@pineapplefulfillseveryneed informed me that Ron Mael looks like an oriental short hair (he definitely does). I was then shown him performing with the extendo stilt arms, and immediately thought of the classic Keyboard Cat meme. So. Then this happened.

Questions

You have lots of questions for Harry and he tries his best to answer each of them.

a/n: hiiiii, think it’s been almost a year since I last posted my writing and I’m finally back! thanks to @oh-honey-styles‘s new fic slam prompts, I was able to curate something I liked enough to share. usually it’d take me lotssss of drafts to be satisfied and happy with something but this one only took 2! I hope you enjoy it and pleaaaaseee be kind ⭐️😸 I’d love to hear your thoughts!

warning: this is just pureee filth. not really smut, but filthy regardless.

Word Count: 1,775

Harry’s forest eyes ogle straight at you, lips pressed in a tight line and twitching on one side to form a smirk that he tried his very best not to show.

That was definitely the last thing he expected to come out of your mouth. He thought you just needed help with something minuscule, like putting together new furniture, fixing the wifi, or help pick out an outfit; things you’ve urgently called him about before. He never, ever thought you’d call him one day and ask for this, a lesson on blowjobs out of all things.

Luckily, sex has never been a taboo topic between the two of you, considering he’s the first person you yell to when you’re letting out your frustrations about your lack of experiences, or vice versa when he just had an intercourse dilemma that continues to leave an everlasting impact on him. But when you’re asking him about giving good oral pleasure, his brain is suddenly void of any thoughts that should help the situation at hand.

“Quit smirking at me, I’m serious!” Harry flinches when you throw a pillow at him from across the other side of the sofa, instantly wiping the smirk off of his face and instead letting out a soft chuckle when he successfully catches it. You throw him an intense yet jest glare, “just. Today at work. I dunno. I just need to know. I want to know.”

“How d’you suppose I do that?” he asks cautiously, leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees and prop his chin up with the palm of his hand, “teach you, I mean.”

You’re usually never embarrassed around Harry, despite the many weird and unusual conversations you’ve both had during sobriety and drunkenness. You don’t remember ever feeling even the slightest bit awkward or sheepish when you told him about how IUDs work, or giving him a very vivid description of how exactly you feel during your menstruation cycle. He takes it all in and listens with amusement, sometimes with a bowl of extra-buttered popcorn on his lap.

But right now, in this exact moment, you feel slightly skittish and jittery, as if blowjobs were something you’re just now learning about. He can sense it, especially with the way you’re averting your gaze from his eyes to the silent flatscreen tv nailed on your wall — thanks to him. You’re also doing that thing he constantly scolds you for whenever you’re anxious and nervous, chewing ferociously on your bottom lip and squeezing your fingers into a fist to the point your nails will sink on your palm and pop your veins.

“Stop that, you’ll bleed,” he cuts the silence off, “and answer my question.”

You unclench your fist and turn towards him again, barely making eye contact and instead looking at the lovely framed painting hung on the wall behind him, “maybe just describe it?”

“It’s really not that complicated,” was all Harry said. He leans back against your soft couch, taking both of your feet with his hands and settling them on his lap to crack each of your toes. You flinch a little on his first try, turning your focus and watching his fingers work against your skin, “think of a lollipop. Or popsicles, something of the sorts. You put it in your mouth and just… suck. Lick. Move your mouth, without the teeth.”

Suck. Lick. Move your mouth; the words that tumbles out of his lips causes you to flush, your whole body heating up and turning beet red, the color dancing across your nose and emphasizing your imperfections flawlessly.

What Harry said was pretty accurate. It’s not as detailed as you want but you don’t really know how to ask for that without feeling mortified and even more flustered. He said it exactly how it is; you just put your mouth around it, suction your cheeks, use your tongue and bob your head. But you feel like there was something missing, as if there should be more to that. Well, because there is. You want to know more.

His fingers have started to dance their way to your calf, squeezing the deep tissues there in a tender and leisure massage to try and get rid of your tensed muscles. You’re wincing in between syllables when you finally speak after a couple of seconds, “question. It might be weird. Just… just tell me if you don’t wanna answer.”

His eyes lock with yours when he hums for you to continue, a strand of curl falling over his forehead and tickling his brow while his bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth in concentration. He presses his warm hands on your leg forcefully and harder and it helps calm your nerves and neurons, your habit of overthinking in situations like this disappearing little by little the more he moves. The lack of poise you had minutes ago is lessening and your question is on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst at the seams and be voiced aloud.

With your face turning a lot redder and goosebumps developing on your skin from head to toe out of the blue, you ask with your voice a little lower than it was a while ago, “will you tell me what you like? When.. you know.”

Harry’s movements quickly halt. Another unexpected turn. Another question he never, ever thought would come out of your mouth to ask him.

He lets go of his lip and keeps his mouth agape, irises instantaneously dilating and darkening under your lemon-yellow light and turning them into an even darker shade, like a week old leaf. His brain performs a short circuit for a few moments that passes by in silence before he finally swallows and says, “you want to know what I like when I’m getting head?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, feeling even more ridiculous the more you look into his eyes and open your mouth, “I mean, you have the most experience out of the two of us. That’s why I asked in the first place, but I feel — I feel like your first answer doesn’t really — it’s just not satisfying me. There has to be more to it than just.. sucking, I dunno.”

Sure, you talk to one another about sex casually; what one undergos and encounters and what the other simply has no preconceived notions of. Harry would tell his stories in the least disgusting way possible, knowing you’ll groan out loud and tease him about it if he gives away any sort of detail, but there was almost always zero utterance on your end. No lingering and continuous curiosity. You asking about what he likes when he’s getting head is very much unforeseen and maybe even a bit… amiss, especially for you.

However, he can detect a genuine inquisitiveness in your expression. You’re probably one of the hardest people to read on the surface, but he senses that there was more to that interest than just simply wanting to know. At least, he’s hoping there is.

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a bit weird now the more he gawks at you and doesn’t make a single move to respond. You open your mouth to backtrack when his hesitancy becomes clear, but before you can even take your question back, he’s already mouthing a three-syllable word out loud, “mouth-fucking.”

A low gasp leaves your mouth and the sound doesn’t miss Harry’s eardrums. He should want to take it back, shove the words back in his throat and never say it again despite not being able to. Still and all, he realizes that he likes what you asked and the fact he gave you an answer, a brief one but an honest and precise answer nonetheless. The way your skin warms against the palm of his hands makes him start to sweat, your bare face becoming even more flushed if possible. You don’t really know what kind of answer your mind presumed, but it obviously wasn’t that.

You’re aware of Harry’s self-confidence and boldness when it comes to sex. He has lots of it and it doesn’t come as a surprise. So when he opens his mouth again to explain exactly what he meant, you were able to hold your second gasp back and instead listen in. You can just imagine how filthy he is in bed, considering the description he gives you seems to be even more graphic and explicit, “like normal sex, but I’m doing it to their mouth. I like the sound, the sloppiness of it all, it fuels me. I like being in control, I guess, and no one wants a dry blowjob. I like it really wet.”

You startle both yourself and him when you utter, “what else?”

Harry clears his throat and looks away from your eyes, not because of discomfort because there was absolutely none, but for the reason that the more he stares the more he pictures you inside his head doing exactly what he was evoking. He blinks a couple of times in an attempt to get rid of the colorful conception, yet it just becomes even more lucid and clear-cut. He tries to distract himself by continuing to answer your questions. It definitely doesn’t help. It just drags the mental image on.

“I like it when they let me come down their throat, then swallow it. Or when — when the aftermath of pure bliss just overtakes my entire body. Like, they just pull away for a second then suck me right back in,” the skin on your legs feel sticky under his hold. You swallow at his dazed appearance and tiny smirk, as if he’s picturing it all in his head. And he is, “yeah. I like that a lot.”

Somehow it’s gotten a lot warmer inside the tiny space of your living room, every corner closing in on the two of you in your peripheral vision and you can’t exactly make out the tingling sensation on the tip of your fingers and in between your thighs. Well, you do. You know you’re undoubtedly turned on but acting clueless and ignoring it would be the best way to handle it.

You ask him one more question, the last one you’ll emit for the rest of the evening, “and how was it for them?”

Harry turns his head, connecting his darkened eyes with yours. There’s an indecipherable message written all over his handsome face. His voice is heavy, raspier and deeper with his accent when he answers for the last time, a specific implication behind his tone, “one of these days, you’ll see.”

cuz im all that you want, boy

crossposted on ao3: <3 rating: explicit content warning: shameless porn, crying during sex, unprotected sex (wear a condom kids), feminine terms used for ftm genitals, i think thats it correct me if im wrong! <3 dabi fucks tomura silly on stream !

it was only a matter of time before tomura’s next stream, and his views were at an all time high. he had taken pictures of himself in the thigh highs and garters before he went live last time, and those posts were blowing up.

he wondered if dabi would let him take pictures next time.

next time was also a fun prospect. dabi and tomura had been considerably closer since the livestream, dabi being more and more taunting each time he interacted with tomura. tomura wanted to say he disliked it, but that would be lie. not that he was impartial to lying. but it just felt strange to lie to himself about the man who would be actively fucking him to pay the bills.

tomura got almost unreasonably excited for the next stream, but before it came, he needed to talk to dabi. they needed to set limited, get supplies, and get all of that set up before they dove too deep into this. he didn’t wanna fuck the dude up or potentially get himself knocked up.

so a couple days before his next scheduled livestream, he caught dabi in the kitchen. it was later on in the night, both being unhealthily nocturnal. dabi looked up from his ramen, sitting on the counter, and immediately gave a shit eating grin.

“hello, freakshow.” tomura’s voice was laced with annoyance and sarcasm.

“hey, creep. what’s up?” he took a long slurp of his ramen, and tomura fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

“we gotta talk about some things if you wanna keep joinin’ me for the streams.” tomura pulled up a chair at the table, across the counter that dabi was currently sitting on.

“ok, so first off. you can quit out at any time, i’ll just end the stream or continue it alone. just remember that, you can leave at any time. i’ll delete any videos or anything that i put up with you in them, just tell me.” tomura started out with the most important thing. “you can always tell me if you don’t like something, or if you aren’t comfortable with something. you got a safeword? mine’s red light, just for ease.”

dabi smiled, a strange reaction that tomura didn’t evoke often, and nodded. “i gotcha, i’ll go with that too. now what’s goin’ down during the next one?” dabi’s smile morphed into the shiteating grin that tomura knew all too well.

“well, it really depends. you could do me, i could do you, its what the audience wants to see. and what they’re willing to pay for.” tomura sported a little smirk of his own, immediately dropping when the man across from him took a loud slurp of his noodles.

it was a moment before dabi replied. “cool with me.”

---

in the days following, tomura made it his mission to try to wind dabi up. he wanted to increase the tension between them, and he found in his attempts that the frustrated blush on dabi’s face when he was frustrated was a good look on him. 

he would purposefully brush too far against him in the hallway or the kitchen, be in the kitchen with his thigh-highs on, or just give dabi these looks that he knew he was capable of— only because he had practiced them in the mirror for his streams. and the teasing was working. dabi was wound like a spring, snapping at tomura more often, and tomura would just grin and walk off.

it made him feel powerful, knowing he was doing something to his poor roommate. 

eventually the day came when the stream would take place, and butterflies made their way into tomura’s stomach as he set up the camera and tripod perpendicular to his bed, along with quivers in his legs and gut. and ten minutes before 10 pm, he knocked on dabi’s door and made his way back into his room to sit on his bed.

he put on some beat-heavy background music, easing him into his mood. he wasn’t wearing anything special on the surface this time, just a black thong under his shorts and a hoodie. he knew dabi would eat it up anyway, by the look on his face as he entered the room. he practically billowed steam, eyes lit up like firelight. it was intoxicating the way the other man looked at him. he turned his back, swallowing his embarrassment and adopting his livestream persona. he took a deep breath, moved to his laptop, and started the stream. dabi took his seat on the bed, leaned back on his hands and watching tomura like a hawk.

tomura greeted his returning viewers, and welcomed new ones, before the view count got too high to speak to individually and he addressed the group of them all.

“hey, i’m tomura, this is my roommate dabi, and welcome to tonight’s stream—” he went on to explain the goals this stream, and left the events of the night open to the democracy of his chat.

>> I kinda want to see our boy get ruined… 0////0

>> Agreed!! ^^

>> idk, i think we shud let tomu decide -3-

>> fuck him up dabi

tomura nearly blushed at the influx of comments requesting dabi ‘ruin’ him, and he’d be lying if he said the thought wasn’t getting him wet in his shorts. he chuckled, a fake hollow little thing that the audience would eat up, and quickly looked back at dabi. he was nearly stopped in his tracks at the sight of two neon blue eyes tracing his movement with intensity that had tomura nearly shaking.

“well, folks, i’d say yes but i think i’d like to see you put your money where your mouth is.” it weirdly always paid for him to be upfront. it added to his strange rotten charm as a performer. 

dabi seemed nearly surprised in the background, the white-haired man watching him through the screen of his computer.

“what’re they suggestin’, tomura?” his name out of dabi’s mouth was intimate in this setting, and almost threw tomura off. he turned to face the man, giving another shit-eating grin.

“they wanna see you fuck me.” he was composed and slightly sultry outwardly, but on the inside it felt like a small horde of giant butterflies were currently trying to rattle his ribcage. he was glad he was on medication for his raging anxiety or he wouldn’t have this job, or the chance to fuck his hot roommate. he could feel the tingle in his legs working its way up and toward his core. especially at the look and quiet growl dabi made at tomura’s words.

he prayed to whatever god was listening that someone donated. but in the meantime, he had a show to put on. he turned back to the chat.

>> rile him up, tomu ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

>> ^^^^

and tomura’s own eagerness showed when he immediately followed orders, standing up and making his way over to where dabi was sitting, sliding into his lap just like last time.

“hello again—” tomura cut dabi off before he could even start with a hungry kiss. dabi’s arms immediately went to wrap around tomura’s waist, engulfing it and pulling tomura against the hardness in dabi’s sweatpants.

hot.

ding!

tomura pulled away from the kiss, whipping his head around to look at the screen.

>>> cyncyty Donated $50.00: ride his face ! <<<

tomura’s face turned red, looking to dabi, who was also staring at the donation.

“well, looks like we have a request! thank you... “ tomura didn’t have a clue how to pronounce the username, “so much!” his voice was enthusiastic to hide the shaking in his legs that dabi could no doubt feel as said man gripped his thighs and grinded his hips up, causing tomura to lose his breath.

“you heard em’, hop on.” dabi’s voice was gravelly and tomura could see the desire in his eyes. dabi leaned back on his elbows, still rolling his hips up into tomura.

tomura put on a show in taking his clothes off, as he always tried to do. pulling his hoodie over his head, and removing himself from dabi’s lap to taunt the camera with the straps of his underwear that were visible over the sides of his shorts. he saw dabi strip his shirt in the background as tomura finally pulled his shorts and underwear off after plenty of taunting his audience. and dabi, apparently, because as soon as tomura was in reach, dabi was gripping him by the waist and pulling the white-haired man back-to-front in his lap and attaching his lips to tomura’s neck.

tomura let out a (semi-embarrassing) whine, arching back into his touch, feeling the other man’s erection through his sweatpants. dabi ate it up, sucking another mark into tomura’s neck before laying back and laughing at tomura’s gasp when he thrust up again.

“c’mon babydoll, we don’t have all day.” tomura swore dabi got a power-high from this, evil little glint in his eye telling the white-haired man all he needed to know. either way, there was a reaction in the way that tomura scrambled to position himself with either thigh on the sides of dabi’s head. the camera had a side perspective, getting all of tomura’s expressions as dabi dove in.

dabi had a lot of practice, somewhere, sometime because the way he was working tomura out almost immediately was borderline unfair. tomura snuck a hand into dabi’s hair, yanking and receiving a growl against him for his efforts. tomura ground down against dabi’s magical fuckin’ tongue as he brought his other hand up to muffle himself. that had dabi immediately pulling off of him to look up at him, blue eyes meeting red, as if waiting for something.

“they gotta hear you baby, ain’t that the whole point?” tomura could hear his smirk but obeyed anyway, putting his other hand in dabi’s hair and pulling him back to where he wanted him.

ding!

>>> cmrbbg Donated $110.00: Fuck him silly, Make him cry. <<<

tomura looked over to the laptop, blissed out look in his eye, only to see his highest returning donator once again blow everyone else out of the water. tomura rolled his hips against the warmth of dabi’s mouth before pulling away, sliding down and letting dabi sit up.

but before tomura could say anything, dabi said it for him.

“god, fuckin’ thank you—” was his only warning before dabi was manhandling him into quite an embarrassing position, face down ass up on his own bed before he could even say ‘shit’. dabi had him by his hips, forcing his back into quite the impressive arch. 

dabi grabbed the lube from tomura’s bedside table and slicked his fingers up, one entering with no resistance. he added another, earning a breathy sigh from tomura. he curled his fingers upwards, locating that little spot inside him that made tomura’s hips rock against him.

“god, you’re so pretty like this, y’know?” dabi breathed out, words deep and damn near confectionary. tomura wasn’t used to compliments, burying his head into his arms. dabi scissored his fingers.

“you are. you’re glowin’, baby. so perfect like this, gonna take me so good. you’re gorgeous.” the last bit was whispered, the mic not picking it up as tomura blushed down to his shoulders. his arch deepened, legs spreading a bit more as dabi added a third finger. it was accompanied by a pitiful moan that failed to be muffled by tomura’s arms. finally, dabi deemed him ready— or he was just done with this torment, as tomura heard clothes rustling and the slick sound of the lube. tomura didn’t turn around, only swaying his hips from side to side coyly as he knew the audience liked.

he felt those hot hands grip his hips again, and he felt hot pressure against his entrance. dabi grinded his cock against him, not entering as another form of torture that teh white-haired man  was fed up with.

“you know what to do, tomura.” the words were commanding and taunting at the same time, the tone making tomura hot as dabi massaged his thighs. tomura tried to push back against dabi, grinding back and making the other man suck his breath in.

“you’re not gettin’ nothin’ unless you ask nicely, i know you know how to, baby.” dabi murmured, tracing his hand along the dip in tomura’s spine. the touch was so gentle, so intimate, that it had tomura spilling his pride and his words for this man yet again.

“please,” he panted out, nearly biting his hand out of embarrassment due to his whiny tone.

“please what?”

“please fuck me, please—” and with a shock that shot straight up his spine, he felt dabi enter him all at once. he made an awful squawking noise, nearly folding in on himself. dabi stayed where he was for a moment, tapping on tomura’s hip to check in on him. tomura nodded, and dabi began his violent thrusts. tomura felt every slide of metal and hot flesh against his inside, feeling split open on the other man’s cock. the rubbing against his insides scratched an itch, satisfied an ache, and he could feel himself getting lost in it. his moans were muffled into his arms as his eyes damn near rolled to the back of his head, eyes half-lidded and full of lust.

dabi suddenly, grabbed him by his hair and wrapped a hand under his chest and pulled his up, throwing him off guard. a new angle hit a spot inside tomura he didn’t even know he had, and he let out a loud gasp as dabi continued to plow that spot inside him. tomura felt a pressure building up in his gut.

“fuck— dabi, god, please—” tomura babbled, “god, i can feel it.”

dabi let out a breathy chuckle, nosing along tomura’s shoulders, moving to hold him up by a vice grip on his elbows.

“close, close, please—” 

and with that, dabi dropped tomura onto the bed, roughly pulling out and leaving tomura to face-plant into the pillows.

tomura looked around at him with murder in his eyes. dabi only grinned, leaning over tomura and flipping him over on his back. dabi took tomura’s hands, placing them above his head.

“keep em’ there or it’s over,” dabi threatened, despite the fact that he felt like he would die if he didn’t have tomura right there with him. tomura was heating up and his brain felt like jello already, his orgasm staved off by the drop of his gut from the surprise faceplant.

dabi re-entered, this time agonizingly slow. tomura tried to wriggle his hips, but dabi just held them in his iron hot grip. they had honestly forgotten about the camera at this point, too caught up in the flush of their hips as dabi finally pushed all the way inside. they started up again, rocking their hips together with enough momentum that the impact was nearly bruising at the spots of touch. tomura’s pillowy thighs helped with that, despite his boney nature.

the drag of heat from his cunt to the look that dabi was giving him, in addition to the buildup of one orgasm with no relief had tomura getting close again already.

