#since SOMEHOW its almost november. how gross is that

[teabiscs]

starting with 1st place for October Ship Poll: SergRei

this ship is very near and dear to me. just because it's so soft (IMO) i was so surprised that they won.

[ghostnebula]

Sincere and Dignified

“Eddie's twenty-first birthday + The entire Losers' Club + Las Vegas + Being in love with your best friend = Well, exactly what you'd expect.”

[read it on Ao3]

(or here)

    Eddie’s birthday is in November. Which makes him the youngest member of the Losers’ Club. Which makes him the last Loser to turn twenty-one.

    Which means they go all-out to celebrate, since it’s the first time they can all (legally) celebrate together. And because they’ve kind of forgone “proper” twenty-first birthday festivities for everyone else, so no one would ever feel left out. Finally, no one needs to be left out of it.

    They’ve all been living together for over three years now, they’re all getting close to graduating from college, and they all saved up for this one, because this is pretty much it. The last big, fun, tangible milestone in their young lives. The last “new” thing they’re earning the right to do (legally) after driving and voting. You bet your ass they go ham on Eddie’s birthday plans.

    That’s how they end up in Vegas. Several long weeks of planning, lots of money they scraped together into jars over the last few years ready to be spent, checking and double-checking every class syllabus to make sure no one misses anything important on Friday (they have to be at their hotel in time for check-in or, between Stan and Eddie, someone will pitch a fit). Then they’re all piling into Ben’s station wagon with as little luggage as they could manage to bring for a weekend trip (the station wagon is “spacious”; it is not a fucking miracle vehicle).

    Roughly ten hours later (five hours for driving, two for check-in plus cramming all their crap into the motel room and then attempting to organize it, one for figuring out and agreeing on where to even start with the partying, two more for getting ready) Eddie Kaspbrak has his first legal drink as a proper twenty-one year old, on this night of November third, and there’s no aftertaste of guilt like usual. He’s got Richie pushing shots into his hands, Mike making sure he’s eating some snacks once in a while so he doesn’t get too trashed too fast, Bev directing bartenders to make the most delicious fucking drinks he thinks he’ll ever taste in his life (Porn Stars, or something else inappropriate like that).

    He has Bill, the oldest, practically under oath to stay sober (at least for tonight) so there’s one semi-coherent Loser present to keep the rest of them safe and sane until he can drag them all back to the motel.

    He has a wad of cash in his pocket, a chunk of his savings from the past year, ready to blow on booze and gambling and whatever the fuck he wants, because it’s his birthday, so he’s allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants.

    It’s safe, and more importantly, it’s legal, and most importantly, it’s Vegas. He never thought he’d ever have the balls to set foot in a place like this -- the kind of place his mother would demonize when he was a kid. Drinking, before he left Derry and his mom and the vice grip she had on his life, was completely out of the question, let alone getting hammered in a casino in Sin City, of all fucking places, under the care of the “evil little shits” he calls his best friends.

    He more than lets loose. He lets twenty-one years of virtually non-stop anxiety unwind in one night.

    When he wakes up the next morning, hung over for the first time in his life, it’s almost worth it. Bill’s the only motherfucker awake already, being that he’s the only one who doesn’t have several bottles of vodka et al. to sleep off, and he’s draped across the ratty arm chair in their ratty motel room, channel-surfing with the television volume as low as it can get. The light burns Eddie’s eyes, still, when he lifts his head and -- instead of turning, his head just kind of lolls on his shoulders until he can look at Bill properly.

    He wants to ask him to end his suffering, which he can only assume he has yet to see the worst of. Suddenly he understands why aspirin exists. He wants Bill to pump him full of painkillers until he stops feeling like he’s made of electrified cotton. Instead, he says, articulately, “Guh.”

    Bill turns his attention from Scooby-Doo to where Eddie is half-lying, trapped under the weight of Richie’s arm and half his chest. Richie is snoring away, glasses askew on his face, a cooling puddle of drool soaking Eddie’s shoulder. It’s gross, but he can’t really complain at this point. He’s accustomed to it by now.

    “Ah, he lives.”

    “Ugh,” says Eddie.

    “I bet,” says Bill. “So, do you want a recap of the events of last night, or did you keep your promise and remember every life-altering decision you chose to make?”

    Bill’s voice, which he’s hardly putting much effort into keeping down -- owing to the fact that all his effort is being channeled into trying not to laugh, and Eddie can’t even begin to fathom what’s so funny -- is causing the other Losers to stir. His splitting headache doesn’t want him to try to figure out what’s funny. He must have fried a metric shitload of braincells with all those Porn Stars last night, or whatever the fuck sugary booze Bev was pouring down his throat before everything went hazy.

    “Life-altering?” he repeats after a few moments, as Richie’s arm finally stops crushing him. It’s the only word that really stands out to him in the jumbled mess of hangover discomfort his brain is fighting, and it should cause him anxiety but he’s more worried, right now, about drinking some water. Richie sits up beside him, yawning.

    Bill hums. He looks terribly pleased with himself, which can be good or bad depending which side of the story you’re on, and Eddie’s got this sneaking suspicion he’s on the wrong side, here. “Yeah, that life-altering thing I tried to talk you two dipshits out of for longer than the actual ceremony took?”

    “Ceremony?” Eddie asks, trying to feel back through his poor, poor brain to remember anything after slot machines and vibrant chatter and deceptively sweet beverages being passed to him. Richie’s head drops onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist. “Guh,” he says into the fabric of Eddie’s rumpled shirt. Habitually, Eddie reaches up to pat him consolingly on the head. Richie’s not one for mornings.

    “Why don’t you take a look at your ring finger, birthday boy?” Bill says, but Eddie’s already frozen, because there was a flash when he raised his hand and he’s not entirely sure he’s believing what he’s seeing, and where the fuck did he even get the ring anyway, let alone a ring as nice as this? “Or, sorry, I should say: Mr. Tozier?”

    Eddie... mostly ignores him, in favour of smacking Richie a few times on the skull to get his attention, hangovers be damned. “Richie,” he hisses, heart going a mile a minute. “The fuck did I do?”

    Richie grumbles some kind of complaint, lifting his head from its safe space on Eddie’s shoulder, and when he follows Eddie’s gaze he lets out a kind of... laugh? More of a squawk, really. His left arm jerks off of Eddie’s waist lightning-quick, and then he’s holding up his own hand beside Eddie’s to show off their matching rings. “Oh my god,” he says, quiet (for Richie). A little bit of tension melts out of him. Then, “I think you mean, ‘the fuck did we do?’”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks, and Bill loses his battle and dissolves into peals of laughter, remote slipping out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. “Bill, you were supposed to be babysitting.”

    It takes a while, but Bill manages to regain his composure long enough to say, “Well forgive me, but you were a man on a mission. I distinctly remember a lot of, ‘we’re practically dating anyway’ and ‘no time like the present’ and ‘Bill, if you don’t step the fuck off I’m gonna shove this ring so far up your nostril you’ll be sneezing gold until you’re ninety.’ What was I gonna do about it?”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie says again, red-faced, mortified, heart still going-going-going. They aren’t dating, though, is the problem, and yeah, he’s always had this stupid little idea in his stupid little head that they might as well be, but he’s never asked, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if it was safe. Wasn’t sure if Richie wanted something proper or to just stay very, very close friends until the grave. They weren’t dating, and now they’re married, and ohJesusMaryandJoseph why did he let himself get so drunk last night?

    He doesn’t expect Richie to be resentful or anything, but he’s also an anxious mess by default, and post-drunken-haze Eddie is a different, apparently less chill person than mid-drunken-haze Eddie, because he doesn’t remember having this freakout last night.

    He doesn’t think that Richie will be pissed about it, necessarily, but he’s terrified that Richie’s going to want to... undo this, somehow.

    He expects regret.

    He doesn’t expect Richie to slide his hand against Eddie’s so that their rings clack together, letting out a soft little, “Aw,” as he does so, or to press his scratchy, stubbly face against Eddie’s cheek to plant a kiss there, or to say, just as quiet and soft as ever, “We’re married, Eds.”

    “Is that okay?” Eddie asks, heart in his throat, wondering if he somehow forced Richie into this when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties.

    “More than okay,” Richie says. “Is it okay with you?”

    Eddie nods dumbly, staring at their rings again, wondering what the fuck possessed them to make such a rash, life-altering decision like this, yet understanding all too well that his love for Richie is too big to contain and it has to spill out in little doses like this, or it’ll probably kill him, or make him go crazy. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding perhaps too fast. “Yeah, Richie, it’s more than okay.”

    He turns in Richie’s arms to kiss him properly, apparently not for the first time, and just the action brings a couple snippets of last night’s escapades abruptly to the surface.

*

    “$25 Weddings,” a pink neon sign outside a squat white chapel proclaims, “Sincere and Dignified.” And below that, in smaller, baby blue lettering: “Can provide: Flowers, Rings, Witnesses, Transportation, Attire...” The list goes on. It’s a wonder Eddie is coherent enough to read it, let alone comprehend it, but he’s rounding on Richie, whose arm he’s hanging off of, with the best fucking idea already leaping from his lips.

*

    “Ffffffuck Kaspbrak,” Eddie slurs as a reluctant Bill helps him slip on a suit jacket, fiddling with the purple clip-on bowtie Richie threw over the divider at him. “Fuck Kaspbrak, right, Rich?”

    “Right,” Richie says enthusiastically -- probably too enthusiastically -- from the other side of the thin wooden divider that separates their “changing rooms.”

    “Fuck that name,” Eddie decides, nodding to himself. Bill takes the bowtie out of his hands with a sigh, and Eddie lifts his chin to let Bill fasten it to his shirt, grumbling all the while about how stupid they both are. “And fuck my mom.”

    “Fuck your mom!” Richie shouts. There’s a beat of relative quiet, then, “Not, like, fuck your mom, obviously. Fuck... you, maybe?” And then Bev’s raucous laughter echoes through the whole room.

    Eddie can’t help laughing with her, even though Bill’s insisting he stay still “so you can at least look semi-presentable for your pictures, c’mon, Eddie, this is a big moment for me, too.”

*

    “How are you the bridezilla, here, Bill?”

    “Could you please just work with me here, I swear to-- agh!” (More laughter from Bev. Stan saying something incomprehensible but loud and boisterous. Mike trying to shush them.) “I’m just trying to make sure this is actually special since you absolute buffoons refuse to just wait and do this right.” Is Bill fucking crying?

*

    Richie’s tongue down Eddie’s throat, over and over and over: in the chapel; in a bar; in front of the bar; just before Bill drags them away from the casino they’re trying to sneak back into and instead towards the station wagon he’s doing his best to herd the Losers to; in the station wagon; in front of the motel.

    Bill prying them apart with minimal assistance from a piss-drunk Ben who insists he’s “helping,” telling them once again that they are not allowed to consummate their fucking marriage in public, and especially not allowed to do it in the motel room all seven of them have to sleep in--

*

    He hears Bev’s little “aww” behind him somewhere as he and Richie break apart, and Stan’s grief about how fucking early it is “for this shit.” Eddie can hear something like a smile in his voice, if not just plain old amusement.

    “We’re married, Rich,” Eddie repeats incredulously, and Bill is saying something about their marriage license in his wallet because neither of them can be trusted, but Eddie couldn’t care less about licenses or whatever, because Richie’s smiling down at him in that way that makes his heart feel too full. And he doesn’t mean to, but a choked noise bubbles up out of him, almost a sob, maybe a laugh. Tears burn in his eyes.

    But that’s alright, because Richie’s crying already, and he wraps himself bodily around Eddie, rolling them over so he’s squishing him into the mattress while he kisses all over his face and his throat until Eddie’s squealing with laughter despite his agonizing hangover. He almost feels too good to care about it now, but he’s definitely getting some water and painkillers into his system the second the weird high he’s feeling subsides.

    “Okay, okay,” says Stan, standing above them suddenly, swatting at Richie’s shoulders. “You’ve had your fun. Noisy assholes. We were too drunk for proper congratulations last night. Move over.”

    All the Losers squeeze themselves onto the queen bed, somehow, and water bottles and aspirin get passed around. At some point Bill gets up to start the coffeemaker and comes back with (good fucking lord) their “wedding photos” in a crisp manila envelope. They’re just as gaudy as he expected. Leave it to Richie to find the ugliest possible outfit for his literal wedding.

    Eddie gets hugs and shoulder-squeezes and cheek-kisses from everyone, over and over, and Bev actually cries for about ten full minutes while she holds him, then at least ten more while she holds Richie, and then Ben cries, and... well, they all end up crying all over each other, but it’s awash with joy. “We’re happy for you,” they keep saying, and Eddie’s happy for them, too. He didn’t expect to accidentally do things this way, but he has to be glad it happened.

    “God,” he says a while later, shaking his head as he sips sugary coffee from the mug he and Richie are sharing (this room is meant for four people, max, not seven, and is equipped accordingly). He’s still examining a picture of Richie attempting to give him a piggy-back ride out of the chapel. Bill is visible in the background, eyes red and puffy, a wad of tissues clenched in his hand while Mike tries to console him. Eddie has been making fun of him for about half an hour now. “My mom would flip if I told her about this.” But the thought doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t get scared of her anymore. Not like he used to. Not when he’s so far away and he feels so safe with these six idiots who bring so much joy to his life.

    Richie’s thumb rubs over the skin of his lower back where his hand has crept up Eddie’s shirt. “Good thing you don’t have to,” he says, and that familiar mantra of “You never have to see her again,” bleeds through, plain as ever.

    Eddie hums. Passes the coffee back to him. “I know. But... I kinda want to. Just to watch her head explode,” he says with a shrug and a grin, earning a chorus of easy laughter from his friends. He stares at the ring on Richie’s finger as Richie throws back the rest of their coffee, something warm and familiar blooming brighter in his chest.

[notsoharsh]

Stake or be Staked || Harsh & Kaden

Timing: Early November  Location: Strawford Park Participants: @chasseurdeloup and @notsoharsh Summary: Kaden and Harsh take on a few spawn and a bit more. Harsh does an excellent job because he’s a good slayer and no one suspects anything.

Ever since the accident, Kaden couldn’t help but question every little thing around him. It was fucking exhausting. Nothing was more of a relief than remembering there was someone in town who was always easy to be around. Sure, he was a hunter, but Harsh never seemed judgemental. And fuck if the guy wasn’t supportive more often than he had to be. Kaden was pretty sure he didn’t deserve the generosity Harsh was willing to give him, but right now, best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Hey,” he called out as he approached the cemetery, stakes and holy water ready to go. “Not my usual hunting ground but at least one of us has an advantage right?” Guilt rammed through him like the rod that Cordelia had driven through his side. His fucking expertise hadn’t helped Alain. Not to mention, it was the slayer who should be out here in the cemetery hunting spawn. Kaden was only out here because he’d put his fucking friend in the hosptial and Alain couldn’t exactly run his usually patrols in his current condition. Right, not the time. He shook his head slightly to wipe the thoughts away. He had to focus, especially in the field. This was supposed to be light, easy, nothing too intense. What was a few spawn, anyway? “Thanks for meeting me out here. You know, after all this time, I don’t think we’ve managed to get in a hunt together.” He paused to laugh to himself a moment. “I mean, aside from that mime. You know, a real hunt. Look forward to seeing what you’ve got,” he said with a playful nudge. “Slayers first?” He gestured for Harsh to lead the way. 

This was a terrible idea, probably one of the worst Harsh had had in awhile. It was only tied with every other idea he’d had since moving to White Crest. Going on a hunt. To hunt vampires. With a hunter. The list of things that could go wrong was probably longer than Harsh was old. There was probably something wrong with him, other than the obvious. But it was way too late to back out now. Kaden was a friend, somehow. Or something like one. Could someone really be a friend if everything they knew about you except your name was a lie? Or it was supposed to be anyway. Harsh wasn’t supposed to give a shit about hunters. And he didn’t. They were stupid, and awful, and gross, and never attractive at all. Not even a little bit. But there he was. In a stupid graveyard, waiting for a stupid hunter, to fight some stupid spawn. Harsh slapped a smile into place as he raised a hand in greeting. “Good to see you, man. The good stuff’s in the cooler, if you still want some,” he said, nodding to the small white and blue cooler tucked beside the headstone he was leaning against. True to his word, it was stocked full of the nicest beer money could steal. “Yeah, it’s about time. I’ll try not to let you down, stud.” He shot Kaden a wink as he pulled a stake from his jacket pocket, giving it a little twirl. It was far from the first time he’d used one. Maybe he wasn’t a slayer, but he had put down his fair share of spawn before. There were always idiot vampires who bit more than they could chew. “They’re over there,” he said, pointing with the stake toward the far side of the graveyard. “I counted seven earlier, but it feels like there’s more now. Think you can handle it?”

It was nice to have an almost normal evening. Putain, Kaden hated thinking of hunting as normal. Hunting was… He didn’t know what. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it anymore. It was probably stupid for him to be out at all right now but there he was. “The cooler?” His brows furrowed as he looked down and saw, yeah, there it was. “Is that a good idea?” He was used to having plenty of drinks after a hunt. But before…. He was already distracted, plagued by thoughts of bugbears and werewolves and his talks with Morgan and Regan. What it all meant. Did he even like it? Fuck. Maybe it was a better idea to have some liquid courage beforehand. And hey, there were two of them out there. And it was just spawns after all. He flashed a smile and then reached over to pull out a beer. Not before rolling his eyes at the other hunter’s wink. “Yeah yeah, I’m sure you won’t.” He had to say, it was nice how at ease he felt with the slayer. Almost reminded him that this was supposed to be fun, not just a duty or whatever. Wait... was that flirting? No way. He knew that-- Kaden shook it off and took a swig of his beer. “Only seven, huh?” Alright not only. That was a bit of a pain. But two of them, they could manage. He chugged a little more and then wiped his lips with the cuff of his shirt. “Guess we’ll see,” he said as he reached in to grab a stake, setting the half finished beer on the cooler for now. At least spawn weren’t sentient or looked like people ever. They were just mindless monsters. Nothing but killing machines. No moral grey area to be found there. Kill them and be done. Easy. “You got left, I’ve got right?” he asked before heading down to start staking some stupid spawn. 

“Are you telling me you’ve never had a couple cold ones before a good hunt? I don’t think you were doing this whole hunting thing right, man,” Harsh said, giving Kaden a teasing nudge. It probably wasn’t a great idea, Kaden being a lot closer to human than he was. But it was just a couple spawn. What was the worst that could happen? Kaden was supposed to be good at this. Werewolves were probably harder to deal with, Harsh had ended up on the wrong side of a few in his time and it had gotten a little messy a few times. Spawn were mindless husks. He nodded as he started toward the spawn, sauntering between the headstones. “Works for me. I bet I can get more than you.” A little friendly competition couldn’t hurt and Harsh would never turn down an opportunity to brag a little. The spawn were wandering about, the remains of some poor sap they must have just finished eating were strewn about between them. Harsh shifted the stake in his hand, fingers curling tight around the wood as he approached. Vaulting over a headstone, he drove his fist into the face of one snarling spawn. It reeled back for an instant before turning back, baring its fangs. The stake tore into its chest before it got a chance to do anything with them. “That’s one,” Harsh called, grinning at the crumbling dust before looking about. “Alright, who’s next?”

“After, sure. Before? Not usually.” Guess there was a first for everything. Kaden hoped it wasn’t his last. Or Harsh’s last. Anything, really. Had to hope for the best. “You fucking wish,” he shot back. Stake in hand, liquid courage running through his veins, healthy competition to roll with, all nothing but a good time. That was right, hunting could be fun. It had been so long since he felt that way, felt the slight rush as he ran at the spawn ahead of them, grabbing one by the scruff of his neck and yanking it back. It snarled and tried to lunge at him, but Kaden twisted it around easily enough and slammed the stake through its heart. God, the dust was so satisfying. It almost made him wish he was a slayer. Undead didn’t have feelings and shit to contend with. Not like these. Alright, well, Morgan. And Jane. And-- Alright fuck being a slayer. But for right now, he could deal with stupid fucking spawn. “One here, t--” The last word didn’t make it out before he felt something on his back, pulling him down. Shit. Kaden rolled over and tried to throw the thing off of him. Instead he rammed his own body into a headstone. Fuck slaying. Cemeteries were the worst, that was right. Kaden tried to kick himself around, see what he was up against, get the upper hand back, but he felt claws piercing into his shoulder and shouted out in pain. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

In a way, Harsh kind of got it, the whole hunting thing. There was a rush that came with dusting a spawn, there wasn’t anything else like it. Maybe it was a power tripping thing. If he had his soul, maybe he would get a kick out of actually helping people by dealing with these things. He would have to try it… if he ever got his stupid soul back. Actually, with Kaden there, it was the perfect time to go for some teeth. There weren’t as many on his side. Harsh drove his stake into another spawn’s chest before turning, kicking out and catching the leg of another. In an instant, he was on top of it, holding the thrashing husk down with one arm as he grabbed at its jaw. Maybe he could break it, force out a couple teeth before he dusted the fucker. If only it would just stop moving for a second. He almost had a decent grip when Kaden’s voice rang out. Harsh froze. Shit. Maybe this was too many. Kaden wasn’t used to spawn, he couldn’t feel them coming, didn’t know what to look for. But if he could just get those teeth. When was he going to get another chance like this? But… he promised. Cursing, Harsh grabbed the spawn’s head, ripping it from the body. The dust hadn’t even settled before he was throwing himself up and over a headstone. The spawn on Kaden was too busy trying to take a chunk out of his shoulder to do anything about the stake Harsh drove into its back. Grabbing at Kaden, Harsh hauled him up, one hand pressing to his shoulder. “Hey, you good? You’ve gotta stop going all damsel in distress on me, man.”  

Kaden grit his teeth and got ready to kick the spawn off of him when suddenly, his foot flew right through the dust falling on top of him. Huh. Alright. An arm reached out and pulled him up. He grimaced as he felt the pressure on his shoulder, Harsh’s face finally coming into clarity. “I’m not giong fucking damsal on you--” he sait through grit teeth, moving his friend’s hand off his injured shoulder so he could take a look at it himself. It hurt but it wasn’t too bad. He rolled his shoulders back, shook it out, it’d be fine. “I had it covered, clam down,” he reiterated. Part of him wanted to go grab another swig of his beer. Maybe later. He looked across the cemetery, didn’t see much. “Hold on,” he said, putting his hand to pause them both. “There’s something up ahead. I hear a scuffle. Or something. Ready?” he said, turing to his hunting partner, stake in hand. 

