#I ALWAYS GO BACK AND LOOK AT THAT FUCKING EDIT I MADE OD MY HAND WITH GIS IN COMPARISON

[bakatenshii]

hi angel. i am here yet again to discuss *the* thirteen centimetres.

may I please direct you to another analysis (with manga caps) of his thirteen centimeters (attached to his palm, not crotch) that I made 6 months ago, and young naive angel didn’t know what was yet to come.

for reference, the vaginal canal is roughly between 7.5cm-12.5cm (3-5inches) which means tomura’s middle finger alone, palm not included, is able to prod the entrance of your cervix. he can wrap his other hand around your throat perfectly, pinky up and all, and pick you up by the throat.

thirteen centimeters is larger than some cocks, and with the agility and flexibility of his fingers, he can make you come undone clenching around his one singular finger over and over again from different angles, pressing into your g-spot, your a-spot, grazing your puckered lil cervix.

thirteen centimeters is long enough to perfectly hook into the corners of your mouth as he pounds into you from behind, long enough to press into your mouth and feel your tongue swirl around it while his cock is milked by your warm tight walls.

in short— tomura’s hands are massive and will be the death of me, no quirky pun intended.

[deankirk]

FIC REC LIST - DESTIEL EDITION

It’s fic recs time again. (part i | part ii | part iii)

Actus Fidei by manic_intent - 5.6k, rated E

Summary:  On the very first time that Castiel manifests in front of Father Dean Winchester, he gets as far as “Rejoice, for you are blessed-” before Dean shoots him with a salt-loaded shotgun.

It’s on my re-reads list. So well writen and well developed. Short and powerful and made me fall in love with Father Dean fastest than that girl Fleabag.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon -  8.5k, rated E

Summary: No one ever tells Dean anything.

(or: Dean Winchester and the not-relationship crisis of 2014)

There’s Dean and Cas and sexual tension and they’re having sex before they can figure anything else on their relationship. It’s perfect.

Crazy Diamonds by pantheon_of_discord, 25k, rated E

Summary: A week ago, Dean was pulled out of Hell. Now, he’s apparently woken up in 2018, and the angel that a mere twenty-four hours beforehand had threatened to chuck him back into the pit is sleepily pouring himself coffee and wearing Dean’s second-favourite Zeppelin shirt. It all seems like a perfect happy ending, but with Hell’s scars still so fresh, Dean can’t imagine how he could have possibly gotten there.

Time travel fic, which would be enough. Plus it works both ways: the Dean from the future is sent back to the past.

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo, 30k, rated E

Summary: “Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.”

That’s a personal favorite, re-read list. The slow burn, the domesticity, the pinning, the desire. The chickens. Just read it.

The Mirror by cloudyjenn, 25k, rated M

Summary: When Dean touches a strange mirror, he’s whisked away to one alternate reality after another and it doesn’t take him long to realize the universe is trying to tell him something.

Surprise! Contrary to popular beliefs, Dean and Cas are in love in every universe. Also some great genderbend.

Some Boys are Sleeping Alone by prosopopeya - 4.2k, rated M

Summary: This isn’t something that’s okay, not for him, but it chases him through the years until it turns into something he can’t – doesn’t want to deny.

This one is totally a bait to my personal likings: dean’s bisexuality addressed, background Dean/OMCs, John Winchester’s A+ parenting and Dean getting what he wants.

More Than Ever by Sass_Master - 20k, rated E

Summary: Dean’s getting some pancakes together for breakfast when Cas saunters in after a run.

He’s trying to focus on whisking batter, unfairly distracted by Cas a few feet away, breathing heavily and shining with perspiration. Dean’s been painfully aware for a long time that Cas is pretty easy on the eyes, but he’s used to seeing Cas buttoned-up and unflappable, looking straight-laced in a stiff oxford and an unflattering trenchcoat.

Now Cas is sweating, Dean’s borrowed t-shirt clinging to his skin, flushed from exertion and Dean really can’t deal with that in his kitchen right now.

Then again, there’s dean and Cas and ogling and drooling and the aways good way in wich you can cut the sexual tension with a knife. That’s a win or win scenario.

The Story of You and Me by the_diggler - 55k, rated E

Summary: Dean wakes up in bed next to a very human Castiel, and a journal in his own handwriting that tells him it’s two years in the future. The house looks a lot like Bobby’s, and Sam lives there too… He just can’t remember how they got from angels falling in the sky – to comfortable domesticity.

While there is much in the journal Dean doesn’t remember, there is much of their story he’s always known. And as he settles into the routine of his new life and relationship with Castiel, it quickly becomes something he doesn’t know how to live without.

The best thing about cliches? You know exactly what’s gonna happen, and that’s great. Classic djinn fic.

The Girlfriend Experience by rageprufrock - 15k, rated E

Summary:  While it’s not like Dean hasn’t had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

Once again, they start having sex before anything else going on between them is addressed. Because sometimes sex is the easiest part.

like moses and batman and james dean by saltyfeathers - 31.5k, rated E

Summary:  dean used to turn tricks. over a decade later, he met cas.

The angst from our favorite angst boy.

things happen (they do, they do, and they do) by sobsicles - 28k, rated E

Summary: So, the first thing that happens is Castiel comes back.

Well, as a spn finale denialist myself, I choose to love this one. Just go read it.

Formal and Shining and Complete by pollutedstar - 3.2k, rated T

Summary: "But Dean’s intelligence was every bit as formal and shining and complete, without the tedious intellectualness. And his ‘criminality’ was not something that sulked and sneered; it was a wild yea-saying overburst of American joy; it was Western, the west wind, an ode from the Plains, something new, long prophesied, long a-coming. Besides, all my New York friends were in the negative, nightmare position of putting down society and giving their tired bookish or political or psychoanalytical reasons, but Dean just raced into society, eager for bread and love.“

- On The Road by Jack Kerouac

Dean Winchester’s coda, the best it can be. It hurts just in the right places.

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord - 43k, rated E

Summary: After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

The slow realisations and the prayers as foreplay work for me wonderfully.

Plain and Tall by destielpasta, mtothedestiel - 70k, rated E

Summary:  Dean is a Kansas farmer who only wants to work his land and care for his infant daughter. With his wife gone and his brother moving on to a life beyond the homestead, Dean finds himself in need of another pair of hands. Castiel, a lonely drifter freshly arrived in town, may prove the solution to Dean’s troubles. Over the course of four seasons, the two men face the everyday challenges of prairie life, and learn to overcome the betrayals of their past to discover a new definition of family.

It’s different from the things I usually go for, but made me go through hours with a smile on my face. Period farmboys AU.

FIC RECS: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

[pebblysand]

of breakable clay [extended author's notes on chapter viii of castles]

oh my god. it’s out. jesus christ.

okay first off, before i dive into anything, i know i’ve already done this in the actual a/n but i would like to wholeheartedly thank @whiffingbooks over on discord for helping me with figuring out the structure of things fic. although i have to admit i did not, at all, do what i told you i would do, talking it out was massively helpful in figuring this one out, so thanks a million. secondly, i would like send all of my most sincere and affectionate thanks to @whizzfizz on here, who mother-of-god basically designed this entire chapter and listened to me rant, and rant, and rant about it for days on end without complaining. i’ll go into a bit more depth later on, but THANK YOU.

now, a few facts on this chapter before i dive further in:

wordcount: 19168. i legit would apologise for this but i promised i wouldn’t so i’m not going to. that’s growing up people. don’t apologise for yourselves haha.

soundtrack: so i’ve never mentioned this but each chapter kind of has a soundtrack? like a song that i listened to on loop while writing this. here, i would basically point you to the entire spotify of a band called barns courtney (there’s one album and a few eps), i basically listened to all of their songs on loop this past month. i feel like they have such a strong gryffindor energy, in the good, the bad and the ugly. this chapter is definitely sort of an ode to gryffindors so their music was a very big inspo. if i had to point you to one song, it would probably be dopamine.

favourite line: ���I dig my fingernails into the inside of my palms and it feels like the blood that comes out is already boiling.’

what is this chapter about? now, that’s an easy one. survival.

okay, now, spoilers under the cut.

ugh. holy fucking shit. i’m actually at a stage right now where i strongly believe that no one on earth will want to read this because everyone probably hates me right now for the choices that i made, especially after i made you wait almost three months for this shit. i always feel like whatever i’ve put out was the hardest chapter to write so far but this one was really out there in terms of struggles - i’m really sorry it took so long, but here we are.

there are reasons, though. first, as i said in my may round up, i didn’t really start writing this until about a month ago, because a lot of things were happening in my life that i needed to take care of. i took exams (which i passed!!!!), my mum had a health emergency, ireland added france to their mandatory quarantine list (it has been removed as of yesterday thank. fucking. christ) and i started a new job. it was a lot.

anyway, this being said, when i did get to writing this chapter, as mentioned above in the thank-you section, i kind of first struggled with the structure of it. now, you will see this is a recurring theme this time around but for this, my instincts were telling me one thing, and my brain was saying something else.

basically, what came first here wasn’t the actual content of ginny’s letters (more on that, obviously, in a minute) but the ‘mood’ i wanted for the chapter. i wanted to recreate, both for harry and for the reader, this sort of idea of being completely immersed in a book or a story. like, you know the kind of mood where reality just kind of blends out, where you start reading something and just. cannot. stop. i don’t think he’s much a reader (at least not canonically) and so i wanted this to take him by surprise, for her to take over his life with her words. i explained in the previous a/n [link] i chose to have ginny’s war be told through letters (basically, i thought it would be the best way to narratively tell her story), and i really wanted harry to experience what she’d lived through almost first hand.

now, interestingly, my idea for how to do this originally was to have the letters sort of be interwoven into the events of 1999, throughout the next couple of chapters (meaning this one and chapter nine). i had this idea in my head of him living through ‘real life’ things but not being able to take his mind off her letters, with the letters also sort of echoing the events that were happening in 99, etc. having the two plot lines develop at once and meet in the middle, kind of.

and i tried to write that. for a long time. spoiler alert, it didn’t work. i think the reason is that every time i sat down with it, i felt like i was doing a disservice to both stories. i mean: 97/98 is important, but 99 also is, you know? and by taking the narrative in and out all the time, it was like you couldn’t concentrate on one thing. it was just very messy and didn’t have the intensity i was originally aiming for because it kept being dragged out of whatever was the main action at the time. i wanted harry to get sucked into the narrative, for her letters to take over his life, but in the end, the impression i just got was that the whole thing was confusing af. instead of deeply caring about both, i couldn’t bring myself to care either for ginny’s story, or for his.

also, i just kept hitting a wall: a wall called harry. basically, i knew that the next two chapters (i.e. eight and nine) would stretch from january 99 to june 99. and for the love of god, no matter how many times i turned it around in my head, there was - to me - no way that harry as we know him would just pace himself to read her letters throughout all those months. like, harry fucking potter isn’t the kind of guy who ‘paces’ himself. he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t sleep for a week to get through it all, you know? this is everything that he’s wanted to know since last may, he’s been desperately looking for answers up to this point, there is absolutely not way in hell that he’d wait it out nicely until june. it felt ooc to have him read the letters over a few months. and i just kept hitting that wall over and over. i considered, at one point, building him reading the letters into flashbacks but flashbacks of flashbacks were, again, quite messy, and i don’t think her letters would ever be something he’d volunteer to re-read, so. clearly, it wasn’t working.

then, i think on a random sunday a few weeks ago, i just went back to the drawing board and was like: okay, say we just write all of the letters and go from there, what would happen? by the end of the day, i’d written 12,000 words and that was that, really.

now, the second difficulty, once i’d decided that was…. what you all probably want me to talk about.

i know this is probably not what you want to hear but: i didn’t really plan this? like, i understand that a lot of people have sort of a headcanon about what happened to ginny in that year in hogwarts but i … don’t. like, as planned as this fic is (which it is, i know where i’m going, i promise) that was always a bit of a blank-space-tbd in my head. i think that this story, as hinny as it is, is mostly about harry. and while i knew what i wanted for harry from her telling her story (for him to get sucked in, for him to realise that his war wasn’t the only war in the world ‘cause he’s been bloody self-centered so far, for him to realise that his plan to protect her didn’t exactly work because it didn’t cater for who she is, etc.), i wasn’t really sure what that story was. i mean, i knew it was going to be bad and traumatic, obviously, but i didn’t know what would happen. and still, to me, what i wrote is a version of that year. it’s not really my headcanon (i still don’t really have one), and i definitely accept other versions, if that makes sense.

this being said, i obviously had thought about it a little. i remember writing chapter one with that line: ‘They have sex for the first time, that day – his first time and it feels like hers, too, but he wouldn’t dare ask, not anymore, anyways’ and thinking i wanted to leave the door open. to me, it was a door completely open: it could have indeed been her first time, or she could have seen someone else (consensually) during that year, or she could have been assaulted. i honestly didn’t know but yeah, that was always a possibility in the back of my head.

then, to tell you the truth, when i wrote the first version of this chapter (the 12,000 words i mentioned earlier), it wasn’t there. i sat down and decided that i wasn’t going to go there. firstly, because, while you probably don’t know this, i’ve written about sexual assault before. my previous long fic, children, in another fandom, dealt (in part) with that. and i didn’t want to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault. especially because trust me, there are people who are a lot more legitimate to talk about this than i am. i also didn’t feel like it was necessary to the story, i could do without it and still explain ginny’s early behaviour in the fic, explain her trauma, and have harry realise the things i talked about before. secondly, i’ll be honest: i know this isn’t what people in this fandom want to read. the hinny pairing is mostly about love and fluff (which i love, btw, don’t get me wrong) and i was like, ugh, i don’t want to face the angry comments. i’m writing this a/n the morning before posting so i admittedly don’t know what the reaction will be but i do anticipate a lot of annoyance with me. i knew that a lot of people wouldn’t like it if i went there, and it was just easier not to.

but then, as i started editing, there was a comment (and this, ladies and gentlemen, is a testament to how much your comments fucking matter, okay?). a comment that i remembered reading on the previous chapter and could not get out of my head, no matter how much i tried. well, hello, @whizzfizz. i’ll happily give credit where credit is due. it read:

This made me think of something you mentioned earlier in the fic (possibly Ch1) about Harry not being sure if he was Ginny’s first but that it felt like it. I wonder if this is something that is going to come up in her letters to him.

and, so, it turned. around and around in my head, and i couldn’t get it out. and i kept saying to myself: no, you’re not going there. no, you’re not going there. and then, one night, i caved. i was like, fuck, i need to know if this person really meant what i think they meant by this. and so we talked. a lot. and, i did a lot of thinking. about women. about wars. about violence against women as a an inevitable weapon of war. about ginny being harry’s girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend (more on that later), and what that would have meant in their world. and @whizzfizz, you said something that in the end really sold me. you said: ‘at this point, i don’t think it would be realistic for it not to have happened.’ and, that was that, really.

because i was right, initially. amycus/ginny (ugh, the idea of a pairing makes me throw up in my mouth a little but yeah, there it is) isn’t necessary to the story. but i believe it to be necessary to what this story is trying to show. the plot held well without it, no questions asked. 12,000 words of the da and their battles, of ginny’s rebellions. it was fine. but i think i wanted more than fine. to me (and i appreciate how fucking pretentious that is, please slap me in the face *eyeroll*), castles is more than its plot. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: this is about what is behind ‘all was well.’ it’s about trying to paint a realistic picture of their lives. and that includes the war. and realistically, as far as i’m concerned, knowing how humans fight their wars, knowing our history and the history of violence against women construed as a weapon in literally every conflict there ever was, there is no way that this didn’t happen. ginny says it herself: for us girls, it’s just the way wars are fought.

so, i did go there. and the whole fandom probably hates me for going there, but i sort of stand by it, i have to say. to be honest, on a sort of subconscious level, i kind of wonder: didn’t i always know i was going to go there? like, this fits perfectly into the plot to the point that i think it was probably in my head for much longer than i care to admit. now, i’m so, fucking excited to write next chapter because i finally get to write happy things, and hinny getting back together on rock solid foundations of openness and sharing, and trust, and i’m so, so glad. there are a couple of scenes in the next chapter that i’ve been working towards for months and i’m so, bloody excited to write them. everyone might hate me and i might just be writing this fic for myself now (lol), but again, i stand by the decisions i took. to me, it fits.

phew. okay, now that huge thing is out of the way and explained, here are a few more jumbled thoughts:

the more i think about it, the more i think that my reason for not wanting to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault is a bit ridic. children and castles, in that way, are so, so different. like, i appreciate the overlap between the silk fandom and the hp fandom is probably ridiculously small but if you’ve read both stories, they’re obviously very different. one thing that both stories centre on, though, is consent. and to me, that’s probably the most interesting element of ginny/amycus, and the most interesting element of writing characters within a restrictive pov, rather than an omniscient one. like, do i think ginny/amycus is rape? yes. 100%. do i think that ginny thinks it’s rape? that is a much more interesting question. she says it a number of times but i think to her, this is all about control. i think that because of what happened to her with tom, she’s someone who is terrified of losing control of her mind and of her own agency. so as not to lose that, she’s willing to do whatever it takes. it is a ‘you can control my body, but not my thoughts,’ sort of narrative. and, she never says it outright because i think psychologically she’s just not there yet, but tom is everywhere in these letters. and as her world just spirals out, she hangs onto the very few things that she can control: her relationship to harry, and her willingness to do what it takes for them to survive. she initiates the ‘relationship’ with amycus in an attempt to control her fate. later, as she explains to harry she feels a lot of guilt over what she did, and like a lot of sexual assault survivors, she thinks it was her responsibility. because i’m in harry’s head most of the time for this fic, i’m not sure i’ll ever really get to discuss that at length, but it’s definitely something that i wanted to show. another interesting question is: does harry think it’s rape? i think at that point in the fic, he doesn’t have the education, nor the vocabulary for that. i think instinctively (because he is someone who is very instinctive), he doesn’t blame her. if he blames anyone, it’s probably himself. he understands the necessity to do what you have to do to survive and thinks that no, no matter what she claims, that was not consented. that’s kind of what comes out in his annoyingly inarticulate letter to her at the end. beyond that, though, i think he’s a bit lost, just like she is.

on a mildly related note, there is something that i've been seeing a lot in the comments and that i feel like i should maybe address? namely: harry's reaction to ginny dating other people. i assume similar comments will be made about his reaction to ginny/alecto (meaning that he still decides to write to her, at the end of the chapter). i've seen a lot of people observe that he's much more 'chill' about it in castles than in canon. fair point but is he, though? like, he isn't happy about it in castles. and he's jealous as well. but he was never entitled in canon. he was jealous, yes, the chest monster and all that, but he never really did anything about it, and never really impeded on her right to see other people. now, this being said, i agree that in sixth year he might have thrown a tantrum, had she done what she did in castles, but that was sixth year. it was before the war. before he lost half a dozen people. before he had to adult bloody fucking quickly. this being said, i do think castles-Harry is more 'subdued,' i suppose, than canon harry. this is a choice i made early on, which to me is related to the fact that he kind of lost his 'voice' during the war. i mean, it took him six months of people talking shit behind his back to do a press interview to defend himself. i think with ginny, it's a lot of the same. he's a boy who blames himself a lot, and generally doesn't particularly think he deserves the people in his life. to me it's an evolution of his character within the the world of castles. i'm happy to agree to disagree on it, but to me it makes sense within the character evolution and the way the fic's gone, so to speak. now, obviously, he'll grow out of that in due course, but we're not quite there yet.

regarding their relationship, now, i have to say: one headcanon that i did have for this was her not outright telling everyone they’d broken up. i’m sorry, that plan was shit. i just don’t buy for a second that she would willingly have gone ahead with it, and i don’t buy for a second that tom wouldn’t have used her had he known they’d been together, ex girlfriend or not. plus, i think she needed something to hand onto, and that was her relationship with him. her letters. the belief that they would be together again. without it, i don’t think she’d have survived. and i think that summer after the war, they were totally on the same page, for different reasons. both of them kind of saw their relationship as the one thing that kept them afloat, the one good thing they had, partly also because they’d idealised it for so long. she says it as some point, it wasn’t a relationship, it was a lifeline (another sentence i came up with as a response to a comment, lol) and while that is toxic and was meant to crumble at some point, it was necessary for them, both during the war, and in the early days after it. i think her last letter to him is painstakingly correct on that one.

