking his arm. He must have been one of those modern hippies; his dreadlocks reached his lower back. There was some sort of dark makeup around his eyes, and his clothes were strange, too hot for hiking in. You brushed the thoughts of his strangeness out of your mind, intent on getting him some help. “I live not far from here. I can help you.”

          “Thank you, love. But may I ask: where exactly is ‘here’?”

          You glanced over at his face, realizing that he was sincere. Surely he had to have some idea of where he was. He’d likely gotten lost while out on the path, but there was no way that he could be utterly confused as to his location. “You’re by the Cascade Mountain Range.” Seeing his still-confused expression, you decided that the injury on his chest might be taking more out of him than you originally thought.

          You rushed him back to the house, a little surprised to find how steadily the man walked across the rocks in the stream. Once inside, you sat him on your couch and went to the bathroom for your first aid kit. You kept one around just in case, especially considering the fact that accidents like this did, in fact, happen.

          When you stepped back into your living room, you saw that the man was standing in your kitchen, casting a curious glance at your toaster-oven. Seeing the kit in your hands, he nodded, stepping back over toward the sofa.

          You pulled his shirt to the side to find a long gash. It was shallow, but it had bled a concerning amount. You bandaged it as best as you could, making sure to apply generous amounts of disinfectant. With the bleeding stopped, you took another look at your patient.

          He wore a bandana around his head with trinkets dangling from it, including a rather large piece of what you assumed to be plastic, though it looked convincingly like bone. His outfit was…interesting, to say the least. He wore what appeared to be a worn waistcoat over a billowing shirt, and he had thick belts around his chest and middle. The very personification of a swashbuckling pirate, you thought. He was the strangest person you’d met in the woods to date.

          “I know you might feel a little confused,” you said, carefully folding a bloodstained washcloth. “You seem to have lost some blood. Would you mind telling me what happened?”

          “Confused is a bit of an understatement, love. I’m baffled. Bewildered. Befuddled, if you will.”

          “And why is that, Mr…”

          “Sparrow.”

          “Mr. Sparrow.” Sparrow? you thought. Certainly not Sparrow as in Jack Sparrow, fictional pirate and dashing rogue?

          “Because I have no idea where I am. In perfect honesty, I have no idea when I am.”

          You almost laughed. The notion seemed so ridiculous. Then you realized he might have passed out somewhere, and was probably asking for the day of week. “It’s Thursday,” you said. “March thirteenth.”

          He nodded.

          “Do you mind telling me how you got hurt?”

          “Oh! That.” He looked down at the injury, as if analyzing it for the first time. “Swordfight.”

          “Swordfight?” At this point, you were fairly sure that you were hallucinating. You’d heard of strange things happening to people, encounters that left people shocked, but you’d never thought that you would have one. You couldn’t tell if the man was a very good actor, or if he was simply insane. You realized that it would be best to call the police. “You should get some rest,” you told him. “You look tired. When you wake up, I’ll have some food ready.”

          He thanked you, sprawling out across your couch to take a nap. You moved over to the kitchen, picking up the phone on the way there. Any man who claimed that he had been injured in the middle of the woods in a swordfight wasn’t the type you wanted to be around. You looked back at Sparrow, who had his thick leather boots slung over the edge of your sofa.

          A glint of metal caught your eye. There, resting by his hip, was a belt. A large sheath hung off one side, and a sword seemed to be inside it. “Excuse me,” you said without thinking. “Is that a real sword?” The pommel looked lovely, and you wanted to know where he might have gotten something so convincing.

          Sparrow cracked an eye. “Of course it is.” He flashed a glint of steel, then returned to his nap.

          You put down the phone. Maybe he's not crazy. You busied yourself making a snack, trying to calm your panicking mind. The man laying on your couch was too much like the actual Jack Sparrow, and you were afraid that you’d hit your head in the shower, or that you were still dreaming.

          By the time he woke up, he seemed very thankful for the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that you handed him. He ate it with gusto, eyes widening with what you knew was the unusual taste of peanut butter.

          “Thank you, love.” He licked the jelly off his fingers. “It seems that I’m in need of a place to stay. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to provide?”

          “Of course,” you squeaked.

          “Unfortunately, I don’t know my way home, and I don’t know how long I’m supposed to be here. I hope it’s not too inconvenient.”

          “Not at all.” It really wasn’t, but it was certainly odd to keep a strange man in your house for an undetermined amount of time.

          The next few days passed blissfully uneventfully, leaving you to tend to Jack’s injury and introduce him to modern technology. Hilariously, the bed was probably the thing he enjoyed most. You had a guest bed, and he flopped into it unceremoniously all the time. You supposed that if this truly was Jack, then he hadn’t slept in a proper bed in ages.

          He was wary of the shower, but you convinced him that scrubbing some of the grime off his face and body would make him feel better. He admitted, later, that it did.

          His wound healed up nicely. It hadn’t needed stitches, which you were thankful for. It had been a shallow cut, but it had bled a lot in the beginning, which had concerned you for obvious reasons.

          He kept flicking open a compass that looked suspiciously like the real one, staring at it before snapping it closed again, annoyed.

          “What do you keep looking at your compass for?”

          “Nothing.”

          You raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that.”

          “Look, lassie. I appreciate the hospitality, but the compass is my business.”

          You frowned. You hadn’t realized that Jack probably kept the compass a secret. From most people, at least. You supposed the people who knew about it were exceptions, given that they had known him for a while.

           You could tell he was growing fidgety, and that he needed something to do. He paced around the room sometimes, and he kept toying with some of the beads in his hair.

          “Do you want to go for a walk?” You asked. “You seem like you could use something to do.”

          He agreed. You left the house with a backpack full of food and water, just in case you needed it. Always better to be safe than sorry. You walked back along the little path you’d found him on. Again, he was surefooted crossing the rocks in the stream, and you wondered what would make his balance so good. The mountains rose up ahead of you, a hundred trails splitting off into the wilderness.

          “How can you tell where you are with all these trees?” Jack asked.

          “I suppose you have to know the paths. Or get a map. Or look for landmarks. It’s pretty easy to tell where you are in comparison to what mountains are around.”

          He looked up. “All your mountains look the same.”

          “That’s not true.” You pointed out the jagged rocks at the top of a mountain to your left, and the smoother top of the one to your right.

          “It’s easier to see things on the open ocean. The sea is the most beautiful thing in the world.” He spoke with such reverence, you could tell that he really believed it. He must love the ocean.

          “There’s nothing out there!” you said. “There aren’t any landmarks to tell you where you are.”

          “Stars, lassy.”

          “That’s only good at night,” you pointed out. “And I think the mountains are more beautiful than the ocean.”

          Jack made a face.

          “Have you ever hiked up to the top of one and looked off at everything down below?”

          “Why would I?”

          “Because it’s amazing. I’ll prove it to you.”

          Jack looked up at some of the towering peaks. “I’m not sure I can make it up there, love.”

          “It’s not so bad, I promise. We won’t go all the way up to the top, anyway. That requires rock-climbing gear.” Jack still looked dubious, but you kept on. “You can’t say that something isn’t beautiful if you haven’t experienced it. I’ve been to the ocean. I know it’s pretty, but not as lovely as the sight off the top of the hills.”

          “If you say so.”

          You led him up a dusty path that connected to the base of one of the mountains. There was a ledge of rock that you could climb up to and look out at all the things down below. You started leading him up through the trees and bushes.

          Jack looked around at all the foliage. His eyes followed flying birds, gliding butterflies, and flowers lining the path. He stared, wide eyed, at all of it. As you climbed higher, he looked out between the trees to see the view. You enjoyed the look of surprise on his face when he gazed out over your home.

          “I don’t think I’ve ever been this high up before,” he said.

          “We still have a ways to go, too. You’re going to love it when we reach the top.”

          He looked back at you with a silly grin. “You’re right: this is beautiful. Not sure it beats freedom on the ocean yet, but it’s something.”

          You couldn’t wait for him to see it all sprawling out underneath him. The true views were something else. You loved looking down over the little valley you were in, trying to find your house in the trees, looking across at more towering mountains, the sun framed by the peaks.

          When you finally reached the top, the afternoon sun hung overhead in the sky. Jack stopped a moment to catch his breath before walking out onto the shelf of rock that extended from the cliff face. He sucked in a breath as he looked out at the view.

          The trees had fallen away behind you, and the shelf of rock gave you an unobscured view of the valley below. You could just pic out your small house among the trees far beneath you. The sky seemed to stretch on forever, over the mountains opposite you, bright blue in the midday sun. Everything looked so small; the stream you’d crossed earlier was a winding ribbon, and the road leading up to your house was no wider than a finger from where you stood.

          “This is…there aren’t words, love.” Jack gazed out over the expanse. “I’ve never seen anything like it. And the air is crisp, crisper than on the sea, even. And there’s no sound. It just...disappears.”

          “I know. Now you can see why I love it so much.”

          “I do.”

          You sat on the rock, enjoying the view and eating snacks. There was the occasional bird whistle, but other than that, you were in complete silence. No sounds from the road traveled up to greet you, and you were there all alone. Jack couldn’t stop staring. Obviously, he’d never hiked up anything in his life.

          He flipped open his compass with a practiced flick. Chewing on a granola bar, he looked down, almost lazily, and the expression on his face changed at once. He was on his feet in an instant. He stepped out off the outcropping, back onto the trail, and took a few short strides to the left. Then, he turned in a few circles, finally stooping down to pick something up.

          He brought it back to you, inspecting it carefully. It seemed to be some kind of broach. Why his compass pointed him to a broach, you couldn’t understand, but you were beginning to understand that this was, in fact, the real Jack Sparrow in front of you. He sat back down, and pulled at a piece of string attached to the object. It had some paper on the end of it. A note, probably. His eyes widened, and he cursed under his breath.

          “What is it?”

          “Nothing.” He shoved it in a pocket.

          You looked at him suspiciously, but decided to leave it. He’d tell you if he wanted to. Besides, you had to head back down the mountain if you wanted anything to eat for dinner.

          You headed back with Jack in a dark mood. He glared testily at the trees and shrubs. Obviously, whatever he’d found in the woods was bothering him. You didn’t want to pry, but you were curious to know what made his mood change so quickly.

          You arrived back at your house just as the sun was beginning to sink over the opposite mountains. The air conditioning felt blissful against your warm skin. A shower was in order, you knew, but you decided to clear the air first. Jack had dropped onto the couch, and you walked up, sitting down beside him.

         “What was it?” You asked gently.

          “What was what?”

          “You know what.” You sighed. “The thing you found while we were out hiking.”

          “My ticket home, is what.”

          “Your ticket home?” You didn’t understand.

          He moved closer, showing you the broach. It was a silver ship, and the light bounced off the reflective surface. Then, he grabbed the note, holding it up for you to read.

          Jack, it seems you’re doing well where I put you. You were never very good at facing your problems, so I decided to give you one you couldn’t run away from. You seem to have acclimated to the future, and you deserve a way back. Just rub on the ship and think of home.

          You stared, flabbergasted. What did it mean? The initials at the end caught your notice. T.D. Surely that had to be Tia Dalma. Was Jack going already, then? Was he leaving you to go back to your everyday life? You’d enjoyed his company, and the more you thought on it, the less you wanted him to go.

          “Damned woman put me in the future herself! I can’t believe her, sometimes. But that’s women for you.” He turned to you. “Well, not all women, I guess.”

          “Are you leaving, then?” You asked, a little afraid of the answer.

          “I do want to get back to my Pearl,” he said, “but I like it here. It’s a nice rest from the ship. Besides, Tia said I needed to do some learning. I don’t suppose it would hurt to do a little more.” He grinned cheekily. “So, tell me about yourself.”

          “I don’t think that’s what she meant.” You smiled in spite of yourself.

          “You’re right. She wanted me to face my problems. And you’re certainly not a problem, love.”

          Oh dear. You rolled your eyes. It was going to be different, if he decided to stick around. Different, but decidedly worthwhile.

          “Tell me one thing,” he said. “Does my not-problem kiss? They’ve certainly deserved it. I mean, they’ve patched me up, and given me a place to stay, and shown me some beautiful views.” With that statement, he raked your body over with his eyes. “I think we can do more beautiful things, too.”

          You blushed furiously. “I suppose that depends. Are you a good kisser?”

          “You’re going to have to come over here to find out.” He winked.

          He was. And he insisted on proving it to you quite a few times. Not that you minded.

[copper-wasp]

Even a Devil May Drabble: Smutty Alphabet for Vergil (Part 15/?)

Hi readers! I’m back! Taking a few months off was truly beneficial for my mental health, but good golly gosh I really did miss writing. I hope this lil’ ditty makes up for my absence!

Title: Smutty Alphabet for Vergil, Son of Sparda, The Alpha and the Omega

Rating: E

Words: 1,678

Tag List: @exsultry​ @drusoona​ @xalmasyx​ @blindedstarlight​ @synchronmurmurs​ & any other Vergil lovers out there ~~~

(If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know 💕 )

Also posted to AO3 ~~~

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Vergil worships you both during and after sex; he’ll stroke your hair and pepper soft kisses over your flushed cheeks before cleaning you up. If you try to get out of bed, he scolds you, demanding that you stay put and let him take care of you.

B - Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) His arms; lithe and strong, lean muscle wrapped around bone - they can cause so much destruction and hurt, but they can also hold you, pull you close to him if you wake up gasping, still in the grip of a nightmare. He loves feeling your palms trace up them, your fingers curling over his shoulders as you stand on tiptoe to kiss him.

Vergil loves his partner’s eyes. He loves looking into them, seeing how they squint when you smile, narrow when you challenge him, water when he spills his emotions to you, and of course, roll back when he drives you to your release.  

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum) Vergil definitely prefers to leave himself inside you, thick release coating your warm cunt. He was the most excited when you said he didn’t have to wear a condom anymore, the mere thought of being able to come inside enough to make him ravenous for you.

