jogeswar

[overthestars-and-offtoneverland]

Some People Will Not Believe Me

If it's any consolation, this story slightly embarrasses me because it feels like some fake shit I'd tell younger me to hype myself up in an attempt to convince them it might be worth making it to adulthood.

So, I work in childcare. I interact with kids all the time and being a person who enjoys children's media tends to help me bond with my kids from time to time.

There is a little girl at my job named Violet.

Now, me being me, I asked if she liked A Series of Unfortunate Events because she's in the target age group for the series.

She says yes and that she is a big fan of Violet Baudelaire, though her parents don't really like her watching the Netflix series because they think it has scary subject matter (literally the point, but go off). I suggest the books to her and inform her that I myself have been a fan of the series since I was a little younger than her.

We bond a little over the series and then I physically watch her eyes drift down.

To my left ankle.

And, in spite of my tattoo being the book version rather than the Netflix version, she immediately recognizes it.

She proceeds with a suspicious squint in my direction.

And let me tell you the amount of dopamine and serotonin that rushed into my brain! I have been waiting forever to have a moment like this!

Truth be told, other children have recognized my tattoo and given me this look in passing. Usually in bookstores, once in a Pizza Hut, don't asked questions.

But none of them actually said anything or confronted me and I would never just walk up to some random child that doesn't have some form of relation to me.

But this child was one of my students. And she was certainly going to confront me about it.

And her name is Violet???

Hence begun the world's weirdest coincidence and playful rivalry I now have with a child as she has decided I must be her personal Firestarter Nemesis (all a game, all in good fun).

She has accused me of being Count Olaf to other students. (I even got to pull a "What eye tattoo?" once)

She taunts me that I'll never get away with my schemes.

She loves the Count Olaf impression I occasionally do with my students (I'm an art and drama teacher lol. Fun fact: Kids love when you commit to a bit and are slightly and jokingly mean i.e. "It's time to go home, hun" vs *looks at them bluntly* "Go home." Gotta be able to read your audience though)

Tell me why this child has walked into the facility with fake, giant hundred dollar bills two days in a row giving me a physical "fortune" to steal?

Gotta say I'm doing way better than Olaf because I've succeeded twice (again, all in good fun. She got it back after I got my gloating out of the way).

Point being, adulthood is fucking weird, but occasionally life lets your inner child have some fun.

[ourladyofmaplemurder]

ooh!! Cheryl of course for your unhinged character bingo please 🙏!

Explanation under the cut, as is custom. <3

Cheryl Blossom really checks all the boxes for me. Every single one.

Daddy issues. Mommy issues. Same, bro. I want her to be happy forever, but I will also torture her in fanfic because I love her and hate myself. (It's more love than self-loathing though, I promise. I just need her to fight my demons so we can both fucking heal.)

I'm putting her in a snowglobe and SHAKING IT. I am casting her in bronze and admiring her in my garden. I'm chewing on her leg.

She is the saddest, wettest cat in a cardboard box and I'M TAKING HER HOME to cherish her forever. I'm putting her in a blender and bloody is splattering everywhere.

I would take a COMET to the face for her.

When people talk shit about her (beyond reasonable criticism or outside of a funny joke) I genuinely see red. Ba dum tsssss. But also, Cheryl-haters should steer clear. I have violence in my heart about this woman.

You already KNOW I'm working on a dissertation about her to be completed later this year. It could easily be 10 hours, but I'm editing it down because I am applying for sainthood and it's my first miracle. <3

All joking aside (not really), Cheryl Blossom is one of a kind to me. She captures everything I love and hate about myself. I see so much of myself in her that I can't help but love her and I can't help but roll my eyes and laugh at her.

She's the clown in me. The woman-fucker. The firestarter. The bitch. The broken bird. The ice dancer with a plan. The witch no one believes. The madwoman and the saint. We're the mothers we never had and the fathers we flinch away from. We're unrelenting and utterly doomed. We're obsessed with ourselves in way that's deeply exhausting but utterly inevitable considering "she's just like that" and "no one listens to her". We're processing through art. We also both mellowed out over the years after a period of self-imposed isolation. We're both so tender with those we love. Neither of us know how to show it very well sometimes. We're both WAY too much.

The biggest difference is that she's high femme and I am the dyke version of Skrillex (Not intentional, but it's been said several times now). She uses fashion as her shield. I use piercings. I am both envious of her femme aesthetic and hopelessly attracted to it.

The other big difference is that she is moneyed and I grew up with nothing. Amazing how similar we are considering that. Childhood trauma really IS that powerful.

When I was in my early 20's, I suffered a drug-induced psychotic break where I genuinely believed I was a prophet sent from God to save the world. (I recovered and have since learned that maybe my proclivity for madness, drama, and drugs should no longer mix.) But god damn it, I understood exactly when she suggested that even though she probably wasn't a living saint, wouldn't that be miraculous?

When I was a kid, my "proverbial" twin died suddenly and I have carried the weight of his death ever since. We live two lives. Our own and the expected one of the dead other. Twice the pressure and, shockingly, twice the disappointment, but never twice the love. (Not a literal twin, but one of a pair.)

If she were real, we would fuck each other to death and leave nothing but a pile of ash.

[izzy-b-hands]

i feel like Spanish Jackie could easily reach a 'why is it always you fuckers' point with Ed and Stede and Co.

like. imagine this poor woman. She has husbands and a business and various other under the table ventures to manage; she is busy!!!

But these fucking guys. Every goddamn time there's Some Shit now, it's Them.

Ship sank in the harbor? Buttons accidentally bit thru the bottom of the ship while chomping through a crew member while they were raiding said ship (he got overexcited and his jaw strength is Terrifying, it's fine, don't worry abt it)

Nearby business on fire? Someone insulted Ed, and as a result Stede Accidentally knocked over every single candle in the place with his sword and also maybe he poured booze as firestarter too but you gotta understand-(tbh, this one is justified to Jackie. Ed is a good, fine 👀, man and pirate. If ppl won't put respect on his name then those ppl should expect fire to be put on them, more or less)

Murder outside her door? Jim and Izzy, who claim they were haggling with the dead guy in question. Maybe they were, and they're just really bad at haggling (more likely, after the guy saw Ed and Stede, recognised them as Famous, and tried to ramp up the price as a result, Izzy and Jim decided they were done with this shit and if he wouldn't sell them oranges at a fair price while alive, then he can give them away for free while dead. Jackie doesn't hate this one entirely, she just hates sending a husband out to wash the blood off the pathway bc no one wants that chore)

Like even when they aren't near the Republic of Pirates, word still makes its way back to her of shit they're up to or somehow it hits her business in some frustrating way, example A:

Ed sends an apology letter when they accidentally raid a ship that was bearing supplies for her home and business, and offers to bring whatever they haven't sold from before they knew it was her shit. And like, she's grateful, it's a good compromise and apology but also Ed this is the fourth fucking time can your crew pls check the fucking manifest and other paperwork first? Like kill the crew on the ship or whatever, but then you gotta still sail my shit to me the rest of the way, not steal and sell off some of it. Seriously. Fool me once, shame on me. Twice, shame on you. Three or more times, shame on everybody associated at this point bc jfc.)

She wants nothing more than a month without Shenanigans from them but it never works out, there's always Something kadnkfngngn

The Nose Jar was a sign lmaooo

[niadevbutreal]

[ULTRAKILL FULL ARSENAL SPOILERS]

[DISCLAIMER: I have been avoiding videos of tech with new weapons and been trying to figure this out by myself.]

Brutal Guttermen being unparriable while enraged AND being enraged upon shield break is evil 😭I don't even want to imagine what Guttertanks are like (I got the alt shotgun and immediately got distracted). Also I get why Brutal(?) Minotaur has a back attack now but cmon man P ranking this shit is gonna be miserable, you have to do the fight the intended way 🙄 which is way slower and harder, getting the time requirement gets a lot harder.

Alt Shotgun is pretty fire but comes with the downside of fucking up shotgun swapping, which I guess you can substitute with the Sawed-On Shotgun or learning to press the shotgun key twice, or maybe by using the last weapon key (that exists right?). Being able to almost one shot Maurices with PogoJacking is pretty cool, though, and PogoJacking (ground slamming then releasing the pogo on a target) is a pretty fire and somewhat more consistent alternative to slam storage in Cybergrind.

Main issue with the Alt Core Eject is that, while BoomSniping is cool as shit, you have to be basically landbound and moving in a straight line at most mobile to Core Projectile boost with it, or you need extra timing you won't have due to moving in an arc, but maybe there's a tech I need to learn (maybe you can manage it by core ejecting like milliseconds before releasing the jack, tried but to no avail, that said I still can't deadcoin). Explosive hitscan sniper rifle that can damage Maurices is pretty cool though, don't think it's practically worth if given the massive restriction with moving with the BoomSnipe. Missing out on core nukes kinda sucks though, but you can also carpet bomb shit now because the core eject is super spammable [EDIT: No it isn't lol I had infinite ammo on]. That said, BoomSniping does seem to have a Malicious Railcannon effect in that it boosts core eject explosion damage (this needs more testing), but given that you can't launch cores any meaningful distance from you with the alt, this is incredibly impractical. Overall it's probably worse than the regular, but damn if it isn't fun.

Alt Pump is probably ok for crowds but you've got me fucked if you think I'm switching out the second best weapon in the game, and the knuckleblaster shockwave is usually good enough.

Alt Sawed-On has no decent/usable combos with the jackhammer I can think of, so probably not that good. Not like the Sawed-On is that amazing

Firestarter is niche but usable, basically only useful in the main game (not cybergrind) for being able to quickly damage everything when it spawns in a room (and when the sawblade isn't applicable ofc). Otherwise, enemy AI and worse damage makes sawtraps and even nailbomb traps preferable, and setup time is a bit long too. You can probably turn it into a makeshift flamethrower by igniting a pool and making streams of oil leading away from it, though.

Sawed-On is niche but a decent substitute (ok, it's bargain bin at best) for shotgun swapping with an Alt shotgun, shotgun swapping way outdamages though so it's not super useful if you're all stock shotguns. Cool for dealing with Filth hordes. That said, you can probably yoyo with this for crowds and I need to test with it in saw traps.

I think I've used the JumpStart a grand total of like... twice. It's probably good for Gutterman and it is pretty solid for Minotaur but I feel like the cable range is too short, and the single target damage isn't good enough for all the effort and time spent getting it. It seems to be intended for stuff like Cerberi surrounded by filth hordes, but Brutal ones move way too much now for that to be practical and ProjRocket swapping is going to take out a lot of them unintentionally anyways. Maybe it has some interaction with nailbomb traps, though, needs more testing.

[talesfromthecrypts]

The fact they’ve adapted “Trucks�� (original Maximum Overdrive short story) as many times as they’ve adapted The Shining is so funny to me

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

Shit that happened in Soy Luna

Please read my list for Violetta too

Yep. Let's go. Spoilers ahead if you some reason wanna watch it yourself (but I got spoiled about everything before I even started watching so. Eh.)