“please, can i cum? i’ve been good, i’ll be good—”

“god, you have no idea how good you sound right now. you’re so hot, tomura. beg me again, just like that?” dabi’s grin was awful and shit-eating, but tomura had lost all pride, only focused on the slap of their hips and the melting of his own mind.

“dabi! dabi, please— let me cum, god—” and as much as dabi wanted to give it to him, he still pulled out. he had a job to do, and with the way tomura was wriggling in frustration, whimpering like a bitch in heat, dabi could do this all day.

he had to make tomura cry. and with the look on the other man’s face, he wasn’t far off. wide, glassy eyes, a grimace and upturned brows. all he needed was the tears. so he sat, and he waited while tomura squirmed. each time tomura would try to take initiative, dabi would grab his hips to stop his movements, and tomura had yet to disobey him about moving his arms. it was so hot to have control over someone who usually gave him so much shit.

tomura started begging again, and dabi eventually had to give in, piledriving his cock into the man below him. and with a few particularly deep thrusts, tomura threw his head back as a tear ran down his face. his moans were more like quiet and breathless sobs at this point, so eager and so ready. so dabi sped up, slamming into the boy harder and harder. tomura’s words sped up and broke apart until they were just small little groans of “dabi”, “please”, and “fuck”. it was amusing that dabi really had fucked him silly. tears escaped tomura’s gorgeous red eyes, rolling down his red cheeks and bringing dabi so much closer to the edge.

tomura’s arms finally moved and came to grip at dabi’s biceps. dabi allowed it because the boy probably needed something to ground himself with. dabi decided to show the poor boy mercy, reaching down with his thumb to circle the boys swollen clit and leaned down to murmur in his ear.

“cum for me, pretty boy,” and tomura was undone. a cry, a gasp and a visceral physical reaction, and he was clenching around dabi as he came so hard he saw stars.

it wasn’t long for dabi, pulling out and cumming on tomura’s stomach with a groan, panting as he felt tomura still holding on to his arms. dabi sat back for a moment to catch his breath before approaching the laptop, still nude.

“well, i hope you enjoyed. gonna go take care of our resident star, and i’ll be seeing you guys next time.” dabi murmured a quick goodbye to the audience, shutting off the livestream and turning off the computer. dabi didn’t know how to turn off the equipment, that was just something tomura would have to fuck with once he came back to the land of the living. dabi went off to retrieve a rag and some water, coming back to tomura staring at the ceiling.

“you with me, baby?” dabi sat back on the bed, using the rag to gently clean tomura up, before cleaning himself up and throwing the rag on the floor to be dealt with later (gross). he motioned the water bottle to tomura, which he happily gulped down.

“jesus, yeah. that was—” tomura cut off, shaking his head. “can you get my hoodie for me? and some regular underwear. i can’t fuckin’ walk, freakshow. you did me in.” tomura griped, and dabi went to fulfill the request, throwing on his own boxers. and to his own surprise,tomura grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him down onto the bed and wrapping himself around dabi like some sort of koala. 

“stay,” was all tomura said.

and so dabi did.

Abnormal Lovers （Breakdown/Knock Out）Chapter 2

Welcome for comments！

18:42

Breakdown got to the gate in advance, tending to offer Knock Out a nice impression.

The primary star had already fallen a half. Photons diffracted and suffused in the air. Tremendous lights and shades crossed the vast firmament. Cybertron’s sky vault was like water painting, overlying and blooming.

From the fiery-red in the distance to tranquil deep blue on the top, two silver white moons constituted by metal gradually appeared, with other stars of boundless universe.

Breakdown began watching sunset suddenly , and not every transformers had the time or mind to do this.

He thought sunset was beautiful , the art craft of the rotation of Cybertron, the gift given by Primus.

The orbit of the falling of the primary star took the busy day away, and brought transformers’ delighted night . Both of them were hustle and bustle of the world. The dust was the link.

Nevertheless this alternation of day and night was quiet like painting.

Abruptly, a stroke of red broke out the peace.

The end of sunset from far was where Knock Out galloped from. Now he was in automobile, and it was a fashionable and extravagant sports car with no surprise.

He was galloping with the dust behind, roar of engine , and dust.

After a perfect drift, Knock Out turned to transformers.

“Seems you’ve waited for me for a long time, students~What were you doing? Wasn’t I cool when I was at speed?”

“Yes...... very cool, almost like racing driver,and that.....I was, watching sunset.”

Knock Out followed Breakdown ’ sight， glimpsed the primary star far away, and turned the head back at one.

“ It is fine, but I preferred the sunrise. Say no more, roll out! I can ’t wait to indulge in enjex! ”

The destination was not too far from the university, and the evening peak delayed them for a little bit. Whereas it left Breakdown and Knock Out chance to keep pace with. Off-road vehicle like Breakdown could not compare with sports car like Knock Out in speed.

The oil house hid in a little corner in Iacon , with blue and purple neon lights changing alternately. It is said that good enjex needed no bush. Although transformers’ nightlife had not begun yet, there were many transformers in the oil house.They was leaning by the bar counter, talking with the bartenders jovially. Some transformers gathered near tables, playing cars or gambling maybe. The band performed in the stage, and the melodious jazz foreboded the beginning of the wonderful night,

Knock Out pulled the door, with Breakdown followed behind.

Despite of it, the barkeeper noticed Breakdown first. He was frequenter.

“Yo, isn’t it Breakdown? Long time no see, and why you take a transformer with, new friend?Um，“Two transformers, half price. The flyer brings me here, Mister.

Knock Out said first, before Breakdown brewed his words.

His appearance did stir the oil house. Those transformers were talked about his shining paint rustlingly, or desired to execute this sultry and cocky sports car on the sly.

“Uh.....Wheel was still missing Professor Ratchet, who went to the seminar. Today I am with my substitute professor.”

Breakdown said so as his introduction pose, and Knock out showed his signature smiled to the barkeeper politely.

“Wow, young and promising professor, brilliant. Please often come to boost, Doctor Knock Out.”

“My pleasure, Mister.”

Knock Out shook hands with the barkeeper politely, and sit down at the a seat by the bar counter: “ It seems that you often come here with your friend. Ah, I hadn’t found that you are a play boy who go on the spree,um?

Knock Out quipped playfully, with joyful smile. His sight locked on Breakdown from beginning to the end . He invited Breakdown to sit，and sit near by him.

“ Wheeljack liked to have enjex mainly. I just accompany with him every week.......”

Breakdown went after that fascinating optics, sitting by Knock Out.

“Ah,youth.How vital~”

Knock Out switched his sight to enjex cabinet in the front, murmuring.

Breakdown considered that Knock Out did not like the transformers who lacked spare time, maybe because he was a doctor? In spite that he did not look like a doctor , or something like professor, these serious occupations.

He looked like a race driver, or a barmaid......Scrap, how did himself have this sort of thoughts, maybe it was data disorder in his brain module due to Knock Out’ s little temptation .

“ well, do you want to have something to drink..... I’ll pay the bill.Today is half fare.”

Breakdown tried to be friendly, in order to remedy his impure thoughts toward professor.

“Please let me do that, student~ I do not want to deprive your chicken feed living expenses.”

Knock Out looked up to Breakdown. His keen fingers scratch on Breakdown’ s hood with a force neither too heavy nor too light, leaving his own trace on other transformers’ body.

“One tequila sunrise！”

“ Then, what do you have?”

Knock Out lowed his voice, getting more closer to Breakdown. His black eyebrow lifted a little bit, and his

mellow sexy voice sounded like whispering intentionally，teasing sensor spots of Breakdown’s voice receptors.

“Me.....?Ginger beer is ok......and, thank you professor, oh no......”

“Say professor if you want to .Your privilege.”

At the moment, the sky blue or aubergine lights skimmed over Knock Out ’s vermillion body. The female jazz singer sang love song by the side. Knock Out was the beauty in oil painting, blinking his glomming optics in hazy.

“But, be honest, ginger beer? Are there any adult drink this?”

“Ah? Um..... I need to work on the essay after come back.”

“Alright, it is tough for you.Please tell me if you have any questions.You can try to talk with me after class, One to One.”

Knock Out said insouciantly. The noise of mortal world gradually appeared.

Breakdown felt some kind of upset. He thought he had been played tricks on, being pulling by Knock Out ,then pushing at once. However he could not complain anything about it.

“ Thank you for your care of tonight and future,Professor.”

“Haha, you’re welcome, your pleasure.”

Knock Our seemed unconscious of his enchanting appearance before. Previous arm length tickled Breakdown’s spark. Knock Out action was like a butterflybot he could not captured in any way, grasping Breakdown’s curiousness and interest.

“Cheers, for this wonderful night , Breakdown.”

Breakdown just resurrected from ruminating, and the ginger beer was already there. Knock Out was inviting him to toast with smile. Breakdown could not reject the sincerity reflected in his optics , and he raised the glass.

“Ding——”

The orange enjex of tequila sunrise and the light yellow ginger beer vibrated in impaction.

He took a sip of the soda, watching Knock Out raising his head, and drinking off that enjex.

Under the light, Breakdown and Knock Out were face to face. Some drops of the orange enjex hanged on Knock Out ‘s corner of his mouth, and he stuck his tongue unmindfully , then rolled that remnant greedily. This made him blinked the red and black optics with satisfaction, and looked like a satiate turbine fox.

Breakdown sighed to his spark about how sexy and attractive Knock Out’s little actions were.

“Ah, nice taste~Just like what I had in the past.”

His optics once dwelled in enjex now suddenly froze on Breakdown’s face, which seemed to wait for his response.

“Um, this oil house is very......”

“Thank you for condescending, professor beauty.”

Breakdown had not finish his words yet, but found that Knock was giving tips to the barkeeper , and the barkeeper ,and the barkeeper responded with grinning cheekily.Breakdown could do nothing but swallowed his worlds. He did not talked with him, actually.

In the oil house, Knock out was just a hunter, hunting his goal with skill and ease. Nevertheless Breakdown enjoyed his art of temptation.More and more distance game did evoke his emotion and feeling.

Breakdown swallowed his electrolyte, because he watched Knock Out beginning talking, chatting with transformers around.Some transformer even held his slim waist.

He turned to his back to Breakdown, as turn to focus of the oil house, conspicuous like flame in the dark night,

Breakdown could only watched the red light band on his back glimmering fluorescence under colorful lights, twisting as Knock Out ’s chipper laughter, sketching his perfect out line, which is undoubtably seductive,extraordinarily sexy.

The only thing he could do was watching silently it as he used to.

Wheeljack was right.Knock Out was the transformer who tend to lead the conversation, and he was attractive enough to lead it.

Nonetheless himself, whenever, was always the transformer who drunk enjex silently, despite it was soda at the present......... Did this disappoint Knock Out?But he was the one who invited him to the oil house, now left him alone.

When he though this, Breakdown felt a sort of. upset,even a little bit anger slide on his emotion module, which prompted his courage.

“Uh, Professor Knock Out.......”

Breakdown just felt the voice he made was as low as scrapheap.

However,Knock Out who cared paint always could noticed these insignificant tiny bugs, as sharp-sighted sailor could know when to pull the net just by waves.

The enduring attraction depended on emotion and feeling， which Knock Out understood deeply.

“Having conversation with you is so good, Mister.But, I have a friend more important requires my caring.”

After Knock Out finished the chatting politely, the transformers around him dispersed at once.

His coquettish appearance could made you not reject any words he said, even his requirement is to let you get your hand on his slim waist back,and get go quickly.

“Why you come to find me?Student, miss me,uh?”

Knock Out gave back a smile up to no good, but his optics passed hope and sincerity.

Up side down between expression module and spark lead Breakdown to be unprepared.

“No! Well...... kind of, I just don’t understand......”

“Don’t understand for what?Student~”

He picked up the red energy fruit decorated on the glass insouciantly.

“It seems you don’t have any reason to take me here.Two transformers half fare and you pay the bill, which has no difference to you come here alone.....Moreover, if I am not here, you can be more advanced.”

Breakdown spoke out all what in his spark

Then Knock Out rolled the lovely and tender energy fruit in one bite, and this sequence of actions recalled Breakdown of burlesque.

“I am not so disengaged, and in the bar everyday?”

......

Breakdown hoped Knock Out could understand his default.

“This time, I come with purpose.”

Knock Out ‘s tone is unexpectedly firm, seeming like what he mentioned was true.

Purpose..... to troll?Primus, who could be the target of professor?and made him have so much to do? Was not him too lucky?

“Uh, so I am the wingman? But, I am not good at. The only thing I can do is to set off you......”

“No no no, student~You are the best wingman I have ever met.”

“What do you mean?Who is your target and you need transformers like me to be the wingman?”

“Get closer to me and I ’ll tell you.I don’t want others know that~ and you could keep your mouth shut , sweet spark?”

Knockout lowed his voice down with intention, getting Breakdown close. The acoustical generator immersed in enjex was with a warm hoarseness, and just heard it and then get transformers drunk.

Breakdown get to Knock Out’s side, banding and he could place his voice receptor by his mouth.

“Haha，listen up student～ The transformer I want for tonight is——”

What the hell so close they were.Breakdown even could smell the odor of tequila , and his calorific face.

“Breakdown.”

And then he pushed Breakdown away. The keen fingers leave light scratch on him again.

However Breakdown didn’t get angry of the sudden offense, because time in his mind was likely to be static, and had not relief yet because the thing just happened. The energy in his body was froze. All of all was paused because one word of Knock Out.

His cpu was still disposing hardly.Even Knock Out’s echoing of his name was hovering in his brain module.

Knock Out watched him who was dull, then walked over, sticking by him,and his right hand climbed on Breakdown’s hood

“I would like to thick you’ll pounce to me. Young man, you think I am old?Um?”

Shit, one event succeeds another.

Knock Out was still using his optic aiming on Breakdown.The trick which never was useless.

Knock Out was very confident to this, and it seems he could only use that red and black optics and dazzled transformers being fascinated head over heels.

He did not continued with enthusiastic words, but his optics, waiting the other’s response with no restlessness.

“No,no......professor.You are so young !Even a little bit too young.....”

“Ah,ah~ You can not beg the question when you give answers,student. You will lose your points.’

He continued teased Breakdown with no boredom,and his finger knocked gently on his hood.

“Or, you need more, tutoring from your professor? I am willing to.”

Knock Out get closer, and Breakdown could not help himself from holing Knock Out’s waist more tightly.

“Hang on, hefty, my transform gear is going to be squeezed by you.”

Breakdown abruptly carried over, then prepare to get off his waist, but be captured by Knock Out, as easy as a ravage capture his predator.

“Just relax,moreover, you don’t want to get off my waist at all ,right? Just like these transformers who accosted me.”

Knock Out seized Breakdown’s mind perfectly, and his face was filled with complacent smile.

“Uh, yes......professor.”

Hearing the answer in predicting, Knock Out grinned more complacently.

“But, Professor, what do you gonna do with me ......”

Breakdown took fully heart of grace and murmured to himself.

“aha~You have your own answer as you ask me, don’t you? You know, I would like to have a......”He slowed his speed down consciously.

“Frag.”

He revealed the answer with no suspense but lit transformers in heigh spirit , and he put out his metal tongue as he finished , licking the dryness-heat that not existed at all.

The music in the oil house was so bared ,too. The flamelike drumbeat, making transformers feel an upsurge of emotion. Some transformers around even begun to do it with hostesses. One by one roar and groan were waiting for Breakdown’ s voice receptors for a long while.

Whereas the sexy and the hot of all of this could not compare with the moment of Knock Out said that word ,that invitation personally .

He was so coquettish and arrogant , making you could not reject.

As previously mentioned, random frag was not in Breakdown ’s brain module, nevertheless under Knock Out’s fierce attack, even the thirteen prime would surrender.

And how about Breakdown who is just a undergraduate of nursing.

“Ah......I, can......”

Breakdown answered clumsily. The point was himself did not know how he spoke this out, maybe due to Knock Out’s charm and lust that broke his cpu , logic module down, only leaving the feeling to drive.

“Why you sound so reluctantly then, dear student Breakdown~”

The enjex had already immersed him into a little bit giddy, and Knock Out was laughing when he looked up.

“I......”

“Forget it. At least you agree.Hope you can fill me tonight . I bet you would please me so much. Fantabulous~Of course, you will enjoy it ,too.”

Knock Out took him out, as he said these seductive words, and his sharp finger made Breakdown a little bit hurt.

Breakdown could only be dragged by him, however, there was no possibility for a sports car to drag a huge off-road car.

He stopped at the door, and Breakdown was within an inch of falling on him, and the lucky was he did not, or it would hurt Professor Knock Out , or wipe out his fair shining paint.

And he saw, Knock Out turning round to the bar counter, watching the barkeeper who had not been paid yet, and throwing him a blow kiss with grinning.

Random frag ,done and dash. It must be exciting tonight.

But, for real, frag?Breakdown still could not accept.

“Hotel?”

He asked tentatively.

“No, my house. Let’s get the subway. I don’t wanna get the ticket of driving while intoxicated. Who knows how expensive the punishment is.”

It seemed Knock Out had this plan long ago, but why do not go to the hotel? As usual, random frag was not always in the hotel? Maybe because he was still fresh, Breakdown thought so.

“Well, Professor, I am the first time.......”

“ I guess so. It doesn’t matter ,student. I am the senior.”

Knock Out said as it did not matter at all, even with a little bit flaunt. He said as he walked to the subway station. Breakdown went up with him immediately.

There was no words all the way. They kept unusual silence.

Breakdown did not dare to ask anything else. His cpu needed to dispose this thing totally.

In all, there was too much thing needed to consider. He only looked up social tricks, and never thought up that he needed to look up frag tricks.

On the way, Knock Out was hush which was uncharacteristically, watching the night view out of the window, His delicate beautiful face reflected on light blue glass. Breakdown could only appreciate for a few sight, because he could not looked at Knock Out at all. It was feeling like being tempted by nymphs , and Knock Out’s voice receptors was just like nymphs.

Breakdown watched Knock Out’ s fingerprint identification succeeding , and the door of his house opened automatically.

Omg can I please have a fic where Quinn (possibly backed by all of SMH) absolutely throws down N*te. And then maybe comforts a Sad Nando bc nando is Soft and needles all the cuddles and support

Okay, this has been in popular demand for quite some time now. It may be 1:31 AM, but I’m counting this as a little birthday present for Nando.

Set during Quinn’s summer in Arizona. :D

//

One of the first steps of taking your boyfriend home for the summer is showing him around.

For the past six days, that’s what Nando has taken it upon himself to do. He can’t believe, actually, that he and Quinn have been home from school for an entire week already— well, a week tomorrow, but still— and yet here they are, arrived at the last day of Nando’s extensive tour of the Phoenix metro area. They’ve spaced it out— something one day, something another— like dinner at Tio’s one night, an afternoon meeting his best friends from home, showing Quinn his childhood rink.

He’s satisfied with his own performance as a tour guide, but tomorrow means his first shift at Tio’s restaurant, which means that summer job season is really beginning. Which, like, obviously he and Quinn can still hang out— they’re living under the same roof; and if it’s not Mama or one of the girls, Quinn is the first person he sees every morning. It’s just that once he has a summer job schedule, their days won’t be entirely their own anymore.

For Quinn, he knows, that might be a little weird, at least for these first three weeks until Gabi and Rosa get out of school. Once they’re done, the summer theatre stuff starts up, and Quinn is getting paid to do that, so he’ll have something to do.

In the meantime, though, Nando knows he brought things with him. Like his knitting stuff. And a few books. And his camera.

And until tomorrow, the time is still theirs.

“Okay, my love,” Quinn says, at the kitchen table, over his toast and eggs. The morning is all theirs; Mama is at work, so once they got the twins out the door and onto the bus, Nando made him breakfast. “What’s on the agenda today?”

Nando grins at him. “Oh, you’re curious?”

He shrugs. “In a way.” He’s wearing a baggy KMH shirt tucked into his pajama bottoms, and he hasn’t even done his hair yet. Nando lives for seeing him like this— his obsessively proper boyfriend, who won’t be caught dead in jeans outside of a party, in his pajamas in his family’s kitchen.

It has been six days, and having Quinn at home has given him enough fuel for domestic daydreaming to last a lifetime.