D - Dirty Secret He’s a bit of a voyeur; he loves to watch you dress after sex, watching your hands pull your clothing down over your body.

He’s nervous to bring it up, but he’d love to watch you pleasure yourself, delicate fingers stroking the places that make you moan, lost in bliss as he stood there, unaware of his presence.  

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Vergil’s experience level is low, but the man is a natural at making love. He’s also very good with taking direction, and the things he remembers you like, regardless of how seemingly insignificant, always sends you in the best way.

F - Favorite Position Missionary, for sure. He loves being able to envelop you, let his weight settle atop your body, overloading your every sense with him. He also likes that he can see your face, watch it contort in pleasure, your pupils blown out when you squeeze around him, taking every bit of pleasure you can.  

Though he also doesn’t discount a good ride, fascinated with your bouncing breasts as you grind yourself against him, thighs gripping his hips to kept yourself upright.  

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc?) Serious boy is serious. Even Vergil’s dirty talk is serious - but that doesn’t stop it from being the goddamn hottest thing you’ve ever heard.  

H - Hot Spots (A place that drives them crazy when touched) His neck, for sure. Feeling the soft pads of your fingers trace over the most vulnerable part of his body makes his heart beat so much faster. And then faster still knowing you can feel it thumping beneath your touch.

I - Intimacy (How are they in the moment, romantically?) Vergil always makes sure you know how loved you are. He sings your praises so often you almost flush, turning your head away, unable to hold his gaze when he says such things. But he’ll gently turn your head back to face him, continuing to whisper words of love against your lips, punctuating each sentiment with a soft kiss.  

J - Jack Off (Masturbation Headcanon) Vergil doesn’t jerk off too often. He’d much rather wait the extra ten minutes for him to get to your place so he can fuck you silly. After all, why would he touch himself when he knows you’d so willingly take on the task?

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks) One word - bondage. Vergil loves having you trussed up like a present, ready for him to unwrap, or tease. He was pleasantly surprised with how quickly you agreed to his ask, and the reason for your eagerness became clear when he tore the most sinful noises from your throat, interspersed with pleas for more. He’d never exercised as much self control as he did that night, wanting to take you over and over, but resisting, preferring to edge and tease and have you beg for him so much more.  

L - Location (Favorite places to do the do) Vergil feels the most comfortable in a bed with you; there are no limits to the positions you can try, no one to interrupt, nothing that could change the charged atmosphere between you. Now, that one night in the backseat of your car when you’d pulled over to wait for a snow squall to pass, that was quite an interesting change of scenery. Or when you’d convinced him to take you from behind while you were bent over Dante’s desk, that was something he’d never forget.

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going?) Vergil prefers the chase. Especially when you initiate it with sly touches and dirty quips whispered in his ear in public. He loves when you rile him up, even when you understand the punishment you’ll receive when he finally has you in his grasp.

N - No (Something they won’t do, turn offs) Anything you don’t want to do. He knows that “no” is non-negotiable, and he respects you too much to do anything other than stop.

O - Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) Giving, giving, giving. Your taste, your scent, the way your thighs tense against his head and your fingers weave into his hair, all of it drives him wild.

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?) Vergil will do either; he’s good at reading your mood, or if you tell him what you’d like, he will gladly comply. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow and steady or he’s fucking you into the mattress, he’s honored every time you choose him.  

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc) Not his thing. When he has you, he wants to take his time.

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks, etc?) Vergil is absolutely game to experiment. He’s pretty nonjudgmental when it comes to matters of sex, and would definitely be up for anything new within reason. He might also have some ideas of his own that he’d like to try, and they might involve a blindfold, a crop, and some absolutely filthy dirty talk.

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) Vergil can literally go for hours. Be careful not to tease him about his stamina, else you may also find yourself going for hours. There’s something he loves about hearing your breathy, overstimulated moans as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you and filling you up with his own release.  

T - Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or on themselves?) He will often use toys as an enhancement to your lovemaking. Vergil prefers to be the one using them on you, watching you squirm under a vibrator or how your back arches when he pushes a smooth, silicone plug into your ass. But he also loves when it’s just him, his hands... and his mouth.  

U - Unfair (How much do they like to tease?) Vergil enjoys teasing, no doubt about it. Particularly when he’s got you at his mercy, toying with you until you beg; he loves the sound of your voice when you’re desperate, but even more so when he gives you what you desire. The buildup culminating into something that encompasses the both of you, peaking with a beautiful, breathless moan, that he’ll more often than not swallow right from your lips.

V - Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?) Vergil is usually quiet as he prefers to hear your lovely noises, but you like the challenge of getting him to groan and curse and have his voice join yours in a satisfied chorus.

W - Wild Card (Random headcanon for the character of your choice) While Vergil does love being in charge, there is also a desire to be submissive. Once he got over himself enough to ask you to dominate him, you had him calling you ‘mistress’ in no time flat, begging you to let him come.

X - X-Ray (What’s going on under those clothes) Vergil is slim, but his body is roped with lean muscle, and you love tracing over the soft dips between them. His long, lithe legs drive you absolutely wild, and it’s always a treat when he lets you wantonly rut yourself against his thigh.

His cock matches the rest of him; long enough to reach your deepest spots, not too thick, and with a gentle upward curve, perfectly engineered to fit your body. The head is a bit wider than the shaft, a satisfying ‘pop’ when he pushes it past your entrance.

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Average, but can always be convinced if you’d like him more often. Not that he doesn’t have spells where he craves you like no other, and ignores any other responsibilities to stay in bed with you for days.

Z - ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?) Vergil will never fall asleep before you do. He will bundle you in his arms, making his chest your pillow, and gently stroke your hair until he feels your breathing even out and your heartbeat slow. He’ll trace his gaze over your face, your eyelashes resting against your cheeks, lips parted just a little to allow your warm breath to escape. Having you fall asleep first also gives him time to think about how lucky he is to have you, how he nearly can’t believe that you chose him.

-:- -:- -:-

Thank you for reading!

AO3: copper_wasp

Twitter: copper_wasp_ Discord: copper_wasp#1545

[tiffany-loves-broadway]

Characters from Worm and Ward as @dril_gpt2 tweets

Wildbow: i wrote the post. sorry everyone.

Emma:  You fucking worm. Youre a foul, stinking rat. Fanart is pure garbage.

Skitter, pre-Leviathan:  my followers are wasting my time by asking me stupid shit like "where is my worm hole" and "where is my piss hole"

Tattletale:  13 Reasons Why Sasquatch Is Real

Bitch:  you know society is ASS-FUCKED when people spend tens of millions of dollars to maim and disfigure their dogs in an effort to appear more "INTP"

Panacea: im going to dress up like a nurse and perform emergency C-sections on the street to build self respect

Coil, on Dinah: Everything you say is true and good. no exceptions

Miss Militia: the idea that i would ever lose my shit on the computer board game "minesweeper" is one of the most despicable maladies ive ever suffered

Skitter, post-Leviathan: to the guy who paid me to distribute free toilet paper to the homeless in my hometown: thanks for 00000000000 \000 \000 .

Jack Slash: the human mind... is a funny little thing... called A Mind

Crawler: my ass has become highly immunized against fungal infections, by ingesting fantastic amounts of kfc

Cherish: sending my most powerful kiss to any image of blue jeans because i just want to die by suicide because my brain and body are FUCKED

Dragon: ...the US Navy's newest computer chip can now program itself to 'Play Pokemon' and evolve into a Pokemon with it ....

Simurgh: saddened to see that people woud gravitate towards gaming as a career path, rather than exclusively gravitate towards gaming during a time of crisis

Perdition: *does the dishes in reverse for shock value*

Watchdog:  INTRODUCTION TO THE GUILD OF THINKERS 1. who are these people whose opinions are worth less than mine to keep me away from the toilet 2. how do i add 3D effects to my hair 3. WHO CARES I DIDNT ADD 3D SHADES TO MY JUGGLY

Greg: well gotta go with the old adage "Dont forget to feed the trolls"

Valefor: causing your dick to hurt because you have too much respect for the Virgin Mary to engrave "666" onto the back of your dick

Weaver: I will do the right thing, and delete all my posts about eating maggots

Behemoth:  *glances towards the camera slowly becoming more and more skeletal*

Tecton: Geology is Theory. Geology is not Fact.

Heartbreaker:  me fucking ruining another wedding by asking the bride to marry me for $6. its just too hard

Glenn Chambers: the most important part of being a content producer is being able to mentally picture the Brands' Emblems on your fridge and never missing a Brand Point Update

Glenn Chambers, on Skitter: "i firmly believe that bugs should be banned," i continue, letting the video conclude. "But…" i pause to collect myself, "but…" i increase the volume

Riley: im sorry but how can i reconcile my increasingly loathsome behaviors with the cheerful, bubbly manner in which i am marketed

Clockblocker: according to wikipedia, the bed bugs and human fly larvae that burrow into my skin and organs are my soul mate

Andrew Richter: i am truly devastated to announce that the y2k bug is now officially classified as a feature

Scion:  1) Kill all the people 2)

The Elite:  to the distrusted: To the disappointed: Towards the hungry: I will not trade places with you. Good bye.

Eden:  As an evolved being I want to fuck Humankind

Khepri:  my followers are nothing but worms, trying to devour me alive , my only value is that i make people mad

Pandora:  i've been itching to get online for a while now, and i finally did it. this is the ultimate sacrifice

Bitch, with Biter:  i have the brain of a small dog and the asshole of a college educated adult

Valkyrie, on Clockblocker, Kid Win, and Grue: The "Boys" are back! They're back from the dead

Victoria Dallon, looking for work: After finding out that my followers believed that doctors should be allowed to force me to eat grass, i vowed never to read any posts from you all again

Seir: the "minor girls" jokes is one of the few parts of the Alabama Republican Platform That I actually respect, and wouldn't change a word

Mama Mathers:  god grant me th e ability to send very strong, very small particles of information through the air into the eyeballs of <- targeted <-

Tattletale, on clusters: blood transfusions vs gunshot wounds - the jury is still out on which one is "good"

Sidepiece: here comes that ass hole. here comes that spleen. here comes that gut. *spits out another mouthful of food turds* wow. im pretty good at kicking ass

Nursery: How To Make Hugs Out Of Anything - Essential book for new Mommers

Foil: You've heard of Small Arms Firepower, but did you Know Small Arms Penetration Power?

Love Lost: Fear not, a tiny speaker attached to my gas mask will allow me to better understand the emotions of my followers

Ratcatcher:  Rats Are Life Forms Too Sub-Genius

Custodian: i demand now that complete and utter silence be accorded to the hideous sonic boogie man who has inhabited my thoughts for 17 years.

Teacher: micropenis Wearing A Turtleneck Sweater

Valkyrie, on Furcate: i am fucking thrilled that my daughter is becoming ultra-sensitive to light after undergoing sex reassignment surgery. she is the most POWERFUL KISS GIRL yet

Ingenue: my nudes... have helped me tremendously in my career, and... i'm extremely Pleased...

Cradle: brain death huh. Not good. Not good at all.

Negotiator Shard:  strapped to an eyeball looking for the peak of Mt. Doom, not realizing that all the eyeballs are now gnawing

Red Queen:  I think that for every person who tells me that they like my posts i should be able to kill about 8 people

SpaceBattles:  im classified as a Mature writer, 1) I cannot handle discussion of sexual matters 2) I am unlikely to read a book of 100,000 words without destruc[ing myself physically)

Eric:  i help girls by inventing and selling "I helped a girl" tshirts. i have a very good following

Parian:  in mourning the passing of my grandmother, i will gladly accept donations to pay for her "Face lift".

Gimel Checkpoint Attendants:  #DollarsShit the US Dollar has devalued, and is the currency of scum, and shit

Antares, at the crystals:  a giant screen saver depicting my entire fucking body changing into a huge wad of spaghetti

[multisfabulis]

The Road to Forgiveness Be Damned

Ripples of the Past (Chapter 2/7)

Word Count: 3793

As per a poll I ran on Twitter to see if anyone wanted chapter 2 sooner or later, I’m posting this now rather than after finishing chapter 3!

Not gonna lie, this will probably be the most lighthearted chapter of this story and, to me, that’s saying something. This won’t have the dark stuff I mentioned last chapter nor is it going to be an emotional rollercoaster like the next couple chapters will be. Enjoy it while you can.

As always, I hope you enjoy reading this and I look forward to any and all criticism you have!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA

     Dim morning light peeked through the vines as Ferreth waited up for Ven. Were it not for the noise outside, he’d have no idea how early it was. He needed to get better at waking up earlier. If they wanted to accomplish their task within the four day time limit, he couldn’t be sleeping in like this. It’d help if he knew how far they’d have to go to the swamp but nothing in life was that easy.

     He found it weird how Filaurel didn’t tell them of anything to look out for. Nothing of its appearance, its behavior. If he didn’t know better, it was almost as if she was setting them up for failure. By not telling them jack, they’d waste away the four days wondering what they were hunting for till they eventually gave in. It’d be par for the course for that sadistic bitch.

     The way she treated Ven yesterday infuriated him. Barely letting her get a word in, twisting her words around to seem as if she were at fault… She probably would’ve done way worse had he not stepped in. He already resented her for being the core of Ven’s issues but her actions yesterday cemented his hate for her. If only he could make Ven realize she wasn’t to be trusted at her word…

     Ven came out at that moment, struggling to tie her hair up. She seemed to be the same as ever, though that didn’t mean much to him today. With her tendency to hide how she really felt at times, she may be feeling worse than she let on. She proved herself to be a better actress than he gave her credit for sometimes.

     Despite his concern, he mustered up a smile and asked, “Hey, how’d you sleep last night?”

     “The usual,” she replied, becoming increasingly frustrated over tying her hair up without the help of a mirror.