regarding canon, i know i’m bending a couple of things here, which i just wanted to quickly acknowledge: 1) i know jkr has said it’s teddy remus lupin. i just can’t believe, for a moment, that someone who hated himself as much as lupin did, canonically, would name his son after himself. naming his son after his best mate who died to young to become problematic though? i totally see it. so yeah, creative licence, it’s teddy james lupin in this house, lol. 2) when they meet neville in dh, he kind of hints that they’ve only just started to use the room of requirement a couple weeks ago. the text however, only says they’ve only been staying in it full time a couple of weeks ago. i needed them to have somewhere where to meet with the da and stuff, so i bent that a bit. it’s not strictly canon, but it’s also not not canon, if that makes sense.

on seamus blowing things up and talking about eight hundred years of oppression? full disclaimer, while i am french, i have been living in ireland for long enough to become eligible for citizenship in less than six months (yay!). i know some people have said that seamus is a bit of a cliche in the books/films and all (the only irish character keen on blowing things up, haha *eyeroll*), but i actually kind of love it? like, the whole thing about the cranberries and zombie at the start of the fic has been in my head for much longer than i care to admit. i love the idea that there’s this whole muggle war going on at the exact same time that no one ever talks about and actually, i find the idea of wizarding ireland v. muggle ireland and the whole political structure fascinating. like, is wizarding ireland an independent state? what’s the story there? i have a whole seamus fic in my head, partially on this topic, that i might or might not write one day.

lastly, i know this may sound a bit weird but i need to say it: once i’d figured out what and how i was writing it, i bloody loved writing this chapter. first stylistically, i really wanted to mimic the style of how i’d written the magazine article in chapter 5 (i.e. not writing out the whole thing but writing out in text the excerpts that harry focused on) and i love how that turned out. i think it was a good way to balance her words and his, kind of merging them into one, big narrative. second, as a writer, it was so fucking interesting to write someone who knows how to write, which believe it or not i’d never done before. additionally, i loved the challenge of editing this because it was like: i’ve got to edit this, but not too much? i was very careful about modifying and polishing too much of ginny’s speech in the letters because i obviously wanted it to sound like someone who was just writing as the words came to her, without polishing the words, the punctuation, etc. like i usually would. i wanted her to have quirks (she says ‘you know?’ a lot) and i played with her capitalisation and punctuation a bit too. i know these aren’t necessarily noticeable details but it was definitely something that i thought about and that was very fun and interesting to write, as a format.

wow, okay. this was LONG but i think i have everything i wanted to say. if you’ve read all of this (whyyyyy?), thanks so much for sticking around. if you’ve got any questions, anything i didn’t address, do let me know, anon or not, my ask box is open. now, i would love to say i’m going to chill or something, but the truth is that i have to a) actually do a last read through of the fic, lol and b) put it out. this is what i get for writing the a/n before finishing the damn thing, i guess. i’ll rest tomorrow, lol.

lastly, in terms of next chapter, realistically, i’d say eight to ten weeks. i have a full time job now and also, writing this was fucking exhausting and i need to take time out for a bit before coming back to it with a fresh mind. i will be writing other stuff though, i promise. i have a couple of prompts to get to (thanks!!!) and a couple of other ideas so i will probably be posting in the meantime, just not castles.

lots of love,

p.

[bisluthq]

hey this isn't related to anything anyone is talking about right now, but I don't understand how the song Cornelia Street works in the timeline of realistic Toe. if Tay and Joe got together when Taylor moved to London, then what's up with there being a whole song about the beginning of their relationship taking place in a specific spot in New York? and there being enough time in New York for there to be ups and downs & a near-breakup in that early relationship?

Hmmmm I mean if we do believe in a September hookup (and that’s what the song says it’s “Windows flung right open, autumn air / Jacket 'round my shoulders is yours” - it’s not Cruel Summer era anymore) which I think we should (that’s “Delicate”/“rare as a comet in the sky and he feels like home”) it wouldn’t be outlandish that she associates that home with him in part. And then they essentially did break up, right, because I’m positing they didn’t really make it official until she “knocked on his door” in London. Maybe by then he’d “called shown his hand”....

Like, we know Taylor doesn’t always write word for word blow by blow exactly what happened and we know this because of how she tweaks and edits lyrics over and over. She kinda claims this song is an ode to that time in her life, the era itself: “I wanted to write a song about all the nostalgia of, you know, sometimes in our lives we assign, you know, we kind of bond our memories to those places where those memories happened.” But it doesn’t mean literally everything she says happened 1) chronologically and 2) at that apartment tbh. And she has said it’s a nostalgic romanticized viewpoint. It’s not that she wanted him to never leave her or for it to never end while they were there. Writing about it several years makes her think fondly about their time there even if - as I think - it was pretty brief.

If they did only hookup there - which seems likely and again Cara D was living there the whole time which doesn’t mean they couldn’t have fucked but certainly casts doubt on this being an early stage living together vibe - I think it’s quite understandable that she says “I get mystified by now this city screams your name” - like it doesn’t lmao but she is, now when writing the song, not when they were there years ago, associating this city that she lived in for years and years with him and their little dates and shit. And that confuses her. And makes her feel more in love. Because after the “cat and mouse” they ended up together so she can think back to that early stage hookup super fondly especially after all the chaos and drama of her prior few years.

I was feeling Cornelia Street as a breakup song for a long while but anon you made me go look at the lyrics again and I actually... um.... again... I feel like it fits a nostalgic look at early Realistic Toe. And tbh this is one of those occasional songs where I can see her singing it while gazing into his eyes lmao. It made less sense to me when I was trying to fit it into the hetlor Toe tl but I think I kinda cracked this one as well with the suggested tl.

Anyway either reading - Joe song or secret breakup anthem which I’m doubting today - highkey makes way more sense than “this is a Karlie love song” because if any version of Kaylor happened their “sacred new beginnings” would certainly not be associated with that apartment.

[ofravensandgenesis]

Meme Tag Games!

Thank you for all the lovely tags!! :D <3 This is quite belated but between some health happenings, the weather deciding to turn the thermostat way up (and the house AC went out), and other stuff, I got swamped for a while there. Here we are now though! :D Tagging anyone who wants to jump in on any of these, namely FC5 GFH tag game; OC Fighting Style; and WIP Day. Continued below the cut because this got long:

FC5 Guns For Hire Meme Game

Tagged by @chyrstis​ and @amistrio​ for the FC5 GFH meme, thank you for the tag!! :D <3 We have full length responses with some banter with the human GFH in particular here. I was kind of stumped with how to answer this for Joshua in what he might say as a GFH since his verse is very tailored for him being the Deputy and all the psychic shenanigans. Eventually I got over that and this is basically an AU where there’s another (unnamed here) Deputy who IS slated to be The Deputy that Joshua is trying to help (and convince to do less murder) to explain how he fits into a verse as a Gun For Hire. Psychic shenanigans still happen in this AU of an AU ofc, just it’s perhaps less prominent. We’re skipping over possible musings of relevant sidequests for Joshua relating to the Seeds in this for the sake of time, though I acknowledge that it’s something to explore, likely would impact the endgame with the Heralds, cult, and Joseph depending on the Deputy’s choices of doing a Kill or No-kill run. This verse also assumes that Joshua, the Deputy, Whitehorse, Pratt, and Hudson all got away or were not present for the helicopter crash. Other characters minor and otherwise who are alive in Joshua’s main fic verse ACABH are the same as in that story thus far, such as Rae-Rae and Ryan being alive. We’ll also presume the Seeds are all still alive at the time of these dialogue lines.

Deputy Joshua Raguel Rook

(All images used were public domain and/or labeled free for reuse under creative commons license. Above image was sourced from [here.]) With Fangs for Hire

Boomer: “Hey there boy, how’re you feeling today? Got some venison strips saved for you, you eating enough with all this running around?” [cue more small talk and praise for Boomer about how Boomer’s doing such a good job and Joshua feeding Boomer bits of cooked meat. Will likely sing snatches of cheery dog-themed songs he’s heard when in the party with Boomer and there’s no enemies nearby.]

Peaches: “...I hope that’s not people-meat in your teeth, Peaches, you know how Miss Mable feels about that, it’s bad for your health. I’m also not quite brave enough to want to brush your teeth—though maybe Dr. Lindsey or Wade can offer advice on that. We’ll get you some nice fish instead, that’s a good kitty.” [He’s a bit more shy around Peaches than Boomer bc cougar, but an effort at friendliness will be made.]

Cheeseburger: “...that is one big bear. He’s a sweetheart though. Just...hoping he doesn’t make a mistake of who he’s barreling into. It’s not like we’re wearing team colors or anything.” [Cheeseburger is a sweetie and Joshua likes him, but also: bear. Joshua’s a bit wary around him, but will still feed Cheeseburger salmon when able. May crack a joke paralleling Cheeseburger going “Only You Can Prevent Cult Gun Fire.” Will not crack this joke after any Jacob-region events though.]

With Other Guns for Hire:

Sharky

Sharky: So amibro, I was thinking, you know how those Angels are all dead in the head and stuff? How are they still shuffling around, is the Bliss like a zombie plant or something? Joshua: ...no, that’s more in line with the aliens that Larry keeps going on about I’m sure. Something about brainmelting and bendy straws, I got lost when he started mentioning Navier-Stokes equations for how the...resulting brain juice would be redirected. [Shuddery noise of disgust.] I’m not sure if he’s serious or just fucking with me and referencing Guy’s zombie movie series at this point. Could be either or. The Bliss is more like...like...uh. Like if you lost the keys to your car, but the car’s your body. You get me? Sharky: Damn, remind me never to OD on the stuff, I lose the keys to my car all the time. Sometimes I can’t be bothered to find em and just jiggle the lock so I can hop on in to hotwire the car because I’m in a hurry, you know? Ladies love a man who’s good with his hands, and who’s good with time and can improvise. You think that’d work on the Bliss car keys? Joshua: Maybe? Not everyone seems to be as readily lost to the Bliss at the same amounts. Personally I’d wager you’d be able to find your way back to your body no matter where you were in the bliss if we stood you near a signal fire. Sharky: This is why we’re friends man! Ride or die! ...also can you help me find my keys with that trick of yours, I lost ‘em again. Joshua: Yeah, though did you check under your bed? Also, maybe hang your regular set and a spare set of keys on a hook by the door so you can always find them, just in case you’re in a hurry.

Hurk

Joshua: Hurk. [Said in a Mild, Judgmental Voice of Impending Doom From A Friend kind of tone.] Hurk: Hey man I didn’t do nothin’ to deserve that tone of voice now don’t you start on me. Joshua: How can you say that when you and Sharky went and invented zipline grenade-golf without me last night? And blew up part of the mini-YES-sign. Hurk: Oh man you were talking up Lindsey and with the way the two of you were smiling and laughing, we figured you might be getting lucky so like the proper supportive wingmen me and Sharky were, we left you gentlemen some of our finest booze and sticky green. You did find it didn’t you, I’d hate to waste the gifts of the beneficent Monkey God from above as He Who Likes To Par-tay Above And Here Below On This Earth did command me never to waste beer or the good kush and to always help a brother out who’s trying to hook it up with their fine persons of choice. Joshua: Hurk I’m not— [sighs in accepting and fond exasperation.] It’s not like that with me and Charles— Hurk: Ooooooooooooo, you’re on a first name basis already! I knew you had it in you! Get it man, get it good! I’m not into that, you know I like the ladies strictly, but I will support your endeavors no matter the sex of your fellow party-goer as leader of Hurk Gate and the Bro-iest of Bros. Joshua: Hurk oh my god, I’m not trying to sleep with or romance him. I’m—he’s not looking for that, at least not with me certainly, and I—...just, thanks. I still have most of the beer and weed leftover if you and Sharky are up for graffiting one of John’s billboard signs though. You in? Hurk: Hell yeah man, and oo, you did get some then, Josh you sly dog! Joshua: I DID NOT! [Meta-clarification: Joshua indeed did not, for reasons to be revealed at a later time in the main fic.]

Sharky, Hurk, and Joshua, if one bends the mechanics so they are all in the party together at the same time:

Sharky: Pfhahahahaha oh man did you see the look on those Peggies’s faces when we came just crashing down the mountainside in that burning car? It was priceless!

Joshua: What better way to set fire to mass amounts of Bliss fields than with a moving fireball? Sharky: I know man it was great! We didn’t get too singed or nothin’! We gotta try that burning trash-ball idea next time though, like building a snowman but with fire! A fireman! Ha! That was the easiest fifty bucks of my life, cuz. Joshua: Hold up a tick now, what. Hurk: Sharky man that’s against the betting code! You’re not supposed to tell! Joshua: Oh, you cheeky bastards were betting on if Sharky could convince me to drive the car down the hill, weren’t you. Hurk: Man it’s always a crap shoot with you, specially around cars. That’s what makes it fun, sometimes you get all “guys that’s not safe,” [said with a poor imitation of Joshua’s voice complete with a very terrible southern, Georgian-style accent before Hurk switches to his normal speaking voice to continue,] —and other times it’s just “hold my beer.” You’re not going to go all prim and proper on us now are ya? Joshua: I can’t believe you two. Gambling in Hope County, I’m shocked, shocked. Sharky you owe me half, I’ll buy you a beer first round. Sharky: Hell yeah man! Hurk: Wait a second did you two just con me? I’ve been robbed! Police! Joshua: Hurk I *am* the police, one of them present at least. Hurk: Oh shit son, you right. Help I’m being oppressed by the system!

Nick Rye

[This conversation happens after Seed Ranch has been taken, along with the AU detail of capturing John’s plane Affirmation at the same time, preferably early on, while John is still alive.] Nick: Hey Joshua I was talking to Sharky— Joshua: Oh no. Nick: And he had an idea that wasn’t half bad. Not a good one, and you’d be liable to get killed or captured, but I got stuck thinking on it and wanted to ask: What d’you think would happen if you dressed up like the Father and just pulled a whole Mission: Impossible face-a-roo switch? You can do that imitation of how he speaks and everything, I’ve heard you do it before. And with how high the Peggies are most of the time, they’re so far out of their gourds they wouldn’t notice the differences. Joshua: You mean aside from his brothers and sister noticing he’s suddenly an inch shorter, twenty years younger and the wrong brand of crazy? Nick: Just go off about there being an edit to God’s Plan or something, and you could get makeup or something going on with that age thing. People do all kinds of wizardry with foundation and stuff, though you’d have to ask someone else on that. Maybe Addie or someone she knows? I don’t know if they have aging-up tricks compared to aging-down though. It could work! Might be a quick way to end the fighting if we can just stuff Joseph into a car trunk and then stash him in a bunker somewhere while you’re pretending you’re him. Joshua: Nick my tattoos are different and I’m not going to convince people I’m Joseph if I have to do one of his shirtless walkarounds, NOR am I having sins and Bible verses carved into my hide to complete the look. I don’t think we have any special effects or make up artists in the county who specialize in convincingly fake scars made out of latex or something. Nick: I don’t know, that Guy Marvel might have someone. Or, had someone. He has to be able to afford all those special effects somehow. Joshua: I’m not going anywhere near that guy with a ten foot pole man, he weirds me out. Also consider: I’d have to talk to Jacob, John and Faith as Joseph. I don’t want that kind of responsibility of herding that conversation at the family dinner. Nick: Hoo, good point. So...how is that family bullshit coming along then? Joshua: I have no idea, I’m just winging it, like you are. Nick: [who’s currently flying a plane, thus the slight pun] Heh. Good luck with that then, and let me know if you want me to paint something special on John’s precious little Affirmation next time you take it out for a spin to spite him. Joshua: I’m sure I can think of a thing or two.

Adelaide

Adelaide: Honey you need to take a breather one of these days and just take a load off, if you keep up the way you’re going you’re going to end up looking more like your dad sooner rather than later. You should swing by the Marina sometime and have a yoga session with Xander, really helps get the blood pumping and limber you up if you know what I’m saying. Joshua: [Snorts in amusement.] Is Xander trying to convince you to eat more kale chips instead of potato chips again? Adelaide: Rook sweetie, I love Xander but there are some things a woman won’t put in her mouth, and kale chips are one of them. Joshua: I’ll swing by sometime to help out with the kale chips then, and maybe get in a yoga session at the same time. It’s been a while since I chatted Xander up what with the county going pearshaped. Adelaide: I’ll never understand how you two can eat those things. Ugh. Gives me the willies. Joshua: *I* eat them dipped in homemade spicy nacho cheese sauce. I have no idea how Xander eats them straight and still claims to have working tastebuds.

Grace

[For context: This conversation is based on the AU’s detail that Grace’s father has survived the previous attempt on his life prior to the start of the Reaping.]

Joshua: Did you crack open the extra care packages we dropped off yet Grace, or did your dad get to ‘em first? Grace: You referring to the chocolate bars you stashed in there? I got my share of them out in time. Joshua: Good, I was a little worried when you told me they were missing last time. Thought they might’ve been lifted without me knowing beforehand. Grace: He’s a sly one when sweets are up for grabs. Now if you can do something about the shortage of decent coffee… Joshua: What’s that? A reason to piss John off today and raid his personal stash? Say no more!

Jess

Jess: So. Joshua: So. Jess: Just like old times but with more fucked up cultist family bullshit than before, huh. Joshua: [Sighs.] Yeah. Jess: That’s rough, buddy. Joshua: Least I can steal shit en masse from the cultists and no one else minds right now. For the life of me though I can’t figure out where all of the snacks from Lorna’s went when the Peggies hit her place. I think they ate ‘em all. Jess: [Noise of disgust.] Those two-faced fuckers going on and on about how bad commercially produced food is and how everyone should get back to basics, but there they go snatching up all the frosted cakes and maple bars like it's baby’s first shoplifting spree. Joshua: I know right? Even if they do believe the end of the world’s coming, that’s still rude to clean the store out on the first go around—leave some snacks for the next bunch of looters, god damn.

In Combat

[Note: due to Joshua’s verse details, this comes with the assumption that were one to play in a version of his universe, the Deputy would have a kill/spare mechanic and thus also an option of doing a No Kill run and variations on that spectrum, which Joshua’s mechanics would support more so. This would likely also mean some additional options for the other guns-for-hire and creative use of their canonical loadouts and abilities. Joshua’s setup would overlap with Boomer and Jess’s via the Spotter and Concealment abilities, and he’d be equipped with a bliss dart gun and a scoped hunting rifle. Also melee options and such.] Seeing/tagging an enemy: “Hey look, another whack-a-mole.” / ”Fashionably challenged mountain-man zealot sighted.” / “Enemy sighted.” Seeing/tagging multiple enemies at once: “duck, duck, cultists.”/ “The Rapture called, they don’t want these Peggies back.” / “multiple hostiles in the area.” Bliss darting/knocking out a Peggie at range: “Nap time.” / “Another one bites the dust.” / “Down they go!” / “A little dirt nap never hurt any Peggie. Won’t hurt their outfits any either, a little dirt brown looks better than all of that mayonnaise-white so many of them wear anyway.” Knocking out a Peggie with a non-lethal stealth takedown: “Lights out.” / “Rang this one’s chimes hard enough he’ll think it’s time for morning service on a sunday when he wakes up.” / “Sleep tight.” / “She’s/he’s down.” Sneaking: “Feels like a tuesday.”  / “...” / “Five bucks says I can pickpocket the guards and they’d never even know till later.” / “Moving position.” / “Good to go.” Upon witnessing the Deputy killing an enemy: “Was that really necessary?!” / “...shit.” / “Maybe we should disengage and drop back out of sight instead of this.” / “What the fuck!” Reviving an ally/The Deputy: “Don’t you go dying on me! Stay alive, you’ve got so much to live for!” / “Come on, let’s get you patched up, you’re gonna be okay!” / “No no no! Don’t you dare die! Not today!” Hurt: “MOTHERFUCKER!” / “Ow!” / “God damn it, I just patched this shirt! And myself!” / “This is NOT my fucking element, fuck!” / “Why are we even in a situation where we’d get shot at?!” Downed: “Could use a little help over here!” / “Bleeding out, help!” / “...mom?”

