#I relate to him a lot so it's really easy for me to crank shit out from his POV /pos

[nyctophobia-au]

👀,🖋,💻

OKAY, SO,,, for 👀, one WIP that will probably never see the light of day is this forty-fifty page Hazbin fic I wrote like,,, two years ago or smth like that. It primarily starred Angel Dust and Alastor, and I wrote it because I ship them platonically and wanted to give them a QPR (since Alastor is aroace). I got pretty far into it, and ended up abandoning ship on a chapter in which there's a part at the Hotel and Vox and Valentino are fucking shit up. <3 There are still a lot of things I liked about that fic, especially the Vox and Alastor stuff (they're my two favourite characters to write of the Hazbin cast), but I probably won't ever post it because it's a real mess plot-wise, lmao. Despite my decision to not post it, I did go back through it like a month ago or smth and I replaced all instances of American spelling and implemented British English, because that is my preferred dialect, lmao.

Gonna just answer 💻 next before the snippet question. So, I already talked about the poker deep dive, which is probably the funniest and most elaborate research I've done, but aside from that, I mostly end up in deep dives about synonyms. As an NSFW writer (yeah, I am shamelessly admitting it <3), there are definitely times when I end up on tangents looking for appropriate dialogue and synonyms related to such things. There are also small-brain moments where I forget wtf a word is and am desperately trying to find the word I'm thinking of, lmao.

🖋 Okay,,, so as for a snippet. I started writing this fic a couple of weeks ago, but then had to stop because of an influx of homework from all of a sudden outta nowhere (DEAR GODS, THE DOC SAYS IT HASN'T BEEN EDITED SINCE THE 27TH). But, the synopsis is that it's a sickfic featuring Auric, Grimm, and Vesla (also Dryya briefly), but rather than being a wholesome sickfic, it's kind of depressing. <3 Perfectly angsty, as all things should be. aNyWaYs. When I had first started it, I wrote Auric's two-page POV in like,, two seconds, no problem, and then got stuck on Grimm because he is significantly more difficult for me to write. I'll just take a screenshot of a short section of Auric's POV. Keep in mind, I haven't reread it for grammar and syntax errors, so it might be kinda garbage. Bear with me here, lmao. Just a real short snippet from page número uno.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Sleeping dragons are rarely ever subtle, but when they are it makes them hard as fuck to find. 

Your watch-heart ticks erratically as you run out of options, time, and ideas.

Pacing a line into the floor out of anxiety. 

Blind Terror twitches in its sleep, disturbed by the turmoil of your thoughts. You curl up into a little ball, paws over ears, until you're calm and Blind Terror stops moving.

This is getting tiresome. 

You punt a dust bunny out of frustration and send it into a wall where it dissolves back into dust with a poof. 

Normally you'd feel bad about it, but you don't have time to care.

Peepo gently, but firmly, flattens you with his big lion paw to keep you from doing further damage to the dust bunny community. 

Deep down, you are grateful.

He wuffs like a big dog to get you to look him in the eyes. His eyebrows knit together and he inclines his head as if to say "If you can't find him, and I can't find him, why don't we ask someone who can? If I'm still kicking after all these years, then Book might be too."

Book was your brother's Imaginary Friend.

Quite literally a giant flying sentient book that spoke through text and illustrations written on its pages. Vlad, your brother, didn't need a big protector like Peepo he needed someone to talk to and bounce ideas off of like a rubber duck.

Peepo only agrees to let you up when YOU agree to stop kicking dust bunnies. 

You do, grudgingly. 

Finding Book is easier than you expect, it's in a Trader's dusty collection deep in the guts of the Corridors with a bunch of other Imaginary Friends and objects.

Nothing here is for sale, but the Trader won't let you talk to Book for free. 

You give them one of the bottled kisses from your inventory, which is apparently made of solid love.

Very rare, very expensive. 

You can talk to Book as long as you like, fuck it, take the damn thing if you really want to. 

You do.

Book isn't exactly happy to see you, but Book's never been happy in its entire life so that tracks. 

You ask if it's seen Vlad anywhere. 

Book opens wide, crispy brown pages fluttering until it finds a passage that reads, "He goes by V now."

"OK, but have you seen him?"

"I don't have eyes."

"...ok but do you know where he is?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"If I do, will you leave me alone?"

"Yes."

A pause. 

Pages flutter before more text crawls across them, "I could lie to you, say just about anything to get you to &#$% off."

"I could eat you and shit you out in an hour, but I won't cuz I'm a nice person." You smile with lots and lots of teeth.

You are not a nice person, everybody seems to forget that.

Book is unmoved by your threats but tells you where to find V anyway before closing itself and sliding back onto the shelf where it had been asleep previously. 

Getting to V's place is… weirdly easy. To the point where it's setting off alarm bells in your head.

But still, you crawl out of the Corridors under his bed and find him sleeping there. One arm dangling over the side, drool pouring from his snoring open mouth, hair firmly wrapped up in a satin bonnet.

His legs are tangled in the sheets and the AC is cranked to inadvisable levels.

You bite him on the face. 

You'd expect anybody normal to wake up with a yelp, but V cracks open one eye, takes a look at you and rolls right on over as if this is all fine.

You jump on his back, squeaking your feet as loudly as possible until V finally gets the idea and wakes up properly. 

You tumble onto the floor as he sits up, and hit the ground with another squeak. A lamp clicks on, and V leans over to get a good look at you.

You have the same brown skin, and black sclera. When he yawns, you have the same black gums and sharp white teeth.

His fangs are capped in gold and his face is sharper than yours, but you two could definitely be related. 

If you squint. 

You wave up at him and he picks you up off the floor with an unreadable expression. 

You can feel his power probing your mind as his eyes unfocus and start to glow a deep bloody red.

The recognition and realization hits him like a truck.

"Jack?"

"Hi Vlad."

He puts you down and rubs his hands down his face, less in a 'just waking up' kind of way and more in a 'oh my god what NOW' way. 

"I need your help." You tap your index claws together and give him a wry smile.

He fixes you with a slit pupil glare, steam curling from his nostrils.

You swallow, mouth suddenly dry, "Do you remember Blind Terror? I-I mean of course you remember Blind Terror h-hahaha, well the chains you put on it kinda… broke and I still haven't figured out how to control it and I'm not in my body anymore cuz I got eaten by a video game thats making people sick so even if I could control it it would still be alone in my body and--"

V holds up a hand, "The point?"

You take a deep breath, your next words come out in a rush, "I need you to go to my house and lock Terror back up again so it doesn't get loose and possibly eat my family?" An awkward chuckle escapes you. 

"Nah, NAH," V's glare sharpens, steam is pouring from his mouth with every word, "I ain't seen your ass in 18 goddamn years, and you show up and expect me to fix your problems just like that?" He snaps his fingers and you flinch, "You were supposed to have a handle on this shit years ago."

You open your mouth to speak but the words die on your tongue. 

"We're family." The words sound Hollow to your ears, manipulative and cold like a knife to the throat.

"And so's a cousin who only shows up when they need money, you ain't special." 

"I can't do this by myself V, you know that." Tears burn in your throat and sting the backs of your eyes but you refuse to cry and come off as even more of a scumbag than you already are, "You know how Blind Terror works, you know how to stop it and I dont."

V raises an eyebrow, "Even if I've got everybody's collective leash don't mean I wanna keep walking your dog, do it your damn self."