     “Any nightmares?”

     “No more than usual. Hey, can you help me with this? I can’t seem to get it right…” She held out a brush and hair tie to him.

     Although she said that nonchalantly, he was worried. She may be used to the nightmares but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. Seeing how she acted when they arrived, he hoped being here wouldn’t exacerbate those bad dreams at some point. The only thing he could do was lend an ear, though he wished it wasn’t so.

     Brushing through her hair, he asked, “Ven, you’d tell me if the nightmares got worse, right?”

     “Would that be okay with you?” she asked, the tone of uncertainty he’s heard times before present in her voice. “I don’t want to be more of a burden to you than I already am…”

     “Yeah!” He gathered all of her hair and tied it up into a ponytail. “I know I can’t do more for you than just listen but… I’ll always be there for you, you know?”

     She barely responded to his words. He couldn’t tell if she believed him or wanted to, in any case. His mind flashed back to the time they had to wait out rain in a cave nearby during one of their missions. He promised her she could rely on him in times like this and no way in hell would he back out on that now. Not when she might need him to help her through this.

     Putting an arm around her shoulders, he bumped his forehead against hers and said, “Remember, you can lean on me whenever you want to. I can’t offer much but I’ll be there for you. I promised you that and I’m sticking by it.”

     The smallest glimpses of a smile rose up on her face. Smiles were rare to see from her, making this moment mean more than it usually did. He loved her smiles just as much as he loved her and wanted to make her as happy as she deserved to be. No matter how long it may take him, he was determined to see her smile without anything holding her down.

     Upon leaving, they made their way over to the outskirts. It was considerably busier today, with carts going in and out at the gate and several guards checking the insides of each one. If they were worried about someone bringing in contraband, that person would be pretty stupid to do it in plain sight.

     He felt hands grab onto his arm, knowing them to be Ven’s. This was something she did whenever she felt there were too many people around and needed to ease her anxiety. She was like Eric in that they absolutely hated being in or around crowds because it’d overwhelm them to the point of panic attacks. Unlike him, she still hadn’t gotten a handle on it yet. Being in this place probably didn’t help.

     He also felt as if there were eyes on them. Someone watching them from a place he couldn’t see, no matter how many times he looked. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was Filaurel making good on her threat through one of her lackeys. Nice to know the bitch didn’t trust them to carry out her “assignment” without any supervision.

     Getting through the gates was surprisingly easy. He thought, for sure, they would be stopped and he’d have to waste time convincing the guards to let them go. Instead, they just saw them off without a word. Whatever the reason was, he wasn’t complaining and went on his way. Once they were far enough away from the village, she let go of his arm and walked alongside him.

     Making their way westward, he hoped to find a high place to scout from. It wasn’t necessarily a requirement but it’d be nice to have one all the same. At least it’d prevent him from going into his Dradnach form and waiting a while to turn back once he was done. If he were an Air Dradnach, none of this would matter and he’d just be able to fly up. Just another thing to add to the ever-growing list of “why being an Earth Dradnach sucks”.

     “Ferret, could you… not help me so much with this?” she asked out of the blue as they trekked up a steep hill.

     Taken aback by her question, he stopped walking and replied, “W-what do you mean? I can’t just not help you.”

     “I know, it’s just that…” She stopped at the peak. “I feel like if I depend on you for anything I could do on my own, it won’t feel as if I’ve truly earned my forgiveness. It’s hard for me to explain and I know it doesn’t make any sense but… I’m only asking that you not help me a lot with this task. Not until I feel as if I’ve put in the work. Can you do that for me, please?”

     How could he just not help her with this? It wasn’t that he doubted she could carry this out on her own or saw her as a damsel in need. He knew better than anyone how strong she was and how extraordinary her abilities were. It seemed like she was only asking this because she believed it’d get her into Filaurel’s good graces. Knowing her, it still wouldn’t be enough.

     Even so, he begrudgingly gave in and said, “All right but I’m not promising anything.”

     “It wouldn’t be right of me to ask you to promise something like that.”

     They continued on till they reached a field. A couple dead trees were over to their left while their right had nothing but tall grass blowing in the breeze. Despite the sun bearing down on them, it was a nice day today. The perfect day to do some reconnaissance, he thought.

     Unfortunately, this would be where they’d stop. He didn’t know how much further the swamp was and they needed a good view of it to proceed onwards. No way could they risk stumbling in there blind only to get ambushed. Too bad it meant turning into his Dradnach form but it couldn’t be helped.

     “Hey, Ven,” he called out to her, “I think I know how we can do recon.”

     Tilting her head in confusion, she asked, “We’re not moving ahead?”

     “Nah. We don’t know how close or far we are from the swamp and I’d rather play it safe than risk falling into a trap.”

     “Okay, so what’s your plan?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

     “Well, since I’m about 20 and a half feet tall as a Dradnach, I could just turn, have you on my head as lookout, and turn back in the span of… 10, 15 minutes.”

     “We’re really desperate, aren’t we?”

     “It’s better than nothing. Besides, I know you’ve gotta be dying to see what I really look like. It is a pretty rare occasion, you know.”

     A snort and roll of her eyes gave way to a small smile. He liked making her smile, whether it be through cracking jokes or playful teasing. Her laughs were even rarer than her smiles and he managed to do that twice this trip. Even if their mission came out as a bust, today wouldn’t all be in vain.

     “All right, I’m gonna go change,” he said, heading into the field on his right side, “Don’t freak out if you see a big, fat, brown lizard in a few minutes!”

     The grass was about chest-high as he pushed past the golden blades. He needed to be a good distance away for this. His transformations always took quite a bit of space and there was no telling how much room he had in this field. He wandered down a straight line for some time before stopping.

     This spot was as good as any. He did some warm-up exercises, such as stretching his arms and legs out and cracking his bones, to prepare himself. The last time he did this was in Thornewind several months ago, back before he met Eric. At least the reason for it was different this time around. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind of any and all distractions, and underwent the transformation process.

     He grew to thrice his size, flattening the grass around him. His skin hardened, causing scales that felt rough and rigid to grow over. Steely claws made to dig through the toughest of rock replaced his thin fingers. A stubby tail sprouted out from his backside, resembling that of a docked animal. Despite his grand stature, he was smaller than others of his kin, due to not being a pure-blooded Earth Dradnach. His brother loved to lord that over him when he could.

     Bringing his head down for Ven, he asked, “So what do you think? Pretty cool, right?”

     “If I can be honest, you seem more like a dog than a dragon.” She placed a hand on his snout. “A very scaly dog.”

     “How do I look in any way like a dog?”

     “Well, aside from the both of you being cute, kind, funny, lovable, and protective, you’re very huggable in this form, like a dog. If you just had fur, you’d be even cuter!”

     She let out a laugh as he nuzzled her. Only she could get away with comparing him to a dog and making it sound good. He wished this kind of thing happened more often, though without the “being compared to a dog” part.

     “I’m still cool, though, right?”

     “Very.”

     She climbed up and sat atop his head, waiting. He slowly stood up on his hind legs, carefully raising his head so as to not let her fall. Without any horns or spikes for her to grab on to in case she did, this was especially important. Once he was in an upright position, he could breathe out a sigh of relief. She was still perched on his head, meaning the hardest part of the job was done.

     With that out of the way, they saw what laid beyond the field. A dark forest still miles away from their current location sat before a marshy region. Tall willow trees were scattered across black water, decorated with green lilypads and algae. He hoped to see their quarry roaming about but luck wasn’t on his side. Well, they had the lay of the land now, which was all that mattered.

     Despite knowing all this, he let her relay the information back to him. He stayed silent, remembering what she asked of him earlier. Things of this nature, such as giving her a boost without taking away her instrumentality, had to be fine by her. Although he couldn’t show it, he was beaming with pride.

     Half a day’s travel was his best estimate for the swamp. If he were right, it’d mean they could be out by noon, finish the mission, and be back before dusk. They wouldn’t even need the fourth day if everything went to plan. The deed would be done, they’d report it to Filaurel, and head home the next day.

     Soon as he put her down, he turned back to being human. His body shrunk and became more compact, a far cry from his Dradnach form. The scales that grew over him receded, his skin once more smooth to the touch. His claws straightened, thinning out to human fingers again. The stubby tail he had only in this form vanished, as if it never existed in the first place. Now he was back to regular, human-like Ferreth, with the exception of one last thing---

     Excruciating pain erupted from his arms, as if someone was jamming several knives into them all at once. He muttered an expletive through gritted teeth under his breath as the pain ebbed. That was the one thing he hated about shifting in-between the two forms. Every time he turned from one to the other, he had to endure the pain that occurred in his arms. No matter how much time had passed from his accident, it still hurt like it happened yesterday.

     A hand on his shoulder, Ven was crouched down next to him and asking, “Are you okay? Do you need to rest?”

     “I’m all right, I just need a minute and we’ll go, okay?” he replied, giving her an assuring smile.

     He looked down to see if blood was beginning to seep into his wrappings. While his arms dully ached, the cloth was still a pristine white. Thank god for that, because he’d have a hard time trying to explain why he was suddenly bleeding. She didn’t need to know the reason why he kept his arms bandaged up. It was an unrelated matter, nothing she needed to be worried about.

     Once his small break was done, they began walking back. Cool wind blew in from behind them, ruffling their hair and clothes. It was somewhat reminiscent of Thesriden, a place he didn’t think too fondly of. The times of him being tormented by his brother far outweighed any of the good memories he had of that place. He doubted he’d ever go back there, now that he had an actual home.

     “Has anyone else seen you as a Dradnach yet back home?” she asked.

     “Nope. I prefer staying in this form--” he gestured to himself-- “since it’s just easier doing stuff than it’d be if I stayed as a dragon.”

     “I must be pretty special, then,” she said almost jokingly.

     “I’d say being the girl I’m in love with counts as being pretty special.”

     A roll of her eyes and a warm smile were all she gave in response. This wasn’t the first time he professed his love to her and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t need her to reciprocate his feelings because he just liked being her friend. Not like she’d want to be with someone like him, anyway…

     “Oh, I just realized, would your powers be able to work in swamps?” she asked.

     “Maybe?” While he did work best in the kind of environment they were in now, swamps were like gray areas. “I mean, if there’s earth around, I can work with it. With swamps, though, everything’s practically mud so it may be tricky…”

     “You never tried?”

     “My mother died before she could teach me. Trust me, if she were still alive, she’d conquer that swamp for sure.”

     Memories of his mother flashed through his mind. He remembered how strong and confident she was, the way she used the water and earth around her so effortlessly as if they were tools for her to create with. She was a woman he was proud of being a son to and he loved her so, so much. Then she died, leaving him alone with his father and brother to deal with. Years have passed since her death yet the scar it left on him still festered to this day.

     “I wonder if she would’ve been like her…” He heard her mutter under her breath. It was easy to forget she didn’t have such a thing growing up. She had it so much worse than him and he needed to keep remembering that.

     The sun was beginning to set when they made it back. People were either closing up shop or returning home, a scene carried over from yesterday. Quick glances at Ven revealed a face full of melancholic nostalgia. He’ll never understand why she’d want to remember every bad thing that happened in the past when he’d rather just forget it all. Maybe it was just a difference of opinion on how they wanted to cope with the effects of what their crappy childhoods burdened them with.

     Having to stay in her childhood home for the duration of their time here made him apprehensive. Despite her assurances of its security, he felt inclined to say otherwise. How the hell was this rickety old house in any way safe, he wondered. Still, he kept his mouth shut so as to not upset her. This was once her home, even if he didn’t have a good thing to say about it.

     “Oh yeah,” he said suddenly, remembering what he discovered last night, “did you know anyone named Thessalia?"

     Her eyes widened in shock and she replied with, “…That was my mother’s name.”

     “I’m only asking because, after you went to bed last night, I got bored and decided to explore a bit. I found this old journal in a drawer and when I opened it, the first page had the name Thessalia on it.”

     “Could I see it, please?”

     He went over to a dusty cabinet and pulled out the drawer. An old leather book full of yellowed pages sat inside. If this really was her mother’s journal, then it’s been laying in that drawer for about twenty years. The fact she hadn’t known of its existence meant this would be the first time she’d see this.

     As he handed the book over to her, she said, “I’ve wanted to know about my mother and who she was for so long and the answers were here the whole time.”

     Several different emotions flickered across her face as she held the book in her hands. She took off a glove to feel the crinkled leather from underneath her bare fingers. Then she opened the cover to touch the first page, only to quickly flip through the rest of the musty pages. This was easily the most excited he’s ever seen her and, considering how she was normally, it’s become a big highlight of the trip so far.

     Still holding the journal, she hugged him and said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

     The sudden hug rendered him speechless. Not noticing his lack of a response, she bid him a good night and walked to her room with a bounce in her step. He patted his cheeks to get rid of the blush, flabbergasted at what just happened.

     Despite how dazed he was, seeing just how happy she was right now put him in such high spirits. That journal was a goldmine of answers for her, who had been wondering just hours ago what her mother was like back then. No doubt she’d be reading through that book all night tonight.

     Even if it ran the risk of her being tired for tomorrow, she deserved this. Hopefully, they didn’t die tomorrow and she could be forgiven for her crime. So long as they kept their wits about them and protected each other, it’ll be smooth sailing. Then, when the four day time limit was up, they could go back home.

