#& if those mistakes r left in a final product it means that other mistakes were more important to fix

[gutmeats]

the way some of yall talk about ai art makes it seem like youre missing the point

[gallickingun]

ding, dong, the witch is dead!

honestly, who didn’t see this coming? lol. but, anyway. i guess this is goodbye! i’ll ramble more below the cut, but just know that over the next couple of days, i’ll be exporting my blog so i can keep what i want, and then this will be the only post left here.

thank you to everyone who i’ve had the privilege of meeting, and those of you who have been so kind as to leave lovely notes on my works, and interact with me over our silly anime crushes. i really appreciate all the kindness i’ve been shown in the anime fandom. some of my best friends i’ve met through this stupid app, but overall, it’s just not a healthy space for me. i’m not blaming anyone else for what this has become, at the end of the day, i created a hell for myself. i’m just tired of trying to rebuild, rebrand, whatever. i’m just tired.

that being said, obviously not everything can always be so lovely. i don’t care about the discourse or the drama or the whatever, but i’m just hoping this post will bring me some closure, and maybe some for those i’ve hurt, whether accidentally or intentionally. if you click read more and you’re upset with what you see, well, idk what to tell you, friend.

i hate that tumblr can be so insignificant, and yet so all encompassing all at once. yes, it’s “just tumblr” and “it’s not that deep” because at the end of the day, it’s just an app. but, unfortunately, behind this app and these blogs are human beings. which means you create real bonds and real friendships, and real feelings get hurt.

i came back to tumblr during a really sad, dark time in my life. and that was honestly my first mistake. i latched on to whoever would pay attention to me, craving some sort of friendship that i never needed before because i always had someone in real life. but i had just moved away from my family, and was starting the process of what would end up being a notsogreat divorce. i felt alone, and was struggling a lot with my self worth, so instead of choosing to be kind, i chose to lash out. regardless of whether or not that was in private dm’s of those whom, at the time, i’d considered friends, it was still inconsiderate and childish of me. i thought i had to be some hateful version of myself in order to prove to other people that i wasn’t as sad about myself as i truly was. the words i said in private were rude, nasty, and just... not who i want to be? and, without going into immense detail, some of those things i wanted to move on from and no longer felt, were then used as weapons and spread around to others who i never intended to see what i’d said.

please, please, PLEASE — be careful what you say. you really never know who is watching, who is going to manipulate you, etc. what you say holds weight, and even if you don’t intend for it to hurt anyone, even if it’s just venting.. i dunno. just, be careful, okay? check yourself from time to time, friend. make sure that you’re not allowing the overall negativity of the world, of your own mind, of others, to affect you to the point that you don’t recognize yourself.

if you don’t know about my lovely little exposed blog, well, you’d probably be the last to know. at least, it feels that way. although in the beginning maybe it was justified? in some right? i’m not sure anymore, really, but regardless—it turned into some sort of stalking experience. at one point in time, i received 35+ messages telling me how horrible i was, telling me to off myself, telling me that my ex did the right thing by leaving me “on the curb”, etc. my full legal name was being released, with the intent to doxx me i’m assuming? i was being told i was “being watched”, which i fully believe was happening, with the consistency of the updates. people who claim to hate me, still followed me with the intent of watching my every move to “see if i’d changed”. i only have received updates through friends, because to be perfectly honest with you, seeing your worst mistakes splayed on the internet and turning you into some shounen villain is NOT the best thing for your mental health. that, and some of the “truths” were half-honesties twisted because i’d be a hypocrite to post private dm’s debunking these things when i was upset with the very same people for posting such things. i’ve addressed some things, such as the racism, so i won’t go into that again, but some of these other instances are stretches, to say the least.

the irony of the whole thing is not lost on me. the very same people who say i only do things for notes/recognition, are doing those very things. those who say i only care about tumblr, are proving that by running a blog dedicated to exposing some twenty three year old idiot on the internet. those who say i use my friends are the same ones who literally lied to my face so they could collect receipts behind my back and then leave me when it got convenient. those who say i talk to “insignificant” blogs to appear invested are the ones calling those blogs insignificant, i never once believed anyone i’ve interacted with was insignificant, contrary to popular belief. everything they focus on ends up being nothing but hypocrisy in the end.

that being said, obviously i truly hurt whoever all is behind this blog. intentionally, or otherwise. and i know that sometimes what you do/say isn’t meant to hurt anyone, however, you don’t get to control how what you’ve done effects others. all you can do is apologize. but, i know a few of them, because based on the “receipts” they’ve pulled together, the stories are too specific to be anything but those people i’m thinking of. i don’t enjoy blanket apologies, but i’m leaving this hellsite, so it’s all i’ve got left.

i’m sorry for giving you the fuel to your fire for this petty agenda, i’m sorry for creating the monster of myself that allowed you to string along this storyline for what seems to be the better part of a year. i’m sorry that i gave you material to fixate upon, rather than providing you with friendship and something better to focus on. i truly hope you can move on now that i’m gone from tumblr, and honestly i don’t plan on coming back, lol. i genuinely, truly, deeply feel sorry for you, and pray that you can turn this obsessive focus from me to something more productive, something healthier.

the angry part of me wants everyone to realize that the start of this, the matchups/refunds situation, was born from this stalkerish behavior. it has taken me months to put the pieces together, because i truly didn’t think someone who i’d called my friend once would ever string together such a lie, or rather an exaggerated, adulterated truth, but i guess it’s what happened, in the end.

there are a lot of, uh, conveniently timed “releases” of receipts even though they were months after the initial occurrence of the offense. i can’t go into each one, because, frankly, there are too many. i just hope that in the wake of all of these horrible exposes of things i’ve done, others are able to reflect on their actions. telling me one thing while currently speaking to another individual and telling them another, blatantly LYING, etc. are all things that i’ve been accused of, and yet they’ve also been done to me. doesn’t justify what i’ve done, nor am i seeking some sort of absolution, however i just hope that these individuals can see their hypocrisy and move forward.

which leads me to my final point — regardless of how shitty someone is, disallowing them the room to grow, stunting their moral/mental growth, is truly the issue. i am not going to sit here and play holier than thou. i know i fucked up. i was a nasty bitch because i was angry at the world, and then that anger was fueled further by consistent situations where i made the wrong friends at the wrong times in my life. but the fact that this exposed nonsense has been dragging on since... july? august? i’m not really sure, but whatever. since it’s been going on, i have been battling with myself and my ability to do the things i love, talk to those i care about, etc. all because i’m afraid of saying the wrong thing, hurting the wrong person, etc. and in trying to avoid it, i’ve been doing the very same thing i hoped to keep from doing.

i never felt like i could apologize to those i wanted to apologize to because it might be received as disingenuous due to the nature of the exposed blog’s very existence “forcing” me to apologize. don’t get me wrong, some of those who the blog tried to coerce me into apologizing to can suck a dick, because there are people that i truly do not feel deserve my apologies, and therefore, will never get them. but, i do feel bad for those i didn’t get the chance to apologize to that i really wanted to. the last thing i’d want is for my apology to be turned into something it’s not, but hopefully everyone who has been affected by my actions can move on with my absence.

and to those of you who feel the need to make public denounces of my name, i hope it provides you the closure you’ve been seeking. truly, i do. but know that i never did anything i’ve ever done with the intent to get ahead or buy someone’s friendship or take advantage of anyone else. if i truly only cared about the things people say i cared about, i would have never made this blog in the first place. i would have leeched off the popularity of my main blog if popularity was all i cared about. i was searching for a home, which, in the end, i burned down myself. me, joking around about follower count and notes, was literally nothing but sarcastic banter that’s been taken out of context. but, i digress.

i am very thankful for those who i can still call my friends, who are willing and ready to have honest discussions with me about the things i’ve said/done and analyze them and help me move forward. therapy, medication, life choices, etc. all have been rolled into me deciding that i’m done letting a silly little app stunt my growth. if the internet was unplugged tomorrow, i know who i’d have and what would matter. i have REAL LIFE to focus on. i am in love and i have beautiful friendships that i want to foster with honesty and kindness. i can only hope that you all have the opportunity to have those very same things.

will i stop writing? nah, dude. no way. i’m just getting started. in my absence, in choosing to stay away from a place that makes me sick to my stomach with anxiety, i’ve delved into my original characters and i’ve written thousands of words that i haven’t felt the pressure to post about. i’ve learned that just because i’m doing something i love, i don’t have to do it for anyone else.

the internet is a funky place, folks. just be careful who your friends are, okay?

anyway. peace out, girl scouts. i wish you all the best 💖

[thestraggletag]

Creature Instincts

A/N: Surprise, @nerdrumple! It is I, your Super Secret Santa that somehow managed to REMAIN super secret! I’m always stoked when that happens. It’s been loads of fun being your Santa, and it was super nice to write fic for someone who was written some of my favourite Rumbelle fics. Hope you like it!

Prompt: Locked-out, torrential downpour, hold.

Summary: Mr Gold cannot be accused of being a knight in shining armour, but when Belle French becomes a damsel in distress he cannot help to try and play the role, in spite of how ill-suited his nature makes him.

Rating: R for sure. There be sexy sex here, kids.

It was a relief to finally be home, after what felt like the longest day in the month. Rent day usually was, as it kept him out and about town all day, both collecting from those who reluctantly but diligently paid on time and those who thought they could evade him and thus get a reprieve. Very few chose alternative means of payment, and he was sure it was in part because most people enjoyed the notion of making him work for their rent money.

He looked up just before he closed his front door, noticing the grey, fat clouds that he had been running from most of the day. The air already smelled like rain, which for him meant hell on his ankle. That, coupled with the freezing temperature, had him more than happy for the comforts of his home.

His housekeeper had left the house warm and dry, as per his usual instructions, and for a moment or two he paused on the entryway, dropping his keys onto the bowl by the side table and simply enjoying the warmth as it seeped into his skin. Though he was used to the cold- and, to a certain extent, he enjoyed it- he could not deny he was a creature better suited for heat. 

Methodically, the motions so familiar that they were almost automatic, he shed his outer layers. First his thick wool coat, a shade of charcoal grey so dark most people thought it was black, and his red cashmere scarf. Then off came the gloves, suit jacket and vest. He took off his tie next, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt before removing his vest and reaching for his banyan, the damask silk showing a pattern of thistles in bloom. He limped upstairs to exchange his suit trousers and Oxfords for woollen lounge pants and thicker knit socks and loafers. 

It felt heavenly to be out of his customary suit and into more comfortable clothing, warm and dry in his home as the first drops of rain began to splash against the windows. He flexed his fingers, his elongated nails still a bit uncomfortable from having to wear gloves all day. As he filled the kettle with water for his tea he felt the scales on his neck ripple and begin to unfurl. It was the most unpleasant part of rent day, how he had to hide all day. It made him itchy and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a duty his nature would allow for him to delegate on others. 

As he waited for the water to boil he switched on the tablet he had left on the island, having read the paper on it in the morning. In spite of his claws it was easy for him to navigate around the display and hit the green facetime button, locating and clicking on the desired contact immediately.

“Hey, pop!”

Baden’s gruffy face appeared on the screen, hair a bit wild and beard looking like it could use a trim. ‘Fashionably scruffy’, he called it. Since he had accepted a video call he deduced Emma was not home yet. He had remembered correctly about her extra shift, then.

“Hi, son. How’s life in the big city?”

He moved around the kitchen as Bae filled him in on any news, mainly talking about Henry’s latest antics and his newest clients. He was a bit of a hot-shot graphic designer, much sought after. 

“And how’s life in Storybrooke, dad? Still keeping that cavernous Queen Anne, I see. That’s too much house for yourself, pop.”

“It’s not just for me. It’s also for you, Henry and Emma. For when you visit.”

Bae rolled his eyes.

“We only stay over a few weeks every year. What about the rest of the time, pop? Don’t you get lonely?”

It was an old worry of Bae’s, one he tried hard to scoff away every time he brought it up. His son seemed to give up rather easily, asking instead after his hoard.

“Which one do you mean?”

He had several, of course. It was, after all, part of his nature.

“All of them. It’s been a while since I’ve received a full report.”

“Well, the property portfolio is looking good. Market’s been appreciating, as expected given the development of the town. I attended three very productive state sales, so the antiques are looking good. Might even be able to part with one or two of my previously not-for-sale vases. I’ve also managed to find a treasure-trove of jewellery. Owner inherited them from his mother, thought they were costume pieces. I could smell right away he was wrong.”

He smiled, feeling the scales around his neck flash in and out of sight, a golden glint in his eyes, a sure sign he was pleased. The pieces would be a joy to restore and clean, and the thought of how they would shine brought a smile to his face.

“God, you’re such a stereotype sometimes.” Bae shook his head. “Aaaand… how’s the library? Any progress on that front?”

The younger man tried not to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, going for a light-hearted tone as he monitored his father’s reaction. There was no mistaking the way his scales flared up around his neck, as if fluffing up, turning a darker shade of gold than what was usual. It was a minute reaction, there one moment and gone the next, but it was a very telling one, especially for someone as experienced in things as Bae was.

“N-no, not really. Regina, she’s being… unreasonable. Stubborn. It’s a bad year to acquire real estate, in any case, what with the-”

“And how’s the librarian, pop?”

There was a bigger ripple then, crossing the entirety of his face, scales turning so dark they almost looked black. The younger man snickered, trying to be subtle about it. 

“Be- Miss French is fine. And none of your concern, boy.”

“Did she recover from that nasty fall the other day?”

Bae tried to valiantly pretend he didn’t notice her father flex his claws unconsciously, and he studiously kept his mouth shut about the glazed look in his eyes too. He had been thrilled when his father first started to mention the woman, over a year ago. A new addition to Storybrooke, at the time, and a sore spot for his father, who had fought to acquire the library only to have Regina insist on reopening it instead, just to spite him. Miss French was, at first, an unwitting pawn of the mayor, but later grew to be a nuisance in her own right. Always fighting with his pop over city funds, organising “noisy library events” that disturbed him while he restored some antique or the other at his shop and absolutely refusing to cower before him like everyone else in town. 

At some point he had begun to catch on to the fact that his father was constantly mentioning the librarian, and it wasn’t always to deliver the scathing insults he likely thought he was dishing out. He called her “obnoxiously sweet” and rambled on and on about how she thought she could get anything by batting her long lashes and speaking in her lilting Australian drawl. He had had to endure entire conversations where he talked at length about a five minute exchange between them, to the point that even little Henry had cottoned on to the fact that his grandpa had a crush. 

He denied it, of course. Dismissed every single one of Bae’s attempts at discussing the matter and even made a conscious effort to try and stop mentioning Belle French. Didn’t exactly work out all that much, though. Specially after a close encounter, like last week, when his father managed to barge into the library, intending on getting some very urgent books and getting out with as minimal human interaction as possible, only to unwittingly catch the librarian as one of her too-high heels slipped from the step she was perched on and she tumbled off the ladder. His father had called him that night with a dazed look on his face, the pupils of his eyes blown wide as he recounted the event, his scales rippling out completely. Bae knew that look, though he had only seen his father direct it at objects before. A covetous look, possessive. 

He understood then why his father was reluctant to even admit to a crush, much less something more serious. It was easy, and dangerous, for his natural tendency towards greed to permeate his relationships with humans, which meant he made a conscious effort to keep people at bay, not only because he could not trust people with his secret but also because he could not trust himself to form attachments that were acceptable to humans, that would not lead to them feeling suffocated and imprisoned.

It had been a point of contention between him and his pop, he could not deny it, back when the issue of college had come up. It had led to heated debates and pleas from his father that he was trying, he was doing his best to let go, but it was hard in a way Bae would never understand. He cringed every time he remembered what he had said in anger.

“Right, because I’m not like you. I’m not your son.”

It had been, until then, an unspoken truth they both knew. That Bae was not biologically his. A hard thing to ignore, taking into account their different nature. It had taken time and effort for him to believe his pop when he said he was his son in any way that mattered. Which, of course, had eventually led to the growing pains of their eventual separation, and his father learning to deal with parting with something he held dear. As much as it had been a chore it had truly helped alleviate some of Bae’s still-latent fears about his father’s affection.

“Miss French is fine, your suspicious concern over her is misplaced.”

Bae, blessedly, let the matter drop, and the conversation was turned instead to Henry’s latest passion, now that his dinosaur phase was fully behind him. By the time they hung up he was already elbow-deep into dinner preparations- heating up a beef stew he had prepared last night. Most of his neck and face were showing scales, as were his arms and hands. Once upon a time, when he’d been young, he had not been able to keep his true form hidden for more than a couple of hours, and it required all of his concentration. It had meant living in the gutter while out on the streets and keeping to shadowy corners and dark alleyways. After his aunties had taken him in it had meant being homeschooled, and dedicating a great portion of his waking hours practising keeping pink, soft skin and dull, brown eyes. Now he could hardly recall ever having such little control, but he still found it uncomfortable and painful to keep up the facade for long periods of time, particularly when his emotions were running high. And though that was not usually the case rent day did like to try his patience. That’s usually why after rent day he prepared himself something full of meat and drank a bottle of a nice red of his choice while enjoying a book or a movie. He had a documentary set up for later that night, a riveting two-hour exploration of traditional kimono-making in Japan. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

Just as he was about to heat up dinner there was a knock on the door. His eyes flashed in displeasure before he shook himself in an effort to try to dispel the scales, hide them under whatever bit of skin he could conjure up. He was tired, hungry and not in the mood for anything other than the barest form of human interaction. With that in mind he put on his fiercest scold, shuffled to the door and opened it wide, ready to make whoever was on the other side regret being born.

“Oh, Mr Gold, you’re home!”

The Australian drawl was unmistakable, and it stopped him from actually verbalizing the genteel-yet-direct death threat he’d conjured up in his head a second earlier. Belle French was, indeed, on his front porch, shivering in her drenched peacoat, tights and boots, hair plastered to her face and eyes wide, wary. It was a look he often saw in most of the townspeople when they looked at him, but he’d never seen it before in Miss French. Afraid of nothing, she’d seemed to be, even an old dragon such as himself.

“Miss French, what on Earth are you doing out at this hour and in this weather?”

It didn’t even cross his mind to demand to know why she had knocked on his front door at all.

“Well, I was out in the woods, helping Dr Hopper get a hold of Pongo- you know how he likes to chase rabbits sometimes- and on my way home I realised I had forgotten my keys. I was about to call Ruby, who has the spare set, but I remembered she was out of town on a date. She would totally come if I call her but she’s been so looking forward to her first date with Dorothy that it would be a shame to interrupt her. I was gonna walk over to Granny’s when it started raining and I saw the light on at your house and thought perhaps I could come in and wait it out a little?”

She spoke in a rushed voice, teeth chattering and trying to look as if she wasn’t freezing to death. Her lips were tinged with blue, and her skin looked pale, almost translucent, in the dim light of his porch. He was about to awkwardly invite her in- perhaps to offer her a cup of tea and a ride home- when a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed a second later by a crack of thunder. In the blink of an eye she was in his arms, trembling like a leaf and holding onto the lapels of his banyan. He struggled to contain his reaction, to keep his human mask in check even as he registered how soft she was, and how she smelt like burnt caramel and vanilla, something he had only once managed to scent before, when she had fallen in the library.

“Miss French?”

He counted himself lucky that his voice, though hoarse and thick, still sounded distinctively human, and that he could talk without breathing out too much smoke. It was all about the small victories.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Gold, it’s just that… Well, I have this thing about thunder…”

By the time she detached herself from him, mouth curved in a tremulous smile, he was fully in control of himself, and also completely aware that he would not be able to keep his cool when Bae mentioned the librarian during their next call.

“Completely understandable, Miss French. I detest the rain myself. Do come in, you’re drenched.”

He ushered her in, letting her linger in the foyer, removing her coat and shoes while he looked for a towel in the linen closet next to the laundry. She wrapped it around herself, following him into the kitchen, self-conscious about dripping water on his hardwood floors. 

“Let me fix you a cup of tea. You need some warmth in you.”

The process of preparing a cup of tea was familiar and comforting enough to help quell the last bit of nerves at the idea of Belle French in his home, his lair, where all his hoarded treasure was. His finest antiques, lovingly restored to perfection, his favourite pieces of art, his most prized objects. The house itself was part of his hoard, the antique Queen Anne outfitted with beautiful crown moldings and other unique details. 

The moment he started to crave something he imagined how it would fit in his home, where he would place the object, and whether it would look right amidst his already established hoard. So he had pointedly and purposefully avoided even the briefest daydream of Belle French inside his home. Hadn’t allowed himself to entertain the idea at all, knowing that way lay madness. He had been right, of course, and it was patently obvious as he snuck glances at Belle, perched atop one of the stools surrounding his kitchen isle. The familiar itch, to take and keep, travelled down his spine, making his fingers twitch and almost causing him to spill scalding water all over himself. Wouldn’t have done any actual damage, but he would’ve had to pretend to be hurt, and he could not trust himself to do a good job of it at the moment. 

She took the cup from him with a grateful smile and he watched her as she poured a teaspoon of honey into it, leaving the milk and sugar untouched. He secreted the information away, as useless to him as it was precious. It spoke of a certain domestic intimacy that he found himself covetting deeply. To be expected, given his nature. He remembered doing the same with Bae, tucking away the bits and pieces of useless trivia that most people would not find valuable or interesting, but that few people would ever get to know about Bae, like how he liked to take hour-long showers and disliked chunky peanut butter.

“This orange blossom honey is lovely. Can’t say I’ve seen it at the local store.”

He got it from New York, from a specialised tea store Bae had taken him to a few years back.

“It pairs well with Earl Grey.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to promise her a case full of the stuff, but he pushed to sudden urge down, unhappy with that line of thought. It was common for him to shower those he had an interest in with things they might take a fancy too. It was in his nature, but he had learnt to curve the impulse, to a certain extent- Bae’s epic comic book collection being his last big failure. It did help that he tended to care about very few people, partly as a sort of defence mechanism. Clearly it wasn’t working as well, given that Belle French had managed to capture him so.

“I’m so grateful for your hospitality, but I see I’ve caught you in the middle of dinner preparations. I don’t wish to bother Ruby on her date, but I’m sure Granny would let me wait for her at the diner. I’ll call Leroy, he’ll give me a ride there.”

His relief at the perspective of being left alone, free to finally shift into a more comfortable form in peace, battled with the surprising cold wash of disappointment at the idea that she’d be gone in a matter of minutes. He was about to offer to drive her himself- Leroy’s truck, after all, was hardly a reliable method of transportation, when the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

“Oh, bugger.”

He counted to ten before he heard the generator kick in, the lights coming back on. He looked out the kitchen window, realising there were no streetlights. Everything was pitch black outside, obscured further by the heavy rain. Certainly not the ideal conditions for driving.

“Is it that bad?”

He startled, having not realised Miss French had made her way to the window as well, close enough to be uncomfortably thrilling. He saw her biting her lip, obviously realising that calling anyone for a ride was out of the question but unwilling to impose herself on him any further.

“Certainly no weather to be driving in. I must insist you stay until the lights come back on or the rain lets up enough.”

The sheer dread at the idea of having to maintain his human appearance mixed with the heady excitement of having Belle French in his home for an extended period of time. It made him both nauseated and exhilarated, a rather unsettling combination.

The sheer relief in her face settled his mood somewhat. While he ushered her into the downstairs bathroom and went to look for clothes that could fit her- there was no question of her staying in her wet things- he gave himself a pep talk, attempting to bolster his confidence. He was an old creature, he had certainly endured high-stress situations where he had managed to hold on to his control for longer. He could certainly make it through an evening with Belle French without giving himself away.

By the time he had dinner ready he was fully convinced of the success of the evening. He focused on filling two bowls, trying not to linger on the fact that he had chosen to use his Royal Warwick dinnerware set, the stew looking a bit plain surrounded by the fanciful rose designs of traditional Scottish landscapes. 

“Oh, that smells heavenly.”

He turned around, sheer instinct keeping him from dropping the plates in his hands at the sight of Belle fucking French wearing one of his shirts- why had he picked his favourite deep blue one?- and a pair of tights, his already oversized cashmere cardigan practically drowning her, making her look small and frail. He should have known, should have tried to contemplate the reaction he might have to someone he craved dressed in things he owned, things full of his scent. 

“Oh, let me help with that.”

She took the plates out of his hands, being nice enough not to comment on the absolutely idiotic look on his face. He gestured for her to skip his rather ornate dining room table, ushering her instead to the living room. There was a couch and a divan facing a coffee table, as well as a large carved armoire that hid a flat screen TV. To the side there was a fireplace, which he had been quick to light while Belle had been in the bathroom, unwilling to have to pretend to make fire the human way. 

“It costs too much to heat the house, so it’s best to resort to more traditional methods and save the generator for the rest. There isn’t a fireplace in the dining room, so I thought we’d be more comfortable here.”

He settled on one side of the couch, leaving the one closest to the fire for her. She still looked somewhat chilled, even though her lips had lost their blue tint and her cheeks were looking decidedly rosier. He gathered a throw from the nearby divan and wordlessly left it near her, trying not to preen in scaly satisfaction when he saw her unfurl the fabric over her feet, generously leaving half of it for his use. He wouldn’t presume to take her up on her offer, but it was a kind gesture nonetheless. Wordlessly he went to pick a nice bottle of Malbec and a couple of glasses, feeling that as risky as the alcohol was for his self-control it would help his nerves and help him warm up till the fire could properly heat the room. Belle accepted her glass with a charming smile, making a pleased hum with the first sip that had him slapping a hand against the raised scales on the side of his neck. 

They ate in companionable silence, broken by small comments from Belle about the stew- Guinness and beef, a personal favourite of his, with a smokey touch of bacon for added flavour- and questions about the many antiques he had sprinkled around. There was little rhyme or reason to his collection, aside from the price tag assigned to each piece, but just because something was considered expensive did not mean it caught his fancy enough to wish to keep it. 

