#the entire american exceptionalism thing where a lot of americans can straight up not imagine not being the centre of the world

[cruelsister-moved]

that videos killing meeee seriously it always sends me when americans dont realise how literally every country on earth hates them so bad 😭😭😭nobody wants u<3 

[wolfgrowlwrites]

Tribe of Rushing Water Analysis

Since people were curious both on my thoughts about the Tribe of Rushing Water in Canon and how I’ve rewritten them in my fic Ties that Bind, here’s the massive post on it. If you read this entire thing, thank you.

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Alright so I’m not much of an internet funnyman but I was an English Major and someone with a hyperfixation on the Warrior Cats series so it’s time to analyze the Tribe! The following post will include Spoilers for Watership Down (yeah the rabbit book, I’ll come back to this) and I will speak openly about the Warriors Series as a whole with the assumption that the people reading have already read the books in question. The goal of this is to discuss the Tribe’s narrative placement in the story, and what I’m doing with them in my rewrite.

Now Warriors was originally just going to be one book, and then six, and then first three books of the second arc. The weird effects this has on the narrative and tone is best explored elsewhere, but I bring this up because Midnight, Moonrise and Dawn were meant to be a trilogy ending the series. And this trilogy was based on nothing other than Watership Down, all of which is important to consider when we talk about the Tribe. The Tribe was meant to only appear briefly, which means there was no need for fleshing them out, and they are the Warriors parallel of Cowslip’s Warren.

For those of us who haven’t read Watership Down, it is a story about a bunch of rabbits who have a prediction of the destruction of their home and set out on a quest to find a new one. (Sounds familiar right?) One of the dangers they run into along the way is what originally appears to be a friendly warren run by a rabbit named Cowslip. The rabbits immediately find themselves on edge, as while this warren is exceptionally friendly there is the underlying evidence that something is wrong. When they ask questions the natives to the burrow deflect and dance around answering, and while their customs seem similar, they’re different enough to be unsettling. Behold, I’ve described the Tribe in Moonrise. And like the Tribe, the fact that Cowslip’s Warren is hiding is that there’s something extremely dangerous hunting them. Cowslip’s warren is being maintained by humans who are actively snaring the rabbits, and the Tribe has Sharptooth who is also hunting them. In fact, the snares almost kill one of the traveling rabbits, while Feathertail does end up dying to Sharptooth.

(Thank god I’m doing this on Tumblr not Twitter, god this thread would be unbearable.)

(For those who have read Watership Down, Brook is probably supposed to be Strawberry.)

So narratively, the Tribe are there to be a hinderance to the traveling cats who seem friendly and similar to them but have a danger to them that will put the traveling cats at risk. That is the role they’re meant to play, and as the series was meant to end after Dawn, the Erins didn’t need to flesh the Tribe out really beyond that.

But then money and the publishers spoke and the series continued and we returned to the Tribe except uh… huh. Honestly I kinda don’t want to get into this because it’s the same thing every time. The Tribe, who when we first meet them are described as huge and able to fight eagles, and are well adapted for life on the mountains, have encountered some problem and only the Clan cats can save them. Rinse and repeat. And as someone who has attempted to figure out the Tribe’s Allegiances, if you thought they were bad about remembering details for the Clans oh boy. For specific citations of the Tribe needs the Clans help, oh no, please see Moonrise, Outcast, Sign of the Moon, and Tawnypelt’s Clan. Sign of the Moon in particular because a Clan cat straight up choses the Tribe’s new leader. Can you imagine how the Clans would react if a Tribe cat tried that?

But it’s okay right because of the whole time-travel thing which means that Jayfeather actually founded the Tribe and named the first Stoneteller. I could write an entire essay on how much I hate this plot point, but that’s not the point here. The more important part is that some how the Tribe went from names like Stone Song, Half Moon, Lion’s Roar, Clear Sky, Gray Wing, etc. to names like Brook where Small Fish swim. I, as a white guy, don’t want to touch the racism there, I’m pretty sure other people have explained it better than I can, but the short version is that a group named the Tribe with names like Jagged Rock where Heron Nest comes off like a stereotype for Native Americans, at least from my white American experience. So, uh, solid yikes on that one, especially when those aren’t even the names they use (because of course not they’re a fucking mouthful) which gets to the world building point I’m gonna touch on instead.

The Ancients become the Tribe but somehow the names grow so long that they all have to go by nicknames that… almost resemble what Ancient names were to begin with? I understand this is because the Tribe’s naming convention got established before the time loop thing, but honestly, there is no reason they should’ve been named like that and in fact more reasons why they shouldn’t have. Between the racism and then from a writing perspective, what is the point, of having names like that if they’re never used? Like narratively it makes no sense from the start, and the Time Travel plot only makes that more obvious.

All that said, I actually super adore the Tribe! I wish they’d been handled differently in a lot of places but they had so much potential to be cool that got lost along the way. So thus, we come to my rewrite. If you’re just here for Tribe Analysis you’re free to go, but if you’re here for how I’m rewriting the Tribe than settle in.

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In my rewrite the Tribe has Ancient names from the get go, because it makes more sense and allows for the Tribe to serve its original narrative function, that is, a place similar to what the Clan Cats are used enough to be comfortable, but different enough to be unsettling. The Tribe has ancestors not unlike StarClan but I have the Tribe’s worship working very differently. Stone Tellers are raised from birth to serve as a guiding force for the Tribe because they are the ones that can speak to the ancestors, and every full moon, when the Cave of Pointed Stones glows, they lead their tribe to speak with their ancestors, in something not unlike a gathering, but it is meant to be a form of remembrance, as they are sharing news with their ancestors instead.

The Tribe has very extreme views of their ancestors, refusing to take the Tribe of Endless Hunting’s name in vain. It is also believed that a Tribe cat that has passed cannot move on to the Tribe of Endless Hunting until a final task has been completed. This task is something the cat would’ve wanted to do while alive, but didn’t get to, so now one of their family, or a close friend, does it in their place. (To a reasonable extent, for example telling someone that the cat who died was in love with them, not settling down with them to raise a family because that’s what the dead cat wanted to do.) Those who have not moved on linger as ghosts. They don’t have stars in their pelts, and they don’t have the ability to see the future to warn their Tribemates the way StarClan or the Tribe of Endless Hunting do. They are capable of speaking to those who can see them, usually Stone Teller, but otherwise they tend to simply watch and wait for someone to help them move on.

The Tribe believes that the future is chosen by the Tribe of Endless Hunting, to challenge their omens is the most heretical thing a cat can do. The current Stone Teller decides a cat’s future when they are born, Cave-guard, Prey-Hunter, or rarely, the next Stone Teller. Those kits are taken by the current Stone Teller once they’re old enough to be weaned and raised in the Cave of Pointed Stones. Their name is chosen by the current Stone Teller and stripped from them when they become the next Stone Teller. Stone Teller is meant to be the ancestor’s conduit to the living and an impartial leader to the Tribe. However, not every leader can live up to those expectations, and should the Tribe begin to doubt the current Stone Teller’s capability to guide them, they can make a new cat leader. This cat would do the job of leading the Tribe, while Stone Teller continues to serve as the medicinal and spiritual leader. This rarely happens, and when it does it is rarely so clean cut, as no one particularly enjoys admitting they’ve made a mistake and need to be replaced as leader.

The Stone Teller is assisted in leading the Tribe by the head of the Cave-Guards and the head of the Prey-Hunters, these are seen as the cats that are best at that job and capable of quick decision making and good judgement calls. They often work together to organize hunting patrols and discuss issues in the territory, often presenting Stone Teller with their solutions alongside problems.

Honestly the Tribe won’t be playing a very large role in my rewrite as a whole, but since they have an entire arc dedicated to them, I wanted to make sure I had them well fleshed out. There’s a few details I’ve left out because this is long enough, but if you’re curious about anything I’ve said either about the Tribe or my rewrite, hit me up.

[thenightling]

The Dodged Bullet

Warning: This is deliberately bad!

The dodged bullet:  

The following is the horrific notion of what would have happened if The CW, Fox, or Syfy adapted Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman instead of Netflix.   This is going to poke fun of common tropes of Fox and CW shows.  See if you can spot them all.

I am going to deliberately write this very, very badly.

             The generically attractive young man in his early-twenties walked toward the crime scene.  He wore a long leather jacket, designer sneakers, expensive brand-name jeans, and a stylish and perfectly fitted black polo style shirt under the jacket. It was rumpled but just so as to hint at what a great body he had under it.  He had thick, dark brown hair.  Brown eyes, a smoldering gaze and a dazzling smile.  He’s Caucasian and generically attractive.  He’s thin but not rake thin, more like sexy male model thin.   He’s got muscle tone.  

           At the moment he looked stoic, hands resting in his pockets.  He crosses the yellow crime scene tape without anyone stopping him.  No one questions his presence but he is not invisible. This is “grounded” in reality, folks.  

           The Sandman solves crimes!  The Sandman is a private investigator with a secret. He is a real Sandman!  Hidden in his jacket is a leather pouch which will probably get used maybe once or twice an episode (budgetary reasons).   And he gets confused by certain social cues and pop culture references but otherwise he’s just a generic hot guy.

           He’s probably portrayed by a Tom Mison type. He might be American. There’s an English accent but it’s so slight (so hidden by Americanisms) that it’s almost undetectable.   He approaches the pretty, ninety-pound, college age female detective with perfect, blond hair.   She looks up at him.  

           “Hey, Murphy.” She says in a friendly tone.  Yes, Murphy is his alias. She thinks he’s just eccentric and thinks he’s The Sandman but he gets results!  

           “Detective Walker.” He smiled with obvious affection. He crushes on her, pines for her. But she mustn’t ever know the truth. It is forbidden for one of his kind to be with a mortal.  Even if she is a Vortex.  And her great power may one day destroy the world…  or save it!  That’s the real reason he was here, to watch her. He had never expected to fall in love with her…

The show has almost no scenes in The Dreaming and when there are it’s about 90% CG over green screen, like the Enchanted Forest sets of Once Upon a Time, or the under-whelming Hell of Lucifer.  There’s probably a throne room with a starry night sky behind it, and an under-whelming “vast” library on par with Belle’s library in Once Upon a Time that will be shown very rarely.

           “We’ve got another one.”  She said gravely.  “Eyes torn out.  Pretty girl. Whoever this creep is- this predator must be stopped!”   The implication here is the victims are all damsels who have been targeted by an evil man targeting them for misogynistic reasons.  But don’t worry!  The show is totally not sexist!   Detective Rose Walker kicks ass!   And in season four she’ll be raising her own long-lost little brother!  Even though it’ll take her at least five seasons to learn Murphy’s secret (if she ever does).  

           “I thought the ‘me too’ movement would have at least reduced some of this.” She said with a shake of her head in disappointment at the world.

           The line of dialogue doesn’t actually really make sense under easy scrutiny.  Why would “Me too” actually make a serial killer reconsider his life choices?  Oh, well, the audience doesn’t have enough time to question it.

