#i hate the fact that it’s so badly designed that whenever i close the damn thing the keyboard leaves impressions on the screen

[fingertipsmp3]

I really think I’m going to have to get a new laptop this year because the thought of using my current laptop for anything makes me want to puke

[yukitonz]

Michael Afton designs. Cause- I can ✌️ also apologies on any mess-ups to the games. I don't really care about the new stuff tbh, haven't been in this Fandom for years, am relying on theory videos- and headcannons. So yeah, cool Afton designs is what I mean.

1st design- Teenage design. I don't have a very inparticular age? But around 14-16. Also- he's very mature for his age, and is one of those guys that are like "wtf? How are you not an adult?" But, I headcannon he was actually the one who you play as in FNAF 4. I heard it from my sibling- and loved the damn idea that it was his own nightmares because of what happened to his brother- especially given the context of the game. William basically left him since he hated him, and was forced into a hell like FNAF 4. Also in the bottom image- he's supposed to look ghost like. Never goes outside, stays in his room an anxious mess.

Design 2- (I meant Fredbear in the art lol.) Anyway, this design is supposed to look like William around the time of the bite of 83' but ofc ofc still Michael. Michael is okay. But, this is the extra night of FNAF 2 when the main security guard leaves to be the next victim of the biting season. This is where he starts to get extremely guilty again, and where he builds his obsession to the opening FNAF restaurants to try and fix his past, to fix what his father did, and to try and redeem himself. In this era he also begins frequently writing letters to his brother, as if he could see them. Because he sincerely wants to make things right.

Designs 3- Fnaf 1 and sister location era. All before the scoop. For FNAF 1, he wears a simular outfit to FNAF 2- Just a more purplish- shade of blue. He's also growing his hair out- trying to look less like his father, due to his pure resentment. He is succeeding a little more now. Though, in sister location he wears a purple uniform, and ends up in a simular look that his father was so generously killing kids in (other than suit. Michael doesn't look like a bunny thing, sorry guys.) Also fun little fact, he joins these jobs to redeem himself- but is scared shitless of animatronics.

DISTURBING IMAGERY AHEAD. BODY HORROR!!

Design 4- Basic idea of half a year or so of recovery. After lots of surgeries and medical attention, he looks a little better. He still has some wire in his body, mainly in parts that were very attached to his body (just ripped off of Ennard) and was left behind in places that keep his body together. (Wire runs along his stomach/chest and skin attaches there to keep him closed. Wire replaces his knee so he can still walk, and other wire was just pulled. Lots of scar tissue is present where any stitches are, or any places Ennard poked out from/entered from. His eyes were popped out by Ennard, leaving him blind and more or less with no "pupil." He is also able to grow very thin hair, but it falls out and is rather short.

Design 5- You can steal Michael's hair. He wears a wig that was the same colour as his past hair, and wears that whenever he is out/working. He wears a lot of looser clothes to avoid skin irritation- considering his skin falls off easily (also wears a ton of bandages around his body to prevent this.) In public he adds a mask to his look, some of his face being ripped up. Due to his look and practically dead body, he is unable to age normally. He'll have a simular appearance the rest of his life, maybe with a few more wrinkles and a load of weakness. Now, he is starting to move on. He's still extremely sorry, but he writes letters to Evan everyday. He also visits his grave, bringing the fredbear plush Evan had. Ofc he still wants revenge, but is more at peace about his brother. (He still hates his father. Badly.)

Proof

[pupiiaye]

Reminiscence of Violence //. A yandere Diluc x GN reader.

They were a virus, a disease that needed curing, a simple tune that needed listening. They were a pill, an addiction if you will. He had to have it, he craved it more than the bloodlust that trickled through his veins and caused up a storm. What exactly was this feeling? Why did he feel it? Why was it more intense than the deaths and bloodshed he's seen a thousand times over? And why… why did he want it so badly? Why did he want to rip it from its core and feast upon it like a starving man? Tonight, he will have his answer.

Fair warnings: knife play, character death / threat implied, possessiveness, spankings, dirty talk, a rather dark Diluc, markings.

------

The stars in the sky glistened above them, whispering secrets told from different lands, different stories. The clear wind danced through trees, kissed against skin, leaving their invisible mark against the bare flesh. It was not odd to be seen wandering around the grassy plains of Mondstadt, travelers and knights had duties to attend to, commissions to complete and bounties to conquer. Moonlight blessed those who decided to wander without any real reason, the wanderer in question being a simple soul. One who had found themselves living amongst the city of freedom for quite some time. Not a knight, but a fair citizen who took the pleasure in helping others. They didn't consider themselves to be a savior, nor did they consider themselves to be someone without any purpose. This was the main reason as to why they've managed to catch the eye of /the/ the richest man in Mondstadt.

It goes without saying that this was rather impressive, everyone can see the clear hook they had on him. The addiction they provided without even doing as much as lifting a finger. Their eyes screamed of excitement, and in return the ex knight's heart would scream with desire. Diluc, quiet noble man who had his morals, his regrets, and his fancies. Diluc, the man who didn't take pleasure in affairs or hit offs, the man who cared not of looks but of trust and genuine emotions.

This drove a man crazy, off the walls even. It was not of hate, but confusion as to why or how one person could pull the heaviest of beats out of his once dying heart. Frowns that once covered his features turned into ones of admiring grins, turned into little smirks whenever they would ramble and rant about their passions. Beauty, they were littered with it, from the very gleam of irises to the movement of plush lips. Archon's, he wanted to taste them, wanted to nibble and bite into those moving pillows they called lips. He wanted to make them bleed and bruise after getting done with kissing them, and would he stop there? Absolutely not.

His daydreams were becoming worse, and the only thing that could snap him out of them were the blissful sounds of laughter. The symphony of little chuckles mixed in with a breathy hiccup of air. Oh, he knew this sound like he knew the scriptures of poetry, this sound was one he got drunk on. Instead of wine, he could listen to his baby's sweet giggles until death slayed him where he stood.

The reason as to why it was happening, however, was enough to make a man see red. How dare he? How dare that betraying drunk prick, the simple audacity of this … Fool. Was he asking for another death wish, perhaps? Did he wish to watch the flames of hell rise once more? Did he want Diluc to throw him out in the coldness of oceans and watch him choke and gasp and cling on to whatever breath of fucking air he could get? So many questions, not enough action. The solid glass in his hand could shatter from how tight he was gripping it, however Diluc was a man with pride, a man with patience and logic on his side. He would not yell, he would not allow his nerves to get the best of him. What he will do, is way worse than a simple “get the hell out” will do.

“Sir Kaeya, last time I checked, that was your fifth drink as of tonight. I suggest you wrap it up quickly before it gets too dark.”

The words were not of an option, but rather one of a demand. Those blazing embers Diluc called eyes were boring into a crystal one. He did not care where Kaeya went, how he got there, or where he will end up. All he knows is that he best make his decision quick before patience thinned out. The look he got in return did nothing to calm his raging pulses of blood either, he could kill this man given that chance again. This time, Diluc wouldn't forget it.

“My, what a rush… Pardon me, Master Diluc. I was not aware you had other things to tend to, throwing me out so soon. Or do you wish to have them to yourself, hm? Very well, I mustn't interrupt your … Desires. Just do not have too much fun whilst everyone are away, it would only make me jealous. Ain't that right, sweetheart?”

This chattering baboon talked too much, he was too touchy with what clearly belonged to Diluc. He did things too much, talked too smoothly, acted as if they had any interest in him when Diluc knew for a fact who the real winner was. As expected, Kaeya always thought certain things belonged to him, and for once in his life Diluc had the urge to be as competitive as his brother.

“Are you quite done? Hurry up and take your leave, or do I have to throw you out myself?”

Venom laced with every word, hands turning white from how hard he gripped onto the table. Mark his words, when he's done laying claim, this man was next on his overdue hit list. His thoughts were so loud that he didn't even hear his brother mocking him before the tavern doors closed with a squeak. So loud that he didn't even hear his soon-to-be — no, that's not right. They are his dearest, his love, his desires, and everything more. Right? Why would they look at him with such concern if not were true? Why would they touch his arm and smile so sweetly if not for him? Did they not come to him, and only him when scared, if not because they held dear feelings that he too reciprocated? They loved him, it was plain as can be. They adored him even, yet they were too shy to admit it to his face. Figures, Diluc knew this, he knew them more than the back of his hand. They just need a little help expressing It, right? Especially with the way they were chatting and laughing up a storm with his dearest, soon to be dead, brother.

Clouded eyes came back down to heaven, that heaven being the warm smile of his love. That's so much better, he didn't want to see that smile directed towards anyone else but him, it wasn't their fault. They didn't know that they belonged to Diluc yet, and that was okay. This is why he must teach a very simple lesson. One that will engrain itself in their memories until death.

“I find it funny…” eyes hands smooth over the wooden surface of the bar stand. He took in the smoothness, the patterns that followed along his fingers. “I find it hilarious even, how he thinks you belong to him when we both know that isn't true, right?”

What was that expression they wore? Confusion? Oh, how Diluc loved it when they played stupid, they were nothing of the sort. Perhaps they wanted to entice Diluc further, pull him in deeper, so he could ravish them against this here bar stand. Yeah, that's exactly what it was, Diluc could tell, he knew the signs all well. Being the observant man he was, he would not allow this one to wiggle free from his dangerous palms.

Slowly, gloves slowly began their journey off of slender fingers. Those red eyes burning into ones of a pretty little thing, just waiting to be taken. Their body screamed to be claimed and taken over by, but not just for anyone — no. He danced those same eyes up and down, taking their time to design the way they'll look, shivering and begging for more of him. He took his time imprinting the thought of them choking on air as he drew breaths and sweet words out of them. Bare hands reached for the blade tucked away in the waist band of his pants. Hands gliding over the wooden surface as long legs carried him out to where they sat. Confusion on their face turned into one of interest, and oh Diluc could not wait until that face of theirs turned into one of pleasure, pain, and agony. He wanted to make them beg, scream, chant his name like a god-damn song. It will happen, he's sure of it. They had nowhere to run, nowhere to escape. The only thing saving them from Diluc's hands was Diluc alone.

“Now, I hate to be the giver of bad news, but he doesn't own you. You do not beckon to his every call, and you certainly do not belong to him. Your thoughts, your words, your actions, even the way you move…”

A small sigh, eyes casting down on sweet thighs that were soon to be marked with the carvings of his name

“You know it all belongs to me, correct? When you lay in bed, and you drift your pretty head to sleep, you are aware you dream of me, yes? When you bat those eyes and look up … At me, you know I am the one who controls that seemingly empty head of yours, right?”

There's so much silence, but Diluc has enough patience to see the way their legs clench at every word, could hear the way their breathing thickens and stutters in the back of their throat. That's all he needed to see to know what he was saying was nothing far from true. Finally, hands are reaching forward, moving to caress and then cup at warm cheeks. Blushing, he can tell just from how abnormally hot they were. Their temperature is never this warm, he should know since he memorized their normal body heat.

“So you do know that. Then why is it, why my pretty flaming flower…”

Remember back when he thought he had patience? Apparently he had thought wrong of himself. He found his hands gripping tightly to their jaw, the free hand coming down to cup at smooth thighs. Oh, oh how they flinched so beautifully in his grasp, oh the hopeless look in their eye made his dick sing. They way they didn't resist, the way their thighs rubbed together. Their body was so damn honest, what was he to do? How could he not take them when they were basically asking for it?

"Why is it you let him touch you? Why did you allow him to touch and flirt with something that clearly belongs to me? Answer me, quickly."

He saw their mouth open to talk, and for a moment he had nothing but the thought of making them choke on his cock. Soon, not tonight, but soon enough.

"I'm sure he wasn't flirting, Diluc. You know Kaeya, he talks with charm, theres nothing I can do about that."

Wrong move.

A deep breath was taken before a hot hand reached up to grab at their arms, pulling them up just to twist them around and push them against the edges of his very own bar.

"Give me a good reason why I should not mark this body with my name at this moment."

He didn't give them time to answer, too busy trailing the edges of a blade down their clothed back. No matter, they do not need to talk all too much. Diluc only wanted to hear their cries and begs, nothing more nothing less. "Tell me that you desire me. I need to hear you speak your truth before I continue, I already know that you do so do not try to lie to me, dear flower."

His words spoke deep into their ear, tone clear and free from hesitation. And when their lips opened to plead for him, oh it made it all the much better. His pride hit the ceiling, he knew it. All those signs from before were so true, and now he was able to hear it for himself, soak in those desperate words of, "yes Diluc, please take me. Make me yours, please." oh how polite they were, always so obedient, always listening out for any command. What a good pet they were, what a good flower they were.

The sounds of material being cut open filled the thick air, along with those rough fingers feeling up the smooth of their back, enjoying the way his canvas felt right under his flaming tips. Diluc could not wait to sink his teeth in and taste their sweet necture himself. Those eyes drunk up their topless form once more before trailing the knife further down, he had other days to take his time with them. Tonight they were his to destroy and break down.

Lips and teeth ran free on their body. Leaving purplish marks against sweet tender skin, his knife work not being cut short. He made sure to tear at their bottoms leaving them in nothing but the bruises he had gifted them. Their sweet moans and whimpers filling his ears, filling his desire to ruin them even further. He wasted no time in running possesive hands down their waist, grabbing at thighs just to pull them apart. The squirming under his palms not going unnoticed, infact he laughed something dark at the way their body twitched and pathetically squealed under his touch.

'Look at you. Isn't this just pathetic, if it were any other day I would give you the honor of laying under my damn boot just to watch your body squirm for me. Just to watch it beg for me to continue, Archons look at how you move, and you expect me to just stand idle while others try and get of piece of you? No, I refuse."

It didn't end there, his touches only got more intense. Grabbing a handful of their ass, manhandling it under a rough smack was placed upon them. Oh he hoped that left a bruise, he hoped that with another smack they would cry out /louder/ for him. He deserved to hear. After nights and endless nights of not being able to see them under him, Diluc deserved to watch them grow more desperate for him.

"Look at that, look at you squirm for me and not him. Listen to the way you call my name and not his. Do you know what that is? It's the signs of you belonging to me, nobody else but me. And if I catch anyone, and I mean /anyone/ putting their damn hands on you I will make sure to take you in front of them. That is a promise, my flower."

He made sure they could feel his now slicked up warm fingers prodding at their entrance, the dark chuckle exiting from his lips and into their burning ears. The warmth of their gates of heaven fans against his fingers and diluc can't help but groan out in pure need. Oh how crazy they make him. With caution diluc moves his fingers in, one and then the next and then the next after that. Each finger slipping inside once pained gasps turned into ones of satisfaction and greed. They were so good for him, taking him like he was no damn problem. As expected of course, it were only his fingers after all, but soon...

Sounds of metal and then thick clothing could be heard hitting the ground. Their ears can pick up the way diluc's breathing deepened, showing signs of how badly he needed this just as much as they did. Hot hands suddenly slam on either side of them, their skin touching so they can feel how hot Diluc was at the moment. No words were spoken while a hand came behind them, caressing that sweet throat just to pull their head back. Lips coming in contact with their own, connecting in this brutal dance of love, crazy untammed and dangerous love.

This was a great time for him to distract them, leading his aching cock with the other free hand he had. Poking at their entrance with the demand to be let in, eyes glowing with determination. Inch by inch walls wrapped tight around him loosened up the more they took him in. Archons the way they arched against his chest and lips trembled against his own, the way they whimpered and furrowed their eyebrows, gods help him for he is a man weakened by the simple sight of them breaking down.

"That's it... There we go, you take it. You take it like the good bitch you are, yeah? Look at you, god damn look at you. Do you think kaeya could make you react like that? Here allow me to help you answer that."