Driving

When asked to drive: “...you sure? I really think someone else driving would be a better idea under current circumstances, but okay. Just don’t go making a habit out of this. Please. For everyone’s sake.” / “No.” [This is followed by outright refusal to sit in the driver’s seat.] / [Optionally if Sharky and/or Hurk are around] “Ugh. Just...gotta pretend this is driving through a Clutch Nixon. With live gun fire, instead of just fire-fire.”

When the Deputy/someone else is driving recklessly: “Iwantoffthisride” / “I’m going to have to pick upholstery out from under my nails later.” / “JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL.” / [Recites a Hail Mary.] / “Having a good time! NOT.” / [If it’s Sharky or Hurk driving] “This is the kind of reckless driving I can get behind. Through regular past exposure therapy.” Changing radio stations: [If it’s being changed to Eden’s Gate stations] “Can we not? I’ve heard this music so many times it’s old as hell, however catchy.” / “They did do a good job on the music, I gotta say. More ominous meaning to the lyrics right now in particular though.” / [If it’s being changed to Resistance Radio stations] “Road trip time! Watch out for moose in the road.” / “Hell yeah, crank those tunes!” / “I’m glad we have regular music to listen to still, it’d be such a drag to have to go without it.”

Idle

- [General] “What’s up? Everything going alright with you?” - [General] “I heard of a good fishing spot where the rainbow trout [or other game fish depending on situation/mechanics] are really biting today if you want to take a breather and just do a bit of fishing.” [this dialogue only triggers if the Deputy hasn’t filled out the map yet for fishing spots, and adds one to the map with a notification.] - [General] “Hey, there’s a prepper stash over yonder, if you want to try your hand at getting at it. [This dialogue only triggers at random if the Deputy hasn’t polished off all the nearby Prepper stashes already. Marks a nearby prepper stash on the map and gives a notification.]

- [General] “You know what surprises me? That the Project didn’t try to shut off the power plant to at least portions of the county. Sure lots of people are preppers or woodsmen and such, but electricity makes everything easier for us. Weird, ain’t it? They have the technicians for it I’m sure. Guess we should thank our lucky stars they either didn’t think of that or decided it wasn’t worth it. We’d be straight out of ice cold beer then, Whitehorse would hate that.” - [If the Deputy is taking the no-kill route] “Hey I just want to say...I appreciate you trying not to kill people, even if some of these cultists are absolute motherfuckers who deserve it. We might be able to stop all their prophecy crap dead in its tracks if you keep this up. And...you know. Thanks for not killing my crazy relatives? I think. They’ve done a lot of bad shit and they need to answer for that, but...the right way, not backwoods murder. We’re better than that, I hope.” - [If the Deputy is taking the killing route] “I get wanting to kill the Seeds and the cult...but this isn’t going to end well, even after we’re done. I wish you wouldn’t, but I can’t stop you if this is the choice you’ve made. ...I’m sorry I can’t be of more help to you. I...hope you’ll be alright, in the end. But I don’t think you will be.” [Recall that Joshua Knows What Will Happen To The Deputy if they take the canonically-based killing route. He leaves before the final confrontation, and curiously Whitehorse, Pratt, and Hudson don’t show up in the final scene either—ie, whichever route the Deputy chooses, they survive elsewhere (coughcough Joshua’s secret bunker cough.) The scene with Joseph still happens more or less the same, only the Deputy leaves alone if they choose Walk Away, and ends up alone with Joseph if they choose Resist. Also interestingly enough: Dutch isn’t present on the radio, nor in his bunker. His fish have been taken too. Joshua didn’t have the time to grab everyone, so he tried to grab the ones he knew for sure would die, and warned the others that he foresaw not surviving the Collapse or aftermath, like Mary May and Jess Black, or who suffered serious injuries like Grace. His buds Sharky and Hurk he bribes with beer and weed to hide out in their bunker or hang out in his while this goes down. Boomer, Cheeseburger, and Peaches are all herded to safety (yes there are mechanics for that in the standard AU verse, we shan’t delve into them here though bc spoilers tho.) The others he tries to warn, but whether he managed to get to them and some of the other latter people mentioned above in time or not is uncertain.] - [If the Deputy switched from a killing route to a no-kill route and all of the Seeds are still alive, Joshua sounds relieved] “Hey, I know it’s...it’s hard to hold off pulling the trigger when someone who’s hurt so many people is in your gunsights, but...I do think bringing them in for actual processing through the legal system—a proper trial without bullshit—is the better way. For all of us. Thank you.” - [If the Deputy switched from a no-kill route to a killing route, sounds slightly devastated] “...Why?” - [If the Deputy is doing a “neutral” run of killing significant numbers of cultists, but is sparing the Seeds as they go] “...I appreciate you not killing the murdery head-cult-family members, but…you think we could maybe lighten up on killing the rank and file? They don’t have the big names and they aren’t the leaders, but those are still people. They are responsible for their own actions, not saying they aren’t, but many of them are redeemable. Not all of them, but...maybe we can just lay them out in the infirmary for a good long while instead? Nothing permanent. The bad ones though can fall off a cliff.”

- [If the Deputy is doing a “selective killing” run of not killing rank and file cultists, but is in the process of killing all the Seed Heralds. Joshua sounds conflicted.] “I appreciate you not killing the followers, though some of them are definitely bastards who shouldn’t be allowed to walk free for the shit they’ve done, but...you think we could...maybe not kill the Seeds either? The Seeds are the primary responsible parties, not contesting that, but maybe we can just kick their asses and arrest them instead? It might help dampen the chaos somewhat, maybe we can use ‘em for leverage. We certainly could hide them somewhere secure that the Peggies wouldn’t be able to find ‘em. It’d be easier to talk Joseph down too, using his siblings as leverage.” [See above for killing route ending details.] Also? We’re driving in separate cars. Don’t turn on the radio, stay away from the others. You’re still brainwashed, and dangerous.” [Joshua is disappointed in the Deputy for not having stuck to some manner of universal moral principle.] - [If friendly, and the Deputy is on either a no-kill playthrough or has switched to a no-kill route,] “Hey, you wanna play a game of checkers, or chess? Take five for a bit, if you got the time?” - [If friendly, and the Deputy is on either a no-kill playthrough or has switched to a no-kill route,] “Hey, not to be mushy or anything, but...thank you. For being you. It’s inspiring to see someone’s able to take the higher path when everything’s falling to pieces all around us. Makes me have a little bit more faith in humanity, too.” - [If friendly, and the Deputy is on either a no-kill playthrough or has switched to a no-kill route, and has been on said no-kill route for a decent amount of time,] “Hey, we grabbed some really good produce this time around and sent it on over to Casey. Told him I’d tell you to swing by, and asked him to save some for you in case you were interested. They’ve got some fresh beef for burgers and sandwiches, pumpkin pie, apple pie, loaded baked potatoes, and all kinds of other tasty stuff for a cookout. The Ryes are coming round to help pitch in and organize it all as a little morale boost party. Wanna come? You deserve to put up your feet and relax, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’d appreciate your company if you felt like joining in. If you’d rather not, I can sneak food to you if you want quiet time to yourself. It’s all good, just tell me what you want and where you want it.”

Location Specific:

- Near where the police station was, if it’s been burned down: [Sighs.] “While I’m not missing the paperwork that got torched, there was a nice feel of history to the old place. Wish they hadn’t burned it down, fuckers. But, well...the Project and the Seeds have good reason to have no love for police and authority figures among others, even before all this horribleness and the leadup stuff came down. So I can’t say I’m surprised they did.”

- Upon entering the Spread Eagle, if friendly: “Finally, a place where everybody knows our names instead of yelling “Deputies!” at us all day! Wanna hit up the arcade? I’ll buy the first round if you get the higher score.”

- Seed Ranch, outside if it hasn’t been liberated, inside if it has been liberated: “Never going to understand why some folks want real airy houses with so much dead space as their main living quarters. Feels more like a knickknack museum you’re supposed to look at, not a home you’re supposed to live in. He’s got all this Eden’s Gate paraphernalia in those glass display cases, and I don’t doubt John’s fervent in his beliefs, but it feels more like a rich boy’s hunting and vacation lodge cobbled together with a vague idea of home. You saw the doghouse out back, right? What’s the point of having a dog live outside if you’ve got ALL this space, it’s all finished wood floors, and you’ve made sure to train ‘em and raise ‘em properly so they know not to chew on the furniture? It’s lonely, that’s what this is. Joseph chides John and all that about learning to love, but it’s a case of the blind leading the blind there.” - Outside St. Francis Veterans Center: [Before the Veterans Center is liberated, if Jacob has captured the Deputy at least once, so the song “Only You” is played around the Center, and the melody starts to be audible in the distance as the group approaches.] “Yeah hey, I’m going to go the other way now and wait for you over here where I can’t hear the song of madness, ‘kay? Maybe you should avoid it too.” [This is followed by Joshua refusing to go too close to the Center, sans possible AU story missions.] - Anywhere near Joseph’s Island: [The first time the party gets near Joseph’s Island,] “Uh. No. I’m not going near that place twice any sooner than we need to.” [Watch Joshua be willing to jump out even into deep water and swim away if the Deputy tries to approach the island with him in tow on a boat.]

OC Fighting Style

Tagged by @chyrstis​ !! Thank you for the tag!! :D <3 This was another fun one to fill out (and shorter than the above but you know what we’re stapling all of these bad boys into one post bc Why Not.) Have an aesthetic picture of a Jacob sheep skull upon a sheep skin for the fun implications of what that says about Joshua’s fighting style. xD Ram skull image after some searching was sourced from [here], with a creative commons license for free-to-reuse, with some limitations.

Rules: bold = often (or always), italics = sometimes, default = rarely, strike = never

fight honorably / fight dirty / prefer close-quarters / prefer range / chat during / go silent / low pain tolerance / high pain tolerance / attack in bursts / attack steadily / go for the kill / aim to disarm / fight defensively / bait an opponent’s first strike / strike first / provoked easily / provoke their opponent / tease / get visibly frustrated / shout while attacking / use strategy / focus on their battle / experience conflicting thoughts during battle / rush in recklessly / try to read their opponent before fighting / fight wildly / fight calmly, apathetically / fight with anger / fight with excitement / fight because they have to / fight because they want to / fight without regard to wounds / run away when wounded / hide wounds / take a blow to protect another / prefer a blade / prefer a gun (non lethal rounds/tranquilizer darts) / prefer a bow / prefer a shield /  prefer a spear naginata / prefer a personalized weapon / prefer psychic abilities / prefer brawling / their greatest weakness is physical / their greatest weakness is mental / their greatest weakness is emotional / transform for battle / fight as they appear / rely on strength / rely on speed / use everything they have / hide their full potential / exhaust quickly /  high stamina / doubt their strength / proceed with caution / behave arrogantly / brag after landing a hit / belittle their abilities / use psychological tactics / use brute strength / avoid civilians / strike down civilians / damage surroundings / avoid damaging surroundings / signature fighting style / making it up as they go / mastered skillset / learning their skillset / fancy footwork / sloppy footwork / messy fighter / elegant fighter / accept defeat / refuse defeat / beg for mercy / compliment their opponent / insult their opponent / use unnecessary movements / move efficiently / barely move / prefer to dodge / prefer to block / defend their blindside / has no blindside / use all available advantages / strictly use one main method / play around / hold back / fight ruthlessly / show mercy / wait for opponent to be ready / strike when opponent isn’t ready / fear death  / fear pain / fear killing / has PTSD / avoid fighting / has lost a fight / has won a fight / has killed / refuses to kill / want to die standing / would succumb slowly

WIP Day

Tagged by @chyrstis and @hawkfurze !! Thank you for the tags!! :D <3

An excerpt from the current WIP chapter for ACABH: ————————— Weak. He was so weak, barely able to move right now, and he didn’t even know why. There was pain, a lot of pain, a feeling like his bones were on fire and about to crumble under pressure at any moment—but he’d been through worse. In this instance, he could recall that he’d fallen through the sky for a brief tumultuous time before gravity had stepped in, leading to him landing hard upon the road, as if making up for the lack of physics earlier. —————————

[dontyoudarejudgemesworld]

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far Chapter Four: The Girdle Rule

Alright, so first off this one maybe a bit on the rough side as far as editing goes. My back up beta flaked on me and there was a whole slue of issues with even getting this to be able to post it (say it with me computer problems suck). Anyways this is a very Billie-centric chapter giving a bit more insight to her as a person and why she is the way she is. It's also 6.643 words about 85% of which is rather angsty. And while there arent any real graphic descriptions there are underlying themes of drug use, OD, death, grief, childhood trauma, abandonment issues, and violence. So you know be aware of that.

Also as a heads up the next chapter will land in the series bringing Dipper and Mable into play and really taking the first step toward the real meat of the story. So that's something to look forward too. Other then that if you read this likes comments are always appreciated.

As always this is posted on AO3 and you can read it there by clicking here. 

And with that I scream yet another chapter into the void

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

January 2011

Billie sighed as she walked through the mall, it was almost deserted, the snow that fell lazily outside enough to deter all but the most determined of shoppers and teenagers. Pulling her phone out of her pocket she looked at the screen for the millionth time, even though she knew it was useless; Stan didn’t own a cell so when he got the messages she’d left on the answering machine he would call her. Still, she was restless, she didn’t even know what she was doing here. She’s just been up a few weeks ago to throw Stan’s Christmas gift at him and spend a few days getting a crash course on Hanukkah since it turned out the Pines were Jewish. It had been nice to spend an actual holiday with someone, but after she’d left to head down to California for a job everything had gone to hell.

She'd met with the client and decided  to pass on the job. While she wasn't one to pass up a job simply because the employer was obviously less than upstanding, she was one who listened to her gut. And her gut had screamed danger in big red letters with flashing lights and sirens. So she'd politely declined and the soft-spoken man who'd offered her the job had been less than pleased. After trying to throw more money at her only for her to insist she wasn't interested, he'd changed tactics to one of intimidation.  Four hours later after being roughed up a bit by his 'bodyguard' they'd parted ways with the understanding that she'd never met him and would forget his face, and he'd return the favor. It wasn't the first time that sort of thing had happened, but that didn't make her ribs any less sore. After that, she'd decided that it might be better to head out the next town to find another job. And then...

"God damn it, Stan, it's the off-season what could you possibly be doing?" she growled her finger hovering over the screen as she considered calling him again, before shoving the device back into her pocket. She'd already left four messages telling him that she was suddenly in town and asking if she could crash at the Shack,  if she left another he might start worrying. And he didn't need to worry, there was nothing wrong, she'd just decided to come up this way.

In fact, it was stupid she'd even bothered him, she should just call him back and tell him never mind. It wasn’t like she really needed to see him, or she wanted the strange comfort his presence gave her. No, it wasn’t that she wanted someone to tell her that it was all going to be okay. Or that she needed someone to tell her she was wanted. She really should just keep moving. Seattle was close and she had a few repeat clients there she could check in with. Yeah, she would do that.

"... said move on creep. We aren't interested," came a familiar voice sharp with anger and a hint of fear. Her head snapping up her eyes found a group of three men in their twenties crowded around someone besides a hallway over which the word 'Restrooms' was stenciled. They looked a bit rough, and even though she didn't claim to know everyone in the town she could tell they weren't locals. Glancing past them, she found the voice she had recognized; Wendy stood in front of her goth friend defiantly glaring daggers at the men.

"Oh come on. We just want to have some fun. Why don’t you show us around? You two would love to do that, right," the biggest one pressed in a friendly tone as he took a step towards the girls causing Wendy's face to waver as her friend shrink back in an effort to hide behind the redhead. He looked like he just walked out of a James Dean look-alike shoot and just radiated sleaze.

"Yeah, we're new in town. Show us around," one of the others chimed in with a predatory grin.

"We said beat it," Wendy growled, though a slight crack in her voice took some of the venom out and seemed to encourage the men who took a step towards them.

"Hey, fuck face the girl said beat it,"  Billie snapped as she traveled the distance between them in a dozen steps to place herself in front of the two girls much to the surprise of everyone, "So you best be movin' on,"  she snarled her shoulders squaring and fists clenching. While she would never have hesitated to step into such a situation no matter who it was, the fact that the assholes had picked Wendy pissed her off to no end.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them demanded a scowl on his face as he took half a step forward in an effort to intimidate her. Behind her she felt Wendy and the other girl shift as they pressed into her to hide. Letting out a soft growl she leveled her gaze on the one who'd spoken her features unreadable and eye cold as ice.  

"You feelin' froggy, boy?" she asked calmly, "Go ahead, I'll tan your hides gladly," she said with a slight laugh that just screamed unstable. The men hesitated as they looked at each other, before the leader smiled at her, raising his hands in surrender.

"It's cool," he assured her, "Come on guys," he said as he turned and walked away. The other two hesitated before they followed him and Billie glared at them as they headed out the nearest exit. Shame, she really wanted to hit someone today. Rolling her shoulders, she turned to Wendy and her friend, Tammy she thought, flashing them a smile.

"Y'all alright?" she asked and Wendy smiled as she let out a breath she'd been holding.

"Yeah, thanks man," the teenager said as she stepped back, her friend nodding from behind her phone. The older woman nodded and the two stood in silence for a minute as Billie looked her over. Despite the girl's easy going tone and relaxed posture it didn't take a genius to see she was a little shaken up, making Billie wonder just how strong those assholes had come on.

"Alright, but for my own piece ah' mind, let me get y'all home," she said, choosing to pretend she didn't see relief flash across the redhead's face.

"My Dad's picking us up in like a half an hour, but if you need to hang around, that's cool," Wendy told her, "I didn't know you were back in town again. Soos normally texts me when you show up."

"Yeah, not stayin' though. Just passing through to Seattle. Needed a new pair of gloves," she lied smoothly, "Was just picking them up 'fore heading out. Good thing I did."

"Wait, you aren't gonna go see Stan?" Wendy asked in surprise.

"Naw, he hasn't called me back, and I don't wanna just drop in unannounced. Lord knows what Stan's doing. Probably sitting around watching those historical dramas he pretends he don't, but you never know," Billie replied, rolling her shoulders as she looked around. Wendy's face pulled into a confused look. She like Billie, sure she was a bit rough around the edges, but she was cool. Aside from the fact that she was more than willing to help her skip out early sometimes, she had almost the same kind of salty charm Stan did. Though Stan was charming in a gruff kind of way where as Billie had a sarcastic kind of charm... she was pretty sure it was the southern accent that sold it. But there was something off about the woman today.

"You okay?" she asked, earning another charming smile.

"Finer than a frog hair split four ways, darlin'," she assured the girl, "It's been a long drive. Sometimes the glamorous lifestyle of a PI gets tiring," she said with a soft laugh. Wendy stared at her for a moment with her eyes slitted, that was bullshit and they both knew it. But before Wendy could call her on it her phone buzzed and she pulled it out to look at.

"Dad's here Tambry," she said and the goth girl nodded, "Thanks again Billie."

"I'll walk with you, darlin'. I was on my way out anyway," she said smoothly as she turned to lead the way out. Wendy just shrugged, knowing it was better than protesting. Soon enough, they were outside Dan's truck idling right by the doors.

"See yuh Billie," Wendy said as she pulled open the door, letting Tambry climb in first which she managed without ever looking up from her phone.

"Have a good evenin' girls. Stay out of trouble," the older woman  replied, glancing past her to Dan, whose brows were furrowed in confusion at her presence. Flashing him a smile she lifted her hand flashing him a six fingered wave, "Hey Dan," she said as she kept walking heading out to the parking lot and her bike.

"Billie," he rasped automatically in greeting as his daughter climbed in closing the door behind her, "What was that about?" he asked.

"Oh some creeps were hassling us and Billie scared them off," she told him calmly. Dan's eyes narrowed slightly at her words over protective feelings surging at the idea of someone messing with his daughter.