           “Me too?”  The adorable, awkward, pretty “Murphy” questions.

           “Boy!  Where have you been?  In a cave?”            “Actually I was trapped inside a prison cell for a hundred and five years and before that I resided in another dimension.”

           She rolls her eyes.  “Not this again.   Tell me you can at least figure something out with your ‘Dream powers’” she said cynically.   He might have been insane and socially inept but he got results!

           Morpheus knelt down next to the body and placed his hands on the corpse. There isn’t even any SFX for this. He’s just sensing something.  He grunts in a sexy portrayal of sexy CW level pain.  

           “What? What is it?”

           “I think I know who did this…”

           “Who?”

           “Corinthian…”

             (Opening credits here.  Maybe the opening riff of Enter Sandman by Metallica.  No, wait, Fox and CW can’t afford that.   It’s Mr. Sandman by the Charlottes!  It kills the mood but everyone knows the song.  You’ll be sick of it by episode five if you weren’t already.  And it will get a LOT of use since the song is cheap / practically public domain.)

           The next scene is not present day.  It’s a flashback.  And by flashback I mean a hastily put together set in Vancouver Canada.  It’s probably someone’s private stables being passed off as a medieval village.  No, wait. Its eighteenth century.  There’s a sexy other character wearing slightly anachronistic style sunglasses hiding his eyes (No CG here, the production team figures the glasses are enough).  In fact his eyes might not even be weird at all. He just likes sunglasses!  There, that’s better, no wasted money here.   He’s wearing a badly fitted white wig over white hair.  

           “My king,” the sunglassed man says with a bow. We have to be blunt for our easily distracted audience, so there’s the reminder that this is the dream king. “Thank you for letting me accompany you to the waking world.  There are such delicious things here.”

           “Yes, the food is rather pleasant.” Morpheus replies. His costume is decently fitted but obviously borrowed from another show, possibly a left over from Buffy The Vampire Slayer.  Those props and some period costumes still get use.  Isn’t Morpheus adorably oblivious, though?

           Morpheus is wearing a dark blue frock coat and lace. His trousers are exceptionally tight to show off the actor’s perfect ass.

           The Corinthian’s costume is cream colored. There was a behind the scenes fight and as small victory for the one crew member who actually read Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman in getting the cream outfit.  Others working on the show wanted the costume to be black to make it more obvious he was the bad guy.        

           An attractive, tall, black man (probably American), under the age of thirty, is behind Morpheus.   This is his loyal manservant, Lucien.  But it’s totally not racist making the dreaming librarian / butler black when the show hasn’t had any black characters yet.  No, it’s inclusive!  

           The attractive black man speaks.  “My Lord, I think he intends to do harm to the mortals here.”

           “Nonsense, Lucien. I’m certain it’s fine.”

           The Corinthian wandered away from his master and he soon drags off attractive young female into an alley, hand over her mouth.   No, The Corinthian isn’t gay anymore in this version.   But it’s okay.  Hob Gadling, Morpheus’ immortal friend (who now runs a bar for some reason) is gay!  He’s very gay.  In fact that’s the extent of his entire personality.  But isn’t this diverse and inclusive?!   And there’s no more problematic gay nightmare, even though in the original comics The Corinthian gets uncreated and the second Corinthian is a relatively decent guy for a nightmare.  

           After some persuasion Morpheus finally listens to Lucien and walks down into the alley.   He stops in his tracks when he sees The Corinthian has killed the girl and his licking his fingers, having obviously already eaten her eyeballs (gotta keep that TV-14 rating!)   He lets out a gasp.  “Corinthian, what have you done?”

           We cut back to present day and “Murphy” is walking into the bar owned by his friend, Hob Gadling . Hob sees him and smiles. “Murph, oh, honey, you look like Hell! Come sit down and tell me all about it.   You know I love juicy gossip.” He says in a naisly, lisping voice.

Imagine this scene was written by some very straight guy whose only exposure to gay people were 1990s Will and Grace reruns.  

           Hob places a shot glass in front of Morpheus and Morpheus downs it quickly. “Have you seen Matthew?”

           Matthew was Morpheus’ straight human friend and roommate.  He had learned Morpheus’ secret in the pilot episode when Morpheus rescued him from a car accident using his dream magick.   Ha!  And you thought we’d have talking birds in this thing. Lol!  No!  Grounded, remember?

           “Matt?  Oh, sweetie, you can do better than him.  I keep telling you, he’s just not your type.”

           Morpheus raises an eyebrow but says nothing about the implication about his sexual identity.  There will be a LOT of queer baiting on this show without confirmation in regard to his sexuality.  

             “I need to talk to him.   One of my nightmares is loose in the city.”  You can tell this was written by a New Yorker because they take for granted “The City” to mean New York.  

           “One of your Nightmares?   Why couldn’t it be one of those sexy wet dreams?”  Get it?  Because if the character’s gay he has to always be horny!!!  Ha-freakin’ –ha.  

(Please know I don’t actually feel this way. I’m mocking bad TV writing.  This whole thing is a spoof.)    

           There’s an awkward pause intended for the viewers to laugh.

           “I don’t believe any water nymphs have escaped The Dream dimension.” Morpheus replied in confusion.

He calls it The Dream Dimension in the show because “The Dreaming” didn’t sound hip enough according to some executive.

“I’m afraid it’s The Corinthian.  So now I have two problems.”

Hob nodded sympathetically.  “The detective you might have to kill…”

“And now this.”   This is an idiot proofed recap for people turning on the show late or just watching it in passing while doing other things or playing on their phone.  CW does this sort of in-story forced, shoe-horned exposition all the time.

The episode plays out a little bit like an episode of Lucifer mashed into an episode of True Blood.

While they’re trying to find the killer, Detective Rose Walker meets Murphy’s roommate, Matthew, and the two hit it off while chatting about Murphy’s weirdness.  They decide to start to date.   As Morpheus has feelings for Rose that he won’t admit to this causes a strain between him and Matthew Raven (There’s that bird reference!  What?  That should be Lucien’s last name?  Naw!)  And between him and Rose Walker.  

Morpheus lashes out rather than admit to what he is truly angry at and he and Matthew argue over something petty and this leads to recovering alcoholic Matthew to start drinking again as sad music begins to play.  

Morpheus eventually finds The Corinthian and is forced to destroy him.  He had to kill his own creation so he is kneeling in angst crying prettily while the sand left over from the uncreation slides through his fingers.  Some new female cover of Queen’s Who Wants to live Forever? Is playing in the background.  The original version is “too old” and too expensive for use. So here’s a very generic sounding cover done in a style that makes it blend in with every other pop song played during the forty five minute mark of a CW show’s run time (including commercial breaks).  

           The song plays as we cut to Matthew drinking alone sexily in an alley.  He’s sweaty and wet, but he just looks like a wet fashion model.   Morpheus is sexy crying over the sand that was the Corinthian, and Rose going to sleep prettily in her bed, no bed head here.  Oh, and she sleeps in perfect makeup!  There’s no scene where she even remotely looks like she’s out of makeup.

 She’s having strange dreams but they look pretty mundane.  Like real-world mundane.  It’s her living room set that we probably saw a few minutes ago, just dimmer lighting and some haze to make it clear this is a dream.  Because even with a show about The Dream Lord, dreams have to have an old fashioned camera fringe haze.  Murphy is there with his back to her.  He looks sad.  He turns to look at her and she gasps.   She sees a star (lense flare) from Murphy’s eyes in the dream as he looks at her in surprise like he wasn’t expecting her to see him.  She wakes up with a gasp, and everyone in her apartment building also wakes up at the same time, signifying that their dreams were connected.

And so ends what was probably the third episode of CW (or Fox’s) The Sandman.  

And that is pretty much how CW or Fox would have done The Sandman.

[hyungsnkisses]

Tattoos

( ~ o l d  r e q u e s t ~ )

♡ contains fluff and angst, viewer discretion is advised

♡ word count: 6.6k

♡ Describing how a soulmate makes you feel is difficult. It’s a tenacious, profound and lingering emotion which no words can encompass. Why did it have to be Min Fucking Yoongi? 

                                     ♡                      ♡                      ♡

If you had a dollar for every time someone had asked you if you were okay today, you’d be rich beyond your wildest dreams. The deep set scowl adorning your face was very out of character for you. In fact, it gave you the opposite effect of what you had hoped to achieve. 

You could tell why your parents were soulmates - they were perfect for each other. They both laughed at the same TV commercial with the dog that sang about a cleaning product, they both shared an interest in baking and classical music, they even finished each others sentences sometimes. Why did your soulmate have to be the polar opposite to you?

Your parents had given you “the talk” when you were sixteen, sitting you down with a hot chocolate and a box of tissues - both of which ended up being unnecessary. For being honest, you have completely forgotten that on your 18th birthday a name would appear engraved in silver script on your wrist to signify whom you should seek to live forever with. Until the clock struck midnight last night and a searing pain in your right arm brought you out of slumber. It was like no other pain you had ever felt before, like tiny needles were jabbing at your arteries and your flesh was being burned with a red hot poker. You imagined this was what getting a real tattoo felt like, but it didn’t ease your racing mind and your churning stomach. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours, but once it was over it was as if nothing happened. There was no blood, no bruising, and you were returned to the silence of your darkened room. You pulled at the curtain to offer some light from the full moon onto your view and stared at the simple name in shiny silver lettering written on your wrist.

Min Yoongi.

Gasping in shock, your first thought was to try and scrub your skin raw in hope that it would disappear, but you remember your mother telling you from experience. “All it did was make me more miserable,” she had told you. Your second thought was to cut your arm off, but that would have caused a far bigger mess than the one you were currently in. So, while lying on your back in a starfish shape staring up at the glow-in-the-dark planets attached to your ceiling, you did the last option. 

You self-consciously tugged at your long sleeves for the millionth time this lesson, struggling to focus on the whiteboard with lots of equations you didn’t understand, taunting at you for not accepting the offer of a tutor. Math was not your strong point, but today it felt as if your brain had melted from your ears and pooled on the floor around you. Why on earth did Min Yoongi have to be your soulmate? You were polar opposites.

Min Yoongi was barely at school, occasionally dropping in on his exceptionally loud motorcycle and attending one or two classes per week. His presence was like that of a really bad car accident; you couldn’t help but stare at him even though you didn’t want to. When he pulled his helmet away from his head, the bleach blonde locks that he shook gently fell into the perfect place. Some days he tucked a headband under his choppy bangs, and some days he opted for a baseball cap that pulled the hair flush to expose his forehead. He was the definition of a college frat boy without the obnoxiously arrogant personality. You had watched from afar many times as he rejected yet another girl whom confessed their love to him - what they saw in him you had no idea - with a firm shake of his head and a tug on his backpack. When he graced the hallways of your school he kept his head down despite everyone staring at him, but caused a scene during breaks where he would harass freshmen for answers to the next classes pop quiz or for their lunch money. He was an odd fellow that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You were so distracted by thoughts of your ‘soulmate’ that you had completely forgotten it was your birthday. You were soon reminded when you were finally free from your lesson to find a birthday banner hanging from your locker. You sighed, twisting the dial to unlock the container. You were immediately hit in the face with helium balloons.

