#even though we were told it would be exclusively remote

[isthisjackie]

Somehow, I am once again At My Limit

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Four

Summary: Things are moving along. The G word is used. Emily spends the night at Dieter’s place.

Rating: PG-13 (implied sex but nothing graphic)

Tagging @rhoorl @gwendibleywrites @avastrasposts

Notes: The Cheech is a real art museum in Riverside.

Dieter and I had been seeing each other for about a month. We’d managed to go out at least once a week and talked on the phone almost every night. Things were still low key. We’d visited the Cheech (Dieter was really into art; his mother had been an artist and he dabbled in painting now and then), gone for a hike in the Santa Monica Mountains, had a picnic at the Citrus Park. Nothing fancy, nothing that would attract attention.

Tonight, we were hanging out at his place, snuggling on the couch and watching random shows on Netflix. I had to go back to work in a few weeks, and I hoped that once I wasn’t available on weekdays, we wouldn’t drift apart. His schedule was different all the time, and I knew he had a project coming up that would require him to be out of town for several weeks.

We hadn’t slept together yet. I was wary of taking that step when I wasn’t sure exactly how things were going to work out, and he hadn’t put any pressure on me, even though he’d made more than a few hints. For now, I was content to keep things as they were. We’d had a few heavy make out sessions, one in the back seat of his car that had led to an embarrassing incident with a police officer who seemed surprised to find two middle-aged people steaming up a car’s windows.

I wasn’t even sure what we were watching anymore, since I was so comfortable in Dieter’s arms that I was ready to doze off. I jumped when his phone rang on the coffee table. He chuckled and rubbed his hands up and down my arms. “Easy there,” he said, leaning forward to look at the phone screen. “Oh, it’s my agent. I’ve got to take this.” He snatched up the phone and answered the call.

“Hey,” he said. “No, no, it’s fine. Just hanging out with my girlfriend. So what’s up?”

He wriggled out from under me and walked into the other room, away from the noise of the television. I sat on the couch, stunned. Had he just referred to me as his girlfriend? We hadn’t talked about where this thing was going, hadn’t discussed whether we were exclusive or how serious either of us was.

He disappeared for a while, leaving me to stare at the TV until Netflix asked “Are you still there?” I stirred enough to press the button on the remote, and it started playing the next episode of whatever we’d been watching. Dieter came back in and tossed his phone back on the table. He flopped down on the couch and pulled me into his lap.

“He’s got me an audition for a rom-com,” he said. “Finally, something that isn’t an action flick. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“That’s great news,” I said. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax until I knew for sure. “Um, did you mean what you said?”

“What did I say?,” he asked distractedly, busy with the remote looking through the Netflix menu.

“You … you told him you were hanging out with your girlfriend,” I said carefully. “Did you mean that? Am I your girlfriend?”

He dropped the remote. “Shit,” he said. He ran one hand through his hair, making it even messier than usual. “Um, yeah, I know we haven’t really talked about things, but … yeah, I do think of you as my girlfriend.”

I turned around in his lap to face him. “So does that make you my boyfriend?” I asked, cupping his face with one hand.

He smiled. “I guess it does,” he said. I leaned forward and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. “Oh, yeah, definitely your boyfriend,” he said between kisses.

I sat back. “We should probably talk about this,” I said. “I mean, I’m going back to work soon, and I don’t know how often we’ll be able to see each other. This is kind of going to be a long-distance relationship, you know.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know, but I’m cool with that. It’s not ideal, but we’ll make it work. We can spend the weekends together, maybe I can come out during the week sometimes … we’ll manage.”

“About that,” I said. “If we’re going to be spending the weekends together, maybe it’s time we … um, take the next step? I mean, if we’re serious about each other.”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” he said, his hands sliding down to my hips. “So very, very serious about you.” He kissed me fiercely and I wrapped my arms around his neck, running my fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. After a few minutes, he reached onto the coffee table for the remote and clicked the television off.

“Let’s move this into the bedroom,” he murmured.

“Sounds good to me,” I replied, feeling giddy. He stood up and held out his hand. I took it and he led me off to bed.

***********************************

I woke up long before the sun came up. As I crawled out of bed, Dieter stirred. “Where you goin’?” He mumbled.

“Have to pee,” I whispered back. He grunted and buried his face in the pillow. I stumbled through the darkened house to the bathroom, still half asleep myself. I flicked on the light and immediately regretted it. I had to screw my eyes shut against the blinding glare, and fumbled for the switch. Of course, that meant I was effectively blind until my eyes readjusted and I nearly missed the toilet.

I was laughing as I made my way back to the bedroom. “What's so funny?” Dieter said, his voice muffled through the pillow. “Are you looking at my ass?”

“No,” I said, slipping back under the covers. “I just blinded myself with the bathroom light and almost killed myself.”

“Oh, okay, then,” he said. He pulled me close and pressed a kiss against my forehead. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”

“You’re grumpy when you’re sleepy,” I replied.

“Less talk, more sleep,” he said, pulling his pillow over his head.

************************************

The sun was high by the time we finally got up the next morning. Dieter was definitely not a morning person. He was not talkative at all, pulling on an old t-shirt and a pair of shorts before stumbling to the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker. I picked my clothes up off the bedroom floor, got dressed, and followed him.

“Want some breakfast?” I asked, opening the refrigerator to see what he had. I always wake up starving, for some reason.

“Um,” he grunted, slumped on a stool at the kitchen island.

“Is that a yes or a no?,” I laughed. I smoothed his messy hair back from his face and kissed his forehead.

“Yes,” he said. “Coffee first, though.”

I found some eggs, butter, and a loaf of bread on the counter. “How do you like your eggs?” I asked, not expecting much of an answer. He was busy preparing his coffee and didn’t hear me at first. “I said … how do you like your eggs?”

“Hmm, oh, runny, please,” he said before taking a deep gulp of coffee. He sighed and sank back down onto his seat.

“Sunny side up, coming right up,” I said brightly, as I put the frying pan on the stove. He flipped me off.

“Gee, I’d think you’d be nicer to me after what I let you do to me last night,” I teased.

“You loved it,” he retorted, clearly starting to react to the caffeine.

“Yeah, I did,” I admitted. I tossed a pat of butter into the hot frying pan. “How many eggs?”

“Two,” he said, standing up, carrying his coffee mug with him. He stood right behind me, putting his chin on my shoulder.

“Back off,” I said. “I can’t cook if you’re on top of me like that.”

“Oh, sorry, thought you liked that,” he teased. I elbowed him in the stomach and he stepped back with an “oof.”

I cracked a couple of eggs into the pan, then popped some toast into the toaster while they started to fry. “Make yourself useful and get some plates,” I told him.

“I’d think you’d be nicer to me after what I did to you last night,” he replied. I flipped him off and he laughed. He was definitely responding to the caffeine.

I finished his eggs, plated them, and started on my own. His toast popped up and I slathered it with butter for him. “Go ahead,” I said. “Don’t let it get cold.”

He broke the yolks on his eggs, dipped in his toast and took a big bite. “Mmm, you’re definitely a keeper,” he said after he’d swallowed.

“Eggs and toast aren’t that difficult,” I said. “Don’t get any grand ideas about me being a good cook or anything.” I pointed the spatula at him.

He held his hands up. “I would never assume,” he said. “Traditional gender roles have no place in this house.” He took another bite and pointed at the stove with his fork. “Your eggs are burning.”

“Oh, shit,” I said, quickly pulling the pan off the burner, narrowly saving my breakfast from ruin. Fortunately, my toast came out perfectly.

After breakfast (and two more cups of coffee for Dieter), he did the dishes and retired to the shower. When he returned, he was dressed in a nicer t-shirt and a clean pair of shorts. “You actually look alive now,” I told him.

“It takes me a while,” he admitted. “Hope that’s not going to be a problem.”

“No,” I said. “Lazy mornings are just fine by me, when I can get away with it.” I pulled him down onto the couch next to me. “During the week, I’m in such a rush … this is nice.” I snuggled up next to him.

“So, what do you want to do today?,” he asked. “Go to the movies, take a hike, hit a museum?”

“Just hang out with my boyfriend,” I replied.

“Sounds good to me.”

********************************************************

As I drove home that afternoon, it hit me. I’d slept with a movie star. It hadn’t felt like that at the time. It was just me and Dieter, the guy I was crazy about, who called me every night and talked about stupid stuff until we were both tired enough to call it a night. It had felt natural, easy. But as I steered through traffic on the 10 I realized the implications of our actions.

I was Dieter’s girlfriend. He’d said it. That meant we were exclusive. Things were serious. And now I was part of his story. A story that was plastered all over the Internet and social media and magazines any time he did anything remotely news worthy. A story I would be featured in if we went somewhere public, if he mentioned me in an interview. Part of me — the part that had always told herself it didn’t matter that she hadn’t been asked to the dance because she didn’t want to go anyway — wanted to flaunt it to the world.

A bigger part of me was scared shitless. I hated having my picture taken. I always volunteered to be the photographer on outings, feeling safer behind the camera than in front of it. I offered to help in the kitchen at parties, help clear up after meetings. I liked being in the background, part of something but never the focus. Dieter lived in a huge spotlight. He was the main character of not only his own life, but most events around him. I wasn’t sure I could handle that amount of attention.

But then I thought of him when we were alone, just the two of us together. He felt right. We felt right. My head fit against his shoulder like we were two puzzle pieces. He’d told me bits and pieces about his life, things I suspected he hadn’t told anyone else besides his therapist. I told him stuff, too, surprising myself with my candor. It wasn’t just physical intimacy between us. It was emotional, mental, intellectual.

I tried to concentrate on the traffic. I knew Sam would tell me I was still in the infatuation stage, and tease me that the man must be good in bed if I was so discombobulated by being dicked down for the first time. But I knew it wasn’t that. Or at least not just that.

It scared me. Because for the first time in my life, I felt like the main character of my own story, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a star.

By the time I got home, I had a raging tension headache from driving. I flipped through my mail, took some ibuprofen and settled down on the couch to text Sam.

ME: Hey

SAM: Oh, you’re still alive. Starting to wonder.

ME: Ha ha very funny. I just got home.

SAM: From yesterday’s date? No way. I want details!

ME: It was good.

SAM: You fucked a celebrity and all you tell me is it was good? That’s bs.

ME: I slept with my boyfriend for the first time. It was good but awkward. You know how it is.

SAM: Excuse me, BOYFRIEND? When did this go from ‘we’re kind of seeing each other’ to ‘he’s my BOYFRIEND’? You skipped a big chunk.

ME: Last night. Look, are you going to be serious about this?

SAM: Of course. Sorry. Go on.

I wasn’t sure what to tell her. What had happened between me and Dieter was private. I wanted to keep it that way, but at the same time, Sam had always been my safe person, the one I could tell just about anything to because she lived so far away and wasn’t part of my day to day life.

ME: He got a phone call from his agent. He told the guy he was just ‘hanging out with his girlfriend.’ I asked him if he meant it. He said yes.

SAM: So this is serious.

ME: Very serious. Sam, I don’t know what I’m doing! Dieter is amazing. He’s funny and smart and he just gets me.

SAM: And he’s hot.

ME: Yeah, and he’s hot. But it’s summer and I have all this free time and I feel like a kid on vacation. What’s going to happen once I’m back at work and we’re both busy and he’s off filming something and we hardly see each other? How long can we keep this up?

SAM: If it’s meant to be, you’ll figure it out. But you won’t know unless you try. And sweetie, even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll have a hell of a story to tell when we’re in the retirement community knitting socks.

(We had a long standing joke that even though we lived so far apart, we’d eventually end up living in the same senior center and spend our days knitting socks and drinking mimosas between bingo games.)

ME: It doesn’t feel like a fling. But it can’t be the real thing, can it? I mean, he’s got a fucking Oscar on his bookshelf, Sam. I saw it. Just sitting there like a knickknack.

SAM: So what? Thom’s got a degree from Harvard hanging on the wall. Doesn’t make him better than me. Look, Em, loosen up. Enjoy yourself. You always look for the crash that might be coming instead of enjoying the ride. Maybe he’s the One. Maybe he isn’t. But right now, he’s yours. No one else’s. Just yours.

ME: You’re right. You’re always right. I should let you go. Give Thom and the kids a hug from me.

SAM: Only if you give Dieter one from me! Can’t wait to let that name drop next time I have to see that bitch Lana, ha ha!

I always felt better after chatting with Sam. She had a way of taking the blinders off of me, letting me see more than just the narrow path ahead that I imagined, strewn with rocks and danger. She’d helped me through losing both my parents, layoffs and furlough days at work, and various other bumps in the road, keeping me focused on the silver lining of even the darkest cloud.

Dieter wasn’t a dark cloud. He was sunlight and moonbeams and starshine. All I had to do was step out into the light.

[usafphantom2]

Revealed: How Area 51 Hid Secret Craft

Area 51 plane crash cover-up picture: a mock-up of a secret spy plane is hoisted upside down on a pylon.

A mock-up of an A-12 plane is radar tested on a pylon at Nevada's secret Area 51 base in the late 1950s.

Photograph from Roadrunners Internationale via Pangloss Films

ON TV: Area 51 Declassified premieres on the National Geographic Channel on Saturday, May 28, at 10:00 p.m. ET/PT.

No word yet on alien starships, but now that many Cold War-era Area 51 documents have been declassified, veterans of the secret U.S. base are revealing some of the clever—and surprisingly low-tech—ways they hid futuristic prototypes from prying eyes.

(Also see "Exclusive Area 51 Pictures: Secret Plane Crash Revealed.")

The CIA created Area 51 in 1955 to test and develop top secret U.S. military projects in the remote Nevada desert. More than 50 years later, the base still doesn't officially exist and appears on no public U.S. government maps.

In the 1950s and '60s, Area 51 was the epicenter of the OXCART project, intended to create the successor for the U-2 spy plane.

The OXCART plane was expected to be undetectable in the air as it flew surveillance and information-gathering missions over the Soviet Union. But Area 51 personnel soon found it necessary to conceal the craft from the Soviets eyes even when it was still being tested on the ground.

Cat and Mouse at Area 51

It was discovered that Soviet spy satellites, dubbed ash cans by Area 51 staff, were making regular rounds over Nevada.

U.S. intelligence agencies, though, provided Area 51 workers with a decisive advantage in this international "game of cat and mouse," according to T.D. Barnes, a former hypersonic flight specialist at Area 51 whose expertise was in electronic counter measures.

No longer sworn to secrecy by the CIA, Barnes said, "In our morning security meetings, they'd give us a roster of the satellites that the Soviets had in the air, and we'd know the exact schedule of when they were coming over.

"It was like a bus schedule, and it even told us whether it was an infrared satellite or what type it was," Barnes told National Geographic news.

The Area 51 Hoot and Scoot

Often hoisted atop tall poles for radar tests of the planes' stealthiness, OXCART prototypes were tested outside—making the Soviet spy satellites especially aggravating.

"We had hoot-and-scoot sheds, we called them," Barnes says in the new National Geographic Channel documentary Area 51 Declassified. (The Channel is part-owned by the National Geographic Society, which owns National Geographic News.)