[local-anon]

A-Z for Will

This is a thirsty ask but I respect it. Haw yee.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) He is very into aftercare and taking care of his partner. He loves to help and wants to make sure who he was with is happy and satisfied.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) He’s proud of his arms, mostly the muscles there, he put a lot of effort into them just so he can carry his partner, who ever they are. On a partner he likes necks, not like finding them attractive but he likes them because he can put his face there easily and they usually like when he kisses them there.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) He likes to cum inside his partners but won’t if they don’t want him to of course. It’s mostly just the enjoyment of seeing it leak out of them.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He likes to be used to get his partner off. He loves to sub for them as they ride either his face or his dick just as long as they’re happy he’s having the time of his life.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Honestly he’s pretty experienced in like any universe I put him in. He’s attractive and a top lots of people are into that. He’s open to fucking nearly any person which is how he got so experienced.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) He likes being ridden. Even if he’s domming he likes making his partner ride him. That’s not to say he’s lazy he just really likes the visuals of someone bouncing on him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) It really depends on the situation. He can be funny if the fucking is lighthearted and happy. But if he’s like in a sub mindset, or like angry fucking, or in a dom situation he’ll be more serious.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) Will takes his hygiene very seriously. He always tries to be clean and wash his hair. Hair? Soft/clean. Beard? Soft/clean. He tries to manscape and it works bc he actually wants to be able to see his balls ya know. His ass prolly hairy tbh, how dude with beards work.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) Again this depends on the situation. He LOVES romance and soft things like that, so when he’s on a cute ass date it’s easy to get him flustered bc he’s just happy. But yea if you ask him to make love bruh he will do that in a heartbeat and be all cute. But if u ask him to fuck you he can just as easily switch and fuck you into the bed.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) He edges himself. Builds him up for as long as he can before he cums hard over himself. He claims it’s to build stamina, I just say he’s a sub.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) This boy is an exhibitionist. Likes fucking in public spaces, not in front of people, just in public. He finds the adrenaline makes it feel better. Another one he likes to mark his partner. It’s truly a lovely thing when his partners are into it as well. He has a lot so I’m not gonna say all of them but just know, there’s a l o t. He also has a big praise kink btw.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) Outside. Like either against a wall hidden somewhere or like in a field. He likes them places. He also likes to get ridden on the couch so he can easily press his mouth places while they ride.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) Teasing him can get him going pretty fast. Like denying him touch or not allowing him to touch makes him want to touch more. Confidence also turns him on. (I’m not saying insecurity turns him off let me explain) Like if his partner jumps him and is like “I’m ready to fuck are you ready?” And if he’s not in a depressed mood he will be ready in like 5 seconds flat.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He hasn’t really tried anything that is a no yet so he isn’t sure of something’s that would turn him off. He doesn’t like knife or shock play, traumatic reasons. He doesn’t really like degradation too much, like humiliating him he doesn’t like (You can call him a toy/tool that doesn’t bother him)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) Please sit on this man’s face he deserves it! He doesn’t have as much experience (ik this is shocking) with sucking dick as he would like to have but he’s very good with his tongue. He does love getting his dick sucked tho, he’s never been rimmed before so he doesn’t know if he likes it.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Depends on what his partner wants but usually he’s fast and rough. He can slow down though especially if he’s tired and is sleepily thrusting or if he’s just worshiping his partner.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) He prefers proper sex with fore play but like if he’s frustrated and his partner wants to fuck now, then he’d willingly rips some pants open and just fuck them over a bar is they so desire. (Speaking from experience of course)

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) He wants to try a lot of things. Hell he even found a bondage book to try out. He’s willing to be taught new things as well so he’s always open to constructive criticism.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) He can do two rounds as long as he’s given time in between them for his dick to calm down a bit. He lasts pretty long during unless like every single button is getting pushed then he can shoot of pretty fast. He doesn’t mind oversensitivity play just don’t make fun of his tears if it gets too much for him.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) With the universes I’ve put him in there’s not much access to toys (Rdr & fallout) But he makes do with his imagination. He’s used rope pretty liberally and he has tied ribbons around cocks as a makeshift cock ring. Will in a Modern Au is a Will of peak confidence.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Boy he is a big tease. He will rub his cock over his partners hole till they’re demanding/begging him to fuck them. He loves to flirt as well so if he sees his partners face is red from something he said he will milk it.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) Loud. He is a loud top with moans and groans and dirty talk. When he’s subbing he’s whiny and let’s out cries and moans even whimpers if given the right stimulation. It’s really unfortunate for an exhibitionist to be loud but what’re you gonna do? Gag him? (Do it)

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) He’s never bottomed before, mostly cause he isn’t sure he’d like it plus it doesn’t turn him on as much as topping. I believe the only time he would ever bottom is if the top were in complete control and had steel confidence.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) A good sized dick. Not hung like a goddamn horse but long and thick enough to stretch his partner good. I’m thinking about 8-9 inches (19-23 cm) and a good thickness to it. He also has a nice ass.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Very high. He really likes sex and he’s able to do it a lot.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Once the aftercare is done and his partner is happy and most likely asleep already then he’ll relax enough to sleep. Unless they’re on the ground then he can’t sleep and will probably move them to a bed.

This was rlly fun. Behold thy best boy.

[heycasbutt]

Beneficial

A/N: Hi all, this is just an angsty fluffy one shot about being FWB with Spencer. It’s also written from Spencer’s POV.

————————————————

You rolled off me, your naked body glistening with sweat and I couldn’t help but think that there was no one more beautiful than you in the world. Right now, it’s just friends with benefits. “No strings attached. Just lots of orgasms.” You had told me the first time we got into this and I stupidly believed you. I believed I could have sex with you and not want to be part of every facet of your life. I believed that our job was too strenuous to support a relationship. I believed that getting into this would dampen the growing affection I had for you. But in truth, it just made it worse. Hearing you grunt and groan beneath me or on top of me was music to my ears, better than Beethoven or Mozart. Outside of the bedroom you still went on dates and broke men’s hearts. Outside of the bedroom you kicked ass, took names, and saved lives which made me want you more.

On more than one occasion I thought about confessing my feelings, not hiding them anymore. But when Luke joined the team and you started flirting with him, I decided against it. The longing looks you gave him, the flirty jokes you made with him. The way he sat with you the one time you were sick on the plane. I offered, but you turned me down saying people would get suspicious.

“Spence?” You whispered softly. You had taken to calling me that your first day on the job. I told you that J.J. was the only one to ever call me that and you, determined to be different, had to change that. I didn’t mind though, made me feel, special.

“Hmm?” I hummed running a hand through your hair, gently scraping your scalp. Your eyes slid close in bliss and you hummed softly.

“Never mind,” You smiled and rolled closer, laying your head in the crook of my neck as my long arms looped around your waist. My fingers drew lazy patterns on your back and you hummed in contentment.

“Want a drink?” I asked after a while. You nodded eagerly and I climbed out of bed slipping on some boxers. You followed suit pulling on your panties and buttoning my shirt over your pert chest. Swallowing thickly and trying not to imagine how wonderful it would be to wake up to you every day, I walked down to the kitchen.

“Is everything okay, Spencer?” You asked softly as you came to stand beside me, stroking my arm gently. Maybe sex was the answer, maybe sex would keep my mind occupied and I couldn’t think about you all the time. I kissed you fiercely, grabbing your ass in my hands and lifting you onto the counter.

“I need you,” I whispered huskily in your ear. You shivered and moaned and pushed my boxer shorts off. I kicked them off to the side and quickly divested you of the offending material.

——————

It had been 3 days since we last had sex. But I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. What it would be like to have you in my life 24/7. To be able to call you mine and never have to worry about losing you to Luke. What it would be like to bring you coffee in bed every Sunday morning and spend the day kissing and holding each other. I’m not sure when this became more about love and less about sex but it did and it was hellish and pure bliss all at once.

“You doing alright, Pretty Ricky?” Morgan asked. His tone concerned but I couldn’t tell him that it was you driving me insane. So I nodded, and smiled a tight lipped smile. I couldn’t tell him about how I knotted my fingers in that glorious hair of yours. I couldn’t tell him about the one time I spent an hour worshiping your body with kisses and touches. I couldn’t tell him that I had memorized every dip and curve of your body with expert precision. That when I closed my eyes, all I could see was the swell of your breasts as my fingers traveled your sides, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Spence. Is everything alright?” J.J. asked, a brow furrowing in concern as she set her coffee down on my desk. I gave the same response I gave to Morgan, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew me better than anyone-except you.

“Is it about...Y/N...” J.J.’s voice dropped as she subtly motioned to you. You were sitting on Luke’s desk, your soft creamy thighs peaking from under your dress. Your chest straining against the buttons of your top. Luke had said something that made you laugh. You tossed your head back and belted out a laugh. You laughed when you were with me, but right now I felt...jealous.

I nodded solemnly and looked down at the slowly cooling cup of coffee on my desk. I had taken to stirring some bourbon in with the hot liquid. It made me feel numb and I thought that I could better cope with my feelings that way. Bourbon and Sugar with a splash of coffee.

“You need to tell her. I think she likes you too. You’ve seen how she acts around you,” J.J. comforted before standing and walking back to her desk. I couldn’t tell her. This was about sex, about numbing our feelings for the outside world. It was never about being in love or falling in love.

You approached me in the kitchen later that same day. I couldn’t ignore just how beautiful you were. Your hair had started to fall out of the updo you’d put it in that morning and the way it framed your face was beautiful. I quickly shook away my thoughts and poured some coffee. Silently and slowly I slid the flask from my jacket pocket, hoping to God you wouldn’t see. But alas, of course you did. Your usual smile turned into a frown and you stepped closer.

“What’s going on Spence?” Concern laced its way through your words. I wanted so bad to scream that I love you. That I’d always loved you and that’s why I couldn’t have sex with you anymore. Meaningless sex that is.

“Nothing.” I replied stirring in an ungodly amount of sugar and then taking a sip, the hot burn of the coffee and the burn of the alcohol soothes the ache in my throat and in my heart. At least temporarily.

“What is it? Is it something I said or did? Do you want to stop this...arrangement?” You whispered the last word like I was an embarrassment. You couldn’t be caught sleeping with the skinny little nerd baby of the BAU. What it would do to your reputation in the Bureau would kill you.

“No. Just leave me alone.” I replied firmly as I walked out of the kitchen. Setting my coffee on my desk I walked out of the BAU and down the hall to the elevator. Choosing instead to sit in the car and drown my sorrows in the remainder of bourbon I had on me. Entering the parking lot, I finally felt like I could breathe. Like a weight had come off my body.

I sat in solemn silence in my car. The sound of the alcohol hitting the container as I took large gulps of the burning liquid. It felt good.

——————

You showed up on my front porch that night. Claimed you’d had a hard day and needed to relieve some stress. Opening the door wider and letting you in, you began to quickly shed your clothing. I did the same, while you felt the rush of adrenaline you get before sex, I felt numb. I felt nothing. Did I still love you? Absolutely. But I was also trying to tell myself that you wouldn’t and couldn’t love me back so I should be grateful to at least be getting something. Heartbreaking casual sex.

I felt nothing as we had sex that night. The thrusting was pure muscle memory. When you rode your orgasm, and I followed soon after, I tried to sound like I had enjoyed it but the reality is, I didn’t feel it. When you cuddled into me afterwards I acted like I wasn’t hurt. Once you fell asleep I slipped into some pajamas and went to the kitchen, deciding to drown my sorrows once again. I opened the liquor cabinet, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s was calling my name. I retrieved the bottle, not bothering with a glass and sat on the couch with a book.

Exactly 12 minutes and 30 seconds into the book that I wasn’t really reading, you padded down the hall to the living room. Concern was etched across your face as you took in my presumably disheveled features.

“Spencer...” Your voice full of concern as you came to sit with me. I slid away from you, desperate to not have you touch me. Afraid of what it would do to my wellbeing.

“What?” I replied. My words dripped with sarcasm and hurt. Months of hurt had been pent up and now it was all coming out and I didn’t seem to care what happened.

“What’s going on? You avoid me, you’re unhappy, I can smell the alcohol in your coffee from the next room over. Is it something I’ve said? Something I’ve done?” You asked scooting closer to me and laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. I didn’t shake it off.

“I’m in love with you,” I muttered. I figured this was as good a time as any to tell you. The alcohol had numbed my nerve endings and the ache in my heart. You recoiled and I knew you didn’t feel the same. You just wanted meaningless emotionless sex.

“Y-You are?” You stuttered. Your eyes wide in disbelief.

“Look, I know we can’t be in a relationship. It would ruin your reputation among the men of the Bureau and no one wants to date the scrawny nerd from the BAU. The one who can’t construct a whole thought in a soci-” I was cut off by your lips on mine. They were full and soft. The way they moved in sync with my own. I pulled you closer, tasting a hint of mint and cinnamon on your lips. I dragged my tongue along your bottom lip and you eagerly granted me access. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe this would ever happen in life let alone with someone as wonderful as you.

“I love you too, Spence. I always have. That’s why I proposed this arrangement. I thought it would dampen my feelings for you but they only worsened when I came to the conclusion you didn’t love me back,” You whispered against my lips as your hands knotted in my hair.

“Help me,” I begged. “Help me not drink to numb my feelings. Help me feel again..” I murmured as I lazily traced your sides.

“Of course. We’ll go to meetings and therapy together,” You squeezed my hand reassuringly and I smiled, truly smiled for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you. I love you,” I whispered into your hair and pulled you as close as humanly possible.

“I love you most, Genius,” you responded with a smile and a gentle kiss on my lips. And for once, I felt. I felt love and admiration and affection, I felt alive. And it was because of you.

[douxreviews]

Babylon 5 - Series Review

"Now get the hell out of our galaxy."

J. Michael Straczynski’s Babylon 5 was the last, best hope for a rival sci-fi television franchise to challenge the dominance of Star Trek. It failed. And let’s be glad it did. Last thing we needed was another bloated franchise knocking out a never ending cycle of naff spin-offs. Instead let’s be thankful for what remains to this day as one of the finest sci-fi series ever made. But it did take some time before it became that.