“Happy birthday, Y/N!” Your best friend, Seoyun, called from down the hall, her dark curly hair cascading down her back. You had always been envious of her, ever since the day you were seated next to each other in Health, and today you wished she wasn’t her usual bubbly self.

“Please don’t remind me.” You huffed, wading through the streamers and balloons to fish out your music book. You had barely touched the corner of it before bolts of electricity spiked through your lower arm and caused you to whip away in excruciating pain. You put it down to heightened sensitivity due to the name reveal and that it was just a regular electric shock, as when you tentatively grabbed the book a second time you were fine. Weird.

“What’s got you so down in the dumps?” She asked, resting a hand on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes at her. “Oh! You got your name!”

“Do you want to scream that any louder?” You hissed in annoyance, walking towards the cafeteria to grab a coffee. You needed something to keep you going for the rest of the day. 

“So... Who did you get?” Seojun pressed, poking your sides. You swatted her away, requesting an iced americano with an extra shot and moving to the collection area.

“I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t want you to laugh at me as well.” You sighed, looking over the cafeteria. There was a 15 minute break between period 2 and 3, then lunch was an hour long. You looked over all the tired seniors desperately studying for finals that were a couple of months away, their tired forms slumped over a laptop or a mountain of books. You empathised with them as you were doing the exact same, just not during school hours. You couldn’t possibly study as well as learn new things, that didn’t compute in your brain. 

“One iced americano with an extra shot for Y/N?” The barista called and you collected your drink, feeling a warm buzz of energy from the cup. What was going on with you today? The cup felt as if it was vibrating in your hand, the dull thrum jolting throughout your entire right arm. 

“Come on, Y/N. It can’t be as bad as not having one, tell me!” Seojun pressed one final time and you huffed, switching your coffee in your hands. You sympathised with Seojun, as she was probably the most excited person for her 18th birthday. It meant she was able to find the one she would spend her life with, and sadly she wasn’t blessed with a name. You felt guilty for being so embarrassed with your mate; Seojun would kill to be in your shoes, even if it was Min Yoongi. The buzzing of your coffee was still present in your other hand, although not as strong, so it couldn’t just be the effects of the name reveal process last night. Seojun gasped audibly as she looked at your rolled up sleeve, her eyes wide like saucers. You simply nodded in an ‘I told you so’ type of way. 

“I told you it was bad. Anyway, I’ll see you later.” You waved at her as you parted ways down the corridor, making your way to your music class. You took a sip of the strong substance in your hands, the taste hitting you like a truck. Your vision blurred and you suddenly felt dizzy. What the hell is going on? Your mouth had become dry and you couldn’t see straight, the corridor moving in ways that only happen in those stupid American comedies. There was a brightness from the high windows that caused a headache to sear through your eyes, the situation becoming so overwhelming that your legs buckled underneath you. All it took was a blink, and you were transported into a different part of the school. It took you a few seconds to place where you were, registering the principal’s office from the large green potted plant in the corner and the family photo on the desk in front of you.

“Your grades are dropping dangerously low. Myself and your teachers are concerned that you may have to retake your last year of school again.” The principal was looking at you with sympathy in your eyes. What? This can’t be right, you thought, my grades are near enough perfect.

“Sir, with all due respect, I have a lot happening in my home life, so it’s difficult for me to come into school every day.” A raspy voice that didn’t belong to you spoke, sounding very familiar. There was a dull haze in the corners of your line of vision, registering that you weren’t the one in the principal’s office. You felt like you were in a daydream, but you knew for a fact it wasn’t your own. 

“We can put procedures in place to help you, Yoongi. That’s what we’ve been telling you for the last six months.” The principal spoke again. Did he say Yoongi? Were you trapped in Yoongi’s mind somehow? 

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need your help. What I need to do is go home.” Yoongi politely declined and left the principal’s office. You watched through the fog and brightened scene before you as Yoongi made his way through the corridors and into the parking lot of the school, seating himself on the back of his motorcycle. He sighed, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. The smell filled your nostrils and you contained the reflex to cough up your lungs. While you knew that it was a daydream and not real, you were unsure if Yoongi would be able to hear you if you uttered even a single sound. He took a sip of the drink he had been carrying, and soon the bitter liquid flooded your tongue. Americano.

“Y/N? Y/N, wake up.” Someone was smacking your cheeks and you sat up abruptly, swallowing your mouthful of coffee. “Good, you’re awake, are you alright?”

“I... I think so.” You mumbled, looking at your surroundings. Quite the crowd had gathered in the hallway to gawk at your confusion, your coffee spilled on the floor in front of you. You could practically hear the tutting from the janitor already. The school nurse crouched in front of you and helped you to your feet, gave you a brush down and asked if you wanted to call your parents, which you refused. All you wanted to do was go to your class and get the hell out of there. You straightened your skirt and made your way down the corridor, all the while question flooded your mind. Did Yoongi know that you had seen his private conversation with the principal through his eyes? Had Yoongi experienced the same with you? You wondered if he felt the same as you today, the weird electric shocks and buzzing. You wondered if your name was etched into his skin with the same silver script, and if he detested the knowledge as much as you did. You wondered if he was suffering as much as you.

“Y/N! So nice of you to finally join us.” Your music teacher, Mr. Kwon, snarled at you. He already took a disliking to you because you had undermined him as a musician more than once with your piano skills, but your tardiness seemed to add to the pile.

“Sorry, Sir, I fainted in the corridor.” You placed the pink illness slip onto his desk and his hard stare softened for the smallest of moments.

“Very well, be seated please.” You took your seat at the keyboard in front of you, logging into the computer and loading the recording software. For your final piece of coursework, you had been assigned to compose an original song that had personal meaning. While you had been toying with a few idea, you were supposed to be completing the task with a partner and, up until today, your partner had been skipping class. You sighed, slipping on your headphones and listening to what you currently had. You hated to admit it, but writing sad songs was probably the only thing you’re good at. You were usually a very bright and bubbly person, but as of late you had been feeling miserable. Maybe it was because you hadn’t even thought about going to college despite the application deadlines being months ago, and you had no clue what you wanted to do with your life. All you know is you loved the piano. The track that you’d started was a slow song, focused on the higher notes as the main melody. It was a good start and, while you were good at the piano, you had no idea where to start with percussion and even writing the lyrics. That’s why you were hoping your partner would be good at those things, but they are still a no show. You sighed, knowing you’ll have to accept failing your best subject.

“Miss, Y/L/N.” Mr. Kwon’s voice brought you out of your thoughts and you slipped off your headphones, shifting your body to look at him. His face was as stern as always. “Just so you’re aware, I’ve contacted your partner and explained to him that as this is an extension class and attendance is compulsory, he will be joining us next lesson even if it kills me.”

“Okay, thank you, Sir.” You offered a weak smile and he returned that was much warmer than he had ever been since you started at this school.

“Are you getting on okay at the moment?” He asked sincerely and you nodded.

“I’ve gotten the basics down, I just need to figure out what kind of percus-”

“No, Y/N, I mean in general. You seem a lot... quieter today.”

“Oh.” His statement takes you aback, you weren’t expecting to have a heart-to-heart with the teacher that hates your guts. “I’m going to be honest, Sir, not really.”

“My door is always open if you need to chat.” He smiled warmly at you once more before returning to his desk, the dull tapping of your classmates’ keyboards becoming the backing track as your thoughts clouded over once again.

-

Your next music lesson seemed to come in a flash, despite your birthday celebrations separating you from your endless studying. There was an odd sensation that had settled deep in your stomach right after you ate breakfast. Was it nerves? Was it something bad that you’d eaten? The bread you toasted certainly wasn’t mouldy, and the strawberry milk tasted alright, you just couldn’t pinpoint it. But when the butterflies began fluttering in your abdomen, you knew it was anxiety for something. Perhaps because in a few minutes you would meet your mystery partner and be able to finally finish your assignment with a reasonably good grade. You arrived to class a little earlier than usual, skipping your regular americano break, though you could still taste the strong coffee on your tongue. It was odd; recently you could taste tings in the back of your throat that you don’t remember eating. Take last night, your mother had made a delicious beef casserole, yet you went to bed tasting instant noodles and Pepsi. And right now, there were hints of a powdered donut to accompany the bitterness of coffee. You were too scared to speak to anyone about it in case you were going crazy.

“Okay class, pop your headphones on and get to work please.” Mr Kwon announced when walking into the room, seating himself at his desk. A dull heat pooled in your feet and spread up to your calves, twinkling its way around your nervous system. You felt like you were on fire yet freezing cold at the same time. You daren’t roll your sleeves in fear of someone catching a glimpse of your name. You knew it was nothing to be embarrassed about as 80% of 18 year olds receive their name the night of their birthday, but you wished your name was anyone else. Literally anyone else.

“You’re working with Y/N.” You heard Mr Kwon’s faint voice through the noise-cancelling headphones, and the butterflies increased and fluttered dangerously in your chest. You wondered if Yoongi was feeling how you were feeling as well. You snorted at the potentiality of Yoongi, the school’s bad boy, getting nervous. The heat seemed to rush to your head and you felt as though hot lave was about to pour from your nose and mouth.

“Hi.” A faint yet familiar husky voice spoke and you turned your head slowly to look at your partner. You felt as if the wind had been taken from your chest as you finally made eye contact. Time seemed to stop still as you took in every detail of his features: the dark brown eyes set deep into his socket, with eyelashes that fanned out over the tops of his cheeks when he blinked. The dip in the middle of his petite nose that centred his face. The faint acne scar on his right cheek, paired with a light graze accentuating the angle of his chin. His chapped bottom lip that was encased by his pearly white teeth. His blonde locks that fell into his eyes, with a beanie pulled over his ears. He waved his hand in front of your eyes and you blinked rapidly, regaining the moisture you’d lost from staring.

“I-I’m sorry, how rude of me to stare, I’m Y/N.” You cleared your throat a little, holding your hand out but struggling to meet his gaze. When his hand touched yours it was like someone had let off tiny fireworks in your brain, the popping and pinging sounds paired with bright colours seemed to put your reality into HD. You adjusted your glasses and finally brought your gaze back to him. He was grinning at you. “What?” 

“Oh, nothing.” He stated, finally letting your sweaty hand go and watching it fall back into your lap. “Yoongi.”

“Yoongi.” You repeated, smiling to yourself. It sounded even better when he said it. You shook your head a little, opening the software and loading the file you had previously recorded. “So, this is what I’ve come up with so far. You can change it if you want, but to be honest we don’t have much time left to re-compose...”

“No, it’s fine, it’s my fault for not turning up so we’ll go from here.” He nodded, pulling the headphones over his small ears and listening to your track. You studied his face while he listened intently, his fingers tapping to the rhythm you created, a smirk tugging at the side of his lips. Once the recording had come to it’s end, he slipped the headphones off and looked at you, smiling.

