I will not lie, I kinda hate the "cozy horror" subgenre. like just the idea of it annoys me and I hate to sound like an elementary school bully but if you need your horror to be "cozy" then you're a weenie and maybe horror just isn't for you

What's so wrong with calling some horror "cosy"? I'm not saying that I agree with the OP, and I'm not trying to argue with you! I'm just curious about your opinion! Like, personally, I sometimes find some horror settings quite "cosy". Let's say, for example, a cabin in the middle of a forest. It doesn't mean I feel respected by this cabin, represented by the witch that lives there, or comforted by her scary magic; I could still watch it as a horror film and find it cosy at the same time because some elements of it (the homely settings in this example) are pleasant, nostalgic, and relaxing to me. No one is inventing anything? "Cosy" is just a word?? A word that describes someone's subjective feelings about a film. I feel like horror is a big genre that can invoke a lot of different feelings, sometimes simultaneously...

Sure! It's because horror is supposed to discomfort and unsettle. Horror is, inherently, NOT cozy!

More under the cut bc this got long oops

The things I've seen around "Cozy Horror" is trying to create a new suubgenre of horror, while horror and cozy are inherently antonyms.

Imo it also shows a lack of understanding of themes and motifs beyond surface level. This is not meant as an insult to you or anyone else, it's just something I've noticed with the movies people have tried to call cozy horror.

Using your example of a cabin in the woods with a witch, regardless of your own personal feelings of nostalgia and comfort associated with a cabin in the woods and feelings of representation, there's probably more to it.

Take the setting, is the cabin in the woods meant to invoke feelings of comfort and safety in the beginning which are then subverted, or does it add to themes of isolation and the unforgiving force of nature?

Does the witch represent how "female self empowerment" is something that has historically been suppressed? Is her "scary magic" invoking how traditional medicine and midwifery was stigmatized to the point of being targeted during the literal witch hunts in the 1400s (and going deeper, who was targeted the most during those and why?) or is it a metaphor for abuse?

Then there's self reflection that you can do to engage more fully!! Why do you feel represented by the witch? What does that say about you? Horror is meant to reflect societal fears, what parts of the societal fear are you seeing reflected and comforted by?

The scene in Videodrome where Max Renn inserts a gun into a slit in his abdomen (referred to as the "VCR pussy" by me, and also my friends who I have inflicted the phrase on) is something that resonated with me deeply, even though it's objectively a disturbing scene. Why? Because I happen to be a transmasc person and am drawn to body horror because of the themes of both the lack of autonomy with what my body did (during puberty) and taking my body into my own hands and reshaping it into a form that is comforting to me even though other people may find it disgusting or horrific (HRT and surgeries in the face of rising transphobia)

Additionally, the movies that I've seen listed already have subgenres: elevated horror, psychological horror, and folk horror off the top of my head. Horror certainly can invoke a lot of different feelings simultaneously, but genre is a classification of what is in the movie, not how it makes the person watching it feel.

It feels symptomatic of the decline in media literacy that's been fostered by the internet (in my experience, first pinterest and then tiktok) to the point where people trying to explore stories about abuse are ostracized for writing about abuse at all.

This is all opinion of course, I don't have a PhD in horror studies and a liscence from the scary police to decree what is or isnt anything. I'm just some guy with a blog.

Betrayal Story - part 5

This is it guys, this is why the characters got names! I hope y’all like it <3  

CW: branding, burning, forced to watch, emeto (pretty brief and only at the end), whumpee restrained to a table, nonsexual noncon touch, hurt no confort again but that will change eventually I promise lol

tagging  @thelazywitchphotographer @swift-perseides @whump-it-like-its-hot  @sunflower1000  @msrandonstuff @fromtheo-withlove  @boxofsilence  @lionhxartx @sometouchofmadness @paleassprince @livingforthewhump (let me know if you ever want me to stop or start tagging you ♡)

Part one is here, continued from here

-

Fire is strangely beautiful, Liam thinks, watching it flicker and dance in the hearth. A kind of painful beauty that hurts to see, the idea of touching it enough for gooseflesh to rise, but pretty nonetheless. 

He wishes he could be like fire. Not because of its beauty, but because it produces no shadow. No darkness comes from the flames, only light. And pain, when touched without notice. If he could be like that, only light and self-defense, maybe all of this wouldn’t hurt so much. Chase’s leaving, the dread of what each of his breaths might bring as time passes, the plummeting of his stomach every time he hears footsteps outside his room’s door. 

The flames crackle, and Liam wonders why it is he can’t shake the fear off, as he remembers the guards bursting into his room and pulling him out of bed, leading him outside as Liam pretended each step didn’t make him want to scream. That was minutes ago, and yet the fear still drums in tandem with his heart, pulsating turmoil into his bloodstream. Why feel fear when all it does is make things worse? Wouldn’t it be easier if he could just be at peace in those moments between pain, before it comes? But instead, his mind or his body or his soul decides to fill him with dread – only another layer of horror he cannot avoid.

Jonah was waiting for him when they brought Liam inside a weirdly cozy living room, leaning against the fireplace and watching Liam’s uncertain footsteps as he was pushed down to lie on a steel table placed in the middle of the room. Eyes glued to him as Liam was restrained until he could no longer move. His gaze went straight to the fireplace and stayed there since, watching the flames as memories of electricity, lighting up his every nerve until he nearly lost his voice to screaming, flashed before his eyes. The memory is still fresh enough to freeze him into not resisting. What a pitiful sight he must be.

“Hello there,” Jonah smiles, taking casual steps towards him and stopping by his side to watch from above, hands in his pockets as if having someone tied to a table in his living room is nothing out of the ordinary. “How are you today, Liam? Has your voice returned after our last encounter?”

He lifts his gaze to find the man’s eyes blinking innocently at him.

“You are sick,” Liam rasps out, shaky and small, but the words are there. He might be restrained and scared, but he is not broken. He isn’t. Right?

“That’s a yes, then. Very good, I like to hear you,” scream – he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence for the word to be heard. Liam feels sick. “Now let’s call our mutual friend, shall we?”

Liam narrows his eyes as Jonah types something on his phone. He can’t be talking about– 

“Chase!” Jonah says to the camera Liam only now notices a few paces away, held by another one of Jonah’s men. He tries to hear more, but Jonah comes so close to the camera and talks in such a low voice that all he grasps and holds on to is the name. 

Jaw clenched and stomach churning, Liam stares at the ceiling, letting the wave of bitter rage break against him without resistance. It wins the battle against fear for one moment, and that’s enough for him to seize it with every last bit of willpower. It is better to be angry than frightened, and he’s had enough of the latter for a lifetime.

The frantic beat of his heart turns into aching memories of Chase’s lies, promises of love he never intended to keep, each word meant to trick Liam into being a fool. Twice. Once months ago, then again when he genuinely, stupidly, hoped Chase would pick him instead of a job. Fucking ludicrous. 

But bitterness can only do so much to keep fear at bay, and when Jonah’s voice reaches his ears again, not even a minute later, it comes crashing back and flooding his veins with pointless adrenaline.

“He was a very good boy if you want to know. Just stood there, still and obedient as we buckled in the restraints,” he says to the camera, stopping beside Liam once more, placing a hand on his head. “Say hi to Chase, Liam boy.”

“Fuck you,” he spits. Fuck both of you, he means to complete, but Jonah’s hand is already closing on his hair, drawing out a pathetic little whimper from his lips.

“Language, Liam.”

He closes his eyes and waits for the hand to let go. It’s all he can do. Still, his hands twitch uselessly by his side, palms turned to the ceiling closing in fists, knuckles scraping against cold steel.

“I guess this is a lesson for both of you, then. For Chase to not be a prick and for you to behave better, my pretty plaything.”

Eyes snapping open, he glares up at Jonah, feeling indignation bubble up inside of him.

Jonah doesn’t even see it. He is too busy looking at his phone with an unamused expression before handing it to one of the guards. 

Is he talking to Chase? Is Chase delighting in seeing Liam like this, helpless and scared?

The part of him that refuses to give up entirely shakes its head, remembers gentle touches and tender gazes that couldn’t possibly have been faked. The other part, the one that grows each day he spends in this hell, purses its lips and scoffs at his naiveness. If Chase cared, he wouldn’t have left him here. 

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah says, painful grip turning into deceivingly soft fingers that run through Liam’s hair in mock sympathy. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

He tries to fight it. Of all the things he’s been put through, he fights the tears that prick his eyes. And just like everything else, he loses. They fall in warm drops down his temples as he turns his head, looks away into the fire again. No shadows there, nothing like the darkness seeping through the cracks of his heart, tainting his soul.

“Now for the fun part,” Jonah declares, sauntering to the fireplace, crouching down in front of it. Something entirely too close to panic pools in Liam’s stomach as he gets back up, holding two iron rods he’d dismissed as fire pokers. As Jonah approaches him, he can see with disturbing clarity how wrong he’d been – the rods’ bright-orange tips shine in intricate shapes. Letter shapes.

“J-Jonah,” he breathes, more sob than word, “please, please don’t.”

Jonah smiles at him, and without saying a word hands one of the brands to a guard before placing himself beside Liam’s exposed arm.

He tries to breathe, beg, say something, but every rational thought disappears as Liam follows the blazing hot shapes with wide eyes, gasping for air that refuses to fill his lungs.

He is almost there, the please I’ll do anything hanging from the tip of his tongue when the branding iron is lowered onto the delicate skin above his wrist. 

Burn could never describe the pain that steals every last bit of himself Liam tries to hold on to. Fire sinks into his skin, into muscle and bones until it reaches whatever lies within, and destroys everything in its path. He screams, cries and wails senseless pleads, but nothing passes through the ocean of agony he’s drowned in. 

He barely notices when the brand is pulled away.

He does when the second one is pressed onto his other arm though. 

Liam writhes and sobs, but there’s no escape, no mercy to be begged for. Only pain to feel, nothing, no one else but pain and pain and pain that swallows and dissolves the world into searing flames that hold nothing of whatever beauty he thought he saw.

-

You know, what really makes me mad isn’t even your fucking stupid idea of keeping things from me. It’s the shit job you did deleting those files. Who do you think I am, Chase?

That was all that waited for Chase when his phone buzzed, along with a link to a live stream instead of a video. No recording this time, no certainty that at least while Chase watches, Liam isn’t in pain anymore. 

“Chase. I see you’re faster now. Pity you’re no smarter,” Jonah sighed as soon as he clicked on the link. “But I won’t go into how fucking idiotic it was of you to delete half the information I asked you to get me,” he hissed, low and angry enough for Chase to feel the words as bugs crawling along his skin, up and down, circling his throat, ready to squeeze. “What’s happening here today is entirely on you. I hope you see and hear and remember every bit of it, sweetheart.”

He felt like screaming when Jonah closed his hand in Liam’s hair and made him yelp. The impulse to clench his fist until it shattered the phone was strong enough for Chase to connect the live stream to the television in his living room and bite on his lip when the image expanded and Liam’s terror became so painfully obvious.

One minute later, Chase nearly threw the phone at the wall when he called the man and Jonah simply looked down at his muted cell phone on the other side of the screen and handed it to someone else.

“You know, if it wasn’t for Chase, this wouldn’t be happening,” Jonah said, and Chase seethed, half anger and half guilt boiling inside of him. “He knew what I’d do if he pissed me off. So here we are again. It is always him, isn’t it Liam? It doesn’t matter how far Chase goes, he’s always the one causing you hurt.”

Chase dropped the phone in time to avoid crushing it, but the desk chair didn’t escape his rage. Its broken pieces fell on the other side of the room, doing nothing to soothe the horror building up in his stomach.

And then Jonah grabbed the branding iron, and Chase’s heart missed a beat at the sight, eyes widening in tandem with Liam’s.

“J-Jonah,” Liam choked out, “please, please don’t.”

“Jonah,” Chase said too, unable to hold it in just like anything else in his life, even if he knew he was the only one listening. There was never such a thing as restraint when it came to Liam. If only Chase had seen it sooner. “No–“

When the iron descended on that soft, silky, perfect skin above the restraint circling Liam’s wrist, Chase fell on his couch, legs too weak to hold his weight. 

Liam screamed, loud and raw and utterly hopeless, back trying to arch and being pulled back down by too tight restraints before it even left the table. His body spasmed, trying to escape the blaze, but there was nowhere to go, and it took only a moment for the despair to turn into sobs and tears.

It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but those would star Chase’s nightmares forever. Jonah pulled the iron off Liam’s now bright red skin, and Chase couldn’t bear to look at the letter-shaped burn. He also couldn’t help it. 

When Jonah exchanged the used iron with the second one, Chase felt bile rise in the back of his throat. “Please, p-please, please,” Liam begged, so little Chase barely heard it, so dazed he didn’t think Liam did either. 

He echoed it though.

“No, please don’t.”

But no one heard him, and the second branding iron was pressed to the inside of Liam’s other arm, and his mouth opened in a silent scream Chase heard nonetheless.

By the time the second one is pulled away, Chase is kneeling on the floor, hands covering his mouth and tears threatening to overflow.

It is nothing compared to Liam, though. His mouth hangs open even as the iron stops touching skin, and soft sobs wrack his slim body as his glassy eyes leak a constant stream of tears into his hair.

Chase doesn’t even move when Jonah’s voice leaves the speakers again.

“So? Do you like it?” he asks, a manic grin stretched across his lips as he points to Liam and the camera walks toward him. 

It focuses on his face first. Sweat, tears, pure agony written all over it. His eyes lay open and unfocused, lost to the pain. The image slides down to his heaving chest, restrained arms, until it stops above both his wrists.

Chase turns to the side and vomits at the sight. 

Two bright red burns mar the perfect skin he had once worshipped with lips and tongue and feather-light touches that never felt like enough. 

Jonah chuckles, and the live stream ends in that ghastly image of two letters forever engraved on Liam’s skin. Flourished and elegant, a C stands out on his right arm and an R on the left one. His initials. Chase Raymond. 

Chase pukes again, and then curls up on the floor and weeps.

(next)

I would like to request a Tokyo Revengers Match up.

My top kins are Nobara Kugisaki, Hanako kun, Ranpo Edogawa, and Monoma Neito.

At first I come off as person who is quiet with a constant poker face but around the people I’m comfortable with I never shut up. I would consider myself an ambivert. I like to joke around with other people. I have a natural teasing personality and would be constantly pushing people’s buttons and provoking them even when I know I shouldn’t. I love getting a reaction out of others positive or not. I have no filter and is shameless to an extent. I make a lot of sexual jokes. A lot of my comments about others could be considered rude but they’re not supposed to taken to heart. I’m often described as cocky and sarcastic. If you embarrassed yourself in front of me I’m never gonna let you love if down lol. I almost never cry in front of others and despise being seen weak or vulnerable. I care deeply about my friends but to be honest I wouldn’t go out of my way to help somebody I don’t know.

My love language is quality time and words of affirmation. I loved to be praised. I’m also very materialistic. Art is one of my passion. I love horror and psychological thriller movies but I’m pretty open minded with any genre tbh. I hate spiders. I’m also very impatient and hate boredom.

I’m bisexual so I’m fine any gender for a partner. I look for duality and unpredictability in a partner. I would only date someone that I could have a long term relationship with. My standards and expectations for people aren’t very high because I don’t want to be disappointed.

Things I would do with my partner wouldn’t really matter as long as I’m with them but going out to casual cafe sound nice.

500 milestone event (closed !!)

helloo thank you for joining my event!! i hope you like this gahh

i match you with.. HAITANI RAN

ran is a big tease too

so when you decide to tease him, he’ll have this smirk on his face before teasing you back

but he does love this trait of yours, it’s not everyday he finds someone who’s like him

it’s common to see the both of you teasing rindou and making him all pissed

even though ran is teasing, he’s also a very smooth talker, meaning he knows what to say to get you to melt

he’ll give you tons of compliments and words of affirmations

quality time is also something that he values a lot

he likes spending his time with you

ran may seem like an asshole but i feel he’s a very loyal man and would stick with you

“where are we going ran?”

“hm? we’re going on a date!”

“oh? you’re not usually the one planning dates, what, you trying to impress me or something?”

“and why wouldn’t i wanna impress my pretty angel?”

ran gives you that same shit eating grin to which you rolled your eyes at. you were simply minding your own business in the shopping district when your boyfriend noticed you while he was out with his brother. when he saw you, he immediately ditched his own brother and dragged you away.

you’ve been dragged by ran for quite some time now and the idiot still wouldn’t tell you where he’s taking you to. but he soon stopped, making you bump into his back.

“we’re here.”

he announces while turning back to smile at you. looking past him, you noticed that he has brought you to a simple, cozy cafe with little to no people in it. the corner of your lips turned up into a small smile.

“i assume you like the place?”

“yea yea let’s go inside.”

as the both of you sat by a table while having a causal date, sipping on some beverages and sharing pastries together, you decided to try and make him flustered by feeding him a spoonful of cake. ran only smirks at you and eats it.

“it’s sweet.. just like you.”

you snorted at his corny pickup line but still can’t help to feel your heart beat faster at it. that’s when you realised that you’d never want to have a better partner than haitani ran.

Warning: hinted DDLG, not too explicit but reader does show signs of a Little.

*This is part of a thirst book that is both Fluff and Smut. This is a fluff one with a soulmate reader from the tattoo AU. Some future ones will be connected to this.

It was a long power struggle but the villains came on top. Many heroes and heroes-in-training lost a chip. The chips were made so they could avoid their soulmate in the event their soulmate was a villain or any other type of criminal. Most heroes were executed if they didn't match up to a villain. Some that were in training were given a choice redemption based on their year and if they interacted at all with villains before. Then, there was the rest of the classes.

These children gathered were found to have been forced to, while in the school, have a temporary working chip as well. They took it out and yet again the villains checked. You were in the last class they checked. You were young so you knew if by chance you were one... they would be older than you. You trembled at the thought of some much older woman or man potentially having right over you... you were raised to believe if someone is a villain, they can't love and they will mistreat their match.

That's terrifying.

To be honest... you hope you bleed out, but it's been slow. It'll close only to reopen if people are too rough. And it was a sloppy job. You see, you were stabbed because you were the forced 'volunteer' of what would happen if any of you resisted. They said for being a such a 'good girl and helping' they'd bandage the stab wound.