[Warning: This review contains spoilers]

Season One - Signs and Portents

Straczynski envisioned the series as an epic novel for television told in five volumes with each episode being an individual chapter. JMS wanted to tell a universe changing saga of heroes and villains, epic battles and the rise and fall of empires. Something akin to Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, only in space with aliens instead of hobbits and on a limited television budget. Surprisingly, this didn’t turn out to be as impossible as it might have seemed.

The year was 2258. The name of the place was, duh, Babylon 5, a massive five-mile long space station built by humans after the devastating Earth/Minbari war -- a place where aliens could meet to talk out their differences. Straczynski presented us with a future that was a far cry from the optimistic utopia of Gene Roddenberry. Crime, poverty, corruption and prejudice still existed. The various races were constantly at each other’s throats. Many of the alien races felt genuinely extraterrestrial, not just a load of humanoids with bumpy foreheads and pointed ears, although the station did have its fair share of those.

B5 first aired in 1993 with the (not very good) feature length pilot ‘The Gathering’. A year later the first season began airing with ‘Midnight on the Firing Line’ on the now defunct PTEN network, the show’s home for its first four seasons. In truth the first season is not the series’ strongest. No doubt in an effort to not alienate a potential audience, the season is driven more by predominantly naff standalone episodes, than the show’s signature story arcs. These standalone tales were often just sub-Trek nonsense that did little to help B5 to stand out from its rivals. Nevertheless there was still some good to be found in amongst the crap. After all, as rubbish as ‘Mind War’ was, it still gave us Walter Koenig as that slippery Psi Cop Bester (still B5’s finest villain).

In the second half Straczynski gradually started to move away from alien of the week tripe like ‘TKO’, ‘Believers’ and ‘Infection’ and began to lay the foundations for the awesomeness that was to come in episodes like ‘And the Sky Full of Stars’, ‘Signs and Portents’ (the introduction of Mr Morden and the Shadows), the two-parter ‘A Voice in the Wilderness’ and ‘Babylon Squared’ in which the crew investigate the sudden and mysterious reappearance of the missing Babylon 4 station. The big season finale ‘Chrysalis’ is a veritable congregation of ‘holy shit, did they just do that?’ moments as earth shattering cliff-hanger follows earth shattering cliff-hanger. Sinclair’s final lament “Nothing is the same anymore” couldn’t have been more appropriate.

At this early stage the characters were also something of a mixed bag to be sure. While G’Kar and Londo arrive practically fully formed (despite some rough early make-up effects) the rest of the cast all needed a little more work. Sinclair was too often stiff and po-faced while Ivanova had yet to develop something resembling a sense of humour. And I can’t be the only one who thought that Jerry Doyle looked like the product of a failed attempt to clone Bruce Willis?

The first season was certainly a patchy start for Babylon 5. Much of it hasn’t dated well. While they were groundbreaking and innovative at the time, much of the CGI effects now look rather primitive but still manage to stand up a lot better than most of the shows from the time (Space: Above and Beyond for example). The costumes and alien make up are all a little rough. And the dialogue constantly veers between clunky and cheesy. But the series potential was still there for all to see. By the second season the show would improve by leaps and bounds, culminating in some of the finest TV drama of the last 25 years.

Season Two - The Coming of Shadows

It was a year of change in season two of Babylon 5.

Due to illness, Michael O’Hare amicably agreed with creator J. Michael Straczynski to depart from the show. He was replaced by Bruce Boxleitner as the new station commander, Captain John J. Sheridan. The former Tron fitted in quite well on B5 and after a few episodes you’d easily be forgiven for thinking he’d been there the whole time.

The first episode ‘Point of Departure’ serves to introduce and establish Sheridan as the new station commander and show how he handles a crisis. It’s not until episode two ‘Revelations’ that JMS got around to resolving all the cliff-hangers from the previous season. Delenn came out of her cocoon with L'Oreal hair (because she’s worth it) and instantly caught Sheridan’s eye. Garibaldi woke from his coma to expose the man who shot him in the back. And G’Kar returned to the station with grave warnings about the darkness to come (that no one would listen to until it was too late).

Season two has the look and feel of a show more assured of its self, more confident in what it can accomplish. This was the year Babylon 5 stopped looking like just another Star Trek clone and became a small screen sci-fi epic to be reckoned with. There were still a number of rubbish standalone episodes such as ‘The Long Dark’ and ‘GROPOS’ to put up with, but they weren’t as bad as they had been in the first season. Besides, when you have episodes as good as the Hugo Award winning ‘The Coming of Shadows’, ‘In the Shadow of Z’ha’dum’ and ‘The Long Twilight Struggle’ what are a few duff ones here and there?

Walter Koenig returned as Bester in ‘A Race Through Dark Places’ and continued to make us forget he was ever Chekov. ‘And Now For a Word’ looked at life on the station from the perspective of a news program. Later in the season Lyta Alexander, not seen since the original pilot, would return in ‘Divided Loyalties’ to expose a sleeper agent on the station that had devastating consequences for Ivanova. And ‘Comes the Inquisitor’ sees the Vorlons test Delenn with the help of Jack the Ripper (no, seriously).

With the addition of Boxleitner the main cast was considerably stronger this season, albeit there were still a few redundant characters that needed to be gotten rid off such as Lt. Keffer, a hotshot fighter pilot character the network insisted that Straczynski add to the line up. But JMS was not one to let even an unwanted character go to waste and used Keffer’s fate to further along the Shadow War arc. The same could not be said for G’Kar’s aid, Na’Toth, who just sort’ve vanished after two episodes without anyone, her boss included, noticing.

It’s no small thing to say that Andreas Katsulas and Peter Jurasik were the series' best actors and this season they took their performances to another level. For most of the first season Londo was nothing more than the comic relief, but this season Londo’s story went in a much darker direction as he grew closer and closer to Mr. Morden and his ‘associates’. Similarly as Londo fell further into darkness G’Kar began his long and painful journey towards redemption and spiritual enlightenment.

The season finale ‘The Fall of Night’ managed to end the season on a suitably downbeat note, but lacked the universe shacking impact of ‘Chrysalis’. While the future looked bleak for the characters the show’s future looked ever brighter. With the flaws and weakness of the first season overcome Babylon 5 would continue from this point to go from strength to strength.

Season Three - Point of No Return

In my humble little opinion season three of Babylon 5 is one of the greatest seasons of television in the entire history of the medium. This was the absolute peak of Straczynski’s small screen space opera. Admittedly, it’s not 100% perfect. It was at this point that Straczynski started writing every single episode himself (an impressive achievement to be sure) so inevitable dreck like ‘Grey 17 is Missing’ gets sandwiched in between all the great stuff. And we were pretty much spoilt for choice with great stuff this season. After two years worth of build up this was the season where things finally started to pay off.

The season started quietly enough with a group of mostly standalone tales of varying quality and significance. But by the time we got to ‘Messages from Earth’ the fan was well and truly hit and hit hard. The entire status quo of the series was suddenly turned upside down and there would be no going back. Straczynski didn’t so much as jettison the reset button as completely obliterate it. ‘Point of No Return’ saw the Earth Alliance become a fascist dictatorship under President Clark forcing the crew of Babylon 5 to break away into an independent state. This all lead to the epic ‘Severed Dreams’ (another Hugo winner) in which our heroes fought to defend the station from Clark’s forces. From now on Sheridan and company were cut off from home on their own (and got some nifty new uniforms to boot).

The season settled down for a bit after that until the Shadow war finally kicked off in full. ‘Interludes and Examinations’ sees Kosh make a devastating sacrifice on Sheridan’s behalf. The two-parter ‘War Without End’ saw the return of Sinclair and finally revealed the true story behind the disappearance of Babylon 4. After the big battles of ‘Shadow Dancing’ everything comes to a head in the season finale as Sheridan goes with his not-so-dead wife, Anna, back to Z’ha’dum. They should really use this episode in media studies classes as an example of how to write a truly great season finale. It’s simply a breathtaking 45 minutes of television that (again, IMHO) no one has yet to come close to equalling or surpassing.

With so many big events jostling for screen time JMS wisely doesn’t let the characterisation get lost in amongst the explosions. Sheridan and Delenn kept making gooey eyes at each other. Ranger Marcus Cole arrived on the station and wasted no time hitting on Ivanova. G’Kar finally found inner peace and a new purpose in life. Franklin struggled with drug addiction and resigned. And Londo’s decent into darkness continued despite his best efforts to escape his destiny.

Season three was the middle chapter of Babylon 5 and the point in which it got seriously worse for our heroes before it could eventually get any better. Creatively the show was riding on a high. From the acting to the special effects everything was at its absolute best. Sadly the show would never be this good again. Outside factors would eventually derail Straczynski’s carefully constructed five-year-plan. But season three still stands as a shinning beacon of everything that was, and still is, great about Babylon 5.

Season Four - No Surrender, No Retreat

So much for best laid plans, eh?

When he first conceived of Babylon 5, J. Michael Straczynski had a definitive five year plan for the series. By the fourth season that plan was in serious danger of falling apart. The Prime Time Entertainment Network, the series’ home from day one, was not long for this world and as such the future of the series was uncertain. Fearing that his show would be cancelled before he could conclude the story, Straczynski went in to emergency damage control and started wrapping up the all major storylines far earlier than he’d initially planned. As a result season four is the most densely packed season of the show’s entire run, as barely a single episode is wasted in Straczynski’s mad rush to bring his story to what seemed at the time to be a premature end.

After nearly three years of planning and build up, the Shadow War, the very driving force of the entire series, was over in the space of just six episodes. The whole thing raced to an underwhelming conclusion that basically amounted to nothing more than Sheridan telling the Shadows and Vorlons off for being naughty and sending them to their rooms without any supper for the rest of eternity. Babylon 5 was the first notable sci-fi series to start using extensive story arcs (something that’s practically the norm nowadays) but it was also the first to bring its story arcs to a disappointing resolution (something else that's practically the norm nowadays).

With that major arc out of the way Straczynski got to work setting up the Drakh threat, built up the growing conflict between Sheridan and Garibaldi, dashed through a Minbari civil war in record speed before finally kicking off the war against President Clark’s fascist government in ‘No Surrender, No Retreat’. The conclusion of the Shadow arc might’ve been a letdown but the Earth civil war was Babylon 5 at its absolute best. Only problem was that it was over almost as quickly as it had started. Originally the plan was for the Earth conflict to be carried over into the fifth season with the fourth season ending with Garibaldi’s betrayal and Sheridan’s capture. But with the show’s future in doubt everything was wrapped up with ‘Endgame’ and ‘Raising Star’. Straczynski was all ready to end the series then and there, but when cable network TNT agreed at the last minute to finance a full fifth season the final episode 'Sleeping in Light' was pushed back a year and a new season finale was quickly shot on the cheap.

Despite it's ups and downs season four is still a strong season. Although there are no Hugo winners, there are still several standout episodes, most notably Sheridan’s brutal interrogation in 'Intersections in Real Time'. The acting was excellent across the board this season, but if there’s a single standout star without a doubt it’s Jerry Doyle. Straczynski sent Garibaldi to hell and back this season and Doyle rose to the challenge with gusto. Sadly this would be the final season for Susan Ivanova as a contract dispute would prevent Claudia Christian returning for the fifth season. With no time to shoot a proper goodbye scene her departure is clumsily handled in voiceover, a disappointing exit for one of science fiction's finest heroines.

Season Five - The Wheel of Fire

The last minute renewal for Babylon 5 was something of a mixed blessing. On one hand it meant that the show would continue and J. Michael Straczynski would now be able to complete his much talked about five-year-plan. But since Straczynski had wrapped up almost every single significant plot thread during the previous season he was now stumped about what to do next. Sure, he had a lot of great stuff with Londo planned, but that didn’t get going until towards the end of the season. So what the hell was he going to do until then?

Straczynski had twenty-one episodes to fill up and barely enough story material to cover a quarter of the season. Rather than relinquish some creative control by bringing in a load of new writers and some fresh ideas, Straczynski continued to write virtually every single episode himself even though it was clear by this point that he’d reached his burnout stage. Granted, the only time he did allow someone else to write an episode it resulted in Neil Gaiman’s dreary ‘Day of the Dead’ but that's still no excuse for not sharing your toys, Joe. Actually, in many ways the series came a full circle with season five as Babylon 5 went back to the sort standalone filler dreck everyone thought we’d seen the last of in season one. Worst offender being the abysmal Tom Stoppard homage ‘A View from the Galley’ which looks at an attack on the station from the perspective of two repair workers who sadly, unlike Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, don’t end up dead at the end.

The lack of decent episodes wasn't the show’s only problem this season, as its previously strong characterization seemed to have vanished entirely. They might’ve looked the same, they might’ve even sounded the same, but these were not the same characters we’d been following faithfully over the last four years. Despite now being President of the Interstellar Alliance (with all the power and influence of a UN Secretary-General) Sheridan still stomps around the station like he owns the place becoming the type of character you’d rather punch in the face than follow into the jaws of hell. Delenn, meanwhile, has been relegated to the prestigious role of ‘her indoors’. Elsewhere, Garibaldi roamed aimlessly around the station in a futile search for a decent plot line, while Londo and G’Kar spend most of the season working on perfecting their buddy comedy routine. And with Claudia Christian gone (but sure as hell not forgotten) Tracy Scoggins was brought in to replace Ivanova as Captain Elizabeth Lockley, the station’s new commander and Sheridan’s ex-wife (huh?). Try as she might, it is difficult to take Scoggins seriously as a tough military leader.

Now that the Shadows were gone and President Clark had been overthrown there were no more enemies to fight and our heroes were all getting ready to live happily ever after. As a result virtually nothing happened for the majority of the season. The only significant event in the first half was a limp rebellion by Gap model telepaths lead by Byron, a walking personality black hole. The only upside to this arc was more focus on Patricia Tallman's underused Lyta Alexander and the always welcome return of Bester, who even gets his own episode this season, the disappointingly bland ‘The Corp Is Mother, The Corp is Father’. Once all the dull telepath malarkey is done with the season finally starts to pick up some much needed steam as the Interstellar Alliance goes to war with the Centauri. But even this conflict fails to provide the same kind of high drama and epic battles the show used to give us. Only the tragic conclusion of Londo’s story in ‘The Fall of Centauri Prime’ makes any kind of emotional impact.