“It’s like me and shoes. I adore them, but not every gorgeous pair of Louboutins I see catch my fancy.”

He had noticed her extensive shoe collection. At first because they were obviously expensive and he could smell it but later because they became a central quirk of Belle he wanted to learn more of. It had always bothered him, on the back of his mind, like an itch, the thought of how she paid for them. Her clothing was fine but either second-handed or from outlet stores, and everything else about her spoke of frugality. Her shoes, on the other hand, were decadent, and not just because of how they made her legs look. Her stockings too, always silk and never nylon. Very expensive, all around. Too expensive for a librarian.

“You’re right.” He flushed, realising he had said the last part out loud. “My other passion is books. I have… so many books. They quietly take over every living space I’ve ever had. I was raised by my dad, who was a florist, so there was never a lot of money for books. I became used to buying books in thrift stores and second-hand bookstores. And I discovered from a young age that I have a nose for rare books. Books that may not look valuable but are. So I’ve been able to turn my hobby into a profitable source of income. I keep a few rare editions that I like, but I am fonder of turning one book into ten than hoarding just the one book. So I sell them and buy books, shoes and occasionally some nice lingerie.”

He choked on what had been a nice sip of Catena Zapata, the alcohol burning his nostrils in an altogether different sensation to the usual one. He blessed the low light for hiding the way his fingers turned distinctively claw-like, unable to hold the illusion of soft pink fingers. He covered his shaky right hand with his left, which looked a wee bit better.

Thankfully Miss French was not looking at him, having apparently also realised what she had said. Both her hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked at her own glass of wine- the third one, if he was remembering correctly- in a faintly-accusatory manner.

“In my defence that’s the yummiest wine I’ve ever tasted.”

He shouldn’t have found the word “yummy” erotic, but there was something about Belle French’s accent wrapping around the word and the images it conjured that… distracted him.

“Yeah, well… Argies don’t fuck around with Malbec.”

He thought for a second he might have come off as pretentious, but Belle laughed, the tension from her shopping confession fading away as she turned her attention back to the stew.

“These are beautiful plates, by the way. Lovely pattern, and they have a weight to them that’s very pleasant.”

He cradled his own empty bowl protectively.

“Yes, well, they aren’t exactly the finest china. My aunties had part of the set, my Auntie Isla bought it for my Auntie Wyn for their tenth anniversary. After they died I spent many years completing the set, something they had always talked about doing.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belle smile.

“My mom loved Victoria Holt books. It was one of the few things my father ever told me about her. Gave me her small collection and I set out to find the ones that were missing. I’m still missing a few she wrote under different aliases, but I got a few leads I’m hoping pan out. I get the impulse.”

The comment gave him pause, a spark of something flickering on the edges of his brain. But he pushed it aside, busying himself with picking up the plates and taking them to the kitchen, if only to give his overworked control a bit of a break. He was practically itching all over, skin buzzing in a way that was partly due to exhaustion and partly excitement. The creature in him was dying to claw its way out, desirous to wrap itself snug around Belle French and keep her there. The dragon had always taken an interest in her, before the man, even. Had scented her even before he’d ever laid eyes on her. But he hadn’t much noticed the fixation till he himself had begun to notice Miss French. The creature had rumbled in approval, practically gleeful, and since then he’d had to fight his own growing attraction to the librarian and whatever other baser instincts his nature brought about. Now, in the safety of its lair, with the object of its fixation surrounded by the carefully chosen objects of its hoard, the creature roared to be let out, and he was afraid to even consider what for. Nothing wholesome, certainly.

Debating on whether more wine would damper his instincts or his remaining common sense he picked up another bottle of Malbec- Achával Ferrer this time- and a box of chocolate truffles he had been saving for rent day specifically. No reason why he couldn’t share a few, it was the hospitable thing to do.

He tried not to preen when he heard Belle’s pleased hum at the sight of the chocolate and the wine, turning his head just so to hide the darkening of his scales around his ears, a blush-like response. 

“I checked outside and things seem to be much the same, so I texted Emma, who’s been in touch with the electric company as the town sheriff. Power’s supposed to be sorted out in a couple of hours, though she didn’t sound like she fully believed it.”

Well, fuck. Two fucking hours? He wouldn’t make it. He already felt like he was about to spontaneously combust, his grasp of his human self paper thin at best. On the other hand sending Miss French out into the darkness of the night, while it rained, was out of the question. And the evening, so far, was so… pleasant. Intimate and soft and everything he had been denying himself but had secretly desired for the longest time. There was a kinship building. Miss French made him feel nervous, yes, and tightly-wound, but also, at the same time, at ease. Safe.

“Would you be interested in watching a documentary about kimono making?”

He could not imagine posing such a question to anyone else with an honest expectation of interest. Even Bae, whom he loved and who loved him in return, would at best politely decline.

“Sounds amazing. Count me in.”

The documentary was riveting for its careful and thorough exploration of Japanese craftsmanship, with an emphasis on the dying and printing of the kimonos as well as the differences in kimono styles depending on age, marital status and time of the year. Not that Gold was paying attention to any of it, as much as it all seemed right up his alley. Somehow, during the first ten minutes of the documentary- the only ones he would later be able to recall- they had drifted closer in the couch, with Belle eventually resting her head against his shoulder, cuddling close for warmth and comfort.

The warmth he could agree with, the comfort was more of a relative thing. As good as the weight and feel of Belle was against his side- human contact was a luxury for him- it made the itch all the more unbearable, and halfway through a fascinating scene about the process of stamping patterns into kimono fabrics he felt the scales around his neck and hands unfurl completely, resisting any and all attempt to retract. He had to console himself with the fact that the only light in the room was coming from the now dwindling fire, and that the high collar of his banyan and the cashmere throw around their laps was covering most of him. Surely as long as he did not call attention to the changes they would not be all that visible.

He almost had a heart attack when he felt the tip of Belle’s nose brush against the side of his neck. She had to feel it, the decidedly non-human texture, the slight roughness of the scales, but she made no comment, which left him free to pause his relentless anxiety about her discovering his nature and give free reign to his relentless anxiety at her close proximity. She smelled… divinely, and the feel of her made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach in a way that felt too good. It was nerve-wracking in a toe-curling sort of well he seldom experienced and he was shocked at how good it felt, considering how much he liked always being in control of any given situation. Growing up the way he had had forced him to toughen up, learn to be the predator instead of the prey. He had spent years growing into his nature, so to speak, learning to both control and embrace the creature that he was to the point that there was little that could perturb him. Not Mayor Mills, with all her power over the town, not some of the bigger, stronger people who rented from him and thought at first that they could push around their smaller, older landlord and not the ruthless business sharks he made deals with day in and day out. And yet one small, unassuming woman could bring him to his knees. It was irrational. It was worrisome. It was-

Arousing.

Next to him Belle moved, standing up and stretching languidly. He looked at the television, noticing the screen was back to the USB menu.

“That was a lovely documentary, made me feel like I was right there in Japan, soaking in the culture and the air. It’s why I love documentaries, they allow me to travel on a budget, so to speak.”

She moved around the room slowly, tentatively reaching out to touch a figurine or explore a paperweight. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to your shop, for the same reason. You seem to have so many fascinating things. But your hours are the same as the library’s, so I haven’t had any luck.”

He told himself he was imagining the flirty tone in her voice, surely her accent was just so pretty everything sounded that way.

“I didn’t know you brought your work home so much, Mr Gold.” Rowan, he thought, call me Rowan. “Where’s this figurine from?”

She lightly touched the top of a Lladro figurine depicting a ballerina stretching before practice. Haltingly, he told her the story behind it, how he had found it at a yard sale for five bucks, sold by the greedy sons of a once-wealthy widow that had died a couple of days before. The whelps hadn’t waited till the funeral to try and get their money’s worth out of their inheritance. The figurine was worth just shy of five hundred dollars, in today’s market.

“What a thrill it must have been, to snatch up such a price.”

Yes, the creature inside him whispered, seemingly thinking less about the little ballerina and more about the flesh-and-blood woman in front of them. He closed his eyes, but it only made the scent of her more prominent in his mind. This was utter madness.

“What about this one?”

They spent what felt like hours in such a way, Belle pointing at several objects that caught her fancy and God struggling to somehow relate their story while attempting to ignore how she practically fondled his hoard. The creature did not take its eyes off her, utterly entranced. The fierce dragon captured by the fair maiden, a modern twist to the story. Every now and then she’d find something she particularly enjoyed and she would hum or make low approving noises, which was slowly but surely making him go mad.

He stood up on shaky legs, going over to the fireplace supposedly to add a log and stoke the fire. In reality he was trying to stop staring at her, in the vague hope that it would bring him some semblance of control.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr Gold. So big, and so full of things.” She sounded closer than he expected. “But so empty of people. It feels a bit… lonely.”

He could see her in his peripheral vision, but kept his head low and eyes on the fire, which allowed his hair to hide his face. Otherwise she would surely notice the deep gold-green scales around his eyes, and the unnatural glow of his irises. 

“Yes, well… I’m a difficult man to love.”

He hoped she would attribute the strange hoarseness of his voice to his thickened accent. He thought about Milah, and Cora, and the other handful of women he’d ever been with, thought about how careful he had had to be to avoid hurting them, how unsatisfied they had been by what they considered his complete lack of passion. That, more than protecting his secret, had made him swear off human contact and affection. It never paid off in the end, and he wasn’t willing to put himself out there for little to no reward.

“Doesn’t feel that way to me.”

He turned his head slightly to find her looking at him from beneath her lashes. The scent of her seemed stronger and sweeter and that, along with the soothing warmth of the fire, was making it hard to think. The creature inside him was urging him to take. Just one kiss, one fleeting brush of the lips, one small taste. And, surely, he had followed that impulse before. If it gave it something to treasure, however little, it might quiet down. There was no harm in just a kiss.

He moved quickly, swallowing the sound of surprise Belle made as his lips slanted across hers with more pressure than he intended. Relief and arousal raced down his spine, urging him to pull her closer, to bury himself completely in her. Idly, as he cupped the back of her head and tilted her head just so, he wondered how he had been able to resist for so long, and why. It seemed both impossible and pointless now, with Belle’s fingers sinking into his hair, pulling at the strands in a way that he did not know until then he found arousing.

Belle was surprisingly strong, and delightfully feisty. She seemed determined to get boss him around with tugs on his hair and his arms, her hands shoving at his shoulders until he was sitting down on the couch- how had they moved there?- and he had a lapful of librarian. The creature was playfully competitive, encouraging him to roughhouse, to nip and bite and wrestle for control. It was nothing like any of his previous sexual encounters, there was some sort of animalistic, playfully violent aspect to it that was foreign to him but felt familiar somehow, instinctual. He tried, between toe-curling brushes of Belle’s tongue against his, to remember how soft and fragile she was. Human and therefore delicate. He needed to be careful, needed to get a hold of himself and go slow, and soft and-

‘Fuck, did she just bite me?’

He growled in warning when she tried to rip his banyan open, wrestling to trap her arms against her sides and tumbling out of the couch and into the shaggy rug in front of the fire. Beneath him Belle chuckled, a low, deep sound that went straight to his cock. Fuck, but she was perfect, writhing beneath him, fighting to regain the upper hand even as she attacked his neck with her mouth, niping at whatever exposed bit of skin she could get to. Needing to touch her in return he blindly reached inside the shirt and cardigan he wore, tracing the ridges of his spine, feeling her skin hot and slick beneath his fingertips. It was then that she found a particularly-sensitive point between his neck and shoulder, sinking her teeth into it with such force that he practically roared, raking his nails down her back. She gasped, arching up against him before a shred of common sense filtered back into his addled brain, freezing him in place. 

Fuck. He had hurt her. He had been so fucking careless he had forgotten his sharp claws and how easily they could cut through human skin. He didn’t fight her when she flipped them over, pinning him down like the fucking beast he was. They were close enough to the fire that he now realised she had to be able to see it all, the eyes, the scales, the sharpened teeth. The utter inhumanity of it, out in all its ugly glory. He fumbled for an apology, hating himself for still feeling extremely aroused after hurting her. She was probably scared to death, he needed to fucking think and try and say something to reassure her, to make her see he wasn’t going to hurt-

“Hey.”

Belle’s voice sounded low, no hint of trepidation in it. One of her hands combed the hair away from his face, turning his head so he would look up at her. It was then that he noticed her eyes… they were glowing. Bright blue, an almost electric colour, with the barest touch of silver. He looked beyond, into the pale skin of her face and arms, bared by his frenzied undressing. The skin had a strange shine to it, and when he focused he could see the small, sleek scales, so pale they were easily overlooked, except that their opalescent nature made them reflect the light from the fire in a myriad of different shades, like an opal. Everything felt, at once, familiar and wholly strange, so similar and yet so different from his own appearance.

‘Like us. Told you.’ The creature purred from inside him, smug and pleased. ‘Smells right. Like mate.’

He inhaled, noticing her burnt caramel smell was more pronounced and sweeter, not to mention coming mostly from within her soft thighs. Fuck, how had he not seen it before? He had never met another like him, not up close and personal. He had heard rumours of others, had read stories, but his had been a solitary life. For all he knew he was the only one like him in Maine, or even the United States. Fuck, the whole world. And it turned out he wasn’t even the only one like him in Storybrooke. And the creature had known by scent and instinct alone. 

A new sort of desperation grew in him. He wanted to see, he needed to see. Fully unsheathing his claws, now that he wasn’t afraid to be discovered or to hurt her, he shredded what was left of his shirt on her, uncovering more of her glorious torso to his greedy eyes. His eyes took in her delicate scaled waist and the opalescent reflections the light made on her breasts, where the scales seemed to be softer, almost feathery. He watched in enraptured fascination as a pale lavender blush spread down her torso and across the high points of her cheeks. 

Fuck, she was perfect. Delicate and beautiful and a match for him in every way. There was no need to pretend, or hide, or go slow and soft. The creature inside him agreed in a gleeful hiss. He buried his head on the crook of her shoulder, his tongue darting out to taste her scales, marvelling at the feel of them. Not rough at all, but rather pleasantly slippery and hot. He rubbed his head against her neck and shoulder, purring at the feel of it.

“Gold, please.”

She fidgeted above him, aroused and bothered by his seemingly-stupified state.

“Rowan.” He growled his name against her skin, voice thick and barely understandable, pitched too low to be human. “Call me Rowan.”

When she whispered his name in a keen, needy wail it was as if something snapped inside him. He pounced, tackling her to the grown and taking advantage of her surprised gasp to kiss her open mouth, letting his tongue trace the sharp points of her teeth and feel her raspy tongue. His claws made short work of her lovely leggings, and he would have felt a small stab of guilt at destroying them if Belle hadn’t proceeded to practically shred his own pants. He lost the rest of his clothing in the tousle that followed. It wasn’t the way he had ever understood sex to be like but it felt right, instinctual, to wrestle on the hardwood floor, nipping and scratching and biting as they took turns pinning each other down.

Slowly, naturally, a rhythm built between them, everything getting slower and more intense. Claws dragged deeper against skin, teeth dug harder against flesh and the air grew hot between them, smelling pleasantly of burnt caramel and woodsmoke. He mouthed at every bit of skin he could reach, taking special care to map as much of her breasts as she would allow, taking care to notice when she made needy little whimpers or when her scent spiked, indicating her pleasure.

“Enough.” Belle sunk her nails deep into the scales of his shoulder, hurting in the best possible way. “Fuck me, Rowan.”

He didn’t know if it was the words or the commanding tone that made him lose his mind but in the blink of an eye he was pinning her to the ground, hands holding her wrists above her head. He took a quick moment to try to commit the moment to memory before instinct completely took over and he thrust deep into her. She arched, tight as a bowstring, cunt tightening around his cock in a vice grip that had him almost spilling himself then and there. No human woman had ever felt this hot and good, and had he known it could feel like that he would have never been able to orgasm with a human partner. 

When he finally had himself under some semblance of control he began to thrust, with little finesse but all the pent-up passion he had. It was brutal but she took it all, reciprocating his movements and begging him to go faster, harder. Pleasure built up to an almost painful degree, his muscles coiling, tension building until it was difficult to say what hurt and what didn’t. Instinctively he bent over, scraping his teeth against the underside of one of her breasts. Belle thrashed beneath him, letting out a hoarse cry as she tightened around him once more, inner muscles fluttering against his cock as she came. She followed her seconds later, the relief leaving him almost giddy with delight.

He found himself desperately in need of pressing himself against her, the orgasm leaving him uncharacteristically cuddly. Belle felt clearly the same, twining her limbs around him. He marvelled at the colour contrast, deep gold against pale opalescent pink, and at the similar way in which their scales were raised, overly-sensitive after their coupling. He pressed his ear against the side of her torso, feeling rather than hearing her purr.

“Hmm, that was even better than I imagined. Didn’t know it could be so good with someone like me.”

It felt ridiculously good to know that he was her first as she was his, in a sense. He wondered if she had always known what he was, if she had been able to recognise him as kin from the beginning, and how. Wondered about where she came from, and how her upbringing had been compared to his. He wanted to see her hoard, her books and her shoes and see if he could detect what it was that appealed to her. 

There would be time for all of that later, he decided, propping himself up just enough to reach the cashmere throw forgotten on the sofa, spreading it over them as their bodies cooled.

There would be time for everything.

[worldoffanficskpopcpop]

Bang Chan AU Fanfic Recommendation Masterlist

Hello! Welcome to my fanfic recommendations! If you would like to see other groups or other content in regards to this artist or their group, please click the links below! All of the masterlists/posts I’ve made will always be updated when I find new content or scenarios! Feel free to recommend me some blogs to check out! Also, you like my fanfic recommendations, please like and/or reblog so that more people can see it! I will release more groups as time goes on!

Go Back to Stray Kids’ Main Masterlist

Go Back to All Group Masterlist

Arranged Marriage AU 

promise this:  Can I learn to love you?

Boxer!Chan

Boxer: Chan needs to know his limits 

CEO AU 

late office nights: An extremely important project was assigned to you, a new employee in a prospering company. Will all the late nights in the office be spent in vain, or will something good emerge?

Slowly, Suddenly, and Then All at Once:  “You lot are way too nosy aren’t you? Well, if you must know, I’ll tell you the story of how we stopped hating each other and became your unofficial parents. But I’m warning you, no interruptions, otherwise the story ends.” 

Detective AU

Detective Dumbass: Detective Bang refused to accept any help from the rest of the squad, insisting that he worked better alone - but what happens when he realizes that he does need his team with him?

Idol!Reader 

An Aussie Jealousy: Chan feels jealous that you are collaborating with 5SOS

Jealousy:  Momo had never been too fond of me and when she found out that Chan and I started dating, it only made it worse. Now, I had to put up with her for almost a month so we could learn the dance to their new song for a stage

 You and Me: As a trainee at JYP Entertainment, you are exposed to new things. Such as new music, new styles of dance, and new boys

Mafia AU 

Imagine: Chan’s right-hand man needs to learn his place in the gang

Trust: Chan’s patience had ran low with you 

Neighbor AU 

Love Drunk: Peering through the peephole, you spotted the bent-over figure of what looked like your neighbor, fretfully trying to shove his key into your lock. As neighbors go, you and Chan were, for lack of a better word, friendly. So by all means, this wasn’t the first time Chan came over, but this was the first he came over drunk, dazed and confused.

Royal AU 

royal blood : it’s kind of hard to be mean to your soon-to-be husband when he’s one of the kindest people you’ve ever met.

Wounded Hearts: When Chan caught you sneaking back into battle after he had specifically told you not to, he was less than pleased. Why couldn’t you just understand that he wanted nothing more than for you to be safe?

School AU 

Bubblegum: Chan is a underground rapper and you’re a too cute chemistry major

Coincidence?:  just as you were thinking of leaving because your date did not arrive, another guy sits down instead.

College Muse: College Music Producer!Chan and College Writer!Reader both dwell on each other for some help on a project similar in nature 

Competition: Chan’s swim team made it to the finals and you stayed to support him, you didn’t realise your presence would cause such a fuss. 

Hidden Comforts: Your hidden relationship with Jock!Chan makes its reveal 

Idyllic: (adj.) extremely happy, peaceful, or picturesque 

insomniac:  in which you meet a music student that is definitely in need of some sleep

Let me love you: he has a reputation in the school and you as a good girl, he hides your relationship because of his reputation and you get sick of secret dates and decided to confront him it turned into an argument, then the two made up.

Muse: You were the Fine Arts major, and he was the Music Composition major. Normally, you’d have nothing to do with the cutie, but as it turns out, you were each other’s muses

nothing like us: You’ve been through countless numbers of miserable relationships. Little did you know, the right one was closer than you think. 

not that bad: chan is getting bullied. you’re like “stop that ''. chan is like “hey…. you’re not a mean person despite having a reputation for being cold-hearted 

Pretty When you Cry: Perhaps all those special times with him didn’t mean shit. Love and let go

Race: It’s the same every time, you always win the races, but Chan doesn’t give up, until you make it up to him

Rescued: You had an accident while swimming 

rubicund :  music production major chris really needs a place to live - and you just happen to have a few empty rooms and need a new roommate.

Shunned: you never seemed to fit in at school; you couldn’t understand why. “Because you’re… different” some people said. But how is that a bad thing? You were always alone, at least until he came along. 

Stuck: student-teacher au, you get stuck in the library with college prof!Chan

Why Not?: You and bang chan weren’t that close, but you were still friends. Through a series of events, you and him ended up being the only ones in his house without any way of you getting out. It was late so bang chan being bang chan insists it’s fine for you to stay which is all well and good except that you get pretty bad nightmares and can’t sleep unless cuddling something or someone and you had unfortunately left your human-sized stuffed bear at your place. 

Single Father AU 

I love you: As a single father, Chan experienced every single difficulty one could imagine. He was frequently frowned upon by others and only could rely on those who were close to him: his eight best friends. As time went by, he learned to ignore those who looked down on him for the sake of his daughter but deep inside, the words, the stares, and the constant questions affected him and he refused to show it. It was only a matter of time when the weight of the burden started to tear him down. It wasn’t until he met you that his whole world found another bright light to cling onto. Even though he feared to say he loves you, you found it easy to love someone like him.

Soulmate AU 

Falling For You (So Sweetly): first touch you have with your soulmate causes magnetic attraction to them for a week or so, enough to ensure that you two get together for sure.

Healing Love: You can feel the pain of your soulmate. Additionally when they receive a bruise or cut, you receive the same marking on your skin. When you meet your soulmate, every injury on you disappears, and you gain the power to heal your soulmate with a simple touch

Human Canvas: You were six years old when you got an inkling of what kind of person your soulmate is; they would draw little doodles on their arms all day, and you would draw back. But as an adult, its as if you two are at war with each other, with them covering your right arm with tattoos and you occasionally painting on your left arm for the fun of it.

My Glow: To have a soulmate was one of the finer things in life. 

Serendipity: For the entirety of your life, you have had the small, neatly and prettily scripted name inked into your flesh on your left wrist

Summer Love: Chan was your summer love once upon a time, and now you two are reunited by the strings of fate once more

The One: Where everyone has a timer on their wrist that counts down until you meet your soulmate

Street Racer AU 

Fast Lane: Chan had pulled you into his world filled with fast cars

Vampire AU

174 years: Chan was frustrated he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. A kid whose brother broken into his house decided to sit him down and describe his face to him one by one

mistaken: vampire! chan mistakes human! y/n for a vampire

Youtuber AU

Youtube covers: You used to post singing covers on youtube until you got bullied. Yet the person closest to you admires this ‘anonymous’ person’s voice

[rigelmejo]

December Goals Update

Time to round up the stuff I got done! This one is a big update, despite both accomplishments and this january’s goals being quite straightforward this time. ^-^)/

I already know - I ended up focusing on one very specific goal, and made significant progress JUST in that. And... if I do what I am PLANNING for January... then hopefully I’ll make more progress. But lol, we’ll see. We know how much I suck at sticking to my plans >o>

Things accomplished:

Chinese novel chapters read in December: 20 (Tian Ya Ke - 19, aka read about 24% of the novel this past month! This was the big goal I ended up focusing on - I want to finish reading through my first full novel this year! I did a majority of those chapters in the last 2 weeks, so if I get motivated again, I might really reach this goal. We’ll see. I REALLY do want to break the milestone of getting through one complete novel soon, and it being a priest one would be icing on the cake. Reading method - intensively, using Pleco Reader, looking up all unknown words. I picked up a significant amount of words so far, but it’s still a big challenge lol).

Chapters I studied with Listening-Reading Method: 8 (Most of these were Tian Ya Ke, and dmbj 2. I ended up getting really into reading though, and skipping this step later on as it slowed down my reading time. This January, I would like to do l-r method MORE, because I’ve finally got Guardian all prepped to do that novel with it. I’d love to do l-r method all the way through the novel guardian... I hope I manage it... avenuex did a beautiful audiobook for it, and I’d love to work through it. The only demotivating factor? l-r method takes a big time dedication - 5-10 minutes to read a chapter in english, 20 minutes to listen to the chapter while looking at the english text, 20 minutes to listen to the chapter while looking at the chinese text... so around 50 minutes to do a single chapter. And guardian has 106+ chapters ToT. That said, imagine how improved my listening skills would be after roughly 88* hours of listening to chinese I can mostly comprehend? Considering just a handful hours of l-r method has already bumped my listening skills up noticeably to me. In addition to Guardian, I would very much like to do l-r method with Silent Reading as an excuse to re-read the novel and listen to the audiobook - which is around 66 free chapters available at least. I figure l-r method with priest novels, in combo with reading priest novels like Tian Ya Ke, will help with picking up vocabulary in reading and listening a bit. Plus, I plan to do l-r method in the order: listen to english, then listen to chinese, which tends to help me pick up more reading comprehension better than the reverse order.)