It’s going to be a good summer.

“Well, I saved a good thing for last,” Nando tells him, reaching for his hand across the table. “We’re going to the beach.”

Quinn raises his eyebrows, skeptical. “In Arizona.”

“Yes,” he chirps back, because two can play at this game. “I’m driving you eight hours south to the ocean. Do you have your passport?” Quinn laughs a little, and he adds, “No, baby, the beach by the river. There’s a little park there. We can sit by the water in the sun.”

“Ooh.” Quinn smiles. “That sounds lovely.”

“But first,” he adds, squeezing his hand. “I’m taking you to my favorite Starbucks.”

Quinn cocks his head, with amusement in his smile now. “You have a favorite Starbucks?”

“You don’t have a favorite Starbucks?” he replies.

“I…” He trails off a little. “I can’t say I do, actually.”

“Well, I’ll educate you.” He brings his hand to his face, kisses it, and says, “Maybe this one will become your favorite.”

Quinn’s smile is the cutest shit he has ever seen. “Maybe so.”

*

In the truck, on the way there, Quinn is watching out the window. “So why is it your favorite?”

“Huh?”

“The Starbucks.” He looks to him across the console. “Why is it your favorite?”

“Oh.” Nando grins. “Well, okay. It’s, like, classic Arizona architecture, and—”

“Wait, you like it because of the architecture?” Quinn chuckles a little. “Are you Ben?”

“Jesus, baby, are you chirping me?” Nando jostles his arm, and Quinn laughs. “You’re a regular KMH member. I’m impressed.”

Quinn shrugs. “I suppose you’re finally rubbing off on me.”

“Wow.” Nando loves his boyfriend. “I’m honored. But FYI, I was only starting with the reasons I liked it.”

“Okay, continue, then.”

“Okay, so it has a lot of really nice outdoor seating.” Nando pauses. “It’s, like, near a shopping center, but it’s separate from the rest of the stores, so it’s not just some ugly spot. They always have the good cake pops, and plus, the manager is cool. They have blue hair and they wear a bunch of pride pins on their apron.”

“Okay.” Quinn nods, as Nando watches him process. Or at least sort of watches him, because he is, technically, still driving a vehicle, cute as the boy in the passenger’s seat may be. “That does sound like a good Starbucks.” He pauses. “What do you mean by the good cake pops?”

“Lemon ones,” he replies. “And chocolate. And, during Pride month, rainbow.”

“Oh my goodness.” Quinn closes his eyes, like he’s having a moment. “Now I’m craving a cake pop.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re on our way there,” Nando replies, and he laughs.

It only takes a few more minutes to arrive. The parking lot is sort of crowded, but it doesn’t look like a mob scene, which is nice. Nando sees an empty table for two under a palm tree on the patio that has their name on it.

“Here we are,” he remarks, parking the truck across the lot from the door. “Our cake pops await.”

Quinn puts on his sunglasses. Their lenses are rose-gold and circular, and he looks criminally adorable in them. And also kind of super hot. That’s the thing about Quinn. He’s the cutest thing in the world and he’s also the source of literally all of Nando’s thirst. And he can turn on a dime. “I’m ready,” he tells him, combing back his hair. Already, with the past week in the sun, it’s gone a little lighter blond on the top. “I’ll have you know, my expectations are extremely high.”

“Oh, this won’t disappoint you,” Nando assures him. “I promise.”

They walk hand-in-hand across the parking lot, and Nando grabs the door for him. Inside is sweet air-conditioned bliss, and it smells like fresh-roasted coffee beans and the bakery case. Nando hasn’t been in here since Christmas break, and it’s been too long.

There’s a small line, but it won’t take more than a few minutes to get to the register. He tries to see who’s working, in case it’s Shai, but he can’t get a good look at the cashier, and there’s no sign of their blue mohawk among the baristas making the drinks.

Shai is actually, like, thirty, and possibly married, but they memorized his drink order in high school and always complimented him on his pride shirts, so they’re one of those older queer people Nando has just imprinted on. And, okay, yeah. He was totally excited to bring his boyfriend in here to meet them. It’s the little things.

Going around town with Quinn is like showing him off, and he has never been happier.

As they get in line, Quinn wraps his hand around his elbow, leaning into him. “It smells good in here,” he hums, with his head against his shoulder.

“I told you,” Nando replies, kissing his temple. “This is a magical place.”

He checks his phone, briefly, while they wait in line; he hasn’t actually looked at it since he woke up this morning. He has a few Snapchats in the cricket group chat, plus one from Nursey (he and Dex just got engaged, which, !!!!!!), and a separate text from Rhodey (it looks like he sent him a TikTok; Rhodey is obsessed with TikTok). He opens the cricket group, turns his front camera on, and snaps a selfie. Quinn is smiling with his cheek against his shoulder, and he himself looks like a little bit of a meme, but Quinn looks cute, so he saves it before he types the caption (coffee run y’all want anything) and sends it through.

In exactly twenty seconds, Rhodey replies. It’s a picture of himself in his work uniform— he delivers pizzas in Providence— and he’s flashing a peace sign at the camera. His hair is in a pink, blue, and yellow striped scrunchie. ya get me an americano. also yall are gay

Quinn snickers. “Well, I would sure hope so, Ben.”

Nando pockets his phone and hooks his arm around his neck. “Super gay.”

Quinn leans into his shoulder. “Mm.” He nods. “The gayest.”

They move forward a spot in line, then another. In fact, they move forward three entire spots without incident. Quinn is humming some showtune— it’s from Spring Awakening; he recognizes it— and Nando is keeping his eyes peeled for Shai, or at least someone he knows. Look at me! I’m in love and I’m happy.

But then God says, be careful what you wish for.

Because as they move into the spot where they’re up next to order, he catches the sound of the cashier’s voice. “... and can I get a name for the order?”

All of the life leaves Nando’s body.

“Holly? Great.” The voice is nasally, and a little artificially cheerful. He hasn’t heard it— outside of a few drunk voicemails— in over two years, but it evokes a visceral reaction in him. He feels sick, all of a sudden. “That’ll be right up.”

He must be tense all of a sudden, because Quinn peers up at him. “Sebastián?” he asks, and what a difference between two voices. “Are you alright?”

He tries to take a deep breath. “I, um.” He pauses. “I think we have to leave.”

“Next customer, please?”

“Leave?” Quinn squints. “But we’re next!”

The people in front of them step to the side counter, and Nando sputters too long. “We, uh—”

But when the way is clear, it’s too late. “Sebby!”

Nando wants to die.

“Holy shit!” Nate has a different haircut, and a Starbucks apron, but otherwise he’s the same— the same pasty pale skin, the same bony stature, the same face so easily twisted into a scowl. Right now, though, he’s smiling, which, honestly, is an expression that looks alien on him, based on Nando’s memory. “You didn’t tell me you were home from school!”

What he wants to say is, Nate, why the fuck would I tell you I was home from school, but what he does say is, “Uh, hi.”

He is going to cringe himself to death. He’s been home for no less than six days, and he is already running into his ex with his boyfriend.

When did he start working here?

“It’s been forever!” As Nate keeps on this weirdly cordial tangent, Nando feels Quinn still next to him. Quinn knows vaguely what Nate looks like, but what he knows better is the way he used to act, and the fact that he used to call him Sebby. Also, he’s wearing a nametag. And Nando feels as stiff as a board. “How’ve you been?”

Very carefully, Quinn unwinds his arm from his, and takes a firm, obvious grip on his hand.

“Jeez, I keep trying to reach out to you,” Nate continues, like they’re old friends running into each other, and not exes with a toxic history. “We really should catch up sometime, now that you’re in town.”

Nando takes a long breath, like it’ll fix the tension in his chest. He squeezes at Quinn’s hand, which helps a little. Quinn leads when they step up to the counter, and he inhales like he wants to order, but Nate is still fucking going. “Who’s your friend?” he asks.

“Boyfriend,” Quinn blurts, in his I’m pissed and I mean business voice, which, thank God for this boy. “I’m his boyfriend.”

Nate raises his eyebrows a little, looking at Quinn like he’s a five-year-old having a tantrum. “Oh,” he says, shrugging. “My bad. Although, I should’ve known.” Nate’s eyes dart to him for a second, and Nando wants to scrub himself clean of that gaze. “He tends to go for the little guys,” Nate continues, to Quinn, gesturing between the two of them like he’s comparing their heights. Then he shrugs again. “Gotta balance it out, y’know?”

Nando’s stomach turns. It stings, so much, and as soon as this is out of Nate’s mouth he feels Quinn squeeze his hand so hard it’s like he intends to break bones. He squeezes right back, and God, he knows it’s cruel and unnecessary and shouldn’t bother him, and it’s been almost three fucking years since he had to deal with Nate, but it still hurts. It hurts just as much as every comment like that did from him. It sends him back to memories of hating and second-guessing himself, and he just. He feels so fucking humiliated.

Quinn takes a very long breath, his eyes on Nate, while he digests this, and then he says, “Can I get a peach green tea, please.” He pauses, still squeezing the circulation out of his hand, and it is the only thing keeping Nando from tearing up. Which is pathetic. But he’s just. It hurts. “And he’ll have a—”

“Mocha frappe. Yeah. I know.” Nate chuckles a little, already grabbing a cup. “Extra whip, right?”

Quinn bristles, face flushing, and finally, Nando finds his voice. “Actually,” he says, “no.” Because even though that was what he was going to order, he doesn’t want to give Nate the satisfaction of thinking he still knows him that well. His Starbucks order may be the same, but there’s so much about him that’s changed since Nate knew him. So much about him that’s better now. Without him. He orders his second favorite. “An iced vanilla latte.” And then, because even though he really doesn’t feel like being polite to him, he feels like Mama might manifest in this Starbucks and kick his ass if he doesn’t say it, he adds, “Please.”

“Hm, my mistake,” Nate says, with a shrug, as he’s writing on the two cups. “I guess you’re a new man, Sebby. We really should catch up.” Quinn’s death grip intensifies, because he knows how much Nando cannot stand being called that. He brings his other hand back to wrap around his elbow, too, like he’s being protective, and Nando has never been more grateful for him.

“Anyway, that’ll be right up.” Nate looks so unbothered, just the way he always did, years ago, when he’d make a comment that left Nando’s self-esteem reeling for days afterward. “I guess I don’t really need your name for the order, huh?”

He’s writing on the cup, and Nando can’t see— or just doesn’t want to— but Quinn must be able to, because he says, “His name is Sebastián.”

Nate raises his eyebrows. “Ooh, feisty.” And of course Quinn sounds mad— but Nate making fun of him will do nothing but add more fuel to the fire. Nate looks to him, past Quinn entirely, and adds, “Does he speak for you all the time like this, or—?”

Nando wants to melt into the floor. “Just give us our total, Nate,” he says, because the faster they can get out of here, the better. Quinn is bristling next to him, but stays quiet. 

Nate sighs, shrugs a little, and punches into the cash register. “If you say so,” he says, then announces, “6.23.”

And he thinks that’s going to be the end, but then, as he’s handing over his card, Nate keeps fucking talking. “Oh!” he says, still all faux-fake. “Sebby, you should take him to the lake. Remember, when we’d go down there in high school?”

Quinn’s grip on him tightens. This transaction cannot process fast enough. “We had a lot of fun,” Nate says, like he’s reminiscing. “Always did. It’s a shame; I feel like we never really had closure.”

Finally, finally, after what feels like a million years, he hands his card back, and Nando pockets it in a hurry. “C’mon,” he says to Quinn, because he cannot stand here for one more second, and as they walk away, Nate calls after them.

“Hey, give me a shout sometime!” He’s doing the fake-smile thing again. “We should really hang out, now that you’re in town again.”

Nando squeezes his eyes shut and takes a tight breath; he didn’t realize it before, but it’s hard to breathe. He feels sick and humiliated and awful, and when they’re far enough away to be out of earshot, he looks to Quinn and whispers, “Baby, I am so sorry.”

Quinn is surprisingly calm, at least in comparison to his clear irritation at the register. He shakes his head and rubs his arm with the free hand that’s not holding his. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I just—” He wants to melt. “I had no idea he started working here; I haven’t even seen him since before freshman year, and it just— like, it figures, right—”

“Sebastián,” Quinn says, and his even voice pulls Nando out of his head. “I’m going to get our drinks, and then we can get out of here, okay?”

Nando lets all his breath out at once, then nods. “I— yeah. Okay. That’s— perfect. I’m sorry, baby.”

“Do not be sorry.” Quinn rises on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. “None of that was your fault.”

Quinn seems surprisingly collected for someone who was just ignored and insulted a minute ago, and Nando has this feeling, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he’s planning something, some kind of revenge— but what could he do, with Nate just working?

They station themselves against the wall by the pick-up counter, and it isn’t lost on Nando how touchy Quinn is being— not that they’d hold back in public for any reason in general, but he’s definitely going the extra mile right now, rubbing the inside of his elbow and leaning his head on his shoulder and holding his hand all at once. Not only is the touch grounding; Nando is also fully aware that Quinn is trying to rub it in Nate’s face should he glance over from his spot behind the counter.

Which, good. Let him fucking stare if he wants to. Nando hasn’t felt that humiliated in a long time.

And he hates that he let it hurt him, that one stupid comment— but it was such a reminder of worse times, times when he’d have to process things like that from the person who was supposed to be his partner all the time, and it was just. It was always hard, and it was always awful, and being with Quinn has helped him work so much on all of that. Quinn taught him, so early on, that he deserved better. Everything with Quinn is better.

He just focuses on holding Quinn’s hand for a minute, until Nate puts their drinks out at the pick-up counter. “Stay here, honey,” Quinn tells him, squeezing his hand before he unwinds his fingers from it. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Nando replies, and watches him go.

Quinn squares his shoulders, takes a short breath, and walks to the counter. Nando is suddenly very aware that something might be about to happen. He leans against the wall and listens in, as he watches Quinn take the two drinks from across the counter.

He’s right. Quinn looks Nate dead in the eye and says, “Hi, could I just remind you of something?”

Oh my God. Nando widens his eyes. Is Quinn about to chew him out?

Nate says nothing, but looks unamused, and Quinn continues. “You broke up with him,” Nando hears him say. “After you cheated on him, by the way. Just in case you forgot.” Nate raises his eyebrows, but stays silent. Quinn is reeling now, and there’s no stopping him. “And I happen to know an awful lot about the way you treated him, and how much that hurt him, so don’t you dare try to act so friendly, like you didn’t break him.” Nando is frozen in place, as Quinn picks up both of the drinks. “He owes you nothing. He clearly does not want to reconnect with you, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to do that either with someone who did nothing but make me feel awful about myself for two years.” Quinn isn’t even making a scene— the only reason Nando can hear what he’s saying is because he’s not standing that far away— but Jesus Christ, if this isn’t the most satisfying thing to witness in the world. Nate is red in the face and absolutely silent, and Quinn is staring daggers at him; if looks could kill, he’d be dead on sight. “If you wanted to be his friend, maybe you shouldn’t have stomped all over his heart.”

Nando cannot believe his ears.

“And,” Quinn adds, like it’s the end of a big monologue, “I’m going to need two straws.”

Nando is so in love with this boy.

He watches, trying not to smile or even laugh, as Nate fumbles into the thing of straws and shoves two in Quinn’s direction. Quinn takes them, flashes a big, stage smile, and says, “Thank you!” before he turns and walks back in Nando’s direction.

The fake smile turns self-satisfied in a second flat, as he meets Nando’s eyes again. Nando is still kind of frozen, but he wants to kiss him, right in the middle of Starbucks.

All he can say is, “Baby.”

Quinn is all smiles. He looks the way he does when he comes out of the stage door after a great show. “Ready to go, honey?”

“Am I ever,” Nando says, and they join hands again as they head for the door. He’s not sure if Quinn knows that he heard what he said. “That… was kind of the most satisfying thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”

“Oh,” Quinn replies as he sticks his straw into his iced tea, “trust me, Sebastián. It’s the most satisfying thing I’ve done as long as I can remember.” He pauses, as he takes a sip, and then adds, “I’ve been wanting to do that for longer than I can even say.”

“It was hot,” he says, because, well, it was. “And just… jeez, I— maybe something good did come out of this situation.”

“Of course it did,” Quinn replies. His smile is kind of maniacal, and Nando is into it. “I got to have the confrontation of my dreams, and I got an iced tea.” He holds up his drink. “Cheers!”

Nando bumps his vanilla coffee against it and laughs. “Cheers, baby.”

Quinn squeezes his hand. They walk back outside into the summer day, and Nando doesn’t look back.

Not even a glance.

S15 Remaster: Grace, Souls, Conversion; Effects of the Fall; The Journey of Man; Self-Godhood and Free Will.

Alright, so over in another thread (x) @curioussubjects​ evoked an interesting take about the effects of the fall vs grace/souls and the meaning of the two, and I remembered having an old post that was a bit of a mess from early S13 where I applied Qabbalistic concepts to SPN not long before the actual... Qabbalistic and Hermetic elements started manifesting (The Shadow, the Empty/Ain Soph, etc) and before I pretty much started flipping theological shit.

The other thread was already becoming titanic with a hodge podge of other philosophical musings between users (I think @winchestersingerautorepair​ and @thecoffeebrain-blog​ are still pending to add their additions to it once life clears them), so we sort of mutually agreed to save this discourse for another thread while I took some time to remaster and update the old talking points.

It's a fundamental point that is generally vaguely brushed over, or often has modern concepts plugged into it in streamlined media form rather than exploration: What makes a soul, what makes existence, what makes meaning in our lives.

This, in fact, is the fundamental question and exploration *of* the soul, which Dabb's SPN seems to be tackling fairly directly.

So let's explore the differences and transitional conversions of grace and soul as we've witnessed in SPN. I'll be starting with my take, but of course, as all philosophical discussions go, this is best a conversation of shared concepts.

Also uh, this post was kinda on-request but is literally ridonculously long. Fuck Andrew Dabb for being the only person on the face of the goddamn planet that can make me write infinite words about esoteric philosophy about a TV show.

So this conversation gets a bit difficult to even know where to begin. I'm going to notch a few notes for everybody to keep in mind: Season 6: Death can not destroy souls. Souls are the most powerful known force in the universe, and he who has the most Is Become God. Season 13: Only god can create new angels, they are the biological definition of an asexually reproductive species (as opposed to sexual orientation identity) -- they are unable to create among themselves, and must be created by a supreme force in command of the grace that creates them. This will passively brush over the oft-discussed topic of angel sexuality as well, but that is far from the core point. Season 14: God calls souls "complicated" to handwave away making new ones. Season 15: Yet again, Belphegor tried to consume souls to become a great power, reflecting S6/7 Castiel's arc.

Now that I've sort of dropped those as a lead-in of applicable concepts, I'd like to move forward.

Now as per my S13 listing, we've all seen this fandom turn over and try to apply human sexuality and identity labels to angels over and over again and, while I understand that and mean no offense to that in general, I feel like approaching it from that angle of the human perspective and lens makes a great deal of the substantiative qualities of SPN's discussion of the human soul vanish into the aether. How are these things related? Let's talk!

Sex isn’t the only part of this discussion. As they are wavelength lifeforms, rather than biological, they aren’t really dependent on biological functions. Many of their native elements pass to their vessels: They don’t eat, sleep, or have general body functions… normally.

Their senses are all sorts of different, too. They see in the astral, they taste and smell in molecular compounds, and especially early-vessel-claiming, they seem to have next to no actual pain response. It’s like, well, some giant wave form stuffed in a meat sack they use like a marionette more than having genuine attachment to. Early on angels could waltz through gunfire without flinching and take a knife to the chest with a very bland look of, “Really?”

When it comes to discussing angels and grace, I'm going to pull some sections from the linked post at the start of this:

We know the biblical concept that all things are made by grace; we know Chuck controls his fake construct, but not the free will of the human soul. Consider Gabriel’s constructed worlds where he can manipulate the fake people inside it and snap them away in veils of blue, they’re just pieces of a machine. “I’m the cage.” The human body is part of the sandbox, but the soul is something beyond it.

If angels are living aspects of grace, wavelengths of celestial intent for Chuck’s machinations, the programs that keep the matrix in order – and fallen angels are the rogue programs – they’re still relatively connected to being just… an animated, if intelligent rock or any other piece of the universe. To use more Matrix terms: Just more lines of code. But Castiel’s break in that was contact with his profound bond with Dean that left a mark on him, a brand, just like Balthazar’s soul claims. This tie was powerful enough to be stronger than even Amara’s connection to Dean, for example.