Hips finally got sent flying home. Making contact with their skin, kissing at the thin layer of sweat, evidence of how much work was put in. Diluc felt his grin widen, something so foreign to his features, yet he invited it in whenever they were involved. One hand came down to grip at those hips, pulling them back home to the base of his cock every single time. They cries, oh their sweet cries encouraged diluc to destroy that willing hole of theirs. The tears that began to bubble up brought him nothing but satisfaction, the gush and mess made was art against his now squirming canvas.

"Harder. Cry harder for me if you wish to cum, I promise you I'm not allowing you out of this damn tavern until your tears beg me to. You can squirm and gush all over my fucking cock as much as you please, but until I start seeing some real tears... Well, baby love, you can kiss Kaeya goodbye, would be a shame for him to lose a friend, hm?"

This was followed by harsher thrust, his dick swelling up to the brim, damn near ready to explode and unload deep inside of their aching fuckhole. Oh but the harder they teared up and rushed out with tears, the more diluc couldn't help but wish to fill them up with his thickening seed. His hand on their throat growing tighter and tighter until one more thrust sent them jerking against the edge. Hand now moving to their head, pushing them down until their faces squished against the wooden table. He kept them there while hips rolled his name out against their ass, unloading his cum inside of their shivering walls. Feeling them clench and gush with their own orgasm, oh how proud he was to know they knew when to cum. How proud he was to know that his flower could milk him for everythiing he had.

"That's it.. There we go, you are so good for me, sweet flower. Unfortunately I am not finished with you."

Diluc, a man who will never be satisfied until things were perfect. Diluc , a gentlemen , a man who only believed in trust and hard work. Diluc, the man who could go more than one or two rounds. Diluc , the man who made them scream until their throat went dry and their vision went blurry.

Tonight he laid his claim, and much like many other nights, he will make sure the entire city of Mondtstadt knew who they belonged to.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Lunch Buddy: Chapter Thirteen

Masterlist

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Overall Story Facts:

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Story Summary: Steve Rogers makes a friend. A prickly, generally people-averse friend, but they’ll both take what they can get.

Quick Facts: Friendship (/Eventual Romance) – Steve Rogers & Reader (leading to Steve Rogers/Reader) – Female Reader

Story Warnings: Reader-insert that verges on OFC, written in 1st person past tense

Chapter 13: Hurt

Chapter Summary: Steve gets hurt and everybody else has to deal with the fallout. Jerk.

Chapter Word Count: 5197

A/N: I know what the next chapter is going to be and we are continuing our trajectory for ~softness~

    I was sitting in bed on a beautifully lazy Saturday morning when my phone rang. I glanced over, expecting to have to tell Steve that I wouldn’t be putting on real pants for anything short of the end of the world and he had to come over or nothing, but it was Sam’s name that showed up on the screen.

“Hi Sam,” I answered and paused my game.

“Hey. I’m sorry to call you like this, but I need to tell you– Steve’s fine now, but he got hurt pretty bad.”

I put down the controller and felt a cold something creep through my body. “How bad?”

“He’ll recover just fine,” Sam said. “But some of his injuries–” He inhaled sharply and I gripped my comforter so hard my hand hurt. “Last I heard, he was still in a medically induced coma, but they were planning to take him out of it soon. It’s actually kind of a good thing though; he was hurting really bad and nothing they did was helping.”

“Because pain meds don’t do shit for him,” I said and held my face. How bad was that bad?

“Yeah,” Sam said, sounding regretful. “I had to get back to DC so I couldn’t stay, but he was doing a lot better when I left. Stable, and on his way to healing up. He’s going to be okay.”

Sure, right, yeah; aside from maybe almost dying before I knew anything about it. Not that I was important enough to know– I was just a friend– but… “Do you think they’d let me visit?”

“I think so. There are SHIELD agents keeping watch but…have you met Natasha yet?”

“No. I’ve met Pepper?”

“She might be able to help if you need it.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

Me too, but that was selfish. “Don’t worry Sam, I’ll figure it out. Thanks for letting me know.” I looked at my closet. “Fair warning though– when he’s out of the woods and I stop being freaked out, I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Nat has dibs I think. He was covering her from an explosion.”

“Fine,” I said. “But if she doesn’t do a good enough job, I’ve got second dibs.”

“I’m not contesting that,” he chuckled. “I gotta go. I’m sleeping on my feet.”

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take a nap.”

“Sam.”

“I’ll be fine when I get a chance to sleep for three days. And I’m going to, I promise you that.”

I didn’t have time to nag. “You better. Bye Sam.” As soon as I hung up I jumped out of bed, put on real pants, grabbed some essentials, and bolted out the door so fast I got halfway down the hall before I realized I had to go back and lock it.

I spent the whole trip there panicking and trying not to panic. Sam said he was going to be fine, so Steve was fine, right? But he was in a hospital, and what kinds of injuries could keep Steve in a medically induced coma? The guy fought aliens and broke bones that healed in half the time and once stubbed his toe on the doorframe and didn’t even flinch.

I tried really hard to think about stubbed toes and slammed elbows rather than the myriad reasons one would be admitted to a hospital. Those thoughts carried me into the building, to the map where I could find his wing, and over and into said wing, up until I almost ran into someone. I pulled back to get around them. “I’m so sorry; I–”

They put themself right back in my path and I jerked back to see not just one but two very imposing, militarily inclined men. “Uhhhh….”

“This area is off-limits to unauthorized visitors,” one of them said.

Right; the SHIELD guys keeping watch. “I’m here to see Steve Rogers,” I said and told them my name in vain hopes I might be on a list or something.

The first guy, a sandy blond who looked like he wanted to drop-kick me out the window, shook his head. “Authorized personnel only. The Avengers probably have an address for fans to send well-wishes.”

Even though they had no reason to know who I was, I bristled at his snide tone. “I’m not a fan; I’m his friend.”

The other guy– dark hair, looked like a washed-up TV action star– snorted and he shared a look with the other guy that very clearly said what they thought of me.

“Ma’am,” Blond said. “Please leave or you will be escorted out.”

I felt sick. Steve was hurt and I couldn’t see him and the embarrassment of being seen as some sort of gross hanger-on was almost too much. Almost. I was too worried to be completely mortified, but I still had no recourse. They were dicks, but they were doing their jobs, and for the moment Steve was…safe. I turned, intending to text Pepper and wait in the cafeteria until she could help me (and maybe get a dusty bagel to help soak up the misery), when I almost smacked right into Tony Stark.

What a day.

“I’m– sorry,” I said lamely and moved aside to get around him.

“Who are you?” he asked.

I sighed and told him my name. “I’m a fr–”

“You’re Cap’s little lunch friend,” he said. He knew who I was? Stark waved a hand. “Pepper and Rogers have mentioned you. Well, Pepper mentioned; it feels like Cap brings you up all the time. You going in to visit?”

“I was going to, but–”

“Chickened out?”

“Not allowed, apparently,” I said and jabbed my thumb in the direction of the gargoyles. At least the assholes pretended to be more professional then and stopped snickering, but even Tony Stark (aka Iron Man) peering expectantly at them from the top of designer sunglasses just made knockoff-Stallone shake his head.

“No unauthorized visitors allowed,” he repeated.

“Oh come on; what’s Cap going to say when he finds out you chased off his BFF?”

They looked at me like they still didn’t believe it for a second. Blond said, “I’m sure Captain Rogers will understand we’re just doing our jobs.”

The worst part was that they were right, damn it.

“What does she need? A note from home?” Stark waved his hand. “I can write one; who has paper. We still do paper sometimes, right?”

“She needs proper authorization,” the guy on the right sneered.

“Consider this authorization.”

We all jumped at the sudden appearance of a man in a suit, whose calm smile made him look like the dictionary definition of ‘mild mannered.’ The two guards, however, stood very rigidly at attention. “Sir.”

The new man said my name and extended his hand. “I’m Phil Coulson.”

I shook his hand and introduced myself properly. “I’m sorry but– am I allowed to–”

“You can visit Captain Rogers whenever you like,” Phil Coulson said and looked right at the guards. “Understood?”

“Yes sir,” they said, much less enthusiastically than their initial acknowledgement to him.

“Not that Captain Unblemished is going to be here that long, but hey.” I suddenly had a small bouquet of flowers in my hands, thanks to Tony Stark. “Since you’re allowed all-access now, can you give these to Cap? I’ve got things to do.”

“Uhh, sur–”

“Thanks, nice meeting you, etcetera et al,” Stark said and left with a dramatic turn.

Somehow I had imagined a little more mocking, maybe a few accusatory points about me ruining some of his fun in poking at Steve, but the guy seemed…annoyed. And not necessarily with me. I turned my head to Coulson, who only shook his. “This last assignment got…complicated,” he said and opened his arm towards the hall. Understatement, but at least I was finally going to get to see Steve. The two…gentlemen…parted, and my second savior (wait until I told Steve who the first was) walked with me.

“He’s right in here,” Phil– Coulson– Phil Coulson said, standing next to an open door with no room number. The inside was very dimly lit, and the curtain drawn halfway over the door blocked the bed from sight, but I felt less like a tension rod.

“Thank you, Mr. Coulson,” I said. “I’m sorry if I caused problems.”

“It was no problem for me, and there won’t be more for you,” he said like it was a promise. “And please, Phil is fine. I was on my way out earlier and I’m afraid I still have to go, but it was nice to finally meet you. Hopefully next time we’ll see each other under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, next time. Thank you,” I said and stepped in.

It was so quiet, and mostly dark, aside from a single light off in the corner. Steve was very still in the bed, bruised and bandaged, but I could see his chest moving. He looked roughed up, but he didn’t look comatose. He didn’t even look like he had come close to death. He just looked like he was sleeping.

I set the flowers down on the nearest flat surface and walked slowly, quietly, to the chair next to his bedside, and perched on the edge of it. I wasn’t sure, at first, if I should stay– he was sleeping; was this creepy?– but the more I looked at him the more I settled in. One of his arms was completely wrapped up; there was a bruise on his jaw, closer to his neck than his chin; a strip of stitches on his neck; one, two, three, four, five scratches that I could see, plus a patch of skin that was raw, like it had rubbed against concrete. He didn’t look as bad as I’d expected him to, which I assumed meant all the terrible things had happened on the inside.

But he was breathing. He wasn’t even on oxygen; nothing about the machines around him said he was in dire straits. With a little bit of makeup he could have looked like a hospital patient in a Hallmark movie, ready to wake up and be released at any moment.

But he had been hurt. He had been hurt badly enough that it was a blessing he had been out for the healing process. I didn’t know why I hated that idea so viscerally, but it made me want to punch something.

I sighed. A small tuft of hair hung at a weird angle over his forehead and I brushed it back into place. Then, just to reassure myself, I let my hand hover over his mouth and felt a warm, steady pulse of air.

“They took him out of it earlier.”

I jumped so hard I hit my feet and had to windmill so as not to crash into one of the monitors. Miraculously, I didn’t knock anything over or otherwise make a lot of noise, and Steve didn’t show any signs of waking. Once I was done with my quiet heart attack, I turned to face the woman standing at the end of the bed. She had red hair and eyes sharp enough to cut. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly who she was.

“Uh…hi,” I said and forced my hand down, away from my heart and to my side. I told her my name and waited for her to finish looking me over.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she said.

Yup. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “Steve says a lot of good things.”

She barked a laugh. “Did Rogers pay you to say that?”

That was surprisingly harsh, so I kept quiet. I was batting a thousand today. But she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry.” She straightened out and looked completely composed. Neat trick. “It’s been a long week.”

“I bet,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She moved her eyes to Steve and frowned. “Annoyed, but that’s not fatal.”

“Yeah, I’d have been dead a long time ago if it was,” I said and shrugged. “But I also would have taken a few jerks out with me, so…win some, lose some, I guess.”

She made a small noise that was neither this way nor that and I shut my mouth before I could embarrass myself further. She walked around to his other side. “Who called you?”

“Sam.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“Not…exactly,” I said. I didn’t really want to tell her because I wasn’t sure her current sense of humor would allow for me to fake-threaten our mutual friend, but she looked at me so hard I got my bank information and social security number ready to go just in case she wanted them. “I got upset and made a joke about having dibs on kicking Steve’s ass when he’s better. Sam said actually you had it first since Steve was covering you in some explosion?”

Her lips pressed tight for a moment as she stared at Steve. “He didn’t have to.”

“But he’ll probably argue it when he gets up.” I looked at him. “He’s a jerk like that.”

“Yes. He really is,” Natasha said. She started to reach for him, but then abruptly stepped back. “I’m– I can’t deal with him yet.” She started to leave, but stopped at the edge of the curtain. “Are you staying for a while?”

“I think so.” I pulled out my book to show her and set it on my lap. “I don’t really have much else to do today.”

She nodded curtly. “Good. The rest of us do, but Steve…he doesn’t have the best reaction to waking up in medical. It’ll be better if he has a friend.”

I couldn’t imagine anyone having a great reaction to waking up alone, in a hospital, after almost dyi– “I’m on it,” I said before I could delve too deep into those thoughts.

“Thank you,” she said with a brief burst of warmth that almost made her seem like someone else. Then she was back to being aloof. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

I didn’t even have time to say “Bye” before the curtain swooshed behind her and settled into place like she was never there.

~

It was a couple of hours before Steve began to stir, and I had only left my seat to stand up and stretch a few times. I didn’t know he was awake at first, until I saw part of the pillow shift, and I put my book on my lap to find him staring at me. Drowsily, but definitely staring.

“Hi.” He squinted and frowned. “Am I dreaming?”

I snorted and put my bookmark in before I set the book on the table. “No. I’m pretty sure your subconscious isn’t that mean to make my face the first one you see.”

He frowned deeper. “My subconscious definitely isn’t that mean to you.”

“Hey, I call it like I see it.” I leaned in closer. We were both quiet, and I was content to stay that way. “I’ve been looking up photos and your teammates are pretty. I mean, Sam alone would be a good sight.”

“Sam is very handsome,” he agreed so easily it made me smile. “But it’s not so bad to wake up to you. Not bad at all.”

“Do they have you on pain meds?” I asked.

He shrugged, and winced as he did so. “Doubt I could tell if they did. I don’t hurt as much anymore, though.”

“Good. That’s good.” I swallowed. “I’m glad you're okay.”

He got a small smile. “Soft.”

“Only right now. You scared the shit out of me.”

Steve lost his smile and opened his eyes wider. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault, it’s just…” It felt like my throat swelled, so I took a second to try and compose myself.

But Steve was alert now and sat up. “Hey, no; come here.”

I didn’t quite know what he meant, until I saw his arms open and, well, why not. I couldn’t help but glance at the door but there was no new noise and nobody I could see, and I leaned in to hug him as gently as I could. He wrapped his arms around me, warm and breathing and feeling like normal. “I’m okay. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You scared a lot of people,” I said and stayed there until his grip loosened and I could pull back. “But since I’m selfish, yeah; mostly me.”

He smiled weakly and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry you had to find out.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m glad; I…I guess maybe it’s weird for you that I’m here–”

“It’s not,” he said. “It’s definitely not. I’m just sorry I upset you.”

“It’s an upsetting thing.” I shrugged. “Emotions. They kind of suck.”

“Sometimes,” he said. Someone knocked on the door and we both looked when someone came in. I winced as the lights were turned on, but I suddenly realized Steve had still been holding my hand up until that point, when he released it to rub his eyes.

“Oh, sorry Captain,” the doctor said and she smiled at me. “I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”

“Oh, hi Dr. Sherazi,” Steve said, sounding a little brighter. He introduced me to her and we shook hands. I was getting a little tired by all the new people, but I tried not to let it show too much. Steve was worse off; I could be okay for him.