Chinese audio listened to: 14 (a surprisingly large number? I don’t remember doing this much lol? I think some of this is me listening to dmbj audios, and some was other chinese things, and a tiny bit was restarting the spoonful chinese audio. Again, I think listening more has been helping out a lot)

shows watched in only chinese: roughly 2 (I watched a bit of a few eps of border town prodigal, some tlt3 raws, some short vids, half of anti fraud league ep 1, half of some spy show, basically i was not in a focused mood lol)

Personal goals met:

finally got my stomach to stop hurting! i guess it wanted less carbs. also debloated 10 lbs so i guess its happier lol. still not sure what else it wants from me.

started writing a personal story, period piece with pirates and bisexual messes and i’m quite excited tbh. So now this story, and Nanase, are active original wips

handled doctor stuff wooh! 

read more of my cpstd book and made more comprehensive plans on what to do when i get emotional flashbacks - and i think the prep work has been really helpful so far, i’m hopeful my lowered stress now is a part of that lol

formatted 2 books! WOOH! in process of formatting 2 more, and learning how the fuck to do a parallel text - anyone know how??? I’m having a nightmare, I’d love to do left page english right page chinese, but all I’m finding are how to use columns to do dual texts beside each other on the same page. Which is much more cramped to read... but I suppose I can live with it if it’s the only option I have.

Goals for January will be pretty straightforward to be honest. I am in a very reading-focused mood. (I mean we’ll see how long that lasts, ToT since my attention jumps randomly, but I’ve got everything Prepped to lean heavy into reading for my studying for the foreseeable future). I plan to focus on reading as my main study method, to cover listening and reading and picking up vocabulary/hanzi. Optionally, I might listen to chinese audio in the background to further help with listening/vocabulary (like Chinese Spoonfed Audio, or audiobooks), or I might watch a show in chinese (whether I do this completely depends on if I feel like it). 

Later on in the year, if reading is getting easier - then long term, I think I’ll want to go back to Alan Hoenig’s Chinese Characters book and read through it for a solid foundation to fill in gaps, read my chinese grammar books for same reason, use my pronunciation app... and then dive into both language exchange apps and tutors more firmly for actual writing and speaking and interacting with others. Basically, long term, I’d like to work on filling in my gaps and correcting any mistakes I haven’t figured out, then work on production more which will be significantly weaker skills by then. But in the immediate, I want to just focus on what I enjoy - reading - and use it to pick up as many words as possible. 

Goals for January:

Continue reading Tian Ya Ke. Work on reading through my first complete novel in chinese. Continue counting chapters read, as I might look at a few novels - but sincerely, I WANT to focus on one book so Tian Ya Ke is the GOAL. I will be quite happy if I can get the book to 50% read by the end of this month, but we’ll see... and quite honestly I’ll be floored if I get to 100% within the month - but if it gets easier as I pick up more words, anything’s possible. Ideally, I would like to l-r method a few chapters. I do think it speeds up my reading speed because it makes me keep up with the narration, and it also helps me cement new words into my memory better. I remember words better when I hear them. However like - chapters tend to take me 40 minutes to read, and l-r method takes usually 15-20 minutes because of how dense priest’s chapters are. So... l-r method chapters take 1 hour a piece... if I get into a reading mood, I’ll ultimately probably just primarily focus on the reading.

Secondary goal, not as important, I will start this if desired but it might wait until February+. Listen-Read Method Guardian, until I’ve gotten through the entire novel. I finally have all the translations gathered up, I’ve got my chinese copy of the novel, and avenuex’s audiobook. I have everything ready to simply start. However, as mentioned, this is a time heavy activity. I do think it will be very helpful for improving my listening skills, and to a degree also - helping retain my reading skills, push my reading speed up a little, and maybe help me pick up some new words. I think it will be a very compatible activity with goal 1, or a nice follow up activity to goal 1. Also it is the DREAM, as that novel is what pushed me to start learning chinese initially... so I am very excited to read through it. Ideally, I start this activity AFTER Tian Ya Ke, and I do a full readthrough of the chapters like: read in english, audio with english, audio with chinese, read intensively in chinese. Basically, I would love to include a full intensive read through of Zhen Hun at the same time I’m l-r method’ing it. However that will be Even more time sapping, so that’s not necessarily gonna happen unless my reading speed for priest novels is a little better after Tian Ya Ke. I need to get through the chapters read in chinese in closer to 20 minutes instead of the current 40 minutes it takes me. 

Optional. Listen to chinese when I can - in the background like Chinese Spoonfed, audio books, audio dramas, and by watching shows in only chinese. If I have time, and I feel like doing these, I will. It’s easy to add doing this to my day, so when I remember to do them, they’re helpful. 

Main Goal for January - continue reading Tian Ya Ke. <3

Once that’s completed, next main goal - Listen-Read Method with Guardian. 

See? Really extremely straightforward goal for January. Simply keep reading! I think the more I read, the easier it will get, the faster it will get, and the quicker I’ll be able to get through a LOT of the novels I want to check out. So... I have to start doing it, if I intend to get better.

Unrelated notes:

I’ve gotten really into Drakengard 3 lately. Which by extension, means really into Nier Automata again, Nier (Nier Replicant remaster is releasing and I am getting the version with the scriptbooks and am intensely excited), and Drakengard. Yoko Taro’s wild concepts and fascinating characterizations and way of telling stories has sucked me in again. And I am reminded how very much eventually learning to read Japanese IS still a long term goal of mine. I’m back to playing like 3 games right now I could so easily be practicing my japanese with... if I remembered any japanese ToT. It’s like at the edges of my brain... I remember the hiragana and katakana after a minute or two... the kanji I’ve completely forgotten, but since I know a lot of the meanings from chinese now, I can often parse out the meaning of sentences in manga I’ve got... I can’t remember the particles off the top of my head or when I listen, but when I read their meaning clicks again fast... I know that when I go back, its just a matter of a crash course and then diving in again. And wow am I eager. But I know myself, and japanese is gonna take a WHILE. And chinese is currently taking a LOT of dedication, I don’t even really have time to work on my french reading lol. So I would really prefer to get at least another year in chinese before even trying to start studying japanese again. (And realistically 2-3 more years of chinese, because I genuinely think a solid basis in speaking skills/basic listening skills, and generally Competent webnovel reading skills I want before I stop actively studying chinese... because by that time I’ll want to keep reading/listening to chinese for pleasure, chatting when needed, and if I stop studying before that point I know I personally will just end up needing to relearn some big chunks. I also think if I try to go back to japanese before that point, I will have major issues confusing the two when reading. My japanese was upper-beginner when I quit, and when I started chinese I sped past that point in chinese to the point pretty quickly chinese blocked out what japanese i knew and it made japanese reading easier but only to a point. My chinese I’d put at ‘beginner’ still?? But compared to my japanese its significantly farther - in chinese I can currently read manhua without a dictionary and get enough to translate most of it myself, and read simpler novels and get most of it, and read more complex novels and get the gist main idea even if its a slog. 

With japanese? Ahahahahahah! I was able to read the very simplest of manga and only get the very bare main idea gist, could NOT even comprehend any novel, and could play a video game on MEMORY of what i knew the context was, only picking out quite basic words. However, even though my chinese has gotten a fair bit further... I want it even further before I stop actively studying it so much. I want it to the point its where my french reading level was at about 2.5 years into french (or honestly, a bit Better than my french was tbh). I want my chinese to be to the point, where I recognize enough hanzi that I can guess the meaning of some new words, that I can look up most new words with with pinyin because i at Least know the pinyin for most hanzi i see, and where in most not-too-difficult webnovels i read, I know enough of the words, that i can comfortably follow the gist of the main plot without too much strain even if i miss details. so at that point, I’ll still likely want to build up my vocabulary more - so that i can learn to translate, and so that i can pick up details easier, and read faster. But I’ll at least be at a point where i can easily maintain the skills i have and improve them a bit naturally by just continuing to read. I mean... realistically even, I should try to keep studying chinese a lot at that point... I really, really want to be able to read chinese novels. But that’s probably the minimum at which I’d feel quite comfortable focusing on another language intensively.

With japanese, I already have a study plan too! A study plan I know works for me! It’ll be so simple! Parts 1-4 would be structured study, parts marked + would be options to move onto, and parts marked * would be activities that could be done concurrently. 

The japanese study plan, whatever year I finally can get to it:

Listen to Japanese Audio Lessons (japaneseaudiolessons.com). I did this before, and it helped my listening comprehension/vocabulary pick up so much.

Read Learn to Read in Japanese Vol I, II, III (by the same people). I loved these books back when I started them, the best mnemonics that I’d found for myself to pick up the kanji - easiest way for me to pick them up without brute forcing it.

(concurrently with above) go through Nukemarines LLJ memrise decks. Literally, just CRAM through those. I did that at the 2+ year mark for japanese, and that was REALLY when I was finally able to start reading and trying video games, so it clearly was what worked for me.

Read my book Read Japanese. Haven’t tried this yet, but it looks like a good place to progress, This would be done after step 1+2, either concurrently with Nukemarine or after Nukemarine depending on how much is done. Just cram Through this book since it’s got a lot of basics in the beginning. Its in the same structure as my DeFrancis Chinese Readers and very well suited to my learning style.

Read my Tuttle Read Japanese book. More difficult, goes into like 2000 kanji, a ton of vocab, and most people who read this said afterward reading regular japanese material was quite doable.

+If my Nukemarine deck is completed - move onto one of my japanese decks with more words, or Clozemaster Japanese sentences.

+If my japanese audio lessons are completed - move onto one of my other japanese audio collections like the japanese pimsleur that was condensed, or that website with a ton of condensed audio of episodes (https://www.paliss.com/). Or youtube channels like Game Gengo (https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLT12i1gB38HG1olutL08nID8gaGWHZS4v). 

+at the point Nukemarine’s deck is done, Listening-Reading method with japanese novels is an option. 

+at the point I’m done with all Read Japanese books, may read through some other japanese textbooks I have, starting with: Japanese Particles and Common Sentence Structures, Kodansha Kanji Learner’s Guide. 

*Find a japanese reader equivalent to Pleco (check subreddit r/learnjapanese, r/refold, r/massimmersionapproach). Start reading whatever japanese novels I want. Which knowing me, will probably be light novels, maybe some visual novels, and video game related materials. *Ideally this step would be done last, but knowing me, it’ll be done whenever i feel like starting - could be attempted as early as midway through the Nukemarine decks.

*Listen to japanese - so many options here, realistically it would be me playing video games in japanese, watching jdramas, watching/listening to spinoff material of stories I like like the YorHa stage plays etc. Can be attempted as early as midway through Nukemarine decks.

*reading manga could be anywhere in this list, although I don’t do it much anymore. But I was just getting to being able to try this last time I was studying japanese, so I could start up again whenever. Only negative, I would say, is I think my improvement suffered back then because I was too scared to try reading actual novels. So novels are prioritized as reading material. It would be nice to help translate some mangas though - so there’s an option.

*maybe try translating some japanese things i have interest in, at a late point.

I think maybe, the biggest thing studying chinese has taught me about how i learn languages, is that I improve faster when challenged. I learn better when challenged. I tried to read Chinese novels from the first few months (not well, but i tried lol), I watched chinese dramas from day one, and I tried to watch chinese shows only in chinese from month 5 onward. From month 5 onward I started trying to talk/write with people (knowing maybe 400 words at first, quickly bumping up to 1000 words in a month cause of just needing it, so it definitely helped me). And when I started listening to audio more, my listening skill noticeably improved within a few months. As a result, my chinese in a little over a year is taking much less time to improve then I projected it was going to (I figured the progress I’ve made so far, was going to take 3-4 years). Whereas with japanese, I didn’t try to start reading or playing video games or listening a lot until 2 years into studying... and I also didn’t make any noticeable improvement until then. So going into any language study moving forward, I’ll do more to challenge myself earlier. Since clearly its helpful to me.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 1. (Steve Rogers x reader)

Description: You've never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone's eye, to be loved. One day, that's about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you.

A/N: It's three a.m. here ok? As always, I can't sleep for shit. And I'm really productive. This idea popped up randomly during listening to one Czech rap song. Oh, shoot, I know. Just enjoy okay?

Warnings: None for now. ;) Some arguing Bucky and Sam and gentleman Steve.

Word count: 2 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme 

Series masterlist: H E R E

You couldn’t believe it.

You talked to a guy who was nice, handsome and really well mannered. You were on cloud nine when he wrote his number down and gave it to you with a little bitting his bottom lip.

Little did you know that that guy was a total a-hole. The worst kind of them. He and his fellas just made that freaking number up; and he bit his lip because he holding his laugh, not to appear sexy at all.

But it lined up. The number was reserved for New York. So you were convinced that you got one guy to go to date with and have a nice time. And your friends were totally thrilled when you told them. Literally, no-one could believe it; you were gorgeous in your own way, you were nice but… So naive at times. But now? You have nailed it. You got to score.

And maybe you’ll score with the guy eventually?

That’s what you told to yourself in the morning, sitting on the edge of your bed, writing that number down to add it into your contacts. You almost fell off the bed when a strange name appeared in your WhatsApp contacts.

You didn’t recall him being Steve, but that was alright. You just edited his name in your contacts. Maybe you overheard him yesterday at the club? You tried to study his photo - it was a huge dog, Bernardine you assumed, catching a frisbee with his mouth. You awed. Was that Steve’s dog? Damn, that was cute as hell.

You looked at the name and quote he chose to describe himself on WhatsApp. Steven Rogers: Your patience is the most important thing you have. Don’t lose it. It can bring you great things.

You were in slight awe again - he seemed to be wise and smart. Which only went hand in hand with his good looks you remembered.

Y/N: Hey, handsome. How was the night? Doesn’t your head hurt too much?

You typed with excitement in your moves and then you put your phone down. You were sure that Steve will not text back soon. Only if you knew that you have woken up and completely confused a strange guy on the other end of the line.

———

Steve hummed into his pillow as his phone vibrated on the nightstand he had next to his small bed. He liked to keep thing simple - a small flat with two bedrooms, a kitchen combined with a living room and a small bathroom. It looked exactly how would you expected guy’s nest to look - always a bit messy and it barely felt like home. It needed a woman’s hand badly.

He decided to share his flat with Sam in order not to feel so alone in his flat in Brooklyn. As time passed, they bought a bigger sofa for Bucky. There was three of them living together when any mission was occurring. Steve loved his little place.

Steve searched for his phone with his eyes completely shut. He finally managed to get some sleep after some sleepless nights only to be woken up with a WhatsApp message? Was Tony fucking with him again? It was hardly 8 a.m. But dear God - it wasn’t Tony. It was a completely strange number which popped up and starting a new conversation, having box directly above the Avengers text group.

Steve slowly sat up and frowned.

X: Hey, handsome. How was the night? Doesn’t your head hurt too much?

His first instinct was to block that someone and ho back to sleep. But something temped him to text back. So he went for it. Steve Rogers answered a strange text.

Steve: The night has been pretty good. I slept like a baby, maybe a bit better. My head doesn’t ache, should it? Who am I texting with anyway?

He was proud of himself. That was a huge move forward from a guy that barely could use Google. Tony will be out of his mind when Steve is going to tell him about this. He could text back to a strange person. That excited him.

He waited for a bit, silently listening if the person texts back. There was a silence for ten long minutes; then Steve got up and went to the bathroom. It was a delight to be first in there. Sam took a hilarious time in the room and Bucky always left long brown hair behind him. Using a clean bathroom was a special thing in this flat. And Steve was not willing to let that slide.

The shower was quick, he showered every morning and every evening. Sam always made fun of him being a princess obsessed with his looks. That made him always chuckle. The rest was fast - quick shaving to keep his beard completely under control, a quick brushing of his teeth and then he slicked his hair on its place. It was getting too long - so he knew he would have to visit barber any time soon.

After that, he silently sneaked through the living room, trying not to wake Bucky up from his beauty sleep. He had plenty of time to make breakfast for his fellas. That was his concern until the phone vibrated again. Steve opened the text slowly, expecting everything from it.

He expected a message from an obsessed fan, he expected that that text was only a mistake and that that person clarifies that soon after. Steve embraced himself and prepared himself for seeing something Sam called a ‘nude’, which should be an image of someone’s naked body to please the second side of the conversation.

But it was none of that. It was a normal text and Steve even felt some insecurity from it.

X: Sorry, I can be so dumb sometimes. Lol. My name’s Y/N, we met by the bar yesterday? Did you tell me about the stars? Remember?

Okay, then it was Steve’s time to panic. She had probably mistaken his number with his own. What for god’s sake should he do? What should he text back to that lady? Steve calmed down a bit shrugging his shoulders.

Just as Steve wondered what should he answer, one of his best friends (Sam) walked down the kitchen with his primadonna manoeuvres, looking like a piece of shit.

“I heard that you are making some breakfast,” - Sam sat down on one of the chairs, looking Cap himself down with a playful look. Steve just let it be, watching him, trying to form a question in his head. - “I hope that you will leave some for yo boy Sammy.”

“Stop playing around, Sam. I need advice.” - Steve answered in a firm tone, letting the thing for preparing that delicious breakfast be as they are and sitting opposite to Sam.

“I am a bit overwhelmed that someone like you need help from someone like me.” - Sam playfully wiggled his eyebrows. - “Okay, what do you need, Cap?”

“So, I got a text message from someone this morning,” - Steve started to explain and ignored Sams grinning face. He was implementing much more into the situation than what actually happened. - “And I don’t have a single idea what should I answer that person. Are you willing to help me?” - Steve asked shyly.

“Okay, Iceberg. What’s the issue?” - Sam leaned his elbows into the kitchen table and once he had a very serious expression.

“It is a girl. A miss is more on point I guess. She wrote to me that we have… Met. But I don’t recall that. She must’ve met someone different and then misspelt his number.” - Steve recapped most quickly and Sam hummed, quietly offering Steve that he will read her texts. He let him do that.

“Okay Cap. Are we sure it isn’t some crazy-ass woman fangirl? Like one hundred percent sure?” - Sam looked him in the face and gave him his phone back.

“My fan mail of this sort looks way different. I’ve seen things, Sam. She just seems to be clueless.” - Steve sighed.

“Yeah, I’m getting that vibe too, I was just testing you.” - Sam joked and leaned his body closer to Cap, earning a moron look from Steve. - “And you have obviously passed, gee. Spare me those moral looks. Now, what would I do? I would play along. She doesn’t have a clue of who she is writing to, your formal name isn’t that known. I would be the guy she met. Give it some time, you’ll see if she’s hot, and then, maybe some mingle can happen, if ya know what I mean.”

“First of all, champs.” - A humming could be heard coming from the sofa which meant that Bucky is up as well. - “You two are so fuckin’ loud. Second of all. Do you really want to just lie to that lady, Steve?” - Bucky sat up, looking at those two fellas camping at the table; he looked like a Jesus Christ Superstar as Sam used to call him when the morning came.  

“Get those Jesus moral thoughts out of here, Buck. I didn’t say to hurt her, did you even listen to a word I said?” - Sam looked Bucky down with his judging stare and proceeded to frown at him.

“Nobody talked about hurting somebody, birdbrain. But I and Steve were raised with manners back in the good old days. And this isn’t how we would have behaved.” - Bucky leaned into the back of Sam’ chair, looking Steve directly into the eyes. - “You’re the biggest gentleman I know, Rogers. Steve would not lie to a lady.”

“Yeah, Jesus. But he can’t just say Hey! I am Captain America! That girl could just sell his number to some interviewers. Do we want that? No!” - Sam and Bucky had their fight fully on and Steve knew that he can’t stop them at that point. Both were speaking the truth - he was a gentleman, indeed, but he couldn’t say to her who he really is. She must have not connected two dots - not many people knew that Captain’s name was Steve Rogers. Maybe in the sixties, but now?

Yeah, he was taught about in school in history, but usually, the young ones had no interest in it. There was a huge probability that the girl didn’t even know who Steve Rogers was.

“Okay, stop it.” - Steve shouted in panic, looking at those two arguing like a married couple. Bucky and Sam immediately stopped, watching him. - “What should I do?”

“Well, do you want to text with that lady?” - Bucky raised his eyebrows. It was a simple yes or no questions and yet Steve sat there like he couldn’t count to five. Then he nodded lightly.

“I guess so. I don’t know who she is, but she seems to be fun with those nicknames. Let’s give it a shot.” - Steve smiled a bit, relaxed about that situation.

“Listen up, Iceberg. I will tell you what to write.” - Sam leaned closer and started talking.

Steve: I don’t really know what you’re talking about, sadly. Maybe you have met someone different and he didn’t write his number, right? My name’s Steve by the way and it’s really nice to meet you. If you want, I don’t mind to keep this texting on. :)

And he was especially proud about that emoji in the end.

——-

You almost jumped on the phone when it vibrated again. It was from Steve. Did he recall meeting you? As you read the text in your car, you hummed sadly. It wasn’t that man from the bar after all. This was some strange Steve who was well mannered and who was obviously pleased to meet you. That was nice. He wasn’t trying to cut the conversation down, which was lovely as well.

Y/N: Nice to meet you Steve and I’m sorry for waking you up.

And this is how it all has started.

[iamartemisday]

Pepperony Week Day One- 5+1 Things

A/N: So I posted this last night, but I was informed that one of my tags wasn’t spelled correctly. Somehow, in my attempts to fix it, I managed to erase the entire post. That’s what I get for trying to fix it on mobile. >>

So here we go one more time. Hope you enjoy!

**

5 times Tony didn't realize he was in love with Pepper, and 1 time he did.

When Tony made a random low-level administrative assistant his new PA, it was mostly for the novelty.

Here was a woman confident enough to break into his office and tell him to his face that he was wrong. Observant enough to catch a mistake not even he, the guy who built a working robot before his balls dropped, had spotted.

Plus, she was a former model. In magazines and everything. Whoever said models were dumb could go eat their ignorant words with some ketchup on top.

Virginia Potts, newly baptized as Pepper, spent her first day on the job familiarizing herself with her new responsibilities, organizing the photos on her desk, and signing a truly immense amount of paperwork. Seriously, Tony had to talk to Obidiah about switching to digital. What kind of futurist was he killing all those defenseless trees?

Given his track record with PAs, he expected Ms. Potts to last a month, maybe two. Not a crack against her, but he was a handful and he knew it. When she inevitably quit, he'd have a generous severance package and a glowing reference ready for her. Now it was just a matter of how long before his partying, all-night science binges, and frequent overnight guests of the female variety wore her down.

Three months later, she was in his office while he slept off a hangover, notes in hand as she briefed him on the upcoming board meeting.

"Mr. Daniels in HR needs to talk to you about calculating this year's Christmas bonuses. Mrs. Prowitt in accounting just had a baby and you need to send out your personal congratulations-"

"Potts…"

"You still have paperwork to sign for the merger with Rushcorp-"

"Potts, please…"

"And R&D has taken issue with the blueprints you gave them for the new missile prototype. They're saying the flight system isn't feasible with our current technology. You might want to have a word with them."

"Potts! I'm dying!"

He struggled to lift his head and look into her eyes with all the pain in his formerly inebriated soul. As usual, she was unsympathetic.

"This is why I told you not to go out partying on a Tuesday night," she said.

"As if you never partied on a Tuesday."

"No, Mr. Stark, I didn't. I waited for the weekend." She started for the door. "I'll get you some water and ginger ale. You'll be ready to go by noon."

"I could also not go."

"That's true, but you will" Her phone rang and she ignored Tony's moaning to answer it. "Hello? Oh, yes Mr. Daniels, I was just about to call you… yes, he will be ready in time for the meeting. I just confirmed it with him."

She left and Tony whimpered in agony. This must be what abandoned kittens on the side of the road felt like.

"I thought I hired an assistant," he mumbled. "Instead I got a new mom."

He almost immediately cringed at the idea. Potts was not at all like his mother. She wasn't even a really strict big sister.

No, she was something else. Something he couldn't pinpoint.

Boy, did he hate not knowing the answer.

**

"Potts, we should go out sometime."

Surprisingly, he wasn't drunk. In fact, he'd been sober for the last six days while they negotiated a contract with a new satellite company. That was a personal best for him and he deserved some recognition, dammit.

"We are out," she said, and indeed they were in the lounge at the Plaza hotel waiting for their drinks to arrive.

"I mean on a date," Tony said. "You know, with dinner and dancing and no business deals. Just the two of us."

Pepper sighed like this wasn't the first time he'd asked. And, to be fair, it wasn't. "Mr. Stark, you know why we can't date."

"Do I? Remind me real quick."

She rolled her eyes. "First of all, it's against company policy. Even if I didn't work directly under you, we're still in the same department and fraternization among employees never works out well. Second, dating your PA would reflect badly on us with the press. Finally, maintaining a professional environment in the workplace is crucial to overall productivity and good financial health."

Tony whistled. "Lot of big words there. You've done your homework, Potts."

"I have to," she said, but couldn't hide a slight smile. "If I don't, who will?"

"Good point." Tony leaned back with his hands under his hand. "It's funny, though. I didn't hear anything in there about you not wanting to date me."

Pepper opened her mouth, but none of her pre-established responses to his flirting came forth. Instead, she blushed heavily and turned away to tap on her phone.

Tony chuckled to himself. She was kind of cute when she was flustered.

Not that she wasn't always cute, but…

**

Even though Pepper wouldn't date him (and all jokes aside he did begrudgingly see her point), that didn't mean she wouldn't date at all.

Five years had passed since the pepper spray incident. There had been a few guys in that time, or so he assumed. He was too busy keeping track of his own one night stands to pay attention to Pepper's.