You ball up your little fists and try to stand tall, to look serious, but you know for a fact that you look ridiculous. 

V snorts, "Cute."

"Cute? Do you think it would be cute if I gnawed your fucking arms off?" You growl and it sounds like an agitated chihuahua. 

V yawns again, "Yeah, probably."

You throw yourself at him but he holds you off with one hand. 

"My family is at stake, YOUR nieces and nephews." You squeak in rage.

"That I've never met, mind you."

"And you never will if Terror eats them!" 

"If I were a real asshole, I could argue that that falls on your ability to grow a goddamn spine and not my head." He picks you up by the arm and lets you dangle.

"You *are* a real asshole." The venom in your tone is lethal. 

He holds you up to his face so that you're eye to eye, steam swirls around you and makes you feel sluggish, sleepy, "Hey! I gave you a head start on getting your shit together, if you still don't have it now, after nearly two decades with your big bun pants, what exactly do you expect to happen? This gonna be a pattern? You gonna swing by once every 20 years to tighten the chains, then dip out?"

You don't answer. 

V snorts again, "You gotta learn to manage your shit on your own like the rest of us." He drops you onto the bed, you plan to just lie there for awhile before a familiar voice reminds you of mint chip ice cream and fry scented napkins. 

"Well isn't this sweet," Agent Beth says as she melts into the room from nowhere in particular. 

V looks at her, then at you, then back at her and even points at her for emphasis, "The fuck is this?"

"Magic cop bitch… psychic magic cop bitch that got me into this mess." You say from your place face down on the bed.

"The term is MESMER! Now be a good boy and hand over the bunny." Beth coos, you can hear the magic pouring into her voice, but Vlad is completely unaffected. 

"Oh, you're a walking microaggression, ok." 

You look up in time to see Beth go rigid before going completely slack and falling to the floor in a tangled heap. Her eyes are still open, her nose is bleeding profusely.

She's not dead but she certainly isn't alive either. You've seen V fry brains before when you were kids and it hasn't gotten less terrifying with time. 

"Psychic cop my ass." V mutters before slapping his thighs with both hands and getting up from the bed, you watch him pull on a shirt and some pants, "Look, I can't help you the way you want me to but that doesn't mean I can't help you at all… BT isn't your enemy.

Think of it this way, you're Garaa and BT is your sand, it just wants to protect you. 

But, BT is also like Kurama," he stops, one shoe on, and thinks, "Wait nah, wrong biju, BT is more like the One-Tail but you should still do what Naruto did to control Kurama."

You aren't following a single thing he's saying, "And that is?"

"You gotta find your Waterfall of Truth, sit under it, and figure out what's weighing you down. For Naruto it was his own malice and hatred making it impossible for him to confront Kurama who is a being of INCALCULABLE malice and hatred." He takes his bonnet off and makes sure his hair looks ok.

You still don't understand what he's talking about but pretend you do, "O…k?" 

He glances at you, "Just find a way to talk to BT on its level and you should be ok… now if you excuse me I gotta go bury this body you so generously brought into my home." 

The sarcasm in his words oozes like snot, but still you smile and hop to your feet.

"Lemme help, that bitch owes me a few fingers."

[about-faces]

The director Joel Schumacher has passed away, and everyone's reactions have boiled down to two topics: 1.) "He was the guy who made the bad Batman films," and 2.) "Hey, he did lots of great films besides the bad Batman films!"

Thing is... I get it. I remember being a teenage comic fan in the 90's. Not just any comics: especially Batman! But ESPECIALLY Bart especially Two-Face. I remember how "Joel Schumacher" was a name that could invoke white-hot rage in myself and everyone in the fandom. He was our modern equivalent of Dr. Fredrick Wertham, the boogyman who had (far as we were concerned) single-handedly destroyed the mainstream credibility of superheroes.

Look at that picture, and try to imagine that this was the face so loathed and mocked by Batman fanboys in the 90′s.

Never mind that Schumacher didn't WRITE the Batman films. The main credit for that goes to Akiva Goldsman, who has gone on to win an Oscar and continues to find A-list success despite ruining other geek properties like Jonah Hex and Dark Tower. Never mind that Schumacher was at the mercy of producers who wanted the movies to be nothing more than merchandise machines and toy commercials. No, Schumacher was the only name associated with the films, and he was cast at the villain.

The fact that he was openly gay played no small part in making him an easy target.

One year after the disastrous release of the infamous Batman & Robin, the beloved fan-favorite cartoon Batman: The Animated Series (then rebranded as The New Batman Adventures on the WB network) produced an episode that featured a pointed jab at Schumacher. The episode was titled "Legends of the Dark Knight," a reworking of a classic 70's Batman tale where a group of kids share their own ideas of what the mysterious Batman is really like.

Halfway through the episode, the kids are overheard by another kid, who shares his own ideas about Batman. The kid, whose name is Joel, has long dirty-blond hair, and works in front of a store which bear the sign "Shoemaker," despite clearly being a department store. He waxes dreamily about the reasons he loves Batman: "All those muscles, the tight rubber armor and that flashy car. I heard it can drive up walls!"

This last line--a reference to a silly bit in Batman Forever--he says as he flamboyantly tosses a pink fur stole around his neck. To drive home the joke, one of the kids dismisses, "Yeah, sure, Joel."

At the time, it seemed like a cathartic joke for us REAL Batman fans. Now, it's clearly just cheap and gross. Instead of any actual criticism about the films, Joel Schumacher was just seen--even if just subconsciously--as the fruit who ruined Batman.

Over time, the hatred for Schumacher lessened. Starting with Blade, X-Men, and Spider-Man, on through to Batman Begins, Iron Man, and onward, superhero movies became huge mainstream successes, with greater fidelity to the source material than most adaptations we saw up to the time that Schumacher "killed" the superhero movie. There was no point in hating him anymore, if there ever was (again, Goldsman more deserves that ire, if you're gonna be angry about anyone. Why does he still get work?! WHY IS HE NOW WRITING FOR STAR TREK?!?!).

But even still, especially among Millennial and Gen-X fans, Schumacher is still--at best--considered a low point for fandom. Even though the same generations have come to appreciate and love some of his other films, such as The Lost Boys, Phone Booth, and the chillingly-prescient Falling Down, there's still this need for people to dismiss the Batman films as embarrassments that are best forgotten in favor of Schumacher's better films. And if they're to be remembered at all, it's to trash them all over again in a tone suggesting that the films are objectively, irredeemably bad.

Except they're not. Oh sure, if you go in looking for a grim and gritty capital-M "Mature" take on Batman, of course you'll hate them, just like you probably also hate the Adam West Batman show. Remember, that show also used to be hated by decades of Batman fans because of how it didn't take the comics seriously.

... except it did. The show was VERY faithful to the Batman comics of the 50's, which often out-weirded and out-sillied its TV counterpart. If anything, the show made some of those stories even more entertaining with camp value and jokes that added different levels of enjoyment to the adults watching. Comic fans resented how Batman became a pop culture joke, and increasingly fought against anything that was colorful and campy (which makes me wonder if this might also be related to latent homophobia). Whether or not they admitted/realized it, the Batman fans of the 70's and 80's carried a chip on their shoulder about a show that DARED to make Batman FUN.

And really... how is that any different than Schumacher's two films?