“When I said don’t be a stranger this isn’t quite what I meant,” she said and started checking monitors. When she turned to me, face already expressing apologies, I knew what was coming and I looked at Steve.

“Go home.” He reached out and touched my arm. “I’ll be okay.”

And I didn’t hide myself that well, apparently, because he gave me a Look that said he knew I’d rather be gone. I wasn’t sure whether to feel bad about that or not. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m going to call Sam and after that I’ll probably be besieged by people wanting to yell at me.” He cringed. “I…don’t want anyone to see that, really.”

I nodded because I didn’t want to be obnoxious, but after I packed up I asked him, “Is it okay if I come back tomorrow? I don’t– I don’t have any plans, really; but it’s okay if you don’t…”

“I’d like that,” he said and opened one arm. I hugged him one more time and took a real breath for the first time since that phone call.

~

The next day I pre-planned my morning and set off with a few extra supplies. I stopped by a pastry shop on the way and stood in a long line to get a drink for me, fill a thermos for Steve, and buy a few treats which I shoved in my bag with his tightly-lidded coffee. When I got to the hallway and saw the same two guards I braced myself, but they looked resigned when they saw me.

“We apologize for the misunderstanding yesterday,” the dark-hair one said and his partner muttered something similar. “And for our reactions; it was uncalled for.”

I tried to smile as brightly as I could. “It’s okay; I can be a bitch sometimes too so, hey, kindred spirits,” I joked.

He frowned. Deeply. My smile fell. “It was a– I was just kidding; I meant–” I sighed and gave up when his face didn’t change. “I’m sorry,” I said and left.

Steve looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when I came in and threw the curtain back into place behind me. “Even when I try to be nice I fucking suck at it,” I said and dumped my bag on the chair.

“Good morning to you too,” Steve chuckled and put his fork down. “What happened?”

I opened my mouth and stopped. He looked normal, healthy, but he was still in a hospital bed. “Don’t worry about it,” I said and put my drink on the side table so I could rifle through my bag. “Here,” I said and handed him the thermos.

“You're my favorite,” he said fervently and took it.

That made me smile again. Pretty big, too. “Also here,” I said and put the two white bags on his tray. “This place didn’t have strawberry so I got you a chocolate and a plain croissant.”

“You’re my favorite person ever,” he said and pushed the hospital’s plates aside so he could dig in.

“Yeah, yeah; eat it before someone else walks in. I didn’t bring enough to share.” I was the best. My smile was almost painful, but luckily Steve was too distracted to notice while I wrestled it under control. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. The burns are gone.” He held up his arm to show me skin instead of gauze.

“I guess you’re not going to be the mummy for Halloween.”

“No, but I could be Frankenstein’s monster maybe.” He extended his neck to show me the scar where his stitches had been.

“Tch.” I sat back. “It’ll be gone in a few days.”

“Like nothing ever happened,” he quipped, too lightly, but that was an issue I didn’t know how to tackle.

“Except for my new blood pressure medication from the heart attack you gave me.”

“Were you that worried?” he asked jokingly.

“Yes,” I said. He went silent and stopped eating. “Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how to deal with actual concern.”

“I could learn,” Steve said with a softer smile.

“You’ll need to with friends like yours,” I said. “They were all pretty worried.”

He shrugged. “Most.”

Maybe– I hadn’t met all of them– but I was pretty sure I knew who he meant. “I don’t think I would have been allowed in without Tony Stark’s help when he came to visit,” I said. Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “There are some SHIELD guys making sure not just anybody can come in and some random chick claiming to be your friend naturally didn’t make the cut. But when I was about to leave, Tony Stark came up on his way in and made it a thing until Phil Coulson came by and said I could be here.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “I’ll have to thank Tony.”

“Me too, but I’m trying to figure out how,” I said. “I’m thinking the cheesiest fucking card I can find but I don’t think he’d get that I’m joking. That would be awkward.”

Steve smiled. He was about to say something but I caught sight of the book in his lap and I jerked to attention as I suddenly remembered. “I brought you books!” I said and got them out to hand to him. “Just in case you get bored. I almost forgot.”

“Thank you,” he said, laughing, and set them aside. “Did you ‘just remember’ because you know I was going to say something sincere?”

Huh. “No, but wow, I got lucky.”

“Steve, you’ve got to get some friends that aren’t emotionally constipated.”

We both looked to the doorway to see a man with two butterfly bandages on his cheek, a smudge of dirt on his throat (in blatant contrast to his obviously recently washed hair), and a bouquet of flowers in his hands. The price sticker was still on the cellophane wrapping and I snorted at the sight. Perfectly coifed spies and billionaires were something else. This guy was an unmistakable disaster. I could handle that.

“But then how would he relate?” I asked as the man came over to give Steve a hug and place his flowers next to the set from Tony Stark.

“I’m way better with my emotions than you are,” Steve said, looking at me as his friend stood up.

“That’s like saying you’re taller than the ground,” I said. His friend laughed and I…took a little pride in that; sue me. Steve then introduced me to Clint Barton.

“Hawkeye,” Clint said and grinned wolfishly. “But if you don’t know who Captain America is then I’ve got no chance.”

I glared at Steve. “You told people about that?”

“It’s funny,” he said, his smirk nearly matching Clint’s grin for deviousness alone.

But Clint’s face fell when he sniffed the air. “Hey,” he said. “It smells like chocolate in here.”

“She brought me a chocolate croissant,” Steve said.

“Aw.” Clint deflated.

“Yeah, it’s all gone. Sorry,” Steve said.

Clint narrowed his eyes. “You're not sorry at all, are you?”

“Nope,” Steve said cheerfully.

Clint looked at me and jerked his thumb in Steve’s direction. “This guy.”

“Yup, he’s an asshole,” I agreed. I looked at Steve. “But for some reason we like him anyway.”

“For some reason.”

Natasha was apparently the queen of sneaky entrances, but I didn’t jump this time. She was a little steely, until she saw me looking, and then she gave me a real smile and greeted me with a hello.

Maybe she was like a shark waiting to bite, but I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I smiled back. “Hello Natasha.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, I’m all right. You?”

“I’m much better, thank you.”

“I don’t like this,” Clint said, creeping towards the door.

“You two have…met?” Steve asked, not taking his eyes away from Natasha. Smart.

“Briefly,” Natasha said.

She and Steve stared each other down and I looked around but Clint was gone. Oh. I looked at them. “Should I leave?”

Steve opened his mouth. “Please,” Natasha said politely, without looking at me. “We won’t be long.”

“Okay.” I stood up and left my bag at the chair, but I hesitated. However the way they looked at each other– Natasha ready to strike and Steve ready to defend– made this completely out of my league. I slipped out the door and shut it behind me.

“Oh geeze,” Clint said.

I sighed and stared at the door. I didn’t hear anything, but that wasn’t necessarily good. “I can’t believe I was so worried about him almost dying only to lose him like this. Unfair.”

Clint patted my shoulder consolingly.

But only a couple of minutes passed before Natasha opened the door, and she wasn’t covered in blood. That seemed like a good sign. Then again, strangling someone wouldn’t cause a whole lot of blood loss. I couldn’t help but peek in first and Clint did the same, but while Steve looked a little stunned, he was still alive.

“Wow,” I said and went back to my seat.

“I have excellent self-restraint,” she said and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. “At least we finally got to meet you.” Her tone dipped into teasing. “Steve has been so sly, stealing away all the time for his lunch dates.”

Steve turned red and ducked down. “Come on, Nat.”

“Not very sneaky are you?” I said, even though it was true.

“No, he really isn’t.” Natasha’s lips were tinged with amusement. “But I hear you’re pretty direct yourself.”

I shrugged. “Guilty.” I looked elsewhere. “I don’t have the best filter.”

“You’re fine,” Steve said.

Maybe, but most likely not really. He was probably just being nice to me because I had fallen to pieces the day before. I cleared my throat and sat back when I realized I was leaning close to Steve. I could do this; I could make nice with his friends. I hoped. “By the way Natasha, thanks for that photo of Steve chucking Sam into the water. It’s my desktop background.”

“It’s what?!”

I ignored Steve and so did Natasha, but Clint laughed. Natasha smiled. “I’m glad you appreciated it. It is one of my favorite photos I’ve ever taken.”

I realized something then and dared to get my hopes up. “Steve. Surfing. Is there video?”

“Of course” and “Of course not” came in unison from Natasha and Steve respectively, and he whipped his head in her direction so fast I heard his neck crack.

“Natasha,” he pleaded.

“That’s very valuable blackmail though,” she told me. “I have stories that would unseat politicians I’d charge less for.”

“How much to peek at stills?”

“I’m sure your job is lovely, but it’s still probably more than you make.”

“A recounting of the experience?”

“Hmm…how detailed?”

“I’ll take subject-verb-object at this point.”

“Steve surfed wave.” Her lips curled devilishly. “Wave surfed Steve.”

“Two sentences?” I gasped.

“Well, I like you,” she said.

“Hey Clint,” Steve said. “Do me a favor and tell the doc I want those experimental pain meds she was trying to talk me out of. Or just, anything that makes me unconscious so I don’t have to hear Nat get sweet-talked into giving up that video.”

“Wow, you really do believe in me,” I said. “It’s okay though, my imagination can take it from here.”

Steve’s mouth screwed downwards. “I have no friends. Everyone I love is dead to me.” He looked thoughtful. “Or dead.”

That was so delightfully dark it shocked me into laughter, and Clint too by the sound of it. Natasha, however, punched him so hard he actually said “Ow!” and rubbed his arm.

I stayed with them for a couple of hours, until my patience began to fray and I started checking the clock. Not that Natasha and Clint weren't great (I might have fallen a little in love with her when she made a “Die Hard” joke so wonderfully dumb that Clint got caught up in a groan while he laughed) but I was just…getting tired. Before I could attempt some pathetic excuse, though, my phone buzzed and I pulled it out.

Pepper: You might want to warn Steve that Tony is on his way.

“Oh boy,” I said and fired off a quick ‘thanks.’ When I looked up they were all staring at me, and I looked at Steve to get my grounding. “Pepper just said Tony Stark’s on his way.”

“‘Oh boy’ is right.” Steve grimaced. “You should probably go before he gets here.”

I hesitated, because that seemed a little crappy, however…I knew my limits. “Yeah, I– I don’t think I have the energy for him.”

“Don’t worry.” Natasha took a seat. “We’ll supervise.”

“Aww,” Clint said, but he showed absolutely no sign of moving. How someone could lean almost 180 degrees in a chair that was very solidly 90 degrees (if not less) and even pretend to look comfortable I had no idea, but more power to him.

I packed up and stopped to hug Steve. He held me a little longer than I expected. “Don’t worry; I’ll be out by tonight,” he said and let go. “And as soon as I’m done with debriefs, I’ll let you know. I still owe you lunch.”

“So you better stick around.” I stood. “I’ll collect. Someday.”

“I won’t hold my breath on that one,” he said.

I held my heart and looked in Clint and Natasha’s direction. “He’s learning.”

I got a pillow to the face, but Natasha got a new cushion. And while Steve may have been annoyed…he was okay. And he was going to continue to be okay.

Win-win.

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[buzzdixonwriter]

You Don’t Say

For me, one of the unforeseen benefits of Facebook and other social media is that it gives me a chance to do rough drafts of ideas, assembling my thoughts and getting feedback before committing to more permanent form.

And sometimes, like asteroids colliding in space, two separate ideas / posts slam into one another and either create something new and unexpected, or else shatter themselves and reveal interesting aspects of their nature heretofore hidden from view.

That happened recently with a pair of Facebook posts I made on Dennis Prager and Harlan Ellison.

Let’s get the turd out of our mouth first.

. . .

Dennis Prager is a purveyor of herpetology lubricants admired by many on the right-leaning-nazi side of the spectrum, primarily because he keeps his mouth closed when chewing.  Half of what he says is repackaged self-evident truths of the “Don’t eat the yellow snow” variety, a quarter is opinions that if not startling original are at least not genuinely harmful, and the remain quarter is egregious bullshit for which he deserves a public pants down spanking.

Hmm, what?  Oh, yes; purely metaphorically, of course.

I long since wrote off Prager as a. utterer of inanities, but recently his turdmongering was forced on my attention by someone who posted a link to Prager’s argument that the “left” (i.e., basically anybody who thinks Auschwitz was a Bad Idea) is inflicting harm on both the American body politic and the universe at large by denying people like Prager the right to drop the N-bomb whenever they feel like it.

As some of you no doubt already knew, Prager is a member of what polite bigots used to refer to as “those of the Hebrew persuasion”.

That a person from an ethnicity that historically suffered hatred so vicious and specifically targeted that a special word had to be created for it (“anti-Semitism” because the original word -- “Jew-hatred” -- was too damned ugly even for bigots to use) now has his knickers in a twist because he’s “not allowed” to use the only other word of equal or greater impact -- also coined specifically by oppressors for expressing unrestrained hate and contempt against those oppressed -- is so rich in irony that all I can do is swipe a phrase from Jim Wright over at Stonekettle Station and say Dennis Prager has “all the self-awareness of a dog licking its own asshole in the middle of the street”.

First off, he’s lying: Neither the “left” nor American law prevents him from dropping the N-bomb whenever he feels like it and I invite him to go down to the intersection of Normandie and Florence in South Central and drop it at the top of his lungs for as long as he is able and please make sure to take plenty of video recorders along because I really wanna see what happens next.

Second, why the fuck would you want to say that? Seriously, other than in an evidentiary context (a cop giving testimony in court, a journalist reporting what some bigoted politician says, etc.), who today gains anything from repeating the word other than inflicting unjustified distress on people who have done nothing to deserve it?

(This is the point where a bunch of alt-right trolls are gonna jump up and say “but whatabout all the times when black people say it?” and to those trolls I’m gonna say STFU & STFD; if you can’t grasp the difference in context then you’re too damned stupid to be allowed out in public except at the end of a leash and with a ball gag in your mouth.)

It’s a word specifically created and designed to be used to brutally oppress people who did nothing to deserve that brutal oppression.  Why would anybody outside that group use it except to participate in that brutal oppression?

. . .

Least there sit any in the cheap seats who presume the above rant was targeted at Dennis Prager simply because he was Jewish, guess again, ya yutzes.

Few writers enjoyed as brilliant and as incendiary a career as Harlan Ellison, and I count myself privileged to have been one of his friends.

Ellison, as many of you know, also was Jewish, a damned tough little bastard, singled out for hatred and abuse as the only Jewish child in his backwater Ohio school, growing up with nerves & balls of chromium, a bona fide Army Ranger, and a writer so honest and fearless that when he wrote about juvenile delinquency in the 1950s he did so by infiltrating and joining a street gang to get first hand experience and insight on the kids who ran in that crowd (and as icing on the cake, James Caan played him in the TV version!).

Top that, Dennis.

Harlan’s electric eclectic career features many highpoints, but the one I want to focus on is his brief 4-year run as TV critic for the legendary Los Angeles Free Press (a.k.a. The Freep) from 1968 to 1972.  

What’s interesting is that Harlan did this while at the same time at the height of his demand as a TV writer.

You got any idea how hard it is to make a living while you’re gnawing on the hand that feeds you?

Harlan may have been crazy, but damn it, he was honest.

Back to the issue at hand.

Recently I’ve been re-reading his TV criticism columns, collected in two volumes, The Glass Teat and The Other Glass Teat.

The depressing thing is that all the evil we see today was in place back in those days, and the same smug pious frauds and their dimbulb marks kept congratulating themselves how wonderful they were as things continued to spiral out of control.

