#well i was already wad before but not i proved that i had a legit reason for being mad

[a-random-fandom-friend]

OKAY YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL PROVE MY POINT

Nobody asked me too, but my last reblog made me mad.

It was a post listing ship size, comparing fan-ship to actual ship. Basically, “if it’s a big ship then there’s lot of fanwork”, or “if it’s a bit of a rarepair it’s a Gunboat : you can go to the end of the AO3 tag in weeks, and new fics get added in the meantime.

Well, let me talk to you about Hero Corp, Le Cycle des Balls (The Cycle of the Balls?) and Le Visiteur du Futur (the Visitor From the Future). The french show.

Hero Corp

It is a tv-show, made entierly for the tv, granted not a big cable (a national one nonetheless), but it has such fans that the 5th season was entierly financed by fans in six hours. Most of the people i met on the french side have been interrested in looking it of have watched it.

Now, Kloug is ship that’s kind of a big thing. Like, not everybody ship it, but everyone knows it. All of the fans in the tumblr fandom ship it. - According to the post, it is a “ Cruiser: pretty popular ship.  Not everyone ships it, but everyone knows about it.”. Which is then described with : “Has a good amount of fic/art, and probably multiple ask blogs.” (please note that there isn’t a single ask blog). It can even merge, here on the tumblr fanbase, with the step before, “ Dreadnought: massively popular.  Nearly everybody ships it.  You can, with dedication, in theory, reach the end of the AO3 archive for the ship’s tag, but it’ll take a long time. “

There are 29 fics Hero Corp on AO3 (and 21 for “Klaus/Doug”). 77,6 k words. (also not a single ask blog, and typing “hero corp fanvid” won’t get you any fanvid, but hey are we even at this point).

Le Cycle des Balls

A french web serie, in three seasons, that was never ment to be outside of internet (to my knowledge). A pretty big youtube channel, other channels after that prmoted it.

You see, there’s a canon gay couple at the end. It’s done beautifully, it’s pure, soft, adorable, wonderful. This Ship’s name is Tomitch. The fandom was created around this ship, so much that we talk about “tomitch meetup” rather thant “le cycle des balls meetup”. There are, comparaticely, a lot of people wo are in this fandom, either really invested of just passing by. This would be described by the post as a “ Supercarrier: fandom flagship.  Everybody and their dog ships it.  The fandom is glutted with artwork and fic.  You cannot escape this ship. “ it is the biggest step., So, one step more that the “ You can, with dedication, in theory, reach the end of the AO3 archive for the ship’s tag “.

There are 24 fics for this couple on AO3. 27 in the fandom main tag. 98,9 k words. One askblog but it’s inactive and i know cause it’s mine. Also i did 60% of the fanarts, which i was able to count by hand.

The Visitor From The Future.

Lastly, the one you’re most likely to have heard about. A web serie that ended on the television, on a national cable, sometime a big one and usually a smaller one. But on the internet, it’s everywhere. You’re a french geek, you’ve seen the VdF.

It has a ship. Henriisiteur. Not everyone ships it but everyone has heard of it, which is almost word for word what the post consider à “ Cruiser: pretty popular ship.  Not everyone ships it, but everyone knows about it.  Has a good amount of fic/art, and probably multiple ask blogs. “

There are 21 fics in the fandom. 6 for the ship. 46,5k words. No askblog, quite a few fanarts but not so much about the ship.

Why am I counting words?

Cause all of them range from “flag ship” to “most popular ship”, but there is this, on the post : ”Tugboat: rarepair.  Almost never seen except as a side pairing to a more popular ship.  You can usually get through everything on AO3 in a matter of days.  You’ve forgotten what it is to be picky about what you read. “ 223k. That’s the total wordcount of these THREE FANDOMS, not even the three ships.

And I’ve read longer in one day.

It’s not even a “matter of days”, it’a a matter of hours to get to the bottom of these three, extremely popular in their fandom, ships.

FOR EACH ONE OF THESE FANDOMS AND THESE SHIPS, I KNOW 80% OF THE FANDOM. I’m not afraid to dm someone to tell them i like their fic cause it’s one of the 3 fics posted the last 6 month. Almost all of the creators, i know them by name. If I want new content, usually, I have to do  it myself. And you know what’s the worst? That’s a “pretty big” fandom for me. Try to find afandom for the books of Arsène Lupin. We’re 8. and if I ever ship him with anybody? Well no need to do a post, i can litterally gop ask the people what they think of it. And If I do a post, it’s gonna be lost in the dozen of “Code realize” or “Lupin the Third” posts. I hate it. I just want a fandom.