One day, out of the blue, she asked to leave work two hours early. The last time she did that was three years ago.

"Hitting the town, Potts?" He meant it as a joke, but also not. Tony wasn't a genius for nothing and he'd noticed the changes in her make-up and the unfamiliar perfume lingering in the air.

Pepper cleared her throat. "As a matter of fact, yes. I'm going on a date tonight and I need to get my hair done."

He wanted to say her hair was perfect the way it was because it was perfect and whoever this guy was probably didn't even notice. He also wanted to say he needed her to stay late because they had some extra paperwork to go through. Surely he had something buried in one of his desk drawers for her to look at.

"Oh, that's nice," he said, leaning back in his big plush chair. "Didn't know you were seeing someone."

"We're casual at the moment."

"Just looking for a midnight ride, huh?"

Pepper glared at him, but it wasn't her offended face. More like her 'I think you're funny but I'm not going to say it because that will just fuel your ego so I'm going to pretend to be offended' face. He'd become an expert in differentiating between the two.

"I'll be sure to have all my tasks done before I leave," she said.

"As if you need to tell me," Tony snorted. He read some papers while Pepper went to her office. Fifteen minutes later, he was still on the same paragraph and needed to stretch his legs. "So… what's his name?"

Pepper glanced at him, then went back to typing. "Craig."

Craig and Pepper… Crepper?

God no...

"What's he do?" Tony fought to keep his posture loose. "Let me guess. He's a genius billionaire in charge of his own company-"

"He's an investment banker."

"Fun. Where are you going?"

"To dinner and maybe a movie."

"You know what you're going to see?"

"We'll decide when we get there." The intercom beeped and Pepper pressed the button to silence it. "Looks like your two-thirty is here."

Tony barely paid attention during his appointment with… whoever this guy was. Something something missile guidance revamping something. His eyes always trailed back to Pepper behind a wall of glass. When she left for the night, he hung around for half an hour before going home. It was just too quiet without her.

A few months later, Pepper asked for another early day.

"Sure thing," Tony said, chewing on his bottom lip. "Got a hot date with Craig?"

"No, just dinner with my parents. It's my mom's birthday tomorrow," she explained. "Actually, Craig and I decided to just be friends. I think he's seeing someone else now."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Tony tried his best not to grin as he said it, but he was grinning for the whole rest of the day.

**

After Tony completed renovations of his Malibu home, he started doing more work from home. This meant Pepper had to come over more often than not. Aside from a requisite 'want to see the master bedroom' quip, Tony had allowed her space in his massive home. She had an office and a guest room complete with a private balcony for when she wanted to work outside.

Being as she was, most of their private time centered around business. Making deals, planning meetings, arranging his schedule, and lots of other fun and exciting activities. On weekdays, she arrived promptly in the morning and left before sundown. Unless it was quarterly report time or they were on the verge of closing a huge deal, she never deviated from this schedule.

So it was strange when he left the basement one night at midnight after five hours working on his new convertible to find Pepper asleep on the couch.

Her tablet and some papers were on the floor where she'd dropped them. One arm was tucked under her head, no pillows in sight. She'd taken her shoes off, and while Tony was no foot fetishist, her new pedicure was lovely.

She sighed and shifted in her sleep as Tony gently squeezed a throw pillow under her head and draped a blanket over her. He would've carried her to the guest room, but Pepper was typically a light sleeper and putting her in an awkward position might mean she wouldn't come over as much.

He gathered her things and stacked them neatly on the coffee table. Hopefully, those pages were in the correct order, but if they weren't, she'd have them right in under a second.

Tony stepped back to watch her chest rise and fall. Her face was so peaceful. Not like the cool serenity she used to calmly destroy brown-nosing idiots at meetings. It was like he was finally seeing Pepper in her natural state of being.

He liked it.

But of course, he liked it. He liked her.

And maybe he shouldn't be staring at her while she slept. That was kind of creepy.

**

He was never going to see Pepper again.

'No,' he told himself, 'don't do that. Stay positive. Stay positive.'

The problem with staying positive is that it's hard to do when you're running through the desert with no food or water and you've just escaped captivity and watched the man you spent three months forming an emotional bond with die before your eyes.

Suffice to say, this was not Tony's day.

He'd only briefly considered what would happen if the escape was successful. Best case scenario, he got himself and Yinsen out and they found a village less than a mile away with friendly locals who had food and a satellite phone handy. With both of those things now off the table, Tony stumbled through the sand, careful not to run too fast and waste energy. If he had to guess, the temperature was roughly a thousand degrees Fahrenheit. He'd probably sweated another five pounds off.

The one good thing about being lost in the desert was it gave him time to think. About all his mistakes and all his missteps. All the things he never realized he should've done.

He should've told Rhodey how much their friendship meant to him. Tony had been a pain in his ass since college and yet Rhodes never abandoned him.

He should've told his father he loved him. Twenty years he spent ignoring and pushing away that one simple truth, and now he couldn't avoid it. Howard Stark was an asshole, but so was Tony Stark. Like father, like son as they say.

He should've told Pepper… God, the things he should've told Pepper. Listing them would kill hours of time while the elements slowly killed him. He should've told her how important she was, not just to Stark Industries, but to him. How much he appreciated everything she did for him. How happy he was to see her every morning. How thankful he was that she didn't quit after two months and take that severance package. How much better she deserved than to be in his shadow. How much he truly cared about her from the bottom of his heart.

How much he…

God, this heat was unbearable. Couldn't even think straight.

When he saw her again after hours in an air-conditioned plane, being fed jello packets and wanting nothing more than a hunk of real meat, none of what he should've said came to mind.

"Your eyes are red. A few tears for your long lost boss?"

It would have to do.

**

It should've been another quiet post-return evening in.

Tony didn't feel like flying that night, otherwise, he'd be out on the town already. The plan was to watch cheesy sci-fi movies and laugh at all the mistakes until he fell asleep. Now he was trapped in his own body, eyes unable to close, mouth unable to open. He stared up at a monster wearing a familiar face as he literally ripped his heart out.

"Oh Tony, this is your ninth symphony," Obidiah said, among other bullshit villain monologue crap Tony couldn't hear over his own internal screaming. "This is your legacy. A new generation of weapons with this at its heart."

'Fuck you,' Tony wanted so badly to say. 'Fuck you, you lying son of a bitch. Fuck you fuck you fuck you-'

"Too bad you had to involve Pepper in this. I would've preferred that she'd live."

Someone once said there were five or six profound moments in everyone's life. Tony didn't know who that someone was or if he didn't just make that whole thing up in his head. Whatever the case, this was one of those moments.

Never before had he wanted so badly to kill someone. Not just kill them, but make them suffer the worst sort of torment. He wanted to rip Stane apart with his bare hands, destroy him from the inside out. Make him regret even thinking about threatening Pepper.

He focused all his strength on his legs, making his toes wiggle. The ringing in his ears was fading, but not fast enough.

'You can do this,' said the voice of Pepper in his ears. 'You can do this.'

His fingers twitched and he slowly clenched a fist.

He wouldn't lose one more person he loved.

[ohblackdiamond]

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 1/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

Or,  four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who's not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Notes: Most of this probably goes without saying given the general content of this tumblr, but in case anyone MCU wanders in-- KISS has been a part of Marvel Comics since 1977, and, in fact, starred in Marvel’s first full-color, magazine-sized comic book from that same year (in an infamous publicity stunt, the band members added their own blood to the ink of the first issue). Their characterization, history, and powers vary from run to run, and to be honest, it was easier just to pull from KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park and a bit of Scooby-Doo Meets KISS for powers, and actual band history for most of the rest. (Pulling from comic history, well, would have entailed messily trying to make canon ’70’s teamups with Spider-man and the Avengers work out with MCU—impractical at best!) Mistakes are mine.

Intimations of your typical usual suspect pairings, but nothing explicit.’

Looking back, the signs had been there all along. The KISS memorabilia starting to spread out like a fungus to all parts of the mansion they’d moved into five years prior. The cold cream that had found its way back to the bathroom counters.

The abrupt shift in mood of half the household.

The gloomier half. Except that wasn’t much of a specification. Ace tried to be upbeat, but he spent the bulk of his time alone, tinkering with the fifty-year-old remnants of his spaceship, though each assurance that he was going back to Jendell (“you guys’ll come with me, it’ll be great, we’ll just stay there forever”) seemed hollower with every passing year. Gene had put on an incredibly gutsy show in public for the first several months after the decimation, donating millions to clean up efforts around the greater New York area, only to falter in private. Paul had only started recovering enough to shave regularly over the past six or seven months.

Peter wasn’t in great shape himself. He knew it, too. But he was surviving. They were all doing that much. They had a daily routine down, one they stuck to as strictly as cloistered monks. Cooking duties divvied up; chores divvied up. Shopping divvied up. They could’ve hired help easily. The battered remnants of the KISS juggernaut were still enough for generations to live off of, like a bastard version of the Vanderbilts. But doing the chores themselves gave everything a sense of purpose. Meaning.

They weren’t doing poorly for four widowers. Coping a whole lot better than most guys their age who’d lost everyone but each other.

Deep down, Peter knew they couldn’t have made it any other way. They would’ve all been driven out of their minds with grief. Just cracked up. Especially those first few months after moving in together. In a sick kind of desperation, they’d spent that time sleeping in the basement together, the four of them, on a pair of pull-out couches. The prospect of waking up alone was just that awful. The craving for normalcy just that deep. Waking up to Ace’s morning wood (Christ, the guy was sixty-eight; his ability to maintain a hard-on had to just be alien biology at this point) had become a strange, nostalgic kind of comfort.

They were still sharing rooms sometimes. It felt really juvenile, at least to Peter, crawling into one of the other guys’ rooms at night, like a kid with a nightmare, but it helped. Touch helped. Living together brought them some focus beyond themselves. Forced them to look out for each other. Keep each other from doing something stupid. Funny how without any contract or tour bullshit to worry about, they could stand each other again.

Sometimes a little more than that. Sometimes a lot.

But Peter really didn’t connect the dots for awhile. One morning, he stumbled downstairs to see Paul making pancakes from scratch. He hadn’t made any pretenses of being a chef in years, but there he was, even tossing chocolate chips and strawberries into the batter.

“I decided every day was a good day,” he said, shrugging, when Peter asked him about it.

“He got laid,” Ace had called out from the living room. Peter, staring from an abashed Paul to an oddly-silent Gene, hadn’t asked for any elaboration, figuring he had a fair idea. Well, whatever. If they wanted to go back to fooling around with each other at this late a date, at least there was plenty of Viagra and K-Y to be had.

A few days later, Gene bought about three gallons of ice cream, an exorbitant amount of toppings, and a stash of his Moneybags signature root beer and they all spent the afternoon making and devouring sundaes and floats. Nobody bitched about lactose intolerance. Then they’d sat around and watched Godzilla movies on DVD and played each other on the old KISS pinball machine. It was like old times—really old times.

Peter had just figured things were finally starting to settle into a new normal. A devastating normal, sure, but they were all learning to cope.

He had no idea the coping methods they’d picked involved a lot more than self-help platitudes and dairy products, and a lot less Viagra.

Not until about a month later, on his assigned day to do the shopping—though they were all more flexible on who did the shopping than any other aspect of their chore board. Paul still hated to go anywhere by himself, invariably dragging someone else with him. Usually Gene, sometimes Ace. On his own days, Peter usually tried to invite Ace along, just to get him out of the backyard, even though Ace’s penchant for Arizona Green Tea still far outstripped the supply at the closest grocery store, and Peter would still have to make a dozen weird maneuvers around the place just so they’d avoid the liquor.

This time, though, Peter went alone. Stuffed the old Porsche full of a mix of canned and dried goods, mostly. Still the easiest, cheapest stuff to find, with or without the world half-gone. Almost bizarre to see things start to get in demand again. The first few days—the first few months, after, the grocery store had been hell to go to. Just the smell of all that food rotting for want of people to buy it. The look of it, mold everywhere, flies buzzing, maggots crawling—and not as many as all that.

A fifty-fifty split in all forms of life. Existence was just a coin toss.

He’d pulled into the driveway and gotten out, lugging a couple grocery bags out with him as he headed toward the door, pushing the doorbell with his elbow. No answer.

Another push. Nothing.

Ace was probably out back somewhere. Paul and Gene were probably upstairs, too close to deaf to have heard him away from the main floor. Goddammit. Peter sighed and set down one of the grocery bags, digging through his pockets for the house key, pulling it out and unlocking the door, only to be greeted by an odd, clinking sound and a low groan as he stepped inside.

“Gene?”

Peter dropped the grocery bags and hurried towards the noise, mouth pursed. No panicking. He couldn’t afford to panic. Still, it could be anything. Gene never had taken care of himself that well—sure, he’d never done drugs, but he had the diet of an emancipated six-year-old—prime candidate for a heart attack, for sure—

“…. What’re you…”

“Peter?”

Gene was lying on his back on the kitchen tile, mostly-obscured by the girl straddling him. She was leaning forward, blonde hair like streamers over his face as she kissed him, his hands clasping her wrists, holding them above his head, against the floor. Her white dress was bunched up enough it was obvious there was nothing beneath.

It was a scene Peter had first witnessed out of Gene around 1974, and it hadn’t gotten any more appealing in forty-five years. Just a lot more curious. No, fucking bewildering. Normally, Gene was—had been—infamous for stripping off as few clothes as possible in his rush to get to the main event. It was like the man thought a groupie couldn’t wait for him to get his jeans more than five inches past his hips. But this time was beyond bizarre. Gene wasn’t in his usual jeans and cowboy boots and button-down. He was in costume.

More specifically, he was in every ignoble inch of his Destroyer costume, except for the codpiece. His black leotard was hiked down to the tops of his scaly, silver monster boots, chest armor stretched over his torso, black leather gauntlets on. The last time Peter had seen any of that particular outfit, Clinton was still president.

The blonde gave him a brief look, then Gene, who whispered something Peter couldn’t quite hear. Then she started rolling her hips against his again, Gene dropping his hold on her wrists to cup his hands around her face, her hair sweeping over them both, preventing Peter from getting a great look at either of them. Peter just stared, unsure of whether his eyes could afford a closer vantage point.

“Really, Gene?”

“I’m—ngh, doing my duty as an American citizen here.”

“Your duty?”

“FER. Federal Emergency Repopulation.” Gene paused, glancing at the blonde. “If he’s bothering you, we can take it upstairs—"

“Jesus Christ, Gene, you’re seventy years old! And why the fuck are you in the costume?”

“Well, that aspect wasn’t really up to me.”

“Gene, sit the fuck up and look at me.”

“Peter—”

Gene raised up a few inches as every bit of color drained out from Peter’s face.

He looked better than he had in forty years. No, that wasn’t right. He looked like he had forty years ago. The Demon makeup couldn’t obscure it. The lines around his eyes and forehead were gone. The fullness that age and weight had left in his face and neck and chest had vanished utterly. He looked healthy. He looked young, terrifyingly young.

“Gene, what the hell did you do?”

“I—"

Before Peter could manage a single syllable, a loud, shrill cry from upstairs interrupted everything.

“Paul?”

“Oh, shit. Let’s not continue this upstairs.” Gene’s attention was back on the blonde, who rolled her hips up against his invitingly. “Better check on Paul, Pe—ohh, fuck, yeah…”

Peter darted upstairs, yanking open the door to Paul’s room to find almost the exact same scenario. One he hadn’t seen in decades. Paul, halfway in costume, rhinestone-covered black jumpsuit hanging somewhere around his hips, with a girl up against the wall, her bare legs wrapped around his waist. Three hip replacements, two knee replacements, and at least one rotator cuff replacement and yet Paul didn’t seem to be having any issues holding her there. Or plowing her.

Probably because he, too, looked to be about forty years younger.

---

Half an hour later, both girls were gone and Paul and Gene were back to a semblance of normal. The makeup had, weirdly, lingered when they’d reverted back—Peter couldn’t remember that ever happening when they were actively in the superhero business—though neither of them seemed particularly surprised by that, just a bit disappointed. Paul had darted over to the bathroom to get some cold cream and washcloths, like that would head Peter off at the pass, before returning to sit down at the table with Gene and Peter.

Peter was still fuming.

“Look, Peter, I can explain—” Gene started.

“You don’t need to. It’s obvious. You used the talismans.”

“Well, yeah.” Paul looked about as apologetic as a kid who hadn’t been caught until after eating the entire bag of Oreos.

“I didn’t know they could do that.”

“We didn’t, either.”

“Bullshit, that’s the only reason you were fucking—”

“No, really! We got them out for old time’s sake a couple months ago.”

“It makes sense, I mean, mystical artifacts from Victor Von Doom’s mom, supposed to reveal the true self of the holder…” Paul trailed.

“True self, my ass. Your true self is a bottle of Aquanet.”

Gene was starting to smirk. Paul elbowed him in the ribs.

“So you decided you were gonna use the talismans of Khyscz to make yourselves younger so you could fuck random girls. Christ. I knew you didn’t have any dignity, but—” Peter paused, unsure of how to even state the rest of his tirade. For once.

It was just too damn bizarre. They’d left that shit behind years ago. Decades ago. Their last real superhero stints had been in cancer wards, letting kids with lymphoma and leukemia jam with them from their beds and wheelchairs. Their first had been—well, they’d caught some burglars in the Bronx and Queens a couple of times, between band practice, before they were even signed to a record company. Once they’d started touring, they’d tried to keep the double lives up, and for awhile, it had worked to their advantage. People didn’t know whether seeing KISS on the street meant a concert was coming to town or a gang was about to get busted. And the merchandising…. Christ, what a frenzy. The public had eaten it up. Lunchboxes and the pinball machine had only been the beginning.

The biggest criminal they’d ever stopped was some amusement park tyrant, Abner Devereaux. Naturally, they’d turned it into a movie a year later. Hadn’t even been allowed to put most of their powers on display for fear of wrecking the sets and camera equipment. Paul couldn’t fire off any laser beams; Ace’s teleporting barely got a mention. Peter was lucky they didn’t try to trim his claws down. Even Gene’s fire-breathing had to be faked for the camera. He’d had to swill kerosene in his mouth and just spit at the torch like he was from the circus.

Really humiliating, looking back, but they hadn’t quite realized it. The movie had seemed like a natural next step. They were giving the fans what they wanted. A superhero group that could do anything, be anything. Role models. Rockstars. Sex symbols. Entrepreneurs. The four most recognizable faces in the world, faces of a corporation worth a hundred million. Not bad for 1978. Not Stark Industries levels, but not bad.

But the movie had started the blowback. No one under twelve even watched the damn thing. The press was coming out with hit pieces on the daily. Headlines like “Shilling Superheroes” and “Crimefighting Doesn’t Pay—But Capitalism Does” started dotting the supermarket stands. When they retreated back into making records, the bottom had already dropped out. KISS didn’t come off as superheroes or even musicians anymore, just a bunch of guys out for a quick buck. No amount of charity work—and certainly not a long stretch of tail-between-their-legs touring in Australia and Europe, where their superhero antics weren’t as big a part of their mystique—could’ve brought them back from that.

Peter had left KISS before things completely crashed. Been fired, more accurately. What that’d mean for the dwindling state of their superhero gig should’ve been obvious, but looking back, Peter couldn’t remember thinking about it or anyone even mentioning it when he’d left. Ace hadn’t talked about it when he quit the band a couple years later, either. KISS still performed with the outfits and makeup for awhile after. But the crimefighting was over. Any superhuman powers were done with. Gene ended up having to spit kerosene to breathe fire onstage for the rest of his career. The talismans just wouldn’t work without the four of them as some kind of unit.

Apparently, their current living arrangement counted as some kind of unit. Good enough for the talismans. And apparently, the talismans didn’t even care whether Paul and Gene were using them for the right reasons. Peter shoved his hands through his hair before slamming his palm against the table. True to form, Paul and Gene didn’t even blink. Gene, in fact, took it as an opportunity to continue.

“We thought it’d be a better sell to FER if we could offer them something a little more exciting than—”

           “Than a bunch of old assholes.”

           “More or less, yeah.” Paul rubbed at the star on his eye with a dollop of cold cream, carefully. “It’s not any kind of PR stunt. Just makes for better lays and healthier sperm.”

           “We’ve had 53 successful pregnancies just over the last two months,” Gene offered. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Make that 54.”

           “54? Was that mine or yours?”

“Mine. That was, uh…” Gene scrolled up on his phone. “Tori Friedmann. Remember, the one with the tattoos right around her hips?”

“Gene, I didn’t see her anywhere near naked.”

“She had her hair dyed green. It was in ringlets.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah…” Paul trailed, before turning his attention back to Peter. “We’re really helping things out.”

“Helping things out?” Gene snorted. “Don’t be modest. We’ve got the best track record for pregnancies in the entire state of Connecticut. Eighty percent success rate after four sessions or less. Amazing.”

“Who’s supposed to be raising—” Peter started, but he was cut off almost immediately by a laugh.

“Seriously? The government’s paying the girls out the nose. Prenatal up through college. All we had to do was participate.” Gene shifted, pushed his washcloth into the jar of cold cream, and started wiping off his face. “Of course, FER pays the guys doing it, too, but it’s not our main motivation.”

“Why the hell aren’t you jacking it into a cup? What’s so wrong about artificial insemination? Is FER Catholic?”

“This world’s starved for the human touch. Sex drives are lower than the Dow right now.” Gene cleared his throat, tilted his head as if he were about to start on an interview-worthy set of sound bites. “Now, what we’re offering is only what KISS has always offered, an escape, a fantasy. But we sell it better than any fucking band before or since. We lift those girls up.”

“Yeah, I saw Paul lifting that girl up—” Peter started. Paul looked only a tinge embarrassed. “You could’ve been her grandfather, for Christ’s sake.”

“Hey, they know exactly who they’re getting with,” said Gene. “We aren’t pretending we’re a tribute band. And we cheer them up, Peter. Some of them haven’t slept with anyone in five years. Some of them haven’t touched anyone in five years. They forgot how to even be alive. We’re reminding them.”

“You’re selling your sperm, Gene, don’t act like it’s some grand gesture.” Peter paused. “Is Ace in on this, too?”

“I think Ace got in about four lays, but then he felt bad about it…”

“Because he’s got a conscience?”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“He didn’t care about that when we were touring.” God knew how many girls Ace had knocked up with half-Jendellian spawn back in the seventies. His kid with Jeanette, Monique, hadn’t ever exhibited anything weird that Peter had seen, but then again, Ace was pretty good at keeping his own alien oddities under wraps. At least in public. Online tabloids and shit still said he was a normal guy from the Bronx that had just watched too much Star Trek in high school. If he hadn’t toured off and on with the guy for years, and if the remnants of his spaceship weren’t currently in their backyard, Peter might’ve believed it, too.

“Yeah, but when we were touring, the world wasn’t in an apocalypse.” Another corner of the washcloth and Paul was wiping off his eyeliner. “I dunno. I told him if they didn’t care, he shouldn’t, either. It’s not like his dick is any different.”

“He’ll change his mind. Probably.” Gene set down the washcloth, face reddish but bare. He looked so appallingly confident that Peter almost wanted to punch him. No, he did want to punch him. Clearly, the repopulation gig had been Gene’s idea. Paul was far too depressed these days to be such an opportunist on his own, and Ace… Ace, clearly, just had gone along with it. Neither of them had ever been half as desperate for a lay as Gene, either. Peter settled for pushing back his chair and leaning over the table, yanking Gene by both arms.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Pete—”

“Don’t you even remember what we were supposed to use the talismans for?”

“Sure. Saving the world.” Gene tugged his arms out of Peter’s grasp. Utterly unmoved. He didn’t even have to stand up in order to wrench him away. It just made Peter all the more incensed. The blitheness of it. Shit, Gene used to care. Paul used to care.

“Fucking girls for some government program isn’t saving the world!”

“Then what the hell do you suggest? We’re a little fucking limited with half the population gone.”

“Fixing this mess!”

“How?” Paul started to laugh. “If the Avengers aren’t touching it, what makes you think we should?”

“When did that stop us before, huh? We were there before they even existed!”

“Most of them,” Gene put in dryly. “Captain America’s old enough that he could’ve even fathered you, Pete.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Peter rattled off. “Fuck both of you. You’ve finally got a real opportunity here and you’re too damn sorry to take it.”

“A real opportunity? You’re telling us about opportunities?” Paul snorted. “I should’ve known all you’d do was bitch and whine as soon as you found out. Mr. Misery never did fucking retire. Can’t let anybody else be even a little happy—”

“You’re not happy, asshole!”

The sound of the backdoor swinging open swallowed up any other comments. Ace, standing there in a ratty screenprinted Betty Boop t-shirt and jeans, looking sweaty and vaguely perturbed.

“Y’know, contrary to popular belief, I’m still not deaf.”

Peter spun around to face him.

“Ace! You knew what these bastards were doing this whole time and you didn’t tell me!”

Ace raised his palm in what might’ve been surrender, then shut the door behind him. He didn’t cross over to the dining room where the others were seated, surprisingly—just headed straight for the kitchen.

“Sit down, Pete. ’M gonna get us some water.”

Peter sat down. He wasn’t mollified, not in the slightest, but he stayed quiet until Ace returned, four water bottles in hand. Gene and Paul didn’t say anything, either. The only real sound was Paul screwing the lid back on the jar of cold cream.

Ace pushed a water bottle towards each of them before sitting down next to Peter. Peter eyed him warily. It felt like a band meeting, the tension thick as concrete, only for once, they weren’t arguing over solos or setlists. And Bill Aucoin, of course, wasn’t there to make sure they shook hands and shared a joint by the end. Not quite the kind of nostalgia Peter craved.

“Okay, so,” Ace started, conversationally, “I get why you’re pissed off, man.”