Oh, we've had good moments when we made changes that improved the lot of people who'd previously been marginalized, but the core cancer is still there. Harlan was no cock-eyed sentimentalist -- he was often filled with anger and could vent it spectacularly at deserving targets -- but he did have hope that somehow we could keep nudging the ball further towards the goal lines.

The columns make fascinating reading; they are nowhere near as dated as one might suspect. Sometimes they offer diamond-like brilliant dissections of a particular instant in the cultural gestalt, other times they examine the unseen (well, to most audiences, that is) tides of Hollywood that shape our media, sometimes he turns his attention to bear on seemingly insignificant and forgotten local programming only to show with McLuhan-esque clarity how that tiny piece of seemingly insignificant fluff is symptomatic of a much wider, much vaster, and far more serious problem.

One entry caught my eye in particular, the March 7, 1969 column on a failed ABC pilot called Those Were The Days.

Harlan sat in the studio audience watching the taping of that pilot, and his column praised the courage and insight of producers Norman Lear and Bud Yorkin, the brilliant performances of Carroll O’Connor and Jean Stapleton, and the raw honesty of the pilot’s sharp comedy and writing.

Those of you not in the cheap seats have already realized this was the second failed pilot for what would eventually become All In The Family over at CBS (there was an even earlier original pilot called Justice For All back when Archie and Edith’s last name was Justice, not Bunker.)

I remember the hoopla when All In The Family finally aired in January of 1971 as a mid-season replacement.

You might count Archie Bunker as the white Dolemite insofar as the comedy sprang from the shock of all the crude and vulgar things he said.

Lear and Yorkin were mocking that mindset, belittling bigotry, exposing the Babbittry of millions of “good” Americans who lacked either the self-awareness or the courage to take a long introspective look at themselves and realize how badly they were failing as citizens of this country.

Audiences weren’t supposed to like Archie Bunker.

And that’s where Lear and Yorkin made their fatal mistake.

No, audiences didn’t like Archie.

They loved him.

. . .

Asteroids collide, and sometimes they form new planets, and sometimes they shatter and expose what lies beneath.

Prager’s modern day Babbittry crashed into Harlan’s half-century old anti-Babbittry, and from the explosion a stark truth revealed itself.

It’s almost impossible to make an outlaw a villain in popular media.

No matter how many banks they rob, stages they hold up, sheriffs they shoot, the mere fact that somebody wrote a song / dime novel / movie about ‘em makes them into heroes.

Demi-gods.

People to be admired.

Emulated.

Professional wrestling knows this.

You can never be so big a heel that you won’t have a legion of followers.

And you can turn a heel into a baby face in the blink of an eye and none of the fans will remember the despicable acts the wrassler did just last week.

You put an Archie Bunker on TV, you do not get millions of people to recognize themselves in his hateful / hurtful behavior and change their ways.

Oh, hell no; you get millions of people to applaud him for saying and doing what they say and do in private.

And now that it’s all big and bold and brassy on TV, why it becomes even easier to say it in the privacy of your own home, then over the fence with the neighbors, then in the bar down the street, then on the street itself, and then against people who have done you no harm, who have committed no sin other than the heinous crime of not being exactly like you.

I remember watching and liking All In The Family when it first came on because I, like millions of other Americans, got the joke:  Archie was no hero.

But it wasn’t long before the voices cheering Archie began to drown out the voices laughing at him.

Lear and Yorkin tried undoing their damage with Maude and The Jeffersons and Good Times and other spinoff shows, but the bigot was out of the bottle.

Archie Bunker, even though written in a way to ridicule his use of bigotry and stereotypes, became a champion and defender of those who clung to said bigotry and stereotypes.

So tell me again why you want to drop that N-bomb, Dennis.

Explain to me -- even while you talk out of both sides of your mouth and claim even if everybody can use they word maybe they shouldn’t use the word -- how that does anything to help anybody…

…other than bigots and hate mongers.

Your argument is as circular as the thumb and forefinger gesture white supremacists use to signal one another, a gesture deliberately chosen because it lets them transgress openly by lying about the truth meaning of their gesture.

And Harlan, you were right about Those Were The Days as it began evolving into All In The Family.  Absolutely brilliant -- but absolutely deadly.

Not airing All In The Family wouldn’t have eliminated racial / ethnic / sexual prejudice in the United States…

…but it would have denied those ideas a voice.

The narcissist always proclaims, “I don’t care what they say about me so long as they spell my name right.”

Well, that’s what we got with Archie Bunker.

None of the bigots cared if we made fun of their ideas…

…just so long as they got their ideas out there.

Because ideas are made legitimate by their presence.

Now clearly, this is a bade that cuts both ways.

Ideas once unthinkable -- liberty and justice for all in the form of racial and gender equality, f’r instance -- need to be championed in public.

But we need to shout down and stamp out the bad ideas.

The United States took their foot off the neck of the defeated white racists after the end of the Civil War, and as a result jim crow came roaring back, and things did not change for millions of Americans for another entire century.

We allowed bigots and hate mongers and slavers to be whitewashed and glorified and forgiven for their crimes against humanity…

…and in the process we allowed them to continue victimizing African-Americans more and more.

Every song about the Ol’ South, every novel glorifying plantation life, every movie showing happy field hands, every statue commemorating murderous traitors as men of honor and principle, every single iteration of that idea made millions of people’s suffering not just possible but inevitable.

. . .

Now this is the point where the alt-right trolls are gonna jump up and ask “did you ever drop the N-word?”

Not in casual conversation, no.

I was born and raised in the South (Appalachia, mostly); my father’s side of the family were almost all Southerners.

Almost all.

My paternal grandmother was born and raised in New Jersey and met my grandfather when both served in the U.S. Army medical corps in WWI.  When my grandfather died in his 40s, my grandmother originally moved back to New Jersey, but her three children (dad and two aunts) felt heartbroken at having to leave their Southern cousins and friends behind so even though she carried no particular love for the South, my grandmother moved her family back and stayed there for the most of her life (she and one of my aunts moved out to California to be near us, but that’s another story for another post).

One thing my grandmother absolutely refused to tolerate was use of the N-bomb anywhere near her, especially under her roof or in the homes of her children.

This included both the -er and -ra variants, because Southern racists who didn’t want to appear as uncultured and as boorish and as bigoted as their backwoods cousins preferred the second pronunciation because they could claim they were actually speaking respectfully about “colored people”.

So I grew up in the rare white Southern home where the N-bomb merely wasn’t used, it was actually denounced as wrong.

Now, don’t go thinking my grandmother was some great paragon of virtue; she wasn’t (she was hell on wheels, in fact, but that’s another story for another post).

But she did recognize there was something wrong with the use of the N-bomb, and whether she demanded her children never use it in any form to keep them from appearing to be boorish, bigoted louts, or whether she just thought it was simple good manners of the golden rule variety not to use it, I dunno.

But I do know we never used it, and when my parents heard our neighbors or schoolmates use it, we were reminded in no uncertain terms that we were never to use it.

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t used it.

A couple of decades ago I wrote a screenplay based on the life of Robert Smalls, in particular his incredible escape from Civil War Charleston by hijacking a Confederate gunboat and sailing it right past Ft. Sumter to join the Union fleet, bringing his wife and several other escaping African-Americans with him.

As a skilled harbor pilot, Smalls enjoyed certain privileges other enslaved African-Americans didn’t.

For example, he was allowed to go about the streets of Charleston unescorted…

…provided he wore a big diamond shaped brass tag around his neck.

Like a dog.

The tag indicated to slave catcher patrols that he was one of the “good” ones, that he could be trusted because he was helping his masters in their struggle against the Union by guiding blockade runners into the safety of Charleston harbor.

But knowing Southerners the way I do, and knowing the kind of low class good ol’ boy types they recruited for such jobs, I couldn’t imagine the slave catcher patrols being particularly courteous to him, even when they knew they had to let him pass because clearly he had the protection of some high positioned muckamuck.  

And I could easily imagine them flinging the N-bomb at him with great glee, taunting him, daring him to act “uppity” so they could beat the crap out of him and teach him some manners and remind him of his place.

So I used the word in their dialog in my script.

Would I use that word today?

Probably not.

It’s not that crucial to the story, and if the viewer doesn’t grasp the concept that these are bigoted bully scum from their actions and attitude, then I’ve failed my job as a writer.

Have I ever quoted people who dropped the N-bomb?

Yeah, I have, in the past.

I’ve quoted Richard Pryor and Blazing Saddles and Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction.

I would excuse it then as the aforementioned evidentiary context but ya know what?  I don’t quote those lines anymore.

I still think Pryor is hilarious and will recommend his routines to anyone I think might be interested, but he as a member of the African-American community at large (because like any other ethnic group, African-Americans have numerous sub-cultures and sub-communities among them), he could say things in a way neither I nor any other white person could say them.

(And, yeah, there’s a big debate going on to this very day among African-Americans about the appropriateness of that word and you know what?  Whatever decision African-Americans reach for themselves is their business and should not involve any input whatsoever from we white folk; we not only can’t use the word, we can’t even comment on how they choose to use it.  Period.  Full stop.)

Blazing Saddles when it came out used the N-bomb to be deliberately transgressive, to make a sympathetic point re how unfairly African-Americans were treated.

All well and good.

But nine years earlier there had been a movie called A Patch Of Blue and while it wasn’t a raucous comedy like Blazing Saddles it tried making a point about race relations in America and it was a really. Really good movie and it made some important points but today is virtually unwatchable not because of any flaws in it but because the times have changed.

Ditto Blazing Saddles.

We don’t need to approach the problem that way any more.

Quentin Tarantino?  I really like what he does as a director and a screenwriter but his use of the N-bomb to show us how transgressive his characters are is really shallow.  I have a strong feeling his movies are going to be considered embarrassingly passé’ in a generation or two, much the same way as benign-yet-stereotypical characters in 1940s movies render many of them passé’ today.  

Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction lose nothing by changing the N-word to something else.  

Maybe an argument could be made for its use in Django Unchained or The Hateful 8 but even there I think substituting another word wouldn’t significantly change the tenor or tone of either movie.

So I stop quoting those lines from Tarantino’s films, at least not fully.

I can admire his skill / talent / craft without signing off on his problematic elements.

Let me offer an analogy: If a creator can get the same dramatic effect by pretending to shoot somebody but not actually blasting them with a gun, then they can get the same dramatic effect by using something evocative of the N-bomb without actually dropping it.

(By the way, for those who may be curious, my mother was from Naples and a bona fide card carrying member of Mussolini’s Fascist Youth Brigade, but that’s another story for another post.)

. . .

We are plunging into a new cultural conflict -- and while I think there will be violence, I don’t see it being violence on the scale or level of political organization as the Civil War -- and we can only win by refusing to let the bigots and the hate mongers spew their bullshit in the marketplace of ideas.

There is no compromise with an oppressor.

Stand up to it every time you encounter it.

Make it unthinkable, never acceptable. 

  © Buzz Dixon

[nosferatyou]

I was tagged by @lazingonsunday and @shes-outta-sight to do one of the long tag, get to know them, type of things. Which I absolutely love by the way. I don’t talk about myself much.

What was the last thing you read?

Well I was editing the latest chapter of my fic of that counts? If not some random josh one shot a couple hours ago lol.

Favorite Movie?

Man it’s ever revolving. It was Django Unchained for a long ass time, but now I think it’s Baby Driver.

Favorite Book?

Misery by Stephen King. I read it years ago and I have a lot of good memories tied to it. Me and my friend became closer through his works and this was the first one I read. It’ll stay close in my heart.

Dream Date?

It’s one I’ve been on before but just Vinyl Shopping. It’s simple and easy but music in a relationship is important to me. I gotta make sure they have good picks. But there is something so soft about it all.

Do you have a crush?

Sadly no. But I’m fully in Joshes lane rn if that means anything?

What are your hobbies?

Oof okay. I mostly draw like all hours of the day. But I very actively keep up with guitar and bass. I write as well. I make videos for my friends. I collect old and beat up vinyls. Lot of art stuff

Favorite time of day?

Night time. Like from hours 10-3. That’s my true alone time and it’s something I cherish and look forward to everyday.

If you could look like anything, what would you like to look like?

I don’t wish to change anything about my body. I think I’d be silly to. But man I wish I could actually afford clothes I’d like to wear. Real bellbottoms you know? I want that vintage shit.

Are you romantic?

In a secure relationship yes. I show too much emotion too fast in the beginning. But boy oh boy when I get romantic. I get very touchy feely. Man date ideas. Lot of carefully curated playlists.

Favorite type of weather?

That time in like August/September when I can wear jeans and maybe a light jacket. But it’s still warm, you know?

What do you like talking about?

Music. I talk about it all day long. The foundation behind it. The artist. I could discuss guitars and instruments with people all damn day. I just. I love everything about it. But also GVF is my hyperfixation rn and my friend is ready to shoot my head off if I speak another word about Jakes guitar playing.

What are your turn ons?

Ngl I’m akin to a boy with long hair. It’s my vice. I’ve only dated long haired musicians. But I just want someone who radiates some kind of light you know? I’ve seen too much darkness. I want someone genuine and real. Is it too much to ask for a positive person?

What are your turn offs?

I’ve dealt with a lot in my past. Basically anything that’s negative. Ignorance mostly. I don’t want someone who refuses to learn. It’s stupid. I just want honesty and someone with an open mind. Anything else is a no go.

If you got a tattoo what would it be and where would you get it?

Okay so. I really want tattoos. I designed something about a year ago I want really badly but it’s so expensive. Thinking rationally. Right now I’d really like some line art of bust. Idk what tho.

Do you have any pets?

3! 2 dogs, Ruby and Nellie, both too six year old mutts. Nellie is the weirdest god damn dog I’ve ever had. And ruby is basically a fox dog. And then there is Friday my cat. He can be a bitch boy but he’s a sweet boy who’s just being a cat. (I also have ten plants but most people don’t consider them pets)

Dream Job?

I’m still searching for that. Recently my heads been floating towards playing live shows as a guitar or bass player. But I’m no where near the point of even considering. I’m pretty shitty. But how Cool would it be to play that violin bow with my guitar on stage?

Dream place to live?

Not considering any potential jobs. I just want to live in a big log cabin somewhere on the outskirts of a town. Out in the wilderness and free to just live.

Dream vacation?

I’ve never been to Europe. I’d love to just road trip around in a van honestly. But before that visit my great grandfather grave in Scotland. He was a kings hand and did a lot back in the day. I’d be cool to see. But then I’d fuck around in Europe.

Do you have any piercings?

I’ve got my nose and ears pierced. I’m pretty happy with that

If you had kids what would you name them?

Man I don’t even want to think about that.

What are your best traits?

I’m a great listener. I’m extremely compassionate. Will do anything to help friends. And I feel like my music taste isn’t half bad.

Worst traits?

The compassionate thing tends to bite me in the ass. I’ve got a lot of emotions. I also have 20 things I want to do all at once all the time. I loose sleep because of it. There is more but I’d go on too long.

Worst fear?

Weirdly enough any type of natural disaster. When I was way too young I watched “The Impossible” and then shortly after learned about techtonic plates and I never forgotten about it or where they are.

What do you want to eat right now?

Brownies. And a fucking burrito.

Best vacation you’ve been on?

I went on a road trip to Chicago recently and I just makes so many good memories. I saw ninja sex party’s 10th anniversary, which was fantastic. But I got to visit a friend all weekend. But my favorite part was the ride back. The whole time we just talked but also sang to old 50s songs and just had this moment of unity. I still think about it

Favorite City?

I haven’t been to too many places yet so I’m gonna go with my hometown, Nashville. If you look past all the tourists. It’s got a very rich musical history and in certain places you just feel it. I loved living there and it made me who I was.

Favorite social media platform?

