#failed wonder woman TV pilot

[wildcole]

Numb

Hey! I wrote this and thought I might share.

I am sorry, this is not beta-read, because I do not have one.

Also, English is not my mother tongue, so tell me if I didn’t see some mistakes.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

TW: mention of bad mental health (nothing too bad), softness, angst, fluff, the squad being a family.

Here goes that thing.

_______________________________________________

Her flat is empty, lifeless, and she feels oddly connected to the feeling. Nothing is the same since the last mission and she wonders when she lost herself, she doesn’t remember when she got this numb.

Y/N knows her body and her mind are still trying to take in the near-death experience and she doesn’t blame herself to take so long to do it: the crash, the screaming, the hospital…

She remembers vividly the shaking of her hands and how it never stopped ever since.

Everyone was so happy in the end, she thought it would go away with the adrenaline but it didn’t, she had trouble sleeping that night, like deep down, her guts were still trying to settle down in her body but kept failing.

So here she is, sitting against her couch, smoking cigarettes, waiting for the time to pass or anything, she doesn’t even know, but the freezing water and the dark in her flat are the only thing soothing her vaguely, so she keeps on sipping on the freezing water, focusing on her breathing, like it could stop the shaking.

She tried to eat but everything keeps coming out shortly after.

She doesn’t sleep. At all. It’s been two days and she’s exhausted but she dreads the sight of her bed, so she passes out repeatedly on the couch, waiting for the next nightmare to drench her in sweat and keep her awake for the next few hours.

Her phone battery died a few hours ago, and she doesn’t want to recharge it, because the charger is in her bedroom, and right now she doesn’t want to confront the fact that her bed is still made, that it looks comfy, and that even in its safety, she won’t be sleeping.

So it died and cut the last contact she had with the outside.

She is not worried about the others, because she doesn’t think about them, because she was trying so hard not to crumble on the carrier that she left with just the shadow of a smile and a few handshakes.

She’s cold, been for a few hours now, but sweat doesn’t stop rolling down her back, on her chest and in her neck. She didn’t take a shower, and she reeks, she can feel it.

It’s not a pretty sight, but she doesn’t wanna leave the seat she has taken in front of the couch, she just hopes that’s everything will be okay soon, because she can feel her mind expanding and getting emptier by the minute, crushing her in emptiness. The more she thinks about it, the less she feels connected to reality, and soon, the last string will break, and she’s afraid she’ll be stuck in this floating state forever. Sweating and shaking.

The TV is lighting up the room, but Y/N doesn’t dare putting on the sound, she prefers looking at the lips of people moving inside the box, instead of being cut open by the words and sounds.

She’s not in bad term with the squadron. They’re all very sympathetic, but they all know each other, pretty well, and she never tried to overcome the feeling that bloomed in her head every time she wasn’t sharing their jokes.

They’re good people, but they’re not hers.

It’s not a problem though. She’s alright on her own, she got this, right?

« Did she respond yet? » Asks Phoenix, and her brows furrowed.

« Nope, she hasn’t even open the text, » speaks Bradley.

The woman sighs and looks by the window.

« I hope she’s okay, it’s a tough one she pulled up there, I would have been terrified. » speaks Payback with a concerned look at Bradley’s phone.

Bradley doesn’t respond, because he hopes he isn’t right, he doesn’t wanna be.

« Did you go to see at her flat? » Says Jake, drying his hair.

« We don’t have her address. »

« It’s in her file. » says the other pilot.

« We can ask Maverick to give it to us? » speaks Bradley, suddenly very hopeful.

« Just go check on her, because I don’t think your girl is that tough. » speaks Jake again.

Bradley doesn’t react on the nickname of Y/N, he would be stupid to pay attention to that when his thoughts have all been for her since they left the carrier.

He has a soft spot for her, doesn’t know why her, and he doesn’t care, he just knows that the pilot is everything he admires, isn’t and wants at the same time, and the clash of all of that, his admiration, respect and attraction, made a pretty intense cocktail in his head. But right now, there is worry, because as much as he likes to think of her like the best human being he knows, fearless and cunning, she’s not that tough.

She’s not that tough.

She can’t be.

It’s a full “she cannot” because there must be something that she fails to do, and Bradley just hope it’s not this one.

So he does call Maverick, who does give the address to him, and ten minutes later, he’s in his car, driving to the complex she lives in.

He struggles a bit to find the door number in between all the similar looking corridors but does manage to knock on what he thinks of as the right one.

Y/N jumps, startled by a knock on her door. It’s usually some people mistaking her door for the one at the end of the corridor, that’s a bit too far to see clearly.

She goes on wobbly legs to peak through the hole, and her whole body seize. It’s Bradshaw.

He’s in front of her door, and she reeks, everything is dark and she stinks tobacco.

Fuck.

She opens the door slightly and slides her face in the crack.

« Hi. » Her voice is hoarse and she looks horrible.

Bradley looks surprised and, at once, his face contorts and Y/N dreads his next words.

« We were worried, you didn’t answer the messages of any of us, did we do something wrong? » He asks so politely that she wants to cry.

No of course not, I’m just stupid and scared, please go away, you don’t want to see me like this as I’m barely keeping my head above the water.

« No, everything is fine. It’s just… my batterie died and, I lost my charger. I just have to look a bit for it, that’s nothing. »

Her smile is shy and her eyes keeps peeping everywhere but in his.

Bradley Bradshaw is not an idiot, his gaze wanders behind her shoulder and his mind stops racing at the second.

He sees the doors closed, the blanket on the floor, the big glass of water full of ice cubes. He knows all of this. Because he went through it too.

« Y/N? » He cuts her rambling and stares right at her eyes.

She feels uncomfortable but manage to hold the eye contact, hoping it would make him go away faster.

« Yeah? »

« I think you’re not doing okay Y/N. »

His words seem to surprise her, snapping her out of her numb state.

« I think, you’re far from fine Y/N. »

He keeps calling her name, softly, patiently, and she can feel her nose burning and the back of her eyes getting hotter and wetter. She swallows hardly, opens her mouth, but no words come out.

Bradley’s heart ache at her distressed eyes and the new shine of tears.

« Did you take a shower? »

Y/N knows there’s no judgment in his questions but her mind stutters at the idea. It’s disgusting.

She shakes her head.

His eyes wander on her naked collar and he see the sheen of sweat.

« Did you eat something? »

His voice is still concerned, but neutral, soft on her ears, and she’s surprised for a second, to realise that his voice is the first thing she heard since she left the carrier, and that she’s has not been cut open by the sound of it.

She just brings her hand to her stomach and shake her head again.

Bradley knows the knot in the stomach, the feeling of being so full that food doesn’t have its place.

« How long it’s been since you last slept? »

This is the last blow she needs to feel the tears roll down her cheek, her eyes flee his gaze and she swallows hardly.

« Two days. »

And Bradley feels his heart cracks a bit more at the strangled voice. Two days since she last slept.

She smells like sweat and exhaustion, her hair are tied in a hair claw, tightly pressed to her head, only a few wet strands escaping its hold, at the base of her neck and on her forehead.

She’s in a cotton pant, some pyjama’s, with a white tank top. She’s barefoot and suddenly, Bradley remembers what Maverick did to him when he was in that state, and he’s sure it’s going to work.

« We’re in a house for two weeks, so we could all be together, because you’re not the only one feeling that way, but being together helps. »

She doesn’t move, Bradley knows she wants to cry, but she doesn’t want to lose control. Not now, she’s not ready.

« So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to put on some clothes in a bag, you’re going to put on your shoes and we’re going to leave. »

He speaks slowly, to let it sink in her, and Bradley feels a bit underwhelmed by how unresponsive she is. She just nods and leave the door the door open as she heads toward her room.

He can hear fabric being ruffled and he opens the windows. The air is cold outside, the weather is stormy and heavy clouds are weighting on San Diego. The wind is suddenly engulfing itself in the flat and it blows some ash off the ash tray. The smell of tobacco is harsh on his nose but nothing comes to his mind, it’s like his senses are disconnected from his head.

So he opens the windows, one by one, and keep the blinds down so no one can look in the appartement.

He hears her steps on the floor before he sees her, and without a second look, he turns off the TV and brings her to the door.

He holds his hand out for the keys and close the flat.

The walk to his car is silent and Y/N doesn’t speak, doesn’t radiate anything, it’s the waiting. She does not exist here, she doesn’t fight, she’s just on hold.

Bradley doesn’t want to bring her to the house right now before doing what he has in mind.

He knows she won’t like it but she’ll thank him later.

He parks the car in front of the beach and Y/N does not question it.

He exits the car and she copies him, without a word.

They arrived quickly on sand, and Bradley heads, determined, to the water. Y/N walks a bit quicker to catch up with him but she doesn’t seem to really think about anything.

She doesn’t notice him stepping out of his sneakers and doesn’t see him walking behind her.

What she does notice is how she’s is tossed on his shoulder, and for a second she’s tense, before trying to wiggle a bit.

« What are you doing? Rooster, Rooster what are you doing?! »

She’s getting stressed and starts wriggling harder on his shoulder, he has to reach the water quicker. His steps are getting wider and his arms tightens around her, he feels the water on his socked feet, and he feels a harsh shudder coursing his body with how freezing the water feels.

Good.

His mind is on autopilot and he can hear the surprise, the stress, the anxiety pulsing in each one of her words asking him what’s happening.

He doesn’t answer and for a second, Y/N thinks he’s going to kill her.

When the water is crashing on his waist, Bradley grips her waist and shoulder firmer and Cole’s breath hitched when she feels his fingers digging in her flesh. It’s not pleasant.

Suddenly, he’s yanking her off him and plunging her in the freezing water.

Her breath is knocked out of her lungs, her whole-body screams and the sensation is overwhelming, it’s so aggressive and brutal that her mind shutdown.

She can’t hear it any thoughts anymore, her head is empty, the only existing thing is her body fighting the petrifying feeling of cold.

Her head is under water and she can’t think of it, she just knows she has to breath. Her hands reach outside the water and Bradley pulls her to the surface. But he does not get her out of the water, he just let her push her face to the surface, but the rest of her body is submerged.

She can see his face, it’s calm, closed, waiting for something, and as her head is still in water, her eyes look at the sky.

Her head is empty. She cannot wrap it around anything. It’s empty. Her breathing starts to regulate and she can almost feel her body getting washed by the current and the salt.

Her hand is still tightly attached to his arm, but Bradley doesn’t shake it off, her ears are underwater, and except the purring sound of the ocean, she can’t hear anything.

She feels her muscles relaxing and she floats, mindlessly in the water, everything is soft on her body, on her ears, her head is cleaned.

His hands are keeping her under the water, but Y/N can’t feel anything anymore. Her eyes reach out for his and suddenly, he’s pinching her nose. She opens her mouth to breath in and doesn’t question him when for the second time, he forces her body underwater.

Her eyes closes and the cold ends. She doesn’t feel her skin anymore, but she does feel her inside starts freeze, her muscles wake up after the relaxing they needed, and she starts to shake from the inside.

Her body is reaching for heat, and Bradley instinctively understand it when Y/N’s hand flattened on the warm skin of his arm.

He pulls her slowly out of the water and on her feet.

She’s soaked, dripping continuously, he brushes a bit her hair out of her face and waits for her breathing to find its pace again.

Her tank top is sticking to her skin, to her breast and she would usually feel exposed, but right now, nothing comes to their mind, Bradley is half in the water and Y/N feel her skin prickled with the harsh wind on her.

« You okay? He asks, cautiously leaving a hand on her shoulder. »

She nods before coughing a bit and breathing in deep.

« Yeah. »

« I know what it’s like, and it’s a good way to stop it. We’re going to the house now. »

She nods and follow him in the humid sand, catching his shoes as he passes by them, and climb in the car.

He’s damping the seat, just as she is, but Bradley doesn’t seem to mind. The ride is silent and Y/N can feel true sensation now, the numbness has disappeared, leaving place to confusing feeling.

The house is big and white, it looks like something Y/N could call home.

« The others know what you’re going through, just like I do, no need to feel ashamed, you have a place in this house, just as much as me or Natasha, it’s your house too okay? »

His voice isn’t comforting, but it’s clear and safe, and Bradley knows he’s being neutral but he doesn’t wanna imprint any emotions on Y/N, he needs her to get in touch with hers and then they’ll see how it’ll go.

She nods and climbs out of the car.

Everyone is in the kitchen, drinking beers and as soon as her soaked figure enters the house, all eyes are on her.

She disposes her shoes in the entrance, next to the many pairs already presents.

Phoenix is the first one to hug her, even though she’s wet.

« It’s good to see you. »

Her voice is soft and comforting, and her hug is strong and engulf Y/N, who hugs back.

Next is Payback, Fanboy, Coyote, Bob and Jake, with his strong hand squeezing her shoulder.

It anchors her.

« I’ll show you the house. » speaks Bradley suddenly, and Y/N does not understand why it feels like everything is withdrawing themselves from around her.

She nods and follows him.

« There’s a bed left in the room I have, it’s yours. »

She nods again and when she enters the bedroom, she takes a discreet look at his bed. It’s made, some clothes are sprawled on it and laying on the floor next to the black bag who’s laying at the end of it.

« I know you didn’t take many clothes, back there, if you need something, just go through my stuff and take what you need. »

Everything he’s saying to her feels calculated and yet bored, and she doesn’t know if she’s bothering him or not, but she can’t bring herself to care right now, she just wanna take a shower.

« I’ll go take a shower. »

« Okay, I’ll be downstairs. »

« Oh, and Bradley? »

He turns to her, eyebrows high.

« Thank you. I needed that. »

He nods and offers her a discreet smile.

The shower is quick and Y/N is almost surprised when she doesn’t feel the anxiety coming back, she’s calm, and mostly drained, the night has fall on the house and some little lights are on.

The atmosphere is cosy and Y/N is surprised to see that they’re all bundled up in the couch, snuggling all together, covered in plaids.

Her hair is wet, and she’s quite sure she looks like a clown in her leggings and that big hoodie of Bradley. She’s got his big socks on her feet, and she pulls quietly a chair next to the sofa until she hears someone tutting her.

She raises her head and Natasha is motioning her to come under the plaid next to her. Y/N obeys and goes to bring her knees to her chest, making sure to covers herself entirely.

The movie starts soon after and she cannot help but risk a glance at them, they look tired, some even exhausted. Bob and Fanboy are at the other end of the couch, Coyote and Bradley have their feet sprawled on the coffee table and Jake and Natasha are next to Y/N, and she thinks she can almost see Jake’s hands on Phoenix’s thigh.

She smiles and eyes the movie again.

The plot doesn’t interest her that much, and she doesn’t even see herself falling asleep. Natasha sees it but doesn’t comment, letting her rest against the armrest, curled up in the corner.

She does warns Bradley with a little motion of her head and smiles when she sees the gaze of Bradley softening.

Payback and Fanboy are the first to go, bidding goodnight to everyone, then Natasha and Jake, leaving Bob and Bradley on the couch and Y/N, asleep in a corner.

The movie is still playing, yet, somehow, Bradley looks more fascinated by the way his socks flop on Y/N’s feet.

Bob just stares at them, how Bradley doesn’t do a single thing to approach her, he’s just there, from afar, watching over her.

« For fuck’s sake, Bradley, just do something. » speaks Bob, impatient as he disappears in the staircase.

_______________________________________________

[chernobog13]

Elle Wood Walker as Wonder Woman (1967) in the (thankfully) failed series pilot from William Dozier, the producer of the Batman TV series.

Awful is not a strong enough word to describe the five minutes of the pilot that I've seen.

[warningsine]

Beware of passion, Hester, it always leads to something ugly,” says the mother of the man that Hester is cheating on. It’s intended as snide smalltalk, yet this line foreshadows the forces that will toss her daughter-in-law around like a rag doll in a hurricane.

Rachel Weisz summons superhuman dignity to play a 1950s housewife humiliated by desire in Terence Davies’ The Deep Blue Sea. Hester leaves her marriage to kindly High Court judge, Sir William Collyer (Simon Russell Beale), drawn by the promise of sexual passion with a younger, flakier man, Freddie (Tom Hiddleston).

Freddie is a former RAF pilot who is seeking his next adventure after World War Two. The reality of a relationship could never keep his attention. Hester knows this, yet still hurls herself out of her marriage and into freefall. Her jilted, still caring husband questions her logic: “But how, in the name of reason, could you have gone on loving a man who, by your own confession, can give you nothing in return?” She responds: “Oh, but he can give me something in return, and even does, from time to time.” He asks, “What?” She says, “Himself.”

This is the story of a high-stakes sexual awakening. Weisz’s voice drops to a lower pitch when she says the word “himself”, as if accessing an orgasmic sense memory. She is self-possessed at the same time as she is lost. She owns the choice to be with Freddie, even though it seems like a kamikaze move to those, like her mother-in-law, who favour guarded enthusiasm over passion.