You don't have to agree, but I think Schumacher's films are fun. I think Batman Forever is highly entertaining, that Tommy Lee Jones and Jim Carrey are bringing their hammy A-games as much respected actors like Burgess Meredith and Caesar Romero brought to their roles. Same goes for Arnold and especially Uma in Batman and Robin. They KNOW what movies they're in, and they're all having a blast.

(How many of us remember the exact line Eddie says at this moment? I bet you probably do too, which should tell you something about how memorable this movie is)

Now, BF and particularly B&A are by no means GOOD movies, but you can't tell me that you couldn't have a blast putting the latter on at a party and riffing it with friends. It's not a pretentious, ponderous, self-serious slog like, say, the shit Zack Snyder cranked out (apologies to the one or two cool Snyder fans here, I just find his films interminable). Even besides the many things I could say to defend Schumacher's Batman films (that's a whole other essay), you can't say they were boring. They were entertaining, even if on a level of making fun of the film, and that is NOT as easy as it looks.

Let me put it to you this way: Batman Forever has, objectively, one of the worst takes on Two-Face I've ever seen. He's one-note, he's kind of a rehash of Nicholson's Joker, he gets completely overshadowed by the Riddler, he gets killed by Batman in a way that completely betrays the whole “DON’T KILL HARVEY” arc with Robin, and worst of all, he CHEATS on the coin toss. That alone would be enough for me to condemn this depiction in any other Two-Face story.

And yet, even I--the most passionate, opinionated, and picky Two-Face fan you will EVER know--still have a soft spot for Tommy Lee Jones' take on ol' Harv. He’s just too fun, too flamboyant, too damn extra not to love. If only all bad takes on Two-Face could be this fun!

But that’s the thing: it’s not because the script was good. Oh god no. I've read the script, and if it were put on the page like a comic, I would have hated it just like any other bad Two-Face comic. I have to imagine that, as director, Joel Schumacher deserves the bulk of the credit for pushing the restrained and laconic Tommy Lee Jones into that oversized performance, and making it a delight to watch despite everything it does wrong.

I'm rare for my generation to have learned how to stop worrying and love Schumacher's Batman. But the younger generation, the up-and-coming Gen-Zs getting into Batman, don't share the same grudges we did. There's a genuine, shame-free enjoyment of those films among The Kids, many of whom are LGBTQA+, who love the jokes, the silliness, the camp, the Freeze puns, the swag of Uma Thurman, and the homoerotic subtext between Two-Face and the Riddler. Maybe it's just a reaction to so much GRIM, SERIOUS shit that DC and their fanboys are trying desperately to push even today.

But comics--especially Batman--have a long history of colorful, stupid, fun shit. Schumacher's films carried on in that tradition, and they should be appreciated on their own merits by those of us who aren't limited by narrow ideas of what Batman "should" be, and who still remember how to have fun.

Schumacher's Batman films should no longer be seen as embarrassments. They didn't ruin superheroes. They didn't ruin Batman. They didn't even ruin Two-Face. Nor should they be disregarded in favor of Falling Down, like losers in a respectability competition. They're fun. They're entertaining. And they didn't pretend to be anything else.

And if you still think they're bad... I mean, objectively, you're not wrong! But be mindful of the reasons WHY you think they're bad, because on another subjective level, you may not be right either. And it's certainly not worth holding a geek-grudge over after twenty-five years.

[punkscowardschampions]

Zelda & Zach

ihatemyguts: Good thing you told me how bubble boy posi Robyn’s ‘rents are

ihatemyguts: ‘cos that felt like such a brush-off

ihatemyguts: I feel kinda bad, it’s low-key just upset her with no shopping trip pay-off 😬

inandout: your first date was today

inandout: the insane jealousy must have forced me to forget

ihatemyguts: Obviously

ihatemyguts: moping and staring out of open windows would be bad for your health

ihatemyguts: probably

ihatemyguts: can’t have that

inandout: mope hard enough and fling myself all over the house, they’ll call it exercise

ihatemyguts: I’d let Rob know but her parents would probably sue me

ihatemyguts: I did some research

ihatemyguts: and yeah, flare-ups fucking suck, but if she was struggling that bad rn she’d be in hospital getting her 💉 on

ihatemyguts: makes me ⁉️ if the meetup will happen

inandout: makes me wonder if her brothers are allowed out

inandout: if they are maybe they can help us smuggle her to the meetup

ihatemyguts: not just a pretty face

ihatemyguts: that’s a damn good idea

ihatemyguts: I can slide in their DMs

inandout: Cranking up the jealousy metre to give me a full work out, I see, are you gonna be a PE teacher when you grow up?

ihatemyguts: *prays they aren’t like 12*

ihatemyguts: imagine if that was my life’s ambition

ihatemyguts: wear unflattering sportswear and give kids complexes

ihatemyguts: even without the potential life-shortening illness, I’d reconsider that

inandout: it tracks that you’d wanna make them 💩 and bringing back the bleep test could work

ihatemyguts: okay I’m not 🦹‍♀️ or 🐯 levels of sweet but is that what you really think of me? 😏

inandout: I think there’s only one rebel teacher coming to mind and I haven’t watched that film so all I know is they stand on desks

inandout: probably not a perfect fit for you

ihatemyguts: I could force you to watch it for our first date

ihatemyguts: and ask you, what your dream job would be

inandout: Netflix and chill or cinema screening of the ‘classics’?

inandout: we could do a drive-thru

ihatemyguts: hmm 🤔

ihatemyguts: there are pluses to ‘em all

ihatemyguts: cinema, we could laugh at all the snobs and 🤓s

inandout: Cool, reach out to me with the time + date when it’s showing

inandout: Are you allowed 🍿?

ihatemyguts: oh hell no

ihatemyguts: have to find another way to hold my hand

inandout: 🦸‍♀️ said she was gonna look up ice breakers and stuff, hopefully it was a fruitful search and she won’t mind sharing the info

ihatemyguts: do you think she legit didn’t realize how thirsty that boy was for her

ihatemyguts: or is it all uwu coy-ness

inandout: It’s hard to tell

inandout: but if I remember my glasses I’ll do my best to decode her body language from 6 ft away

ihatemyguts: aside from hospital, have you ever met someone else with cf?

inandout: Nope

inandout: jokes aside, it really is discouraged

ihatemyguts: that’s a hard one to get your head around

ihatemyguts: far as adjustments go

inandout: getting Robbie at this meetup won’t be easy

inandout: separate ones mean we might not have her there

ihatemyguts: I reckon we can trust you and Kara to keep the teen love story fictional

ihatemyguts: for all our sake’s

inandout: She’ll get her man

inandout: it’s not like bad advice and dating pitfalls are just a click away

ihatemyguts: cosmos never steered ANYONE wrong

inandout: Yahoo answers neither

ihatemyguts: might be confused as to why they’re not related

inandout: [I like to think he’s just sending his fave yahoo answer answers now for the lols]

ihatemyguts: [meme back and forth lads]

ihatemyguts: if she gets her date we could go into the matchmaker business

ihatemyguts: start at home

ihatemyguts: 🤖 don’t last forever

inandout: Rob’ll need to be next or she won’t forgive us

inandout: and we’ll soon get tired/guilty of seeing the amount of 😿💔 spam the chat

ihatemyguts: we’ll have to liberate her first

ihatemyguts: in a literal way

ihatemyguts: not the pretentious, free your 🧠 type of vibe

inandout: Kidnap’s playing into her parents’ fears but we don’t have a better option

ihatemyguts: now it’s my turn for a potential 💡

ihatemyguts: what if that is exactly what she should do

inandout: jump scare them?