Tumblr. It’s really the only one I ever check anymore. Plus I’ve made some great friends on here.

Favorite article of clothing?

My fucking bellbottoms. I wear them whenever I can. They give me so much confidence.

Do you play any sports?

Fuck no. I have no coordination whatsoever.

Favorite meal of the day?

Lunch. You have a lot more options. Plus I just like the vibe

What are you excited for?

Starting the tenth I have a lot of good things coming my way. In that week I get to finally end this semester, the new Harry styles album releases, I get a new bass, and I get to see fucking Greta Van Fleet. None of you know how excited I am for that. Pit tickets. Jesus it’ll be good.

Not excited for?

Finals. And an um.. upcoming funeral.

When was the last time you cried?

I honestly can’t remeber and that really scares me.

Dream house?

I basically answered this earlier but gimme that big ass log cabin.

Something you hate about this world?

Don’t get my started. I hate that everyone hates themselves all the time when they have no reason to. I hate that 8 people have most of the worlds money and are doing nothing to help global warming. I hate the man that’s in power and what he’s helped cause. I hate everyone who refuses to accept literally any fact. I hate that my future is bleak because of some old ass white men.

Something you love about this world?

I love the light that radiates off of certain people. I love that our generation has hope and that some people are actually trying to make change. I love the raw creativity I see in others and I love that we are bringing back the resurgence of peace and love.

What scents do you like?

Old records and books. Its the simple pleasures.

What kind of sleeper are you?

Typically heavy but sometimes I Sleep so little it feels like I got nothing at all.

Cat or dog person?

Don’t make me pick! I grew up with both, and very partial to both.

How long would you survive in a zombie Apocolypse?

I wish I could tell you. I’d like to think I’d live awhile but I would probably be the ones who look like they have hope and then accidentally get taken out.

Are you trusting?

I used to be. I realized recently how thick my walls really are.

What fictional character do you identify with?

Sorry to be boring but nothing is coming to mind. But then again I never felt akin to anyone really?

What labels do you commonly get?

In high school I was called “the quiet one” if that tells you anything.

What song would be your life anthem?

Sunshine on my shoulders by John Denver is the only one coming to mind. I think I just want the feeling it gives me to be what I feel all the time.

What issues are you dealing with right now?

Two friends in the last month Um. Took their own lives. One being an old friend. I’ve never dealt with death. My brain doesn’t know how to handle it. I also think I might have ADD. But. That’s the tip of the iceberg rn

How can someone win you over?

Typically I’m drawn to people who are the loudest in the room. I like that their confident and can speak their minds but what wins me over about them is when they really open up. When I learn about the real then rather than the face that they put on. Most of the time it goes that way.

What’s something people don’t know about you?

I’m making a short film with some friends who go to Columbia. Should be out soonish.

I tag

@pvre-mourning @peacelovekiszka @fretavangleet @aint-no-denying @sosozoso

[fencheto]

Forbidden - Chapter 5

The story can also be found on Wattpad You can find the previous chapters here Feedback is greatly appreciated.

[psychosistr]

Worth It Chapter 8- Touch Starved

Summary: Joseph and Caesar are both a bit touch starved after everything being so tense between them. Luckily, Joseph has a way to fix that!

Notes: Like the last chapter, this one also involves mental manipulation and subtle hypnosis via an unaware main character being subjected to subliminal messages.

Also just a reminder since it’s been a while: ~~ line just means a scene change with the same character perspective, while  ___ line means a scene change and a switch in perspective.

Joseph smiled as he typed away on his laptop, seated at a desk located in his own personal study within the house. The study was small, but cozy, consisting mostly of a work desk with a few small drawers for him to put his stuff in/on (mostly on, judging by the amount of papers and pens scattered around it), a comfortable swivel chair, and a small filing cabinet in the corner with a printer/copier/fax machine seated on top. It was a small space, but it was nice and secluded- a good place for him to focus on what he needed to do.

At the moment, he was working on a “personal project”, rather than one for his job. His eyes went from the computer to the USB cable plugged into it, following the cable to the little MP3 player that he’d been using for Caesar for the past week and a half. His smile grew a bit wider as he lightly ran his finger over the glass surface of the MP3.

Joseph knew that Caesar wasn’t going to change his mind simply by being locked up- no, the fierce Italian was far too stubborn for that. And, while he had been showing SOME progress, it was going far too slow for Joseph’s liking. So, he figured, why not help Caesar relax and change his mind a bit faster? No harm in that, right? Right.

To this end, Joseph had done a good amount of research into subjects like hypnosis. From what he’d discovered, real hypnosis wasn’t anything like what was seen in main-stream media- the classic image of a man swinging a pocket watch in front of someone’s eyes until they fell asleep before clucking like a chicken on cue- and was far more intricate and subtle. For starters, he found out that hypnosis couldn’t make people do anything they didn’t already want to do. Second, the kind that was often satirized in the media was more of a trigger-based hypnosis that required inductions and long hours of work with a willing participant. The final things he found out about that caught his attention were the concepts of hypnotherapy and subliminal messages. Hypnotherapy was all about using hypnosis to gradually improve one’s mood or habits, and, if the person really wanted it, could even help them with every day things like to stop smoking or sleep easier or be more confident in themselves. Meanwhile, subliminal messages were all about hiding small suggestions and tiny triggers within things people could be exposed to readily- such as images, movies, or music- to hide small, subconscious thoughts and desires within them that they may not even be aware of.

Through his research, Joseph gathered that it was already common-place for people to combine the concepts of hypnotherapy and subliminal messages for both recreational and self-help purposes. That sounded PERFECT! Caesar would never willingly agree to be hypnotized, and wouldn’t accept any changes that conflicted with what he wanted, but if Joseph could get him to think about things that he WANTED to do, then he could be conditioned to accept other changes gradually. After a bit more research, he found easy instructions for creating subliminal messages hidden in music and downloaded a program to help him with it.

He decided to start with something small, just to try it out- a simple music mix laced with a basic subliminal script designed to get Caesar to relax, slowly realize that he was safe in his new home, and encourage him to go out into the rest of the house. After all, these all seemed like things that Caesar would want, anyway. It had to be exhausting being so stressed all the time, so he’d feel better with this, right? Right.

The results were even better than he could have imagined! That night, when he got home, Caesar had actually asked to go to the kitchen with him and had even sat at the dining room table with him to eat dinner together. Oh, it gave Joseph such a feeling of joy to know he was helping his precious little Caesar feel better- even if Caesar wasn’t aware of it, himself. No matter, he did it simply to help Caesar, not to receive praise, after all.

After that night, Joseph started making more and more subliminal music lists to help further Caesar’s progress. It seemed to be working, too. Caesar was still resistant to Joseph’s touches and didn’t really reciprocate his affections yet, but he’d been a lot calmer around him lately and either openly asked or agreed to let Joseph take him to different rooms when the urge struck one of them. Joseph was so excited by these changes! Oh, how he wished he could just hurry things along even faster so he could kiss and touch his cute little Caesar already! He constantly had to remind himself to take things slow, though- if he tried introducing new concepts too quickly, then they wouldn’t stick and Caesar might become suspicious of him. If that happened, then he’d start resisting all over again. Better to play it safe for the moment…

He read over the script he’d written for his current batch one more time, deeming it perfect and pressing the correct buttons to splice it into the music tracks. If things went well with this one, then Caesar would be more open to physical contact again. That would make every day interactions A LOT easier on Joseph in the long run- it was hard to convince Caesar to love him when he couldn’t even brush against him without the other man tensing up.

After receiving the signal that the tracks were ready, he downloaded them into the MP3 with a sigh, reminding himself of his goals. “It’s all for Caesar- and Caesar is ALWAYS worth it.” He smiled softly and repeated that phrase in his mind, using it as his own mantra whenever all of the work he put into this started to wear on him. It would all be worth it in the end- he just had to endure it.

_______________________________________________________________

Another day, another eight to nine hours locked to the bed with earbuds playing that relaxing music and Caesar’s vision stolen by black silk. It was a bit odd that he was becoming so used to this, he supposed, but it felt too nice to really want to stop. These few hours by himself, left to his own thoughts, made Caesar feel easier about his whole situation and really gave him time to reflect on and reevaluate everything. It felt refreshing whenever he let himself sink down into the comforter and allowed his mind to wander…

‘It feels nice to relax like this.’

‘Hmh, it does feel nice..getting to relax like this every day..a lot better than going out to failed job interviews, that’s for sure..’

‘It also feels nice being around Joseph…’

‘I mean..it is nice getting to move around for a while when he’s here, but I don’t know if I’d call it NICE since I’m always chained up around him…’

‘I used to enjoy being around him, maybe I still do…’

‘Of course I used to like it- he was my best friend. He’s fun to talk to, even if his jokes suck. He’s usually nice, except when he gets that crazy look in his eyes. He’s surprisingly smart and comes up with interesting conversations, I do kind of miss having those with him….oh..I guess..some part of me DOES still like being around him..’

As Caesar thought about it, he realized what had really scared him about Joseph since he’d been kidnapped: Joseph didn’t really ACT that different from before. He WANTED so badly to see Joseph as some psychotic, insane person that he could bring himself to HATE. It would make everything so much easier on Caesar if this was someone he couldn’t understand or didn’t know, but..it wasn’t..it was Joseph. Aside from the occasional cold seriousness he’d let through or the manic smiles he’d catch glimpses of, Joseph was still acting like Jojo. He was still the Jojo that Caesar argued with about taste in music, or loudly laughed at whenever he was clumsy, or who warmed his heart when he told a bad joke just to cheer Caesar up. Joseph still did all of the same things he did before, except for the whole locking Caesar up thing.

Caesar wasn’t really sure how he felt about Joseph anymore: On the one hand, he was still the same loyal, caring, thoughtful, dork of a best friend that Caesar had been close to for so long now. On the other hand, though, he was also the one who kidnapped Caesar, chained him up, and was preventing him from leaving the house at all- essentially keeping him prisoner.

‘This is my home, too- Joseph said so.’

Caesar sighed a bit at that thought. ‘Fine, maybe it is TECHINCALLY my home since Joseph owns it and we were already living together- but house arrest is still a thing…’

‘I was already spending most of my time at home, anyway.’

‘Okay, fine, I guess that’s true too. But I still liked having the OPTION of going out when I wanted to.’

‘All I ever went out for were failed job interviews, dead-end dates, or to hang out with Joseph.’

‘…That..is also true…I really didn’t socialize much..’

‘The only time I had fun going out was with Joseph…’

‘…….Damn it…that’s true, too..’

He frowned a bit as the thought fully sank in. It was a sad but true fact- most of his interactions outside of the apartment had ended up being negative. Sure, he’d have some fun occasionally when he hooked up with a stranger at a bar, but that was ultimately a hollow feeling. He’d feel confident going into job interviews, but in the end he’d just get hit with the sting of rejection. He liked the few people who caught his eye that he would try dating, going out for dinner, dancing, and movies was fun…but they always seemed to leave him, in the end.

The only times going outside were fun for him were when Joseph went with him for drinks, or they did the grocery shopping together, or stopped by the bookstore, or visited Joseph’s family, or went to see some superhero movie that Caesar never really remembered the plot of but simply went because he enjoyed seeing the child-like wonder Joseph always displayed at observing his favorite comic books brought to life.

It really did seem like the only things he enjoyed doing outside were WITH Joseph. Hell, even just being at home with him was more enjoyable than being by himself- he remembered how lonely he’d felt during the weeks leading up to his kidnapping. Now he really wished he’d tried harder to talk to Joseph during that time. Maybe he could have helped Joseph feel better and then he wouldn’t be in this situation now…

‘Joseph still cares about me- he wants to spend more time with me…’

‘Maybe…Maybe if I try to spend more time with him while he’s here, it will help him feel better…maybe then he’ll feel like he doesn’t have to keep me locked up all the time, perhaps he’d even come to his senses and let me go…’

‘I should trust Joseph a bit more…’

‘I..still don’t know how much I can trust him..but..he’s been holding true to all of his promises so far..he still hasn’t drugged me again or tried to touch me beyond the occasional hug or kiss on the cheek..I guess I can trust him a little, at least, while he’s stable…’

‘Joseph’s touch does feel nice..’

Caesar felt his cheeks burn a bit, trying to remind himself that that thought was probably innocent in nature- likely just a by-product of needing human contact, nothing else.

Still…

Physical contact was always something Joseph had been very big on, even when they first started hanging out. He’d always end up sitting closer to Caesar until their knees bumped, or throwing an arm around Caesar’s shoulders when he ended up laughing at one of his own stories. It had thrown Caesar off a bit at first, especially considering that their first stint of time together consisted of either getting into physical brawls or being rude and snarky to each other. Then, one night over a few drinks, they’d opened up to each other about their pasts and their families…Caesar was a tough guy, he didn’t cry often, but, as he remembered what happened to his father, and with the alcohol in his system making him a bit more vulnerable, he had been fairly close to shedding tears- until Joseph leaned across the space between them and pulled Caesar into a firm embrace. There were no ulterior motives, there was no hint of pity or condescension, Joseph had simply done it because he wanted to bring Caesar comfort in any way possible. And it worked. Caesar had clung to him, his shoulders trembling as he refused to cry, and Joseph held him the whole time until he felt better- never once saying anything or looking at him with anything less than understanding. Caesar hadn’t been aware at the time of how touch-starved he truly was until Joseph embraced him. After that, they formed a true connection, and Joseph became far more generous with the physical contact, taking every opportunity to put a casual arm around Caesar when they walked, leaning against him when they sat together, and embracing him whenever the mood struck him.

That was something else Caesar was beginning to miss- the physical closeness with Joseph. It had become such a big part of their day-to-day interactions for so long that it felt weird to be without it now…

‘I miss Joseph’s touch…’

‘..Yeah..I really do…I can’t keep pulling away every time he gets close to me, I’ll just end up tiring myself out. He promised he wouldn’t touch me inappropriately, and I do trust him to keep his word…I..guess I can give him a chance with this…’

Caesar relaxed back into the bed, feeling much calmer now than before. Everything would be okay in the end- he would get through this…

The music died down and Caesar slowly came to, unaware that he’d even fallen asleep at all. Guess he was feeling a lot more relaxed…

He felt the usual dip of the bed right before those familiar large, warm hands tenderly undid the blindfold. “Hey there, sleeping beauty- get enough rest? <3” The silk slid off and Caesar blinked the sleep from his eyes, looking at Joseph’s affectionate smile. “Here, hold on, I’ll get those out in just a sec..” He reached to Caesar’s ears and carefully took out the earbuds. “There, better?” He smiled and lightly tousled Caesar’s hair.

Caesar almost tensed up again, but he remembered what he’d thought about earlier and took a deep breath, making himself relax before accepting the gentle touch for what it was. It did feel really nice to have this contact, so he closed his eyes and leaned into it, just letting himself get used to the sensation again. “Si. What’s for dinner?” When he didn’t receive an answer right away, he opened his eyes to look up at Joseph. He saw Joseph gazing at him with a look of awe and surprise, similar to when Caesar first asked Joseph to take him to the kitchen. “What?”

Joseph blinked, seeming to come back to reality from whatever daydream he’d entered, and just gave Caesar a big, bright smile that left him feeling just a little bit warmer inside. “Sorry, it’s nothing. I was thinking about making tacos- sound good?” His hand lowered to Caesar’s shoulder and just rested there comfortably.