The Deep Blue Sea began in 1952 as a play by Terence Rattigan, who coded onto Hester the story of his secret lover of 10 years. Kenny Morgan left Rattigan for a man who mistreated him until Morgan took his own life – an act we see Hester trying and failing at the outset. Rattigan imprinted himself onto Sir William, a reasonable man bewildered by the wrecking ball of sex that smashes through his relationship bubble.

To complete the ping-pong of transference between Hester and gay storytellers named Terence, Davies’ adaptation cleaves to her perspective, empathising with the experience of an emotionally tortured women, as he has done in The House of Mirth and A Quiet Passion. He decided he wanted Weisz for his Hester after turning on the TV one sleepless night and catching her in Beeban Kidron’s period romance Swept from the Sea. What landed was “this wonderful luminosity and wonderful eyes”.

This wonderful luminosity elevates Hester’s choices beyond naivety or self-destructiveness. Those wonderful eyes watch – agog and enraptured – as for the first time in her sheltered life a man that she actually physically wants targets her with seduction. Freddie’s dialogue is cringeworthy but she is ripe for the plucking. We wince over the chasm between his cheap lines and her wholehearted responses. She is instantly and permanently available in the deepest of ways, while he fancies her in a capricious fashion. Turmoil is rendered by the vision of a woman stepping into her desires, which is powerful, yet the catalyst is a man too callow to meaningfully care, which is painful, too painful for her to grasp.

This is a melodrama. Love is the difference between life and death! But it is a distinctly English melodrama, with dialogue expressed in a mode that strains for propriety. “This is a tragedy,” says a distraught Sir William, visiting Hester after her attempted suicide. “It’s hardly Sophocles,” she responds. Weisz’s performance is attuned to the fact that when the material is so emotionally big, the performance can be small. As Freddie begins the process of leaving, she negotiates for scraps of his time without the expected hysterics. She acts out Hester’s demeaning behaviour with a calm resolve.

“I think what interested me about [Hester] was that she really, kind of completely humiliated herself. She has no pride. She doesn’t hold it together.” Weisz told Complex in 2012. “Nowadays, you get over it and your girlfriend takes you out for a drink and says, ‘Come on, move on – there’s plenty more fish in the sea.’”

The sheer abandon of Hester, her total lack of moderation or modulation, is what makes her a character for the ages – a Madame Bovary upon Knightsbridge. She is obsessed but not insane. She has found an erotic appetite and cannot imagine anyone but Freddie ever sating it. The story would not work and her character would not stand up if the audience did not see the bliss he once afforded, and so it comes early, a high watermark that acts as a counterpoint to the suffering that follows.

There are competing versions of The Deep Blue Sea in the culture, most recently a phenomenal stage play at the National Theatre starring the late, great Helen McCrory as Hester with Tom Burke as Freddie. Even hindered by Hiddleston (a wipe-clean fop without Burke’s dirty magnetism) Davies’ film has one enduring scene that nails why passionate fulfilment can seem worth any subsequent ugliness. It arrives during the opening as Hester, clad in a dressing gown all alone in a boarding house, writes Freddie a suicide note. She remembers the early days of their meeting. ‘Adagio for Strings’ by Samuel Barber plays because this moment needs to be operatic.

Davies mostly trades in the language of glances, so the one sex scene has to do a lot. Weisz and Hiddleston are so intertwined that their limbs seem to belong to each other. Their bodies are the same ivory marble, both lean with lines of musculature. The camera spins above them in a rotating bird’s-eye view, as violins scream in pleasure and pain. This union represents the “himself” that Freddie sometimes gives.

Repression makes you so gasping for sexual love that you’ll accept any deal that comes down the chute. But we witness something that Hester doesn’t. The love, desire and passion she has unlocked belong to herself, not himself. Should she live through his loss there will be – and you can take this from Rachel Weisz – plenty more fish in the deep blue sea.

[smww4ever]

“ℬ𝓁ℴ𝓃𝒹ℯ𝓈 ℋ𝒶𝓋ℯ ℳℴ𝓇ℯ ℱ𝓊𝓃”

What if Wonder Woman was blonde? Would she have had the same success and the same effect? The only live-action blonde Wonder Woman was played by Cathy Lee Crosby in a failed 1974 TV movie pilot.

#smww4ever 👱‍♀️

𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 & 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬🪴🌸

[nysocboy]

"Redeeming Dan": Church for Losers includes Tony Cavalero, a drag queen, and a porn star

Redeeming Dave was a 2012 tv pilot by Dominic Russo (one of the creators of Workaholics). Comedian Aaron Rice starred as Dave, a guy who fails at everything, so he starts a church for losers.  Tony Cavalero played his friend Josh.

Who belongs to this church for losers?  An infographic word cloud in the show's trailer tells us: a smart ass, an ex, a police officer, a drag queen, a Sunday school teacher, a stripper, a bartender, and a failure.

The pilot is not available to be streamed, but Dominic Russo brings it up during an interview about  Workaholics, and shows us two scenes

In the first, Dave and Josh discuss how the "he/she has a tiny little baby dick."  "He/She" is transphobic, of course. Then she walks by, and they are embarrassed.

"He/she" is transphobic, of course, and I'm wondering if the "drag queen" is actually a trans woman.

In the second scene, Later Josh is telling a grade school class that his friend got a hamster shoved all the way up his butt.  This is based on the homophobic urban legend that gay men like shoving rodents up there.

I can't really tell if the pilot is homophobic or transphobic based on two brief scenes, but since these were the scenes that Dominic Russo used to draw viewer interest, it seems likely that gay/trans identity was going to be a major focus.

[dearkorrafrommom]

Colorado

We just got back from a month in Colorado and it was so much fun.

You loved the Colorado Rockies baseball game. Since we went to that game, every time you see a jersey in a store, you say "baseball game." And "do that again."

We went camping in Telluride and you still LOVE camping. You like picking flowers and playing with rocks and playing in creeks. I love that you're my little nature girl.

We watched the 4th of July fireworks sitting on top of the Jeep we were driving (which you called a "jeepy jeepy"). Someone saw you and gave you red star sunglasses and a headband with red/white/blue streamers coming out of the top. You LOVED them, wore them all evening, and then wanted to sleep with them that night.

I have been listening to Taylor Swift "I can do it with a broken heart" song, and one of the lines goes, "I'm a real tough kid I can handle my shit." Well... when I sing the song to you, I don't say the word "shit"; I just stop at that part. WELLLLL one time I was singing it and you filled in the blank! :) Your dad and I laughed for so long over that.

Colorado weather was so nice, and every morning when I gave you breakfast you said, "Go outside mommy" and we would go sit outside and eat together. It was nice and breezy and we sat on the steps (you do NOT like the sun/ you had to sit in the shade) and ate breakfast. That's one thing I'm going to miss a lot now that we are back in Florida where it's too hot and buggy to go outside.

I took you to a butterfly pavilion that you LOVED. You held a tarantula (named Rosie)!!! I had to lie and say you were 3 so that you could do it but I paid 16 dollars each for us to get in, and I didn't know until after paying that you had to be 3 to do it. Anyway you liked it! You weren't scared at all! And you got a sticker that said, "I held Rosie!"

In Telluride we rode a gondola up the mountain multiple times. You loved it. You don't seem scared of anything... except maybe bison. We took a train ride in Cheyenne, Wyoming where you could feed bison, but instead of feeding them, you just threw the "cake" at them. (There were big pellets that the farmers call cake.)

You love flying/airports. You could watch planes all day long. And a pilot saw you getting off the plane and gave you a pin (wings) and two cards with planes on them. You were so cute playing with those cards. Perhaps piloting is your future career.

We saw a woman painting birds, which is two things you love (painting and birds). And later we were walking around downtown Cheyenne and I said, "Korra do you want to be a painter?" and you said, "Yes, I paint you a bird mommy." <3 That melted my heart!!!!

We are back in FL, and Nana and Papa are here. They came the day we got back. You were so excited for them to come; it makes me happy but also a little sad because we really want to leave Florida and go live somewhere more exciting (perhaps abroad), but I know that what makes you the happiest is being with your grandparents. You spent the night with them last night. They are pretty much the only people who you voluntarily go away with without crying for me. It was nice but I missed you (and slept in your bed).

I don't know if I'm doing a great job as a mom. I thought I was for a while, but now you love Sesame Street (and have meltdowns when we turn it off) and you don't eat as much as you used to (I wouldn't say you're picky, but.... you used to like asparagus and now you don't) I feel like now that you've been exposed to sugar and tv, I have failed. But it's ok, right? Everything in moderation I guess .... ugh I just want to live on a farm with no outside influence!

I also worry that you're way too attached to me. I guess that's a good thing, but well, I just worry about a lot. Parenting is constantly wondering if you are making the right decision and often, regretting the decision you made. But it's mostly a joyous experience that I am so happy I get to do with you. Since Daddy is out of work at the moment, I thought about going back to teaching.... but I would probably be so depressed not getting to spend all day with you!

[darkeraven22]

WB Wonder Woman 1975 Pilot Movie Review Part 1

Go Back To The Age Of Nazi BustingBut in a family friendly envifonment. Welcome to the friendly Seventies… On TV. You can still get tough violent sexy stuff in theaters. But this is the Silver Age of heroes! To be fair? This isn’t the first Wonder Woman movie. That honor falls upon the shoulders of the earlier Cathy Lee Crosby failed pilot movie. The one where she wore the Chinese Red track…

[kaiello]

Plotting

As our plane was mid air, it was really sunny outside while I looked out the window. I had just finished studying for an exam, when the flight attendants were coming around with snacks and refreshments.I looked over to Chris who seemed to be captured in a movie that was playing on the tv. I personally like to bring my own computer so I can watch whatever I want too and with my own headphones. While we both did our own thing I wondered what Minnesota was like, are the people nice there? I wonder how many people that live there visit the mall of America ? Or is it really only tourists? I was fascinated by this city and I'm right above staring down at the white roads. I had on my mind a plane crash that just happened in Naples Florida, it was a private jet, both engines failed. As my thoughts are racing, I feel my ears pop and a feeling like we are descending. I looked out the window and we are closer and closer to those white roads. My excitement grows, then someone yells. My heart skipped a beat, and someone else behind me gasped as loudly as possible. Next, its half of the plane that’s now yelling and gasping, something is happening and I’m too scared to look. Then a woman a few rows back says “she’s choking she’s choking, is anyone here a medical professional”. At that moment I thought we were going down, I didn’t know what to expect. As we land on the Minneapolis grounds I’m nervous, the paramedics make their way through us to the back of the jet. The Pilot says our exiting the plane will be delayed, which kinda sucks because we were gonna be late for the bus, and we were. While the little girl was okay, by the time we got to the stop area, the bus had already gone and we had to wait 45 minutes to catch the next one. Finally, we got to our destination despite waiting in the cold and we went on with our day. 

[tvpromopod]

Sci-Fi 5: The New Original Wonder Woman - November 7, 1975

It was an obvious choice to adapt #WonderWoman to TV, but two failed pilots made the task seem impossible. When "The New Original Wonder Woman" premiered in 1975 audiences may have asked if it was new or original or both. The answer on Sci-Fi 5: https://sci-fi-5.libsyn.com/the-new-original-wonder-woman-november-7-1975 Read the full article

[nashvilledreams]

My Naya, my Snixxx, my Bee. I legitimately can not imagine this world without you.

7 years ago today, she and I were together in London when we found out about Cory. We were so far away, but I was so thankful that we had each other. A week ago today we were talking about running away to Hawaii. This doesn’t make sense. And I know it probably never will.

She was so independent and strong and the idea of her not being here is something I cannot comprehend. She was the single most quick-witted person I’ve ever met, with a steel-trap memory that could recall the most forgettable conversations from a decade ago verbatim. The amount of times she would memorize all of those crazy monologues on Glee the morning of and would never ever mess up during the scene… I mean, she was clearly more talented than the rest of us. She was the most talented person I’ve ever known. There is nothing she couldn’t do and I’m furious we won’t get to see more.

I’m thankful for all the ways in which she made me a better person. She taught me how to advocate for myself and to speak up for the things and people that were important to me, always. I’m thankful for the times I grew an ab muscle from laughing so hard at something she said. I’m thankful she became like family. I’m thankful that my dad happened to have met her weeks before I did and when I got Glee, he told me to “look out for a girl named Naya because she seemed nice.” Well dad, she was nice and she became one of my favorite people ever.

If you were fortunate enough to have known her, you’ll know that her most natural talent of all was being a mother. The way that she loved her boy, it was truly Naya at her most peaceful. I’m thankful that Naya got that beautiful little boy back on that boat. I’m thankful he will have a strong family around him to protect him and tell him about his incredible mom.

I just hope more than anything that her family is given the space and time to come to terms with this. For having such tiny body, Naya had such a gigantic presence, a void that will now be felt by all of us - those of us who knew her personally and the millions of you who loved her through your TVs. I love you, Bee.

My favorite duet partner. I love you. I miss you. I don’t have words right now, just lots of feelings. Rest In Peace Angel, and know that your family will never have to worry about anything.

We started out as the closest friends and then like all new things, we went through a bit of a rocky phase. However, we stuck by each other’s side and created the most beautiful friendship built out of love and understanding. The last I had the chance to see you in person, I had left oranges outside our home for you to take. I wanted to say hi through the window but my phone didn’t ring when you called (which it never does, f*cking T-Mobile), so instead you and Josey left two succulents on our doorstep as a thank you. I planted those succulents and I look at them everyday and think of you. I still listen to your EP on repeat because from the moment I heard it, it struck me and I always wished the world knew more of your voice. You sent me over 5 dozen SnapChat videos when you and Josey woke up in the morning and I kick myself that I didn’t save one of them. You always shared recipes and I admired your love for food. We vowed to spend every Easter together, even though Covid stole this last one from us. You are and always will be the strongest and most resilient human being I know, and I vowed to carry that with me as I continue to live my life. 

You constantly taught me lessons about grief, about beauty and poise, about being strong, resilient and about not giving a fuck (but still somehow respectful). Yet, the utmost important lesson I learned most of all from you was being a consistent and loving friend. You were the first to check in, the first to ask questions, the first to listen..you cherished our friendship and I never took that for granted. 

We never took photos together because we mutually hated taking pictures...our relationship meant more than proof. I have countless pictures of our babies playing, because we shared that kind of pride and joy. So I’m showing the world a photo of our little goof balls for you, because I know that meant more than anything and they remind me of you and I. I speak to you everyday because I know you’re still with me and even though I’m feeling greedy that we don’t get more time together, I cherish every moment we had and hold it close to my heart.

There are no words and yet so many things I want to say, I don't believe I'll ever be able to articulate exactly what I feel but... Naya, you were a ⚡️ force and everyone who got to be around you knew it and felt the light and joy you exuded when you walked into a room. You shined on stage and screen and radiated with love behind closed doors. 

I was lucky enough to share so many laughs, martinis and secrets with you. I can not believe I took for granted that you'd always be here. Our friendship went in waves as life happens and we grow, so I will not look back and regret but know I love you and promise to help the legacy of your talent, humor, light and loyalty live on. 

You are so loved. You deserved the world and we will make sure Josey and your family feel that everyday. I miss you already.

She was bold. She was outrageous. She was a LOT of fun.⁣

Naya made me laugh like no one else on that set. I always said it while we were working together and I’ve maintained it ever since. Her playful, wicked sense of humor never ceased to bring a smile to my face.⁣

She played by her own rules and was in a class of her own. She had a brashness about her that I couldn’t help but be enchanted by. I also always loved her voice, and savored every chance I got to hear her sing. I think she had more talent than we would have ever been able to see.⁣

I was constantly moved by the degree to which she took care of her family, and how she looked out for her friends. She showed up for me on numerous occasions where she didn’t have to, and I was always so grateful for her friendship then, as I certainly am now.⁣

And even as I sit here, struggling to comprehend, gutted beyond description- the very thought of her cracks me up and still brings a smile to my face. That was Naya’s gift. And it's a gift that will never go away. ⁣

Rest in peace you wild, hilarious, beautiful angel.

How can you convey all your love and respect for someone in one post? How can you summarize a decade of friendship and laughter with words alone? If you were friends with Naya Rivera, you simply can’t. Her brilliance and humor were unmatched. Her beauty and talent were otherworldly. She spoke truth to power with poise and fearlessness. She could turn a bad day into a great day with a single remark. She inspired and uplifted people without even trying. Being close to her was both a badge of honor and a suit of armor. Naya was truly one of a kind, and she always will be. 💔 Sending all my love to her wonderful family and her beautiful son.