"Creeps?" he repeated, "Who?"

"Dad be cool, it's fine. I could have handled it, and besides Bille took care of it," the teenager sighed settling back in her seat. He considered pushing the issue but decided against it. Instead, he made a mental note to ask Billie about it when he saw her at the bar next.

"Seat belts," he boomed and Wendy rolled her eyes as she buckled up Tambry affirming she already had.

~*~

Billie slouched against the bar moodily working on her fifth beer. She’d been planning on just going out to Seattle. After all, if she kept moving she didn't have to think about anything besides keeping her bike on the road and away from cars. The snow storm, however, had different plans, in town it was a steady drifting fall but once she hit the base of the mountain it had turned into a full blown white out. And as self destructive as she could be she wasn't insane. So she'd landed at the Skull Fracture drinking away the last month. It was a quiet night no one but a few regulars; Bats and Cat (so named for his tattoos) were playing pool in the corner growling threats loudly at each other. Chin lounged at the table beside the door to check IDs if someone happened to venture in, and rowdy laughter drifted over from a few of the Scacr-O-Dacyles who sat BSing in the corner. She'd been invited to join Bats and Cat but had declined. For all the buzz about the place in town she actually liked it. While it could certainly get rowdy and fights were a dime a dozen on Saturday nights the regulars were good guys. She'd  brawled with most of them at some point or another in the last year and a half but after they always wound up laughing and drinking together. Good guys if a bit rough.

Still tonight was quiet which didn't do her much good. Billie had hoped to take her mind off her trip back to Georgia, but only managed to dwell on it. Groaning she shoved a hand through her hair as she took another drink.

"Ugh, how the hell did I get stuck with you?" she growled at her glass her mind drifting to the urn in her saddle bag, "An' what the hell am I supose ta do with yuh now?" she muttered. The call had come in when she'd been on her way to LA; Mary's parole office had found her with a needle in her arm. Billie had wished she was shocked at the news, but she wasn't. Her mother had been an addict in the truest sense, sure she got clean here and there but she always went back. The last time Billie had talked to her was a few years ago when she'd been 'born again', for the third time by Billie’s count. Billie had given her a chance though, told Mary if she stayed clean for six months she'd come visit. That visit hadn't happened. God had lost his appeal four months later. Two months longer then when she'd regained custody of Billie when she'd been 12 and four months sooner then when she'd invited Billie to see her baptized when she was twenty.

Still, Billie had been her listed next of kin, which meant her death had come a whole heap of problems. The woman's older children didn't even speak to her so all the debts, apartment, and arrangements had been left to her youngest. And while Billie had considered telling them to donate her to science and give away all her shit, she couldn't do that to her. As angry as she was there was still a small part of her that remembered eating ice cream at midnight and making blanket forts with her Mom when she was between benders. So for the first time in eight years Billie had gone back, and now she wished she hadn't.

She hadn't had a service or anything instead choosing to have her mother cremated, and after looking through the sad little apartment her mother had for anything of value she'd donated what she could and had a service come clean up the rest. The landlord had been a man so sleazy her skin had crawled and it took every ounce of self restraint she had not to punch him in his face when he'd demanded next months rent and the costs of repairs over the security deposit. Credit cards, pay day loans, and a court fees had run her a pretty penny but she'd made sure they were all taken care of.

And that had been the easy part. She'd also taken the time to call all five of her siblings to let them know; Vernon and Ivy hadn't even picked up, Emma May had hung up on her, and Jesse had laughed over the sounds of his girlfriend demanding to know who 'the bitch on the phone' was. Only her eldest brother Bo had shown any kind of feeling, he’d sighed sadly and asked if she needed help, though she knew his heart wasn't in it. He'd asked out of obligation, he was 11 years older then her and the first born so she knew he felt like he should be the one taking care of it. She'd assured him that she had handled everything, asked the obligatory 'how's the family's, answered his standard 'still doing the gypsy detective thing', and given the standard staying in touch niceties. Bo was a good guy, and honestly they were the only ones that ever spoke with each other even if it was only once every five years or so. Honestly, none of them had anything in common beside having been brought into the world by Mary. And after being separated in the system they had gone on to live their lives trying their best to find some sort of normality.

"Hey!" came a raspy voice pulling her from her internal brooding causing her to blink as she looked over to find Dan towering over her. Blinking again she flashed a smile up at him as she straightened up swiveling the bar stool to face him.

"Oh evenin' Dan," she drawled lazily as she glanced around him finding his perpetual shadow behind him, "Tyler you're in actual jeans...it must really be cold," she told the smaller man with a grin.

"Billie Jean! I didn't expect to see you again so soon. You finally deciding to move here?" he asked cheerfully causing her to laugh. She really liked the flamboyant little man, when he'd first met her he'd squealed in delight asking excitedly if her middle name was Jean. When she'd confirmed that it actually was she had thought he might explode with excitement insisting on calling her Billie Jean, something she hadn't been called since high school.

"Naw sug. Though if I ever decide to settle down this place is in the top contenders," she assured him finishing her beer, "What are you buys up to tonight?" she asked and Tyler laughed happily.

"I should hope so. It's a great place. I convinced Dan to play some pool. Wanna join?" he asked eagerly.

"Naw, I'm beat. Maybe next time," she told him and he nodded before bouncing off to call the table next and eagerly cheer both Bats and Cat on. Chuckling she stretched running her fingers through her hair again as she realized she was feeling the beers more then she'd thought, before looking up at Dan who still loomed over her. Raising a brow she cocked her head looking up at him. She liked Dan as much as Tyler, though he came off as a meat head with too much testosterone and shoulder hair he was actually a lot brighter then most people gave him credit for.

Sure he absolutely fit the name Manly to a tee, and took shit from no one, but shed had more then a few intelligent conversations with him. From the value of reforesting in the logging industry to him telling her that the weird rattle she kept hearing was the Hide Behind, she'd found him rather engaging even if he did deliver his points in a booming raspy voice that could blow out your ear drums. Plus, it was pretty endearing the way he watched out for Tyler.

Apparently, they'd been best friends since elementary school, and Dan really loved the enthusiasm enthusiast. She'd even seen him play wing man for his fabulous friend which had been priceless. She’d sat by and watch Dan distract a middle aged woman who had been all but begging him to take her home so Tyler could chat up her friend, a cute red headed bear of a man...obviously he had type. But what she liked best was he seemed like he was a good Dad; hanging out at the bar was something he did when all the kids were off somewhere safe and sound, and even then he never seemed to get good and drunk just in case he needed to switch into Dad mode. Something she could appreciate, and she guessed that had something to with him towering over her at the moment.

"I wasn't corrupting your daughter. Scout's honor,"  she told him raising two fingers.

"I know, she told me," he growled and she smiled wondering what it was then, "She said some guys were hassling them. Who?" he demanded and she chuckled. There it was, he wanted to know who he was hunting down.

"I dunno I didn't recognize them. Some James Dean wanna bes in leather jackets. They'd cornered them and were trying to get them to ‘show them around town’," she told him as she signaled for another beer, "She was holding her ground but she had...Tammy?" she hesitated trying to remember the goth girl's name.

"Tambry," he supplied and she nodded.

"Tambry hidin' behind her. They were pretty easy to scare off though. Still, I insisted on hanging around until you got 'em," she finished with a shrug as she caught the glass the bar tender sent sliding down to her, "If I see them again I'll let yuh know."

"Thanks," he said after a second, "For keeping an eye on Wendy that is. I know she can handle herself but...," he trailer off a bit awkwardly and she gave him an understanding  smile.

"'Course Dan," she said as Tyler shouted that they were up.

"Sure you don't wanna join?" he asked and she smiled shaking her head. Nodding, he turned and headed over to his friend. She watched him go out the corner of her eye. While she enjoyed Dan as a person she also enjoyed him as the world's biggest piece of eye candy too.  

Settling back against the bar she glared at her drink. It occurred to her that trying to drink away the feeling in her hadn't been the beat idea. While she wasn't drunk, she was certainly feeling it, and booze tended to make her short to begin with. But she had been out of pot for awhile and needed to do something. She knew that the mix of anger and sorrow was normal for grief, and she was self aware enough to know that she'd spent years repressing the complex emotions she had about Mary and that her death was trying to drag it all up again. But still she didn't want to deal with them now. She wanted to stuff them all deep inside and leave them there.

She didn’t want to wonder if she had forgiven her mother and spent more time with her if Mary would have cleaned up a bit. The question ‘Am I going to end up dead alone in some crappy apartment too?’ wasn’t one she wanted to ask herself. Facing the deep seated insecurity of not being a good enough daughter making Mary choose partying over her wasn’t a thing she wanted to do. Every time she’d angrily wished her mother dead, and all the nights she’d spent wondering if she was broken since even her own mother didn’t love her swirled around inside her. If only she had some kind of magic memory ray to erase it all...to delete everything to start fresh tomorrow with out all the damage she carried. Taking a drink she caught someone leaning against the bar next to her as well as movement behind her.

"Hey, you're the one who ruined our fun earlier," came a smooth voice. Setting her drink down she turned to find the James Dean wanna be staring down at her, and realized his two friends were now flanking her. Calmly she glanced at the other two before turning back to the leader who was looking down at her with a predatory grin.

"But I'll tell you what. Since we're such forgiving guys you can make it up to us. How about we have a few drinks and then you and us can see where the evening goes. Maybe find a way to keep us all warm," he leered and she realized he was staring down her shirt. Cocking a brow she wondered if this guy was for real, if he seriously thought she was going to take this. Looking him up and down as he leaned casually against the bar and looked like he owned the place it hit her. She was the only woman in a bar full of bikers and roughnecks, he and his friends assumed they were alphas in the situation. That because she was sitting alone in a room full of men who all oozed testosterone no one would object to them objectifying her. But man had they read the place wrong, while the regulars were certainly less then civilized by most standards none of them were animals when it came to women. Letting out a low chuckle she sat up cracking her neck as she stretched. Glancing at the two that flanked her she returned her gaze to James Dean and smirked.

"Yuh actually think that's gonna work on me?" she asked taking a drink, "Listen son, even if I wasn't already in a piss poor mood I wouldn't keep you or yur flunkies warm if we was six feet deep. Anyone who tries to scare girls into goin' with 'em ain't worth the shit on the bottom ah my shoe," she told them cause the men to shift angrily around her but she just smirked as she stood rolling her shoulders. Displeased with her dismissal of him the scumbag pressed forward almost touching her as the other ones crowded around her. He was using his height to force her to look up at him but she just smiled catching movement behind him, glancing past him she saw Chin has stood from his stool beside the door very aware of the situation. Raising her hand slightly she signaled she had this and he stilled not sitting down but trusting her for the moment.

"You got a smart mouth bitch. Maybe we should teach you how to use it," he threatened and she let out a bark of laughter in his face which only served to piss him off more. Good, she needed to blow off some steam.

"Oh bless yur heart, huh really don't realize how fucked you are do you?" she asked her tone dripping with southern condescending, "Maybe if you weren't so busy trying to intimidate women into yur bed y'all'd've realized you picked the wrong bar to do that in. In fact, y'all picked the wrong town, an' y'all certainty picked the wrong girl," she chuckled.

"Oh really?" he asked glancing sarcastically around, "Because there's three of us and you don't seem to have any friends. So why don't you think this through. We can have some fun and make nice," he offered and she laughed again causing his face to contort in frustration. It was clear he was use to women submitting to them...scumbag.

"Oh honey I got plenty a friends here. But no, I meant at the mall," she informed him raising her fingers to her lips and letting out a loud whistle causing the whole bar to fall silent. The dawning realization that they'd fucked up that was creeping into his face was priceless as she looked over her shoulder to Dan and Tyler who stood beside the pool table staring at her. The look on his face told her that he was already piecing together what was going on and she grinned.

"Hey Dan these are the assholes that were hassling Wendy," she called and the snap of the pool cue as his fist clenched around it sounded like a gun shot in the silence. All at once every pair of eyes turned to the men who surrounded her the hate tangible, before they all looked over to Dan. Well, actually they all turned to the little man beside Dan. Raising a brow Billie looked at Tyler who’s eyes narrowed in anger as he stared at the men around her.

“Get ‘em,” he said softly rendering his verdict to everyone. With those words what was going to happen became clear. Turning back to the scumbag towering over her she felt the acid grin splitting her face.

"Thanks hun. I've been lookin' ta hit something all day," she told him before snapping her hand up to the side of his head and slamming it viciously into the bar. And with that all hell broke loose.

Twenty minutes later Billie panted slightly as she watched the three assholes get rolled out the door. Blood dripped from a split on her forehead and she could feel her left eye swelling already. In the split second after she'd slammed James' head into the bar his two friends had jumped her landing solid hits to her face and chest and the world had gone red. After that it was a blur of fury and pain as she and Dan had beat the living hell out of them. She had taken out every ounce of rage she'd built up over the last month on the poor bastards until finally Dan had dragged her off them, probably so she wouldn't beat them to death. Looking down at his arm that was wrapped around her waist she pushed gently on it.

"Uhh Dan you can put me down now," she told him and he looked down at her skeptically, "I'm not rabid I won't attack," she assured him. Grunting he set her down on her feet and he frowned as she stretched.

"Uhhhh you okay?" he asked raising a brow at her and she sighed nodding. It was obvious that he wasn't just talking about physically. While Billie was always up for a fight she was never out of control. But tonight she had gone insane, and now she was just exhausted. All of her anger had been channeled into her hits leaving her feeling nothing but a strange kind of hollow sadness. Still she put on a charming smile and shrugged.

"Yeah, rough week," she told his dismissively. He opened his mouth to say something but her phone began blasting an air raid siren from under a bar stool. Thanking God for the excuse to avoid any further explanation  she dove for it flipping it open.

"'Ello," she chirped wiping at the blood seeping down into her eye.

"WHERE ARE YOU?!" Stan thundered causing her to pull the phone away from her ear, "I'VE CALLED YOU FIVE TIMES. YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH! YOU SAY YOU'RE IN TOWN BUT NEVER SHOW UP?!" he raged, "IT’S A GOD DAMN BLIZZARD OUTSIDE!"

"You never called me back to say I could crash with you," she snapped and the silence on the other end was slightly threatening.

"I told you last time to just come in," he told her, "Now get your ass over here before you get snowed in," he barked before he hung up the phone. Looking down at the cell phone she snapped it shut and shook her head. Well, guess it was time to start walking cause she sure as hell wasn’t in any shape to drive.

~*~

Stan sat glaring at some late night documentary on the manufacturing of mud flaps played on the screen. It was almost midnight and Billie still hadn’t showed up, he’d called her 45 minutes ago. It wasn’t that he was worried about her or anything he was just cranky that the woman was keeping him up. He’d spent the last two days down in the basement with that damn portal and unsurprisingly gotten no where. So when he’d come up to find the answering machine blinking he’d been glad for the distraction, if a bit surprised to hear she was back so soon. But after listening to the messages he had gotten a bit concerned, the last few times she’d come for a visit she hadn’t asked if she could stay, she’d just told him she would be there. And he’d told her that she was always welcome. But suddenly she was acting like he might turn her away. Had he done something last visit to make her feel like she was no longer welcome? He didn’t think so.

But then when he tried to call her she hadn't picked up, which was weird, the woman was attached to that damned cell phone like if she missed a call she might die.  Seriously, it was like the thing shocked her every time it rang. When she’d finally picked up he was pretty sure that he’d heard the sounds of the Skull Fracture in the background. And the bar was only about ten minutes away so what was taking her so long? Looking outside he could see the snow was falling more heavily then it had been an hour ago. The plows wouldn’t be out until the morning either which only served to make him even more agitated.

She only ever rode that bike of hers and if she had skidded off the road she had no shelter. She could have been hurt or worse. He trusted her to know her limits, and he knew that she never really got hammered. She had a few beers at most and had walked back the few times she had felt she wasn’t able to be safe, but the snow was a different story. Even seasoned drivers could get in trouble in it.

“Damn it Stanley you should have gone and got her,” he growled to himself, “You idiot. What were you thinking? You know she doesn’t have a car,” he berated his anger manifesting in self loathing, “Stupid worthless old man.”

As he stood to go get dressed so he could go out looking for her a knock came on the front door sending him charging towards it like a bat out of hell. Relief washed over him as he wrenched the door open ready to demand to know what the hell was wrong with her, but the sight before him left him speechless.

Billie stood on the porch snow clinging to the messy black braid of her hair and the shoulders of her fur lined parka. Her jeans were soaked through to the knees where she’d obviously trudged through the snow. Still sticky blood coated one side of her face from a large gash on her forehead, her left eye was half swollen shut and blackening quickly, and her bottom lip split and seeping blood. Her skin was even paler then normal from cold or blood loss and her jaw was bruised and angry looking. Staring at her he felt his heart stop in his chest, he should have gone and got her. She’d obviously crashed on her way over and had to walk here, he needed to get her to the hospital. There was no telling how badly she was hurt, she could be bleeding internally, or have broken bones and only be standing because of shock. She could be dying and it was all hi fault. Stupid worthless old man, he should have gone and gotten her.

“Holy Moses, are you okay? What happened?” he finally managed to bark as he reached a hand towards  her pulling her into the house. She was freezing, he could see her shivering and her lips were tinted blue. Good god he need to get the keys to take her to the hospital. “Stay there I’ll get my keys. We have to…,” he began but she cut him off.

“No,” she said her voice thick with pain as she caught his hand with hers. Her skin was like ice, and he noticed her knuckles were bruised and bloody, “No,” she repeated and he stopped looking down at her. Something was wrong, the Billie he’d come to know always had a cocky manner, head held up defiant to the world, sharp eyed and ready to take on the world. But now…she didn’t look like the hell cat that was his daughter. Instead she looked…like a lost little girl. Her shoulders slumped, one arm hugging herself, and big green eyes watery with unshed tears. He looked like he’d felt so many times in his life; lost, alone, and broken. Now, utterly confused he stood looking at her and wondering what the hell he was suppose to do. For a second she stood motionless before shaking her head and moving like she was going to leave. Catching her hand he stopped her, he couldn’t let her go back out there in her current state.

“Billie…what happened?’ he asked again unable to think of anything else to say, “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve been around the world. Whatever it is I’ll understand,” he said echoing the words he’d said so many years ago. He didn’t know what was wrong but this time he wasn’t going to fuck it up again. He refused to loose his daughter like he’d lost his brother, “Come on kid, you’re freaking me out.”

“I…I…Mary died and I had to go back to Georgia. And none of the others seemed to care. And I…I tried to just forget, but it didn’t work. An’ I came here because…I dunno. And I went to the bar but then I beat up James Dean and….and,” she spewed as tears began pouring from her eyes before she lunged forward and hugged him so tightly it almost hurt as she buried her face in his chest. Blinking Stan stood for a second staring down at her as she sobbed quietly into his chest, “I don’t wanna die alone Stanford,” she whimpered into his chest and something in him broke a little as he wrapped his arms around her.

“I know kid, but it’ll all be okay I promise,” he told her his own voice a bit choked. What else could he say? He’d never been good with word or feeling so he just decided to let her cry it out. After all he couldn’t do anything else for her besides be a caring ‘uncle’.

For a while they just stood there; Billie crying softly into his chest as she let out all the grief she’d been holding in and Stan letting her. Finally, she took a step back scrubbing at her eyes and staring at his feet embarrassment washing over her. She must look like an idiot, showing up on his door step crying like a little kid. Sniffing she rolled her shoulders the beating from earlier staring to set in as her body ached along with her heart. Her eyes were puffy and itchy from all the crying and her throat sore from the walk in the snow. She realized she was exhausted in every possible way and looked up at him to find him staring at her hesitantly.

“Feel better?” he asked finally and she gave a jerky nod.

“Yeah…thanks Stan,” she said shoving her hands in her pockets, “So…I’m gonna invoke the girdle rule here.”

“The what?” he asked his face contorting in confusion.