“Depends- what kind of meat?” And just like that, they were having a normal, everyday conversation with Caesar taking in the familiar, steady warmth and weight of Joseph’s hand casually resting on his body. The fact that he was still chained up against his will hadn’t left his mind. But, as he debated the idea of fresh fish tacos over greasy pork and beef alternatives with Joseph, Caesar found that he could almost pretend things were normal again…

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

-From the Beginning-

[steveharrington-imagines]

tonight (brother!steve harrington imagine)

Summary: you lived under the same roof. how had he not noticed that his baby sister whom he loved so dearly was being hurt so badly? 

Warnings: abuse tw, lil angsty, big brother fluff 

•

“Y/N M/N Harrington!” your father screamed at you as you walked inside the house. “Yes?” you replied meekly, looking down at your feet. “What the fuck? I told you to be home by 3:30! It’s 3:50- you disobeyed me.”

“Steve had ball practice so I had to walk-” you tried to explain. “Don’t talk back to me,” he ordered. “Now go start dinner. We’ll deal with this later. "You nodded. "Yes, sir.”

He huffed as you walked into the kitchen, your face flush. Your mother wouldn’t be off from work until 5, and Steve would be home shortly before then. You hated being alone with your father.

He had never been incredibly physically violent, not that he was home enough to develop the habit.  A few too-tight grips or slight shoves here and there, but nothing too noticeable or painful.For the longest time, you thought he was just a bad parent. He loved your brother more than anything though, and reminded you of that as often as he could.

“Why can’t you be more like Steve?” he would ask, causing your cheeks to redden in embarrassment. You nodded, promising to try harder- but it was never enough.

You just accepted it. Steve was pretty amazing. He was popular, athletic- what more could a father want? Steve was just as good a brother as he was a son. He spent time with you when he could, helping with your homework when he was able, driving you where you needed to be, and checking on your well-being more than your own father. No wonder he wasn’t the preferred child.

You sighed as you began pulling out pots and pans, preparing to make spaghetti, your mother’s favorite. “Meatloaf,” your father muttered, standing closer behind you than you anticipated. “W-what?” you stammered, turning around slowly. “Make meatloaf tonight- none of that vegetarian bullshit your mom likes. And stop s-s-stuttering! I’ll be upstairs, don’t do anything stupid.”

You nodded as he trudged up the stairs, leaving you to the food. You sighed before pulling out the meat from the fridge, feeling bile rise in your throat at your father’s words. You weren’t going to make it  until you could move out, not like this.

••

“I’m home!” Steve shouted as he opened the door, surely waking your father. You rushed in, still feeling queasy from the meat you had just taken out of the oven. “Steve!” you shouted, running to hug your older brother. He laughed as he returned the gesture, a little confused as to why you had hurried to see him.

“How’re you?” he asked, following you back to the kitchen to take the potatoes off the boiling stove. “I’m ok,” you lied with your back to him. “How about you?” “I’m fine,” he responded, watching you carefully.

He had noticed the pattern that whenever your father was home, and he wasn’t, you were always a bit jumpy. Of course he worried for you, but he didn’t want to make any accusations in fear that they were wrong.  So, he settled for trying to keep you closer to his side instead of your father’s.

“Y/N, are you done?” your father shouted from upstairs, startling you both. You winced as you yelled back, “Almost!” “Well, hurry up, your brother will be here soon!”

You took a deep breath before scurrying to set the table, balancing plates, cups, and silverware in your arms. Steve watched you with a frown, feeling that something serious was brewing.

“You should go say hi to dad,” you said quietly, going back to grab the potatoes, meatloaf, and bread. “You don’t need any help?” he asked, a little shocked that your father hadn’t assisted you. He always helped when it was Steve’s turn..

“Go,” you urged with a soft smile, shooing him away teasingly. He smiled before trekking up the stairs, into your parents’ bedroom. “Hey dad,” he greeted, seeing his father stir from his slumber.

“Hey, son!” he said, springing up from the bed. “Y/N’s setting the table,” Steve said, pointing downstairs. Mr. Harrington waved his hand dismissively. “Like I told her to- is your mother here yet?” he asked quickly.

Steve shook his head. “Damn.. let’s go sit down, yeah? She can’t be much longer.” Steve followed his father down the stairs silently, paying whatever story he was telling no mind.

The two sat down at the table, which looked rather nice in Steve’s opinion. You were still scrambling around, trying to clean up your messes before your father saw them.

“Get your butt in here,” he demanded before rolling his eyes. You followed his orders, plopping down beside your brother.

Just as you scooted your chair in, the phone rang. Your father looked at you expectantly. You quickly went to pick it up, turning your back to the table.

“Hello?… yes… he is… don’t worry!… we’ll be fine… really? … ok.. I love you!… be safe,” you spoke into the speaker, hanging the phone up after the short conversation.

“What was it?” Steve asked, his brows furrowed. “It was mom. She can’t make it, something about a deadline,” you explained. Your father looked rather angry.

He stood up, placing his palms against the table. “First you, now your mother? What is it with the women in this family?” he shouted, causing Steve to wince.

“Dad, please-” you tried, quickly shutting your mouth as your  to father stalked towards you.  He grabbed your forearm tightly, sending waves of pain through you. Your face twisted as he applied pressure to your tender skin.

“The only good thing that came out of that relationship was Steve- I see that now!”  Tears welled up in your eyes at his words. He let you go, shoving your arm to your side.

He stomped over to the table, picking up the glass plate filled with rolls. He dumped them out on the table before launching the plate at you.

You shrieked and ducked, hearing the glass shatter against the wall. Small ceramic shards landed on your neck as the rest fell to the ground nearby.

“DAD!” Steve yelled, standing up so fast his chair toppled over. He ran over to help, shielding you from your father’s line of sight.  He wrapped you in his arms as you gasped for breaths, frowning as you cried into his sweater. Gently, he pressed your head into his chest.

“She’s fine,” your dad sighed, heading to the staircase. “Y/N, clean up the mess.” Steve watched shock as you pulled away, shaking in fear. “Y/N.. are you ok?” he asked immediately.

You nodded, trudging to grab the dust pan and broom. Steve’s heart broke as he watched you sweep up the shards, trying to keep your sobs quiet. He gently pulled the broom from your trembling grip. “I’ll do this- come on, let’s talk.”

Your lip quivered as he led you upstairs, clenching his jaw at the sound of his father’s snores. He wondered how long this had been going on, how long had you suffered and kept it secret?

His train of thought was interrupted as you gently pulled on his hand. He looked back to you, gesturing to his room. “Could we go in there instead?” you asked with embarrassment.  "Of course,“ he answered. The fact that you felt safer in his room than your own was frightening to him: was this a regular occurrence for you?

He swallowed thickly as he pushed open the door to his room, quite the opposite of the girly one your mother had designed for you.  "Here,” he said softly, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

You sat down lightly, still sniffling. He wrapped his arm securely around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Tell me, how long has this been going on?” he asked.

“It’s not often or anything,” you said quickly, earning an uncertain look. “No, really. Just when I’ve made him upset and you and mom aren’t here.”

“That’s not right, Y/N,” he said. “Parents don’t hurt their children.”  "It’s not usually so violent.“ "It shouldn’t be violent at all.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but closed it. Steve frowned as you hung your head. Gently, he reached his hand up to stroke your hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked before taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t important,” you replied, looking at the new fingerprint-sized bruises on your forearm.

Steve watched in disbelief as you wiped tear tracks from your face, sitting up to stretch. “I should go get ready for bed,” you muttered. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

He shook his head vigorously. “You’re my baby sister and I love you. We’re going to figure this out, I promise,” he swore, holding your hand in his. “Why don’t you stay in here tonight?”

You smiled softly. “Can I?” you asked, avoiding his concerned gaze. He nodded again. “I’ll be right back,” you said, feeling safer than you had in months.

Steve sighed as he watched you go, your shoulders visibly slumped from stress. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his palms. How, he wondered, could anyone even think about laying a hand on you? Especially your own father.

Guilt flooded his chest as he realized how long it could have been going on, and how he didn’t even notice. He had to get you out of there, he just had to.

“Steve?” you whispered as you stood in the doorway, watching him shake in emotion. His head shot up, meeting your bloodshot eyes.“Hey,” he murmured, rubbing his face exasperatedly. “You ready?”

You nodded before carrying your teddy-bear-themed  quilt and lacy pillow into his room. Carefully, you tucked your self in, thankful for his soft carpeting.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” he asked, crouching beside you. “I thought I could sleep here,” you explained, your face flush in embarrassment. “In the bed, silly,” Steve teased, helping you up. You smiled as he pulled the covers back so that you could shuffle in.

His yellow sheets were warm against your back as you lay atop the twin bed, smiling lazily up at your brother. “Cozy?” he asked before pulling his dark blue covers over your blue button up pajamas.

“Thank you, Stevie,” you yawned. “Anytime, Y/N, I mean that. If anything happens ever, you come get me. I don’t care how minuscule you think it is,” said seriously.

“Promise I won’t be a bother?”

“Promise,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Now go to sleep, shithead. I’ll be right here if you need me.” Within moments, you were out. Steve watched you for a few minutes, a wistful smile on his face as he watched your breathing even out.

He flicked off the light as he left the room, heading to sweep up the mess. The glass clinked together as he cleared the floor, his thoughts just as loud.He couldn’t wipe your terrified expression from his head, nor the fact that you were used to the treatment.

Your father had no right to do that, and Steve began plotting ways to rescue you. His preference would be that you, he, and mom would move out together, but somehow he knew that wouldn’t happen. More likely than not, it would be up to him.

Maybe, when he turned 18, he could share his apartment with you. You mainly took care of yourself anyway: it wouldn’t really be different from the normal.

A smile spread across his face at the thought. He couldn’t help but be a bit proud of himself as he put away the broom. He trudged back up the stairs, turning off lights as he went. ‘Maybe he’ll fall down the stairs,’ he half-joked as he passed his father’s room.

Steve sighed before changing into pajamas and getting ready for bed. He slipped back into his room, using the street lamps shining through the windows  to lead him.

With caution, he crawled underneath your teddy blanket on the floor, finding your square pillow surprisingly comfortable.

He tossed and turned for a time before settling in the warmth. Finally, he stared up at your sleeping form,facing towards him.

A sad smile crossed his chapped lips as he watched your restful expression. Sleep began to overtake him, and he let it. He would have to face his father, would have to protect you . But that was tomorrow. He would sleep tonight.

[letitrainathousandflames-archive]

Fives and Dogma are still alive, but have to live in hiding. They need to face their own demons when it comes to understanding what defines them as soldiers, clones, and human beings. When another friend joins them, they may get closer to this understanding for once. AO3 chapter on the link and full chapter below the cut.

-

The tides are high today. The ruins facing the ocean are long forgotten by the locals – noting to see but worn-out walls guarding a moss-covered house that nobody ever had become interested in. It was too far off, away from the capital city and with a far too difficult access. The terrain was unstable, and a speeder or an actual military walker might be needed to climb the steep way. Not even the troublesome teens would bother try getting there, for it was too much trouble just to spray some graffiti over an old building.

Nobody knows, however, that the place is actually inhabited. The roughed up exterior hides a home that smells like freshly-baked bread and wildflowers (a bush full of them grows near the vegetables being grown in the backyard) and the walls are painted teal-green. The decoration is simple and leaves no clue of what kind of people live there aside from the bes'bev leaning on a wall and the password-locked datapad on the small dinner table. There are three chairs placed around the table, but one of them is covered pants and shirts of the same black uniform while only the remaining two seem to be in use.

The backyard’s wall close to the meiloorun trees has an old, rusty target hanging there, blaster burns so deep on its center the next shot might just pierce the thing through. And much ahead on the deck against which the tides are crashing, there is a man looking over to the sea. The man has a large scar on his temple and its pinkish, lighter skin different from his darker tan, and his brown eyes are lost in the waves’ movement. The waves go back and forth, back and forth. Crashing against the deck. Crashing. Spraying. Exploding. Like that explosion back in…

He shakes his head. No. Remembering never did him any good.

He thinks about maybe shooting a little on the target. He misses the action, misses shooting. Then he thinks about maybe watching one of those holo-vids for the billionth time. The mere thought makes him scrunch his nose in annoyance. He can always play a holotable game. He snickers, remembering back in the day when he was just a kid and he’d be awake late at night playing with…

No, please. I don’t wanna think about him. Not today.

The man is dressed in plain black clothes, but there is a piece of what looks like a white armor on his right arm. The armor is dented, scratched and clearly has been through a lot in its lifetime. Something that he hasn’t seen in years happens: the light on the blue panel close to his wrist lights up, and a sound like static comes through it.

The man jumps upright, and he who seemed like an farmer who’d never left his fuit trees’ side in his life suddenly has the posture of a soldier. He clears his throat as his eyes examine the comlink, and he whispers tentatively:

“Sir?...”

There is silence. Not a single word, not a single sound but static. The man knits his brows, poking the comlink. Damn old thing must be picking up interference. Of course they  wouldn’t call him. There’s no reason they would. The man runs his hands through his black hair, which has grown long and untamed as his goatee that now is a full beard like one of the Generals he’d served under. He has tried tying his hair up in a bun but then he saw himself in the bathroom mirror he almost screamed at the resemblance he’d share with his younger brother. That day, he’d punched the mirror until his knuckles were bloody and the glass was ground to bits. He hates mirrors now.

The man had a name before, when his brothers were still alive and his life seemed to have meaning, to have purpose. He was part of something big, something meaningful. He had a family, countless brothers who shared his face and his genetic code.

Before all this, the man’s name was Fives. And whatever this story turns out to be, it feels like an epilogue of a badly-written story.

Another man walks out of the house up to Fives. He had the same face and wore the same black clothes, the same arm guard only on his right arm just like him. His face was scarred like Fives’, but not on his temple - lighter spots dusted over his face like freckles on a large V-shape, as if deliberate laser shots had been used to erase what before had been a tattoo. The man had been the first clone to ever come to live in this planet, in this house. He tugged on the cuffs of his shirt to then walk to Fives’ side, looking at the crashing waves.

“Made some bread.” he said “Milk’s almost gone, we gotta milk the bantha.”

Fives hummed in response, and he kept watching the waves. Fives had been living together with him in hiding for the past six months, and the other man had been living there a year prior to that, and yet, they didn’t talk much. It was hard getting the Fives to talk. He’d most unexpectedly turn aggressive, never physically violent but he would scream and curse, he would slam doors, he would empty his blaster on the target outside and sometimes he would just scream at the ocean as if he cursed it.

“Will do. Can I ask you a question…” he drew in a breath, turning to the other man “…Dogma?”

Dogma nodded. He was averse to talking too. In fact, his voice would be raspy whenever Fives would hear it. Dogma would spend most of his days playing his bes'bev and baking – he used to be terrible at first, but grew very good at cooking. Unlike Fives, he kept his crew cut and shaved on a regular basis. He needed the order, needed to look proper. He’d lost so much but if he lost the appearance of a soldier, he felt like he might lose his mind too.

Not that he haven’t already, but still.

“What is it?” there it was, his voice raspy as usual

“I think my comlink rang.”

Dogma nodded sharply.

“Mine did too. Coincidence?”

“Hardly.” Fives frowned “He must be trying to reach us.”

“But why would he?”

“No idea. He said he’d never come back. Ordered us to lay low. I have no idea why he’d risk talking to us.”

“Maybe… Maybe things were cleared out.” Dogma said, his eyes slowly moving from one side to the other “Maybe we can go back.”

Fives tried to let out a laugh but it came out as a snarl.

“Go back? Not gonna happen. Look what they did to us.”

Fives turned his back on Dogma, and Dogma says:

“I got the radio to work. We can get some transmissions from the local outpost, stay sharp, keep an eye out for any progresses on…”

“We are not listening to shinies talking about whatever boring shit they do on this wasteland.” Fives snapped over his shoulder “We are not getting involved. It’s over, Dogma, we are no longer troopers. Get over it. I did.”