ihatemyguts: if she did some actual wild shit to show them they’re being suffocating, ‘scuse the mention, then they’ll have to compromise and let her do normal kid things and everyone will win

ihatemyguts: I realize getting her to wild out might be a problem

ihatemyguts: catfish it though?

inandout: 💡⭐️

inandout: getting her to agree to do it for real would take longer than we have but you’re right, faking it wouldn’t take any time at all

ihatemyguts: get Lauren to picture whatever the hell she’s up to

ihatemyguts: sorted

inandout: + there’s your next photo challenge ready to be accepted, dressing as if you were going on a date with 👵🌈✨ instead

ihatemyguts: hold my neon

ihatemyguts: and think, do we clue Rob in on this plan now or do it on her behalf first, ‘cos we could hit up her house phone with some madness to get ‘em sus now and when she’s like wuuuuut it’ll sound even more

ihatemyguts: or is that a bit evil genius instead of 🦹‍♀️

inandout: Does she even have a house phone? We don’t

inandout: you’ll have to find another way to trick my parents into believing I’m a badass

ihatemyguts: I bet they do

ihatemyguts: can’t trust a mobile

ihatemyguts: and I bet they don’t have a microwave, they’re that sort

ihatemyguts: obvs I’ll just direct them to Lauren on your friends list with a 🤔

inandout: We should probably warn her, in case she takes it the wrong way

inandout: or decides to stand up to them for her YA movie moment

ihatemyguts: yeah, you’re right

ihatemyguts: if she doesn’t go for it, her brothers might be of use still

ihatemyguts: have to focus my evil energy elsewhere

ihatemyguts: such as…

ihatemyguts: 🥁

ihatemyguts: [one of the crazier lewks from babyteeth for the photo challenge]

inandout: 🤞🏻 one of them is old enough to drive the people carrier

inandout: Uhh… that was a suspiciously fast transformation

ihatemyguts: didn’t know you was challenging a pro?

ihatemyguts: and someone with a lot of time on her hands

inandout: I do now

inandout: and I’m guessing it’s not every day you get stood up based on what else I know about you

ihatemyguts: it’s a first

ihatemyguts: not that I constantly ask people out

ihatemyguts: but that is what I’ve put across so fair enough

ihatemyguts: what am I interrupting for you?

inandout: I’m waiting on friends

inandout: this could end in both of us being stood up

ihatemyguts: am I a drag you down with me type?

ihatemyguts: hmm

ihatemyguts: nah, I’ll cross my fingers that your friends aren’t flaky

inandout: Late, but I’d be too if it wasn’t my house

inandout: What are you gonna do now shopping’s off?

ihatemyguts: life is one big photo challenge, right

ihatemyguts: yours is ‘whatever will make your friends double-take when they open the door’

ihatemyguts: it’s a good question

ihatemyguts: we’re going to virtual shop tomorrow but she wasn’t up for it today

inandout: Wait for it and their faces

inandout: + you’re virtually invited to watch movies and play games, you won’t be the only one who isn’t here in person

ihatemyguts: 👍

ihatemyguts: cool

ihatemyguts: meeting new people is my new thing, as long as your mates are down/not the level of nerd that they might get a nosebleed if a girl is about

inandout: Some of them are girls if that helps

inandout: and my brother won’t be there to bring down the cool

ihatemyguts: low-key a shame

ihatemyguts: have to meet him before the first date though

inandout: I’ve got a father you can ask for permission if you’re feeling old-fashioned

ihatemyguts: full set

ihatemyguts: fun

ihatemyguts: mines in scotland so we’ll let you off that trek

inandout: But a road trip is a coming of age movie staple! 😫 Has Netflix aired any YA without one + are you willing to take that risk?

inandout: mine’s a workaholic but we’ve got years to catch him

ihatemyguts: forget the meds, see who gets fucked up first

ihatemyguts: it’d be a journey, for sure

ihatemyguts: do you know what he does? ‘cos so’s mine and I couldn’t tell you, tbh

inandout: Or mix them up and see what happens when you take the ones for my 💩

inandout: He’s a sales manager, he says, but why so vague?

ihatemyguts: sounds like something they’d do at cool parties

ihatemyguts: and that sounds suspish

ihatemyguts: they should have this 🤓 but with a moustache instead of the buckteeth

ihatemyguts: dads are elusive creatures… conspiracy time, what are they all up to

inandout: Not sure that’s the topic Rich has been watching vids on but I’ll ask

ihatemyguts: he can always tactfully ignore you if he’s 😳

ihatemyguts: like he does with 👵🌈✨ when she’s extra

ihatemyguts: more than usual

inandout: Be harder to do that in person

ihatemyguts: I think everyone will still get on

ihatemyguts: unless fibrofog shows, then that’ll be teen show worthy drama, of course

inandout: I think he’s genuinely blocked, he’d need a 2nd account to find out about it

ihatemyguts: hope he’s seen catfish too

inandout: He’d be a fan of the one where the man refused to believe it wasn’t Katy Perry

ihatemyguts: it does seem like the sort of thing she’d do

ihatemyguts: poor bastard

inandout: 😂

ihatemyguts: ultimate photo challenge, catfishing everyone and then going for the ruveal

ihatemyguts: might need more than just a wig 🤔😏

inandout: Dressing like her would make my friends do a double-take

inandout: [pics of some of her outrageous lewks with his head put on]

ihatemyguts: 😂😂😂

ihatemyguts: you suit the 🍦🧁🍭🍩✨

inandout: We’ve probably got a can of squirty cream lying around for hot chocolate

ihatemyguts: inhaler but make it ~sExxxIii~

inandout: [a lil video of his failed attempt to re-create that in her insta DMs or wherever because idk if they can send stuff like that here]

ihatemyguts: Katy dat you 😍😍

inandout: I’ve agreed to only string you along for 4 years not 6 and I don’t have any savings to spend 25% of on a 💍

inandout: looks like the comparison starts and stops with our black curls

ihatemyguts: not much of an orlando bloom clone myself so it’s alright

ihatemyguts: pirate is always an excellent disabled-friendly costume though so add that to the ideas board we should start

inandout: If we decide the next meetup is fancy dress, Lauren will never go back home

ihatemyguts: that’s the mood

inandout: [sends her whatever he did for the photo challenge and his friends reaction to it because why not say they’ve arrived and there’s a similar feral mood here]

[johannesviii]

Top 10 Personal Favorite Hit Songs from 2007

18 to 19 years old. Things were slowly starting to get better and better.

15 honorable mentions, but this is still only a top 10. What an incredible, amazing year for music. My favorite hit song for the entire decade is in there! I think everyone already knows what that is because I am, in fact, extremely predictable.

Disclaimers:

Keep in mind I’m using both the year-end top 100 lists from the US and from France while making these top 10 things. There’s songs in English that charted in my country way higher than they did in their home countries, or even earlier or later, so that might get surprising at times.

Of course there will be stuff in French. We suck. I know. It’s my list. Deal with it.

My musical tastes have always been terrible and I’m not a critic, just a listener and an idiot.

I have sound to color synesthesia which justifies nothing but might explain why I have trouble describing some songs in other terms than visual ones.

Second to third year of my History studies. Met a great guy. So great, in fact, that I married him in 2019 because we’re still living together 13 years later. Got my first summer job but spent my first pay on driving lessons, because, again, I needed to get out of my parents’ appartment and knowing how to drive would be good to find a job. I had a much better access to internet. I still had great grades. Things were getting much better.