"If a plane happened to be out in the open while a satellite was coming over the horizon, they would scoot it into that building."

Former Area 51 procurement manager Jim Freedman adds, "That made the job very difficult, very difficult.

"To start working on the aircraft and then have to run it back into the hangar and then pull it out and then put it in and then pull it out—it gets to be quite a hassle," Freedman says in the film.

(Also see "Cold War Spy Plane Found in Baltic Sea.")

Shadows of Area 51

It turned out that even laborious hooting and scooting weren't enough. Spies had learned that the Soviets had a drawing of an OXCART plane—obtained, it was assumed, via an infrared satellite.

As a plane sat in the hot desert, its shadow would create a relatively cool silhouette, visible in infrared even after the plane had been moved inside.

"It's like a parking lot," Barnes told National Geographic News. "After all the cars have left you can still see how many were parked there [in infrared] because of the difference in ground temperatures."

To thwart the infrared satellites, Area 51 crews began constructing fanciful fake planes out of cardboard and other mundane materials, to cast misleading shadows for the Soviets to ponder. (Not intended to be seen, the decoys themselves were scooted out of sight before satellite flyovers.) Sometimes staff even fired up heaters near imaginary engine locations to make it look as if planes had just landed.

"We really played with the infrared satellites," Barnes recalled.

Ahead of Its Time—And Gone Before Its Time?

As for the real U-2 successor, the Soviets never solved the secrets of OXCART before the program was made public in the mid-1960s.

But during the course of some 2,850 top-secret test flights numerous people did see an oddly shaped (for the time), Mach-3 aircraft. Unidentifiable even to air controllers or commercial pilots, the gleaming titanium craft no doubt helped fuel the persistent rumors connecting UFOs with Area 51.

In the end, the result of all the subterfuge was the Archangel-12, or A-12, considered by some to be the first true stealth plane. (Related: "'Hitler's Stealth Fighter' Re-created.")

The A-12 could travel over 2,000 miles an hour (3,220 kilometers an hour) and cross the continental U.S. in 70 minutes—all while taking pictures that could resolve foot-long objects on the ground from an altitude of 90,000 feet (27,430 meters).

But despite being "the most advanced aircraft ever built," as CIA historian David Robarge writes, the A-12 never saw spy service over the Soviet Union. And just as the Archangel was to be deemed ready for operation, its successor, the U.S. Air Force's famed SR-71 Blackbird, was already in the works.

Due to fiscal pressures and Air Force/CIA competition, Robarge writes, the A-12, one of Area 51's greatest creations—at least that we know about—was decommissioned in 1968 after only a year in active service.

[macksting]

Vent post: Prediction is hard.

Life didn’t exactly go the way I was told it would.

[ID: Screenshot from Sailor Moon. Makoto Kino a.k.a. Sailor Jupiter looks down, her brow knitted, smiling very sadly over something as if trying to seem chipper and failing badly. /end ID]

At a young age, I was rather ahead of the curve, or whatever is an appropriate idiom there. I could read and write and do some math before kindergarten, and quickly took an interest in my mother’s psychology textbook. I had the usual fascination with dinosaurs. Tomboys. Go figure, right? We’re great. I regularly used rather big words because they seemed right. I wasn’t trying to be pretentious; at worst, I had discovered a new word and enjoyed the feel of saying it. cw attempted murder of a child, bullying, ex-gifted-kid-burnout stuff The speech impediment proved to be a problem. cw attempted murder of a child, bullying, remarkable school neglect, shitty teachers, poverty and squalor, gifted kid burnout

Although we weren’t yet in the advanced stages of the Teaching To The Test cancer that kids in my country are in nowadays, school in the 80s and 90s fuckin’ sucked. I suppose for me it wasn’t particularly less life-threatening than it is for my own child, maybe moreso, though my kid’s staying home because of a conversation they overheard at school that makes them too nervous to go. I decided better to regret letting them stay home than regret sending them. But no, the violence was much more personal in my case. At the same time that I was bringing home test scores showing me in the 99.9 percentile in multiple areas for my age group, advanced in math, sciences, language, and goodness knows what else, I was also being hunted for sport on and off the playground, and at one point was thrown in front of a moving bus, by primarily but not exclusively five bullies who coordinated together as a gang, with me as their favored victim. I was told I was gonna grow up and be anything I wanted to be. I didn’t wanna be a president or whatever, but I did want knowledge, and to use that knowledge to do cool things. I remember I wanted to design submarines; I remember I called the job “submarine structural engineer” to distinguish it from the kind of engineer who works aboard submarines at sea, keeping them running. (I doubt I have anything against them. I was a Trekkie kid, Scotty was awesome. I just recognized that they’re different jobs.) Later, I decided I wanted to be a psychologist. Fun fact: All these things require doing massive amounts of homework. I never ever managed to get remotely good at completing homework, and the attempts to make myself do so resulted in it becoming increasingly difficult to even look at a blank sheet of paper for leisure. The reason the bullying is relevant to this is that I was in desperate need of some source of self-esteem. I was seen as mentally challenged in a world where that’s considered a thing to be ashamed of, but was bringing home test scores that beggared belief. Due to my mental health problems, I was given an EEG and fairly comprehensive mental exams over the next decade, and one of the takeaways was that I had an IQ measured somewhere at or above 140. (The test topped out at 140 in my age range; above that was considered untestable by those means on that test.) I was a certified genius. I couldn’t do fuck-all. Say what you will about how terrible knowledge, intelligence, or any such thing may be as a source of self-esteem, it was all I supposedly had going for me. We were poor, surrounded by cockroaches, I was neurodivergent, my teachers and school administration repeatedly blamed me for any time I got the shit beaten out of me instead of (for example) (CW VIOLENCE) intervening when five kids surrounded me on the baseball diamond, closed in and herded me in a trap, and proceeded to knock me around on the ground until I wasn’t moving anymore, (OKAY DONE), saying I should just try to be normal? I did the reasonable thing, and by fourth grade started picking as many fights as other picked with me, choosing to be violent toward the other kids not to assert dominance, but to exert control over my situation. To this day, almost nobody is allowed to touch me, and due to my horror about my own capacity for violence and my OCD related to it, I do not allow myself to touch others generally either. Obviously this is exacerbating a standard Murrican problem of touch being so often restricted only to violence, and everybody here being kinda touch-starved, but honestly, if you’ve seen how Catra flinches when others touch her, and how she touches almost nobody except her beloved, and accepts only Adora’s touch without grimacing, it’s almost exactly like that.

[ID: Screenshot from Sailor Moon. Makoto Kino a.k.a. Sailor Jupiter looks to her right, off-camera, perhaps at nothing, her brow knitted, smiling very sadly over something as if trying to seem chipper and failing badly. /end ID] I have a wife and child now, and also I’m a girl? It’s wild. I try so hard not to communicate to my kid my fear of being touched. They’re gonna be a little messed up from it. One can only mitigate so much of the harm one will do to their child by accident. I love them so much. My kid’s able to argue with me, and know that, if their argument is really compelling, I might actually just... go with it. Even if it isn’t something I wanted to hear, I will be willing to apologize if I snap at them for it, and say that I actually acquiesced because they made a good point, and I wanted them to know that. I don’t like being in charge. How many parents have kids because they think, in order to be Adults, to be Actualized, they have to oppress others? I so desperately fear being such a person. I’m not; it’s the OCD. Sure, anybody could be, but still, I’m not, at present, one of those people. I just don’t seem to have that motive. I lashed out to be left alone. And somehow, I couldn’t stay alone. I needed others. And I found my best friend, my life companion, my dearest beloved, the best person in my life, who is laying in bed -- ope, she just woke up, ^_^; She’s off to her practicum.

[ID: Screenshot from Sailor Moon. Makoto Kino a.k.a. Sailor Jupiter looks down a little, smiling very sadly over something, but perhaps earnestly smiling and certainly trying to look happy. /end ID] She’s so much better at academia than I ever was. She’s not perfect in that dimension, but I don’t expect that, and don’t feel strongly about it. She’s bucking for her Master’s, and I just long to support her every step of the way, and long to hear all about it. Just a delinquent girl trying to live her best life. I can’t think of any prediction I’ve made that ever panned out. I don’t plan. I really don’t. What’s there to plan for? I don’t know how long I’ll live, I don’t know how welcome the journey down to the grave will be (probably not very; it tends to be deeply unpleasant); I just follow my geodesic, trying to see what’s around me. o/~ All I’ve got is time, nothing else is mine All I want is you and one more tomorrow Nothing lasts too long, when I turn it’s gone So I send my mind ahead and hope to follow o/~ I don’t really have any functioning sources of self-esteem. Mostly I just feel kinda... insufficient. I don’t know if I could be satisfied, I might simply always feel bad about anywhere I’m at, anything I do. Efforts to fix that always give me a headache, though I try to weather those headaches, hoping that by plowing through them and acknowledging evidence that I’m not a terrible person, that some day I’ll be able to believe it. For now, I just live day to day, crossing media items off my bucket list because it helps me satisfy curiosity and keep myself alive, trying not to feel terrible about the condition of my body or my inability to make myself do anything about it, trying to feel good about my constant efforts to improve my state of mind. I wish I could say, “some day I’ll be better,” but I don’t know that. I just don’t plan anymore. None of them ever panned out.

[the-celluloid-correspondent]

The Menu

A young couple travels to a remote island to eat at an exclusive restaurant where the chef prepares a lavish menu with some shocking surprises.

Even though one can not "eat the rich", The Menu decides to take this historical theme to a new twist. This theme is plating as a delicious, well-marinated, satire of foodie culture with the side of a heart-pounding thriller. The story is told as a course menu as if we are at a Michelin Star Restaurant. Not only are we shown the meticulous details of each dish, but also a new shocking twist is added to the story and tension. The tension builds slowly (maybe too slowly in the first 20 minutes), but when it starts the film never lets it go. As for the satire, it marvelously chews through its targets, holier-than-thou foodies. The comedy is self-aware and witty. Though, every once and a while the comedy would ruin a serious moment, but not that often. Overall, The Menu is a mouthwatering twist of "eat the rich".

The two biggest standouts of The Menu are Ralph Fiennes and Anya Taylor-Joy. Fiennes plays a character similar to Gordon Ramsey in "Hell's Kitchen", but with a more composed and emotionless tone. His gaze stares into the depths of your soul, while his calming voice has a sinister undertone that Fiennes can only pull off. He truly pulled off what burned-out means. Taylor-Joy holds her ground with Fiennes with their intellectual stand-off. She marvelouly brings her character's street smarts and cunning to the table. Proving again that she is one of the best actresses working in Hollywood right now. The remaining actors perfectly understood their roles and played them meticulously.

The cinematography is as sharp as a chef's knife. The food preparations and dish ensembles were delicious to look at. The score is a perfect alignment of what can be found at a Michelin Star Restaurant. The Island is beautiful and the production design is outstanding. Given that the majority of this film takes place in a single room, they use that room incredibly well.

My only complaint with this film is that the first act is a little slow, and some of the jokes ruin a scene at points. But, other than that this movie is a fun ride. It marvelously handles the satire of "eat the rich", while also being a clever thriller. Altogether, The Menu is a sharp, dark-comedy, with a delectable thriller twist.

I am giving The Menu, a B+.

[casspurrjoybell-20]

FOOLS Fall - Chapter 31 - Part 1

BOOK TWO: The 'Fools Fall in Love' Trilogy

*Warning - Adult Content*

Samuel Moretti

There was an arm wrapped around my waist when I woke up Sunday morning.

At first it felt nice to have Noah's arms around me but then the reality of last light sank in and I sprung upright because the arm around me was certainly not Noah's.

Carter. Oh no.

I looked down at the still sleeping and very much naked Carter and wanted to cry.

I had sex with Noah's friend.

And what about Elliot?

Oh my God, how could I be so thoughtless?

"Ellio, lay back down," Carter mumbled half asleep.

He thought he was with Elliott.

I whacked Carter's arm.

"Carter, this is bad, this is really bad," I said feeling panicked.

When Carter registered my voice, he woke with a startle but I couldn't contain my anxiety.

I got out of bed, quickly putting on my boxers.

"You have to leave, this... this never happened. That was..."

"A mistake," Carter stated looking just as palpable as I felt in shame.

"A huge mistake," I corrected.

"Oh my God, Noah's never going to forgive me," I started pacing, my hands trembling from fear of losing Noah.

"Why did I do that?"

I felt like I couldn't breathe.

It was inevitable, I was going to lose Noah Wright.

"I'm so stupid. How could I let this happen?"

"Hey, this was both of us. You're not the only one at fault here," Carter spook as he got changed.

"He's gonna hate me and you," I added.

Tears burning my eyes and threatening to fall.

"It's not like you cheated, you guys aren't together," Carter tried to offer but even he knew that didn't matter and it wouldn't matter to Noah.

Carter's his friend, sleeping with your friend's ex-boyfriend is unforgivable and Noah and I... even though we aren't together, it's complicated.

For me to sleep with someone, let alone Noah's friend, a week after we broke up would be the equivalent to cheating in Noah's eyes but Carter and I wouldn't just be hurting Noah.

"Elliott," I breathed out in horror.

"Oh my God," I said shamefully as my head fell into my hands.

"Elliott and I aren't exclusive," Carter pointed out.

I looked at him, my eyes portraying the sadness I knew I was going to inflict on my friends.

"Don't be stupid, Carter. Elliott really likes you. This would crush him."

"Then that's on him, we agreed to stop if one of us caught feelings, he should've told me."

I gave Carter a pointed look that borderlines a glare.

We both knew that's not really how Carter felt and he groaned when he saw my expression.

"Okay, I know, we fucked up bad but maybe we shouldn't tell them. It didn't mean anything, we both regret it, right?"

"Yes, God yes," I said quickly.

"Jeez, one 'yes' would've sufficed, could've just nodded, actually," his tone was dry and I rolled my eyes at him for joking in a serious matter.

"What do we do?" I asked, hoping Carter had all the answers and I didn't royally fuck everything up.

"I don't know but can we talk about it after I shower? I think I still have your cum on my stomach," we both laughed but it wasn't even remotely funny, we knew we were fucked.

Nonetheless I waited downstairs 'fully clothed in sweatpants and Noah's shirt he had left at my place' for Carter as he showered and I had some time to think.

Noah and Elliott needed to know but what if we didn't tell them?

We could both keep it a secret, how would anyone know?

But I knew I was kidding myself, Noah would know something was off with me the second he sees me and the utter guilt in my eyes.

I think Elliott would know too.

Fuck, that had to be to most selfish thing I'd ever done, using Carter's body as comfort for my broken heart.

Now everyone was in the crossfire.

I groaned, my hands rubbing my face as I wondered if I was capable of keeping what happened between Carter and myself, a secret but I didn't have much time to think as the doorbell rang aggressively.

I got up and headed to the door.

I did not want to deal with Carla or especially Elliott right now, so I hoped they weren't coming over.

I sighed and opened the front door.

My heart fell to my stomach.

"Noah?"