You hear the door open and you and your classmates are picked up. You didn't fight it. You were only a general class so judgement wouldn't be too harsh after they realize none matched a villain. You all were put in a line alphabetically. You were no. 14. You shiver as you see them scan the soulmate tattoo on the class rep. They pulled her away to the right... she would be okay right? The left is where the... soulmates have been pulled. Over there are nurses forced to be there. It's terrifying... this whole situation. You can't really describe it...

As each person went ahead, not single before you went to the left nor were they moved forward to die by the leader in all this....

Tomura Shigaraki.

You trembled a bit as the last person before you was moved. You trembled partly in fear and partly in pain. It still hurt. The men picked you up like the last and put you on the scan. Unlike the last thirteen people, there was green flash once it scanned the back of your neck... your tattoo was a hand with spider lilies growing from the palm. You were picked up but... brought to the left..?

The left...!

You didn't see who it was. They only said the match would appear on top of the machine, but those being scanned can't see that. A nurse takes you and says she's just going to check you over because the villains were definitely rough with the others. You could only nod.

She takes your clothes off and gasps a little "W-Were you the 'example' dear?" You nod again and she tells you to lay back as she fixes this and phones the doctor. Things got hazy from there and at some point, you passed out sometime after the doctor came.

You woke again in cozy bedroom. You were on a soft, but firm, mattress with purple sheets and a black bed cover. Under it was a fluffy blanket and even more at the foot of the bed. You had pillows around you and a couple stuffies. The nurse was at your side and smiled "Nice to see you're awake dearie. Please don't move, we don't want you to reopen the wound or undo the stitches. I was checking on your monitor. I will get someone to bring in food, alright?"

You replied hoarsely "A-Alright, ma'am..." She scurried off so you can better look around, but only on your back. There's an empty cork board, a simple desk with what you can assume are notebooks and pencils. There's a stain-glass window that cant be open and you can somewhat see has bars on the other side.

The walls were a dark shade of purple and the curtains were also black like the bed cover. There were color changing lights around the ceiling and in the center of the ceiling appeared to be the main room light. There was a TV hooked to the wall with - Blue Ray and an Xbox set up. The TV was on a clothes dresser.

You waited a few more minutes and a young girl came in with eggs, toast and some juice. The helped you sit up so you wouldn't open the wound and they supervise the meal.

You get sleepy after and they help you go back to sleep. You unconsciously hugged one of the many stuffies. You loved stuffies... back with your horrible mom who only cared that you be in a dumb hero school, you had many on your bed.

You held it close and let your dreams take you. This happened repeatedly that you asked the nurse if they put stuff in your food. She said "Yes, h-he asked us to. It's to make sure you don't reopen the wound... I assure you it's just until your fully healed, then you won't need that anymore!" She nervously chuckled it off. You latched onto her sleeve.

"Ma'am, I never saw who was flashed on the machine as to who my... mate is. Do you know?" You asked her. She looks at you sadly... "Miss L/n, it's the very man responsible for our nation's hell. Tomura Shigaraki is your match," she said as you let go. She scurried away once again.

Tomura Shigaraki.

The man who broke Izuku Midoriya. (He's alive babies)

The man who disabled your mom's sperm donor... (daddy issues :3)

A man who can leave you literally in dust is your soulmate?

Someone who has killed thousands?

The man who did the executions?

The man who you felt stare at you and your peers like you're insignificant ants?

You could only hold the stuffies, now frightened once again of your unfortunate situation. The second nurse comes again and you eat swiftly again. Would you feel safe knowing the stuffies and Blankies and the pillows you hugged so close were his doing?

Heh.

The man from the security screen room wouldn't know yet. He always kept watch of you there since that day. It was maybe two weeks ago. You're his, you had no choice. He never had the choice either. He's yet to explicitly interact, afraid one slight action from either of you would destroy your fragile body. On one hand, he could get a quirk disabling room-they had one available-and force you to share with him, but that could lead to safety issues.

It would be best left as a room used when you both are ready for it.

He knew you'd enjoy the stuffies, they questioned your mother through threats. She's expected to release some of your materialistic treasures. Anything significant. He, quite amused, enjoyed watching you ask finally who you were stuck with, although didn't like the nurse's tone. You seemed scared, but Tomura knew it would be that way. It's why he spoils you. He's bound to be shitty so you might as well get something good, right?

He really didn't want to admit he liked the idea of being able to care about someone. To be able to love them without any other reason than it's what he craves.

He hopes he won't have to discipline you too much once you're fully healed...

—

Eventually, it comes to the nearing point of  your healing process, but also the fact you've grown an immunity. The drug only left you unable to move now. It was quiet. No sound and unable to open your eyes... it's like a horror film. At least you know no one would harm you... but it still scared you.

After a good while, you hear a door creak open. You hear unfamiliar footsteps. These ones are more... stealthy. The nurse's were hard and left a tapping sound once it met the floor. This seemed quiet, as if he didn't want anyone to know he or she is there. You feel the bed sink in and wish you could open your eyes.

They stroke your head with only two fingers. It felt... calming. Your body accepted his touch like second nature. You hear a rough voice say "So innocent..." They gently move hair away from your face. "I wonder how you're fairing inside that little head of yours, being confined to a bed, no freedom besides what little conversation that nurse has with you... I'd imagine its boring," the voice said to your immobile body. After some thought... the voice sounded somewhat familiar.

He strokes your head again with two fingers. "You like these don't you... the stuffed animals. You cling to them like a small child, it adorable. I'm glad you like them so much... means I didn't waste time picking a few for you after that long day of going through your entire school," the voice said. His last sentence was all you needed to know who this was without any doubt. Tomura.

"You're mine regardless," he said, twirling a piece of your hair with his index finger, you assume anyway. "When you heal, I'll make sure you understand what that means," he mutters, almost too low for you to catch. It was creepy, but comforting, knowing he's talking to you while unconscious-or at least he thinks you are.

It becomes quiet, the only thing you hear is the clock, your breathing, his too, and the fabric static from your pillow. Yet, the warmth of his fingers never stops moving. They pet you almost robotically until you hear a beep from a watch. He sighs. "I'll be back tomorrow, awake or not..." he said. You blushed in your sleep as you felt chapped lips kiss your forehead, but then they leave along with your soulmate. He's gone with a simple thud of the door closing...

All while you long for his warmth again.

May I request a smut/fluff where Peter and his wife finally sleep together! They have been married for 6 months and never did it since their marriage was arranged and Peter use to have many mistresses (before marriage). His wife and him barely speak but respect/love! Can it be when Peter is the High King of Narnia and where the wife asks him to sleep with her since she heard the court is talking about her because she still isn’t with child and Peter consoles her that he doesn’t care about that.

Get to Know You

I’m so sorry this took so long!  College just started so it took some time for me to get adjusted to the new schedule.  Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

warning: smut below the cut

I turned over to my side, watching the sleeping man next to me.  The soft moonlight that poured through the large windows gave the room enough light that I could just make out his features.  Even after six months, I would still sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, confused as to where I was until I saw the mop of blond hair on the other pillow.  I wasn’t in Telmar anymore.  Instead, I was in Narnia and the golden band on my left hand reminded me why I was here - an arranged marriage.

I turned so my back was to Peter, not wanting him to wake up to the sight of me staring at him.  I had to admit, I was lucky to have been married off to such a handsome man.  I had heard horror stories of girls my age being married to men who could be their fathers.  I slowly climbed out of bed, not wanting to wake Peter.  I felt goosebumps start to rise from my skin as my body left the warm blankets and now only had the thin silk nightgown as a barrier from the cool night air.  I winced as the large door creaked open, stopping momentarily to glance at Peter who was still fast asleep, his soft snores barely audible over the sound of my heartbeat.

I slipped out of the door, careful to quietly close it behind me.  I wandered the halls, not entirely sure where I was heading.  My eyes wandered the ornately decorated halls, admiring the beauty of the castle.  I continued walking in silence, enjoying the seemingly empty castle which allowed me to think.  “Six months,” I heard a voice say.  I stopped in my tracks before pressing my body against the cool stone wall.  I was sure that if someone caught me wandering the castle alone at night, they would scold me for being so careless or even worse -  assume I was on my way to meet another man.

“The King and Queen of Archenland announced their pregnancy within three months of their marriage,” a second voice said, this one much deeper than the other.

“Do you think she’s infertile?” the first voice inquired.  They seemed to snarl the word infertile as if just the thought of it was repulsive.

“Perhaps they never consummated their marriage.”  The voices lowered for a moment and I strained to hear anything else they might say.  Was this truly what Narnians thought of me?  

“What good is she if she can’t even produce an heir to the throne?” I heard one of them say.  I wanted to scream, to turn the corner and confront whoever these people were.  But I couldn’t because I knew they were right.  My job was to give Peter an heir but how could I do that when we’ve never even had sex?  While I had been grateful that he never pushed to do anything in the bedroom, I couldn’t help but feel some guilt.  I quickly spun around and made my way back to my shared bedroom with Peter.

My vision had become blurred by the times I reached the mahogany double doors.  I blinked, releasing the first set of tears as I opened the door slowly.  I wiped away the set of tears only for them to immediately be replaced.  I wrapped myself in the blankets, the sound of Peter’s snoring the only thing able to be heard as I quietly cried myself to sleep.

I woke up to Peter’s arms around me.  He must have moved in his sleep as I didn’t remember falling asleep like that.  Although I was practically in the arms of a stranger, the feeling was comforting.  His body was pressed against my back, his scent finding its way to my nose.  His arms were tanned and strong due to hours of training underneath the sun.  I craned my neck to look behind me.  His eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open.  When asleep, the features of his face were soft unlike how they were in his usual day-to-day affairs with diplomats and other monarchs.  When consciousness left Peter, you could still see a hint of the scared 13-year-old who arrived at Narnia all those years ago.  

I hesitantly moved my hand to his forearm, allowing my hand to rest gently on him.  It felt natural cuddling with him.  I felt Peter’s body move behind me, the arm that had been around me slowly leaving me.  I moved my hand from Peter, turning to face him.  “Sorry,” he murmured as he started to get up, the blankets falling from his upper body and collecting around his hips.

“For what?” I asked, slowly getting up as well.

“I didn’t mean for you to wake up like that.”

“In your arms?”  He nodded.

“It’s just I heard you crying last night and I guess that’s all I could think of to make you feel better,” he replied.  “I guess that was stupid of me.”

“No, it’s not,” I said quickly, embarrassment settling in as I realized he heard me crying.  We sat there in silence, lost in our own thoughts.

“Why were you crying?”  His voice was gentle as he asked, his blue eyes watching me, gauging my response.

“It’s nothing,” I replied.  “It’s stupid.”

“(Y/n),” Peter said, his voice stern and his body now fully facing me.  “We’re husband and wife now.  I know that these conditions probably weren’t what you pictured when you dreamed of your picture-perfect marriage but if we’re gonna make the best of what we have, then we have to communicate.”

“It’s just,” I started, feeling my throat get tight as I fought back the tears, “Last night, I overheard some people talking about how I’m not with child yet.  I can’t even do the one job that I have as your wife.”  

“Who said that?” Peter asked.  His voice was sharp and there was a fire behind his eyes.

“I don’t know.  I didn’t see them,” I said, turning away from him as I felt the beginning of my tears fall down my face.  I couldn’t let him see me like this.  

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer.  “Look at me.”  I slowly turned to Peter, my (e/c) eyes meeting his blue ones.  He reached towards me, wiping away my tears.  “I don’t care about whether you have a child or not.  What I care about is you.  I want you to be happy (y/n).”

“How can you care about me?  You barely even know me,” I mumbled, studying my hands.  

Peter sat quietly for a moment, lost in his thoughts before speaking again, “I have an idea.”

“A cottage in the middle of the woods?” I questioned as the carriage slowed to a stop.  Peter had cleared both of our schedules for the weekend before packing our things in a carriage and taking us into the middle of the woods.

“It used to be Mr. Tumnus’ house before he moved into the castle.”  We walked into the cozy cottage, one of the castle’s servants bringing in our stuff.  “He said we could use it for the weekend.”

“This is so cute!” I exclaimed, looking around.  There was a small kitchenette, a cozy fireplace with two armchairs, and pictures of the faun and his family decorating the place.  

“Would you like some tea?” Peter asked as he made his way to the kitchen.  

“Do you know how to heat up water?” I questioned causing Peter to scoff.

“I’m not completely helpless,” he replied as he searched for the necessary ingredients.  I settled into the armchair, looking around the room for any firewood.  To my surprise, there was a small pile of it in the corner despite the house being empty for years.  I got up before placing a few logs into the fireplace.  I grabbed the flint and steel that sat next to the firewood before starting the fire.  The room was filled with the crackling of the fire as Peter made his way over with two cups of tea.

The sun had set long ago, the fire now the only source of light in the cottage.  Peter sat in the armchair opposite of mine in silence, his body stiff, and his eyes glazed over in thought.  I chuckled.  “Is His Majesty having difficulty starting a conversation with his own wife?”  His face held a soft pink tint as he gave a sheepish smile.

“I’ve never really been on a date before.”  I raised my eyebrows.  Everyone knew that Peter was notorious for his mistresses before we were married.  Someone had once told me he had three girls in his room in one night.  “I never really had to talk to the girls I slept with before,” he added as if reading my mind.

“Well, you usually start with something easy.  Like how was your day?”

“Well I woke up next to this gorgeous girl,” Peter started, causing me to giggle.

“Peter!” I chastised.  “Try to be a little serious!”

“Alright, I woke up to my gorgeous wife,” he said causing me to roll my eyes.  “But you see, she was upset so I planned this getaway to make her feel better.  When I told Susan she freaked out, saying how I was supposed to be going to an important meeting tomorrow with the King of Archenland.  But I reminded her that Lune and I are already well acquainted and I was sure he wouldn’t mind talking to her or Edmund or Lucy.  Then I had to find people to help clean up the cottage so it would be ready for tonight and let me tell you, this place was a dump before.”  I nodded along, a smile on my face as I listened to Peter describe his day.  “How about you (y/n)?  How was your day?”

“Let’s see, I woke up in the arms of my husband but you already know all of that,” I started, pausing to think, “So after that, I went to the library where I saw Edmund.  I played chess with him for a while but it wasn’t long till he beat me.  He wanted to play again but I refused, accusing him of just wanting to play another round cause he knew he would beat me again.  So then I went to the horse stable where I saw Lucy sneaking some of the horses extra apples.  When I asked her why apparently she does this a lot so I obviously helped her by getting more apples and sugar cubes from the kitchen.”  Peter and I sat there in front of the fireplace for a few hours, talking about anything that came to mind.  Peter was in the middle of talking about a book he had just finished reading when I yawned.

“(Y/n), if I’m boring you, you can just tell me,” Peter chuckled, getting up.

“No, I’m fine.  Continue talking, I’m having such a great time hearing you talk about your nerd book.”

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”  He bent over, picking me up in his arms and causing me to yelp in surprise.

“Peter, I am totally capable of walking by myself,” I stated as he carried me bridal-style towards the bed.

“But this is so much more fun.”  His face held a mischievous smile as he turned to me.  I felt my heart start to race as I noticed just how close our faces were.  I moved my hand to his face, caressing his cheek as he laid me down on the bed.  His body was hovering over mine, our faces still only inches apart.  Peter and I hadn’t kissed since our wedding day.  And that kiss was so different from the kiss in the cottage.  On our wedding day, there hadn’t been any emotions.  The kiss had merely been our duty as royals.  

This kiss was overflowing with emotion.  It was a kiss where tongues danced together and teeth clashed.  Where hair was pulled and hands wandered the body.  Peter pulled away for a moment, both of us panting from the intensity of it all.  “We can stop now if you want,” he said softly.  

I shook my head.  “I want to do this Peter.”  It was all he needed as he expertly untied the knots of my dress before pulling it off of me, revealing myself to him.  He took a step back, his eyes wandering my body for a moment.  As I stood naked underneath his stare, I could help but start to cover myself.  He was sure to have had much more beautiful women in his bed before.  I was probably repulsive compared to them.  Peter took a step towards me, moving my hands away from my body.

“Don’t hide yourself from me, love,” he said in almost a growl.  The way he spoke those words caused butterflies in my stomach.  He slowly backed up before ripping off his shirt, revealing his upper half.  I subconsciously licked my lips as my eyes wandered his body.  I walked towards him as he pulled down his pants, his erection springing free.  I put out my hand before slowly wrapping my fingers around him.  I had only ever read of this stuff in erotica.  I could only hope that I knew what to do, the last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself in front of my husband.

 Peter took a deep inhale as I started to slowly stroke him.  I looked up at him.  His head had fallen back and his eyes were now closed.  I knelt down so that my face was level with his cock.  I watched my hand travel from the base to the tip and back again.  Peter let out a low moan which encouraged me to go farther.  I let my tongue touch the tip, the salty taste dancing on my tastebuds.  I circled my tongue on his tip before starting to take more of him.  I opened my mouth as wide as I could, pushing my face closer to his base before feeling the tip of his cock hit the back of my throat.

I pulled back, letting his cock fall from my mouth before grabbing it in my hand.  I looked up to see his piercing blue eyes looking down at me.  I licked my lips, diverting my eyes for a second to his cock.  I guided it back into my mouth.  As I started to bob my head up and down his cock, I kept my eyes locked on his.  “You’re doing so good,” he gasped as his tip hit the back of my throat again.  I pulled back slightly, allowing my tongue to run along his cock, gauging his reactions.  “Fuck,” he gasped as my tongue swirled around his tip.  “Get up (y/n),” he commanded.  His voice was stern and as I got up, I looked into his lidded eyes to see they were filled with lust and desire.

He pushed me onto the bed, kissing me passionately until I was left gasping for air.  He sucked and bit down my neck before stopping at my breasts.  He put one in his mouth, his tongue dancing around my nipple causing me to moan.  Without warning, he bit down on my nipple causing my back to arch at the sudden surge of pleasure.  He went on to do the same with the other breast before starting another trail of bites and kisses down my stomach and to my now wet and aching pussy.

I held my breath in anticipation as I felt his ragged breathing against me.  Just as I was about to tell him to stop teasing, he harshly licked my clit causing me to cry out in pleasure and my back to arch.  He began to suck on my clit, dragging his tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves before swirling it around causing me to let out my moans freely.  “Peter!” I gasped as he entered a finger in my dripping entrance.  He added another before allowing them to go in deeper.  He curled his fingers causing them to hit my g-spot.  He continued to fuck me with his fingers while his tongue played with my clit.