Dear Naya, 

I’m failing miserably to process this news. I always imagined old future senior moments where we would hear your infectious laughter down the hall knowing that our funny bone was in for a treat. To many people, myself included, you were the life of the party. Not only able to rock when fun was to be had after a long day but that shining friend that was always willing to listen, offer sympathy, perspective and at times, give much needed levity to any situation. 

You were a beast on the show. I admired you as I watched you nail multi page monologues that you learned moments before and pour your heart into every performance with an energy that had that snicks special written all over it. Our deep conversations about life inbetween scenes are some of my favorite moments with you. Getting to hear about your hopes and dreams for the future and with Josey’s arrival, ‘Your greatest success’ I was so happy to see your dream turn into reality. 

You deserved more. I’m so sorry but you deserved more. You gave life your all and I hope all the good that you have given to the world will be returned in abundance when you reunite with our brother in the heavenly skies. I’m so grateful for our memories. We will make sure to keep your legacy and spirit alive so Josey will grow up to know the incredible woman you were. Love you, Naya. You are already missed. Eternally. 

-HSJ

Naya and I fell into stride with such ease, she was my first friend and ally on our show. In the pilot, our characters came and went with such swiftness. Our enthusiasm brimmed with all of the unknown. We tried to grasp what the other cast members must be feeling as we were working in such separate manners. We dared to dream. What if this show worked? Wouldn’t that be something? Something was brimming, it was palpable. And thank god it worked. Naya’s magnetic talent was going to be unleashed, we just didn’t know it yet. ⁣⁣

I’ve been revisiting Naya’s performances on our show and it has brought me great joy. To work with her was a gift. There was a great deal to absorb - her work ethic, her fearlessness, her talent - supreme. Naya had a laugh that would envelop you and hold you captive. She was mesmerizing. That twinkle in her eye, her luminous smile. Naya lead with truth, humor, wit. I loved her for all of these reasons. ⁣⁣

I loved her sense of curiosity and wanderlust. I was lucky enough to be her travel partner for some of my most favorite adventures. As I write this, I’m grinning with swelling memories of a spontenaous 36 hour excursion - one might even say diversion - to Paris. With Naya, everything was possible and would often simply unfold before us, almost magically.⁣⁣

On this particular jaunt, within ten minutes of checking into our hotel, we found ourselves strolling the halls of L'École des Beaux-Arts, sipping wine from paper cups with students showcasing their latest work. It was fantastic. We were united in our commitment to discovery. And there was always a list of cleverly curated ideas in Naya’s back pocket, should we need it. ⁣⁣

I cannot make sense of this tremendous loss. I will hold onto her and these memories for the rest of time, alongside our Glee family. Please hold space for her, her family, her beautiful boy. ⁣⁣

In absolute, loving memory.

Naya The world is at such a loss and I am truly heartbroken. I still remember the day I met you. You Walked straight up to me, grabbed me by the face and drug me around until I met every single person on set, introducing me as “new booty”. You were one of the first people who made me feel like family when others saw me as an outsider. I didn’t know then that you would become my family and that’s just who you were to everyone.. A Mother, Sister, Daughter and most of all a friend. Your massive heart and bright spark is what carried our entire show, when at times we all felt like giving up. 

You always showed up for me when I needed some wisdom or was down and just needed someone to talk to. You took care of everyone around you in a way that was so warm and comforting and you sure knew how to throw a hell of a party! 

I always admired your bravery and passion to fight for what’s right even when it seemed like you were up against the world. Your spirit is contagious and you continue to make everyone you have touched a better and stronger person by knowing you. 

My favorite part of glee was getting to watch you perform and shine up close every day. You really were the pulse of that show. Anyone who was blessed enough to see and experience your raw talent knows it to be true. You’re one of the smartest and most gifted people I have ever met. There is no one like you and there never will be.

You have changed peoples lives all around the world and you continue to change mine forever. I will never forget your love and kindness. Thank you for sharing your spirit Angel.

I will miss you always. I Love you Naya

For the last 7 years the 13th of July has shattered our hearts beyond repair. There aren’t enough words to describe the pain we are feeling, we are truly heartbroken at the loss of @nayarivera .

Naya, Cory loved you so so much. He cherished your friendship more than you will ever know. From the laughs you shared, to the strength you gave him when he needed it the most. Cory truly adored you. He was in awe of your incredible talent, the way you gave everything you had to each performance; the slap in the auditorium was one of his favourite stories to share. You once said Cory was like a member of your family; you will always be a part of ours. We’ll carry you in our hearts forever. We miss you. Friends reunited for eternity.

We send all our love and strength to your beautiful boy, your family, friends and fans 💔🐻💔

[remnantoforario]

Unmerry Men AKA The Problem With Robyn Hill

I’ve been sitting on this rant for a while. I’m sure there are people who have talked this topic to death since Volume 7 ended, and did a much better job than I am about to, but I still feel the need to throw my hat in the ring (or shoot my arrow at the target given the subject matter) and say definitively and without question: that Robyn Hill is a terrible character. 

Get some snacks. This is going to be a long one. 

Let me preface this rant by saying I don’t hate Robyn HIll...in CONCEPT. That last word is very important. 

The idea behind her character is a sound one: Atlas is characterized as a country with a VERY clear disparity between the rich (Atlas)

and the poor (Mantle)

So it makes perfect sense that there would be a Robin Hood (see what I did there) type character that would bridge this gap between the two and seek to make things equal, or at least a little less lopsided. As an idea this is great, but the problem (as with most everything in RWBY) is in the execution. 

Outside of Forrest extolling her praises in the back of a cop car in Chapter 2, the first time we see Robyn is when she stops Clover, Ruby, Qrow, and Penny from reaching the Amity tower site. 

During this introduction, she tries to coerce Clover into disclosing classified government information via her Semblance, and Penny has to expose her ambush tactics. Not the best first impression.

Now in a vacuum, this scene isn’t really that bad. Thanks to (clunky) exposition, we are already aware that there is friction between the military and the Happy Huntresses. As such it makes sense that we the audience first meet Robyn as an antagonistic force against RWBY and their allies.

The thing with this though is that all four of the writers of this volume forgot to lift the perception of Robyn being an antagonist until around the final third of the volume. Objectively, there is no reason anyone outside of her own group to want to trust or follow her. 

The M,K,K, & E are trying to position Ironwood and Robyn in the roles of the Sherriff of Nottingham and Robin Hood respectively. The main problem with this is that they fail to establish Ironwood as a tyrannical threat on par with the Sherriff. 

Does he make questionable decisions? Certainly. Are his choices morally wrong? In some cases, yes. But they are more often than not written in a way where the choices he makes are OBJECTIVELY best for everyone (even if they try to frame it otherwise). 

Closing the borders, hiding the Amity plan, diverting resources to FINISH said plan, and his other tactics (while at times misguided) were done in order to protect as many people as he could from Salem and her forces. They were all calculated risks that clearly took a mental and emotional toll on him. He’s a severely broken man trying to keep whatever he has left from falling apart, but everyone is working against him (including his own allies but that’s another story). 

This brings me back to Robyn. She is hailed as the “Hometown Hero of Mantle”, but all we ever do is see her take shots at Ironwood and Jacques and talk about how much the former ISN’T helping Mantle. My question to her, her hardcore cans, and CRWBY is “What has Robyn done to help Mantle?”. RWBYJNR and various talking heads mention how Robyn is helping the people of Mantle, but because the volume (seemed) so rushed to get to Salem’s arrival, we never see her doing anything that’s not directly tied to the plot. 

She’s not working on Mantle’s wall, she’s not in the streets talking to people, handing out medical supplies, giving away food, or anything that actively helps Mantle. We don’t even see her fight Grimm in the streets until the FINAL episodes of the volume. All she and her group do is actively antagonize the military and steal (which we never see them give to the poor). For someone hailed as the town’s hero, she doesn’t seem to really be doing anything to earn that title.   

After the election night massacre, she openly declares war on Ironwood essentially and begins stealing resources needed for the Amity project, until she is ultimately stopped by Blake and Yang. 

Now in theory I have no problem with Yang and Blake telling her about the Amity plan; my main hang up about it is that Robyn has done nothing to earn this trust. 

Until this point Robyn has been getting in their way as they try to reestablish global communications, but now they suddenly feel comfortable telling this sensitive information to a complete stranger and risking a leak even when they KNOW Tyrian is in the city? Instead of telling her that, why not tell her about Tyrian instead? I’m sure she would want justice for the people he killed. 

Then she is later invited to the Council meeting (despite not being a member) and made aware of classified information that she shouldn’t know of, as well as make a complete ass of herself and show why she probably shouldn’t have won in the first place. 

This leads to her finally believing Ironwood, but eventually that gets tossed out the window at the end of the volume where her actions almost directly lead to Clover’s death.  

As she, Qrow, and Clover are transporting Tyrian back to Atlas, Ironwood’s order to arrest RWBYJNRQO is issued. Now there are three things that are very important to keep in mind here after this order is issued: 

1. Clover is clearly conflicted about following this order. 

2. Qrow is calmly trying to talk things out. 

3. Robyn is NOT under arrest. 

Let me repeat that. ROBYN IS NOT UNDER ARREST.

So as Qrow is level headedly suggesting they all talk it out, Robyn (who again is NOT under arrest) starts a fight that results in Tyrian escaping his restraints, the plane going down (after Tyrian kills the pilot and co-pilot), Robyn herself being unconscious, and Clover being ultimately being murdered. 

Now tell me after all the information is presented, why we are supposed to care for this character? What have the writers done to position her as someone we should invest in? 

A lot of her accomplishments are told to us rather than shown, and whenever we do see her onscreen she’s mostly a nuisance that makes pretty much any situation she’s in worse. Yes, I know this is just one volume and she will obviously be a central character in V8 and possibly 9, but the damage has been done. Any attempt to salvage her will just be cleaning up the fall out from V7. 

Now since I’m not one of those people that likes to complain for the sake of it, I’ll voice my opinion on how Robyn could have been written better. 

The first thing we do is distance her from the Happy Huntresses. She will still be the leader, but that information won’t be revealed until AFTER the election. It’s not really a good look for a vigilante to try and run for a public office if they are still breaking the law. That’s like Bruce Wayne running for mayor of Gotham AS Batman (though the people would likely still vote for him). 

So as far as the public (including Ironwood and RWBYJNRQO) are concerned, Robyn is a normal Mantle city official and Joanna Greenleaf is the leader of the Huntresses. For those of you who don’t remember who she is (and I don’t blame you), this is Joanna Greenleaf: 

The second thing I’m going to do is give her a more established connection to Ironwood. My idea? Former military. Robyn was once a part of the Atlas military’s intelligence and recon division because of her lie detecting semblance. When she discovers corruption within the system (lets say something having to do with Faunus, the mines, Mantle, or the SDC) she exposes it but quickly becomes disillusioned with military life and is discharged. She then begins living in Mantle and becomes their representative. We can say this happened maybe five to ten years before the series itself starts. 

She served under Ironwood and has a deep respect for him, but does not agree with his decisions as defacto head of the Council. This is what leads to the friction between them. 

Next, we change up how she and the Huntresses are introduced in V7. When RWBYJNRQO arrive in Mantle the election race has only barely begun (we’re pushing it back). We see posters for Robyn and maybe hear snippets of an interview she is giving to a news station on one of the TVs. 

When the Grimm attack, instead of RWBYJNRQO running out to help immediately, they are cut off by the Happy Huntresses who quickly get rid of the monsters. Ruby and the others wonder who they are before the Huntresses scatter when Penny and the Ace-Ops arrive. The heroes are still arrested for stealing an airship and violating Atlas airspace (as they should have), but now there is some intrigue about who that group of women were. 

Forrest still gives his exposition, but leaves out Robyn because no one knows she’s their leader. 

When the gang arrive at the school they meet with Ironwood and Winter, but hear Ironwood complaining about “that woman” after having just finished a call on his scroll. 

Fast forward to the mine mission. Instead of Jacques showing up, this is where we gets their first full appearance from Robyn. She is brought via airship to the mine (along with an exasperated Winter and Penny) and begins to badger Ironwood about ducking their meeting, stating that Mantle still hasn’t received the supplies he promised days ago. You could also have her briefly greet the kids and Qrow before going back to argue with Ironwood. 

Things proceed as normal, but inbetween some of the bigger story events we see news reports of Robyn helping people around Mantle. Feeding the poor, cheering up the miners, handing out supplies, giving speeches, and other things to show that she really is the hero of the people. Not everything has to be directly tied to the plot, you can use extra devices like tv news and the like to expand on characters. They tried this in V7 but they didn’t go far enough with in my opinion. This would inform us more on Robyn’s character without her being the direct focus as well as give the audience an actual reason to get behind the things she says. 

The main aspect of Robyn’s character that I would focus on would be her relationship with Ironwood. Nothing romantic, just how their ideologies align (or don’t) and how they view each other. They respect one another. Robyn knows Ironwood is a good man, but she doesn’t fully understand why he’s doing the things that he is doing. She doesn’t know why he’s being so secretive. She wants to give him a chance, but he keeps denying her. 

On Ironwood’s part he knows that morally Robyn is in the right and genuinely wants to help everyone in both cities, but his paranoia will not allow him to simply tell her what is really going on. Salem’s reach is far and if she was able to turn Lionheart (one of Ozpin’s closest confidants) then she can get to anyone and that is frightening. 

This is why Robyn utilizes the Happy Huntresses. They are able to move outside the law and do the things she can’t (similar to Jim Gordon and Batman). She doesn’t want to condemn Ironwood because of all the good he’s done, but people are suffering and something needs to change.

Neither are wrong, but they can’t find common ground.  

I’d position Robyn more as a fringe type of character. She doesn’t directly intervene in the plot, but you know she’s always there bidding her time until she can be more prominent.

I have more ideas for her, but this post is long enough as it is so let’s just end it here. 

TLDR; Robyn Hill is a good character concept with horrible execution. Hopefully she will be somewhat better utilized in future volumes, or kill her off at the start of V8. At this point I’m good with either. 

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.01

The Big Boom

08/05/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader     Word Count: 8,630

Masterpost     Warnings: language, dead bodies, Bucky’s lower back dimples

Prompt: Castaway AU

A/N: This is for @ruckystarnes ‘s Summer of AUs Challenge. I’ve had this idea in my head since I signed up but wasn’t sure where to start or how long to make it and I think it’s now officially been established that one shots are nearly impossible for me to do. So, here’s another mini series. Not sure how long it will be but I do have a beginning, middle, and end in mind. I hope you like it and as always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

The cabin is quiet. Save for the jumble of white noise that deafens you to everything but the subtle ding of the seatbelt sign.

There’s a comfort in the clouds that roll past your window, obscuring all the world beneath you as you slice the heavens in the mass of painted aluminum.

Alone, you booked your ticket, boarded your plane, and sat until you fell asleep. You were in the air when you woke up only a few minutes ago.

Wiping at your sleep heavy eyes, you scan the seats beside you, in front of you, and behind you. All of them are empty.

For one paralyzing moment, you remember all of the horror movies and TV shows were people disappear on planes. The Langoliers sticks out vividly and you fumble to reach up and press the call button.

You wait only a minute before a smiling stewardess with soft corn colored hair pulled up into a tight and neat bun moves towards you then politely leans in. She smells like pastries. Cinnamon and vanilla, soft bread and glaze.

“Yes, ma’am? Is everything alright?” She asks, sweet honey like voice that sounds so put on you almost scoff but it’s her job to be as customer service friendly as possible.

“I-Am I the only one on the plane?” You wonder, eyes drawn into narrow slits as you consider the woman and look for signs of possible body snatching.

What if she’s an alien?!

“Oh.” She gives you a more genuine smile, laughing lightly as she shakes her head. “No. There is a gentleman sitting a few rows up and to the left.”

You push yourself up almost frantic, craning your neck to see this mystery flier and spot a dark chestnut brown head of hair carefully pulled back, his body slumped against the window he’s sitting next to.

A sigh of relief slips through your lips.

“Why are there only two of us?” You wonder, curious as you’ve never flown on a plane with only one other passenger.

“I’m not sure.” She admits, brow kindly furrowed despite the deep tone of curiosity in her voice. “All of the seats were paid for but only you and the gentleman over there came aboard. We waited until the last possible second, but we couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Oh.” You reply lamely, your mind racing to think of reasons every other person on this flight wouldn’t show.

Had there been an accident? Something big that had prevented people from getting to the airport?

It seems highly unlikely. What other reason could there be though? Had sixty people all woken up late and missed their flight?

“Can I get you something to drink?” The woman asks.

“Oh, no. Thank you. How much longer do we have? How long was I asleep?” You wonder, staring up into her sharp green eyes.

“We’re not even halfway yet.” She smiles, the more she speaks the more she settles into genuine friendliness. “Eager to get home to someone?”

“No.” You reply lamely, sadly. The ceaseless cavity of the empty plane suddenly too quiet. “No one. You?”