I stopped making my personal lists of favorite songs that year, and I had an mp3 player, which really opened a world of possibilities even if you could only put something like 40 songs on it, at best.

I was still reading Rock Mag a lot. As you can see, the biggest controversy at the time was what was emo and what wasn’t.

We were alright.

As far as non-elligible songs go, well there’s I Still Remember by Bloc Party (and the fact I can’t put it on the list is a heartbreak and a half) and basically everything from Year Zero by Nine Inch Nails. Nightwish, Epica and Within Temptation all had pretty good albums too.

Here’s a metric ton of honorable mentions first!

Snow (Red Hot Chili Peppers) - Perfectly pleasant song.

D.A.N.C.E (Justice) - Never understood why this was so popular. Still good.

Love is Gone (David Guetta) - Heyyyy another repetitive dance track, perfect.

Miracle (Cascada), Smack That (Akon), Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol), SexyBack (Justin Timberlake) and Say It Right (Nelly Furtado & Timbaland) - Still elligible songs for that year. Still great songs. Still not making the list.

Butterfly (Superbus) - I didn’t like this band, but I liked that song.

Thanks for the Memories (Fall Out Boy) - Same here basically.

Who Knew (Pink) - Not her best, but not her worst by a mile either.

Walk It Out (Unk) - Stayed in my head for days, I swear. I have no idea what the general opinion about it is nowadays. Maybe that’s a humiliating pick and I genuinely have no idea.

Crank That (Soulja Boy) - I do, however, know that the fact this very nearly made the list IS hilarious.

Alive (Mondotek) - Laugh all you want about the tektonik phenomenon, this is still a banger and a half.

Sound of Freedom (Bob Sinclar & Cutee B) - Not as good as Rock This Party. That’s the only thing I can say against it.

Umbrella (Rihanna) - This is an edit because holy shit I forgot Umbrella. It very nearly made the list too. Sorry.

And now, possibly one of the best top tens yet.

10 - This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race (Fall Out Boy)

US: #32 / FR: #71

Almost everyone got the lyrics wrong. The title is way too long. I really don’t like this band of pretentious idiots; if you’re gonna be pretentious at least write about something more grand and epic than your own navel, and go all out (more on that later). Nobody ever really cared about their supposed feud with Panic! At The Disco. And, to make matters even worse, the singer looked exactly like the terrible ex I had punched in the face the previous year.

This is still a damn good song and it’s on the list instead of any of the honorable mentions.

RIP me.

9 - How To Save A Life (The Fray)

US: #24 / FR: Not on the list

You already know I loved The Fray. This song could have apparently also made the previous list but it’s on this one instead. It was overplayed. I still loved it.

8 - U + Ur Hand (Pink)

US: #29 / FR: Not on the list

In 2002, I bought Pink’s Missundaztood album and as you might remember this was the second album I ever bought in my life, right before the gigantic trainwreck that highschool was.

The fact that about five years (that felt like twelve) later, Pink was on the other side of that trainwreck, back in my earphones, just as energetic and fun as she was before, was nothing short of heartwarming.

7 - Je Suis Un Homme (Zazie)

US: Not on the list / FR: #43

I’m not gonna beat around the bush. This song is terrifying.

Here’s a translation. Yeah, it’s about humanity destroying the Earth and itself in various ways, and it’s preachy, but holy shit, how can something be so bleak, so scary and still so catchy. It’s a mystery.

6 - Double Je (Christophe Willem)

US: Not on the list / FR: #2

When I first heard this song, I genuinely thought that was also Zazie and I was like oh wow, she’s learned to have fun again after that bleak, bleak song.

But no. She only wrote it, and it’s sung by this guy. It’s relatable as hell (”When I grow up it’s gonna be easy, I’ll finally know what I am”, “Who’s fault is it? / I’m something and its opposite / Double me”). The fact that a guy had this kind of voice and that a ton of people loved it (enough for him to win a big talent show and make this the second biggest song of the year!) also did wonders for my dysphoria, by the way.

5 - Ta Meuf (Faf Larage)

US: Not on the list / FR: #19

This is a song applying the most obnoxious rap and hip hop clichés about gangsters (and guys in general) to a woman, and she ends up terrorising all the guys and they’re realising these clichés might, in fact, be really toxic.

It’s a great song about gender roles usually seen in this kind of music and instead of being preachy, it’s hilarious, and well-written (I mean, it’s Faf Larage, it’s a given, but still). Check it out.

4 - Relax Take It Easy (Mika)

US: Not on the list / FR: #12

All hail the new king of pop. He was here to stay and what a breath of fresh air he was. This was very much his year in Europe as soon as the album Life In Cartoon Motion dropped.

My significant other absolutely loved this album and we listened to it wayyyy, way too much, and even with all the radio overplay AND the overplay when we were together, I still can’t get enough of this album.

3 - Love Today (Mika)

US: Not on the list / FR: #39

Here he is again!

If this was any other year this would top the list very easily. What were the US even thinking back then to not let this guy chart. Why isn’t Mika a huge star over there too. What is your problem guys. Do you have something against fun or what.

Anyway, here’s possibly the best comment on the music video:

I mean. You’re not wrong.

2 - What I’ve Done (Linkin Park)

US: #38 / FR: Not on the list

Aaaaaaand they’re back. And they’re once again topping my list. Lord have mercy on me. I loved them so much.

This was the first step into their modern sound, less raw, more U2. A couple of years later, when Lacuna Coil released Shallow Life, I used to joke that Lacuna Coil was trying to sound more and more like Linkin Park, that Linkin Park was trying to sound more and more like U2, and that U2 was trying to sound more and more like boring garbage and. I mean. I wasn’t wrong there.

My absolute favorite part of the song is at 2:24, when the music calms down a bit and the lyrics go “I start again / And whatever pain may come / Today this ends / I’m forgiving what I’ve done” and then the guitar explodes again. So powerful. Love it.

And now you’re probably thinking “so... Linkin Park was back, and with such a top quality song and it’s NOT your #1? After you put a Linkin Park song or a Linkin Park remix at #1 for three years in a row in 2002, 2003 AND 2004? What’s going on, Jo? Are you okay?”

Oh I’m more than okay. Friends and enemies, here comes the absolute best hit song of the entire decade and possibly of my entire life so far.

You probably already know what it is.

1 - Welcome to the Black Parade (My Chemical Romance)

US: #59 / FR: Not on the list (shame on you French charts)

I know I keep complaining about stuff I love not charting, or charting but not high enough to make any year-end list, but... How was this even allowed to chart. Why and how did it end up on the US year-end list when so many more radio-friendly hits I loved couldn’t even scratch the hot 100.

I’m not complaining at all. I’m just baffled.

Play the first note on a piano and I’m already a wreck. Heck, I’m pretty sure everyone from my generation is. It was basically our very own Bohemian Rhapsody. It still is. Where do I even start.

Oh. I know. Look at this page from a 2006 Rock Mag, it’s gold.

Yep, they highlighted The Open Door by Evanescence and praised it, and were like “this is very risky and ambitious and we’re not sure you’re gonna like this” for The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. Hilarious in hindsight.

A few months later, the same magazine was desesperately using double pages to interview them because everyone adored the album.