“Sure you did, man.” You’re fucking welcome. Harsh bit back the thought. Fine, maybe next time he’d just let Kaden get snacked on. And he had been so close to getting those stupid teeth. There would be more spawn. He didn’t have to get stupid and rush this. At least now Kaden had to think he was a halfway decent slayer. That would get him somewhere. Harsh frowned, listening intently. That was definitely a scuffle up there. But not like this, not just mindless spawn getting dusted. There was one heart beat over there, panicked, going faster and faster. And then quick, careful steps. Calculated. Hungry. Shit. He wasn’t really in the mood for dealing with an actual vampire. But if he didn’t, Kaden would call him on it. Jaw set, he nodded. “Yeah, follow me, stay close.” He moved quickly, ducking between headstones, stopping behind a massive one, peering around the side. Whoever the poor idiot out there was, they had stopped moving, the heartbeat slowing. Fuck. Harsh peeked around the side of the grave. Sure enough, the vampire was going to town on the guy’s neck. He was still alive, but he wouldn’t be for long. 

Turning back to Kaden, Harsh leaned in to whisper. “I’ll get the asshole’s attention. Those graves over there, sneak around behind him.” It was a shit plan, but there wasn’t time for a better one. This whole hunting thing sucked. Harsh didn’t give himself time to think better of it before he stepped out of hiding, stake tucked into his back pocket. He lifted a hand in a casual wave. “Hey man, what’s going on? Are you… are you good over here?” How the hell was he supposed to play this? The vampire looked up at him, more annoyed than anything else. “Fuck off man, I got here first.” Shit. Hopefully Kaden wasn’t listening that closely. Harsh casually sauntered closer. “Listen, I’m going to give you one chance to drop the guy. If you don’t, this doesn’t end well for at least one of us. Count of three, man. One. Two. Three--”

Kaden gave a quick nod and then followed behind, happy to let the slayer take the lead when it came to the undead. The plan seemed a little basic but he wasn’t exactly the slayer in this situation. This wasn’t his terf so he trusted that Harsh had this handled and did as he was told. Kaden crouched and found a spot behind the headstones, eyes narrowed, stake in hand, and listening intently to the conversation. It was strange, Harsh was making conversation with this vampire? Alright. That was a choice. He couldn’t imagine Alain using that method but he wasn’t one to criticize if it worked. Weirder yet, the vampire said something about getting there first. The fuck did that mean? And Harsh was bargaining with it? Putain de merde, what was going on? Kaden didn’t have time to analyze the full scenario, not when the slayer was doing a countdown. That could only mean one thing. On three, Kaden leapt from his hiding spot and lunged at the vampire. He wrapped him into a headlock and held him down. “Now!” he shouted, expecting Harsh to stake the fucker before he had a chance to make any more bullshit deals.

At least Kaden was good at this whole hunting thing, decent enough to pick up on Harsh’s admittedly thrown together plan. The wheels were still spinning. Kaden had to have heard that, all of it. There were going to be questions, but he could deal. He had talked his way out of worse. But talking would have to come after dealing with the vampire. As soon as Kaden moved, Harsh followed. The vampire thrashed in Kaden’s grip, dropping his victim, trying to wrestle free. Harsh caught the poor, unfortunate human, taking a second to get them out of the way before pulling his stake free. Two on one wasn’t exactly fair, but that was slayers for you. Harsh jammed the stake home, watching with surprising satisfaction as the asshole turned to dust, falling away between them. He flashed Kaden a wide grin. “Easy peasy. We should get this guy some help,” he said, looking to the unconscious, would be victim. “I can carry him to the hospital if you wanna call it a night. Thanks for coming out with me, man. I kinda needed to blow off some steam.” 

Kaden was thankful that Harsh worked fast and seemed to follow his thoughts. As soon as the vampire was dust, Kaden leapt down to check on the victim. He put his fingers up to his neck, making sure there was still a pulse. It was slow, but it was steady. He breathed a sigh of relief and placed him on his side, trying to keep him in stasis. “Yeah he needs a hospital. But he should be okay.” It was a little concerning that Harsh wasn’t that occupied with the man in front of them. Even drunk, the victim was Kaden’s first priority now that the monster was defeated. “What was that back there?” he asked as he readied to help Harsh pick up this guy. “Were you making a deal with that vampire back there or what? What kind of tactic was that?” Because that’s what it was, it's what it had to be. A tactic. Right?

Shit, right, caring about people. That was… hard. He could do it with patients well enough, but right now, it took quite a bit of self control for Harsh to not just finish the guy off. Focus, just stay focused. He probably couldn’t eat him even after Kaden left. If the body turned up, Kaden would know something was up. Fuck, this being good thing was always such a pain. He crouched a little so Kaden could help the victim onto his back, making sure to get him secure before straightening up. Oh. Great. That. Shit shit shit. “Do you ever not just run in stake first? Listen man, vampires aren’t always looking for a fight. If you can get them off guard and get in close, that works way better, at least for me. Going on guns blazing is a great way for people to get caught in the crossfire. I wasn’t making a deal, I was just getting him talking long enough for you to get the jump on him. There’s lots of ways to do this, Kaden. What would you’ve done differently? Honest question,” he added on, tone casual, expression even. He should learn. If he was going to play the part, he had to do it well. A couple more slips like that and his whole cover would be blown. 

Kaden’s face twisted up in confusion. He tried to think of past hunts with other slayers. Sure, sometimes they had to get creative, but that was usually against groups or in urban settings. “I guess, but there was a victim and no one else around.” Kaden reached underneath the guy and picked him up, ready to hand him off to Harsh. Or just walk him to the hospital himself. He still wasn’t quite convinced by Harsh’s strategy, but he supposed that the slayer had done this far more often than Kaden had. “I mean, I probably would have just run in. Considering,” he said, looking pointedly down at the man he was carrying. “Doesn’t seem worth the risk to bargain when he was outnumbered and lives were at stake.” Then again, all's well that ends well, right? Supposed there was no point in criticizing. “Guess it doesn’t matter. But you probably shouldn’t head to the hospital alone. You know, if something else is out there. I can carry him, you can run backup. Or vice versa, doesn’t matter. But you probably shouldn’t go it alone.”

“You never know how a vampire’s going to operate. They’re not like spawn. I’ve had some snap victim’s necks just to spite me, or try to throw them on the stake first.” It was easy to throw out stories that were true, well, half true. Who was who might have needed to be switched, but it was better than a complete fabrication. Harsh lifted one shoulder in a little shrug, conscious of not jarring the victim too much. “I guess that’s fair. I don’t know, I’m sort of used to going solo. Sometimes I overthink it, maybe, trying to make sure I’ve got everything covered.” That sounded… sort of true. If there wasn’t so much stupid fresh blood right on his back, maybe it would be easier to focus. He gave Kaden a little smile. “I appreciate it, man. It’s nice having someone to watch my back.”

[pandoraashes]

Yo to the past from future Dax! Damn it’s been a wild ride, still surprised I survived it all. I know you have a lot of questions but since present Dax has no fucking clue what’s going on, I’m writing from the future after I figured it all out. Strap in!

So, its February 14th 2001, when yours truly was born as Daxion Karlos! Magical right? Nah I’m joking, I won’t go into that much detail. The important thing you need to know is that my parents were into the dark arts. Two total humans, not a drop of demon blood in them, but they were hardcore into the dark shit. I was conceived (gross) during some ritual they were performing with their coven. I was born into it, praying to the coven’s gods and goddesses, performing rituals and spells, dressing the part. I loved it; it was my life. Until Sayla was born in November 2006. That was when it all changed, my new purpose in life was to keep her safe and happy.

All through school I was the weird creepy witch boy which became the weird punk emo kid in High School. Dressing in all black, threatening to curse people, listening to Avenged Sevenfold and Asking Alexandra and Black Veil Brides, and being every one’s bad boy crush. If their lucky it becomes more than a crush. But I’m not here to list my conquests, which is a lot.

Anyway, what was I saying? Right, Sayla! She is a total cutie, bright blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, a little bundle of sunshine in my life. I dedicated my life to protecting her! I made her protection charms, threatened to curse any boy that talked to her, sent curse bags to her bullies, and asked the demons to help her whenever I wasn’t around. She loved it, being a dark princess was her dream. And I treated her as such, spoiling the shit out of her. Of course, my parents did as well, the whole coven treated her like a goddess come to life.

Years pass and I’m 19 off at college, approved by the coven, and Sayla is 14 going into High School. I get a panicked call from her, telling me there’s a boy at school that is obsessed with her. He’s leaving creepy notes in her locker, sending her pictures of himself and of her at home, and won’t leave her alone. I quickly make my way back home and have a meeting with the coven. They agree that he is messing with a vessel of a dark goddess and must pay.

We grab the old ritual tome and find a summoning spell for a protection demon. The ritual is set up on the next new moon, Sayla is placed in the center and I am the caster, with our parents and the rest of the coven assisting. I recite the old texts, lighting the candles, and cuts into my palm and Sayla’s, sealing the bond. Suddenly the room fills with smoke, coming from the symbols we painted onto the floor. All the candles go out as I grab Sayla to protect her. None of the rituals or spells I’ve ever seen done have reacted like this! Sayla starts screaming and pointing, when I follow her finger, I see a grotesque demonic form climb up out of the floor. “Where is my prey?” It growls into the room.

The cut on my hand burns and I fall to the ground screaming in pain. The demon grins at me, then attacks. My body is locked up, unable to move, I couldn’t even close my eyes. I was forced to watch…watch the demon I summoned to protect my sister…maul my parents to death…then rip Sayla apart, dropping her head at my feet. It starts laughing and painting the walls with blood. A rage I never felt before filled my entire being, body and soul. I screamed, somehow broke the hold it had on me, and ran at it! Grabbing up the ritual knife and stabbing into the demon. It growled and turned on me, claws ripping into my flesh, but I didn’t care. I kept stabbing as it clawed me, but neither of us knew the consequences of a summoned demon killing its summoner.

As I felt my life leaving my body, a red flash of light came from the demon. It burst into flames and melted away. I smiled, thinking I had taken it out with me…but I couldn’t be that lucky. The red light, instead of going out, drifted into my body. My body burned! It burned like a thousand fiery suns! My body changed then…I became something called a Soul Demon. An extremely rare form of demon, when a dead demonic soul occupies a dying human body it mixes together into one creature. A chain with a lock appeared on my neck, locking me into this fate.

The madness of the demonic soul and the rage that was my last moments as a human collided into pure Hell. I still don’t really remember my time in the darkness of that day, but I know I caused a massacre. Every member of my coven died at my hands, and once that was done, I moved through the town just killing anyone I saw. Finally, a group of Hunters stopped me and locked me up to face execution. In that cell I was able to calm down and I came to, with no memory of who I was and what had happened.

Those Hunters told me I was a murderous demon and asked my name. All that came to my mind was Dax Sin. I mean I was close, Dax Sin…Daxion…almost had it. I hung there for hours feeling absolutely insane and trying to figure out my existence. Then the doors opened and a man in a red coat appeared. I assumed he was there to finally kill me. He said his name was Al Wolfguard, a 1000 and something year old wolf demon and he knew what I was. Surprisingly, he was right, he knew I was a Soul Demon and that the breed is rare. He didn’t know how it happened, but he was willing to help me find out. I agreed to leave with him and that was the day I joined The Wolf Pack.

The Hell didn’t end there though because I couldn’t be that lucky. Little did I know at the time Sayla had been chosen by the Guardian Angels to become one of them. I was a threat to them, and they wanted to send her to watch over me. But Sayla didn’t know their real plan, for her to drive me to kill myself. Sayla visited me one night, coming into my dreams and putting images there. The images tormented me for weeks until finally pushing me to an intense panic attack. The Wolf Pack did their best to help me, true friends they were. But these images of this girl didn’t make any sense to them either, nor the nightmares I was having, or the flashes of this girl I would get around corners and at the edges of my vision. I was just slowly going insane.

Don’t blame Sayla for this please, she didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted to help, she wanted us to be together again. But I can never get that lucky. You’ve been with The Wolf Pack 5 months now Dax, still a baby demon in their eyes and you are just descending further into madness. But they are your lifeline, they will stand by you and do their absolute best to help you. Trust in them and Kenway, for your own sanity please…ignore the callings from the darkness…for Sayla’s sake…don’t break that lock.

(This backstory is for Dax Sin a character from my TikTok’s for the JAHunters universe, check the tags, for more information about Dax Sin check his bio)

[tallstales]

Day 4 Books (13 Days of Halloween)

There are so many books perfect for reading in the fall. Many people read with Halloween in mind at this time of year and I happen to be one of them from about July through mid November. At this time of year, we gravitate towards Stephen King and now Joe Hill or the latest big name. Sometimes we forget about the classics that started it all or we don’t think to look in our own backyard for new favorites.

Today I’m going to share a list of 13 of my favorite spooky classics mixed in with brand new hits on my to read list. And as a bonus, I’m including a list of Rhode Island authors of Supernatural fiction, Mysteries, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, Thriller, and more to keep you enthralled as we get closer to Halloween.

Let’s check them out!

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

For those who know me well, they know the special love I have for The haunting of Hill House. Last year I even got the crazy opportunity to direct the play at the Rhode Island Stage Ensemble because they knew of my crazy obsession. I might talk about this book too much. That being said, I will keep it brief today. Read it! Go! No, you have not experienced it through Netflix or even the play. They’re wonderful, amazing interpretations, but they are very different.

To truly know Hill House and the people staying there to study it, you need to read this book and get trapped in the mind of its not quite reliable narrator.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James

Speaking of Netflix, on this list is another psychological haunted house thriller that has just been made into a streaming hit in The Haunting of Bly Manor.

The Turn of the Screw is a short but not so sweet story with an atmosphere of slowly growing tension. This is a great quick read for a rainy day home alone to get your nerves just the right amount of frayed for when the trick or treaters start knocking.

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Another classic is the travelogue Dracula! With any other title, people would question how a travel journal could be scary, but Dracula needs no introduction. If anything, time and popular culture has added so much to this story that when we go back and look at the original tale we are terrified all over again by the simplicity of atmosphere and characterization over props, costumes, and all the other added layers.

There’s a scary bit of truth to this tale as well, one that even connects back to Rhode Island! Did you know that Bram Stoker was inspired by the story of Mercy Brown? Yes, news of her tragedy and horrific exhumation made it all the way to London! Stay tuned this week for our 13 Haunted RI Tales for more on Mercy.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

While we’re in the Victorian Era and talking about classic monsters, we can’t forget about Frankenstein’s monster! This is another one that’s been taken apart and put back together by so many different writers, directors, and actors that we forget how terrifying the original is.

What really makes this story stand the test of time even past the language changes that can make other stories written in the same period slog along, is Shelley’s understanding of human nature.

We all question the meaning of life and death and Frankenstein has a way of helping our imagination come up with the most terrifying answers.

Edgar Allan Poe

How could we discuss Horror classics without the twisted tales of Edgar Allan Poe? I can’t even pick a single story to discuss for this list, just trust me and get a collection of his stories if you don’t already own one. You won’t be disappointed.

Haunted houses? Evil animals? Disease? Death? Human Nature? Poe has covered all of the best horror tropes and even invented a few himself. If I had to choose a favorite to start with… one that sticks with me and makes me shudder to even think about is The Lighthouse. It’s the rats. They get me everytime and unlike the suspense they bring in The Pit and the Pendulum, the rats in The Lighthouse just bring terror and an overall sense of disgust. Happy reading!

His Hideous Heart Edited by Dahlia Adler

While we’re on the subject of the laste, great E.A.P. I bring you a fairly recent edition to his fandom.

His Hideous Heart is an anthology put together by 13 well known YA authors for a new, contemporary audience. Edgar Allan Poe may be gone, but his works and their themes have stayed with us and in our classrooms with a love their surprising and unsettling nature.

Contributors include Dahlia Adler (reimagining “Ligeia”), Kendare Blake (“Metzengerstein”), Rin Chupeco (“The Murders in the Rue Morgue”), Lamar Giles (“The Oval Portrait”), Tessa Gratton (“Annabel Lee”), Tiffany D. Jackson (“The Cask of Amontillado”), Stephanie Kuehn (“The Tell-Tale Heart”), Emily Lloyd-Jones (“The Purloined Letter”), amanda lovelace (“The Raven”), Hillary Monahan (“The Masque of the Red Death”), Marieke Nijkamp (“Hop-Frog”), Caleb Roehrig (“The Pit and the Pendulum”), and Fran Wilde (“The Fall of the House of Usher”).

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

Continuing to move forward in time, I find myself thinking of Ray Bradbury. Bradbury has a wonderful way of slowly seeping discontent into the reader but with Something Wicked he seems to put pedal to the metal.

This is the only book on my list to feature a nightmarish carnival and Bradbury might be why. I somehow walked away without a fear of clowns or carnivals but reading about them… still gives me the heebie jeebies. Now that I think about it, this book might have something to do with why mirrors creep me out too.

Readers be warned. Something Wicked This Way Comes has all the marks of a beautifully written coming of age tale, but the themes stick with you like a shadow well into adulthood.

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

If you haven’t read this book, you have definitely heard of it. That book with the weird typography, with the backwards words and print in the margins and all that weird stuff? Yes, it’s House of Leaves and “all that weird stuff” makes for one exciting and unsettling ride. People I give this book two either firmly LOVE it or HATE it, but I recommend it today because 8 out of 10 are on the love side and passing around their copies to others because it’s hard not too.

As you read, you follow two stories. The main story is about the Navidson family moving into a new home where some very strange things begin to happen. The second story takes place in the footnotes where we follow a man named Johnny as he finds, reads and obsesses over the first story which is referred to in the book as The Navidson Record. Now, I have set out with the mission of not spoiling anything for anyone today, especially since most the books on this list are of the thriller or suspense genre so I will stop here, but know I really, really want to tell you everything that happens and everything I think of it! Go read this crazy work of art and message me. We’ll talk.

Twelve Nights at Rotter House by J.W. Ocker

I said it earlier and I’ll say it again, I have a soft spot for a good haunted house. Now, haunted by people or haunted by spirits… I think both are the best kind. Those who have started reading my series The Monsters Within can probably guess that I love the “Humans are the Monsters” horror trope. And, well, nothing brings out the monsters in humans faster than the particular fear that comes with staying in a haunted house. Or at least, a house perceived to be haunted where your mind can play such glorious tricks on you.

Twelve Nights at Rotter House is admittedly slow to start, but I like and recommend this title because that slow pace is there for a reason. We get comfortable when nothing much is happening, when the pace is slow and friendly. I think it makes everything that comes next that much more exciting. Give it a chance and let me know what you think.

The Twisted Ones by T. Kingfisher

The Twisted Ones is a delicious cocktail of Suspense, Thriller, Horror fiction, Psychological Fiction, Occult Fiction. It’s everything I wanted M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village to be when the trailers came out back in 2004 and everything it wasn’t for me. Add into it the the main character is cleaning a hoarder’s house in the woods… yeah! Sold, this is creepy and gross and sets off all my alarms, I’m reading it with ALL the lights on.

And somehow, through not being able to put it down and finding myself breathlessly speed reading , I still found time to laugh. There are these little gems in the main character’s personality and the story telling that are so relatable and likeable that it adds an effortless humor on top of the effortless horror. This is the only work I’ve read by this author, but she is absolutely on my follow list and I hope she makes yours as well.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

Some might recognise the name Leigh Bardugo from popular YA fantasies but fear not (or do for that matter) Bardugo can write the hell out of terrifying adult themes. Ninth House is almost impossible to out down in its fast paced, constantly twisting and turning mystery and terrifying ghost story.

[Now, I feel the need to mention before we move on that this is an award winning piece and it is loved by too many to count, BUT if you are on my blog then you may be here because I write about mental health and mental illness and all the emotions dark and light that come with psychology. I try my best to do so in an educated and realistic way that relates back to what I’m going through with good intentions. I try my absolute best to write realistically without including triggers. That being said, as someone who has mental health issues, this story did trigger me. Did I still enjoy the read and do I think you would too, absolutely! I wouldn’t have it on my list otherwise. But if you have anxiety, depression, ptsd, or are overcoming assault you may want to do some further research into the adult topics of this novel before reading. Please feel free to ask questions or leave comments regarding this topic. Thank you.]

The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix

Moving into this year’s releases there is the ever popular The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires. This is another one that seamlessly works in some brilliant comedy into the spooky plot.

Some have compared this to Fried Green Tomatoes and Steel Magnolias meet Dracula and I’d just like to throw in Buffy the Vampire Slayer as the cherry on that brilliant summary sundae.

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

I had the pleasure of studying under Emily Danforth while going after my BA in Writing at Rhode Island College. At that point, she had just published The Miseducation of Cameron Post and I was completely enamored. That being said, I have kept up with her writing and oh man am I glad because Plain Bad Heroines was GREAT!

There are so few great additions to their horror genre that I just want to paste gold stars all over this beautifully written, funny, sexy, and utterly disturbing coming of age hit. I hope you love it as much as I did and if you do, be sure to review! This book is brand spanking new and new book sales depend on reviews to help audiences find them. Get out there and post what you liked or even what you didn’t about everything you read. In the end, even negative reviews help new readers find something they will enjoy.

Supernatural/Paranormal

Lorne J. Therrian Sr.

Jeanine Duval Spikes

Alexander Smith

Elizabeth Splaine

D. R. Perry

Sheryl Lynn Kimball

Lisa Jacob

Paul & Ben Eno

Christine Depetrillo

Roland Comtois

Daniel Cano

J. C. Brown

Horror

Alexander Smith 

H.P. Lovecraft Lisa Jacob

Christa Carmen

Science Fiction

Rachel Menard

Tabitha Lord

R. K. Bentley

Fantasy

J. Michael Squatrito, Jr.

Lorne J. Therrian Sr.