“The fact that you wear a girdle. You know it’s a thing. I know it’s a thing. But we don’t talk about it and pretend it never happened,” she told him and he couldn’t help but let out a huff of laughter.

“Alright, alright I get it,” he told her and she gave a weak smile, “Now not to sound too bossy or anything but you should go get cleaned up and take some aspirin. Probably wanna ice that eye too. Cause it looks like James Dean beat you up not the other way around,” he told her and she let out her own laugh. Nodding he turned to head into the kitchen for the first aid kit and a glass of water for her. She was going to need it.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said as she dragged herself towards the stairs only to pause on the first step, “Really, thanks Stan,” she said not looking at him.

“Sure thing kid. That’s what family is for,” he said not turning from his path to the kitchen. Smiling she nodded as she headed up stairs.

[neverbeenawriter]

An Ode To Phil’s Arms. Phanfic. G: no warnings/triggers.

Dan couldn’t remember the day he’d first noticed Phil’s arms and how they perfectly filled out the sleeves of his t-shirt. He knew they’d both been working out more often now that they weren’t on tour and had time to actually live their lives. He supposed it must have been so gradual that he hadn’t seen the change. But when Phil had showed him all the pictures of his new merch and asked Dan to help him pick the best ones, Dan definitely noticed.

 Dan had of course been at the shoot with Phil, although they’d hired a professional photographer and Dan hadn’t been needed for the shoot he still came along for moral support and so that Phil’s smiles didn’t seem fake. Dan could always make him smile and laugh without much effort, they had that affect on each other.

 But seeing the photos like this, touched up and edited, zoomed in close, he was completely distracted by Phil’s arms.

 “I don’t think I like one,” Phil mused as he looked over Dan’s shoulder as he flipped through photos on his laptop.

 “Why not?” Dan asked, finding it hard to pic photos since he truly believed Phil looked beautiful in all of them.

 “I don’t know; don’t you think I look…. I don’t know, weird.” Phil shrugged and gestured vaguely.

 Dan chuckled. “No Phil, I don’t think you look weird,” he replied making the same gesture Phil had.

 “I think I’ve just sent too long looking at pictures of myself and now they are all starting to look strange, like, what even is my face?” Phil muttered. He’d been working on merch a lot and Dan could see he was tired.

  “Go to sleep Phil,” Dan replied. “I’ll pick some of these and send them to you to post in the morning.”

 “Okay, thanks Dan,” Phil replied, leaning down over the back of the couch to kiss Dan’s cheek. “Don’t stay up too late,” he added.

 “I won’t,” Dan replied, lacing his fingers with Phil’s for a brief second. They said their goodnights and Phil headed off down the hall and into Dan’s room to fall asleep, hoping Dan would join him soon.

 Dan went through all the photos again, picking his favorites and moving them to a different folder, although it was hard to pick when he liked them all he narrowed it down to the best fifteen or so and went from there. He knew Phil would need one of each design so he separated them by design. It was easy enough to pick the ones he liked the best, but there was just some small part of him that wanted his favorites to only be seen by him. Selfish, he knew. Childish and silly also, but he couldn’t help it.

 His eyes were again drawn to Phil’s arms; did he have an arm kink? He didn’t think so, but at this point he was comfortable enough in himself to admit he pretty much had a Phil kink. No matter what it was if it had to do with Phil he was probably into it. Which could be seen as kind of weird, but lucky for Dan, he knew Phil was the same about him.

  Dan picked out three pictures, one of each design, and sent them to Phil. Getting up and getting ready for bed himself.

  The next morning when Dan awoke, Phil wasn’t in the bed anymore, clearly having woken earlier and start on work. Dan stayed in bed and browsed his phone, seeing a notification that Phil had added to his Instagram story. Of course he had notifications on for Phil, he was still Phil’s biggest fan, he always would be.

  He clicked tapped on the notification and seen the pictures he’d picked the night before, emoji’s obscuring the designs. Dan laughed and smiled to himself. Phil was adorable. Dan replied to Phil’s story. “Looking good ;)” he sent. He heard noise from the other room and then feet padding down the hallway before the door swung open.

  “Good Morning,” Phil said cheerily, his glasses perched on his face and his hair a mess.

 “Morning,” Dan replied. Smiling softly when Phil climbed into the bed and pressed their lips together.  “I see you went with the ones I picked,” he mused.

 “You know what looks good for me,” Phil replied.

 “Damn right,” Dan agreed, grinning. “How’s the reception been?” he asked, not having had time to browse through twitter yet. Phil blushed and ducked his head. “What is it?” Dan questioned. “Do they not like it?” he added, sounding angry. He was protective of Phil and if someone hurt his feelings he would have to have a word with them.

 Phil chucked. “It’s not that,” he replied. “I think they like the colors, and are excited to see the designs, it’s just that…” he muttered and let his words trail off.

  Dan sighed going onto twitter to check himself since Phil wasn’t answering. It didn’t take him much scrolling before he seen why Phil was acting the way he was. Although Dan didn’t follow and Stan accounts he was tagged in enough things to see the situation.

 “I would happy be choked to death by Phil” “OMG his arms <3” “Guess we understand Dan’s choking kink” “Crush me with your arms please, mr. amazing” “Choke me daddy” “he could spit on me and call me disgusting and I’d still thank him!” “When these images come out someone call 911 for me cause I won’t survive”

 Dan burst out laughing, dropping his phone on the bed. “Is every comment just about your arms?” he asked. Phil nodded shyly. “Oh my gosh, Phil,” he laughed some more but tried to compose himself when he seen that Phil didn’t seem to find it as funny as he did. “What’s wrong?” Dan asked.

 “It’s just weird to have a bunch of strangers commenting on my body,” Phil replied. “And why are they all acting like I’m mean? I couldn’t crush or strangle anyone, and spitting on people is gross…”

  Dan chuckled and leaned over kissing him gently. “You know they’re not serious, and no one actually think you’d do that,” Dan assured. “Also don’t kink shame, some people are into that,” he added teasingly.

 Phil smiled and sat beside Dan resting his head on his shoulder. “It’s still weird.”

 “Mhhmm” Dan made a noise of agreement. “But can you blame them?” he asked, his voice quiet since he didn’t need to be loud.

 “I don’t blame them, I mean, it’s fine, and I’m glad they’re excited,” Phil replied.

 Dan laughed. “That’s not what I meant Phil.” Dan shifted his arm out from under Phil, making him sit up, and reached for his phone. “Look at this,” he said, showing Phil pictures he’d sent him, before they were covered in emoji’s. Zooming in on Phil’s arms.

 “I just see arms,” Phil replied with a confused chuckle.

 “Well then you’re missing out,” Dan replied. “Look Phil, you look so hot,” he added. “I know you’ve been working out but this is a whole new level.”

 Phil flushed. “You’re just saying that,” he muttered.

  “Fuck no,” Dan replied. “Look at this,” he insisted again. “I mean, damn; you can’t blame them for thinking I’m lucky.”

 Phil just laughed again but he seemed more comfortable this time. “I think I’ll just avoid Stan twitter for a bit.”

 “That’s normally a good idea,” Dan agreed. “Does that mean I’m not allowed to make comments about how I’d willingly let you choke me?” He teased.

 Phil flushed. “I don’t mind it as much from you,” he replied. Dan put his hand on Phil’s cheek and kissed him properly for the first time that morning.

---------- Notes-----

I blame twitter for this entirely, don’t judge me ^^;

You can find me on twitter as NoelKagamine

Or on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverBeenAWriter/works

[jenz]

Chrysanthemum

I woke up two nights ago from a dream feeling paralyzed from the nostalgia it shot through my veins. In my slumber, I dreamt that I was a carnival performer, and was backstage getting ready when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to be greeted by an old flame, who bent down to give me an encouraging kiss. As he pulled away, he smiled that same smirk I recalled.

When I came back into reality, I laid transfixed in bed, stunned that this moment felt current. But I also felt a bit alarmed. That moment in the dream - the cupping of my face, the warmth I could feel in his fingers as they touched my skin, the kiss length - felt exactly like what it was when we were together. How could this kiss feel the same while being unconscious? How could something from a decade ago surface and feel so bitingly legitimate?

I let this uneasy, erotic, restless feeling dictate my day. I kept re-playing over and over the intimacy we had had; how we used to swap music discoveries, the drives we used to take, all the photo shoots I made him pose for. The way he held my hand that one Halloween, the way I used to look at him while we had dinner, the way he broke up with me after we went for pho. I remembered what my life was like then and it made me feel...unsettled. How can you be so fond and devoted and APART of someone and then just...not? Why do we allow ourselves to open up and expose the depths of our fragility, our dreams, only to have it languish?

It didn't stop there. I went deeper into my romantic history, to my first real love who broke my heart when he cheated on me, to the bartender who couldn't commit, to the serial manipulator who I swore was going to be The One. I rehashed all the beautiful and dirty and carnal and destructive things that happened in those relationships, and completely began to incapacitate myself emotionally. When you go that far down a rabbit hole, it takes a mighty force to 180 you back to your senses, and at this point, I was full speed ahead into Torture 101.

It was here I decided I was going to go visit my grandma at her final resting place. Somewhere I avoided for the last 2 years because the pain was too much to face again. Losing a loved one is always hard, and losing a person you treasured so faithfully is agonizing. So naturally, a cemetery seemed like the place to go given my emotional state. I rolled up with a potted plant in hand and just sat with her and my grandpa, trying to make sense of the complex whirlwind shitshow that was my brain. And it finally hit me that I've been tying everything - and I mean, everything - to the idea of leaving San Francisco and not being ready for change.

We're in the middle of trying to buy a house out of the city, away from friends, family, close support circles. The pace of life will be different. The resources and political sphere and climate will be wholly different. We're literally trading in city life for desert living. And for the past 2 months, I have tried to make sense of this momentous change, started keeping notes on why San Francisco is important and what it means to leave it. My ode to this beautiful city will come in its own edition. But to understand how I am leaving means I have been 150% examining what it meant to even be here. To move here a week after I turned 18, to have my memories splattered on every street corner. To follow the friends and jobs and lessons I have learned in the 17 years I decided to place roots and blossom into who I am today. I have spent my formative adult life in the City by the Bay and it changed me. It told me I was good enough and gave me opportunities to explore my passions in the arts, in community, in music. It was cruel when my friends had to leave due to the cost of living. It was welcoming every time I needed a beer or a street taco to celebrate my wins or drown my sorrows. I have, as it turns out, so much to fucking say about SF that the nostalgia has been manifesting in everything. Reminiscing about old friendships. Former apartments. And past lovers, it turns out.

I wasn't ready when my grandma died. I knew the grief of missing her would palpitate for a long time after her departure, and the sting still pierces me at times, even now. But it's been two years since she went to the stars, and...I'm OK. I ended up being fine, and the hole in my heart has now been filled with understanding and acceptance that change is something you have to deal with. How you react to it is your own choice. I loved her so much, but am happy for her suffering to have ended. And I think about how, if she were here, she'd chastise me about having blue hair and getting more tattoos and ask how I was feeling. Not what I was doing, but how I was feeling. What was I doing to feel connected and fulfilled, and, was I happy?

I'd like to think that she would be proud with me. And content to see me progress to the next stage of life with my other half.

[virgiltheanxious]

Learning New Things About Ourselves (Evans notes)

WARNING THERE WILL BE SPOILERS FOR THE NEW SANDERS SIDES VIDEO

its been so long since ive done one of these omg

-”give me my shirt back!” crying i loved this

- i love the added credits!!

-also foti also worked on this that valid

-gjadskjg thomas cutting patton off was so cute

-this is 38 minutes long oh gee

-the content con-tent thing was very,,, good

-I LITERALLY SCREAMED AFTER “nothijg is different” AND PATTON MADE THAT FACE

-oh man roman i love you also THAT ADAM DRIVER LINE OH MY GOD YOU RIGHT ROMAN

-LOGAJ DOING THE HAND THING IS LITERALLY ME

-ROMAN HAS FLASHCARDS

-thats actually angsty oh no

-THEM BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL

-polyamsanders is cannon theyre all dads

-MY CHILD IS RETURNING

-i just orgot virgil WAS ALSO TOMAS,,,

- DAD THEME NICKNAME

-”oh when did virgil get here” tje way,,  that was said

-THE HIGH FIVE OH MY GOD SLDGHSD

-roman denying that he is insecure oh my god

-patton saying sanders sides is me too 

-why is everyone relatable

-oh my god patton giving everyone the toys to calm them down was,, great

-romans mona lisa dsdgojs

-uptown funking you up

-WITH THESE BARE HANDS AND THIS SWORD

-SAME SIZW EJDGFH

-LOGAN MADE A JOKE ABOUT ASDJGND FAULT LINE JFDF

-I WAS DRINKING WATER WHEN LOGAN SAID INTACT AND WET I ALMOST SPIT IT AT MY LAPTOP

-i love patton he looks so happy when logan praises him

-logans hat

-did virgil call roman honey im

-patton as a puppet scared me

-virgil calling roman extra is a mood

-everyone reacting to virgil being a puppet is me

-virgil as a puppet is me

-you make an as out of su and me was gr8

-logans face when he realized he hurt roman my heart uhurts

-patton constantly bursting into song is valid

-i feel like this is a big important video for logan

-like logan is always viewed as a robot and has a hard time with feelings and him hearing all of this is important

-”what is up your butt” “AN ARM” SKDGSD

-that little edit scene of logan asking thomas things was so cool holy crap

-virgil scares me by doung the ah ah ah things

-”im not a joke!” logan is making me cry this isnt okay

-THE SONG OH MY GPD THE SONG OJH YM GOS DHT ESONG THE SONG THE GSONGGGGG

-i love the SONG

-PATTON OPENING UPPLPPSD DSKOJGAS THE SONG THE AONG RHGE AIGN THE SING THE SONG THE SONG

-VRIGL SING?

-HE DO OH MY OD

-THE FUEEELINHG S 

- I JUST GOT A ;OT OF FEELINGS

-LOGAN SING (KINDA)

-THIS FUCKING MUSIC

- UM CRYJEGODSHGKL;FNHBDNHUTKIOL OIYS SO GOOD

- I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS RIGHT NOW

-EVERYONE TELLING ROMAN THAT WE KNOW HES HURTINJG

-CRYING I LOVE THE SONG

-cryin the roman/logan angst

-the soundtrack is literally so good what the heck

-viRGIL AND PATTON HUGGINH AND THEM THE DONT HUG ME IM SCARED JOKE

-THE SWITCHES BACK

-VIRGIL SMILING I LOVE MY BOY

-LOGAN BEOCMING  PUPPYET?? HE GONE DO IT

-IYS A REFERENCE LOGAN IRON GIANT LOGAN LOGAN IRON GIAN I LOVE IT OH MY GOD I=DFJHS

-LITERALLY THEYRE SO AMAZING AT THIS PUPPET STUFF

-ROMAN IS ADMITTING HE ISNT OKAY I LOVE

-LOGAN SUPPORTING ROMAN

-THE STRETCHY ARM

-THE STRETCHY ARM HIGH FIVE SKJDGSD

-THE ENDING WAS SO ADORABLE OH MY GOD

-ANNNDDDD HT ENEDCARD:

-OH MY GOD THYRE ON THEIR SIDES TOGETHER

-TOGETHERNESS OMG THATS SO CUTE IM CRUINGNGJDSNJGNSDHUGSKBHHFGFH

-I  LOVE,,.. THIS SO MUUHC

-PATTON MADE A CRACK AT THE WAIT OADNGSDG

-OVERALLL THE BEST VIDEO YET IM SO PROUD OF EVERYONE OH MY GOSHHHH

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Romancing the Flame (2/?)

Summary: When Emori’s brother is held hostage in exchange for a priceless, mythical jewel called the Flame, she teams up with sarcastic thief and treasure hunter, John Murphy.

But someone else is after the Flame too, and it’s a race to find the lost city of Polis and the jewel hidden inside.

To get there first, Emori and John will have to overcome booby traps, mercenaries, and their mutual mistrust of each other.

AKA my ode to the classic action/adventure films of the 80s/90s, packed full of as many references and tropes as I can manage. The title is a reference to the film “Romancing the Stone.” Official film poster here!

All my love to @infernalandmortal for editing and being just as excited about this fic as I am!

read on ao3

Chapter One

Chapter Two: The Deal

There was something about seedy bars that made Emori reckless. She’d like to blame it on the alcohol, but she’d only had one beer so far, and she knew she could drink half the men in this bar under the table. Maybe it was just the general sleaziness of the place – the atmosphere of crime and depravity hanging heavy over everything left the implication that you could get away with anything while inside.

Out in the real world, the law was a real threat, and one that Emori was cautious of. She’d long since learned the importance of staying inconspicuous and hidden, and normally she avoided unnecessary attention – but here she knew for a fact there was an illegal poker game unraveling in the back room, and that made her feel safe.

Normal grifts called for days of preparation and careful execution, but bar grifts were easy. They only required that she keep the mark drunk and horny enough not to notice what was happening – or just that she win the inevitable fight that broke out. No one was going to call the police in a place like this, after all, and she could handle a few bruises and cuts for the sake of some extra cash.

She does a lap around the place on her way back from the bathroom. By the time she reaches her table, she’s already zeroed in on at least three different opportunities.

Otan is exactly where she left him, staring morosely down into his own drink like the loser she often tells him he is. He looks up when she sits down.

“Hey.” She jerks her head towards the back corner. “Check out the dart game.”

Her brother follows her gaze to the two men in the midst of a game, then looks back at her with a deeper frown. Her excitement must be obvious, because he sighs heavily. “Hustling? Really?”

“It’ll be fun,” she says, her voice sing-song. She pokes at his shoulder, but Otan shrugs her off, grunting unenthusiastically in reply. “Come on, you know we’ll win.” Emori herself can probably hit the dartboard from where they sit right now. Otan, she knows, would hit the bullseye.

“I’m not worried about winning,” he argues. “I’m worried you’re going to start a fight, and we’ll get kicked out before I can finish my drink.”

Emori deftly grabs his drink from his hands and downs the entire thing. The whiskey is cheap and biting; it burns the back of her throat as it goes down. She slams the empty glass back on the table with a loud clink, and roughly wipes her mouth with the back of her gloved hand.

“There, drink finished.”

Otan glares at her. She smiles sweetly back at him.

They stare each other down, Otan looking for all the world like the human embodiment of a rain cloud and Emori bright and grinning, unwavering. Finally, with the kind of disappointed certainty that comes with having lost hundreds of similar arguments before, Otan sighs deeply in resignation and kneads at the rough, scarred skin of his forehead.

“Fine,” he says, and Emori laughs, delighted.

“It’ll be fun,” she promises as she tugs him out of his seat and towards the game. “Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve treated ourselves. We could use some extra cash.”

“You’re buying me another whiskey with it,” Otan tells her, then falls quiet as they reach the two men.

It’s easy to slip into the roles. They fit as comfortably as well-worn shoes.

“Come on, Em,” Otan says, gently tugging back the arm Emori has a hold of. She follows the movement, exaggerating her stumble a bit before she rights herself against her brother. “These guys are already playing.”

“Come on, O! I want to play!” she whines, slurring her words in a convincing charade of drunkenness.

The men pause their game and glance over at them.

Emori smiles at them and waves lazily. “Hey, you guys want to play with us?”

The two men look at each other in silent debate, and then eye Otan and her speculatively. They’re hesitant to accept Otan, she can tell, as people usually are – his sour expression and bulk might not be unusual in a place like this, but it certainly doesn’t do him any favors when making friends – but she’s laying the drunk, ditzy charm on well enough that they’re interested. One of them drags his eyes up and down her body.

“Ignore my dumb brother,” she slurs, emphasizing the last word. “I think you guys look fun! I want to have some fun!”

Otan tugs gently on her arm again. “They’re not interested, Em.”

“We didn’t say that,” the one eyeing her like a snack says quickly, and Emori hides a triumphant grin. Hook, line, and sinker.

He turns to at his opponent for confirmation, and the other man nods. “Yeah, we’d be up for a game.” His grin makes her skin crawl. “I’m Emerson. This is Dax.”