The human soul is the essence of the one true good, realistically – The One Thing that exists, truly, by which all other things come, the Prima Materia – “What Jack did wasn’t evil, it was the absence of good.” – this is actually a hermetic concept but that’s a whole other bag of words, that’s how I quoted that line before the episode aired from the title alone but MOVING ON

If we look at Eileen for example, her ghost is still deaf. Her body/cage/vessel in life never introduced her consciousness, her humanity, to the tactile sense of sound as it exists within Chuck’s sandbox, ergo her spirit doesn’t know it. But it is the soul, like the sleeper, seeking the meaning of its existence and where it is home that commands the body, and leaves the body, and ends up in chuck’s other matrixes of control like heaven and hell that keep people distracted, keep humans from returning to the primordial man that rivals or maybe even betters God.

That all said, human Cas for example suddenly had the full awareness of experience, rather than an autonomous sentient part of the universe chained to divine intent, free or not; that freedom and liberty came by way of the human soul. (Per metatron, Season 8 finale, “When you die and your soul comes to heaven,”)  But with his tie to Dean, and humanity, and a soul his hands laid on, the extraction of his grace also left… but what? A soul born of Dean, really.

Whenever his grace came back, that universal power and awareness, he lost those senses, but he didn’t lose many of the attributes that came with. In fact he pined for them.

Also if we go Jungian with the inky man/shadow as the primordial man or spirit of man, Anthropos, while it didn’t reflect Lucifer, Billie, or soulless Jack it reflected Castiel.

I’ve held the theory that Castiel still has a soul like the nucleus of an egg buried beneath a titanic presence of universal power.

I’d also further endorse this by pointing out while metatron cited Cas having a soul in the S8 finale, when Jack lost his, neither Dean nor Cas thought Cas could empathize as well as Sam could.

In example, Castiel is the only one the Shadow reflected, not Billie, not Soulless Jack, not Lucifer, just Castiel; I’ve even gone so far as to speculate that the smiley attempt at communication was the sort of subconscious borg having the essence of Jack’s soul trying to communicate with his spirit/mind otherwise alert based on consumed grace in the Empty. Speculation, yes, but… potentially loudly resonant.

The journey of man to self-godhood is a complex and tangled affair, traveling through facets of the self represented by a wide array of *ideas* we have begun to face in the show (including color schemes Dabb has actively employed)

If you venture into my shorthand visual post about The Shadow, Anima, Animus, and the Self (x) you'll find how the show has chosen to address this. Similarly, the masculine and feminine paths of universal progenation would be worth a cursory read (x).

Similarly, @winchestersingerautorepair​ recently sent me a chart from a 1973 book titled "The Colors of Love" discussing Hellenistic use of color in association (which, minding alchemy's growth path through time, is hugely relevant). As Maeve said, "John Allen Lee is the mvp by the way. Hes at the crossroads of psychology and LGBT concepts of love and sexuality, and has a fascinating career and life story."

Before I fully locked on to just how loud Dabb was being in his use of alchemy rather than casually tapping on it, you may remember a series of color metas I built specifically on these very colors (and, let's face it, black light doesn't exist, but blue does, and has similar psychological associations). Click this (x) to go to my color metas on tumblr regarding Optimism, which follows this path. Unfortunately my Nihilism one is either untagged or I only posted it on Pillowfort. But you’ll take note I just sort of avoided/dodged/ignored established fanon color meta in favor of other stuff, just a heads up there if you’re expecting me to follow anyone else’s pre-existing fanon -- it ain’t there.

This is all an aside to the actual question of *souls*, but an important framework to how Dabb is choosing to explore the journey of the soul through its many aspects of Being.

To defer back to what I quoted from my other post about Gabriel's universes: What makes humanity different from the moving bodies performing functions of controlled story, rather than guided elements, inside Gabriel's world? If we were to, say, drift into Doctor Sexyverse, or Cop Proceduralverse, nobody seemed to flinch or even be aware of Sam and Dean breaking the script, they continued on their own paths until Sam and Dean "played their parts". But what made Sam and Dean *different* from them?

Explaining freedom to angels is "a bit like teaching poetry to a fish," said Castiel, now bound to humanity since laying his hands on the human soul in hell that, even the S8 DVD commentary mentions, is how he has come to know, love and, as they say, be "enamored with" humanity. We have seen it now-- blank stares of confusion from breaking their course of action, their function. Their predesigned purpose that they were wavelengths of intent for within the machine. They aren't all so different from Gabriel's creations in the end, with Doctor Sexy's Nurses being not too unlike angels to Chuck. They are there for a path and a reason, and should they be somehow interrupted from that function, they seem to lose all purpose.

To convert this to another method of understanding than "matrix code", in case that isn't sinking in with anyone, think of angels as forces of nature. The hurricane means no malice, it simply exists as a function of or even result of universal laws, and often evokes great rebalancing effects that change the course of history for a huge amount of humans and other creatures that it's basically oblivious to. The hurricane does not understand your feelings much less care about them. It is here to do what it does until it is done with what it does. This very concept is why so many ancient gods are primitive archetypes of natural forces.

If we cease trying to box angels into human perceptions for the want to identify with them in such a representation-light landscape, the field opens up to something infinitely more complicated. Such as: what makes Castiel so different? I've already addressed that, of course, in this post, but let's pitch that as a conversational hook again.

"You want to know why we're meant to stay away from those humans? It's not because we're a danger to them. It's because they're a danger to us."

Now BECAUSE sexuality is the angle this fandom has heavily thrown its discussion chips into beyond the other senses, I'm going to move forward into that topical field:

Anna, talking to Dean, lists a long flurry of reasons to become human, among which sex was stapled. In later seasons, Cas comes up with a different list, but it’s more reflective of his emotive view of humanity, and doesn’t include the sex. Either way, it actually leaves interesting take on the human soul’s function (which is also a silent part of something I’ll get to later** ) as per the trinity of mind-soul-body sometimes called “The Threefold Nature of Man” in a lot of classic mysticism. **

So why would Anna include sex in the list if others can enjoy it? There’s various reasons of taking this into consideration, and I consider most headcanon potentials valid since… you know, there’s really no clear statement on this.

- Most angels have a copilot and that’s just creepy AF - It could be subliminal commentary of wanting to enjoy a native drive for it rather than a learned one, since affections and emotions are also canonically attached to the human condition (as well as the 3fold Nature discussed later). - It could have to do with gradual humanization effects (will discuss shortly) - Misc other.

Barring our specific presumption of why this hangs in the air, the detail is that it simply *does*. Perhaps the truth is between all of these, with each angel unto their own.

Anna lurked, invisibly, on earth observing men as long as she knew. Now, gradual humanization effects is a complete headcanon proposal associated around  all elements to be covered in this discussion. That is to say, most angels that have exhibited sexual behavior and enjoyment of various goods have either been fallen or in their vessels for a LONG TIME, perhaps gradually removing the disassociation from the body and gaining familiarity with its functions.

Yes, we can evoke Balthazar’s sexual activity, but we must also evoke his appreciation for wine and food and music and all of the other things that we have canonically, even mechanically witnessed in Castiel (inability to appreciate food or drink, in example, as an angel.) So WHAT makes Balthazar different that he CAN experience all of these things (beyond the potential of Plothole AF)? There is literally something he has that other angels don’t. The second Cas clicks back to angel, he can’t appreciate food anymore and beer does nothing for him, but Balthazar can enjoy alcohol? There is LITERALLY a difference of template of EVERYTHING going on here, not just sexuality. We can postulate it all we want, but the only one that immediately comes to mind is “gradual humanization”, as we haven’t the FOGGIEST idea how long he has had his vessel. Unless we assume various appreciations of his are Just An Act, but then why not assume it’s performance behavior on the sexuality too? Pick one or the other, don’t run the line on both. (Also if you want to be under the assumption that despite terminal soul dealing it was his first vessel run, I’m going to leave this as a note, and a REMINDER of his meddling in attachment to, handling, trade and use of human souls for his own means, and tuck this aside until we GET to the meaning of human souls.)

The VERY SAME can be said of Gabriel. And Gabriel we KNOW has been on earth as Gabe for a VERY. LONG. TIME. His sweet tooth is what got him busted. Again, it’s not just about his sexuality, it’s his entire composition is somehow DIFFERENT from otherwise canonical function of angels.

Again I point out there’s also a big ??????? on Naomi because again… 400 year old Crowley in Mesopotamia. We have no educated way to even ADDRESS that one because… is it a time warp? WTH??? Even Mark called this a plothole. Literally we have to headcanon how they were even there together before we headcanon what was even going on in a big old pillar of ridiculous headcanon, so I’m going to float that off in a box labeled with a question mark and admit, it’s just random AF. The “fling” is also implied and unclear. So I mean- we’ll just… note that and keep moving on why it’s never impacted my perception of this much.

How long fallen was Lucifer?

Hannah brings an obvious question to mind in challenge to all of my surrounding premises, but this is literally where “choice of experimentation within a vessel” comes into play, as with all of them. I’m human now, this seems like a fun thing to humans, let me try the thing; that’s all I’ve ever read that as. You may have your read of it otherwise, but angels try a lot of things. And I’ll bring this up during canon talk.

The concept of humanization-with-time does have some further established presence of S13. When Lucifer is still an angel but largely drained of his grace, he too begins feeling compulsions of hunger, cold, and basic human instinct he was previously immune to. Diminished power, and the closer one comes to being of Soul Rather than Grace, the more they seem to resonate. Anna carved out her grace to fully enjoy humanity and was born into it, experiencing its gifts of awareness. Cas can no longer fully enjoy humanity as an angel. We don’t know what Balthazar’s status is. And so on. But it appears that by VARIOUS METHODS, such as the depletion of grace or just being a long-assed time to attach to a specific vessel, they do end up ATTAINING various behaviors.

Preparing to speak on Humanized Angels.

What really triggered this premise to me was the recurring humanization of Castiel. And again, this goes far beyond just sexuality preferences. I’m going to do a brief break to get to that ** I marked above about the threefold nature of man before expanding.

** Mind-Soul-Body trinity:

Angels have the mind/spirit (grace) and body, but lack a soul; grace is closer to their natural body’s composition than molecular and transmits a wavelength thought into whatever sack they’re using to operate. But there’s a disconnect here in classic mind-soul-body structure (which is sometimes alternately listed as Body-Spirit-Soul, with Soul as the mind instead, and Spirit in place of the alternate listing of Soul? People swap these terms interchangeably but you’ll find a common pull). There’s multiple takes on this. For example, we’ll go with the standard accepted biblical take as a first ideation of it, considering the various judeochristian influences of SPN.

Please NOTE I’m going to list several variations of this, and have no hard cast “this is the exact model” they’re using, as much as “this is a recurring theme in religion and philosophy”, which, while SPN is rarely 100% accurate to any one specific model, they often call on.

The EXACT itterations of this vary, and there’s no real saying which exact respective “silent ven diagram” they’re using, but as if a triple circle overlapped with Mind, Body, Spirit with the balance we as humans know at the core. Removing a rung of this strips out major overlap of function.

The inner spirit, insight, will and memory reaching from spirit/mind to body by WAY of the soul, for the spirit to engage the human senses within the constructed universe

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

To fully understand this chart, I again point to (as earlier in this post) this previous post about primordials, explaining the chain (x), Anima Animus and the Shadow (x) and also its association with the paths on way to enlightenment at the source of creation which is explored, for a particular path, right here (x)

Just another way to stack out this chart, including the adventure of Anima and Animus, as well as the id/ego/superego I’ll discuss soon; However, you can see the literal concept is the same. There’s an inner mind, a central essence of the inner court that reflects close to the aspects of Humanity Cas told Hannah, and then the “living room” of the body, and the senses. Same deal. Again, "I'm the cage."

You see a running theme here?

The Soul is essentially commonly received as a vehicle between the higher mind and the body (as well as possessing aspects of our emotion, and sense of self, such as how Sam lost parts of himself without his soul) That, without which, we are lacking various critical anchors of the human experience that we often see lacking in angels.

This therein raises the challenge, “But Soulless Sam was ALL ABOUT the sex.”

That’s where species difference comes in.

We’ll talk psychology a bit, wherein we have the psychological variances of id, ego and superego rather than just body-soul-mind/spirit. They essentially perform the same functions (base instinct drive, early personality function, learned and refined function with choices etc, to boil it down to super-simplistics).

“According to this Freudian model of the psyche, the id is the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends; the super-ego plays the critical and moralizing role; and the ego is the organized, realistic part that mediates between the desires of the id and the super-ego.” – Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. Vol. XIX. Translated from the German under the General Editorship of James Strachey. In collaboration with Anna Freud. Assisted by Alix Strachey and Alan Tyson, Vintage, 1999. [Reprint.] ISBN 0-09-929622-5

A Sam with no soul has his base species survival instinct but his acting mind. A Cas with no soul has HIS base species survival instinct (in lack of sexual reproduction as much as potential learned appreciation under the above spoken methods) for an id, if any, and a curiously arranged body until other elements come into play. The ego and superego, such as the application of a soul, leaves room for the gradual inclusion of preferences to anything within this model, such as angels developing their own ORIENTATION once having a vehicle by which to come through.

There’s a few other points to notice about the transition. The Mind/Spirit is capable of questions and doubts, or faith. “I’m not a hammer, as you call it; I have questions, I have doubts.” - S4 Castiel.

The mind is capable to think and to reason, but complex emotions are a challenge to it without a soul, which also filters our thoughts and memories from upper mind into the body, wherein we gain connectivity to the physical senses and the realm we experience.

But the universe -- the wavelengths of intent that make it function -- simply can not experience itself, any more than any other code running on your computer can experience itself. It is you, the human, that experiences the results of that code, and views and understands it and reaches out to aspects of life through it. Grace, should all things be made by it and through Chuck, as the thing that creates this code/intent of angels -- it simply is, and runs, and functions.

So BACK TO THE HUMANIZATION OF ANGELS,

Castiel has humanized or near-humanized three times and we're pending on a fourth. Briefly in the hospital, he was braindead (lacking Jimmy’s brain function, but instead having his own mind) while his heart remained pumping, meaning the body/vessel was alive, but the remaining grace WAS in fact functioning in place of a mind.

CASTIEL 5.21 I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead. (…) CASTIEL You could say my batteries are – are drained. DEAN What do you mean? You’re out of angel mojo? CASTIEL I’m saying that I am thirsty and my head aches. I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and I’m saying that I’m just incredibly… DEAN Human. Wow. Sorry.

However, it was depleted, and this is addressed in effect later on by Metatron removing grace. As grace is removed,

METATRON 8.23 And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me and for you. I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story.

Now Castiel goes on to return to himself by going all cannibal and whatnot, but that’s its own story. The simple fact of it is, with the mind housed in a vessel, but the grace attached to it depleted, the body seems to generate something like, equivalent to, or equal to a human soul in its function.

Now to reflect back

2014!CASTIEL 5.04 So, in this way. We’re each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind. Now, the key to this total, shared perception—it’s, um, it’s surprisingly physical. 2014!CASTIEL spots DEAN. 2014!CASTIEL Oh. Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy? The WOMEN leave. 2014!CASTIEL You’re all so beautiful. 2014!CASTIEL stands and stretches his back, grunting. DEAN What are you, a hippie? 2014!CASTIEL I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me. (…) 2014!CASTIEL I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I’m sorry, no dice. DEAN What, are you stoned? 2014!CASTIEL Uh, generally, yeah. DEAN What happened to you? 2014!CASTIEL Life. (…) 2014!CASTIEL You want some? DEAN Amphetamines? 2014!CASTIEL It’s the perfect antidote to that absinthe. DEAN Mmm. Don’t get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I’m happy that the stick is out of your ass, but—what’s going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap? 2014!CASTIEL laughs. DEAN What’s so funny? 2014!CASTIEL Dean, I’m not an angel anymore. DEAN What? 2014!CASTIEL Yeah, I went mortal. DEAN What do you mean? How? 2014!CASTIEL I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of— psshhew!—drained away. And now, you know, I’m practically human. I mean, Dean, I’m all but useless. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months. DEAN Wow. 2014!CASTIEL Yeah. DEAN So, you’re human. Well, welcome to the club. 2014!CASTIEL Thanks. Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I’m powerless. I’m hapless, I’m hopeless. I mean, why the hell not bury myself in women and decadence, right? It’s the end, baby. That’s what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then that’s, that’s just how I roll.

Now, we can try to extrapolate that it’s “all the drugs,” but drugs or not, while decadence includes MORAL decline, it also is this:

dec·a·dence ˈdekədəns/Submit noun moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury.

And Cas doesn’t get words wrong (unless he’s trying to make an awkward conversation starter with Dean as what’s almost a routine for them, always in idioms and never in definition). In fact, he has a very on-point vocabulary. How often does someone evoke “Insouciant”?

Calling it decadence defines this as a luxury to Castiel. The entire episode is like One Giant Exposition of the differences: being breakable, prone to decadence, bang a few gongs on the way out. Yes, it includes drugs; hell, he’s now subject to being INFLUENCED by drugs, contrary to being able to drink down the entire bar before “starting to feel something” or needing to drink the whole liquor store before the grace stopped implicitly filtering it enough for him to stagger in on Sam. At some point, Castiel decided these were ALL his coping mechanisms, but this is an adaptation of some period of humanization between late 2009 and 2014.

This could be considered a one-off of Zachariah’s manipulation or whatever if we choose to ignore Edlund saying it was a real universe, but then we get the SAME THING hitting us again in season 9, if under a different, immediate scope rather than “end result.”

9.01 CASTIEL looks at his bloody palm. CASTIEL It hurts. (…) MAN How about we get you some water, hmm? CASTIEL I, uh, I don’t drink water. (…) CASTIEL It’s okay. I don’t eat.

and

9.03 CASTIEL (Chewing on the toothpaste) I’ll be moving on tonight after work. It’s time. The MAN nods and hangs up his towel. CASTIEL Can I ask you something? MAN Sure. CASTIEL walks into one of the bathroom stalls. CASTIEL Do you ever tire of urinating? I’ll never get used to it. (…) HOMELESS MAN You’re new at this, aren’t you? CASTIEL Food… sleep, or passing gas, it’s all very strange. And it’s occurred to me that one day I’m gonna die. CASTIEL and the HOMELESS MAN just look at each other curiously. CASTIEL Well… I better try falling asleep. It’s quite a process, isn’t it? (…)

Now, we’re going to take to the raw moment of Castiel and April,

She kisses him gently on the cheek, but stays close and eventually kisses him on the lips. CASTIEL seems surprised at first but then joins in.

Cas is surprised… and then joins in. Castiel did not expect this, but falls into it of his own action. No force was implied, and the moment leading into it was all of a few seconds, rather than any persistence or insistence.

A few more bits,

APRIL So, that was okay? CASTIEL Very much so. Um… what I did, that was, uh… correct? APRIL Very much so. CASTIEL (Smiling) (…) APRIL So what happens next for you? CASTIEL More of this, I hope. They smile and start making out again.

I don’t exactly get the feeling that she’s entirely leading this situation on all by herself, to the dismay of several gatekeeper ship or sexuality stans.

More elements with regards to humanity in this episode,

CASTIEL I am really enjoying this place. Plentiful food. Good water pressure. Things I never even considered before. There really is a lot to being human, isn’t there? DEAN It ain’t all just burritos and strippers, my friend. CASTIEL Yeah. I understand what you’re saying. SAM You do? CASTIEL Yes, there’s more to humanity than survival. You… look for purpose, and you must not be defeated by anger or despair. Or hedonism, for that matter. DEAN Where does hedonism come into it? CASTIEL Well, my time with April was very educational. SAM Yeah. I mean, I would think that getting killed is something. CASTIEL And having sex. DEAN chokes on his burrito for a second. DEAN You had sex with April? SAM Yeah, that would be where the hedonism comes in.

This isn’t just Castiel talking about having sex for the first time. This is Castiel acknowledging the allure of hedonism for the first time (…not minding the timewarp of 5.04, which didn’t happen Because AU.)

And here, also 9.03, before meeting April CASTIEL is once again wandering through the noise and the people. He is trying to take everything in – he glances from a hot dog stand to a woman’s breasts to a supermarket. The whole place is noisy and crowded and confusing. He is overwhelmed.