So in case you’ve never listened to it (I’m... not even sure why I’m doing this since I’m pretty sure even people who don’t like this type of music have tried to out of sheer curiosity), it’s a concept album about a guy (...possibly. I mean there’s a lot of trans and/or nonbinary hints in the lyrics and did you really NEED to make all of this more relatable? What the hell guys) dying of cancer, remembering all the good and the bad things that happened in his life, and since his fondest memory is seeing a marching band once as a child, death arrives in the form of a marching band. He then settles some scores with his friends and family, says his goodbyes, and... and doesn’t die in the end. He ends up surviving the whole ordeal, and the last song, Famous Last Words, is one the most incredible things I’ve ever heard. It’s so propulsive, uplifting and motivating. “I am not afraid to keep on living / I am not afraid to walk this world alone”. Holy. Shit. Sadly, it’s not elligible.

Welcome to the Black Parade is basically the centerpiece of the album, as you already know or might have guessed, but here’s the thing. It also works out of context because there’s already an entire narrative arc within this one song. It’s larger than life. It’s about death and the meaning of existence. It basically contains all the stages of grief, and the conclusion it reaches is that this guy will be remembered and therefore, he will transcend death. It’s full of rage and passion and triumph. There’s key changes. There’s tempo changes. There’s everything. It’s a rock opera in a single song. I put it on my mp3 player immediately after listening to the album, and it’s still on my mp3 player today. I never, ever removed it. I listened to it countless times and every single time, it feels like rewatching one of my favorite movies.

Best hit song of 2007 by a mile. Best hit song of the decade, hands down, and now that the 2010s are over, I’m pretty confident in saying nothing has topped it so far. I’d say “fight me” if I thought this was a controversial opinion, but it’s not even that controversial.

And that feels damn right.

Next up: Is... is this a list with actual filler? Are you telling us there was ONE mediocre year for music in the 2000s? Sounds fake but okay

[jellyfishdooter]

Okay so, back when I asked for asks for my Ego DnD AU, @lace-maze sent a really good ask a while back asking about why each of the egos chose the characters they did and their playing styles- and I can’t for the LIFE of me find the original anywhere on my blog. ;3;

But! I finished it and I bet it reads horribly but whatever who cares I’m tired- enjoy!

So to FINALLY answer your question, the way I went about choosing what each of the egos would play more or less boiled down to a combo of trying to pick what I think THEY would want to play, and what I figured they would be in the Dungeons and Dragons universe. (wink wonk)

Marvin- Dragonborn Sorcerer

One of the top veterans of the game, he likes to play something with more of a challenge and a lot more mechanics. And since he’s a magician it’s definitely has to deal with magic of some kind (I mean c’mon, he’s already got the aesthetic wardrobe irl for it so why not?). So he’s currently playing a Sorcerer- a magic caster who has the power naturally within him (which ties in his Race for it’s from his draconic bloodline:)

He could have easily chosen his race to be a Tabaxi (a human-cat like hybrid), but he already got enough shit of being the “furry” of the group as it was so instead he decided to go for a Dragonborn. In the game there are different types of Dragonborn, so specifically he’s Brass- which both deals fire damage breath, and is also resistant to fire.

Being one of the older players, his play style depends on the day. For the most part he is the cool, collected member of the party who doesn’t rush in and thinks things through... Until it’s later in the evening with a few drink in ‘em and then they just say, “Yeah, this might as well happen.” Before taking another shot and round-housing someone poor guy’s ass for mocking his scaly features.

Jackie- Half-Orc Fighter

Always wanting to be the hero, Jackie wants to fight and protect his fellow party members. He only has a few sessions under his belt, but he’s confident in saying that he's comfortable with playing more tanky characters and dealing heavy damage.

Jackie doesn’t have a lot of reasoning for his Race other than Orcs Are Cool so he just rolls with that.

As for his Class he likes having a bunch of different fighting styles to choose from while in combat so he can pick and choose which would work best for the situation (they also get more of a range in picking which Armor Class they want-).

His play style is Protect the Party, but also Rush In Head First Into Danger. He’s always in the front lines of a fight to tank the most damage and provide cover for the more squishy characters. It can get quite frustrating for the healer at times when he runs battleaxe-first into battle, leaving his head behind.

Speaking of healers-

Henrik- High Elf Alchemist

A lot like Anti, Henrik found the idea of playing to be quite silly. But once he got into it, the doctor found it quite enjoyable to get into a fantasy character and forget about the real world for a couple of hours. But wanting to retain some kind of dignity, he decided to play as a High Elf. He was drawn to their grace, wonderlust for adventure, and near perfectionism. To say the least, it's easy for him to slip into character.

Strictly speaking, Alchemist is not the the 5E DnD Handbook, but Jack allowed it and made some homebrew additions to the character so their party would actually have a fucking healer. So in addition to the damage-dealing bombs Henrik’s character uses, he also has a special healing bomb he can yeet at the other players when needed.

Henrik’s play style is serious, but curious. He’s always wanting to explore the world Jack created for them and peacefully interact with the NPCs, enjoying events that unfold naturally. However when it’s time for a proper fight he does not beat around the bush, staying in the back for more long-ranged attacks rather than right on the front lines.

Chase- Human Ranger

The recently-single father needed an outlet other than drinking to try and cope with the loss of his family. So like any good friend, Jack offered Chase a spot in his campaign that he was putting together! He wasn’t too sure at first, Chase said that the game seemed really complex and hard to get into. But Jack waves it off and told his friend, “You honestly have to fully jump into it if you’re gonna get anywhere. There’s not really a small way to start. It’s pretty much all or nothing. But trust me, it’s gonna be great!” And ever since his first session, Chase always looked forward to next week’s game.

Being one of the newer players, Chase doesn’t really play anything too crazy, so he sticks to his guns and runs a Human pc. And he may or may not have based the character on his old life to some degree. Giving himself a stable home, a fulfilling job, and a big loving family and at least 3 dogs. Ya’know, real heavy fantasy stuff.

Jack offered him the newer class/ homebrew of a Gunslinger, but he politely declined ‘cause he didn’t want to have to deal with new rules. So he decided to go with a Ranger for his class, figuring it would make for a cool character to play.

Chase’s play style is pretty average (no pun intended), and not all that spectacular. He gets a few good one-liners in here and there, but for the most part he plays passively. Fights when there’s a fight, and interacts almost only when others interact with him directly. (He’s been trying to get better at being more engaging, but he tends to zone out.)

Jameson- Halfling Bard

This session being JJ’s (and Robbie’s) first ever game, JJ pleasantly surprised Jack when he decided to be a Bard. When asked why, the silent man replied simply, “There’s nothing in the rules saying bards HAVE to sing. At the core of them, they are performers.” Jack beams and asks what’s their instrument of choice then? Jameson smiles and shows him this video, saying he thinks it would be interesting to have this as his musical item. (Also gotta love that good The Bard Seduces Everything trope. He’s keeping that in his back pocket for the right moment.)

As for being a Halfling, Jameson figured it would be fun to play a smaller character. And nobody ever suspects the small man to pack such a whaloop. But really, his love for the hobbits in the Tolkin books had captured his heart and really wanted to try and emulate that in the game! Maybe leaning more towards being a little prankster, but still at the core- in short- Soft Cottage Aesthetic™

Jameson’s play style is bouncy and go-gettem. He’s eager to explore the world and have fun with the NPCs. In battles he’s more comedic relief in the back inspiring the other players (and intimidating enemies by aggressively cranking his music box rapidly). And AT LEAST ONCE he has had Jackie’s character YEET his at the enemy to get the final blow to slay the beast. That was a fun session.