So, no. “Gunboat: bit of a rarepair.  It might have an ask blog or two. A couple big name fans ship it.  Probably only takes a few weeks to get through the entire AO3 backlog, and one new fic gets added during that time. “. No. All of my main ship are freaking popular ships, and not for a single one, i could take weeks to go the the end of the tags, and not even in my dreams it could have one new fic. In what kind of fandom are you for “a bit of a rarepair” to get a new fic every other week? That’s insane ! In my fandom, rareships are mostly dreams !

Basically I made this post cause I was mad someone though their experience with fandom was universal and relatable. It’s not, gentelgent. It is absolutly not. And now I hate you.

[tippitv]

Supernatural TippiTV Recap: 14-13 “Lebanon”

Okay before we get started. This is a long one and while I think it's pretty funny if I do say so myself, there's also a lot of me just... frickin ranting about John Winchester and rushed plots. If you loved this episode and don't want to see someone snarking about it, this might not be the recap for you.

On the other hand if you're like me and come from the TWoP tradition of snarking about the things we love most, then come on in!

THEN!

Two children talk about how their dad is on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a while.

Oh wait... holy crap it's Sam and Dean. It took a sec to recognize them without the gravelly voices and almost 14 years of soul-crushing despair.

We also get a reminder of very recent episodes, including the one where Mary learns about the time John threw young Dean's food away because it reminded him of her. It's important to remember what an abusive, hardened asshole John Winchester was... so that we can forget it! Forget it all!

[insert video of recapper letting out a Klingon scream]

NOW!

Sam and Dean mosey on into a pawn shop that I'm positive is in the US because they never leave the US but there's a sign that says the shop buys "jewellery" which is how they spell it in places that also spell "flavor" with a u. Dean flashes a big wad of cash to get the broker to show them "the good stuff."

By this, he means the magical goods, although the secret room looks like a high school drama department prop closet.

Dean says they're looking for the skull of a woman who was executed during the Salem witch trials. While the broker goes looking for it, Sam picks up a teddy bear from, you know, a shelf full of cursed and magical items because it's not as if stuffed animals have ever been dangerous. <cue ironic flashback>

Luckily he's warned away from it before he can unleash some kind of... Pooh demon... probably.

Anyway, it turns out having the skull proves that the broker killed a friend of theirs or something... Honestly, very little of this is going to have any bearing on anything. Long story short, fisticuffs ensue and Dean shoots the broker while he's expositing to Sam. "They always talk too much," Dean says.

Sam and Dean decide to take a bunch of magical items home with them. Although... what if they rightfully belong to other peop---ah screw it.

Okay now... here comes a long, boring subplot about teenagers back in Lebanon, Kansas. The main thing that's pertinent to the show is that Sam and Dean have a certain reputation around town. And no wonder! They park right in front these teenagers and start talking about shit they would never want anyone to hear.

They head into the world's skimpiest liquor store and the owner addresses them as "the Campbell brothers." Say whaaaat? Have they been using their mom's maiden name for a while and I just missed it? I mean, I guess it makes sense because... Actually, I don't remember how much stuff is still in their world about the infamous Winchesters. Like I legit can't remember if Charlie or someone erased their FBI/police records or if it was just some fanon someone told me about.

Also, nothing says "real liquor store" like shelves of bottles turned so that their name brands don't show.

Anyway, Sam stage-whispers to Dean about an ancient Chinese pearl that grants "what your heart desires."

The plan is to get Michael out of his head, but they notice someone is driving off with the Impala. They run out to confront one of the teenagers about it. He confesses that a girl named Max is the culprit, so that we can spend several minutes on this subplot instead of the much more emotional and important main plot.

I mean, we go from the post office to a pizza joint to an old house on the edge of town to catch up to the Impala. Max has apparently brought all that lethal “secret” stuff inside for a party. The camera lingers on that teddy bear again as if it's going to be important to the plot later.

Max, the car thief, has a crush on a girl and ISTG I was prepared to be mad if she died. Like I don't even want this whole subplot at all but I'd be puh-hissed if they had queer characters on just to kill one. Luckily I was wrong and neither of them die. However, the dialog is killing me. "I'm sooo excited for pizza." Tell me you can't imagine Lumpy Space Princess saying that.

Apparently the ghost of John Wayne Gacy (sigh) was waiting for the kids to go in search of pizza before oozing out of a cigar box the Winchesters brought from the pawn shop.

Why is his ghost dressed as a clown? I mean yes I know Gacy was a children's party clown, but it's not like he died in that outfit. Aren't ghosts supposed to be wearing what they died in? OH GOD WHY DO I CARE.

The Winchesters show up and scoot everyone out of the house, but not before at least one kid sees the ghost. Sam zeroes in on the cigar box and Dean points out how Sam's love of serial killers and hatred of clowns are in conflict.