In 9.03, among this onslaught of Castiel’s change in visual, sound, sensory, and other instinctual acknowledgment of a change in the senses (see back to the 3Fold Nature and the acquisition of a human soul), we also get Castiel rubbernecking at a woman’s chest for the first time, before encountering April; the transcript doesn’t do the moment proper justice with the pure level of focus directors and editors called to it. In fact, we get slow camera pan and a rubberneck that might as well have ended with him walking-flipping into a trashcan blindside.

With all of these stacked connotations aside, I find it difficult to interpret anything but it being installed as a yet-again evocation of a difference in function.

Episodes 1 and 3, the first two episodes Castiel is in during season 9 after losing his grace at the end of season 8, DELUGE us with a current of differences of all of his sensory faculties.

Once his state is “corrected,” (for lack of a better term - Castiel seems to yearn for his humanity back through the show) the show makes a point of showing us a reversal as applicable,

SAM What? What are you talking about? CASTIEL When I was human, you know, I had to eat constantly. It was kind of annoying. SAM Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying. CASTIEL But…I enjoyed the taste of food – particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling. SAM [sitting on the table next to CASTIEL] So, what? Now you can’t taste PB and J? CASTIEL No, I-I taste every molecule. SAM Not the sum of its parts, huh? CASTIEL It’s overwhelming. It’s disgusting. [looks longingly at the sandwich] I miss you, PB and J.

Once again, paradigm shift. What he once appreciated, amidst the VAST wash of senses they told us about, just seems… null now. Something is missing, and something is different. Again, the universe can no longer experience ITSELF.

Now, I’m going to fall back a bit to cover what would possibly be framed as an argument against all of this, but frankly builds into it,

Back in season 6, Meg was UNABASHEDLY FLIRTING WITH CASTIEL and trying to prompt him to “move some furniture around,” and, in a learned “last night on earth” move, Castiel makes a motion in 6.10

Meg grabs Castiel by the neck and kisses him, at the same time removing his sword. Castiel pushes her up against the wall and returns the kiss with interest. MEG: What was that? CASTIEL: I learned that from the pizza man.

NOTICE. LEARNED THAT.

With FORWARD PROMPTING from Meg, and existing example (porn), Castiel did in fact make a move. That is to say, “learned behaviors” and “personal orientation” beyond “species reproductive instinct”. But as made clear by April, this never led anywhere particular, never completed, and while he expressed wanting repeats with April during being human, this is the only actual example we have of it.

In short: throughout the show, Castiel finds new things and tests new things. These new things become bizarre little childlike obsessions at times even. This one… obviously a little less childlike. (clears throat) But again, this is a process of “learned motion.” (though I’m somewhat disturbed that canonically Emmanuel-Cas sees her face and is absolutely horrified at her appearance, meaning this is also not likely even by nature of physical/spiritual attraction as much as personal, almost a demisexual trait with experimental curiosity which, as an independent idea beyond “holy shit she’s a demon”, is a healthy phase.)

But by way of learned motion/acquired taste and function, we then have the question of “why doesn’t Cas repeat this if he clearly enjoyed season 9?” Well, I can name a few. We can go over the fact that Cas simply doesn’t explore social venues that make it ready. Or we can mention his seeming lack of compulsion for it which ...is a topic of this post. Or we can simply reflect to the *challenges* of hedonism and what it will, in this post, continue to implicitly adventure as the cage and trappings of the human body and experience within what we call “life”, which the human soul extends well beyond.

But it leads us to an interesting series of questions about Castiel and Dean’s seemingly changed interactions in season 12, on a subliminal level.

And no, I’m not implying they’re boning. When Dean is no longer getting strung across a variety of cosmic elements to save him directly from the crosshairs of, or from himself, we’re getting this weird vibe of gruff jealousy, bickering, and infighting. As if Castiel, settling in more among them, is channeling increased humanity. Despite being an angel in some crippled capacity still, personality traits acquired from his human period are still there, leading to believe the soul element never ENTIRELY disappeared, as much as with further ding-dang-donged up grace, we have to wonder - is this almost a sliding scale? Or can both run mutually when one doesn’t overshadow the other? The exact specifics of this mechanic would be unclear.

But all of these complexities is why I find it nearly impossible to, in my head, reduce it to the simple “well some like it and-” because I have always read an intentional base-beat of differentiation between the human and angelic experience including, but not limited to, sex.

There’s a subtle hint of some osmosis of this in what I mentioned above with Hannah. “Perhaps I’ve been with them too long.”

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

And so why I find it impossible to just address “angel sexuality” as its own topic. This may just be my brain at work, but I don’t see all of this effort in dividing their experiences, in a show that addresses theology and concepts like the human soul, to be arbitrary and random and I just see SO much beautiful complexity IN the shift of his sexual behaviors, among other operations. It’s not just about Castiel’s sexuality, it’s about addressing the complex creatures that are humans, and what builds us at a core. Frankly, from that end, it doesn’t matter if Cas is bi, ace, straight or pan – Castiel has been human, and wants to be so again. And it, along with other things littered throughout the show, have given us great insights on the soul, or the lack thereof, and all of these beautiful building blocks.

And so to roll away from approaching sexuality so heavily, and instead ball and bundle that up as part of the human experience within the body, the reflection of the human soul, I hook again: The universe can not experience itself more than Windows OS can experience itself; it requires the essence of man to experience the result of the work of grace and by which it finds many things of itself, even within the trappings of a human life.

The fact that humans are afterwards caged elsewhere is a whole other discussion me and others have been holding in the original linked post, so let's step away from that and instead go back to the concept of, far and away beyond sexuality, what makes a soul, and how is it different from the created universe.

If we were to apply these concepts -- angels, bodies of grace, as parts of the universe and how it functions -- versus the irrevocable free will fundamental to the human soul, dividing bodies from just being roving parts of the construct like Gabriel's realms -- to our dialogue in regards to Castiel as our seeming oddball with a crack in his chassis, "And the universe came to humanity, and laid hands on humanity, and fell in love with humanity to come to know it; it abandoned its own purpose and functions due to this connection to the concept of the human soul, and began to live and dream and love as a man, rebelling against its predesigned function; and one day, the orphic child of both the universe and man looked through the eyes of the universe to first see man, and itself was born from the universe unto man, to live and learn as a man and hold its dominion of both human sovereignty and creator of grace, mastering both realms." in regards to Jack's very creation, and why he is such a huge threat to Chuck's power and control of his realm.  

As a powerful creature of grace, he can take and reroute those elements without issue by authoritative command of the independent liberty of the human soul, free thinking and not just a Doctor Sexy Nurse in motion.

But the question is conversion, which we've seen in both directions, be it Castiel acquiring a human soul or Jack converting humans into angels with his command of both of these dominions. The best I could liken it to is AC/DC energy conversion. It is worth noting, however -- grace can be drained without permission, it is not tied to freedom. Humanity is the body of choice: be that humans choosing to surrender that in the name of glory and power to simply become part of universal functions, which isn't so different from choosing to burn one's own soul away in the name of spells, magic or other power; or the human spirit attached to its cage of a body and life still needing to concede and give permission to be taken BY the forces of the universe, surrendering the potential impact of their own choices within their own moving cage to what the universe would will of it.

Ironically, if you use an AC inverter to power a computer or television, the power supply in the device is converting the 120-volt alternating current into a much lower voltage direct current. The sensitive electronic circuits in these devices need low, regulated voltages to work, so you're actually converting DC to AC so it can be changed back into DC again. You can't use straight direct current without the AC to DC inverter because the device's power supply needs the AC power in order to properly step down and regulate the voltage. That is to say, in conversion parts are lost, but they can still be transmitted; so while Castiel was subject to the human experience, he still struggled with parts like dreaming. It was a young, small spark of a soul, converted from another energy form, and likely with his connection to Dean acting as the inverter.

Demons go to the empty; demons are former human souls that corrupted and lost the light that made them inherently "good." That which defines them. They have collapsed to the pressures of Chuck's universes and let their flame go out. But realistically, that's also antagonized by other human souls in hell trying to escape their own torment.

It has been seen, time and again, that the only thing that can destroy a human soul is... the human soul.

*takes a breath*

And now to explore what @curioussubjects​ has been saying about The Shadow as a recycling Bin of souls, which would predate the universe and even Chuck, I simply repeat this segment, to help master-off this post:

If we take the Shadow as the reflection of the collective soul, which then becomes the substantiative Prima Materia through which all things come (x), including even the potential of Chuck and Amara as manifestations of the primitive concept of masculine and feminine, light and dark as among the first thoughts in the cosmos. But in such by it all things are born, even the universe or the gods, in this proposed theory. It is the primitive self asking (per the far-above chart), first–well, WTF, why am I thinking, but after that – who are they, and then who am I, and then eventually who are you, before the end of the soul’s journey on its path is Who Art Thou, long ventured within the constructed realm to learn what it means that we even exist.

Those first thoughts then create the totemic pillars of creation by which it can explore the very meaning of existence, even if its own thoughts have made cages and trappings for itself in the expansion of infinite time, but those cages are themselves the vehicles of higher learning and experience, and without those cages, the rest is for naught.

This is the nature of the Prima Materia, the One Thing by which all comes which I linked above. If the soul and Prima Materia are synonymous, then while the universe comes by grace, then all things -- even grace -- come by way of the raw template of the collective soul, which then structures all resulting thought and experience through an infinite series of independent human experience that defines who were are, independent to ourselves, beyond the vat of primitive consciousness that binds us.

The question even comes, why not just reset time? But I am good with who I am. I am good with who you are. This isn't just a story. It's our lives. So god or no god, you go to hell.

And so the reincarnate journey of the man, through the many deaths and rebirths of Sam and Dean and lessons gained within the universe, begins to lock on to the meaning of the independent self in what it means in full, beyond the challenges sent by the creator that may very well be a reflection of our own primal thoughts, our doubts, our fears, our internalized challenges not too unlike the Shadow which again I raise, and point back to the above-linked protogenic discussion of the masculine and feminine paths: In this premise, are Chuck and Amara anything less than the Animus and Anima of humanity, should the Shadow be their forefather?

The path of alchemy, before it became pursuit of literal gold, was about self completion and sovereignty. The phases I have listed above, as well as a brief overview of Dabb's use of it, but if anyone wants a visual aide in these, check out these three videos (x) (x) (x) and remember that Chuck desperately wants them to believe that nothing Gold can stay, should it complete this path; because should man become Gold, they also become God, and he has no authority here. Because in the end, if we abandon the cages -- be it human bodies or heaven -- in here, in this headspace that is Chuck's, we're all just projections of the primitive man trying to find our independent meaning in life. So in here, we're all the same. So in here, Chuck's all talk. And Chuck's afraid, and even wounded by elements of his own creation fallen into the free hands of man.

And so to FULLY hook back, the effects of the fall --

To be detached in various tiers from the divine spheres of constructed intent, and surrendered unto man, or touched by man, or tied to man, or even converted unto man simply seems to be removing the lines of code that defines the constructed universe and instead leaves only the experience of soul, be it directly gained or by proxy. And with that comes many things -- be that the oft-discussed sexuality of angels or any of their other senses, but also their ability like Castiel to understand "complex" ideas like independent thought and function that is otherwise like "explaining poetry to fish" to his kin. I remind you of Agent Smith in the Matrix, who was essentially infected with the power of the One that completely started warping the laws of the universe and, eventually, left the universe, to become the body of man outside of the universe.

It is the universe falling into man, as man at some point seems to have fallen into the universe. And their child now waits beyond the universe, holding council with Death and the Inky Man over what to do from here.

The human experience is double-sided. By it we learn, experience, and exist; but as chuck designed the sandbox, so too did he the bodies as cages. So be that "hedonism" or anything else, these are limitations and bindings. It is not the limits themselves, as much as what we learn in facing them, that becomes who we are as people, and what meaning we bring to our own existence. And this, some angels themselves have chosen to convert and surrender themselves to, some more successfully than others, but the ultimate point between all of them is "Free Will", whether they like PBJ, sex, or good water pressure at the same time -- something that only comes from divorcing themselves from the divine spheres, when otherwise they're numb to bullets or a knife through the heart. The universe simply operates. Man experiences. The universe learns more of itself only by way of man, as man learns the universe.

There are those who fall that do not embrace humanity, but instead explore their creation. These are rogue programs, but still limited in their function. Be that angling out a line at a river, or just needling humanity as lesser ants. But these do not come to the same essence of humanity that those who choose to fall into it and truly experience it do. They still lack a great deal of motivation or purpose, as in breaking away from their programming without gaining genuine compulsion to want, to seek, to find, they find fascinations between their own strips of code that immerse themselves in, and sit, and observe, still not too unlike Anna before completely divorcing herself from her grace.

It is humanity, be it indirect or direct, that proxies the ability to experience, desire, and enjoy, and that more than anything is the nature of man and his power. It is the path of the Soul between Gevurah and Hesed; from the divine spheres descending, passive intellect and active intellect from the different pillars, and hidden higher learnings, reach by way of Spirit and Mind towards the individual self, strapped across passive and active emotion to learn the individual self. From the angle of man, in the material world, and the body as a manifestation of it, our ego, identity, and other evolutions of the mind TOWARDS the self of individuality lead from Tiferet, by path of the soul, into those emotions to climb the tree towards the divine self. Hell, I'll repost the chart so you don't have to scroll.

Castiel, the consciousness of the divine, with active spirit and mind, and intellect, descended towards the individual self within the realm of ego and super ego, and learned of them through Dean Winchester, while hedging at the sphere of emotional complexes and the identity of the self by which he chose to fall into the world and humanity, into and below and between the cross paths of the soul, and in those paths attained a soul. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, was lifted to explore the upper spheres in reverse, to understand the divine self gradually, and with time, as we now prepare to face within season 15.

Man is freedom. And some fall into it. But man can conquer the tree of his own ironic fashioning. The only absolute is what thou wills of it.

The rest is commentary.

Let there be gold. But all that is gold does not glimmer.

Finding love or how to compromise an Archmage

A little cross-post again. Because it´s still early and I´m awake since for ever which makes me really really bored. Feel free to ignore it here if you’ve read it already. Aaand: Please don´t re blog to non-fetish blogs, thank you. 

It takes place in the same fantasy world as my other story Veiled In Nocturnal Shadows. If you need or want any background for the characters feel free to ask. :) Also a little warning: it is about inducing which might not be everyone's thing. 

Marya would have never dreamed of dating another Elf, especially not one so highly born. One of those nobles that were usually too busy digging trough decades of lost elven glory to see the really important now. She actually preferred a more down to earth company. Like the dwarven blacksmith and mischievous woodfairies she used to live with. Before that crap of a war had started.

The all so high and mighty Amaziah seemed like a resurrection of old strength and magic. All things heavy that would normally rather crush than tolerate the lighthearted and playful person she mostly was.

Yet, lying awake in the darkest times of night, she knew that THEM was important. THEY did matter. As clear as daylight. Which she suddenly could not wait for. So she snug out of her room, skulked across the peacefully silent guardhouse and scurried her way over the court towards the main hall. Through the doors and then upwards to her Loves´quarters. Guided by a lot of newly found love and a little ever present mischief. There were no soldiers but instead a buzzing, crackling force of defensive magic that warded the whole castle from outside and bled through it´s warren intestines as well. Maryas heartbeat quickened with joy as she passed the thick barrier unharmed. It felt… Welcome? She had almost reached her destined destination, slim fingers already brushing over the cool door handle, when a sharp sound tore apart the drowsy tranquility and nearly made her jump. “- HAESSCCCHh-hah!” - discard nearly, that had been one hell of a sudden… Sneeze? Whilst listening to the slowly recurring silence she started to wonder: Had she ever heard the Archmage sneeze before? Probably not, as she could not recall nearly shitting her pants around the commonly soft-footed elf before. Still processing this new situation, Marya was about to finally open the now ajar door when a vocalized gasp escaped from the room beyond. Someday, she grinned, eavesdropping will make my ears grow even bigger. “hh… hehh…hhahh….HEEEah-!… snnfff- shit!” Now that had been close. And strangely exciting to listen to… The way Amaziahs usually controlled breaths had become more voiced with need each time they were expelled. Underlined with desire as well as with growing desperation. Almost a little panting , aiming to release the building pressure only to abandon her one heartbeat away from granting it. That seemed teasingly frustrating… Still, even after a harsh nose blow, the tickle did not seem to show mercy as it returned in vengeance to make her hitch with increasing force. Marya could not help herself from peeking through the gap. It felt strangely intimate to witness her fierce Love trapped in a situation so longing and helpless. The scene in front of her was bathed in the soft amber light of a still smoldering fireplace that send tiny dusts of ash dancing in rays of moonshine. Amaziah sat amid ruffled bedclothes that surrounded her like blustering white waves. Her head was titled back, short raven hair tinted both golden and moonlight silver. Her lids seemed half closed, vivid amethyst colored eyes cloaked by dark, fluttering lashes and shining with irritated tears that had already left opalescent traces on her pallid cheeks. Her slender hands were cupped together and hovered in front of her twitching nose and slightly parted lips. Those tender lips that now opened fully, quickly altered into a snarl as the itch intensified once more. Her sinewy, androgynous frame nearly shook as her chest began to rise and fall in a frantic rhythm given by mounting need. “Hhh…hhh… hhAH!..Huh? hhhrr come on !” She crushed a fist into her pillow while the other started to give her straight, long nose a vigorous rub. Her whole expression seemed so… Upset, annoyed, overall wholly un-Noble-Archmage-and-Savior-of-The Radiant-Alliance- like that Marya failed to suppress a snorting laugh that made Amaziah turn towards her hidden audience in an instant. “Mah-hahhh…Damn it… Marya? What are you doing here?” She asked in recognition of the two sky-blue eyes that beamed at her from under curly, copper colored bangs. “Enjoying the sight. It actually was a really entertaining performance. And mhmm helping you out with your little problem?” “I don´t know of which problem you are spe-heh-akihiing off. Also, it´s incredibly rude to- iiiihn-vade an others personal space like th-haa-” Amaziah tried and failed as her otherwise sharp yet delicate features crumpled, marred by the again rising need to sneeze. Her long nostrils grew even wider, shaking against the stalling press of knuckles. “Oh you really don´t know? Because you look like you really need but can´t sneeze.” Marya scoffed, slowly drawing closer despite her Loves shooing motions. “I wonder why you don´t simply do so.” The compromised Archmage looked more than ready to comply as her eyes drifted shut beneath tightly knitted brows, contrasting her now open mouth gasping with turned down corners. Leaning back, hands swiftly steepled over the lower half of her face, Marya heard a powerfully building breath that made her Loves eyes swim with tears and ended in another frustrated growl. “Gods FUCK!” Came the infuriated exclamation that drowned Maryas laughter. “That right there was the best thing I have seen in a while!” she giggled while her girlfriend used a handkerchief to wipe away any leftover moisture. “That ridiculous nonsense is bothering me since hours. It´s neither enjoyable nor funny…” Amaziah muttered under her breath. “Not for you. But I will help you if you say please my lovely Marya make me sneeze.” “Are you out of your mind? N-huuh….Never.” “Oh, spoilsport. Then just please or Marya or sneeze.” Amaziah seemed unable to answer, eyes incapable to stay focused, blearily blinking away tears and hazed with that stubborn urge. “How…” She swallowed down another fruitless hitch. “Would you help me?” Marya pecked down with a fast kiss towards Amaziahs nose that was rewarded with another sharp inhale and sour grimace. Her eyes caught the long, fluffy quill on the desk. That would be good. A mischievous smile curved her plush lips upwards. “I would tickle your nose with that feather there until you get what you need. But only if you´re polite enough to say please.” A resigned sniff, disgruntled rub and then a whispered: “Please.” Marya, the feathery quill securely held in one hand, slowly made her advances towards Amaziahs nose. It was still twitching with flared nostrils on occasion and was blushed an angry red. She sat down in front of her Lover, close enough to feel the erratic breath brushing fervently over her skin. “But don´t sneeze on me.” “I won´t. Just… Be quick please…” “Oh wow, please two times a night! Someone´s really in need of help, mhm? Alright, I promise to save the banter for later.” The first fine wisps made contact with irritated skin, causing the mages nasal bridge to wrinkle. Marya did not want to tease too much, sensing the tension and exhaustion behind the other woman´s eyes, but was scared of hurting her with being to rough. She slowly circled each nostril, marveling at the sudden and strong reactions she was able to evoke. It took not more then three light strokes to educe two of those deliciously desperate gasps that made her own skin tingle. Another four and Amaziahs eyes were closed behind soft lashes wetted with fluid. Her nostrils responded pulsating open with each breath while her mouth hung ajar to suck in air in preparation to…. She quickly hid the foreboding grimace behind her hands, swatting the feather aside while her chest swelled against Marya. Warm, cloth-veiled skin stroking her arm. A deep breath…. “Hhh-HEHEA!-” only to slump back without executed duty and an almost desperate sniff. “Lost it again?” Marya asked and felt true pity at the floating gaze out of weary lilac depths. “It is not strong enough on the outside… Can you… Never thought I would say anything like that… Stick it inside my nose?” That made Marya chuckle again. “Yes, but only because you asked so nicely. Be ready.” This time she concentrated her efforts on her Loves left nostril, inserting the tip slowly to avoid injuries, only to have it ripped out again as Amaziahs head reflexively jerked backwards. “You need to keep still.” “S-sorry… It really tickled…” “That´s the point of it, silly.” Again, the now damp feather set out for it´s destination. Disappearing a little further this time, tickling and tingling as it went up. Marya noticed that Amaziahs hands were already half raised in preparation and that her face seemed almost peaceful despite the obvious struggle. Weird but true. She then poked the soft pink insides, one and then another twirl around with the feather and Amaziahs head reared back with a downright feral inhale and ferocious snarl. Her hands brought up just in time to cover an incredibly relieving: “HA-EHSCHUE!” That seemed to ascend from deep inside her chest. It caused her complete upper body to bend and stumble into Marya who hastily dropped her tool in favor to stabilize her Love which immediately seemed to gear up for another. She shuddered with another mighty inhale, face hidden behind protective hands and braced against Maryas shoulder. “hhh HA!- AESCHOO!…-EISCHHAH! hhh-HAH-EERSSCH~IUH!” The sneezes were almost violent and echoed through the chamber while Amaziah helplessly convulsed in Maryas arms. The fourth one seemed to dispel the tickle, judging how the mage nearly melted into her Loves embrace, uttering a sight that seemed equally underlined with something akin to pain and relieve. “Wow that was… Quite some sneezing you have there.” Marya noted with astonishment while stroking her Loves back. “Sorry, I could not help it…” Amaziah replied almost timid, nose nuzzled into Maryas shirt. “Thank you for… well… You know.” “Sounded like you needed it. And there´s no snot on me. Everyone´s happy.” “Always when you are with me.” Amaziah sniffed and gently pulled Marya to bed with her. “No ewww that´s cheesy.” She answered already wrapped up in equal parts strong arms and warm blanket. “Now, what did you really want here? Please don´t tell me you heard my sneezing throughout half of the castle.” “Would have been no surprise but no…” Marya paused, head nesting into Amaziahs shoulder, hand drawing lazy circles above her Loves heart. “I just… Missed you.”