[sychosid]

you know you break what you treasure

Vampire!Sting x GN!Reader

for @androvampyre​ (commission)

thank you Zehn so so much for commissioning me!! this was so much fun to write

warnings for: vampirism, blood, hypnotism

[Ao3 link]

Your job was pretty mundane. There were all kinds of horror stories about working the graveyard shift out in some motel that was built two decades ago, but you'd never experienced anything even remotely supernatural. There was that one time the vending machine was making some weird noises, but it just turned out to be a can of soda that got stuck.

The manager had told you to turn away the riff raff – drug users, sex workers, etc., but you never bothered. Those guys were usually less of a problem than the cheating traveling working husbands, at least. Plenty of women hired private investigators these days, and you were a bit baffled at how often you had to deal with that.

Nothing was worse than the people fucking in the lobby bathroom though. It was gross enough there as is.

And then you had your regulars. Or, just the one who stood out. Every week, every Tuesday, he'd check in right at sundown, which meant he was already checked in when you got to work. His name would be signed into the guestbook as just "Sting." You thought it was the famous guitar player for a while, but that hardly made any sense.

Your manager made it pretty clear about whoever Sting was though, that you never were to bother him (as if you bothered the guests ever), and to keep Room 5 for him if his name wasn't signed in by the time you got to work. Every other day of the week, Room 5’s key wasn’t even available to give to guests.

So here you were, the clock about to hit midnight. The lousy lobby door finally creaking open. A tall man walked through, with what must've been an almost floor length…velvet coat? Was that velvet? Who wore velvet coats?

You tried to get a good look at his face, but it was obscured by shoulder length black hair. 

"Uhmm…hi, how can I help you?" You finally spoke up, not sure how long you spent staring. In what felt like an instant, he was already up to the counter, peering down at you through his locks. You caught a glimpse of dark eyes, but nothing else. Still, those eyes drew you in as you caught yourself leaning over the counter. Embarrassed, you stepped back and gave an awkward smile, earning something of a chuckle from the mysterious man.

The nerves in your body were split between running and hiding in the back office and wanting to step forward and lean into the stranger.

He signed the guest book as he spoke. "You're the overnight person? I'm sorry we haven't met before, but I believe your boss told you about me."

You blinked. This guy was Sting. This guy? Yeah he looked like a Sting.

"Uh. Yes. Sting, right? Room 5?" You gathered yourself, reaching behind you to grab the room key off the holder.

"That's me. So am I everything you dreamed of?" He leaned back from the counter, a smile on his face. You weren't sure how it seemed like he was still obscuring his face, even as he stood straight up. It was like you could see his face perfectly clearly, yet not at all.

"Excuse me?" Sting's question finally registered. Again you felt a heat rising to your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, that was a pretty mean joke. But you must've wondered about me right?"

"It…it was a mean joke." You huffed, placing his key down on the counter. His payment was on the guest book. You slid it off to sort away into the cash box. "But yeah, I did. I mean you're signing in with a single name, and a pretty unusual one at that, and it's always the same room. It's got me a little curious."

Sting pocketed the key so quickly you could've swore it was too fast to even notice.

"I see. Well, I hope I don't disappoint. Be seeing you." And just like that, he was out the door.

And just like that, you were missing the man you'd just met.

—

Over the next few weeks, Sting seemed to exclusively check-in when you were on shift. You had some little chats with him, learning that he was a wrestler. You liked wrestling when you were younger, but hardly remembered it, and these days you didn’t have time to watch since you basically slept up until your shift. Any night you could manage to wake up to catch the Monday night show you did, and you easily found yourself enraptured by Sting. He wore face paint on TV, which only obscured how he looked without it but you hardly minded. There was something far more alluring that he did seem so…face shy.

You couldn’t help but wonder why he came out to your motel though. It seemed like he traveled a little bit for his work, and some weeks it seemed like the motel was definitely out of the way of where he went.

You hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask yet though. Not wanting to sour his mood, given what a big deal your manager made of it; not wanting to upset Sting either. Each moment with him felt too long and too short at the same time. It was hard to deny the small crush you were beginning to develop on the mysterious man.

He came in as always tonight, and you were excited as always to see him. You had his key ready on the counter, given that you memorized the sound of his car being locked as he parked down the strip in front of Room 5. It was quiet enough at night that if you kept your radio off, you’d hear it.

You gave him a little wave that he returned as he entered the lobby.

“I caught the show on Monday. I can see why you’re so popular.” Sting was signing in as you spoke to him. You were looking up at him as you leaned your arm on the counter, face in your palm. “Some of that stuff you pull off seems so…like actually haunting and chilling, y’know? Like it’s not just special effects.”

“It’s not special effects.” He responded, that hint of a smile on his face as he placed his pen down. “Everything I pull off is very real, you know.”

“Oh c’mon, I’m not a little kid!” You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “It’s still cool, I’ll give you that for sure.”

“You don’t believe me? That makes me a little sad, you know.” There was something teasing in Sting’s voice, but you still straightened up, not wanting to have actually upset him. Before you could respond, he flipped his hair back. Those dark eyes of his called you in, leaving you stunned as you looked up at him.

“Tell me, my midnight friend, does this seem like just special effects to you?” His voice was quiet, just a whisper, but they felt like they touched your very core. You moved closer, unintentionally, but closer still as you shook your head.

“This…this feels very real…” You mumbled, transfixed by him and what he was doing to you. What was he doing to you? It didn’t matter what he was doing, you liked it. You also liked being in control.

You violently shook your head, your senses coming back to you as you suddenly stepped far back into the cabinets behind you, gasping as if you had submerged from underwater. There was a moment where you swore there was a look of shock on Sting’s face, but that hardly mattered as you tried to compose yourself.

“I-I’m…I’m sorry. Oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what that was.” You held your head, trying to ignore the pounding pain that was taking its sweet time fading away.

“No, I should be the one saying sorry. That was pretty cruel, even for me.” He was practically leaning over the counter to check on you as you began to uncurl from the floor. When the hell did you curl up to the floor?

“No, I just…I’m probably not feeling well. I’m sorry Sting, I…I’m going to look for some pain medication or something, this migraine just came on so suddenly…” You felt the need to get away. You didn’t want to leave, but something made you want to run into a closet and hide. You just didn’t feel right.

“If…you need to rest I wouldn’t mind looking over the front desk for you.” He sounded so worried for you, it made your heart hurt.

All you could do was wave him off, as you stumbled into the back office. You shut the door and locked it, curling up against it. You waited until you heard his footsteps walking away and the front door shutting before you considered even going back out there.

Once you had situated yourself at your normal spot, in the busted old chair, you tried to process what had happened. All you could do was relive the feelings of being so attracted, so afraid, so sucked in that you didn’t even understand what was happening.

Maybe Sting wasn’t joking. Maybe there really weren’t any special effects.

—

The wait till next Tuesday was agony. After you had time to process what had happened, all you could feel was embarrassment and shame. Your manager hadn’t mentioned anything to you yet, so at the least you didn’t upset Sting that much. But your head was filled with questions. Questions that you were afraid would spill out of you the moment you saw your midnight guest. 

He appeared as he did, on your shift. You were thankful. Some part of you was afraid he wouldn’t have shown up at all, and the thought of that made you sad. You’d realized you’d become far more attached to Sting than you had expected.

“I’m glad to see you.” You chimed up, before he could say anything. Last week left you feeling…bad. If you’d upset him, you’d have felt awful about it.

Still, he seemed surprised. “You are? I was worried after last week…”

“I just have some…some questions.” 

“I expected as much. Please, go ahead.” He stepped closer to the counter.

“Are you…are you really human?” You bit the bullet.

He looked away for a moment, taking a deep breath. “No. I was, but now I’m not.”

You frowned. “Then…then, what are you?” 

Sting stood, thinking for a second. “What am I…perhaps I should show you what I am. Come. Grab the key for my room.” He turned around.

You looked around, finding and grabbing the “be back soon” sign, and placing it on the desk. You grabbed the service keys and the key for Sting, before coming out from behind the desk to follow Sting outside. The air was brisk and sharp against your face; a welcome sensation from the burning embarrassment you’d been fighting off. From there he led you to his room, Room 5. All the curtains were drawn.

“After you.” He stepped aside.

You stepped inside, your hand wandering to the wall. You hesitate, finding the room smelled like rust. Shutting your eyes, you flick the light on before opening your eyes. The light in the room is dim, unlike the other rooms. There’s towels strewn about the floor, dried reddish brown. Dried blood. Dried blood on the bed sheets, as well. 

Sting steps in behind you.

“I…I don’t understand.” You stepped away from him.

“You do, though. I know you do.” He sighed, walking away from you as he moved towards the bed. “Your boss has been…understanding of my needs. I try not to feed too often, but I need to. So once a week, I come here.”

“You’re…really a vampire, then?” You wanted to question everything, but at the same time you couldn’t. Even if he was a vampire, you didn’t feel in danger with him.

“I’m afraid so. I know I wasn’t lying to you per say, but I wasn’t very honest. I just want to– you aren’t in danger. I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice shook as he spoke, and it made your heart break.

You took a step forward, towards him. “I’m not scared of you Sting. But…the people, are they…”

Sting has an embarrassed look on his face. “Well, I try not to kill anyone.. Or, I try not to anymore. I did, when I first turned. But there’s plenty of people that are…attracted… to the idea of their blood being drunk. I usually drink enough till they pass out, and leave. They find their ways out and home thanks to the owner.”

You stare at him, a bit stunned before letting out a laugh.

“That’s…that’s really, really funny.” The truth was that you were relieved. “I mean, I’m sorry you have to live like this, it doesn’t really sound like you wanted to end up this way but…I’m kinda glad you’re not going out there killing people.”

He looked at you sheepishly. “Well, I do sometimes but I think they deserve it. There are some bad people who are better off dead.”

You stared at him for a moment, before nodding your head. There were.

“Do you get lonely? Like, do you know other vampires?” As you began to process the truth laid before you, you began to wonder if that loner persona he played on wrestling was actually much of a persona.

“I don’t.” Sting sat down on the bed. For the first time, you could see his face clearly and your heart wanted to leap out of your chest. You stepped closer, sitting down on the bed next to him. “I have met a few others but we don’t really get along. They’ve all been vampires much longer than I have. They reject humanity which is fine but they don’t embrace any change at all. I just can’t be like that. To them, people are just prey but I can’t really do that whole thing, you know.”

You nodded, looking up at him. “I understand.”

The silence between you two was comfortable, as he returned your gaze. Your eyes met again, and this time you were certain that the pull you felt wasn’t just you being drawn into a hypnotic gaze. Closer and closer your faces came. His lips parted and you saw a flash of those fangs.

“You know…” Your eyes were focused on his lips, his mouth. Your breathing became heavy as he leaned closer.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to be alone.”

“I…this is a curse.”

“It doesn’t have to be. It wouldn’t be. It wouldn’t be with you.”

In a swift motion, you find yourself gasping as Sting’s fangs find their way into your neck. He pushed you down onto the bed, as you felt your heart pounding and your head getting faint. You felt him drawing blood from your body. Outside your fading line of vision, he was pulling his sleeve down. The next thing you knew, he was pushing his wrist against your lips. Like you’d be parched for days, you began to drink the blood from his veins. A new life entered you as you drank, your head spinning between pain and bliss.

Sting pulled away and you already missed the cold lips pressed against your neck. You half expected yourself to start bleeding out there and then, but instead your neck simply ached as the wounds closed.

“I hope you don’t regret this.” Sting was looming over you, trails of your blood running down his mouth.

“I won’t. I know I won’t.”

He was on you again, this time his lips meeting yours harshly. He pulled away, licking his own blood off of your mouth.

“Good.”

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 7

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

Marinette rubbed her head as though the action might actually have an effect on her throbbing headache.  It hadn’t any time she’d tried it in the last hour, but it gave her brain the illusion that she was doing something to help other than just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.  The action also gave her something to focus on other than the pounding hangover from not getting nearly drunk enough last night.  Because somehow despite the massive amounts she, Jason, and Roy had drunk last night, all of her problems still existed.  Utter bullshit, that.  And now she still had to deal with all her problems and felt like crap on top of it.  Double bullshit.

She adjusted her sunglasses again, fighting the urge to squint because squinting hurt.  Although honestly, she wasn’t sure which hurt more, the florescent lights, the sunlight beaming through the hotel windows, or squinting.  She was sure there was some way to settle the glasses on her face to block out all light, she just hadn’t been able to figure it out.  She now realized why people significantly smarter than her wore those godawful, ugly glasses that wrap around their head and cut out all sun.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the full blast of a suspiciously sunny Gotham morning. Gotham has like three sunny days a year and one of them is today?  What the Hell did she do to Tikki to deserve the last few days?  She wandered out of the hotel still contemplating revenge. How does one get revenge against a god anyway?  How many ways can she destroy cookies?

She didn’t get more than a few steps before she sensed someone in front of her.  She weaved slightly to the left but quickly realized there was someone there too.  She weaved to the right and finally looked up when she realized there was someone there. There were people all around her, taking pictures of her, shoving phones in her face as they yelled questions at her.

She stumbled back a few steps and blinked at the group of reporters that had apparently been camping out in front of the hotel for her.  She quickly plastered on one of Adrien’s patented PR smiles and nodded to them. She tried to push through them, expecting them to move out of her way, as they did in Paris for Adrien.  But reporters in Gotham clearly did not show the same respect that Parisian reporters did because none of them moved out of her way.  

Her smile strained slightly as she looked to the one in front of her.  “Excuse me, please,” she requested in the most sickeningly sweet voice she could manage.

The reporter sent back an excited smile.  “Ms. Dupain Cheng, would you care to comment on your relationship with your family? Perhaps explain why Gotham hadn’t had the pleasure of your presence before?”

Marinette looked the reporter up and down.  She looked at the group surrounding her, noting how they had closed the circle to the point of touching her.  She’d been to raves with more personal space.  She moved to push through a small gap between reporters, but stopped when they quickly closed the gap.  Marinette gritted her teeth and widened her smile.  “There’s a reason we’ve chosen not to speak about this and that reason was NOT to discuss it in an exclusive with you at this exact moment.  Now if you will excuse me, I would very, very much like to get some coffee.  I’m sure you can understand the difficulty of starting a day without it.”

She gave them a conspiratorial smile, hoping if they felt like they were in on the joke they would let her through. Instead, her response emboldened the reporters, who started shouting out her name and more questions.

“Will you attend more Wayne functions now?”

Marinette didn’t even know which reporter shouted the question to address them if she wanted.  She huffed and decided to give up on pleasantries.  She was hung over.  She was hungry.  She wanted coffee.  “Why would people change a relationship that doesn’t involve you because you know about it?” she grunted as she tried to push through the cracks between people.  

The reporters closed ranks tighter around her, making it impossible for her to break through without injuring someone, which she was sure was the plan of at least a few of them.  Whether it was to get a more salacious story or to sue Bruce Wayne, she wasn’t sure.  Probably both.  She looked back to the hotel lobby hoping the concierge would see her predicament and help her, but he was determinedly ignoring the scene in front of the hotel.