Of course, some of the kids come back in just as the ghost goes up in flames. Sam and Dean decide to just... tell them the whole truth instead of just lying. Like..."Yo, one of the things you stole was secret holographic tech and you could face prison time if you talk about it." See? Easy peasy. Instead, they just trust the kids to never talk about ghosts being real and meeting actual ghost hunters.

I briefly wondered if this was some kind of back door pilot for teen hunters, but I haven't heard anything about that. Granted I didn't actually look that hard.

Once back at the bunker, Sam finds the magic pearl but it's kinda... chalky and medicinal looking. It looks like something Goop would sell to stick up your hoohaw.

Dean decides there's no time to wait because we've already spent too long on teenagers playing hooky. Like, even Sam doesn't really know how to use it. "I guess you just concentrate on what your heart desires," he says, scrunching his face uncertainly. I mean what if this had happened

The music swells dramatically. The lights flicker off dramatically. A shadowy figure approaches... dramatically. Fisticuffs ensue! It's a nice callback to Dean and Sam fighting in the dark in the pilot episode because ta da! It's actually John Winchester! Which we all knew because this was foretold in promotions.

The lights come up, showing... just a whole lot of things for me to process.

Now, at first, things don't seem that weird. We've seen people come back from the dead so many times, it's basically as surprising as buying socks at this point. Except! John isn't back from the dead at all! He's traveled through time! He eventually tells us he's from the year TWO THOUSAND AND THREE. TWO ZERO ZERO THREE.

He's both three years younger than the last time the bros saw him AND 13 years older, because for Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and all the rest of us mortals, time has marched on. Consequently, John Winchester looks like he got stuck in a wormhole for a good while.

Now, kudos to John for recognizing his sons, especially Sam, who looked a little something like this the last time they saw each other.

"Aren't you supposed to be in Palo Alto?" he asks Sam. "And also not a middle-aged man?" he doesn't ask, but I bet he was thinkin' it.

It's just... sigh. I might as well get it all out now. I get what they were going for here. It's the 300th episode and they wanted to have John show up. But because everything is so rushed, they just gloss over anything remotely realistic to the characters. John is all softness and awe the instant the lights go up, instead of bristling and suspicious. Why wouldn't he think it was a djinn or some other creature's doing? "Well we don't have time for him to be as flinty and wary as John would have been in 2003, because we need to get to the part where he spends quality time with his family!" YES EXACTLY. The show is three hundred episodes old now and it deserves more than this speedy treatment put together seemingly for the concomitant promotional opportunity.

Anyway they have a Sit-n-Chat to catch John up on what they've been doing, including the living situation there at the bunker which includes an angel and the son of Lucifer. Goodness only knows what John is picturing.

Now that I think about it, the brothers should be hella wary too. I mean, what if the pearl is cursed? What if John is actually some shambling interdimensional beast masquerading as John? What if the whole thing is just a hallucination brought on by nefarious moon herbs in Paltrow's pookie pearl? They just uncharacteristically seem to rely on the pawn broker's ledger.

Fine! Fine! I’ll drop it.

They talk about how they met John's dad via time travel, too, but don't mention that's why John never saw him again after childhood. They talk about the Men of Letters, finally killing old Yellow Eyes, saving the world... Then just when they're about to tell him that Mary's back from the dead, she actually shows up and starts calling to her sons. What a coincidence! John is pained.

It seems like they didn't tell her, either? Did they just tell her to come over for a surprise or did she just happen to be on her way there anyway? Anyway John and Mary start in on a smoochy reunion so Sam and Dean quietly leave the room.

Sam's like, "How'd this happen?" And Dean's like, "We spent too much time on the teenager subplot instead of looking into this potentially dangerous thing, is how!"

For some reason, John is perusing the library alone instead of... um... making up for lost time with his hot wife. Sam goes to talk to him and finds out Mary's off writing a shopping list for Dean so she can make that emotionally important casserole again. This leads John to admit he fucked up with his kids. Sam is reluctant to blame John because he's had almost 13 years to get over it.

I hate that everyone's acting their little hearts out and all I can think is how painfully contrived the episode is. Whatever problems I have with the writing and the premise, I don't have a problem with the job the actors are doing. Okay, okay, I'm really letting go of it this time.

John rubs Sam's shoulder and tearfully says, "Son, I am so sorry." The cellos of sadness play sadly. "I'm sorry, too," says Sam. "You did your best, Dad. You fought for us, you loved us... that's enough."