“Peter,” I gasped.  “I gonna…”  Before I could finish my sentence, I let out a scream.  My eyes were forced closed as my thighs squeezed Peter’s head, my hips rising to meet him.  Peter gradually slowed down, leading me down from my high.  I cautiously opened my eyes to see his face hovering over mine.  

“You did so well, love,” he whispered into my ear before starting a trail of kisses from my ear to the front of my neck to my lips.  I kissed him back hungrily, tasting myself on him.  “Are you ready?” he asked as he pulled away.  My eyes lingered on his hardened cock which was already leaking with precum.  I nodded frantically, not trusting my words.  He chuckled darkly before lining himself with me.  I let out a gasp as he pushed into me, his cock stretching me out.  

My hands reached out, gripping onto his forearm as he started a slow pace.  “Fuck (y/n).  You fit me so well,” Peter praised as his pace started to quicken.  I let out a whimper as the pleasure started to spread throughout my body.  Peter leaned down, kissing me harshly.  My hands became entangled in his hair, tugging on his golden locks causing him to let out a groan.  The pace he was at was now merciless, the bed frame banging against the wall.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, the new position allowing him to go deeper into me.  I was now a moaning mess underneath him.  A layer of sweat covered my body as the cottage was filled with our moans and the creak of the bed.  I felt the familiar feeling start to form.  “Peter,” I moaned.  “I’m so close.”

“Me too, love.”  He pulled away so that he was now upright.  He grabbed my leg and raised it so that it was now up vertically in the air.  

“Oh God,” I moaned as the new position somehow made it even more pleasurable, something I didn’t know was possible.  I wasn’t going to last much longer.  “Fuck Peter,” I moaned as my walls clenched around him.  My entire body shook as my orgasm rippled through me.

“(Y/n),” he moaned, falling forward as I felt something warm spurt inside of me.  I was still slightly shaking as Peter came down from his high.  He brushed away a (h/c) lock from my face before looking down at me with a smile.  He buried his face into the crook of my neck, littering the skin with kisses, before pulling out of me and rolling to my side.

“That was…” I started, not sure how to finish the sentence.  Words couldn’t even start to describe how I felt.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded.  I cuddled closer to him, his strong arms wrapping around me.  I was starting to fall asleep when I thought I heard Peter say something.  It might have just been a part of my dream that had started to manifest in my mind but I could have sworn I heard Peter say “I love you.”  

oh here! i’ll come ask you for book recs lol. do you have any spooky and/or autumn-y book recs? or just your fave books :)

First of all, I'm sorry this took me SO long to answer. I want to say I've been busy but it's just been general [waves hand vaguely] life.

ANYWAY thank you for asking! I actually don't read scary stuff a lot b/c I'm a wimp, but I have a few spooky/autumnal books up my sleeves! Let's see what we've got!!

1) The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

Let me just start by saying that Sarah Waters is one of my absolute favorite authors ever! All her novels are suspenseful, twisty historical novels with great female and queer characters. Although, fair warning, actually The Little Stranger is like her one novel that isn't queer, but it is VERY good. If you read The Little Stranger and like it, please read Fingersmith and/or The Paying Guests.

The Little Stranger is set in the countryside of post-WWII England and follows a mild-mannered doctor as he becomes increasingly involved in the lives of the family living in the local, increasingly decrepit, possibly haunted mansion. Think Downton Abbey but creepy. Strange things keep happening inside the house, from dog bites to mysterious sounds to creepy black spots. Literally just typing that gave me goosebumps. It seems like someone may be out to get the family, but who...or what? Is it simply the ghosts of their own painful memories, or is something more? Sarah Waters is excellent at lush, intricate historical detail, and she leans into that here to create an atmosphere of slowly building dread and horror and mystery.

That being said, as a person who isn't normally a fan of horror, I don't think this book is too scary. It's more of an atmospheric, psychological horror than a jump-scare, bloody horror. It's not a book that will give you nightmares (probably), but you might lie awake thinking about it.

Also. Pro-tip. As a haunted(?) house story, the house is obviously fairly central to the story. Dear fellow Americans, keep in mind that the British refer to the floors of a building differently than us. For Americans, the ground-level floor is called the first floor, the floor above that the second floor, etc. For the British, the ground-level floor is the ground floor, and the floor above that is the first floor, etc. There's all sorts of creepy references to characters hearing noises above them on the first floor, but I was just like, Why are they always in the basement?

2) Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno Garcia

This and the above are two very different books, and yet they are both set in the mid-1900s and both are about weird, creepy, maybe-haunted houses. What can I say, I like gothic fiction.

After our heroine, Noemi, receives a bizarre, borderline incoherent letter from her beloved cousin, she sets out to visit her in the literally decaying mansion she resides in with her husband and his new family deep in the countryside of Mexico. All Noemi wants to do is persuade her cousin to come back home with her, but her cousin's new in-laws are very determined not to let that happen...or to let Noemi leave either. Secrets abound in the bizarre house and even creepier nearby cemetery, and soon Noemi finds that she too is suffering from bizarre dreams and visions...although, are they just dreams?

This book is so weird, but in such a good way? I read it for a book club and every week we had increasingly bizarre theories about what was going on, we were googling alchemy and fungi and St George, and some of our theories were even right. Although definitely not all. Another very twisty one that keeps you guessing.

In terms of scariness, interestingly I think there's more overtly creepy and horrifying moments in this novel than The Little Stranger, but I found TLS more overall scary? But that may be because I read it quickly, which I think is the ideal setting for suspenseful stuff, and I read Mexican Gothic over a longer amount of time since it was for a book club. This one does have some more typical horror elements to it, but I don't think it's more creepy than terrifying.

3) The Echo Wife by Sarah Gailey

I listened to this one as an audiobook and the audiobook is excellent so would recommend that, but have no doubt it would also be great to physically read.

Oh my god this book...it's more thriller than horror, but I think it fits the brief. There were multiple moments listening to this book that I literally gasped or said "OH MY GOD!" out loud, and there are moments which are very creepy and horrifying. There's a particular scene in the backyard... Again, incredibly suspenseful and twisty. And the character development and character psychology is just! really really good! There's also really interesting and knotty feminist stuff which is a lot more complicated and nasty than some of the "girlboss" stuff which is popular right now.

Super minimal summary: All you really need to know is that it is a sci fi novel about a scientific researcher trying to pick up her life after her marriage has imploded, only for everything to go BATSHIT WRONG. Trust me, that's all you need to know, it's better to go into this not knowing what's going to happen or what to expect. I had no clue what this novel was about when I started it, and holy shit. Very good book, absolutely recommend this if you want some super suspenseful, creepy sci fi that will make you say "oh my GOD" repeatedly.

Okay, shifting gears a little now b/c autumn isn't just spooky, it's also cozy and restful and daydreamy!

4) The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic by Emily Croy Barker

This isn't maybe a cozy book per se, but it's a great book to cuddle down with on a dreary day and lose yourself in. If you've ever asked yourself, "What would it be like if you crossed Pride and Prejudice with Howl's Moving Castle except the wizard was way worse but somehow still sexy" - then you should read this book! I actually came across this book b/c I was like, I wanna read a book that's a portal fantasy but for adults, and this book was like OH here's everything you wanted.

It's about a grad student, Nora, who has totally stalled out on her dissertation and is at a shitty wedding when she accidentally wanders through a portal into a beautiful, fantastical fairy world. At first, everything is amazing and literally perfect...but surprise surprise, not all as is it seems, and soon everything goes to, how should I put it, shit. Nora escapes, but rather than returning home, she finds herself trapped in a far more dreary realm. But not one without it's own charms and it's own magic, and Nora finds herself the student-slash-sorta-captive of the crochety, sexy, maybe-killed-his-wife magician Aruendiel* and she begins to learn magic herself.

Unlike the above books, this is not a fast-paced, twisty book, and I think if you go into this expecting high fantasy along the lines of Game of Thrones, you may be disappointed. It's not really a typical high-fantasy novel, it's more of a cross of an 18th/19th century realist novel, a fairy tale, and a fantasy novel. But if you want that, then it's REALLY good! I loved this book! And the magic in it is so cool, something about the way its described feels so visceral and real and like you could really do it if you just tried hard enough. There is a romance and it's totally, intentionally hashtag problematic, but it's very laid back, very slow burn, so I think even if you aren't a person who digs romance you can still enjoy this. If you're looking for a feminist-leaning fantasy novel that you can just sink into and lose yourself in, this is the perfect book. You will long to magically fix broken plates.

5) The Ruthless Lady's Guide to Wizardry by C.M. Waggoner

Honestly I can't even justify why I think this one is an autumn book. It simply is. It's autumn colored in my head. It is the coziest book I have ever read about necromancy and crime. Also I just want to recommend it. This is another one that I listened to as an audiobook and it's also a good audiobook, for those who are interested. But it also means I will not be able to spell absolutely any of the character's names.

This novel follows Delly, an enterprising young scoundrel of a fire witch with a teeny tiny gin habit as she attempts to support herself and her hot-mess of a mom in the roughest neighborhoods of Fantasy-City-That-I-Can't-Remember-The-Name-Of. Lice...gate? When Delly comes across an advertisement for a bodyguarding job for young women for a hefty fee, it seems like the answer to definitely not all but at least some of her problems. She accepts, along with an interesting assortment of other sorcerous young ladies, including a wonderfully bitchy Absentia (my love), a young woman who can turn into a boar, boar girl's necromancer mother, and the very sexy part-troll Winn, who in my imagination looks like Gwendoline Christie and talks like Miranda Hart. Which. Perfect woman. Winn being a fine, wealthy young lady, Delly can't help but think to herself that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if Winn happened to fall in love with her and carried her off to be rich and spoiled the rest of her life.

Of course, things quickly don't go to plan, and soon Delly and her companions find herself caught up in wicked schemes of murder, drugs, and an undead mouse named Buttons who says BONG. I love Buttons SO MUCH.

This book is just a silly romp of a novel which worms into your heart and your brain. It's fun and cute and gay, and also it made me cry. I haven't stopped thinking, "Not quite regulation hammerball" since I listened to it like half a year ago.

Also, while I'm here, this novel is set in the same world as and features a few of the same characters as Unnatural Magic. Which is also a hell of a book. Literally the best bisexual relationship I have ever fuckin read. It's a winter book tho, so I simply can't go into it here.

Aaaaand...that it's! Happy autumnal reading :)

The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues

I found this movie online while looking for From Hell It Came (which I haven’t yet found – someday I will and then you’ll all be sorry) and it looked bad, so I checked out the details.  Turns out it stars Kent Taylor from The Crawling Hand, Cathy Downs from The Amazing Colossal Man, and was written by Lou Rusoff, who was behind It Conquered the World, The She-Creature, and… oh god, he also wrote Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.  This is gonna suck goat nads.  I must watch it right away.

You shouldn’t picture me groaning when I write stuff like that, by the way.  You should picture me giggling like a maniac and rubbing my hands together with glee.

A monster is killing people at sea near an incredibly bleak and depressing California college town, and the bodies and wrecked boats it leaves in its wake are scorched by radioactivity! Washington sends Agent Grant to find out what’s going on, and he soon discovers that the Pacific College of Oceanography is positively overflowing with suspicious characters.  There’s the reclusive and paranoid Professor King, who is working on weird experiments in his locked laboratory.  There’s King’s assistant George, who follows him around and hides in the bushes to watch what he’s doing.  King’s secretary Ethel blames the professor for the death of her son and wants revenge, and George’s girlfriend Wanda is a foreign agent.  Not to mention the visiting Dr. Stevens, a radiation expert with an unsettling habit of turning up just in time to discover the bodies.  Someone among this motley crew has created a sea monster… and someone else is planning to sell it to the highest bidder!

You know how some movies save their monsters until the last minute, in order to build suspense?  Or because what we imagine is always scarier than what we actually see?  Or because the monster sucks and they’re ashamed of it?  Or some combination of the above?

Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not one of those movies.  Before we’re even a full minute into it, the monster has appeared on screen in all its ridiculous glory.  Stevens calls it a hideous beast that defies description but I think I can make an attempt.  It looks sort of like the lovechild of a saber-toothed tiger and the Horror of Party Beach.  There’s a ridge down its head and back like an iguana and a poorly-camouflaged window in its neck so the dude inside can see what he’s doing.  The whole costume is also rather buoyant, and the actor is having to work hard to stay underwater.  Sadly, this beast remains lurking in the depths and never shambles out onto the beach to menace sunbathers, which is the only thing it would have needed to make it a perfect bad movie monster.

The creature is not the only nuclear threat in this movie… or even the silliest one!  During an investigatory dive, Stevens discovers a glowing patch on the seafloor which he says represents an ‘activated’ uranium deposit with the potential to form a naturally-occurring death ray!  We finally get to see this in action when stock footage of a ship passes over it – and turns into a different ship that immediately blows up! I’m just sad this only happens once. The glowing stone itself is represented by a mirror with a light shining on it in underwater shots, and by the reflection of the sun when seen from the surface.

So the effects are not special and make an already silly threat even more hilarious.  What about the story?  Like all cheap monster movies, the focus of The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not the creature killing people but the investigation into it.  There’s a large number of potential monster-makers here, which could have made the movie a bit messy – but by the time the words The End appear, we know who all these people are, how they’re involved, and what they hope to accomplish.  Even the women are given distinct motivations and personalities, although those fall neatly into the ‘maiden, mother and whore’ tropes I’ve discussed in the past. The dialogue is not exactly subtle, but it seems like I can’t wholly blame Lou Rousoff for Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.

It’s also nice that, despite the preponderance of White Men In Suits (Stevens and Grant both walk along the beach in suits and ties at all hours of the day and night), the characters all look different enough that I can tell them apart!  None of the cast are great actors, with a lot of stilted or awkward line deliveries, but then, a lot of the things they’re saying are completely ridiculous, so I probably can’t lay that entirely at their feet.

Unfortunately, the plot of Phantom From 10 000 Leagues is rather unfocused, and like so many of these films it’s not sure who its main character is.  It seems like either Agent Grant or Dr. Stevens, who are each conducting some kind of investigation into the goings-on, ought to be the protagonist… but both are introduced in contexts that make them seem potentially suspicious.  Dr. Stevens is actually significantly more suspicious than Grant, because when he first turns up he gives a fake name, and later proves to have actually performed experiments with mutating sea life in the past.  Yet for much of the movie, it’s Stevens we’re watching, as he cozies up to Professor King and flirts with King’s daughter Lois.  He actually gets far more screen time than Grant, with the latter sometimes being out of the movie for long enough that the audience kind of forgets he’s there.

Stevens and Lois’ love story is, as is probably inevitable for a movie of this kind, completely bland.  Kent Taylor and Cathy Downs have no appreciable spark between them, and one gets the uncomfortable impression that he’s about twice her age. The movie never offers even an approximate age for either character, but Lois is still unmarried and living with her father, which in the 1950s suggests she’s in her early twenties.  King describes Stevens as a ‘young man’ but between his appearance and his impressive academic credentials he’s obviously not, and when I looked up the actors I learned that Taylor was forty-eight when The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues was made, while Downs was twenty-nine.  That’s… well, they’re both adults, but he’s still old enough to be her father, and the younger we assume they both are, the worse the two decade gap gets.

Once we actually get to know the characters, the solution to the mysteries is fairly obvious, but this lets us spend some actual time with these men and find out what they think about the situation.  Stevens, who’s been down this road before, wants these terrible experiments to stop before any more people get hurt.  King, hearing about it for the first time, is more excited about what he might be able to learn by building on Stevens’ work. This represents an interesting inversion because if you’ll recall, King is supposed to be significantly older than Stevens (though actor Michael Whelan was actually born only five years before Taylor).

Usually knowledge and wisdom are both associated with age.  This is a very old trope and has some fairly sound logic behind it: the elderly have had longer to learn and to experience.  In Phantom from 10 000 Leagues, however, we have the older Professor King excited by the ground-breaking discoveries made by a younger scientist and wanting to learn more about them, even when the (supposedly) younger Stevens warns him about Tampering in God’s Domain.  Each assumes the role their ages might make us expect of the other.

This is reflected in their respective fields: depending on how you define it, oceanography is as old as mankind.  Humanity has been mapping the seas for as long as we’ve known how to sail across them, and marveling at the monsters we pull from its depths for as long as we’ve been catching fish.  That is the Professor King’s domain. Stevens, on the other hand, is a specifically nuclear scientist. Nuclear physics technically begins with the discovery of radioactivity in the 1890’s, but it seemed like a new and scary field in the 1950s, as the development of atomic weapons forced scientists to take a closer look at the phenomenon’s effect on living tissues. To King, who is an expert in another field, the possibilities of this relatively new work outweigh the potential consequences.

As sloppy and poorly-made as Phantom from 10 000 Leagues can be, this contrast between Stevens and King does make it a movie with something to say.  It of course has the standard moral for a fifties atomic monster piece, about paths science is not meant to tread, but it also wants us to think about that connection between age and wisdom.  On the one hand, King’s interest in Stevens’ work tells us that you’re never too old to learn something new.  On the other, just because somebody is young doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach. If King had taken in Stevens’ wisdom along with his knowledge, a lot of suffering need not have happened.

Even if you’re not into that, the crappy monster, the bad acting, the ridiculous science, and all the sneaking around and backstabbing that goes on makes Phantom from 10 000 Leagues plenty of fun watch.  It’s much like Beginning of the End in that it ticks all the MST3K boxes, while remaining coherent enough that you can enjoy the actual story along with the badness.

Cozy — Jeon Jungkook

A glimpse into you and Jungkook’s love.

Request: Hi! I saw your writing and I enjoyed reading your works. I saw that you needed some request so here I am. I was wondering if you could write an imagine with BTS’s Jungkook where he comes home to the reader online shopping or something, and it’s a very touchy, lusty, feel. But lots of soft and subtle gestures towards one another. Sorry if it’s a bit much, it took me a lot to request 😬 but thank you for hearing me out! 🤗

Jungkook doesn’t understand why he gets like this doing something he does everyday. I mean, with all of his other daily routines he didn’t get nervous. Singing, dancing, speaking infront of others; these were all things that he just couldn’t get nervous about doing even if he tried.