Angelina Singer

Scott William Simmons

C. K. Sholly

Heather Rigney

Rachel Menard

Paul Magnan

M. A. Guglielmo

Heather Dunn

Susan Catalano

A. Keith Carreiro

Daniel Cano

Noel Anne Brennan

Tim Baird

Mystery

Anne-Marie Sutton

Elizabeth Splaine

Dusty Pembroke

Risa Nyman

Rick Marchetti

Jean Kelly

Sam Kafrissen

Ilhy

Daniel Currier

Judy Boss

Julien Ayotte

Thriller

Heather Rigney

Glede Browne

Judy Boss

David Boiani

David Aiello

DON’T FORGET TO COMMENT BELOW!

13 DAYS OF HALLOWEEN IS A SPECIAL TREAT FOR ME AND MY READERS. ON HALLOWEEN, THERE WILL BE A VERY SPECIAL GIVEAWAY I’D LOVE FOR YOU TO TAKE PART IN. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO TO ENTER IS COMMENT OR SHARE THIS POST TO YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA.

THANK YOU FOR PARTICIPATING AND BEST OF LUCK!

[make-it-mavis]

Cousin-in-Law (part 1)

Wreck-it Ralph fic ('Mavis Lives' AU) 6006 words Drama Characters: Make-it Mavis, Felix, Calhoun, (Ralph and Vani briefly) Content Warnings: dirty jokes/language, brief violent imagery

Premise: Turbo died, Mavis survived. She was sentenced to life imprisonment in her old game. Felix and Calhoun are engaged to be wed, and Mavis is none-too-pleased about it. Following one of her chaotic whims, she decides to crash their date night and properly meet her cousin-in-law to be.

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It was late summer, with 2013 well underway. Gamers young and old were still braving the Californian August heat to come play their days away, bleeding quarters in Litwak’s inviting air conditioning. But there was a finality to it. Soon, September would rear its inevitable head, and with a large portion of the customers occupied with school and homework, daytime business would slow down, attracting mostly adults hoping to get some kid-free arcade time. Sprites who worked the arcade games had divided feelings on the season changing. Some preferred the kids, the hustle and bustle, the full work days. Others liked the quieter adults, the vacation from mayhem, the chance to relax a bit. Some honestly did not care either way.

For the most part, Make-it Mavis was in the third column. No longer being involved in gameplay at all, it hardly made a difference to her day-to-day. Slower business only really meant that her cousin, Fix-it Felix Jr., might have had more time between gamers to visit with her, which was both good and bad in its own right.

Really, as the year crawled on, her thoughts only turned more to the approach of November, and with it, the anniversary of her life crumbling around her.

Now imprisoned in her original game, a life sentence for a life of crime and cruelty, she made an effort to hang onto the last companionship she had. She and Felix might have been very different and not always seen eye to eye, but she believed he was the last sprite alive, or at least, the only one she could see anymore, who really loved her. Several times in her thirty years, life had made a point of teaching her not to take that for granted. While she may not have been ready to fully open her heart to someone again, she could at least spend time with him.

So, on a Thursday night, just a couple hours after the arcade closed, Mavis sat with Felix at a quaint, round table in his brightly lit, yellow apartment that barely seemed different from when she last saw it in the 90’s. They each had a plate of delicious cherry pie taken from a quarter-empty tin in the middle of the table, although Mavis had barely touched hers, and Felix had around half left, having slowed down to be polite. They had been talking -- that is, Felix had been talking. In their visits, Mavis had preferred to listen, only piping in now and again. There just seemed so little to say. They had lived in two worlds completely apart from each other for fifteen years, so they both had plenty of stories to tell. But at least Felix’s stories were not supremely awkward for Mavis to hear. She could not have said the same for the other way around.

Besides, any distraction from the grief was a good one. Even if he did tend to ramble.

“But, as it turns out,” he said to her, taking a moment to eat a single cherry, “as it turns out -- my toolbox? It was buried in Duck Hunt the entire time.” His brows raised and his fingers spread out a bit, putting extra oomph behind the underwhelming reveal.

“No way,” she flatly humored him, still managing a half-smile.

“I know,” he said, sharply gesturing at nothing. “By golly, I never would’a found it if Ralph didn’t confess. Needless to say, I unfortunately had to have Mr. Peepers banned--”

“Aw.”

“Yes,” he sighed, delicately picking up his cup of coffee with both hands. “But at least our ducks have felt a whole lot safer since. I don’t think they’ve ever forgiven Ralph for letting a dog in.”

Mavis would have liked to point out that the Dev-forsaken wrecking ball did not deserve forgiveness in any form, but she bit it back. There was no point.

Felix sipped his coffee and gingerly placed it back down on its coaster. “Anyhow, Mavy,” he lightly clapped his hands on his lap. “If you’d like to finish that pie, now’s the time. My lady-love will be arriving shortly.”

She smiled vacantly. Yes, his lady-love. His freshly caught towering beast of a woman. Tamora Calhoun, protagonist of the game where those metal insectoid hellspawn came from. Mavis would still have a life, if Calhoun’s game was never plugged in. Mavis was not a fan.

To make things even better, she would soon be her cousin-in-law.

“Loud n’ clear,” she sighed lowly. In one fell swoop, she took the piece of pie in her hand and shoved the entirety of it in her mouth, only missing a few crumbs and smears of syrup. As she swallowed parts whole and chewed the rest, she looked to Felix, who was now the one wearing a vacant smile.

“Is it good?” he asked quietly, passing her a napkin. She took it and wiped the mess from her mouth.

“Mm,” she grunted through a dangerously full mouth. “So good.”

She then stood, gulping down the contents of her mouth and straightening her clothes. “Well, I guess I’ll be takin’ my leave,” she drew her brush from its golden holster and stepped towards the window. Felix got up and strode over.

“Thank you for coming, as always, Mavy dear,” he sang, a real smile on his face.

Having trouble accepting the smile, she let her gaze wander from him. Still, she found enough manners in herself to smile back, at least a bit. “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Thanks for the pie. As always.”

“You take care of yourself, now,” he instructed. “Take it easy.”

“Felix, chill. I’ll be fine,” she said, hinting with a couple scoots toward the window. “Worry about your fiance, yeah?”

His smile showed a hint of uneasiness. “Of course,” he mumbled. There was a brief pause, and Mavis knew very well that this would have been the point where he hugged her. But by some miracle, he had learned to respect her boundaries. 

He, of course, did not know that she had overcome her touch aversion as Pyrite. But for whatever reason, hugging him was still hard, so she would reveal that fact to him later.

In lieu of a hug, she lightly punched him in the shoulder. He flinched a bit and rubbed it, but took the gesture with a strained grin. As she sat on the window sill, she nodded to him. “Seeya, Felix.”

“Bye-bye Mavy,” he waved a tiny bit. Just then, there was a knock at the door. He leapt up like a spring, suddenly fully beaming. “Oh! That’ll be her! I hate to shoo you off, Mavy, but--”

“I’m out,” she rolled her eyes as she swung her legs around to dangle them outside the window, off the height of Niceland that once seemed so tall, but after visiting the royal chambers of the candy castle so many times, it barely seemed a foot off the ground.

That was when an unsavory sound reached her ears, and movement caught her eye. Down below, on the massive expanse of bricks, rubble, and garbage, Wreck-it Ralph and his new friend Vanellope Von Schweetz were goofing off. It looked like they were rooting through the trash, pulling up random items and showing each other or throwing them at each other. They looked to be having a hell of a good time, as Ralph got up and started chasing the kid around with a big fistful of garbage. There were flashes of blue as she glitched and dodged. Their laughter and shouts seemed to echo through the whole game.

Mavis’ knuckles turned white as her fingers curled into claws under the windowsill. Deep, visceral hatred shook her insides, and instantly, she felt sick. It was their fault. It was all their fault. Almost nightly, she dreamed of taking revenge for the life they brutally murdered. She dreamed of the twig-like snap of that glitch’s puny neck, of letting that hulking ape bleed out slowly, feeling the warmth of his blood pooling at her feet.

Those dreams soothed like nothing else.

But, seeing as Sugar Rush needed a ruler, and seeing as Ralph could not die in his game, and seeing how being in the same vicinity as them, but unable to act, felt like psychological torture…

Felix’s voice called from inside the apartment, proddingly, “Goodbye, now, cousin-o’-mine!”

Impulse took over.

“Y’know what?” she said sharply, turning to crawl back inside. Felix had frozen just a few feet from the door. Mavis smiled with her eyes. “I’ll stay.”

“Wh-Wh-Wh-” he stammered, looking at her like she suddenly transformed. Mavis had no doubt that he secretly wanted her to leave so that he could have alone time with his ‘lady-love’ -- a perfectly reasonable thing to want. But he would just have to wait.

“I just figure it’s time I meet my future cousin-in-law,” she stepped fully into the apartment again, holstering her brush. Then she paused, and shrugged, aiming right for his weak spot. “Y’know, unless… you don’t want me here.”

There was another knock. Felix screamed a bit inside his mouth.

“No, no, that sounds fine and dandy, Mavy,” he said, rushed, through gritted teeth. He then elected to not keep his love waiting, and bound over to open the door. Mavis rested a hand on the back of her previous chair, quietly observing the exchange.

The woman was so damn tall, she had to duck her head a bit to see inside. Of course, her eyes were immediately on Felix, who opened his arms enthusiastically.

“Hello, Tammy-darlin’!”

Calhoun smiled and crouched, letting her shortstack fiance hop into her arms for a tight squeeze. “Hiya sweetums,” she purred. The two pulled apart enough to share a quick peck on the lips, and Mavis audibly cringed under her breath. There was something so wrong about seeing anyone kiss her cousin. She had never even taken into account that he could ever have been in love. Not that he did not deserve it. There was just a grossness to it.

When they separated, Calhoun stepped into the apartment as she stood. Somehow, she still managed to avoid seeing Mavis. Felix was, apparently, just too captivating. Mavis shook her head.

As Felix closed the door, Calhoun asked him, “So, how’d your day go?”

“Uhhh, well,” he smiled nervously, obviously in anticipation of the awkward meeting about to happen. Her head tilted a bit as he looked up at her, wide-eyed, and then his eyes darted over to Mavis. Calhoun followed his gaze. Once she saw Mavis, she stood a bit straighter, merely looking confused.

“Oh.”

Mavis flashed her a split-second smile. Calhoun gave her a small nod, and glanced down to Felix questioningly.

“Tammy, my dear,” Felix began, voice a bit wobbly, “you know my cousin, Mavis.”

Calhoun glanced at her again, and lifted a hand briefly. “Hey, Mavis.”

“Hey,” she nodded back.

The couple then began muttering to each other. Mavis could not fully hear them (her ears not being what they used to be, having worked with fireworks and explosions her whole life), but she gathered that Calhoun wanted to know what was up, and Felix explained that his cousin wanted to meet her. She did not seem to think it was a good idea, for reasons Mavis could not hear, but Felix reassured her.

Mavis yawned.

Finally, the two fully faced her. Felix prompted Mavis with shaky hope in his voice, “C’mon Mavy, come meet your… cousin-in-law!”

“Future cousin-in-law,” Mavis muttered. Calhoun squinted at that just the tiniest bit.

“I’m not gonna bite ya, kid,” Calhoun said, putting her hands on her hips.

“‘Kid,’” she gave a falsely sweet smile. “I’m thirty years old. How old are you, again? Ten months?”

The snark did not quite break the skin on the toughened military woman. She frowned, but her brows raised, and she nodded slowly. “Uh huh…” she said deeply, looking down at Felix, who looked like he could have started shaking. “You sure you two are related?”

Growing tired of being spoken of as if she were not there, Mavis quickly painted feathers on her heels and rose up to be at eye-level with Calhoun. Even if this woman had not played a part in the destruction of her life, she never liked meeting anyone at hip-level, or having them crouch down to talk to her, as if she really were some kind of kid. She was a grown-ass woman and would meet everyone eye-to-eye.

She floated over to hover at arm’s length from Calhoun and really get a good look at her. The first time Mavis saw her, she had been staring down the barrel of her oversized gun. Calhoun was, after all, the first to find her slinking around the reaches of Sugar Rush a couple weeks after the incident, during a routine patrol to make sure all the Cybugs were really gone. Since then, Mavis had made a point of avoiding her, of avoiding even seeing her. She just triggered some truly terrible memories. However, seeing her outside of her armor was just a little different. That night, she looked… pretty normal. White tank, camo cargo pants, shiny dog tags. She looked… almost approachable, even with her formidably muscled frame.

Mavis stared into her warm brown eyes that were partially obscured by her messy, yet somehow perfect blonde hair. Calhoun met her gaze with no ounce of fear, no nerves. There was a challenging look in there somewhere, and Mavis met it readily.

Smirking a bit at Mavis’ floating and its obvious intention, Calhoun extended her hand between them.

“Sergeant Tamora Calhoun,” she said in that gruff voice of hers.

Mavis paused, staring at her hand for a moment before locking eyes with her again, stone-faced.

“Oh,” Felix piped in quietly. “Tammy, dear, Mavy really doesn’t like touch--”

Cutting him off, Mavis clasped Calhoun’s hand tightly, and felt a firm squeeze grind the bones in her hand in return. “Make-it Mavis,” she smiled flatly, shaking her hand. “Formerly known as Pyrite, who was formerly known as Make-it Mavis.”

“Pleasure,” Calhoun smiled with her teeth. Mavis noticed that she was not letting go, and decided that she would not let go, either. As their handshake carried on an inappropriate length of time, she noticed the cold touch of metal in her hand. Calhoun was wearing an engagement ring -- simple, elegant, with small diamonds laid into the band. Mavis would have expected Felix to get her a ring with a diamond the size of a skating rink, but she supposed that would be impractical under armor.

A quick glance at Felix revealed that his jaw was slack, staring at the effortless skin-to-skin contact she was making. She snickered at him. 

Once the handshake really had gone on for a frighteningly long while, Felix threw his hands up and exclaimed, “OH, mercy me, the pie’s gettin’ cold! C’mon you two, let’s chow down!”

After just another moment of intense eye contact and painful squeezing, they moved to pull away from each other. But, to Mavis’ surprise, Calhoun actually caught her hand for one last second, turning it over to look at it.

It would have been hard to miss the abnormalities on Mavis’ left hand. Fairly young-looking, horizontal pink scars scored her hand and palm, slicing rows that disappeared up into her sleeve. Most notably, out of her fingers that were also speckled with smaller cuts, the last knuckle of her ring finger was missing, cut off in the middle of the second digit. 

Acid simmered in Mavis’ stomach as she yanked her hand away, but she gave Calhoun nothing more than a sharp look of warning. She saw Calhoun’s eyes narrow before she turned away to approach the table.

As they continued to eye each other, Felix had somehow already cut each of them a slice of pie, and he was nervously babbling to himself.

“One for you, dear-- and one for you, dear-- Oh, seems it really has gone cold, I can go microwave-- Ooh, no, wait, I should get some ice cream to go with-- Oh, no, that’s right, I’m out of ice cream-- Oh, but I’m certain Mary will have some and be happy to share. I should go see-- Oop, nope, nope, I should definitely not do that…”

“Honey,” Calhoun reached to touch his shoulder and gently direct him into his seat. “Sit. You’re fussing.”

Felix smiled nervously and shifted around in his seat, trying to settle in. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, it’s just that I’m…” he clasped his hands together on the table, “...so excited… for my fiance to be meeting my… lovely cousin properly… I’m… so happy…”

A dreadfully awkward silence fell over the three of them as they ate their pie. Mavis sort of relished in it. She was still unsure of her motive as far as staying went, but at the very least, inflicting an uncomfortable situation on Calhoun was enjoyable.

“So!” Felix piped in, startling them both. “Did you two see that sunshine comin’ in today? Oh, it was gorgeous, but talk about blinding! I gotta tell you, it’s a good thing the gamers were tellin’ me where to go, because golly, I could not see a thing!”

Calhoun grunted. “That’s nice, dear. Too bad for me, I don’t see any of that through the first person shooter.”

“Yeah, Felix,” Mavis jabbed, meaning to mock Calhoun’s tone. “Don’t you know anything about Hero’s Booty?”

Calhoun shot her an unimpressed look. “Duty.”

Mavis cocked her head. “Doodie? Please, Tammy-dear, we’re eating.”

Before Calhoun could react, Felix interrupted with loud, anxious laughter. “HA-Ha-ha--!! Oh, Mavy, what a kidder you are!”

“I’m not kiddin’,” she smiled, pointing at him with her fork. “I think she’s gonna ruin your appetite.”

There was a clang as Calhoun put her fork down on her plate. She placed her elbows on the table and laced her hands together in front of her chin, looking at Mavis the way a parent would look at a difficult child.

“So, Mavis,” she said calmly, “why don’t you tell me about yourself. What’d you do before becoming a murderer and stealing Sugar Rush so you could crush a child’s dreams?”

Picking up her cold, nearly full coffee, she only took a second to consider that. “Buffs, mostly.”

Felix whined.

Calhoun squinted. “...Buffs.”

After taking a sip and being weirdly delighted at how gross the cold coffee was, she continued, “Yeah. Buffs, booze. Vandalism. Petty theft. Destruction of stolen property. I used to play music as a job. I liked dancing. I really liked sex. Rough sex. Quite often in public places. I was really into masochism -- for a long time, my favorite thing was getting choked--”

“HAha--!!” Felix interrupted with a horrified, wobbly laugh.

Mavis looked at Calhoun. She was still just squinting through her bangs, and Mavis could not have been sure what reaction was coming. She was surprised to see her burst into barking laughter. She slapped the table hard, rattling their plates as she leaned back in her chair.

“Felix,” she said, grinning at him. “You didn’t tell me she’s funny.”

For a second, Mavis gave her cousin a sharp look. “You didn’t?” 

Felix flinched, and Mavis fully processed what Calhoun said. She looked at her, raising a challenging brow. “Y’think I’m joking?”

“Oh, no, I believe you,” she scoffed. “It’s just that you’re sayin’ all that to try n’ shock me, or make me think you’re some kinda grisled old badass, but all that’s coming out of such a pretty little face. It’s like having a kitten tell me its shanked five guys. It’s just funny.”

Mavis could feel her hackles rising, but she put on a lovely smile anyways, and batted her lashes. “You really think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah,” Calhoun leaned forward again, her voice flat and sarcastic. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

“In that case, why don’t we go splay out on one of the picnic benches and I can find a few more ways to make you laugh?”

Calhoun sputtered and wheezed, once again giving the table a good slap. “Oh, wow,” she chuckled, before looking at Felix, who looked built purely out of anxiety. “I like her.”

“You could say that to me,” Mavis muttered quietly behind her teeth, not loud enough for them to hear. They were still looking at each other, smiling sweetly, the anxiety on Felix’s face being soothed just a bit. Something awful churned around in her insides, and it only spiked when Calhoun reached over to tweak his cheek slightly. The amount of love shared between them was truly palpable, and it was more than she could bear. A horrid hybrid of grief and jealousy rose up in her throat.

“Speakin’ of looks bein’ deceiving,” she said loudly, snapping them out of their gross staring contest and leaning her elbows on the table to mimic Calhoun’s previous position, “what is the deal with you two, huh?!”

Calhoun spoke, “Uh--”

“I mean, we got this skyscraper of a woman here sniffin’ around a guy nearly a third of her size -- what’s the problem, sweetheart? Not up to giraffe beauty standards, so you gotta go around beggin’ field mice for a piece of action?”

That got her. The sergeant snapped to attention, straightening up, her eyes hostile. “...You sure you wanna do this, pint-size?”

Mavis just laughed insincerely and turned to Felix, who was trying to find a subtle way to wave his hands in a ‘STOP’ motion. “And you! C’mon, man, what the hell? A sergeant from an FPS who shoots bugs all day? I have literally seen you cry over accidentally stepping on a butterfly. Is it ‘cause she’s hot?”

“M-Mavy--”

“Come to think of it, that marriage does seem to be comin’ up quick, don’t it?” she hissed a laugh. “You’ve known each other, what, ten months-- Oh! Wouldn’t ya believe it! That’s just about as long as you’ve been plugged in, ain’t it, Tamora?”

Calhoun’s fist was clenching the blue tablecloth hard, her eyes practically on fire. A nasty grin grew on Mavis’ face. It was just as she thought -- the otherwise steely sergeant was a bit touchy when it came to her relationship with Felix.

She was almost completely sure that Calhoun would not hurt her, because hurting her would hurt Felix. With nothing to lose but teeth, she decided to continue to push that theory.

“What, you get plugged in, and right outta the code space, you’re on the hunt for some shrimp dick? Or did ya just hop on the first guy who was nice to ya? You ain’t even a year into the world, n’ still, here you are, engaged?” Sick grin still wide, she looked to Felix and pointed towards his fiance. “You really gonna sweep a gal up before she even knows what marriage is?”

Calhoun reacted quicker than Mavis had thought. She leapt to her feet, her massive frame nearly tipping over the table, sending Mavis’ fork tumbling to the floor. Her stance was poised forward, ready to reach over and grab the offending little shit, but Felix sprang out of his seat and braced his hand against her hip.

“Tammy,” he said hushed and quickly, “Tammy, darling, it’s alright. It’s okay. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know. Please, sit down.”

Mavis, of course, did not know what it was that she supposedly did not know. Although she was curious, it came completely from a place of nosiness. No part of her really cared.

“Aw, now look what you’ve done to my fork,” Mavis scolded Calhoun boredly.

Calhoun remained standing, but bent over the table to lean one outstretched arm against it. The table was far too low for it to be an intimidating gesture, but she owned it anyway. With a deep breath and a testy smile, she pointed one finger at Mavis. “Okay, pipsqueak,” she growled. “You’d best take a hike right about now, if you know what’s good for you.”

Mavis held Calhoun’s burning gaze for a few long moments, emanating nothing but spite. Beside the sergeant stood her cousin, watching her with clasped hands and pleading eyes that just begged her to comply. But, over the time of her life, she had made an art of letting Felix down. 

She feigned a yawn. “Y’know what? Nah.”

“No?”

“Nah,” she shrugged as she tilted her chair back to cross her dirty shoes on the side of the table. Putting her hands behind her head, she said, “This my game. In Hero’s Booby you can try to boss me around all you like, but in here, you can’t make me do boo.”

Felix gasped.