It's one thing to decide you're going to move past the shitty, shitty things someone did because you're in the midst of the enormity of what's going on RIGHT NOW. But it's another thing for the show to minimize the past. John did NOT do his best. For fuck's sake, he left a little boy in charge of an even littler boy! Dean knew his Dad was possessed because his REAL dad would never be proud of him! When Dean stole food to feed Sam, John abandoned him to face the consequences!

God damn it I guess I'm not going to let it go, after all!

Anyway, Sam and Dean head into town for groceries and time paradoxes. The liquor store owner no longer recognizes Dean, which is the surest sign that something is Very Wrong. Dean is flabbergasted. "It's me! Dean Campbell! I come in here like... always!"

As Sam heads back to the car, he sees a wanted poster for his bro. It's the old Blue Steel one except I think Sam used to be on it too? He's not anymore. He heads back to the car to tell Dean, but Dean's already been a-googlin' on his phone.

He plays back a video of Sam as a turtleneck-wearing lawyer espousing a raw food diet with plenty of kale. Good lord how much raw food does someone the size of Sam have to eat to fulfill his daily caloric needs?

They kind of hand-wave how these new versions of themselves exist at the same time as the OG versions. "Our timeline is changing to this new one!" Sam says. He says they need to put things back the way they were or they'll be stuck. It's nice of the timeline to work slowly enough that they can figure this out.

Somewhere nearby, the angel Zachariah appears. Castiel moseys up beside him and he's brought some old friends.

They decide to head into the nearest pizza place. The teenagers are there because not even a paradox will get rid of this subplot. "Can I help you?" asks the waitress. I think the usual question would be, "Can I get you a table for two?" but whatever. Zachariah asks her who's been messing with time. "We sensed a disturbance in the, well, let's call it the Force," he says. Naturally, she's very confused, and even more confused when he says they're from Heaven.

He says he'll have Castiel murder everyone if they don't tell him what's going on. To emphasize this, Castiel whips out his angel mojo.

Sam and Dean see the bright light from across the street and come running in. Sam's like, "Zachariah?!" and Dean's like, "Cas?!" and Cas is like, "Is that with one S or two, and also who are you?"

Zachariah exposits that Heaven had big plans for the Winchesters but then their dad suddenly disappeared in 2003. Why wouldn't the angels assume the disappearance and the time event are connected? Why'd they have to just start asking questions in a random pizzeria? Fisticuffs ensue!

Zachariah force-chokes Sam while asking him for an explanation. Why do villains always try to make people talk while they're choking? Pick one or the other! But this gives Sam a chance to surprise Zachariah with an angel blade in the heart. Oh, Zachariah. Destined to die by Winchester in every version.

Meanwhile, Dean and Castiel are still tussling even though I'm pretty sure Castiel could kill them both pretty quick. Sam joins in for a bit, but gets flung into a table. If there's a table around, someone's getting flung into it. Then he goes back to strangling Dean instead of finishing off Sam, giving Sam a chance to make one of those angel-vanquishing sigils with his own blood.

They go back home. Dean explains the whole paradox thing to John. If he doesn't return to 2003, Dean will live the same life but alone, Mary will never have come back to life, and Sam will devastate kale crops like a moose-sized locust.

John agrees to go back. "Me versus your mom, that's not even a choice." That's... a weird way to phrase that dilemma. At the same time, Sam is delivering the news to Mary. He says "the lore is pretty clear" that if they destroy the pearl, everything goes back the way it was. What lore? They knew jack squat about it before they used it. Mary has some questions.

John tells Dean he's proud of him and I slightly expect Dean to whip a gun out on him. "I never meant for this.... I guess I hoped that eventually you get yourself a normal life..a family..."

WHAT.

WHAAAAAT.

He did nothing to prepare them for a normal life! Leaving your kids in motel rooms, never letting them settle down in one school, issuing ultimatums when Sam wanted to go to college? Man, Dean should've been like, "Nah, that was your other son, Adam, who got to live a normal life... at least until a ghoul ate him and his body was used by an archangel." But Dean is nicer than me, I guess. "I have a family," he says.

They decide to eat dinner even though who knows when the timeline is going to snap into place permanently. Oh my God they even take the time to wash the dishes after. They have a nice chat and again, everyone's acting their little hearts out and I'm trying not to be distracted. Dean tells Sam he doesn't want to change the past. "I'm good with who I am. I'm good with who you are." Please let that stick with no reversions to self-loathing and I'll retroactively like this episode more.

They cut to this shot and for a second I thought it was Sam and Dean holding hands at the sink.

Of course it's John and Mary. Sad piano plays sadly. John's not going to remember anything, but the rest of them will. Oh man what if John got Mary pregnant during his visit. Sam and Dean were out shopping for a while. I wish I hadn't thought that, but now that I have, you all have to be witness to my horrible brain's meanderings.