But right now he’s standing infront of the door to his own apartment, and he finds himself taking deep breaths. His hand is on the keypad, but they’re not moving to type the code in.

“You’ve been dating this girl for almost two years now.” He chuckles to himself, knowing this was ridiculous. “She’s your girlfriend, and you see her practically everyday. Go inside.”

And as always, he listens to himself. He puts the code into his keypad, and steps in quickly. His shoes slip off his feet with ease as all he had to do today was re-record some things for the new album; no dancing.

Before he creeps around the corner, where he knows he’ll find you either asleep on the couch, or scrolling through your phone as you wait for him to come and kiss you all over, he always likes to listen. Sometimes you’ll hum, and it has to be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. You always say you can’t sing, but he’s listened in to your little concerts too many times to count, and knows it’s the opposite.

Sometimes, you’ll even be watching tv. He has a little guessing game he plays with himself to see if he can guess what you’re viewing, and he has to admit, he’s getting better at it. His favorite though was to hear you laugh. You always kept him up to date with twitter slang, and what was considered funny between his fans and such, but when he would hear you burst into a fit of chuckles and heavy sighs; it was music to his ears.

The house is silent right now, but not so silent that he can assume that you’re deep in slumber. He’s trying his best to keep the wood floor from making too much noise, as if the alarm didn’t already inform you someone was in your home.

He finally makes it around the corner, where he finds you. His heart always increases in speed whenever you grace him with your presence, and right now is no different. Your laptop is secured onto your legs, and he can see just how concentrated you are based off how your eyebrows are making you look like an upset child.

“Hi.”

Immediately your head snaps up, and the smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know. You missed him too. You still loved him even after a couple hours of space. Your hair was still wrapped up in the scarf he gifted your for your birthday. Funny enough, it’s red and yellow undertones were complementing his white walls very nicely. This whole scenery was so beautiful to him.

“Hi baby. You look tired.” You accuse with a raised eyebrow. You hated to see him like this; a weak walk dragging across his floors, and the color tainted from his cheeks. “Have you eaten today?”

“Just had dinner with Yoongi.”

There’s a silence, featuring the two of you making eye contact. You’re looking him up and down, trying to find the lie within his words, but based on the slight swelling in his fingers you know he’s being honest.

“Are you full? I can cook you something.” You offer, standing up promptly, but Jungkook steps towards you, gently setting you back down where you were sitting.

“Have a seat.” He smiles. It’s at this moment where he realizes he hasn’t kissed you since yesterday. He also realizes that you know exactly what he’s thinking, so he seizes his opportunity.

The kiss is loving, but also filled with the kind of lust that only the two of you could have. You both agreed a long time ago that your lips were made for eachother, but even so, you always giggled when your lips pressed together. It was always magic.

He has one knee on the couch as he hovers over you, hands moving up your neck, to the side of your cheeks, and then to your ears as he allows this to calm him down. Even your breathing is in synch as the two of you just enjoy this moment.

Just when Jungkook was starting to feel his heartbeat increase to a deadly pace, and his blood rush to his face, and all the other familiar places, you break the kiss. He can’t help but to follow your plump lips, pressing another peck before resting his forehead on yours.

“What?” He questions, still hovering on top of your body that was now laid on the sofa.

“No can do tonight sir.” You sigh in disappointment, hands finding themselves rubbing circles into his fat cheeks.

“No.” He wines, and not because he needs it so bad. He just hated when you had to be bothered with such a demon. “The red sea?”

“The red sea, baby.” You confirm, and now the two of you are laughing. Once again, the kisses start, except, this time they’re much more sweet and slow. With his lips he’s telling a million stories. He’s telling you that this morning, he was really upset that you weren’t awake as he couldn’t properly embrace you. He’s telling you that while he was singing songs of heartbreak in the studio, he found it hilarious because that would never be the two of you. He’s confessing that he missed you so much, and this taste, and this feeling.

His lips move to your neck, and his hands are rubbing all over your comfort zones such as your legs, and your shoulders, and your back. He then stops his actions, looking right into your eyes. He loves doing this. He can always see how nervous you get. Your pupils start to twitch, as you’re trying your best to be a big girl and handle all the love that rests in his eyes, but at the same time wanting to look away because it’s too much.

“How did I get so lucky?” He questions, kissing you once more. Your scent is so distinct. Castor oil and black girl magic, as you would describe it.

“I think you must have been an important man in your past life.”

“Like Malcolm X?”

And now you’re screeching; that laugh that can make any man fall to his knees in an instant. It’s shaking every part of his body, and he loves you. Your little snorts are the icing on the cake; a recipe for his red cheeks.

“You’re funny.” Is all you can manage as you finally calm down.

“And you’re beautiful.” Jungkook finally stands up, placing his hand infront of you to grab. “You ate, right?”

You grab his hand that was calling out to you, standing up with a slight hiss. “Had a little soup. You know I can’t eat much when I’m bleeding to death.”

“You sure you don’t want anything else? Ice pack?”

“Just you.” Your smile is dazzling, even when your eyes seem a little weary. He doesn’t know if you’re worried about him, your day wasn’t the best, or both, but he knows he can turn it all around.

Setting the alarm, and turning off all the lights to the rooms you walked passed, he leads you to your shared bedroom. As always, the bed is exactly how you two left it in the morning. You both agreed that making a bed was pointless when you were just going to get back in it.

Jungkook pushes you forward, making you fall gently on the mattress. He then begins to remove his clothing one by one, followed by whistles coming from you.

“Oh how I wish I wasn’t about to throw up.” You call, now resting on your elbow in a seductive manner. You’re already in your pajamas, which consisted of nothing but a tank top. You’re comfortable, and he always loves to see you like this.

“You can still enjoy the show.” He winks, before stepping into the bathroom.

“You don’t have to take a shower, you know.” You offer, rubbing his spot in repeated circles. “You didn’t even do anything today.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because your hair isn’t dripping all over your floor from sweat.”

“Our floor.” He corrects.

“Our floor.” You smile. “I just want to Netflix and chill with you, baby.”

“You mean just Netflix?”

“Shut up.” You chuckle.

Of course, he takes your advice. He switches his boxers, and leaves it at that as he jumps on his high set bed. You always have Netflix ready; the horror section waiting to be surfed.

“Your scarf.” He whispers, using his hands to pull it down so your edges would be protected. He presses a light kiss to the cloth, before allowing you to nuzzle into his large arms. Your hand immediately finds the wrist that holds his tatted sleeve, and it’s caressing it ever so gently. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I get really nervous before I come home.” He confesses, not really knowing why. It just comes out.

You mute the tv, looking up at him now. “Why?”

“You just...make me nervous as hell. Never in a million years did I think I’d find you.”

“Am I that great?” You question, tilting your head as best you could. “All I do is eat your food.”

“And you also support me in everything I do. You’re always there and you always know what to say. You always can make my days better. You’re the greatest gift.”

“You’re being really nice to me today.” You’re squinting at him, clearly suspicious. “What did you do?”

“Absolutely nothing.” He assures with a laugh.

“Yeah yeah.” You brush, but he knows you’re enjoying every bit of this. This extra love he’s giving you right now.

His body is always warm, clothed or not, and the feeling of your skin on his is too good. Too pleasant. You had been so excited to watch a good movie and fall asleep, but neither of you had picked up the remote. Your hands were just playing with eachother’s, observing the way you fit together so perfectly.

“How are the boys?”

“They’re good, I hope. It’s kind of funny, but we’ve been spending so much time together getting ready for the comeback, as soon as we’re free we run away from eachother.

“Are you excited?” You ask.

“Yeah...yeah.”

You notice the hesitation in his answer. “Why the pause?”

“I’m always excited to see the fans and stuff, but I’m never going to be happy about having to leave you. It sucks.”

You slide up his body just a tad, kissing him gently before allowing yourself to be the big spoon. Your hands find themselves entangled in his locs, and you can hear the way his breathing is calming down just from the motions.

“I know, baby. I know.” You assure. “But you love it. I promise I’ll be here when you come back. I always am.”

“It’s like—we’ve done this a thousand times. I’m gone, and you’re here. You would think I know how to cope with it, but it gets worse everytime. I’m going to think about you the whole tour.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“How?”

“That means you really do love me more each day.”

That makes him chuckle and smile all at the same time, as he remembers the times when you were heavily insecure about your relationship. You always questioned yourself, but now you were the complete opposite. You were giving him the peptalk.

“I told you I meant it.”

The night continues like this; you massaging his scalp with love and care while you talk about everything and nothing at the same time. The two of you doze off in this position, Netflix still blaring at your eyes.

Palm Springs (Or Groundhog Day 2: February 3rd!)

The ills of immortality have been a subject of literature since at least the ancient Greeks, where the gods, unable to ever die, become wrapped up in the smallest of petty trifles, exacting revenge upon mortals for even the smallest insults. Without something definitive to live for, or without a definitive end, it is too easy to lose sight of the big picture, so the mythology teaches us.

But while the lure of immortality and the dangers within have been present in human literature since it’s beginnings, 1993’s Groundhog Day with its creative time-loop, repeating the same day ad aeternum really and truly reinvented how art can talk about immortality. So much so that films like Happy Death Day and Edge of Tomorrow cannot be described in any way other than “it’s like Groundhog Day but a horror movie” or “Groundhog Day, but an action movie.” And Palm Springs? It’s like alternate reality sequel to Groundhog Day where Phil never gets out of the time loop and the film’s love interest gets sucked in as well.

I say sequel, and I really do mean it. Even if that film is never explicitly mentioned here, its argument about how someone’s psychology and attitudes would change as days remained the same for months or years on end casts a large shadow. In that movie, Bill Murray’s character starts with denial, then playful hi-jinks, then desperate attempts of suicide, and finally nihilistic acceptance. We join Palm Spring’s protagonist, Nyles (Andy Samberg) at that nihilistic acceptance phase. He’s not at the beginning of his time loop, but thousands of days in; dialogue reveals that he went through all those other changes in psychology already. Like Murray in Groundhog Day, Nyles is forced to relive a day where he’s largely alone. He’s at a wedding in Palm Springs for his girlfriend’s best friend, surrounded by a group of people to whom, besides his self-centered girlfriend for whom he has no feelings, he has no attachments. For all intents and purposes, Samberg’s character is virtually the same as Murray’s Phil from Groundhog Day, just adapted for 2020: a quick-witted, cynical yet likeable, and overall laid back guy despite the stress of his situation.

What’s different this time around is that the film’s love interest, here played by the wonderful Cristin Milioti, gets drawn into the time loop as well. This has its pluses and minuses. On the one hand, it avoids this being a 100% re-tread of Groundhod Day, even if now we see Milioti’s Rachel go through those above changes in psychology and attitude outlined above (albeit much more quickly than in Groundhog Day). But on the other hand, it turns the film into more of a standard romantic comedy with time-loop elements tacked on. If you tracked out the plot points, it’s really not much different than a run-of-the-mill rom-com. There’s the meet-cute, initial conflicts and playful antagonism, the falling in love, the making love, the first big fight, falling out of love, and then revelations at the end they are meant for each other. I didn’t put a spoiler on this review… but if you didn’t know that was the basic outline for a rom-com I apologize.

There’s a few touches here that really do add to the ever-slowly growing genre of time-loop films. Though I won’t spoil why, Milioti’s Sarah wakes up in an unpleasant location every day, and no matter what she does during the day, she is forced to deal with the consequences of the prior day’s terrible decision morning after morning after morning. It’s a neat idea that defies the genre expectation of Bill Murray waking up to the same Sonny & Cher song in his cozy Punxsutawney hotel. But more generally, it adds the idea of adding others to the time loop, and how people in the time loop might respond to one another. The film offers two examples, both believable.

Nyles initially got stuck in the loop by wandering into a cave near the wedding, and at some point prior to when this film’s plot begins, Nyles had brought a gruff wedding guest, Roy (J. K. Simmons) to the cave as well. Roy is not pleased by this. He spends his days of eternity plotting up ways to torture Nyles for revenge. It’s an amusing sub-plot and one that gives Simmons a great role and leads to wonderful physical comedy. But it also leads to a lesson: death and life are meaningless, but pain is real. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the film begins with detailing how Milioti’s Sarah accidentally ends up following Nyles into the cave, and the two bond and fall in love within the setting of their shared, yet unique experience within the universe. But it does raise interesting questions about love that extend beyond lovers within a time-loop to just any pair of lovers who meet and fall in love within certain circumstances. Will our love last beyond this unique setting we are in? It’s the same question raised by Grease, and any two teens who meet at a summer camp. Will we make it “on the other side”? Another question that gets raised (though unfortunately not very much addressed) is the fact that prior to Sarah being stuck in the time loop with Nyles, he has seduced and slept with Sarah “thousands of times.” When Sarah’s just another person within Nyles’s time loop there’s no moral issue, but once she enters his world fully, what does one do with the knowledge? It’s really rather creepy and the argument that follows this revelation also reinforces film’s theme: life and death may not matter, but pain is real.

As far as rom-coms go, this is one of the smarter ones. I love Milioti and Samberg, and as a pair they have great chemistry. Their dialogue feels natural, and naturally funny. I wouldn’t be surprised if they improvised some or many lines. And the more structured jokes relying on the time-loop gimmick work well. It’s certainly a lighter movie than Groundhog Day or even the surprisingly humorous Edge of Tomorrow, and it never reaches the former film’s originality or the latter film’s emotional highs, but it’s a fun film that will keep you entertained on a Saturday night. It reminds us that we are not meant to live forever, that living forever makes us lose sight of the big picture, and that even when life seems meaningless, pain whether from a bow and arrow or from heartbreak, is always real.

*** (Three out of four stars)

Capsule Review: Come for the time-loop, stay for Milioti and Samberg’s great rom-com chemistry.

Survey #292

“dear god, let’s make this fucking clear: dear god, there’s nothing that i fear”