“I don’t feel like leavin’,” she continued. “We were havin’ a conversation, weren’t we? Like, I get why this gal rushed into the marriage, y’know, bein’ a lovestruck ignorant dumbass, but you, Felix? Ain’t you grown outta that crap yet? Or-- or, no, I get it. I get it. You’ve always been a wait-until-marriage kinda guy. You’re just real eager to get into her armor, huh? Which, I mean, really? Look at you two, how good could it possibly be? Are y’all even gonna feel anythin’ when you consummate, or is it gonna be like tossin’ a hotdog down a hallway?”

That just tore it. In a blink, Calhoun lunged and roughly seized Mavis’ collar.

“Woah--!!” Mavis yelped a bit as she was yanked out of her seat with more force than she was expecting. Felix shouted in protest, but before he could take any action, Calhoun had dragged Mavis right across the tabletop, knocking all of its contents to the floor, to hold her right up close and try to pierce through her skull with a single look. Feet dangling high off the floor as Calhoun held her at eye-level, a smile slowly crept onto Mavis’ face once again. Maybe Calhoun really was going to hit her. If so, she could not help but look forward to it.

The two were grinding their teeth, ready to rip into each other at any second.

“TAMORA!!”

Felix’s raised voice smacked them both in the side of the head. They paused, and both heads turned to look at him. He was standing close by, red in the face, breathing hard, body shaking, looking and sounding ready to cry. He shouted again in a volume he saved only for dire emergencies, “DON’T HURT HER! PLEASE! SHE’S MY FAMILY!”

Calhoun stared at him, and her shoulders relaxed a bit as her expression turned apologetic… at least to Felix. Mavis, however, knew she had hit the nail on the head. The big, scary sergeant could not harm a hair on her head, not so long as she loved Felix. This was a delicious fact, one that would no doubt serve her well.

“Tch,” Mavis scoffed a bit, singing in a hushed voice, “trouble in paradise…”

“AND YOU!!”

Mavis startled. She never liked it when Felix really got shouting. It was weirdly eerie.

He stomped over, pointing a trembling finger, his voice still high and frightful. “Can you just-- just-- ju-- sh-- sch-- SHUT UP FOR ONCE?! THERE! THERE, I SAID IT!”

The women said together, “Wow.”

“And look! Look what your fighting’s done!” He stepped back and gestured widely to the gore of their cherry pie dessert, splattered over the carpet, oozing out from under overturned plates. What was left of their coffee spread wide, dark stains across the floor, and the tablecloth and placemats were almost entirely tossed off the table. “The pie! The carpet! Our EVENING!”

Weirdly enough, Mavis actually did feel kind of bad. The pie did not deserve that. Neither did Felix, really. She had long since retired from intentionally causing her cousin genuine distress. Calhoun, however, seemed to have never even been in the business at all.

Calhoun let go of Mavis’ collar, but instead of dropping to the floor, she elected to continue floating in place. She watched as the other woman crouched next to the very distressed Felix, her aggression dying down as she whispered what must have been apologies and reassurance. Felix was slowly soothed, taking deep, steadying breaths as he held both her hands.

Even if she did feel bad, Mavis was not stable enough to ignore her deeply-rooted nature. Folding her arms and crossing her legs, she cleared her throat.

Calhoun did not look at her, not fully. She merely turned her head towards her shoulder for a moment, and growled, “Just go. Get out.”

“Hello-o?” Mavis sang. “We were havin’ an altercation, here?”

Turning a little more this time, Calhoun barked, “I said, get out!”

Felix leaned to peer around Calhoun at Mavis. He looked a little calmer, but no less red. “Mavis, it’s okay,” he said softly, but insistently. “We’ll talk later, I promise. We just need a little space right now.”

Mavis’ muscles seemed to go rigid just from pure stubbornness and spite. She hardly felt like she could have moved, even if she wanted to. So, she just let her eyes fall nearly shut, and replied, “If ya want me gone, get rid of me.”

It did not take Calhoun any convincing. In a blink, she was upright again, and she stormed back to yank Mavis by the shirt again and drag her through the air to the window. “I can’t believe--” Calhoun hissed under her breath, before fully growling, “What is your major malfunction?!”

Mavis grunted as she was shoved backwards towards the window, but she braced her hands and feet inside, shaking as she pushed against the strong hand of the sergeant trying to force her back through the gap. “My malfunction?!”

“YES!” Calhoun yelled with a hard shove. “Your PROBLEM! What is your PROBLEM!?”

Mavis could almost physically feel a sharp sting inside her as the frayed cloth holding everything back was punctured. As things began to tumble out, the hole only expanded, and she could feel everything about to crash down at once. It was not going to be pretty.

At least there was a chance Calhoun would be buried in the landslide.

“My problem?” Mavis hissed breathlessly through a quivering, joyless smile. “My problem?! You wanna know what my problem is?!”

“YES! Enlighten me!”

“My problem,” she spat, volume growing, “is that I should be at home, eatin’ dessert n’ makin’ eyes with MY partner right now, but I can’t, because thanks to YOUR game, I can never go home again, and my partner is dead! He’s DEAD! I had to watch one of YOUR monsters EAT him, and turn him into-- into a-- a--”

Trying to access the thought, horrible pain spiked through her head and red static crackled through her ears and vision. She really was falling apart, so much that her body was having trouble keeping her pixels together. The glitching grew so intense that her senses were all but gone. Eyes squeezed shut, she fought hard to push her voice from her throat, until it burst out in furious screams that she could barely hear.

“--a NIGHTMARE!! And he died! He burned up in that Dev-forsaken volcano! And-- and YOU--”

She hoped she was looking at Calhoun. She could not tell anymore.

“My problem with YOU, is that every time I see you, I hear him scream, and-- and I hear the-- the METAL, and I see him turning into-- and-- and I think of those BUGS and EVERYTHING they took away from me-- but here you are! Muscling in on the only family I have left, as if you didn’t take enough of my life already! And I’m supposed to be fine with this?! I’m supposed to be civil?! You’re askin’ what’s wrong with me-- YOU’RE what’s wrong with me! You n’ your MONSTERS that murdered the man I’ve loved for THIRTY YEARS!”

Finally, her words ran dry. Her heart was pounding painfully against her ribs, and she could feel herself shaking from the core. Slowly, the painful red static that numbed her senses began to fade, and she could hear… silence.

Vision back online, she found herself sitting on the floor under the window. Calhoun’s boots had backed up a few paces. Looking up at her, squinting at the overhead light, she saw a peculiar look on the sergeant’s face. She looked… shaken. But not exactly the sort of shaken she might have expected. There was shock in her eyes that did not feel right.

Body hot, head pounding, Mavis merely stared up at her, waiting for a response and trying to steady her breathing.

When Calhoun finally spoke up, her voice was raw, low… almost horrified. “He turned?”

Mavis swallowed. “...Yeah. He turned.”

“And…” she pointed a bit, “you saw it?”

“Yes.”

“And you were…” Calhoun’s eyes grew distant, and her voice shrank, “...in love with him.”

Mavis’ heart felt full of rattling gravel. After a harsh, painfully hot sigh, she said, “Okay, what the hell? Why don’t you know all this? Didn’t anybody tell you?”

After a moment’s pause, her gaze drifted over to Felix. Mavis could not see his face from where she sat, as it was obscured by the table, but she saw his feet flinch a bit.

Calhoun said quietly, “No. Nobody told me any of this.”

To Mavis’ surprise, Calhoun then turned and strode quickly towards the door. Shakily pushing to her feet, Mavis held onto the back of what was Felix’s chair and watched as he chased after her, spilling apologies.

“Tammy, Tammy, wait,” he pleaded, eventually grabbing a hold of her hand as she stood by the door. “Darling, I’m sorry, I-- I was going to tell you, I just didn’t want-- I-- I was waiting for the right--”

Calhoun sighed and crouched, pushing a finger to Felix’s lips. She spoke quietly, but Mavis managed to hear her say, “I know. It’s okay. We’ll talk about this later, I promise.”

She stood again, gently nudging Felix away from the door. As she opened it and walked through, she said, “I just need some time to think.”

The door closed, her boots clopped down the hallway, and she was gone.

Felix did not move from where he stood. Mavis could tell he was wringing his hands slowly, thoughtfully, anxiously. She frowned. With Calhoun gone, all she had left to look at was how much crap they had just dragged him through. For a moment, she wondered how she ever managed to be so routinely cruel to her sweet cousin… but she knew that her cruelty never exactly went away. It changed shape and moved on to new victims, but as much as Mavis was meant to entertain and enliven… she was also meant to torment and terrorize.

At least Felix was out of her cross-hairs. 

She crossed the room, carefully stepping over the gruesome mess of food on the floor. She approached Felix, and when he did not turn around, she gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. He startled and turned quickly.

Before he could speak, Mavis said as softly as she could, “I ruined your night on purpose. I’m sorry.”

Taken aback by her hard-earned ability to apologize, Felix said nothing.

She continued, “Let me help you clean the floor.”

That shocked him even more. His face twisted up a bit. “...Really?”

“Yeah,” she half-smiled. “I know. I’m nice, sometimes.”

Felix half-sighed, half-chuckled, shaking his head. “Golly, Mavy… Thirty years and I’m still askin’ what I’m ever gonna do with you.”

“Well, for starters, you can show me how to clean a carpet,” she shrugged. “I don’t clean messes. I make ‘em… a lot.”

“Well okay,” he reached to give her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before softly trodding towards the kitchen. “I’ll get you some tissues, too.”

Her face screwed up. “Tissues?”

With a hand on the kitchen door, Felix merely gave her a kind, rueful glance over his shoulder before going in. After a moment of gear turning, she figured it out. Swiping her fingers over her cheek, she found them soaked. She sighed.

Of course she had been crying.

[annakie]

Continued Notes on a Blog Cleanup

I started doing this a couple of weeks ago, I’m still doing it even though I’ve now passed the place I was trying to get to to find a thing awhile ago.  

But now I’m in March of 2013, closing in on two years of blog cleaned up.

I’m on page 1811 of 2968 (working backwards) with 15 posts per page.  My guesstimates are that since I started posting the blog cleanup I’ve generated about 100 posts, that’s probably a little on the low side, but it’s a workable number.  When I started I had 3021 pages of blog, so adding in about 7 more pages worth of blogs since then, that means I’ve deleted about 60 pages worth of my bog, or somewhere around 900 posts.

Sounds about right.

Anyway, here’s a bunch more thoughts on tumblr in general, this blog cleanup, and a Doctor Who Nostalgia Rewatch.

What’s crazy is that about 1/3rd of my entire blog was done in the first 18 months of its creation.  It’s now over 8 years old, but I hit the 2000th page back around November 2012, when the blog was made in May, 2011.  

I’m just now getting to the point in the blog where I kept a pretty full and steady queue in the first few months of 2013, so things move faster now instead of like 100 posts per day untagged like the early days.  And I didn’t post at all for most of the last couple of months of 2017 and early 2018 so, there’s a few-months gap there, eventually. But I figure... why stop the nostalgia tour now.  Mostly because I’m finding things I want to organize better.  I’m also finding a lot of  edits or personal posts I made and didn’t tag properly in the time period I’m covering right now. 

When all this is done, I’ll probably do a mass blog export again, now that I’m happier with the contents.  Tumblr ain’t gonna be around forever, y’all.

Still, deleting a lot of stuff.  Posts are being deleted for

Being out of date, like “Hey this game is on sale, go buy it!” or “SIGN THIS PETITION AGAINST CISPA!” or “The new season of Parks and Rec starts September 23rd" (of 2013 or whatever).  

Sometimes for being a reblog of a thing that I only marginally ever cared about and no longer do at all.  

Things that have now been proven false, or false alarms, or things we no longer have to worry about for whatever reason.  

“Hoooo boy it’s 2019 and now THAT sure turned out to be a bad take!” (”Guys, this new show called House of Cards is on!  It stars the AMAZING KEVIN SPACEY, I LOVE HIM!”  OK that wasn’t verbatim but close, and Yikes.)

Still, the cringiest of the cringe.  But there’s a lot less of that now, which is nice.  I at some point over the beginning of 2013 started doing a lot more tagging of my own posts so the tags are a much nicer place to look than some of the terrible other-people’s tags.  Although I’m still only tagging at like 60 - 70% of the time.

Observations:

What takes the longest is adding tags to posts.  So for the most part tags are only getting added to things I made.  About 45% of which are personal posts, and about 45% of which are mass effect creations posts, so far.  About 10% are things I think I may want to find again someday, though a lot of those things are being put in the “reblogging really old stuff” queue.

The blog is like, 30% Doctor Who, 40% Mass Effect and 30% Psych/Elementary/Leverage/Misc now.  It’s better.

I JUST started getting really to the part where I contributed a little more to the ME/DW fandoms besides yelling at hate-taggers.  Still.  Mid-2013 me is still doing that on occasion.  Although now it’s sometimes about Kaidan Alenko instead of just Martha Jones.  I’m still kind of torn about how I feel about all that now.  I’d say that it’s funny how there doesn’t seem to be a lot of it on tumblr these days.  Now it feels like we all have more important things to fight about.  Also, tumblr is, you know, on life support.

It feels like my blog liked and watched Supernatural longer than I did in reality?  It felt like a short flirtation to me, there continues to be supernatural content on my blog for over a year now.  Pretty sure I stopped watching mid-season 9 so maybe that’ll stop soon.  Still, way less than the general population of tumblr it felt like at the time.

People with names like 221BTardisImpala really were the worst about tagging their hate and other stupid stuff.

I’d somehow forgotten about that terrible, gross post twisting Kaidan into an “abuser” for stupid stuff like “He brought a bottle of alcohol (you know, the one Shepard bought him?) to Shepard’s quarters!” and “He did a bad thing at 17!” (and clearly the person we are at 17 is the same person he was at 34.) and and just the most asinine reasoning applied, and tagged.   The whole “I gotta tear down characters other people like to make my fave the REAL WINNER” is just... ugh.  I got back to that post and honestly, am still thinking I should have deleted the whole thing.

I’ve picked another few tags on controversial characters that I love like Jacob Taylor and scrolled through, and like I posted earlier about Martha Jones, hate tagging in general seems to just... not happen that much anymore, even after scrolling back a year or two in those tags.  That makes tumblr a nicer place to be. I know we still see the occasional like, shitty shakarian shipper in the Kaidan Alenko tag (and again, that is a very small % of overall shakarian shippers) but it’s nothing like what it used to be.

It won’t be long until the WTNV explosion happens on tumblr, or maybe it had already started at this point.  It took me a few months to catch on.  And then I’m gonna listen to it and love it, and ask for rec’s for more podcasts, then I’m gonna get into Thrilling Adventure Hour and the blog is gonna become a much more positive place.  Looking forward to getting to all that.

Does anyone know if there’s a theme or script that lets you add tags from your dash or main blog page without editing a post?  I’d go back and do this again to tag some more good reblogged posts, I think.  I’d probably have also deleted more stuff if I could have done it from my blog without going into editing. :p

Seriously though, tumblr feels like such a different place now.  It’s... quieter.  It feels almost like empty nest syndrome around here.  Or maybe I’m just curating my own experience so much better.  But again, when I do go look at other people’s blogs from posts I’ve reblogged, like almost none of them are still active.  Although it’s also surprising the number that died just like, in the last year.

Another interesting thing has been... watching the rise and fall of a personal friendship through the first few years of the blog.  Back then there were a few people who I was really close to, mostly online.  I can feel the main friendship I had with that person slipping away as their life changed significantly starting the previous few months from where I am in that blog.  And honestly, I did my own part of leaving them behind when I gained a whole new group of close friends from TAH.  We’re still like, facebook friends, but it’s a reminder of how fluid online friendships can be.  

Doctor Who Rewatch Thoughts:

I am going to catch up on my blog before I run out of Doctor Who to watch, I think.  Considering things are starting to take a lot less “grooming” now on the cleanup.

I’m now about to embark on Silence in the Library.  Am I ready to see River Song die again?  No.  I am not.  This will be the first time I watch these episodes in years, probably since Matt Smith was around?  Definitely since The Husbands of River Song.  This... will be difficult.

Hoo boy Voyage of the Damned was bad, I’d forgotten how bad.  Not Fear Her bad but, pretty bad. Though I was amused that there was a character named Foon.  For some reason that word had always triggered something in my mind when they called the world that on Hello From the Magic Tavern and now I know why.

Martha Jones, still awesome in Season 4.  Donna Noble shines brightly.  Although I’d forgotten how much weaker the first half of her season is than the very good second half.

That was the first time I’d watched The Fires of Pompeii since Capaldi took over.  Funnily, I felt like his character got more Twelve-Like as the episode went on somehow.  The long scene between just Ten and Capladi’s character was neat to watch in retrospective.

[kurly-quill]

Robin’s Nest Cafe (part 1)

So, here goes nothing! This will probably have more than one part, but will likely be non-chronological. 

Pairings: JayTim, maybe future JayDickTim 

Rating: Mature for Language [for now] 

Coffee Shop AU (sort of), Civilian!Tim (mostly?)

         Part 1 - Part 2

(1) Hot Chocolate

The first thing to know about Gothamites, is that they are objectively, irrevocably rude as fuck.

It’s not like New York City, where people bustle past without so much as a nod of acknowledgement because they have somewhere to be and don’t have time for pleasantries, or the aggressive shoving on the metro in Tokyo, or God forbid, like Metropolis, where people born past 1930 still tip their hats at passerby.

No, the average Gothamite would see you, without an umbrella, soaking wet, and shake their umbrella off on you on the way inside. If you gave up your seat to an elderly Gothamite on the train, they would sooner say fuck you than thank you. If you tried to mug a Gothamite, they would probably punch you in the face and steal your wallet, because, hell, you’d be the fifth person to try it this week.

And Tim, for all of his “good breeding” and “respectable upbringing” is, at his very core, a Gothamite.

His smile is so wide that he’s baring teeth, and while it doesn’t match the snarl on the face across from him, it’s no less able to convey the sheer amounts of fuck you very much, have a fucktastic day!!

“I ain’t sayin’ it again -” the man bellows, spit hitting Tim’s face and, ew, probably his lips too, “- give me the money inna register ‘afore things get ugly!”

His eyes glimmer with the sharpness of the icicles hanging outside along the shop window, barely sparing the knife shaking under his chin a second glance.

It’s 11 pm on Friday night, and the cafe is still open because Gotham never really sleeps and Tim lives above the shop, anyway. Behind Knife Guy, there’s a few people in line, displaying varying degrees of concern.

(1- was born in a Gotham alleyway, please if you’re going to stab the cashier just do it I’ll pour the coffee myself, 5 - been in Gotham for awhile, kinda worried but Killer Croc smashed my car last week and I just really need a coffee, 10 - visiting Gotham for the first time this weekend-- and the last time.)

Tim looks skyward, praying for strength. There are cobwebs up there he’s never noticed.

“Sorry, the money in the register is a seasonal flavor. But hey, bright side, we’ve just got peppermint mocha back in, so I can ring you up for that instead?”

Knife Guy gapes for a second, squinting at Tim like he expects him to start tap dancing any second now. Tim raises a brow, patient. With a frustrated snarl, the knife jolts forward enough that it clicks against Tim’s nametag, chipping at the edge of the black and yellow batman sticker beside his name, which is his favorite sticker so excuse you.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. Either you put away the knife and order a peppermint mocha with christmas tree sprinkles, and we pretend this never happened, or we do it the less fun way, with the GCPD. Who are a total buzzkill, by the way, believe me. Your choice.”

There’s an eye-twitch, and a change in the man’s expression that makes Tim’s finely-honed Gotham instincts go “oh damn, here we go”, when someone opens up the front door with far too much strength, the glass rattling with the force of its inward swing. The freezing night wind billows in, the scent of oil and snow filtering through the warmer scents of the cafe. There’s an unceremonious tinkle of the bell dangling on the doorframe, and beneath it stands another man.

Tim stares. Knife Guy stares. One of the customers looks up from her phone, groans long and loud, grabs her triple-espresso hazelnut latte with caramel drizzle, and walks out into the late-November chill.

The Red Hood holds the door open for her, because he’s a fucking gentleman.

The door swinging shut with another tinkle, and there’s a pause filled only with catchy holiday jingles that have been playing over the radio since September. Hood surveys the scene before strolling toward the counter.

“Damn, lemme tell ya, it’s cold as fuckin’ balls out there,” Hood laments, with absolutely zero prompting, rubbing his hands together as though he’d gain any friction through the gauntlets. He stops just short of where Tim and Knife Guy are facing off, the blade hovering threateningly in the air just under Tim’s chin. Hood cocks his head.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?”

Tim takes a quick second to make sure that, if he opens his mouth, his jaw won’t hit the floor, before he replies, “Just regular customer service in Gotham. Hope you’re not here for the money in the register too - We’re fresh out of stock. Moving onto the Winter Menu, you know?”

Hood nods, making what sounds like an understanding hum through the voice synthesizers, “Some people just never check the website. Read you’ve got a mean gingerbread latte on special.”

Tim would respond, except now the knife is shaking to a worrying degree– Knife Guy is scared shitless, because the Red Hood is nearly shoulder-to-shoulder– or, well, shoulder-to-bicep with him, because the man is huge and smells very distinctly of cigarette smoke and blood. Tim would sympathize if he wasn’t having an internal fangasm to end all fangasms at this moment.

In a display of panic-borne, truly ballsy stupidity (unfortunately, also a common trait amongst Gothamites, particularly the ones that rob cafes at knife-point at just the hour the Bats tend to come out), Knife Guy whips the knife to the side to turn on the vigilante.

Hood’s got the knife out of the guy’s hand in an instant– Tim has just enough reflexes to grab the steaming cup of caffeine goodness that’s sitting innocently in harm’s way– and in the next second he’s grabbing the guy by the hair and slamming his head backwards onto the counter, spine bent at an angle that makes the onlookers flinch. A few more scurry out the door. There are other places to get a caffeine fix.

“Look here,” Hood growls, No-Knife Guy going cross-eyed as the knife points straight at his nose, “I ain’t lookin for a side of stitches with my candy cane hot chocolate with heavy cream, ya feel me?”

Mr. No Knife squeals.

“P-Please– I’m sorry, I’ll go! Promise! Just– fuck, l-lemme go!”

Hood’s head makes a minute motion, somehow conveying sheer exasperation despite the helmet (Though Tim can just feel the eye-roll going on). He drags the wannabe-robber up to his feet, though it’s pretty useless seeing as the guy’s knees give out they’re shaking so hard– and, oh dude, gross, that’s definitely a wet spot in the front of his jeans there. Tim’s nose wrinkles. He better not have to mop that up.