John reiterates that he's proud of them. So this time Sam pulls a gun on him! No, he doesn't. They all hug and cry genuine tears before John goes back to holding hands with Mary. Sam reluctantly smashes the pearl to bits. Seems like Dean would have to be the one to smash it since he's the one who made the wish, but it works and John slowly fades out of the present.

Everything goes back to normal, including the teenagers remembering and loudly discussing the existence of monsters in public.

Castiel returns to the bunker in his newer, homelier coat and less erotically tousled hair. "What happened?" he asks. The response in my brain:

Back in 2003, John wakes up in the Impala to the sound of his flip phone ringing. Smart phones are great and all but man I miss the battery life of my flip. It's the Dean of the day calling to check on him. John, although he's not supposed to remember anything from the future, seems to have experienced it as some kind of dream. He seems nicer, too. This will probably have no bearing on the timeline, though... right?

I mean, is that 2019 casserole still in his stomach? Did the wine turn back into grapes? Probably not but these are the kinds of things I think about.

Sigh.

I feel the episode does a disservice to its main characters. I've already ranted more than enough so I'll just pick one example:

If Sam had gone on to live a normal life, he would've become a cold-hearted douchebag who tells people that hobbies and families are a waste of time. Like, ha ha yes it's amusing that Sam is the leaf-munching Steve Jobs of law, but what's the meaning here? Are we saying that wanting to get an education for himself means he's a selfish asshole? Like this is the alternative to the codependent relationship with Dean that formed because of their father? Argh.

The John apologia is just so clunky and unnecessary. John could've said, "I should've done more than teach you to hunt monsters... prepared you for a normal life so you could have a family." Then Dean ccould say, "Being able to kill monsters kept us alive long enough so that we figured out things for ourselves. And we do have a family." Bam! It lets John be rueful without rewriting the past or having Dean swallow all the years of hurt and it even acknowledges that knowing how to hunt isn't a bad thing.

Thank you for sticking with the recap to the end! I do still intend to recap past episodes but things have been kind of stressful. Just staying afloat has been a chore some days.

For updates and info you can check here: https://www.gofundme.com/winter-rent-and-dog-care

I also have a virtual tip jar of sorts here: https://www.paypal.me/tippiblevins

[idiopath-fic-smile]

Oh my goddd I was scrolling back through your blog and the 1950s lesbian exr is a thing that just could not conceivably be any further up my alley (I realise what this sounds like and I apologise), so I was wondering if we could get another little snippet? No pressure ofc. PS I love your writing and even if we never get any more of tscosi it's still probably my favourite podcast of all time

Hi!

Thank you so much. There will definitely be more Starship Iris eventually, but I really appreciate that.

Re: the fic, I was simultaneously trying to write a historically accurate-ish look at 1950′s American lesbian identity and activism, and give it a bit of a noir feel, which in theory I think you could do because holy shit these women were risking so much, and they had to basically be spies anyway because the FBI was legit trying to keep tabs on them and their meetings. I don’t really know if I’m the person to do it, though; this feels pretty damn far out of my lane, to be honest.

I really wish there was more historical fiction about this cause in this period; you can find some fascinating shit just doing a cursory wikipedia crawl. Like, the first lesbian periodical was created in 1947 by a 25-year-old who was working as a receptionist at RKO Studios; her boss was like ‘just look busy so people think I’m a big deal’ and so she was secretly using company equipment to type and format a zine about lesbianism, like 25 years before the APA stopped calling homosexuality a mental illness.

Anyway, I only wrote about three pages; I stopped when I realized how long it would need to be, and how much work would be involved, and also frankly it’s a lot easier to situate Enjolras in a fic about queer activism post-Stonewall, because the D.O.B.-era organizing tended to be pretty assimilationist. Like, I think their work was important and has been unfairly neglected, but I still think Enjolras in any era would chafe at their gradualism. 

Enjolras isn’t even mentioned by name in this, but uh I think you’ll be able to find her. 

(Head’s up: this is the very opening of the story, it’s from Grantaire’s POV, and she has not begun to work through her issues yet, so quick content warning for period-typical internalized homophobia and self-loathing, as well as period-typical sexism. Also, historical note: from what I can tell, “lesbian” had negative connotations even within the community at the time.)

“Grantaire, are you alright?” said Murray. He didn’t try that hard to hide his laughter. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” she said, too quickly.

“You’ll need to set aside your small-town attitudes if you want to succeed in the big city,” Chester added. “There’s all sorts here, as you can see.”