Episode 114: Steven’s Dream

“But you don’t deserve that, do you?”

The dream is simple. We fade in to three flowers blowing in the wind. When Steven falls asleep again, we add a broken pink palanquin, and a trill of the signature Diamond music, but that’s it. None of the disorienting mix of the sleeping and waking worlds of Lion 3, none of the nightmares of Chille Tid, none of the lucid mastery of Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service, just a few calm moments before waking up in tears. But of all the episodes about our slumbering hero, this is the one that’s called Steven’s Dream.

To me, the initial sensation was similar to nearing the end of Order of the Phoenix and, after hearing Voldemort’s view of Dumbledore many times over the course of the series, seeing that the next chapter was called The Only One He Ever Feared. This episode uses our knowledge of the past to set the bar high from the title alone, but unlike the Harry Potter chapter, it pulls the rug out from under us by making the dream the catalyst instead of the subject.

In the same way Mirror Gem spends its entire ominous runtime preparing us to meet Lapis Lazuli, Steven’s Dream is an eleven minute introduction to Blue Diamond. Both episodes develop a sense of foreboding with little hint of what’s to come, both give us a little bit of fun to lull us into a sense of ease before jolting us back into the mystery, both pit the Crystal Gems as opponents of sorts to Steven, and both have that wonderful pacing where the third act takes up half the episode so we have room to breathe. Mirror Gem has the advantage of blindsiding us with our first new Gem (and has a slower, eerier burn), but Steven’s Dream uses characters with eighty-six extra episodes of development to sell a mystery that our hero is actively trying to solve.

The most obvious way Steven’s Dream builds dread are the tears. It’s a device that works again and again and again on this show, especially when Steven is the one affected: his face is rarely sad when they come, and they’re huge without devolving into silly water spurts, so despite the empathy tears might otherwise bring, it’s instead an unsettling omen of danger, like the crocodile’s clock. Combined with the brevity of the first dream, the stark opening of the episode thrusts us into the emotional space that fills the next arc.

But we also get Pearl and Garnet providing more explicit concern. Pearl tries changing the subject, but when push comes to shove she covers her mouth for the second time since we were first told that Rose shattered Pink. While this and other acts of self-censorship become clearer after A Single Pale Rose, at this point we still know it’s in character for her to be uncomfortable about certain elements of the war; even going back to Ocean Gem, she’s hesitant to reveal that not all Gems were “good.”

More surprising is Garnet, to the point where Steven mentions how unusual it is for her to so openly obfuscate. She has her mysterious streak, sure, but she’s been blunt and honest for a while now, and was the Crystal Gem who confirmed the story of Pink Diamond. Estelle gets a terrific showcase here, giving full weight to Garnet’s fear while providing levity as she gets frustrated for making the secret sound more enticing.

This is my favorite kind of hint: the one you could feasibly suss the truth out of if you pause the episode and think about it, but is clear as day in retrospect. We’ve seen Garnet freeze in Keeping It Together, and we’ve seen her afraid in the lead-up to The Return, and both incidents involve Homeworld. The “her” in question could be Yellow Diamond, but The Answer showed us Garnet’s relationship with Blue Diamond. It just doesn’t click until we see the blue palanquin, and Garnet’s explanation after Greg’s abduction makes her resignation to fate all the sadder on rewatch.

(The movie where cows are abducted is a clearer hint in a show that’s all about foreshadowing through television screens, but I still didn’t see Blue Diamond coming.)

Amethyst, who was born long after the war and has little to contribute besides a joke and a great reaction shot, sorta sides with Steven at first, but soon falls into the background to enjoy the show. That’s three for three in terms of Gems not helping Steven find the truth, and for the first time since the revelation, he finally gets mad at them. I appreciate so much that it’s not played as a childish temper tantrum but an airing of legitimate grievances: he was already lied to by omission for ages, which he managed to forgive the Gems for, but past deception makes this new secret too much to handle. As Amethyst says, he deserves to know the truth he’s asking for, but he doesn’t get it. The irony is that another character deserves something he doesn’t ask for, but he gets it anyway.

In the words of Blue Diamond herself, Greg Universe should not be doomed on a dying world. True, the world isn’t actually dying, but given the information available, her judgment was sound. And part of the reason why is that, in stark contrast to the three Gems, the three named human characters we see in the episodes are helpers. Connie brings Buddy’s journal and is nothing but encouraging, and while the Universes could’ve afforded a plane ticket, Uncle Andy is the one who flies them to Korea. When the truth hits too close to home for the Gems, humans step up to the plate, and it’s such a powerful way to showcase the value of Steven’s mixed heritage.

But the more general reason Greg deserves to live is that he’s the best of us. Steven talks to him about Pink Diamond before we even get to the Gems, and to me it evokes that pivotal moment where it’s Greg, the human side of Steven’s family, who reveals that the Gems were invaders in The Return. In both conversations, Greg drives home that the past was a long time ago, and that he didn’t judge Rose or push her to talk about things she was uncomfortable with. It might not be helpful for Steven’s fact-finding hunt, but it shows that Greg’s priorities were straight and he values caring about others more than anything.

(I do wonder, though. Greg says here that Rose seemed to want to confess everything, but he said it didn’t matter. I guess we’ll never know just how much of the truth she was willing to confess.)

And of course, Greg is the one who accompanies Steven to Korea. This is a story that wouldn’t work without his wealth explaining their ability to take a tour, but goofy asides about watches aside, what’s more important is that Greg sticks up for his son and encourages his curiosity, even when it’s scary (and yeah, seeing an animator drawing you is probably pretty scary). He’s nervous about closing in on the secret, but trusts Steven enough to follow through. And it all leads to Greg meeting his sister-in-law.

The hints of our interloper’s identity grow more obvious as we close in; the “Please” sign in Pearl’s script shows us we’re close to something, but the blue palanquin raises more specific warning bells before we finally hear a new voice.

Lisa Hannigan is not like Susan Egan, Patti LuPone, or Christine Ebersole. For starters, she’s the only Diamond voice without an American accent. But something less noticeable from the episode alone is that she’s the only Diamond voice who hasn’t been on Broadway; Hannigan isn’t an actress of stage or screen, but a singer through and through, with just one voice acting role prior to Steven Universe (in the excellent Song of the Sea). This is is a different type of performer, but Blue is a different kind of Diamond: where her sisters each adapted in their own way in the aftermath of Rose’s rebellion, Blue never found a defense mechanism to distract herself, so she’s consumed at all times by grief.

Comparing Hannigan to LuPone in particular is inevitable, as they’re the first two Diamonds we meet (at least the first two that we know are Diamonds) and they’re such a stark contrast. Hannigan’s otherworldly voice, capable of soothing sorrow and icy rage, is a radical departure from LuPone’s sheer power. It’s something that becomes even clearer when they share the same screen, but for now, Blue’s melancholy sets her apart not only from Yellow but from Garnet’s depiction of the cruel overlord we saw in The Answer. We know at this point that the Diamonds have done horrible things, but Blue Diamond humanizes them in a way Yellow Diamond has only hinted at.

Greg and Blue’s exchange is a somber, touching, chilling affair. While there’s a certain level of comfort humans in this universe have with weird alien stuff compared to how we might act, Greg is especially tuned to be casual in this scenario; he may address this giant woman as “your highness,” but he’s otherwise speaking as a peer. As in Mr. Greg, we get a rare moment of him mourning Rose aloud, in a way that shows how often he really is thinking of her. But as we saw in Three Gems and a Baby, he’s able to work through it by pouring that love into Steven, and the person Blue Diamond was most likely to pour love into is the one she lost.

As the eerie Diamond harmonette drones, we see more and more of Blue beyond her hunched form. First her arm raises, then she straightens her back, then we see the bottom of her face, before she finally turns to face Greg (and us); each stage is brought about by conversation with Greg, and her wonder at his ability to relate with her. While the talk seems to be going well, the music erupts as Blue snatches Greg, rises to her full, terrifying height, and reveals her ship: not a hand, but an entire arm. 

Even as she’s humanized, we see glimpses of the tyrant Garnet told us of, and that we’ll see more of in the future. Her soft bewilderment comes from a place of superiority, and she treats Greg as an animal to be saved even as he protests. She does care, but through the lens of absolute authority over her pearl and lesser races. It comes across as tolerance rather than true empathy, and that exact sort of cold half-affection was a major factor in Pink’s resentment of her older sisters.

And poor Steven, who tried to stop Greg from even approaching the situation, can’t do a thing to stop his only remaining parent from being taken. His floating is powered by happy feelings, and there just aren’t enough of those to reach a rocketing spaceship. Garnet’s rescue may seem convenient, but her frantic apology and explanation absolves her in my mind: on top of being scared out of her wits, she was trying to prevent a future where everyone got taken.

The cliffhanger is more of a call to action than a cut to black, and the episode does “resolve” in its own way: we wanted to know what Steven was dreaming about, and we certainly found out. The tragedy is that Steven was right to be curious, and Greg was right to be kind, and both are punished for it. Greg is mature enough to not assign blame for his abduction, but this is rocket fuel for Steven’s ever-growing martyr complex. One day Steven will be happy again, but he’s never quite the same after this nightmare of an encounter. 

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

I compared this episode to Mirror Gem, which is my favorite lore episode of the series. While Steven’s Dream doesn’t rank quite as high due to the glut of other terrific episodes, it still squeezes into my top twenty for now.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest      3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

50 Years of Going to Shows, Pt. 9: Jazz in St. Louis

I am in the middle of my fourth year of attending shows at Jazz at the Bistro and it is a great joy to have this formative music back so centrally in my life, to make this my go to music, to think about music in jazz terms.  From that first Johnny Winter blues jam, I’ve always been drawn to virtuosic playing.  Certainly rock and ur-jam band guitarists were a start.  But I saw Norman Blake flat pick amazingly in those early years and later Celtic fiddlers and box players amazed me.  Chamber music but also Irish sessions have an intimate conversational aspect.  But it’s jazz that has it all.  I sensed that in the early 70s and it’s where I’ve come home to now.

I kept my eye on jazz before the Bistro, particularly through Webster University’s wonderful jazz faculty and their performances.  I would return to tried and true recordings, starting with Miles, Monk, and Mingus and Bill Evans at the Village Vanguard.  I knew I couldn’t miss Sonny Rollins when he played UMSL’s performing arts center in 2009 and had even better tickets for a return a few years later that he had to cancel.  He was vital, transforming from a tentative, slightly stooped old man into a flurry of ideas dancing lightly around the stage delighted in the choruses he unfolded for himself and others.  He had a guitarist (not a pianist), a trombone, drums and percussion, and Bob Crenshaw.  Standards and Ellington.  But it was a bit of a one off.

It has taken season packages at Jazz St. Louis for four years now to get the engagement and focus that I now have.It’s fitting that the first one was Bill Charlap and his trio.  That configuration is where I’m glad to start, going back to Oscar Peterson when I was 8.  I’m almost too vociferously anti-musical theater, except jazz musicians have done wonderful things with and burnished the Great American Song Book.  Charlap is one of our key curators.  But these aren’t museum pieces in his hands; they are a dynamic legacy kept alive by use.  There’s taste, drive, invention in tradition.  Just like that Johnny Winter concert in early fall of 1969, there was something I had to have more of.Next up was Vijay Iyer, also in a trio.  A different aesthetic but he worked a jam into Epistrophy, so tradition prevails.  And the piano trio’s elasticity continued to win me over.  The Bad Plus begins the year in St. Louis and we were where the rebooted when Orrin Evans replaced Ethan Iverson.  I saw them once with Iverson, couch toured that opening run of BP2.0, saw them last year and plan to see them next in January.  I started to get them seeing them live, seeing how the compositions work and how they work them.  I think they’re a little warmer and organic with Evans, just as smart and clever but grounded.  I’ve seen Benny Green swing hard and Cyrus Chestnutt do so as well but then throw in a good chunk of French Impressionism.  Emmet Cohen’s band was the foundation for an odd mix of horn players I wanted to see:  Marquis Hill and, for a second time, Melissa Aldana.  The five of them didn’t quite jell, but the Cohen trio is a working band I would see again.  Kenny Barron was a monument of taste and command and Chick Corea was impish, a grand old man of the music in spite of himself.  There were standards but also a glorious exposition on Paco de Luca’s Zyriab, pulling together the Arabic roots of Flamenco.  So, piano trios always with the Bad Plus, Christian Sands at the Sheldon Concert Hall down the street (where I saw Eliane Elias with Marc Johnson do wonderful Brazilian stuff but also some superb jazz evoking Bill Evans), and Connie Han ahead.

Now, we’re Miles Davis’s hometown and folks know that.  The SF Jazz Collective came to the Bistro in 2017 with a program of his music (wide ranging—Tutu and Bitches Brew as well as Nardis for an acoustic ensemble) as well as compositions from band members in the ensemble.  It’s a grand concept—a four horn front line with vibes and rhythm section, with some general stability but it’s morphed over the years.  Everyone composes and arranges and they celebrate a composer each season.  Our band was Sean Jones, David Sanchez, Miguel Zenon, Robin Eubanks, Warren Wolf, Edward Simon, Matt Penniman, and Obed Calvaire.  They return to the Sheldon this year for an In a Silent Way tribute with mostly the same folks—so anther chance to see Sanchez and Zenon who were particularly impressive.  Russell Gunn evoked Miles’s Blackhawk set with Jimmy Cobb holding down the drum chair very capably at age 90.

After piano tours and Milesiana, there are tenors.  So I couch toured a conversation and partial set with Benny Golson—not quite in the room with a legend but a vivid experience.  I am intrigued and enthralled at the playing of Melissa Aldana who crafts vivid lines that fill space quite fully (she has some great trio work) with ideas rather than tone.   Her own quartet had over active drumming from Tommy Crane whereas the Emmet Cohen show pulled her in multiple directions (blusier, mostly) than she quite fit.  She is a star in Artemis, but shares the front line with Anat Cohen and Ingrid Jensen, but she is one star among many.  So I haven’t quite heard the ideal Aldana show.  But I am glad to keep trying.

I’ve been able to see Joshua Redmond twice.  As great as his tenor invention is, his band (with Aaron Goldberg) was what impressed me most.  The way longstanding bands like this (and Branford Marsalis’s with Joey Caldazzaro) think together is very special.  Marsalis and Caldazzaro would magically complete one another’s thoughts and both tenors took great delight in what their bands could do, soloing all the better because of it.  In these bands, but most of them, including the trios, I an struck with just how good drummers have become, really playing music beyond rhythm.  Allison Miller has a Jazz Night in America video on “melodic drumming,” so it was a treat to see her with Artemis, listening so hard but happily to inflect the music so well.  She was almost the one to keep one’s eyes on, except that Anat Cohen exudes such unbridled joy at all times.  Her quartet show was a real highlight of 2018-2019.  I am so glad she and Ben Goldberg are making the clarinet a modern jazz instrument.

Joe Lovano came through with the brilliant and adventurous John Scofield who plays with Phil Lesh and Warren Haynes.  I find myself shying away from jazz guitar preferring the piano.  But that was quite a show as was Scofield again with Jack DeJohnette’s Hudson project which jammed out originals and The Band/Hendrix/Joni Mitchell very well.  DeJohnette has quite a palette of drums and especially cymbals.  We were 4 rows back on his side so we had a literally ringside seat for that magic at the Sheldon.

I have made a point to hear the likes of Marquis Hill, Robert Glasper, Stefon Harris, and, most recently, Terence Blanchard to hear how hip hop is being incorporated into jazz as funk was in my youth and rhythm and blues was in the ‘50s.  My younger generation didn’t bring that music home, so I don’t have that sensibility.  But I would be an old fart in extremis if I didn’t welcome those influences.  That said, I am more intrigued with how SFJAZZ takes the essence of electric Miles into acoustic music than vocoders and loops and reverb.  But, every time these newer shows have lots to delight in, including drummers who move the beat around and are not confined by any strictures.

The music is supposed to grow.  And I get to watch it.

--------------------

This entry is the last one of this 10 part series this Fall celebrating the 50th Anniversary of concert going, marked by my second one from 11/4/69 with Led Zeppelin.  Yes, this is part 9, but, rather like the Beatles releasing Abbey Road before Let It Be (actually, not like those monuments at all), I have already posted a part 10 about the shows I didn’t see.  But, wrapping up with jazz makes a certain amount of sense.

fragile ; ch 1

Ochako Uraraka is the leader of the League Of Villains with Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima, and Shouto Todoroki under her wing, here to purge the world of chaos with more chaos than needed. Three third years at U.A. and one first year decide that needs to change, someone needs to pick out the weakest link, and ironically enough, it's Touya's little brother.