What internet browser do you use? Chrome. What brand water do you drink? (Smart Water, Dasani, etc) Mom just grabs the Great Value jugs. Do you have a job? No. Are you full-time or part-time? N/A Are you watching TV right now? No. Or are you listening to music? Yeah, "Mr. Crowley" by Ozzy. Such a great song. Would you go to jail for 3 years for $1,000,000? No. I would NOT survive in jail. When's your birthday? February 5th. I cannot fucking believe I'm almost 25. Thoughts on kids? Too impressionable for me. Even with my niece and nephew, I feel like every single word I say just like... stamps into their brains, and what if I say something that negatively affects them? I feel like it's my responsibility as an aunt to be a fountain of wisdom when I'm definitely not. I just get nervous around kids. Worst punishment you've ever received by your parents? I wouldn't call it a "punishment," but when I skinned the everliving fuck out of my knees and Mom was patching me up while I was just sobbing away, my dad literally roared "SHUT UP!" from my parents' bedroom, and it's stuck with me forever. Honestly, I think it may be a root in my extreme fear of men yelling. Worst punishment from Mom, probably this time where she smacked the shit outta my arm as a kid and left a clear handprint for a while. Are you the type who is completely against abortion? Why? No, I am firmly pro-choice, despite being pro-life most of my life. I don't feel like writing a moral essay, but basically, I absolutely cannot agree with forcing a woman to carry a human they don't want for whatever reason for nine fucking months, endure one of the most traumatically painful things known to man, and then properly and adequately care for that child. That is such a huge fucking responsibility that should be forced upon *nobody*. "But adoption!" Yeah, go tell that to the thousands of children waiting on you. This is leaning on exactly what I said I wouldn't do, so moving along. Have you ever read a book that actually changed your outlook on life? "I’ve read some books that were phenomenal, but I wouldn’t necessarily go so far as to say that they 'changed my outlook on life'." <<<< This was Johnny Got His Gun for me. Does your favorite flower hold any meaning to you? No. What would you do if your favorite animal became endangered? I would fucking freak. Have you ever owned an expensive eyeshadow palette? No, but I honestly do want at least one, primarily with a deep black and then some nice grays and neutral colors. Do you own a tripod for your camera? Yes. Are your nails always painted? Quite the opposite. What's one thing you've had a toxic reaction to? A breakup. Which holiday is your favorite to decorate for? I honestly don't really decorate because I just don't have the motivation, but Halloween is the best. Were you popular in school? Nope. Are there any foods that often give you heartburn or indigestion? BANANAS, dark sodas (like Coke or Dr. Pepper), peanut butter can... It's hard for me to tell much now because I have chronic heartburn and am medicated for it. Works great, so I don't experience this much. Is there something you intend to buy in the near future? Yes. Once my tattoo is done (I'm setting the appointment the next time we leave the house, AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH), what I have left is going towards Venus' new terrarium. She really needs a 40 gallon. Is anyone in your family artistically talented? What about musically? I was the art kid, and family still insist I should be an artist. What cute behaviors or characteristics does/do your pet(s) have? Omg, Roman has so many. He nuzzles me all the time, will collapse into my hand to pet him, he insists on being the little spoon at bedtime (no, really), he literally tries to groom me with his teeth, licks my face... He is just a doll. My little buddy for sure. Now onto Venus. She loves to chill next to me in bed or find a cozy place under the covers, and omgggg does she love to slither around the bed doing the periscope thing. So curious. What's the screensaver on your computer? I don't have one. What’s the sexiest thing about a guy? I am WEAK for nice shoulderblades/muscular shoulders ok. What’s the sexiest thing about a girl? I am an ass bitch and I will not hesitate to admit it ayyyyyeeeee. Who were you with at midnight on January 1, 2021? Nobody. Who was the last person to send you a message on social media? My sister Misty. She's planning to surprise Mom (her stepmom, anyway) by showing up in a few weeks with her fiance and all her kids she's never met but desperately wants to. My mom is the only "real mom" she's ever had, and she just feels so bad that she has a by now teenage daughter (among three other younger ones) that has never met her "grandmother." It's just an expensive and long trip, but Misty's finally called it enough and is just driving down here with everyone. Mom is going to fucking sob. ^ What qualities does this person have, that you appreciate? Nice timing for this, since her fiercely anti-mask bullshit is all I can focus on about her lately... but there are good things about her. She truly is a very loving, passionate woman that, just like me, feels deeply and expresses it. What was the last thing that caused you to scowl, or frown? Does grimacing count from a sudden bodily pain? Have you smiled at any point during the last hour? Yeah. I'm watching the VOD of Arin Hanson playing Kingdom Hearts 2 for charity, and he went on a total fucking laughing fit. His laugh is so precious, so I just couldn't stop grinning. What was the last thing you consulted Google for? Ensuring "grimace" was the right word for my former expression, even though I was pretty positive it was correct... I don't know if anyone's noticed, but my English skills are degrading, particularly in spelling. It's concerning me. I was an English whiz my whole life up to now. My only guess is it's related to how godawful my memory is also declining. So, did anyone send you a "Happy New Year" message when midnight hit? No. When was the last time you were on a carousel? Probably not since I was a teenager being goofy with Jason or somebody. What is the closest you have ever been to an elephant? I have a picture on my dA of a beautiful elephant walking RIGHT by its fence at the zoo. It was pretty amazing, considering just how incredibly immense their enclosure is. Have you ever played Halo? No, it's not my kinda game. Have you ever read a National Geographic magazine? Oh, I'm positive I've read sections while in waiting rooms of various places. When was the last time you had a pillow fight? I have no idea. Realistically it was probably w/ Jason since that sounds like some cute playfighting thing we'd do, but I don't remember a particular instance. Name somebody who you think deserves more respect: "Retail works. The horror stories my mom has on the daily is absolutely ridiculous. People can be so incredibly rude." <<<< I absolutely agree with this; what friends and strangers alike rant about is just depressing. Nobody, especially those working through a goddamn pandemic that's killing thousands, deserves the disrespect that comes their way. Have some goddamn decency and know half the issues you bring up to retail workers isn't even their damn fault. Ohhhh, I could rant about this. In your own words, define what the word sexy means. So you mean like, what I think is considered sexy, not just the general definition? If that's the case, uhhh. Self-confidence (but absolutely not arrogance) is very attractive to me as a bitch who lacks it entirely, as well as good manners, being outgoing, and just... charm. I don't quite know how to describe that "charm" other than I'm really drawn to people who are unique and happy with it and just seem to have an aura about them that feels good to be in. What is the most popular tourist attraction where you live? I'm going to look at this question as if you're asking about my state and not general location because 1.) there ain't shit here and 2.) I'd prefer to keep relatively where I live quiet on the Internet. Looked it up and apparently NC's biggest tourist bait is the Biltmore Estate. Never been there myself, but it'd be pretty dope. Without looking - do you know what brand your underwear is? I'm in my own home and pjs, who the fuck wears underwear with that criteria lmao. Are you any good at volleyball? NOOOOOOOOO. I went to a volleyball camp thing once when I was younger and that shit hurts the hell outta your hands. I didn't stay long. Have you ever had a water balloon fight? Why of course. Do you think some babies are ugly? Quite honestly, probably most, especially newborns. Don’t you miss Chuck E. Cheese? I do; going there was one of the most exciting possible things to me as a kiddo. Do you think Fall Out Boy is gonna be a classic band, like Queen or AC/DC? Possibly. I mean they sure are pretty successful and well-known. Do you love stuff-crusted pizza? Eh, it's not my preference, but I'll eat it. Do you apply lotion after you bathe? No, but I really should, given how dry my skin is. What’s your favorite color? Pastel pink. Who did you have your most amazing kiss with? I'd like to not think about this. Has a YouTube video of yours ever gotten over 10,000 views? Lol definitely not. I think at least one on my older channel hit 1k somehow???? It was a birthday gift I made for someone. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? lol I already have one there. At some point I'm getting it covered, though. Do you like Robert Frost poems? I do! Do you go to church every Sunday? I never do. Have you ever been in a relationship on-and-off for more than a year? No, I don't play that game. You want me or you don't, so I'm not wasting my time on your uncertainty or just our lack of stability for whatever reason. If you had to get famous for one of the following, which would you choose: music, acting, writing, modeling? Absolutely writing. What do you think of girls with huge boobs that don’t wear bras in public? ?????????????????? i don't?????????????? care???????????????? they're not my tits??????????????? What is the last thing you tried on in a store? I don't know. I avoid trying shit on like the plague. And then it ends up being too big/small. I wonder why. Is sleeping naked more comfortable than in clothes? I've only ever fallen asleep naked once, and accidentally at that, so I really don't remember how I felt about it? Consciously though, I would feel very, very vulnerable so don't have plans to when I have my own place. Have you ever had a dream in which you were making out, or more, with someone? HAHAHA Y'AAAAAALLLLLLL THIS WAS DEADASS THE ONLY LUCID DREAM I'VE EVER HAD LMAOOOOO Do you feel as though you have a good memory, or are you forgetful at times? Do you feel that your short-term memory or long-term memory is better? My short-term memory is absolutely atrocious, like to the point it seriously affects my ability to get shit done. You can give me something that needs to be done and I will forget in a heartbeat. Now, my long-term memory is astonishing. I can remember many things from my childhood in incredible detail. Have you ever had a concussion or some other sort of brain injury before? Did you need to have surgery for it? I've had a concussion or two. I can't remember which. I didn't need surgery. Do you have any sort of mental illnesses or disorders? What do they involve? Yeah: chronic depression, crippling social anxiety, generalized anxiety, avoidant personality disorder (AvPD), obsessive compulsive disorder, PTSD, bipolar II, and I think that's it. My head's a mess and a half. What’s the longest that your hair has ever been? How about the shortest? When is the last time that you got it cut? About to the small of my back; how it is now, which is pretty much shaved on the left and fades to near my chin on the right. I actually got it cut last month; we've gone to a family friend for years whose shop is just an extra building by her house and very rarely has more than two clients in it. We had masks on, of course. At what age did you start getting gray hairs, if you happen to have any? I don't have any. Somehow, given my stress level at all times, haha. What are some ways that you style your hair? Do you use any sorts of products in it? It's too short to style. I don't use any products in it but obviously shampoo. Who was the last person to truly get on your nerves? What do you think caused you to feel that way? Probably my mom. I think she was in a rotten mood for one reason or another and just being snappy and generally rude. Do you recycle? Is this through choice or do you live somewhere where it’s compulsory? We do; it's by choice, and it'd be immensely ignorant not to where we live considering it literally gets picked up with the other garbage. Do you prefer plain, carbonated, or flavored water? Do you think you drink enough water throughout the day? I've never tried carbonated water, and flavored water rarely works for me due to artificial sweeteners giving me beastly headaches. So I'll just take really cold, filtered water. Have you ever needed to call the police, ambulance, or fire department? I had to call the ambulance for my mom right before her cancer was discovered because she was literally immobile and in ungodly pain. When was the last time you visited the library? What was the purpose of your visit? At my old college, as the newspaper photographer, I took some artsy pics up there. I will probably forever worry that leaving school resulted in the biggest career opportunity slipping through my fingers through that newspaper. Do you see a lot of wild animals where you live? Are any of them dangerous? I guess about the normal amount you'd see in the country. Some dangerous animals live here, sure, that's probably everywhere, but you very rarely see any. Aside from when you were born, have you ever had to stay the night in the hospital? For suicidal thoughts and one attempt, yes. Have you ever experienced a panic attack? Ahhhh, do I know those well. Thankfully, it's been a long time since I had an all-out panic attack. Would you ever want to go into the medical profession? Was your answer different pre-COVID? Nope. Well, besides being a vet, which I haven't wanted to be since I was a kid. Where you live, are people paying attention to whatever restrictions are in place to help control COVID? Many? No. Because it's apparently a fuckin hoax or not as bad as the government wants us to think. Fucking cretins. Do you get a real or artificial Christmas tree? Artificial. Real ones aren't worth the money nor mess. What’s your favourite type/flavor of popcorn? Caramel corn. Do you drink oat milk? No, but I'm interested in at least trying it. The dairy industry is absolutely repulsive if you look into it, and I'd love to do what I can to take as little part in it as possible... even though I am a dairy fiend. I seriously wish I could go vegan, I am just WAY too picky for it. Do you love thrifting? Oh fuck yes. I've been very few times in my life, but I'mm all about it. Do you consider using only lowercase letters your aesthetic? I do find it visually appealing; I like the flow of similar letter height. I never do it for "serious" things, but on places where it's "for the aesthetic," it's likely that's how I'll write something. Do you say “mood?” Way too much lmao. Do you own fairy lights? No, though I would like them if it wouldn't look stupid in my room. Do you own glass straws because the metal ones kind of gross you out because you can’t tell if they are clean or not? ... I didn't know glass straws were a thing. I have a handful of metal ones though, but I always forget I have one in my purse when I go out... Have you made a TikTok? No. Do you own airpods? No. Are you afraid of Mercury in retrograde? I don't believe in a planet's position or whatever having any effect on people. Do you make life choices based on astrology? Definitely not, considering I don't believe in it to begin with. How many pairs of converse shoes do you own? Maybe like, five? Number of jeans in your closet: Zero. What accent do you have? Not really any, but sometimes I sound kinda southern with specific words. Do you have a big butt? Yo I got a Hank Hill ass, so no. Do you count how long you and your gf/bf have been together? In my past relationships, yes, I assigned our anniversary to memory. I don't really... know why, like it doesn't really matter how long you've been together, I just do. Have you graduated? From HS, yes. I dropped out of college three times lmao. Rihanna or Lady GaGa? Ohhh, not sure. Maybe GaGa, but both ladies have songs I love. "Disturbia" doess beat all of her songs, tho. The fuckin BEAT. Do you use fake eyelashes? Never tried 'em. Which was the last book that really captivated you? The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. What makeup brands do you use? I'm not loyal to any, really. I would be if I could afford expensive shit, but yeah, that ain't my life.

Snow or sand? I love the beach, but hate the sand. It literally gets everywhere. I love the snow, though. I wish it snowed where I live. I’ll have to go with snow.

Do you like sour candy? No. I don’t like the sourness and it irritates my mouth. 

If anyone, who did you sit with at lunch today? It’s only 5AM. I’m also not in school nor do I have a job, so I just have lunch at home either by myself in my room or with my mom in the living room or her room. That’s if I have lunch at all. 

What is the last letter of your favorite song? I couldn’t choose just one favorite song ya’ll know this.

Have you gotten any injuries lately? If so, what & how? No.

Are you a clumsy person? I bang my hand and elbow a lot.

How about disorganized? My room is a bit disorganized. I never used to let it get like that, but it’s a reflection of how I feel and have felt for the past few years. I’m a mess.

Have you ever thought about being a pirate? No.

If you text, who were the last three people you texted? My dad, mom, and brother. 

Does today’s date mean anything to you? Nope.

How are you currently feeling? Tired and kinda cold. 

Last male you talked to in person? My brother.

Have you ever had a sunburn? Yeah, many times. I got them a lot as a kid cause I actually used to play outside and spent a lot of time out there. Shocking, I know. I get them when I go to the beach as well. I’ve had some really painful ones. However, they always end up turning into a tan so that’s nice. 

Do you use Firefox or Internet Explorer? Neither, I use Chrome.

Are you thinking about asking anyone out? No.

Pink lemonade or regular lemonade? I’m not a fan of lemonade.

Chocolate or strawberry milk? Strawberry.

Does it annoy you when people answer surveys with “idk”? I know I say “I don’t know” a lot. I try to answer the questions and in more detail, but sometimes I really just don’t know.

What is the current time? 5:08AM.

Should you be doing something other than this? Probably try to go to sleep, but that just wouldn’t be me now would it.

When is the last time you did laundry? My laundry just got gone last night.

What volume is the ringer on your phone? It’s all the way up. 

Have you ever won a contest on the radio? No.

What shirt did you wear to bed last night? It was my Mario Bros shirt.

Where did you get that shirt? I got it from Hot Topic a couple years ago.

Do you hear any music right now? No, but I hear the ASMR video I’m watching. 

Are you a fan of the band Gym Class Heroes? I like some of their songs.

Overall, how was your day today? Like I said, it’s only 5 in the morning so it’s too soon to say.

Silver or gold jewelry? I like both.

In one word, how would you describe your best friend? Fabulous.

Is there a song that reminds you of your best friend? There’s many.

Do you have an alarm clock? Yeah, on my phone.

What was the weather like today? It’s supposed to rain today. We haven’t had much rain this winter, in fact it’s been awhile, so I hope it does. Do you often write on yourself? I don’t do that anymore, but I did when I was younger. For some reason that was like a thing a lot of people did to themselves in middle and high school. *shrug*

Is there writing on the shirt you are currently wearing? Yes. It’s a shirt from a place I vacationed at.

Would you rather be cold or hot? Cold, most definitely. I love wrapping up in a blanket, wearing a sweatshirt or hoodie, drinking hot coffee, or sitting by the fireplace. I love the coziness. Being hot is just absolutely miserable, there’s nothing I enjoy about that.

Frosted flakes or frosted mini wheats? I like both.

Do mushrooms really add flavor to food? I don’t eat mushrooms. 

What about onions? Yeah. I don’t mind if there’s some chopped up pieces in some foods and I like onion rings, but I don’t like onions on my burgers or in my burritos or anything like that.

Are you a fan of Thai food? I’ve never had it.

How about Indian food? I had chicken curry once, which I did like. I couldn’t have it now though cause I can’t eat spicy food anymore. :/

Have you ever tried sushi? Yes, and it was absolutely disgusting. I feel like everyone loves sushi but me.

What is the weirdest food you have eaten? I’m super picky, so I don’t think I’ve had anything all that weird. I’m so particular about my food.

Do you know who LL Cool J is? Yes.

You have a pocket full of change - what do you do with it? Put it in my bag.

Guitarists or lead singers? Lead singers.

What does your mom say about the pictures on your Facebook? She’ll like them and leave a nice comment. 

Where are you? In my room on my chair.

do you know your mother’s birthday? Of course.

do you like texting? Over talking on the phone, yeah. I don’t do much texting, though.

would you run down the street naked if it meant earning $15,000? Could it be pitch black and not a single soul in sight??

how do you feel about the person who texted you last? I love him, he’s my dad.

do you own a pair of skinny jeans? All my jeans are skinny jeans. 

what do the majority of people in your life call you? Steph or Sis.

will your next kiss be a mistake? I hope not? Who knows when my next kiss will even be or who it will be with. 

has a book ever made you cry? Yes.

do you like to cuddle? Sure. I don’t have much cuddling experience, though.

do you automatically check your phone when you wake up? I check the time on it.

are your parents still together? Yes.

Are you missing anyone? I’ll always miss my loved ones who have passed away.

What do you currently hear? An ASMR video.

Plans for tomorrow? No. I’m so sick of this question, it’s like in every survey and my answer is always the same. My life is very routine. I spend all my time at home doing the same things, especially since the pandemic. My plans now just consist of my once a month doctor appointment that I have to go to in order to get my prescription refills. 

What did you eat for lunch today? Like I mentioned a couple times now it’s only 5 in the morning.

Sex ruins relationships, right? No? It can, but that’s not a general statement. 

Where do you want to live when you’re older? My dream would be to live near the beach.

Is your life falling apart or coming together? It’s been falling apart for the past few years.

Did you wake up in the middle of the night last night? No, I didn’t even go to bed until like 6ish.

What color is your hair? It’s dark brown naturally, but I dye it red. Currently, it is a lot of my natural hair cause my roots are quite overgrown as it’s been almost a year since I last got it done. Sigh.

Are you spending the weekend with the last person you texted? Yeah, we live together.

Do you trip a lot? No.

If someone paid you $100 would you dance in the middle of times square? No.

Do you have anyone you fully trust? Yes.

What kind of pants did you wear today? I live in leggings, that’s all I wear.

How old is your television? About two years old.

Do you have a laptop or desktop? I have a laptop.

When did you last talk on the phone with someone? A couple days ago.

Are you currently sleepy? Yes.

Have you ever deleted Facebook friends for a significant other? No. I’ve never even been in the situation where a significant other asked or wanted me to do that.

Have you ever had bad trust issues with someone? Yes.

What accent do you think is the most attractive? British and southern accents.

Are you hot or cold natured? Hot, unfortunately. 

Do you own any television series box sets? I have I Love Lucy and The Dick Van Dyke Show boxsets.

Have you ever been in a fight with your best friend? Yes.

When did you last receive a hug and who was it from? A couple days ago from my mom.

Do you take any advanced classes? I’m done with school.

What is your lucky number? I don’t believe in luck, but my favorite number is 8.

Do you own a book bag? If so, what color is it? No.

Was the last movie you watched a horror film? Nope.

Do you own a lot of tee shirts? Yes. My wardrobe consists of a shit ton of graphic tees.

Do you plan your outfits ahead of time? No.

Have you ever spent the night in jail? No.

Are you a colorful person or quite bland? Bland. Well, except for my hair that I dye like a cherry red. 

List one word to describe your significant other? Nonexistent.

Have you ever been so nervous you threw up? No, but definitely felt nauseous and sick and like I could throw up.

Do you remember the first survey you took? Uh, definitely not. I’ve been taking surveys since like 2004/2005.

How many friends do you have on Facebook? 100 and something. *shrug*

Have you ever watched fight videos for amusement? No. I don’t find stuff like that amusing or entertaining at all.

In high school, were you in trouble a lot? I was never in trouble in school.

Do you enjoy your hairstyle? No. I don’t have the energy or motivation to do anything with it besides throw it up in a messy bun all the time.

Do you have long hair or short hair? My hair is long, it goes past my butt. Such a waste that I do nothing with it.

How much make up do you wear on a daily basis? None anymore. I haven’t worn makeup in almost 4 years.

What is your favorite television show? I have many.

Do you have a leather jacket? *Pleather, but yes.

Do you think anyone dislikes you for no reason? They probably have reason.

Do you have any children? Nooo.

Have you ever been interviewed on television before? No.

Do you have weak upper body strength? I used to have really great upper body strength as a paraplegic who only had upper body mobility and uses a manual wheelchair. When I was in school and had a social life, I was active. I didn’t spend all day, everyday in bed or at home all day doing nothing. I had toned arms before. I lost my muscle mass and now I’m weak cause I’m not active at all anymore.

What is the worst insult someone can call you? I don’t know. I say mean, hurtful things to myself all the damn time. My brain plays ‘em on a loop. 

Are you good at sketching? No. I don’t have any artistic abilities, sadly.

Do you think hugs are awkward? Yeah, they can be.

Do you think facial hair is gross? No. I’m not a big fan of a lot of facial hair, though.

Would you ever dye your hair an unnatural color? I dye it red?

What color was the last cup you drank from? It’s a clear glass.

Ever play Angry Birds? Nah, I never got into that.