Grantaire nodded. There was nothing more dangerous than someone desperate to prove they were more Bohemian than you, she thought. She wondered if they were only doing this because she had corrected Chester about Rothko. Maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut. She could have just let him be wrong and avoided the whole adventure, or prank, or byzantine office hazing ritual–whatever had inspired them to take her here, of all places.

The Musain. Run by the mob, of course, but that wasn’t what made the place so notorious. There wasn’t exactly a neon sign screaming gay bar! But even if Grantaire was as naive as Chester and Murray seemed to assume, she probably could’ve put the clues together herself from the clientele, men mingling with men and women mingling with women. 

How much looking was too much looking? It all felt like too much. She tried focusing on the grimy wall of bottles behind the bar, except one of the bartenders had hung a poster of a pin-up girl back there, naked but for a strategically-placed ukulele, grinning a slick, lipsticky grin. There was no safe real estate to rest your eyes on. Every inch was dangerous, an admission of something.

“I’ll be right back,” she croaked. “Ladies’ room.”

“If you can tell which one it is,” laughed–Chester? Murray?–who even cared, she thought, ducking into the crowd.

The water did not help like she’d hoped. Grantaire switched off the tap and wiped at her face, badly wanting a cigarette. She wondered how much longer she could hide in here before it got suspicious. Two or three minutes, she figured, but when she stepped back into the bar she’d need to be perfectly composed.

Then again, neither of her new colleagues seemed too perceptive. Case in point: this present stunt, designed to unnerve her in an entirely different direction. Even now, she could at least detect a certain sick humor about the whole affair. She was still half-smirking when a woman walked in. Grantaire looked away on instinct, but foolishly, right into the mirror, to be pinned instead by the stranger’s reflection. There was just no catching a break tonight.

Grantaire had seen the stranger already from the other side of the bar, would have noticed her from a hundred paces. She was tall and athletic-looking, dressed like a man in a button-down shirt and trousers. Normally a girl of that stature slouched, pulled in her shoulders as if apologizing for taking up the space, but every line of this woman’s body was utterly assured, self-possessed. Her hair was cropped short, and there was a stark beauty in her strong brows and sharp cheekbones, feminine without a trace of softness.

Her eyes slid to Grantaire and away again: registered and dismissed in a single motion.

Grantaire dried her hands—slowly, because she still did not really want to go back. Anything was preferable, maybe including this.

In a way, it was almost a relief to see that nothing had changed. Seasons came and went but Grantaire was still Grantaire: a bundle of too-tight nerves and awkward elbows, scratchy throat, furtive gaze bouncing everywhere it shouldn’t. Still nursing a fascination with the most dangerous-looking female in the area. A puppy dog panting after a wolf.

Grantaire snorted, echoing in the cramped space. The woman looked back at her.

“Sorry,” Grantaire mumbled.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Your friends seem to be having a good time,” she said. Her voice was cold and dry as the Arctic Desert. Searing sun, powdery snow.

Chester and Murray weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination. They were barely co-workers; Grantaire had only been at the magazine for five days, had only arrived in the city three days before that, had been hired sight unseen by the eccentric editor-in-chief on the strength of a portfolio sent by mail and a first name that could pass as a man’s. It was even odds that once the bossman returned from his honeymoon and discovered his brand-new cartoonist was a she, Grantaire would be right out the door again, no chance to slip a single drawing into the lineup. As it was, her presence at the office had the air of a lingering typo.

Best-case scenario, her new employer would turn out to be one of those awful tyrants who refused to acknowledge any degree of fallibility, and he’d keep her on out of sheer hardheadedness. Perhaps after a year or two, she’d fade from a novelty to a background detail, and she’d finally grow up enough to stop trying to prove herself when it mattered the least.

None of it was worth explaining.

“They’re harmless,” said Grantaire instead. “That new intellectual type. They like modern art and smoking marijuana and pretending to understand poetry. They’re not here to gawk, not really.” She could not make herself shut her mouth. It was like having a fit. “They only brought me by to try to get a rise out of the girl from Skokie,” she was saying. “They’ve got nothing against your kind.”

“My kind,” the woman repeated, and Grantaire gave a helpless inward flinch. Was it rude to imply someone was a homosexual simply because she was wearing trousers at a gay bar? It didn’t look like a costume; she wore it with too much grace. “Don’t you mean ‘our kind’?” the woman said.

Grantaire froze, still clutching a wad of paper towel. She hadn’t expected to feel caught out. She had almost hoped for it, maybe, some slight terrified swoop of the stomach, but one foot inside the Musain, one glance at the flesh-and-blood patrons flirting under threat of police raid, had put it to rest.

(“Welcome to city life,” Chester had said, with a chuckle. “Meet your new neighbors!”)