There's a running theme of people getting kissed without their consent. Like it happens. To a lot of people.

Mostly to Luna, the main character, who got kissed against her consent by TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE.

Ok so: Sharon is a woman. An evil woman. Luna's parents work for her and therefore they live in her mansion. She is Luna's aunt, but Luna doesn't know it because she's adopted and don't know her biological family. Sharon doesn't know it either until season 2.

And when she does know... she wanna make sure Luna never finds out. She goes to her adoptive daughter Ámbar, who she has told everyone is just her goddaughter (why?? Idk I guess she doesn't want to be recognized as a mother?) and tells Ámbar that she's her long lost niece, Sol Benson.

So Ámbar gets a fucking identity crisis. TWICE. Once when she finds out she's Sol Benson and once when she finds out she's actually NOT Sol Benson, but Luna is.

And then she gets a third identity crisis and turns goth, but more on that later

To make an ASOUE reference... Sharon and Ámbar are firestarters. Like if anyone would ever make an asoue au it would fucking WORK because they're literally firestarters, and Sharon is obsessed with a fortune that doesn't belong to her and also her brother-in-law who she was in love with (she even took his last name in his honor after he died)

Sharon burns down a mansion twice and Ámbar burns down a roller skates rink

Oh yeah. While this dramatic family drama is happening we have the plot of a group of quirky friends riding roller skates <3 So yes it's like two shows in one you're watching

Ámbar once was so horny that she daydreamed about her crush in a punk outfit on a motorcycle, and they sang a duet while she repeatedly sang "TAKE ME!!!!"

And btw, when I first translated that word (she sings "Llevame" and I translated it), google translate said it was "ride me" and that's even funnier

Luna's best friend Nina had a secret online persona that everyone had a crush on, and it went so far that other people pretended to be her persona

A girl named Jazmin gets famous online by gossiping about her friends and apparently everyone is okay with this

Ok no they aren't always ok with it, but they forgive it very easily

Luna and Nina had sleepovers like every other episode for a while

This girl named Yam sang a literal love song to her best friend Jim, and they drove away the focus from them because Luna's love interest Matteo had to go talk to Luna in a park or something

Jim and Yam once broke a pipe and had to wear oversized suits because their clothes were wet

They also once dyed their hair silver by accident and went around school in hats and thought no one would notice

Ámbar once just watched Luna sleep while they shared a hotel room

At the same hotel, Luna's two love interests Matteo and Simón shared a room, and Matteo started talking in his sleep while Simón had a livestream with his band in the middle of the night

Simón once left tray of rose pedals from Ámbar's room to the main hallway, then they kissed and had implied sex or something

Simón had a crush on Luna in season 1, in season 2 they were the best of friends, and then in season 3 Luna had a crush on him. This did not lead anywhere.

Matteo once climbed a fence just because he wanted to show Luna a video, and then he fell off the fence and fucking died

Ok no he didn't die but he had this weirdass fantasy that he and Luna started making out, when in reality Luna was calling an ambulance

The house maid Amanda was normal in season 1, then in season 2 she got an imaginary boyfriend that she believes is real

Ámbar and Luna went on a skating date once and they had it off screen

Nina and her mom moved in with her mom's "best friend" and the two women were only best friends who wanted to live together, nothing more, WE SWEAR

The best friend then disappears

A man named Roberto just dies after the second episode

Nina breaks up with her boyfriend because they were too much of a healthy couple and we can't have that

Ámbar, after turning goth, graffiti paints her whole room black

Luna always dreams about the future and everyone is like "nah that's a dream <3" every single time

Simón moved from Mexico just to be with Luna and for the first weeks he lived in the mansion garage until some dudes looking for a band member offered him to stay at their apartment

This boy named Ramiro just raps and breakdances through every situation and no one questions it

He also third wheels some lesbians (Jim and Yam)

Luna dated Simón for like 10 episodes and never told her parents (even if they prob knew)

There's these twins who pretend to be each other simply to cause chaos and nothing else

The mansion burned down and then they just start next episode with "1 month later" and everything is like. Forgotten I guess

Sharon went blind

A boy named Michel just appeared to be an exchange student, and then he left because he was going to be an exchange student somewhere else

This asshole named Benicio dressed as Simón to kiss Ámbar

Their old roller skates coach Tamara, before leaving, lets Luna, a 16 year old, be in charge of the rink

No one can tell each other anything in the mansion, because if they do, Sharon's assistant Rey just appears like "WHAT WERE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!"

The season 3 intro is a dubstep version for some reason

The characters more or less stop going to school the further we go. Like, school was an important plot in s1, and in the other two seasons they are like. Wearing school uniforms but never attending classes

Sharon put her own father in a mental institution because he knew the truth about everything

That's all I came up with now... there's a lot more but that's that for now.

[fictionz]

New Fiction 2022 - May

"The Ghost Birds" by Karen Russell (2021)

You see them when you look away.

The Bible, Douay-Rheims, Complete - "1 Kings" ed. Richard Challoner (1752)

Saul done fucked up and all of Israel pays the price. God really loves an underdog though, helping David survive and accrue power on the sidelines as he gets built up to be the good king.

The Bible, Douay-Rheims, Complete - "2 Kings" ed. Richard Challoner (1752)

This is some real Game of Thrones-ass Bible with the fallout from Saul's death and David's coming and going as he keeps having to fight off the Philistines and others. And I thought Kings was a 2-parter but now you're telling me there's ANOTHER TWO chapters of king-making?

Dracula Daily - "May" by Bram Stoker & ed. Matt Kirkland (1897)

My good friend Jonathan Harker is having a rough start to his summer.

"Gorn Trek" by dux (2022)

All of Star Trek is poorer for having not received a TV series following the continued journeys of Gorn.

Outer Wilds - "Echoes of the Eye" dev. Mobius Digital (2021)

I was sour over being made to dwell in the dark, but I understand now. The rest of it bowled me over and now I’ll gladly replay those segments with more appreciation. I can’t get enough of conspiracy board gameplay.

Aperture Desk Job dev. Valve (2022)

Yep, Valve needs to make more games.

Sitting dir. Emily Yoshida (2017)

Hold my hand and tell me of yesterday.

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness dir. Sam Raimi (2022)

Like: it's so weird and VERY Sam Raimi horror-goof. Dislike: too many moving parts and definitely hindered by MCU tie-in fluff. EEAAO is my multiverse of choice this season.

The Ancestral dir. Le-Van Kiet (2022)

You can’t run away when you’re chasing.

Petite Maman dir. Céline Sciamma (2022)

An understanding achieved is the greatest moment.

Firestarter dir. Keith Thomas (2022)

Control was the illusion. Now it’s chaos we seek.

Eraserhead dir. David Lynch (1977)

Motile horrors.

Videodrome dir. David Cronenberg (1983)

Ah, yes, absolutely long live the new flesh.

Men dir. Alex Garland (2022)

You almost got there.

Crash dir. David Cronenberg (1996)

Meet me on I-5 and I’ll show you something sweet.

The Bob's Burgers Movie dir. Loren Bouchard & Bernard Derriman (2022)

A feature-length pace isn’t always the way.

Goosebumps - "Stay Out of the Basement" (1996)

You know you shouldn’t go back for the dog.

Goosebumps - "Monster Blood" (1996)

Leave Aunt Kathryn to her hi-jinks.

Goosebumps - "Let's Get Invisible" (1996)

If we’re in it together then it might not be so bad.

Goosebumps - "The Girl Who Cried Monster" (1995)

Self-defeating prophecies.

Goosebumps - "The Ghost Next Door" (1998)

An eternity of repayment.

Goosebumps - "Be Careful What You Wish For" (1996)

Leave good endings alone when you bring them to TV.

Goosebumps - "The Werewolf of Fever Swamp" (1996)

If a howl works, take it.

Goosebumps - "You Can't Scare Me" (1996)

The perfect girl is real actually.

Goosebumps - "One Day at Horrorland" (1997)

You had to take it too far.

Goosebumps - "More Monster Blood" (1996)

A light jaunt through 1970s TV set design.

Goosebumps - "Scarecrow Walks at Midnight" (1996)

Nope.

Goosebumps - "Go Eat Worms" (1996)

Perhaps the most awful notion.

Goosebumps - "Ghost Beach" (1996)

Just stick to nice hotels.

Goosebumps - "Return of the Mummy" (1995)

Story so nice they did it twice.

Goosebumps - "Phantom of the Auditorium" (1995)

Not the dark and handsome stranger you’re looking for.

Como Dice el Dicho - "Muerto el perro se acabó la rabia" (2019)

Except I wouldn’t even want a dog.

[flatstarcarcosa]

had some thots about au ozai. 

i’ve mentioned before that i hc that in the modern setting, bending is not a first line of defense. it’s the last line. it’s harder than in the main setting, and benders are a lot more rare. 

firebenders get the short end of the stick, because while earth, water, and air benders are pretty much always around their element and have an easier time manipulating it, firebenders aren’t.

they cannot make fire from nothing. there has to be a spark, an ember, something to make flame from. 

so i had the idea that there’s firestarters always on them. ozai has them on his clothes; in the rings on his fingers, the cufflinks on some of his sleeves. he’s got a pair of shoes with firestarters embedded in the decorative metal on the heels. 

it’s why, when i finally reach him after he gets kidnapped, he’s down to his pants, and what’s left of his shirt, and nothing else. the guys that grabbed him knew that they’re hidden all over his fancy clothes, so they made sure to get rid of them. 

but i came up with the idea that azulon had always prepared for that. i’m aware that a lot of this is probably just like, making up how this could potentially work but it SOUNDS cool so i don’t care, and why can’t this ‘modern’ au potentially have technology that surpasses what we actually have irl? korra was stated to be the equivalent of the 20s, and our irl 1920′s didn’t have giant fighting robots. 

mild description of gore below.

i’m thinking azulon found himself in a similar position once when he was young, and decided that needed to be rectified. 

as such, iroh and ozai both have firestarters hidden in their mouths. it’s some sort of special blend of materials, since flint itself is too soft and easily breakable. as soon as their baby teeth fell out and got replaced with their adult teeth, azulon sent them to the oral surgeons. 

it works by having two of the original molars yanked out, one on top and one on bottom. the firestarter material is attached to a small plate and a screw that gets drilled into their gums and jaw, similar to how replacement teeth/bridge work/veneers are done. then there’s an enamel and ceramic material molded around it that’s roughly the same shape/size of the original tooth. 

it’s designed to mostly hold up during normal activities, so that they’re not accidentally setting it off just because they’re eating crackers or apples or other hard foods. 

iroh being the oldest meant he was essentially the guinea pig for perfecting how to do it. it was enough trips to the surgeon he genuinely lost count, and he’s not ashamed to admit he had a couple years when ozai was first born that he also doesn’t remember because he ended up just constantly on painkillers. 

he kicked the pills, he did not kick the chronic ache in his jaw and neck. there was at least twice as a kid where ozai asked why his neck audibly cracks sometimes. 

ozai has grown up with a dislike of dentists, but at least he didn’t deal with the same level of what was just shy of torture like iroh did. 

in order to remove the protective layers of material to get to the firestarter, it involves very intentionally snapping your jaw shut with as much force as possible (it will hurt) and then grinding your teeth to the right to crack the seal (it will hurt more).

ozai’s had to get his starters yanked out and replaced twice. once, was mandatory. it was azluon wanting to make sure he knew how to do it. 

the second time was when he was 19, and faceplanted while trying to finish a keg stand at a frat party. he landed on the side of his face the firestarters are on, and when he sat up and spat out chips of white enamel, he realized he’d opened the damn things by accident. azulon didn’t care that he was drinking under age, he only wanted to know why the fuck ozai was at a normal frat house with ‘lesser’ people. 

so anyway what i got thinking about was that after he gets kidnapped, and after they try to hit a homerun with a baseball bat on his face and he finally wakes up, he realizes the firestarters are still in his mouth. 

he can taste it. they leave behind a really strong taste of sulfur. he realizes that while they mangled his jaw (although he thinks at the moment it’s just dislocated, not that he’ll eventually end up with more titanium and steel than bone when all is said and done) the firestarters didn’t fall out. 

the coating and protective shell is gone, but the damn screws that keep them in place are doing their job. and his kidnappers don’t know about them. 

so yeah anyway, one of the ways he manages to mostly free himself is by just breathing fire and melting people in the hallway. 

he’s only got about one good blast in him at this point though, which is also why he steals a gun and snaps a guy neck with his handcuff chain, because that is also just very sexy and we love to see it. 