Anti- Changeling Rouge 

Do I really gotta explain this one? 

Naturally Anti always tries to play the edgiest characters he can. Giving them dark, moody personalities but with a slight crazed tick. (Chase naturally calls hypocrisy when Anti says his character is a self-insert to the game.)

I’m almost out of steam here so in short-

Anti loves the idea of having puppets to mess around with irl- so in the game he can somewhat do the same- by changing his figure/ features to mimic those of somebody to manipulate another. He doesn’t care much for the society around him and does his own thing, but can easily blend in and slip into other’s traditions if he needs to. His character has a tendency to pick fights pretending to be someone else before ducking out and watch the fight take place with a smirk on his hidden features. None of the party has ever seen his real face/ form, always changing it subtly so every time someone tries to take a second look something seems different or off.

Rouge: Quick and Stabby. Like the bitch himself.

Robbie- Undead Druid

Jack had to make a special homebrew character for Robbie ‘cause he was set on being an Undead. Apparently Robbie and Marvin talked about character ideas before hand and Robbie got a little overwhelmed with all the options that they had, so Marv suggested something Rob could relate to easier. So after an afternoon of crafting a special stat sheet, Jack allowed their favorite zombie ego to play.. Well, a zombie. (I’m sure someone else has made something similar out there but I might try and make a sheet later.. That could be fun lmao)

As for Druid, I like to see Robbie as being a little more connected to nature than the rest of the egos. Since he.. Yaknow, crawled out of the dirt at one point. (Side story- before the others found him in an old cemetery, he liked to just hang out around the area that was slowly being reclaimed by nature and liked watched the birds and animals). So he was pretty drawn to choosing this class. It’s a little complicated at points, but that’s why Marvin sits between him and JJ, so he can help them out through the whole process. Robbie gets really excited when one of his spells works in combat or just having fun interacting with the NPCs by growing them some flowers to be nice. 

As a whole Robbie’s play style is pretty passive. He gets distracted pretty easily and unless Jack is waving his arms around or using miniatures/ figurines to keep a visual, the zombie will sometimes lose focus and stare off into space for a minute before coming back to the game and raising his hand for something to be repeated.

It’s one big mixing pot of different people and play styles, but at the end of the day, Jack has a lot of fun trying to bounce around and keep up with everyone’s antics and storylines. It’s hard as hell at times and it gets a little frustrating when things get out of hand, but they all try to check each other and keep things rolling. And at the end of the day, all the boys enjoy the game and what Jack has to offer and really fucking enjoy themselves. DnD is a good destresser for most of them and all around a grand fun time!

[arkus-rhapsode]

My Hero Academia Chapter 211 Review

Ummm, Early chapter this week. But were on break next week soooo... I guess this is fine. (Note: there has been an edit made to this review to respectfully not spread any misinformation) 

So w e oddly start this chapter with a little character background from Monoma. Apparently he always wanted to be a hero, but due to the fact that his quirk can only copy others, he will have to depend on others which is not what an active hero should have to do. I actually really like this cause its something we ever got from any other 1-B student, the motivation behind their path. It always made them feel a bit more shallow, so I appreciate Monoma getting a scene like this.

Also he now compares himself to Shinsou. How the two are the same is the fact that their heroic aspiration were denied based on their quirk. The difference though is Monoma still made it into the hero program and not Shinsou.

Now this scene, of Monomaa saying that doing unhero like things to those who are more gifted is okay, is likely reflective on the fact that being a hero is also a popularity contest in this world. To stand out and inspire, you’ve gotta be the best, and sometimes to do that, you do some things you might not be proud of. And with a mentality like that, its easy to see why someone like Stain is so pissed at society when it churns out heroes that will willing do un-heroic things. But then you can’t blame Monoma and Shinsou who are just trying to do their best, but given their genetic lottery they have to work harder than most.

But enough of this flashback, we need to cut back to the present where Deku is slowly losing control.

So Deku’s new black energy is emerging from his arm and Deku is quite literally fighting back against is. Monoma wonders if this is a new power to which I’m gonna save my thoughts on this till later.

Yeah Deku, its almost like the plot decided to fuck you over for the sake of this twist that I’m pretty sure no one wanted and that we could just keep to the usual flow of this arc, but no, we had to veer off in this direction because-Okay okay, I’ll save that for later too. I should really speed this up.

So its turns out that black stuff isn’t actually lightning, but more tendrils. Yeah cause that’s what One for All needed, tentacle hentai. Actually with theses black tendrils, now every fan fic writer who made a Deku as Venom AU (yes those exist) has just been justified.

Anyway, Deku releases what looks to be a beam of energy (I honestly can’t tell) and fires it off at Monoma who Deku at least warns to run.

Okay so, first off, good job Monoma. I’m glas we did make a joke out of Monoma being arrogant enough to think he could handle this. Second, what the fuck is wrong with class 1-A. I’m not saying they should act like they just watched a puppy get shot, but their classmate literally seems to be destroying everything. Now you could say that Todoroki did the same thing when he cranked up the heat, but the difference is that fire is a part of Todoroki’s quirk. Black tendrils has never been apart of his power. I know that not every kid in a classroom has to know or care about all their classmates, but I’d be concerned.

Third thing, So it seems OfA really is sentient as its jittering and moving around like it has some sort of self awareness. And finally, Yup. Can’t control your power. After we had come such a long way, you somehow are forced back to square one. I’ll talk about it later as the darkness begins to overflow.

Gotta feel bad for 1-B who just came here for an exercise, now they might die by black energy.

We see the darkness start sticking to objects (wow it really is Venom) and hoists Deku into the air. Yeah, I don’t now is this is something a user of one for all cold do, but boy its a little goofy. Uraraka and Shinsou seems to be the only people who now gives a shit about how this darkness is surging.

We now see this darkness is actually fighting against Deku, smashing him into a wall. All Might, makes a good fucking call and wants Aizawa and Vlad to shut this down. Which I’m sure Aizawa is perfectly fine with. Vlad has also had like no lines this round, like I’d love to hear his commentary.

(Yes, I realize there is an eye looking thing in the darkness, but it took me so long to find that I’m honestly might not even be sure that it is an eye.)

This scene... Breaks my heart. This in a nutshell was why I’m so opposed to this twist. After 200 chapters, Deku finally, FINALLY, doesn’t have to worry about hurting himself. He can now catchup with everyone else and it was finally time to show it off, but now. Now its fighting back. One for All is literally making him lose control when there should be no reason for him to. Has Deku master One for All? No. So there was still a chance things would go wrong, but not like this. Why? did it have to be the moment when finally the first year is coming to an end does One for All show that Deku is still not ready.

And Deku’s reaction to this is perfect for this. He’s not thinking about how he should be strong enough to resist this, showing he grew to arrogant and this is teaching him a lesson. No, Deku is sad. He’s upset that after all this time people didn’t have to worry for him. He was now strong enough to fight like Bakugou and strong enough to make 1-B actually consider him a threat, but now... Now he’s lost control.

Now it is possible that this is do to quirk singularity a topic that I’m doing a post on later, but in short it was brought up about like 50 chapters ago and its when a quirk becomes something that humans can’t control anymore. But again, talking about that later.