She nods. “My husband and little boy will be waiting for me when we land. I’ve been in the air for almost three weeks.”

How nice.

“Sure you don’t want anything to drink?” She asks again, hand gently placed on your forearm.

It’s soft and warm. A tender gesture as she watches your expression for betrayal of thirst.

“I’m sure. Thank you.”

“Alright. We’ll be serving your dinner in about an hour. If you’d like seconds when the time comes, just let me know. We’ve got lots of paid for food that won’t get eaten.” She curls her lip, a wry smile at the free food then moves back down the aisle and disappears behind a deep blue curtain.

Fifteen minutes later she comes back. She escorts you into first class and allows you to sit wherever you’d like. You pick a window seat on the right side of the plane and quickly glance out to see if you might see land.

Instead you spot water in the breaks of the heavy clouds the plane is currently soaring through.

Water?

You look for the stewardess again, heart beating heavily as a small bit of panic creeps in. You aren’t supposed to be flying over any oceans.

Distraction from this red flag comes in the form of the stewardess moving back into the first-class cabin with the man from before trailing behind her.

He’s tall, wide, with broad shoulders, thick hips, thighs the size of telephone poles, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, dark almost black t-shirt underneath a thick black jacket. He’s wearing a black cap over his long brown hair, a plain black backpack on his back.

He keeps his head down, avoiding your gaze but when the stewardess stops beside where you’re sitting and gestures to the seat next to you, he looks up at you.

He’s wide awake, despite the slumber he’d been in. Steel blue almost ice-like eyes bright and alert. His jaw is fuzzy with a five o’clock shadow and his hands are covered with black leather gloves.

He must be cold.

The square line of his jaw, straight nose, deep brooding brow accompanied by his stunningly fit physique, set him apart from all other men you’ve ever seen.

He’s gorgeous. Handsome in a roguish kind of way. He looks familiar but you’re not sure why.

You give him a timid smile, friendly but unsure.

Stern eyes turn to the stewardess before he moves around her, through the two center seats, and sits down on the left side of the plan as far front as he can. He takes his backpack off and shoves it underneath his seat before pulling his hat down low and probably going back to sleep.

It would be foolish to feel offended by this snub because he doesn’t know you so why should he sit next to you but you do feel offended and you exchange a look of surprised upset with the stewardess who is blushing deep pink at her failed attempt to make her two charges sit together.

“I didn’t want to sit with you either.” You grumble, knowing that he probably can’t hear you over the roar of the plane.

“Sorry.” The woman says but you shake your head. “Dinner?”

“Please.” You nod and she disappears one more time.

She takes forever.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

As you’re about to rise to check on your food, the seatbelt sign above you illuminates as a ding disturbs the otherwise silence of the plane.

“The pilot has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. It looks as if we are headed into some rough weather. Please fasten your seatbelts and remain seated. Thank you.” The stewardess says, her voice tight with tension.

You quickly do as she says, glancing out of your window again as the previously gray clouds darken into a threatening purple.

The man to your left does the same, eyeing the curtain suspiciously when there’s a sudden jerk as the plane falls a foot.

You gasp, grabbing the back of the seat in front of you and the arm rest on your right. It shakes again, the pitter patter of heavy rain added to the hum of the plane. Thunder shakes it as the bloom of lightning flashes outside your window.

It all happens so quickly that your mind has little time to make sense of it all.

The plane shakes and throttles, jerking up and down, left to right. It hurts your joints and makes your teeth click as you clench your jaw in fear.

More than once your eyes wander to the man on the left side of the plane and he looks at you too.

Something in your eyes—probably the paralyzing terror you’re feeling—prompts him out of his seat.

“You okay?” He asks, voice smooth and rich.

It makes you feel better but only for a moment.

He makes his way towards you surprisingly agile and when he settles into the seat beside yours, he fastens his seatbelt again and turns to look at you, placing his right hand over your left which is currently clutching your arm rest.

“It’ll be okay.” He says. “Planes are very safe.”

Liar. Your mind reels. You nod, hoping more than believing he’s right.

The plane suddenly drops several feet, moving fast and throwing your body up out of your seat to hover for a few seconds. The stewardess on the other side of the now swaying curtain is seated in her own seat, fastened in, screaming at the top of her lungs.

This isn’t normal!

The man beside you wraps his right arm around your shoulders and helps to hold you steady, but the two of you are being pulled and jerked in every direction as the plane continues to shake and tumble.

“We’ll be okay.” He nearly shouts beside your ear, but you barely hear him over the roaring of the plane as it suddenly shoots forward, angling downwards as it starts to plummet.

The lights begin to flicker and then completely shut off making the lightning storm outside the only source of illumination.

You reach over and fist the man’s jacket, clinging like a child as the plane loses power.

There’s a sudden explosion behind you to your left and you feel the sudden rush and pull of powerful air, heat, flame…fire? In the air?

You huff in panic, breathing fast and shallow as the cabin pressure changes and your head begins to feel dizzy. Like a swirling vortex you’re pulled deeper into darkness as the man beside you pulls you closer.

There’s a loud click and safety masks fall from the ceiling. You’re too terrified to reach for one and instead look up at the handsome man.

There are worse ways to die than staring at the face of a beautiful stranger. He also meets your gaze and frowns before reaching up to grab a mask.

He ignores protocol and begins to put it on you, but you black out just as the thick yellow cup closes around your mouth.

The tremulous call of seagulls pull you from oblivion. You aren’t ready to wake up and yet consciousness comes upon you anyway.

Clinging, wet heat chokes you. It weighs your body down, suffocating your lungs into a gasping breath. You’re also wet. Clothes heavy and damp like you’d been swimming in your clothes.

Something hisses and your mind sounds a warning.

Snake!

You scream, sit up, and search for the threat.

It hurts to look around. It’s bright and you blink against the light of day.

The sun almost seems to shine straight down on you, though you don’t see the warm yellow of summer. Instead the light is filtered. Bright but darkened by layers and layers of cloud cover.

“Hey! Wake-Finally. Hey, get up.” That previously soothing voice says.

You turn in search of it as your memory comes flooding back.

You’d been on a plane. Nearly alone. It had started to rain. The plane had begun to shake and then fall.

As you look around, you see an endless white sand beach. It extends to your left. To your right. Curving around as if it extends out to the ocean before you, teal blue waters made whiter by the black storm clouds that paint the horizon.

“Get up.” The voice says again, and you turn around to look behind you.

He’s there, sans jacket, dark gray shirt clinging to his toned torso as he lugs what looks like a five-foot section of the plane you’d just been on. It’s cut and torn as if someone had taken a saw to it but more wild and without the precision of a defined man-made cut.

You see two windows and several seats still attached to the cracked floor.

Had the plane actually crashed?!

“Grab those carts.” The man tells you, gesturing with his chin at two silver food carts to your left as he disappears into a split in the dense tropical green.

Palms line the edge, rising high and then twisting and bending in wild angles. Huge ferns litter the bases, emerald conifers fill in the gaps. You can see pretty magenta, white, and yellow flowers throughout, and the occasional dry brush. All of them swaying dangerously in the chilling air of the coming storm.

You’re not quite sure why you listen but you crawl onto your knees then slowly get to your feet, swaying from side to side for a moment before you find your footing and trudge through the wet sand towards the carts.

It takes all your strength to pull just one up along the beach towards the tree line. You nearly make it, giving your cart one last grunting pull before you fall onto your bottom, hands slipping from the handle you’d been holding. The man emerges, hustling down to the other cart and lifting it up onto his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

He sighs when he sees you sitting, gaping with your mouth open at his display of strength.

“Move.” He shoves your hands away, nudges you out from in front of the cart with his knee, then takes hold of it and drags it the rest of the way through the trees.

You’re slightly affronted by the pushing, but you get to your feet and in stunned silence, take another look around you.

Where’s the rest of the plane? Is all that’s left the bit you’d seen the man carrying? What about the pilots and the stewardess?

Her husband will be waiting. Her little boy.

“Hey.” The man says again, startling you into a small jump as he pulls your attention back towards the trees. “Come on, unless you wanna try your chances out here when the hurricane hits?”

“H-hurricane?” You squeak, but he doesn’t wait for you and heads into the trees.

Fear pulls you after him. Stumbling as you race to catch up to him, you turn your eyes to the floor of the tropical jungle to move faster.

You look up to find him again and see nothing but black as you crash into his chest.

You gasp, hands reaching out to keep yourself upright. He grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him so that you can find your footing.

“Keep up.” He orders, then releases you to follow him.

“Wait.” You complain, he’s moving too fast.

Your floor length navy floral summer dress seems like a silly travelling outfit choice now, and you hike up your skirt to keep from tripping over it. Though, you’re thankful for the thin racerback spaghetti straps. This heat is unbearable.

Even with that, it takes all your strength and energy to keep up with him. You also realize that you’ll have to make a choice. Keep up and fall or stay upright and fall behind.

You fall twice.

The second time, you stab your hand with a sharp black rock, hidden beneath the large serrated leaf of a fern, also scraping your knees through your dress on solid ground.

Your hand bleeds and you wince, scurrying back onto your feet before you lose him.

For the second time you see black and crash into his chest.

“Ow.” You gasp, accidentally stepping on his foot but your weight seems to mean nothing as you scramble backwards off it.

He reaches for your wrist again, this time angling your right hand up to look at the fresh wound on your palm.

“If you get hurt, you need to say something.” He chastises you then bends down, takes hold of the bottom of your dress and rips a long piece of the thick blended fabric.

“Hey!” You complain, surprised by his grabbing your skirt.

Frowning at your protest, he shoots you a small glare but then wraps your hand up with the strip of fabric.

“Hold that tight.” He instructs and suddenly you’re very aware of the lack of carts.

“Where are the carts?” You wonder, looking around for what must be the food and drinks.

“I already dropped them off.” He says, which is impossible.

“How-?”

“Come on.” He says, sliding his right hand down into your left.

He curls his fingers around it, holding tight as he sets off again, moving slower as he pulls you along.

You’re silent the rest of the way, nervously glancing around at the trees. Wondering if maybe you should be more worried about wandering into the jungle with a strange man.

The walk from the beach takes about five minutes when the trees suddenly part to a small clearing. The torn-up bit of the fuselage that you’d seen him carrying into the trees is set up against two trees. Most of the curve is still there and he’s angled it so that it can almost shield from all directions but most especially the top.

The two carts are indeed already here. Pressed against the last exposed side of his makeshift shelter to cover it from all sides but one. The end, to be used—you assume—as the entrance and exit. The windows are angled so that they provide sight straight up to the sky.

“Get in there and get one of the bottles of Vodka and clean your hand. In my backpack you’ll find some bandages. Wrap it up.” He points at the fuselage and lets your hand go.

“Where are you going?” You gasp, turning to look at him as he moves back towards the beach.

“I saw some bits of the plane we might be able to use to make some tools. We have maybe two or three hours tops before that storm hits and we’ll need something for when we go to the bathroom.” He’s thinking so practically.

He’s sprung into action so quickly despite the swaying trees, the air whipping against your bodies, or the strange cracks and animal cries coming from the jungle around you. You’re still wondering what happened to the stewardess and the pilots.

Are they also somewhere around the jungle? Is this an island? It must be.

He turns to leave again, and panic drives you towards him. You reach down and take hold of his left arm. Having been expecting warmth, you’re slightly stunned when you feel cool metal. You turn your gaze down to it, noticing for the first time the sleek black bionic arm.

How you hadn’t noticed it before when he’d wrapped up your hand you don’t know but now you can see it. All the way up to the bulging metal bicep.

You’re thrown for all of a split second before your eyes are blazing into his, “Please don’t go.”

He looks at you, taking in your scared expression then pulls his arm from your grasp but only so that he can take your right hand, holding it more gently as your cut is there on your palm.

“You’ve been so brave until now.” He observes. “I need you to stay that way.”

“What happened?” You ask, desperate for answers.

“I don’t know. The storm blew us off course, but the explosion is why we went down.” He explains.

“Explosion?!” You cry, remembering the big boom behind you right before you’d passed out.

“We can talk about this later. Right now, I need you to be brave for me again. Can you do that? I have to go get what we need before the storm hits.” His reasonable tone is what prompts you to nod.

He looks at your wrist and points at one of the black hair ties you always carry there.

“Can I borrow one of those?” He asks.

You pull your hand from his grip and peel off the first one and hold it out to him.

“Get inside the fuselage. I’ll be back in a bit.” He tells you as he quickly sweeps his hair up into a high bun.

“You’ll come right back?” You ask, so afraid of being alone here where no one will know to find you.

“I’ll come right back.” He promises, then moves to head out again.

“What’s your name?” You ask him, hoping that maybe if you know his name, you’ll feel more comforted that he’ll return.

“James.” He tells you. “James Buchanan Barnes. But everyone calls me Bucky. What’s yours?”

“Bucky…” You repeat the name quietly, clinging to the way it tastes as you speak it. “Me? I-I’m Y/N.”

“I’ll be back, Y/N. Get inside.”

You nod and finally obey, moving to the entrance then drop to your knees to crawl in. The space isn’t small by any means, but it is low and close to the ground. You can sit up straight inside with plenty of space overhead but neither of you will be able to stand inside.

When you turn around to look outside, Bucky’s gone.

The hurricane lasts three days.

Bucky keeps you in the shelter as the storm rages overhead. You’re absolutely terrified. The tempest tears trees up by their roots and you tremble with fear as you hear the distinctive creak and crack of large thick trunks being torn apart.

When it passes, Bucky’s survival instinct truly kicks in filling him with a relentless drive.

He takes you down to the beach, hand in hand, slowly waiting for you to step over the mish mash of foliage and jungle debris.

It’s hotter than ever, even more so after such a big storm, and you have to stop several times to catch your breath.

“You okay?” He asks, waiting patiently despite the energy you can see him nearly levitating with to begin running around doing his own thing.

You’re in his way but he’s trying not to let you see it.

“Yes.” You gasp, skin dewy and sticky from the compressing wet air that labors your lungs.

He releases your hand.

“Sit.” He orders and you gratefully do as he says, finding a small fallen tree to perch yourself on.

He gives your dress a glance then moves towards you and with that sleek bionic arm of his, he tears at your dress to make it shorter.

“Hey.” You reply, startled.

He rolls his eyes at you, frowning at you with a look of exasperation, full pink lips puckered with his disapproval.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s just in the way.” He quips, then holds out the excess fabric and begins to tear strips for what you assume is makeshift bandages.

He pulls his backpack—it’s surprisingly still intact after the plane crash—around and stuffs the fabric in before giving you another glance.

You flinch as he reaches out, tracing with his right thumb the length of your lower lip. You can feel the pull of his heated skin against the chapped mess of your lips.

Once more he delves into the black abyss of his bag and pulls out a large bottle of water.

You know now that it’s filled from a small flowing stream close to the fuselage, and the only reason he’d chosen that particular spot for the shelter is because of the close proximity to that wide stream of fresh water.

“Here. Don’t drink too much or you’ll make yourself sick.” He instructs.

“How does someone get sick from drinking too much water?” You ask, slightly irritated but you take the bottle and begin to guzzle it down.

“Don’t-” He sighs, “Ugh, whatever. Make yourself sick.”

He gets to his feet and offers you his hand again. With a quarter of the water gone, you rise wincing at the pain in your ankles and the soles of your feet but happy with the slosh of liquid in your belly.

Your feet burn and ache as you put your weight on them. Your attempts not to wince fail and Bucky looks down at them.

Self-conscious, you shift uncomfortably trying to hide your sandal covered feet underneath the green ferns that cover the ground.

“Come on.” He pulls you along again, water bottle sloshing in your free arm as he pulls you slightly faster but still slow enough that you can maintain your balance.

As the beach comes into view, the dark skyline in the horizon seems to be fading, turning more blue than gray.

The water shines like turquoise jewels, bright and pretty. This beach, with its white sands, curving palms, and beautiful clear waters is the very definition of paradise.

A dream destination for any vacation seeker. And yet, you hate it. You’re stuck here. No modern amenities. No escape. Just Bucky.

He releases your hand. He’s already talking, pointing down the long length of the beach to your left and then your right but you only hear a buzz in your ear instead of the words that he speaks.

You stumble forward, staring out at a section of shallows about fifty feet out into the water where the cockpit juts out, nose in the air, windows somehow still unbroken. About twenty feet in further, the section of the plane you’d been sitting in sits halfway submerged, torn apart from the front during the crash.

“Y/N!” Bucky nearly shouts, two feet in front of you, shoving himself into your line of sight.

You tear your eyes away from the front of the plane and search his gaze for the fear that you’re feeling, the hopelessness.

“What?” You ask, voice choked.

“I need you to walk the beach, look for anything that might have washed ashore that we can use.”