The remaining episodes are all used for some last minute wrap up and a shed load of teary goodbye scenes to rival anything Peter Jackson could come up with. After everyone has gone their separate way Straczynski closes the book with ‘Sleeping in Light’ an elegant and beautiful epilogue to the series and one of the best series finales of all time. Although it did manage to end on a high note (notably with an episode left over from the previous year) overall season five is a disappointing dud.

Despite this less than grand farewell, Babylon 5 still remains one of the greatest sci-fi series ever produced. Admittedly it was something of a flawed masterpiece thanks to the occasional wooden acting, clunky dialogue, dodgy standalone episodes, cheap sets and a tendency to get lost up its own mythology. But with this show Straczynski created something truly unique, an epic science fiction novel for television with a definitive beginning, middle and end. Yeah, the beginning was a bit uneven and the end part didn’t work out as planned, but that middle section, boy, was that good.

Mark Greig has been writing for Doux Reviews since 2011.

[your-dietician]

The worst hit singles from 12 major artists | Arts & Entertainment

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The worst hit singles from 12 major artists | Arts & Entertainment

The biggest music artists of all time typically have dozens of hits in their portfolio, often so many that they can’t play all of them in concert.

But sometimes artists are so popular that radio plays their singles and fans buy them because of unyielding devotion, not artistic genius. While diehards will love even the ugliest child, it’s fair to say that not every hit song is equal. So we’ve picked our least favorite song from a sampling of major artists — what we consider some of the worst from some of the most familiar hit-makers.

Yes, in a way, we’re trolling those dedicated fans, many of whom will likely howl in protest over some of our picks. Unlike them, our devotion isn’t unyielding.

Melissa’s pick: “Die Another Day”

There have been numerous worthy James Bond theme songs this century, such as Adele and, um, well, OK, Adele. But Madonna may have kickstarted the string of recent forgettable offerings with her 2002 dance smash. If you’re into rote electro-stuttering and nonsensical lyrics, congratulations for perpetuating mediocrity.

Rodney’s pick: “Don’t Tell Me”

Most of Madonna’s hit songs have a catchy melodic twist and/or lyrical intrigue along the lines of “Material Girl,” “Vogue” or “Music.” Then there is this decidedly unmemorable ditty, which inexplicably peaked at No. 4 on the American pop chart. Even the song title is boring. A mildly countrified guitar riff is accompanied by Madonna sounding mildly defiant in a way that comes and goes with no emotional impact whatsoever.

Melissa’s pick: “Purple Rain”

I know, I’m ducking already. And I’ll concede that when Prince performed the title track of his 1984 soundtrack in concert, even the cacophonous guitar solo at song’s end exploded with vitality. But on record? A thumping slog.

Rodney’s pick: “Batdance”

The 1980s were a prolific period for Prince, including some of his most iconic hits that R&B and pop radio stations continue to play today. This song hit No. 1 in the summer of 1989 but is rarely heard for a reason: it’s basically a weird promo for the “Batman” movie. There are elements of cool songs embedded in here, but it feels cobbled together more for commercial purposes than artistic merit.

Melissa’s pick: “A Matter of Trust”

By 1986, Joel certainly earned the right to indulge in a vanity project, and this is his only hit to spotlight him on electric guitar instead of piano. Unfortunately for longtime fans, Joel’s pet project was manifested in simple, monotonous chords, a sluggish pace and a cringing attempt at Springsteen-esque grit.

Rodney’s pick: “You’re Only Human”

Billy’s best songs are romantic or parables of sorts. This is Billy at his preachiest. An original song he wrote for his “Greatest Hits Vol. 1 and Vol. 2” release, this top 10 hit from 1985 was a way to help young people with depression and thoughts of suicide so the intentions were good. But as a song, it’s both annoyingly chipper and lyrically flaccid.

Melissa’s pick: “Crocodile Rock”

Perhaps it’s due to decades of witnessing thousands of uncoordinated suburbanites attempting to dance while singing the grating “la la la la la” chorus of John’s first No. 1 hit (in 1972) in concert that has spoiled any enjoyment of this ditty. But the inanity and novelty song quality also contribute.

Rodney’s pick: “Can You Feel the Love Tonight”

John went through a 1990s phase of bland balladeering which sticks in my craw including “Circle of Life” and “Believe.” This is probably the most famous of that era, his “Lion King” cash grab that won an Academy Award and a Grammy. I’d take the worst of his 1970s hits (including “Crocodile Rock”) over this drivel any day.

Melissa’s pick: “Blood on the Dance Floor”

With production by new jack swing maestro Teddy Riley, the lead single from Jackson’s 1997 “Blood on the Dance Floor: HIStory in the Mix” album was originally slated for his 1991 “Dangerous” release. That explains the victim-heavy lyrics about backstabbers (prime early ’90s Jackson fodder), but not the middling funk backbeat. While the song only climbed to No. 42 in the U.S., it was a worldwide smash, proving that sometimes, Americans do have better taste.

Rodney’s pick: “Dirty Diana”

This song, his fifth No. 1 song off his “Bad” album in 1988, is about aggressive groupies and feels dark and dreary, with overdramatic guitar rock licks. Tell me where the actual hook is in the chorus. And the odd lack of percussive rhythm keeps it from ever finding its core essence.

Melissa’s pick: “One Moment in Time”

Look, I adore a good anthem. And this one is all about anthem-y things such as inspiration and pride in accomplishments (Houston recorded it for the 1988 Summer Olympics). But sometimes Houston’s schmaltz-ometer needed to be tempered and this was prime time.

Rodney’s pick: “I Have Nothing”

Houston during her peak was able to belt a ballad in her sleep. This David Foster/Linda Thompson tune from “My Bodyguard” is very prototypical Houston with her requisite dramatic flair but has always made me want to go to sleep instead. I suspect the excessive use of this song on “American Idol” has soured me even more on its charms.

Melissa’s pick: “Lover”

It’s a word that prompts all of the blechs, and coupled with Swift’s cooing delivery and the echo-y drumbeat powering the ballad, it results in continued wincing. Despite a killer bridge — which is becoming a Swift specialty — her breathy delivery of “You’re my, my, my, my love-ER” is straight-up icky.

Rodney’s pick: “Look What You Made Me Do”

This song was super impactful for many reasons when it came out in 2017 due to the lyrical content about her reputation and its obvious electro-pop vibe. But there’s a reason you hardly ever hear it on the radio in 2021. It’s less a viable pop song and more a treatise about Swift’s fame and how people perceived her at the time. Unlike most of her other hits like “Blank Space” and “Delicate,” this one doesn’t hold up well over repeated listens.

Melissa’s pick: “Bed of Roses”

Even hardcore Bon Jovi fans (hand raised) will admit that the band’s ’90s-era ballads were brutal (see Rodney’s choice to further solidify). But between Jon Bon Jovi’s cliched Romeo routine and one of the most ludicrous lyrics in rock history — “I wake up and French kiss the morning” — this one is unlistenable.

Rodney’s pick: “Always”

This power ballad about someone who sounds like a stalker hit the top 5 in 1994 but is largely forgotten a quarter-century later. Why? It’s so dull and shapeless, the lighter you’d raise in concert would refuse to ignite in protest.

Melissa’s pick: “Pour Some Sugar On Me”

Released in 1988, the Mutt Lange-produced track is inarguably Def Leppard’s best-known hit. It’s still horrible. Dopey lyrics and minimal use of the band’s copious musical abilities mar every bar. The song was a last-minute add to the “Hysteria” album. If only we had gotten lucky.

Rodney’s pick: “Let’s Get Rocked”

This 1992 top 20 hit feels like a ragged compilation of all their previous hits amped up to 11, led by a super cliched chorus and song title. It’s like Def Leppard color-by-numbers.

Rodney and Melissa agree: “Work”

Rihanna has said her broken, often half-hearted vocal style in this dancehall song represents her culture. But that doesn’t seem to explain the basic lack of a hook, a melody or anything resembling a coherent outline of a song.

Melissa’s pick: “One”

While I appreciate Bono’s sentiment that we can be simultaneously unified and diverse and while I will never disparage the charitable causes associated with the band’s No. 1 hit from 1992, I will also never be swayed of the opinion that musically, it’s a droning snooze.

Rodney’s pick: “With or Without You”

The opening single off U2′s most successful album “The Joshua Tree” from 1987 has a pretty solemnity, but after countless listens, I’ve lost patience with Bono’s overwrought delivery. In other words, I can easily live without you. Give me “In God’s Country” or “Red Hill Mining Town,” thank you very much.

Melissa’s pick: “Animals”

I have a visceral reaction to Adam Levine’s nasal whine, so truly any song from Maroon 5′s inexplicably extensive catalog is on my list. But if forced to choose one waste of four minutes of my life, it would be this 2014 hit laced with Levine’s grating falsetto and packed with high school-level sexual innuendo.

Rodney’s pick: “Moves Like Jagger”

It’s mind-boggling how many top 40 songs this band has generated over the past two decades: 23! This was their biggest hit of them all and possibly their most memorable song as well, given the Mick Jagger twist and help from Christina Aguilera. But this fangless song packed with whistling has none of Jagger’s actual swagger. Even Aguilera’s contribution is unmemorable.

©2021 The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Visit at ajc.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

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[mattzerella-sticks]

What They Should Do... (An SPN spec fic)

So, Dean and Sam are tied up in the Alternate World just waiting. But... how do they pass their time? (AO3)

This was inspired by both the 13x10 promo and a nap dream I had after taking an Advil. This is how I think the writers could use the 'Wayward Sisters' episode as a backdoor to other things as well...

           Sam tries again to pull at the rope, its coarse fibers biting through his layers and into his skin. He could already feel his wrists starting to raw, but didn’t give up. Not like Dean, who he could barely see, slumped against the tree, head lolled off to the side in defeat.

           “If you don’t mind Sam,” he growls out, “I’d like to enjoy my last few moments without having to hear your Sasquatch grunts.”

           “Why don’t you shut up,” Sam hisses back, still struggling. Dean cranes his neck as far as he can and levels him with a glare.

           “Look,” Dean says, “we’re trapped in this weird Land that Time Forgot, with no food, no guns, and no way home. I’d rather we die now then later, alright?”

           “So you’re just gonna let yourself be eaten? That sounds awful.”

           “Not the way I expected to go,” Dean admits, “But seems pretty cool. I mean, who would believe we were killed by dinosaurs, Sammy?”

           “No one because we wouldn’t be able to tell anyone since no one knows where we are!”

           Dean huffs, “Why you always gotta be such a downer.”

           Sam thunks his head back into the tree and bites back a groaned curse. “Look,” Sam says, instead, “just… let me figure a way out of this before I die from an aneurysm, okay?”

           Sam keeps struggling, only managing to aggravate his skin to the point where he can feel tiny drops of blood oozing out of him. He doesn’t stop, however, furthering his search for a loose knot or something to help them out.

           “Sam… please,” Dean says, “It’s not… you think I haven’t tried?”

           Sam looks back at Dean, at where his hands are peaking out from behind the rope. Sam can see trails of Dean’s own blood, even in the weird blue glow, snaking their way down his hands.

           Sam feels his stomach give way, and he slumps against the rope, “…Crap.”

           “Yeah,” Dean nods, “A big whole freakin’ pile of it.”

           Sam doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing he can say. Any word he tries to think of, to make the situation seem not what it is, sits heavy on his tongue like a lie. He lets the silence linger, each rustle a warning of what’s to come.

           “You know,” Dean says, “I really wish it didn’t have to end like this.”

           “Me too, Dean,” Sam says, grimacing, “Me, too…”

           “And,” Dean continues, “If we are going down… I’m glad we’re doing it together.”

           “There’s no one I’d rather die with,” Sam chuckles, “…Again.”

           “Maybe we should do it differently, then.”

           “Dean, I think getting eaten by giant reptiles is different enough –“

           “No, I mean,” Dean says, “Let’s… go out with nothing between us.”

           “You mean –“

           “No secrets,” Dean frowns, “Everything out in the open.”

           Sam huffs a small laugh. “You sure you want to do that?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “I mean,” Sam explains, “you aren’t the first to open up in any situation.”

           “Hey!” Dean cries, “I can get pretty damned emotional!”

           “Sure, Dean…”

           “And I did say between us,” Dean huffs, “So I’m not the only one who’s holding things in.”

           Sam frowns, considering Dean’s statement. While he doesn’t want to say Dean’s right… there’s nothing except his pride keeping him from actually voicing this opinion.

           “Fine,” Sam relents, “Do you… wanna start?”

           “I guess…” Dean tries his best to look Sam in the eyes, but Sam can only really see one make contact. “So,” he continues, “I know I said it before but… I really am sorry I couldn’t be there for you with Mom.”

           “Dean, it’s okay –“

           “And even when we were with Jack and Kaia I… I didn’t think we were actually gonna find anything,” he says, “I thought we’d just find her…” He doesn’t finish.

           “Thank you, Dean,” Sam says, “And with me and Mom… I feel the same about you and Cas. I didn’t know how to approach… to even helpyou out of your funk. I was so wrapped up in Mom I didn’t think about how it must have felt for you to lose Cas.”

           “It’s okay, Sam,” Dean whispers, “Cas… wherever he is, he’s going to be fine without me… us. He’ll… he’ll find Jack and make sure he’s raised right.”

           Sam isn’t sure what he hears next. There’s a rustle from somewhere nearby, and it covers up what might have been a sniffle.