“I’m Emily,” she says, then slaps an uncoordinated hand against Otan’s chest. “This is Oscar.”

She steps closer to Emerson because the hungry way he eyes her makes him the better target. “I don’t know how to play,” she tells him, pitching her volume as if she’s trying to whisper but too drunk to manage it.

And he buys it. His grin stretches wider. “Don’t worry,” he assures her, placing an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll teach you.” He strokes down her arm, lower and lower, then switches to her back. It creeps dangerously close to her ass, and it's only years of practice that keep her smile in place. If they weren’t about to rob him blind, she’d have decked him the minute he touched her. Instead, she just giggles and leans in closer.

It’s all almost too easy.

Emori and Otan return to their motel room that night with their pockets heavier than they left. They hadn’t been able to raise the bet very high – Emori’s thinks the men had grown suspicious despite their flawless act – but Emori had treated herself to Mr. Grabby Hands’ wallet before they left.

“What’d I tell you?” she boasts as Otan unlocks the door. “It was fun, right?”

“Sure,” is all Otan says, but he’s grinning.

Emori is so high on their success that it takes her a moment to realize what happens when they enter the room. Something grabs her and shoves her face-first into the wall beside the door. Her nose throbs with the impact, and she has enough clarity to hope it isn’t broken, before she manages to take in the rest of the situation.

There are people in their room. One of them, clearly a man much stronger and larger than she is, has her pinned securely against the wall. She hears struggling behind her, but all she can see is the ugly paisley wallpaper of the room.

“Get off of me!” she shouts, straining against the arms holding her down. “Otan?! Otan!”

“Emori!” she hears him shout, before the distinct thud of someone getting socked in the face. She hopes Otan’s getting one up on their attackers, but she has a horrible feeling that it’s Otan who’s been hit. Her suspicious are confirmed when she hears her brother groan. Fear settles in her gut. She tries harder to fight back.

“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t find you, did you?”

The familiar voice coats her ears like tar, heavy, thick and vile. She freezes.

“Did you, Emori?” Baylis continues, and she chokes down a whimper. Even if she can’t see him, she can picture him perfectly in her mind – the cocky, feral grin, the hateful eyes. He probably still has the scar on his temple too. Baylis laughs, and she flinches. Her nose throbs sharply when she pushes it further into the wall. “Come on, we all know your brother’s an idiot, but you’re smarter than that.”

She wants to spit an insult. It sits on her tongue like ready ammunition, only the pistol’s jammed. She can’t get her mouth to say the words. They’d known it was a risk when they left, but they’d thought it was worth it. For months, she’d worried Baylis would find them again, and when it hadn’t happened, she’d grown passive in her sense of safety. She’d stopped worrying. She’d forgotten to be scared.

Now, the weight of that terror comes back all at once and locks her limbs tight and her jaw shut. She feels like a rabbit cowering in a trap, and she hates that almost more than the man behind her. Almost, but not quite.

“Turn her around,” Baylis orders, and the hands yank her from the wall and spin her around so roughly her rattled head spins. There’s definitely blood dripping from her nose.

Her imagination had been spot on. Sure enough, the scar is visible on his temple with his hair gelled back the way he always wears it, but she can’t even enjoy it – not when she sees the gun on his hip or the two large, heavily-armed men flanking him. Two others have Otan pinned, one with his arm tight around Otan’s neck. Her brother’s face is turning red with the strain.

He locks eyes with her and she reads her fear mirrored in them. Two men on Otan, one on her, two others waiting to act, and Baylis.

They’re fucked.

“Well?” Baylis barks. The man who has a hold of her tightens his grip. His nails dig into the skin of her arms. “You have anything to say?”

She tries to voice an apology, but her mouth fumbles around the shape of it. The words get lost somewhere in her throat. Baylis waits, his eyes locked on hers. Emori licks her lips and tries again. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baylis mocks. “For what? For running away? For stealing my money? For this?” He gestures at the scar on his face.

“All of it,” she gasps. Anything to please him. She’d gotten in his good graces once before; maybe she can do it again. “I’m sorry for all of it. I’ll make up for it. I’ll – I’ll-“

Otan squeaks, and her eyes dart to him. It’s too small a sound for a man as large as her brother, but he looks small now. The man holding his neck is squeezing it tighter, and her brother flounders like a fish caught on the shoreline as he struggles for breath. She can see his fingers dancing and twitching in the air for something to grab onto, but he’s too well-pinned. He clutches uselessly at open air.

“I’ll pay you back!” she shouts, desperate.

“You will?” Baylis steps close to her. He’s at least a foot and a half taller than her; she has to crane her neck to look up at his face. But then he crouches, and she has a bewildered second to wonder what he’s doing before he digs a hand into her boots, searching. She tries to not to squirm at the feeling.

He finds the wad of cash stuffed in her right boot, and the knife stashed in her left, and then Mr. Grabby Hands’ wallet in her jacket pocket. He pockets the knife and thumbs through the wallet and the ball of cash. Then he does the same to Otan, pulling out the knives he keeps in each boot and his own wad of money.

“See, we already found the pathetic bit of cash you had stashed in your bags here. And with this,” he waves the money he’s holding, “and whatever you hid in the car you stole, I know you don’t have nearly enough to pay me back.”

“I’ll get you more money. You know I can.” It was, after all, why he’d brought her in in the first place.

“Oh, I know you will,” Baylis assures her, pocketing the cash. He pulls a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it, then holds it in front of her face.

The word “Polis” is written on it, which means nothing to her. Below it someone has drawn an infinity symbol.

She can’t help the incredulous laugh that bubbles out of her. “I can’t get you that,” she argues.

Baylis slaps her. Her nose protests loudly. She can see her blood on Baylis’s hand as he pulls it back. His grin is gone; now he just looks angry.

“It’s a symbol, you bitch,” he hisses. “For an ancient city called Polis. There’s a jewel there that’s worth more than the fucking queen of England. It’s called the Flame. That’s how you’re going to pay me back.”

It takes her a moment to connect the dots; she blames the distracting throbbing of her face. “You’re sending us on a goddamn treasure hunt?”

“Not both of you. I’m keeping your brother so you don’t run off on me again. You bring me the Flame, and I’ll give him back to you, safe and sound.”

He’s offering her a way to freedom, but it smells like bullshit.

“I need Otan’s help,” she tries. “You need to let him come with me.”

Baylis sneers at her. “You think I don’t know who the brains of the operation is? You don’t need him to find it.”

“There’s no way I can find this. Baylis, please,” she begs, “let me pay you back some other way.”

He moves towards her, and she thinks he’s going to slap her again. She braces herself for the hit, but instead, he grabs her face roughly in his hand and squeezes. His rough fingers dig into her cheeks. She can feel them pressing against the bone. “You either bring me back the Flame, or you find some other way to get me as much money as the queen of fucking England. Or you run off and let your brother die. Your choice.”

Emori locks eyes with Otan again. It’s easy to make her choice. “Fine! Fine, I’ll find it. But you have to give me a lead.”

Baylis lets go of her face, and she wishes she had an arm free to scrub the feel of him off her skin. She wants to throw up.

“I gave you a lead. Polis.”

“I need something more than that,” she pleads. “Look, if you want to get this jewel, then you need to give me something more.”

Baylis considers her as he folds the paper back up and tucks it in his pocket. Then he nods. “I got the information from a man named Murphy in The Dead Zone. Look for him.”

She thinks that’s it, but then he pulls out her knife. There’s no way in hell he’s handing it back to her, and that worries her.

“One more thing,” he says. Her stomach churns with fear, writhing like a pit of snakes. She tries to stop herself from trembling, but it’s hopeless. He’s already seen it anyways; there’s no use in playing brave. Baylis gestures with her knife at the scar she gave him. “I’m gonna repay you for this.”

[sceawere]

We’ve lost more than just the plot: my thoughts on the season 4 finale

I have a lot of problems with this season. I have problems with characterisation. I have problems with storylines. I have problems with the way things were shown (I’m looking at you, informed consent).

But last episode was so good! The Luca/Alfie scene was one of the best pieces of television I’ve had the pleasure of consuming. So, there were problems, but I went in with high hopes because, you know, it’s Peaky Blinders, and I love it, so I ignored stuff. But how am I supposed to ignore that raging inferno of a dumpster fire that was the finale. Look. I’m so mad I’m using Americanisms. On that note, give me a Changretta spin off because we deserve it.

A lot of the arguments I make here are going to circle back to a few main points which can be covered by various subtitles such as: ‘Holy Fuck, is someone going to jump a shark in the cut at some point?’, ‘Tommy Shelby is a 4D chess master, except he hasn’t told anyone else where the board is kept’, and ‘Why?’.

This is rambing and probably at times confusing but bleh. Let’s begin.

-

Major shout out to dorahog for her comment where she said that it seemed very truncated – I think the events of the finale should have been spread over at least two episodes, and maybe three. A lot of the tying of the knots to me still left loose threads and didn’t really seem complete.

I think this, and some of the editing as a result is what causes some of the major problems I have with the episode. Lots of rushed finishing off to introduce too many new lines, idk. Anyway, I’m going to walk through it pretty much scene by scene, so buckle in.

We spend at least the first quarter (in terms of irl play time) of the episode at the boxing match. I was pumped. It was great. The Gold’s are my new faves, and while I may try to present myself as a refined you know, whatever, I love watching two people kick six shades of shit out of each other in a semi controlled manner any day of the week.

Even better when everyone is wearing sharp tailoring and it was someone’s entire job to light the place fantastically. I was about to write an ode to the costumes and props people but then I got a shot of Abbeys wig and the feeling swiftly fled.

Still, I will give the editing people props for this particular section. The pacing was great, the frenetic activity, the flicking back and forth between sets. Here, the editing was spot on. It built up the feeling of not only the excitement, but a sense of panic. Arthurs paranoia really seeped into me and I was on edge about whether Bonnie might be just a little over his head.

Since I’m going to reference pay off recurrently, I want to point out these elements. Arthur is always a paranoid, frenetic, madman. Bonnie has been woven into this season and everything has been building to this moment. The scene with the garotte and Bonnie winning the match – that’s how you do payoff.

Before we move on, I’m focusing on Alfie’s story a lot more later, so I’m skipping over that particular scene for the moment.

I loved the scene in the loos. It was funny, it was an accurate depiction of the politics and preening that goes on, the interplay between the women was indulgent. We got exposition, we got characterisation, we got costumes that made me salivate. More of all of this please.

I’m assuming that Linda is going to get a bigger role in Season 5 – the focus on her descent into Shelby Ladyhood, and the mentions of her past and family (especially her mother) seems to point that way. Which, I for one would enjoy. I think Linda gets a lot of hate because she’s written to. She’s portrayed as the shrew who tore poor little rabid dog Arthur away and leashed him up. I don’t think their relationship is completely healthy, I think there’s co-dependence issues there. But the way I’ve seen her described in fandom is eye-rolling to an extent that I physically injured myself on at least three occasions. So, please, give me more of her as a character and less as a caricature.

I’m so upset that Tommy would lie to Finn about Arthur being dead. Finn, the baby of the family, who wasn’t in the war, and doesn’t think and feel the way they do, was lied to about his brother dying just months after his other brother died. I think it’s sick emotional manipulation and unconscionable on Tommy’s part. If you can’t trust Finn, don’t bring him near the business. You can’t have it both ways. Either he’s in and you bring him in, or you don’t, and he needs to leave. I understand keeping the circle small, but they’ve just learned with the ‘don’t tell Michael about the plan’ plan that it doesn’t really work, and you just end up causing more problems.

Tommy has no consideration for people’s emotions or their state as beings of their own. They’re players to him, pieces on a board, and he’ll move them how he wants. He gets to make all the decisions, they don’t have any real input, and they have no ability to decide if they want to accept the consequences or not, because they’re already five steps deep in the process by the time they learn about it.

Side note: I’m bored of all the plans being made off screen and magically revealed to us later. If you’ve seen the really good video essay about why Sherlock is shitty for doing this, that’s the basis of my argument. It’s not smart or exciting to say ah! Got you! When I never had a chance to work it out in the first place. It’s just kind of lazy and boring.

Also, Tommy lied to a pregnant woman and caused her great distress, so that’s nice.

I cannot believe this is the first proper scene with Isaiah we get, because opening car doors and skulking in the background doesn’t count. Jordan Bolger is a great actor who brings so much to the character and they continually waste him. Isaiah could be so much more – he’s a black, working class kid, with a preacher for a father, in a crime family, and all he gets is a two-minute scene where he’s a bystander to Finn’s character development. Give me his struggle, give me him working through the moral conflicts – even the times they’ve just shown him to be a young lad being a young lad it’s been great, give us more. I assumed with the including of him in the heist plot that he would be stepping up into actual business, but they seem to have abandoned that idea and it’s disappointing. He can firmly join the ‘they deserve better’ club.

Finn should be left to be smol and soft, those are my complete thoughts.

Also, Tommy terrifies and holds hostage a whole room of innocent people as a charade because he doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else’s feelings or autonomy any longer than they are useful to him.

Also, I love Goliath and I’m sad that with Alfie gone we’re probably not going to see anymore of him, my big son, I loved you while I had you.

-

We move away from the boxing scenes and get Arthur’s ‘funeral’.

I will say, I bloody love the wagons and wish my alternate theory that the Shelby’s did in fact lose everything to Luca and have to start from scratch could have happened because they were would have got more shots of them being ethereal in the forest somewhere surrounded by beautiful woodwork a la the Polly/Abbey scenes, but alas…we get this instead.

The shot of the empty room and the fireplace was beautiful, and poignant, and I’m gonna give them that.

Also, was that Karl? Thank fuck if it was because I had assumed Ada had abandoned him in the states somewhere for all we’ve seen/heard of him so far. It’s not as if any of the children are seen to be particularly important or have any type of characterisation of their own though so why am I surprised?

-

The way that Tommy treats Michael is ridiculous. You can’t complain about Michael keeping something back from you when you are lying to him about the exact same thing. I am so heartened by Michael saying, ‘I chose my mum’ because it not only shows that Michael isn’t Tommy Jr after all, but also that there’s a chance that the new generation will succeed the old guard after all and that this won’t just carry on forever.

Also, if Tommy can’t trust Michael with his life of all things, why would he trust him to handle the American business alone? How ridiculous. If I think someone was willing to screw me over in a double-cross that led to my death, I wouldn’t hand them the key to my secondary kingdom. Sense – this makes none.

-

Audrey Changretta turning up at the funeral like the badass she is and I’m so sad that her whole life has been torn apart in order to make Tommy Shelby look like a big man. Honestly, if you ask me, the Shelbys should have lost. Luca should have won. It would have made more sense, and provided such great material for next season.

The Shelby’s, having lost everything and become the people they used to rule, must fight to get back to the top. It should have been everything this season was meant to be, getting back to their roots, scrapping again. It would have provided stakes again. They need to be taken down a few pegs. If I know that Tommy is just going to fix everything off screen at the end anyway and everything turns out the same, then why am I wasting my time?

But that’s what the show has become. It started off as an interesting look at the moral complexities of the family, how they worked together, struggling to be something other than what they were destined for by the people who consistently maligned them. Now it’s a show about how amazing Tommy Shelby is. But the only way they’ve made Tommy Shelby great, is by making everyone else an idiot.

Tommy is a 4D chess-master, but only because no else knows where the table is being kept.

Luca Changretta was introduced as what should have been the most terrifying antagonist yet. And they turned him into an idiot. Luca Changretta, mob boss, doesn’t know to leave men behind to keep an eye on the kingdom? Bullshit.

I understand that Tommy is the main guy and has plot armour, but he doesn’t need to be the centre of the universe to be compelling as a character. This guy has manipulated Churchill and the king, got a city, a country, and an empire revolving around him, been given an OBE and now is an MP. But he can’t count two steps in front of himself and predict that killing a mob boss’ father might bring the mob down on him? He never really sees the consequences of his actions. His wife dying didn’t change him as a person, he just got meaner. His brother dying didn’t change him as a person, he just got reckless. I need a little bit more.

Alfie is such a beloved character not just because Tom Hardy plays him so well, not just because he belts out hilarious nonsense like a slightly faulty spitfire, but because he’s a match for Tommy. A much-needed match. He can go toe-to-toe with him, hell, even half the time get one over on him. He tells it straight when he knows Tommy needs it, and he doesn’t take his bullshit. He’s a breath of fresh air in a show that wants to convince us the literal world (or at least the empire, and America, and the political-social climate of the period, and every woman in sights life) revolves around Thomas Shelby.

Even add Campbell to that pile. He was a shit show. He was disgusting. He was mildly inept at times. But he was menacing. He had political connections. You knew he was the guy they sent out to do the work that everyone turned an eye to, and how much damage he could cause without official recompense. But in the end, it wasn’t Grand Master Tommy who got him – it was Grace, and then Polly. Hell hath no fury like women scorned, and the beauty came so much more from the fact that it wasn’t the person who he perceived as his adversary that ended up doing him in. Someone he trusted, and someone he abused, doing what needed to be done. The priest last season was menacing because of the same, and in the end, it wasn’t Tommy that brought him down, it was Michael. It meant something because it was Michael.

I don’t see how killing Luca makes sense except it as a way to make Tommy look good and have the big Arthur reveal, which was bullshit anyway. There was little pay off there.

-

And Alfie. Oh, sweet love, Alfie. So, not only do they take what is pretty much the most beloved character in the fandom, even casuals love the shit out of this man, and dispatch of him like a secondary mop up, but they do it in such a shitty way.

When the spoilers came out about Alfie’s cancer I had a personal reflexive ‘well fuck off with that’ having just lost someone irl to a long and messy cancer battle, so mainly I pushed it away and thought ‘ah, that won’t get dealt with yet, they’ve done nothing about it for season upon season, it’s probably just internal backstory bullshit’. Nope.

Alfie has been chronically underused in this show, and I understand it. I think the rare glimpses we get are so powerful that it makes sense. It’s Christmas Day. It’s an island in the sea of winter, and the anticipation’s half the fun. You get presents every day, and you’re just going to turn out to be a spoiled brat. But we spend seasons adoring this guy who lives in the damn shadows, scrapping together parts of his life so that we can better understand him, only to be fed a massive plot point as an offhand spoiler and then have the entire thing resolved in what felt like 20 minutes? There was no anticipation. There were no stakes. There was no payoff. I was just…sighing, mostly.

I knew when he started talking about Margate that I was about to be emotionally ruined, but I expected at least to get a fitting end. But no. We got Alfie screwing Tommy over again in a predictable but fucking useless way. We got Tommy shooting him on a beach and walking away. And that was it.

-

I think the Tommy breakdown scenes would have had a bigger impact on me two seasons ago when I still had care for his character, but I just used the time to check my messages, so it didn’t really land with me tbh. The whole last segment of this ep just flew over me.

The malignment of Jessie Eden’s character will likely get a post of its own soon. Except I am going to say here that I’m entirely sure that what Tommy is doing counts as sexual assault – see the case of the woman who had a child with someone she didn’t know was an undercover agent in her what I think was also Communist action group, and also the new laws that stop undercover people from sleeping with those they are surveying. Because you can’t give informed consent. But they’re probably not going to address that, because we have a love triangle to deal with now.

Also, Tommy abandoned a dog and tampered with an election so he’s everyone I hate now. You don’t come for the animals or the democratic process. Taking inspiration from my dear love, Alfie Solomons, what a fucking cunt.

But besides that, it was fine.

[freedomartspress]

Concerts, Mental Health, and Parenting Fails; or, son, when you in the pit, be careful for broken glass — Tomas Moniz

The Weeknd / 2012

I’m hella punctual. Ask my friends. Any of them. But really ask my kids. They bore the brunt of our arrivals at airports three hours before flights, the countless looks of surprise at front doors as I dragged them to birthday party after holiday party always the first to arrive.

So for once I tried to chill and not leave hours too early for the concert my thirteen year old daughter and her friend had been hyperventilating over: The Weeknd at the Shoreline Amphitheater.

Besides, who really cares about crappy mainstream concerts at massive venues.