[runningwithhellhounds]

Pidge is fourteen. She and Keith are pressed against the Garrison wall, both a little breathless despite not having moved for half an hour. The memoir is taking place on the other side of the wall, outside, beautiful day. They can hear everything. This is the first time she's alone with Keith. It's funny how a sentiment brings you closer instantly; a tragedy to call this all-consuming loss a sentiment.

''I could sneak you in, at the end,'' Keith offers, seventeen and blood simmering.

''No. I don't want to see his face,'' she says and immediately feels horrible.

She draws a forever sign in the dry soil and it intensifies her pure agony like she thought it would. She stretches her long socks further past her ankles, hair still long and tied into low buns. She doesn't feel like herself. Her brother was a half of her self-definition.

''It is now appropriate to pause for a moment to reflect on the huge impact the crew will continue to have on humanity’s aspirations. We extend our deepest sympathy to everyone inspired by their spirit.''

Dust is rising from where Keith is thumping his fists on the ground with a devastating frequency. His eyes are clenched.

''Hey,'' she says, lowly. Collecting ignition to continue, firestarter petroleum oozy. But Keith says, ''Yeah.''

He splays his hands on the ground. Looks up, continues looking up. It's too bright for that to be comfortable. She fixates on the bruises on his knuckles and the blood around his fingernail.

''You have blood on your fingernail,'' she says. Keith brings his hands up, stoic and turmoiling at the same time. ''Right thumb,'' she says.

They have come up with a post-mortem communication code, okay? Matt said if one of them died and became a ghost, they would knock three glasses over. It's so so horrible. Keith lays a hand atop of her head.

''Perhaps this is the nature of heroism. Striving to achieve something that is beyond our ability. Even being the best doesn’t protect you from errors. Perhaps that in itself honours space and space exploration.''

Keith clenches his fists again. He had said Shiro would never. He’s too good for errors.

''I guess,'' she swallows, ''I guess we are the only ones who—'' The only ones with this erroneous feeling. This fucking mistaken grief. ''Who believe in them more than that,'' she finishes.

''Well, that's awkward,'' Keith jokes. They smile at each other, vaporous.

''We will now play a special song – the last song recommendation Matthew Holt sent to our station on Earth. Panic Vertigo by The Wrecks.''

Oh no, she thinks. Her mind spills into a stream of no no no, when Keith growls: ''Let's get the fuck away.''

He's already dusting off. He doesn't offer a hand and Pidge is grateful.

At fourteen, the Garrison is holding a memoir for the lost crew and Pidge’s hands feel unstable when she drinks from glasses. On the way to the ceremony, she and Keith climbed off his motorbike at a gas station made for boys like Keith, rogue, creases of their jeans sharp, boots strangely clean. Keith bought them canned coke and she was grateful.

 *

 She's pulling a yellow pepper apart, thinking, quite uselessly: maybe the illusion of strength stems from weakness. She squished it until it cracked and now the seeds are falling on the counter.

She's a half of a person. But, in contrast to the missing half, an idea is forming within her. In contrast to the missing half, Enceladus is still her favourite moon. It helps her think: Keith, from whom she hasn't heard for weeks, is a cyrovolcano. And she won't remain a flyby. She'll be a rover.

She calls the Garrison three times to reach him and carries her phone as a weight in her pocket for three days before he returns the call, bleeding apprehension.

''Hello?''

''Keith,'' she says, solemn. ''Keith. Can you steal something for me?''

 *

 Pidge is fifteen and a boy called Lance makes her doubt her insight all over.

She stops in a corridor when she sees him now, well past sleep-time. Lance hovers two fingers above the skin of a girl's hand.  His eyes flicker to hers, watchful, intent.

''How does that feel?'' he mutters with a ghosting smile.

''You're not touching me,'' the girl says through the teeth of her grin. Lance smiles elastically in a way that makes Pidge feel like she can snap.

The girl clears her throat, mouth a contour of a smile, and then Lance, too, turns. The girl pulls her hair in a tail, then releases, and Pidge watches it swing behind her back.

''Hi,'' Pidge says, ''Lance.''

''Hi, Pidge.'' He grins, pulls the girl's hand behind his back and holds it there with both hands. ''Look at that. Won't tell if you won't.''

Pidge runs her fingers through the hair at her nape. She thought familiarisation would come more slowly. Not letting go of the girl's hand, Lance pulls a key ring from his pocket, spins it around his finger. It's something kitsch, lowbrow and vibrant and nostalgic. She isn't like that. He's vibrant and she compares herself to extraterrestrial objects.

''Won't tell if you won't,'' she repeats.

 *

 She can't fall asleep, just keeps thinking, defined, almost geometrical thoughts. It's often like this. She just lies frustrated.

She thought it would be easy, that she would uncover the assembly of concepts of her and re-cover them with a new sheet. Instead, she is stuck. What drives science forward is the universality of laws. Eyes open, duvet light on her chest, she is stuck. Can't go forward. She can't develop herself, no universal laws apply.

A week ago she broke a plastic fork without meaning to and didn’t know what that meant.

 *

 Lance walks into the dark dining hall where Pidge sits slouched and they both start.

''Oh, uh, hey. Pidge. Wow, right? I didn't know the dining hall was unlocked at night, but looks like you've known. What are you reading?''

She glances down at her tablet. She's coordinating outputs of Garrison detectors. The device on the backside of the tablet is reading the academy’s data analyses. Lance comes close enough for its light illuminate him and she tilts the tablet away from him, towards her stomach.

''Wikipedia,'' she lies. He grins.

''Is this referring to your, what it that, a tablet?'' he points at the special offer sticker in the corner of her tablet that she scraped from a sandwich wrapping.

''No,'' she says, ''It’s referring to me.''

''Yeah? How so?''

How funny that a person so whole is asking her this. ''You want me to tell you why I think I'm special?''

''Sure,'' Lance crosses his arms.

Her neck cracks when she tips her head up. Maybe this: she has, in a way, cracked all the joints in her body, cracked her everything, new shape recuperating under the always-loose clothes. Who is she? Primordial soup of a person. Chemically potent. An isomer inverted. And can’t stop thinking about that. The transition, the hoax, has made her the embodiment of metacognition.

''I cognise about my cognition,'' she says. Lance’s eyebrows shoot up and it makes her want to cross out her answer. ''I’ll find aliens,'' she covers up. Something less irritating, less out of reach, and no less sincere. Lance beams, whole body moving illogically with enthusiasm.

''Me too! Man,'' he says, closer now, and Pidge concludes magnetism attracts him to things, never repels. ''Please tell me you have a plan. Humanity has lived so long without aliens, it’s time.'' He straightens up with intent. ''Are you going to cognise something for the Garrison? Or, I mean, if we can reach Kerberos. I mean. Maybe we’ll have the tech to go further just when I’m allowed to fly higher than fifty thousand feet.''

''Yeah, well. Icarus only flew too close to the sun because his wings were shit.'' Lance grins, but then tilts his head.

''You look upset,'' Lance says – because he seems to live on the outside of himself. She shakes her head. Typing tempestuously from her home floorboards, she thought: the Garrison would be a she-unknown zone. She’d be a hoax, and people wouldn’t know her. But actually, no. She can give what she can give.

''Some officers don't take girls seriously,'' she says.

''Oh,'' Lance sounds surprised. ''Is there someone you like?''

''No. That girl, what's her name? Do you take her seriously?''

''The one from the hallway?'' Lance asks and it makes her feel infinitely worse. ''Whoa, dude. Yes, I take Alleine seriously. I'm not just, I don't know, playing. I have respect.''

She sweeps her electronic chips into a pile on the tabletop. She’s not trying to be inflammatory. She just feels her bedrock being attacked.

''They have internal worlds too, you know.''

''Dude. I know.'' He folds his arms and she doesn’t know what to say. He half-laughs, looking to the side, arms unfolding. Okay, adventure over for tonight. See you around. Nice talking to you, Pidge.''

''Lance,'' she calls. He turns, tilts his head a little. ''I like your confidence. Keep it up.''

''I like yours,'' Lance smiles, just by the door, when the door swings open, an officer stepping in.

''Ah,'' Lance breathes. Straightens up. ''Sir.''

''Good evening, cadets,'' an officer Pidge doesn’t know barely glances at her before settling on Lance. Crypsis, she thinks. ''McClain. Are you testing the admissions?''

Lance takes in the scattered electronics, glances at Pidge. ‘’I — Pidge was teaching me, sir. About – structural aircraft repair procedures. After today's simulation I thought I could benefit from it, and I feel – devoted—'' he stumbles over devoted three times, and she feels her body jerk. Lance looks horrified.

''Bring your devotion to class tomorrow. And don’t test academy rules. Two minutes to clear up.'' Lance keeps his eyes on him as he leaves, breathing in slowly. Shiro was a Garrison commander and she has met him twice. She’s sure Shiro would use euphemisms.

''Jesus fucking Christ,'' Lance says.

''Whatever you want to believe in,'' she replies. Lance huffs.

 *

 In her head, she once calls her inner voice her articulatory control system. Then thinks: that’s enough. Her insight told her that this person-creation would lead her further than any human has ever been. And her insight is good: she’s picking up data she doesn’t know what to do with. That’s good. Her insight was a carefully crafted thing and she absolutely loves that Matt and Keith are the two people who'd never tell her you're overthinking this. It’s for them. She doesn’t own three glasses, because she believes: in Matt, in herself.

 *

 It’s her foresight that can’t be trusted much. She talks to Lance and doesn’t feel very real. Maybe she should start listening to music.