           “Anyway,” Dean chuckles, “I should also admit that… when you’re asleep… I cut your hair.”

           “You – what?”

           “Not a lot,” Dean admits, “Just enough that you wouldn’t notice it but still make a difference.”

           “Dean!” Sam shouts, “Is that the reason why I wake up to find hair on my pillow? I thought I was losing my hair! Do you know how much money I spent trying to prevent that?”

           “Hey, I promise I won’t do it again,” Dean says, “…not like I’ll be able to since… y’know.”

           Sam sighs, and lets go of the anger. “Fine,” he says, “Apology accepted. And if we are… owning up to things… You know how you like to keep bottles of liquor in your room.”

           “Yeah, and?”

           “Well… I water them down.”

           “You bitch,” Dean barks, “I thought I had developed a tolerance. Do you know how scared I was?”

           Sam manages a laugh. And after a while, Dean joins in, finding some levity in their situation. They don’t stop, letting the little things roll forward, avalanching in a final brotherly bonding moment.

           “I have a wig that I put on to act like you when I feel like venting.”

           “I replaced all the burgers in the fridge with those ‘fake meat’ patties… and you haven’t noticed the difference.”

           “Every time a girl asks me if you’re available I tell them you’re in a happily committed relationship with a blow-up doll.”

           “I’ve let stray dogs sleep in the backseat of the Impala when it rains so they stay dry.”

           “I… have a set of mix-tapes that aren’t classic rock. My favorite is the ABBA one.”

           “I haven’t jogged in over three years,” Sam wheezes, laughing, “I go out in the morning and just get a donut. I only pretend to make you feel bad.”

           “You’re a horrible person Sammy,” Dean scoffs, “Truly awful.”

           “You wanted the truth!” Sam stops to breathe, “You know… I’m glad we’re doing this. At least we’ll die smiling.”

           “Yeah…” Dean says, looking down at the ground. His mood has taken a turn, having subdued itself. Sam cocks a brow at Dean’s behavior, but doesn’t have time to consider just what’s the matter with Dean (besides the obvious) when he hears a louder-than-should-be rustle from the bushes to their right.

           “Sam, I –“

           “Shh, not now, Dean,” Sam hushes him, “I hear something.”

           “No, I… I really need to say this,” Dean continues.

           “Seriously, Dean, this is not the time!”

           There’s more rustling, and Sam can hear twigs snapping as whatever it is approaches closer and closer to them. Sam’s muscles are taut, his body thrumming with adrenaline as he tries in vain to pull his body free one last time.

           “Sam, I –“

           “Dean – !”

           “I like guys!”

           “There you are!”

           Sam blinks, staring first at Claire and her friend, who stand at the edge of the clearing, blades in hand, then at Dean.

           “What?”

           “Patience and I have been looking everywhere for you!” Claire continues, walking towards them, “This place is creepier than anything I could ever think up. We need to get you two out of here –“

           “No, hold on,” Sam stops them, craning his neck to get a better look at his brother, “Dean, what did you just say?”

           “Uh – Sam, is this really the time?” Dean mumbles out, a slight blush peeking out from behind his collar, “We could get eaten at any second!”

           “No, no we have time – did you say you like guys?”

           Now Claire and her friend – Patience – turn to Dean.

           “Dean said what now?” Claire asks, interest in this topic evident by her smirk and raised brow.

           “I didn’t say that!”

           “Then what did you say?”

           “I said I…” he mumbles now, incoherent.

           “You said what?”

           “I said I liked… guises.”

           “Guises?”

           “As in disguises,” Dean explains, “You know… like dressing up?”

           “Shocker,” Claire comments, walking towards him, “I doubt that’s what you said but, like, that doesn’t surprise anyone either, Dean.” She uses her blade to cut through the rope and free him. Patience does the same with Sam.

           “Whatever,” Dean scoffs, rubbing at his wrists, “Let’s just… do you have back-up?”

           “Jody and Donna are out here as well, we’re supposed to rendezvous back at the portal in the next half-hour.”

           “There’s another portal?” Sam asks, walking up to them.

           “Yeah,” Patience says, “Alex and Kaia are on the other side, waiting for us. They’re gonna try and close it after we come back.”

           “Well then what are we waiting for,” Dean claps both Sam and Claire on the back, “Let’s go.”

           “Dean –“

           “We’re not dying anymore, Sammy,” Dean stops him, frowning, pleading, “What happened between two trees in an alternate universe stays there.”

           Sam wants to fight him. But he knows when to fight his battles. And his brother’s sexuality is something he can put on the back burner until they’re back in their home universe and not stuck in Spielberg’s sandbox.

           “Lead the way,” he says to Claire.

           They trek out of the clearing, and back into danger.

            They’re in the Impala, close to home, and tired. Sam figures this is the perfect time to strike.

           “So,” he starts, “When you said you liked guises –“

           “Sam, can we not do this now –“

           “No, Dean, I just want to say,” Sam interrupts, remembering the script he created the second they pulled out of Jody’s drive way, “that it doesn’t matter to me – if you like to dress up, that is. You could be dressed in a t-shirt and jeans… or in a… costume; it wouldn’t change how I see you. You’d still be my brother, Dean.”

           Sam’s not watching Dean – direct eye contact would only frighten him back into his shell (or closet). But, if he were watching him, Sam would say that the relaxed posture, loose grip on the wheel, and smirk are signs that Dean understood his message.

           “…Thanks Sam,” he says, “Really.”

           “No problem.”

           And if Sam weren’t Dean’s brother, he’d leave it at that. But he can’t – which is why he follows his heartfelt message up with:

           “Hey Dean?”

           “…Yeah?”

           “So… if you like to dress up…”

           “Sam, please… drop it –”

           “If you were to pick really anything to wear –“

           “I swear I will stop this car”

           “Would you choose a trench coat?”

           The Impala skids to a halt, swerving to the side of the road. Sam barely has time to steady himself when Dean is pointing towards the door, “Get out.”  

           “Dean, come on –“

           “I told you I’d stop the car,” Dean frowns, “Now get out.”

           “You’re really gonna make me walk home?”

           “No,” Dean smirks now, “You can jog.”

[dye-ann]

Twin Peaks 3x17: a Heartfelt Non-Analysis of the “reunion scene”

So, I’ve been meaning to write something about the reunion scene from episode 17 for quite some time now, and here I am. That scene stayed with me ever since I’ve watched the finale, and I’m really not over it yet.

I wrote this before doing any actual rewatching, and it ended up being a sort of reconstruction, and as it is, it is partly inaccurate. But it seemed to me that it was still valid, because it showed what kind of feelings I was experiencing at the time, so even if this isn’t really coherent analytically speaking, I still wanted to share it. Rationalization isn’t everything. So of course this is very subjective and not really plot-oriented, I just try to examine the reasons why I was so moved by the device Lynch used, namely the superposition of Cooper’s face to the entire sequence images. It’s probably not very original, nor groundbreaking, but it’s very heartfelt and I hope no one else gets hurt in the process, because my poor soul sure was (it’s also quite long, so I put it under the cut).

I think this type of superposition is something I have seen before, but it was never used as radically, and never to the same purpose. I’ve wondered why Lynch would choose to film it like this, and here’s what came to me.

On the surface, it seems to give us what we have been expecting for so long (for 25 years, perhaps, and it still gives me chills to think about that, to think about the people who waited, about my mother, who was my age and pregnant when the old series came out, and who has been waiting to know for, basically, my entire life). 

It gives us agent Cooper, whose face we have been looking for ever since episode 1, trying to recapture that light in Dougie’s far-off eyes, in Mr C.’s black holes. I will not bother you with unnecessary philosophical references, but the Face (yes I know but that’s how it is usually translated) is actually an important concept for a whole part of ethics and ontology, especially the face-to-face, as a way to both meet the Other (bear with me) and experience his otherness. So we are, as an audience, finally facing Cooper, and there’s a sense of vulnerability that comes out of the encounter. He has aged, we can see it, but for the briefest moment, we are allowed to think things haven’t changed that much. Those eyes are the same eyes we saw on a tiny TV screen in the early 90’s, because time was always kind to eyes.

And in the shots/countershots, he is also face to face with the other characters, as if superimposing these images was the only way to truly show that a reunion was taking place, to truly show them looking at each other, acknowledging each other presence. They are all in the same room, on the same layer of reality, and it is a beautiful and precious picture to keep.

But a face to face also is an experience of distance, and that’s what is taking place here too, simultaneously. I think the reason I have so many feels about this scene is that Lynch effectively superimpose meanings by superimposing images, and that’s absolutely brilliant.

Have a good look at this particular face. The warmth is here somewhere and the gaze is so intense I might never forget it, but as the same time, Cooper’s expression is quite static, as if it was physically and emotionally difficult to come out of Dougie’s body, to reintegrate his old self after 25 years of isolation. And we hadn’t had time to see this before, because he basically sprang out of coma like a Jack-in-the-box, and rushed out to Twin Peaks, so it’s important that the moment he pauses also is the moment when he might be emotionally overwhelmed and crushed by memories. 

This is the face of a man who’s stuck. This is the face of trauma, a mirror of Naido’s sewed eyes. To me, this is also a love story, but I won’t elaborate. For, while we cry “at last!”, it’s really too early for him to confront all this. The audience and the character are at odds when it should be a perfect moment of synchronization and identification. A reunion. Already we’re no longer are on the same timeline as Cooper, and this is such a clever way to illustrate it.

If I try to be a bit more technical (and a bit more wrong, probably) showing the character face all along the scene is a strong device, because it is a new take on what a subjective camera is. If anything, what we have here might be considered an “intersubjective” camera, and how beautiful is that. I think this is why the emotion are so strong: showing all the faces at once means concentrating the emotions on a single take, and as an audience we can be either Cooper or the other characters, or that link between them that is so powerfully conveyed.

But this reunion, as it happens, is very much a filtered reunion: there is something screening the characters from each others, screening Cooper from himself. He’s watching his Hollywood kiss with Diane from afar – even if his face is barely visible during the kiss, it’s still there, as if even physical contact, what is supposed to be “real” by excellence, wasn’t enough to close the gap. He’s watching himself, as we are, greeting the whole Sheriff station and the FBI crew, only minutes after some random British superhero destroyed evil with gardening gloves.

So, here’s the thing about a subjective camera: it can be doubted. It underlines both emotion and distance, because we are made aware of the fact the images we are seeing are seen through the eyes of a human being, and are we so sure that we still know that particular human being so well? 

As I was saying, we’re out of sync with Cooper now. The bond he had in the old series with the audience has been damaged by the time gap and the whole season 3 directing. This moment, that we have been waiting for so long, I’d say we’re almost tempted to put it into question. Does this really happen? Why is it so fleeting? We implicitly trusted an objective camera, but now that we are looking at things through Cooper’s eyes, how can we know we are not looking at something he wishes happened. He dreams happened. 

How real are the images on a screen, you ask? As real as you feel they are, is probably a respectful answer, at least it is one I like.

And, historically, Cooper has been one of those characters who can see things in different planes: here he witnesses Naido’s transformation into Diane in the Red Room, and he’s also able to see his own face. This inspires me two remarks. 

First, the insistent idea that Cooper is looking directly at us. I know, this barely deserves the name of idea, because it’s pretty obvious, but when you think about what’s to come, all that traveling through old images, losing himself between different Lynch movies, the breaking of the fourth wall is quite powerful indeed. Is he saying goodbye? I don’t know. I think I don’t want to know.

Secondly, it also feels like this subjective yet omnipotent gaze might really be the director’s gaze. And here is Lynch, having a last long look at his characters, at his audience, just before staging the death of his own work (I think “staging” is an important word here, because to me, the last episode only shows that it is impossible to rewrite, or reshoot the past). Before pretending (again, important word) to erase the murder of Laura Palmer. 

Once again, this face to face image allows him to show how fragile everything is, and what it feels like to have been waiting for the miracle to come. Only adding to this feeling is the reunion of ex-partners and lovers Kyle MacLachlan and Laura Dern, which seems very deliberate on Lynch’s part, since they worked (and met? I don’t know, maybe you will) under his direction. This might sound a bit megalomaniac, but I’m more committed to the idea that Lynch is taking a retrospective look on his production, after a filming that must have, inevitably with so many deaths in the cast, confronted him with his own age. If this isn’t meant as a testamentary work, I don’t know what is.

In the end, I think a good part of what I’ve been trying to ask is: can we still believe in genuine happiness and happy reunions after watching the entirety of season 3? I’m really not sure. And it’s not that David Lynch doesn’t believe in those unmitigated, plain emotions; he has proven how important they were to him on innumerable occasions in the old series, but to me the whole point of this third season is how hard it has become to appreciate everything that happens unironically.

There are still silver linings of course, peaceful islands of love, we still have the Lucys and Andys of this world to lick our wounds. But when Norma suddenly throws her business plan away to marry Eddy on the spot, I believe it and yet I question it; because his eyes were closed, because of this elevating movement of the camera, because the music is so loud. 

In the first series, music was everywhere to be heard, and it only made you feel things more strongly. Here, it has become quite rare, except when it’s directly on stage. So when it finally appears, and in such mellow tones, I suspect it, I cannot help it. I’m not saying it wasn’t already a trait of the old series; but I find it more frequent in the new season, and it’s part of the reason why it was so heartbreaking for me. 

Of course I don’t pretend that this is the universal reaction, and if things still feel as genuine to you as before, I respect that and I also envy you. It is possible, in fact, that I underestimate the detachment at work in the old series, because I was born when it was first aired, and I might be projecting something of a lost origin image on it.