Hood pays the fact that he’s basically holding up all the man’s weight one-armed no mind, dragging him to the front of the shop. The bell chimes merrily as he gives the guy a literal kick in the ass out the door. The guy lands face-first in dirty, oily, Gothamy snow. An eight year old kicks him as she walks past, hand-in-hand with her father to the nearest bus stop. That Uptown Gotham charm, amiright?

“You’re just lucky I’m feeling the holiday fucking spirit right now– Plus, no offense,” a quick appraisal, “you’re kinda pathetic.”

And then Hood closes the door.

But he’s still here.

Tim looks around the shop. Apparently, at some point in the last 2 minutes, the rest of the customers have decided that they really don’t have time for the typical Bat-dramatics today and fucked off to another cafe. Tim should be more upset about the loss in business than he is, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind.

Because the Red Hood (It’s him, it’s really him) is still standing there. In the cafe.

 With Tim.

He glances down at his chest to make sure the knife isn’t actually buried there, because the possibility that he’s died makes more sense than the Red Hood standing in his cafe, surrounded by a horrific mash-up of dollar-store Hannukah and Christmas (because his family is technically Jewish even if they didn’t celebrate jack shit, and Steph took the shitty plastic menorah on top of the espresso machine as a challenge).

“Um,” Tim remarks, scrambling for the words he wants to say to one of his childhood heros, “So, can I get you something? I feel like I should get you something. Cause I mean. This is an establishment that supports vigilantism, okay? Robin’s Nest cafe, at your service. At least a 10% discount, just like military. Just putting it out there.”

Right. So where is that knife again? Can’t speak if he doesn’t have vocal chords.

The vigilante makes a sound through the synths in his helmet that must be a chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. He moves back up to the counter with movements far too fluid for someone of his size, and Tim swallows a bit as he’s forced to look up (and up) at close proximity. Wow, the helmet is something else– he’s itching to get his hands on it, take it apart and see all its functions and how it was made.

“Gotta first aid kit?” is almost lost to Tim, he’s so mesmerized – he thinks distantly that he’s probably looking a little manic, cause he’s running on caffeine and spite, and people have always told him that his tendency to hyperfocus is unnerving on a good day – but then the words click. He frowns.

“Yes, we do? He didn’t get you with the knife, did he?” he questions, eyes raking up and down Hood’s leather jacket for any telling rips or tears.

Hood tuts, reaching up to tap at his neck, “Nah, not me, but you’re ‘bout to need a new white shirt.”

Tim mimics the movement on autopilot, clapping his hand to the side of his neck and feeling the stickiness there. His heart jumps for a second as he pulls back his hand and sees enough blood there to wonder how he’d missed it.

“Oh. Damn.”

And that’s how, five minutes later, Tim’s got the doors to the cafe locked and finds himself sitting in the break room with the Red Hood dabbing at his neck with a cotton swab.

If he finally manages to overdose on caffeine tonight, he thinks he could go happily.

Hood’s so close that Tim’s 100% sure the vigilante can feel his heart trying to burst all his arteries by its sheer pumping force. He’s getting light-headed because he’s trying not to be creepy and do something like smell the the tall, buff guy with gentle hands (Cause, God, somehow the scent of cigarettes, leather, and gunmetal just work for him) and has thus forgone taking any deep breaths.

“Lucky you, s’not deep,” are the only words either of them has said since he plopped down on the table. Tim hesitates for a second, watching Hood close the first aid kit and step away, before he clears his throat.

Courage, Tim. Come on, you’re from Gotham.

“So. Thanks. For all that, I mean.”

Hood shrugs.

“Eh, there are worse ways to start the night. Plus, it’s way warmer in here than out there. Wasn’t kidding when I walked in– was gettin fucking blue balls out there, and not even from anything fun this time.”

Tim lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh? Well, I think I have a way to warm you up.”

There’s amusement in every line of Hood’s shoulders as he tilts his head, becoming increasingly intrigued by this particularly bold civilian. When he speaks, there’s a definite purr there, mechanized though it is. Something prickly hot shoots down Tim’s spine, and he has to fight down a flush.

“Yeah? You got something in mind?”

Tim can’t help but grin. “Oh, I’ve got just the thing.”

.

.

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.

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.

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.

“Let me guess. Hot chocolate with heavy cream?”

“Shut your shittin’ mouth, Dick.”

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.

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.

“…. It’s got candy cane flavor in it”

[ayearofpike]

Spooksville #23: Phone Fear

Pocket Books, 1998 113 pages, 9 chapters ISBN 0-671-00271-6 LOC: CPB Box no. 1872 vol. 29 OCLC: 40402284 Released November 1, 1998 (per B&N)

When Bryce’s phone rings, and the caller demands he do horrible things to a local man or face consequences, the gang figures it’s a prank caller out to get them. But then Bryce gets hurt, and Adam gets the next call, and they know it’s serious. How could someone know everything about everybody everywhere at every time? Maybe it’s not someone, but someTHING, come to life and possessing a malevolent desire to undermine humanity.

As complex as this cover is, it’s a drastic oversimplification of the story within. I feel like here, and also with The Creepy Creature, we’re starting to get more of the genre expectation that there should be a gross green monster out to get the kids in the book. Also, notice how the characters on the covers are not as consistent as with the first few stories. Like, we hadn’t seen Charisma Carpenter show up before, and now she’s being attacked by some kind of telephone lizard.

It might fit with the huge jump in time we’re being expected to swallow, or perhaps Pike is glossing over it while nodding to the fact that it’s been two years since the start of this series. Because in the opening pages, we find that Adam and Cindy are now two-year Spooksville residents, getting used to the town but still plagued by its evil and quirkiness. So that means the kids are now fourteen? Pike doesn’t say, but they have to be, even though I’m fairly certain he marked them as twelve as recently as The Living Dead. (EDIT: They are still twelve on page ONE of The Creepy Creature, and they’re twelve AGAIN on page 31 of The Witch’s Gift. Obviously Pike just fucked up.) Still, even though time has been sort of glossed over for the last couple of titles, I think this jump might be too big to swallow. Makes me think Pike just wasn’t paying attention.

Still, we learn that the school year is almost over (which is, again, another big jump, as Pee-Pants was just wearing Santa jammies six books ago) and the kids are looking forward to summer. They’re discussing plans and hopes when Bryce’s phone rings. Why does a twelve fourteen-year-old have a cell phone in 1998? Well, he had one hidden before, so this might not be so weird. But the voice on the other end tells him to go break the postman’s windows. Obviously Bryce is not going to do that, but they decide to go warn the guy that someone is maybe out to get him. On the way, though, a black van races out of nowhere and jumps the curb and clips Bryce, breaking his leg.

They get their friend to the hospital and stabilized, but then start talking about who might be after them. Is it just one person? How did he move so quickly to know that Bryce wasn’t going to enact the evil action and have him punished? Why does he sound like a computer?  They try to go to the postman’s to do some research, but the guy isn’t answering his door. In fact, he blows out his own windows with a shotgun to scare the kids away and stop them going after him, like he knows something and is protecting himself. 

Adam is still holding onto Bryce’s phone, and it rings again as they’re walking away. This is his first experience hearing the voice: it’s oddly mechanical, like it’s being diffused through a computer somehow. The speaker identifies himself as Nernit, and tells Adam to go burn down some old lady’s house with her inside. Again, he obviously refuses, and this is when the gang is set upon by a strange girl in a long coat with a knife. After aliens and witches and demons and giant robot crabs, a teenage girl is no match for Sally and Cindy, who quickly disarm her. It turns out that she is, in fact, working for Nernit, and that she was sent here from a neighboring town just in case Bryce and Adam failed to carry out their tasks.

So it’s more than just local? Watch starts to put some pieces together. What is it that uses the phone line to communicate, and has a worldwide presence and a near-bottomless found of knowledge to draw from? Might it sound like a computer because it IS a computer? Or perhaps a network of computers, some kind of, I don’t know, international network? That pronounces its name “Nernit” because that’s how the speech-to-text program parses “Neernitt,” an anagram for Internet?

But now Watch is pretty sure he can get in touch with the being that has emerged from connectivity consciousness. He goes online and Googles whatever-search-engine-it-was-in-1998s “Neernitt,” which quickly leads to a black screen with red text talking directly to him. The presence refuses to talk or negotiate, insisting that humans are tools and not valued as equals to it. But Watch is pretty sure we have something Neernitt wants: a body. Autonomy. Freedom to get out of the computer and do something with our physical selves. Watch can give this to Neernitt, and of course it agrees.

There’s one catch: they have to produce the body in a week. We don’t have the know-how or the technology — but the Lemurians did, and it just so happens that they buried a robot at the end of the last book. Adam’s all salty about digging her up to befoul her final form with this megalomaniacal computer monster, but Watch feels it’s the only bargaining chip they have. And so he works nonstop with Bryce’s help over the course of a week. They don’t have anything else to do, because Neernitt’s minions are guarding the house so they can’t leave, with orders to shoot to kill if they try. (I guess what’s weird about this, what doesn’t fit with the rest of the series, is that it is so LATE getting to Spooksville. Normally the bizarre shit STARTS in this town.)

Adam is concerned that his friend is going over to the dark side. He sees only one hope: get hold of a gun somehow and take the robot body hostage so that they can get free and then ... what? He hasn’t really thought that far ahead, and if Neernitt is, indeed, global, there’s nowhere they can run that they can’t be traced and taken down. Still, it’s all he’s got. He swipes a weapon from a sleeping guard and points it at the robot head, which really only serves to make us all realize how expendable humans are to Neernitt. It quickly and remorselessly gains the upper hand, but before anyone can act in killing Adam, Watch leaps in the way. He insists that he needs to protect his friend, and that the project is not completeable without him, and so if Neernitt commands the shooting it will never have a body. So Neernitt concedes and lets the kids live. For now. (Weirdly, the girl with the long coat slept through the whole standoff.)

A couple days later, the body is ready, and Watch plugs it into the computer so Neernitt can download itself. Now it is free to roam and act however it likes — but first it commands the humans under its control to go rest. They end up gathering in Watch’s room, talking about what life is going to be like under the unmerciful claw of an all-seeing robot network. Watch is actually kind of interested in the idea of becoming a robot himself, though, and the new girl concurs that it could be pretty good. So they get up and go back to Neernitt, where Watch encourages him to unplug and go outside. Neernitt agrees that it’s time, on one condition: Watch must demonstrate how little he cares for a human body by shooting one of his colleagues.

He doesn’t hesistate: He picks up the provided rifle and blasts the new girl right in the chest. This is enough for Neernitt, who allows himself to be unplugged. But you know what that means? That means his consciousness is now limited to the robot body he is in, and tricksy Watch has built in an electromechanical overload circuit that allows him to short out the computer and effectively kill off the robot. So we’re all safe! But didn’t Watch just shoot a dude?

Yes — with a blank. (Fuckin’ Pike and his blanks, I swear to god.) It turns out that New Girl is the mastermind behind the whole thing. Neernitt isn’t a naturally occurring emerging consciousness, it’s a program, written by this girl to effect change and evolution upon humanity. Watch figured it out because of speech patterns and commonalities between them, and also that even though she was supposed to have been asleep during the standoff the computer in her room was on. She admits that she’s controlled Neernitt since the beginning. She’s tired of feeling things, of being hurt, and figures that if she were a robot she wouldn’t have to feel anymore. (There is NO backstory or exposition on any of this; just a teenager being moody, I guess.) But she is surprised to have started having GOOD feelings for Bryce, which Cindy does not care for at all. But now, maybe she’s ready to suck it up and deal with the pain of existence if it can go along with happy and warm feelings.

Does this end the same way as the previous one? Kinda, right? With the exception that THIS girl is not actually a robot, and she doesn’t die in the end. I didn’t think I’d see this in Spooksville, actually, but it parallels the Archway books in that Pike seems to see the writing on the wall and is winding himself down to complete the contract with the bare minimum of effort. There’s only one more book left in the series, and I’ve been led to understand it goes too quickly to effectlvely wrap things up. Let’s find out if he actually gives us the goddamn Watch backstory I’ve been wanting for twenty-three books. 

[thecinephale]

Redefining Romance with The Shape of Water and On Body and Soul

By the time Katharine and I met in November of 2015 I didn’t care about romance. This word that had consumed me since I was a child no longer made any sense. My celibate adolescence was spent scribbling love poems and consuming movies like (500) Days of Summer, Beginners, and Annie Hall. But I’d since realized my poetry sucked and that Woody Allen’s body of work was nothing to admire. I was casually sleeping with a close friend and grappling with the absence of a core part of my identity. Ever since I was four and told my sister’s best friend I had a crush on her, liking girls and turning that like into a personal narrative was part of me. It was my way of being close to women and how I’d come to terms with what kind of man I could be. I wasn’t effeminate, I was sensitive. I wasn’t girly, I was romantic. 

And yet after years of crafting yarns from ordinary, or even non-existent, experiences, I was about to have my first truly cinematic meet-cute. Katharine and I met at Sleep No More during her very first performance. A friend of mine who worked there had been trying to get me to go for nearly a year and finally this night, for some reason, I caved. During the show I had four one-on-ones, immersive show lingo for private moments with performers, and I was more than satisfied with my experience. The show was just about over when I saw her, sitting on a suitcase at the end of an empty hall. Unsure if she was a performer or a tired audience member I slowly crept toward her. She stood up, took my hand, and we had a one-on-one. Later at the bar, my friend introduced us and we spent the rest of the night talking. A week later we were on a train together headed upstate.

This story is romantic in every way I could’ve hoped for as a teenager. And yet what I remember most from these weeks is the joy I felt getting to know Katharine. I was honestly a bit embarrassed having met her at Sleep No More since that place thrives off of people’s sometimes toxic fantasies. Especially because none of it felt that grand. I didn’t even think our first conversation could possibly be romantic until my friend asked me why I didn’t get her number. Our first date was upstate because she mentioned wanting to get out of the city before it got too cold and it seemed like a good idea. I didn’t know that she was the one. It was a date. I’d been on many first dates and planned to go on more. And while I did like her, I wasn’t obsessive. I liked her more on our second date than our first, and on our third date than our second, and today I’m more obsessed with her than I’ve ever been before.

There is a really simple explanation for this. Something about maturity and real, adult relationships. But this alone assumes that what I’d grown out of was romance, when in fact what I was really grappling with was male, heteronormative romance. I’d confronted the behaviors I’d copied for so long and realized they didn’t fit with who I was. But now what? A year and a half after Katharine and I met I came out to her and began transitioning.

***

It’s been a relief coming out, like I was holding my breath my entire life and can finally inhale and exhale like everyone else. So much of my life makes sense now in a way that it never did and I never thought it would. And one of the most rewarding aspects of my personal transition has been transitioning Katharine and I’s relationship as well, going from a seemingly heterosexual relationship to an openly lesbian one. There’s both liberation and emptiness in a relationship that is free from the vast majority of messaging received. Everything from fairy tales to Cosmo to the oeuvre of a known child molester has a lot less power when none of that stuff was ever meant to represent you. But there’s a reason why people enjoy that stuff. It feels good to be seen and it’s a relief to sink into fantasy. And while I’ve embraced the general umbrella by binge watching The L Word with Katharine and finally understanding my deep connection to Fun Home, Carol, and The Watermelon Woman, there’s still a searching for a love story like ours. A love story that feels outside of normalcy, that feels confusing and difficult and complicated yet ultimately just as fantastical and lovely. And it can’t just be solved by, say, a trans love story. I’d certainly welcome more of those (for now shout out to Sense8 and Her Story), but it’s deeper than that.

***

Guillermo Del Toro’s The Shape of Water is a ridiculous movie. That it’s currently the Oscar frontrunner is honestly astounding. Yes, it’s impeccably shot, designed, scored, written, and acted, but it’s also a movie that I’m at a loss to defend. On his podcast Keep It wonderful culture writer Ira Madison III was making fun of the movie and impersonated Octavia Spencer’s character with a simple “You fucking that fish?” I burst out laughing. Because it’s hilarious and because the scene in the movie isn’t actually that far off! 

For anyone who hasn’t seen it, the film is about a mute woman named Eliza (the always great Sally Hawkins) who works as a cleaner at a government facility during the Cold War. The US attains a creature simply called “Amphibian Man” and Eliza falls in love with him (them?). So it’s sort of like Beauty and the Beast if Beast never really spoke, there was explicit sex, and Belle had a black best friend and a gay neighbor. There’s also a subplot with some Russians. And a musical number.

It’s goofy as hell and yet I spent a large portion of the movie in tears. It reached its scaly arm down my throat and grabbed my heart. Any moment where the Amphibian Man was on screen I had a voice in my head that just kept repeating, “That’s me. That’s me.” Now I don’t know what it says about where I’m at in my transition that I have an easier time relating to a fish man than Jamie Clayton’s awesome trans hacker on Sense8, but alas it’s the truth. Because if I’m being honest, I usually don’t feel like I’m being perceived as a woman, I rarely even feel like I’m being perceived as trans, but I do feel like I’m being perceived as a creature.

Watching Eliza not only fall in love with Amphibian Man but be the instigator of the relationship felt revolutionary and comforting in equal measure. Returning to Beauty and the Beast (also King Kong, also everything like this), it’s usually the creature that kidnaps or captures the virginal lady and has to convince her to love him. This always feels a little gross and undercuts the message of acceptance. But here Eliza is a sexual woman. From the beginning it’s shown that masturbation is a part of her daily routine. She doesn’t fall for the Amphibian Man because of a repressed desire. She falls for the creature because she feels a connection. She wants to help them live a life of freedom alongside her. She wants to teach the Amphibian Man how to live in her world because it would bring her happiness. 

Katharine didn’t rescue me from a lab. But she has helped me escape… something. She has helped introduce me to a confusing world of feminine expectations and desires that feel comfortable and natural and also confusing and impossible. And above all else she has done this because she loves me. She isn’t still dating me because she’s a good person (no matter what other cis-es like to suggest). She’s still dating me because she sees me for who I am and loves me. I’m insecure about a lot of things, but I know this to be true and it means everything to me.

***

Ildikó Enyedi’s On Body and Soul, another Oscar nominee (a longshot in the Foreign Film category) has faced a similar reaction to Del Toro’s film. It won the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival, yet almost every review even when positive points out the film’s silly weirdness. Also a love story, this time between two humans, Enyedi’s first film in 18 years is about a pair of employees at a slaughterhouse who realize that they’re somehow having the exact same dream about two deer. The people are Endre, the emotionally detached manager with a disabled left arm, and Mária, the new quality control inspector who is autistic and quickly becomes the butt of her coworkers’ jokes.

Again, I understand the reaction. The very concept of a love story at a slaughterhouse (featuring graphic scenes of slaughter) is already a stretch. Add the hokiness of nocturnal destiny, a subplot involving stolen bull Viagra, some deeply unpleasant narrative turns, and a formal approach as reserved as its leads, it’s unsurprising that many don’t know how to receive this film. It’s too open-hearted for the arthouse yet it’s not exactly fine-tuned for Nicholas Sparks. But for me, this film lived up to its title and infiltrated my body and soul, I connected deeply, and wept softly. And I’ve been unable to shake it, that initial feeling only growing since the first viewing.

There is an obvious contrast between the dream sequences with Endre and Mária as deer and the real life sequences of animals in cages having their guts torn out. It’s easy to read this simply as a statement between the purity of their love and the harshness of the rest of the world. But this ignores the unreality of the deer scenes and the specificity of animal imagery. Because a main thread through the film is that Mária and Endre don’t know how to be animals. Or in other words: Endre does not know how to be a man and Mária does not know how to be a woman.

The two male foils to Endre are his best friend, Jenö, and a new hire, Sanyi. Jenö is married and despite proselytizing the merits of keeping women in their place he does whatever his wife wants. Endre watches with the remove of a scientist as Jenö carries out a charade where he is able to assert his supposed masculinity while filling his more passive role. Sanyi, on the other hand, is naturally alpha, flirting with every female co-worker and ignoring his male superiors. Endre seems to pity Jenö and resent Sanyi, but it quickly becomes clear that who he has the most disgust for is himself. He grows wildly defensive when he is caught ogling a woman, insisting that he simply looked like all men would. The woman didn’t even seem to notice and doesn’t seem to care. He then declares multiple times later in the film that he would prefer to remove love and sex from his life rather than deal with the impossibility of filling the role of “man” in these encounters. He’s given up on it all until he meets Mária.

Mária also has two foils, Klára, a voluptuous psychologist who interviews everyone after the bull Viagra incident, and Zsóka, the oldest employee at the slaughterhouse. Klára is everything Mária is not. She’s comfortable in her body and comfortable around men. She expresses her feelings, sometimes even to the point of aggression. When Mária retells Endre’s dream, she is unable to push back against Klára’s anger or defend herself. Zsóka, who is even more comfortable with her sexuality than Klára, is much kinder to Mária. Instead of judging, she attempts to coach her in the ways of womanhood. This, of course, means posture, how to walk and talk, and, most importantly, what clothes to wear. Mária attempts to master these skills, like she does later with sex, with an obsessive precision.

Mária’s experience of gender is intrinsically tied to her autism. Her lack of awareness in how to act as a woman is similar to her struggle to generally fit in as a person. I’m hesitant to find symbolism in her character or draw parallels between our lives since her experience is so different from my own. But in my unqualified opinion the film treats Mária with a respect and fullness that leaves her as open to analysis and connection as any other character. It’s not autism that becomes ingrained in the semiotics of the film but rather the world around this one autistic character, the world around Mária. And I couldn’t help but feel parallels both to Endre’s attempts at manhood and Mária’s learning of womanhood. I couldn’t help but watch this relationship unfolding in a harsh world and think of my own. Mária and Endre’s budding romance faces plenty of conflict throughout the film but there’s an overwhelming feeling of destiny between them. The conflicts are not a result of their incongruity but rather the difficulties and pressures of their surroundings. Any conflicts within themselves are related to their individual difficulties with the world at large.