Fives ran his hand over his chest. He could still feel the uneven spot on his sternum where the blaster shot had hit his reinforced plate under the armor. As a last minute resource back at the 99, Kix had given him the untested armored clothing designed by Kix himself, for him to wear under the uniform. It was the only thing that saved his life. Once after Rex got Fox and his men to leave, and asked General Skywalker for time with his fallen brother, he talked in hushed whispers to the soldier who pretended to be dead. As Kix got in the scene, he pulled his best grieving face as he placed Fives on a stretcher carried by droids and he looked at Rex in a silent begging: help me out.

And Rex did. Kix made the “autopsy” on another dead brothers whose temple he’d quickly inked with a number five tattoo, as he’d later scrap off the superficial flesh of Fives’ forehead on the same spot, disfiguring his tattoo. And just like they had done a year prior to that with Dogma, Fives was registered as dead. Details of his file showed him as a victim of the virus-induced paranoia that had killed Tup, shot dead by a trooper trying to protect the Republic. His chest had been badly injured by the close range blaster shot nonetheless, and he would have breathing issues for the rest of his life.

Still, he was alive. That was more than Hardcase, Tup or Echo had ever gotten.

Fives got back into the house and dropped sitting on the couch with a long sigh. Dogma followed him, leaning against the doorframe, his features darkened with the contrast of the sun that poured in from behind him.

“Are you alright?”

“Am I ever?” Fives asked angrily as he rubbed his chest still

“You can’t just accept to be forever stranded in this hellhole, sir.”

“Will you cut out the kriffing “sir” shit already?” Fives’ voice was louder now, angrier still “We are not soldiers anymore, Dogma, we are just two men trying not to die anytime soon even if life sucks, even if every day looks exactly like the one before, even if we should be dead but aren’t, even if everyone we ever cared about-- Shit…”

Fives ran his hand over his face. Dogma just pushed all his fucking buttons, the whole posture gist, the whole protocol crap. He didn’t need any of this shit. He didn’t want it. Dogma stared at him in silence for a full minute before walking inside, picking up his bes'bev and sinking down on the opposite chair, hitting a few notes of the Vode An melody at it. Fives frowned to then abruptly get up and storm out to the backyard once again, slamming the door on his way out. Fuck Dogma. Fuck Dogma and his stupid bes'bev and his stupid formal addressing and his stupid face, Fives’ own goddamned face as well.

He picked up the blaster hanging off a nail on the wall and walked away from the target, taking his aim. He drew in a breath, and his chest felt tight. It hurt. He gritted his teeth, imagining the Rishi Eel that had killed Cutup and he pulled the trigger. Dead on center. He tought of the clanker that had killed Droidbait. Dead on center again. He thought of the clanker in the tank, the one who’d exploded Echo in front of him and he screamed between his clenched teeth, shotting it dead on center again. He kept shooting, and he kept thinking, and he kept screaming. Hardcase. Waxer. All the men killed in Umbara because of Krell. Tup. The ammo was long over but he kept pulling the trigger, the empty clicks echoing in his ears louder than the blaster shots. He dropped the weapon, running his hands over his head and the tightening in his chest seemed to only worsen.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

“Jareor jetiise!” he snarled, turning to face the ocean where the sunlight glimmerd over the waters “kaminii haar'chak! Shabiir alor!” he spat on the ground “Fuck, fuck! I’m a fucking idiot!”

His breathing was shallow now, ragged in his dry rage. He heard the door creaking open followed by Dogma’s footsteps approaching and fuck no, he was not in the mood to deal with his accepting crap.

“Cursing the Jedi, the Kaminoans and the Chancellor is a good change of pace, but you’re still cursing yourself.”

Fives did not look over his shoulder, but Dogma’s voice was close enough for him to know the brother was right behind him.

“I do not want your self-help crap, Dogma, now will you shut your kriffing mouth for once?!”

“It was not your fault, Fives.”

“I’m telling you to shut up.” Fives’ voice is controlled but has a warning to it

“You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“You are always so quiet, and then there are these days in which you just won’t shut up, will you?”

“Just talk to me. Maybe I can help. Maybe… Maybe you can help me.”

Fives balled his hands into fists.

“This is your last kriffing warning—”

Dogma reached for his shoulder.

“You never told me what really happened to Tup.”

Krack! Fives spun around so fast Dogma couldn’t avoid the solid punch to his jaw, staggering back with a grunt. Fives grabbed Dogma by the front of his blacks, his face twisted in raw anger very close to his.

“Listen to me. Kriffing listen to me.” he repeated as he’d shake Dogma by his collar “We are outcasts, deserters, legally dead. Life is hell as it is, and so help me the stars, it’s not like I don’t think about jumping down to the rocks every single day, but you don’t have to make it even worse. Stay in your lane, Dogma. Just stay in your lane. Play your flute, do your meditation, make your goddamn breads and cakes but leave me the hell alone.”

Before Dogma could answer, the comlink on his wrist beeped, and a voice came through it:

“Doubt, do you copy?”

Rex. He was calling  Dogma’s codename. The only time this happened before was when he announced Fives’ arrival to their hiding spot. Fives let go off Dogma, and he hurryingly pressed the button on his arm piece.

“This is Doubt here.”

A sigh came from the other side.

“I’ve been worried when I tried to reach you earlier and failed, may have had some interference. Is Nine there with you?”

That was Fives’ codename, based on his former numeral name and his deceased sergeant from the Rishi Outpost. Dogma eyed Fives for a second before nodding.

“He’s here, sir.”

“Good.” said Rex “Stay put. I’m on my way there. And, Doubt… tell Nine I’m bringing a friend to see him.”

The transmission was cut, and Dogma looked at Fives still.

“Which ‘friend’ would that be?”

Fives shrugged, lowering his gaze.

“No idea. It’s not like there were many of them still alive.” he scratched the back of his head, exhaling sharply “Kriff. Hey, Dogma, I’m…”

“You’re sorry, I know.” Dogma sighs, turning back to the house “I was out of my place. I’m sorry too, I just… Just wanted to do something for you like you’ve been doing for me so often.”

Dogma had recurring nightmares every other night. Tup used to have them too, would wake up in a cold sweat saying he’d seen himself doing horrible things. Fives had researched – something he’d learn from Echo – through datapads and even asking the Jedi about techniques to keep bad dreams at bay. Even commander Tano, bless her, had gotten him a book on anxiety taken straight from the Jedi library. Thanks to that, he knew a lot of breathing exercises, several techniques to cleanse one’s thoughts and, as General Skywalker had taught him, soothing mantras to steer one’s mind towards a peaceful sleep. These had been specially useful to Dogma as they’d lay in their beds to sleep and he’d writhe and whimper and cry in his sleep and wake up terriefied; Fives would calmly say “your intrusive thoughts are not who you are. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Take hold of reality. You are not what you dream. Breathe.”

Fives shrugged, feeling even more embarrassed now as they walked inside, waiting for their former captain to arrive.

“Maybe I’m beyond help, brother. Just leave it as it is.”

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[thecruciblegavemeyou]

swim au

so close yet so far (to the end) 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

ao3

Simon

I woke up in Baz’s arms for the second morning in a row (well technically he was in my arms yesterday). It was by far my favorite thing. Maybe even more than Cook Pritchard’s sour cherry scones (maybe, they’re damn good scones).

Waking up felt even better, knowing that I’d never have to see David again. The police had aided me in filing a restraining order, and he would go to trial for his domestic abuse, drug, and money issues (apparently he hadn’t paid any taxes on the shack in a long time).

Being this close to him, I was wrapped up in the scent of his cedar and bergamot soap (and candle, and shampoo, and cologne, I think). All Baz’s things smelled of cedar and bergamot, and I’d never had the courage to ask why.

His fingers were cold on my skin, lightly wrapped around my hip. I took advantage of my situation to watch him; I rarely got the chance to see Baz at his most vulnerable. I hope that will change given that we’re… something else. Not enemies; and I told him we weren’t friends, but neither of us actually said it was something more. My stomach twisted with that thought, but I was (mostly) certain he felt the same.

I don’t know if he’s ready to be open about our this with the whole school. Baz has always been a really private person, even with people he didn’t hate. Whenever I used to question Dev or Niall about Baz’s plots or whereabouts, they didn’t have a clue.

No wonder Agatha had always been attracted to him. Who doesn’t like a good mystery?

I’d spent seven years trying to map Baz out; his every move, every expression, every word.

I failed.

Ultimately, I missed the biggest secret Baz was keeping. This (he went to extensive lengths to hide his feelings, though. I think pushing me down the stairs was too far). I think I needed to miss it until now. I don’t think I was ready for something like this before now, even if Baz was. Something real. If I found out a year ago, let alone a month ago, how Baz felt, or worse; how I felt, I would’ve lost it. Fallen off the end of the Earth, my whole world upside down (it was still upside down now, but I think it’s good. It’s really good). I didn’t want to mess this thing with Baz up, not the way I messed up with Agatha (over and over again).

I messed up badly with Agatha. And this time, she messed up with me. It was quite a new (and not really pleasant) feeling. I hoped she didn’t feel like this every time I fucked over our relationship.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be her friend still.

A bird on the window sill interrupted my train of thought, and Baz stirred. His eyes fluttered open, meeting mine.

He furrowed his brow, “Don’t look at me like that,”

“Like what?” I smirked.

“Like… like you don’t hate me.” he squirmed.

“I don’t hate you.” (quite the opposite, really).

“Are we… what is this?” he wrinkled his nose. I didn’t even know Baz was physically capable of looking that cute. My gut wrenched (partially because he kneed me in the groin on accident, but still).

I shrugged (not the best response). The way he was looking at me was making me nervous. He wants this too, Simon.

“Aren’t you still dating Wellbelove?” he whispered.

Now I was the one squirming, “Um… no. definitely not.”

“What did you do, Snow?”

I giggled nervously. I recounted my spat with Agatha the other night and before I knew it, he was laughing. I rarely got to hear him laugh.

“Good thing that I was already gay for you that day she tracked me down.” He laughed.

“You were?”

He shook his head,“Oh Snow, you have no idea. You oblivious boy.”

I blushed.

“So no. I’m not dating Wellbelove. I think… I think I’m dating Baz Pitch.”

Baz had opened his mouth to speak, but with that he closed it again, forming a shy smile, “Yeah, yeah .”

I crawled forward to kiss him. I hung over him, and I taunted him until he gave in and reached up to kiss me. I wish I had known Baz’s weaknesses sooner. I ran a hand through his hair (which was soft and silky, unlike mine that was more chlorine than hair). He pressed his lips onto the mole under my chin, following the trail down to the top hem of my shirt. I was tempted to let him take it off, but that goddamn bird squawked again (I don’t know what the whole fuss is over birdsong, it sounds like noise to me) reminding me it’s time for breakfast. If I was late twice in a row, especially on a Saturday, she would know something was up (and she wouldn’t give up until I caved).

“I’ve got to go.”

“You’re fucking with me, really?” Baz complained, letting me up.

I (attempted to) raise an eyebrow “unless you want Penny to figure out what’s up…?’

He rolled his eyes, but let me go without another protest.

Baz was still tossing around in his blankets as I made my way towards the door, “aren’t you getting up for breakfast?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want me to bring you something?”

He shrugged (yes). I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face as I left.

It had snowed a little last night; a dusting like the last time. This time I remembered my jumper and a scarf. I was practically skipping across the courtyard when I ran (literally) into Agatha.

“Merlin, Simon. Is your head made of stone?” she groaned.

“Sorry, Ags. Really. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

She nodded. After a moment of painful silence, I started towards the cafeteria again.

“I, uhh… I’ll just be going.”

Agatha grabbed my arm, spinning me back around to face her. “Simon. I really am sorry, you know. It was a childish mistake.”

“I… yeah. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t really think this is meant to be.”

Half of me expected her to be upset by that, but the fact that she wasn’t proved my point.

“You’re right. I’m not your golden destiny, and you’re not mine. I don’t really think there’s such a thing.” She smiled, but was hollow; blending in with the bleach white courtyard and the frigid air.

I shifted my weight. “I still care about you.”

This smile wasn’t nearly as empty. I didn’t need words to know she still cared about me too. Everything was just different now.

She left me alone in the courtyard with a ghost fo a kiss on my cheek and a squeeze of my hand.

As I made my way towards the dining hall, I knew I would be late.

I didn’t really care. I’m glad that my spat with Agatha was resolved. I didn’t have many friends to lose.

Nothing between us would ever be like it was before, but I was quite certain that was more of a positive (just like my newfound relationship with Baz).

I wonder what Agatha would think of me and Baz. Does she still have feelings for him? I was half-tempted to ask her earlier, but it wasn’t really the right moment. I wonder what Penny would think. She’d probably remind me that I’m straight (am I?). Or that I hate Baz. Or that Baz hates me.

I wish that the dining hall wasn’t so far from my dorms (they were the two farthest buildings on campus). It’s like someone designed it to torture me (or coerce me into exercising). When I opened the doors, I was hit by the smell of bacon and eggs and scones and warm maple syrup.

As I found my seat next to Penny, guilt pooled in my stomach. Pen and I never kept secrets. But this wasn’t just my secret; it was Baz’s secret too. I couldn’t really tell Penny about Baz being gay (or that I was gay for him back) without hurting him (which was the last thing I wanted to do).

The cafeteria was always emptier on weekends, because everyone chose sleeping over food. I always wondered why they didn’t just make breakfast later.

Penny pushed some food around her plate. “Agatha told me about your fight.”

“Oh. Well I - I just spoke to her or my way over. I think we’re okay now.”

She nodded. “Maybe dating will finally work for you too, know that you’ve both gotten past your issues.”

I dropped my fork, starling her and Gareth behind me. “ No, no. We’re not dating. We’re just friends. We’re both done with that. Really.”

“Oh?” penny’s facial expressions were strikingly similar to Baz’s.

I shrugged, and the rest of the meal went on in peace.

“So… if you two are really on good terms, does that mean we can have a sleepover party tonight like we did when we were younger?” Penny pleaded.

I’d forgotten about that. I used to sneak into Agatha’s room with Penny at night, and the three of us would hang out and watch movies on Agatha’s phone (her parents had the unlimited data plan).

“Has Agatha agreed to that?”

“She said she was up for it if you were.”

I smiled, “I’ll see you tonight. Same time?”

“Seven o’clock.”

[lennoncarroll]

i.

it all began when his basketball coach noticed something was off about the boy with eyes that resembled caribbean waters.

it was usual for lennon carroll to indulge in talking shit on the court. in fact, he was quite fluent in it, but that day.. that day, it was a bit worst than his norm.

“carroll?”

lennon’s head turned so quickly towards his coach, you might’ve thought he had a case of whiplash afterwards. “yeah?” he says, lifting his jersey to wipe the droplets of sweat across this forehead.

the elder beckons him over with a motion of his clipboard, causing the dark haired boy to jog over. it’s a brief silence that falls over them both, the raucous noises escaping the team who are bounding up and down the court to make their plays.

lennon wonders what this is all about, considering he was never one to make trouble when it came to practice. he had prior knowledge about coach’s attitude, and how he nearly made the team five years ago do a thousand suicides if anyone of them arrived a minute late to practice. apparently, to him, basketball wasn’t just a hobby but funnily enough, life.

“what’s going on with you?” he asks, eyes flickering between his clipboard and the boy standing in front of him.

lennon furrows an eyebrow, his chest heaving up and down as he still tries to catch his breath. he had no idea where this was coming from, and his mouth opened and closed repeatedly, as if to speak but the older man threw a lifesaver out to the sea his mind was currently drowning in.