She set her jaw and prepared herself to create a scene channeling her best imitation of an irate Chloe Bourgeoisie.  She’d deal with the fallout later.  Right now, she needed to get out of this situation before someone actually did push a little too hard and tiny gods decided to curse the city.  She opened her mouth to yell but instead heard someone else’s voice boom through the crowd.

“I think my sister told you to leave her the fuck alone.”

Marinette looked around to try to find the source of the voice but couldn’t see past the wall of reporters.  She didn’t have to wait long for him to push his way through the crowd like a wrecking ball, not worrying about injuring anyone as he shoved his way through.  Jason stopped in front of her with a smirk.  “She just says it in a much more polite way than I do.”  He held up a bag and a tray of coffee.  “I come bearing gifts so you don’t have to deal with this shit out there somewhere.”  

Marinette shot him a grateful smile and turned back toward the hotel.  “That sounds brilliant.  Thank you.”

Jason winked at her.  “I got you.”

They didn’t stop or even look at each other until the elevator doors closed behind them.  Marinette leaned against the wall and finally took a full breath.  She looked over to Jason with another grateful smile.  “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting that and I…” She looked down for a moment to collect her thoughts.  “I wasn’t prepared.  I’ll do better next time.”

Jason’s eyes softened.  The press was a lot for all of them to get used to.  None of them had taken naturally to it, especially Gotham’s press.  They at least had the advantage of starting young and knowing what to expect, not to mention since they were kids, the press didn’t have a lot of chances to get to them.  Marinette had just been thrown out there without a life preserver.  Bruce didn’t even send any guards.  “Don’t worry about it.  I thought you could use the save.”

Marinette laughed and narrowed her eyes at him.  “That was a socially acceptable version of a kidnapping.  I had no way of getting out of that without exposing that there is no relationship.”

“Should have just exposed it then,” he shrugged, not remotely nonplussed by her comment.  “I just thought you could use some sustenance after last night.”  He held up the bag for her as they exited the elevator and made their way to her room.  “I know you must be used to fancy French food so I got a variety of food from the best bakery in town.  And I didn’t know how you take your coffee or if you prefer tea so I got both and lots of sugar and creamer.”

Marinette giggled as she opened her door.  “You’re not wrong.  My parents owned a patisserie.  I grew up on the best baked goods in France.”

Jason blinked a few times at her before setting the drinks and food on the coffee table.  “That’s it, next family reunion is at your place.”

“Not so sure that’s going to be a thing,” she said quietly.  She reached for one of the croissants and ripped off a small piece, popping it in her mouth.  “Not really sure I count as family.  That’s kind of been made clear.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t know and we’d like to get to know you, if you’re okay with it,” he said biting off a chunk of cheese Danish. “Look, I’m not looking for family dinners and brunches and shit, I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”  He looked up at her earnestly for a moment before his eyes turned mischievous.  “Although if you grew up in a bakery, I might want all that at your parents’ place.”

“At least you’re asking.  That’s something anyway,” she grumbled as she took another small bite.  

“Speaking of family, where is model boy?”

Marinette puckered her lips in disapproval as she watched the crumbs fall from Jason’s mouth as he spoke.  She looked away before she snapped at him.  “He and Max went apartment hunting.”

“Without you?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Neither of them were suffering from a raging hangover that took double the normal dosage of painkillers just to take the edge off of,” she said pointedly.

“Coffee,” Jason grunted, motioning toward the coffee. “Lots of coffee and food and water.” He pushed the bag toward her. “Not the bird bites you’ve been taking.”

She studied the croissant in front of her with a furrowed brow as though it had some kind of answers for her.  She nearly dropped it when she heard a knock on the door. She looked through the peephole and gasped, flinching back from the door.  Jason immediately jumped up and ran over to her.  “What is it?  Another reporter?”

“No,” Marinette rasped out, her eyes never leaving the door.  “Worse.” Her heart started racing and her breathing became labored.  She wasn’t ready for this.  She wasn’t ready to speak with him.  What was she supposed to say?  How was she supposed to speak with him?  She didn’t even know how she felt yet.  She hadn’t sorted through this all yet.  Tears threatened to fall from her eyes.  She wasn’t ready.  This was happening too fast.

She flinched visibly when he knocked again. He’d had time to prepare.  He’d had time to think this through.  He knew how he felt about this.  He’d had time to plan and prepare.  She had none of that and here he was on her doorstep.  He knew about her and she knew nothing about him. He was ready and she wasn’t given that chance.  

She was just expected to deal with it.  She was just expected to handle it.  She was just expected to accept it.  He’d created this entire situation and she was left to pick up the pieces and move on.  And now he was here.  He was on her figurative doorstep in person and now she had to deal with it, on his timetable, according to his preference, because yet again it all had to be done on his terms.  Her preferences didn’t matter.  Her feelings didn’t matter.  Her opinion didn’t matter.

“Want me to kick their ass out?” Jason offered already reaching for the handle.

Marinette shook her head and let out a calming breath. He thinks he can come in after twenty years gone and act like everything is fine and expect her to play nice, he has another thing coming.  He wanted a detached relationship?  She could do that.  She’d seen it enough growing up with Adrien and Chloe’s parents.  She knew how to play the game.

She shook her hands to get the tension out before finally reaching out to open the door.  “Mr. Wayne.  This is an unexpected pl… experience,” she stuttered.  She mentally grimaced.  She was showing weakness.  She needed to be strong.  She plastered on a clearly fake smile.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being weak.  She wouldn’t cry for him.  She hadn’t cried because of him in the twenty years he’d been absent, she wouldn’t do it now.

Bruce took a breath.  “Marinette…”  He froze for a second.  He hadn’t thought hard enough about this.  He knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell her, but he hadn’t thought about how to tell her, how to lead into it.  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he rushed out, wincing internally at the sound of it.

“Well, that’s a first,” she scoffed before she could stop herself.  She slapped her hand over her mouth and mentally berated herself.  What was she doing?  She was supposed to be calm not cruel.  She was losing this game!

Jason grinned and propped his arms behind his head as he kicked out his legs, the very picture of relaxed.  “I like her.  I’m keeping her.”

Marinette shot him an appreciative smile but Bruce did a double take, frowning at the sight.  His mind raced as to what it meant that Jason was there.  Was it good?  It was good, wasn’t it?  She was getting close to one of her brothers already.  But that brother was Jason, and despite the fact that he loved Jason, he was well aware their relationship was still contentious at best.  Not exactly the best brother for her to get close to. And he was already encouraging her hostility against him.  Not that he didn’t deserve it, he knew he did, it was just that any of the other brothers would help mitigate that hostility.  Jason would fan it.  “Jason, what are you doing here?”

“Brought baked goods and coffee,” he answered casually, a smirk making its way onto his face.  “You?”

Bruce let out a heavy sigh through his nose and smoothed out his face.  Getting annoyed now would do nothing for his goal.  If Marinette was connecting to Jason, getting frustrated with him would just push her further away.  “As I mentioned, I was hoping I could speak with Marinette about the… situation.  I wanted…”

“‘The situation’,” Jason mocked shaking his head at Bruce.  God was he always this bad with his kids?  He thought it was just him.  “Way to sound sincere, B.”

Bruce’s lips pursed until they were no longer visible. He didn’t need Jason sabotaging him right now.  He was doing a good enough job of it on his own.  “I’d like to speak with Marinette on our own, please.  Why don’t you go home?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her chest clenched. She didn't want Jason to leave.  She wasn't ready for Jason to leave.  Once Jason left it was just her and him.  Just thinking about it suddenly she couldn't breathe.  Suddenly the air felt too thin and too heavy at the same time.  No.  She needed somebody else here.  

Jason shot a look over to Marinette, letting his eyes pass over Marinette like he hadn’t been noting her body language.  He let his eyes wander for a second before returning to Bruce with a tilt to his head.  “No.  I’m witnessing this, unless Pixie tells me to go home.”

Marinette could have kissed him… on the cheek. Because he was her br… it was complicated.  But she was beyond grateful he had spoken up for her.  She let out the breath she’d been holding and raised an eyebrow at him. “Pixie?”

“Small, violent,” Jason grinned at her.

Marinette laughed and playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, whatever, Goliath.”

Jason leaned back again.  “Oh, no, that one’s already taken.  By a dragon bat, no less.”

Marinette’s face scrunched in confusion.  She tried to search through her Americanisms for what a dragon bat could be.  It had to be a species of bat right?  Maybe? But then again it was American English so for all she knew it could be a flower.  “A what?”

“Jason!” Bruce admonished.  He was really not looking forward to trying to explain what a dragon bat was or how Damian came to be in possession of one.

Jason rose up enough to grab one of the croissants and shove half of it into his mouth before he spoke.  “I’ll introduce you sometime, or Damian will have to actually… which he won’t.  I’ll show you a picture, you seem like the kind of person who likes terrifying animals as long as they’re fuzzy.”

“I… fair,” Marinette conceded easily.

“If I can bring us back to the topic at hand,” Bruce interjected loudly, cutting off any more discussion of dragon bats.

“Family bonding, right?”  Jason cut him off with a pointed look.  “Isn’t that what we were doing?”

Bruce glared at Jason for a few seconds, which did nothing to wipe the smug smirk off his face.  Giving up on Jason, Bruce focused on Marinette.  “At the gala you mentioned you didn’t plan on being in town much longer, leaving today actually.  I was hoping I could convince you to stay a bit longer.”

Marinette examined him with a dour curiosity.  She cocked her head to the side.  “And why might that be?  You don’t need me here to make an announcement that we prefer to keep our relationship private, hence they didn’t know about me.”

Bruce let out a deep sigh.  That was fair.  It was a fair response.  Sabine had warned him she would be suspicious of him.  “This isn’t for the public,” he assured her.

“Isn’t it?”  She blinked a few times at him, her face blank.  “Are you sure?  It feels like it is.”  She turned to Jason.  “Doesn’t it feel like it is to you?”

“It does indeed,” Jason nodded in agreement, keeping eye contact with Bruce as he did.

“Jason…” he started threateningly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you relying on me to make fixing your fuck up easier for you?  Wrong kid.  You’re looking for Dick or Tim… actually I wouldn’t rely on Tim for help explaining why being an absentee father isn’t actually that bad.”

“Jason, I think it’s time for you to go home,” Bruce growled.

Marinette straightened up and moved between him and Jason.  She wasn’t going to let him bully Jason for standing up for her.  “I don’t think so.  So far he’s the only member of my family I like.”

“Ooh, you should totally give Cass and Steph and Duke a chance too,” Jason offered with a faked enthusiasm as though the confrontation with Bruce didn’t just happen.  He kept his eyes on Marinette but relished the increasingly frustrated scowl on Bruce’s face as they ignored him.

Marinette nodded.  “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh and Alfred… and I guess Tim too.  He’s a prick but he’s alright I guess,” Jason continued.

Marinette blinked at him.  It was like a never ending list of people.  An ongoing list of people he had taken in after walking away from her.  A long list of people he’d cared about and for without having to be pressured into it by the press.  A mile long list of people he wasn’t pretending to care about.  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“We have a lot,” Jason corrected her.  They were in this together and he’d remind her of that as many times as she needed.  “Alfred isn’t a sibling though.  He’s like a grandfather.”

Marinette paused at that.  She hadn’t considered that.  Another grandfather figure.  Another grandfather that didn’t want anything to do with her.  Sure now Grand-père Roland loved her but for the first fifteen years, he’d known about her and didn’t care.  Maybe it was her.  It had to be her right?  Two grandparents, that isn’t coincidence.  That’s a pattern and the only commonality was her.  She pursed her lips together to focus on something other than the tears welling up behind her eyes.  “Sounds like the kind of person who definitely would have known about me.”

Jason’s eyes widened.  “I… don’t know the answer to that,” he answered slowly.

Marinette nodded, slowly going numb.  “So, what I’m getting from this so far is I have a another grandfather-type figure that knew about me and didn’t feel any kind of interest in me and a ton of people that my father decided were worthy of his love and affection when I wasn’t.  So it isn’t that my father didn’t want to be a father, just that he didn’t want to be my father.”

“That isn’t…” Jason started.  This was going down the wrong path.  He was trying to show her he had her back, not remind her about the pain.  But instead, now Marinette was getting hurt, remembering the pain.  She’d lost her sass and impertinence and now was moving toward hurt.  And she was blaming Alfred.  Alfred was one of the only good things about being a Wayne!

“Jason!  I think it’s time for you to go home.  Now!” Bruce roared.

Marinette contemplated Bruce coldly, numbness consuming her fears and insecurities and morphing into cold, analytic contemplation.  He was blaming Jason.  Her frustration wasn’t because of Jason or anything he said. Her pain wasn’t because of Jason, it was because of him, because of his decisions.  And instead of taking responsibility for it, he was blaming Jason.

Jason blinked a few times, no longer certain of his role in this interaction.  He looked back and forth between Marinette and Bruce, noting Marinette’s hardening features.  She was getting ready for a fight.  He could see it developing, but he wasn’t at all sure Bruce did.  He held up his hands in surrender and sat back down calmly. “I promised I wouldn’t leave unless Pixie asked me to.  I intend to keep my promise to her,” he said calmly.

Bruce glared at him again and faced back to Marinette, a fake smile plastered on.   “As I was saying.  I’d like a chance to get to know you, if you would let me.”

“And how many members of the press did you want to be there when you do?” she inquired sharply.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “That’s not fair.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped and she shook her head at him incredulously.  “Wow. Way to pull the rich, white guy entitlement card. ‘I know everything about this situation has been unbelievably unfair to you, but now I’m being inconvenienced in the mildest way possible and I don’t like it,’” she mocked. She rocked back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Rest assured M. Wayne, I do not intend to speak out against you.  Your reputation will not be harmed by me.  Tell the press whatever you want.  I won’t contradict you.  You can relax.”

“Marinette…” he started, unsure of where to go. Everything she had said was so far from the truth, he didn’t know where to start.  Her view of the situation was so skewed, he didn’t know how to put it back on kilter.  His shoulders sagged in defeat.  “This has nothing to do with the press.  I had put plans in motion to get in contact with you before any of this started.  Mr. Fox will confirm that for you if you don’t trust me.  You seem like quite an impressive young lady and I would like to get to know you better, if you’ll give me the chance.”

His tone was contrite and quiet, but Marinette wasn’t done being upset yet.  She wasn’t ready to move on and let go of the anger.  “And if I wasn’t, you would continue to ignore me?  If I was a problem child, if I had social issues, if I couldn’t find a job, you’d continue to treat me like I never existed?  I’ve finally done enough to gain your attention. Oh thank you so much for letting me know.”

“That isn’t what I said,” Bruce rushed to assure her. “I meant to compliment you not say you had to earn my attention.”

Marinette pursed her lips and looked over to Jason. He was looking back at her with sympathetic, concerned eyes.  She let out a long sigh and looked away from them both.  “Look, I meant what I told the press earlier.  I had no intention of you seeing me at the gala.  I had no intention of anyone finding out about me. I didn’t even know there was anything to find out when I made the plan to come here.  And I have no expectation of anything about our relationship changing.”