 *

 ''Hunk,'' Lance says, back straight and voice loud, ''do you know Pidge? He's a romantic.''

''I'm not a romantic,'' she snaps, climbing carefully over the bench with her tray. Hunk is sitting opposite of Lance and now scoots along the bench and ends up in front of her. His relaxed arms, elbows on the table and hands clasped, look warm.

''Sounds like a compliment, but. Lance, you dick, what did you do?''

Lance grins while chewing. Like Michael Jackson. ''I meant it positively. But I still trade these bad boys—'' he lifts a bottle of juice, ''to compensate. Want, Pidge?''

''No. Yes,'' she snatches it Lance’s hands. She likes the knowing between him and Hunk. It’s different from her, and from Keith. They are both somehow not old enough for it, maybe; don’t have enough real niceties.

''These were out when I was a child, can’t believe I’m getting them in my dream school, too,'' Hunk says. ''Like, the smell. Smells like childhood.''

Treat and threat are such similar words, she thought while drinking coke on a curb with Keith, smelling her way into childhood. And now she thinks it again.

''Good god,'' she jerks, her fork screeching against the plate.

''Whoa. You doing okay?''

''Yeah,'' she clears her throat, a cover-up, a swallow-down. Before her insides disseminate. ''I just lost track of – time,'' she finishes lamely.

''Oh,'' Hunk says. ''Track of time is a good thing to lose. If I were to lose something,'' he smiles.

 *

 Lance chews like a Hollywood star and isn’t afraid of heights and she is volatile. But maybe she’s past the impact-heavy stage of moon formation. Pidge is fifteen, her hair is short, and she’s the first microorganisms bursting to life. She’s the detection of some geothermal activity. Still uncertain, but onto something.

 *

They are perched and tense above the extraterrestrial sample curation building. It's the most perfect of surprises. It's Shiro.

She breathes in. She sends the location to Keith, the rushed word: Shiro. Coordination and causation are her blood type, after all. It's nothing new, to be an in-group spy. An infiltrator. They all start at the explosions.

''No way,'' Lance says, strained, hype-high. ''That guy is always trying to one-up me!''

The desert-night wind cools the sweat at her hairline to a suggestion of a headache. It's all happening very fast. When she speaks, it's taut and dusty.

''Who?''

(on ao3)

[mycroftrh]

fics always have Batman being an amazing survivalist, Robinson Crusoeing his way across the frozen wastes, building Swiss Family Robinson mansions, making a Gilligan’s Island bamboo car, living in a snow cave and killing wolves with his teeth but like

the guy grew up in one of the biggest cities in the world and has stubbornly lived there for all but like four years of his life, he has a fucking love affair with this city

and it would be hilarious to me if he were the world’s most citified city boy.  the batfam gets stranded in a forest for a night and Bruce is like oh my GOD what is this sharp stabby stuff on the GROUND (it’s pine needles, bruce, dick explains patiently) and holy SHIT what is that massive terrifying BEAST (it’s a deer, father, damian explains less patiently)

and he vaguely knows how to build a fire because Alfred thought he and Dick should have campfires and roast marshmallows (which he did a total of twice) so he thinks okay, I’ve got this, I know how to do this, I can reassert my superiority

but it turns out that in the middle of the woods they don’t have firestarter logs or newspaper or even lighters? apparently? so Tim, who wasn’t too standoffish to do survival training with HIS superhero team unlike OTHER people who refuse to show weakness or god FORBID have to spend time BONDING -

Tim does the thing with the spinning sticks and some of those scary pine needles and starts a lovely fire and Bruce is just staring at him like he’s Prometheus having brought fire down from the gods, this is the most amazing sorcery he’s ever seen in his life, Zatanna has gone way down in his estimation

(Dick spends the night in a tree.  Jason points out that if they’d let him bring a gun it would have been a lot easier to start the fire.  Cass may have conceivably wrestled a bear at some point, but that can’t be proven.)

[rockinthebeastmode]

Firestarter III

A/N: Hiya! I was about to sleep but was finishing this up on my phone--decided to go ahead and post it 😝 Hope you enjoy!

Firestarter I   Firestarter II

You can find Sleep here:  I   II   III  

You can find the rest of my fics here.

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Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list and if I missed anyone :)

Firestarter III

As soon as Finn entered the Swan and approached their table, Archie was on him.

“‘Bout time you showed up--what happened with Simmy?”

“Can I sit down first?” Finn asked, rolling his eyes as he dropped into the booth next to him, “I’m not saying anything until there’s a pint in my hand.”

A few minutes later, with beers in front of them, Chop and Archie sat back as Finn took a sip and explained his botched meeting.

“I have to do it,” Finn finished, shaking his head when Archie opened his mouth to protest, “If I don’t, I’m fucked.” Archie frowned deeply.

“What if you get caught? You’ll do more time either way,” he retorted, Chop shrugging next to him.

“Less time than for murder,” Chop countered, Finn gesturing to him with a nod.

“If he clears me, I can get out of Stamford,” Finn said, his next words under his breath, “Like I planned the first bloody time.”

“I don’t like this,” Archie sighed, biting his lip as he looked at Finn. He tried a smile and lifted a shoulder.

“I’ll sort it, Arch, don’t think on it,” he replied dismissively before changing the subject, “Where’s Izzy at?”

“She’s on her way with Chloe,” Chop answered, sipping his pint. Finn’s brow lowered and he grimaced slightly.

“Who the fuck is Chloe?”

“They met in dance class,” Chop offered before his mouth twisted, “She mentioned someone else coming but I can’t remember the name… Ray or summat.” Finn’s grimace worsened.

“As in Raymond?” Chop shrugged with a head shake.

“Dunno.”

As if on cue, the Swan’s front door opened and Izzy bounced through, a petite brunette girl following close behind. Finn’s eyes widened when Rae stepped in after them, her eyes scanning the room as she followed them towards the table. He met her gaze with a cheeky grin, her head tilting with a surprised smile.

“Afternoon,” he greeted, barely noticing the others’ confused stares.

“Afternoon,” Rae answered, her eyes sparkling. She turned to the others’ with a hesitant smile. Archie returned it before shooting an amused look at Finn and Chop’s brows wiggled as he nudged him.

“What’s this?” he asked suggestively, his Cheshire grin widening at Finn’s reddening cheeks.

“We’ve met,” he said simply before clearing his throat.

The girls sat down, Rae moving into the booth next to Finn with Chloe and Izzy in chairs opposite. Chloe shot her a confused brow raise but shakily introduced her to the others before beaming at her brightly.

“Rae’s just gotten back from France,” Chloe explained, Finn’s head snapping to her. She shook her head at him minisculely, a small smile gracing her lips.

To Finn’s relief, Chloe changed the subject before anyone could ask Rae about it and when everyone’s attention was elsewhere, he brought his index finger to her thigh. She jumped slightly at the contact, her eyes widening, and Finn started to write.

F-R-A-N-C-E-?

Rae bit her lip before bringing her finger to his leg to answer.

S-E-C-R-E-T

Finn met her eyes briefly, his brow furrowing.  

W-H-Y-?

C-R-A-Z-Y

Finn scoffed under his breath and started writing. Rae fidgeted a bit as his response continued and he barely repressed a smirk.

E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E-S  C-R-A-Z-Y

She met his eyes with a smile and went to reply when Chop’s voice cut through their bubble, Finn and Rae jumping to attention.

“Are you two in?”

“What?” Finn blurted loudly, Rae stifling a laugh. He ran his finger along her inner thigh, tickling her lightly and she bit back a gasp as Chop snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Bonfire out at Rutlands, ya deaf bugger,” he repeated before winking, “Need your expertise.” Archie shot him a dirty look as Finn and Rae both shrugged. Chop waved them off and Finn faced Rae again.

B-O-N-F-I-R-E-?

Rae hummed and tilted her head before replying.

M-A-Y-B-E

She scrunched her nose at him and Finn bit back a grin before they faced the others.

***

Finn looked up from his textbook with a frown as Stacey sighed loudly and slammed her book shut.

“I can’t concentrate with this depressing shite you call music,” she whined, Finn’s frown deepening and his eyes rolling.

“S’better than the fucking Backstreet Boys,” he retorted and crossed his arms, Stacey’s mouth opening indignantly as he continued, “Enough to make your ears bleed.”

Stacey’s response was cut off by the doorbell ringing and the sound of her mother coming inside and calling out. They heard Jenny’s voice greeting her and Stacey’s nose wrinkled as Finn raised his brows at her.

“Saved by the bell,” he said, Stacey huffing as they stood and started down the stairs. Jenny and Felicity’s voices stopped as they appeared, Felicity’s hands clasping with a wide smile.

“There’s the lovebirds now,” she sang, Stacey and Finn exchanging looks.

“We’re not together, mum,” Stacey carped, Finn nodding along, “We’re just mates.”

“Who said we were mates?” Finn asked cheekily, smirking when Stacey elbowed him. Jenny scoffed and his smirk dropped.

“Guess the boy doesn’t have the bollocks to make a move,” she taunted, Finn’s face darkening. Felicity laughed, waving a hand at her.

“Don’t tease him, Jen,” she chuckled, Jenny letting out a snort. Finn rolled his eyes and she stepped towards him, her eyes narrowing.

“Lose the attitude,” she warned, Finn immediately tensing. Stacey felt his body stiffen next to her and linked their arms.

“Walk me out, yeah?” she mumbled and led them towards the door. Finn shakily followed her, his eyes kept low and away from his mother. When they reached her mum’s car, Stacey stepped away from him and gave him a concerned glance.

“Alright?” she asked, a bit uncomfortably, and Finn breathed a laugh, raising a brow at her.

“Don’t try and pretend to give a fuck, Stace. It doesn’t suit you.” She glared at him severely, her arms crossing.

“Do you have to be a prick all the time or is it just special for me?” she argued, the two scowling at each other before she sighed and took his hand, “Ring me if y’need anything.”

Finn looked away but nodded, his hand squeezing hers before he backed away with a wave.

“Laters, Stacey.”

***

Finn’s hand shook slightly as he dialed Rae’s number and he checked the slip of paper she’d written it on twice as it rang. He swallowed hard as a female voice answered.

“Hiya, can I speak to Rae, please?”

“Speaking,” she answered, her voice lilting in expectation.

“It’s Finn,” he blurted, Rae laughing softly in response.

“I figured,” she teased. Finn’s ears burned, his lips quirking into an embarrassed smile.

“You busy?” he asked, his hand running through his hair.

“Why?”

“Thought we could go bowling or something,” he said as nonchalantly as he could.

“You serious?” Rae said incredulously, Finn smirking.

“You scared to lose?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she scoffed, Finn biting back a grin, “Why don’t you just come ‘round? My mum’s out at the shops...you can show me some of your crap reggae.”

Finn’s heart skipped a beat and he forced himself to keep his voice level.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

***

“So?”

Rae’s mouth twisted and she glanced at Finn from the side. They laid on their backs next to each other on her small bed, arms pressed together.