In fact, once we secured tickets, I teased my daughter about big shows being lame, about corporate music, about sellouts, like she should have better taste in music. At thirteen.

Too often, I now realize, I used joking as a way to engage, to connect.

She tried to argue back explaining how he started as an anonymous YouTube artist. I scoffed, blind to her interest, her own sense of discovery, the way loving an artist can make you feel so alive, so understood. Unlike how her father made her feel in that moment.

I should’ve recognized this because I love music. I have incorporated it into our lives since my children were born.

So on the night of the concert, I cavalierly leave with an hour to spare before the show starts because, I mean come on, what rock show starts right on time?

Apparently this one. When we pull into the massive parking lot with thousands of other cars we hear the opening melody to “Wicked Games” my daughter begins to panic. She screams with all the intensity a thirteen year old can muster, He’s already playing!

In that moment, the tenor of her voice, that edge of hysteria, of being so close to something you idealize so intensely, I realized how much I had failed her, not supported her.

Sensing how seriously I might have fucked up, I snap: relax. It’s just a show.

My partner gave me one of those raised eyebrow did you really mean to say that in that kind of tone looks.

When we finally park, we all run but by the time we get in the venue, we hear him say Thank you Bay Area and then we watch him leave the stage. We didn’t even stay to see the headliner, Florence and the Machine, her music playing as we slowly make our way back to the car. The dog days indeed.

I wish I could have said then, what I say to her now whenever we hear either artists’ music.

I’m sorry.

Rage Against the Machine \ 1999

Walking into Oracle Arena in Oakland, California to see Rage Against the Machine with my nine year old son, we see a drunken fan smash the windshield of a parked police car. And then another car. He screams some obscenity and runs into the crowd leaving a weird vibe of random violence. My son takes my hand.

Me: What an idiot.

Also Me: Countless times prior to said incident blasting songs that extol random violence.

Later, the crowd in unison sings a popular song playing over the loudspeaker. It has the lyrics: if your bitch talks shit, I’m slapping the ho, leaving this distressing vibe of having a good time while singing about toxic masculinity and assault.

I want to leave. But I don’t. I want to cover his ears. But I don’t. I take my son’s hand and try to address it.

Me: This song is stupid.

Also Me: Countless times prior to said incident playing similar songs with sexist lyrics in front of my son.

There is nothing worse than your hypocrisy that your children witness, not your failed attempts at trying, not your mistakes because those things are out of your control. But hypocrisy is the arrogance and entitlement of the old do what I say, not what I do approach. I know it’s not the way I want to relate with my children.

On the way home, I need to try. I know I may not say the right thing, but I know I have to say something.

Me: I had a good time but felt weird about a couple things.

Also Me: How did you feel?

Interlude / Hip Hop

I text my daughter:

Three Different Artists \ 2017

Nov 17: Lil Peep ODs and my daughter is visibly upset. I don’t want to say the wrong thing, so I say nothing. Which, of course, is exactly the wrong thing.

I find his music on Spotify and choose the most popular song.

I yell to her, Is this his best song?

Without saying a word, from her room, she overrides my choice with his best song: “Awful Things.”

We play his music all day.

May18th: Soundgarden’s Chris Cornell dies by suicide. I’m visibly upset. We play their music all day.

July 20th: Linkin Park's singer dies by suicide. News breaks while we drive to the redwoods to camp for the weekend. We both know what to do. We play their music. We sing at the top of our lungs: All I want to do is be more like me and less like you.

Each of these occasions, my daughter and I discuss mental health, addiction, the beauty and power of music. I try to talk less and listen more. I thank her for being honest with me. Of course, still needling her as a flawed form of communication, I tease her for turning me on to such good music.

The Fleshies / 2004

I love the confidence of young teens strolling into the most cutty of places like they don’t give a fuck. My fourteen year old son and I renew our 924 Gilman Street membership card, pay the eight dollar cover, walk past Gilman’s posted rules (see image) and grab a spot on the one super grimy couch in the back. There’s a mix of young punks as well as aging, grey haired old fogeys like me, all watching The Fleshies, a popular East Bay pop punk band. My son stands on the top of the couch watching the pit go wild. And although there’s no drinking at Gilman someone (most likely an old fogey like me) brought in a bottle that promptly drops and shatters on the floor, but no one does anything. The singer, mid-set and shirtless, jumps into the pit and begins rolling on the ground. I see the broken bottle shards glistening in the lights. I lean over to my son and say: always look for things that can hurt you in the pit.

He shakes his head and looks at me like duh, and moves closer to the action.

And, yes most likely, away from his parent as well.

But It’s ok. I’m cool with that. Because I know he heard me.

Get in the pit, son.

Be careful.

But get in there.

Riot Grrrl Reunion \ January 15th 2019

Bikini Kill announce a series of concerts, two in NYC. But one in LA. A five hour drive from Oakland.

I text my daughter:

Father daughter road trip and trust me: we won’t be late.

//

TOMAS MONIZ edited Rad Dad, Rad Families, and the kids book Collaboration/Colaboración. He’s recently been published by Barrelhouse and Longleaf Review. In July 2019, he released a chapbook, All Friends Are Necessary, with Mason Jar Press and his debut novel, Big Familia, on Acre Books (which received a STARRED Kirkus review), in November. He has stuff on the internet but loves letters and penpals: ​PO Box 3555, Berkeley CA 94703 He promises to write back.

[eversall]

I CANT WAIT FOR THAT JIMON FIC OMG I HOPE ITS DONE SOON IM SO EXCITED

who is this???? i love you thank you for inspiring me to finish this

04.10.17 edit: found the anon!! inspired by @caqtis

introducing you & me || (jace/simon, coffee shop au, 5k+) || read on ao3

Maia ‘discovered’ Simon’s musical act through her girlfriend Clary, anddecided that she’d torment Jace – who is technically her boss – by letting Simon do a gig for their live music nights. Jacehates him so much. He’s loud, and obnoxious, and wears bright graphic tees thatstretch over his broad chest and are fucking annoying. He never shuts up, and has apparently made it is hispersonal challenge to piss Jace off as much as possible by calling him namesand bringing in increasingly ridiculous things for his sets. 

“You have a crush on him!” Maia had gleefully accused after Simon’s first night playing. Jace, leaning against the counter and watching the packed audience listen to Simon’s soft, crooning voice, had frowned and spluttered out “I do not.”

Jace definitely does.

.

“Absolutely not.” Jace says when Simon brings a tree into Java Jace. Simon, as usual, ignores him. “No,” Jace triesagain, “stop, don’t put a fucking treein my shop.”

“It’s for my set.” Simon says blandly. “Sorry, it’s a musician thing.”

Jace grinds his teeth and stalks over to the espresso machine, angrilysteaming milk. His hands move automatically, and three minutes later he slidesa latte across the counter and motions to Simon, who stops tuning his guitarand walks over to peer at it.

“Fuck your tree.” Simon readsfrom the foam. He snatches the cup and slurps obnoxiously from it “Ask the treefor consent first, honestly.”

.

Maia ‘discovered’ Simon’s musical act through her girlfriend Clary, anddecided that she’d torment Jace – who is technically her boss – by letting Simon do a gig for their live music nights. Jacehates him so much. He’s loud, and obnoxious, and wears bright graphic tees thatstretch over his broad chest and are fucking annoying. He never shuts up, and has apparently made it is hispersonal challenge to piss Jace off as much as possible by calling him namesand bringing in increasingly ridiculous things for his sets.

“You have a crush on him!” Maia had gleefully accused after Simon’sfirst night playing. Jace, leaning against the counter and watching the packedaudience listen to Simon’s soft, crooning voice, had frowned and spluttered out “I donot.”

Jace definitely does.

.

“I want a pumpkin muffin.” Simon announces, swinging his bag onto thecounter and hopping up on a stool. The crowd alternates between mind-numbinglyslow and terrifyingly busy as college students go from class to class, andright now it’s empty except for Simon, who – Jace checks his watch – isskipping his Management class, since it’s 2:10 on a Tuesday.

“It’s April.” Jace says disbelievingly. “Where do you want me to get apumpkin from? Go to Costco.” Simon yawns and slumps over the counter, pillowinghis head on his arms and blinking up at Jace from underneath absurdly longeyelashes.

“Are you turning away good business?” he asks, tapping his fingersacross the counter in an irregular rhythm. Jace slaps his hand away.

“Stop fidgeting. You never pay anyway.” He retorts, pouring out a cupof coffee and sliding it across to Simon along with the creamer jug. “Enjoyyour caffeine overdose, I have an actual job to do.”

“I have a job too!” Simon yells at him as Jace disappears into the backroom. Jace flips him the bird without looking, and he can hear Simon laughing,a low, rich sound. Jace smiles quietly to himself as he takes out a can fromthe back of his pantry.

Thirty minutes later, he pulls a muffin tray out of the oven andcarries it to the front again. Simon’s got his laptop and textbook spread outover the counter, and Jace sighs as he sets the tin down.

“Move your shit, you can’t have it so close to the cash register.” Hesays, and Simon pulls his earphones out and stares at him, blinking owlishlybehind his glasses

“Muffins?” he asks, shutting his textbook decisively and squinting atthe baked goods like they’re a foreign concept. “Pumpkin?”

“It’s puree from a can. Knock yourself out.” Jace pushes a muffintowards him, and Simon grabs one, letting out an appreciative moan as he bitesinto it. Jace flushes at the sound, and feels compelled to add. “Feel free toalso literally knock yourself out.”

“These muffins just might.” Simon says dreamily, ignoring Jace in favorof pulling his phone out to take a picture of the muffin. Jace shakes his headand busies himself refilling the sugar station, trying to tell itself that it’snot adorable that Simon’s dreamilycomposing a little ode to the muffins. Five minutes later he gets a messagefrom Maia.

Off season pumpkin muffins? Boyyou got it BAD.

Jace flushes and sneaks a look at Simon, who is inhaling down all sixmuffins like he’s never seen food before, and sends a quick message back.

I have NOTHING AT ALL I amallergic to feelings.

.

.

“You’re kidding me, right.” Alec says flatly, taking in the scene infront of him. It’s Friday evening, which means Simon is setting up for his gig.Jace hands a beaming couple their coffees before he joins Alec, who’s loungingby the sink and eyeing Simon setting up several mannequins on the tinymakeshift stage. Clary’s helping him, the two of them laughing as they arrangewigs.

“I wish I was.” Jace shakes his head. “Simon brings in a lot ofbusiness, though.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Alec demands. “What’s wrong with you?” Jacegives him a look.

“I’m not sleeping with Simon.” Jace says back. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re not?” Alec asks. “Huh.” He pulls his phone out of his pocketand types something in as Jace squints at him. Alec’s particular brand of aggressivelysnide, dry humor used to be a lot more subtle; something about that boyfriendof his makes him much more comfortable in his own skin, more likely to voicehis thoughts rather than bite them down. Truth be told, it’s amazing, but not so much when it’s at Jace’sexpense, which is now always, eversince Alec once saw Jace gazing longingly at Simon and immediately connectedthe dots.

“Are you texting Magnus?” Jace asks suspiciously.

“He was pretty sure you two were together.” Alec says, shrugging. “Imean, Maia’s Snapchat story regularly features you and Simon canoodling overthe counter.”

“Canoodling – “ Jace begins indignantly, before he notices a customercome in. He glares at Alec as he goes to serve them, and then doesn’t get todwell on it as the rush begins, people packing in to hear Simon’s set andordering coffee and food left and right. Maia appears for her shift, andtogether she and Jace manage the hectic buzz, dimming the lights and silentlymoving around, cleaning plates and refilling coffee as Simon sings.

The mannequins serve as some sort of strange transition aid – Jaceisn’t too sure – but people like it. Simon cracks a few jokes, talks a lot,gets Maia and Clary to come up on stage and dance with him briefly, and singshis heart out. Jace smiles a lot at the college kids, gets exorbitant tipsevery time he tucks his hair behind his ear and leans in a little close to acustomer, and softly encourages everyone to tip Simon as well. He discretelydrops half of the tips into Simon’s Darth Vader helmet at the end of the set asSimon is talking to people, and gives the other half to Maia.

“So badly gone for Simon.”Maia says, laughing, and Clary giggles at him.

.

“It’s five in the fucking morning.” Jace says, disbelieving, when Simonshows up at the shop on Wednesday morning. “Did you get lost or something?”

“Only thing I lost was my dignity.” Simon says, shivering and rubbinghis fingers together. “Got drunk with Raphael last night and I fell asleep athis place.” Jace stares critically at him and his thin shirt and flannel combo,then sighs, turning to rummage under the counter.

“Here.” Jace says, throwing Simon a grey hoodie and a cup of coffee.“Go put that on, caffeinate your hangover away, and then get your stuff and goto class.” He tries not to stare as Simon stretches and tugs the hoodie on, astrip of skin briefly slipping into view before Simon’s engulfed by Jace’shoodie. It stretches perfectly across his shoulders and his broader waist;Simon’s torso is longer than Jace’s and Jace swallows as he sees the soft fabricdrape across Simon’s body. That is hishoodie, and Simon is wearing it, his shorter arms engulfed by the sleeves, fuck, he looks rumpled and adorable andJace isn’t sure how much more of this he can take.

“Class.” Simon moans, startlingJace out of his reverie. “This is really fucking warm, fuck.”

“Obviously, it’s hot coffee.” Jace snorts, moving back to his grinderand exhaling through his nose, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest as heconsiders how easily he handed over his own clothes to Simon. He’s so fucking gone for Lewis.  “I mean the hoodie, you fucker, I’m not that idiotic.”

“Not that idiotic? So youadmit you’re idiotic.” Jace says, sniggering, and he laughs outright when Simonwads up a napkin and throws it at him.

.

“Are you giving your girlfriend free pies?” Jace demands, peering atMaia from where she’s sitting at a table with Clary and Simon.

“As opposed to the small country’s worth of free coffee you’ve beengiving Simon?” Maia asks pointedly.

“I’m an artist.” Simon sayslazily, his feet propped up on the chair across from him. Jace slaps them offand takes a seat. “I pay with my art.”

“I’m an artist.” Clary says,shaking her head. “You’re an accountant.” Simon makes finger-guns and winks.

“You know it.” He says, and Maia and Clary nearly fall over with theirlaughter.

“No. Don’t do that. Nothing about your accounting act is sexy.” Jacesays, shaking his head. Simon turns his finger guns on Jace.

“I’ll shoot you.” He threatens, narrowing his eyes at Jace. Jacesmirks, and folds his arms.

“Alright, sharpshooter, shoot me with your imaginary gun. You wanna getyour imaginary friend over here while you’re at it? Maybe a box for you to playrocketship in – “

Simon scowls and kicks at Jace’s shin under the table; laughing, Jaceinstinctively catches Simon’s foot with his own legs and traps it, grinning atthe outraged look on Simon’s face.

“Give me my foot back.” Simon pouts, his lips pursed, and Jace waggleshis eyebrows.

“Make me.” He challenges, tightening his hold on Simon’s foot even asSimon gives an experimental tug. Simon’s cheeks are stained red, and Jace can’tstop smiling at him, his heart beating faster and nervous butterflies appearingin his stomach.

He’s not sure what he’s doing here, flirting like this. Usually it’scut and dry for him; he either picks someone up or he doesn’t. He never does this, waiting around for months, pushingand pulling at Simon and seeing how he responds, scared of the answer eitherway.

I just gotta enjoy what I havefor now, he thinks to himself firmly as Clary interrupts their bickeringand Simon turns to pay attention to her. Jace lets Simon’s foot go, but Simondoesn’t move his leg away, and they spend the rest of Jace’s break with theirlegs pressed loosely together. Jace is keenly aware of the warmth of Simon’sleg against his own, and every so often he looks over at Simon to see Simonstaring back, a small smile playing on his lips.

His phone pings, and he picks it up to see a text from Maia. Disgusting!!! Control the gay!!! She’stexted him. Jace scowls even as Maia giggles.  

.

“Wow, you do have nice eyes.”A cheerful voice says, and Jace looks up to see Simon walking in with a girlwho’s staring thoughtfully at Jace with sharp brown eyes. She looks veryno-nonsense, and Jace is suddenly struck with the absurd thought that thismight be Simon’s girlfriend, despite being fairly sure that he would have heardif Simon was dating someone. He freezes. 

“Uh.” He says, stumped.

“Fuck’s sake, Rebecca!” Simon says, flushing crimson. “Shut up, you’rean embarrassment to the human race.” He nervously runs a hand through his hair,and Jace looks between the two of them, trying to figure out what he’s in themiddle of.

“I’m Simon’s sister.” Rebecca says, ignoring Simon and stretching out ahand for Jace to shake. Jace suddenly feels immeasurably relieved, if still abit confused, and he shakes her hand as she assesses him. “You’re alright.” Shefinally says decisively, and Simon groans and pushes her. Hard, if the way she staggers seems to indicate, but sheimmediately straightens up and pinches him. Simon hisses, glaring at her, andJace snickers at the way the siblings automatically revert to five-year olds.It reminds him of the way he and Izzy would bug Alec when they were younger.And still do today, if he’s beinghonest.

“Thanks?” Jace says, amused, even as Simon flushes and turns back tohim. “What can I get you?”

“Caffeinate us.” Simon announces dramatically, leaning against thedisplay case and pretending to swoon.

“You’re the embarrassment tothe human race.” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “A mocha, please.”

“Everything I do is very charming.” Simon says confidently,straightening his jacket collar and making finger guns. “It’s part ofmy…charm.”

“Eloquent.” Jace snorts and moves to the display to take out a brownie.“Here, Rebecca, on the house for managing to survive with Simon as yourbrother.”

“Rude.” Simon says as Rebeccacackles.

.

“I give up.” Jace says, throwing his hands up as Simon drags in alarge, inflatable sun. “What the ever-loving fuck?” He watches as Clary humsthoughtfully around the sun and bends down, examining it. “This is high on thelist of absurd situations I never thought I’d end up in.”

“It’s a prop.” Simon explains as he pats it fondly. “His name is Corn.”

“Corn?” Jace asks. “Are you –insane?”

“Certifiably.” Simon says cheerfully. “It’ll make sense when I play myset.”

“Yeah, Jace, let the artist do his thing.” Izzy calls out from where’sshe’s perched on a table, eating a cake pop and taking great joy in hecklingeveryone around her.

“I’m an adult.” Jace bemoans. “I pay my taxes. I own a small business.Why are these things happening to me?” He shakes his head, laughing despitehimself as Simon simply responds with a long, drawn out “Coooooooorn” and goes to the back, resuming his work.

Two hours later, he’s making his round with the coffeepot as Simon playshis set. He freezes when he hears what Simon’s saying on stage.

“So recently – or not so recently, I guess, for a long time now –there’s this person? That I really like.” Simon says, pushing up his glassesand nervously laughing. Jace’s heart drops. “So, uh, I thought I’d play a songthat I feel like encompasses what I feel when I look at them. It’s a classic,too, so I hope you like it.” Jace frowns and pointedly goes back to the counteras Simon begins to sing you are mysunshine, picking his phone up and pretending to look at something elsewhile he seethes with jealousy. Figures.Of course Simon’s hopelessly crushing on someone already.

He feels crushed. Inretrospect, of course he imagined thething between him and Simon. What can he offer Simon? He doesn’t get all hisjokes, he’s not smart enough to do things like accounting, and it’s just –Simon’s so good. Of course Jace doesn’tget him. But for a while there – he’d hoped he could have this, God, he’d hoped so desperately.

Simon finishes his song and there’s a beat of silence. Jace doesn’tlook up even as Simon sighs and starts his next song. He doesn’t look at Simonagain all evening, counting down the minutes until he can go home and screaminto his pillow.

“What’s with the face?” Maia asks later as they begin to close up, Claryand Simon pulling down the set.

“Didn’t you like the songs?” Simon calls out to him, something anxiousin his tone. Jace feels dull when he hears that. His hearts broken, how muchworse can it get?

“It was fine.” Jace says shortly.

“Just fine?”

“I don’t know, Simon, I never really listen.” Jace grits out. “You’renot really my type. Of music.”