“The black box?” You ask, stepping towards him. “Did you find the black box?”

Bucky breathes in slowly, watching your composure fall apart.

“It was destroyed in the storm.” He explains. “The first one. The stewardess and the pilot had been going on about how it was malfunctioning before we even began to feel turbulence.”

“H-How do you even know that?” You demand, desperate for him to be wrong.

The humid island breeze whips your hair, somehow never drying your skin despite the constant flow.

“I have really good hearing.” His mouth is set in a tight disapproving line.

“But they’ll know where we are, right? They’ll just search the flight route.” You bargain.

“We…” He hesitates.

“What?” You demand, moving closer again, stopping right in front of him, chin lifted to stare up into his shifting blue eyes.

He searches yours too, looking for something. Sanity maybe.

“We were off course for a while. About two hours, I think. I’m not sure. I really was asleep before the stewardess moved us to first class, but we weren’t on the right flight plan.” He explains and all hope seems to fade.

You very nearly lose it right then and there, but Bucky’s hands come up to rest around your biceps.

“I need you to keep it together, Y/N. I need you.” He says, deep voice smooth and calm.

He needs me?

The words fill you with an odd sense of calm. There’s a whisper of truth in them and you’re sure he does need you but it’s not for survival. Not in the sense that you need him. How long would you have lasted without him?

A few hours that first day? The hurricane would have hit, and you would have probably died.

“Can you do that?” He asks, voice careful and gentle despite that same hum from before that he’s vibrating with to get started.

His patience is wearing thin and you can see his irritation returning.

“Yes.” You whisper, nodding small.

“Good.” He tells you, then pushes you back, forcing your knees to buckle.

He shoves you back until you’re sitting on the hot fine grains of sand.

“Wait here.”

As he moves to turn, you reach out and grab his metal hand, clinging to it tightly as your fear returns.

“Where are you going?” He ask, desperate.

Bucky looks down at your hands around his arm, a strange look of confusion in those dazzling blues. His five o’clock shadow has turned into a full-on scruff, hiding the chiseled square of his jaw, the small dimple on his chin.

His gray t-shirt clings to his torso still, the humidity making him sweat but he’s somehow also not as dewy as you are. His skin a bit drier. Not as shiny.

“I’m just going to swim out to the cockpit and the front of the plane where we were sitting. Your carry-on was on there, right? You moved it when we moved?” He asks, checking but he seems to already know.

“Yes.” You nod.

“Did you have shoes in there? Better shoes?” He eyes your sandals again and you shift your feet, once again self-conscious.

You think about the other two pairs of strappy sandals you’d had packed away in your checked luggage but yes, in your carry-on there was a pair of sneakers.

You nod, staring out at the water as it laps at the crashed nose of the plane.

“The pilots? The stewardess? Did you find them?” You ask, worried, your mind flashing with the kind smile and shining green eyes of the kind woman who’d set you at ease on the plane.

Her husband…her son.

Bucky takes a deep breath and squats down in front of you.

“I buried the stewardess down that way.” He indicates the beach to your left with his chin, eyes never leaving yours.

Sadness overwhelms you at the thought of her family, missing her, worried, not knowing that she’s already dead. They’ll search for her.

You look in the direction he indicates, eyes watering at the thought of her now motherless son.

“She was married.” You gasp, not realizing that you’re crying just yet.

“I know.” Bucky says, softly. Gently. Kindly. You look at him and search his now blurry face.

With a hard swallow, you tighten your hold on his hand.

“The pilots?” You ask, scared to know, desperate to find out.

Bucky shakes his head. “I didn’t find anyone else. They might have gotten out before the plane went down. I blacked out shortly after you did and when I came to the cockpit was gone. I just barely got us out in time.”

So, Bucky saved you?

You are already highly aware that you’re still alive because of him but that initial plunge into the sea while the plane was careening out of the sky is the reason you’re still alive.

“H-How did we survive the fall?” You ask him, absolutely baffled.

“I’m stronger than I look.” He replies, a small subtle curve to his lips.

He looks pretty strong…

“Y/N, this is what I wanna do. I want to get you some proper shoes. I need to get as much supplies out of the front of the plane, electrical equipment too in case I can build some sort of beacon so that maybe someone might be able to find us.

“I want to get a nice big signal fire built here on the beach to keep lit in case a plane passes overhead or a boat out at sea comes close enough to see it. I wanna build us a proper shelter in the spot with the fuselage. Up off the ground so that when the inevitable wild animal comes around, you’re not on the ground waiting to be sniffed, gored, or bitten.

“I have a lot of work to do.” He finishes.

Everything he’s said sounds like brilliant ideas. Perfection, really, and your heart begins to swell. His words indicate an innate worry for you.

“Why did you save me, Bucky? In the plane? Before the explosion behind us when the plane had just started to shake, why?” You ask, searching his patient expression for truth.

“I-I don’t know, you just looked so scared.” He admits. “I know what that feels like.”

Bucky? Scared?

Questions flood your mind. Questions that you’re suddenly very eager to have answered.

Who is Bucky? Where was he going? What does he do for a living? He does kinda look familiar but only like a face you’d once seen in a dream. What would he have to be scared of? Where did he get the bionic arm? How did he lose his original one? How old is he? Does he have family waiting for him? A girlfriend? Boyfriend? A wife? Husband? Kids?

“Y/N?” He probes, sliding his warm metal thumb across the back of your hand, caressing the skin.

“Yes?”

“I kinda need my hand back to get all of that stuff started.” He confesses and with a surprised gasp you let his hand go.

“Oh, right.” You curl your own into fists, laying them on your lap while ignoring the stretch of the scabbing skin on your palm.

Bucky had already checked it this morning.

“Wait for me here, okay?” He asks, cautious with you.

You hate to see him go. The past four days on the island—three trapped in a small confined space with him—have been spent with Bucky at almost every moment.

He must also not like leaving you, or so you hope, because he turns to look back at you as he walks to the water.

He stops at the edge, just beyond the reach of the low-tide, and finally turns away from you to pull his t-shirt over his head.

You shouldn’t be thinking it. You should be focused on the realities of your situation. The dangers, the precautions you need to take. You should be making lists in your head of things to do for survival, to keep yourself alive on this island but instead you trace the exposed length of Bucky’s sculpted torso.

The muscles on his back flex and stretch against taut slightly pale white skin. God, I hope he’s single. You think wildly. And at the very least bi.

Wherever he’d been before he was on the plane, it had not been sunny. Definitely not a tropical island. The dimples on his lower back draw your focus and your heartbeat quickens as he suddenly begins to step out of his jeans.

You blow a soft rush of air through your chapped lips, reaching beside you blindly for the water bottle Bucky had given you.

With a quick gulp, you watch him wade into the glimmering ocean water, your eyes appreciating the ripples of his biceps, both metal and flesh.

Maybe it won’t be so bad being stuck on an island with Bucky?

Fuck Y/N. Get a grip. What are you thinking?

*****

Bucky lugs your carry-on up onto the shore, tossing it with ease down beside you as he pulls his now clinging briefs up a little higher on his hips.

He tries not to think about how exposed he is to you or anything else that doesn’t have to do with his and your survival.

He’s got one goal here. To get you both off this island in one piece.

Running his hand back along his wet hair, he smooths it, your hair tie wrapped securely around his wrist for when he’ll need it again.

“I’ll be back.” He tells you, watching you struggle to pull the bag closer.

His words pull that terrified stare of yours back to him, that inescapable look of need that had pulled him across the plane to you in the first place shining up at him from your battered, chapped, sun-burnt face.

You burn so quickly. He’ll need to find you some aloe in case it gets worse. Your skin is already cooked despite the short time the two of you have spent out in the sun.

Today it’s shining down brightly. Maybe he should have put you in the shade of a palm?

“Where are you going?” You ask him, your fear drawing him close to you.

You tilt your head back, stare up at his face.

He finds your helplessness annoying…but also refreshing. He likes feeling like this. Needed. Wanted. And he’s not blind. He can see the way your eyes roam over his body.

It’s nice to know he’s still got that to him too. He’s still human. Whatever it is that’s left of him. He still somehow has something to offer.

“Back into the cockpit.” He’s not sure that telling you why will really help or if it will make you cry again like with the stewardess.

He’s still recovering from the way that had made him feel. He’s not sure he can take feeling like that again so soon. He’s not even entirely sure what it had been.

It had definitely felt bad to watch you cry but he’s unsure of where it stems from. Is it discomfort with your vulnerability? Disgust at your weakness?

The Winter Soldier in him—the memory of his thought process that is very nearly gone—see it as such. Crying over a dead body? Useless. It helps no one. It provides nothing.

Bucky knows that’s not true. Grieving can be cathartic. He’s grieved before. Very recently he grieved over his time lost as the Winter Soldier. He grieved the loss of his best friend to old age.

Steve had made his choices. He’d lived his life. Now it’s time for Bucky to live his own.

Of course, crash landing on a deserted island had not been what he’d had in mind. Would Sam already be looking for him? Or…maybe he thinks Bucky ran off again?

“Why?” You plead, eager to keep him close.

His chest warms at the thought that you want him near. The fact that you’re not afraid of him, of his arm, is reassuring. He likes it. He likes not being scary.

This island is scary for you. Being stranded here, is scary for you.

“I found one of the pilots.” He admits, waiting for the words to register with you.

“Dead?” You ask, voice cracking.

“Yeah.”

“Wh-what are you going to do?” You ask him, pretty eyes searching his own stern expression.

He has to remind himself to be softer with you. You’re not like his friends or associates. You’re soft. Civilian. Gentility is what you need.

“Pull him out. Bury him next to the stewardess.” He tells you, and watches as your lower lip shakes.

You let him go and he makes quick work of the body. He doesn’t pull the pilot over to you and instead heads straight for the spot he’d buried the stewardess just next to the tree line where the sand shifts into soil.

It doesn’t take you long to catch up, but he tries his best to keep you from seeing the swollen, waterlogged body of the pilot. Dead eyes open to the world, though they no longer see.

You’re crying again, wearing your sneakers, kneeling a few feet away.

He doesn’t like the weight in his chest that your crying brings. He frowns, annoyed again.

It takes him half an hour to dig the grave and another half hour to bury the pilot.

He’d been the older of the two with graying black hair and deep umber skin, made pale and gray by the lack of life.

“The other pilot?” You ask him, turning your sorrowful gaze back on him and he’d prefer the needy one.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head, tired of burying people.

“Bucky?” His name falls timid from your lips, unsure.

As he turns to you, he sees you holding out his pants.

“We’re gonna make it, right? I don’t know anything about surviving in a jungle. I don’t-don’t know how to help you.” You confess.

The disappointment in your voice is telling. You’re blaming yourself for not being more knowledgeable about surviving in the wild?

Cute…and understandable.

“Just do what I ask.” He orders, taking his pants from your hold gently then slipping them on, grateful for the coverage.

You give him his t-shirt but instead of putting it on he shoves it into his backpack. It would be smarter to wear it while he works but he’s not a regular human and he’ll be fine without it.

He doesn’t want to get it all dirty and sweaty as he does what he needs to do.

“Scour the beach.” You say, looking down past the graves towards the curve of white sand, jewel waters lapping at the shore.

“Yeah. Don’t go too close to the water.” Bucky instructs, fearful suddenly. “The water is in low-tide right now, but it’ll rise.”

What if you get too close? What if you get swept out to sea and you drown?

Fear like this Bucky has never felt. The charge he’s taken in ensuring your safety over the past four days is suddenly made clear. He cares whether you live or die, despite the denial he’s been forcing on himself.

Telling himself that he’s only trying to be nice isn’t working anymore. The thought of you walking away from him, being out of sight where he can’t keep a constant careful watch on you terrifies him and he can understand the look that you give him now every time he walks away from you.

“Maybe…” He begins, staring across the endless beach. “Maybe we should just wait to scour the beach together?”

“Why?” You ask, rising to your feet, planting your carry-on in the ground more securely.

“It might be dangerous.” He realizes.

“But you have things to do.” You tell him. “It’s just walking across the beach, Bucky. I can do at least that much. Especially now that I have my shoes.”

You’re taking offense with him. Does it sound like he doesn’t trust you to do such a menial task? He very nearly doesn’t but it’s not for the reasons you might be thinking.

You’ve proven you can take instruction, despite how clumsy you seem to be in this terrain. His lack of trust is in your ability to stay safe.

Since he’s known you, you’ve passed out, nearly drowned—though you still don’t know about that and he’s not sure he’s going to ever tell you—fallen and cut your hand, you’re dehydrated, you’re not eating as much as you need to, you’re scaring him.

Can he keep you alive? He must.

Reluctantly he nods. “Fine, but do me a favor and if anything even remotely scares you, scream for me.”

“How are you going to hear me?” You ask him, confused.

You don’t know he’s a Super Soldier. You seriously don’t know who he is, and he likes that more than he should.

“I’ll hear you.” He assures you. “Promise me, Y/N.”

“I promise.” You relent and then head down along the beach with heavy, clearly pained steps.

Your body must be aching, adjusting to the environment in harsh ways.

You’re so soft and fragile. He watches you until you’re small and his need to build you a proper shelter becomes overwhelming.

First things first; fire.

 *****

You walk for hours. You stop only to take drinks of your water bottle and turn over what looks like something that might be useful.

You find small items, cups and seat cushions. A few wet blankets. A metal box shut so tight you can’t open it. Whatever is inside weighs a bit. A first aid kit. Two more small bags—carry ons that probably belonged to the pilots or the stewardess.

You pile everything on top of the bags, struggling to pull them back towards the section of beach you’d left Bucky on.

Above you, the sky is fire. Blazing red and orange as the sun begins to set. It makes the island cooler, almost cold compared to the higher temperatures of the day.

A large almost five-foot-high bonfire blazes in the distance but Bucky’s nowhere to be seen.

As you grow closer, the sky above you deepens to a bruised black, scattered with a shock of white stars as the horizon fades to pink and yellow.

“Bucky?” You call out, huffing and puffing as you pull the two bags to a stop.

You’ve had to stop and pick up the items you kept dropping and you’re exhausted.

Collapsing beside them, you suddenly remember your own carry on back by the makeshift graveyard.

You groan, fall onto your back, and stare back towards the spot, upside down.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice falls on you like a security blanket.

You’ve been with him non-stop since you arrived that at first it had been bliss to be alone. Silence, where no one is giving you orders or frowning down at your inability to keep up, had been nice.

As you’d walked further and further away from him, your fear began to grow, and you stole quick tense glances at the dense tree line. What monsters lurk inside? How will you die?

By the time you turned to head back, you were missing Bucky desperately.

You push yourself up, smiling at him, so giddy to see him it’s stupid.

He struts towards you, clean and bathed, wearing a tight white t-shirt, the same blue jeans, munching on something that looks like mango.

I hate him.

“What’d you find?” He asks, moving to look at your haul. “These cushions will work nice for sleeping on. We can put these together with the ones we have in the fuselage. We’ll have to share.”

He slurps up the sweet nectar of his mango, making your stomach growl and your mouth water.

With amused blue eyes, he looks at you and then huffs a very small laugh.

“Hungry?” He asks, then holds out the mango for you to take.

You grab it, shove it into your mouth and nearly moan around it as the juice hits your tongue turning bitter salt into sweet candy.

“Easy. We still have the rest of the airplane food back at camp. There’s plenty of food to stuff your face with. We need to finish that within the next three days. It’ll go bad by then.” Bucky says, grabbing the two bags in one hand, the first aid kit and the metal box in the other, leaving you with the cushions you’d found.

“Thanks. Wait, my bag.” You gasp, getting to your feet to follow him.

“I already took it back to camp.” He moves towards the trees and you follow.

You reach the small split that he’d first led you down, the one you’d stumbled and fallen over, cutting your hand. Bucky keeps walking but you stop, gaping at him then down at the ground and the surrounding trees.

“How-?” You begin but you’re so emotional, you might just cry again.

“I can’t have you tripping every time we need to come down here and we’re going to have to keep coming back to the beach.” He explains, but with no patience to let you have this moment, he walks on. “Come on. It’s getting dark.”

Bucky seems to have spent the day clearing a path about three feet wide. Rocks and boulders that had been in the way have been shoved aside, the green ferns that had covered the ground have been pulled up. Thrown aside too, the earth dug up so that a single dark path leads from the beach and as you follow him, all the way back to camp.

“Bucky…” You whisper, stunned and appreciative.

Then your eyes fall on camp. The fuselage has been lifted onto a platform built with the fallen trees from the storm. It looks very temporary but it much better than anything you could have done.

“Saved some time on the platform by using the tress that had already fallen.” Bucky explains. “At least this way we won’t be sleep on the ground. At least until I can get a better shelter built. Your bag’s inside. Put those cushions next to the other ones.”