“Sorry to disappoint but I still think it’s shit,” she said, her lips moving into a grin as he groaned and shot her a frown, “Got anything better?”

Finn rolled off of the bed towards the stereo and flipped through his small collection of mixtapes he’d brought over. His mouth twisted as he plucked one up and put it on, nodding to himself as There Is a Light that Never Goes Out started. He turned back to Rae and smirked at her raised brows and pursed lips.

“Not the worst you could do,” she goaded, chuckling as he dropped back to the bed heavily, the two facing each other.

He pulled her pillow closer, Rae scoffing and moving a bit to keep her head on it. He met her eyes, feeling a smile playing on his lips.

“D’ya think you’ll be able to go to the bonfire?” he asked, his teeth set on his bottom lip. She shrugged with a sigh.

“I dunno...my mum’s been weird about me going out.” Finn shook his head a bit and looked at her intently.

“It would be shit if you didn’t go. I won’t take no for an answer because...” Finn paused and Rae’s lips flattened as she waited for him to continue.

His brow lowered as he took her hand and entwined their fingers with her palm facing him. His finger ran across her skin lightly before he started writing.

I  W-A-N-T  Y-O-U

His gaze raised to her and he quickly took in her pink cheeks and wide eyes before he finished.

T-O

A smile grew on Rae’s face and her nose wrinkled, Finn mirroring her before he moved as close as he dared and met her eyes. His eyes darted to her lips and he watched as she licked them, her mouth remaining parted as he raised his brows at her and started to lean in. She gave a small nod and Finn inhaled slowly as their faces grew near, Rae’s eyes fluttering shut. Their lips almost brushed when a pounding sounded on the door and it started to crack open, Rae’s mum’s voice calling out to her. The two sprung apart, Finn rolling back onto the floor and landing on his arse with a grunt.

“Rae, I forgot to grab red cabbage while I was out, I need ya to nip down to the shop and get some,” her mum said, pausing when she laid eyes on Finn, “And who’s this?”

“Finn Nelson, ma’am,” he rushed out, standing quickly and clearing his throat, “I was just leaving.”

“Good...Red cabbage, Rae.”

Rae rolled her eyes as she exited and faced Finn with a pout.

“To be continued?” he murmured, giving her a small smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Finn bent to her level and kissed her cheek, biting his lip as he backed up. Rae’s cheeks reddened and she gave him a slightly breathy goodbye. He turned to leave, his gut flipping as she sighed behind him and he slipped out the door.

***

“Brilliant, Chop. This is your best idea yet.”

“Sod off, Archer, I handled everything else--the beer, the food, the bloody tents,” Chop said, rolling his eyes before continuing under his breath, “Like I’m Captain fuckin’ Tent-shop.”

“Why the fuck are we camping when none of us can light a fire?” Archie countered, crossing his arms and scowling.

“One of you can figure it out, I’ve gotta piss.”

Archie groaned as he walked away, lighting a smoke as he went. He turned to Finn and raised his hands.

“Chill out, Arch, I’ve got it,” Finn assured, shaking his head at Chop’s retreating figure. He took the rollie from behind his ear and lit it, keeping it between his lips as he knelt next to the makeshift campfire.

“Your dad teach you or something?” Archie asked, his brows raising as Finn moved the kindling and sticks around before he lit a match and puffed at his cigarette.

Finn didn’t answer, his eyes set on the small flame. His mouth rose into a smile as he tossed it at the bottom, the fire sparking as it started and grew. He stood straight and stepped away from the fire, meeting Archie’s curious and wide eyed gaze.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Finn chuckled, his brow furrowing. Archie shook his head, his lips flattening.

“I’ve just...I’ve never seen you smile like that,” he observed, Finn shrugging with a shaky laugh.

“Sure you have...we’ve been mates a long time,” he replied, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

“S’pose you’re right,” Archie mumbled, his mouth twisting to the side. He couldn’t help but look Finn over once more, taking in his bright eyes, his face completely lit up in the orange glow.

***

Chop had gone all out for this one—a sexy bonfire, he called it. He was putting up a few tents while Archie and Finn brought food and booze from the cars. The girls arrived just as they made the last trip, Chloe and Izzy holding lights and blankets. Rae held a stereo and a large bag, filled to bursting with music.

Finn inclined his head to her as they walked up, a smirk playing on his lips. Before he could go to her, Chop was ushering him towards the bonfire spot to set up the blaze for that night.

He knelt to start building the foundation and in a few minutes, the base was down. He stood to look over the kindling they’d gathered and bit his cheek as he thought of how to arrange the wood. His musings were interrupted when Rae approached, his mind instantly blanking.

“Hiya,” she greeted lightly with a small smile before nodding at the fire site, “How’s it going?”

Finn half shrugged, his hand rubbing his neck. He gestured to it with a smirk.

“It’ll live,” he joked and wrinkled his nose, “Chop wants it massive.”

Rae bit her lip and stepped closer to him. Finn inhaled shakily as her hand reached for him and entwined their fingers.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” she asked quietly, her anxious eyes boring into his. He squeezed her hand and forced a smile.

“Yeah, of course...it’s just a bonfire, Rae.”

She hesitated to nod but brought her hand up his arm, rubbing his bicep. She raised a brow at him and tilted her head towards the site.

“Show me how it’s done?”

[hanscom]

Heat of the Moment

Read on ao3 here.

Rating: explicit

Word Count: 3,163

This is a very late submission to fyeahreddie’s weekly prompt “heat”.

These are the facts: Richie Tozier talks a lot.

Richie Tozier wears coke-bottle glasses, and his two front teeth are kind of fucked up.

Richie Tozier can start fires with his mind.

It starts during puberty, before his voice dips deep but after the first few dark whiskers sprout from his upper lip. One day, he’s a normal kid, just shy of seventh grade, knees knobby and permanently scraped, and the next, his Star Wars sheets smolder to ash against his bare skin.

That happens, sometimes: kids with powers. It’s not common, exactly, but things are weird in Derry and everyone knows it. Six times the national average kind of weird. There was that shapeshifter back in the 50s who killed a couple dozen kids, and the prom queen in the 70s who destroyed half the town with her mind. Richie’s mom grew up with a girl who had long, red hair that shifted around her shoulders with a life of its own. Now, just down the street, Stan Uris can tell you what you’re thinking before you even open your mouth.

So Richie’s not a freak, exactly, but he lights up the living room curtains twice a month and the sprinkler system his parents have installed ruins three different television sets. He goes to school on a probationary basis. Nobody thinks twice about cool, collected Stan (mostly because he could hear it if they did), but Richie is watched like he’s seconds away from a meltdown at all times.

He learns to laugh it off. He learns to crack jokes, and put people at ease with his smart mouth and long fuse. He learns to control his temper. He learns how to be normal.

He gets so good at it that sometimes, he goes weeks without burning anything. Sometimes, he lasts for months before that fiery energy underneath his skin boils over. Sometimes, he forgets it’s there at all.

Times like now.

He’s in Eddie’s room, snuck right in through the tiny window that is kept constantly unlocked just for him. He’s been doing this for years, has gotten so good at it that sometimes he does it in broad daylight, when anyone who cared enough to look could see him scale the side of the Kaspbrak residence. It’s night now, though, and Mrs. Kaspbrak is asleep in her chair downstairs, unaware that there are two boys tucked into her darling son’s childhood bed.

They’re kissing, which is something of a new development. There has been something building between them for years, something hot and dynamic, something even more uncontrollable and frightening than the constant fire burning underneath Richie’s fingertips. That something finally exploded into being the month before, when Eddie had made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and hauled Richie in, mid-sentence.

“Sorry,” he had said after their lips had brushed together, a whisper of a kiss. “I can’t stop thinking about that.”

Richie had actually never, ever thought about kissing Eddie before, because his self-control is impeccable and he’s gotten good at denying his desires, but he had looked at Eddie’s red mouth then and decided he suddenly wanted nothing more.

So now, instead of reading comics or listening to music in the late-night privacy of Eddie’s bedroom, the two of them spend their time wrapped up together, sharing slow, youth-clumsy kisses. Richie runs a lot hotter than most people, and sometimes they have to stop when Eddie starts to sweat, but tonight Eddie’s shirt is clinging to his slick skin and he still hasn’t pulled away. He’s sucking on Richie’s tongue and he has one hand teased underneath Richie’s shirt, fingertips splayed on the small of Richie’s back. His touch is electric. Richie has the fuzzy thought that maybe Eddie has a power, too, because that’s the only explanation for the static shock way Eddie’s touch makes the hair on his arms stand on end.

Eddie is beneath him, his legs spread apart so Richie can fit between them, their hips slotted together. Eddie is hard, and so is Richie, but they’re not really doing anything about it because they haven’t done that yet. Richie is a seventeen year old boy and he knows what his dick is for, knows he could rub it just perfectly up against the cradle of Eddie’s hips, get himself off just like that, but he’s not entirely sure how Eddie would react, and he’s also not entirely sure he would last long at all. He doesn’t want to chance ending this, not when Eddie’s clutching at him like that, arching up to kiss him more firmly.

“You’re hot,” Eddie says against his mouth, a muffled breath of noise that almost doesn’t penetrate the heavy, horny buzz of Richie’s thoughts.

“Yeah, baby,” Richie says, half-distracted by the way Eddie’s hands grasp at him. “You are, too, you’re –”

“No, Richie, you’re hot,” Eddie insists, and Richie realizes that tight grip isn’t clutching him closer but pushing him off.

He yanks away. The air between them is suddenly hazy, like when heat rises off blacktop on a smoldering summer day. He should be sweating, but any bit of moisture on his skin has long since hissed into steam. Eddie’s face is very red, and he’s prodding delicately at his lips. Richie hasn’t accidently burned someone in years.

“Shit, Eds, I’m sorry,” he says in a rush.

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a minute, and Richie has no idea what he’s thinking because he’s choosing not to look. He’s staring steadfastly at the crisp corner of Eddie’s hospital-white bedsheets. Richie’s sheets at home are flame-resistant, but Eddie’s are not. They look so fragile, bleach-white cotton that Richie could destroy too easily.

“Does that always happen?” Eddie finally asks.

Richie rubs a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck. “No,” he admits. “It’s never happened before.”

Eddie stares at him. When Richie works up enough courage to meet his eyes, he’s smiling. The tight ball of anxious heat building in Richie’s chest loosens all at once into a quiet smolder.

“So it’s just me?” Eddie asks. He looks intensely pleased by the idea.

Richie huffs. “No, it’s… I’ve never, uh. I’ve never done it before.”

He hears Eddie suck in a quiet breath. “You mean…?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, like he’s not acutely ashamed of that admission. “Who would want to fuck the Firestarter, you know?”

Eddie touches the side of Richie’s face then, gently turning him so that Richie is finally looking at him again, full-on. He looks soft and sweet, not at all pitying or amused, the way Richie sort of expects. “Richie,” he says, voice steady and very, very serious, “the least interesting thing about you is that you start fires. If people can’t see past that, it’s their loss.”