“So what do you think?” You asked sheepishly, trying to ignore the warm feeling that had settled into your stomach.

“Did you record this yourself?” He asked. You nodded.

“Wow, you’re very talented, Y/N. All we need to do is add some bass and vocals and you’ve got yourself a song.” He praised. You could feel heat spreading to your cheeks and forming a blush. You had never been complimented on your instrumental work before and it was definitely something you wanted to hear more often. Yoongi rid himself of the same black zip up sports jacket he wore almost every day, leaving him in a white long sleeved shirt, which his rolled his sleeves up. He seemed like he knew what he was doing from the way he was flicking the cursor all over the computer screen, bringing up tabs with long names you’d never seen before a tapping keys. You put your own headphones on to hear what he was doing, listening to the individual beats as he tried pairing them with the piano accompaniment. You admired his skill, being able to work a programme you still hadn’t got your head around, and you couldn’t help but wander your eyes to his wrist. You were curious, was he feeling the same things you were? Did he even have a name on his wrist? You unconsciously tugged at your own long sleeves, afraid of what he might think to know he’s potentially stuck with you as a soulmate. You even hated the word ‘soulmate’. It just all sounded so made up to you, and now that it’s happened it felt even more made up. But the head moving to your hands that were dangerously close to his made you think otherwise. 

“So I’ve got a couple of beats that I’ve been working on at home that we can layer underneath - nothing too heavy, the piano you’d created sounds pretty so I don’t want to drown that out.” Then he pointed towards the monitor, and you saw it. Clear as day. How could you have missed that?

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Which one do you want to do?”

“Oh... Whichever you prefer.” You smiled, but inside your heart was doing somersaults in your chest. Min Yoongi had your name on his wrist.

-

The next couple of weeks had you actually looking forward to your music class and spending time with Yoongi. The school knew him as a bad boy that rarely turned up to school and smoked in the non-smoking areas, but you were getting to know a different side of him. A side that you liked, and could potentially fall in love with. Now that was moving too fast, but your entire being buzzed with excitement every time he was even near you. During break, you went to grab your usual iced american and without even looking up you could sense he was already at the counter ordering the same as you. It’s like your father had said, “once you know who it is you will feel connected to them, like a little piece of elastic tying the two of you together”. And it was, because as soon as the warm feeling radiating your stomach travelled to him, he’d look up in search of you. Once his chocolate eyes laid on your dull green ones, he smiled. Grabbing two americanos and taking a sip of one, he handed the other to you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Yoongi... You know my coffee order?” You took the cup from his outstretched hand.

“I guess my lucky hunch was right.” He shrugged, flashing his teeth in a cheeky grin. “I was wondering if you wanted to work on the music project during study break? I’ve booked the recording room so we can get some vocals down if you like.” 

“Yeah, sounds good. Do I need to bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” Yoongi smiled, letting his hand linger on your shoulder for just a little bit too long before walking in the opposite direction to you, your gaze absentmindedly following him along with the inferno he created on your skin. Thank god you decided to wear a t-shirt today, or there would be a literal fire on your shoulder. Time seemed to move slowly as he waltzed through the cafeteria, stopping only to turn back and flash a gummy grin at you, sending waves of warmth across your forehead and down your throat. While you had accepted his offer of working on your song, you were shitting yourself. You and Yoongi, alone, together. That was one sandwich away from a picnic disaster. 

For once, the school day seemed to drive by faster than a formula 1 car, and before you knew it the last bell had sounded in the corridors and you were anxiously awaiting the school bell to signal the beginning of study break. You rushed to your locker and stuffed your music notes and any other books needed for homework into your backpack and hastily pulled the straps up your shoulders. You walked reasonably faster than usual to the recording studio located at the back of the music building, peering through the small glass window in the door. Your eyes fell on the back of his signature black zip up jacket and watched as he busied himself with scrolling through instagram, but as the familiar warmth bubbled in your toes he looked over towards the door, locking eyes with you and a smile growing on his face. You waved gently at him, pushing open the heavy soundproofed door and entering the room.

“Hey.” He said when you sat yourself down on the wheeled chair next to him, your arms so close that he could touch you if he wanted.

“Hey-Yoongi? What happened to your face?” You gasped, eyes darting from the bloody gash on his cheekbone, the gentle graze on his nose and the dried cut on the left hand side of his lip. You wanted to cup his cheek and take a proper look at them, but you feared he would misunderstand your intentions or slap your hand away. His eyes softened and his brows furrowed as he handed you a set of headphones. 

“Oh, just something at home. Let’s get this song finished.” He offered you a final sheepish smiled and watched intently as you pulled your hair away from your shoulders into a ponytail and slipped the headphones over your ears. “I’ve been playing around with some lyrics and did a few recordings before you arrived, did you want to have a listen?”

“Sure.” You watched as Yoongi darted the cursor over the two connecting screens and pressed play on the current recording. Your soft piano melody filled your ears sweet as honey, complimenting Yoongi’s rough growl and melancholic lyrics perfectly. 

“That’s right, I live because I can’t die But I don’t have anything I want to do I’m in so much pain and loneliness but people around me Keep telling me to regain my consciousness I try to vent my anger but I only got myself So what’s the point of venting my anger I’m scared to open my eyes every day and start breathing”

You gently tugged the headphones from your ears and placed them on the desk in front of you, rushing over to the recording booth and telling Yoongi to hit the red button. Your inspiration was suddenly flowing through you like the first drop of water after a drought; Yoongi’s words were so perfect and so relatable that at that moment you truly felt like his soulmate. Like you were two pieces of a messed up puzzle that fit perfectly. You cleared your throat and listened to the piano melody filling your eardrums and began singing the word exploding in your thoughts.

“So far away, if I had a dream If only I had a flying dream Don’t fall away, if I had a dream If only I had a flying dream”

“W-wow, Y/N... Your voice...” Yoongi’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish gasping for air, and you felt your face flush with embarrassment. 

“Was it really that bad?” You mumbled, kicking at the scuff on the front of your new white shoes. 

“Let me take you on a date.” Yoongi blurted, eyes wider than saucers. Your gaze shot up to meet his in shock. Now it was your turn to be the goldfish.

“What?”

“Please.” Yoongi got up from his seat and joined you in the recording booth, at least a head taller than you. “Those lyrics, that voice... I think I just fell in love with you.” He cracked a grin and you couldn’t help but smile back. You didn’t expect this at all from Yoongi. In fact, you don’t think you’d ever seen him smile that big before, and your heart was beating so fast you were sure it was about to explode. Your head was nodding before your thoughts had registered what nodding would actually mean for you. It means you just agreed to go on a date with Min Yoongi. Your soulmate.

“Pick me up at seven.”

-

You heard the familiar rumble of his motorbike and felt a warmth in your lower legs before you saw him, shouting to your mum that you’d be back late and dashing outside to greet Yoongi. As he pulled up to your front door and hushed the engine, you took a minute to take in his appearance. He was dressed in ripped black skinny jeans and combat boots, paired with a white button down shirt and a leather jacket. He looked nothing but delicious, and you had to fight the urge to salivate at the sight. 

“You ready?” He grinned, holding his spare helmet in your direction. It was a soft lavender colour and had a butterfly sticker on the front. You offered a confused expression and waited for the explanation. “Oh, it’s my sisters.”

“Ah that makes sense, I don’t think lavender is your usual colour.” You giggled, slipping the helmet over your head and clipping the clasp under your chin. Yoongi held his hand out to help you climb behind him, and you gripped his shoulder for support while trying to ignore the electricity zapping into your fingers. Your inner thighs made contact with his lower back and a dull vibration spread through your upper legs, becoming more intense when Yoongi started up the bike and you wrapped your arms around his waist. You felt him let out a shaky sigh before revving on the engine and zooming out of your driveway.

The ride ended far too soon for either of you likings, the vibration dulling from the lack of contact as you hopped off the bike and took in your surroundings. Yoongi had taken you to a quaint little pasta restaurant close to campus, the menu carefully placed in between ivy and beautiful flowers. There was a soft romantic ambience about the place as you were shown to your table (in the far corner of the restaurant where barely any people would disturb you, no less) and a basket of bread with dipping oil was waiting for you to devour. 

“I picked from the menu in advance, I hope that’s okay?” Yoongi spoke in a much softer voice, and your sudden increase in heart rate made you question what this man was doing to you. 

“No, that’s okay.” You smiled, peering around at the soft candlelit glow and the delicate table decorations. “This place is beautiful, how did you find it?”

“One of my friends told me about this place, about how romantic and special it was... I wanted to bring someone special here one day.” 

“Oh...” You felt your cheeks heat up at the sentiment, tucking your feet under your chair and sitting comfortably. Yoongi did the same, watching you gaze around the restaurant in awe once again. He couldn’t help but smile at you fondly. 

The date went as smooth as you had predicted; you had spilled water on the table cloth before your starters had arrived and when you excused yourself to go to the bathroom you noticed a piece of herb stuck in your tooth. How long was that in there?! you wailed, picking at it before fixing your gloss. The bubbly warmth in the pit of your stomach was itching for you to hold Yoongi’s hand, or something, you didn’t know how long you could stand it anymore. So when he invited you back to his place to finish the music assignment your heart jumped at the opportunity. 

-

When you pulled up to Yoongi’s house you were almost overwhelmed; it was a lot bigger than your own, with a double front door and neatly trimmed hedges lining the plot of land. Yoongi led the way, unlocking the right hand door and walking into the large hallway. He tossed his shoes on the rack and replaced them with black slippers, offering a pair for you to do the same. You slipped on the purple fluffy slippers - his sister’s, you presumed - and followed Yoongi up the large staircase and into a small room to the left of the bathroom. The walls were a bright white, the various units littered with recording equipment and all sorts of trackboards. You were in absolute awe, the amount of branded equipment in this room alone must be worth the same as what your entire house cost. 

“Wow.” Was all you could manage, taking a seat in the spare desk chair and wheeling yourself towards the large monitor behind an 88 key grand piano keyboard. Yoongi flitted from place to place on the monitor just like he did at school, pulling up your assignment and opening various other files and layering them with your own.

“I’ve been working on a couple of things to make the track stand out a little better. So there’s a couple of bass notes that can be in the background, and...” Yoongi spoke a lot softer in the comfort of his own home, his deep voice causing your mind to wander. You wondered how soft his hands felt when they touched your own, what kind of shampoo he used to keep his hair so vibrant all the time, what detergent he used to keep his clothes smelling fresh all day long...

“Y/N? Are you even listening to me?” He scolded, but he was grinning. You shook your head, looking at his amused expression.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t.” You admitted. “I’m just... Wow, Yoongi, your house is incredible.”

“Yeah.” He deadpanned, looking back at the monitor. “Perks of divorced parents.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to-”

“It’s fine. Really.” Yoongi reassured, but you knew you had pried too much. You retracted your hands from on the desk in front of you and placed them in your lap, picking at your cuticles.

“Hey, it’s fine, I promise.” Yoongi’s voice was softer again, his attention completely focused on you. You looked up at him, focusing on the bruising around his eye that was fading.