“Do we need a better shelter?” You ask him, desperate to keep your roots on this island shallow.

You’re no Gilligan. You’re not planning on living here.

“Just in case. We don’t know how long we’ll be here. Better safe than sorry.” He makes sense.

You have to crawl up the two-foot-high gap from floor to platform since there is no ramp but you’re so grateful for the elevation that you don’t complain. Why would you?

A cleared-out path to make walking to and from the beach easier for you. An elevated shelter so that no animals will easily reach either of you. Cushions gathered and lined up to make up a narrow makeshift bed.

There’s a roaring fire a few feet in front of the now elevated fuselage, a small metal panel placed over the open flame with two plastic plates full of airplane steak and white rice, a side of mushy carrots and green beans on top. There’s two pale rolls of bread also warming up beside the plates.

Bucky has indeed been busy.

You do as he says, making the bed slightly bigger and it actually looks like it might really be big enough for two now. Still small. Tight. You’ll have to sleep right beside each other.

“Grab a change of clothes.” He says, and you do as he instructs, grabbing a new pair of underwear, a pair of jeans, and a plain white t-shirt from your carry on, subconsciously thinking about his own white t-shirt.

You meet him by the fire.

“Ready?”

“Where are we going?” You wonder.

“Follow me.”

He leads you around a small thicket of trees towards the spot you know the fast-flowing freshwater stream is.

When he stops beside it, your eyes are drawn to the four-foot-deep hole disrupting the flow of the water. The hole is lined with large shining green leaves, made dark by the fading sunlight. You can see clearly enough however to understand that Bucky has built you both a tub of sorts.

The water flows in, fills the tub, and then continues to flow down along the stream keeping the water moving.

“Bucky…” You gasp, once again stunned by the work he’s put in, in one fucking day!

“I’ll make it better over time. The leaves will have to be changed in a few days at least until I can find something that’ll last a while longer. I’ll see if I can find some plastic or tarp. The back of the plane is still missing. There might be something in there.” He explains. “Will you be okay in the dark?”

There’s still enough sunset light that if you bathe quickly you can get back to the campfire before it’s completely dark.

“Yes.” You smile, the first since you crashed here. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky smiles back at you, wide, pearly whites on full display. He’s even more handsome than you realized, and you already knew how good looking this man is.

“Good. I’ll go finish with dinner. Hurry back.” He says, then turns to head back.

“Bucky,” You call, eager to thank him.

“Yeah?” He turns to you, still smiling lightly.

You can’t help yourself. You move towards him, the pull of safety and security overwhelmingly seductive.

With a push onto your toes, you press a quick soft peck to his bearded cheek. The dry, cracking skin of your lips must feel like a scorched desert against the somehow soft flush of his skin.

He doesn’t pull back though, and he doesn’t complain. He lets you hold that kiss for two seconds before you fall back onto your feet to smile up at him.

“Thank you. For everything….so far.” This journey is just getting started and you’ve been very little help.

“Go on.” He says, stern but the warm glow of his eyes is kind. “It’s getting dark.”

He leaves you there, feeling protected. Secure. And maybe slightly less fearful about the journey that you and Bucky have found yourself forced on.

With Bucky, maybe it is possible to get through this.

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[wellward]

i wasn’t going to get sucked into talking about this but my opinion, that the lilith/adam “romance” was really not deep in any way (which isn’t to say that it had no emotional meaning to her--just that it wasn’t love, nor did it have any foundation of honesty, respect, trust etc.), and that her adopting him as a disguise when she comes to mary’s cottage really shows that, because it’s a very callous way both to use the man she supposedly cared so much about, and to manipulate mary--that stands. i also truly believe that mary would have sheltered lilith if lilith were honest with her, that the disguise was unnecessary. but lilith knew this would be a success because it’s what she did in the pilot: she disguised herself, made herself vulnerable to mary, and leaned on mary’s willingness to be kind and show tenderness toward a vulnerable person to get what she wanted. this time, luckily, that wasn’t mary’s death (or in my canon, her possession).

i also do NOT think in any way--both in the case of lilith’s original disguise, in the pilot, nor in the case of this one, in pt 3--that mary is just some gullible dupe. in the context of the show, she is a woman in far over her head, being manipulated by quite literally cosmic forces she is unprepared to face or withstand. none of the “heroes” who know in no uncertain terms about what she’s experienced and how it has affected her are doing anything to explain the situation or help her in any way. she’s trying to get by as best she can, and make sense of what’s happened to her, but everywhere she turns she becomes more confused and more upset. in this context, lilith appearing to her as adam, and her accepting him into the house, makes sense--he’s familiar, she loves him, she was so desperately afraid he was dead--but i think it’s also important to notice that she doesn’t immediately fall into his arms.

i’ve lightened this screencap to make it more visible that as lilith, disguised as adam, comes into the house, mary backs away from her. she doesn’t leap into lilith’s arms, hug her, kiss her, or do anything but be confused, afraid, and wary. even as her face starts to crumple and she’s on the verge of tears, she stays away from lilith:

lilith is the one who enters the cottage, WITHOUT invitation, and then after this moment comes closer to mary, grabs her, and draws her further inside. lilith asks her for help, and mary, once again, does not come closer, does not touch her, and instead asks, “where have you been? who’s after you?”

it isn’t until lilith says to her, in precisely this many words, “please, please, i am at your mercy. if you love me, help me” that mary folds. could literally any person just... stay distant if one of their loved ones spoke to them in those terms? and is it any wonder that all of these experiences just prod her closer and closer to a breakdown? she’s being very callously, very cruelly manipulated by somebody who is hell-bent on self-preservation and has never shown any interest in or respect for mary’s well-being. lilith has never treated her as anything more than a tool to be used to achieve her own ends, and this scene shows that.

it’s also, as i may have discussed before, a microcosm of how she’s treated by the show. she’s a tool to be used and discarded when the writers are bored of her or don’t know what to do. in a way, that’s reasonable enough for any side character on a tv show, but it shows a massive failing on their part when they’ve set up a massive emotional situation for this woman and then simply not bothered to address it in any meaningful way, especially in the way that they simply undo the consequences of her experiences (reviving zelda, erasing her memories again) because the complications they’ve introduced are an inconvenience.

[smartguyreviewed]

1x1 - Pilot

Original air date: April 2, 1997

It is the very first episode, morning time in the Henderson household. Floyd is assembly line packing his kids’ brown bag lunches and they all greet us with their own personalities. Marcus is eager to stick his wee-wee inside whatever girl of the week he’s lusting after and Yvette is getting picked up by a Miguel character (who I’m sure was mentioned later in the series). Floyd hands her a backpack that in no way can hold 7 pairs of shoes that all complement her outfit unless they’re plimsolls. 

I think it’s interesting that Yvette was initially meant to be portrayed as a typical popular crowd member who eventually becomes the black feminist character we know her to be. Hello, character development! Why she is largely ignored in feminist TV teen discussions is beyond me. No it’s not. It’s because she’s black. 

After Yvette leaves with her heavy backpack, TJ comes down and spews his precociousness all over us with the adult-sized hat he models. After he leaves, we’re jettisoned to the title card and TJ emerges from that famous Laidlaw bus onto Piedmont grounds. 

Oh hello, Lisa. We’ll see you later when we’re discussing Yvette’s A-cup angst. You were also in Can’t Hardly Wait. 

TJ eventually makes his way to a class he shares with Marcus which doesn’t make sense because wouldn’t TJ be in AP classes? We see that Marcus wants to sit in front of Mariah, this girl that he and Mo fight over later. She’ll later appear in the Henderson House Party episode. For some reason, Marcus wants to sit in front of her as opposed to next to her. TJ eventually sits next to Mariah, who thinks he is just adorbs. This of course, pisses off Marcus who really needs to get his dick wet and Mariah is the only one entertaining him at the moment.

This is the main theme of the show: TJ’s brilliance causing issues for his family. Marcus is the middle child. It has pretty much been established that Yvette and TJ are the brainiacs and he is the slacker, for lack of better words. Marcus is jealous of TJ because he’s doted on the most due to being the baby, but also because of his exceptional intelligence. Because Marcus’ main goal as a teenage boy is sticking his wee-wee in as many girls as possible, he feels that TJ is cock-blocking him, and therefore overshadowing him when he already feels small enough. We then see TJ attempting to adjust to high school but laughing at childish things like the word “breasts.” This gets him sent to the principal’s office, alongside a clone of Anthony Keidis with Trent Reznor’s 90s baby locs.

Floyd comes up to the school because he’s a good father and talks to not Hilary Banks about whether or not TJ is mature enough to be in high school. I love that Floyd and TJ laugh together when she says “breasts” again. Like father, like son! 

We get to the big conflict of this episode, which is TJ infringing on Marcus’s hobby. TJ is now, all of a sudden the mascot and this just really ruffles Marcus’ feathers although I wonder how he didn’t know until TJ put on the costume? Why would the costume designers even make a high school mascot suit that only a child could wear? Nothing about this makes any sense except to show that TJ’s cuteness really grinds Marcus’ gears. 

The little penguin tries to break up a fight between Marcus and Mo who are “brawling” over Mariah but fails and ends up in the principal’s office with a seething Marcus who wishes TJ would disappear. At the game, TJ hides under the bleachers, butthurt by his brother’s words. When Yvette rushes to Floyd who tells him that TJ is refusing to mascot, Floyd immediately swoops in under the bleachers to do his fatherly duty.

Can we just take a moment to appreciate that Floyd is an actual good father? I mean, yes, he has to be that for his kids since his wife died, but most TV dads are portrayed as clueless and needing the guidance or assistance of a woman to effectively parent. You know, because dads’ only jobs are to provide and that’s it. If you want an emotional connection, talk to your mother. Not Floyd! Floyd actually meets TJ at his level, attempts to relate to him, climbing under the bleachers to help sort out his feelings of being the odd man out. He doesn’t default to yanking him from under the bleachers and forcing him to soldier on, hiding his feelings away to appease everyone else. I love healthy depictions of parent/child relationships, especially with black characters since we seem to be typecast as victims of endless dysfunction.

Marcus joins and apologizes for being a dick. TJ vows to accept that Marcus is dumber than him (his words, not mine). Of course, this only lasts the duration of this episode. Marcus’s shitty team wins the game, a rarity for the Penguins since in almost every episode after this, it’s mentioned that they are horrible. Aaaaand freeze-frame ending!

Stuff I noticed:

- Yvette defending TJ from the wrath of Lisa. This is more than I ever saw from Marcus. TJ will repay her by revenge porn-ing her later. No, seriously.

- Yvette even being on the cheerleading team is a rare moment of continuity, seeing as in a future episode, Yvette says she quit the team because she found it degrading.

- TJ coaching the coach at the end of the episode which led the Penguins to victory. Foreshadowing!

- Smart Guy was filmed on the same set as Boy Meets World.

[kathyprior4200]

Hazbin Hotel: That’s (Alastor’s) Entertainment!

“The Pilot is here! Follow Alastor, the Radio Demon as he pursues his goals of taking over Hell and messing with demons to keep his reputation intact. After seeing Princess Charlie announce her plan to rehabilitate sinners at her hotel, he arrives at the hotel to assist her. Along the way he meets porn film star Angel Dust and Charlie’s devoted girlfriend Vaggie. While Alastor seeks out new forms of entertainment, he also seems to have more sinister plans in mind.”

 The scene started with black curtains opening to a silhouette of a city. The words SpindleHorse Presents was written in white cursive before fading away.

 The building shadows were against a gray background with eye designs on it.

 A man with a radio voice sang a song.

 “At the end of the tunnel, there’s craziness.”

 A figure of a person was falling downwards through the darkness until ending at a tunnel of light. Shadows of demons falling into Hell were shown: Baxter, Angel Dust, Sir Pentious, Niffty, Robo Fizz, and others.

  “And to meet me, how often one dies…”

 A silhouette of a human man with glasses and short hair looked to the left, speaking from a microphone with one hand while using a knife in the other. To the far left were cowering human silhouettes.  A white smile shape was shown were the man’s mouth was.

 The man turned to the right in a running motion where a shadow of a policeman, a hunter and a growling dog were staring at him. The dog bared its shadow teeth and the two men aimed long shadow guns at him. Black splatters appeared from near the shadow man’s head and the figure collapsed to the ground.

 “Yes my life is a game

 Just a quest for fame…

 And my foes all smashed up like flies…”

   White spinning silhouettes of Exterminators, weapons pointed, flew around the shadow city, as a glowing pentagram was created in the center.

 The shadow of the killer man appeared again, this time growing shadow deer ears and little antlers. His eyes were glowing red and a shadow staff appeared in his hand.

 The killer stood small within the towering shadow of a man with large antlers and glowing red eyes: his father. A woman wearing a dress and her hair in a bun stood off to the side with a hand on his shoulder: his mother.

 “Why have I always been such a killer?”

 “What can the reason be?”

 Tentacles and sharp mouths overtook the scene.

  “I wonder if the world’s to blame

I wonder if it could be me…”

 A spinning globe was surrounded by large watching white eyes. Rising up were silhouettes of the Exterminators, grinning faces, xs over their right eyes, stained with blood, holding swords and spears. One Exterminator grinned as its white face, eyes, smile, and halo glowed in the darkness before fading.

 In Hell, a small planet had a glowing pentagram on it in the crimson colored sky. “Fuck you Heaven!” and “cleanse!” were written in red graffiti by a broken window. A paper with an Exterminator drawing blew away. Other red signs read “Punishment” and “Your days are numbered,” in big letters. Spears stuck out of dead demon’s mouths in the street. A light spun around from a tower.

 Another Extermination had ended. Dead bodies of demons and horned creatures littered the streets. Some of them had spears through their open mouths. Charlie had sadly strolled on her balcony and shot fireworks from her finger to signal that it was safe. Everyone gradually emerged from inside buildings and other hideouts. Already, turf wars were in full swing as demons fought over new territory. Other denizens disposed of the bodies while the more sinister ones ate them.

 One sinister demon was tall and slender, with grayish skin. He wore a red suit, red dress coat and wine colored pants. His shoes were black with red hoof prints on the soles. The dress coat was dark red and decorated with small vertical lighter red stripes. His undershirt was lighter red with a black upside down cross design. A black bow-tie with a red center was below his long neck. Finally, his thick hair was red and black, with fluffy deer-like tuffs poking from his head like ears. Two small black antlers were between them. He even had a red and black deer tail, which was hidden under the fabric of his suit. An oval monocle was under his right eye, connected by a chain. His large glowing red eyes and smile of sharp yellow teeth was enough to scare even the toughest demon away…and for good reason.

 He was Alastor, the Radio Demon, one of the most feared and powerful overlords in Hell. Possessing supernatural abilities and shadow manipulation, he had conquering many areas of Hell and defeated overlords who had been in power for years. Using a red vintage style microphone staff, he could broadcast his carnage and victories at will, hence why sinners called him the Radio Demon. He thrived on domination, trickery, and deceit…always in search for the next entertaining event. Alastor’s dark qualities were balanced out by his love of music, dancing, singing, and the finer things in life.

 Emerging from his underground lair in the shadow spirit realm via portal, Alastor sang a merry song as passerby cowered when he approached. It was around the same time when Charlie sang her lament.

   “At the end of the tunnel, there’s craziness

And to meet me, how often one dies

Yes my life is a game

Just a quest for fame

And my foes all smashed up like flies”

  “Why have I always been such a killer?

What can the reason be?

I wonder if the world’s to blame

I wonder if it could be me?”

  “I’m always seeking power

 Basking in light, for the show

 My schemes match up to my dreams

 No one else shall know”

 “Some people mope and find sadness

 I always laugh and show my grin

 Some people fail and rest in their sin

 With that I’ll always manage to win

 Believe me”

  “I’m always seeking power

 Waiting to hunt the gullible brown deer

 Again”

  Several signs read “Welcome to Hell: population, a fuck ton.” There were advertisements of drugs, food, casinos, weapons, and porn everywhere. Demons of all shapes and sizes roamed the streets, one flying demon caught a smaller one in its talons. Vox, Valentino and Velvet sat together in a Porn Studios building. A scientist and a wild haired demon picked up weapons to sell on the black market. Rosie crossed out the name “Franklin” on her emporium sign with a grin. It was now Rosie’s emporium. More demons picked up the dead remains and put them in shopping carts.  

   The clock tower rang out as the counter changed from 0 to 365 days until the next purge.

“Next cleanse” was over the counter in fancy letters.

 Against a black screen, the title “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel” appeared on a pink sign. A black winged key made up the letter T in “hotel.” A red eye was in the circle of the key.

  Sadly, the other characters didn’t get as much screentime as they did in the original episode. Instead of Angel Dust and Cherri Bomb fighting Sir Pentious in turf wars, we see Alastor and Vox in an intense argument before blasting each other with electricity, moving wires and tentacles and exchanging insults. The scene cuts to Angel Dust fighting Sir Pentious and the Egg Bois in the background as Alastor shakes his head.