Richie doesn’t have enough time to fully process how wonderfully those words bloom in his chest, because Eddie reaches for him, dragging Richie back into his space.

“And to answer your question, I do,” he says, his voice now a whisper. His eyes are hotter than any fire Richie has ever set. “I want to fuck the Firestarter.”

Richie goes hot all over, a stinging prickle across his skin and under it. The temperature spikes, and there are little beads of sweat dotted across Eddie’s forehead, his upper lip. Richie wants nothing more than to kiss him, but he’s so scared Eddie might melt.

“We can’t,” he says, almost a whine. “Eddie, I’d hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Eddie says back immediately, like he really thinks Richie can control himself. And he’s right, for the most part – Richie has pretty impeccable self-control, usually. Just not when it comes to this moment, right now, when Eddie is looking at him like that.

“I would,” Richie insists. “I can’t help it, Eds. You just get me hot.” And he waggles his eyebrows, trying to break the tension before he can do something really stupid.

Eddie groans and shoves at Richie’s shoulders without any real force. “I changed my mind,” he says. “Get off me, let me go.”

He doesn’t actually think Eddie wants him to, but he rolls off anyway for the sake of his own sanity. Eddie looks sort of surprised, then sort of disappointed, then sort of devious, all in the span of a couple of seconds. He climbs off the bed, standing to the side. Richie sits up, sort of helpless to do anything but follow, his legs folded over the edge of the mattress, feet against the floor.

Richie doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but he certainly doesn’t expect it when Eddie sinks to his knees, right between the spread of Richie’s legs.

His breathing stutters, and his brain sort of blanks. It’s a small miracle that he doesn’t light the place up by accident. It’s funny: Richie could burn the house down around them, could set the fucking world on fire, but somehow, kneeling there at Richie’s feet, little Eddie Kaspbrak has all the power.

“Eddie,” he says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice, a quiet gasp of sound. “This is a really bad idea.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, but he reaches forward and starts to unbutton Richie’s jeans. His hands are shaking, which is the only real indication that he’s at all unsure about this. That small gesture makes Richie feel a little better, but not by much.

“Tell me if I should stop,” Eddie says, lowering the zipper.

“You should stop,” Richie murmurs. Eddie looks up at him, pausing with Richie’s jeans opened up under his hands. “Please don’t stop,” he adds, and Eddie’s smile is almost worth the inevitable carnage.

They work together to get Richie’s pants and underwear down his legs. They pool at his ankles, and he doesn’t bother to kick them fully off because Eddie is just staring, his eyes a little wide and his mouth sort of open.

“You’re hard,” he says after a moment, like that’s the most surprising part of this entire scenario.

Richie kind of wants to laugh. “Got a cute boy on his knees with his mouth about four inches from my dick. Can you blame me?”

Eddie stares at his erection for another long moment. “Don’t burn me,” he finally says, and then leans forward to rub a closed-mouth kiss across the very tip.

Richie’s entire body jerks. “No promises,” he says through gritted teeth, and his hands automatically fall to Eddie’s head, lacing into his hair.

Eddie pulls back to level him with a very unimpressed look. “If you light my hair on fire, I’ll bite your dick off.”

The thought of Eddie’s sharp teeth sinking down into him should be enough to take the edge off the overwhelming desire burning in his gut, but it isn’t. If anything, Richie is sort of thrilled by the challenge. He tightens his fingers in Eddie’s hair. Eddie looks pleased, lowering his mouth again. Richie wants to tell him just how good he looks, illuminated by soft lamplight, mouth and cheeks both very pink, sweating and gorgeous, but then Eddie is licking a curious line up his length and words fail him for maybe the first time ever. He makes a helpless little noise and Eddie looks up at him, his dark eyes huge and glimmering. Richie thinks he could come, just looking at Eddie then.

Eddie doesn’t move quickly, but he’s determined, sinking down slowly, as far as he can go. He stays there for a few long seconds, tightening his lips and then his throat. Richie can feel him swallow, and then he pushes down another inch and his whole body shakes when he gags. He pulls off, wipes his mouth, and then starts all over again, looking very focused.

“Shit,” Richie gasps, and he has to take his hands out of Eddie’s hair because he’s sure it’s going to end badly if he doesn’t. “Fuck, Eds, wait a second, slow down.”

Eddie glowers at him and slides his mouth almost all the way down again. He’s gripping Richie’s thighs to steady himself, and his nails slice into the skin when he takes too much at once. Eddie’s mouth is so hot and tight and good that Richie almost pushes his hips up into the contact, but he somehow manages to sit still, grabbing for one of Eddie’s pillows just for something to do with his hands.

In the end, it’s over very quickly. Richie would be embarrassed about that, except no one could possibly last, faced with Eddie’s red hot mouth and all-consuming enthusiasm. Eddie stops trying to deepthroat him after the first few tries and instead bobs his head over what he can manage, his hand fisting what he can’t. Richie starts making noise at some point, low-voiced uh uh uh sounds that keep time with the up-down stroke of Eddie’s mouth, and at one point Eddie pulls off to shush him, but he’s grinning and he resumes his rhythm even more fervently, like it’s a challenge.

When Richie comes, the room gets very, very hot all at once. It’s sort of hard to breathe, but maybe that’s just because Eddie doesn’t stop immediately. He slows down, but his tongue still draws a lazy pattern on the underside of Richie’s dick. Richie closes his eyes, because he doesn’t have enough self-control to look at Eddie’s spit-shiny lips and also keep the fire inside.

Richie twitches when Eddie finally pulls off, but doesn’t look.

“Richie,” Eddie says.

Richie gives a noncommittal hum, his heart still thrumming hard.

“Richie.“

Richie finally opens his eyes.

Eddie looks debauched, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his mouth very puffy. His pupils are dilated, and they’re dancing in the low light.

“Could you put that out?” he asks, and his voice is sort of ruined in a way that makes Richie stupid. He doesn’t even know what Eddie’s talking about until he looks pointedly at Richie’s hands, still gripped tightly into the pillow. It’s on fire.

“Oh, shit!” He throws the pillow onto the ground and jumps to his feet, almost tripping over the pants still pooled around his ankles. He manages to free himself and then uses the leg of his jeans to beat out the fire.

When he’s finished, he finds Eddie watching him, looking soft and amused and stupidly beautiful. Richie doesn’t have any other choice but to kiss him. Eddie tries to pull away, spouting some nonsense about how it’s gross. “Don’t you remember where my mouth has been?” he asks, as if Richie is ever gonna forget.

Richie kisses him anyway, and then kisses him again. They spend the rest of the night like that, trading slow kisses, falling back into bed together. It’s almost dawn when Eddie finally falls asleep, and Richie stares at his sweet sleeping face for a long time before he finally sneaks back out Eddie’s window. He’s done it probably a million times, but it’s definitely the first time he drops to the ground on steady feet, feeling lighter than air.

Eddie and Richie share the same homeroom, and most of the same classes, so the next day is… interesting. Most of the time, Richie expends almost all of his attention on not lighting the place up out of pure boredom, but now he has something much more interesting to focus on, like the way Eddie flushes red every time they make eye contact. It happens once, then twice, and then Eddie steadfastly refuses to look at him. Richie spends most of the morning trying to get his attention. He gets yelled at twice by two different teachers, but it’s worth it when Eddie tries to give him a disapproving look and instead goes a little hazy-eyed, like he’s thinking as hard about the night before as Richie is.

At lunch, they sit side-by-side, as always. Mike is on Richie’s other side, and Ben and Bill and Stan all sit across from them. Bev is perched at the head of the table. They’re all talking about… well, something. Richie’s not entirely sure what’s going on, because he’s watching Eddie peel open an orange and then suck the juice off his fingers. Eddie isn’t talking much, either, but that’s not that unusual – certainly not as weird as Richie’s silence. Honestly, it’s a miracle none of their friends have mentioned it yet. Or maybe they have. Richie doesn’t have the first clue what anyone is saying, because Eddie is making these thoughtful little noises when he bites into a particularly good bit of fruit. It’s the same kind of full-mouth noise he made the night before, when he…

Stan suddenly slams his hand down on the table, hard enough to shake it. Richie startles out of his lewd thoughts long enough to realize that Stan looks supremely annoyed.

“Stop thinking,” he says, his voice nearly a growl.

Richie grins slowly, not at all embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says. “Can’t help myself.”

Stan looks at him, his eyes narrowed. “Not you,” he says, sour and dismissive. “Do you really think I still listen to your thoughts? I blocked you out in eighth grade.” And then his gaze slides over to Eddie, who is suddenly refusing to look at him, pretending to be fascinated by the linoleum tabletop. Richie looks back and forth between the two of them for a long moment before he understands.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh.”

Eddie squirms in his seat. “Please don’t,” he whispers to the table.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Eds?” Richie asks, voice sickly sweet.

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it, then shakes his head fervently.

“I’m honestly disappointed in you, Eddie,” Stan says. “I thought you had some taste.”

Richie wants to make a joke about exactly what Eddie was tasting last night, but before he can, Stan makes an exasperated noise and stands up. He picks up his trash and, without another word, leaves the table. Bill and Bev and Mike and Ben all stare after him, confused. Richie puts his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and though Eddie is very tense, he doesn’t shrug him off.

“If Stan knows, you all probably should,” he announces. Eddie goes even more rigid, his eyes sort of wild, like Richie is actually going to spill all his dirty secrets. “Eddie and I are dating now,” he says before Eddie can interrupt. Whatever Eddie had to say dies on his lips, leaving his mouth hanging open.

“We are?” he asks, sounding sort of small.

“We are,” Richie says, and leans in to smack a wet kiss to his temple. Eddie rubs it off, grumbling about germs, but he’s smiling.

None of their friends look all that surprised.

And so, these are the facts: Richie Tozier talks a lot.

Richie Tozier wears coke-bottle glasses, and his front two teeth are kind of fucked up.

Richie Tozier can light fires with his mind.

And Richie Tozier is sort of, kind of, really into Eddie Kaspbrak.

[alfunccot]

Olaf, Ernest, Fernald for the character asks.

Olaf. 

1: sexuality headcanon – bisexual (more like BUYsexual, he’s the type to fuck for money)

2: otp – Olaf/Kit, Olaf/Jacques, Olaf/Esmé. But if I had to choose one, it would obviously be Kitlaf.

3: brotp – Olaf & Beatrice. I’ve always headcanoned them as close, if not best friends. Until she ruined it.

4: notp – Olaf/Violet, and honestly, I don’t think there’s any need to explain why.

5: first headcanon that pops into my head – accidentally or indirectly tried to kill himself at least twice. 

6: one way in which I relate to this character – well, there’s this tattoo of an eye on my left ankle… Also, I have a profound fondness for red wine.

7: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character – his hygiene, and I couldn’t stress this enough. 8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave? Honestly? He’s terrible and I love it. 

Ernest.

1: sexuality headcanon – bisexual or gay. 

2: otp – maybe I ship him with Olaf in a way, but it’s hardly an otp. 

3: brotp – Ernest & Fernald, I guess. These two would get along well. 