“What happened to your face?” You spoke after a while, your throat hoarse.

“M-my stepdad... He’s not exactly the nicest.” Yoongi chuckled out of awkwardness, scratching at the back of his neck. “I wish life was normal sometimes, you know? I’ve been so miserable recently... Trying to keep that bastard away from my mum, and taking the brunt of his fists.”]

“I get that, I’ve been miserable recently too.”

“That’s only because I’ve been miserable.” Yoongi chuckled, turning his chair to you. You didn’t quite follow, so you furrowed your brows in question. “You think I don’t know who’s name you’ve got on your wrist?”

“I-”

“All those times you’ve been feeling miserable, or weird, or how fucking warm it is whenever we’re around each other...” He took your right wrist in his hand, tiny flames licking over his fingers, and rolled up your sleeve to reveal his name in the same silver lettering. He held his own wrist next to yours, finally showing Y/N Y/L/N in all it’s glory. “We’re connected. I didn’t believe in all the soulmate bullshit before, but now I know who my mystery girl is, I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“But Yoongi.” This was all too much for you, too much to comprehend. Min Yoongi was dangerous, he was renowned for fucking with girls then never speaking to them again. You didn’t want to be another one to add to his collection. “You’re... You’re the ‘bad boy’, you’re not supposed to be kind and sweet and all these things. You’re supposed to be the guy that all the magazines tell you not to fall for.”

“What makes you think I’m bad?” Yoongi leans his face closer to yours, the invisible elastic pulling you closer to him.

“Everyone say you are.”

“And since when do you believe what everyone says?” He asked, and he was right. You were the last person to believe what anyone said. You preferred to find things out for yourself rather than conforming to the masses, yet... How did Yoongi know that?

“How long have you known about me?” Your voice was a lot quieter now, scared that he was only going along with the soulmate idea because it’s what is supposed to happen.

“2 years.” His hand reached out and tentatively touched the skin where his name was place. It was a simple gesture, barely even touching you, but the sensations filled your very soul with warmth and you closed your eyes to revel in the feeling.

“And you didn’t speak to me once.” You sighed, your free hand placing over his to halt the motions. His eyes bored into yours.

“Well I couldn’t exactly go up to you and say “Hey, I’m your soulmate, we should date”, could I?” He chuckled, a deep hearty noise that had your eardrums ringing with joy. You smiled.

“That’s true, I probably would have told you where to shove it.” You giggled, raising a hand and gently swiping the hair from his eyes, reaching down to cup his cheek. You were right before, his skin was softer than anything you had ever imagined. “So, does this mean...”

“Yes, god yes, absolutely yes because I think I’m about to explode.” He laughed once again, using his hand to keep yours firmly pressed to his cheek, continuing his gentle strokes to your wrists. You closed your eyes as he leaned his face closer to yours, your lips barely touching. “But only if you want it too.”

“Please just kiss me, Yoongi.” You murmured near his lips, the vibrations from your voice and the sound of his name rolling off your tongue turning his brain into soup as he closed the space between you. Once your lips were pressed together, it was like the world had stopped spinning. Never in your life had you felt this euphoric, this connected, this real to someone. Yoongi’s lips were like a long lasting candy that no matter how much you sucked it would stay the same size. It didn’t matter that you were inexperienced because you melted straight into Yoongi like a stick of butter in a frying pan. You moved your other hand to his available cheek and pulled his body closer to you, if that was even possible. His free hand placed gently on your thigh caused warmth to collect, as if his hand was being stitched to you forever. His tongue felt moist and warm against your lower lip and you sighed into his mouth. He delicately explored, moving his tongue carefully with your own, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible. You were the first to pull away, your eyes still closed and your forehead resting against his, soft pants blowing against his chin.

“Why d’you stop?” Hi whimpered, brushing your hair out of your face. Your hands were still clamped to his cheeks, and you dragged them down his jaw, neck and rested them on his chest, trying to regain your thoughts. 

“I- We need to get this project finished.” You whispered, grabbing his shirt in fistfuls. You desperately wanted to feel his lips on your again, almost as much as you wanted a good grade on this assignment.

“Well, you need to let go of me if we’re going to finish it.” He chuckled once more, causing you to smile. You looked back into his eyes, the hooded gaze he was giving you all too enticing.

“Fuck it.” You leaned forward into him once again, seating yourself in his lap. He leaned back in his chair as your lips connected once again, his thumbs making small circles in your hip bones. The project could wait another hour or two...

[krinsbez]

GI Joe: Remixed, the Sex Lives of Cobra High Command

Yeah, this is a somewhat awkward topic; our discussions can get pretty wide-ranging. I blame the combination of the Baroness and my desire to be egalitarian.

COBRA COMMANDER

CC is celibate, firstly because he's too paranoid to allow anyone be physically intimate with him, and secondly because (to quote @rk-striker-jk-5) "in his head, he's still married to Billy's mother...In his own twisted head, they're still married. And he will not break those vows. He's even still got his wedding ring tucked away somewhere."

THE CRIMSON TWINS

Tomax and Xamot are straight, and thus, rumors to the contrary, are not having sex with each other. That said, they do make a point of sharing any woman they have sex with. (They’re not comfortable being vulnerable when they don’t have each other around for backup) That quirk aside, they have a fairly conventional sex life for billionaire playboy businessmen; they date models and starlets, have affairs with other men's wives, enjoy the company of high-class escorts and strippers, and routinely flirt with and/or seduce various female subordinates. Note that their idea of flirtation often segues into sexual harassment, and their idea of seduction often involves coercion, but again, that's fairly conventional for what they pretend to be. The main departure, again asides from the sharing, is that, when they feel a need to re-assure themselves that they haven't gotten soft, they will commit some act of heinous violence, which sometimes will be rape. Though that's not really a sex thing. Additional note: -Interestingly, their sexual fantasies tend to involve female Joes, and to a lesser extent, high-ranking Cobras; in particular Lady Jaye and the Baroness.

DESTRO

Destro will only sleep with a woman if A: she is willing to make a commitment, B: that he can imagine her as the mother of the next Laird of Castle Destro*. That's not to say he expects every relationship with a woman to go to that far, but he isn't going to take any chances. Needless to say, he was smitten by the Baroness early on, but it took awhile before she was willing to accept criterion A. *Yes, that includes Zarana. She is beautiful, intelligent, ambitious, ruthless, witty, deadly, has the strength of will to keep the Dreadnoks in line, all of her relatives are also badass, and she understands the importance of family. True, while she lacks class and social graces, those can be taught; in fact the possibility of playing Henry Higgins was part of the appeal. Of course, since he was carrying a torch for the Baroness, and her primary interests in the relationship, asides from the obvious, were twitting the Baroness and trying to convince herself she wasn't in love with a Joe, things didn't work out. Additional notes: -Despite being picky about the women he sleeps with, Destro isn't always as careful as he should be; in his youth he fathered an illegitimate child, Alexander. Their relationship is...complicated (the character was introduced in Devil's Due Publishing's comics, so I'm not familiar with him, and we haven't had much discussion about him). -The persistent rumors that Destro has been with Zarana and the Baroness at the same time are false, since Zarana can't stand the Baroness, and the feeling is mostly mutual. Of three of them, it's the Baroness who finds said rumor least offensive; Zarana is offended at the idea that she needs help to please her man, while Destro is outraged that the minions are discussing his personal life. Meanwhile the Baroness A: believes that monogamy is an obsolete bourgeois concept and B: is European.

THE BARONESS

The Baroness is about 80-90% hetero; she'll sleep with another woman if she's particularly attractive, but in general she prefers men. As one would expect from someone as passionate as the Baroness, she's got a pretty healthy, uh, appetite, and is not shy about satisfying it, which means that yes, she's usually the seducer rather than the seduced. She also, as stated above, considers monogamy to be obsolete bourgeoisie nonsense and love a weakness, so she uh, has gotten around a bit. That said, she's basically a romantic at heart, so she's more of a "has lots of short-lived but really intense relationships" kinda gal than a love-em-and-leave-em type. Granted, if a man doesn't meet her expectations she will drop 'em quick; CF the Crimson Twins, whom she got with because they're hot, fit, identical twin acrobats, but found them to be low-class, egotistical, boorish weirdoes. And so, despite the sex being pretty amazing, that didn't last long. WRT said expectations, this is where it gets complicated, because they're kinda contradictory. First and foremost, her ideal man is as strong and dangerous as she is, if not more so....BUUUT she also wants a man whom she can control. You can perhaps see the problem. Now, the Baroness is, of course, arrogant and prideful, so she generally assumes that there is no one as badass as herself of either gender, and is willing to settle for man who approach her level; hence, for example Major Bludd. BTW, note that, in that case, the fact that he was both married and famously devoted to his wife made him particularly attractive; she likes a challenge. But eventually she got bored with him and he became increasingly guilty about the whole "adultery" thing, so yeah. It was, at least, a relatively amicable break-up, and they retain a good working relationship with a great deal of mutual respect. Anyways, she was, of course, smitten with Destro almost immediately. This loss of emotional control terrified her, and she spent an extensive period of time denying her feelings, though she insisted that the issue was Destro's insistence on commitment. She also genuinely couldn't make up her mind whether his being able to resist her charms sufficiently to insist on conditions was a turn-off or turn-on, owing to the aforementioned "wants a man who's as strong as her, but weak enough she can control" thing. Eventually, she got to the point that she realized that A: what she really wanted was less a man she could control and more a man who wouldn't try to control her, and B: Destro loved her enough to be that, and they're relationship has been fairly blissful ever since, the occasional backstab aside. Additional notes: -When she was in college, the Baroness briefly dated a young American from a blue-collar background, partially as an expression of her Marxism, partially due to a desire to annoy her parents; when he realized she was interested in him only as an American of blue-collar origins, he broke up with her. She has entirely forgotten his name and face, and has no idea that he's now the Joe codenamed Steeler. -At one point, the Baroness did make a token attempt at trying to get along with Zarana, mostly because she wanted to sleep with her. Since Zarana is 100% straight, this did not work out, and is an additional reason for the Baroness' hatred of the Dreadnok.

KRAKE

Krake may be gay, I haven't decided. Regardless, despite what the rumors say, he isn't sleeping with Savane. Actually, he doesn't sleep with anyone. He gets his rocks off and then either leaves or makes who ever he just had sex with leave, depending. He may not be as paranoid as CC, but he's still pretty paranoid. Obviously, he doesn't do relationships. He also doesn't feel like wasting time and energy on seduction; when he needs some, ah, relief, he uses prostitutes. Or comfort women or whatever the male equivalent would be if we go with him being gay. He's not picky. Just as long as he remains in control and there are no emotions involved whatsoever.

DR. MINDBENDER

Despite the common rumor, Dr. Mindbender isn't asexual, although it's true he isn't attracted to humans. Despite the other common rumor, he isn't a sadist, even though he has been known to get aroused performing horrific medical experiments on unwilling subjects. No, what Dr. Mindbender is into is simply this: doing science. Or, perhaps more accurately, SCIENCE!!