Bruce perked up slightly, but focused on keeping his body language the same, so she wouldn’t see the difference.  That was an opening; expectation instead of intention. It wasn’t that she intended not to change it, it’s that she didn’t expect it.  “I do,” he assured her, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, keeping it calm and even.  “I would like to change our relationship.  I would like the chance to explain and try to start to make it up to you.  If you would like to try.  

“If you’re open to it, I can extend your reservation until you are ready to move on, or if you would prefer, you are more than welcome to stay at the manor.  I would love to have you stay with us but I understand that may be overwhelming.  Or, WE has have some flats available, with multiple bedrooms.  You and your friends could stay there for a while.  Your friend is going to need a place to stay while he looks for an apartment, right?

“I’ll leave the choice to you.  Whether we pursue a relationship, if you stay, where you stay; they’re all your choice.  Here,” he handed her a paper with several numbers hand written on it. “These are my numbers; office, home office, cell phone, manor.  You can use any of them to contact me.”

Marinette took the paper impassively.  She squeezed her other hand in an effort to keep the tremble from being too obvious.  “Thank you, M. Wayne.  I will consider your words.”

Bruce nodded, letting the very formal use of his name wash away.  This was still progress.  This was still movement in the right direction, even if it wasn’t as much as he would want.  He knew it could take a long time.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to fix this today.  “Thank you, Marinette.  That’s all I can ask for.  And I’m sorry for ambushing you here.  I tried to call and text you all yesterday to set up a time to talk in person so you could prepare but it seems like your phone was off.”  

He let out a small breath seeing her eyes widen at his admission.  That had to be a good sign.  Maybe he actually said the right thing for once.  He nodded to her and left her to think, hoping Jason would urge her to call. He seemed to want a relationship with her as well.  Hopefully, he would realize this was the best way to get that.

Jason sighed and looked up at her as soon as the door closed behind Bruce.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not.  It’s… it’s a lot.  I think I want to be alone,” Marinette said absently staring at the numbers in her hand.

Jason nodded.  “It is.  I understand. If you want to talk, at all, about anything.  About where to drink in town, best burger, anything, give me a call.”  He gently took the paper Bruce had handed her out of hand, letting her decide if she gave it to him or not.  When she let go, he put his number on it as well.  “I only have one number, but now you have it.”

Marinette nodded at him.  “Thank you, Jason.”

Jason hesitated briefly.  “For what it’s worth, if you decide to stay you should take him up on the flat.  The hotel is stupid expensive and WE offers the flat to visiting collaborators all the time, so it’s not like it’s all that special… if you want to avoid being treated special.”

Marinette nodded at his words, barely taking them in as her mind tried to fight the numbing process.  Jason watched her tentatively.  “You look like a hugger,” he said uncertainly.  “Did you… do you want a, um, a hug?”  

Marinette looked over at him and blinked a few times, not sure how to take his words, partly because he seemed unsure of them himself, but partly because things were having a harder time permeating her brain right now.  Jason took her curious look as doubt.  “Oh come on. It’s fine.  I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.  Trust me.  I tell Dick to fuck off enough when he tries to hug me.  I have no problem saying no to hugs I don’t want.  I’m offering because I mean it.”

Marinette blinked a few more times but finally nodded vacantly.  Jason pulled her into a warm, comforting hug.  After a few moments he pulled away.  “It will all be okay.  No matter what you decide, it will all be okay.  And no matter what you decide, I’m here.  Nobody’s replacing you as my sister.  So get ready for some completely inappropriate Christmas presents this year.”

Marinette smiled absently at his joke, her eyes never meeting his.  “Thanks, Jason.”  She leaned against the door after she closed it behind him and slid down it, staring blankly at nothing.  The room felt colder than it was before, but she couldn’t manage to care enough to get up and get a blanket.  She thought there might have been ambient noise going on around her but none of it registered.  Nothing registered.  Not the numbing sensation that was rapidly overtaking her body from her fingers and toes up to her head until she stopped feeling anything.  Not even the point she was staring at.  She didn’t know how long she stared at the nothingness before black overtook her vision and she passed out.

Chapter 8

Tags:

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[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

fuck I still haven't done the rewrite of the Mutant Town AU that I specifically came off hiatus to write, like the Plant Witch Sam and Pharaoh Tucker posts were written to prep this au and I just got wildly distracted so uhhhh

yeah the concept is in the link but the gist is that the people and town becoming mutated by constant ectoplasmic contamination, we all know and love this concept right but I'm gonna expand on it

this is a direct result of the portal being opened, but they aren't getting infected from the portal, the issue is that creating a permanent opening into the ghost zone has weakened the veil between their worlds and Amity Park and the Ghost Zone sort of slip in and out of each other constantly

and because ectoplasm responds strongly to emotions (poltergeists being made from atmospheric emotions for example) it all tends to converge very heavily at the school full of hormonal teenagers

so Casper High becomes its own god damn cryptid, the teachers get so jaded about opening the door to a classroom and finding just a whole ass ghost zone on the other side that they just put a sign on the door telling kids to go to a different room, lockers swap contents with other lockers so kids have started putting their names on the inside so they know who's stuff they've just found

this also means the kids get super affected, like super affected, literally, they all get ghost powers, some are just physical mutations, some are just super abilities, or a general increase in natural ability, like a member of the track team getting super speed

it takes a while for Danny and co. to figure this out, Sam and Tucker should have been warning signs as they've spent the most time around ghosts and the ghost zone, but that's why the Witch Sam and Pharaoh Tucker posts are important

they have powers, but they thought they came exclusively from outside sources, they had no idea that their abilities were also strengthened and influenced by being highly contaminated by ectoplasm, which is why when one day Mikey sneezes and green acid shoots out of his nose and melts his desk, everyone is a little bit startled

the teachers have long since started using ghost detectors after the time Paulina spent a whole week overshadowed by Kitty, so Mikey gets a check over and other than the usual atmospheric reading Lancer gets nothing especially strong from him

there have been concerns about the gradually increasing ectoplasmic content in the air messing with ghost detector results, the devices have to be recalibrated constantly, so Lancer asks the one and only son of the local ghost hunters in the room if he has some other way to check

Danny's parents make him keep a few protective items in his schoolbag, so he tries some gear on him to see if anything comes flying out, but nothing does, Danny isn't too surprised seeing as he couldn't sense a ghost in the room anyway, but it definitely makes things a little concerning

even if it were a repeat of the Spectra incident and he wasn't being overshadowed, the Fenton's tech would have still gotten rid of whatever was causing this if it were an external influence

Mikey is sent home for the day and his parents are told to keep an eye on him

and then the next week, Star drops a pen off her desk and a strand of her hair whips out to grab it, she's also checked for ghost influence and sent home

a few weeks after that it happens again, a kid on the basketball team makes a leap to the net and stays in the air, they have to call in the cheerleaders to climb on top of each other to reach him and pull him down

Danny has been trying to figure out what's happening from the first moment with Mikey, and his parents have also been getting calls from worried parents who want to know if they can fix whatever's happening to their kids

over the next couple of months, every kid in the school has some kind of ability or mutation, Dash heals whoever he touches, which he discovers after punching Nathan in the face and curing his acne, Paulina turns invisible, which freaks her out at first until she realises it's great for eavesdropping, Wes can conjure fire (because I desperately needed him to have a polarising ability to Danny), Kwan becomes empathic and can feel and influence people's emotions

Valerie also had an early mutation that she didn't know about, when Technus gave her a new suit, her body pretty much just absorbed it as a part of her, Technus had not intended this to happen, and was pretty peeved about it, Valerie found out that she had stolen control over the suit when Technus had a big rant about it during a fight, and she put the pieces together once other kids started developing abilities

this whole thing causes a ton of chaos as kids are struggling to control what they can do, so Danny has to step in and help them out, he often has to run off to change into Phantom in order to protect everyone from an ability that's gone haywire, he ends up pretty much running ghost power training courses after school to help them control themselves

he's also gotten stuck in situations where he's had to step in and help someone without having the time to change forms, meaning he has to make up a cover story about having developed his own powers way before everyone else since he's been living on top of a portal for years, he only tells people about his ice powers

Jazz has always had a tendency to be able to reign in her emotions and keep a cool head, (the only ones who can really push her buttons are Danny and sometimes her parents, at school around other kids who look up to her she's often very in control) meaning she doesn't draw ectoplasm to herself all that much, and though Danny uses the excuse of having lived on top of a ghost portal to explain why he's already so familiar with using his power, it's actually not even remotely true, because the Fentons use specialised air purifiers to keep the atmospheric ectoplasm at a manageable level, the Fenton house ironically has the least atmospheric contamination compared to the rest of the town, that's how Maddie and Jack have had limited mutation to themselves (though they aren't wholly free, they've mostly just gotten physically stronger and tougher)

so even though Jazz develops her power a little earlier than everyone else's, it's not that far ahead, and she actually doesn't even realise she already has one until half the school has developed theirs

Jazz has the power to slow time in a little bubble around herself, she'd been using it without realising while studying, having gotten through hours of work in half that time, she always thought it was just her losing track of time or she was just getting faster at reading, she also spends a lot of time counselling other students and trying to help them sort out their problems, and they'd often comment that they felt like they'd been talking for so much longer than they had, again she just chalked it up to losing track of time

a lot of students had wondered why Danny developed a power early and Jazz hadn't, until someone walked in on Jazz helping a girl through a panic attack in the bathroom, and found them both talking extremely fast, a lot of her friends realised in hindsight that she'd been doing that unwittingly for quite a while, nobody had noticed because she always talked to people privately, so nobody outside her little time bubble had seen it happen

Sam and Tucker come clean about their abilities too, but they also don't give the full rundown, still keeping some things close to the chest to avoid standing out from everyone else

then there's the teachers

adults typically have a better time regulating emotions than teenagers, meaning much like Jazz they aren't drawing as much ectoplasm toward themselves, but this doesn't exempt them from developing something after a while, especially with the heightened stress of managing a school full of volatile super kids

Mr Lancer discovers that he can create shields, after an incident where he jumps in front of some students to protect them from another power gone awry

Tetslaff ends up with a sonic ability, able to project her voice like a megaphone (yes this is a Coach Boomer from Sky High reference don't @ me), Principal Ishiyama develops a physical mutation, growing to twice her size, she likes that she can tower over the students while delivering speeches, but she doesn't like having to stoop through doors all the time, she has the one to her office resized, along with her chair and desk

so as you can imagine, the town ends up erupting into chaos, a lot of kids very much misuse their abilities, Danny does his best as Phantom to teach people to be responsible, but sometimes he has to resort to literally kicking their asses to get them to straighten up

but for the most part, a ton of kids were already looking up to him, and are generally pretty happy to follow his example, especially the more popular kids, it's generally considered not very cool to get your ass kicked by Phantom, so weirdly enough a lot of kids get peer pressured into not causing any real damage or injury with their powers

this doesn't mean they don't absolutely misuse them, they're just more subtle about it

until a ghost shows up, a lot of the kids are more than happy to let loose to protect themselves and their friends, and Phantom for the most part is happy to let them, with some supervision of course, he still has to make sure nobody gets too hurt (including the ghosts)

the entire debacle makes Danny's life simultaneously a whole lot easier AND so much more fucking stressful

[dreaming-for-an-escape]

I can't wait to read the newest chapter of Hear You, Seek You. I'm especially excited to get a little hint of Christina as well.

I may be completely wrong here but I'm genuinely convinced that Christina fell in love with Billy while they were hooking up in secret. Even when Billy told her that they can't be together exclusively, I think deep down she still had hope that eventually, he would feel the same way.

Maybe when she found out that she got pregnant a part of her hoped that when she's going to tell Billy, he is going to end the relationship with Sidney and she would end things with her own boyfriend so that they can be together for real and give 'parenthood' a try.

I mean let's remember that at this point Sidney accused Billy of being a killer and got him arrested, so Christina probably thought: "Well...if she accused Billy that must mean that they're not in a solid relationship." which makes her that much more convinced to pursue Billy and speak with him. But then she sees him trying to fix his relationship with Sidney (well it appears that way on the outside at least) and other times she catches him talking to Scarlett, so she chickens out because she's too scared to approach him with other people around.

It's so sad to think that she probably wanted to give them a chance, but he only used her for sexual pleasure. He didn't want to be with her. Heck, he didn't even want to be with his girlfriend. He pinned for someone who didn't seem even remotely interested in him. At least in that way.

Like damn. I know that she cheated on her boyfriend, but I feel sorry for her. Just like Sidney, she was manipulated HARD.

Even though we never got to see Christina on screen I can’t help but feel bad for her. Because you’re right, she was manipulated very badly by Billy.

I like to headcanon that maybe she came from a family that wasn’t the greatest. Maybe her parents had a tumultuous relationship, so it made her desperate to have a better one unlike theirs.

So she got with her boyfriend who was nice, and by all accounts the ‘perfect’ guy. However she couldn’t love him in the way she loved Billy.

But Billy never loved her. He just used her.

And even after so many years, I think it’s hard for Christina to believe/accept the harsh truth, hence the drinking.

[chiliiscereal]

Chosen last: part two

Rottmnt x reader

Summary: reader worries that their new friends are becoming exactly like their old ones, unaware that they’re ditching them to prepare a surprise

Platonic, of course!

Part one: https://chiliiscereal.tumblr.com/post/650808822043115520/chosen-last

———

“I’m SOOOoO gonna beat you, Mikey!” You gloated, smashing your fingers over the remote buttons and narrowing your eyes at the tv.

“Ha! In your dreams, baby!” He responded gleefully. He leaned forward and concentrated harder than you’d ever seen him.

It was your annual video game competition. Once a month you and the turtles (and April of course) have one day dedicated to seeing who was the video game champ.

Mikey won last month, Donnie won the month before, Leo won the three months before that, and Raph came close but April defeated him.

You were absolutely determined to win this month.

Surprisingly, Leo was on the couch behind you and rooting for you.

“Go y/n! You got this!” He shouted when your video game car passed Mikeys. He even jumped out of his seat, nearly spilling the popcorn.

“Why are you rooting for y/n??” Mikey accused lividly. “I’m your brother!!”

“Y/n hasn’t won a single competition! Besides, you won last month!” Leo smirked, sitting back down. “It’s hilarious to see you this worked up.”

“Oh you and Dr. Delicate touch are gonna have a looooong talk later.” You snorted.

“Hell yeah he is!” Mikey growled.

Before you could say anything else, Raph entered the room.

“Hey, guys, sorry to cut things short but... Dad needs us to clean!” He blurted out quickly. “Sorry y/n but you should probably go.”

You waved him off, shutting the tv off. “Oh, I can stay and help!”

“No! I mean, it’ll just be boring trust me.” He intervened and took the remote from you hurriedly. He even grabbed your arm and pulled you off the floor. “You don’t want to help clean! It’s fine!”

“Hold on, we have to clean?” Leo groaned. “We cleaned last month!”

“Yeah, why aren’t we fighting Splinter on this?” Mikey stood in Raphs way when he tried to push you out of the room.

You wriggled out of the red masked turtles grasp. “Come on! Don’t you want someone to help you debate this with Splinter!”

You were on the rats good side ever since you bought him the exclusive Lou Jitsu movie box. All the turtles knew this.