4: notp – none, 

5: first headcanon that pops into my head – Ernest is the only firestarter who likes to read. 

6: one way in which I relate to this character – whatever my beliefs are, I would do my best to protect my loved ones.

7: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character – I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t like about him.8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave? Problematic triplet. 

Fernald.

1: sexuality headcanon – hopelessly gay.

2: otp – Fernald/Olaf. It’s canon, and I don’t really see him with anyone romantically. 

3: brotp – as I mentioned earlier, he would get along with Ernest. But Fernald & Fiona are the best.

4: notp – I saw some people imply that he has a thing for Sunny. This is disgusting. 

5: first headcanon that pops into my head – he lost his hands in a pirate encounter, not in a fire.

6: one way in which I relate to this character – I’m a huge disappointment to my family.

7: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character – nothing, he’s perfect.  The fact that he failed in starting a fire. 8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave? Problematic cinnamon roll. 

[vanillerosegold]

Flame | Yandere!Yata x Reader | K-Project

“...Care to fucking explain this?”

If there was one thing that Yata was sorely lacking in, it was tact. Not only was he bad with women, he was just bad with people in general. His temper was such a short wick that often every second word would be a vulgar swear.

It was something you'd found quite cute about him in the old days. But three months into dating him, you'd started to realize how damning his attitude could be. Especially the paranoid part of it.

He was sitting at the bar, clutching your phone, which he had of course taken without asking permission. Displayed on the screen was a series of messages, sent between you and a male friend from high school. They were purely innocent, but that didn't matter to Yata. You were chatting with another man, and even if all you were talking about was the latest development in your mutually favorite TV show, he didn't like it.

“Yata, I was only chatting with him!” you insisted, before breaking off into a yawn that you were unable to hold back. “It's late...I think we should both go to sleep like the others...” “Oh, I'm sorry-” Yata suddenly stood up from Izumo's precious bar and took a threatening step towards you. His head tilted while he spoke in a mocking tone, “-Am I boring you? Am I making you sleepy?”

“Y-Yata...don't get mad okay...” you quickly cowered back, but he was in your face in seconds. This had been happening more and more frequently lately. It was like he couldn't control himself. “You really expect me not to get mad at you!? You're off texting yet another asshole I don't know, and shrugging it off like you always do! Don't you give a shit about how I feel!?”

You couldn't do this. A line had to be drawn somewhere, and frankly, you just couldn't handle it anymore. “...I...I'm going to bed...” Turning, you intended to do just that. Instantly, you heard a crack that made you stop right in your tracks. Daring to look back, your heart dropped ten feet as you saw your phone being compressed like a coke can in his grip.

He stared at you eerily, eyes like the last glowing embers on a blackened piece of wood. “...If there was nothing for me to worry about...why would you be avoiding all my questions? I think I should just pay this friend of yours a nice little visit, hm? Would you like that, [Y/N]? How would you like him cooked, [Y/N]? Charred or grilled?”

Instantly, your eyes welled with tears. You didn't care about the phone, you only cared that Yata didn't do anything to hurt the other people you cared for in your life. Rushing forth towards him you reached up and clutched his white shirt desperately, gazing up at the messy haired boy who was pretty much always wearing that beanie he liked. His appearance was how you'd always known it to be, but this monster he had become...

“N-no Yata wait! L-let's just slow down, alright!? I-I made a mistake, talking with him, and I'm sorry! But really, I...I swear there's nothing going on between us! P...please, Y-Yata...you have to believe me!” You were tugging on his shirt, begging him with all those tears in your eyes. And he loved it.

Yata dropped the phone that was now broken beyond repair, and suddenly grappled you with both hands, swinging you over on top of the beloved bar and thrusting you down against it. “Ah-! Y-Yata wait!” you quickly squeaked, but one hand clamped down against your mouth, and he leaned over you closely, climbing on top of you in the process while he spoke ominously: “Prove your love to me then, and maybe I'll think twice about what I was planning. But if you can't do that then I guess I'll just have to kill all your little boy toys...and maybe, for good measure-”

To your fright, Yata suddenly summoned a flame in his hand, holding it dangerously close to the wooden surface of the bar top. “That's right. Funny that they let a firestarter like me live in a building with such expensive furniture, but fuck it. If I burn this whole place to the ground too then I won't have to worry at all.”

Instantly you were shaking your head, breathing shakily. “N-no...you can't...why would you!? M-Mikoto...Izumo...none of the others would ever try to-” “Can you guarantee it?”

His question threw you for a loop, and Yata took advantage of your stunned silence, lowering himself right over you. His chest pressed firmly to yours, one hand holding the flame threateningly close to your cheek, his head on the other side, whispering in your ear: “You can't get inside any of their heads, [Y/N]. You don't know what they're thinking...but based on my own thoughts...I can guess...”

The other hand started to stroke down your side and you gasped desperately, shaking all the more as he deftly caressed your curves. The look in his eyes was almost dirty. “They'll imagine you in all sorts of ways...” he murmured, “Is that really what you want? Guys biting their lips around you all the time, barely holding themselves back? I know I don't want that...”

Yata suddenly pulled up, looking down into your desperately glistening eyes and cracking a smirk. He made sure you were still very much caged between his legs as he pretty much stayed sitting on top of you. At the very least he let the flame dissipate just so he could take your cheeks in both hands and squeeze them slightly.

“Other men will want you just as badly as I do, that's how it is. But you only belong to me...so if you don't want me to fry them all to a crisp then you need to find some way of keeping yourself away from them all...” You knew where this was going. You knew what he wanted to hear. If only you had known so many months earlier though, that things would pan out this way. You would have never even let HOMRA take you under their wing in the first place.

At first you had truly loved Yata, and in many ways you still did. He was often sweet and almost shy, blushing and a little stiff with romance. He was capable of love even if in a slightly awkward manner, and that was all very endearing. Certainly, he'd fiercely protect you too, especially from those who tried to hurt you (namely Scepter 4 members).

Yet he also had this awful side to him too. At times it would suddenly flicker to life, triggered by the smallest thing, and you'd have to deal with a monster. Someone who was actually more of a threat to you than anyone else.

There was a burn mark on your arm from the first time you'd crossed him, back when you'd still foolishly thought it was okay to openly meet up with a male friend for coffee. Needless to say, instead of a bitter drink you'd only suffered a bitter scar. It was no one-off either. You knew that if you pushed him he'd happily do it again.

It was all for the sake of a twisted love he held. This love had caught onto you, and you had no way of putting it out now. You just had to suffer. But you weren't going to drag anyone else into it if you could help it.

Even if it still caused some pain, especially for you, you were willing. “...I...I won't talk to anyone else at school, from now on. I-I promise, I'll never do this again...”

Your words were like a cooling medicine. Yata instantly seemed to calm a little, and his creepy expression softened into something that was simply delirious and needy. “See? How simple was that, [Y/N]?”

He sealed that tragic promise of yours with a kiss right there on the counter top. His hands still gripped you closely, but you knew you weren't going anywhere. He bit your tongue like some sort of miniature punishment, but you took it.

You accepted it. Because the alternative...was so much worse.

Commission me and check out my other fics here: https://www.deviantart.com/vanillametal If you like my work you can support me on Patreon too! www.patreon.com/vanillametal Thanks everyone for your support~! DISCLAIMER (in regards to my fanart/fanfiction/commissions): I do not own these properties, I am simply producing fan-made work based on or inspired by them. Unless stated I do not own accompanying images etc. Credit goes to the original creators in all these cases. Please PM me if you have any questions or issues This is purely fiction and is not intended to affect or reflect upon real life persons/organisations/etc.You may not upload, share, use, create a piece inspired by etc. any of my work without asking for permission first. Appropriate actions will be taken otherwise. Thank you for reading~!

[anangelcalledinquisitor]

Okay I got a request I want to know how did Tabernam Ardet( sorry if butchered Google has no Latin spelling check) got their name told by the nice bartender. Plz.

Two things,

1) The bartender’s name is Chad Phuque.  Pronounced ‘Fuck’.

2) If you’re a member of Tabernam Ardet, I can’t give you inspiration if you’re on anon….

The goblin stood as the bar blazed before him, the reality of it sinking in.  The fire marshals were fighting to keep it from spreading, but the flames had reduced the place to an inferno in record time.  His stomach sank as he felt tears welling up.  He wasn’t a bad guy… sure, he did some underhanded dealings, but you had to play nice with the Unseelie—those trolls from High Road weren’t above taking the low road—and it didn’t hurt to rub elbows with those highborn folk from the Seelie court either on the side…  But he didn’t think he deserved to have his adopted parents’ tavern burn down the moment they left for a winter vacation and left him in charge for the first time ever.

It had been a good enough night for the most part.  The beginning of the Yule festivities, and the front of the house was busy. Unfortunately, it was keeping him from attending to the back of house tasks, and he was starting to get agitated. He’d been waiting for months for his parents to leave him in charge, and suddenly, he was so overrun with customers, he couldn’t get a moment away…

“Sir!” an all-too chipper voice called from the far end of the bar.  He looked up from the glass he was trying to clean to see a human leaning over the bar, trying to get his attention around a pair of burly customers. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time!”

Rolling his cat-slit eyes a little, he made his way over to where she was hopping excitedly.  He glanced her up and down—veil, tan skin, light brown eyes, a sort of conventionally pretty person, if unusually dressed for the weather.  Before he could so much as ask how he could help her, she was bubbling forth, asking for a job, any little work would do, she was very good at playing the samisen and she could sing, did he want a preview, she could make up a song about almost anything, just watch, before he could hold up his hand to slow her down a little.  He hesitated a little, but like his mother said, you don’t look a gift kelpie in the mouth, and he was hardly likely to balk at this chance.

“Do you know how to mix drinks?” he asked, watching her face somehow brighten even more.

“Oh, yes!  I’m very good at it!  The best mixer-upper!  And I’m very creative too!”

“She’s actually quite good,” said the white-haired half-elf at her side as she lifted her glass in acknowledgment of his attention.  “You won’t find a harder worker than Dia Seum.”

Half an hour later, the rush was under control enough, and Chad Phuque couldn’t believe his luck. This Dia seemed to handle the influx of orders with ease, and though she was a bit more bouncy than he would have liked, she did the work without complaint.  Taking his flagon of ale, he told her he was going to the back to take care of a few things, confident enough to leave the front of the house to the latest help.

Half an hour later, she popped into the back, bringing a fresh ale to him and he didn’t even think twice about it, smiling as she bounced out and brought drinks back for the other players.

He didn’t even think twice about it when she came back to ask where the firestarter was, having shown her the recipe book for the signature drinks—there were a couple of popular ones that involved fire, so that wasn’t unusual.  He didn’t even notice the occasional puff of smoke coming from the front, or the clash of glass here or there.  They ran a bar, and this was a most festive time of the year! There were bound to be a few glasses broken by the revelers…

He was just starting to gain the upper hand in his card game with some of the high rollers when she came in, bells jingling a bit as she quickly approached him, leaning down and murmuring something into his ear.