Grantaire could only stand there, in the drab skirt and blouse she had picked specifically to blend in at the office, and measure the distance in miles, in light years.

She threw the paper towel in the trash, made herself meet the woman’s eyes. Grantaire was a head shorter, but somehow it was her spine that craned down, her shoulder blades that pulled together, her posture that begged forgiveness for the sheer fact of her blood and muscle and skin.

“I’m nothing like you,” said Grantaire.

“Really?” came the reply, unimpressed. “Because I could’ve sworn I saw you in here last week. Minus your friends.”

It had to be a bluff, thought Grantaire. Without two rowdy men at her back to make the whole thing a joke, she had barely managed to step in before she’d hightailed it back out.

It had to be a bluff, unless it wasn’t.

First Chester and Murray, and now this. Grantaire had just about had it with people trying to shock her by telling her things she already knew. Sex perverts exist, Grantaire, on one hand. You’re one of them, Grantaire, on the other.

At some point, a girl reached her limit.

“Oh,” said Grantaire, “I’m a lesbian, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

The woman blinked at her, not expecting—what? The directness? The word? The slightest illusion of a backbone?

Grantaire bared her teeth in a grin: another illusion. Nothing but well-honed reflex at this point; every bone in her body knew how to lie.

“And that’s the beginning and end of what we have in common,” Grantaire said. It had been a long day; she gave herself the petty satisfaction of slamming the door on her way out.

“Feeling better?” Chester asked, all mock-sympathy, when she returned. “Maybe a ginger-ale to settle your stomach?” It had the shape of an offer but the taste of a dare: can you stay long enough to drink it.

“Throw in some whiskey and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. Murray laughed. Her head hurt.

“Don’t look now, but there’s a woman, if you can call it that, watching us,” said Murray in a low, amused voice. “Think she’s got her eye on you, Grantaire.”

For once in her life, she wouldn’t rise to take the bait. “You’re hilarious,” said Grantaire without looking up. “A regular Bob Hope.”

“They still laughing at Bob Hope out in Skokie?” Chester said.

“It’s Illinois,” she snapped, “not the Mesozoic Era.”

“Mesozoic,” said Murray, as though he’d never heard anything so ridiculous. “Big word for a little lady.”

Mesozoic. Eight letters. But it didn’t matter how you contorted yourself; somebody would always find a way to be sore at you for being too much of one thing or another.

Grantaire hunched down on the stool, away from the sweep of those imagined eyes, and forced herself to smile.

[cloudysfluffs]

My Lovely Assistant~

(JACKIEBOYMAN AND MARVIN FIC BECAUSE PURE)

“Marvin, I really don’t have the time.” Jackie insisted as Marvin pulled him by the hand to his room.

“Aw, c'mon, Jackie! One trick, please?” Marvin whined, eyes lighting up from under the mask. Jackie rubbed his eyes.

“Fine. One trick.”

“Yes!”

Jackie, being a superhero, rarely got a break. So, times like this, when he did, he still seemed to have so much to do. Humoring Marvin was one of his favourites, but he wasn’t going to admit that. Marvin really was trying at this magician gig, and he was getting the hang of it. Jackie decided the least hw could do was play with him.

Marvin, however, had some literal tricks up his sleve. Jackie expected some card tricks, pulling a rabbit out of a hat, or something along those lines. However, Marvin had been practicing. Now, these egos didn’t fit within our realm of reality. They dont play by our rules. They have access to magical abilities. Which is exactly what Marvin was pracicing. He needed it. Not card tricks, no, something much more than just sleight of hand or luck. Marvin was going to become magnificent. He was going to prove it!

“So what do you want me to do?” Jackie asked, sitting on the edge of Marvins bed. Marvin flipped through a book of spells, waving his hand dismissively.

“Just lie back on the bed,” He instructed, eyes glazing the page. “Just relax.”

“Mm'kay.” Jackie did as instructed. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Reading.” Marvin scoffed. Jackie rolled his eyes.

“No, what are you planning to do to me?” He laughed. Marvin adjusted his mask, placing it back on the bookshelf.

“Levetation!” Marvin said excitedly. “Hopefully paralysis too. Hope you don’t mind being the test subject here, buddy.”

“No, no, it’s fine, Marv. You’re talking, like, legit magic here.” Jackie nervously explained. “Not really what I was expecting, but I’ll roll with it.”

“Sorry.” Marvin apologized, standing at the foot of the bed.

“It’s okay! In case this does work, you know how to reverse this, right?” The nervousness was very faintly visable through his words. Marvin smiled brightly, realiving Jackie to an extent.