“You should’ve told me—”

“I tried! I told you Paul got laid! But you didn’t wanna hear anymore.”

“That’s because I thought he was back to fucking around with Gene!”

“I did not—" Paul’s face was going from pallid to pink to red at an alarming rate. Beside him, Gene was rubbing his forehead with a wince. “Look, let’s just address the issue at hand.”

“You’re right,” Peter snapped back. “Ace, listen. What they’re doing’s fucked-up.”

“Peter, we’re all still in kind of a bad place right now, I dunno if it’s the time to—”

“It’s not the time to be trying to repopulate like—like tigers in the zoo.” Peter exhaled. “Not when we could be doing a lot more. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you assholes.”

Ace unscrewed Peter’s water bottle before opening his own. He took a long swallow, then let out a sigh.

“Just wait. I’ll be getting us to Jendell in another three months, easy. Then we won’t have to worry about any of this shit.”

“That’s been your answer the last five years, Ace! You can’t fix your ship! We all know we’re not getting off this planet!”

“I mean it this time! I really got it cracked. Three months or less.” Ace took another swallow of water. “It’ll be great. My ma—aw, man, you’ll love her. She’s great. I tried sending her our records once we got big, I still had this little portable, y’know, for shipping off small stuff, don’t know if she ever got it…”

“Still having family must be great, Ace.”

Ace flinched visibly.

“I haven’t seen her in fifty years, man, I don’t know for sure. We’re all in the same boat there.”

“We’re fucking not, Ace. You just proved it.” Peter swallowed thickly. It was a lower blow than he’d meant to take. But he couldn’t help it. Fifty-fifty shot, and they’d all managed to lose. All that grief the sickest, saddest equalizer. Gigi had beaten cancer. Monique had been clean for a couple years now. Gene’s kids had careers… Paul’s youngest three weren’t out of elementary school. All of them a million times more deserving of being alive than they were. Peter’s gut roiled, and he grabbed his water bottle, forcing several gulps down just to quell the lump in his throat. He still had to take a few more breaths before he was half-positive his voice wouldn’t quaver too much, and by then, Paul had already begun talking again.

“Okay, okay. Let’s say we wanted to do something. Where would we even start? What would we even be fighting against?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Now—”

“I know where we’d start.”

Pete’s gaze shot over to Gene. He couldn’t keep the bare, hopeful note out of his voice.

“Where?”

“Avengers headquarters. That or Stark’s place.” At Paul’s indignant glance, Gene shrugged. “What, it’s obvious. And it’s only a hypothetical. For all we know, they could be working on the solution right now.”

“They’re not doing a damn thing,” Paul insisted.

“How do we know that, though?” Ace said it slowly. “I mean, really. They haven’t given everything up. The Hulk’s still around… you get reports of some of the other guys sometimes, taking down drug cartels, that sort of thing…”

“So it’s worth a shot!”

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

“You know what I mean, Gene.” Paul paused. “You really think they’re gonna buy that? You really think they won’t laugh in our faces?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Paul let out a long sigh and gave Gene a look of utter betrayal Peter hadn’t fully witnessed since the disastrous Reunion Tour about twenty years back. The I-kept-this-band-alive look. The why-don’t-you-ever-listen-to-me look. The I-told-you-KISS-condoms-were-a-bad-idea look. Gene just shook his head in return.

“It’s worth a shot. The worst they could say is no.” Gene took a swig of water. “And if they do, so what? My ego can take it. We can go back to helping with repopulation efforts here in New Haven.” He paused. “Actually, we could probably introduce the Avengers to the program, I’m sure the country could use some super-sperm to—”

“God, no.”

Ace started laughing. Really laughing, that awful, unsettling, but infectious cackle that used to embarrass the rest of them during interviews. Peter caught sight of Gene’s lips twitching and then he lost it himself. Totally helpless. Paul had his hand over his mouth, but Peter was pretty sure he was laughing behind it.

It had been so long since they’d found anything funny. So long since they’d had any kind of idea in mind beyond surviving from day to day. Sure, Paul wasn’t sold on it, and Peter wasn’t sure if Ace was, either, not exactly, but—they were getting there. There was energy there, buzzing through his veins, making him feel fidgety and anxious and alive, really alive, for the first time in five years. He knew it was the same for the others. All the four-who-are-one superhero mysticism they’d tried to blow off as bullshit as tempers had flared in the studio and onstage and in their hotel rooms—shit, there was something to it. There had to have been or they wouldn’t still be together now.

“All right, fine, we won’t advertise it,” Gene finally said, once the laughter had died down. “If they went on the market, we’d probably be out of luck. But if we head to Manhattan… that’ll take us, what, couple hours if we drive, depending on how many highways they’ve finally cleaned up…”

“I’m not driving,” Peter said flatly.

“We could teleport,” Ace offered. “If you got better coordinates than just Manhattan, anyway.”

“Right, yeah, we could—” Gene considered. “Actually, I think we might be better off heading to Stark’s directly.”

“Why?”

“Because he holds the purse strings. And because he’s the one person out of all of them I’ve actually spoken to.” Gene was nodding to himself. “I don’t think he lives in the city anymore, but I’m sure we can—"

“I didn’t agree to any of this.”

“Paul, c’mon. It’s not hurting anything.”

“It’s been forty years. We’re gonna be laughed out of town.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been laughed out of town since we started. ’S fine.” Ace looked over at Paul, mouth uncharacteristically pursed, on the verge of dissolving into giggles again. Peter could tell by the way Ace had his hand cupped around his thigh, underneath the table. He couldn’t remember the last time Ace had done that to him. Peter reached out to put his hand on top of Ace’s, absently tapping against the rings. Ace crooked a slow smile, and half-spoke, half-warbled, “Y’know, we’ve got nothing to lose…”

“That song was about anal, not stomping up to the Avengers headquarters asking for a job application.”

“Same difference. Well, one’s a little sexier.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ace. It’s just stupid.” Paul exhaled, staring at each of them in turn before shaking his head. “God, why the hell am I even still entertaining this shit?”

He started to get up, only for Gene to grab his arm before he’d done much more than push his chair back. Paul sat back down, glare fixed on his face.

“Paul, c’mon. We can’t do this without you.” Gene hadn’t let go of his arm yet, but Paul wasn’t relaxing into the touch. “What’s the real issue here? Are you that afraid of being turned down?”

“Let go of me,” Paul rattled off impatiently, brushing at Gene’s arm. “And no, I’m not. I—fuck, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

“What if you’re wrong? What if they aren’t trying? What if busting up drug cartels is all the Avengers are good for these days, too?” Paul tried to laugh but couldn’t seem to manage it, coughing, then draining the rest of his bottled water. “Nothing to lose—like hell we have nothing to lose. If we go over there, and we find out this world really is all we have left, no… no do-overs, no—saving anybody, no bringing anyone back… then that’s it. We’re done. We’ve got nothing anymore. Not even hope.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Peter watched as Gene reached over again, clasping Paul’s wrist before, almost hesitantly, taking his hand. Paul winced, but didn’t pull back. “We’ve got something left. We’re KISS. We’re family.”

“Gene—”

“And that’s not going to change, all right? Don’t get me wrong. It’ll hurt like hell if they say there’s nothing that can be done.” Gene paused. “But that doesn’t make it true. Look, whatever life ever had in store, we’ve kept going. We’ll keep going regardless.”

Paul didn’t say anything for awhile. Long enough that Ace had stopped just resting his hand on Peter’s thigh and started actively trying to pick the lint off his slacks instead. Peter batted his hand away, then, before Paul finally spoke back up.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m in, I’ll do it.” Gene was still holding Paul’s hand. Neither had let go yet. “But don’t get too excited. And don’t think we’re just gonna pop over there tomorrow.” Paul finally tugged his hand away, but not until after a brief squeeze.

“We’re not? Oh, c’mon, Paulie, if I get some coordinates, I know I can teleport us there!”

“Because,” Paul said, grinning almost wolfishly, “we’re gonna train first.”

[ryqoshay]

Happy Life: Romeohane

Primary Pairing: YohaRiko Words: ~3.2k Rating: T’ish? AU: Angelic? Time Frame: Sometime during their college years Story Arc: Stand Alone

Author’s Note: Thank you, tumblr, for removing the Thematic Break function from Rich Text editing. This has made posting my fics here so~ much easier. /sarcasm

Riko looked up from her doujin.  Was Yoshiko performing a ritual? Strange, the younger girl typically announced when she was streaming. Riko had always assumed this was mostly out of pride, as Yoshiko unquestionably enjoyed the performances and was proud of the viewerbase she maintained. However, recently, Riko had begun to suspect her roommate wanted her, specifically, to watch and maybe, possibly, even participate.

Riko focused her attention to try to pick out what was being said, but could only determine Yoshiko’s tone. Though the words were muffled by the wall separating their rooms, there was no mistaking the dramatic voice of the fallen angel Yohane.

Driven by curiosity, Riko hopped off her bed and made her way to her roommate’s door.

“As daylight doth a lamp. Her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night.”

Now in the hallway, with only a hollow, wooden door between them, Riko could understand what Yoshiko was saying. And she had heard those phrases before.

“Yocchan?” Riko called, knocking.

“R-Riri?!” Yoshiko sputtered in surprise. “C-come in!”

“I thought you were maybe streaming, but…” Riko said as she opened the door.

“No, uhm, sorry…” Yoshiko smiled sheepishly. “I was actually rehearsing my lines and kinda forgot you were here. Sorry if I was too loud.”

“Not at all.” Riko assured as she shook her head. “I was just curious. You told me you got the lead, but you never told me the play.” Though she had a pretty good idea after what she had just heard.

Yoshiko’s grin grew more confident. “Despite this being merely her second production, Yohane has proven herself worthy of securing the lead role in the most tragic of tales.” She announced proudly, striking a pose. “A classic story scribed by none other than the Bard himself, about star-crossed lovers and their regrettable fate.”

“You club is performing Romeo and Juliet?”

“I was just about to say that!” The blue-haired girl complained, her voice rising in pitch as her fallen angel persona was forgotten for a moment.

“That’s wonderful. Congratulations again on getting the lead!”

“I mean,” Yoshiko regained her composure with a smirk “Riri is quite perceptive; determining the play as well as character Yohane has assumed based on only a few lines. As expected of an elite little demon.”

“Do you need any help?”

Once again, the persona faltered as Yoshiko seemed caught off guard by the offer.

“That’s the balcony scene, right?” Riko continued when the younger girl didn’t reply. “I can read Juliet’s lines if you would like.”

“Riri playing the part of Juliet…” Yoshiko considered, looking over the older girl. “A felicitous role for a fair maiden destined to fall alongside Yohane. Very well.” She extended he hand. “Let us elevate you to a position befitting of the scene.”

Destined to fall…? Riko felt her cheeks warm as she accepted the offer. Yoshiko was already playing up her own part and she couldn’t help feeling a little enthralled.

“You want me to stand on the bed…?” Riko couldn’t help questioning as Yoshiko guided her up.

“M’lady is most certainly welcome to kneel, should she prefer as such.”

“Alright…”

“Thou shall be needing these parchments.” Yoshiko handed her a copy of the script.

“Thank you.”

“And with that, I shall as well take a knee so as thus to preserve the proper perspective.”

Riko felt her heartrate spike as she watched Yoshiko make great show of kneeling. And again when she looked up at her with a dashing smile.

“Do… uhm…” Riko cleared her throat in an attempt to do the same for her mind. “Do you want to just pick up where you left off?”

“That I do.” Yoshiko nodded curtly.

“Alright…” Riko took a deep breath let it out quickly to focus on getting into character.

“See how she leans her cheek upon her hand O that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!”

“Ay me!”

“She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head, As is a winged messenger of heaven”

As Yoshiko continued her lines, Riko found herself having to put conscious effort into keeping herself from imagining those words being spoken to her directly, instead of through her to a character. But as this was one of her favorite scenes from a classic romance, and she truly wanted to help her friend, she knew she needed to give her all.

“O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?”

Thankfully, with a longer set of lines Riko was able to concentrate better. It also helped to look away from those dazzling magenta eyes. And she could even justify looking away as Juliet was unaware of Romeo’s eavesdropping at this point in the scene.

But then came the part where Romeo reveals his presence.

“I take thee at thy word.” Yoshiko said, her intonation demanding attention.

Riko found herself taken in by the fallen angel’s gaze once again.

“Riri? It’s your line.”

“Oh yes, sorry… Uhm…” She scanned the page. “What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night,”

Riko mentally chastised herself for being distracted by Yoshiko’s charm. Steeling her resolve, she managed to push through the rest of the scene.

“That was fun.” Yoshiko said cheerfully as she took another bite of her dinner. “Definitely more fun than practicing alone. Thanks again, Riri.”

“You’re welcome, Yocchan.” Riko returned a smile. “I had fun as well. And if you want me to help you practice more, just ask.” She offered before thinking better of it.

Well, it wasn’t that she didn’t want to help, she merely wondered if her heart could take it. While under normal circumstances, she was well accustomed to Yoshiko’s dramatic behavior, it had a different effect on her this time. Perhaps it was because it felt like the younger girl was directing it at her. Perhaps it was the romantic nature of the characters and story they were acting. Of course, the fact that she was becoming increasingly aware of her growing feelings for her friend probably added to things as well.

“I’d like that.” The younger girl’s eyes sparkled. “Say, do you want to maybe come watch us rehearse sometime?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll send you our schedule and you can just drop by whenever you want.”

“Alright.”

O, speak again, bright angel… The line lingered in Riko’s mind as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Angel… Fallen angel…

For someone claiming to be cursed, Yoshiko had no shortage of angelic qualities. Obviously, there were the prop wings and halo she wore for her streams, or sometimes just hanging out around the apartment. And though cute, they were superficial at best. The same could be said of her gothic sense of style, no matter how good it looked on her. No, Yoshiko’s true angelic nature shown through her kindness, generosity and loyalty.

And her smile. By the gods, her smile…

Riko couldn’t help a smile of her own as she recalled all of Yoshiko’s smiles she had witnessed through the day. From the sleepy smile that greeted her in the morning, to the energetic one that welcomed her home. From the content one that enjoyed her cooking to the triumphant one that celebrated the defeat of a chapter boss. And all of those she had displayed while rehearsing lines as Romeo.

Yoshiko was a fallen angel, certainly, but an angel nonetheless. And Riko was Yoshiko’s elite little demon. Her favorite, in fact. But what if… perhaps… she could be Yoshiko’s angel instead? Could someone as plane as herself be…

Riko shook her head. She knew better than that. It had taken a lot encouragement from her friends, but she had gained some self-confidence over the years. She could be an angel as well, right?

Yocchan’s angel… That had a rather nice ring to it.

Riko felt her heartrate increase and noticed her reflection was blushing. She shook her head again to clear her thoughts before hastily donning her pajamas so she could let her roommate prepare for the night.

“Sakurauchi-san, I presume?”

Riko turned toward the voice behind her. “Yes?”

“It would seem I presumed correctly.” A woman approached with a smile. “You look exactly as she described.”

“She?”

“Yohane. You are her cohabitant, am I right?”

“Co…” Riko’s mind settled on a definition. “Roommate!” She corrected, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m just her roommate!”

“Ah, my apologies.” The woman bowed. “Nonetheless, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you this day.” The woman held out a hand, which Riko accepted. “I am known as Hayashi Haruka, esteemed director of this fine drama club.”

“Thank you for letting me come watch today.”

“Think nothing of it.” Haruka dismissed before spreading her arms dramatically. “All are welcome to observe rehearsals. Of course, beyond friends and family, most are only interested in the final production.” She added the last part as though it was an aside to an unseen audience.

Riko nodded, realizing what was likely part of why Yoshiko liked the director. “So, uhm…” She paused to consider her words. “Yocchan talks about me here?”

“Indeed.” The director confirmed with a curt node. “With regularity, in fact. To the point that there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that she holds you in high regard.”

“I see…” Riko blushed again.

“And should your talents be anywhere near those that have been proclaimed,” Haruka continued, not seeming to notice the student’s embarrassment. “I have more than half a mind to persuade you to join the orchestra. Particularly since our current pianist is graduating at semester’s end and we’ve yet to find a suitable replacement.”

“I’ll… uhm… consider it?”

“Most excellent.” Haruka clapped her hands together, seeming to behave as though the offer had been accepted. “Verily, you will make a fine addition to our crew.”

“I… but…”

“Now come.” The director stepped past the student and beckoned her to follow. “You wish to observe our rehearsal, do you not?”

“… Yes…”

“I believe you will be pleased to witness the results of your assistance.”

“My…?”

“You have been aiding our future star of the stage with her lines, have you not?”

“Yes, but… Future star?”

“Yohane has proven herself a prodigy with practically unparalleled potential for performance artistry.” Haruka explained as though it should be obvious. “Forsooth, it is for this reason she was nominated and thusly chosen for this role, despite her lack of formal experience. We knew it to be a risk, but she has risen to the challenge. And we owe you a debt of gratitude for your support.”

“It’s been a pleasure helping Yocchan.” Riko assured.

“Riri!” Cried an excited voice as soon as Haruka and Riko entered the theater. A blue-haired blur bounced off house right, ignoring the access stairs before speeding up the walkway.

A younger Riko may have chastised Yoshiko for her reckless behavior, but today, she let some of the fallen angel’s energy invigorate her.

“Hey, Yocchan.” She greeted warmly as the younger girl skidded to a halt in front of her.

“Everyone!” Yoshiko called over her shoulder to a handful of others who followed behind her at a more normal pace. “Yohane’s most elite little demon has come to bear witness to today’s decent!”

“I shall permit everyone a brief respite to greet our guest.” Haruka spoke up before Riko could respond to her roommate. “But to honor her presence, I shall then expect you all to perform at a hundred and eight percent afterward!”

“Hai, Direkutā!” Yoshiko saluted before turning her attention back to Riko. “C’mon, Riri! Let me introduce you to my newest hoard of little demons.”

“Alright.”

“Everyone!” Yoshiko addressed again those who had gathered. “It is Yohane’s privilege to introduce you to Riri. You may address her as Sakurauchi-san, as only Yohane is may call her Riri.”

“Riko is fine.” The redhead bowed politely, though she couldn’t hide her amusement in the blue-haired girl’s insistence.

One by one, the members of the theater troupe stepped forward to introduce themselves. Riko quickly realized that she wasn’t meeting complete strangers, rather it felt like more akin to meeting online friends face to face for the first time. Yoshiko had described them well and they all seemed like wonderful people. As such, part of Riko wondered why she hadn’t visited earlier.

“Yohane!” Yoshiko corrected someone and drew Riko’s attention. “Only Riri is allowed to use such a cute nickname!”

“Mutual and exclusive nicknames, eh?” the other girl inquired with a smirk. Riko recognized her as Kaho, a girl who Yoshiko claimed took great pleasure in teasing everyone else; the fallen angel, in particular. “You two sure make a cute couple.”

“C-couple?!” Yoshiko sputtered before retreating behind her fallen angel persona. “Riri is Yohane’s most elite little demon. Such things are only natural.”

This earned a hearty laugh from Kaho.

“Riko-san?”

“Eh?” Riko turned back to the girl in front of her.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine…” She insisted before clearing her throat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Airi. I look forward to seeing your portrayal of Juliet.”

“It has been quite the trial keeping up with Yohane.” Airi admitted, glancing toward her costar. “But she makes such a debonair Romeo that it really helps me get into my part. She’s really fun to work with.”

“Mmm…” Riko hummed neutrally. As she also turned her gaze toward her roommate, she felt a pang of something that was becoming more frequent and familiar as of late.

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand.” Yoshiko said, taking Airi’s hand. “This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:”

Riko watched intently from her seat beside Haruka. Despite still being an early phase rehearsal, with all the mistakes and mishaps that entailed, the girls taking the titular roles seemed almost ready for opening night. At least as far as Riko could tell. The director had interrupted them far less than the rest of the cast and made fewer suggestions for modification of their acting.

“Saints do not move,” Airi continued the scene, “though grant for prayer’ sake.”

Riko felt her pulse quicken as she recalled what was to come next.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.” Yoshiko leaned forward.

Riko’s eye twitched as lips met on stage.

Or at least appeared to meet. They were using a stage kiss, right? Yoshiko was just kissing her own thumb… right?

“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

What the heck? Riko thought as her jaw clenched. This wasn’t how she normally reacted to scenes like this. She usually loved romantic or dramatic kiss scenes; regularly rereading them over and over to savor the sensations they brought to her.

So why did this one feel so different? Why did this one bother her so much? Was she… jealous? … Maybe? Of a stage kiss? Really? How ridiculous to be jealous of a kiss that was merely acted out on stage… by Yoshiko… in front of her…

“Sin from thy lips?” Yoshiko’s dramatic tone brought Riko back from her vexed thoughts. “O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.”

She had to resist the urge to look away as the second instance occurred.

“Thanks for coming, Riri.” Yoshiko said cheerfully as the two made their way to the station.

“Mmm…” Riko hummed, her thoughts still focused on specific scenes she had witnessed.

“They’ve wanted to meet you for a while now.”

“…”

“Riri?” Magenta eyes, full of curious concern entered Riko’s field of vision.

“Oh, sorry Yocchan, I was just… thinking…”

“About…?”

“… Nothing… Never mind…”

Yoshiko raised an eyebrow. “Did Riri not enjoy her time with us during rehearsal?” Though her tone was mostly teasing, Riko could detect an undertone of unease.

“No, that’s not it.” The older girl shook her head. “I had a lot of fun today.”

“But?”

Riko furrowed her brow as she realized the younger girl wasn’t letting go of the topic. But how to describe it to her?

“Is… uhm…” Riko paused to clear her throat and ensure she worded things correctly. “Is a fallen angel alright kissing just anybody?”

“Of course not!” Yoshiko immediately donned her Yohane persona. “The kiss of a fallen angel is to be bestowed only upon those most coveted!”

“A fallen angel’s little demons aren’t coveted?”

“Of course they are! They all are.”

“And Airi is one of Yohane’s little demons…”

“Yes, she is, but…” The fallen angel faltered for a moment, as though unsure as to how to proceed. “But she is not of Yohane’s most coveted. Only a precious few may be most coveted.” Yoshiko emphasized the word most both times. “Thus, Yohane must preserve the chastity of her lips through the guise of a stage kiss.” She held her hand across her own cheek as though to demonstrate.

“I know what a stage kiss is…” Riko grumbled.

Riko could practically see the gears spinning in the other girl’s mind. Suddenly, Yoshiko’s eyes widened as something clicked.

“Was Riri jealous of Yohane’s stage kisses with Airi?”

“W-what?” Riko balked. “Jealous? No! I was just…”

“O, fair maiden Riri,” The amateur actress intoned dramatically “dost thou desire to sully thy divinity with the guilty pleasure of performing a stage kiss with this fal-aahhh!”

“Falling Blossom Hold of Binding Silence!”

A stage kiss with Yocchan… Riko found herself considering the possibilities as she lay in bed, awaiting sleep.

The prospect was more than a little tempting. So why had she denied Yoshiko’s offer? Was it because she assumed the younger girl had been teasing her? Was it merely habit at this point?

What if Yoshiko had been serious? Would Riko have accepted? Maybe…

Thoughts of the day’s rehearsal came to her mind, but instead of watching from off stage, Riko imagined herself standing opposite Yoshiko. The blue-haired girl held her hand up to Riko’s cheek and moved forward. Not surprisingly, Yoshiko’s thumb moved to cover her lips to prepare for the stage kiss. Riko desperately wanted to push the digit aside, but didn’t want to do so in such a way that would disrupt the scene. Then, at the last possible moment, Yoshiko slid her thumb aside.

Riko opened her eyes as something burned within her.

Yocchan…

Perhaps certain desires would have to be addressed before she could fall asleep.

A stage kiss with Riri… Yoshiko found herself considering the possibilities as she lay in bed, awaiting sleep.

There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to do such things with Riko. And far more than that, in all honesty. But, had Yoshiko actually read the situation correctly? Had Riko actually been jealous? After so many years of assuming Riko’s feelings lay elsewhere, Yoshiko had fallen back on old habits and turned the offer into teasing, if for no other reason than to soften the blow of the inevitable refusal.

But what if Riko had accepted? Would Yoshiko have had the courage to follow through? Ma… no, probably not…

Thoughts of the day’s rehearsal came to her mind, but instead of Airi playing opposite her, Yoshiko imagined Riko. She held her had up to the redhead’s cheek as she moved closer. Out of habit, she placed her thumb across lovely lips to cover them for the stage kiss. But something in Riko’s gaze made her slide her thumb aside at the last moment.

Yoshiko’s eyes snapped open as something twisted within her.

Riri…

Perhaps certain desires would have to be addressed before she could fall asleep.

Author’s Notes Continued in Followup Post.

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Something Pretty

“Find something pretty for me, Roxas?”

Roxas recognizes the voice instantly, which would be less embarrassing if the sound of it didn’t resonate in his ear like a musician hitting a note just right, or if it didn’t turn his stomach into something like grape jelly.

Kneeling on the floor of Hot Topic, Roxas sits beside an open plastic display case of piercings, intimately acquainting himself with products he’s never given a second glance before, as he tries to remember Aqua’s instructions on what goes next to or in front of what, and on which display.

Which is to say that he does not remember.

She had promised to answer any questions he had, and then promptly left on her fifteen-minute break.

Despite the excitement with Vanitas, it’s still pretty early in the morning, and with his fatigue catching up, it takes Roxas a moment to cobble together his five-star response. “Axel, hey.”

Setting a short stack of neon colored plastic balls on metal rings back in the box, and internally telling his stomach to chill the fuck out already, Roxas glances up.

It is a huge mistake. His eyes have to climb a pair of metallic gold jeans, hugging calf and thigh muscles, before they can skim the hard lines beneath a black V-neck, pass over pale, sun freckled skin, and settle on the shock of loose, unstyled red spikes and amused green eyes.