The dream sequences aren’t just beautiful and serene. They are otherworldly. Literally. The plane on which Mária and Endre connect is outside of real life. Their connection is dependent on both of them finding it within themselves to detach from their discomfort with society. In their dreams it is easy, but in life that’s really hard. Because it’s not healthy to completely detach (as fun as rainy days cuddling can be). The necessity is being able to carry on normal life with your partner and face a mutual unbelonging from our world. From our ableist world. From our gendered world. From our heteronormative world. From our transphobic world.

My connection to this film is reliant both on its silly romanticism and its severe honesty. Because that’s how I feel. Being with Katharine feels like it’s on another plane of being, in how I feel about her, in how happy it makes me to be near her, and yet real life can be really hard. This film shows the beauty in getting through that hardship with another person, the pressures it can place on a relationship, and the ultimate reward of working through it all together.

***

The Shape of Water and On Body and Soul have allowed me to articulate something about myself and my relationship that I’d previously failed to do. They taught me that romance, not just love but gooey-eyed, goofy capital R Romance, can be for all of us. That romantic doesn’t have to mean arrogant poems or chasing after girls in the rain. It can mean connecting with somebody when you feel less than human, it can mean facing a society that doesn’t want you with the help of another. And, most importantly, that this can all be silly and over-the-top in a way that will make half the audience laugh and half the audience cry. These films destroyed a line between romance and mature relationship that I’d taken as fact even though my own relationship is such an obvious combination of the two. They allowed me to see myself in a new way, to see Katharine in a new way, and to appreciate our relationship even more than I already did. 

So I’ll say it here. On social media, like an adolescent that will someday regret such an embarrassing overshare. I’m deeply, madly, overwhelmingly in love.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.

[anythingstephenking]

Time Traveling Swing Dancers/Teachers/Assassins

Welp, I did it y’all. I made it full circle to the book that started it all, 11/22/63. I read this brick of a book back in 2016, which lead me to The Stand, which led me to a journey towards 73 novels. Bless your heart, 11/22/63.

I just love this book. My first read through back in the day took me only a couple days; my second trip back in time took me almost a week, still a feat for the 800+ pages of book. Let’s go.

Another tale, like Under The Dome, that ruminated in King’s mind since the 70’s but came to fruition in the 21st century. Although the idea kicked around in King’s head for decades, he was daunted by the research that would be required to tell the story properly, so I think he waited until he was swimming in that sweet sweet money to hire a research team. Per usual, I am speculating.

But King did have a research assistant on this book, that much is true. He also consulted with the likes of Doris Kearns Goodwin, a treasure of American history, who gave King some real fun ideas about what might have happened if JFK had lived. The research was obviously thorough, and like it or not, you sure learn a lot about real-life Lee Harvey Oswald in this work of fiction. You’ll also squiggle in your seat through reminders of racism and hate that lived out loud in the 60s, different but also the same as we see today. History doesn’t change everything.

King has said that the extensive research and reading he did to prepare to write this story confirmed in his mind that Oswald acted alone. While it’s fun to imagine conspiracy theories of magic bullets and a second shooter, if King believes, I’m inclined to believe. If QAnon has taught us anything, it’s that Americans love a conspiracy theory. If Jack Ruby hadn’t shot Oswald in that parking garage, we may have learned what actually happened on November 22, 1963. If Oswald had gone to trial and had been placed under oath. If his last words weren’t about how he was a patsy. If, if if. Maybe Jake should have stopped worrying about stopping Oswald and stopped Ruby instead.

So, yeah, Jake Epping. Our hero of this tale. He’s a writer that teaches and lives in Maine. I mean, if I had a dollar for every time I started a book summary with that sentence, I’d have like $10 bucks and I probably go buy myself a fancy coffee of something.

Jake’s a teacher and loves hamburgers! Who doesn’t. He get’s them cheap at his favorite diner, from the proprietor named Al Templeton, who harbors a pretty rad secret that he’s gunna toss onto Jake. Now, why Jake? I mean, I don’t really know. Al doesn’t have any family and Jake is young and unattached? I suppose at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter, because Jake, like Frodo Baggins before him, is off on an adventure.

Because Al’s diner is actually a portal back in time. We all suspend some disbelief - it’s some version of a thinny (maybe?) that plops you from present day back to 1958. The rules are this: however long you spend in the past, you can return to the future just 2 minutes after you left. Al says there’s no impact on quick trips - Al’s been going back and forth for years buy ground beef for his cheap burgers - but when you do something that might change the future, the past will push back. We learn that Al is very, very wrong, but more on that later.

Al’s set out to save John Fitzgerald Kennedy from his head exploding, but the past gave him lung cancer and he didn’t make it to ’63. He’s back in the present and ready to tag Jake into the ring to get back to the fight for him. Jake hesitates but not NEARLY enough. Seriously, if some stranger told you had to go back in time, follow around a total assmunch for 5 years and live WITHOUT CELL PHONES OR NETFLIX?? I don’t care how delicious the root beer in 1958 is. Fuck that.

Jake goes. A couple times actually. He’s first interested in saving Harry, the high school janitor’s family from being murdered, which is a real noble cause. The past gives him diarrhea, and he wears a diaper to take out the bad man. He fails the first time (diarrhea), heads back home to “reset”, and back to 1958, succeeding the second time around. Sayonara douche.

We cross paths with Beverly and Beep Beep Ritchie in Derry, where Jake spends a fair amount of time in 1960. The town is dark, creepy and troubled, and Jake hates being there. Little interconnected web of the King-o-Verse is always there, and I love every second of it. 

Jake heads to Dallas to wait on Oswald, realizes he hates it (lol, fuck Dallas-Fort Worth), and moves out to the country instead. He gets a nice little job and meets a librarian, and our heroine, Sadie. Sadie’s got some real baggage in the form of a psychotic ex-husband (men are mostly the worst in this book) but her and Jakie fall in love anyways. She’s a well written, strong female lead and I haven’t loved a female King character this much since Lisey.

General consensus is that the mid-section of this book is that it drags a little bit, but I couldn’t disagree more. Sure, does Jake putting on a big theater production have literally anything to do with Lee Harvey Oswald? Nope. But I loved all Jake’s time in Jodie, Texas. He falls in love with Sadie, they are lovely and happy, and albeit doomed because of time travel, it’s a wonderful distraction from all the heaviness.

That said, PLEASE Stephen King, DON’T WRITE SEX SCENES LIKE THIS. ::Monkey with hands over eyes emoji:: The sex stuff is awful. There’s a lot of broad references to Jake and Sadie’s love life, like “She looked. Then she touched.” Gross.

Exhibit B:

She said, "Don't make me wait, I've had enough of that," and so I kissed the sweaty hollow of her temple and moved my hips forward ... She gasped, retreated a little, then raised her hips to meet me. "Sadie? All right?"

"Ohmygodyes," she said and I laughed. She opened her eyes and looked up at me with curiosity and hopefulness. "Is it over, or is there more?"

"A little more," I said. "I don't know how much. I haven't been with a woman in a long time."

It turned out there was quite a bit more … At the end she began to gasp. "Oh dear, oh my dear, oh my dear dear God, oh sugar!"

Guys, this passage was from Sadie’s FIRST TIME. She comes? And Jake notices there is blood on the sheets afterwards. But she orgasmed. Yeah ok, sure.

Other than poorly written Harlequin romance passages, the rest of the story clips along with lots of fun (and not so fun) bits, leading the the culmination of Jake (spoilers) killing Oswald. Sadie dies in the process and it is heart wrenching. But at least the world got saved?

WRONG. Another gripe is this; Jake goes back to 2007 and it’s a fucking post apocalyptic wasteland. Nuclear war has ruined the globe - Jake somehow crosses paths with Harry the janitor, who gives him a 5 minute synopsis of how everything went to hell. It is TOO SHORT. Why do we spend so little time here? I want more dystopian future.

We also get a brief bit about how each trip back isn’t a real “reset” - each one triggers a new “string” or parallel universe. Al’s diner isn’t the only passage, and anyone that has read the Dark Tower books gets it. Al was dumb and Jake was dumb, and at the end of the day Jake resets the past and saves this new string from nuclear fallout but you know those poor souls that were on that timeline are still fucked?

Anywho, the end is lovely and King changed what he originally planned (which was lame) at his son’s suggestion. Good job Joe Hill. Maybe I’ll read some of his books someday.

So that’s 11/22/63. This is the latest in King’s bibliography that I have already read, so I’m headed into the last 20 or so novels without any spoilers at all. I still haven’t even let myself watch The Outsider on HBO yet.

Speaking of adaptations, Lisey’s Story on Apple+ starts airing on Friday. Will be watching and hope that it is better than The Stand.

9/10

First Line: I had never been what you would call a crying man.

Last Line: Then the music takes us, the music rolls away the years, and we dance.

Adaptations:

A Hulu miniseries! They did 2 seasons of Castle Rock, so they’re a-ok in my book. Anything not produced by ABC is a-ok with me. I watched it when it aired and it was pretty decent IIRC. I’ve started rewatching, but only made it through the first episode so far. It’s a hard rewatch knowing what a creep James Franco is. And his fake goatee in the first 30 minutes is the actual worst.

The show takes its own liberties with the plot which is fine; Jake gets a partner in crime named Bill; without Bill we’d have a lot of internal Franco monologue I’d guess. The show is well cast and well acted, and has an 8.2 on IMDB, so it’s doing a lot better than most King projects.

James Franco channeling his inner Annie Wilkes.

[prettysubpenny]

X'mas Decorating

Reader x Pennywise - reader’s gender isn’t specified. Holiday decorating with an adorably menacing clown boi. Bells, lights and a pouty Pennywise. Also, inspired by the Santa Penny fanart and this post. https://kinkypennywise.tumblr.com/post/167111216904/im-keeping-this-one-penny-you-laugh-holding Because it’s so cute.

-x-

It was that time of year again when Halloween was over and X'mas began. It was just November, and November was still fall and you had Thanksgiving to go through yet, but had to face it, X'mas had been pushing through and taking over since like July and now it was making full force of its presence. You loved X'mas, you just wish it didn’t root out Halloween so quickly.

Now with Halloween and fall decorations packed away and sent back to storage, it was time to go through the arduous task of putting up the X'mas decorum. Some if it you have had since childhood, precious ornaments and figurines you wouldn’t want broken or destroyed. Then there were lots of other decorations like Santas and snowmen. And then lots of really creepy elves and nutcrackers. You only liked nutcrackers because they were weird and creepy as fuck.

You had all those up and now had your attention on the tree. And to the tall clown that sat hunched over in your living room floor fighting with the pesky tangled X'mas lights. Penny was trying to get them untangled to put on the tree and wasn’t fairing too well at it. It was quite amusing to watch him pull and tug at the offending lights, growling in frustration. Somehow he had them loosely wrapped around his neck and shoulders, his lap full of them.

The strings of lights were also plugged up, so they were all twinkling different festive colors. You had put a typical red and white Santa hat on him earlier too that he still wore, his orangish-red hair sticking out from under it and almost clashing, but looking adorable all the same. It was a sight you wanted to remember.

You snapped a picture and giggled. At the flash, Penny’s blue eyes got wide and he turned a glare up at you, full cherry colored lips drawn in an unhappy grimace. “Erase that. Now.”

“No. I’m keeping it. Might even let it be the X'mas card this year.”

You snapped another picture and Penny growled before pouting furiously. Full red lips curled downward in the most pitiful frown. You snapped a third picture and Penny merely turned his head and grumbled, going back to the lights.

“Why do you humans torture yourself with this?” He asked, picking up the lights in his lap as reference.

You shrugged. “They’re pretty.”

And your siblings had always loved them. They were grown now with kids of their own and now they loved them. You loved them. You didn’t have a kid of your own, you had a giant monster alien clown boy to pet and look after and cuddle and fuck. That’s all you wanted.

This was your first holiday season with Penny and he didn’t know much about X'mas personally. It wasn’t his holiday, but you loved it, and he wanted to help you. He had originally started with putting up and assembling the tree.. You’re glad you weren’t attached to the one from last year, because he destroyed that in his frustration and you had to go out and buy a new one. You set that one up yourself three hours ago and was still waiting on the lights to wrap around it. So far they had only gotten wrapped around a distressed Pennywise.

“You could help instead of laughing, human.” He said darkly. But then whined in agitation and threw the lights down, scowling at them menacingly.

You took another picture quietly with the flash and shutter sound off so to not alert the mully clown. You then sighed and got down in the floor with him to help him untangle the damn lights. How you hated this part.

You got the lights untangled much quicker together. And even though you did most of the work, Penny took credit for it.

“See? I told you I could get them.” He looked so proud of himself, smiling and costume jingling as he wiggled. It was too cute.

“Yeah. Now let’s get them on.” You said.

Penny’s smile dissolved to another frown.

You both got the lights wrapped around the branches of the tree sloppily and messed up in places that you tried to fix, but decided to forget so you could start on the ornaments. Penny was plenty tall enough to put the star on top of the tree. He liked to grin like a satisfied chesire cat when he could get something that was out of your reach because you were too short to do it. Smug bitch that he was. You let it slide though, it made him feel useful and it made you feel good to be able to point at something and have a taller being get it without the hassel of getting a chair to stand in.

Penny then got real involved with the ornaments and basically took over. You handed them to him and he put them where he wanted them. He was like a little kid, giggling and so proud that he was helping his favorite human. It was adorable and made you feel that gross warm fuzziness inside.

You don’t let him touch the more important ornaments, the ones with sentimental value. He pouts viciously at this.

“I won’t break it.” He hisses through clinched teeth.

“No. Go sit down, I’m almost done.” You say, pointing to the floor mindlessly.

He does go sit down, stomping over to the place and growing a bit bigger before he sits crossed-legged with his head resting on his fist as his elbow is propped up on his thigh, grumbling under his breath and watching you through slit amber eyes. He likes to go big when you command him outside the bedroom, it’s like he’s saying ‘look at me, I’m bigger than you. I’m more threatening.’

Yeah well, he was. He could swallow you whole in one try, fucking literally. But he still minds, even if bitterly, because he really doesn’t want to upset you. You are his favorite human, and he’ll humor you by doing what you say. It touches you really.

Before you’re even done, Penny has returned to his regular, but still imposing size, and has found your red plastic ball chain necklace with the red and green bells on them. He amuses himself by making them jingle and giggling.

He puts them around his neck and continues to play with them until you’re done.

-x-

I wanna write more X'mas fluff. :3 I have a love-hate relationship with nutcrackers. I do love X'mas, even though I’m far from religious. For me, the holidays are about family and caring, and eggnog. Happy Thanksgiving, btw.

[shotgunsandstars]

R76 Valentines Day 3: Soul Mates

got too caught up in all the types of soul mates AUs I could possibly do. Decided to go for something simple; your soul mate always comes back.

Also gross use of OW skins in this. I honestly just wanted an excuse to make Jack kiss Pumpkin Gabe’s jack-o-lantern head lol.

AO3 mirror

Jack unfolded the paper fortune, stared at it for a few seconds, then back up at the display. It was pretty gaudy, all things considered, but he expected nothing less at this point. He’d have probably been disappointed if it was less then completely over the top. Some early trick or treaters were already about even though it wasn’t yet dark out. Little kids with their parents wearing costumes of super heroes, or animals or little monsters. Jack just waited as it grew dark and the lights around the spooky display came up. A fat bowl of candy sat on a low altar at the feet of the scarecrow with a sign that said ‘take one. Have a great night!’

A pair of teenagers came up as the sun was setting. They looked at the scarecrow who had no head and was holding its own jack-o-lantern carved skull under its arm and then at each other, unimpressed. They each grabbed a fistful of candy. “What a stupid scarecrow. Who you think they’re going to scare with that? Babies?” They laughed as they took another fistful of candy.

“The sign says take one,” a voice said and the teenagers yelped in fright as the scarecrow stepped down from its perch onto the low table.

“Ha! Yeah. You sure got us, man,” they laughed it off but Jack could hear their blood pounding.

“Pay attention to signs,” the voice said and Jack looked down at his paper fortune again. He folded it up as the teenagers scurried away and the scarecrow stepped down from the table. Or rather one scarecrow did. The scarecrow was still hung up there. There was just now a headless man standing on the sidewalk. “Damn kids get worse every year,” the scarecrow said and lifted the jack-o-lantern head up to put it on its shoulders.

“They’re teenagers, they can’t help it,” Jack said, stepping out from the shadows.

“Oh. You’re here. Was afraid you wouldn’t show,” the voice came directly out of the open mouth of the carved pumpkin that glowed with a fire light too steady to be candlelight.

“I’m always here, Gabriel,” he said nicely.

“You could have dressed up at the very least,” the carved face didn’t change but Gabriel’s voice was disapproving.

Jack looked down at himself. “I’m Michael Jackson,” he said, looking back up.

“Who?”

“You’re not that old, Gabriel. I know you know who that is,” Jack said, coming around to stand around him. Gabriel smelled like graveyard dirt, toasted pumpkin seeds and warm, worked leather. Even if he wasn’t wearing his head Jack always knew it was him by the pumpkin seed smell.

“But he had so many good looks.”

“It was the first good look,” Jack said.

“Oh. Gotcha. Going for the irony. I appreciate it,” Gabriel said and when he laughed the light in the jack-o-lantern flickered like it was caught in a strong wind. “Well, since you’re here, shall we see what there is to see?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Jack said. Among other reasons. Gabriel didn’t need to be privy to them.

“Let’s see who tries to take my head off first,” Gabriel said.

“I’m betting an annoying teenage boy,” Jack said.

“I’m not dumb enough to take that bet,” Gabriel said and Jack chuckled.

They wandered the neighborhood, ‘scarecrow’ and ‘vampire’, admiring the Halloween decorations and sneaking up on adults since neither of them cast shadows even when flashlights passed over them. More than once Gabriel made one of the smaller children scream in fright when he took off his jack-o-lantern head and lowered it to their eye level to keep talking to them.

The night went on, the Halloween festivities waned as the moon rose and Jack and Gabriel were the only two still out and about in the town. They walked past closed stores covered in Halloween decorations and eventually came to a park. “Here, hold this for me,” Gabriel said, took his head off and tossed it to Jack who caught it in surprise. Then Gabriel’s body ran off into the dark.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked and sat on a park bench, holding Gabriel’s great pumpkin head on his lap. Last time Gabriel had given him his head he’d wandered off with it and Gabriel’s body had gotten lost somewhere and they’d only found it just before dawn. Bad for the both of them. Gabriel could only exist in this world at night and Jack and the sun didn’t exactly get along.

“Nothing. Just letting my hair out,” Gabriel said.

“Gabe… you have no hair,” he rubbed the top of the jack-o-lantern to make a point.

“It’s a figure of speech! Man, you act like you’ve never heard one.”

“I’m teasing you. No need to lose your head over-

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Gabriel said, annoyed and Jack wondered how much he wished his head could move so he could scowl at Jack. Jack just chuckled. “This year was fun. I love Halloween.”

“Me too,” Jack said. Really he didn’t care about the holiday. It was just one of the few days out of the year he could see Gabriel.

“That’s good I- oh! Found it.”

“Found what? You better not bring something gross over here. I might be undead but I’m into dead things,” he groaned. Which was why he liked Gabriel so much. He wasn’t dead, or undead. He was just another sort of living.

“It isn’t gross. You’re such a sissy for a vampire, Jack. Only vampire I know who gets all weird about dead things.”

“Gabriel. I’m literally the only vampire you know.”

“That’s completely besides the point,” Gabriel huffed. “You see it yet?”

Jack looked away from the bright light that made up visage and out into the dark. “Not yet,” he said.

“Tell me when you do and go meet it.”

“Or I could just sit here,” Jack said and patted the side of the pumpkin head.

“Don’t be annoying vampire, boy.” Jack just chuckled and a few seconds later Jack saw Gabriel’s body come into view. He got up and walked towards it, holding Gabriel’s head under his arm. When he met up with Gabriel’s body he gingerly put the head back up on his shoulders. Gabriel rolled his head around a little on a neck he didn’t actually have and then held up what he’d found.

“Where did you find something like this? It’s midnight,” Jack said as he took the very strangely real and not disgusting and somehow not stolen large, red, lollipop

“Don’t question the magic,” Gabriel said.

“You realize I’m not going to eat it right?” Jack asked when they stood there a moment, Gabriel looking at him in what Jack could honestly onto describe as anticipation. “I can’t eat solids anymore. But I appreciate the gesture. It’s very nice.” At the very least he gave it a lick. It was very sweet. So long as he didn’t bite it he’d probably be alright, it was just sugar and he could deal with sugar, better energy source than blood but not nearly as good for him. He gave the lollipop a few more licks before very self consciously becoming aware of the fact that Gabriel was staring at him. Or he thought he was. It was so hard to tell with Gabriel if he was staring since his face was just a carving. If he had the ability to, he’d have blushed. Instead he just put the entire sucker in his mouth so he couldn’t lick it anymore then realized it didn’t fit in his mouth very comfortably and looked very awkward but was now too self conscious to take it out again.

“I thought you said you don’t eat solids,” Gabriel said.

“It’s literally just going to be sugar water. It’s fine,” Jack said around the sucker in his mouth like an asshole.

At the very least the rest of the night wasn’t as awkward as that. They spent the rest of the night just talking and Jack threw the lollipop away. Then it started to get early. Predawn lightened the sky and they headed back to where Gabriel’s effigy had been placed from earlier that night. There was no candy left in the bowl and the lights had been turned down. Unlike earlier the street was quiet, the lights in the houses all turned off. “Will I see you tomorrow night?” Gabriel asked as Jack stood with him by the decorations. The light inside his jack-o-lantern was dimmer now. His time was running out. So was Jack’s. He needed to get somewhere inside before dawn.

“Depends on where you pop out,” Jack said.

“I hope I see you tomorrow. It’s always more enjoyable when I get to spend nights on Earth with you.”

Jack smiled a little. “Careful, I’ll get all choked up.”

Gabriel laughed. “Goodnight, Jack.”

“Goodnight,” Jack said and he had to leave. His phone alarm was vibrating like a mad man in his pocket telling him dawn was coming. He found his car with the deeply blacked out windows and got in just as the sun came up. He sat in the driver’s seat and took out his paper fortune. He sighed. “Really? That’s four states away. I’m not going to get any sleep,” he groaned. Then he rubbed his face and drove off. He drove past Gabriel’s effigy and in the light it looked so benign and normal. Well, no time for that, he had to get to New Mexico.