“Oh.” Simon says, his voice small, and Jace immediately feels bad.“Okay, I guess.”

“Jace.” Izzy says sharply,but Jace ignores her and escapes to the back room, leaning over the counter andbreathing hard. Fuck.

.

Simon doesn’t show up all week. Jace is miserable, but he’ll never admitit. Instead he continues to serve coffee and draws Captain America shields inhis lattes, morosely and bitterly scrolling through his text exchanges withSimon, berating himself for fucking up their friendship. So what if Simondoesn’t like him back? Isn’t Jace grown up enough to get over that andappreciate Simon’s friendship?

No, Jace’s treacherous innervoice whispers, it’s a lot more than asilly crush and you thought you had a chance.

“I thought I hated pining Jace, but moping Jace is somehow worse.” Maiainforms him, gently steering his hand away from the caramel and towards thevanilla. “This is a vanilla latte.”

“Right.” Jace says, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Maia mutters, walking away with the latte andserving customers before coming back to Jace, leaning against the counter andregarding him. “You really need to stop with this feeling sorry for yourselfshit.”

“I’m not – “ Jace begins before he basically gives up on the wholething all at once and decides to stay silent. Maia shakes her head.

“You know what would be great? Actually talking to him and asking him out.”

“It’s not that easy.” Jace says, shaking his head.

“You’re right. It’s scary.”Maia says. “But Simon put himself outthere. You can do it to.” Jace stares at her.

“Why would I ask someone out who literally dedicated a song to someonehe likes who isn’t me?” He asks, bewildered. Maia stares at him like he’s the one talking crazy shit.

“Huh.” She says.

.

Come Friday, Simon determinedly marches through the door exactly fiveminutes before his set is supposed to start. Jace pauses from where he’splating a slice of cake and opens his mouth to speak – he wasn’t even sure ifSimon was showing up, but here he is, stupid graphic tee and flannel combo andall, his hair in disarray and his eyes unfamiliarly intense as he storms in.

“Nope.” Simon says, pointing a finger at Jace. “Zip it. I’m not hearingany of it. You’re the dumbest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” Hemarches onto the stage, and Jace has to rapidly blink his eyes and try to getrid of the lump in his throat at Simon’s words. What the fuck is happening? IsSimon that angry at him? He can’tfigure out where he went wrong – but he has customers, and he grits his teethand smiles weakly, serving the next sleep-deprived college student.

It takes Simon and Clary ten minutes to set up the sound system, andJace serves everyone he can and then tries to escape to the back room wherehe’s going to maybe break down a little and then eat his sadness away incupcakes. Magnus appears out of nowhere, though, and grabs his collar and dragshim to a table that Alec’s already sitting at before he can do that.

“Jesus.” Jace sputters.Magnus is strong, and he’s caught sooff-guard that the other man manhandles him with ease.  

“Izzy’s going to take over for a while.” Alec says, and Izzy wavescheerfully from where she’s tying an apron on, nearly knocking over a bag ofcoffee beans. Jace winces.

“And you are going to listen.”Magnus says airily, shoving Jace into a chair.

“I’m not having a good day, come on.” Jace says quietly, staring downat his shoes.

“Jace. Trust me.” Alec responds just as quietly, squeezing Jace’sshoulder.

“Testing.” Simon’s voice echoes then, and everyone falls quiet. “Okay,listen up everyone.”

Jace looks up despite himself. Simon’s got no props; it’s just him,sitting in the spotlight on a stool with his guitar slung across his shoulders.He looks so fucking good; Jace bites his lip as Simon makes direct eye contactwith him and glares.

“This song is for the idiotic owner of this lovable little pretentiouscoffee shop.” Simon says into the mike, and Jace opens his mouth to defendhimself, his anger rising, but Simon barrels on. “I dedicated a song to him last week but apparently, he didn’t getthe memo. I literally sang about him being my sunshine and he couldn’t readbetween the fucking lines.”

Jace heart stops and he clenches his hands; it simultaneously feelslike the universe is playing a big joke on him and like it’s giving him everythinghe’s wanted, a worrying combination of terror and excited adrenaline. He’s notsure what’s happening but he’s got a vague inkling, and he wants it so badly tobe true but he’s not sure what he’d do if it is – or what he’d do if in somebizarre twist of fate it isn’t.

“This one’s for you, Jace, you dick.”Simon says furiously, and then he starts strumming his guitar with a level ofaggression Jace has never seen before. People are laughing good-naturedly, butJace is frozen.

“You are my motherfucking sunshine, my only goddamn sunshine,” Simonsings, “and you make me so happy, when skies are grey, you’ll never fuckingknow dear – no, sit down, Jace – “ this he tosses out as Jace stands up almost unthinkingly,his body thrumming with the undeniable need to do something. He doesn’t even know where to start with the angriestrendition of the song he’s ever heard. “Sit down, I just – “ Simon sighs andtakes a deep breath before he strums his guitar again, this time softer.

“You are my sunshine,” Simonbegins to sing again, his voice low and melodic, “my only sunshine. You make mehappy, when skies are grey.” Simon’s eyes are locked on Jace, his gazeintense and heavy and so, so warm.Jace feels like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, his body heldtogether only by Simon’s song.

“You’ll never know dear, how muchI love you.” Simon slows down, the silence between notes heavy. “Please don’t take, my sunshine, away.”

Jace is moving before he knows it, stepping up onto the platform anddragging Simon into a kiss. Simon laughs into it, surging forward and pressingback, hard and unyielding. The kiss is an explosion of heat, sparks racing upJace’s spine and dancing across his skin; it’s the two of them leaping over theprecipice, tangled together. Around them, the crowd is cheering and clapping,but Jace can hardly hear them over the pounding of his own heart, pulling awayto look at Simon, whose eyes are closed.

“Simon?” He asks. His hands are still cradling Simon’s face, and one ofSimon’s hands is at the base of his neck, holding him close, while the other iswrapped around the guitar.

“I’m savoring it.” Simon says dizzily, finally blinking his eyes open.His absurdly pretty eyelashes flutter, and he grins crookedly at Jace. “I spenta week thinking you rejected me.”

“Well.” Jace says, pressing another quick kiss to Simon’s lips. “So didI. Even?”

“Even.” Simon confirms happily. “Now get off my stage, I have a set toperform.”

“Rude.” Jace says, but Simon briefly brushes their noses together, hiseyes fond, and Jace smiles as he steps back, taking a small bow as peoplewolf-whistle at him.

.

“I think you should make out with me onstage more often, it reallyincreases our tips.” Simon says incredulously as he leans against the counterlong after everyone else has left. Jace wipes the espresso machine down,rolling his eyes.

“Don’t pimp me out for your music.” He says sternly, or tries to say sternly. He’s so happy he feelsgiddy with it, though, so it’s hard to do anything but keep staring at Simon inquiet disbelief that this is actually happening.

“Aw babe, but it’s so romantic.” Simon says, pressing a hand to hisforehead and pretending to swoon. Jace growls and grips the front of Simon’sshirt, yanking him forward and pulling him into a fierce kiss, greedilyswallowing down the little moans that Simon lets out. He feels more than hesees Simon’s hands scrabbling for purchase on the counter as Jace slips histongue past the loose seam of Simon’s mouth.

“How can I – “ Simon gets out between kisses, gasping for breath, “Justlet go for a second, Jace, so I canget over this damn counter.”

Jace laughs as he loosens his hold on Simon’s shirt, pulling back towatch as Simon scrambles from the stool to the counter, swinging his legs overand about to jump to the ground before Jace stops him with a hand to his chest.

“Better this way.” He mutters as he pushes Simon’s legs open and stepsinto the resulting space, sliding his hands up Simon’s torso and diving back into relentlessly kiss him. Simon arches his back, groaning, and locks his legsaround Jace’s waist, looping his hands around Jace’s neck and kissing backfervently. He gets a hand in Jace’s hair and tugs hard, sending a sharp spikeof lust skittering across Jace’s skin. Jace whines and his eyes screw shut, hisbody rolling against Simon’s as another part of him begins to perk up at theproceedings. Simon makes a delighted noise.

“To clarify,” Simon says, pulling back and dragging his thumb acrossJace’s lower lip, his eyes dark. “We’re dating, right?”

“I’m really far gone for you. I’ve wanted to date you for months, and I think we’ve basicallyacted like a couple for months too.” Jace says softly. Simon smiles at himbefore he uses the grip he has on Jace’s hair to tilt his head back and presshis lips to Jace’s neck, setting his teeth on the skin and gently biting beforesoothing over the spot with his tongue.

“Love it.” Simon murmurs as he leaves an aggressive hickey on Jace’sneck, his hips jerking up against Jace’s. Jace moans in response, pushingSimon’s T-shirt up his back and digging his nails into the corded muscle inSimon’s back. “Love you.” Simon adds.

“Love you too.” Jace says, his cheeks heating up, and Simon grins athim, pulling away from his neck and dragging his shirt up and over his head,tossing it to the side –

- where it hits an unimpressedAlec in the face.

“Jesus.” His brothersplutters, as Magnus eyes them critically. “On the counter? Where we all drink our coffee?”Izzy, Maia and Clary are behind them, snickering.

“I wipe it down every day. I’m very clean, I have an A rating.” Jacesays snippily as he clutches Simon closer, trying to hide both of theirerections. Simon’s buried his head in Jace’s neck, his bare shoulders shakingwith silent laughter as he does absolutely nothingto help Jace.

“That’s still just wrong.”Alec whines. “My coffee.”

“What do you want?” Jaceasks, trying his best to give off getlost vibes.

“To see if you guys wanted to get dinner with us, Jesus.” Alec says,his nose wrinkled as he throws Simon’s shirt back at them. Jace catches it andsets it down on the counter.

“A celebratory dinner, for you two idiots getting your act together.”Clary pipes up. Jace shudders, his concentration thrown as Simon starts tolightly press kisses to his neck, apparently uncaring of their friends watchingthem.

“Get a room, you guys are impossible.” Maia says in a disgusted tone,but she has a self-satisfied smile on her face as she surveys the two of themwrapped up in each other.

“This is a room, this is my fucking store.” Jace gasps out asSimon tugs at his hair again.

“Whether you leave or not, I’m going to suck my boyfriend off in theback room.” Simon says, finally looking up and squinting at everyone. “I spenta week being sad, I just want some time with Jace.”

“Fair enough, if a little too much information.” Magnus agrees placidly.“Come on, Alexander, we’ll just go to dinner with the girls.”

“Be safe.” Izzy says, throwing them a wink as she leaves.

“Sanitize.” Alec bellows at them before he closes the door, and Jace huffsout a laugh that turns into a choked off moan as Simon lightly scratches hisnails down Jace’s stomach and rolls his hips again, a surprisingly gracefulmove that has Jace forgetting all about his siblings just being in there and instead focus on how unbelievably beautifulSimon looks, staring up at him with his faint smile, the corners of his eyescrinkled in happiness.  

“I was serious about the sucking off part.” Simon says lowly. “If youwant too…? If it’s too fast, just say the word – “

“Months of foreplay.” Jace groans, tugging on Simon’s broad hands.Simon obligingly slips off the counter as Jace steps backwards towards thestore room. “Come on, we’ve got a lot of teasing to make up for.”

“A man with a plan, I like that.” Simon says, pressing forward andshoving Jace against the storage door, his eye flicking over Jace’s workspacebriefly before he fixes them hungrily on Jace again.

“I should hope you like me, you just serenaded me.” Jace snipes,hissing at the end as Simon shoves his thigh between Jace’s legs. He grindsdown automatically, aching for friction.

“Will you serenade me?” Simonmutters, pushing Jace’s shirt up and thumbing over a nipple. Jace moansincoherently, his mind scrambling for words.

“Sure, I play the piano. I’ll – ngh– perform Chopsticks for you.” Hegasps out. Simon laughs.

“I want Mozart, you asshole.” He says, his own voice strained. Hepushes at Jace’s shirt, and Jace gets the hint and drags it off.

“I’ll sing for you.” Jace admits as Simon presses close, his skin warmto touch. “I’d do almost anything for you.”

“I would too.” Simon kisses him. “It’s embarrassing, honestly, how goneI am for you.”

“Yeah.” Jace sighs, moaning into the kiss as they find a rhythm. “Yeah.”

.

“You can’t just bring a trampoline in here and call it a prop!” Jacesays the next Friday, crossing his arms. Maia is doubled over the counter,wheezing with laughter.

“Yes I can.” Simon says confidently, trying to drag the huge thing in.

“This one might be a little impossible.” Clary pants, her hands on herhips as she considers the trampoline.

“Artistic license.” Simon huffs out, wiping his brow. “Plus I’m datingthe owner.”

“He sounds like a real pushover.” Jace sighs, leaning back against thecounter. “Go ahead, try to fit a fucking trampoline in here. See if it works.”Simon grins and runs over to press a kiss to Jace’s lips.

“Thanks babe!” he enthuses, and Jace smiles despite himself. He’s sohappy with Simon; it’s kind of ridiculous. If Simon wants a fucking trampoline,he can have it. It’s Simon. Jaceloves him.

.

(The trampoline does not fit. Jace laughs for weeks about Simon being defeated by a trampoline.)

[legit9ja]

Rachel Lindsay's boozy #Bachelorette premiere; complete with hot lawyers, shady men + A pen!s-obsessed creep

As the world keeps on plummeting into turmoil and we rationally plan to promise fealty to our new overlord, this shining sphere, there's just a single thing all Americans appear to concede to: that we have no clue what the heck is going on. Given the greater part of this disorder and disarray, watchers are actually swinging to the one thing in this world that still bodes well—discovering intimate romance on national TV. The U.S. may be partitioned, yet Bachelor Nation has never been more energized or in a state of harmony. That is on account of The Bachelorette is at last back to divert us for two hours each Monday. All the more imperatively, this season will be helmed by a fair to-god champion, Rachel Lindsay, a lady who has surmounted bigotry and Nick Viall to wind up noticeably The Bachelor establishment's first historically speaking dark bride-to-be. If it feels like only months ago when we first met Rachel Lindsay, that’s because it was. The 31-year-old Texan attorney debuted on Nick Viall’s otherwise atrocious season and immediately stood out. Rachel had it all: shiny hair, a beautiful smile, and a real job that wasn’t made up by a random word generator. In fact, her only flaw was that she appeared to be genuinely interested in Nick Viall, an unemployed software engineer with all of the charisma and charm of an unemployed software engineer. Nick’s season was almost universally deemed underwhelming—so underwhelming that, in an unprecedented move, ABC started hyping Rachel’s upcoming stint in the bachelor mansion before she was even kicked off the show. In other words, the network spoiled its own show. Even more unexpectedly, host Chris Harrison decided to spring an early surprise on Rachel during Nick’s “After the Final Rose” special, bringing out four of her would-be boos. It was all very rude. Luckily, ABC eventually smartened up and gave Rachel the lavish two-hour Bachelorette premiere that she, and we, so desperately need and deserve. As always, we know that this season will end in an engagement. But unlike last season, in which we plumbed the emotional depths of a relatively uninteresting white Wisconsinite for two hours every week, it seems like Rachel is actually going to have fun on her way to the finish line. Chris Harrison, a man who has witnessed more mismatched couples and messy breakups than your average divorce attorney, introduces Rachel’s season by describing the new Bachelorette as a “skeptical woman” who “questioned everything” when she first started out in the competition. Harrison seems visibly irked that someone who had the audacity to question a two-time Bachelorette contestant’s romantic intentions will now be starring on her own season. Either that, or Harrison is justifiably terrified of being caught on camera next to someone who’s innately likable. Just how likable is Rachel Lindsay? In her pre-competition montage, the Bachelorette even manages to make playing basketball in full makeup look relatable. Viewers will doubtlessly find themselves thinking, “Wow, now that’s a girl I could really see myself putting on a full face of makeup to fake exercise with.” Even at her corniest, like when Rachel professes, “It’s hard to take off the lawyer hat and put on the love one,” it’s almost impossible to make fun of this woman. Watching her give a fake opening statement in a fake courtroom is already 100,000 times more entertaining than watching Nick Viall start to tear up in a series of increasingly chunky sweaters. While this episode is technically an ode to Rachel Lindsay and whichever former world-class figure skater is in charge of her wardrobe, it’s really about the contestants. The Bachelorette is, at its best, a parade of hunky dudes in fancy suits. This season, the bros come in all different colors, and Rachel and I are not complaining. Harrison introduces this rainbow of suitors by explaining that they are “some of America’s most eligible bachelors.” The video introductions that follow are a fascinating window into the heart of American mediocrity. Our eligible bachelors include a professional wrestler, a man who thinks that he is funny, and a guy who must be smart because he owns a Rubik’s cube. There’s also a sneaker head, a startup founder, and a personal trainer who makes a great first impression by insisting, “Many women have told me about the amazingness of my pen!s.” Of course, with so many dicks and so little time, there’s nothing like a good edit to help us separate the men from the boys. It’s immediately clear that Josiah, an Assistant State Attorney, is being highlighted as a potential frontrunner. In under two minutes, we learn that Josiah witnessed his brother’s suicide when he was just seven years old, and was arrested for a burglary at 12. He turned his life around in order to work in the very same courthouse where that judge gave him a second chance. We know that Josiah is good at his job, or at the very least good at memorizing and delivering lawyer-type phrases into what is doubtlessly a disconnected telephone. We also see him with his shirt off. Say what you will about The Bachelorette production team (they are geniuses and artists), but who else can take you from Lifetime movie to Playgirl cover shoot in just under three minutes? Rachel arrives at the mansion to prepare for her big night. Surprise! Her fellow contestants from Nick’s season are already there to greet her, and, don’t you know it, they’ve been drinking. Corinne and co. are an important reminder that while only one Bachelor loser gets to be the next Bachelorette, every single contestant wins a lifetime supply of floral rompers. When some of the ladies try to warn Rachel about a potentially shady contestant, she counters that she doesn’t want to discriminate based on people’s “different reasons” for coming on the show—all that matters is whether or not they’re open to love. Rachel’s maturity and sweetness is quickly rewarded when she’s introduced to her first batch of suitors. There are, and I do not say this lightly, some serious sparks. Lindsay’s diverse season might be a bit of a departure for the uber-white franchise, but if this episode proves anything, it’s that protein shakes are prevalent in many cultures. While some of the contestants seem content to make Lindsay blush or smile, others can’t resist making a big entrance. Blake, the guy who thinks his dick is big, bursts onto the scene with an entire marching band, like someone who definitely isn’t overcompensating. A man named Adam brings his ventriloquist dummy, who is named Adam Jr. Later on in the episode, Adam Jr.—a doll—is given his own plot line in which he pines over Rachel in a language that appears to be French, which is the kind of surreal weirdness that’s usually reserved for Bachelor in Paradise. In fact, this entire premiere is a little funnier, a little raunchier and a little ballsier than your average Bachelorette episode—it’s not on the level of a Bachelor in Paradise pants-shitting, but it’s still seriously entertaining. A man in a penguin costume says, “Rachel makes me feel dignified.” A man who says his personal catchphrase more than ten times over the course of this episode is confronted by a man named Blake, who insists he is on The Bachelorette for all the right reasons. During one particularly strange outburst by catchphrase man, we hear an off-camera contestant exclaim, “What the fuck is happening right now?!” While Rachel takes one-on-one meetings with her aspiring husbands, the boys amuse themselves by talking about how gorgeous, smart, and nice she is. When that gets old, they revert to everybody’s favorite activity: shitting on Nick Viall. While many of these introductory conversations are adorable, a contestant named Bryan—sorry, Dr. Bryan Abasolo—quickly pulls away from the rest of the pack by speaking in Spanish and telling Lindsay that he’s “good with my hands.” The level of sexual energy between Lindsay and Abasolo is one missing bikini top short of Nick and Corinne in the bouncy castle. Unsurprisingly, Bryan walks away with the first impression rose, and manages to make out with Rachel not once, but twice—and these are some steamy make out sessions. Good for you, Rachel Lindsay, and better luck next week, Assistant State Attorney, big dick guy, and ventriloquist doll. Click to Post