So, he didn’t sleep off that crush thing, like, at all, then.   

“Putting out some new ear thing-a-ma-jigs,” Roxas explains, lifting one to get the jade gaze off of him before something in his chest decides to implode.

“Well…” Axel leans forward, the metallic denim flashing in Roxas’ peripheral. “Actually.”

Roxas is pretty sure no one has a right to look that damn good in a pair of pants. You know, legally speaking.

Axel tilts the piercing in Roxas’ hand toward him with his fingertips. “That’s a tongue thing-a-ma-jig,” he smirks lightly, “but I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

Roxas fights with a smirk of his own. “Shut up, I’ve had a rough morning.” He can’t resist sticking out his own tongue. Does Axel have to be good at everything? “Know-it-all.”

Axel’s smile brightens. He must bleach it. “It’s literally my only job.”

Roxas laughs and returns to rooting through the box, pulling out another slip of cardboard and plastic that had caught his eye earlier and setting it in Axel’s palm. “There.”

“Yes, good. Plugs,” Axel teases as he flutters the package in front of Roxas’ eyes. “These are for ears.”

“No, I mean,” Roxas’ brow furrows, and he turns his attention back to the box, “ah, fuck it.”

But Axel doesn’t appear to be going anywhere. “Mean what, Roxas?” his needling lilt would be grating, Roxas decides, if it didn’t seem to serve as a thin paper wrapping actual concern.

“I thought you’d…” Roxas looks up, you know, like an idiot, and gets stuck again on curious green eyes, until the next words come out more a mumble, “maybe like those.”  

“Oh.” Axel leans back on his heels, twisting the packaging between his fingers and drawing it up to examine. “Shit. Yeah?”

Roxas rubs at the checkered cuff along his wrist, offers a half smile. The plugs were black, like Axel’s own, with a mandala cut out revealing a whirl of purple, green, and pale yellow. “They’re little stained-glass windows.”

Axel runs his thumb across the plastic. “How about that?” he muses softly, scarlet brows rising.

“It’s dumb.” Roxas’ face feels stretched, sunburnt, his thumb fumbles at the joint of his glasses. “I just liked them, and I thought—”

“I’ve always liked stained glass windows.”

Roxas shuts his eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

“Nah,” Axel waves off Roxas’ second-guessing. “I’ve never seen anything like these, and I’ve seen a million of ‘em.”

“Yeah?” Roxas shifts purposelessly through the befuddling contents of the box, unwilling to look up in case his flush has burnt through the golden tan the islands gift him when he’s home too long.

“Yeah.” A toe prods at Roxas’ side until Roxas swipes at Axel’s boot, grinning up at him in spite of himself. “Thank you, Roxas.”             

Chastising himself as he realizes his temperature rises ten degrees every time Axel drops the hard R in his name, Roxas returns to his work, nods. One shoulder lifts. “Sure.”

In his peripheral, another mirage-like shimmer of gold as Axel leans forward like he’s got something clever to say, and then decides against it. “Hey, if you’re doing okay, I gotta,” Axel fingers the silver hoops lining his helix and winces, “go be responsible.”

“Oh,” Roxas blurts, before he can stop himself. “Right, yeah.” He shrugs. Fistfuls of piercings occupy both hands, and a couple drift to the floor. “Do that.”  

“Don’t miss me too much.” Axel chuckles. “I’ll be right back.”

Roxas’ shoulder lifts again and he misses the frown he earns in response.

Axel takes a few steps forward, pauses, doubles back.

“You know.” Axel halts, just a step past the blonde on the floor now, facing the opposite direction. Nostalgia thickens his voice, as he raises the plugs to eye level again. “When I was younger my grandma used to drag me to church every once in a while, trying to save my little heathen soul.”

Confused but intrigued, Roxas stills, cringes a bit.

“And Grandma wasn’t fucking around…”

Roxas snorts and sees a grin pull at Axel’s lip as the redhead turns to bear witness to the sound.

“…Went to this big-ass Gothic cathedral in the heart of Radiant Garden.”

Roxas lifts his chin to see Axel’s sweeping gesture, up and toward the ceiling, as if his spindly fingers could paint pillars in the aisles of Hot Topic.

“And that was a brand-new word for me. Soul. That’s how hedonistic my parents were.” Axel’s fingers swish fondly, and Roxas has a sudden desire to know what kind of people had resulted in this.

“And I was a literal sort of kid, so sitting in that rock-hard pew, staring up, I kinda always figured souls must look something like those huge stained-glass windows, y’know? Mosaics of color and light, pictures of people and things that really mattered…Sometimes beautiful, sometimes all clouded up, sometimes blinding.”

Roxas’ throat dries. He can almost see them himself, a million kaleidoscopic crystals of light weaving together.

Words seem insufficient—unnecessary. He nods.

Axel looks a bit sheepish, unleashing words Roxas gets a sense he’s never said before. Rubbing at his shoulder, the underside of each forearm reveals a tattoo, black V’s blossoming into single, fully colored tongues of flame pausing a few inches before wrist and elbow. Roxas imagines Axel’s window might look like that. Sharp scarlet, electric orange, soft yellow: fiery, expressive, bright, and just a little dangerous.  

“I used to try and draw them,” Axel admits, “way back when, but I could never quite…” he grasps at the air like he’s trying to catch fog, the black leather cords around his wrist slipping down. He matches his eyes to Roxas’ again, but once more the words don’t come. Axel shakes off the memory. It seems to evaporate from his expression like smoke from a shaken match and the wry smile returns, as he turns away. “Anyway,” Axel says. “Bet yours would be pretty, all that gold in the sunshine.”  

With this final swordthrust through Roxas’ crushing heart, Axel picks his way around Roxas’ set up and saunters toward the back room where Vanitas is hiding out, blue eyes trailing after him.

“Yours too,” Roxas murmurs lamely, but if Axel hears him, he doesn’t react.

*          *

Axel wonders dimly what it is about Roxas that makes him feel guilty every time he leaves his side. Thoughts of crumbling white pillars and an ocean blue window with sand golden ridges spiral in Axel’s head as he pockets the plugs he’ll buy later and shifts the door marked ‘Staff Only’ open, offering it his usual grin for the sake of irony.

Axel finds Vanitas sitting at the desk in the back, beside a computer and a set of security monitors. He has his chin resting on his arms, his headphones hugging his neck and his eyes straight on Roxas in a security frame. He’s watching Axel’s new friend layering packages of piercings on a display shelf, a step off from where Axel had just been standing himself. In other words, playing I Spy: Hot Topic Edition.

And yeah, sure, Roxas is pretty fucking adorable, but that’s not exactly an excuse.

“Slacking off again, V?” Axel teases. He can feel the teeth behind his words, sharper than the ones he jabs at Demyx’s lazy bones.

Only a flicker of Vanitas’ eyes acknowledge Axel’s presence.

“Overcompensating again, Ax?”

Axel wonders if Vanitas is referring to the silent conversation he’d been snooping on, or Axel’s metallic gold pants.

Probably the pants.

Axel can feel his mouth drop into a scowl before his lazy smirk reasserts its dominance. “No need,” he purrs, pocketing his hands and striding right up behind the prickly douchebag. “Break’s over. Out.”

Vanitas is not one to hide his scowls. “Technically, I have more right to be back here than you do.” He relinquishes the chair anyway.

Axel sinks into black pleather, spinning around to face the monitor, fatigued at the prospect of fast-forwarding through hour long segments of Hot Topic employees unloading boxes at paces that would put sloths to shame. “Technically, you should have been fired by now.”

Vanitas shrugs.

If Vanitas were smart, he’d leave it at that and get to work. Axel won’t be awarding him a scholarship any time soon. He can feel the shadow lingering just past his shoulder, watching him load the security footage.

“You probably don’t want to watch that,” Vanitas sings, too fucking close to his ear, and Axel snaps the chair back around sharply.

Axel’s assessing glare must chill even Vanitas’ soul, because the guy unconsciously runs knuckles over the glossy blazer buttons above his abdomen and backs off a couple steps.

“Why?”

Vanitas regroups, sneering at his informational upperhand, and gestures to the blonde bedhead still shifting around on-screen, trying to reattach a plastic door to the piercing display case that he likely has no idea was already broken to begin with.

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

Roxas is sweeter than a slice of strawberry shortcake with cream, Xigbar complains in Axel’s head.

Vanitas flutters a hand over his heart, facial features and voice softening eerily as he tries to feign innocence, “Wouldn’t want anything to come between you and your precious new bestie.” Vanitas chuckles, flipping up a palm in consideration. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

Axel has too much pride to ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

Scoffing, Axel continues booting up the program on the computer, waving Vanitas in the direction of the salesfloor. “If you’re not going to tell me what you did, get lost.”

If something had happened, Roxas would have said so. Right?   

But as much as Axel wants to believe Vanitas is spouting absolute bullshit, the voice of experience is tying Eagle Scout level knots in his stomach.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Vanitas takes up a fully loaded rack of hanging clothes, (maybe he really had been working?) and rolls it out of the cluttered backroom and onto the floor.

Axel mentally runs through his conversation with Roxas again, chastising himself for oversharing, though Roxas hadn’t seemed to mind, had almost seemed to get it, even.

Nothing weird from Roxas, though, other than the new hipster vibes his thick rimmed glasses and khaki pants had given him. That, and his, frankly tragic, lack of knowledge about tongue piercings.

Shut up, I’ve had a rough morning. The Roxas in Axel’s head smirks and parts pouty pink lips to stick out a pretty pink tongue. Axel chides himself for zeroing in on that, but shit.

Shit.

Axel adjusts the settings on the security program and hesitates only a heartbeat before pressing play.  

[thecloserkin]

book review: Mira Grant, Feed (2010)

Genre: Sci-Fi

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: No

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: Hell to the yes

Bottom line: Creepily Codependent Siblings Survive the Zombie Apocalypse! They are adopted but the way they refer to each other as “my brother” and “my sister” when they could have used given names instead? I am here for it. While tight plotting is not one of this book’s strengths, you should slog through the infodumps to the ending which packs one hydrogen bomb of an emotional wallop.

This is the first book in the “Newsflash” trilogy about a pair of journalists, Georgia and Shaun Mason, who begin by blogging out of their parents’ basement and end by uncovering a vast governmental conspiracy subtended by various alphabet-soup agencies. The zombie apocalypse itself happened 23 years ago, and it happened the way these things invariably happen: Scientists try to cure cancer/the common cold, unleash freak virus on humanity, cue end of the world as we know it. Georgia and Shaun are the paradigmic products of this remade world: They, like many children born in and around the chaos of the outbreak, were orphans. On their adoption papers their birthdays are given as the same day—an arbitrary made-up date, but it makes them twins even if George is def a few months older. She acts older too, acting as the business brains of their fledgling journalistic operation while Shaun’s job is to “poke dead things with sticks” and look good while doing it. There is a performative aspect to Shaun’s mugging for the camera and flirting with anything in a skirt. He’s doing it because outrageous behavior garners them more hits, obviously, but he’s also doing it for George who gets a kick out of watching him charm the pants off people. She is bemused but not remotely threatened. George is all-business all the time, emotionally guarded and wary of physical contact, and one time when someone tried to hug her Shaun smoothly stepped up to intercept the hug to spare her the discomfort of enduring it. I SCREAMED. Note that George doesn’t mind being touched if it’s Shaun doing it:

I shuddered. Shaun caught the gesture and put a hand at the small of my back, steadying me. I flashed him a smile.

Shaun put a hand on my knee, steadying me, and I covered it with my own.

These small moments of tenderness punctuate an endearingly banterful sibling rapport. This is them reacting to the news of their big break—they’ve been tapped to cover the presidential campaign of an idealistic Wyoming senator:

Shaun was sure we’d get it. I was sure we wouldn’t. Now, staring at the monitor, Shaun said, “George?” “Yeah?” “You owe me twenty bucks.”

This is George shooing Shaun out of her room so she can change her clothes:

I pointed to the door. “Get out. There’s about to be nudity, and you’ll just complicate things.” “Finally, adult content! Should I turn the webcams on?”

This is big sister Georgia mocking Shaun for his youthful indiscretions:

”Remember how pissed you got when we had to do all that reading about the Rising back in sixth grade? I thought you were going to get us both expelled.”

In conclusion I love them sfm they are perfect.

As an aside, the people tagging this book “horror” on Goodreads have either not read the book (which is legit, TBR piles are a thing) or don’t understand what horror is? It’s like they saw the word “zombies” and just auto-completed the genre. What defines horror is not blood, gore, or violence but the fear and loss of agency engendered by that violence. That’s why so many horror film protagonists are women, who experience loss of agency in large and small ways on a daily basis and must learn to survive in the face of it; it’s cathartic to watch them take back control. The point of this digression is that THIS IS NOT A HORROR NOVEL. It’s not about that kind of fear!!! This is a political thriller so buckle in kids we’re going for a ride.

Twenty-three years ago during the outbreak, Georgia and Shaun’s parents lost their eight-year-old biological son. He was bitten by the neighbors’ dog. This was before it was widely understood that the virus could jump between mammalian species, and that anything surpassing the 40 pound threshold was susceptible to its effects. The dog weighed over 40 pounds. The Masons, who were award-winning reporters in their own right, dealt with their grief by channeling their emotional resources into chasing the news ratings. They continued to be phenomenally successful journalists as well as shitty parents to Shaun and Georgia, whom they seem to have adopted entirely for publicity purposes. The narrative invites us to draw the comparison between George and Shaun, who have chosen to pursue this career out of a thirst for THE TRUTH, and their parents who have less lofty motivations. Not to put too fine a point on it but their parents are mercenary motherfuckers. These kids survived their childhood by building an emotional bunker that they never learned to climb out of. This line from the very first chapter is so telling because they’re out in the field and Shaun is being chased by a zombie right?:

I screamed, images of my inevitable future as an only child filling my mind.

When Shaun’s in mortal peril, Georgia doesn’t think of him as “the center of my universe”— which he is—she thinks of the void that would result in the loss of her brother. That’s how they fit together, that’s what they are to each other, and all the other stuff is layered on top of the shared trauma of their childhood. Ffs they even have a ritual for administering each other’s blood tests—you know that thing at wedding toasts where the bride and groom loop their arms together and tip the champagne flute into the other’s mouth? Like that:

Moving with synchronicity born of long practice, we broke the biohazard seals and popped the plastic lids off our testing units

So the protocol for taking blood tests, which everyone has to do all day long to prove they’re not infected, is to come into the foyer/antechamber/vestibule one at a time and once you test clean you proceed into the building while the next person cycles into the chamber. That way, if anyone is found to be infected, they can be isolated. Georgia and Shaun have never once complied with this rule:

Our next-door-neighbor used to call Child Protective Services every six months because our folks wouldn’t stop us from coming in together. But what’s the point of life if you can’t take risks now and then, like coming into the damn house with your brother?

Implying that if one of them ever got bitten by a zombie the other one would rather spend the rest of their short life trapped in a garage with the shambling corpse of their sibling than die in their sleep at a ripe old age. Talk about ride or die.

I said before that this presidential campaign, this is their big break as much as it is the candidate’s. Up till now George and Shaun have been blogging under the umbrella of news aggregation entities (sort of like how BuzzFeed and HuffPost and Medium are populated by user-generated content that isn’t necessarily making the content creator an appreciable pile of money), but now they’ve finally landed the story that will let them strike out on their own. One of the sharpest things about this book is how it depicts journalism as a job, and a tough one to do right. Nashville does the same thing for the music industry, and as over-the-top as that show is, it shows you the nuts and bolts of success in a profession where practitioners are supposedly driven by “passion” alone. Here the distribution of labor is skewed pretty heavily towards George:

I get the administrative junk that Shaun’s too much of a jerk and Buffy’s too much of a flake to deal with.

Buffy is their business partner and some kind of auteur hacker + tech whiz. Shaun is the public face of their media brand. But make no mistake, George is the heart and soul and brains of this operation. You see her business acumen in drive-by observations like “Replacing that much equipment would kill our operating budget for months,” or when she talks about i n s u r a n c e. And George talks about insurance a lot. She mentions how a certain camera covered in zombie body fluids is an insurance write-off, how being present in designated high-risk zones during certain times of day can triple your insurance premium, how a certain treatment for her chronic vision condition isn’t covered by health insurance. I … just wanna point out that the human race has survived a flippin’ zombie apocalypse, but the United States remains wedded to private for-profit health insurance where who and what are “covered” remains a game of Russian roulette?!! Whoever said it was “easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism” was onto something. This society is functioning cohesively enough that elections are a thing (thus, nation-states are still a thing). If you want to tell me our fragmented, inefficient, fee-for service model of paying for medical care that routinely bankrupts & kills our citizens has weathered the end of civlization and emerged intact from its ashes, you better look me dead in the eye and bring receipts.

What’s really impressive about Georgia is she’ll rattle off exactly what kind of activities (those forbidden by her journalistic licensing) will invalidate her life insurance if she’s stupid enough to get killed while doing them. From which I surmise that she and Shaun are both covered by pretty hefty policies of which they are each other’s sole beneficiary. Which makes sense, they’re in a dangerous line of work, but I feel like it’s a poor investment since whoever was left behind would be doing their damnedest to climb into the grave next to their sibling lol.

Another little requirement of the household insurance—since we leave safe zones all the time in order to do our jobs, we have to be able to prove we’ve been properly sterilized, and that means logged computer verification of our sterilizations.

George is talking about the AI that is apparently located in her showerhead that douses her with a bleach & antiseptic compound when she comes back from being in the field?? That sounds painful but what concerns me is the breathtaking scope of the Internet of Things’ penetration into her life. The AI is in the bathroom. It knows exactly where she’s been bc ofc her GPS location can be tracked via her phone, and it’s merrily sending packets of information off to …. somewhere, where it will doubtless be aggregated with all the data collected about George from other sources, and combed for patterns to predict future behavior. That’s how surveillance capitalism works. if this sounds chillingly familiar it’s because it’s already happening, it’s what the tech giants are already doing—gobbling up as much data about as many people in as many contexts as possible—and leveraging that data for profit. Privacy is a joke. George is not unaware of this, but what choice does she have? It’s either install the damn AI in her showerhead or get her parents’ homeowners’ insurance policy cancelled for being too “high risk.”

I want to circle back to George’s chronic medical condition for a sec. She’s got a disability—what’s a called a “reservoir condition” where the virus takes up residence in a body organ, in her case the retina—meaning essentially that she has zombie vision; she can see ridiculously well in low light situations but direct sunlight will blind her. She has to wear shades even indoors and is literally incapable of crying since her tear ducts are inoperative. So there’s a testy situation where a federal agent tries to get her to take off her sunglasses so he can verify her identity with a retinal scan right? And because they’re standing outside this is obviously a recipe for permanent blindness, quite aside from the fact you wouldn’t be able to get a valid scan anyway due to the virus over-dilating George pupils. But instead of checking George’s files, where her disability & its effects are prominently listed, this grunt insists on making her remove her glasses because Procedure. It’s a pretty tense moment. Shaun goes ballistic. He doesn’t physically threaten the dude, or insult his mom or anything. No, Shaun understands that he needs to make this pencil-pusher more afraid of the consequences of taking George’s glasses than of Not Following Procedure. And it works. YEET.

On the campaign trail the Senator’s aides arrange for sex-segregated hotel rooms but Shaun and George are having none of it:

On the few occasions when I’ve tried sleeping without Shaun in the next room, well, let’s just say that I can go a long way on a six-pack of Coke.

The ostensible reason the sleeping arrangements need to be reshuffled is, Buffy can’t sleep without a nightlight and George’s eyes can’t tolerate a nightlight. Clearly the real reason is George and Shaun are c l i n g y and codependent as FUCK. One night after a zombie attack and the long grueling hours of cleanup/decontamination that followed it, they actually climb into the same bed—I guess this room only had a double instead of two singles?? The scene the next morning, the two of them having predictably overslept:

“Fuck a duck, Buffy, what are you trying to do, blind her?” … Shaun, clad only in his boxer shorts, staring at an unrepentant Buffy.

So Shaun’s beef with Buffy is not that she barged in on them while they were asleep & half-naked but that she opened the curtains, thereby triggering a painful migraine for George’s sensitive eyes. Buffy explains she didn’t shake them awake because they both sleep armed, lmao. George’s disability and Shaun’s practiced ability to help her maneuver around it (like a trusty prosthetic, he’s an extension of herself) serves to highlight how in this partnership they are one unit and they know each other inside out. This is them after their close shave with the dunce who tried to take George’s glasses:

“Fuck you, too,” I muttered as Shaun got his arm around me and hoisted me away from the barn. “You kiss our mother with that mouth?” “Our mother and you both, dickhead. Give me my sunglasses.”

And this is George waking up in their hotel room, eyes squeezed shut against the glare of multiple computer screens:

He touched my hand with the tips of his fingers before he pressed my sunglasses against my palm.

This is absurdly, spine-tinglingly intimate. First he touches her hand with the tip of his fingers, the most fleeting of touches to let her know it’s him, and then he presses the glasses into her palm to restore her agency so she can, you know, open her eyes. And that earlier scene with him guiding her by the elbow in broad daylight!!! I’M NOT CRYING YOU’RE CRYING

Sometimes I can hardly believe that George and Shaun are twenty-three years old. When I was twenty-three I … was not adulting half so well as these kids. But then, giving their barbarous upbringing, that’s not surprising; my parents loved and nurtured me. When I look at George and Shaun and the successful business they’ve built and the professional relationships they’ve cultivated and their expertise and their bravery I just feel this proud parental glow you know?

I want to say a word about Senator Ryman before we move onto spoiler territory. There’s a big controversy initially about whether the Senator is “genuine” or not (spoiler alert: he is). But what does that even mean, genuine? He’s a good egg, sure, but what are his policies, none of which are explored in depth except his support for horse farms??? I’m not kidding. In a world where any animal weighing over 40 pounds is a zombie outbreak waiting to happen, it’s a controversial position to say people should be able to keep pets in residential zones. Here is how George describes our Candidate:

He’s like a big, friendly Boy Scout who just woke up one day and decided to become the President of the United States of America.

I see two major problems with this: One, they say “Personnel is Policy” so who the hell is he planning to appoint to key Cabinet positions and can he trust them to pursue rather than undermine his objectives (and does he even have a deep enough bench of people to draw on)? Two, the Boy Scouts of America are not exactly, er, unproblematic, and while it’s safe to say our faves are always problematic, I think “Boy Scout” is shorthand here for “no skeletons in his closet,” which again puts the focus squarely on his personal qualities rather than what policies he espouses. It’s great that he hasn’t cheated on his wife or his taxes. But morality and ethics are not the same thing:

Morals are how you treat people you know. Ethics are how you treat people you don’t know. Your morality is what makes you a good spouse/friend … Your ethics are what makes you a good politician … Morality dictates that you take care of your family, friends and even acquaintances first … For a large society—a society where you can’t know everyone—to work, ethics must come before morality, or ethics and morality must have a great deal of overlap. By acting morally, you must be able to act ethically.

I think we can all agree that this does not describe how our society is currently constituted, and it doesn’t describe George and Shaun’s America either. So this narrow fixation on whether individual candidates are “genuine” or corrupt imo kinda misses the point. George says:

I haven’t even been able to find proof that his campaign received funding from the tobacco companies, and everyone’s campaign receives funding from the tobacco companies.

I don’t want to undersell how important it is the guy is not taking tobacco money. But is he also eschewing Wall Street money, Big Pharma money, defense contractor money? How could George possibly have time to investigate all this dark money if she is supposed to be covering the actual campaign? Seems like it would be a lot easier to reform the campaign finance laws than to vet every single single candidate’s funding sources.

I think one reason the Senator is long on identity & personal charisma and short on policy is that he’s up against an opponent whose base of support is millenarian-fundamentalist “the Rapture is here, we’re all going to hell”:

it was either Ryman’s brand of “we should all get along while we’re here,” or Tate’s hellfire and damnation.

If that is the main faultline in society, I guess half the voters don’t really wanna hear how a given politician is planning to make a material difference in their lives, since they’ve already got eyes on the prize aka the next life.

So there you have it. George and Shaun are scrappy independent muckrakers digging for the truth. Time and again their allegiance to that holy grail overrides their concern for trivial aims like idk personal safety. There’s a vast, shady conspiracy afoot, and as our heroes get closer to it they start getting shot at. They lose comrades. None of this deters them because they are after THE TRUTH. Oh wait there is in fact one thing George values more than the truth:

”You’re more interested in your brother than figuring out the truth?” “Shaun’s the only thing that concerns me more than the truth does.”

And later:

The sight of him was enough to make my heart beat faster and my throat get tight. I knew he was wearing Kevlar underneath his clothes, but Kevlar wouldn’t protect him from a headshot.

Her first concern is always, always, for him.

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

George gets infected. That’s the denouement. George is infected and Shaun has to shoot her before she turns all the way. Every single person who makes it to this scene is just bawling by the end of it:

His lips brushed the top of my head as he bent forward and pressed them to my hair. I wanted to yell at him to get away from me, but I didn’t. The barrel of the gun remained a cool, constant pressure on the back of my neck. When I turned, when I stopped being me, he would end it. He loved me enough to end it. Has any girl ever been luckier than I am?

The reassuring pressure of the gun on the base of her neck??? Has there been a more romantic moment in cinematic history??? I THINK NOT. Shaun is a crack shot—he’s the kind of guy who caresses his guns, names them after pretty women, causes his sister to grouse about digging through a suitcaseful of his weaponry to find her clothes—and yet here he is using his gun to kill the woman he loves most in the world.