Did you think it was annoying, like I did? It just didn’t look like my kind of game.

Have you ever been to the zoo before? Yeah, many times.

What instruments do you know how to play? None anymore, but I used to play some piano back in the day. I wish I took it more seriously back then. I wish I had practiced more and kept up with it because I did enjoy it.

How late did you stay up last night? I went to bed around 6ish. And that’s AM if you’re new here.

How late do you plan on staying up tonight? Well, it’s 5:46AM now...

Whose wall did you post on last?  I share stuff to my mom’s wall sometimes.

Have you ever done hard drugs before? No. All I’ve done is weed.

Has anyone ever been weirdly obsessed with you? No.

Do you own a Snuggie? I do. 

What is your favorite band of all time? Linkin Park will always be one of them.

Would you consider getting a tattoo any time soon? Nah.

Are you afraid someone might steal your identity someday? It’s not something I’ve actively thought or worried about.

Are there any paintings on your wall? Yeah, a few giraffe ones and a couple beach ones.

Speaking of which, what color are your walls painted? White.

Do you have any talents that come naturally? No. :( I’m lame.

Do you have any piercings? Just my earlobes.

What is your favorite piece of jewelry? The ones I have with my birthstone on it.

Is there a place you'd rather live right now? Somewhere with colder weather.

Do you change your bed sheets often? Usually just like twice a month.

Do you go out often? lol.

Have you ever had plastic surgery before? No. 

Are you afraid of airplane rides? I get super anxious beforehand, but once up in the air I start to relax a bit and I’m okay. Well, unless there’s a lot of turbulence. 

How many times a day do you brush your teeth? At least once a day.

Do you consider yourself a sensitive person? Very.

What's the best Valentine's Day gift you've gotten? My mom is so sweet and has always gotten me something like candy and a stuffed animal or something, but I’ve never received anything from a guy. 

If you're reading a book, what page are you currently on? I don’t feel like checking.

Do you think people are intimidated by you? Uh, no. I can’t imagine anyone being intimidated by me.

Do you have a job you like? I don’t have a job.

Do you know how to do your own laundry? I have to have help with that. 

Have you ever lived with a roommate before? No.

Do you like candles? There’s a lot of nice smelling ones, but I’m just not a candle person. Give me a room spray instead.

Would you prefer internet or television? Internet.

What is something you lose often? Patience.

Do you have any classes with friends? I’m done with school.

Do you enter a lot of sweepstakes? No. I haven’t entered any kind of contest in a really long time.

What is your favorite possession in your room? I couldn’t possibly choose one thing. I love all my stuff. What will you be doing in the next ten minutes? Finishing this survey, maybe start another, and listen to ASMR.

How old is your oldest sibling? 37.

Do you consider yourself physically active? Not at all. I explained all that in another question.

How many scarves do you own, if any at all? Zero.

Do you have any cuts or scratches as of now? Not that I know of.

Where did you last sleep? My bed, like I always do.

Do you have Netflix? Yep. 

Are you colorblind? No.

Do you know anyone personally who is colorblind? Yeah, my high school chem teacher.

Favorite salad dressing? Ranch. Unless I’m eating a Caesar salad, of course. A vinaigrette is good, too.

Do you enjoy dancing? I don’t do much dancing.

Have you ever considered writing a novel? I actually have thought about it before.

What about Tony being an old school horror director who feels like he’s about to be upstaged by Peter, a new horror director - think Blumhouse - and Tony, never having met him, both hates and fears him, until he bumps into him at a movie theater and hit it off until Peter introduces himself -des

this inspired me beyond belief, i have no idea why. i don’t think this was the direction you intended, but once i started i couldn’t stop haha. - birdy

He Calls Him Anthony

wordcount: 2,357

Friday nights were sacred. They were nights centered around going to see old movies at the IFC, and there was never to be a schedule conflict. Because that was one of the three nights he was awarded for seeing his daughter a week. 

And he would die before he didn’t take Morgan to see a truly good movie every Friday night. 

This night was Sunset Boulevard, he did always enjoy a good Wilder film, as did Morgan. Her twelve year-old self had mastered the art of the Norma Desmond gaze.

But here was Peter Fucking Parker, waltzing out of a showing down the hall. 

Morgan blearily leant into her dad's side as he attempted to speedily walk out of Parker’s field of vision.

It wasn’t that he hated Peter Parker, well maybe he did just a little. 

He was once that fresh face on the scene, basking in the limelight, being the true face of modern horror. 

But now his takes weren’t exactly fresh, and what the younger audiences were looking for. They wanted a twisted gore, with just this side of odd comic relief, that Parker had perfected while Pepper was serving Tony divorce papers.

So maybe he was envious, maybe he was just tired of everytime he attended a premier, or so much as breathed in the direction of the media, he was hounded with questions of what exactly did he think about Peter Parker?

In the beginning, he didn’t care or think much. But as trailer after trailer was put out, the movies being produced at a rapid rate while maintaining or increasing their following, even Morgan was asking her father if they could rent this, or if they could go to the cinema to see that.

And maybe he caved once, and with a hoodie, and sunglasses, a hat. For good measure of course. He went and saw one. With Morgan, because she insisted, and who was he to deprive her. 

It was good. And he resented Peter Parker for the same craft he held a torch for.

So here was Peter Parker, coming out of Casablanca. And making a bee-line towards him. 

“Mr Stark! Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark?”

God damn it. 

Tony willed his body to face the younger man. Morgan follows in suit, her eyes widening in realization, and proceeding to prod her elbow directly into her father’s side.

“Mr. Parker, well, nice to see you.” 

Tony could play nice, put on his ‘customer service’ voice, and act chummy with Peter Parker.

Although, the in-person Parker didn’t exactly match what he imagined.

This one wore thread-bare jeans, and converse that had seen better days, three years ago. 

He didn’t match the one he had seen plastered over last month's vanity fair, the pictures that had circulated his time-line a little more than his liking. 

They ran in the same circles, it wasn’t like he was actively looking for him.

“Gosh, Mr. Stark, it’s an honor to meet you really. Please, call me Peter.”

He was like a chihuahua that took a five-hour-energy-shot. 

His handshake was firm, and he slipped his glasses back up his nose as he collected himself. 

“I’m sorry for bothering you, but I thought I had seen you here before, I come here all the time y’know, every time they have a Rocky Horror showing, I’ve got tickets.” 

It was easy to catch that he was a New York native, unlike Tony himself. His Queens drawl interweaving between vowels and catching on to his r’s. It was rather cute, and personable. 

Did he just- Tony called him cute. Christ.

“My daughter and I like the classics.” He put simply smoothing down Morgan’s unruly strands. 

“Yeah, me too. I’m usually knee deep in everything going on right now, that to just enjoy the good ol’ stuff-”

He gave a dramatic sigh of pleasure, Tony felt his ears turn red.

 “That’s everything man. You would know of course. God, of course you know-  I mean”

The younger man cut himself short as he realized he was gripping Tony’s shoulder, his face and neck flushing red.

“I’m sorry- I’m probably taking up your family time. But, we should totally get together. Like talk shop or whatever?”

Peter flashed him the brightest smile, he swore the dim hallway was a little brighter.

“Yeah.”

The man was gone with a friendly wave as he jogged back to a small group of people, probably his friends, towards the exit.

Tony looked down at the ground and focused on his hand that hung limply by his side. On it was a chicken scratch phone number. 

Peter had written down his phone number. On Tony’s hand. 

And he hadn’t even noticed.

~

A few days later, Tony decides to grow a pair. He types the number into his phone, makes an individual contact for a Mr. Peter Parker.

He never thought this day would come. And he’s not sure the exact connotation behind that thought.

Does he call? Does he text?

In all honesty it has been a minute since he attempted friendship, or even communication outside of his usual social circle. 

Things had never been like this when he and Rhodey had initially become friends. Even the rest of his band of misfits had just happened naturally, never really taking this much preamble communication.

He texts.

~

They decide to meet at a small cafe around the NYU campus. Peter had said the place was quiet and usually uncrowded, one of his favorites.

Going against his gut, he trusts Peter and agrees.

Now here he is, looking presentable for the public eye, it’s a Monday. He’s just dropped off Morgan at school, and here he is. At another school.

“Anthony!”

He winces just the slightest, and is met with the vision that is Peter Parker at eight a.m. on a Monday morning. For someone so heavily criticized and praised in the public-eye, appearances must be everything on some level for the man. He doesn’t exactly aim to disappoint.

He looks so effortlessly cozy, dolled up in his black turtleneck and rust orange suede jacket, and those same glasses from the week prior perched against his brow bone. His hair looks soft, and his eyes are warm.

“Mr. Parker.”

That’s good. Set some boundaries, before you directly tell him he looks soft.

“I told you.” Peter sighs wistfully, wrapping his hands around a deep mug of hot chocolate? 

He looks up again with the same kindness and warmth.

 “Call me Peter.”

~

He invited him to dinner.

He doesn’t exactly know how it happened. It was somewhere between talking about how Peter had wound up picking up where his uncle left off, and how working as a barista in the cafe they were sitting in was Peter’s favorite job during college.

He could imagine a littler Peter, running around behind the counter making drinks and warming up scones. His open textbook to the left of the register, just like he described.

It made a fluttering in his chest somewhere, to know a personal and small detail of the Peter Parker. 

Not in a, I’m a huge fan of the Peter Parker.

But, in a, this kind young man, I am having the privilege of getting to know, kind of way.

The point is he invited him to dinner, at this high-end steak house he’s familiar with. A reservation for eight. 

It’s eight forty-five, and he’s on his second glass of red wine, Peter’s on his third.

Things are comfortably warm, they’re talking about Tony’s first movie, and how much of a shitshow it was, but the critics loved it.

The steak is amazing, they order dessert.

And he doesn’t budge or comment when Peter hooks his foot around his own. He only smiles softly, and watches Peter’s curious eyes watch as he brings a piece of poached pear to his mouth.

He hails Peter a cab at the end of the night, and Peter thanks him for dinner.

He calls him Anthony, once again.

~

Peter calls him this time.

It’s in the late hours of the night, and Tony, never really one for sleeping through the night anyway, has a lapful of script he’s reviewing, making sure it fits his artistic vision and what-not.

His voice is rough around the edges, a haze of sleep almost.

Tony wonders what it sounds like in person. If he were in bed next to him, or with him. Maybe with a lapful of Peter Parker, and not dialogue bleeding into his iris’.

He invites Tony over for Thursday night.

Peter knows the custodial schedule. That should mean something right?

He texts him an address later in the day. It’s in the Upper East Side, not too far from him, it’s in a cozy neighborhood of brownstones. 

Very Peter Parker.

~

Tony, will never understand Rocky Horror.

Peter had invited him when he arrived a little late, just five minutes, but he could see the worry drip off his shoulders as he greeted him at the door.

His home was a beautiful thing, filled to the brim with the most eclectic vintage interior, but it somehow matched.

He had learned from their meeting at the cafe, that Peter’s aunt owned a store that specialized in all things vintage and antique. It hadn’t surprised him to see it rubbed off on him.

In the downstairs parlor, it was decorated with dozens of Peter’s movie posters. Some were beta’s that Peter and an artist had worked on together. Peter flushed when he caught him staring. 

Tony would never get used to the fact that this Peter Parker was shy and not open about his work in his personal life, he liked to keep things very separate. 

He watched him put together a heaping bowl of kettle corn and followed him up a winding staircase, Peter remarked it was his favorite thing about the house.

He told him they were watching Rocky Horror Picture Show. 

Tony had never seen it in his entire life, he knew the cult following it had, but he couldn’t piece together that this is something Peter loved so much, but was so different from the direction he took with his work. 

He only smiled and agreed and saddled up with Peter on the pink floral couch. 

They’d never done this before, but it felt so familiar, like they had been through this scenario a dozen times, and it was just natural to lean into each other and fumble for the sugary popcorn between them.

It was around the scene when Frank N Furter was doing the backstroke with the rest of the cast in the swimming pool, that Tony realized their closeness.

How he had his arm wrapped around Peter, and Peter had just melted into his side.

The younger man must’ve felt the pressure of Tony’s gaze burning into the side of his face, since he turned his head to face him. 

It was all very cliche in this sense. 

A romantic scene directed and scripted and cast.

Except the love interests were him and Peter.

Peter kissed him first. That’s all he can clearly recall, the seconds prior being a blur of ‘is this actually happening’ to ‘it’s actually happening, do something’.

Finally the cognitive gears in his brain rekindle their function, and his lips are moving against Peter’s. He’s so warm and soft, he tastes like cinnamon sugar. 

Peter’s hands are grounding against his chest, holding him to reality, in any other case he would’ve drifted off somewhere because he has to be dreaming.

But this is real. And Peter’s real.

And, oh no. 

Tony gently pulls away from Peter’s grasp, and takes a breath. And Peter’s got this smile on his face like he won the grand prize at a carnival game.

“Peter- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. This is not going to happen.”

The smile falls faster on Peter’s face than the pit in his stomach.

There’s something hurt and cold in his eyes. The warmth is gone, and the guilt gnaws at Tony as he flees the Parker residence. 

~

It’s been two weeks since the Rocky Horror incident. 

Peter’s texted, and called. He believes he’s got Anthony all figured out. 

To be truthful he does. 

He had called Anthony out on his behavior six days ago, and hasn’t sent another message since.

Peter left a voicemail stating that Anthony wasn’t going to let himself enjoy something without finding an excuse for why he can’t. Peter wants this, and Anthony wants this, then that is all that matters. He is going to be filming at this location for the next two weeks, he can make his peace by showing up or not.

Tony stared at the message for ten minutes before Morgan told him to go get Peter.

She knew.

She always knows.

~

When Tony saw Peter again he was rushing past people ushering him to stop.

But Tony was on a mission, he felt like one of his main characters in the final leg of the movie, finally making it out alive, and this was the final call, where he would live to the credits, or the antagonist would leave no survivors. 

Peter was beautiful.

Even if he did look like Prom Queen Carrie at the moment. 

His hands and clothes were covered in fake blood, helping arrange the set to a T.

When Peter looked up at him, he knew he would make it to the credits.

His boy ran at him and swallowed him in his warmth. 

It was a pining, longing, and apologetic kiss, with bloody hands cradling Tony’s face.

“You’re dumb, and you hurt my feelings Anthony.” Peter whispered as he pulled away. 

“I’m sorry.” He replies, his eyes watery, insecurity wrung out like a rag, he wanted Peter and Peter wanted him. He chanted it a million times into the crook of Peter’s neck, just holding him. 

Peter pulled away and held him by his shoulders “It’s okay Anthony.”

He smiled that big beautiful warm smile of his, and pushed him away.

“Now. Get off my set. I’ll see you at nine, bring Morgan, they’re playing Psycho tonight.”

maybe different is okay.

It’s a perfectly normal Tuesday night movie night.

The selection screen of the Predator DVD is playing on a loop, Mac is in the kitchen popping popcorn, the lights are down low, and Dennis is twisting the cap off of his first beer of the evening. Everything in the apartment is as it should be.

Yep, perfectly normal movie night.

Except that it’s their first once since…

Dennis runs his thumb along the edge of the bottle, gazing into it like it’s a magic 8-ball about to reveal the secret to dating your lifetime best friend. It’s got nothing to share, though, aside from the sound of the liquid sloshing inside.

He made Mac promise, though. He made him promise it would be the same as always and he wouldn’t make it all weird. 

Nonetheless, Dennis is certain he’s going to Mac it up somehow. He’s going to lean over onto him or run his fingers through his hair or-

Well, they always do that shit. But he’s definitely doomed to do something strange and couple-y, and Dennis might not know what it’ll be yet, but it’s already too much. The overwhelming pre-embarrassment of it is twisting his stomach into half-hitch knots.

Sure, no one’s around to see it or make fun of them, but… Dennis still feels so visible and so self-conscious and so out.

He doesn’t want to feel that way tonight, doesn’t want to spoil Al Dillon getting impaled on an invisible blade just because he feels like the exact same fucking thing is happening to him, but with less blood.

“Here we go,” Mac hums like a dutiful wife as he sets the bowl down in the middle of the coffee table.

Dennis presses play on the DVD remote and Mac plops down in his seat so gracelessly, the sofa wobbles like an old waterbed.

He doesn’t know why he always waits for Mac to sit down before starting the movie- they’ve seen it quite literally thousands of times, to the point that they’ve memorized every line, every scene, every detail- to the point that nothing about it is new anymore.

But it’s their movie night, it’s something they do together, so Dennis always waits. He waits because Mac would do the same for him. He waits because, if he waited twenty years for Mac, he can wait another five minutes for him.

Dennis relaxes as well as he can manage as the 20th Century Fox logo makes a big fucking deal out of nothing for about a minute and a half. If Mac actually follows the rules, he’ll stay on his side and keep his hands to himself, and for once, just for one fucking night, he’ll focus his attention on the damn TV. They’ve never done this before, but he’s sure they can manage not to drape their legs together under the same blanket this one time, out of respect for Dennis’ lingering unease.

He scoops up a handful of popcorn and holds it in his cupped palm, tucked between his knees, picking pieces out and tossing them into his mouth as the opening credits fade into the stars and cut to a poorly animated, but still totally awesome spaceship hurtling towards Earth.

Mac makes the best popcorn. He always does. Every time Dennis tries, despite following the directions religiously, he cocks it up and burns it. Mac insists the package is bullshit and instructions are a liar sometimes, tells him he has to sense when it’s done with his heart- and that makes no goddamn sense, but Mac comes through like a hero every time. And he always melts butter in the microwave and sprinkles the perfect amount of salt on it, and suddenly, it seems ridiculous that Dennis ever tried to be with anybody else, because no one could make popcorn half as good as Mac does. And he’s so fucking relieved Mac isn’t making it for someone else and that he never will.

“What’s up?”

Dennis realizes he’s been staring.

He swallows hard and the warm, homey feeling in his stomach freezes over like he’s choked down a block of ice.

“I’m just, uh…” -he wants to curl into Mac like he usually does, doesn’t want it to have to mean anything, wants it to be simple and familiar and safe- “checking. Making sure you’re not gonna be weird.”

Mac whips his hands through the air in a cut-it-out slicing motion.

“No way, ba- bro,” he vows. “You won’t catch me slipping, I swear.”

He just slipped!