AO3 link

All greatness starts in tragedy, and all tragedy ends in greatness. Himiko Toga and Tomura Shigaraki, age seven abandoned in an orphanage together for their "bad" quirks with only one drive. To survive and become the greatest heroes in the world. This drive brought them together as close friends, and later, they would be adopted together and become brother and sister. Himiko and Tomura Toga. They trained most of their lives, Tomura would offer his blood to Himiko so she could test out her quirk, Himiko would learn acting abilities from Tomura and perform for money, for which she would buy dolls an such for Tomura to practice his quirk on. They were survivors from the beginning, and survival mean competition. And that is where the competition began. Even after being adopted, Himiko continued her acting career. Her talent was recognized in middle school, when she had to take a student's place and decided to do so by using her quirk. She was recognized and put into quirk training classes after school, evoking jealousy in Tomura, an later throwing in rage when she was put into U.A. upon recommendation. There were fights among the Togas, and later, therapy was involved. Years of them tormenting each other every time the other got one upped. And it only continued into U.A. after Tomura was accepted. Yet, Himiko and Tomura were always in the same friends group, like twins. They both seemed close to the first year recommendation student, and they both had interest in the mysterious Todoroki in their class. And that is now it begins, this is how Himiko Toga, Tomura Toga, Touya Todoroki, and Momo Yaoyorozu planned on bringing the villains down. There was a slam of files on the desk from Tomura, Himiko watched Momo jump in surprise. She was young an not used to Tomura's aggressiveness, unlike Himiko who had grown up with Tomura threatening to disintegrating her. Himiko's yellow eyes widened, clicking his tongue, "What's this shit?" "Watch your mouth," Touya mumbled, brushing some of his red hair behind his ear. "Watch yours," Himiko answered, followed by her usual childish giggle so he'd know she was teasing him. Tomura rolled his eyes an scratched his neck, "These are the files on the villains we know of. There was an attack last night and one of them blew up the fucking orphanage we grew up in, took the kids with them, though. Still, fills me with a sense of dread..." Himiko's smile dropped as well as her head when she heard that. "Oh... That sounds horrible," Momo replied, there was concern in her eyes, though Himiko wasn't looking. Her entire three years at the orphanage were flashing before her eyes, and when you looked at Tomura, you could see he was going through the same. Touya broke the silence, "This needs to end, and fast. I guess, if the pro heroes won't do anything... I guess third years are second best." Tomura nodded along, "Todoroki, I'm depending on you to form a plan since you seem to be the only one who common sense here," he said, glaring at Himiko, who rolled her eyes. "At least I come up with pla-" "Togas, pipe down," Touya interrupted, to which both Tomura and Himiko complied. "Well," Momo started, "They've attempted to destroy the league from the outside, before, and there have been no results. I say we use Himiko-san's quirk to our advantage." Touya nodded along, "We need to pick out the weakest link. If we can capture the weakest, Himiko can take their blood an their place, destroy from the inside." Himiko's eyes widened as she clapped along, "I'm sooo down for this!" Tomura rolled his eyes before passing the files around, "Okay, you guys take a look at this shit." "Stop cursing in front of the first year, Toga," Touya responded, taking one of the files into his hands. "Please refrain from talking to me like I'm five," Momo added on, and Tomura chuckled. Himiko opened the file she got, the file for Ochako Uraraka. "'Ochako Uraraka, otherwise known as Uravity, age fifteen.' She's Momo's age..." Himiko started, and she watched Momo lift her head up in interest, "'Her quirk is Zero Gravity, anything she touches she can manipulate the gravity of. She's the leader of the League Of Villains and doesn't appear often. She's known to be more of a backup plan. From what we've seen of her, she's determined and focused.' She would be hard to capture and manipulate." Touya nods, though Momo has a horrified look on her face, "She's my age and she's already a villain..." Tomura pats on her on the back while Touya speaks up, "'Izuku Midoriya, otherwise known as Deku, age fifteen. No known quirk, he seems to be quirkless. Based on his mother, it's known that he was driven off the age due to bullying for being quirkless when he finally snapped. Much like Uravity, he is cold and determined, an always on guard, he's also unusually flexible. He is one of the front line villains,'" the red haired male said, "While being quirkless would be to Himi-chan's advantage, capturing Deku would be difficult, though. Apparently, he shares a connection with everyone in the League, and rumored to be very physically powerful. Possible second choice, though." "Mmm," Himiko said, shrugging then giggling, "You called me Himi-chan..." Touya gives a slight smile, but Momo cuts in. Clearly, she has had enough of Himiko messing around with her older brother figures. "'Katsuki Bakugo, otherwise known as Explosion or Kacchan by Deku. Age sixteen. His quirk is Explosion, he can create explosions from his hands and they get more powerful the more he sweats. He's known to be the protector of the League and especially tends to whisk Frostbite when he gets too panicked in battle. He's rude and stubborn, sometimes even his own teammates don't like him. He's known to yell quite a bit and argue with Deku. Not much is known about his story outside of the fact that he was born an illegitimate child an adopted his aunt, who was later killed in a quirk accident.'" "So, basically he's a bitch," Himiko said, and Tomura scoffed. "You sure are blunt," he said. "You are, too!" "Togas!" Touya interrupted once again, and the siblings hushed up again. Tomura spoke up again, "Guess it's my turn," he said, scratching his neck once again, "Shouto, unknown last name, otherwise known as Frostbite, he's just barely fifteen." Touya perked up, though didn't say anything. "He's Endeavor's killer..." Momo mumbled. "'His quirk is Half Hot and Half Cold, his left side uses fire and his right is ice. He never uses his left for unknown reasons. Shouto is almost never seen on the battleground, likely because he is known to be panicky and anxious. Frostbite is known to always be shaking, and frequently gives himself frostbite from overusing his quirk. Which is often why Explosion comes to his rescue often. It is also known that Frostbite is blind in his left eye.'" "Is there a picture?" Touya asks, and Tomura raises an eyebrow though nods, passing the file over. The ginger looks over the file carefully, his blue eyes wide before he as spoke up, his voice was much louder than usual, so much that it scared Himiko. "That's my little brother, holy shit." There was a noticeable pause in the room, silence that Himiko broke. "Your brother?! Touya, you never told me you had siblings!" Momo was glancing between everyone at the table before she spoke up, "That means... He killed his own father..." Tomura didn't say anything, though Touya eventually threw down the file and began to explain. "It's... It's not as bad as you think, there are things about mine and Shouto's past that are not written on paper that was hidden away, that people probably tried to cover up... My father was abusive. My siblings and I were all born of a quirk marriage, my father bought my mother in order to conceive of child of a perfect split between his quirk and my mother's. Shouto was that child, though when he was born, he was not... Treated well. Enji began training Shouto at age five, he'd beat him until he threw up or passed out, he'd beat my mother in front of him. I... I took some of it, too, when I was young, I was the first child and the first mistake, occasionally he hurt me, too. Still, he'd burn Shouto and force him to use his left side. Mother snapped and poured boiling water over his left eye, so that's why he's blind, mother was put into a mental hospital afterwards. I was cut off from him when he was about seven, so I don't know about anything after that, but I can only guess that after that, it only got worse..." There was silence, though Himiko could hear her brother scratching his neck and biting his lip. "If we have information on him and he's rather anxious, taking him would be rather easy, though it might just break him..." Tomura said. "It might just have to be a chance we're willing to take, Touya," Himiko said, "With your help, I can easily get his personality and maybe, just maaaybeee, we can actually conv-" "Himiko, hush, there's someone nearby," Tomura cut in, and the entire room went silent as Tomura covered his eyes out of instinct, maybe to help him hear better. "Who is it?" Himiko whispered. "I don't know! I can only sense a presence not who it fucking is!" Tomura whisper yelled. "Togas!" Touya whisper yelled back. Himiko's dorm room went silence for another five minutes until Tomura uncovered his eyes and glanced around. "Himiko, I think we have a spy among us."

*.･ﾟ MGA SEASON 5 EP 2 // skill performance speechless :: 1:12 - 3:12

deep breath, in and out.

a week was not enough to get everything done-- but aisha wasn't a quitter. she couldn't say that she wasn't surprised she'd passed, considering the amount of way more experienced and well known faces that had shown up this season-- but she was grateful.

and she was even more grateful that she at least had people around her to keep the nerves down because boy, were there a lot of nerves. but as usual, she hides it with her blank expression and she felt like doing something different so her eyes are an almost icy blue instead of the normal forest green that she tended to stick with. she's also dressed down slightly, going light on the accessories today because of the song she'd chosen ( after hours of choosing a hundred different songs only to decide to go with the very first one she had picked out ).

the closer it gets to evaluation time, the more aisha's thoughts run wild and her palms get sweaty and she's ready to possibly go to the bathroom and throw up-- but changbin's presence next to her is comforting so she tries to focus on that instead. that, and keeping her expression carefully neutral and not clenching her hands into the smooth fabric of her dress is keeping her preoccupied anyway.

and much sooner than she'd like-- her name is called.

                                                 *.･ﾟ *.･ﾟ*.･ﾟ*.･ﾟ*.･ﾟ

it's two in the morning, and poor slinky jumps at the yell of frustration that echoes throughout the spacious living room. the cat hisses in distaste and quickly darts off to aisha's room to become one with her pure white duvet as said owner has a mental breakdown by the coffee table.

the easy part had been fixing the song arrangement-- the hard part is getting herself to sound the way she wants.

she's been at it for three days, and she cringes every time she tries to hit the higher notes. her voice was huskier to begin with and she was pretty proud of her higher range, but this song was chellenging nonetheless. and she'd already bothered her old vocal trainer with enough questions-- all she could do at this point was practice.

so she keeps in mind all the tips and tricks she's learned over the years and pulls back all the lessons she'd buried in the back of her mind to the forefront. and she practices like that, day by day, drinks water-- tea with honey, all the standard stuff to try and fight off colds because it would be her luck to get sick before an important day like this.

she also does her best to capture the feeling of this song-- surprisingly, it's not quite as hard as she thought because the more she researched the lyrics and looked up their meanings, she finds she can relate to them. the song is just a tad more dramatic than her actual life and she's long grown used to it-- but performing the song does pull a bit of bitterness out of her heart that normally she just tucks away because... there's not much point to resenting her parents at this point anyway.

she texts jei to keep her updated, picks out her outfit, gets her hair cut, goes to fix her nails-- but she still can't shake the fact that with each round she passes, no matter how happy is, she just can't rest.

she has a long way to go.

                                                            *.･ﾟ *.･ﾟ*.･ﾟ*.･ﾟ*.･ﾟ

the stage seems bigger this time if anything-- but maybe it's just due to the fact that she isn't dancing this time. and that makes her nervous. makes her think of her voice is enough to fill the area, to fill the vast space--

but this isn't the time for thinking.

this was the time to show that beyond the attitude and the flashy way she'd tried to present herself-- she has the talent to be here.

she stands in the center and breathes out quietly, hands grasping the microphone tightly in her hands, her freshly manicured nails tapping against the plastic briefly. she closes her eyes, lowering her head silently. the stage lights flicker off the little gems on the barrettes keeping longer strands of hair pinned back and separated from her bangs.

and even though she's decided to start from the second verse to be able to show more, she's glad she made the executive decision to rearrange the instrumentals so she had a little bit of time before she started.

and the music finally starts. her eyes stay closed, the words flowing out immediately as her head tilts slightly, swaying with the music. despite her brief vulnerability and the display of her nervousness- her voice is stable and clear, her voice traveling smoothly through the microphone.

written in stone every rule, every word centuries old and unbending

her eyes finally open when she reaches the pre-chorus, her icy blue gaze calm and unwavering, staring straight at the panel of judges and then looking slowly around the rest of the studio. she tries not to pay attention to the sound of her own voice, instead focused entirely on conveying the feeling and the meaning of the song.

'cause i i cannot start to crumble so come on and try try to shut me and cut me down

she pulls the note out longer like in the original, but feathers it off in her own take on it, her eyes closed once more and eyebrows furrowed as her voice creeps up into the higher range. she has one hand on the microphone now, the other freely moving, palm splayed out and facing the audience, moving of its own accord to emphasize parts of the song-- the beat, the lyrics, the melody.

i won't be silenced you can't keep me quiet won't tremble when you try it all I know is I won't go speechless

"speechless," her head tilts as she takes the practiced, quick breath before launching immediately into the next verse, her voice growing in volume. it's when she reaches the bridge that she starts to move across the stage, taking slow and careful steps in her black platforms. her glare is fierce eyes moving from one side of the audience to the other as she focuses on controlling her breathing.

try to lock me in this cage i won't just lay me down and die i will take these broken wings

and this is the part she worked the most on-- stressed the most about but as with all performances, it's fast and quick and easy and her voice is swiftly traveling through the studio--

and watch me burn across the sky hear the echo saying i...

the note is drawn out before the instruments are back at full force and she's continuing along with the song. she'd made it over the hill and there's finally a triumphant smile on her face-- it wasn't planned but, but she later is grateful at this little slip up as it plays in perfectly to the emotions she was hoping to evoke.

she holds her hand over her heart as she travels to the other side of the stage before striding back to the center, making sure she's cheating so that her face and side of her body can still be seen and that her back is not to the audience. she finishes the last verse and takes her place back in the center.

cause i know that i won't go speechless all i know is i won't go speechless

speechless

her eyes are closed yet again as she delivers the last, strong, loud note-- another reason she chose this song because it had a strong ending. her lashes flutter as the song fades out, eyes opening slowly once more.

she clasps the mic between her hands and bows fully before straightening up again, her lips curling into a small smile, just barely pulling at the corners of her eyes.

"thank you."

and a brief thought crosses her mind as she exits the stage, even though she highly doubted it--

she wonders if her parents would see this.

Puppy Blues

*I posted this piece as a drabble months ago, but I somewhat revised it as a oneshot. This is part of my collection of oneshots for my muses as part of their official story*

Oneshot summary: Lucas is bemused by his restless thoughts while walking about his neighborhood way past midnight, and unexpectedly stumbles upon a dilemma that leaves him stuck in a bind.

Lucas Face Claim: Luke James

Rating: PG- 13

A cool breeze whisked pass the form of a preoccupied wolf who strolled through the neighborhood, hushed footsteps of his adidas slides walking with an air of silent mediation along the concrete pavement, clad in nothing but a thin, white wife beater that tightly hugged his torso, and down below were black sweatpants where both hands nestled themselves comfortably inside the small space of his pants pockets. The posture he bore was almost downcast, showcases a weary demeanor unusual to observe from a man who always – as far as the public eye and associates was concerned - suffuse merriment in every waking hour, but now a dispirited essence had interweaved through his psyche that constantly claws at his beastly spirit. Lucas’s head stayed low, inky eyes flitting back and forth between the dirty ground and up ahead to find no people within vicinity of him, but his normally sharp and ever sensitive ears drained out whirring engines from vehicles that roamed the shadowed streets, a few which drove in passing with the radio blaring out music through lowered windows, surprisingly doesn’t evoke a response of curiosity within him to wonder which artist sung a particular song.

The sun had hours ago dipped below the horizon, in its place where the glowing orb once hung on a higher plane, a full moon had arisen from another long journey with purpose to pursue the invisible trail of the bright star, illuminating this corner of the earth with its cool, lambency luster only wolves of the night sung praises to in high regard for Luna’s gentle presence when her light graced their earthy land. But artificial lights consumed areas of a large city that partially obstructs the good brilliance of the moons natural luminosity from full exposure, and stars above whose faraway light declares evidence of its uncharted heavenly existence, forever dangles suspended within the infinite dark reaches of the cosmos, their ethereal quality but an unjust stroke of contrast against the manufactured radiance fainting out the visible celestial bodies that seems to disappear from view, as if the darkness in space swallowed them whole. But traces of weak twinkles, however, could faintly be seen from a distance when Lucas, always an inquisitive soul, focused his sights up above for a brief moment to take in their holiness.

The stars were beautiful, he believed, a long breath audibly exhales at the feel of the omnipotent energy of the moon absorb into the earthy brown pores of his skin from its light he basks in. ‘Gorgeous.’ The thought echo’s in his mind, though the lit city of New York tries to suffocate their grandeur magnificence.

Lucas had decided to take a midnight stroll in what he considered his territory, he couldn’t yield to the dark embrace of sleep due to restless thoughts about his future that swarmed his mind while lying in the comforts of bed, but it seemed like those thoughts had followed and latched onto his shadow that couldn’t be shaken. A series of reflections consumed his thinking during that time and now, many of which left him wondering about how long he’d be alone without a mate; he wasn’t getting much younger – not that he had to worry about that due to his slow aging- the natural instinct to find a mate, pass on his seed, and bear pups of his own to carry on his dire wolf legacy was a desire his species around his age group undergone. But the time when these sexual urges came upon them depended on each individual when testosterone hormones levels shot through the roof, particularly when sexual maturity was in full blossom that was often witnessed in males.

A tired hand emerges from his pocket to rub down the length of his face, scruffy strands of his beard compressed against his palm once he reached his chin as eyes shut momentarily to escape the physical world before him, allows his imaginations to wander off in a different direction. Visions of people crossed his mind, disoriented faces of females he knew or saw on the regular basis that could be a potential suitor of his attentions and admiration, woman he’s seen at the club he performs at every week, including familiar faces that stops by to listen to him sing as well as play instruments on the street. Some were lovely, easy on the eyes to gaze upon while others had a visage only a mother could love, he’ll admit. But his nose wrinkles in displeasure, unfortunately, as he shakes his head for who all sprung up inside his mind because many weren’t to his liking. Even the ones who expressed interest in him at the club, sometimes overstepping boundaries of personal space to force his attention on them was an annoyance than seen as attractive.

Just because he was desperate for a mate didn’t mean he’d go sniff anyone’s behind who lifted their tail in his direction.

In aggravation does his jaw shift as it becomes tensed under pressure when teeth grind together, hand shoving its way back roughly into his pocket, inwardly frustrated that not a person he knew was well suited to be his mate who wouldn’t have an issue with his wolf secret. An itch of impatience had begun to surface after years of waiting and searching. There was, however, a vision of a girl who floated across the landscape of his mental fancy, one Lucas had seen from afar while engaged in street performances recently. Her sudden arrival prompts the beat of his heart to palpitate for a split second, strong enough to stop him in his tracks as if he had an epiphany on the sidewalk as she stood transfixed in his mind.

Lucas was a stranger to her name, had yet to interact with her because every time he finished a musical session he’ll glimpse in the direction of where she usually sat on a bench while watching his band perform, only to see the seat empty, leaves the block without a simple hello unlike other pedestrians who would offer words of praise for his skills. But the week after she seemed to make it a priority to watch him and his band play again. His head tilts at an angle to the right, full lips pursed as he ponders over unknown reasons why she never introduced herself to him. ‘Is she shy?’ he mused thoughtfully with a blink of his eyes, stare set on nothing but the vacant space of the clear night sky.

Either way, the young woman who wore a head full of curls and snuck shy glances might have piqued his interest; maybe his wolf spirit saw something in her he did not realize on the physical plane by only a few playful, flirty stares he shot towards her way. And even so, until then, he needed a distraction to keep these restless thoughts at bay.

A deep breath fills his lungs before a dreary sigh left his lips, and with his head now somewhat clear, curious eyes takes this moment to observe his modern environment. On his right is where a dimly-lit parking lot met his view from his place on the sidewalk, the lanes empty of cars a clear indicator that the thrift shop behind him was closed like the many other stores he passed by. And his supernatural cognizant increases when sensitive ears become mindful to the voices of people in range across the street, reminds him that life still flourished in this quiet portion of the district he lived in, a few silent cars continuing their prowl on the road as wheels only decreases speed to a halt, yielding before the red traffic light up ahead.

“I guess s’time head on back.” Words fell between Lucas’s lips like a murmur as he scratched the back of his neck, speaking aloud to no one as he mulled over whether he should follow his steps back to his apartment or continue walking. But while in the process of deciding, feet lead him towards a donation box bin nearby to lean his body against for support, muscles more relaxed than before that once held tension. And just then, a small squeak breaks through his consciousness, and ears perks to full attention as his head swivel in different directions to locate the source of the sound. He envisions the culprit to be a rodent, but when he hears the same squeak morph into a whimper he realizes that option was out of the question, prompts him to quickly stand to his full height to search for the tiny sound.

Again, it penetrates his ears on repeat like a broken record player, and he circles around to stare at the bin he was resting on seconds ago, perceives the noises that mimics weak cries and low whimpers to originate from the interior of the medium size container. “The hell? Is that a dog?” A thick dark brow arched considerably high as he questioned himself with an expression of pure bewilderment, although, utterly taken aback as the belief sunk into his mind that the mystery creature was a canine who was dumped into a metal donation box, one created specifically for people to contribute clothes and footwear, as a white poster plastered on the bin claims in printed writing. The beat of his heart escalates where adrenaline pumps through his veins as he drew close to the container, an anxious hand pulling down on the small door latch that opens horizontally for clothes to fit through, which leaves him unable to peer down into the small space. And the sudden movement causes the animal to intensify its voice with squeaky cries of help that echoes inside, evokes a new resolve within Lucas to free the dog himself.