Frowning, he wasn’t paying much attention when he said, “Hmm?  What was that?”  When sherepeated herself still at a low murmur, he sighed, turning to look up at her with a scowl.  “What is it, girl?  I’m a very… busy…”

He didn’t get to finish his statement, eyes growing wide as he saw the flames shooting up from the bar. Looking to Dia, he saw the soot on her face, the shell-shocked expression, and the tiny pink umbrella she was holding in her hand as she trembled all over.  

“I…  I followed the instructions…” she said quietly.

“F-for what?!” Chad bellowed as the others around the table scrambled to collect their coins and flee.

“For the…  Burn the Bar drink…”

“For the WHAT?!” he cried before turning to yell for everyone to evacuate, calling for help, for the guards as a row of bottles exploded overhead, the vapors of the alcohol quickly adding to the flames that spread.

Standing outside the burning bar, he swallowed heavily, shoulders starting to shake as he gave small, hiccupping sobs.  He barely registered the gentle hand on his shoulder, turning to look up into the soot-smeared face of Dia, who held out to him the tiny paper umbrella.

“I want to thank you for this opportunity, sir,” she said as he took the umbrella between his shaking fingers.  “I am… sorry…”

***

Divine sat at the breakfast table, forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth as she had listened with widening eyes to Dia’s retelling of the story.  She wanted to feel sorry for the goblin, but at the same time…  The fork clattered to the floor as she started to roll with laughter, tears falling down her face as she gasped for air.  Dia was a little embarrassed, but Divine seemed happy to hear the story, and she seemed so much lighter suddenly, so it was worth it.

“Oh, goodness,” Divine said, still chuckling as she wiped her teary eyes, “my face hurts from all this smiling!  I haven’t laughed like that for a long while now…”

“Well,” Dia said, smiling at her as she seemed to relax, enjoying her breakfast again, “that’s good! You should always have a chance to laugh!”

“I hope to have many more chances, Dia,” the angel said, smiling sadly as she looked at Dia, who simply beamed in return.

[aion-rsa]

Can Salem’s Lot and Firestarter Reignite Stephen King at the Box Office?

https://ift.tt/2S0a65g

It was almost exactly four years ago when It: Chapter One (as it came to be called), the first of two movies based on Stephen King’s classic 1986 novel, opened in theaters to a record-shattering $124 million in its first weekend. Adjusted for inflation, the film went on to become the highest grossing horror movie (and King adaptation) of all time, earning $701 million worldwide. Not even the vampires of ‘Salem’s Lot multiplied at that rate!

It’s explosive and unprecedented opening coincided (and perhaps helped drive) a new wave of Stephen King adaptations, both as movies and TV productions, and new generations of filmmakers and hungry-for-content streaming services eagerly tapped into the author’s vast collection of works.

As of last year, some 25 projects based on King novels, novellas, or short stories were said to be in development, but of all those, only three—all limited television series—have made it to their respective streaming platforms. Still, there are two movies entering production as of right now: Firestarter, which began filming earlier this year, and ‘Salem’s Lot, which goes in front of the cameras this month.

Both stories have been adapted before—twice in the case of ‘Salem’s Lot—but never satisfyingly, and both a long time ago. The novels themselves were King’s second and sixth books to be published and are part of the classic first 10 or so works that turned King into a phenomenon (that initial run arguably stretches from Carrie to Pet Sematary, more or less).

Nevertheless, following the release of It, several more King-based movies came out—and all underperformed.

It: Chapter Two, which arrived two years after its predecessor in 2019, earned $473 million worldwide. Which is a handsome sum, to be sure; but it’s also nearly 35 percent below Chapter One. Meanwhile a heavily promoted remake of Pet Sematary, issued in April 2019, stalled at a mere $113 million worldwide (even if its tight $21 million budget made it profitable enough). And Doctor Sleep, a clever and powerful adaptation from director Mike Flanagan of King’s The Shining sequel, was a complete bust, topping off at just $72 million globally.

While it’s harder to judge and quantify how several King-based TV or streaming projects did, it’s reasonable to conclude that two recent limited series, CBS All Access’s The Stand and Apple TV+’s Lisey’s Story, came and went without making much of a dent in the pop culture conversation (although HBO’s limited series based on The Outsider caused a brief stir).

So what happened? Was It’s iconic Pennywise the Dancing Clown ingrained enough in the public consciousness to warrant the first movie’s massive success, without that necessarily signaling a wholesale embrace of more Stephen King material on the big screen?

‘Salem’s Lot and Firestarter may be able to answer that question for certain. The former in particular is considered one of King’s all-time masterpieces and was often cited for years by the author himself as his favorite of his early novels.

Set in the small, rural Maine town of Jerusalem’s Lot, the story follows a writer named Ben Mears who comes back to the Lot where he spent several years as a child seeking inspiration for a new book. He gets much more than he bargained for when it turns out that another new resident in town is actually an ancient vampire—and is turning the entire community into his own flock of the undead.

What was so stunning about ‘Salem’s Lot at the time of its publication (the hardcover arrived in 1975) was King’s deft combination of the vampire mythology with the inner workings of a small yet instantly recognizable 20th century American hamlet.

The Lot, its inhabitants, and all their affairs, secrets, scandals, and everyday workings were so vividly rendered that the intrusion of a monster as stereotypical in its way as a vampire (America at the time was still transfixed by demonic possession in the wake of The Exorcist) was realistic and terrifying.

The vampires that eventually overrun the Lot and turn it into a literal village of the dead—led by the magisterial yet barely seen Kurt Barlow—were truly frightening as well; no sparkly Twilight types or tormented hunks a la Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire (published a couple of years later) here.

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They were monsters that stank of the grave yet still possessed enough of their old memories and a vicious cunning to make them formidable enemies for the book’s quickly dwindling band of heroes. King drew inspiration from Bram Stoker’s literary version of Dracula, but actually took the concept to the apocalyptic endpoint that the Victorian author only hinted at.

‘Salem’s Lot was adapted twice, in 1979 and 2004, both times as two-part, four-hour (with commercials) limited series for CBS and TNT, respectively. The first was directed by Tobe Hooper (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre) and starred David Soul as Ben Mears, with James Mason also top-billed as Barlow’s human assistant/familiar, Straker.

While suffering from the constraints of TV at the time, both in terms of budget and what could be shown, the 1979 version works more often than not. It does combine or eliminate a number of characters, and most controversially changed Barlow from a Christopher Lee-like nobleman to a non-speaking creature resembling Nosferatu’s Count Orlok, shifting the primary villainy to Mason’s Straker.

But Mason himself is quite sinister and very good, as is Soul as the brooding Mears and several other actors. There are also several scenes involving the vampires themselves that are pretty eerie for the time when considering, again, this was a CBS-TV prime time miniseries.

The 2004 version, directed by Mikael Salomon, starred Rob Lowe as Mears, Donald Sutherland as Straker, and Rutger Hauer as a more faithful version of Barlow. The miniseries also restored other characters that had been cut or minimized in the 1979 version and stuck to the same basic narrative while creating a different framing story from either King’s book or the earlier adaptation.

But Lowe isn’t nearly as effective as Soul in the pivotal role of Mears, and both the cast and show overall—despite the names mentioned above and others like James Cromwell—come off as bland. There are moments from the book that are welcome and a few gripping sequences, but this version of the story never ratchets up the intensity to a satisfying degree.

The new feature film, which is now filming in Boston (‘Salem’s Lot at last films in New England, where it’s set, as opposed to California and Australia), has been penned and is being directed by Gary Dauberman, who co-wrote both part of It and has written four of the movies in producer James Wan’s Conjuring-verse (Dauberman also directed the underrated Annabelle Comes Home).

A tremendous King fan, Dauberman told us back in 2019 that his goal was to make vampires on the big screen truly horrific again.

“We haven’t seen that in a really long time and they should be terrifying, and the novel’s terrifying, and it’s fucking great to work on,” Dauberman said. “I can’t wait to bring it to the big screen, we’ve seen it on the smaller screen and it’s going to be awesome on the big screen.”

Whether Dauberman can make King’s 400-plus page novel and all its subplots work as a feature film, even a lengthy one, instead of a more roomy limited series will be an interesting trick to pull off. Some cast members, including Lewis Pullman as Ben Mears, Makenzie Leigh as his love interest Susan Norton, Bill Camp as local teacher Matt Burke, and Alfre Woodard as Dr. Cody, have been announced already, but don’t provide any sense of where the film is headed yet.

As for Firestarter, the book was published in 1981 and warmly received at the time. King was at his early peak of commercial success and readers were eager to devour his next offering. Even so, that tale has probably not retained the same resonance as ‘Salem’s Lot. As the story of a little girl who can start fires with her mind (the result of drug experiments on her parents by a secret government agency), the book was King’s first overt science fiction novel and reads more as a tech chase thriller than his previous supernatural work.

The 1984 film version directed by Mark L. Lester (Class of 1984) featured an extremely faithful screenplay; with a smaller group of characters and its more streamlined, structured narrative, Firestarter is perhaps more adaptable and linear than a vast tapestry of people and incidents like ‘Salem’s Lot. But the film was directed in such workmanlike fashion that the script never comes to life.

The cast is problematic too. Following her breakout in E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial, Drew Barrymore seemed like a no-brainer for the title role of little Charlie McGee. But Barrymore—apparently conscious that she was an “actor”—is overwrought and histrionic, becoming more annoying than sympathetic. David Keith is okay as her father, while Art Carney and Louise Fletcher probably come off best as an elderly couple who help the McGees at a critical moment.

The most egregious casting is that of George C. Scott as John Rainbird, the shamanic Native American assassin who forms an unsettling bond with Charlie once she and her dad are recaptured by the agency known only as the Shop. Aside from the fact that casting Scott as a Native American is ridiculous enough, the relationship just doesn’t work on screen—Rainbird’s fascination with Charlie as an avatar of his own death in the novel just comes off as creepily bordering on child predation in the movie.

It will be interesting to see how producer Jason Blum, director Keith Thomas (The Vigil), and screenwriter Scott Teems (Halloween Kills) handle that relationship in their upcoming remake, but at least they’ve actually hired a First Nation actor, Michael Greyeyes, as Rainbird. Zac Efron is also a solid choice for Andy McGee while Ryan Kiera Armstrong (The Tomorrow War) has won the role of Charlie.

Of the two adaptations, Firestarter is clearly the easier to translate to the screen. Both titles carry instant name recognition for King fans and the general public, but it’s ‘Salem’s Lot that has perhaps the greater pull overall. Plus we’ve seen lots of kids, teens, and tweens with psychic powers on screen over the past few years; when was the last time you saw a truly scary vampire movie?

Neither film has a release date yet; Firestarter is in post-production while filming on ‘Salem’s Lot is just beginning. In the meantime, King himself, showing no signs of slowing down as he approaches his 74th birthday, continues to churn out books and stories which studios and production companies will no doubt continue to snap up. All they need now are audiences to turn up and prove that, unlike Pennywise in It, it won’t take another 27 years for King’s name to mean box office gold again.

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