—

Jack did manage to catch about three hours of sleep before dusk on November first. He’d driven all day and after staying up all night to be with Gabriel he was completely exhausted. While he slept he dreamed.

He dreamed of what had once been. He dreamed of Gabriel without a mask. His teeth a pearly crescent against dark skin when he smiled. His curly hair that turned light brown in summer and almost black in winter. He woke up smelling dried blood and looked around tiredly. It was just past dusk and he stumbled out of the driver’s seat. Before going off he changed his clothes behind the door of his car. Then with a yawn, he went off to find Gabriel.

He found him easily enough. He was sitting with some hispanic children around a Día de los Muerto display dressed as a skeletal mariachi with a guitar and he was singing some song to them in Spanish. His head was a perfectly intricate resin candy skull and when he talked the jaw even moved, meaning the decoration could also move. Jack stood back while Gabe strummed the big bellied guitar and sang some very happy sounding song. Then the song ended and Gabriel looked around and saw Jack was there. “Lo siento niños, eso es todo por ahora. Me tengo que ir, mi amigo está aquí.,” Gabriel said to their whining. Gabe had to step around them and tripped a little but caught himself so he came up just short of running into Jack. Instead he ended up standing right in front of him, his sombrero big enough to cover them both. “Jack, you’re here. I was afraid you weren’t going to come.”

“Slept in a little. Nice hat,” he smirked and flicked the black sombrero with a finger.

“I think it looks very dashing. Hides the fact that I’m a bone head.”

Jack laughed. “I don’t think anything could do that,” he said, still smiling.

He stepped out from under the shadow of Gabriel’s sombrero. “Día de los Muerto is a better holiday than Halloween,” he said.

“You won’t hear me argue that,” Gabriel said.

Unlike Halloween at the town a few states away the festival for Día de los Muerto had more to do. Along with visiting the dead it was basically a party and there was a two-day street fair going on that sold everything from candy skulls to tacos to every meat you could imagine cooked on a stick and about six thousand candy skull shaped souvenirs or offerings. There were also flowers everywhere that led to the graveyard in town so the ghosts and dead could find their way back in the morning. Everyone wanted a picture of Gabriel for his ‘amazing costume’ and Gabriel was in a good enough mood to allow it most of the time. A few times he even slung the guitar around and played something to the delight of everyone around. Jack just watched with a smile when he did and tried to stay out of photos so people wouldn’t wonder why he didn’t show up in their camera roll later.

Like Halloween the festivities eventually died down. The street fair shut down, people returned to their homes. The moon was almost full that night and even as many lights went out and if you didn’t stay in the well lit area of the street lights you could see just fine. Jack and Gabriel made their way to the graveyard where all the gravestones had been decorated and offerings had been left. Candles burned everywhere to help light the way for the spirits of the dead. They ended up sitting on a stone wall and Gabriel slung his guitar around and started to pluck at the strings. He played in silence for a little while before he started to sing in Spanish. Jack just closed his eyes and listened. Gabriel went back and forth between just playing the guitar and singing and they hardly spoke at all. By the time the night was coming to an end they sat back to back on the wall so they could lean against each other while Gabriel strummed on the strings of the guitar.

“Jack,” Gabriel said in the darkness of the early morning. The candles had all burned out by now and there was just the moon left. Jack admitted to dozing a little those last few hours while he listened to Gabriel play his guitar.

“Hmm?” he said tiredly.

“It’s almost morning.”

“Yeah,” Jack said and they leaned away from each other. Jack rubbed his face and they slid off the wall and headed back into town. They found the display with Gabriel’s effigy back where Jack had found him singing to the children. “I enjoyed tonight,” Jack said as Gabriel stepped up onto the first platform his effigy was hung upon.

“Me too,” Gabriel said. “Not like our usual nights,” he leaned over a little, shadowing Jack in his black sombrero.

“It was nice, though. Nothing wrong with a little quiet and a good musician to fill the silence.”

“Oh, you flatter me,” Gabriel said, his resin skull jaw clacking a little as he talked.

“I do that sometimes.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Depends on where you come out. If not I’ll see you for Dia de los Natitas.”

“That feels so far away,” Gabriel said.

“Heh… yeah,” Jack said. His phone started vibrating in his pocket. “Dawn’s coming. I need to go.”

“Same,” Gabriel said and pulled back. Jack turned and walked away, back to his car.

The sun’s first few rays struck him across the forehead as he dived into his car. He used his hand to check his head and only felt skin like a bad sunburn. So he wasn’t in danger. Good. He crawled to the back and laid down on the back seat for some actual sleep. Before he did he pulled out his paper fortune. “Damnit,” he whispered. Tomorrow Gabriel would be in fucking Rome. Of course, it was going to be in god damn Rome for All Souls Day. He couldn’t have popped up in some other catholic church, he had to show up at The Catholic church. There was no way he could get to Rome in time for tomorrow night. It was already tomorrow afternoon over there and he couldn’t easily get on a plane to get across the Atlantic. It’d take too long.

He sighed and resigned himself to having to see Gabriel on Dia de los Natitas. This time when he slept it was without dreams.

—

Fall was Jack’s favorite season. He hated all the others. Mainly because he was alone. It was like some great conspiracy that all holidays to honor the dead happened during the fall. Some cultures had dead honoring celebrations at other times of the year but few of them offered as good effigies as the major ones that happened in the fall around the world. August and September were good months. He got to see Gabriel a lot in August and September. Then after November ninth there wasn’t anything until April. Which was why April was the only non-fall month Jack actually liked because he could always fucking count on April.

Jack was the awkward, tall, blonde, American in the Chinese market on April fifth. He was wearing appropriate clothing at least and could speak enough Mandarin to get by without looking like a total fool. It was a market near a temple, and thus a graveyard. He kept looking down at his paper fortune. It was around here somewhere. It wasn’t any of the Buddhist statues. He left the market, tried across the street at the temple. Jack didn’t know all the rules and rituals for Qingming but it was a much more somber event than then fall festivals. There weren’t that many people out and most graves had a incense burning by them, and the temple had plenty lit as well.

Jack found Gabriel in the shadow of a pillar, following the smell of toasted pumpkin seeds. His effigy had been that of a monk but like usual his head was something else. It was always hit or miss for Qingming. Sometimes it was a mask, other times it was a dragon dog face. Once he’d literally just had a bucket on his head. This year it was a smiling Buddhist monk mask. Or something. Jack didn’t know a lot about Chinese traditions and admitted rightly to it.

“There you are,” Gabriel said when they found each other. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

“I always come.”

“You didn’t come for All Souls Day,” Gabriel said. Dia de los Natitas had been less pleasant because of that. Gabriel had been sulking the entire time. He’s just left his body somewhere and made Jack carry around his skull head the entire time because he was upset about it.

“It was across the world,” Jack sighed. “I said I’m sorry. Even if I’d gone you’d have missed me.”

“You didn’t even try.”

That annoyed Jack. “I’ve been coming to see you on death holidays for a hundred and fifty years, Gabriel,” he whispered harshly. “I look forward to them too. I’m sorry. I can’t teleport around the world when you come out on different continents. I wish I could. But I can’t.”

Gabriel looked away, annoyed but not at Jack. “Alright. I know I’m just being a brat.”

“No shit you are.” They stood in silence a minute, both stubborn about being annoyed at each other. Jack caved first. “Wanna go see where you came out?” he asked Gabriel. “We’ve never been here before. It could be fun.”

“Alright,” Gabriel said and after hesitating a moment Jack grabbed his hand and they walked out of the temple.

They spent the early night around the temple, looking in the store windows and the scenery. As later night came and things closed they spent the rest of the time in the park down the street, talking. Gabriel loved to know what Jack did when he wasn’t coming to see Gabriel. Jack told Gabriel about the things he did to amuse himself. He, in turn, tried to get Gabriel to talk about what it was like when he wasn’t on Earth. A hundred and fifty years and Gabriel was still cagey about it. He never said it was bad, it wasn’t like he was in hell or anything, but it wasn’t as interesting as Earth. And of course, Jack was on Earth and not where he went.

“Jack,” Gabriel asked as they walked back to the temple so Gabriel could step through his effigy before morning. Jack ‘hmmed’. “I’ve never asked because I never wanted to appear ungrateful but… why do you always come? It’s been a hundred and fifty years and you hardly ever miss an event. Why?”

Jack looked at Gabriel’s smiling mask and didn’t see the mask. He saw Gabriel’s face. His messy long hair and trimmed facial hair and frowning mouth that was deceptively easy to turn into a smile. Then he blinked and the smiling monk mask was back. He knew Gabriel didn’t remember. That was part of the deal. He’d never remember. If he did he’d never ask Jack such a question. “I just know what it’s like to be alone, that’s all,” Jack said. “No one should be alone. Especially on days like these. Especially since you don’t know anyone here. So I figure I’d do that.”

“That’s real nice of you. Heh, guess you’re as much of a boy scout as you look, then.”

Jack smiled a little. “Something like that,” he said as they snuck into the temple. They found Gabriel’s effigy.

“So what’s next? Gai Jatra?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. Five months. It was better than the five months between Di de los Natitas at least since Gai Jatra started the fall festivals when he’d see Gabriel more. He lived for Obon and Chuseck honestly. Three days in a row in August and September where he could see Gabriel and then there was the Hungry Ghost Festival between them. Sometimes that one lasted just one day, other times it lasted a few. It just depended. But he could always count on the Obon Festival and Chuseck. Had been harder to see Gabriel during Chuseck for a while because Korea had been divided but the Omnic Crisis unified all sorts of things and even if the Korean governments hadn’t been able to agree on some things they definitely agreed that they were willing to fight robots together. That turned into the country being reunified. “And you thought Dia de los Natatis seemed far away.”

“It’s going to take forever,” Gabriel groaned.

“Shit. I gotta go. Sun’s coming,” he said quickly as his phone started to vibrate. He raced out of the temple and past some very confused monks awake for morning duties. Luckily the gate was open and Jack managed to get into a building before the sun came up. He ended up being stranded in a cafe for part of a day but didn’t really mind. He just ordered a drink, went to the back, pulled his sunglasses on, and took a little nap before braving it outside in the shadows of the buildings cast to make it back to his hotel for a proper bit of rest.

—

The fairy tale was that the undead didn’t dream. That monsters couldn’t because they were monsters. Jack knew that was a lie. He knew because when he slept he dreamed. He dreamed of the sun and of Gabriel. The two were basically the same. He dreamed of the times before all this had happened.

In the first few decades of the twentieth century, Jack had been a young vampire. He’d been a mistake, he hadn’t been supposed to turn but his sire hadn’t left him with too much or too little blood and he had. It had been a really stressful time of his life and undead life. He’d moved to England because the weather was over all just better for vampires there since it was always so damn miserable. That and there were a few old covens there that didn’t get too up in arms when a new vampire showed up like some in America did and treated him like an infant. It was between the First and Second World Wars and times were good. Of course, until it wasn’t.

He met Gabriel when he’d come over to fight for the British since the Americans didn’t want any ‘negro soldiers’. Jack just kept his head down during the whole thing. Vampires could, potentially, make excellent soldiers since normal bullets couldn’t kill them and nothing short of being set on fire or getting your head cut off could stop them for long, but you’d have to disclose why you absolutely couldn’t go out and do day missions or day training and that just didn’t work. So Jack and his coven just stayed low. The coven ran a clinic in one part of London and a pub in another part. Got them a decent amount of blood without too many questions, and kept money coming in so they could survive. Jack helped at the pub as a bouncer since he was a modern guy’s height unlike a lot of his coven who were shorter from previous centuries.

Honestly the first time he ever met Gabriel he’d thrown him out of the pub for causing a scene and getting into a fight with some of the locals. To his surprise, he’d come back the next night to apologize and asked if he needed to pay for any damages. For the rest of the war any time Gabriel had time off he’d come by the pub, have a few drinks and chat with the staff. He always liked talking with Jack even though he was on the job. One thing sort of led to another and Gabriel asked him out on the down low. He’d almost said no but had done it anyway. It was the best and worst decision he’d ever made.

After the War had ended Gabriel ended up staying in London to help rebuild, and because Jack was there. He left the army and immediately grew his hair out long. It was Jack’s favorite thing. Even in his dreams he could smell it still. Just the soft smell of clean Jack swore smelled like coconut but Gabriel said he was crazy and just because his shampoo had coconut oil in it didn’t mean he smelled like god damn coconuts. It took Jack a few years to finally tell Gabriel why they could only meet at night, and why Gabriel was never allowed over his place. The coven didn’t allow humans in their communal housing. Safety issue. They didn’t care that Jack’s boyfriend was mortal, or frankly that Jack had a boyfriend, they just didn’t want one in their home. They didn’t like that Jack had told him he was a vampire. They didn’t do anything about it, they were just annoyed by it and because the end, they were still British and were too passive-aggressive to actually do anything to Jack. Gabriel had been shocked and angry for a few weeks but like always he forgave Jack.

They’d had a good time together. A decade and a half at least. Jack lived with Gabriel about three-quarters of the time but still went back to his coven because they’d become his family and employed him. Jack loved when Gabriel would come inside during the day and smell like heat and sunshine and wouldn’t mind when Jack would play with his hair or press their limbs together like through Gabriel’s skin he could still feel the sun. Jack watched Gabriel get his first gray hair and the realization that the man he loved was mortal finally hit him. It was the first, and only, time Jack ever asked if Gabriel wanted to be with him forever. And Gabriel, the fucking asshole who liked to fool people into thinking he didn’t have a heart, had just said ‘You deserve to be loved by someone other than me your entire life, Jack. You’re too good for that.’

In the late fifties, someone found out about them. Not that Jack was a vampire, but that the two were lovers. They hadn’t liked the idea, reacted violently to it Jack came home after a shift at the pub to a bunch of drunken white guys who’d broken into their home and the smell of blood. A lot of blood. They’d had bats with them but were good, god fearing, Catholics the lot of them and they’d run screaming when Jack had shown them just how big his teeth could get and threatened to drink their blood. He’d found Gabriel in their bed, beaten, bloody, and almost dead. Too weak to turn. The monsters had come in while he was sleeping since they knew they couldn’t have done anything to him while awake.

He hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just picked Gabriel up and taken him to his coven. They all liked Gabriel by this point and not just for the sake of Jack didn’t want him to die but there wasn’t a lot they could do on their own. Except one of them could. One of the older members, far older than any of them cared to remember, was a witch. Angela took Jack aside saying she could help. But if she did this Gabriel wouldn’t like as he was. There was no healing magic strong enough to save him entirely but she could save his soul, and not in the same way the church claimed they could. He’d just said yes because Gabriel hadn’t deserved this, and neither did Jack.

After the ritual Gabriel had ‘died’. Angela told Jack it had only worked because Gabriel hadn’t wanted to leave Jack alone and because Jack had loved him so much. She said that Gabriel was still ‘alive’ but in a way that was different from mortals, or even vampires. He lived now as a revenant-like thing, a wraith spirit of sorts that could pass into their world on the days when the barrier between living and dead were thin. Celebration days where people honored the dead and strong spirits could walk among them. To do so he’d possess an effigy set out to honor the dead at night but come the morning he’d have to do as all spirits do and return to where they had come from. It was the best she could do and if Jack ever decided that this should be over all he had to do was bury Gabriel’s head. Until then, she’d keep ahold of it. Angela still kept Gabriel’s skull in her parlor, waiting for when Jack could finally let Gabriel go, or when Gabriel finally asked to not see Jack anymore.

That had been almost a hundred and fifty years now. He did his best to never miss a day he could see Gabriel. In the beginning, he had because of travel costs and he just didn’t know where the hell to go. Then Angela had given him the paper fortune that told him when and where Gabriel’s effigy would be built. That and the fact that he was older, had made some good decisions in an effort to make money so he could travel easily, meant he didn’t miss many days now.

As the years dragged on his coven had asked why he never just got over Gabriel. He could find someone else. Jack knew he couldn’t. The truth was that in the beginning during the five-month dry spells he’d look for someone else. Not a replacement. Just like Gabriel had said. Jack deserved someone else to love him when he was gone. But he never found anyone who made him feel alive or as good as Gabriel did. Eventually, he stopped looking and his coven stopped asking. He knew they felt bad for him in a way but he didn’t let it bother him. The days he got to see Gabriel were the best days of the year.

Jack mainly dreamed of the fifteen years he got to spend with Gabriel in London. Or of the particularly good nights in the past century. Sometimes he had nightmares of blood and longing wishes that he’d killed those ignorant men who’d ruined his beautiful Gabriel. But usually the dreams were good. They were good enough that Jack didn’t want to step out in the noon day sun and be done with it.

—

For Chuseok Jack found Gabriel in a rural village in Korea. The merriment for the holiday was still going on even as dusk settled and the women were preparing for the ganggangsullae once it got dark enough and the moon came up. Jack, as usual, looked very out of place in this part of the world but really other than Halloween or All Saints/Souls Day he always looked a bit out of place. Gabriel’s effigy had been a person dressed as a cow with an unintentionally scary looking face. Jack had followed the smell of pumpkin seeds to him and found him in the back of a house, away from the festivities.

“You’re a cow twice in one year. Must be luck,” Jack teased him and gave his mask head a rough rub. Gabriel usually came as a person dressed a cow during Gai Jatra.

“I guess,” Gabriel just pushed his hand away.

“Everything alright?” Jack asked him. He was acting uncharacteristically moody tonight.

“I was just thinking,” he turned his ugly masked face towards Jack, “Not that I don’t appreciate it or understand. But why are you always here? What do you get out of this, Jack?”

Not for the first time, Jack thought about telling Gabriel. Angela said he’d have no memory of his mortal life. Jack had made the decision to keep their old relationship a secret so it wouldn’t be as painful for them. So Gabriel wouldn’t have to be hurt like Jack hurt. “I get to see you. Who doesn’t like having a friend who’s a spooky ghost? You know, spooky and sings songs to children and such.”

Gabriel didn’t find it as amusing as he’d hoped. “You’re lying to me, Jack,” he said. “It’s been a nagging feeling I’ve had for a few years, that you’re not telling me something. I was just ignoring it because I enjoy the company. Just because I’m… whatever this is doesn't mean I like being lied to and don’t know when someone is lying to me.”

“I’m not,” Jack lied like the lying liar he was.

Gabriel didn’t believe him. “Yes, you are. I like to think I know you pretty well. You’re keeping something from me. Something important. We’re friends, right? Why won’t you tell me?”

Jack looked at Gabriel helplessly. Part of him was scared of what Gabriel would do if he did remember. Would he be angry at Jack for doing this to him? He’d told Jack others should get the chance to love him and instead he was holding onto Gabriel because he still loved him. Or would he just not care? Would he become indifferent because it wasn’t a good answer? “I’m not lying to you,” Jack just said again.

Gabriel pushed off from the wall of the building. “Don’t fucking lie to me, boy scout,” he said and put his finger in Jack’s face for a moment. Then he stepped back. “I’ll see you when I don’t think you’re lying to me anymore,” and then he turned and walked away. Jack stood there in a stupor before going after him. Not quick enough though and watch Gabriel step up into the effigy he’d come out of. Jack stared at it. He didn’t know Gabriel could just go back at any time. He thought it was a time thing.

He pulled out his paper fortune. It was blank on both sides. He closed it, opened it again. Still blank on both sides. What did that mean? Usually it told him where Gabriel would come out next. Did that mean it only showed him where Gabriel decided he would come out? Or at least decided he’d come out but the place was still random. So was Gabriel not coming out for Halloween? Jack felt a fist squeeze around his unbeating heart. Was he not going to see Gabriel again?

—

Jack checked the paper fortune every day. It was always blank on both sides. He’d lay awake during the day in his room in the coven and hold it above his head, turning it this way and that like if he looked at it a certain way it’d show itself. It never did. For one hour in October it showed the thirty-first and a location before it disappeared again. He asked Angela if there was something wrong with the paper fortune but she said there was nothing wrong with it. Gabriel wouldn’t be coming through to Earth on the thirty-first.

Childishly he still went to where the paper had said to go. He found several good candidates for Gabriel’s effigy but none of them ever turned into a ‘man in a costume’.

The paper was blank for Dia de los Muerto and All Saints/Souls Day the next day too. It was blank for Dia de los Natitas later in the month and Qingming in April. Jack didn’t know what to do. He was just stuck now. It wasn’t like he could go and make Gabriel show himself. He was ‘dead’. He still checked the paper fortune, once when he woke up just before dusk, and once when he went to sleep after dawn. His coven worried about him but he just told them he was fine. He just focused on other things, like the fact that they had a new member so he was no longer the ‘baby’ anymore. It was a good distraction.

It didn’t show a time and place for Gai Jatra, the Obon Festival, the Hungry Ghost Festival, or even Chuseok. Jack didn’t let the rest of his coven know but it was driving him crazy. It had been an entire year and Gabriel still hadn’t come back and he felt like his heart was a raisin in his chest. The only thing that kept him going was what Gabriel had said, that he’d come back when he thought Jack wouldn’t lie to him anymore. By the time Chuseok came around Jack was ready to tell him whatever the hell he wanted to know. Just so Gabriel wouldn’t do this again. Five months at a time was painful enough. An entire year? Jack wouldn’t survive another year of this.

At a loss of what to do, he went to Angela. She’d done this, maybe she had some insight on how to help. He told her what had happened last year during Chuseok and what Gabriel had said. “Well, he’s just being stubborn,” Angela said.

“Can he like… see me out here? Or know things? Because I’d tell him.”

“No,” she said. “The spirits of the other world don’t know what goes on in this world. But they can interact with some things. It’s why some festivals directly involve the bodies of their dead ancestors and not just their spirits because they’re connected to the remains of their bodies.”

“Like bones?” Jack asked.

“Yes. Like bones,” Angela said and looked behind his shoulder to where Gabriel’s head sat on a shelf.

He looked behind him at it then back at her. “Could he hear me?”

“Maybe. I’ve never been really dead, so I don’t know. At the very least intent can be transferred across the barrier.”

“I’m going to feel dumb talking to a skull if nothing happens,” Jack said.

“Well, that isn’t my problem. You asked for help. Or you could decide that this might be a good time to say goodbye. You don’t have to torment yourself with this, Jack. You’re going to live, basically, forever. You could move on,” she frowned sadly at him.

“I don’t want to,” Jack said. “I still love him.”