It was supposed to be Shaun. They both took it as a given that Shaun would be the one to die first. Now he has to find a reason to continue living other than the obvious (vengeance). Stay tuned for the next installment, narrated by Shaun!

[subserviiient]

hc;;; Anzu's family & home life.

Anzu's father is named Ryoushi Kobayashi, her mother is named Yuki Kobayashi and both of them have one very important thing in common with their daughter: the both of them are complete and utter workaholics, to the point of it being near impossible to see them not doing anything- neither of them really had much time for their children with their busy schedules leaving them both exahusted, but they try their best to be around them despite the fact the two of them clearly do not have the time to do so.

The two of them can be pretty dismissive or ignorant of their childrens emotions and their plights, hardly taking note of their personality changes or when they're clearly upset due to how tired they are or how busy they are- they don’t really have the time to physically look after their children as they take on multiple jobs during their seperate shifts. Despite not really having time for their children both Ryoushi and Yuki can be also be pretty hard on their children, and during Anzu’s previous year after the failed rebellion of Kimisaki they made light of her mood and often told her to get up and do something productive, harshly criticising that she was laying down and doing nothing as they had no real clue as to what Anzu was actually going through and how utterly broken she was from the experience of everyone she had once cared for turning against her. The two of them were especially oblivious to the fact that the way they were treating her made her feel as though they shared the same opinion as the people who had left her behind and ridiculed her due to a failure that was by no means her fault and her parents had been harshly stating that she would have to get up and do something, making multiple comments about how unproductive she was being laying around all day when she had no reason to do so, she had only became worse due to their criticisms as she had already been mentally tearing herself apart and hardly came downstairs, rarely eating and rarely moving from her bed.

They had never asked her if anything was bothering her during this time, nor did it cross their minds that their usually lively daughter suddenly changing personality to a meek and quiet indivdual through and through was due to anything happening to her. It didn’t even cross their minds that she could have possibly been hurt by any of the comments that they had made towards her and just assumed that she was being lazy and snappy due to her being a teenager and that she was going through a rebellious stage where she no longer felt like listening to her parents who had always told her to work hard and to aspire to be someone successful. They thought that she was just trying to get back at them for how long they spend working and called her overdramatic and whiny quite a lot at the dinner table where only they and Takehiro had sat and Takehiro was forced to hear them ridicule his sister who he knew was going through the worst experience of her life.

It only took so long before Takehiro told them to "Do your fucking job as parents and actually look after her because not everything in this fucking world is about you two fucks." they just took it as an overreaction and grounded him for what they thought was an out of line comment and what they thought was a lie to make them feel bad for calling their daughter out for behaviour that they thought was completely and utterly unjustified, as they truely had no clue as to why Anzu had changed and thought themselves to be in the right as they were only discipling her.

When Anzu finally did reveal everything that happened to her parents after snapping at them due to multiple accusations of her being lazy and various other insults that they thought would motivate her to actually do something- they immediately transfered Anzu out of the school and had decided to try their best to spend more time with them and stop pressuring them as much, as they considered their behavior closely and realised it may have came across the wrong way but of course, with their hectic schedules and the both of them being half asleep and quick to be annoyed, it wasn’t too easy for them to do so and they fell back into their old habits fairly quickly.

Their parents are negligent not because they want to be, of course as they quickly realised that their work was getting in the way of family time, but their behaviors caused them to fall back onto working when stressed thus making them take on more and more the worse things got.The family itself is rather disconnected from each other with their family often prodding and making fun of the members of it as a way of trying to coax the truth out of those who would often keep quiet about it, with their parents applying pressure on them to be successful and to do well to the point where both Anzu and Takehiro both feel as though they aren't good enough to meet their parents expectations added onto the constant 'playful' insults, and with Takehiro being far less motivated than Anzu and far more anti-social, he has a harder time speaking to them during the rare moments where the family does talk and often has to listen to the compliments they give his sister, thus giving him the impression that they don't care about him as much as they do Anzu.

He is well aware of the stress Anzu goes through due to Anzu having to spend most of their childhood looking after him and defending him due to their parents hectic schedules and he's well aware of all the horrible things his sister went through but it had made his inferiority complex become all the more prominent as he feels as though he can never be as good as Anzu when it came to work, despite how much he resents her newfound self destructive attitude and despite everything he feels he will never please his parents, thus he completely gave up on trying to please them and doesn't like to think about his future as he feels that no matter what path he may take, his parents will never approve of it as he will never be like his sister.

Takehiro is completely unable to understand his parents especially due to them unintentionally giving off very wrong vibes to their children about the extent of their care for them and always feels as though he was a mistake and that his parents do not actually love nor care for him, he also feels that with Anzu being so attached to the boys that she goes to school with that she doesn't care about him at all anymore and merely feels a sense of obligation towards him because he's her family due to the fact that she is incredibly close to everyone there and that they could help her out when he could not.

While, in Anzu's case she believes that Takehiro can no longer find it in his heart to care about her because she isn't the same person she once was and he can no longer find anything in her thats worth looking up to, as she no longer has the attitude that she once had due to improving as a person- but she does recognise that she has lost some genuinely important parts of herself such as confidence and a demand for respect which she had taught Takehiro to constantly have with him, thus she feels as though she is unworthy to actually reach out and properly mend their relationship that had broken apart due to how she wouldn't talk to anybody for too long when she no longer felt happy living the life she did and how she had became a hypocrite for going against the very things that she had taught her brother to begin with.

The Kobayashi siblings started to become distant from each other the year prior to Anzu transferring to Yumenosaki afterall, as despite both of them craving affection and attention from others in some way, neither of them could actually find a way to communicate with Anzu's deteriorating mental state and Takehiro finding it hard to find a way to actually express care for other people due to his rough personality. Anzu misses her brothers company dearly but everytime she tries to get close to him to talk to him even if only to greet him, he'll either snap or completely ignore her- as he was never taught to talk things over properly by his parents due to the both of them being too busy to spend time with them and taking up a rather harsh role in the family, telling them off and rarely praising them- nor going in deph about what to do when something bothered them, and due to the negligence during their childhood, it's a lot harder for Takehiro to do these things as a teenager while Anzu developed these skills by growing close to people and behaving in an agreeable way most of the time, Takehiro had distanced himself from people as he didn't know how to deal with them and thus felt as though he shouldn't have to but now that it was his sister that he didn't know how to deal with he had felt as though he has no right to try to maintain a relationship with her as he would never be able to understand what she had been through and he felt as though he couldn't offer anything but resentment towards her due to his complicated feelings on her being better than him but also being stupid enough to sacrifice her own wellbeing for others.

Due to this, family dinners are often quiet unless Takehiro or Anzu bring someone home with them for it, as they can all pretend to be a normal family for the most part even if they aren't really- but both Anzu and Takehiro would never describe their parents as abusive as in their opinions, they're by no means horrible people, they've never hit them or purposely set them off by trying to emotionally manipulate them and such.

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

Speech Impediment - Chapter 6

Ships: Logicality, pining prinxiety, platonic dlamp

Summary: From one birthday to another, it’s now December and Virgil’s birthday is coming up. Roman, desperate to finally win Virgil’s hand, asks Dexter to help him plan the perfect gift. On top of helping his friends, finals are coming up and Dexter is getting lost in his studies. Stress builds up, and a phone call awaits him.

AO3 - Here

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5  Chapter 7

Creative writing, English Literature, Calculus, Biology, Anatomy; finals were in three days, seventy-two hours. Five classes, five tests, two hours each, ten total hours of testing. He has approximately thirty hours to study given all accountable variables. 

Over the past few days Dexter had practically lived in the library. Between tutoring lessons with Logan, where he and the rest of the gang would study together, and independent study, Dexter only ever left to go to class, eat, and sleep. His bodily fluids were practically composed entirely of caffeine at this point. This was his very first final as a college freshman, he needed to prove that it wasn’t a mistake to come here.

Dexter shook his head, ridding his mind of those thoughts, and brought his attention back to the paperwork before him. He was currently working on his anatomy study guide. Looking at the time on his cellphone he saw that it was past eight, the library would be closing in half an hour.

With a heavy sigh, Dexter closed his textbook, placed his work back in his bag, and got up to leave. There were only three other students still there besides himself, all looking wiped out from their studies as well.

The sun had surrendered to the moon long ago, leaving the world around him cold and dark, snow falling sleepily down to the earth from the heavens in a chilled kiss. Yep, that was overly descriptive, he must be a writer. The breeze nipped at his heels as he walked back to his dorm. A student was here or there, but most all were gone from the campus.

A fifteen minute walk brought him back to the tall, brick building. Once inside, Dexter shook off the snow that had accumulated on him. Dexter nodded to the dorm manager as he went by, heading up the flights to his room. He planned to simply shower, snack, then go to sleep, but once he saw Roman on his doorstep he knew that wouldn’t be the case.

Hearing footsteps, Roman looked up hopefully, then stood when he saw who it was. 

“Dex! ‘Bout time you got here. What the heck were you doing making me wait so long?”

“Huh? What don’t you mean?”

“I sent you a text dude!”

“Yes you did, I-” Sure enough the text was there, or rather several texts were.

Roman: Hey Dex meet me at you’re room in an hour Roman: im here Roman: Hellooooo? Roman: dude what the duck? where you at? Roman: **fuck autocorrect

“Resent me, I didn’t have my phone on silent.” Dexter apologized, scooting to the door to unlock it. “Why did you call Patton?”

“He’s staying at Lo’s tonight.” Roman replied simply, following Dexter in and making himself at home, just as they always did. Dexter had long since given up on trying to stop the others from taking his food from the mini fridge. Still, it stung to watch Roman take his favorite lemon yogurt.

“Oh.” Dexter said quietly, trying not to think to hard about what that meant. “So what don’t you want?”

Thus a flip was switched. Roman lost his confident composure, no longer sitting tall, instead he curled in on himself and awkward ate yogurt in a lame attempt to hide his blush. If Dexter had to take an educated guess, it probably had something to do with Virgil.

“Well uh- Virgil’s birthday is uh- in a few days and I’d like to um, I’d like t-to ask him o-out. Could you help me?”

Seeing Roman stutter and blush like a high school boy was the cutest thing ever. Only seeing Virge do the same would be better, and Dexter planned for that to happen.

“Well of course not.” Dexter told him, “But why me? Wouldn’t it be better to ask someone without experience? Logan and Patton wouldn’t be better.”

“Are you kidding? Logan may have been the one to ask Patton out, but he sucks at romance, and Patton... well he isn’t exactly helpful when it comes to wooing someone. Besides, I saw how amazing you are at gift giving from the heart, and you’re the second most creative here outside Virgil and I.”

“If you mean creative by not writing gory horror and suspense then sure.” Deceit mumbled under his breath as he looked through his messy desk for a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. Finding one he began to write a list of every idea he could think of and a list of what they’d need for each one. Once complete he handed it over to Roman for him to chose what to do.

He read through it carefully, mulling over the pros and cons of each suggestion. It was a good few minutes before he looked up with his final decision.

“Number four.” He said with a grin.

Four. The scavenger hunt. Roman and Dexter would have to work together to take Virgil on a hunt, having clues leading him to the undecided final destination.

“So where aren’t you going to have him meet you?”

Roman smiled warmly, as if he was reliving the sweetest memory he ever made. Perhaps it was.

“Where we first met.”

Dexter bolted from his classes to the parking lot where he’d be meeting Roman to help him shop for materials. Careful not to slip as he went. If they were fast, he’d be able to make it in time for tutoring.

Shopping took longer than thought due to traffic caused by an accident on the road. Stupid black ice. Now they were both running late for tutoring session with Logan. When they had gotten there, Patton and Virgil were already at work, asking Logan questions for different subjects he could help with. They sat down and began to work to, saying nothing of their plans while Virgil was there.

Dexter wasn’t able to get as much done during tutoring because of their lack of time, but now he had to go help Roman with the planning and getting Logan and Patton to help them, without the emo present.

By the time he got back to the library after the planning session he had a little over and hour to study before it closes.  

When he had finally arrived at his dorm after all that it was nearing ten o’clock. Dexter had to stop at a nearby fast food place to grab an unhealthy dinner since the dorm kitchen was closed. This time Patton was there in their dorm, already preparing for bed. Exhausted, Dexter decided to skip dinner, putting his take out in the fridge and crawling into bed as well.

This went on over the next few days, back and forth between his studies, school, and assisting Roman. Now Dexter had to include helping Roman with his already overflowing workload. He was falling behind, which was cutting into his sleep schedule, which was messing with his productivity. He was happy to help Roman, but he wished he had asked him before finals week.

Even with all the stress, he had managed to make it work. He had just finished his last day of finals, and was rewarding himself with a nap. Other than his occasional spacing out, interruptive thoughts, and tired brain, Dexter thinks he did alright. Definitely didn’t fail any of them, but definitely didn’t ace them either. Ah puns, Patton’s rubbing off on him, Logan wouldn’t be pleased. 

After tomorrow he’d finally be able to relax and hibernate until the next semester.

At eleven am the next day, Logan delivered the note to send Virgil on the hunt. According to his text in the group chat, it took a while for Virgil agree to going on this hunt.

The first clue was in Patton and Dexter’s dorm, specifically the fridge he always raided for soda. A little doodle of a fridge and lemonade ginger ale led him there. Once he arrive, Patton was there to give him the next clue.

The second was at the coffee shop where Dexter first told them about his writing. Hinted at by the drawing of a coffee cup, a notebook, and a snake. When he arrived, Dexter was sitting in the booth, a cup off coffee and a note for Virgil.

The third clue was a picture of a ticket booth and a theater. With an annoyed groan, Virgil left to go after the next clue. Once he was gone Dexter left to help with the final step.

The fourth clue was a giant red, paper sign taped over the ticket booth sign on the side of the school theater. On the giant sign were the words: Go Where We First Met - R, accompanied with the drawings of a desk and a chair, and musical notes. Virgil smiled when he saw those words, because he knew that this was such a Roman kind of thing to do for his twentieth birthday.

He knew exactly where to go next from there. Heading the building right next to the theater, Virgil walked up to the floor where the drama room was. When he entered, he was slightly disappointed to find it empty. But in the center of the room was a lone laptop with a CD right next to it and a note that said “Play Me”.

Doing as the note said, he played the video and on came the song they had met to. American Idiot. As the song played on, bold letters came on the screen, detailing their story, as if he didn’t already now it.

They had met during Virgil’s audition to play in the band for the American Idiot Musical. The theater was busy that day, so auditions were held in the Drama room. 

Roman had been there to pick up the materials he had forgotten after class.

And that’s where he saw him.

Virgil hadn’t noticed him watching, too entranced in the song. But he did notice when a buffoon tripped over a chair and interrupted his audition.

Virgil chuckled when he read those words, remembering when that happened. He had sworn that he’d failed the audition because of a clumsy stranger. And a little more than pissed.

Virgil Black got the part and was sent to rehearsal four days a week. It was there that he got to know Roman Sanchez. 

What started as a silly rivalry soon turned to an awkward friendship. Which then turned to the friendship of a lifetime.

But as time went on, and the two entered into their second year of college, Roman’s feelings began to change. He wanted something more.

Virgil’s breath got caught in his throat. His heart began to beat faster. 

But Virgil seemed content with what they had and denied any attempts by Roman.

Roman could have given up and move on, but he wanted this to much to do so.

And I still do.

Will you go out with me, Virgil?

Virgil was in tears as he heard the song fade away, leaving him in silence, staring at a blank screen.

“Will you?” Roman’s voice sounded behind him.

Virgil whipped around to see Roman walking in from the teacher’s office. Having been hiding there the entire time until his cue. Virgil breathed heavily as he hastily rubbed at his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he had been crying.

“Couldn’t you have asked me like a normal person?” He bit back harshly, but Roman new he was simply embarrassed. 

“Would you have said yes?” He asked him, walking over slowly.

“Yes!” He shouted, still hiding his face in his hands, unable to stop the tears. “Princey I thought you were just kidding this entire time, I knew that you had a long history of dating guys so I thought you weren’t being serious.”

“That was back in high school.” He told him softly, kneeling down to his height, gently taking Virgil’s hands from his face. “I’ve never been more serious about anyone.” Virgil looked up at him slowly, eyes puffy and red. Roman thought it was absolutely adorable. “Virgil Black, will you go out with me?”

“Of course, stupid.” He said back, another round of tears falling, but he wasn’t the only one, as Roman began to cry as well. 

Dexter watched from the doorway, the rest in tow with him. They all silently cheered for their two friends, happy that their dumb tension was finally relieved.

“It’s about time.” Logan stated, leaning against the hallway wall, not needing to spy on them to know what happened.

“This was a really good idea, Dee.” Patton said to him gratefully, tears were also in his eyes as he watched from the doorway.

“Nope, I’m not glad they-” suddenly the buzzing of his cell in his back pocket stopped that train of thought. Good thing Dexter had made sure they put all of their phones on vibrate as to not disturb the new couple. 

Pulling out his phone he felt his hand go limp once he saw the Caller ID. The device fell from his fingers in what felt like slow motion. The sound of the crash alerted everyone around them. Pat and Lo were there first to ask him what was wrong, Roman and Virgil following a second after, their moment now forgotten.

They all asked what was the matter, concern washing over them as he didn’t say anything. However, they all went silent once they heard the fake sweet voice of his mother leaving a message on his phone.

“Hello Dexter, It’s your mother. I called to let you know that your Father, sister, and I will be visiting your campus before the start of the next to talk with all your professors. And of course to see you, haha. Please prepare for our arrival. Also, don’t trouble yourself with visiting us for Christmas, were sure you’d like to enjoy your break by yourself as you do with everything else. See you soon.”

The line went dead, the buzzing the only sound being made. The others looked to each other in confusion and concern. Dexter still said nothing. Picking up his phone he walked away, ignoring the calls directed at him from his friends.

Dexter didn’t mean to interrupt the moment or kill the mood, but he had to leave. He could allow his negativity to affect the rest of them.

His parents were always skeptical of him becoming a writer and tried to discourage him from doing so. It wasn’t because they weren’t sure he’d be successful, even they could see his talent for it, but rather because they were scared of his mind’s creation. His parents have always been frightened of the things he enjoyed, of the things he’d imagine, of him. They were worried that his writing would influence others to be like him, that they’d no longer be able to keep his existence in the dark.

But when Dexter came here, it was because he convinced them that he’d only use his skills to write non-fiction. He’d lied about it, but it was the only way to gain their support. However, if he failed a single class, or if they got a word from his professors about his writing, they’d take him out of school and he’d be forced to work in his dad’s shop.

In the back, stacking and unloading, hidden from the world so that no one could see the monster they had brought into the world.

.

.

Gosh I once again was getting emotional over my own freaking story. Love Prinxiety. 

Y’all are going to be meeting Dexter’s parents soon, to be warned, they’re cynical assholes.

Tag List:

@noneed4thistbh @romanasanders @fuckingemoace @bunny222 @sea-blue-child @astraastro @helloitstimetofight @blue-wolfbane @applecannibal @ryuity @anxiouslyfred @i-identify-as-a-mango @shadowjag @scorching-scotch @cyberpunkjinx

[arabvllas-blog]

          i don’t actually know how to write intros, i’d rather just kms but let’s give it a try anyway . . . also, disclaimer / i started writing this like three hours ago but right as i was getting to the good stuff my stomach did some freaky weird shit so i had to improvise the rest which is. . . messy, At Best ! but regardless, i hope you don’t judge me too much ? my name is zee, i’m 20 years old and i’m from the gmt timezone. i also use she/her pronouns. under the cut, i’ll be introducing you to ARABELLA HOWARD, who’s small, blonde, and troubled. sounds interesting ? then please give it a like and i’ll hop on your IMs so that we can plot something dramatic and juicy <3

&. 【 is that OLIVIA HOLT ? oh, never mind, it’s just ARABELLA HOWARD. the CIS FEMALE originally from GRANDVIEW. SHE is majoring in FINANCE and is TWENTY years old. i also hear they’re INCISIVE, yet sometimes PITILESS. they apparently told detective’s they were ava’s TUTOR. i have a feeling there’s more to the story than that !

tw: abuse mention b a c k s t o r y : 

arabella elise howard was born to a fairytale — her mother had been a professor with her round glasses hidden by stacks of books, while her father lived life without a worry, flying from country to country and enjoying the best money could buy. it didn’t make sense for their paths to cross, and it didn’t make sense for matthew howard to fall head over heels for the shy yet headstrong theresa wayne, but they did ; he did. and soon enough, he was whispering loving words to a big belly that housed the very product of their love.

but perhaps because it all seemed too good to be true, their happiness was short-lived. on the eve of arabella’s 3rd birthday, matthew’s car skidded along the icy roads, ending the couple’s life. too young to even notice their absence, arabella was handed over to her mother’s sister — she was a toddler reaching aimlessly for the same head of blonde hair that she’d known since birth. except this one wasn’t as kind, and surely not as loving.

leila wayne had loved her little sister, and had taken care of her when their senile parents couldn’t. growing up, there wasn’t one without the other. theresa was leila’s pride, the one wayne that would succeed and remember her big sister on the way up. that was until matthew barged in, corrupting her sibling, feeding her lies and stealing her away across the country. there wasn’t a day that went by that leila was sure theresa would still be alive if not for that man. him and his lies, convincing theresa that leila was too controlling, too obsessed, that she wanted her little sister to stay in the gutter with her.

the more she looked at arabella, and those dark eyes she’d inherited from her father, the more hatred festered in leila’s heart. she was the only living family that could take care of the orphaned howard child; how ironic.

growing up, arabella was almost fooled into thinking her home life was normal. the screaming at every mistake, the poor dinner comprised of day-old takeouts, the wasted mattress on the corner of the room that she curled into, whimpering as the lights went off and leila locked the door for the night. but still, some part of her knew deep down, that she had once known more; known better. and it was those blurry dreams of loving hugs and white-teeth smiles that kept the child, then teenager, alive.  

after here i got sick so bear with me as i try to complete this fajsidas

she was often alone for most part of her teenage years, burying herself in whatever books she got at the school library. because she couldn’t relate to the rest of the peers her age, arabella focused all her attention towards studying and making sure she could one day get as far away from her aunt as possible. she got a competitive streak, often harboring anger and envy towards anyone that got a better grade than her, though it meant she was always pushing herself to do better — but not always better for her, but better than them.

teachers and counselors often considered arabella as a rare gem, supporting her all the way to college applications and assuring her there was no way she wouldn’t get a scholarship with her record. so it was really a slap to the face when everyone started getting acceptance letters but her. until she discovered them ripped apart and half burnt in the trash, courtesy of leila. when confronted, the older woman claimed she was just like her mother. so eager to get away, to act like she was a monster they had to run from. but she refused to let arabella leave, like theresa had. ( i’m sure there would be a way to reverse this but idk enough about american education so let’s just go w it for the sake of the story). it was a tipping point, the last drop of water that would send the vase tipping over. that night, arabella locked her aunt in the same room she had spent her childhood in, lights turned off, the only sound the faint rumble of cars passing by. no matter how much the woman yelled, slammed, begged, she turned her back and packed the little she had been given. two days later, as the cab driver hauled up her luggage in the trunk, arabella unlocked the door to a passed out and starving leila, and left without saying goodbye.

she ended up going to her last choice aka grandview, while living alone in her little shoebox apt that was all hers, with lots of light. and when the opportunity actually came to attend oakridge, arabella was the first to take it. while it wasn’t her dream college, it was still a prestigious one, and since ridding herself of the dead weight in her life, she’d started planning to rise as far as they would let her go. far enough that the whispers in the dark couldn’t get to her.

p e r s o n a l i t y and t i d b i t s : 

very self-centered, only ever concerned about her and what happens to her and will this affect her ? really the last person to go to if you want someone to listen… that one girl that zones out when someone starts monologuing and comes back only when her name is mentioned. has a hard time feeling sympathy, especially if you’re rich.

always overthinks her words and waits 5 seconds before speaking to make sure it’s exactly what she wants to say and if it’s something bitchy then that’s just the way it is. but she’s more reserved than outgoing, so if she does say smth mean you just really asked for it. or it’s finals time. 

driven and dedicated about her academics…. like obviously they all are but she’s a freak about it. i’m talking redbull intoxication feat. one of those pinterest pics of like a bunch of coffee cups just laying around like someone’s got time to spare. if she’s not studying, she’s reading…. likes classics but also occasionally reads NA in the middle of the night because no one will ever know.

is very scared of the dark. can’t sleep without a light on, or two on very hard days. once in highschool some kids decided to prank the teacher and turn off all lights and blinds in the classroom and she had a panic attack that led them all to detention. it was a very rough year, kids are cruel.

tutored ava for a while in english because it meant some cash on the side, but was about to quit before she died simply because ava was getting better grades and that was really a bitch ass of a situation. her first reaction when she heard of her death was that at least she didn’t have to have an awkward conversation with her about it. . . but then she was a shocked and a little sad, i promise. well, i don’t promise promise but. . .

majors in finance, hates it. she was definitely going for a english major but realistically decided it wasn’t worth putting herself in debt for it ( no offense for any english majors. ) doesn’t actually know what she wants to do with her life after she graduates. she only knows how to be a student, not an actual working woman. 

in summary, arabella elise howard is a broke, over-achieving, cold twenty year old who’s only 5′3 and thinks she can still be intimidating.

[placetobenation]

Welcome to ThunderDome – WWE style!

Friday night began a new era for the WWE as they continue to find their footage through the COVID-19 pandemic. They’ve officially moved out of the Performance Center, where they’ve done fanless shows for the past six months and now taken up residency at the Amway Center in Orlando, Florida. It’s a return to a big arena set-up and will be surrounded by digital fans who will join RAW, SmackDown and PPV’s from the comforts of their own homes each week.