But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Watching these scenes, I feel I have lost something, but I cannot quite remember what it was. It doesn’t really matter. Something or someone is still here, looking at us in the face, not caring what time it really is.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 13 - ARI - 9-2-2

Is this a trap game? I’ll admit I’m not familiar with the concept. Arizona has been on the edge of competitive since… always? Yeah they had that conference final appearance but we’re all kinda conditioned to think they’re bad. It’s the teams that you think you should beat but have a high likelihood to surprise you that constitute trap games, right? The Yotes had a rough start but have managed to off the likes of Nashville and the Rangers to arrive in Buffalo 6 and 4. Like the Buffalo Sabres everyone is still wondering if they might actually be good. Another thing these two teams have in common is a man named Phil Housley. After bouncing around a little bit following his firing from the Sabres Head Coach position in the Spring he finds himself the assistant Coach of the Arizona Coyotes. They are certainly trying to recapture his coaching talent from his time with the Nashville Predators where he benefited a lot from a stacked defense. When Lance Lysowski, the last good hockey writer at the Buffalo News, asked Housley if he would make any changes to his time as Sabres bench boss he responded: “Those are things I’ll keep to myself”. If there’s anything Phil Housley is good at its dodging the meat of a question, eh? All kidding aside that is the best possible answer to that question. What is he going to do, activate all the suburban hockey dads and roast one of the talented player’s compete level? I think it’s safe to say he’s done with Buffalo and really doesn’t want to be pressed into any talk about it. I put the feelers for what Sabres fans feel about Phil Housley on twitter. In the most unsurprising chain of events since missing the playoffs most of y’all responded with “tHe DaY hE gOt FiReD!” There were a couple interesting responses I’ll throw in at the end of this postgame. For now let’s dive into the Sabres Episode XIII: the Return of Housley!

The Sabres came out crisp as the Autumn air in the first period. They outshot and out-chanced a Yotes side that was up to the task. Arizona made the first mistake however when Lawson Crouse got called for tripping Evan Rodrigues. The powerplay has been a canary-in-the-coal-mine for the Sabres in the early going this season. If it’s firing bangers in the first period you can tell it will be a good game for us. The games the PP wasn’t exactly spinning well were the not so pretty games a la New York, LA, Detroit and Anaheim. Mind you they won half those games. I had hardly vocalized this thought when Jack Eichel gets kicked out of the faceoff circle and proceeds to score immediately thereafter with that classic slapper. It’s Eichel’s 23rd birthday and evidently he had not scored on his birthday yet in his career on this team. There it is, Happy Birthday, bud. The game evened up a bit down the gut of the period while the Sabres still got the prettier chances. It would be another pretty goal from the increasingly nice Marcus Johansson Jeff Skinner duo. They shut down some quality O-zone time for the Yotes and went off on the rush down ice. Skinner gave the puck to Johansson who didn’t skate too far before returning it to Skinner to tap it in. They did a little crisscross in the middle there and it was just so pretty. They were out to 2-0 lead, but again the Coyotes were not missing their chances either. In spite of being boxed out over and over again by Jack Eichel and Jake McCabe, old friend Phil Kessel got his looks. Victor Hinostroza seemed to be breathing down Hutton’s neck whenever he was in the zone. This Arizona side has allowed the fewest goals in the league so far, you have to be careful with them when they do get their chances. Before the first ended Carter Hutton let in a Conor Garland tight-angle shot that was less than stellar. It was hard to see how it went in from most angles but one at ice-level showed a big 3-hole. It was 2-1 through 20 minutes of play.

The home team came out hot in the second period as well. There was a push of play in the first ten minutes where the Sabres hemmed Arizona in their zone for 1:40 continuous minutes! It got uproarious cheering from the home crowd and to be frank it sent a shiver up my spine. You watch that kind of multi-minute dominance and you almost don’t recognize the squad in front of you. They were winning quick puck battles and nailing very tight passes. They looked like they were on a powerplay, but they were roasting wolf meat 5 on 5 in that stretch! Its that kind of peak “play connected” competitiveness and actualization of real skill that makes me believe this hot start is for real. In that glorious stretch I felt this squad was really and truly back from the darkness. I think they’re for real and I feel more confident than I ever have after that stretch. Unfortunately there is somehow always a reason to be a disappointed Sabres fan and we found it as Buffalo was not rewarded for the frightfully good first half of the period. Arizona pushed back, reclaimed the edge in shots and eventually got a fluke equalizer off Hutton’s ass. It was tied at 2 going into the third period and I’d like to share Rob Ray’s joy in saying this was the most fun Sabres game yet this season but I just can’t. The third period was vintage Sabres. When I use that phrase I’m referring to the 2010s Sabres. They had no lead but decided to more or less retreat into a defensive shell. They had let the expected goals darling of this young NHL season back into the game and in the third they let them take over. Every player wearing Blue and Gold on that sheet of ice saw their corsi percentage implode and had it not been for Carter Hutton standing on his head at times there would have been no loser point as solace. Evan Rodrigues started the game out hungry. By the third period he disappeared. Jake McCabe and Rasmus Ristolainen simultaneously decided to forget two respective lifetimes of hockey training and could not pass a puck without a turnover for the life of them. Now one might say the Sabres began playing for overtime. One word answer there pals: unacceptable. Regulation wins are the currency of dynasties and I don’t care how good the Sabres have looked in extra hockey so far this season. Stop with that garbage.

Arizona earned their overtime point having shelled Buffalo with shots at a 2-1 rate in the third. In overtime they registered the only official shot on goal. Apart from an Olofsson ringer of the crossbar this was the worst overtime period I’ve seen from this new Sabres squad. As with the regulation portion of the night if Victor Hinostroza or Phil Kessel converted any of their chances this would be a darker story. At one point even Hutton caught the turtle bug and turned over the puck in the corner almost gifting the Yotes an overtime winner. It was a jaw dropping overtime in more bad ways than good ones. It went to the shootout and all it took was Nick Schmaltz outmaneuvering Hutton to sink one to seal the visitor’s victory. This one ended 3-2 Coyotes and looked like a microcosm of the Sabres play through its now completed first month of the season: gloriously fun and evidently more cohesive as a team but very much still bearing the toothless mistrust of themselves and propensity to fail to complete games. They end October 9-2-2 and I think that record is very telling. They’ll will have to sit on this surrender until Friday when they travel to Washington to take on the Capitals. I think the last third period plus of this game earned them every little bit of the nagging sensation this outcome will weigh on them in those intermittent days.

So back to the Housley memories: he got some applause when the video tribute came on the jumbotron and I don’t necessarily hate that. BUT, and this is a big but, most of us Sabres fans simply will not remember him fondly, at least for his coaching tenure. One @alexa_mallare replied with her photo of the Fire Housley sign her and her family made and put up in the 300 level for a few glorious minutes at Fan Appreciation Night last season. According to her Rasmus Ristolainen caught sight of it during warmups and got a chuckle out of it. Alexa says the team staff held Housley in the tunnel while they were forced to take it down. Heroes! Heroes, I tell you! Those last few months of the season were so catatonic someone had to show signs of life and it ended up having to be us fans. @depressedbflos replied with the Rob Ray quotes that got dug up and promptly reburied before the Housley firing. Evidently Ray was not treated right as a rookie by Housley during their playing careers and Ray still holds it against him. The quotes were from a 2003 Buffalo News piece that someone rediscovered as Housley dug his own grave that Spring. I think that was the moment that I personally realized he was done. When you’re so reviled by the fanbase you got signs going up, 15-year-old quotes coming out AND the team is losing at a record clip its over. Unfortunately Housleyisms like throwing Sobotka out there in the dying minutes of a 2-2 tie aren’t lost on Ralph Krueger. However I think we can all agree this new guy is a whole lot better at… well… everything? Everything right?

The one guy who replied a positive gif of the former coach made sure to qualify afterward that he did not endorse the coaching acumen of Housley. What a crazy time we lived through, eh? This has been the roast of Phil Housley. Thank you for coming, please like, comment and share this blog on your way out. Should we be concerned about this current team? Eh, yes in certain places. Do I think they’ll win at this clip in November: no. Do I think they’ll win more games than they lose: yes. I really feel as though 9-2-2 is something to believe in. This club is really something new. I believe it and you should too. They’ve got two games left this weekend and then it’s off to Sweden. I choose to believe, and risk being hurt. I suggest you do too. What fun would this be if we all played it safe?

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. Happy Halloween everyone.

[focalwriterworks]

THE GUNMAN

Jeff Spicoli trades in his surfboard for some semi-automatic hand guns in this taut, Luc Besson style European thriller.  Starring five-time Oscar nominated actor and winner of two Academy Awards, Sean Penn.

The Story: This is familiar story and movie plot material, maybe Jack Reacher (2012) is the most recent film I can think of, but countless other films where a hero is established, in this case Sean Penn's James Terrier, who eight years after an African mercenary killer-for-hire event is now being sought by an undisclosed enemy in what Terrier believes is retaliation, or revenge, for the actions he carried out on the job.  People are out to get him, regardless, and he doesn't know who or why but uses all of his paramilitary resources and killer instincts to find out who and stop them before he, and a girl he once loved, Annie, played by Jasmine Trinca, are dead.    

The Goods: About an hour in there's a highly characteristic move by what appears to make Terrier a smart man (until then I’m not sure just how smart, or stupid, he is, there’s just a lot of shooting, hiding and running).  He discovers a rigged bomb in his hotel room, with trip wires waiting for him, which he’s able to quickly disable it, slip out into the open so they see him, re-enter his room to allow them to see the device not working and upon which he re-connects the bomb and uses against these guys as they try to muscle their way into his place.  It's a well worked-out scene that plays quickly but is long enough to sink your teeth into, to watch and follow and enjoy as the scene takes its course.  It's quite possibly the only redeeming thing about this film, and though it’s like one or two nifty scenes in Taken (2008), it's sort of an anomaly in movie-making these days.    

Directer Pierre Morel was the cinematographer on a slew of Luc Besson films like The Transporter (2002) and Unleashed (2005), and camera operator on Taken and From Paris With Love (2010) which is why The Gunman feels familiar both in theme, character and action.  Not a bad thing necessarily, but can this genre ever be too much?  A change of location helps certainly as the action takes us to Barcelona, London, Africa and Gibraltar.  

The Flaws: It's so similar to Neeson and Cruise films that it makes me think Penn did it just to be a) more relevant or b) because he needs the work.  Not because he needs an Oscar.  Which is slightly disappointing.  I think the key to identifying with heroes is that we sort of want to be like them.  Who wouldn't want to be Tony Stark, or Neeson's Bryan Mills, or Cruise's Maverick, or better yet any number of 007's.  Unfortunately there's nothing here in Penn's character that makes me identify with him.   While he can fight better than a lot of the dudes I mentioned, still, he lacks a certain manliness—maybe it's just stature—that says, hey, I'm a super-hero kind of guy you should be rooting for.  And I think that's where a good speech comes into play.  If you can't win me with the action, then tell me something stirring that I can walk away with.  

We don't really get to know Terrier. Outside of running with a gun, shooting, using hand-to-hand combat. Maybe this is truly who he is. Annie loves him, but I can’t think hand-to-hand combat is why she loves him… she doesn't seem the type.  She's a humanitarian worker.  Helping poverty-stricken citizens of a small Republic of Congo town. Javier Bardem has a small part in the film, who also loves Annie.  At times after about thirty minutes in The Gunman has a whiff of Against All Odds (1984), which if you see that '80's Jeff Bridges movie now it's awful (that movie in turn a remake of the classic noir film Out of the Past (1947)).  The triangle of two men, and a woman they both love, it doesn’t work.  But that odor soon passes and we get back into some gunplay.  A chase, a hunt, some suspense.  A hero stung with an ailment from his days as a hired hit man in a Tommy Bahama shirt that prevents him from being completely healthy…you can’t help but think of D.O.A (1988), Crank (2006), or any number of films where the hero will doesn’t die from the hands of bad guys will do so from some crazy trauma or ticking drug bomb.  

Bardem’s character, Felix, a part of Terrier’s team back in the day, peaks with some kind of babbling incoherent speech that seems to be a cheap way out of this small part in the script, for Bardem.  If you've ever heard or used the phrase in reference to actors, "he called it in," yeah, well that's the first and only impression I get from Bardem, and he did so from a 1990’s Motorola flip-phone.  But I'll blame it on the script. Penn is an Oscar-winning actor whose nominations and wins are pretty much banked on strong monologues. We don't get any of that in this film, which is fine, but there might be some subconscious expectation of that.  To see him running around with a gun, and knives, in doing what Tom Cruise does in Mission impossible films, doesn't give him much of an opportunity to deliver some choice words.   In terms of balance, a term that Felix uses in a scene where he is flexing his refined, domesticated side in the business world, balance is what this film needs in terms of something more verbal to counter all this action.   I imagine that's why many action films are just what they are, fun, mindless escape.    

And it's why Die Hard (1988) still sets the standard in action films.  The conversation between John McClane and Sgt. Al Powell, in that nice first break in the gun fighting action, in the first film, is the best example of slowing things down and getting to know the characters; letting the audience catch their breath.  

The Call: Stow the dough.  While the fist-fighting, knife play and gun-fire chases are thrilling it’s not something you’ll miss if you just wait a while for the rental.  What makes one hero like John McClane, James Bond, Ethan Hunt, Han Solo or Peter Parker any different from James Terrier?  It’s the fact you want to be these guys.  Part of why we watch.  We live vicariously.  In The Gunman we don’t do that.  Instead we just watch.  And feel nothing.  When Idris Elba appears very late in the film, for what amounts to be maybe ten minutes of screen time, he outshines and overshadows every single hard working thing Penn has done in this film—nearly two hours of it—by just standing there and saying a handful of choice words.  And that’s the stuff, say, a James Bond like hero, is made of.   Rumors are that Elba will be the next Bond.  I look forward to that day.  And that’s what The Gunman amounts to folks. A psalm for ten minutes of Idris Elba.    

Rated R for strong violence, language and some sexuality.  Running time is 1 hour and 55 minutes.    

By Jon Lamoreaux