Why didn’t they want you on their side?

A small part of you whispered past insecurities but you brushed it away.

Raph sighed, clearly nervous. “Guys we gotta do... the thing. We gotta clean the thing!” He looked at them as if searching for help.

“What thing?” Leo narrowed his eyes.

“The THING. You know?” Raph cleared his throat. “You don’t want to know, y/n. It’s super gross.”

You placed your hands on your hips, suspicious.

“You know... the thing April mentioned a while ago?” Raph tried again, making some loose gestures that you couldn’t really understand.

Somehow, though, Mikey and Leo caught on.

“Ohhhh, the thing!” Mikey exclaimed and immediately began clearing away the snack mess that had been left from the video games.

Leo joined him. “Yeah! Dude, you don’t wanna be here to clean the thing.” He shoveled as much garbage in his arms as he could. “You can just head for the door and come back later! You know, when we don’t have to clean?”

Hesitantly, you grabbed your bag. “Okay..?”

What was this thing they had to clean?

Did they really think it would gross you out?

And why did it take them so long to catch on?

Whatever. It was probably more shenanigans. It didn’t mean anything.

“Alright then,” you stepped away from them slowly, “I’ll just head out.”

The turtles stood in their spots stiffly and waved goodbye.

You rounded the corner to walk over to the ladder, unsure of what to think.

They didn’t normally act like this...

But maybe Splinter just really wanted them to clean?

But why weren’t you allowed to know what the Thing was?

And April apparently already knew about it...

Maybe it was just that you were still relatively new to the friend group.

Yeah, that made sense.

Before you could touch the ladder you heard voices.

Two voices.

Coming from Donnie’s lab.

Well, might as well go say goodbye to Donnie right?

You shouldered you’re bag and headed over, standing in the doorway and knocking on the wall so he’d know you were there.

He and April were both sitting together looking at a computer.

You didn’t even know April was there! Well, she might get kicked out for cleaning day to. Maybe you could both do something together!

The duo looked up, panicked, and Donnie quickly shut the computer off. “Ah! Y/n! I didn’t know you were here!”

You frowned, a little hurt. “Today was the video game competition? I was here just like the last... five months?”

April gave you a too wide grin and shut the laptop. “Well! What... uh... what brings you to the lab?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Raph and the others kicked me out cause they need to clean a Thing? They said it was really gross, and I came in to say bye to Donnie and maybe see if you wanted to go get ice cream or something?”

April turned to Donnie, wide eyed. “Well... I... I can’t exactly... I have a...”

“She has to help clean the Thing as well!” Donnie filled in for her.

Now you were really confused. “But... Raph said it was too gross for anyone other than family.”

“It’s fine!” April waved you off. “But let’s get ice cream later! Okay?”

You gave them a small wave and turned around. “Yeah... okay.”

———-

That Saturday you found yourself walking down the street with one of your old friends.

She wanted to get frozen yogurt and had a coupon for a “buy one get one free”.

Normally you’d have said no. But the turtles AND April denied you every time you asked if you could hang out!

So you said yes.

Just like old times.

“I’m SO sure Jake likes me.” She grinned to herself as she typed away on her phone. “Hope you don’t mind but he’s gonna be at the frozen yogurt shop with us!”

“Oh.” You mumbled. “I thought it’d just be you and me.”

“It’s fine!” She waved you off. “He’s nice! He’s not like the last guy... uh... what’s his name?”

“The guy who told me I was a prude or the guy who told me I looked better with makeup?” You couldn’t help but spit out bitterly.

“The first one.” She eyed you strangely. “And what’s with you today? You’re more pessimistic than usual.”

“That one was Brian. And I’m fine.”

She turned back to her phone, the two of you weaving through the new York crowd.

You’d rather be with the...

The turtles?

You stopped, hearing familiar voices coming from the alley.

“How could you forget!”

“You think I just meant to?!”

“Maybe!”

“Guys, shut up, it’s not a big deal, okay? There’s still time to figure this out.”

“Easy for you to say! You’re just gonna make up another lame excuse and leave!”

“I will not!”

“Can’t we just wait for April in peace?”

“No, because RAPH forgot about-!”

You cleared your throat and entered the alley.

The boys were huddled together, arguing. Quickly they jumped apart and tried their best to act normal.

“Heyyyyy, y/n!” Leo gave you awkward finger guns. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Mikey looked like he was trying to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You were suddenly less excited to see them. “Hey’ didn’t expect to see you guys either!” You bit the inside of your cheek nervously. “What’re you... what’re you doing here? I thought you were too busy to hang out?”

“We are!” Donnie nodded. “Very busy.”

“Yeah and dad grounded us from hanging out with people so-.” Raph added, only for his plan to fall through when April showed up from behind them.

“Guys! I got the-!” She stopped, spotting you. Whatever was in her hands she hid it purposely behind her back so you couldn’t see it. “Y/n!”

You fixed them with a small glare. “Too busy to hang out?”

You didn’t want to sound clingy or desperate, but now it just felt like they were going out of their way to avoid you.

“Well, you know, April doesn’t count! She’s practically family!” Raph chuckled.

That was enough for you to make a decision.

“Well, I’m kind of with a friend right now! I’ll... I’ll just talk to you guys later.”

You backed out of the alley, surprised to find yourself looking forward to meeting the new boy your friend was chasing instead of seeing whatever goofiness the turtles were up to.

You’d survived without them before.

Surely you could survive until whatever this was passed.

———-

“Hey girl your birthday’s coming up!” Your friend mentioned at the lunch table the next day. “I’m Definetely taking you bowling! We’ll bring all the girls, maybe even Jake!”

You didn’t even like bowling.

You didn’t even like Jake!

He was just like all the other boys she’d dated.

But it was better than just sitting at home and waiting for the boys to explain their recent behavior.

“That sounds great.” You muttered, stirring your salad half heartedly. “Can’t wait.”

You went back to sitting with your old group since this whole thing started.

You didn’t have anyone else to sit with! April would disappear during her lunch hour and say she just was going out to get lunch, but she never did that! Ever!

A part of you believed that maybe they finally realized you weren’t worth being friends with.

Maybe you were always meant to be the hermit.

“You excited?” One of your friends asked. “I am! I’m gonna invite Jaxon to go with me and I’ll get dressed up-!”

You tuned them out immediately.

What was the point.

They were talking about it like it was their party.

Not yours.

Just like every other year.

———-

Another day went by.

You found yourself with those same girls again.

They were planning the ‘bowling birthday party’ and coordinating rides. But, of course, there was no room for you to carpool with them.

“Hey, y/n!” April shouted across the lunch room.

You debated about ignoring her, and then debated about just getting it over with.

Ignoring her seemed easier.

“O’Neil, what do you want.” One of your friends asked almost boredly.

Crap, April was right behind you.

“I just wanted to talk to y/n!”

You didn’t bother turning around.

“I know you heard me. Why aren’t you sitting at our table?”

You clenched you’re fists under the table. “You haven’t been here, April. Besides I have other friends.” You finally turned to face her.

She narrowed her eyes.

But, not from anger.

“Well... I’m back now!” She grinned, placing her hand on your shoulder. “Also, Mikey wanted to know if you wanted to have ice cream with the guys later tonight?”

One of your friends burst out laughing before you could even answer. “This Mikey guy is real?”

Another one snorted. “Who’d have known?”

You tried to laugh it off.

You really did.

But that proved harder than you thought.

April placed her hands on her hips. “Excuse me? What do you mean by ‘who’d have known’?”

“You know what y/n’s like!” The friend beside you waved her off. “She hardly talks to anyone! He’d probably think she’s boring.” She turned to you. “Right?” She elbowed your side when you said nothing, as if she were joking with you.

You straitened your lips into a thin line and nodded. “Yeah... right.”

“So, when we go bowling for your birthday, do you think Jake will like my blue dress or my-?”

April slammed her hands on the table. “Hold on, you think this is all some game?”

Your friend shrugged. “We’re just playing with her! She knows it’s a joke!”

“Was it? Cause I couldn’t tell!” April huffed.

“April, drop it.” You mumbled. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” She nearly yelled. “You guys haven’t been a good friend to her at all! You forgot her birthday present last year and you make her walk everywhere-!”

You stood up from your seat. “I said stop, okay?”

Surprisingly, she did.

“It’s fine. Just leave it alone.” You walked over to the trash can and dumped in your long forgotten food.

She frowned. “Fine, if you don’t want me to do this, I won’t.” She walked next to you, casting a look over her shoulder at your table. “Even though I’m right.”

You said nothing.

What could you say?

“Hey, I... I gotta go talk to the guys.” April bit her lip and glanced at the door. “Can you possibly come to the lair? Tonight? Around... five?”

You set your tray back in the pile with all the other dirty ones. “Yeah, I can try.”

“Great thanks!”

April was out of there faster than you could say ‘hot soup’.

————

Wouldn’t you know it, five o’clock rolled around.

You didn’t want to go.

You really didn’t.

Well, you did, but you honestly thought this was going to be them ditching you.

All the signs were there.

Instead of over thinking you decided to just go. Don’t even think about it.

You arrived at the lair quietly, taking your time stepping down the ladder.

All the lights in the kitchen were off.

All the lights in their skating room was off.

By now, it just felt like this was one big joke. Did you misinterpret April? Did the guys even know you were down here? Ugh what if they were doing this just to laugh at you?

Finally, you got to their living room.

You clicked the light on.

“SURPRISE!!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when the four boys, one girl, and one rat dad jumped out.

Confetti?

Cake?

Even a happy birthday banner?

Decorations with your favorite colors?

Your favorite movie ready and waiting to be played in the tv?

“Ha! Look! Y/n’s speechless!” Leo chortled.

“Happy early birthday, dear friend!” Donnie waved to showcase the room. “April told us your friends were having a bowling party on the actual day, and that you probably needed a little something fun, so here we are!”

“We got all your favorite things, facts checked by the master!” Raph patted April’s back.

“We even got your favorite video game from the store!” Mikey bounced over to the tv and picked up the disc case.

“We have cake, baked by me, and your favorite sodas!” Splinter gave you a toothy rat grin.

“And as for the gifts,” Raph chuckled guiltily, “you kind of caught us trying to get them at the store! April told us it was coming up but we forgot and had to rush to get things ready.”

You...

You honestly didn’t know what to say...

You didn’t have any words!

No one had ever done this for you before.

No one.

Not even the friends that you’d known for years.

A small tear slipped out against your will as you brought your hands to cover your mouth.

“Hey, what’s the problem? You’re supposed to be happy!” Leo dropped his party hat and rushed over, brothers behind him.

You wrapped them up in the biggest hug you could give them. “Thank you so so so much! I... no one has ever done anything like this for me!”

The family gladly returned the gesture.

“Ah, so they’re happy tears. Excellent.” Donnie nodded to himself. “You are happy with this, right?”

You released them and stepped back. “Definitely happy tears.”

April draped her arm over your shoulder. “Well then, what are you waiting for! Let’s get started!!”

That night was probably one of the best nights of your life.

For once, you weren’t chosen last.

You weren’t the extra.

You weren’t the plus one.

You weren’t taken for granted.

Let me know if you have any ideas for a part three! Possibly one where the turtles find out about the readers friends? 😏

@magicalfrickingfish

[causeiwanttoandican]

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

[hamliet]

Hi! Thanks for answering

About Touya, I really hope your right. As far I mostly agree. It just in such a nerd for medical stuff and while your reading is very nice and I really hope it plays something similar (or instead of losing his quirk , Touya’s quirk getting back to colder flames or similar) if Hori goes for a simil realistic anatomy I’m worried for the health affect. With how it’s progressing on his face, which is not the part he ignite the most, the body might be even in a worse condition and this would led Touya to be in a pinch in an health care POV. Maybe more than Eri i really miss Overhaul’s quirk. That would patch him good enough! Who knows if AFO quirk contain a similar one…

About Toga, I see you’re very knowledgable! I’m much attuned with the concept of sublimation, the issue about her though is that she is more than fine with the method she came to find right now. Sure she had really improved. She loves the league yet no one fell victim of her so she has some restraint, however sublimation is much harder to consegue once you already taste the “real stuff” (or what her minds perceived it to be). In fact usually serial killers tends to have an increasing escalation after the first time they realise their fantasies/philias as they want “more”. Strictly put I find it hard to think Toga might get content with being a surgeon satisfying her desire for blood after having being one with her loved ones already. A pre first victim Toga , I could totally see her, but as she is right now I find it even harder especially because her first victim was not intentionally (she didn’t want to harm , she wanted to become one). Wouldn’t be any form of sublimation unsatisfying at this point? Especially because thanks to this last chapter we now know that her desire for blood and gore is much more complex than a simple fixation. The more I look into her the more i see a proper paraphilia of her for blood , and usually this type of things tends to be perceived as unavoidable by the person. Unless she finds a partner who is up to vampirism I don’t see how she can quell her thirst for the desire to “become one” which is symbolically linked to drink their blood.

And this was the core of my question! Maybe o express myself not correctly. And also I expressed wrongly when I told she is just a villain for the lust for blood. Yes you are right, what I meant is that at the base of that exclusion by both parents and society started because people couldn’t come to accept and aid an eventual sublimation with this desire of her. The place it under the carpet , forced her and mistreated her and that’s the result. What I meant is that nowadays Toga’s complex is fully expressed and well defined and it’s a big important in her being a villain. This also pile up with what happened to Jin and the league philosophy, which formed hers to (to live and die normally merging into one with the one she loves).

So to rephrase better my question: what do you think Toga can practically do/ what do you think will be Toga endgame to be saved keeping in account that her desire and core of desiring blood can’t really coexist with society because she will be prone to repaet what happened with the first victim? How can Toga manage/ control that desire without stopping to be herself? Or do you think her desire for blood will transform further and eventual stop to being this but it will be something different (maybe that’s what you were trying to tell, if that’s the case sorry if I di don’t get it before) ? Basically : how will toga live with her desire for blood after the endgame ?

I don't think Hori's going for remotely realistic anatomy, sorry! I think there's 0 chance of that. Even in universe the rules for anatomy are pretty much never followed (Deku's arms and legs).

As for Toga, I think, again, you're being too realistic when it comes to this story. BNHA is a fantasy in a lot of ways, and it is not in any way a seinen; it's as shonen as they get. There's no digging into the psychology with any intent.

Toga has *not* shown escalation at all; in fact, if anything she's shown more restraint as the story continues. She just doesn't have that. I would guess she'd be able to use her quirk to do something heroic by the end, and/or be friends with the other kids at UA, maybe even join them. Again, realism is not really an element of this story when it comes to that kind of thing. What she wanted in the first place was to have a good way to use her quirk, but no one gave that to her. I would guess she'd get one afterwards, but the how and specifics if you squint aren't likely going to deeply dug psychological certainty.

I do think Toga's arc, while technically pretty good, might be less... important or have less of a punch at the end because her parallel is Uraraka, and Horikoshi isn't good with writing female characters. Meaning if some things get glossed over, I wouldn't be surprised.