SERPENTOR

Unsurprisingly given what he is, the Cobra Emperor is bisexual (his gene donors being a wide mix of sexualities), albeit with a slight preference for women. Given the kind of people he’s made from, it should also not be surprising that his sexual appetite is quite voracious, and rather...omnivorous; it’s not that he doesn’t have standards, but that his ideas of what’s sexy are very broad. He’s not above rape, but he prefers his conquests to be willing, if only for ego purposes, and is an exceptionally skillful seducer.

He is primarily interested purely in satisfying said appetite, though he’s not averse to the idea of something more serious were he to find the right woman. Which happens to be Pythona.

VENOMOUS MAXIMUS

Like all V-Troops, VM was specifically designed to have no interest in or ability to engage in sex; Dr. Mindbender didn’t want them breeding. That said, his ideas of what is and is not sexy is more-or-less the same as those of his genetic progenitor, Gen. Hawk.

Cobra-Lan sexuality does not work the same way human sexuality does, and therefore is beyond the scope of this article; it will be discussed when I get around to collating an article about Cobra-La.

[ficdirectory]

Disuphere Universe miniseries: The Early Years: Frankie

Lena’s working at Anchor Beach Charter School as the assistant vice principal when she first meets Stefanie Foster and her son, Brandon.

She had then down in her calendar.  September 3, 2001.  She never expected them to be anything more than a prospective student, and a prospective parent of a student.  But something was there between them.  Lena could feel it.

A spark, upon that introduction.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.  Hi, I’m Lena Adams, the assistant vice principal.”

“Hi, I’m Stef Foster,”

Their handshake lasted a little too long.  Neither one could look away from the other.  In the end, professionalism won out, and Lena focused on what she was here to do.

Next, she introduced herself to Brandon.  A quiet boy with brown hair and serious green eyes.  He offered a shy, “hi,” at Stef’s prompting but not much more than that.

He passed the kindergarten proficiency exam with flying colors.

“Welcome to Anchor Beach,” she told them both at the end of the visit.

--

Over the next few months, when Stef arrived to pick up Brandon from school, she hung around.  They’d had a few conversations, but as Brandon was an exceptionally good student and a sweet boy,  there had no need for conferences or meetings about academic or conduct issues.

Still, Lena sensed that Stef was coming up with questions specifically so she would have an excuse to speak to Lena.  She’s twenty-six, and has been around the block a few times - knows what it looks like when she’s being flirted with.  

But Lena also knows that Stef hesitated when Lena asked if her husband would be joining them.  She has a ring line, but no ring.  And Brandon talks about his “Mom and Dad” all the time.  In the same sentence.

So when Stef drops by again in December, leaning on the car in the parking lot, Lena has got to set her straight:

“I’m not doing this.  I’m not.  I’m not getting involved with a married woman.  Women like you, you are just passing through, but this is where I live, Stef.”

Stef, though, surprises her.  Admitting she’s told her ex-husband, her father and most of her friends that she’s a lesbian.  She called Lena “a woman that I can’t live without.”

And Lena made room in her house.  Converted her office to a bedroom for Brandon in a hurry.

They moved in just in time for Christmas.

--

On Christmas night, Stef gets a call.

 “It’s work, I knew it…” Brandon sighs, knowing.

“It’s work.  You’re right.  Be back soon, B.  Be a good boy for Lena.” Stef urges.

“I will,” Brandon nods.

That night at home isn’t much different than any other.  Brandon doesn’t want to take a shower, because he wants to keep playing with his Christmas toys, but Lena convinced him with the promise of watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas again.

“You’re not my real mom, you know?” Brandon said, looking at her quizzically after Lena draped an arm around him on the couch.  “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to…” Lena had ventured, feeling stung but determined.  “But can I?”

“You are right now,” Brandon points out.  “I’m trying to watch this,” he says, scooting to the end of the couch.

When the movie ends, Lena tucks Brandon into bed.  “You know... before my dad got married to my mom?  He was married to someone else.  They had a son.”

Brandon listens.

“His name is Nate, and he’s my older brother, but he never treated me like family.  He was mean to me.  Mean to my mom.”

“Probably, ‘cause he just wanted his life to go back to how it was before.  When it was him and his dad and his own mom.  Having another mom or dad?  It just makes you miss yours more.”

“Is that why you don’t want me to cuddle you?” Lena asks.

“No…  ‘Cause, what if my dad finds out and he gets really sad?  We used to sit together and watch TV.”

“Does it bother you that I put my arm around you?” Lena wonders.

Brandon shrugs.  He wipes his eyes.  “It just makes me miss Daddy,” he says, lying down to face the wall.  “Night, Lena.”

“Good night, Brandon.  Merry Christmas.”

Lena passes the time picking up the house and waiting for Stef.  She’s in bed by the time Lena hears the key in the lock.  Hears the keys set down, feels the bed give as Stef crawls in and whispers:

“I had to help take a kid from their family on Christmas night…”

Lena rolls over.  “Oh, God.  Honey, I’m sorry.  Are you okay?”

“I am.  I just...couldn’t stop thinking the whole night, you know, we’ve gotta do something about this…”

“Like what?” Lena wonders, lost.

“Well...what if we went through the process?  Became licensed foster parents?” Stef asks.

Lena smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes.  She’s been hoping they’ll talk about options.  Options that will lead to pregnancy.  So that Lena can know the joy Stef experienced with Brandon.  Carrying a baby.  Birthing a baby.  If anything, her conversation and interaction with Brandon tonight just made the thoughts grow stronger:

Lena wants - has always wanted - to be a biological mother to someone.  To have those family ties that Stef already has.

But she keeps quiet.  Shelves the dream for the time being.

And they move forward.

Nine months later, after a conversation with now 6 year old Brandon, they start the process.  Take the classes.

Lena Adams is about to venture into foster parenting.

--

February 1, 2004, Lena’s entire world tilts.  Everything spills off it’s surface, including her, and she is left clinging to its edge.

Because that’s the day Stef goes to work in the morning, as usual, and comes back in the evening with twins:  Mariana and Jesus Gutierrez.  They’re five years old and nothing like the lost four-year-old they fostered for 24 hours.  Nothing like the sweet newborn baby they loved and gave a home to for 8 months.

They go from silent and watchful to wild in five seconds flat.  Mariana tells Lena, “You have black hair like our real mom,” and her heart breaks a little.

At this rate, it feels like Lena will not be anybody’s ‘real mom.’

--

Four years later, and Lena is reeling.  They somehow had managed to adopt Jesus and Mariana after a tumultuous two and a half years, where they were bounced back and forth to their bio mom’s custody and came back to them more hurt each time.

They’d had 8 months of relative peace, living in their new home on Villa Mariposa, when Jesus disappeared the first week of fourth grade.

It’s like a nightmare that won’t end.

The last thing she ever expects is for another sibling pair to show up in November of 2008.  Eleven year old Callie and seven year old Jude, of course, deserve a home, and safety and permanency, but every time Lena lets herself think of talking about insemination?  About possibly getting pregnant?  There are more foster kids.

And Lena can’t think about foster kids without thinking about Jesus, out there somewhere.  Or not out there anywhere.  Both possibilities devastate Lena because of her own guilt over not knowing he was missing.

That, combined with the feeling that her dream is about to wither and die has Lena lashing out at Stef one night, when all the kids are at Mom and Dad’s for the night.

“Really?  Did you really think putting our names back on the board at the agency was the way to go, Stef?” Lena seethes.

“I’m sorry.  I thought we made that decision together,” Stef snaps.

“After we adopted one of the kids from that system and lost him.” Lena insists.

“We didn’t lose him, Lena.  He…  Something happened.  It’s not our fault.” Stef tries.

“I never thought we’d be here again.  With more foster kids, after all this…” Lena manages, holding back tears.

“Lena, what’s wrong, love?” Stef asks, coming to her in the kitchen.

“Do you know...how long...I’ve wanted a baby?’ Lena sniffs.

Stef’s mouth opens.  She glances around confused.  “We have babies, love.  We have...so many babies…”

(Lena doesn’t miss how Stef skirts around having to assign a number to just how many children they have.  Because what do they say?  Five?  Four?  1 biological, 1 adopted, 2 fostered and 1 lost?)

“I mean...I want to carry a baby, Stef.  I want to have a baby.  Myself.  Our baby.  You got to have Brandon, and I just...ever since I moved in with you...I thought..we’d have the conversation, and I just…”  Lena breaks down.

Stef holds her as she cries.

“I love our family.  I love our kids.  But it’s not the family I imagined.  It’s not complete yet.  I want to have a baby…”

“We can’t replace Jesus, Lena,” Stef warns gentle.

“No.  This is...I’ve wanted this baby since before Jesus.  I’ve wanted this baby my entire life, Stef.”

“Our life is so complicated already, honey.  Are you sure you want this?  What if...what if Jesus comes back someday?  What will he think if he sees we’ve moved on?  With a baby, no less…”

“You didn’t have any of these concerns bringing Callie and Jude into the house…” Lena points out.

“Because they came the way he and Mariana did,” Stef explains, impatient.  “He’d understand.”

“Is it Jesus you’re worried about in this scenario, or is it you?  Do you not want me to have a baby?”

“I want you to have everything you want.  I don’t want to be the reason you don’t have a baby,” Stef remarks, sighing.  “So, what do we do next?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Lena says, drying her tears.

--

It’s harder than Lena expects, looking at potential donors on a screen and trying to discern who would be best based on the most basic facts.  Not only that, she’s been hoping that with time, Stef will come around to the idea.  Be a bit more enthusiastic about expanding the family.  But even looking at potential donors online, Stef has reservations.  Wants a donor who shares more of her own “characteristics.”

“You mean white,” Lena points out, disappointed.

“And smart, and charming,” Stef starts to list.

“The thing is, Stef, I’m half-white.  So if we look for a donor who is also white, the baby won’t end up looking like me at all.  Not that it has to look like me, it’s just…”

“No, no…  African-American, it is,” Stef says, less than thrilled.

“You have Brandon,” Lena tells Stef quietly.  “Honey, you see yourself every day in him.  Callie and Jude are white.  And I’m the only one who...who’s biracial.”

“The twins are biracial,” Stef points out, before she can stop herself.

“Stef, that’s not the point.  This is important to me.  To have someone in the family who’s like me.  Can’t you see that?”  (But maybe she can’t.  Maybe Stef has never been the only one in her family.)

“I can see that.  I told you, it’s fine.  You’re having the baby, Lena.  You choose the donor.  I’m just along for the ride.”

“No, you’re not.  You’re not just along for the ride.  You’re going to be this baby’s mom.  And I want you involved.  I want you on board.  Can you do that, please?  Can you be happy for me?” Lena all but begs.

“That you wanna have a baby that looks nothing like me?  Sure.  I’m thrilled, Lena.”  Stef snaps, quiet.

Before she can say anymore, Stef stands up and leaves her office.  So much for having lunch together.