“Don’ worry youngling, I’ll get ya outta there.” He mumbled to himself, anger steadily boiling in his gut that someone was foolish enough to abandon an animal in the most ridiculous ways imaginable. Lucas looks for the true opening, and in no time does he find a padlock keeping the door shut. In his large palm he examines the metallic object, sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he acknowledges a key is required, and grips, tugs on the lock loosely to test its durability. Sensible paranoia compels him to take a quick glimpse around the surrounding area to ascertain nobody was watching this occurrence unfold; he waits for a car to drive by, and once he’s assured he was alone, one hand rests atop the bin while the other clutches the padlock, and teeth grits tight as the strong muscles in his bicep bulges when he jerks hard on the body of it. A loud clink met his ears in an instant when the loop-shaped shackle unlatches forcibly from the locking mechanism inside the metal body, breaking internal components that once held it secure.

The lock now broken in his grasp, he tosses it aside onto the pavement without a second glance before prying the door wide open, unprepared to see a multitude of old clothes and shoes pour out onto the ground at his feet, including some plastic bags filled with garments. Keen eyesight detects movement immediately as he notices a tiny bump shuffling underneath the apparel, and knees touch the ground once he crouched down while frantic hands unravel the animal wrapped amongst the garb. To his surprise, a mere puppy is revealed, one small in stature with eyes sealed closed whom limbs were fragile as a newborn, its face scrunched up that evidently showcases distress as the pup wiggles in vain while whimpering. Unspoken shock is conveyed in the way onyx eyes grew wide as Lucas took in the pitiful sight before him, causes his heart to plummet as he reaches both hands downward to pick it up, mouth parted open at the feel of its tiny body that dwarfs in comparison to the size of his palm.

In the beginning, Lucas was aware the animal was a domesticated dog, but the possibility never dawn upon him that it could be a newborn puppy, judging by the weight and size he concludes it was no older than one or two weeks old. And the reality of it shook him to his core to the point where breath was swept out of his lungs as he observes the little creature squirm in his tender hold, tiny jowl opens and close as it continues expressing its lament through whiny cries. But after a moment, the pup grows quiet, but a relief of breath was released when the young pup nuzzles its red nose into his palm, his heart softening as he feels its warm tongue brush said palm as it licks him, as if it recognized the warmth of another soul, sensing it was no longer alone. Lucas takes this calm moment to adjust the pup in his hold and lift it up above his head to check its gender, realizing it to be a female, and gives a quick whiff of her scent drifts up his nostrils when he drew her close to his face to become accustomed to her smell. He summarizes she belonged to the lines of the Pitbull family, her coat a beautiful light fawn adorned with white markings.

“Aye now, who did this t’ya, huh?” Soft, gentle words were cooed beside her ear, hoping his voice would sustain her stilled demeanor as he pets the light brown fur of her spine. A kind grin dances about plump lips that quirks up subtle at a corner, peers down at her in silent fascination as he watches her offer a cute mewl while her body reacts to his touch, seemingly at peace by the strokes he administers. The tender moment is short-lived, though, as he sees her jaw open to utter another cry, causes his eyebrows to curl up with a look of newfound worry. “Hey shhhh…its alright kid.” He shushes her in the manner of a whisper. It suddenly occurs to Lucas that she was probably starving, and by the look of her pintsized frame, appeared to still be in the stage of suckling her mother’s milk. The thought slapped Lucas in the face; where in the world was he going to find milk at this late hour?! The only place he could think of buying formula was from the nearby pet shop, but at this time past midnight it was no doubt closed for the night.

This fresh piece of actualization impels lips to press together, forms a fine line, eyes screwing shut as that familiar surge of indignation ran hot through him, muscles trembling from tension that frustration inspired as the unfortunate authenticity of this situation he involved oneself without hesitation crashes down onto him like a tidal wave, humbly acknowledges how time would dictate when the soul of this creature is to be ensnared by the touch of death. “Dammit.” He swore under his breath, aware a pup her age would die soon if milk wasn’t available; these early stages in her life were crucial where nourishment was the fundamental key to her survival – that being for any newborn brought into this world. Her back is engulfed by his hands when Lucas kindly presses her small form against his chest for a comforting embrace, a throbbing ache residing in the cage of his ribs that travels upward to the walls of his throat as he feels a stroke of hopelessness sink in. There was little he could do to prolong her life…any realist would believe…but as an optimist…he wouldn’t…couldn’t surrender to this tragic fate set out for her.

Lucas wouldn’t allow it. All creatures deserved a chance at life.

Despite the bestial impulses his wolf nature evokes, Lucas had always gravitated toward the less fortunate, extended mercy and care upon those incapacitated who were in dire need of aid he generously renders service; it undermines the classification that unjustly labels all werewolves as beasts who prey on the weak, and to possess this virtuous mindset could be regarded as peculiar in the eyes of modern wolves of this time in age.

But as a new goal flashes within his mind-eye, he rises to his feet as he kept her against his bosom, and without time to waste he whirls around to journey back from whence he came, legs execute long strides across the pavement as he strode back to his apartment in a rush, leaving the busted donation box wide open and accessible clothing now vulnerable to theft in his haste. Unexpected, long-term responsibilities to come regarding the care of a puppy weren’t considered in a senseless state of mind, patience was not on his side to excogitate the way he’d like, but motivated with gracious intentions to deliver her to salvation anyway possible was fueled by a paternal instinct he longed to indulge in – an instinctive motive to nurture this helpless pup who would be dependent on him.

All in all, this case was a distraction she’ll provide as a means to suppress the burning desire to establish a pack of his own…temporarily.

Harry Styles, Seattle

My Experience and Perceptions 

My daughter and I got in line for security at about 7:15.  Ever mindful of demographics I took note of the crowd.  Mostly (75% maybe?) women somewhere from late teens to twenty something.  I was encouraged to see quite a few dads in line as well as women closer to my age.  Many of the dads were with their wives, but did not appear to have daughters near them.  (Either they were hanging back, giving their daughters some space, or they were actual Harry fans.)  There appeared to be a good number of young men, certainly more than in my demographic.  Many were obviously with girlfriends many alone, or maybe with female “just friends.”  (Just my gut from what I saw.)  I saw a group of 4 young guys in line ahead of us - nothing about them clued me as to their sexual orientation.  I only saw a few guys who were very obviously gay™ (I don’t claim to have great “gaydar.”)

Once inside, we decided to get our merch, even though it meant probably missing the first song or two from Musgraves.  My daughter and I were chatting about the shirts on display and the young man in front of us turned and answered a question we were asking ourselves.  He was very nice and seemed very gay, or camp, in the way he spoke.  Everyone we came in contact with seemed to be taking “treat people with kindness” to heart.  The whole atmosphere felt warm, inviting, safe and friendly.  I had planned to get the Treat People With Kindness shirt, but they were out of XXL. 

I ended up buying a black shirt with this picture on the front and a list of all his tour stops on the back.  (Disregard special guest Warpaint and everything below that.)  I can’t find a pic of the actual shirt, but I quite like it.  Those hollow body Gibsons are almost as pretty as he is!

We got some Harry Styles guitar picks from the Seattle Children’s hospital table.  I think the people staffing the table were from the hospital foundation - they were very happy and effusive about Harry’s generosity.  (We’ll give a few picks to my son.  He likes Harry’s music and plays guitar.)  They were also surprised at how many fans knew all about his support of a local charity in each tour city.  My daughter and I had our picture taken by the charity table, in front of a big yellow banner and holding a “Treat People With Kindness” sign.  We were giddy, excited and soaking the whole experience in.

I have seen some very credible, pro Harry blogs lament that he has monetized TPWK, by selling merch with the slogan.  I understand their concerns, but I think the only way Harry can cheapen TPWK is by failing to live it.  From everything I see, he lives it as well as any mere human could be expected to.  I think it’s lovely we have a chance to literally buy into TPWK.

Kacey Musgraves has a pretty voice and was very pleasant to listen to.  (I do not care for much country twang, her’s is subtle.)  Follow Your Arrow is a very nice, positive song, but it is a bit of a sermon.  I feel the real power of art is in evoking emotion, empathy, or telling a compelling story, not sermonizing.  I shouldn’t complain.  I just feel her message would be stronger if the song told a story.  I quite liked the song she did featuring a trumpet.  My daughter thinks that may have been a cover??  

For fellow oldsters, or people who value their hearing, I highly recommend:

This is the brand I got (black case for me and red for my daughter) but there are many similar to chose from.  I tried pulling one out a few times and the volume was punishing.  These cut the decibels without the muffled sound from normal hearing protection.  Harry sounded BETTER and I could hear HIM better with the plugs in!  We used the “High” protection filters.

The few empty seats we observed earlier were filling in.  From what I saw, very few spots went unused.  We were amped when the screen dropped and the Rubik’s Cube animation started.  When the screen finally lifted, revealing iconic, wide leg, white trousers, everyone was cheering on their feet.  (Seats were only for the opener, I saw no one sitting after Harry appeared.)  He was absolutely magnetic.  The staging and lights were beautifully done.  Nothing felt cheesy, or gimmicky.  I can’t imagine Harry doing a show with dancers, or any of the normal pop/rock/etc. gimmicks and distractions.  Everything felt just right.  Everything felt, looked and sounded real and authentic.  (I always loved 1D’s rejection of the gimmicks too.  I love Liam, but he’s wrong on that one!  Who cares about the noise, narratives and PR?  This was Harry - a real and genuine side of Harry.) 

Harry’s voice was incredible live.  My daughter, who was only a casual fan, wished he had done a few more of his big, high notes.  I’m fine with him preserving those vocal cords - I would kill to protect them.  I tried to observe more about the band, but mostly I didn’t want to take my eyes off Harry.  The screen was nice for capturing his facial expressions, but I was finally seeing him with my own eyes.  I’ve been watching him on screen for years!  The interaction between Harry and Mitch was cute.  I think Harry is slowly turning Mitch into more of a performer, rather than only a highly skilled guitarist.  The blue-green lights during JaLBoYH were lovely.  I wish I had known about them ahead of time.  The quality of sound for the band and Harry’s vocals were positively exceptional.  There are precious few performers in this world who can equal it.

We were looking directly down at Harry’s profile when he moved to the B stage.  It felt a lot closer than I would have thought from the seating map.  Harry looked our way and we all (in my general area) excitedly waved, but there was no eye contact, or acknowledgment, despite my very bright Hawaiian shirt!  (It’s okay, I knew it was a long shot given the distance and relative darkness of the crowd.)  He was in fine form for IICF, pausing before Louis’ part and a long, dramatic shushing!  I had a bandanna in my pocket, in case I got emotional, but the whole atmosphere was so happy and warm, even during his heavy songs.  

A straight couple was sitting directly in front of my daughter and I.  The boyfriend was FULLY invested in the concert and videoed many songs on his phone.  As I said earlier, I didn’t notice anyone disengaged, from where I was sitting.  

When Harry moved back to the main stage, his audience interaction game kicked in.  I’m sure you’ve seen the gifs and clips already.  He was charming, delightful and sassy.  He was really sweet to a young girl (14) at her fist concert.  The half birthdays aren’t a thing bit was gold.  The one who found their soulmate.  Charlie’s gay birthday.  It was all delightfully sweet and entertaining. 

There were a lot of tiny rainbow flags in the pit and a few throughout the stadium.  I saw several women wearing LBGT+ shirts, of various types, in my area.  The whole atmosphere felt very safe and welcoming to all.  Harry ENTHUSIASTICALLY waved several flags during WMYB (I’m sure you’ve seen the videos.)  Harry’s message of kindness and love was palpable, but the show didn’t feel political, or heavy handed, to me.  (I think that strengthens his message and appeal.)

My daughter loved What Makes You Beautiful and Kiwi most of all.  She’s never been a hard core 1D fan, but always loved WMYB.  Kiwi is her favorite from his album.  Seeing him go so hard for Kiwi live really was a treat.  I loved the whole experience very much.  Standouts for me were:  The dramatic open with Only Angel (screen coming up - the whole experience.)  MMitH isn’t my favorite on the album, but hearing it live was beautiful - Mitch played the 12 string acoustic which had the most beautiful sound (other than Harry’s voice.)  Sweet Creature and If I Could Fly on the B stage went directly to my heart.  The audience interaction was pure gold.  The heartfelt gratitude he expressed several times.  Kiwi live really was a sight.

This was supposed to be a brief recap - guess I got carried away!  :)

Synesthesia

Rating: G

Warnings: Some existential shit in the beginning, no real warnings, pre-relationship usukus

Summary: The colors had left him, so what would it take to bring them back? Rockstar AU

A/N: I was reading an interview with the lead singer of Panic! At The Disco and his words really resonated with me and pushed this out of my brain shjbjdhsj it started as just me writing my feelings but turned into a fic. Hope you enjoy. A little piece of my soul is in this one.

Colors, words, shapes. Alfred could see them all, and it was beautiful. When a song ended and changed to the next track, new colors appeared, the shapes melted into other forms, and words twisted to become something entirely different. That was how he had always seen the world when he listened to his favorite bands, when he wrote songs on napkins at coffee shops, or when he rode on a bus with headphones in. The music always took him somewhere new, a burst of colors that followed him wherever he went. When he had tried to explain this to his friends, they had looked at him like he was crazy, and he had to laugh it off. Pretending it was a joke hurt him, his insides twisting uncomfortably. No one would be able to understand.

Those long years in high school had turned his colors gray, the shapes vanished, and words no longer came to him. He’d lost all interest in his music, choosing to focus on things that his friends would like better. His guitar sat in his closet, untouched. The drum set he used to bang on? In the garage, gathering dust. Every year, the colors faded even more, and had all but vanished by the time he was graduated. Life had become a chore, nothing brought that same feeling back to him, but at least his friends and family were satisfied. His parents were proud of him for giving up his dreams and going for the dreams they’d picked for him. His friends enjoyed the sports they played together, urging him to play professionally. Naturally, he did as he was told, but all the joy on his face had become fake. His smile was forced, the laughs were hollow, yet no one seemed to notice.

Laying in bed, watching the ceiling fan rotate slowly, Alfred reflected on his life. What was good about it? Others would say he had it all, but was that really true? Did he really have it all if it all felt so empty? The tears started small at first, but as the weeks turned to months, more came out, spilling forth in tidal waves of blue. He wrote the first song in years, a testament to the pain that stabbed at his heart, gut wrenching feelings that awoke within him after so many years of being crushed and put to the side. He tore that paper in half, leaving it in the bottom of his closet with the other remnants of his old joys. It was too painful to look at them anymore, to see that reminder of happier times, when his joy had been real.

TV flickering to life at his command, he numbly watched the news, wanting noise to drown out the words in his mind. Oh but it never worked, they would always be there to haunt him when he went to sleep, stealing the rest from his body and leaving him drained by the time he had to wake up in the morning. The weather rolled by in a blur before something caught his eye. A man in a torn up punk rock style shirt who was flipping off the cameras. Arthur Kirkland, the name scrolled along the bottom of the newscast. Then a miracle happened.

Music played on the TV, video of this man’s concert, and something caught in the corner of Alfred’s vision. There was another flash to the side, and he’d seen it for sure that time! It had been green, he was sure of it! The video clip ended and he desperately waited, hoping that the music would play again, or perhaps the name of the band would be shown. When he had no such luck, Alfred turned to the internet, the saviour of his ignorance. Typing in the name Arthur Kirkland had led to a plethora of interview pages, but one particular name stood out. “Black Rose Tea...”

The name echoed in Alfred’s mind as he typed it into a video site, praying for results to show up. Blessedly, the band did pop up, album after album showing under the search results. He chose a song at random, listening to it while he lay on his bed. The colors graced him with their presence, shapes and words joining in and nearly making him cry from the feelings they evoked. He’d found them again, after so many years, his words and colored shapes had returned to him. The feelings within him were overwhelming, but he just kept playing songs, listening to each and every album, desperate to get more of that beautiful imagery flowing before his eyes. At around four in the morning, he ran out of songs to listen to, but that didn’t matter anymore. He had what he needed, and he was ready to give up everything he had to keep a hold of it.

The weeks rolled by as normal, but he now saw the world in a different light. Everything seemed brighter, happier, or maybe that was just him? The colors radiated so strongly, music filling his very soul and making his smiles feel less and less empty. When the news was announced that Black Rose Tea was coming on tour in the USA, Alfred had stayed up for 48 hours straight just to buy VIP tickets for the venue closest to him. He spent all the days before the concert preparing, unable to hold back his excitement, no matter how many odd looks he got from teammates and friends alike.

The night of the show, he was eagerly bouncing on his heels backstage, ready to see the band walk by and to their dressing rooms. What he saw soon after nearly broke his heart. The drummer of the band had walked out, leaving a fuming Arthur and a shell shocked Kiku Honda behind. Did they have a backup? From the looks they were giving each other, and their hushed tones, he figured that it was a no. Biting his lip, Alfred glanced warily at the large bodyguards, before he inched closer to the rope that kept the fans back. When he figured he was close enough, he realized he had no way to get their attention. That was when he remembered what he had brought for Arthur to sign.

Hurriedly, he pulled out the sheet of paper, the one that had the song of his sorrows on it, then scribbled a message on the back and balled it up. With a quick prayer to any diety that would listen, he threw the paper, hitting the singer on the back of the head. Surprised by the sudden hit, Alfred could soon see the glare he received from the rocker. Thankfully, the band’s other member, Kiku, had chosen to pick the paper up and unfolded it carefully. In black ink, the note read: ‘If you need a temporary drummer, I know how to play all your songs.’

Arthur took the note and read it, then he eyed Alfred warily before calling for security to bring him forward, all while the other fans nearby whined. Clearly they had not seen that fight as Alfred had, because they chose instead to complain about the concert being late to start and cutting into their autograph time. Holding up the note, Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred skeptically.

“Do you really know them all? Even the most recent release? It’s only been out for a month--”

Alfred nodded his head quickly. “If you give me sticks, I can prove it. I just... I just wanna help. I saw what happened right here and I know all these guys will definitely be upset if you had to cancel just because Francis is being a drama queen.”

That comment earned a snort from Arthur, who was now smirking. “I like you already. Follow me, we’ll see if you have what it takes to handle this job for one night. Can you sing?”

“Uh, I mean, I’m nowhere near as awesome as you, but I think-”

“Flattery gets you nowhere kid, can you sing?”

Alfred felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. “Dude, you’re only a year and a half older than me, I’m not a kid... and yeah, I can sing.”

As they stepped into a closed off rehearsal room, Kiku politely handed the paper back to Alfred. “You write well. Is this a song?”

“A songwriter, hm?” Arthur snatched the paper before Alfred could, and read it over.

That was it, Alfred’s life was complete, Arthur Kirkland was actually reading his song, oh sweet jeebus have mercy was it hot in here? Face as red as Kiku’s base, Alfred couldn’t help but fiddle with his jacket sleeves. What would Arthur think of his music? Surely it would look amateurish compared to any real singer, but Alfred figured that it at least had feelings to it.

When he was done reading, Arthur’s eyes met Alfred’s, a startling green staring at his own blue with surprise. The words that left his lips caught Alfred off guard.

“You see them too?”

That very same green that filled Alfred’s soul with every song of Arthur’s he’d listened to, it was in his eyes right now. The world had come to a stand still, and Alfred could only numbly nod his head in affirmation. Yes, he did see them, he had for the longest time. “Your music brought them back to me. My whole world had lost color, but when i heard you, I- I could see again.”

A small, genuine smile was the response, and Alfred swore his heart had stopped in that very moment. Those beautiful eyes stared into his own and he felt a whole new type of color flow through him. It was one of the most glorious feelings Alfred had ever been lucky enough to experience. It may have been only infatuation, but it was a start.

“Come on, lad, we have a concert to perform. What’s your name?”

“Ah-uh, Alfred Jones.”

“Alfred, hm? Welcome to the band.”

Arthur handed the paper back after writing something on the top. It was a single word, one that Alfred had never heard before, and yet he knew what it meant already. A word for the things he saw when he was in the music, feeling it, breathing it, living it. Loving it.

Synesthesia.

Synesthesia is a neurological condition in which a person experiences "crossed" responses to stimuli. It occurs when stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway (e.g., hearing) leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway (e.g., vision).