I thought the look and the feel of it was awesome! The bigness of a WWE event has returned somewhat and now it will be tweaked as they move forward. I did think they might have shown a few more close-up shots of the digital crowd, but it’s something they will surely take a look at it. When it comes to production, the WWE is the leader in the game. Add in the pyros and the longer, familiar entrance and it was a home run for me. Well done!

All this comes at a great time for the WWE as life at the Performance Center got stale and looked a bit too cozy and of course, looked the same each and every show. This weekend sees the WWE with four straight nights of live programming with SmackDown on Friday night, NXT TakeOver:XXX Saturday night, SummerSlam on Sunday night and RAW on Monday night. That’s a lot of folks and the WWE better be at its best to stand out.

Finally, I’m sad to see Renee Young go. She’s reportedly set to leave the WWE after SummerSlam. There’s no question that she was a bright spot from the announce team and even though WWE Backstage was never given a 100% chance to succeed with a late-night spot on FS1, Young, along with CM Punk, make it entertaining. Plus, Young did it all. From the sidelines, hosting and even some play-by-play too, she shined. Now, whether it’s a future with more mainstream gigs like her cookbook, podcast and other projects, another network gig or possible a reunion in AEW with hubby Jon Moxley, Young will do amazing things. She is very good at what she does and we wish her nothing but the best.

SummerSlam PPV – Updated Card:

WWE Championship Match: Drew McIntyre vs. Randy Orton

Universal Championship Match: Braun Strowman vs. The FIend

RAW Women’s Championship Match: Sasha Banks vs. Asuka

SmackDown Women’s Championship Match: Bayley vs. Asuka

United States Championship Match: Apollo Crews vs. MVP

Hair vs. Hair, No DQ, Loser Leaves WWE Match: Mandy Rose vs. Sonya Deville

RAW Tag Team Championship Match: The Street Profits vs. Andrade & Angel Garza

Street Fight: Seth Rollins vs. Dominik Mysterio (Mysterio can bring weapons)

NXT TakeOver: XXX – Updated Card:

NXT Championship Match: Keith Lee vs. Karrion Kross

NXT Women’s Championship Match: Io Shirai vs. Dakota Kai

North American Championship Ladder Match: The Velveteen Dream vs. Cameron Grimes vs. Bronson Reed vs. Johnny Gargano vs. Damian Priest

Adam Cole vs. Pat McAfee

Finn Balor vs. Timothy Thatcher

Kickoff Show: NXT Tag Team Championship #1 Contender’s Match: Joaquin Wilde & Raul Mendoza vs. Breezango vs. Oney Lorcan & Danny Burch

RAW

RESULTS

United States Championship Non-Title Match: Apollo Crews defeated Shelton Benjamin

24/7 Championship Shelton Benjamin defeated R-Truth to win title

Angel Garza defeated Ivar

Natalya defeated Mickie James by count-out

WWE Women’s Tag Team Championship Non-Title Match: Asuka & Shayna Baszler defeated Sasha Banks & Bayley

Peyton Royce defeated Ruby Riott

MVP, Bobby Lashley & Shelton Benjamin defeated Apollo Crews, Mustafa Ali & Ricochet

24/7 Championship Match: Cedric Alexander defeated Shelton Benjamin to win title

24/7 Championship Match: Cedric Alexander defeated Akira Tozawa to retain title

24/7 Championship Match: Shelton Benjamin defeated Cedric Alexander to win title

Montez Ford defeated Andrade

Loved it:

.@reymysterio & @35_Dominik just BLASTED @WWERollins & @WWE_Murphy with a pair of Kendo sticks on #WWERaw! pic.twitter.com/6jyoMRJIHb

— WWE (@WWE) August 18, 2020

Revenge for the Mysterios – Giving Seth Rollins a double dose of kendo stick revenge was as physical as it was heartening. Good for Dominik and Rey Mysterio to get their pound of flesh back from the beatings on both father and son. Should be slobber knocker come Sunday at SummerSlam.

A new duo – Putting foes Shayna Baszler & Asuka together is a pair that I like. They’re just crazy enough to fight Sasha Banks & Bayley on their terms and also fight each other at any moment.

Huh?:

Viper. Strikes. Again.#WWERaw @RandyOrton pic.twitter.com/O6Duzue1WZ

— WWE (@WWE) August 18, 2020

HBK – You mean to tell me that Randy Orton’s RKO and punt to the head takes out everyone except Shawn Michaels? It seems a bit farfetched and a mistake IMHO. I mean the RKO to Drew McIntyre was sold beautifully to end the show. I loved the back-and-forth between McIntyre and The Viper but HBK’s performance just didn’t cut it for me and could’ve been done a bit better to sell the upcoming WWE Championship Match.

All it takes a slither. @DMcIntyreWWE never saw it coming.#WWERaw @RandyOrton pic.twitter.com/laAUvOeDdM

— WWE (@WWE) August 18, 2020

A lot to digest:

The @WWEUniverse nearly witnessed @NiaJaxWWE vs. @QoSBaszler in #RAWUnderground!

#WWERaw pic.twitter.com/PPQ6DFE08N

— WWE (@WWE) August 18, 2020

RAW Underground – There was a ton going on at RAW Underground this week. Almost, a bit too much. Between Dolph Ziggler and The Viking Raiders going at it or the debut of the Marina Shafir fighting with fellow Four Horse Women Jessamyn Duke by her side to Nia Jax and Shayna Baszler going at it to the ending (why?) to the Riddick Moss fight that didn’t need to be stopped, it was a lot to take in. We still need some details as to why their fighting, what do they get to fight, is there a point to them fighting and just what do you have to do to win other than Shane McMahon saying it’s over? I love the grit of it, it just needs some more details explained. I don’t want complete structure, but maybe a title or maybe just some explanations here or there will do it for me.

Too much:

24/7 Championship – Do we really need four matches with three title changes? I think not.

MVP and crew vs. Apollo Crews and crew – I think we’ve all but exhausted all the possibilities but I think we’ll get 100 more matches between these 6 over the next month.

Welcome back:

The Smoke – We not only find out that Zelina Vega did indeed poison Montez Ford a few weeks back, as expected, but we also get Ford back in person to entertain. A welcome sight for our Monday night eyes!

Mickie James – Seriously, a count out? I expected much more from Natalya and the returning former WWE Divas Champion. That’s some seriously bad booking there my friends.

Better left unsaid:

RETRIBUTION – But we’ll say it anyway! What a waste. You mean to tell me that RETRIBUTION takes over the TV production truck but then allows them to do a three-hour show without interruption. Non-sense! Complete rubbish.

NXT

RESULTS

North American Title Ladder Match Qualifying Match: Johnny Gargano defeated Ridge Holland

Dakota Kai defeated Jessi Kamea

Legado del Fantasma defeated Isiaah “Swerve” Scott & Breezango

Rhea Ripley & Shotzi Blackheart defeated Mercedes Martinez & Aliyah

North American Title Ladder Match Qualifying Match: The Velveteen Dream defeated Finn Balor

Killer set-up:

"400 and something days you were undefeated. It took me one minute to knock your a** out." Those are fighting words @PatMcAfeeShow… #WWENXT #NXTTakeOver @AdamColePro pic.twitter.com/1P0Jbnut7t

— WWE NXT (@WWENXT) August 20, 2020

"This Saturday at #NXTTakeOver, I'm gonna make you my b****." – @AdamColePro You did this to yourself, @PatMcAfeeShow. #WWENXT pic.twitter.com/1maGXxwUjM

— WWE (@WWE) August 20, 2020

Cole vs. McAfee – Hands down, Pat McAfee and Adam Cole served up the personal side to the match up on a silver platter. Awesome job on the mic (or lack of one in Cole’s case) to not only explain McAfee’s purpose in all this but also to make us want to see Cole kick his ass as well. I’m hoping for an all-out brawl between these two. It’ll be short, but unique.

Tick tock. An eruption is coming…

@RealKeithLee defends his #NXTTitle against @WWEKarrionKross this Saturday at #NXTTakeOver XXX streaming at 7ET/4PT on @WWENetwork! @Lady_Scarlett13 #WWENXT pic.twitter.com/zegDqe9t6B

— WWE NXT (@WWENXT) August 20, 2020

Lee vs. Kross – Anytime you add in Metallica to a WWE production piece, you know it’s going to be good. Four minutes of pure “make me want to see it” and that’s all you can ask for heading into a PPV.

What a CF:

EVERYBODY has their sights set on the NXT #NATitle!! Will @FinnBalor or @DreamWWE punch their ticket to #NXTTakeOver: XXX???#WWENXT pic.twitter.com/4ivk4honTW

— WWE (@WWE) August 20, 2020

Balor vs. Dream – I understand wanting to make us believe in the other four participants for the North American Ladder Match at TakeOver:XXX, but it seems like Balor vs. Dream was just an ordinary match due to the interference of Cameron Grimes, Damian Priest, Bronson Reed, Johnny Gargano and then TImothy Thatcher that ultimately cost Finn Balor the match. I was disappointed and wanted to see TVD and The Prince tear down the house and what we got was many levels below it. Do I really need to see Thatcher vs. Balor?

Solid:

"All Heart" isn't just a catchphrase. You only lose when you quit and I got a Ladder match to win in 3 days.

#NXTTakeOver pic.twitter.com/SKZdMC0anE

— Johnny Gargano (@JohnnyGargano) August 20, 2020

Tag teams – Good, solid matches from Rhea Ripley & Shotzi Blackheart (a fun pairing if you will) along with the cruiserweights in the six-man tag keeps NXT at its traditional roots in the ring. Week in and week out, it’s the best “wrestling” performances on WWE programming. You rarely get a sticker from the effort in the squared circle. That’s never an issue. It’s only a matter of time before we get Ripley vs. Martinez one-on-one too.

Nicely done:

Women’s NXT Championship Match – The return of Raquel Gonzalez gives us a glimpse into what Dakota Kai could have in store for Io Shirai and their title match Saturday night. If you didn’t think Kai had a chance, you have to rethink it now.

SMACKDOWN

RESULTS

Big E defeated Sheamus

SmackDown Tag Team Title Match: Cesaro & Shinsuke Nakamura defeated Lucha House Party

Beat the Clock Challenge: Sasha Banks defeated Naomi in 3:39

Beat the Clock Challenge: Naomi defeated Bayley 1:50 – Bayley will face Asuka first at SummerSlam

Intercontinental Championship Match: Jeff Hardy defeated AJ Styles to win title

Loved it:

Welcome to #WWEThunderDome! pic.twitter.com/HcbHe1d9Ug

— WWE on FOX (@WWEonFOX) August 22, 2020

ThunderDome – Loved the new look as we said above. Great start to a new era in the WWE.

Your winner and the NEEWWWW Intercontinental Champion: @JEFFHARDYBRAND! #SmackDown pic.twitter.com/r13bKX8mBl

— WWE on FOX (@WWEonFOX) August 22, 2020

Hardy’s hurt and a champ – Jeff Hardy using his knee brace to beat AJ Styles and win the Intercontinental Title after Styles sneak attack at the top of the show during the RETRIBUTION chaos was ironic. Good to see Hardy a champ again and yes, we’ll see a rematch very, very soon I’m sure.

Sunday. All bets are off. #SmackDown pic.twitter.com/oQZaDWgJ3I

— WWE on FOX (@WWEonFOX) August 22, 2020

The Fiend – First, he starts his night stalking the chairman of the board, Vince McMahon. Then, he avoids the RETRIBUTION attack. Finally, after his alter ego Bray Wyatt gets attacked by Braun Strowman to end the show, The Fiend comes out of the ambulance unscathed. He’s impervious to anything and that’s a good thing heading into SummerSlam. Suspend your reality for The Fiend and enjoy the ride. And yes, we’ll have more to say about that ambulance and Bray Wyatt below.

"Hair or no hair, i'm sick of looking at your face!"@SonyaDevilleWWE wants @WWE_MandyRose in a No DQ, LOSER LEAVES WWE Match at #SummerSlam!!!#SmackDown #WWEThunderDome pic.twitter.com/P7h0d9q5Lc

— WWE (@WWE) August 22, 2020

Sonya ups the ante – After an olive branch by Mandy Rose was thrown out there to set their differences aside, not only does Sonya Deville reject it, but trumps it. Deville not only wants the Hair vs. Hair match Sunday at SummerSlam, but she wants it to be a No DQ, Loser Leaves WWE match to boot! Now, we all know about the real-life news about Deville and her stalker/kidnapping attempt this week. That’s very real. But I wonder if there’s a reason there to take her off TV for awhile and maybe she returns at a later date or maybe as part of RAW Underground? Either way, our thoughts and prayers are with Sonya in this difficult time.

Trouble brewing:

Lucha House Party, 3’s a crowd? – It seems like the returning Kalisto is none too happy with his LHP mates, especially Gran Metalik, after their tag team title loss Friday night. Expect a high-flying feud coming soon to a Friday night near you.

#RETRIBUTION quickly interrupted #TheFiend @WWEBrayWyatt and @BraunStrowman's tense standoff. #SmackDown pic.twitter.com/eps3f3dYZw

— WWE (@WWE) August 22, 2020

The Miz – Did anyone else notice that The Miz was the last one to the dance during the RETRIBUTION attack to start the show? Me thinks that was not a coincidence and bears watching!

Sasha & Bayley – The tension continues to ride high heading into SummerSlam and the double duty defense for the BFF’s against Asuka. Kudos to Naomi (and Corey Graves) for upping the ante with the Beat the Clock Challenge to allow Sasha to secure a second slot spot against Asuka as Naomi’s win leaves Bayley up first to take on the Emperess Sunday.

Worst paramedics ever:

Oh no…#SmackDown @WWEBrayWyatt pic.twitter.com/kkphT78FNB

— WWE (@WWE) August 22, 2020

Bray Wyatt – After being pummeled by Braun Strowman and thrown off a loading dock, the paramedics taking care of Wyatt just manhandle him on to a stretcher, no checking of the neck, back or even putting a brace on him. Yikes! At least, try to make it look real guys!

Parting shots:

It’s time for predictions for this weekend’s two PPV’s – in quick fashion. Remember, with Payback just one week later after SummerSlam, I expect some surprises that need immediate attention. Plus, with the only match announced for Payback being Sasha Banks & Bayley defending their Women’s Tag Team Titles, there’s sure to be some tension caused to be at a premium for that match. Maybe Asuka will walk away with ALL the gold!

SummerSlam PPV – Updated Card:

WWE Championship Match: Randy Orton defeats Drew McIntyre

Universal Championship Match: The Fiend defeats Braun Strowman (with help from Alexa Bliss)

RAW Women’s Championship Match: Asuka defeats Sasha Banks

SmackDown Women’s Championship Match: Asuka defeats Bayley

United States Championship Match: Apollo Crews defeats MVP

Hair vs. Hair, No DQ, Loser Leaves WWE Match: Mandy Rose defeats Sonya Deville (maybe Sonya shows up on RAW Underground?)

RAW Tag Team Championship Match: Andrade & Angel Garza defeat The Street Profits

Street Fight: Seth Rollins defeats Dominik Mysterio  

NXT TakeOver: XXX – Updated Card:

NXT Championship Match: Karrion Kross defeats Keith Lee

NXT Women’s Championship Match: Io Shirai defeats Dakota Kai

North American Championship Ladder Match: The Velveteen Dream defeats Cameron Grimes, Bronson Reed, Johnny Gargano, Damian Priest

Adam Cole defeats Pat McAfee

Finn Balor defeats Timothy Thatcher

Kickoff Show: NXT Tag Team Championship #1 Contender’s Match: Joaquin Wilde & Raul Mendoza defeat Breezango and Oney Lorcan & Danny Burch

Coming up this week:

RAW: ThunderDome / SummerSlam aftermath

NXT: TakeOver:XXX aftermath

SMACKDOWN: ThunderDome / SummerSlam aftermath

Thanks for letting us share our thoughts! Shoot me an email at jcrowe567@gmail.com. We’d love to hear your comments and suggestions! You can also check out my blog, The Crowe’s Nest as we delve into more pro wrestling, sports entertainment and the World of Sports. My apologies ahead of time – I AM a Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics and Bruins fan! If you’re not down with that, I’ve got TWO WORDS for you… NEW ENGLAND

[theteenagetrickster]

D'Angelo's 'Witchcraft' Redefined What an R&B Album Can Be

A four-and-a-half-minute-long, NSFW video recording changed the whole program of D'Angelo's career.

"Untitled (Exactly How Performs It Feel)" begins accidently, panning coming from the vocalist's nice cornrows to his gap-toothed grin. Stripped-down and also susceptible, the normally smooth performer looks slightly uneasy. This pain is relatable; it is actually the sensation of undressing before somebody who has never ever observed you nude. With his look corrected below his midsection, you're left behind pondering what the heck is actually going on below the chance. In a job interview along with? uestlove, the vocalist would not assure or reject if he was actually obtaining dental sex, but his superficial breathing merely contributes to the implication. The magnetism of "Untitled," as well as it's exciting grandeur, makes it very easy to miss out on the Jesus crucifix pendant hanging coming from his back. The dichotomy of religion as well as sexuality has actually been the core pressure in the production of D'Angelo.

Even with the results of 1995's Brown Sugar, and also eventually Witchcraft-- which transforms twenty years outdated today-- the R&B vocalist stayed an enigma: He was actually evolving as D'Angelo, the sex symbolic representation, yet dealing with like heck to be actually Michael Archer, the choir young boy who grew in his father's Pentecostal religion. The measure of Dark quality is actually frequently assessed by just how remarkably our company may harmonize our double awareness: that we are actually versus who the world identifies our company to be. Honored as the second coming of Prince, D'Angelo's radiance plagued him, as well as his sophomore album will test just how much he was willing to compromise for self-preservation.

"As I started to hear what ended up being Voodoo, I swiftly started to recognize that this was actually not simply Brown Sugar part 2," excursion supervisor Alan Leeds said in the docudrama. "It was crystal clear to me that he went to the forefront of no matter where Dark popular music was visiting use the following 10 or twenty years."

Created in his bed room on a 4-track in Richmond, Brown Glucose pleases each of the detects. The "cherry in [his] chocolate-covered goals" remains on your lips on "Me and also Those Dreamin' Eyes of Mine," and you can easily see his blood-stained hands through the side of the bluesy "Crap, Damn, Motherfucker." D'Angelo's songwriting frequently mixes fragrant as well as scrumptious, as he carries out on the record's eponymous solitary. "I receive higher on your affection, do not recognize exactly how to behave," wasn't for dramatic impact; it was actually an ode to a forthright as balmy as the hooptie you hotboxed in college. Reprising 90s R&B in his picture, D'Angelo was actually identical parts Sly Rock and A People Referred To As Pursuit; this crash of soul and also road offered childbirth to a brand-new label of rhythm as well as blues that fit him like a handwear cover. "I was regularly choosing to make hip-hop without possessing to seem R&B," he informed? uestlove.

"After [Brown Sugar] was performed I enjoyed it, yet there were certain songs that I experienced it lost one thing in between the demonstration version plus all of the creation that went into it," he said in a 2014 meeting with Reddish Bull Popular Music Academy. After thinking that his debut came to be "a little homogenized," D'Angelo generated his consequence to test the mainstream. "Straight from the cow to the glass-- that's what Voodoo was actually," he pointed out.

As followers awaited an additional cd and also the second fifty percent of the 90s played out, life didn't seem to slow down. The O.J. Simpson murder trial split the country, along with the absolution of the previous expert football gamer astonishing The United States. Louis Farrakhan's attempt to industry the Thousand Man March as a symbol of unity didn't assist the Dark community's social anguish. Tupac and also Big deal's massacres were actually mindless, and also when the Nyc Cops Division shot 41 chance ats Amadou Diallo, a disarmed 23-year-old immigrant from Guinea, the target on the spines of Black men were amplified. As the many years wound down, Bill Clinton, who Toni Morrison the moment referred to as our "initial Dark president," was dealing with impeachment for an occasion with Monica Lewinsky, a White Property trainee.

Twenty years later, United States has finally seen 2 terms of its own actual first Black president, yet the country remains mistaken in myriad ways: possible impeachment is actually as soon as again on the perspective, appealing sporting activities heroes are actually still confined in massacre hearings, and also cops violence remains to dominate the titles. Voodoo's brilliant depends on D'Angelo's selection to make an album as incomplete as the amount of times.

The cd's title alone redeemed dark magic decades just before the expression "black (gal) miracle" became a symbol of empowerment. Glorifying the spiritual methods of the American South, Caribbean islands, as well as West Africa, Voodoo symbolized the marital relationship of the intricacies of Dark life and also faith affecting his sound. Somewhat than decrease Vodou to spells and ritual killings, the performer conjured the soul of the Haitians that birthed the faith on slavery farmsteads.

"I discovered that everything that exists, all music, stems from Africa," D'Angelo said to desire hampton in a 2000 problem of FEEL. "I began to find all the links of music aiming back to Africa, and I wished to show all those styles. Like what Sly was actually attempting to perform, like what Royal prince was actually attempting to carry out, as well as Jimi too."

D'Angelo taped Voodoo at Greenwich Town's Electric Girl Studios. Certainly there, summoning the power of Hendrix-- that developed the studio in the 70s-- as well as packing it with signboards of various other soul guys like Royal prince as well as The Isley Brothers, he made it a shrine to his heroes. As an adolescent in Richmond, a prospective mentorship with Ellis Marsalis Jr. dropped through, and now, he had actually located the positive side: training would possess created him also brightened, and also Witchcraft was the reverse of formal musicality. The recording of Voodoo was fully uncustomary. Envious a demo-like premium that was actually shed on Brownish Sweets, he videotaped most of the album in one take, determining what to keep after playback. Tunes appeared primarily out of jam treatments, along with tracks like "Greatdayndamornin'" and "The Origin" fastened all together through designer Russ Elevado.

What is actually most significant isn't just the means they recorded, yet exactly how they participated in." [Witchcraft] revolutionized how audio equipments and reside guitars could possibly sound," guitar player Jesse Johnson pointed out in Devil's Cake. "It was actually so anti-music market, I liked it since also the trendiest song, which was 'Untitled,' really did not possess a headline." Working with reduced zing drums as well as a regular 4-string bass guitar, Witchcraft was actually a snarling whisper compared to its contemporaries.? uest's drumming was modeled after J Dilla's trademark type, "bit [ping] to seamless gutter pail degrees," or even playing inaccurate, as he commonly explains it.

Certainly not only was the manufacturing highly textured, yet thus was actually the album's lyricism. The off-center drumming and distant vocals of "Hen Oil" developed a special combination for his analogies. Poultry, much like music, is ideal with the remainders of tastes the oil carries, as well as D'Angelo desired listeners to taste that spice. "Simmer to a sizzle like the day of outdated/ Yet I'll wait til I've learnt this, allow the others go initially," he vocalizes. This notion of frowning at brilliance, as well as the reparations it asks for, haunt him on various other tunes like "Free throw line": "I mentioned the tension is on/ Coming from every viewpoint, political to individual," he performs. "Will I dangle or even receive left behind hangin'?/ Will I diminish, or even is it bangin'?"

Despite his insecurities, Voodoo was a transformation. It was a middle finger to bureaucracy relating to the restrictions positioned on Dark popular music, but it was actually also a method of healing.

The only issue was, his setting as a recently produced sex symbolic representation was actually risking his principles, ultimately ending up being a disturbance coming from his songs.

Adhering to "Untitled," D'Angelo concerts ended up being a storm of demands to find him shirtless, regardless of the gravitation of the tunes on Voodoo. He 'd oblige, stripping down as rapidly as twenty mins in to his collection simply to keep his enthusiasts fulfilled. Carrying out became the form of chains he performed approximately on "Evil one's Pie," a monitor more hip-hop than R&B that was made through DJ Premier. "The spirit of the vocals is actually extra like a chain gang, or even area of servants, choosing whatever the fuck owner had our company picking, and also's what our experts 'd be actually vocal singing in the very hot fucking sunlight," he informed Red Upward. Prating off the strange traits folks do for amount of money as well as desire, he performs certainly not exclude himself. "Who am I to warrant/ All the misery in our eye/ When I myself feel the higher/ From everything I abhor?" he performs. D'Angelo devoted the following 14 years hunting for the response to that concern.

To be actually Dark as well as exceptional methods that you must be both in all times. There is actually seldom any sort of space for mistake, and also it's certainly not adequate to simply be actually dazzling-- you must be actually "twice as excellent." "Everything short of one's absolute best is a different off the upright and also slim put together for our team by whatever generation went through before our team-- as well as a dishonor to what we owe them," Steven Undergrowth composed for. The skills of Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Donny Hathaway, Jimi Hendrix, Marvin Gaye, as well as D'Angelo's peer J Dilla were actually darkened through their fatalities. The idea that D'Angelo's destiny can represent those of his heroes paralyzed Michael Archer, and an individual.

Reborn in the time of Dark Lives Concern, D'Angelo's long-awaited Black Messiah gotten here in 2014 as a response to the massacre of Michael Brown, a disarmed teenager, due to the Ferguson Cops Department. Even with his 3rd album being actually near-complete for virtually two years, he possessed reservations concerning discharging it. "He yearned for one thing that was actually much more free-flowing, that more showed anarchy as well as seriousness as well as circle," Jocelyn Cooper, that signed the vocalist in the 90s, said to. Every thing he knew on his sophomore cd was happening cycle.

When Sorcery was actually complete, D'Angelo revealed that his mission was actually to boost the audios of his preferred artists, as opposed to example all of them.? uestlove talked to the singer, "Thus would certainly you point out that [the album] is actually that eyesight materialized?"

"Yeah ... but not entirely," D'Angelo pointed out. "I seem like it is actually the start of it. We refined it with Witchcraft."

Kristin Corry is a workers author for VICE.Additional picture through: Frank Micelotta/Getty Images

This content was originally published here.