[evicn]

Businesswoman and entrepreneur, 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐄𝐋, sits down with 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 to talk about what a true sex-positive attitude looks like in 2022 and the treatment from her peers and role models that inspired her new project –– luxury lingerie line, 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄́.

The name Evian Noel must ring a bell for anyone who is is familiar with the weight that the Noel family name holds, but tell us a little about yourself for those who may not already know.

I️ definitely wouldn’t say my name rings bells, but if you’ve watched some beautifully-directed adult film videos within the last couple of years, chances are my family was behind them. I’m the creative director at 7SINS, which means nothing gets officially released without my input or approval. I’d like to think I’m head huncho over there, but ask my father and he might tell you otherwise.

Before the interview we talked briefly about how 7SINS basically gave reigns to your sex-positive attitude, which makes sense. But, you mentioned your mother being your inspiration as well?

She’s really gonna hate that I’m saying this, but Valentina Noel paved the way for a lot of vixens that came after her. She endured so much hate and backlash for marrying my father. I️ watched her get belittled so many times over her past career choices before becoming a wife and a mother. It hurt me to see my mother get diminished over and over again by her equals, so I️ made a vow to myself from an early age to make it my personal mission to never make another woman feel like that.

I️ love that. You seem to enjoy what you do at 7SINS and being involved with your family. What inspired the change of direction with this new project?

I️ wanted something to call my own. While I’ve definitely made strides for the adult entertainment industry within my family’s company, I️ always felt like there was more for me to do. Anyone that has even remotely heard of me, knows that my risque outfit choices are always the topic of discussion. But, instead of letting people make me feel bad about what I️ choose to adorn my body in, I️ turned it as empowerment. That’s what birthed EXPOSÉ.

Tell us all about that!

I’d like to think that EXPOSÉ is all the best parts about me wrapped up with a bow. To me, it’s more than a simple lingerie line. I️ wanted each piece you put on to feel like you were taking your power back. Society likes to shame women for flaunting their bodies and even turns around and tries to weaponize it against them. The world can’t hold any power over you if you take control of the narrative and expose yourself first. It’s the motto I’ve been following my whole adult life and it hasn’t steered me wrong yet. 

Word on the street is you’ll be opening a boutique location on the strip to showcase this line?

Girl, who told you about that? Damn, y’all are good. But, yes! Plans are in the works to open a boutique under the same name. It’s actually a lot closer to opening than you think. I’m very excited about it. It won’t only be featuring my line, though. I️ partnered with Esmé Sutton to showcase some pieces from her mini collection as well, so stay tuned for that! @dcssemcmi​

We love women supporting women! Is there anything else you wanted to tell us about EXPOSÉ that you thought was important?

Oh, I️ almost forgot! The Noel’s will be hosting the upcoming Pillow Talk event and I️ thought that would be the perfect time to put some of my pieces on full display in person. I’ll be sending custom pieces to those involved in the social season. I️ can’t wait to see everybody oozing with sex appeal.

Evian was nice enough to give us an exclusive I️ook at some of her pieces from the brand’s Instagram page! The company’s online site is officially live ahead of its boutique opening. So, shop til’ you drop and be sure to share your honest thoughts in their comment section. Don’t forget to tell them Vanity sent you!

CREDITS: 

HAIR –– Esmé Sutton x Espensive Esthetics.

MAKE UP –– Courtney Bradson x BeatsByBourtney.

STYLING –– Evian Noel x EXPOSÉ.

[dwellordream]

“...Where the show had sensibly added yurts and merely forgot to have any way to move them, Martin has the Dothraki live in “palaces of woven grass” (AGoT, 83) which I assume the show did not replicate because the moment someone described doing that everyone realized what a bad idea it was and moved on to something more sensible like a yurt covered in leather. Grass and reeds, of course, can be woven. However, as anyone who has done so will tell you, the idea of trying to weave what is essentially a grass basket the size of a tent in a single day is not an enviable – or remotely possible – task.

Trying to move such a giant grass basket without it coming apart or developing tears and gaps is hardly better. And at the end, a woven-grass structure wouldn’t even really be particularly good at controlling temperature, which is its entire purpose! It is rather ironic, given that unlike the show’s Dothraki, Martin’s Dothraki do seem to use at least some carts, because Viserys is forced to ride in one (AGoT, 323) and so could bring yurts with them. They just don’t.

More to the point, it is very clear that Martin imagines the Dothraki subsistence system to consist almost entirely of horses. The Dothraki ride horses, they eat horses, they drink fermented mare’s milk. The Dothraki – as in the show – are presented as eating almost entirely horsemeat. They eat horsemeat at the wedding (AGoT, 84), and Daenerys’ attendants are surprised that she asks for any kind of meat other than horse (AGoT, 129), although Daenerys herself seems to have access to a more agrarian diet (AGoT, 198) and other characters observe that the Dothraki prefer horsemeat to anything else (AGoT, 272). There is no mention of herds of anything except people and horses moving with the khalasaar.

There is also no sense that the Dothraki are hunting big game like one would in the Great Plains; Drogo kills a hrakkar – a sort of lion, apparently – as a display of bravery (AGoT, 495) but there is nothing that would suggest the kind of bison-based subsistence system (at the very least, if that was the system, Daenerys would be well aware of it, because the camp would be awash in bison-products). I found no references to larger game and the Wiki only offers, “packs of wild dogs, herds of free-ranging horses, and rare hrakkar” which is, needless to say, not enough to make up for the absence of large herds of bison, especially for trying to feed Drogo’s camp of perhaps a hundred thousand people (or more!).

They clearly do not herd sheep. This becomes painfully obvious with the raid on the Lhazareen village. The Dothraki – Khal Ogo’s men – in raiding a sedentary pastoralist settlement, kill all of the sheep and leave them to rot. Dany sees them “thousands of them, black with flies, arrow shafts bristling from each carcass” and only knows that this isn’t Drogo’s work because he would have killed the shepherds first (AGoT, 555). And we are told that the people there “the Dothraki called them haesh rakhi, the Lamb Men….Khal Drogo said they belong south of the river bend. The grass of the Dothraki sea was not meant for sheep” (AGoT, 556).

We are told that the Dothraki have “vast herds” but this can only mean herds of horses, given that they apparently take offense at any other animal being grazed on the Dothraki and look down at shepherds in general (AGoT, 83). To be clear, for a nomadic people moving over vast grassland to spurn the opportunity to capture vast herds of sheep would be extraordinarily stupid. At the very least, thousands of sheep are valuable trade goods that can literally walk themselves to the point of sale (we’ll get to this idea that the Dothraki also don’t understand commerce a little later, but it is also intense rubbish; horse nomads in both the New World and the Old understood trade networks quite well and utilized them adroitly). But more broadly, as I hope we’ve laid out, sheep are extremely valuable for subsistence in Steppe terrain.

But Martin does not even do horse-string logistics right. While Daenerys eats cheese (AGoT, 198), we never hear of the Dothraki doing so. The Dothraki do have an equivalent to qumis, but no qulut, no yogurt. Even the frankly badass bit about drinking the horse’s blood as a source of nourishment does not appear. The horses themselves are also wrong. First, Daenerys and Drogo each have one horse they use, seemingly to the exclusion of all others. If you have been reading this long, you know that is nonsense: they ought to both (and Jorah too, if he intends to keep up) be shifting between multiple horses to avoid riding any of them into the ground. Moreover, Martin has imported a European custom about horses – that men ride stallions and women ride mares – into a context where it makes no sense. Drogo’s horse is clearly noted as a red stallion (AGoT, 88) while Daenerys’ horse is a silver filly (AGoT, 87). But of course the logistics of Steppe raiding revolves around mares; in trying to give Drogo the ultimate manly-man horse, he has actually given him the equivalent of a broken down beater – a horse only able to fulfill a slim parts of its role.

Finally, the group size here is wildly off. For comparison, Timothy May estimates that, in 1206, when Temujin he took the name Chinggis Khan and thus became the Great Khan, ruling the entire eastern half of the Eurasian Steppe, that the Mongol army “probably numbered less than a hundred thousand men” (May, The Mongols, (2019), 43), though by that point his army included not merely Mongols, but other ethnically distinct groups of steppe nomads, Merkits, Naimans, Keraites, Uyghurs and the Tatars (the last of which Chinggis had essentially exterminated – next time, we’ll get to the nonsense of the Dothraki being a single ethnic group).

That is, to be clear, compared to the armies of sedentary empires of similar size (which is to say, huge) a fairly small number! We’re going to come back to this next week, but the strength of Steppe nomads was never in numbers. Pastoralism is a low density subsistence strategy, so the steppe nomads were almost always outnumbered by their sedentary opponents (Chinggis himself overcomes this problem by folding sedentary armies into his own, giving him agrarian numbers, backed by the fearsome fighting skills of his steppe nomads).

Khal Drogo’s khalasaar, which moves as a single unit, supposedly has 40,000 riders (AGoT, 325-6); Drogo is perhaps the strongest Khal, but still only one of many. With 40,000 riders, we have to imagine an entire khalasaar of at least 120,000 Dothraki (plus all the slaves they seem to have – put a pin in that for later; also that number is a low-ball because violent mortality is clearly very high among the Dothraki, which would increase the proportion of women and children) and probably something like 300,000 horses. At least. Of course no grassland could support those numbers without herds of sheep or other cattle. As noted above, Isenberg’s figures suggest much lower density in the absence of herding – just under 70,000 nomadic Native Americans on the Great Plains in 1780 (and less than 40,000 in 1877), including women and children! But more to the point, no assemblage of animals and people that large could stay together for any length of time without depleting the grass stocks.

Even if we ignore that problem and even if we assume that the Dothraki have Mongol-style pastoral logistics to enable higher population density on the Dothraki Sea, my sense is that the numbers still don’t work. Even before Drogo dies, we meet quite a few other independent Khals with their on khalasaars – Moro, Jommo, Ogo, Zekko and Motho at least and it is implied that there are more. Drogo’s numbers suggests he should be roughly at the stage Chinggis Khan was in 1201 or so – with Chinggis controlling roughly half of the Mongolian Steppe, and his old friend and rival Jamukha the other half. But Khal Drogo has evidently at least a half-dozen rivals, probably more. It is hard to say with any certainty, but the numbers generally seem too high. Having that entire group concentrated, moving together for at least nine months (long enough for Daenerys to become pregnant and give birth) would be simply impossible inside of a grazing-based subsistence system, sheep or no sheep.

In short, no part of this subsistence system works, either from a North American or a Eurasian perspective. This isn’t actually much of a surprise. Martin has been pretty clear that he doesn’t like the kind of history we’re doing here. As he states: I am not looking for academic tomes about changing patterns of land use, but anecdotal history rich in details of battles, betrayals, love affairs, murders, and similar juicy stuff.

That’s an odd position for an author who critiques other authors for being insufficiently clear about their characters’ tax policy (what does he think they are taxing, other than agricultural land use?). Now, I won’t begrudge anyone their pleasure reading, whatever it may be. But what I hope the proceeding analysis has already made clear is that it simply isn’t possible to say any fictional culture is ‘an amalgam’ of a historical culture if you haven’t even bothered to understand how that culture functions. And it should also be very clear at this point that George R. R. Martin does not have a firm grasp on how any of these cultures function.”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part II: Subsistence on the Hoof.”

[peterprkrsbtch]

sapphire - part 2

Peter Parker x reader

A/n: Part 1 is up on my page! There’s a couple flashbacks in this one so I put the dates before so it doesn’t get confusing. If you enjoy this one, like or reblog to share! I already wrote part 3 and it’s my favorite one yet so that’ll def be up soon :)

tag- @juliannaamonroe​

Warnings: swearing, make out, violence

(September 1)

We’re one minute away. Come out hoe!

You smile as you read the text, glancing at yourself in the mirror again, nerves and excitement ablaze in your stomach. You’d been planning for this day since last winter, and now it was finally here. You adjust your carefully styled hair and double check that the natural makeup you applied was sitting on your skin correctly.

Of course it was. That goddamn injection sometimes made you feel like a vampire out of twilight and sometimes you still got surprised when you saw your own face while passing a mirror or a particularly reflective window. You smooth down the ruffles of your short black skirt and tug the top of your tank top down so a bit more of your curves show.

You put on your white sneakers and tug your shirt back up to cover your chest again. We’ll have to work up to that, I guess. A long honk sounds from outside your apartment building and you curse as you scramble to grab your backpack and phone before running down and out the front steps.

“Awwww,” You say sweetly at the sight of the two girls who had become your best friends. “That’s the shirt you were wearing when we met, Ally.” You jokingly brush away a tear, pretending to be ultra touched.

“Best damn day of my life.” Ally says from her spot in the drivers seat, laughing at your dramatics. She may be joking around, but her sentiment makes your heart clench. This year really was going to be different.

***

(July 3)

You quickly realized you needed to find some Midtown friends if your plan for senior year was going to work. If you dared to show up looking, well, like you do, completely alone and friendless, you might become even more of an outcast than you were before. The first month of summer had been the least lonely time of your year so far, thanks to a certain Spiderman.

The two of you spent most of your nights together, flying through the city, fighting crime together, and talking. The “slow” nights that used to fill you with boredom quickly became your favorite when he was involved. The sound of his laugh and the jokes he makes during fights quickly became the highlight of your days.

But you couldn’t let yourself get too distracted by him. After all, neither of you knew what the other looked like. The only other boy you’d ever found remotely cute (other than celebrities) was nerdy Peter Parker from your high school. He wasn’t your usual type and he seemed to be just as shy as you were, so you had little (zero) hope that it would ever lead to anything more than a smile during the hallway if you accidentally made eye contact.

Sorry Spiderman, but no way in hell are you gonna make me lose my focus. The loneliness you had felt through the last three years of high school was too much. Your plan had to work. So that night as the two of you patrolled together, you softly mentioned that you were going to a pool party tomorrow and wouldn’t be able to meet.

He seemed a bit disappointed, but you brushed it off, trying to remember the names of the girls at your school who seemed nice. Peter, however, couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that you had told him where you would be tomorrow. There was only so many pool parties in a city like New York.

You tried not to think about who was under the Spiderman mask out of respect and, to be honest, it seemed like a pointless endeavor. Peter was not the same. No matter how tired he was from patrol, he always had time to lay awake before he fell asleep and picture what you would look like under the mask.

There wasn’t very many people who understood Peter’s secret life. None, actually, until you. Maybe that was why he was so intrigued by you, because you were so similar, but in his heart he knew that wasn’t it. He liked you. And he hated himself for it. But once you mentioned the pool party, he made sure to take one long last glance at the color of your hair before you two said goodbye. Just in case he happened to see that same hair tomorrow.

(July 4)

You were so, so nervous. Your closet of exclusively sweats and hoodies was trashed as Part 1 of your plan, much to your mother’s happiness. She had always been honest about her hatred of your junior year clothes and was extremely excited to purchase everything you needed. As distant as she was, you had to give her a little credit.

Although you’d been wearing the new clothes for the past month, this was the first time you were doing it so publicly. Your denim shorts exposed miles of smooth leg, and you’d decided to wear a red tube top in honor of the holiday-not to mention it really showed off your curves. You’d meticulously done your hair and makeup like you���d been practicing the past month and prayed that somebody would talk to you today.