“as much as i enjoy you running your damn mouth and giving these boys a run for their money, whatever happened to teamwork? you haven’t passed the ball once, this entire practice,” coach was presently staring at the boy who had permanent confusion sketched onto his features, shaking his head slightly. “you’ve always been a team player, but now it seems like some shit’s gone to your head.”

“i’m good, coach. i figured i’d do the team a favor, y’know?”

“by ballhogging?”

“what, no.”

“that’s exactly what you’re doing, carroll.” by now, the coach was tutting and sighed in utter defeat at the decision he was making. he didn’t want it to come to this, but lennon wasn’t behaving like his usual self. it was best for the team, if he did this now than later. “maybe you should head home, clear your head, and come back tomorrow when you actually want to be on the team.”

lennon scoffed. “bullshit, i’m not going. i’m the best player on the team!”

his outburst produced his teammates to pause their actions, diverting their attention to the scene playing out in front of them. it was evident that lennon was a little dramatic, but the fact that he was declaring himself as the best player on the team was a little out there. it was half true, especially when his best friend, nixon peters, was his competition. though, with his system craving something far out of its reach, his game was slipping and presently, he wanted to prove he still possessed the fire and passion months ago. after all, this was the one of the only things that kept his sanity in check.

“i’ll make you sit out the next couple games, if you don’t take your ass to showers and head home. and that’s a promise. you’re done for the day.”

lennon’s eyes danced, his hands wounding themselves into fists as the two stared each other down for a few moments. the man wasn’t threatening him, was he? instead of entertaining the thoughts blossoming in his head, the dark haired boy threw his head back and chuckled so lowly that it almost sounded like a growl of some sorts. he stalked away, and went to the locker room to grab his duffel bag.

unbelievable. 

un-fuckin’-believable.

he tried to do everyone a favor, and it wasn’t even appreciated. 

shaking his head, he made the call to engage himself in something that could ease the tension off his shoulders immediately.

ii.

he thought about it.

he thought about murdering every soul in class, and pulling the trigger to his head without any remorse.

then, the realization dawned on him that the infamy that arrived, wasn’t what he needed at the moment.

his foot tapped the floor intensely, his patience running thin as the pre-calculus professor droned on and on about quadratic functions.

god, he just wanted to get out of there. he wanted to surrender to his desperate need, and free himself from the stress college delivered.

he didn’t think it would come to this -- the tales of horror that his eighth grade health teacher recited about drugs, and their effects. but this one made him feel different.

it made him feel invincible. it made constellations swirl in the dark caverns of his mind, reviving a fire in him that he didn’t think he lost. it made him feel the pleasures that being buried deep in a beautiful girl couldn’t bring.

despite that, he was growing irritable with most things that wouldn’t have gotten to him previously. the smallest thing ticked him off, and most noticed that today when a fellow classmate asked him for a pen... and resulted with her sobbing to death, her chest rising and falling quickly to calm down at the words he spat at her.

in his defense, everyone had bad days and this just so happened to be his. or so, he thought.

he knew his friends worried about him, even the ones who considered his little problem just like that. little.

except it wasn’t. it was growing into something he couldn’t shake off like a monkey on his back. he was finding himself on the outs, especially with his mother.

she was afraid of him, to be honest. it wasn’t a phase that her co-workers had conceived, but something more sinister. she prayed, long and hard, that the boy was experiencing the one thing his father struggled with all his life. it was a little difficult for her to tell which only made her recount the various steps she followed with the man she once loved.

he huffed, shoving all his things inside the mouth of his backpack and stood to leave the lecture hall. he couldn’t waste another a moment on something that wasn’t going to benefit him in the long run, and if it mattered that much, he’d request the help of his friend who almost always got a hard on whenever the word, ‘math’ was mentioned.

he didn’t bother to apologize to the person he bumped into on his way out, only making obscene gestures towards their small act of surprise.

white lies, white lines.

iii.

"put that thing away," meredith carroll chirped. "it's the first time in forever since you been home, and we're going to make the best of it, lennie."

eyes wandered  to where his mother waded around the abnormally small kitchen, occupying herself with creating one of his favorites. with a deep intake of air, lennon squeezed at the pen on his grasp and tried his best to keep his harsh words from parting his mouth. the elder woman was trying. she really was. he was giving that to her since it had been a little over month since christmas break he had been home, and dealt with his boisterous neighbor condemning him and the rest of the neighborhood to hell. yet, he never understood how the woman formerly known as sunshine by her hippie parents, managed to deal in such a cramped space. their house was quaint or at least, his mom's overly exaggerated taste in interior design that involved tacky pink flower wallpaper that draped the very walls that caused his eyes to strain throughout his years, was considered to be that.

"you're not even done with dinner yet."

she sighed. "i will be. besides, it's like the only thing you do whenever you're home is write in that silly—" another intake of breath from her son caused her to falter a little. "i-i meant, write in that little book of yours."

"it's not silly or little." he shut his prized possession immediately. "this is the same thing that was supposed to take me to New York, remember?"

the woman turned away from the bubbling tomato sauce, her hip leaning against the counter. she gave a comforting nod, her lips pursing a little as she searched for a reasonable answer that wouldn't earn her another rise in her son. "of course i remember that, lennon. i know for a fact that you wanted to go to that school ever since... —

the pause she offered made an electrifying crack snake its way down his spine, his hair falling into his eyes when he somewhat bowed his head. ever since... ever since his dad. the enigma conjured up the idea that their son was destined for greatness, spinning his joyful wife around when he discovered a bumbling toddler thumbing at the forgotten dictionary in the living room. it was the same man that he heard stories about from his neighbors; that sometimes whenever lennon wore those glasses of his that he hated with a burning passion, that he looked so much like his father. the stories of the night that ended his parents' relationship for good, left his mother badly scared since he tried to kill her in a drunken stupor. it was things the two didn't talk about or as she put it, 'better left unsaid.' but then again, he couldn't believe half of the things that his mother said. this was the same woman who nearly had a psychotic episode during parent-teacher night in the fourth grade when the teacher made a snide comment about her clothes.

he snapped out of it when a plate thundered against his place at the table, his eyes lifting to see the small smile she offered him. he mumbled a lifeless, "thanks." and stared at the noodles drowning in red sauce, topped with chunks of brown meat and sprinkled over with parmesan cheese. for the first time in a while, his mouth watered at the sight. he nearly devoured the entire thing before his mom had a chance to settle into her seat, and enjoy her meal herself. it made her giggle, witnessing her son eat in what felt like years.

he was always not hungry.

then again, the dark circles underneath his eyes proved that something bothering him and even if she stopped asking after noticing how annoyed he got at her questions lately, she still wondered what the case was. but she thought she would save that for another day. after all, having his presence around was the highlight of her week.

dinner went smoothly, the two make small chitchat like they used to do. it was easy for him to talk so animatedly, a trait that was becoming prominent in the recent months. to be honest, it was that very thing that led to this feeling igniting within the boy who hadn’t seen his mother smile in what seemed to be forever, especially at something he said but he wasn’t here for that. he was here for other things. bigger things.

“so, i need your help with something.” he sniffed, his hand wiping at the nonexistent drip of his nose.

she beamed, “of course, babe. what is it?”

“i need a couple bucks.”

a puzzled expression washed over her face in a rapid heartbeat, her arms coming around and hugging at her waist. “for what, lennon?”

“this book for class.” the lie rolled off his tongue easily, his body performing something so foreign to its usual state. his muscles twitched so quick, the small smile tugging at his lips.

“i thought you had already paid for your books with that voucher..” she trailed, putting her magazine away. “you mentioned that months ago?”

“it’s a new semester, ma.” he sighed.

“i’d rather you be honest about what you need it for, honey. i know you don’t need it for that.”

you’re right, i don’t. i need it for blow, and i’m short forty bucks.

by this time, lennon was growing annoyed with his mom and her further delaying the process. every other time he asked, it led to he slapping his desired amount in hand and him being on his merry way. maybe because then, he had produced a few crocodile tears, talking about how she didn’t love him and ho much he wished he didn’t exist to the point where he asked her why didn’t she swallow instead of being so selfish to give him this life. he could go for the jugular, and say that his dad did more for him than she ever did, but that was pushing the limit since he hadn’t seen him or heard from him in years. they were going back and forth, with the boy raising his voice at his mother and hoping that she’d leave the room entirely, for him to rummage through her purse like the thief he slowly transitioned into.

“what do you mean you can’t help me? i’m your son.”

“i don’t have the money right now, lennie. you know that.” this was the honest truth, considering the miscellaneous jobs she had to afford so much.

“but it’s only forty dollars! why do you have to do this to me, huh? i don’t ask for anything! why can’t you give me what i want this once?” he questioned, eyes narrowing at her figure.

“do you like having a roof over your head? do you like having something to eat whenever you come home for the weekends? i’m barely making enough as it is.”

“y’know what, fine? i didn’t want to do this, but you gave me no choice.”

it was in that moment that lennon went to the place she always kept her purse, under the decorative pillow hand-stitched by his grandmother in the love seat, he came up empty. immediately, he asked her where’d she put it but of course, she was going to be difficult and not tell him. this angered him so when he took that first step, the shade of red cloaking his vision made his mom utter the words she never wanted when it came to him.

“leave, lennon. i don’t want to see you around here until you straightened up your act!”

it was fine by him.

he’d get the money, one way or another.

[blairtrabbit]

Thoughts On Voltron Season 2

Can we officially coin a new phrase? I’m going to do it and I think everybody should support me on this.

Whenever a show with a pseudo-serious and consistent tone introduces something absolutely ridiculous that is apparently permanent but never mentioned again by the cast or in the plot it should be called.

VOLTRON’S COW.

Its not like a Simpsons’ episode where everything reverts to normal at the end of each episode. There is no reset. That cow is still on the ship somewhere. That cow is walking the halls of the castle mooing in despair and nobody talks about it.

More under cut (spoilery)

Cons-

1. Did Hunk get dumber? Or did they just treat him like he was dumber? Because in season one he got to do alot more engineering and mechanical stuff. In this season he made 99999.999 more food jokes and one of the most elaborate flatulence jokes I’ve ever seen.Hunk didn’t get close to a solo episode this season. Better luck next time buddy. 2. Did Lance get dumber? Did they just treat his character with less respect? He felt....dumber. He also felt more like a caricature of himself. He had exactly ONE moment of introspection the entire series and that was when he wondered if he was as valuable as the other members. Why wasn’t this explored in an entire episode? Lances only “Lance” episode was the one with the mermaids and it was more ensemble than singular focus. Pidge had to really grow to get her tree weapon but Lance just was like...I LIKE WATER and BAM! Sonic canons! What happened to the Lance that missed his family and earth? Where did that go? I miss that Lance alot. That was my favorite character good ole multi-facet Lance. I hope we see him again I do. 3.This season suffered from an EXTREME case of battle fatigue. Its that feeling you get when you’re watching a movie and there is so much action going on you get bored and apathetic. Alot of superhero movies have this problem but damn Voltron had the curse real bad this time around. Action exhaustion is easily cured by focus on characters and quiet moments or episodes spent on relationships. You know...like the first season.I am not by an stretch saying we need to not have action. We just need more quiet/funny episodes in between. When we got to the mall episode I was like..thank god there won’t be a giant robot fight in this one. Some of the fights felt tacked on because there needed to be some kind of fight QUOTA. Like Dreamworks told the story department that little boys got bored if there was too many feelings. (Is this show for little boys? Who is this show for? alot of people die in it but its not graphic so is it for...Oh whatever.)

4. Hey Voltron.There are more characters than Shiro and Keith you know. This season was the Keith season but as I talked about before it was not a great thing to focus all the attetion on. The show built up all this stuff about his relationship with the Galra and the mysterious knife in all their PAINSTAKINGLY long-winded build-up. Then it all ended with the biggest blue-balls reveal I’ve ever seen in an action show. Nobody. Cared. There were a few jokes by Dumb-Hunk and..some weird uncomfortable out of character racism by Allura and then...resolved? Again, next season better have more Hunk and Lance episodes and by this I mean NOT Dumb-Hunk and Dumb-Lance. I hate those guys. 5.Allura’s behavior was bad and out of character. Also thank god they gave her that five minutes of action at the end because otherwise? All she did the entire season was stay on the ship, yell at some screens and faint while Coran told her she was too weak to do -insert thing-. Do you think Coran ever gets sick of telling her that shes too weak to do -insert thing-.    C. NO PRINCESS YOU CAN’T MAKE TOAST IT’LL KILL YOU!    A. Don’t be silly Coran I’ll be fine ~makes toast~ AHHHHHH    C. PRINCESS NO!!!    A. ~faints dramatically~ Then all of the paladins scream in unison and the princesses fainting inspires them to unite and make the best toast the universe will ever know ~en scene~ Allura got one field-trip with Keith that really did nothing for either of the arcs they were going through even tho it SHOULD HAVE. IT kinda went into a little character development and shared bonding but not...enough. Even Allura’s final resolution with Keith felt oddly gross. Keith doesn’t even know how much of his DNA is Galra and even if its 99.9 percent he has been nothing but loyal and trustworthy. Killing my planet or no Allura you acted like a stupid bitch. I love you and your one of my favorite characters but seriously. Stupid. BITCH. Again this felt like Dreamworks telling the story department that little boys don’t like girls. Girls are icky. 6. How about giving us more backstory on those Galra resistance fighters? They seemed pretty interesting and THREE of them died. THREE. They made a lot of sacrifices. Sure would be nice to care about those sacrifices.

Yep. 7. The episode where Thace was being captured intercut with a battle was really not edited well. It went from bone-crushing action to...a guy talking with another guy. The tonal shift was distracting and not well thought out it seems. You would be into the fighting then suddenly back to the espionage you had totally forgotten about. Also Thace was boring. Also? Thace was/is probably Keith's dad. Calling it now.

8. I can’t believe neither Keith nor Hunk noticed the Galra they saved from space-monstro was a lady. She had lady hips and everything. I hope she doesn’t come back as a love interest but you know what she probably will. Pros- 1. Animation is ON POINT SON. This season obviously had a bigger budget and they CG lions were somehow blended even better than the first season. The backgrounds were beautiful and the color palettes just gorgeous. The fight scenes were spectacular at times and very well choreographed. But I am not surprised by any of that honestly. 2. This season did make me laugh. Probably not as much as the first season but I really really liked the Mall episode. The pool/exhaustion (You know the one where Keith and Lance do the Emperors New Groove friendship shuffle nude) episode will have its fans but the mall episode made me laugh a lot. I loved the security guard and the space pirates joke just...all of it. Good episode. WISH THERE HAD BEEN MORE LIKE IT MAYBE. 3. Even if the payoff was done badly at least they finished Keith’s arc. There were some other things they just seemed to leave hanging or didn’t explain very well but they kept on that arc and wouldn’t quit. ~golf clap~ 4. Out of the entire crew I felt the person who grew the most as a character was actually Pidge. Her lion episode was one of the more solid character pieces and we saw her change her mind about a previous bias.(HINT HINT ALLURA) 5. I like how they tried to steer some of the Alien character design away from a human-esque build. I liked the weird blobby maggoty things they saved from the acid planet and the Ohmu-esqe monster where they harvested the crystals. I really liked Slav’s design. It was interesting how he had a beak thing instead of a real mouth but was still very expressive.Make me a toy of Slav please he was like a cute Ghibli monster. I hate to admit how much I liked Slav with his lil pockets and his weird OCD problems. 6. Weird Al was one of the jellyfish mermaid resistance fighters.That is very important to me. Conclusion: I enjoyed the second season but it had some serious flaws and the constant battles became exhausting by the end making the conclusion just not as satisfying as it should have been. In fact thats my overall review.

:Satisfying but not as much as it really should be.