 In fact, the blue demon that says “I’m alive!” gets immediately run over…but by a different vehicle owned by the self-proclaimed main character.

 And it’s not Charlie.

 Yep, the Radio Demon did have a car. A blood-red 1929 Packard modified and slightly modernized. Thanks to magic, it could go at fast speeds and even morph into shadow. It had regular tires instead of the typical wheels for the model and a metal step to get inside (though Alastor didn’t need it). The round headlights in the front hummed with bright red light, making them look like angry eyes that could stare into your souls. At high speeds, black radio dials would appear and move in the headlights. Since Alastor was so tall, there was no square roof overhead, just nice leather seats inside and of course, a car radio. Small Voodoo symbols decorated the sides of the vehicle and sometimes glowed in the dark.

 There was a metal grate in the front between the headlamps and below that was a row of sharp yellow teeth, reminiscent of Alastor’s smile. A little gold metal deer head was displayed and attached over the grate. The license plate in the back read “RDO DMN 666” for Radio Demon 666.  The car could also morph into newer vehicles as illusions. It wasn’t uncommon for demons to grow envious when they spotted the Radio Demon cursing around in a cherry colored convertible, sneaking around in a burgundy limo, or racing around in a crimson Porshe.

 That is until they saw the headlights and the Radio Demon’s grinning face before facing a harsh crushing impact before seeing darkness.

 Alastor would smirk like a bigshot with Rosie, Mimzy and several demon women in their seats.  Of course, he would hold open the door for them when stepping in and out. He would take them to clubs for dancing or to theaters at night. Other times, his shadow would appear in the seat next to him and shoot people from the shotgun spot. It was one of his classic jokes he liked to make.

    “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of its kind! A hotel that rehabilitates sinners!”

 The audience stared in stunned silence after Charlie had finished talking. Not even the flesh-eating crickets were chirping through the awkward quiet.

 A bloodstained logo “Radio Hack” was displayed above a window which provided a stack of dozens of TVs inside. One demon watching had deer antlers and a flaming blue face, one of the many cruel overlords. Crymini, the 90’s hellhound, stood with a little demon wearing a jester hat upside down. Two hellhound twins stood nearby, one with dyed red hair, the other purple. A neon sign nearby read “Bar” “Klub Kanji,” and “used TVs.”

 In a bar, dark demons wearing cowboy hats were playing pool, not even paying attention. The lead demon wore a cloth over his grinning face and had a large barrel gun for an arm. His friend looked like a demonic bug, and another looked like a mustached villain from an old film. Meanwhile in a bar, purple and blue dragon-like demons sat and drank while casually watching the TVs overhead.

 Charlie stuttered, “Ya know…’Cause hotels are for people passing through…temporarily…”

 A tattooed dark blue reptile demon stood up and let out a loud laugh.

 “Is this girl for real? She thinks, you hear what she thinks? She…heh, heh, heh, oh she’s nuts.” The demon walked away with a small lavender creature and a tall maroon being wearing punk rock clothing and crazy neon hair.

 Charlie added, “I figure it would serve a purpose…a place work toward redemption!” She weakly added, “Yay.”

 With a tapping of his shoes, Alastor walked and stopped right behind Crymini, the flaming deer overlord and a demon with eyes and a couple mouths on his face. Hatchet, the white skinned red-haired Zoophobia dragon, smartly left the scene.

 He had heard of the demon princess before, but he wasn’t expecting her to appear on TV. He certainly never heard of an idea so crazy before. Making sinners good people was even less likely than making pigs fly (which was one magic trick he could do on occasion).

  Charlie stared around her, concerned. “Look, every single one of you has something good deep down inside. I know you do.”

 A light bulb went off into her head as she smirked. “Maybe I’m not getting through to you…”

 Vaggie face palmed, knowing what was coming next. “Oh no…”

 Charlie snapped her fingers and her bodyguard demons appeared. One sat and began to play a grand piano.

 Alastor stood behind two hellhound twins wearing crop tops and a hanging jester. Next to him was a poster that showed him in his demon form terrorizing the circus, demons trapped within flames inside the tent. His army of voodoo horned imps carrying knives and skulls on pikes surrounded the tortured sinners. The words were bold and full of warning: “BEWARE HIM!” “DO NOT FUCK WITH HIM!” In tiny letters off to the side on the wall read: “for a good time: 666-373-9494.”

 Alastor tilted his head to the side in curiosity. His shadow appeared off to his right, morphing into a snarling wendigo deer-like creature. He couldn’t help but tap his foot and hum along as she sang.

 He even started to sing to himself, making his own version of the song.

 “Inside of every demon is a lost cause

Inside of every sinner is a foolish failure

Inside of every godforsaken drug addicted manic…”

 Dude,” moaned a stupid demon with a boar head, “I’m trying to watch the show.”

 “Here’s a show I’ll give you,” Alastor thought as he snapped his fingers and sent the boar flying through the air and into a lava pit.

 “They’ll turn around

Dead in the ground

With just a little time

Down at her crappy hotel…”

 He did feel a bit unnerved at the part where she cuddled with a dog and then threw the dog away.

  After Charlie had finished singing, Alastor laughed out loud. That was quite the performance he had seen! He particularly enjoyed Charlie’s demon transformation and her conjuring of fire for the special effects. And he had to admit that she was a good singer too, despite her ridiculous idea.

 But his favorite part came up next.

 In the blaring red lights, Charlie and Katie fought each other on the desk. Katie was in her insect demon form, crawling on her hands and limbs. She briefly held Charlie down, who dodged and then leapt at Katie, knocking both of them off the table.

 “She’s pretty and has a feisty spirit,” Alastor thought.

 “Why won’t anyone help me?” Tom Trench yelled as flames rose from his body.

 “You’re on fire, Tom Trench!” Alastor exclaimed, while laughing at his own joke.

  Befriending the princess, and doing something different seemed like a good idea. He glanced over at a faraway Happy Hotel building.

 He knew where he would go next.

  After following the white limbo to the hotel in his car, he got out and made his way up to the double stained glass doors with the apple designs on them. Upon further inspection of the hotel, he noticed it was a unique design if not a bit under wear and tear. From the Titanic-like ship off to the side to the hanging carousel that made up a balcony…and perhaps his favorite part, the circus tent overhang in the front decorated with eye designs.

 He had never actually met Charlie before but he heard that she was powerful and different among the demons. For one, she was born in Hell, and two, she was the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith, king and queen of Hell.

 He would have to tread carefully around members of the royal family. Though he thought of them as amusing, he knew how powerful they were.

 Sweat formed on his forehead and he found himself glancing around.

  Why was he suddenly…nervous?

 Somebody like him couldn’t afford to let any sign of weakness show. Of course He wanted to make a good first impression, plus he was sort of curious as to why she would pursue this rehabilitation idea. His nervousness faded away when he imagined Charlie as naïve. Maybe he could easily trick her and not have to be caught by anyone?

 The best thing he could do for the moment was be polite and offer to help. As any good charmer and manipulator knew, first impressions and the process were everything…

 And a nice big smile was the crème de la crème.

  Puffing out his chest, he knocked on the door.

 It was a very slow “Shave and a Haircut knock.”

  The knocking from outside interrupted Charlie’s thoughts. She opened her eyes.

  An ice cold feeling of dread spread through her veins. No other demon would ever do that kind of knock.

 Unless…

 She tentatively reached out her hand to the door handle, and quickly pulled it open.

 Sure enough, the most feared demon in Hell was standing right outside her door. A couple of shadow spirits poked their heads through.

 Charlie’s face morphed into sheer terror, eyes wide as saucers.

 Yes, there she was, right in front of him. Alastor opened his eyes as they glowed red, a radio sound emitting from him. His eyes dilated playfully as he raised a finger in greeting.

 “Hell…”

 The door abruptly slammed shut.

 Brief silence.

 Charlie opened it again…

 “…oooo!”

 Slammed it again.

 Alastor could hear Charlie’s muffled voice from inside.

 “Hey Vaggie!”

 “What?”

 “The Radio Demon is at the door!”

 “What?!”

 “Who?” asked Angel.

 “What should I do?!” Charlie asked.

 “Well, don’t let him in!” Vaggie said.

  A growl formed in Alastor’s throat.

 He stood there, shocked in front of the stained glass door, smile still plastered on his face, hand and curved claw in the air.

 “Well… that was…rude,” he thought. “Usually people are too sacred to answer when I come by. Or they rush to try and please me because they know I could slaughter them at any time. I’ll just wait here then…or maybe break this door down…”

 He had been turned down not once but twice by her! If she had been an average demon, she would’ve been a bloody heap on the floor. The princess should know better than to reject anyone like that, especially a prideful demon like himself.

Any offense to his pride would not go unnoticed.

 Charlie opened the door again.

 “May I speak now?” Alastor asked, hiding his anger.

 “You may,” said Charlie.

 Alastor held out his right hand to her, which briefly glowed. He half expected her to reach out and shake it right away…which would’ve proven her naïve nature…but instead she just stood there.

  “Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart, quite a pleasure.”

 He eagerly grabbed her wrist and leaned his face close to hers before strutting inside. Charlie stood, dumbfounded, her hand still out.

 “Excuse my sudden visit,” he went on, “but I saw your fiasco on a picture show and I just couldn’t resist. What a performance!”

Audience cheers came from his staff as he turned around.

  “Why I haven’t been that entertained since the stock market crash of 1929!”

 He bobbed his head side to side and burst into laughter. He glanced back at Charlie who was by the door. “So many orphans!”

 A sharp spear was suddenly pointed at him. He froze in fear, his smile still on his face.

 “Stop right there!” It was Vaggie.

 She swore in Spanish under her breath: “Carbon hijo de perra! (Son of a bitch!) I know your game. And I’m not gonna let you hurt anyone here, you pompous, cheesy, talk show shitlord!”

 Alastor’s eyes narrowed and glowed. He made a low noise of warning.

 “You have a lot of nerve to stand up to me like that, girl,” he thought. “You don’t know anything about me, and you certainly aren’t going to stand in my way.”

 Alastor merely laughed slightly and nudged the weapon away with his fingers. Charli and Vaggie were in front of him.

 “Dear, if I wanted to hurt anyone here…”

 He added in a low creepy tone, “I would have done so already.”

 His red eyes briefly turned to red radio dials and radio static filled the room. He tilted his head slightly, letting his chaotic magic roam. Vaggie and Charlie were frozen in fear as they caught glimpses of red Voodoo symbols, static, and warped reality.

 Then just as quickly, the noise and magic ceased and Alastor shook his head, eyes back to full red. For a brief moment, they had been small red pupils inside black sockets.

 “That scare should teach them to remember their place,” he thought.

He bowed. “No, I’m here because I want to help!”

 Charlie was sure she hadn’t heard him right.

 “Say what now?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

 “Help!” he responded with another laugh, leaning in close before moving back.

 He held up his microphone staff.

  “Hello?” he asked with a laugh. “Is this thing on? Testing, testing…”

 He tapped it and a glowing red eye appeared in the center. “Well, I heard you loud and clear!” the microphone responded, eye shaking in fear.

 “Um…you want to help?” Charlie asked.

 Alastor appeared behind the demon girls, hands on their backs, switching from a shadow to his regular self. Both Vaggie and Charlie flinched.

 “With…” he mentioned in an imitation of Charlie’s voice,

“…this ridiculous thing you’re trying to do!” finishing in his normal voice. “This hotel!”

 Charlie could hear the call bell ding twice on the table, even though no one was there to ring it.

 “I want to help you run it.”

 “Uh…why?” Charlie asked, confused.

 Alastor laughed again. “Why does anyone do anything? Sheer absolute boredom! I’ve lacked inspiration for decades!”

 He placed his elbow on an annoyed Vaggie’s head.

 “My work became mundane...lacking focus…”

 He then shoved Vaggie aside. She was clearly an inferior little doll he could push around.

 “…aimless!” he continued. “I’ve come to crave a new form of entertainment!”

 He laughed again.

Charlie looked downcast. “Does getting into a fist fight with a reporter count as entertainment?”

 Alastor laughed again.

 “It’s the purest kind, my dear! Reality! True passion! After all, the world is a stage! And the stage is a world of entertainment!”

 Charlie brightened a bit. “So, does this mean that you think it’s possible to rehabilitate a demon?”

Alastor help up a hand and laughed. “Of course not. That’s wacky nonsense! Redemption, oh the non-existent humanity! Nononono, I don’t think there’s anything left that could save such loathsome sinners!”

 He glanced at Vaggie and Angel Dust sitting on the sofa, mischief in his eyes. They would be fun to mess with.

  “The chance given to them was the life they lived before; the punishment is this!”

  He spread out his arms, turning away. “There is no undoing what is done!”

 His eyes glowed red, pupils constricted. There really was no way to change the past. All the sinners were destined to suffer in a matrix of pleasure, illusion, and the threat of a second death. For Alastor, every demon was a lost cause…and paradoxically, that also included him.

 He had dealt with authority figures before in his previous life…those racist religious folk who believed that God and the elite had complete control over his fate and the fate of everyone else. Now here it was again, in the form of God, the angels, Vox, Lucifer pretty much anybody he hated. It wasn’t his fault he killed and ate all his victims. If certain people hadn’t pushed him over the edge…

 He glanced over when he heard Charlie’s voice.

 “So then, why do you want to help me if you don’t believe in my cause?” Charlie asked.

 Alastor smirked and looked at Charlie over his shoulder. “Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself!”

 He pulled her close to him with his arm and twirled her around in a quick dance. Charlie narrowed his eyes at him and gave him a look. He ignored her. “I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment! Only to repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure.”

 His eyes glowed red and his left eyebrow raised slightly. Just the thought of having the fates and lives of demons in his hands was enough to get him excited…or perhaps even aroused.

“Right…” Charlie began, slowly removing his clawed hand from her shoulder. Alastor’s hand flinched at the sudden touch.

 Alastor chuckled and took her aside for a walk. “Yes indeedy! I see big things coming your way, and who better to help than I.”

 He impressed her further with some charm and making his staff appear in his hand.

  Vaggie walked up to Charlie and pulled her aside.

 “Charlie, listen to me. You just can’t believe this creep! He isn’t just a happy face! He’s a dealmaker, pure evil! He can’t be redeemed! And is most likely looking for a way to destroy everything we’re trying to do.”

 Alastor drummed his fingers against his palm, listening in on their conversation with a grin.

 “I…” Charlie began. “…we don’t know that. Look…I know he’s bad, and I know he probably doesn’t wanna change, but the whole point of this is to give people a chance! To have faith things will be better! How can I turn someone away? I can’t. It goes against everything I’m trying to do. Everything I believe in.”

 Alastor stared in fascination at a family picture on the wall. It showed Lucifer dressed in white, Lilith in a dark purple dress, and Charlie as a little girl wearing a brown and white dress in the middle. The picture border consisted of branches and yellow eyeballs and a dried rose in the upper right hand corner.

 “Such a lovely portrait! A picture of perfection! It’d be such a shame if something awful were to happen to them…”

 “Just trust me,” Charlie added placing comforting hands on her girlfriend’s shoulders, “I can take care of myself.”

 Charlie,” warned Vaggie, “Whatever you do, do not make a deal with him!”

 From a distance, Alastor opened up the palm of one hand, claws curled inward, hand glowing. From his viewpoint it looked like he was grabbing onto both girls. They glanced in his direction, worry on their faces.

 “I’ll have these two in the palm of my hand…”

 “Don’t worry, Charlie replied to Vaggie. “I picked up one thing from my Dad…” she spoke in a manly voice, “Ya don’t take shit from other demons!”

 Gathering her courage, Charlie marched over to the Radio Demon.

  “Ok, so…Al. You’re sketchy as fuck, and you clearly see what I’m trying to do here is a joke. But I don’t.”

 Charlie turned away. She was so close and so vulnerable.

 Red Voodoo symbols floated around Alastor as his eyes glowed.

 “If you could stay turned around so I can knock you out…” he thought.

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and the symbols vanished.

 “So close,” he thought in frustration as she turned around to face him.

  Charlie continued. “I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be better. So, I’m taking your offer to help. On the condition that there be no tricks or voodoo strings attached.”

 Alastor twirled his cane and held out his hand. “So it’s a deal then?”

 Flashes of eerie green light surrounded him, electricity snaking up the walls.

 “Nope!” Charlie yelled, holding out her hands. The energy stopped. “No shaking! No deals!”

 Alastor’s eyes constricted. “She rejected my deal,” he thought. “This will be more challenging than I expected.”

 He walked forward a step.

 Charlie continued.  “As princess of Hell, and heir to the throne, I uh, hereby order that you help with this hotel, for a long as you desire.”