“Of course! What, you think I was gonna make my friend float or paralized without being able to reverse it? Please!” Marvin laughed, watching proudly at Jackie’s relief. “Okay! Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Marvin rolled his eyes at Jackie’s unconvinced undertone. He was gonna prove he could do it! Marvin began mumbling so himself, shutting his eyes in concentration. Jackie smiled, placing his hands behind his head…when suddenly, he felt the bed no longer beneath him.

“What the-” Jackie gasped, looking down. He was floating?! This wasnt a particularly unfamiliar feeling, he could fly after all. Just something about it was different. Like someone had just got rid of a portion of gravity. “Marvin!”

“DUDE!” Marvin yelled excitedly. He was floating a bit, too, his hands very slowly curling and uncurling, causing them both to rise and fall. Jackie managed to get a center of gravity, and sit midair, watching himself rise and fall. Marvin, still in a standing position, opened his hands completely. Jackie gasped, feeling himself fall back onto the bed with a bouce, while Marvin landed on his feet, smiling like an idiot. “Jackie I did it!”

“Yeah, yeah, you did.” Jackie applauded, rubbing his head. “How did you land like that?”

“You know the saying,” Marvin spun, pulling the book back out of the bookshelf. “Cats always land on their feet!”

Jackie boo'ed at the pun, though was smiling as he did. He watched curiously as Marvin thumbed through the book.

“How are you even pulling his off?” Jackie asked, pushing himself back as to lean on the bedframe. Marvin groaned in playful annoyance.

“You ask so many questions!” He whined jokingly. “And a magician never reveals his secrets. So shush.”

They both shared a laugh, Marvin setting the book on a table so he could read it while preforming the spell.

“Paralysis?” Jackie asked, crossing his arms.

“Im gonna try it! Thats cool with you, right?”

Jackie nodded and leaned his head back.

“Get kinda comfortable,” Marvin chuckled. “You’re gonna be paralized, so…”

Jackie adjusted his position to a much more comcortable, though still heavily doubting Marvins ability to pull off such a trick. He opened his eyes half way, watching Marvins hands be surrounded by a glowing pink aura. It wasnt long until Jackie felt an odd, tingling sensation, starting from his head, and traveling downwards.

He knew, at that moment, something was off.

“Marvin are you- you sure this is the right spell?” Jackie twitched, the sensation covering his neck. He didn’t want to admit he was ticklish. He wad a super hero! He needed some dignity!

“I think so. Why, whats wrong?” Marvin asked worridly. The sensation paused at Jackie’s shoulders.

“N-Nothing. It’s fi-fine.” Jackie choked on his words. Marvin, though slightly reluctant, continued the spell. Jackie felt the sensations travel downwards, and when they hit his ribs, it slipped. “M-Maharvin!”

The sensation paused, holding its place for a minute. Jackie inhaled sharply, biting his lip to compress the smile. He could see Marvin, jaw dropped slightly. Oh no.

“Oh.” Marvin said, his expression morphing to a grin. He glanced over as his book, hand staying in place as to not disrupt the spell. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ticklish?!”

“Obvihihi- obvious reasons!” Jackie growled, though his giggle at the beginning softened the bite of his words. Marvin cooed affectionately, smirking devilishly.

“Well, you were right. I did have the wrong spell. This one applies one of the more sinister methods of torture. One that you’re apparently suubject to. Tickling.” Marvin explained, waving his hand. This faltered the sensations on Jackie’s uper body, causing him to yelp. “Since we’ve already started this spell, might as well go through with it, right?”

“Nonono-nohooho!” Jackie fell into another fit of giggling as the sensations began to spread. Marvin glanced back at the spell book, then began wiggling his fingers slightly. This seemed to highten the sensations greatly. “Mahaharvin!”

“Yeees?” Marvin asked with a cocky smirk. He titlted his head to the side, leaning on the wall. “What seems to be the problem, Jackie?”

“All- Ahall of thihissss!” Jackie pushed in vain at the foreign feeling, to no avail. It was only a little away from his feet, already making Jackie curl up in an escape attempt. However, this only made Marvin ‘Aw’ at him. “Marvin, nohoho, plehehease!”

“Im sorry. Its for practice! You said you’d help!”

“I dihihidnt expehehect- WAIT MAHAHARVIN!” Jackie yellped, falling into loud laughter.

“Whoah!” Marvin giggled excitedly. Jackie shook his head violently, kicking the air.

“MAHAHARVIN PLEHEHEASE!” Jackie made a final attempt at escape, before succumbing to his defeat. Luckily for him, Marvin noticed the strain in his voice, and layed off. The feeling faded away, and Jackie lie there, giggling like mad. Marvin smiled in adoration, sitting on the bed next to him.

“Thanks.” He said with a grateful smile. Jackie caught his breath.

“Youre welcome.”