--

It doesn’t take long for Lena to decide the anonymous donor site is just too impersonal.  Wants to know the kind of person the father is.

That’s how Lena settles on Timothy.  He’s an English teacher at Anchor Beach.  Smart.  Funny.  Kind.  All qualities she hopes for her own baby to possess.  But getting Stef behind this development is harder still.

“You think I want you going to work every day and seeing our baby’s father?” Stef hisses.

“Kinda like you see Mike?” Lena pushes back.

“That’s different, and you know it.  Our life has enough challenges in it right now.  Do you really want to open the door to someone else in our lives?  In our baby’s life?”

“If it means knowing our child’s history?  Yes,” Lena says definitively.  “You know how many questions Mariana and Callie and Jude have about their biological parents.  About characteristics they can’t place.  Wouldn’t it be nice to have answers for one child.  This child?”

Stef wavers.  “For medical reasons...yes.  I’ll give you that.  But, Lena, if Timothy thinks saying yes to this means he gets to be involved in parenting decisions?  Gets to visit?  Anything like that?  No.  I think we need to have him sign a contract.  Keep things official.”

Lena blows out a breath.  “We can’t lose another one.  You’re right.  This way, we’ll know the history, but be protected from potential attempts at involvement down the road.”

--

In August, 2009, Callie and Jude’s adoption is finalized.

Lena invites Timothy to the party.  With all the other guests, he’ll blend in, and he’ll be able to slip away and do his thing undetected.

She smiles and hugs Callie and Jude, all the while feeling the odd mix of the ache at Jesus’s absence and the excitement at the possibility of their family growing again.

--

On October 16, 2009, two months after Callie and Jude are officially Adams Fosters, Lena talks to Stef, and they make the decision to tell the kids.

Lena’s just over two months along.  Her belly’s swelling slightly already.  She’s been to the doctor.  Knows it measures an inch in length.  It’s in there.  Her baby is in there.

“Kids, we have something to tell you,” Stef says.  She pauses once she has all of their attention.  Nods at Lena.

“I’m going to have a baby…” Lena says, hesitating.

“How?” Callie blurts.  “I mean, don’t you need a man for that?”

“She means adopting, right?  That’s how all the kids come into this family,” Brandon remarks, dryly.

“Two girls can’t have a baby, right, Callie?” Jude asks.

“No,” Callie shakes her head.  “I think Brandon’s right.  I think they’re adopting.”

“Are you?” Mariana presses.  “Adopting?  Or what do you mean?”

“I mean…  There are ways that two mommies can have a baby if they want to.  There are nice men out there who want to help.”

Brandon coughs.  “...Timothy…”

“Excuse me?” Stef asks.

“What?  He was in your bathroom.  Not exactly subtle, Moms…”

“I mean…” Lena repeats.  “I’m...pregnant…”

“No way…” Mariana’s in awe, as Lena nods.  “Seriously, you are?  When is it coming?”

“The end of June,” Lena says, smiling.  Mariana and Jude are thrilled.  Callie and Brandon are more reserved.

“Where will it sleep?” Callie asks.  “Not in Jesus’s room…”

All eyes turn toward her.

“No.  Not in Jesus’s room.  That stays as it is.  We’re not replacing your brother.  Understood, my babies?” Stef checks.

Four heads bob up and down.

“Okay.  Now, let’s finish our dinner before it gets cold.” Stef says.

--

Starting in December, Lena develops some scary complications.  Heavy bleeding.  She’s terrified that at just 20 weeks, she’s losing the baby.  But an ultrasound shows that its still there.

No, not it.

She.

The ultrasound tech accidentally gender-revealed on what almost was the worst night of Lena’s life.  Right up there next to the first night Jesus was missing.

They think of names.  Lena wants more than anything for Stef to feel a part of this process.  A part of this baby’s life.

“Why don’t you name her?” Lena offers.

“Me?  I’m awful at picking names.  Back when Brandon was born?  I’d made a foolish promise to my dad that if he was a boy, I’d name him Frank.  He’s never forgiven me for not following through on that…”

“That could work…” Lena ventures.

“You wanna name our daughter Frank?” Stef laughs.  It’s been forever since Lena’s heard her laugh.

“Francesca?” Lena asks.  “Frankie, for short?”

“Well, that...is…” Stef manages, clearing her throat.  “That is kinda cute.  And my dad would be over the moon.  Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Hey Frankie,” Stef calls softly into Lena’s belly.  “It’s your mom.  Do us a favor and stay inside a few more months.  We really wanna meet you.”

--

As much as Lena tries to do absolutely everything the doctors recommend, the bleeding episodes continue.  Finally, at the very end of February, Lena’s hospitalized with four months of the pregnancy to go.

It’s boring.

Agonizing to be away from the kids.  From Stef.

But it’s also a break, from constant stress.  She finds herself catching up with friends, and her mom.  Getting rest she’s needed for the last two years.  

Frankie is monitored closely.  She’s growing.  Her heart rate is strong.  But she needs to make it to at least 28 weeks if she’s gonna have a chance at surviving.

So Lena prays.

And waits.

--

Frankie listens to Lena, but only just.  On the morning of April 2nd, 2010, 28 weeks along, Lena bleeds again and Frankie goes into distress.  They do an emergency C-section at 9:30 AM.  Stef is at work.  

(They’re expecting this in a bit less than three months, not now.)

Francesca Rose Adams Foster weighs 2 pounds, 4 ounces.  She is 12 inches long.  

By the time anyone can alert Stef about what’s happening, it’s been hours.  Lena hasn’t been able to see Frankie.

And by the time she can?  Lena is not sure she wants to.  At least, not alone.

Stef comes, hours later, shocked at the turn of events, but glad that Lena and Frankie are okay for the time being.

“I kinda wanted to cut the cord,” Stef admits, quietly to Lena.

“I know.” Lena nods.  

“I’ll bring the kids by soon.  So they can see her.” Stef promises.

“Maybe you should wait.  You know?  Until Frankie is stronger?” Lena ventures.

--

Days turn to weeks.

The first time Lena can hold Frankie, she is terrified.  The NICU is full of babies just as small as Frankie - even smaller sometimes.  Even sicker.  There are monitors beeping and Lena’s anxiety goes off the charts whenever a baby goes into distress because what if that was Frankie?

Lena’s terrified to hold her daughter because she’s so small.  Because of the wires and tubes.  Because they’ve made sure it’s dark and very quiet, and urged Lena not to speak, because babies this small can become overstimulated easily.

She spends the whole time praying Frankie will not break.

--

Lena is released but Frankie is not.

Weeks turn to months.  They finally manage to get all four kids to the hospital to visit.

Mariana comes whenever she is allowed, hating that she has to have an adult with her.  She’s constantly asking who is with Frankie.  Insisting that she shouldn’t be left alone.

“You know, that happened to Jesus and me…” she ventures, quiet, upon learning that Frankie’s by herself with no parents around for the time being.

“Miss Thang, being neglected is not the same thing as what’s happening to Frankie now. She’s resting.  She needs quiet.  If she were home, she’d need to sleep a lot, too.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Mariana sighs cryptically.  “Can I go be with her?  Please?  I’ll be quiet, I swear,” Mariana begs.

“Honey, kids aren’t allowed in the NICU unaccompanied.” Lena says apologetically.

“So, accompany me.  I’m twelve now.  Maybe if they knew that, they’d let me in alone.”

“No, honey, I don’t think so…” Lena tells her.

Mariana pouts.

“Come on.  Let’s go together,” Lena encourages, taking Mariana’s hand.  

“You know, Jesus and I were here,” Mariana says when they arrive at the window to the NICU.

“What do you mean?” Lena asks.

“When we were babies.  We were early like Frankie.  We were alone.  In a place like this with a lot of beeping,” she shudders.

“Mariana, that was a long time ago.  Just because this is Frankie’s story doesn’t mean it’s yours.  You have your own story.” Lena says, trying  to reassure her.

“But that is my story,” Mariana says, hurt.  She turns to look at Lena.  “Why do you think I keep asking to see Frankie?  It’s because I know what it was like.  We both do.  It’s lonely.”

“Mariana.  There is no way a baby can remember that far back, okay?” Lena sighs.  “And I feel bad enough that we can’t get here as often as I’d like to, so let’s just enjoy the time we have with Frankie, okay?  No more stories?”

Mariana sighs, and walks up to the incubator, in a yellow paper gown.  Sticks her hand in the hole in the side of the plastic incubator, offering a gloved finger for Frankie to grasp.

“It’s Mari.  I’m your big sister.  It’s okay.  You’re not alone.  I’ll come as much as  I can, okay?  I promise.”

Lena watches, amazed as tiny, two month old Frankie squeezes Mariana’s finger.

--

Frankie comes home a month later.  She’s small as a newborn at 3 months old.

It’s just before Callie’s thirteenth birthday, and she says she already got her birthday wish.

“Why?  You never visited her,” Mariana accuses, cradling Frankie.

“Hey, hey, this is supposed to be a happy time.  Mariana, share Francesca with the rest of the family please, love,” Stef advises.  

Reluctantly, Mariana passes her to Callie.

--

Lena finds herself grieving hard on the day Francesca turns 1.

Jesus has been gone over three and a half years.  And though none of them have any plans to touch his room, magical thinking that has led them to keep it like a time capsule seems to have done nothing.  It doesn’t look like their sweet boy is ever coming back.

He’ll never meet his sister.

Never see her take a handful of cake with her bare hand and offer it to Mariana, saying “Ah-na-na!” sweetly as she offers it.

Mariana takes the cake crumbs from her baby sister, beaming.  “Thank you so much, Frankie!  Oh my gosh, did you guys hear that?” she asks, her brown eyes bright with tears.  “Her first word was my name.”  Mariana turns back to Frankie, who caresses Mariana’s cheek with a cakey fist.  “Your brother’s first word was my name, too,” she tells Frankie softly.  “Your brother, Jesus.”

Frankie grins.

Mariana grins back, cake in her hands.  Tears on her face.

--

The following year, so much has changed.

Jesus has been home for five months.  They’ve lived in the house successfully as a family of eight for just three.

Frankie is has a CP diagnosis that Lena still feels is probably her fault, more often than not.

On Frankie’s second birthday, Jesus hides in his room, headphones on.  He’s still ridiculously small for nearly fourteen.  Lena and Stef want to be able to have a nice family party but they know by now that holidays and birthdays are hard on Jesus.  That it’s best for all of them to just leave him be.

Lena walks Frankie to Jesus’s doorway, holding her hands and peers inside the beads.  Now the presents have been cleaned up, the cake’s been eaten and all the guests are gone, the house is notably quieter.

Still, Lena’s disappointed to find Jesus rocking himself back and forth hard against his bedroom wall.

She knows Stef would go inside and physically stop Jesus from doing this but she has Frankie.  She can’t risk her baby’s safety.  There’s so much they don’t yet know about Jesus and what he’s capable of.

“Jesus, can you come here, please?” Lena asks.

He doesn’t respond.