Dennis’ breath stutters nervously, falling into what he passes off as an annoyed sigh. He reaches for his beer and takes a much-needed swig. Desperately, he tries to focus on Dutch strolling up with a cigar between his teeth, strong arms threatening to burst out of his t-shirt, backdropped by a swarm of attack helicopters- which is normally such a cool entrance.

Dennis can’t appreciate it properly, though, or even pay attention to it, because Mac swipes the bottle off the table and takes a long, slow sip from it like its his own- Adam’s apple bobbing, lips slick against the rim, fingers clasped around the neck. When he sets it back down, he leaves it right in front of Dennis, as if encouraging him to take another drink and pass it back, as if they’re sharing the damned thing. Why Mac cannot simply go fetch his own lager from the fridge is beyond comprehension.

“It’s been a long time, General,” Dutch remarks.

Yeah, it’s been a long time, Dennis thinks as he watches his beer instead of the screen. It’s been decades of nights much closer than this, of nestling together on the sofa and sharing a handful of popcorn and drinking from the same bottle. It’s nothing new, it’s the same storm every week, so why does it feel like the clouds have parted and everything’s too clear? Why does it feel like the curtains are blown wide open and everyone can see in through the window? Like the veneer is gone? Like everything has changed? Like the whole world has shifted, and everyone on Earth felt it, and everyone is suddenly watching them?

That’s probably not what Dutch Schaefer is talking about, though. It’s just been a long time since he’s seen the General.

Dennis makes more than a few frustrated attempts to cozy into the couch, but no matter what he does, he can’t seem to find a position he can stand for more than five seconds- and he doesn’t know why, but he does know it’s really fucking irritating. He shuts his eyes and rolls his neck, and he can’t even focus on the movie, because it feels like he’s using all the strength left in him to hold his head up.

Usually, by now, they’re fully engaged and reciting the dialogue over the film word-for-word. Usually, they’re cheering and laughing and shouting at the characters as if they can hear them. Usually, at this point in the night, Mac’s arm is along the back of the couch and Dennis is leaning his head against it and they fit so well together. There are smoothly-carved puzzle pieces, there are chips stacked into a can, there are heaps of folded shirts fresh out of the dryer- and then there’s Mac and Dennis on a Tuesday night, curved against and wrapped around one another like they’re two halves of the same body.

But they’re out of sync tonight, because in all his genius, Dennis demanded that Mac mind his business- so he’s going to have to hold his own head up. It feels so fucking heavy.

When he makes a move for the bowl, he realizes Mac’s hand is already there and recoils from the wrist like a startled snake. Mac takes notice, out of the corner of his eye, and nonchalantly drops his fistful of popcorn into Dennis’ open hand. Then he grabs more for himself and goes right back to sitting miles and miles away like nothing ever happened.

Dennis doesn’t know how to react, so he doesn’t- just keeps his unblinking eyes aimed at the TV. They’re both looking on in eerie, unsettling quietude, like this is all part of some twisted experiment and they’re chained to their seats with their eyelids clothespinned open. They’re a couple of mannequins from a nuclear family posed in the living room right before the atom bomb drops.

The tension in the air hangs thick like jungle vines and the three feet of space between them feels like the thousands of light years Predator traveled to reach his hunting grounds on Earth. Awkward and uncomfortable are insufficient words to describe what this is, but if there’s one thing it isn’t- it’s definitely not fun.

It plays out like that for a while. The atom bomb never does drop on them, but the dread only grows with each passing minute, until it feels like Dennis’ insides are shifting and collapsing to make room for his anxiety to grow.

He’s always liked Predator, no matter how many times they make it their feature presentation, but it seems to have lost its magic. The blood splatters are grey and the gunshots are silent and the one-liners fall flat.

Everything is normal, so it should feel normal. The same components are there, but they aren’t in the right place. It’s like an earthquake has hit and everything’s toppled over and clattered and rolled away, and Dennis doesn’t know how to put it back exactly the way it was.

They’re hardly halfway through the movie when Mac’s hand lands on his thigh. Strong fingers curl around his bare skin, nails grazing against his leg hair, a warm palm burrowing into his flesh.

Dennis’ eyes drop to stare at it with cautious horror, like it’s an alien creature and it’s going to attack him if he makes even the slightest movement. He licks over his lips and gulps, mouth chapped and throat dry.

“Mac…”

No response. Mac is transfixed by the TV, watching intently through Predator’s thermal vision as if wrapped up in the mystery of what he looks like, as if it’s the first time he’s seen the damn movie. Maybe it is the first time he’s really, truly watched it instead of throwing kernels at Dennis or scratching his head as he rests it in his lap or pausing to make stupid jokes and earn a laugh from him.

Dennis clears his throat, but his voice still comes out small.

“Mac,” he repeats.

Mac’s wide eyes dart over to Dennis like he’s noticing him for the first time.

“What?” he asks, the stench of alcohol wafting off of his hot breath in waves.

“Arms and legs inside of the vehicle, man.”

Suddenly, Mac realizes what he’s doing and draws his hand back with all the sharpness of a rat narrowly escaping a spring trap.

“Dennis,” he whines, and oh hell, he’s going to complain, because Mac can’t possibly do one goddamn favor for his best friend without bitching and moaning about it all night, “this sucks, dude.”

God, it sucks so much.

“No, it doesn’t, Mac! It’s the same as it’s always been. Nothing is different.”

There’s a long silence in the room, no sound aside from the swelling Silvestrian music filling the empty space. Dennis doesn’t need a reply, because he already knows what Mac is going to say: it is different, man, they’re official now, Mac is his boyfriend or whatever, so he wants to be treated like it- or something along those lines. Not that any of it is a lie, but either way, he doesn’t want to hear it right now.

When Mac responds, that’s not what comes out.

“Maybe different is okay sometimes,” he says; gentle, kind, pleading, patient, more than Dennis ever could have asked for.

For some reason, the unpredictable hair-trigger that is Dennis Reynolds decides to shoot it right back in his face.

“Oh yeah? Is it? ‘Cause if different is so great,” he snaps, pointing violently around the room as he speaks, “then why are we watching the same goddamn movie we watch every week, eating the same thing, sitting on the same couch, and doing the same shit we’ve been doing for twenty years, Mac?!”

He pretends not to see the way Mac’s face crumbles, because if he did see it, it would be burned into his brain until the day he died.

“I thought you liked it,” he mumbles sheepishly.

I do like it, Mac, a better boyfriend would say, I’m just scared of how much. It just feels like I’m not supposed to.

“Just- Watch the movie, all right?” the boyfriend Mac is stuck with, unfortunately, says.

So they do. They fall right back into their rhythm, or lack thereof, sitting out-of-place on opposite ends of the sofa and only coming into contact with each other through the spit on the rim of the lager bottle. Mac’s pulled himself so far back, he’s going to flip right over the arm of the couch if he scoots away any more. 

Eventually, he starts ignoring the beer and popcorn entirely, and doesn’t say a single word. He only sits there, looking all pouty- and not the playful, puppy-eyes, stuck-lips kind of pouty. He seems genuinely fucking crushed.

Dennis doesn’t need the weight of that in his stomach, too, there’s no more space left for it. He doesn’t have the emotional vacancy for guilt when he’s already housing so much fear and confusion and self-loathing.

He feels so much like Dutch in these moments.

He swears that he’s alone, that they’re alone, but he can’t shake the terror in the hollows of his chest like someone is watching him- not from the top of a tree, not shrouded by a cloaking device, but perched somewhere in the back of his mind to remind him that he should be embarrassed, he should be disgusted, he should be ashamed of himself; that these things should be behind closed doors, and they are behind closed doors, but they still don’t feel alone. They’re never fucking alone, because somebody is always kicking down their door or crawling in through the window or texting or calling or appearing out of nowhere. Nothing can ever stay just between them.

The absence of Mac’s warmth, of his arm around him and his hand on his leg, is like a phantom limb.

This isn’t normal. It isn’t fucking normal, it’s the weirdest it’s ever been. They don’t feel like themselves and Predator doesn’t feel like Predator, and by the time Blain Cooper is declaring “I ain’t got time to bleed”, Dennis is thinking about how many nights they’ve spent watching movies, tangled up but not together, sharing a blanket but not their feelings, wearing each other’s clothes like roommates don’t, falling asleep in each other’s arms like best friends don’t- and then suddenly it comes to him:

He doesn’t have time to bleed.

They have waited so fucking long for this. They’re approaching the back half of their lives, about to tumble down the other side of the hill, and the clock is ticking louder than it ever has.

Every day of their lives, something didn’t happen. It didn’t happen for more than two decades. They came so close, over and over and over again, time after time, and it still never happened.

And then, one day, it did.

One day Dennis Reynolds and Mac McDonald looked at each other and realized, Oh, shit. There you are.

One day they stopped waiting.

And it should be so, so damn perfect- but they’re choosing to spend it like this, tense and distressed and scared, so fucking scared to look it dead in the eyes.

It comes to Dennis all at once, how stupid it is.

It’s stupid to be afraid to live in a home you’ve spent twenty-five years building.

It’s stupid to spend all your life painting a portrait and never step back to see the whole picture, it’s stupid to write a novel and stop right before the ending, it’s stupid to put all the pieces of a puzzle together but the last one, and it’s fucking stupid to watch the same movie they’ve watched nearly every week for as long as they’ve lived together without their favorite part- without them.

He looks over at Mac, at fucking Ronald McDonald, at his best friend, at his blood brother, at his boyfriend- and he’s looking at everything. The last puzzle piece snaps into place and finally, he can see the image clear as day.

They haven’t been together for twenty-five years, but they’ve been together for twenty-five years. There is no different, because they’ve always been the same.

And there’s no invisible alien in the room with them. No one is spying on them through infrared vision. No one is hunting them for sport. Dennis has nobody to be afraid of.

He makes the mortifying decision to ignore the anxiety in his chest and say something, because if he doesn’t start talking now, it’s going to spill out of him all wrong, and goddamn it, he’s so tired of saying the wrong things.

“Mac…” he whispers, and Mac’s porter-brown eyes are on him in an instant. “Make it weird.”

Mac stares at him soft and vulnerable and red-faced, like he’s asked him to kiss the air out of his lungs, push him down into the couch, grind against him until he breaks like sugar glass.

“What?” he asks, gently, not like he didn’t hear it, but like he doesn’t believe what he heard.

“Make it weird, make it normal, just-” Dennis catches himself shouting and lowers his voice, dropping his shoulders from where they’ve gone up on the defense. Vicious animals lash out because they’re afraid, and Dennis doesn’t want to be afraid anymore- he is, but he doesn’t want to be, damn it. “Fix this, man. It sucks.”

The makings of a smile form at the edges of Mac’s mouth, and his eyes go soft as melted butter. He’s missing the climax of the movie, Predator dropping his mask to the floor of the jungle so Dutch can see him face-to-face, so they can fight with honor, before Dutch calls him one ugly motherfucker. He’s missing his favorite part because he won’t look away from him, and somewhere deep down, Dennis finds room for a new feeling. He hopes that maybe this is Mac’s new favorite part.

“Lay down,” he directs him.

Dennis leans back slowly, inch by inch, and he can’t think straight. He knows he must be eyeing Mac like he’s a predator, though- not the cool alien kind, but the wild animal kind- because his smile grows into something full and genuine and reckless.

“I got this, babe,” he laughs under his breath, and oh boy, it’s not like Dennis needed another reason to feel like he’s burning to death.

Something about Mac’s half-lidded eyes and his daredevil smile and beer-bathed breath comes together to make Dennis comply without putting up a fight, and he falls all the way down onto the cushions.

When Mac instructs him to scooch, he complies, too- and rolls over onto his side to make space behind him. Mac barely fits against his back, but it isn’t awkward. It feels like it always does, like it’s supposed to, like something that was broken snapping back into place. And when Mac’s arm curls around the shape of his waist, fingers touching him soft like he might break, Dennis wants to play the rest of the movie in slo-mo to make the last six minutes take up the whole night.

There’s a satisfaction in watching Predator die like never before, in seeing him choke on his own neon green blood. Dennis lets the invisible eyes he feels watching him die, too, and he and Mac are finally alone. It’s finally just between them.

“You okay?” Mac murmurs in his ear, and it’s the dumbest question Dennis has ever heard.

The “fine” he says back is the understatement of the fucking century.

Maybe that’s why it doesn’t get through Mac’s thick skull.

“You sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, Den.”

Dennis is more comfortable than he’s ever been in his life, he thinks, knows, as he reaches up to thread his fingers into his best friend’s and pull their hands down over his stomach, right where he can still feel the ghost of what he’s tried to bury there. Mac’s knuckles brush against him and the knot unwinds, if only a little.

He’s still scared, but maybe that’s all right, because a home is never really built. You repaint. You take down the walls. You move the furniture around. You fix the cracks and patch the leaks and heal it time after time after time.

But it keeps on standing if the framework is good, and he and Mac are building on some pretty damn decent foundations.

“I’m okay,” he answers, instead of telling him he thinks they’d still be standing at the end of any raging storm in the world. “Different’s okay.”

It’s less like Dennis is reassuring Mac and more like he’s reminding himself. Different is okay, because this whole relationship thing, it’s like the stuff on the shelves at the grocery store. It’s the same shit with different labels.

And yeah, maybe Dennis doesn’t know how to put everything back exactly the way it was, but he knows how to pick up the pieces and make something new, and that’s even better.

The credits start to roll and he catches the shape of them in the reflective blackness between the words, and on the outside, they don’t look like people who should feel guilty or angry or humiliated- they look like a pretty goddamn normal couple.

“Mac?”

“Yeah?”

Dennis doesn’t know how to say it. How do you tell someone that this feels like the beginning of something that’s been happening nearly your entire life? How do you tell someone that, it might be shitty right now, it might be shitty over and over again, but the first steps are always the hardest and everything gets easier from there? How do you tell someone you’re going to have your bad days, you’re going to snap at them and shut them out and treat them so bad they almost leave you? But you’re going to keep moving uphill, you’re not going to fall back down- and the view from the top, the view at the end, it’s going to be so fucking worth the climb.

He’s going to feel sick right now. He’s going to feel nervous and terrified and nauseated and weird. He might never stop feeling that way. But even if he doesn’t, there’s going to be something good there, too. The roof might tear and the paint might chip away, the shudders might bend and the windows might break- but the foundations will still be good. And they’ll keep building on that, no matter how many times they’re forced to start over, no matter how many times they fuck it up, no matter how many times they have to try again.

Because that’s how you build a home. You build it every day, knowing it’s never going to be perfect and it’s never going to be done and, sometimes, it might be so destroyed and so different you hardly recognize it. But you build it every single day.

How do you tell someone you’d never be able to do this alone? How do you tell them you’d never be able to do this with anybody else? How do you let them know that, no matter how much of this is their fault, no matter how many of these ideas they put in your head when you were young, no matter how many times you caught their guilt like the common cold, they still make you brave? How do you tell someone that you’re scared right now, but you know it’s going to be fine, because they’re going to be there to catch you if you falter?

A lot of people would say I love you. Dennis doesn’t.

“You want to watch Predator 2?”

Mac laughs like it’s the best idea he’s ever heard in his life.

“You know I do, man.”

And just like that, it’s a perfectly normal Tuesday night movie night.

Episode 2: Do Not Open

Oh, we're just charging right into the statement this time. Cool. I suppose we did get the setup, uh, set up in the first episode, so nothing more's needed. Onward to a whole ton of horror stories!

I wonder how they'll connect or overlap? ...I might be assuming too much, but being as they're all set in the same universe....

All right, so this one's about a man named Joshua Gillespie.

It's from 1998? Huh. Going back in time a bit, aren't we? I was only nine in 1998, and I was twenty-two when the last statement was given, so.... These archives really are out of order, aren't they. I wonder how he's picking them?

Okay, so Joshua's in his early twenties and he's taking a weeks-long vacation with some friends. In... Holland? I didn't know that was a vacation destination.

But then what do I know about vacation destinations? I can't go above ground while the sun's up, so I never really go anywhere, do I—and frankly I don't really want to. I like being underground, in the dark, surrounded by books, and I don't like being rushed around here and there and everywhere anyway, which seems to be par for the course for away-from-home-vacations so far as I can tell.

This Joshua certainly seems to have done a lot of rushing around here and there. "There were very few points where I'd say that I was entirely sober and even fewer where I acted like it"? Sounds exhausting.

Anyway, he wakes up earlier than his friends one day and leaves them to sleep off their hangovers while he goes to look at buildings.

Apparently Joshua Gillespie is an aspiring architect.

He's wandering around Amsterdam, and he can't speak Dutch, and he gets so lost that he only makes it back to familiar ground after it's started to get dark, at which point he decides to pop into a cafe for some reason. Oh, and apparently he's on drugs.

I predict that Mr. Sims will discount everything Joshua says just on the basis of that.

Well, I would.

Oho, and a strange man turns up at Joshua's cafe table!

From the description, he sounds Unremarkable. With a capital U, because he's just so Ordinary that there's nothing about him to notice, really. And apparently Joshua didn't notice him walking in or sitting down or anything like that, so he's clearly very Unnoticeable.

Mr. Unremarkable calls himself "John." That's interesting. What do you want to bet his last name's "Smith"?

Ooh, and he wants Joshua to look after a package for him. And he pays him a ton of money! Up front! That doesn't seem particularly wise, Mr. Probably-Smith!

...And then he just walks off?

I'm lost. Where's the package, then?

Looks like he just vanishes. Joshua's got all this money for looking after a package, but he hasn't actually got any package to look after. That's very odd. Can't say it's the way I'd do it, if I wanted someone to look after a package for me. I'd say Mr. Unremarkable has something else in mind, but the statement was introduced as being about "an apparently empty wooden casket," so....

O..kay. So Joshua just hangs onto the money for a whole year without spending any of it.

He must be a weirdly rich student.

But then again, what do I know about money? I make just enough for rent every month (most months, anyway), and get my food from people who, for some reason or other, seem to want me to not die. Which is nice of them, I suppose, but a bit baffling.

Anyway, Joshua Gillespie finally spends John Probably-Smith's money on a nice apartment, and a week later the package finally turns up.

The delivery men don't sound normal. "Weren't wearing any uniforms"? "Well over six feet tall"? At least they're very task-oriented: confirm you're delivering to the right address, make the delivery, leave. No wasted time chatting or answering questions or making friends or anything, which strikes me as exactly what one wants in mail delivery—competence and efficiency! In and out, no hanging about. I think I like these two just fine, whatever they are.