 A moment of pause…he brushed his hair back.

 “Sound fair?” she asked.

  “Hmm. Fair enough. Cool beans.” Alastor shrugged, walking on and making his cane disappear. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and even did a thumbs up.

 Alastor stopped and spotted Vaggie off to the side. How pathetic she was, frowning like that. He smirked in a way outside observers would describe as lecherous. He tickled her under her chin with a finger.

 “Smile, my dear! You know you’re never fully dressed without one!”

 Alastor hummed happily on his way, while Vaggie growled in disgust and rage.

 “So…where is your hotel staff?” Alastor asked.

 “Uh, well…” Charlie began. Alastor peered at Vaggie through his monocle. “Oh ho ho ho, you’re going to need more than that.”

 He walked over towards Angel.

 “And what can you do, my effeminate fellow?”

 Angel grinned. “I can suck your dick!”

 Alastor could almost scream in disgust after hearing that.

 “Ha! No.” Alastor deadpanned.

 “Your loss,” Angel said with a slight laugh. Alastor summoned his cane.

“Well, this just won’t do!” Alastor exclaimed. “I suppose I can cash in a few favors to liven things up!”

 The spell came easily in his mind: “dife sèvitè, reveye.”

  He snapped his fingers and a fire sparked to life in a small circular fireplace. Animal skeletons decorated either side of the wall. The wall and fireplace were repaired.

 A dark figure plopped down onto the chimney floor.

 Alastor walked over and picked up the creature with his hand. A large single yellow eye was revealed. Angel, Vaggie, and Charlie peered at the creature. In a puff of smoke and a squeak, the creature revealed herself. A cute cyclops girl was wearing a pink dress with a poodle on the front, her short wide hair dark magenta with a streak of yellow.

 “This little darling is Niffty!” Alastor introduced, before dropping her. She landed on her feet. She was an adorable little thing.

“Hi! I’m Niffty!” she greeted with a wave. “It’s nice to meet you! It’s been a while since I’ve made new friends!” She laughed slightly and her pupil grew smaller, darting in circles.

 “Why are you all women?” she asked. “Have any men here?! I’m sorry, that’s rude.” She missed the fact that Angel was male, for obvious reasons.

 She briefly picked up Charlie, while Vaggie held her spear defensively at her.

 “Oh man, this place is filthy!” she exclaimed, running around and lifting up couch cushions. “It really needs a lady’s touch, which is weird, because you’re all ladies, no offence.” She chewed on a black spider she found, then rushed toward some stained glass windows.

 She darted around, using a dust ruffle to clean them. “Oh my gosh, this is awful! No, no, no…Nope!”

 She raced around, removing cobwebs, then poking at a piece of a voodoo doll. Well, it was actually a live blue beetle doll that Alastor had stabbed with a clothing pin for Niffty to play with. Alastor looked amused, while the others stared in disbelief.

 “So fortunate of me to have met her in Hell. A former chimney sweeper in the 20th century. Heard she died from too much smoke. Services are still good! Though, I didn’t give her much of an option to begin with…” he thought.

   Meanwhile, at a casino, a cat demon placed a joker, an ace, a 2, and a fourth card down on the table. He had black and white fur, wore a black top hat and had red wings with card suits decorated on them. He also had long red eyebrows and wore a red bow tie.

 “Ha!” he declared in triumph. “Read ‘em and weep, boys!”

 He suddenly felt himself being forcefully pulled out of the room through space and time.

  “Full…whoa!”

 “Transpòte ganbadeur la.”

 He ducked as a curtain of red energy surrounded the existing space. Voodoo symbols flashed in the background along with eight yellow eyes, a creepy voodoo skull and a purple skeleton of a worm-like creature. Another voodoo skull with horns appeared for a moment not too far from tan ghost-like spirits with creepy faces and a row of jagged teeth.

 The cat demon figured he must have had too much booze to drink.

 “…the hell?”

 As the images faded, he soon found himself at the hotel bar, not in the previous room at the casino. A large “Come and play Blackjack” sign took up much of the wall behind him. Most peculiar, the gray wood walls were missing halfway up, replaced by the red themed décor of the hotel. Husk was sitting in a portion of the casino he was in. It felt like he was in a house with no roof surrounded by the outside world.

 “What the fuck is this?”

 He saw Alastor and pointed an accusing claw.

 “You.”

 “Ah, Husker, my good friend!” Alastor cheerfully greeted. “Glad you could make it!”

 Husk could have at least been polite for once, but Alastor decided to let it slide.

 Alastor’s head briefly had the appearance of large antlers sticking out from either side. When he moved it, it was revealed to be an antler skull with glowing green eyes hanging in the background. Snakes were wrapped around one of the white curtains supporting a bar stand. “Big Booze,” “Welcome” and “Big Soul” signs were placed overhead on the stand. Neon green card suits consisted of the designs at the bottom of the stand.

 “Don’t you “Husker” me, you son of a bitch!” Husk spat, and swiped Alastor’s hand aside from his shoulder. “I was about to win the whole damn pot!”

Husk stared in anger as the stacks of money and chips on the table vanished in static.

 “Good to see you too!” added Alastor.

 Husk face palmed. “What the hell do you want with me this time?”

 Alastor grabbed hold of him, startling him so much that cards fell from his hands.

 “My friend, I am doing some charity work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services! I hope that’s okay.”

 Husk was taken aback. “Are you shittin’ me?!”

 “No, I don’t think so,” Alastor replied. He casually brushed off his sleeves.

 Husk shoved the Radio Demon off him. “You thought it would be some kind of big fuckin’ riot just to pull me outta nowhere? You think I’m some kinda fuckin’ clown?”

 “Maybe.”

 Audience laughter emitted from the microphone.

 “I ain’t doin’ no fuckin’ charity job,” Husk protested.

 Alastor appeared next to him, startling the cat demon. “Well I figured you would be the perfect face to man the front desk of this fine establishment.”

 He pointed toward the bar stand with the staff. The sound of audience clapping came from his radio staff.

 “With your charming smile and welcoming energy…”

 Alastor spread the corners of Husk’s mouth upward into a demonic smile of yellow teeth. Husk frowned seconds after he let go.

 “…this job was made for you!”

 Alastor strutted over toward the bar stand, the soles of his shoes revealing red hoof prints as he walked.

 “Don’t worry, my friend,” Alastor continued, “I can make this more welcoming…if you wish.”

 With a curve of his fingers, a green bottle of cheap booze appeared on the counter.

 Husk stared with wide eyes, suddenly very thirsty. He swore he could hear the sound of a slot machine.

 “What, you think you can buy me with a wink and some cheap booze?!” He took the bottle on anger. “Well you can!”

 He immediately guzzled it down and walked away.

 “Too easy,” thought Alastor.

 By this time, Charlie, Vaggie and Angel Dust had arrived to see what the commotion was about. Vaggie rushed toward the bar, furious.

 “Hey, hey, hey, hey!” yelled the moth demon. “No, no bar, no alcohol. This is supposed to be a place that discourages sin! Not some kind of…mouth, brothel, man-cave…”

 Angel lunged himself into her, knocking her to the floor.

 “Shut up! Shut! Up! We are keeping this.” He pointed at Husk with multiple gloved hands.

  He slid up to Husk. “Hey,” he said in a flirtatious voice.

“Go fuck yourself,” Husk deadpanned, drinking his booze.

 “Only if you watch me,” Angel retorted.

 To make matters worse for Husk, Charlie leaned in close to him, excitement and red stars in her eyes.

 “Oh my gosh! Welcome to the Happy Hotel! You are going to love it here!”

 “I lost the ability to love years ago,” Husk replied, gulping down more booze.

Alastor walked in, an ever-present grin on his face.

 “So, what do you think?”

 Charlie ran over to him. “This is amazing!” she beamed.

 Alastor’s eyes blinked rapidly at the sweet sight of Charlie rubbing her cheeks and smiling at him. He could watch it all day.

 “It’s okay,” Vaggie said from nearby, arms crossed.

 Alastor laughed and pulled the two girls close to him. “This is going to be very entertaining!”

 He shoved Vaggie again and his laughter mixed with the sound of an old radio.

 Alastor conjured fire in his hand…Charlie stared in wonder at the flames and the voodoo symbols. He threw the flames in the air, distracting Charlie from him shoving aside her friend hard. Alastor then changed his attire with magic. He now wore a fancy red suit with a white undershirt and a black bow tie. A red top hat appeared on his head, complete with small spikes along the black band and two needles sticking out from the top. He twirled Charlie around in a dance, the princess looking stunned. Pointing his finger over her head, he transformed Charlie’s outfit. Her blonde hair was now short and wavy. She wore an elegant black and red dress, black gloves, a pink hat with a small black bow and black heels. She looked like a dapper lady from the early 20th century.

 Charlie stared at her conjured clothing in amazement.

Vaggie was on the floor, fuming.

 Alastor began to sing as he danced with Charlie, a new spring in his steps.

 “You have a dream

 You wish to tell

 He turned to the fuming Vaggie on the floor, letting her know that he thought Charlie’s idea was silly.

 “and it’s so laughable…”

 He turned back to Charlie.

 “But hey kid, what the hell!”

 Alastor picked Charlie up and threw her into the air. She yelped in delight and landed gracefully next to him. Two glowing apples and a skull with deer horns flashed in the background.

 Reality had been altered to the Radio Demon’s liking. The entire room was lit in psychedelic colors. Voodoo symbols and shapes were etched in every nook and cranny, including a pair of pink claws reaching for the door. Alastor and Charlie waltzed in the spotlight as electro swing music began to play in the distance. The all-encompassing noise, though, was the signature radio-static sound.

 Charlie found herself sliding down one of the apple-etched railings, Alastor leading the way. They landed on the lower floor as Alastor continued his reprise.

 “Cause you’re one of a kind

A charming demon belle!”

 Deer statues and painted antlers were everywhere.

 Back at the bar stand, Husk sat looking bored. Vaggie hissed at Angel grabbing onto her shoulder, while Niffty stared in wonder. Alastor snapped his fingers and their outfits changed as well.

 Angel was wearing a neon pink suit, Husk a pink bow tie, Vaggie a dark dress, with her hair now smooth and long, and finally Niffty, with a cute top hat with small flowers.

 “Now let’s give these burning fools a place to dwell

(Take it, boys!)”

 Alastor snapped his fingers once more and shadowy imps rose to life from a hole in the ground. The happy spirits played a trumpet, a tuba, and a drum set. Charlie snapped her fingers to the beat, while Vaggie watched with worry. She reached out to her friend but was pulled away by Alastor. He enveloped the group into a tight hug with a laugh, followed by glowing images of dark spirits staring at them. Niffty watched in amazement, but not the other three.

 “Inside of every demon is a lost cause…”

Alastor pulled Husk and Angel close again. He rubbed Angel’s head with a white hat and went on his merry way. Husk gave him the bird as he left.

 “But we’ll dress ‘em up now with just a smile!”

(With a smile!)

  Vaggie stood, annoyed in the spotlight. Using his cane, Alastor added a feathered peacock hat and a white fox fur to her outfit. She looked ridiculous. Then out of nowhere, he slapped her butt.

 Vaggie seethed in rage after he walked away.

 Alastor danced some more, kicking a horned skull to the side. In the background, Niffy happily swept up the bits of bone.

 “And we’ll chlorinate this cesspool

With some old redemption flair

And show these simpletons some proper class and style!

(What’s in style? Oh!)”

 He made his way to the circular fireplace, where he waved his staff. Shadows arrived to join the party, including a shadowy version of himself, with large antlers and fangs. He made it disappear in a poof, then snuck toward Charlie. He led her in an upbeat dance, spinning her around, helping her match her steps to his. Charlie blushed when Alastor toyed with her cheeks. As Charlie was led away, Vaggie stood in the background, horrified and disgusted. What was happening to her friend?

 Charlie and Alastor laughed as they danced, the princess locked in a happy trance. Alastor was in his element, his pupils dilated, a joyful demeanor.

 Maybe this could turn into something more? Could it even be…love?

 “Here below the ground

I’m sure you’re plan is sound!

They’ll spend a little time

Down at this Hazbin Ho…”

  Alastor was about to finish his song, when an explosion burst apart a window behind him. He stood frozen, pupils constricting, his body going alert.

 Whatever, or whomever had interrupted his song was going to pay dearly.

 Niffty stared in amazement, shouting “Whoo!” before she was blasted backwards, the door hitting her in the face.

 Alastor’s spell soon wore off and everyone was back in their regular clothes. Alastor, Husk (still drinking), Niffty, Charlie, Angel, and Vaggie, peered out of the hole to see what was going on. Vaggie had her weapon at the ready.

 Looking skyward, the group saw a cracked blimp in the air. It had a small random band aid with a sad face on it along the rim. A familiar snake villain popped out of his hideout.

 “Ha!” Sir Pentious laughed. “Well, well, well, look who it is harboring the striped freak! We meet again, Alastor!”

 Apparently, he was also rivals with Alastor.

 But Alastor simply asked, “Do I know you?”

 The snake boss looked disappointed. Then he said in anger, “Oh yes you do! And this time, I have the element of…surprise!”

 The villain raced toward his pink velvet chair and pulled a lever. A metallic cannon lowered to the ground. The cannon fired up with pink energy as pink smoke appeared around them.

 “He laughed manically. “I’m so evil!”

 Then he added, “I have an Egg army!”

 “Well, we have an Alastor,” Charlie responded.

 Alastor snapped his fingers, red tendrils of smoke rising from his hand. The weapon froze in mid fire and a fiery portal opened up below the blimp.

 A horde of black tendrils rose from the hole, latching onto the ship. One tentacle ripped off the cannon and threw it into another smaller portal, causing it to explode in pink smoke. One of the tentacles had already smashed a hole in the large round window.

 Sir Pentious looked on in shock as his Egg Bois slammed against the wall (one of them read #Ouch.) One of the eggs cracked open, spilling out yellowish brains and small organs among the stains of yok. Sir Pentious and another minion were thrown against the wall.

 “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he screamed before he was slammed against the ceiling by a black limb.

 “Oh, that hurt!” he cried.

 Sir Pentious screamed as he was dragged along the floor and lifted up slightly. He was held in place, surrounded by the wrapped up tendril. At once, the tendril shrunk and squeezed the helpless snake. The Egg Bois ran around screaming as black cracks appeared on the floor and walls.

 From the outside, more black tendrils were closing in. Red voodoo symbols appeared around the blimp.

 “Ede m 'sèrviteur.”

 Four horned shadowy spirits with red auras floated around, wearing toothy grins.

 The tendrils were now wrapped around the entire blimp, holding it in place like thick black vines.

 Red radio waves filled Alastor’s eyes as he circled his fingers and worked is magic. Voodoo symbols appeared all around him as he altered the state of reality. Radio static consumed the air.

The vines thickened and completely enclosed the blimp. The spirits swooped around it in excitement, with echoing shrieks. The aura around the tendrils glowed a fiery yellow, the same color as the portal rim.

 “Kalfu! Destriksyon pa bra nwa.”

 Alastor closed his four-fingered hand which began to glow. A red drop of blood fell from his glowing hand. The tendrils proceeded to crush the blimp. Pink rays of light shot from the center and the blimp exploded in a loud BOOM!

 Pink smoke spread everywhere as the spirits sped away. The tendrils broke into severed bloody pieces that rained down to the ground. Alastor smiled victoriously, while behind them, the group of five stared in utter terror and shock. (Save for Niffty who had a small smile on her face).

 Alastor’s angry, bloodlust eyes spoke volumes.

 “And stay out of this hotel and from my friends you pathetic excuse of snakeskin.”

A sharp pain throbbed on his hand and bags appeared under his eyes. Magic had taken some work from him…and it also made him hungry.

 “Well, I’m starved!” Alastor exclaimed, turning around to face the group, happy again. “Who wants some jambalaya?” He spread his arms out. “My mother once showed me a wonderful recipe for jambalaya! In fact, it nearly killed her!”

 He laughed as he led the way back to the hotel. The others followed.

 “You could say the kick was right out of Hell!”

 He added while laughing at his own joke, “Oh, I’m on a roll!”

 From up above, the hotel looked like a mashed-up haunted house. An old dark train was perched on a balcony, with some monstrous faces carved in. A ship, reminiscent of the Titanic, was leaning upwards against the building as part of the structure. An old carousel served as part of the upper balcony and windows. Skull designs decorated the small windows in a row. Finally, on top of a giant yellow eye, was the sign “Happy Hotel” supported by pillars of worn wood.  

Alastor continued, “Yes, sir, this is the start of some real changes down here! The game is set! Now…”

 He glanced up and pointed his finger toward the sign. Pink electricity shot out and made contact with the sign.

 The sign now read “Hazbin Hotel.”

 “Stay tuned,” he finished with a low sinister laugh.