“Frankie, you wanna tell Jesus what you got for you birthday, love?” Lena asks her daughter.

“Toys!” Frankie cries happily.  “Buddy, toys!”

Jesus blinks.  Stops rocking slowly.  “What kinda toys?” he asks, standing up and approaching them cautiously.

“See?” Frankie asks, showing off a new stuffed animal.

“Yeah, I see,” Jesus nods.  “Happy birthday,” he offers.  “Birthday hug?”

Lena’s about to object when Frankie thrusts out her arms and lunges for Jesus.  

“Okay, buddy,” he says, taking her in his arms as gently as ever, and giving her a squeeze.  “I’m glad I get to be home for your birthday,” he whispers.

Frankie slobbers on Jesus’s cheek, her approximation of a kiss.

Jesus smiles.

--

When Frankie turns three there is no party.  Not one at home anyway.  Mom decides to throw one at her house, to spare Jesus the trauma of party decorations and guests.  It sounds over the top, and Lena hates how he removes himself from everything that might be remotely fun and family-oriented.

She gets that he can’t help it, but once in a while it would just be nice, to be able to be a regular family, not Stef and Jesus at home and the rest of them here watching Frankie open her new doctor kit and enjoying cake and pizza afterward.

Lena wonders if their family will ever be the same again?

--

On the day Frankie turns 4, she comes into Lena and Stef’s room early and tries to climb into their bed.  Something hard smacks Lena in the face.

“Ouch.  What is going on?”  She blinks awake seeing Frankie’s leg brace lying beside her own head.  The straps, previously white are now bright with color.

“Francesca Rose, why does your brace look like this?” Lena asks.

“It’s my birthday brace!  Jesus made it for me!  He’s my best buddy!  See?  It gots all my favorite colors!  Purple and green, and orange and red, and yellow and pink and brown and---”

“Honey, I see that, but you need that to walk.  It’s not a toy to color on.  We’re gonna talk to Jesus about that.  And I’m going to see what I can do about cleaning this off…”

“No, I like it,” she pouts.  “Don’t clean it.”

Lena pauses.  Scoops Frankie up on the bed with her.  “You like it?” she asks, because better to keep her talking.  Jesus did not have a tolerance for fits children threw.  And Frankie doesn’t have the self-control yet to avoid them altogether.

“Yes,” Frankie says, touching one strap lovingly.

“Why do you like it?” Lena wonders.

“‘Cause it’s nice and fun.  It’s like me.  The other way makes me different.”

“It’s okay to be different,” Lena tells Frankie honestly.

“I know, but this way makes me better-different,” Frankie explains.  “This is my best birthday present,” she says, clutching the brace.  “I’m gonna go show Mariana!”

“Happy birthday, Frankie,” Lena calls after her.

“Happy birthday, Mama!  Bye!  See you later!” Frankie returns, her voice light.

“See you later,” Lena echoes, feeling something in her heart mend.

She’s finally someone’s Mama.

It’s not exactly the way Lena imagined, but it’s perfect, nonetheless.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 37 - LA Kings

3-2 Win

There is a two-fold pretext going into this game. The first one was plain and clear Thursday night in Philadelphia: this team is nothing without Jack Eichel. This team with Eichel is a fringe playoff team as we’ve seen this month. This team without Eichel is a team that would struggle to stay out of a relegation zone. It sounds harsh but yet another massacre in Philadelphia, it seems like every other time we go down there is one waiting for us, proves we need at least some kind of upgrade to make this team more than just the Buffalo Jack Eichels. The other piece of pretext to this game was the meaningfulness of the points in the standings. It’s funny to think of any game in December as providing critical points. Big games exist when they have significance with a broad set of fanbases or in the standings. The relative bigness of this particular game against the LA Kings isn’t really about the Kings. They suck ass again. In a league where many tell you not to even look at the standings until after the New Year the Sabres have been in a playoff spot for… weeks? Entering this game the Sabres had dropped three straight after a decent stretch since Thanksgiving where they most recently won three straight against better competition. Over the weekend they claimed an overtime point against the Islanders but got no points on Tuesday against division rival Toronto before getting clobbered in Philadelphia on Thursday. It was so bad I didn’t even waste breath on postgame. The Maple Leafs are one of four teams who are neck and neck with Buffalo. The Sabres were second in an exceptionally weak Atlantic Division at 39 points Thursday. Montreal, Tampa Bay, Toronto and Florida were all at 38 or 37 points. And so you see now how two points against the Flyers would have meant a lot even though the halfway point of the season is still five games away. Those points never came and now all of the aforementioned teams excluding Tampa have passed Buffalo and we’re out of a playoff spot we somehow held onto for a few weeks. No NHL game is easy but now would be a really good time to get a safe win against the Kings.

For the first half of this game there was a lot to be frustrated about. Luckily most of Buffalo was transfixed on the 4:30 Bills game so there was likely only a half-full arena and a handful of us online angry guys to feel that way about it. For the first period and a half this was a shot-for-shot duel with the LA Kings. 5 years ago we might have celebrated that, but these aren’t 2014’s LA Kings. The latent, trash Kings got the lion share of the nice shots on goal in the first period where they outshot Buffalo 10-6. Linus Ullmark stood tall making some pretty grandiose saves, most of which you probably wanted the defense to prevent. After the massacre in Philadelphia its hard to imagine Carter Hutton getting a start not on a back-to-back. Ullmark is THE GUY now and he’s acting like it. One stop I swore was superhuman where the puck was turned over in the Sabres zone in the midst of quite some traffic. I don’t know how he recognized the turnover mistake of his own team for one and secondly I don’t know how he estimated the trajectory of the backhander so quickly as to snap it up like that. Anyway the first period ended with donuts on the board. The second period began with what they had coming. The Kings continued their shot domination for the first half of the middle frame and Adrian Kempe took advantage of Marco Scandella taking a slapshot from the slot and beat Ullmark. For how much better the basement-dwelling Kings played in the first half of this game it could’ve been 3-0 had it not been for Linus Ullmark’s great game. I really do think the team plays better in front of him and this game compared to last game is going to be exhibit A.

The game continued as a Kings shooting gallery until the Sabres really began intercepting pucks and pushing back toward the midpoint of the game. Jack Eichel got a really great chance right in front of Jonathan Quick that just would not go. This game was still one of those where a stray skate could’ve been the difference of the Kings extending their lead. That Vesey line was taking their turn in front of the LA net when a rebound squirted out to Rasmus Ristolainen who buried it before Quick even knew where it was, 1-1. I’ve been informed Quick has not been good at all this season. I hate to see a good American goaltender down like that but it kinda makes sense when you think of how much the Kings dynasty was built on a defense they no longer have. I mean Drew Doughty is still there but if one all-world defenseman made a defense then Rasmus Dahlin should’ve backstopped us to a Cup run last season. For all the bitching and moaning about this game showing we’re not any better than some of the worst teams in the league Jack Eichel didn’t score a goal. None of the players who made October so fun really contributed until the dying minutes of this game. Yesterday afternoon we got the “Black Stallion” Marco Scandella to score a goal. That nickname was the imagination of Dan Dunleavy calling the game and I think I join a choir of folks absolutely detesting it. Call him what you will I guess as long as we can call him gone in July. Scandella received a pretty innocuous pass at the point from Sam Reinhart and put one on net. It went in and the home team had their first lead of the game with a little over three minutes left in the second period. The Kings tried to respond before the middle frame concluded. That sweet Linus Ullmark save I described earlier was a save on Anze Kopitar with mere moments left on the clock. Through forty minutes it was 2-1 Buffalo though.

The Sabres got some decisive powerplays in the third period; none of them increased their lead because this is the Buffalo Sabres we’re talking about, but they got them! They really did get some dingers off the posts and what have you too. It got a little frustrating. Almost as frustrating as this situation with Eichel is. You may wonder: what issue could you have with Eichel after you basically said this team relies entirely on him in the opening? Well you may have heard he missed the bloodbath of a game in Philadelphia. The thing is he took warmups before being announced as out for the game. Speculation circulated about the flu or an accident nobody saw occur on the ice during those warmups. The most detail we got was a lower body injury which was later retracted. Eichel came back like his normal self in this game so I got to believe it was just the shits arriving right after warmups ended. No matter what it was the NHL counted it as the end of his point streak… or did they? The chances tended toward Buffalo as the third period went on and the Captain almost got a couple saucy ones himself. Eventually the Kings pulled Quick for the extra attacker and Eichel got the puck to Reinhart who got it to Victor Olofsson who chipped in an empty-netter. The game broadcast and several social media posts thereafter referred to Eichel continuing his “personal point streak” which is not only something I’ve never heard before its also something that is quantifiably stupid. Then again other posts left the word personal out and said he’s now on an 18-game point streak. I don’t know if we really need to litigate this but that streak was all some of us Sabres fans had back when the going was tough in November so there is certainly a desire to see it continue.

Ithaca, NY’s own Dustin Brown tipped in a quick goal to pull the Kings within one in the last minute of play but ultimately the goal only served to make a few people down in Tompkins county that much happier and this game ended 3-2 Sabres. For a brief few hours while Buffalo was busy cheering the Bills to almost beating the Patriots in Foxboro, the Sabres were back in a playoff spot at second in the division. That Flyers game might prove to cost the Sabres more than just their Thursday night because the Leafs won last night as well and took over that divisional spot. Buffalo is only one point back and could leapfrog both Florida and Toronto Monday night, but both those clubs also play tomorrow night, and everyone wants to go into the Christmas break on a high note. I’d put my money on the Sabres not sitting in a playoff spot come Christmas morning, but I want to hear what you think so like, share and comment on this blog to let me know what you think.

The aforementioned Christmas break also coincides with a roster freeze that is already in effect meaning no moves for Jason Botterill… as if one were imminent. I think the need for a trade for a forward is a near unanimous opinion of the fanbase right now. However I will be a dissenting voice on the guy at the center of the Sabres last big top-six trade Jeff Skinner. The talk of him being upset not playing with Eichel on the top line is the kinda Coach-blaming knee jerk reaction that is so normal for us. It shouldn’t be. We’re trained to chase coaches out of town at this point and I really don’t think we have to right now. Yes, yesterday was another weird defenseman-playing-forward rotation and I too don’t like scratching Colin Miller out of any games but Ralph Krueger’s benefits to this club far outweigh his detriments right now. A lot of it is stuff we only see in streaks here and there, the not-so-sexy stuff like team cohesion and overall competitiveness when playing without the puck. Those are little things that make visible a behind-the-scenes reality of a Coach really revolutionizing this team. By all means take issue with the trash first half of this game and the poor play we still see too often from the Sabres, but don’t look for ways to blame it on the Coach. Midseason thoughts will go up in a couple weeks which will allow plenty of time and space for deeper conversations about the state of this team. For now let’s go wrap up the pre-Christmas schedule in Ottawa tomorrow. Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. December so far is shaping up to be the streaky month. Three wins followed by three losses. The good news is if that trend continues they’ll beat Ottawa tomorrow and split the home and home series with the Bruins after Christmas.