She sighed at him, “Alright.” She got up, “Just put him back when you’re done. I like to keep an eye on him.”

“I will,” Jack said as she left the parlor. Jack sat there for a minute, figuring out what to say and then getting over feeling like an idiot to about to go talk to an inanimate object of his boyfriend’s old skull. He did get up and went over to the shelf and picked the skull up. Angela had attached the jaw to the rest of the skull so they wouldn’t get separated and he appreciated that. Still feeling a bit ridiculous he brought the skull back to the chair and sat.

He needed another minute to actually work up to talking to a fucking skull and not feel like a weirdo. Who knew if this would even work? But he figured, he was a vampire, there were weirder things in his life than talking to a skull. He lifted the skull up so he could look it in the eye holes. “Gabe,” he said. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was lying to you. I’m sorry I lied to you all this time. I’ll tell you the truth. Please, just come back. I miss you.” That was all. He put the skull back down in his lap and pulled out the paper fortune. It was still blank and he felt like he should just stab himself with a stake because that would be significantly less painful than a broken heart. Then, right in front of him, a day and place appeared on the paper. He stood with a yell but half way through realize he didn’t have a hold on Gabriel’s skull and it cut off short so he could fumble it before clutching it to his chest so it didn’t clatter to the ground. “Shit,” he muttered and checked the paper fortune again to make sure it really did say something. It was for Halloween. That was in a week. So he had a week to get his shit together.

He went back over to the shelf. “I’ll see you soon,” he told Gabriel’s skull and put it back where he’d found it before leaving Angela’s parlor.

—

This year Gabriel’s effigy was in the middle of nowhere. Or rather it was somewhere but no one appreciated it. Only one house in the neighborhood had put up decorations for Halloween. They’d gone all out too with a fake graveyard and decorated their front yard with spooky decorations. But there were no trick or treaters. They all went to another neighborhood where the candy was better. The decorated house didn’t even have a bowl a candy out front and no one was on the streets. Anyone who wanted to do Halloween had gone somewhere else so even the houses were empty and dark. For all Jack knew he was one of the few people even around.

The sun went down and Jack got out of the car but didn’t go over to the setup. He just leaned against the driver’s side door and waited, watching the elaborate decoration of the headless horseman, waiting. He checked the paper fortune one more time but it was still there. Gabriel hadn’t changed his mind. He was still being a stubborn dickhead about it, though, which seemed about right, because he didn’t step out of the effigy until half an hour past sunset. Jack immediately smelled toasted pumpkin seeds as Gabriel half fell half climbed off the display, having to grab the front of his jack-o-lantern head so it didn’t roll off his shoulders. Then he stood up and looked around. He saw Jack leaning against the car and went over to him.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” Jack said and couldn’t help himself. He reached out and touched the side of Gabriel’s pumpkin head like it was his real face.

“I heard you,” Gabriel said. “Somehow,” he cocked his head to the side a bit in confusion. He didn’t understand how he’d heard Jack. “You going to stop lying to me now?”

“Yeah,” Jack said softly. “Let’s go somewhere else so anyone around doesn’t wonder why a guy like you is wandering around in an empty neighborhood.”

“I could be going to a costume party, they don’t know,” Gabriel said, indignant. “We should go to one of those again, maybe. They were fun.” Jack had Gabriel get in the car. He had to take his head off to fit and put it in his lap so Jack could drive out of the neighborhood to a dirt road that went somewhere and nowhere but mainly just to get them out of the public eye. Jack turned off the car and looked at him, then down at his lap where his head was. “This is going to be a really awkward conversation if I have to look down at you the entire time.”

“My head doesn’t fit in here I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” Gabriel said and Jack could imagine the sarcastic eye roll. As it was his hands tipped the pumpkin on its side to at least attempt to simulate it. Jack got out of the car, Gabriel did too. He put his head back on as Jack leaned against the hood of the car. “So. What do you have to tell me?”

Jack looked down the empty dirt road for a few seconds. Then he looked at Gabriel. “I always come see you because I’m in love with you,” he said. Gabriel leaned back in surprise, his head seeming to come loose so he had to hold it in place.

“W-what?” Gabriel asked.

Jack sighed. “I’m just going to start at the beginning. Alright?” Gabriel nodded. So Jack did. He started at the beginning and told Gabriel everything. About them, about the assholes who’d beat him to death for being a homosexual, about what Jack and Angela had done. He told Gabriel about the paper fortune. About the fact why Gabriel never came back with a face, because his skull had never been buried. He told Gabriel why he’d never told him too, that he just wanted to be with him without both of them having to suffer through the separation. It took him a little while. There was a lot to tell.

Then he finished and there was silence between them. Gabriel just stood there, looking at him. Jack didn’t know what else to say to him. So he just said nothing. They stood in the darkness of just the star, moonlight and the light that came out of Gabriel’s head for a while. Jack watched the moon move across the sky over Gabriel’s shoulder.

Gabriel moved first. He took a few steps over to him and punched him, right in the face, with more force than he was expecting and he half slid off the hood of the car. “You asshole,” Gabriel hissed. Jack stared up at Gabriel in surprise and then Gabriel grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him up. “You did exactly what I told you not to do you fool,” he shook Jack a little.

“Huh?” Jack asked. He hadn’t told Gabriel about what he’d said.

“You jogged my memory. I remember it now. I remember us. You stupid stupid-” he just shook Jack some more saying that over and over in English and Spanish he was so annoyed with Jack.

Jack had enough after about thirty seconds. He grabbed Gabriel’s wrists. “Stop that,” he said and made him stop, pulling his hands off Jack’s shirt.

”You should have let me go.”

“I wasn’t- I couldn’t do that,” Jack was furious at the very thought.

“And now what? Now we’re in a loop. We’ve been doing the same thing for over a hundred years. Nothing’s changed Jack,” Gabriel folded his arms and with the scary pumpkin head and the sharp leather costume looked rather intimidating. “This isn’t good. For us but especially not for you capullo.”

“I had to watch you die, Gabriel, in my arms. I would have been better if you just got old. At least I could have said goodbye. I didn’t. Instead, you were just gone. I’m sorry I couldn’t just stop loving you,” he used sarcasm to hide how much it hurt him to have to say that. “But I couldn’t, alright? I even tried. I tried for ten god damn years after you were gone in the summer and winter months. I couldn’t.”

They stood there in silence. “I understand, Jack. But I don’t forgive you,” Gabriel said.

Jack’s heart broke. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you-

“Why? So you could keep lying to me? Keep hurting yourself? It’s been a century, Jack. Let me move on. You deserve it too.”

“I lost you once, Gabe. Don’t tell me to lose you again.”

Gabriel stood in front of Jack. In life, they’d been the same height but the jack-o-lantern and boots added about four inches. He half expected Gabriel to punch him or shake him again. Instead, he just grabbed Jack’s face in both hands and Jack had to look into the flameless light coming from the inside of the jack-o-lantern. This close the smell of toasted pumpkin seeds was almost overwhelming. “Let me go, and I’ll come back,” he said.

“That isn’t how it works, Gabe,” Jack lifted one hand to hold Gabriel’s hand in place against his face.

“You literally trapped my soul in a purgatory state where I can’t go forward or backward,” Gabriel’s voice was sort of menacing.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said softly. “I just love you, I just missed you. Love makes you do stupid things.”

Gabriel sighed. “Let me go, Jack,” he said seriously. “If there’s any justice left for people like me or vampires, I’ll come back to you.”

“You believe that? Really?”

“God wouldn’t have had me meet you if he didn’t have something in mind for us, Jackie.”

Jack closed his eyes, is brows drawn down, and took a deep breath. “Alright,” he whispered. “Alright.” He looked back at Gabriel. “Swear you’ll come back to me.”

“You have my word,” Gabriel said. Jack didn’t know if he was being truthful or not or if he was just saying shit to make Jack feel better but he wanted it to be true. He wanted to hope that somehow, someway, Gabriel would come back to him.

“I’ll uh… contact Angela, tell her to give your skull a proper burial. So you can rest.”

“Now?” Gabriel asked.

“If you want me too,” Jack said but hated it. He hated it.

“I do,” Gabriel said softly.

Jack sighed. “Alright.” He pulled out his mobile and with his other hand reached out and touched the side of the jack-o-lantern. He knew Angela was probably sleeping but he called her anyway. He had to call her twice before she woke up.

“Hello?” she asked, half asleep.

“Angela, it’s Jack.”

“Oh, Jack. What a pleasant surprise. Not. Remind me to lock you in a coffin when you get back.”

“I need you to do something for me.”

She sighed. “What?”

“Bury Gabriel’s skull for me,” he said looking at Gabriel as he said that.

Angela didn’t say anything for a second. “You sure? Did you two fight or something?”

“No. No, nothing like that,” Jack assured her.

“Jack, if I do this, he can’t come through anymore.”

“I know,” Jack said with a swallow. Gabe’s fingers toyed with some of his hair like he used to and Jack almost told her never mind. “Just… do it for me.”

“You don’t want to do it?”

“No. I wouldn’t be able to. And then he’d go away alone again.”

“Well, it’s still daylight here, Jack. It’ll have to be in a few hours when I can go outside. Is that alright?”

“Yeah. That’s fine,” Jack said. “Try to do it before daybreak here.”

“I’ll try,” she promised him.

“Okay. Thank you, Angela.”

“Your voice and words don’t agree, Jack.”

“I’ll see you when I get home,” and with that Jack hung up. “She’ll do it once it’s dark out over there,” he told Gabriel.

“Good,” Gabriel said.

“I’m going to miss you,” Jack said.

“I know.”

“I don’t think I’ll stop loving you either.”

“I know, Jackie, I know,” and Gabriel hugged him. Jack hugged him back.

They ended up staying the rest of the night in the car so just in case it took Angela a bit longer than expected Jack wouldn’t be in danger. Gabriel had his body sit out on the road since he wouldn’t need it anymore and didn’t need to go back to the effigy anymore. Jack sat in the passenger seat with the jack-o-lantern in his lap. They talked most of the night. Mostly about their time together in London, or the especially good nights they’d had together in the past century. Costume parties Gabriel always won or parades they’d seen or parties they’d crashed. Or the ‘tamer’ things they’d done like two years ago Dia de los Muetro or being in Tokyo during the Obon Festival, or the time Gabriel had been mistaken for someone else’s stand in cow during Gai Jatra despite very obviously being an adult.

Dawn was an hour or so off when Jack got a message from Angela saying she was going to bury the skull now. “Well… that was Angela. This is it,” Jack said.

“Don’t sound so upset, Jack. You get to say goodbye this time.”

“Asshole. I don’t want to say goodbye,” Jack snapped. The messenger dinged. Angela was giving him until the hour before he finished the burial. That was in three minutes.

“I’ll be back,” Gabriel said.

“You better be,” Jack said, rubbing the side of the pumpkin. “I never asked. Can you feel that? Me touching your mask?”

“I can. Kinda,” Gabriel said. “It’s a sensation I know is you touching me, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah. It does.” Jack said with a slight smile. “Goodbye, Gabriel,” he said and kissed the jack-o-lantern between the carved mouth and nose.

“I’ll see you again, Jack. I will. I love you.”

A few seconds after he said that, before Jack could get out his own ‘I love you too’, the light dimmed in Gabriel’s jack-o-lantern head. Then it too faded and became nothing in Jack’s hands. Jack sighed and leaned back in the seat, staring out the window even as the sun rose over the trees. When he stared into the sun behind the tinted windows he convinced himself that was why his eyes were leaking and not because he’d started crying.

—

Sometimes he still looked at the paper fortune. Just to see if it ever changed. It never did. A hundred years passed and it never changed. Jack kept it on his bedside table in his room in the coven house. After a few decades he’d just stopped looking at it because it just made him sad.

It was sometime past four in the morning. Outside London was asleep, for the most part. Their pub was closed and everyone had come home from a night of work. Jack was laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Across the room the TV was playing a rerun from earlier that night. It was one he’d seen already so he was only half paying attention to it. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, just enjoying how soft his bed was after a shift on his feet when someone knocked on his door. “Yeah?” he called.

Someone stuck their head in, “Hey, Jack, come see.”

“See what?” Jack groaned. He just wanted to lay in bed all night and have half a pint before he went to sleep.

“Visitor. New kid,” they said cheerfully.

“Uhg. I’ll pass,” Jack turned his head away to make a point. From here he could see the paper fortune. He hadn’t actually looked at it in about thirty years and he knew it was just his imagination that made him think he could see writing on it.

He could feel their disapproving look from across the room, “Reinhardt said everyone needs to come see the new kid. They’re fresh risen from Portugal. C’mon.”

Jack groaned and complained under his breath even as he rolled out of bed and stomped out of his room, not even putting on shoes. “Alright, where are they?”

Jack followed them down to the main foyer where the rest of the coven had gathered and Reinhardt was introducing their newest member. For some reason it smelled like pumpkin spice in the place but he had no idea why. Which loser had bought pumpkin pie syrup for their coffee out of season? The fresh risen was a darker skinned man in his late twenties, early thirties at most, with a mohawk made of loose curls and what could honestly only be described as racing stripes shaved into the buzz on both sides. He was tall and toned but Jack wouldn’t have called him muscular. He wasn’t all Portuguese, there looked like there was some North African in him too, not entirely a surprise. Next to Reinhardt he was a shrimp but so was everyone else so that wasn’t saying much.

“Alright, is everyone here?” Reinhardt asked as everyone finished shuffling into the foyer. Jack remembered when he’d been in that position, shoved up under Reinhardt’s meaty arm, meeting his new coven for the first time. “We have a new brother tonight. Just flew in. I expect you all to make him feel welcome after his last coven threw him out because they’re right idiots.” That got a bubble of laughter from a few of the coven. “Introduce yourself,” he encouraged.

“Ah, hello,” he had a very nice sounding voice and accent Jack liked immediately. “My name’s Gabriel but you can call me Biel. Heh, only my mamá called me Gabriel.”

Jack distantly heard everyone welcoming him but he was just staring. A few people went forward to greet the new member of their family properly and he graciously accepted it but he didn’t seem like a very happy sort of guy so didn’t smile. Jack was just rooted in place. Biel looked from those directly around him to scan the rest of the coven and his eyes stopped on Jack. There was no one behind or right next to Jack, he was definitely looking at Jack. He smiled a little, just a slight quirk of the lips, right at Jack and Jack felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. Instead he just smiled back.

If you liked it, do me a solid, reblog it. Likes are nice but just like any artist reblogs and comments/tags are better. Or scream at me in my inbox. I’m sure that last bit caused quite a bit ;)

[junker-town]

The 10 coolest bowl matchups of college football’s 2017-2018 bowl season

Other than the Playoff, of course.

Bowls are divisive. There are too many! They are an outdated concept! They are a celebration of mediocrity! We should expand the College Football Playoff and get rid of them!

To some degree, all of the exclamations above are true. But it doesn’t matter. Bowls are amazing. They are expensive participation medals, sure, but they are true sports socialism in the best possible way. They are also bonus football. Why would you want less bonus football?

To get primed for the 2017-18 bowl season, let’s look at the 10 coolest matchups of bowl season.

10. The Basketball Score Bowl

Reinhold Matay-USA TODAY Sports

USF’s Quinton Flowers

Birmingham Bowl: USF vs. Texas Tech (December 27)

Yes, some people actually like defense. Yes, if every game was 59-52, it would probably get boring. But having the occasional 100-point, 1,000-yard track meet can be delightful.

While neither USF nor Texas Tech completely fit their own stereotypes — USF’s defense didn’t allow more than 31 points to anyone not named UCF, and Texas Tech was a little worse than normal on offense and a little better than normal on defense — let’s not pretend we’d be surprised if this game went bonkers. Fingers crossed.

9. The Brett Favre Bowl

Southern Miss’ Brett Favre

Independence Bowl: Florida State vs. Southern Miss (December 27)

In the eight seasons between 1987 and 1994, Florida State suffered only 11 losses: six to Miami, one each to Florida, Notre Dame, Clemson, and Auburn ... and one to Southern Miss. The Golden Eagles opened the 1989 season with a victory over the No. 6 Noles. The 30-26 win was capped by a touchdown pass thrown by future NFL gunslinger Brett Favre with under 30 seconds left.

This year’s battle in Shreveport won’t carry quite the same level of gravitas. Florida State isn’t Florida State, and Southern Miss doesn’t have a Favre. But anything that allows us to reminisce is fun.

8. The DeLoss Dodds Bowl

Photo by Jamie Squire/Getty Images

Missouri vs. Texas, 2011

Texas Bowl: Missouri vs. Texas (December 27)

Early-November 2011: Missouri announces it is following Texas A&M in escaping the Big 12 for the SEC.

Mid-November 2011: Missouri and Texas play for the last time.

February 2013: Now-former Texas athletic director DeLoss Dodds accidentally reveals he’s still a little miffed about it by bringing up Missouri without prompt.

"We're going to have good years again," Dodds promised. "Our bad years are not that bad. Take a school like Missouri. Our bad years are better than their good years."

Fans of both schools have already been reminded of that quote a few times, and the bowl pairing isn’t even 24 hours old yet.

7. The Turnaround Bowl

Photo by Steve Dykes/Getty Images

Arizona’s Khalil Tate

Foster Farms Bowl: Arizona vs. Purdue (December 27)

Purdue head coach Jeff Brohm is one of the best tacticians in college sports and engineered a stunning turnaround, both in the macro (the Boilermakers improved from 3-9 to 6-6) and micro (they lost four of five, then rallied to get to six wins) senses.

Arizona head coach Rich Rodriguez was on a very hot seat after falling from 10 wins in 2014 to three in 2016 and starting this season 2-2. But then he handed his fate to sophomore quarterback Khalil Tate, who proceeded to rush for nearly 1,500 yards, throw for almost 1,300 more, and engineer a 5-1 stretch that saved Rodriguez’s job and made the Wildcats one of the most exciting teams in the country.

You’re interested in fun tactics, big plays, and two teams that are excited to be playing, right? Thought so.

6. The Zombie Bowl

Kim Klement-USA TODAY Sports

Bahamas Bowl: UAB vs. Ohio (December 22)

UAB’s football program was killed for spectacularly stupid reasons, then brought back to life with a completely rebuilt roster. Somehow the school kept head coach Bill Clark, however, and he has pulled off a feat of a lifetime: in the Blazers’ first year back as a zombie program, they were not only competitive — they won eight games and played genuinely good defense.

Their reward: a trip to the Bahamas to face an Ohio that was one of the best in the mid-major universe in October but stumbled down the stretch.

5. The Redemption Bowl

Photo by Mike Comer/Getty Images

Orange Bowl: No. 6 Wisconsin vs. No. 10 Miami (December 30)

Wisconsin started 12-0 but came one score short of a Playoff bid. If the Badgers can rebound with a win in South Florida, they’ll likely finish in the top five for the first time since 1999.

Miami started 10-0 but collapsed over the final two weeks, first getting upset by Pitt over Thanksgiving weekend, then getting humiliated by Clemson in the ACC title game. Still, a win over Wisconsin would prompt their first top-10 finish since 2003.

Both teams are dealing with disappointment; only one will find redemption.

4. The Statement Bowl

Photo by Logan Bowles/Getty Images

Peach Bowl: No. 7 Auburn vs. No. 12 UCF (January 1)

It is one of the cruelest things about college sports: half of FBS begins the year hoping for a “told you so” opportunity, not actually a shot at the national title. UCF has been awesome in 2017 but couldn’t even crack the top 10 of the CFP rankings because of a schedule its players and coaches had no control over.

Regardless, the Knights certainly still have a chance to prove themselves. Auburn’s maybe the least favorable matchup of any major bowl team they could have been pitted against — the Tigers have a dynamite defensive front (like Washington) and an efficiency offense that could run them ragged (perhaps unlike Washington). Still, UCF can send a message for all of the Group of Five with an excellent showing.

3. The S&P+ Bowl

Photo by Brett Carlsen/Getty Images

Fiesta Bowl: No. 9 Penn State vs. No. 11 Washington (December 30)

If S&P+ were used to determine an eight-team Playoff (which I don’t necessarily recommend), one of the quarterfinal matchups would have been No. 4 Washington vs. No. 5 Penn State.

The Huskies flashed as much upside as anyone in the country but laid a couple of eggs offensively. The Nittany Lions lost two games to top-20 teams, on the road, by a combined four points. These are tremendous football teams with all sorts of star power — Penn State’s Saquon Barkley and Trace McSorley, Washington’s Vita Vea and Jake Browning — and one will finish with 11 wins.

2. The Finally Bowl

Matt Kartozian-USA TODAY Sports

Arizona Bowl: New Mexico State vs. Utah State (December 29)

If you think bowl games are overrated, if you would simply prefer some giant, 24-team playoff that ends bowls or whatever, then I’m not sure we can be friends.

One of my favorite subplots of the 2017 season — as any Podcast Ain’t Played Nobody listener knows — was tracking New Mexico State’s quest for its first bowl since 1960. The Aggies were competitive in early losses to Arizona State and Troy, and they rallied to win three of their final four games to finish 6-6. And their fans rushed the field like they had won the national title.

http://pic.twitter.com/nb6U2kQWeI

— Bill Connelly (@SBN_BillC) December 3, 2017

Winning football games is really hard. Hell, fielding a football team is hard considering the number of moving pieces and the volume of people required. New Mexico State has been fielding a team for decades and will finally get a postseason reward for it. Endless kudos to head coach Doug Martin and everyone involved. Watch this game.

1. The Nostalgia Bowl

Photo by Harry How/Getty Images

Cotton Bowl: No. 8 USC vs. No. 5 Ohio State (December 29)

USC and Ohio State have played in the Rose Bowl seven times and claim 19 national titles between them. This is the definition of a nostalgia bowl. It is a celebration of two blue blood programs, a combination of uniforms* that should make everyone happy.

It should also be a hell of a game. S&P+ likes the Buckeyes quite a bit more than the Trojans, but USC looked mostly excellent after that mid-October dud against Notre Dame. And the quality of the matchup should mean neither team suffers too much of a “shoulda made the Playoff” hangover heading into kickoff.

* I echo ESPN’s Rece Davis, by the way: let’s make sure that the uniforms are the uniforms, not some sort of gaudy, gross alternate jerseys. Looking at you, Buckeyes. Scarlet and gray, please.