You’d seen the flyer for the Fourth of July party on Instagram, which had been step 2. Unfortunately, you had two followers. Your mom and her boyfriend. Step 2 is a work in progress.

One long walk later, and you’re in front of the address. You swear you could explode of nerves right there, but instead you take a deep breath and force your legs to carry you inside the house and towards the people out by the pool.

Your eyes are so focused on your destination, the glass sliding door, that you barely notice when you bump shoulders with someone, causing you to drop your phone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You say, reaching down to grab your phone.

“Oh my god, stop. That was totally my fault.” You stand back up to see the girl who was speaking, and you recognize her immediately. Her name is Ally, and she’s a part of the most popular group at school. Despite her long black hair and sweet smile, you haven’t heard many good things about her. Not the type of person you were looking for.

“Do you go to Midtown? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” Ally says, making no move to walk away from the conversation.

“Yeah, actually. My name is Y/n?” You don’t miss the way her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen with confusion and shock. You’re embarrassed now, realizing maybe you weren’t as invisible as you’d thought. In an effort to explain away the last few years, “My dad left a couple years ago and it was pretty hard on me, but I’m all better now.” You flash the most dazzling smile you can manage and hope she accepts it.

“No way, mine did too!” She gasps as she grabs your hands. You feel a small pang of guilt at that. It was a lie, you had no idea who your dad was and frankly, you didn’t think your mom knew either.

The conversation starts to flow between you and Ally easily as you make your way out to the pool. “This is my best friend Betty.” Ally introduces you to the sweet-as-pie girl and the three of you quickly fall into a conversation like you’d known each other forever. A few of their guy friends tried to come up and talk to you, but she just waved them away. “Leave us alone, we just met our new best friend.”

You felt bad for judging Ally so harshly earlier, blindly trusting the stupid rumors you’d heard about her. Popular or not, the three of you got along better than any of the other friends you’d tried to make throughout your life. They do briefly make fun of your instagram before forcing you to take and post pictures with the two of them by the pool. They both tag your account.

Peter didn’t seem to share the good luck you did. He’d dragged Ned to 6 different pool parties across the city and saw no one who looked like Sapphire. Disappointed, he spent the night patrolling alone and dodging fireworks.

***

(September 1)

Since that day, you’d become a trio with Ally and Betty. The day after the pool party you’d woken up to nearly 1,000 followers on your instagram. Everyone from Midtown who never gave you a second look when you had your hood shoved over your head now wanted to be your friend.

The three of you spent the rest of your summer days together, and you fit into the popular friend group better than you could have imagined. Maybe you watched too many teen movies, but you expected them to be mean. The only mean one was Flash, and even he was basically harmless. You’d given up Saturday night patrols with Spiderman for a weekly girls night with your new best friends. You thought having new friends and a bustling social life would’ve made it easier to forget about Spiderman, but somehow he seeped into every area of your life.

That damn laugh. As Ally and Betty sing along to the radio loudly, you bite your lip to stop a dumb smile from rising to your lips. God, just thinking about him made you flustered. As Ally drives into the school parking lot, nerves bubble in your stomach.

As if you aren’t stressed enough, your brain decides this is the perfect moment to remind you of the one night this summer you and Spiderman haven’t talked about since.

*** (August 14)

The two of you were sprawled out on a gravel rooftop next to each other. Not the most comfortable of relaxing spots, but you’d both grown tired of flying around under the summer heat with no hint of trouble for miles.

“This sucks.” Spiderman huffs out.

“Rude.” You reply quickly, even though you know he isn’t talking about you.

“Oh, no,” He immediately sits up. “I didn’t mean you suck, I just meant, you know, because there’s not much going on right now and it’s hot and-” He sees your cheeky smile and stops himself with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cute.” You bite your lip. The fuck did I just say? Before you can begin to explain, he jumps to his feet.

“Spidey sense, let’s go!” You jump up too and follow after him as he jumps off the building. Thank god. I’ve never been so grateful that someone’s in trouble. The fight was tough, even with the both of you. These men had strange guns that keep firing at you and Spiderman even though you’d tried multiple times to crush them with your powers.

“The guns are magic-proof! I can’t destroy them!” You yell over to Spiderman as you take down one of the men in between punches.

Somehow, two men get ahold of their guns and corner you. Just as you start levitating to fly over them, a web shoots from somewhere behind them and the men and their guns are yanked away. Spiderman wastes no time and you swear he seems angry with the two men as he webs them to the wall next to their friends before picking up the guns and violently smashing them on the ground.

You’re still frozen in shock, watching him. When he seems to be satisfied with the broken pile of guns on the floor, he runs back over to you. “I’m so sorry, I know we promised-” You finally break out of whatever trance you were in to place a finger over his lips, casting a disgusted glance towards the men staring at you from their webbed cocoons.

“Not here.” You say quietly, and fly the two of you quickly up to the roof. He blinks for a second, his head spinning from the speed. You rarely use your full speed, especially with him, but you had to get out of there. “Okay, go ahead.” You say after a second of silence.

“I’m so sorry, I know we agreed not to get in each other’s way, and I know you can handle yourself, probably better than I can. Hold on, I didn’t mean I handle you. That sounded weird. Anyways, I just got so angry when I saw those men pointing their guns at you I had to-” He’s talking about the agreement you two had made when you first started working together. You both obviously were skilled, so you agreed that you wouldn’t interrupt each other’s fights unless asked.

“Spidey, I really don’t care you interrupted. It was hot.” JESUS CHRIST NOT AGAIN. You immediately winced and slap a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god I did NOT mean to say that I’m so sorry.”

Your rambling is cut off as Spiderman’s hand travels up to the bottom of his mask and you think your eyes might fall out of your head with how wide they become as he begins to pull it up, revealing the soft pale skin of his neck.

His jaw, chin, and then lips become visible as he lets the mask rest on his nose. The 0.5 seconds that have passed since you stopped talking feel like an eternity until he suddenly leans forward, crashing his lips into yours. Spiderman is an amazing kisser, you decide, as you gently kiss him back.

WHAT AM I DOING? Your mind is going haywire but instead of stopping, you deepen the kiss and nearly smile when he lets out a low moan. Everything you’ve told yourself about focus and distractions flies out the window when his gloved hands clutch your waist and pull you closer to him than you thought possible.

It feels like it’s only been a second when he pulls away, but your eyes flicker to his swollen lips and you know it must have been longer. You smile as you stare at his lips, only inches from yours, but as your gaze moves to the rest of his exposed skin the smile drops slowly.

Your rational mind comes back. It’s easy to forget when you’re with him that you’ve only known each other a couple months. How could you do this? Your first time making out with a boy, and he doesn’t even know your name.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whisper as he starts to say something.  “Sorry, what were you going to say?” He blinks slowly and takes a deep breath before stepping away from you.

“Nevermind. See you tomorrow.” And he swings away from you. You silently curse yourself for being such a big mouth, wanting to know what he would have said. You can’t help the small voice in the back of your head, telling you that you made the wrong decision.

You raise your hand to run your fingers along your tingling lips before flying home as fast as you can.

***

(September 1)

You wince at the painful memory before reminding yourself everything was back to normal the next day and neither of you mentioned it again. You still weren’t sure if that was good or bad. You force all thoughts of Spiderman out of your brain and even give Ally an encouraging cheer when she successfully parks on her first try.

You don’t remember Midtown having so many fucking students last year, but maybe it was because they were all staring at you. Any confidence you’d had as you opened Ally’s car door had disappeared as everyone around you turned to gawk. The bright smile you’d pasted on a second ago quickly fell and you glanced at Ally nervously.

“Come on, girls!” She says enthusiastically, grabbing an arm from you and Betty as she breaks the brief moment of awkward silence. God bless you Ally. As the three of you hoist your bags over your shoulders and make your way into the school, you mouth a quick thank you her way, hoping she can see your genuine appreciation. She smiles at you. “I’m happy we’re going into this year as three instead of two.”

Betty leans forward to smile at you. “Me too, y/n. I’m really happy you’re here.”  You smile back brightly. There really was no one as sweet as Betty.

“You won’t be so happy I’m here when I talk your ear off during class.” The three of you continue laughing and joking your way down the hall to stop at your lockers.

“Oh my god, is that Y/n?” Ned interrupts Peter’s latest ramble about his night with Sapphire. Usually, he really did listen. Ned was fully invested in the superhero love story, as he called it, unfolding. But the sight of a girl notorious for hiding in her own baggy clothes across the hall in a miniskirt and tank top was more important.

“Y/n?” Peter asks, confused why Ned wasn’t paying attention. But when he turned around to see what Ned was staring at, he understood. He’d seen you around school the past three years, but never like this.

You looked like a fucking model. And everyone in the hall couldn’t help but stare. “Holy shit.”

“Right, dude?” Ned breathes out, the two of them shamelessly staring. “Why didn’t that happen to me over summer? Oh my god, of course she’s friends with Betty.”

Peter laughs as his best friend goes on about “two pretty best friends” but he can’t take his eyes off of you. The light in your eyes as you joke with your friends, making them double over in laughter, feels strangely familiar. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on his part because you’re extremely pretty.

He watches in surprise as you and Ally walk up to the AP Chem classroom, waving goodbye to Betty sadly as she heads off to English. You turn to walk into the classroom after Ally, but you pause and look back down the hallway-right at him. Instead of yelling at him for being a creep like he expected, you smile at him widely before heading into the class. He exhales deeply and glances down at his schedule quickly, a smile appearing. AP Chem.

Of course his thoughts are still consumed by Sapphire, but it was hard to ignore you especially after seeing his name on the seating chart next to yours in the back row. Plus, Sapphire was the one who’d shot him down after he finally tried to make a move after catching onto the hints he thought she’d been dropping.

He felt bad for thinking that about her, he didn’t blame her at all. He knew there was a million reasons they shouldn’t be together-and he didn’t want to know specifics on why he wasn’t good enough. Sapphire hadn’t brought up that night since, and he was fine to pretend it never happened.

You were already in your seat at the lab table, but Ally was still standing next to you waving her hands wildly as you two spoke. He doesn’t want to interrupt so he freezes in place, unsure of whether or not to go sit down. He’d thought you were cute, and a little shy like him in freshman and sophomore year and he remembered the many times he would look at you from across the room like he is now.

His eyes had been quick to find you whenever you two were in the same room ever since the first day of school freshman year when you smiled at him in the hall. Even last year, when all he saw of you was a curled up lump at your desk or a sliver of hair peeking out from behind your hood he still noticed you.

Luckily for him, the bell rings and he slides into his seat just as the teacher begins speaking. “Hi, Peter.” You lean over to him, your shoulders nearly touching, and whisper so the teacher doesn’t hear. “I’m y/n.” You smile warmly as his cheeks and ears turn light pink.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself. We’ve gone to school together since we were 6?” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed and you purse your lips together.

“No, I know, just-” Peter notices you seem a bit frustrated as you glance around the room and then lean even closer to him. “Everybody thinks I’m new.” You nervously mess with your bracelet.

“You do look a bit different.” He points out and you raise your eyebrows before sighing slowly and shrugging.

“I was just sick of feeling invisible, you know. Not because I care what anyone here thinks. Last year was just, really, really lonely.” Peter watches you intently as you speak, hanging onto your every word.

Your confession made him sad. If only he’d been brave enough to ask if you were okay. You pause for a second and meet his eyes. Any other guy in this school would’ve laughed at you by now. You gesture to your outfit and nervously adjust your skirt. “I’m also not a superficial person. It wasn’t about changing how I looked, I just needed the confidence to put myself out there.” You pause and nod towards Ally with a smile. Peter glances over to Ally and sees her blow you a kiss, which you catch across the room with a giggle.

I miss you! She mouths with a dramatic frown and this time Peter laughs quietly with you. “I thought she was a bitch before I met her.” He looks at you with surprise to find you smiling at him. “But,” you hold up a finger for dramatic effect, “because I put myself out there, I met my best friends. A lot of people around here judge on appearances. I’m not like that anymore.” You say with confidence.

“That’s really cool of you.” Peter whispers back, and the sound sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. He’s so close to you and the feelings you thought you left behind two years ago don’t seem so left behind as you stare into his warm eyes. “For the record, I’d be your friend no matter what you look like.”

Peter has only been this nervous a couple times before in his life, and he can’t help but feel like he’s betraying Sapphire with the way he’s thinking about you. He watches as you smile warmly at his words and extend your hand towards his.

“Friends? Even though I'm so much uglier now?” You pout your bottom lip out, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He nearly laughs out loud and has to remind himself you’re still in class. “I know guys go wild for the homeless man sweatpants look.” You’re both trying to hold back your laughter, shaking silently in the back of the class as he raises his hand and grabs yours.

“Friends.” Peter isn’t sure why he keeps going, but he does. “And just so you know, you were never ugly. I don’t know why you tried so hard to hide yourself last year, but even then,” the words leaving his mouth sound confident but Peter takes a deep breath before looking up from his lap to meet your eyes. Your wide eyes and surprised smile give him just the confidence he needs to finish. “You could never be ugly.” Peter can hear his heart beating.

You blink at him. This boy could not be real. Here he was, basically implying that the one thing you had wanted all along, for somebody to notice you, was true. Not only was it true, but it was Peter fucking Parker telling you this. Despite everything that had changed you in the past year, the giddy feeling in your bones brought you back to sophomore year and pining over Peter.

“Really?” Your smile spreads and he seems to let out a deep breath of relief.

“Yeah.” He smiles back at you until your sweet moment is interrupted by a fat ass syllabus dropping onto the lab table in front of you.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “This class is gonna be so much homework.” You turn the page so Peter can briefly see the list of projects alone, and it’s enough to make him cringe.

Something about the way the whispers travel back and forth between you all class makes you realize you hadn’t fallen into a friendship this easily, even with Ally. Even with Spiderman, your brain points out.

A red and blue suit swings into your mind and you are hit with a wave of guilt. Not two hours ago I was thinking about my make out with Spiderman, and now I’m comparing him to Peter? 

You have all but one class together, and you can’t help but glance in Peter’s direction any chance you get. The only time you don’t see him is at lunch, even though you look all around the lunch room for him or the boy he’d been standing with this morning. You thought it would be too creepy to ask him where he’d been.

Finally, the last bell of the day rang, and you were sure if you didn’t have superpowers you would’ve been exhausted. School is kinda draining when you actually acknowledge people. Ally and Betty share your complaints about being tired on your drive home, all three of you agreeing you need naps. You kiss them both on the cheek and wave goodbye before heading up to your room.

Forget what I said about having superpowers. I’m fucking tired. You lay down on your bed, groaning into the pillow at the thought of having to patrol tonight. You sat up abruptly. You’d never dreaded patrol, it was always the thing you looked forward to. You glance towards the suit in your closet and sigh.

It’s not patrol I’m nervous about. It’s him. You feel incredibly guilty about today. I’m not a two timer. If I want to like Peter, I have to talk to Spiderman about that kiss first. You start to make your way over to the closet before another wave of exhaustion hits, sending you straight back to your bed.

After a nap. Then we’ll talk.