So it's a huge cardboard box, and when Joshua cuts it open there's a coffin inside. And the coffin is sealed with a chain and a padlock.

Okay, if you're not thinking "vampire" at this point I don't know what stories you've been reading, watching, or listening to, because clearly you've missed all the ones I grew up with. This is just so amazingly obviously vampiric that—well, I don't know. Is this that kind of show? I suppose it might be....

Ah, and carved into the wood of the coffin are the words "Do Not Open."

There's the title-drop, then.

Joshua doesn't know what's up, but fortunately there's a note from "J" who is almost definitely John Probably-Smith from Amsterdam, which jogs his memory.

He's weirdly affected by the coffin. He calls in sick to work, for Pete's sake. That seems like a really strange thing to do! Suppose someone paid me a great deal of money to look after a package, and then one day a package showed up—well, all right, then. All's well. Right?

Oh, and the coffin is warm. That's....

Gotta say, I'd probably spend a lot of time around it. I like warmth. My average body temperature is a couple degrees below what's normal for humans, so I like hanging out around warm things.

That probably wouldn't be healthy in this case, though, would it?

Joshua is obviously nothing like me. He's so freaked out by the oddly warm coffin in his new apartment that he's got to go make himself some tea to calm down, and then when he's sufficiently calm he goes and drags the coffin into his living room and pushes it up against a wall. Oh, and he pulls the key out of the padlock (yup, the padlock came with a key, very tidy) and just leaves it on a table by the front door, which strikes me as untidy.

The chains around the coffin aren't warm. That's interesting.

And it takes him a full week to get comfortable enough with the idea of a coffin in his living room for him to start using the living room again!

Joshua Gillespie is a wuss.

...Then he puts a glass of orange juice on top of it. Why would you do that? It's warm, clearly it's going to make your juice all warm and gross, don't use a spookily heated coffin as a cupholder for a cold drink, that's idiotic.

Also, it's wood. Use a coaster, you oaf.

Apparently the coffin also objects to his lack of consideration—or maybe it's just interested in the orange juice, who knows.

Anyway, it seems like something inside is scratching on the underside of the lid. He picks up his cup and the scratching stops. He puts it back down and it starts again (after four seconds). He picks his cup up again and the scratching goes on for another five minutes, which is... a lot longer than the immediate stopping it did last time, you know?

So he decides to leave it alone, which is probably the sanest choice to make under the circumstances. Frankly I think I'd probably do the same thing, although the temptation to run more experiments would be really strong. Opening it, though? Nooo, I don't think that idea would even occur to me. I mean, it's not my package to open, is it?

Oh hey, it's the kind of coffin that moans when it rains. That's interesting.

Also interesting is that Joshua Gillespie is apparently the kind of person who would usually have people over.

I mean that he's the type of person who'll actually let other people into the place where he lives. On purpose! He doesn't say so straight out, but it's heavily implied. Can you imagine? What sort of mentally unbalanced nutjob would do a thing like that?

All right: I admit I've done it a few times myself, but that was different. I only invited one person at a time, it was a one-time-only thing for each of them, and I was doing it in order to, you know, observe humanity close up under controlled circumstances—not to make friends or encourage visits or anything like that! It isn't as though I actually wanted them in my home the way Joshua apparently does, that was just the best way of getting the information I wanted.

Joshua Gillespie kind of freaks me out.

Returning to the story: it's raining so hard that it's turned dark outside (which is some of the best weather, I think), and Joshua's reading The Lost World.

I haven't read that book in a while. Despite all the books I own, I don't actually have a copy of that one (though I do own Jurassic Park), and the last time I read my dad's copy the last few pages were missing. Anyway, it's a good book and I approve Joshua Gillespie's taste in this case, weird social freak though he may be. Also his eyes are clearly terrible, because he has to get up and turn on a light in order to keep reading, which I've never had to do in that kind of weather.

The way he describes the moaning sounds really pleasant, actually. "Almost like singing, if it was muffled by twenty feet of hard-packed soil." Not only could I live with that, I think I'd be tempted to sit up against the cozy warm coffin and read with that and the rain for background.

Sounds nice.

This guy, of course, doesn't know how to appreciate what he's got. He doesn't just leave the room, no, he puts on music so he can't hear the coffin 'singing'!

Then he starts getting bad dreams. He doesn't remember them, but it sounds like he's dreaming about suffocating? When you wake up clutching at your throat and struggling to breathe... yeah, he's being choked or something. My first thought (because of the coffin) is "buried alive." I've never dreamed about that, but it doesn't strike me as fun.

Also he's sleepwalking, which is interesting.

So this coffin (or whatever's inside it) is getting inside his head? That seems really dangerous! What good are the chains doing? Can't we get some magical seals or something?

Looks like the coffin wants him to open it, because he keeps waking up with the key in his hand. I guess he can't just throw it out or anything—I mean, it's not his, so throwing it away would be... I dunno... wrong? And also it's untidy. The key clearly goes with the padlock, you can't just chuck the key, then they'd be unmatched and that's just not right.

What would I do in that situation? Hmm.

I suppose I might tape the key to my back. Getting it off would definitely wake me up, I think. And I'd probably also tape a plastic bag around the padlock.

Oh, he freezes it in a bowl of water! That's clever. I don't think I'd've thought of that.

A year and a half, he's got to hold on to this thing. That's a really long time. No wonder he got paid so much! I mean, I could do it no problem, but you've got to admit keeping something that big in your living space for that long is a bit of a bother. Especially when it keeps messing with your sleep.

And they come to pick it up on a rainy day... when it isn't moaning. That's odd. I wonder why it isn't moan-singing?

Oh, don't tell me they wanted someone who didn't know what it was to starve it.

That's it, isn't it? The vampire or whatever is dead now, so they've come for the body and they'll haul it away and... oh, and apparently they're surprised that Joshua is still alive. So maybe they were expecting him to feed it (unintentionally) and will be upset that it's dead?

It's all three of them: John Probably-Smith and the two efficient deliverymen. They don't seem too bothered, though....

Joshua breaks the bowl of ice, John gets the key, and Joshua doesn't follow them into the living room. Apparently he's not curious, which—well, frankly, I would be! Which might get me killed, since it looks like there was screaming and then John Probably-Smith didn't come back out of the living room.

So I guess whatever it was, it was hungry.

The deliverymen carry the coffin out, their van says "Breekon and Hope" on the side, and Joshua considers himself well out of the whole thing.

Sure enough, Mr. Sims pounced on the drug use. Haha, I thought he would! Also on the lack of witnesses, but honestly I think that's just normal, don't you? Who would normally have witnesses in their home? You don't, in general, have other people in your home! Though I suppose he could've talked to somebody online. There was internet when I was nine, you know. I used it.

Looks like Mr. Sims tells his assistants which written statements he's transferring to audio as a regular thing, because another one of them (Tim this time) did some research.

Breekon and Hope were a real courier service until 2009 (I was 20!) and then the business was liquidated—and apparently they didn't bother to keep records of their deliveries (or at least they didn't bother to keep them safe), which is very untidy and I disapprove.

So are those two deliverymen "Breekon" and "Hope," or are they just employed by "Breekon and Hope"?

Not that I s'pose it matters, really....

Wait, what? The apartment building Joshua lived in was totally vacant except for him? For the whole two years he lived there? That seems really improbable and I'm incredibly envious!

So in this story a man gets a vampire coffin, starves the vampire while it reaches into his mind and tries to draw him to it, then the bland fellow who gave it to him turns up to take it back and gets eaten by the vampire, whereupon the coffin-keepers just walk off with the thing and all is well.

...I guess?

I have so many questions.

This is really good! I'm really liking this podcast so far. It's definitely weird. Two episodes in and I've already noticed that the monsters aren't particularly good at luring people.

That's part of what makes me doubt that the 'vampire' is actually a vampire—vampires are good at luring people! Joshua would get alluring, sexy dreams tempting him to open the coffin, not nightmares, and the thing in the alley would not look like a corpse on a stick!

...At least, not at first. Not if these things were good at their jobs.

don’t feel like boys

Characters: Maia Roberts, Clary Fray

Relationships: Clary Fray/Maia Roberts

Rating: T

Summary: Maia can't think of a good reason for why Clarissa Fairchild is soaking wet on her doorstep at this time of night.

It's storming outside and Maia's a hundred and fifty-three pages deep into Pride and Prejudice when there is a sudden knock on her door.

Every horror movie she's ever seen sets off alarms in her head, but, being a werewolf, she's not the slightest bit concerned as she folds down the edge of the page she's on and gets up to answer the door. She does become a bit concerned, however, when she sees Clary Fairchild standing in the dimly-lit hallway of her apartment building, soaking wet. Maia guesses there isn't a waterproof rune, and then says the thought out loud instead of a greeting.

Clary doesn't seem to mind. "Hey, Maia," she says casually, as if it's not two in the morning and she's not getting Maia's welcome mat wet. "This a bad time?"

"For what, exactly?" Maia asks, but steps aside to let Clary in. "Hang on, I'll get you a towel."

As she makes her way down the hall to do so, Maia lets herself wonder what the hell Clary is doing in her house this time of night and why she didn't bother to bring an umbrella. Her best guess is that a shadow-hunting mission went badly, and Maia's place was the closest.

Then again, how does Clary know where she lives? They've built up an acquaintance (someone very generous and very desperate might even call it a friendship) based on mutual respect and mutual ex-boyfriends, and they sometimes chat about Luke or the weather or drinks Clary's not technically allowed to order. And Maia finds herself thinking, often, that Clary is very pretty, and pretty badass when it comes to using a dagger or telling someone off. But they're not close by any means. They don't even have each other' phone numbers saved. And yet Clary is here and not at Jace’s or Simon’s or Luke’s or Magnus’s.

Perhaps she needs something only Maia can give her. But if that was the case, she would have her Shadowhunter posse with her, and they’re nowhere in sight. No, this isn’t about work. It’s personal.

"Thanks..." Clary says breathlessly when Maia hands her a towel. She takes a moment to smile at the R2D2 printed on it before using it to dab the water out of her hair. Even soaking wet and shivering in the cold she's gorgeous.

Maia looks away.

"Thanks," Clary says again, holding out the towel towards Maia.

"No problem," Maia takes it and tosses it in the direction of the couch. "So…you gonna tell me what you're doing here?"

Clary's smile hardens. "Right," she says, taking a deep breath. "Yeah. I have to tell you something." And she looks nervous enough about whatever it is that Maia motions for her to take her shoes off and join her in the living room.

Maia's apartment is small, and could be described as "cozy" by polite people. To Maia, it's just small. But it has heat and electricity and a bed big enough for two, so she doesn't complain.

Clary sits down on the couch, pulling her wet hair down on one side. She's taken off her leather jacket (she must have a collection of those) and Maia can see that the rain has gotten to her tank top too, and possibly even her bra. And once again, Maia has to avert her eyes.

"I broke up with Jace."

Maia looks back at Clary, only slightly shocked. "About time," she says without thinking, and is relieved when Clary chuckles along with her. "Why? What happened?"

"Nothing..." Clary shrugs. "It just wasn't working out. It's all still weird with the whole sibling thing, and it was happening too fast, and he loves me more than I love him." She looks up at Maia with a small, adorable grin on her face and shrugs. "And there was one other thing."

For some reason unbeknownst to her, Maia can suddenly feel her heart racing. She leans against the wall to keep her balance. "What thing?" she asks, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She's learned by now that it's best not to get her hopes up about things she can't control.

Clary doesn't look nervous. In fact, she looks determined, driven...okay, she looks a little terrified. But mostly driven. She laughs and shakes her head. "I just told Simon this. You're gonna be the second person to know."

Know what?! Maia screams in her head. Stop teasing me, Fray, and just say it! She leans forward towards Clary, letting all that show on her face without actually saying it.

Clary takes a deep breath. She looks Maia in the eyes. "I'm gay."

Maia blinks. It's not so much that she was expecting it as she was hoping it was the case. Ever since that night in the Hunter's Moon, watching her watch Simon perform, the drink that Maia bought her in her hand. At the time she'd thought she was just caught up in how impressive Clary had been against the Inquisitor.

But the night had ended, and Maia had slept with Jace, and the feeling hadn't gone away. Now, months later, Maia still feels something strange when she looks at Clary. There is an urge to be close to her, to make her laugh, to smile proudly when she picks fights with closed-minded Shadowhunters for talking behind Alec's back.

And frankly, the only thing keeping Maia from calling that feeling a crush was knowing Clary was straight. The dramatic irony is almost hilarious, but Maia is too busy pushing back those feelings so she can support Clary as a friend to laugh.

"Clary, that's..." Maia struggles to look for the right words. What does she want to hear whenever she imagines telling someone she likes girls? What did Simon say to her? "That's great!" She moves to sit next to Clary on the couch. They may not be the best of friends, and Maia may not be the cuddliest or most physically affectionate person, especially with someone she hardly knows, but she wants the option to touch Clary if she needs to.

In an entirely platonic way, of course, because Clary coming out to her doesn't mean anything like that.

"Thanks, Maia," Clary says with a soft smile, and, because she's a cuddly and affectionate person, touches Maia’s bare arm.

A moment of comfortable silence passes between them. Then, Maia becomes overly aware of Clary's hand on her arm, and Clary's eyes on her lips, and Clary's wet clothes on her couch.

"Why are you telling me?" Maia asks. Then quickly adds, "I mean, I'm honoured and everything, but I would've thought you'd tell Luke first. Or Izzy, or, I don’t know, Magnus."

Clary laughs again, dropping her hand. "I'm gonna tell them all soon. But I was talking to Simon, and he said I should tell you. I wasn't going to listen, at first, but then I realized he was right."

"About what? What did he say?"

Clary looks at her in a way that makes Maia's heart flutter. It's filled with what can only be described as admiration, and it's hard to miss the way her eyes snap to Maia's chest and back up again. Clary smiles before speaking again:

"That you're worth the risk."

She says it with a certain kind of confidence. The kind that implies she's ready to be rejected. That she's not used to going after people - she's always the one being chased - but like everything else in her life, she's willing to give it her all.

Maia tucks a wet strand of hair out of Clary's face. She watches Clary's expression falter, like she's achieved her goal but can't believe it's happening. It's so different from the way Maia's seen her look at Jace, or even Simon. She's vulnerable and full of hope, and she only tears her eyes away from Maia's to stare at her lips instead.

Maia kisses her.

Clary wastes no time kissing her back, sweet and gentle at first, and then with passion. Hunger. Her hands wind their way through Maia's hair. For all intents and purposes, she's a very good kisser. She pulls back too soon, sighing softly. Maia watches the realization that she's just kissed a girl sink in, watches her cheeks turn red and a giddy smile take over her face.

“Wow,” Clary says. Maia can relate.

Clary leans in to kiss her again, but Maia stops her with a gentle hand on her chin. Clary looks at her with confused puppy dog eyes (which is especially unfair, seeing as Maia is the one who's supposed to have canine traits). "You need to get changed before you get sick," Maia says, pushing off the couch. She walks into her tiny bedroom and rummages through her drawers until she finds a Wonder Woman t-shirt and a pair of leggings she thinks will fit Clary. Back in the living room, she tosses them at Clary before announcing that she's going to make some tea.

In the kitchen, illuminated only by the oven lights, Maia leans against the refrigerator as she waits for the water to boil.

I just kissed Clary Fairchild.

The mere idea of it is ridiculous and unreal, even if Maia has been noncommittally flirting with Clary ever since that night at the Hunter’s Moon – nothing serious, never expecting it to be reciprocated, but making jokes and fixing her hair behind her ear anyway. It’s surreal to think it actually went somewhere. Neither of them has the best track record when it comes to relationships. But here they both are: Clary making grand romantic gestures, Maia making tea, the two of them kissing like nothing has ever gone wrong in their lives.

But things have gone wrong, for both of them, and whatever this is, Maia doesn't want it to ruin them, because whatever this is probably isn’t going to be light and casual, not with the way her heart’s pounding at the thought of Clary’s lips against her own.

Maybe she'll get lucky and it will end like it did with Simon, with both of them kind and respectful, sharing hugs and promising to stay friends because that was what mattered first and foremost. Or maybe she won't. The thought of losing Clary either way is so far from pleasant it makes her stomach ache – and they've only shared one kiss so far.

Maybe it won’t end at all.

"Hey."

Startled, Maia looks to the entrance of the small kitchen, where Clary is standing in her clothes, her hair wrapped in the towel from earlier. She has that almost-but-not-quite-nervous look on again.

"Hey," Maia echoes. "You look good in my clothes."

Clary looks down at herself and smirks. "Need some help with that tea?"

Maia picks up the box of earl grey tea bags and waves it at her. "I think I got it."

"Okay," Clary says, but makes her way into the kitchen anyway, walking until she's only inches away from Maia. Maia can feel her eyes on her lips.

"You wanna kiss me again?"

Clary looks up at her from under long lashes. "Can I?"

Maia leans off the fridge, bringing her face even closer to Clary's. Just as she's about to reply flirtatiously, the kettle goes off with a high-pitched noise. Maia laughs as Clary jumps in surprise at that. Clary gives her a pointed look, but can't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching upwards. She steps back, arms crossed, and waits for Maia to tend to the tea. Maia turns off the kettle and pours them both tea, handing Clary her cup and leading her back to the living room.

They settle on the couch, Maia turning on the TV and flicking through channels in hopes of something that isn’t an infomercial. "I don't have chocolate or anything-" she starts, but is cut off by Clary taking the remote out of her hand and turning the volume down.

“Can we talk?” Clary asks. “Or make out? I’d be good with either.”

Maia raises her eyebrows and thinks, briefly, that if she and Clary do start dating, she's going to be late to a lot of shifts. That seems like a good topic to bring up, along with a hundred other hopes and concerns and predictions, but it’s two in the morning, and Clary’s starting to sniffle.

“Tomorrow,” she promises. “Both tomorrow.”

Clary grins. “Does that mean you’re asking me to spend the night?”

Maia rolls her eyes, giving Clary a gentle, playful shove. They both laugh before settling back down to drink their tea and watch reruns of an old sitcom neither of them recognizes. Clary rests her head against Maia’s shoulder, cold hair against hot skin, and sighs.

"So," she says after a long moment. "You like girls too, huh?"