I’ve heard the possibility that, this darkness is actually One for All in a sentient state. Much like the previously mentioned before quirk singularity. That this is like genes being passed down so long and growing complex enough to the point that they are no longer controllable. Now there have been plenty of theories that have come out about this, but out of all of them, in general they likely relate to this. The darkness is literally fighting back against Deku as sign of his lack of more than 20% control and thus the quirk seems to quite literally be swallowing him whole. It feels like if this is the case, then Horikoshi realized that he made it so Deku was now fully protected from damaging himself thanks to his quirk. But he could just make it seem like Deku was just arbitrarily growing stronger without having any difficulty, so he developed a way for Deku to quite literally fight himself in his struggle. It was no longer limb destruction, Deku is literally fighting so that he has the right to use this quirk to its fullest extent.

If that is the case, I can’t say I agree with it. Look, I’m sure anyone could say that this doesn’t bother them. That this makes it so Deku and One for All are like Naruto and the Nine-tails, Ichigo and the hollow, Asta and the demon, etc. And those aren’t things I’m opposed to and are things that I enjoyed. But this isn’t the same. The monster inside that gives you more power worked for those series because that was their power system and world allowed for that. But MHA, quirks are more similar to Goku and Luffy. Their abilities are what is to be heightened and their second release: Super saiyan and gear two, are derivative of their competence of their biology and their power. And Deku was like that. He has a quirk that has nine generations worth of power in it and to use that power he had to learn how to take more in. His super saiyan was him at one million percent. It would destroy his body, but for a time he could use all that power. But I guess this new problem has occurred and we’ll have to see where it goes.

Anyway, the chapter isn’t done as Uraraka floats up to him.

So Uraraka is holding down darkness Deku and calls out to Shinsou and that’s where our chapter ends. Now, if people remember my FT reiewing days, they’re probably to call this a BS ship moment that defies reality and serves to pander a single fanbase. Well, no. Cause that’s not what this is. Uraraka is doing what a hero should do. She’s trying to save someone in danger, and this isn’t presented as this overtly romantic moment like say Sakura hugging curse mark sasuke, no this is actual danger that isn’t stopping so Uraraka is at risk of getting hurt here.

Now, I’m not saying you can’t take this romantically, I mean there is a lot of evidence that the two like eachother, I’m just trying to say, power of love, isn’t what’s stopping this madness, hell its evident that Uraraka needs Shinsou and his power to try and stop it. So this trope is still being done, but there is some logical weight to the solution.

Post Chapter Follow Up: So I wanna first say, this chapter is really short. Like its about 13 pages and it has very, very little dialogue. I did almost felt like I was reading a Bleach Chapter, but in fairness, this had a lot more detailing and was clearly used more as a way to show the sheer scale and weight of what the hell this thing is. Plus more detailed art, so I don’t thing the bleach comparison is entirely fair.

I am disappointed with the page count, given the break next week, I would’ve really appreciated we ended on more of bang than this. All its done is left me wanting more, but not in a very good way.

In terms of negatives, this chapter has pretty much confirmed team Deku vs team Monoma has gone off rails and that our conflict is going to actually be how do we solve this darkness. Last week, I talked about my thoughts on why I’m not a fan of that as this seems like a transparent way to make deku lose as well as seems to imply that Horikoshi had no real intent on making this fight actually work with their combatants. This not only makes this exercise feel like it will ultimately be pointless, but as I said, it screws Deku out of getting to go plus ultra while everyone else got to show how far they’ve come.

One could say that seems like bias and that the point was to get shinsou to help with the vestiges, but that doesn’t fully work cause there had to be other ways than this to make it so Sjhinsou would have to work. I mean, this was that same problem I had with the overhaul arc at the end. It was gong fine until Ryukyu dropped in with a powerup for Overhaul and then deku had to use Eri like a power-up and it just became a cluster fuck. I’m not against twists mind you, all arcs need them, the one he did with Gentle was great in my opinion, but these twists overall hurt the story cause the story was going great up till now and we’ve entered cluster fuck land.

Now look, I’m not gonna let my own opinions impede my objective view point. This twist was built up to. As we saw with the mark on Deku’s hand as he used One for All in his sleep. The fact his quirk has been feeling funny, and the fact that All Might seemed curious about this. So I can not in all good conscious call this a bad twist, but it is still one I don’t agree with.

Other positives are definitely the characterization. Aside from us getting Uraraka getting to act like a savor, we get some great development for Monoma. My only issue would have to be the timing of it. He doesn’t do much this chapter. You’d think that this would’ve been used before Deku went all darkness on us.

So what will the final verdict be. Initially I was thinking of giving this a below average, but maybe because the more chew on to this, and the more I see others reactions to this, it seems this hits that uncomfortable spot of being up to the reader to tell if they liked it or hated it. And those are always hard because there is a fair amount of good and nothing I can call really bad, but that good really isn’t enough on its own so there is an enjoyment factor that can’t be accounted for. Kinda like Aquaman. So where do I stand on this? well I have to be honest with myself as this is my review and I gotta say.

Final Verdict: 5/10

This is something you need to experience yourself to really tell if you enjoy this twist or not

There is some good action and good character development

The pacing feels rushed and there isn’t enough time to fully show this off satisfyingly

I do like the ending

[hyun-swoon]

Statistics Angel

@heonie-ween it’s me!!! your secret santa!!! my gift to you is a fic that may or may not have gotten away from me and possibly inspired me for many other monsta x fics!!!

it’s like 2300 words so it’s under the cut so the post won’t be so long

Summary: Kihyun regretted a lot of things. Not rooming with Minhyuk and just accepting the randomly assigned roommate. Taking MInhyuk's advice for elective. Not taking the professor's advice for when to start the project.

He's not sure if he regrets ending up in the library in the middle of the night, yet.

Link to AO3 here

Kihyun stumbled into the library. It was half past midnight and his roommate sexiled him. Normally, he’d just go to Minhyuk’s room and crash on his floor but Minhyuk was a light sleeper with an early test and Kihyun was in the middle of a huge project.

It was his fault for leaving the whole project until the last minute even though he explicitly remembers his professor telling not to do exactly that. Hyungwon was in the same class and had texted him a picture of his submission screen that morning. Kihyun had simply sent the middle finger emoji and stewed in bitterness over his own poor choices.

So here he was, cursing his roommate for making him leave the safety of their room for the judgment of the library.

“No one is judging you,” Kihyun hears in the back of his head in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Minhyuk’s. “You only get judged when you play sound and don’t have headphones or when you hold obnoxiously loud conversations.” Kihyun supposes that Minhyuk would know from working at the circulation desk and otherwise spending every waking hour outside of class in the library, but he was disinclined to believe his friend who gave an entire half-hour rant before noticing Kihyun’s earbuds.

The library is thankfully empty, most classes have tests instead of projects for midterms and by Thursday night (Friday morning), everyone has either taken their exams or decided that if they don’t already know it, they won’t learn it before morning.

Kihyun picks a table and begins spreading all his supplies out. Although, once he has the file open and the printed instructions in front of him, all progress grinds to a halt. God, who needs statistical analysis anyway? Not Kihyun with his vocal linguistics major, that’s for sure. He needed an elective and when Minhyuk, a business and mathematics double major, said statistics was an easy elective, Kihyun didn’t even think to consider Minhyuk’s majors.

Taking a deep breath, Kihyun puts his earbuds in, cranks up his music and sets to reading the instructions one more time. He starts with formatting and the heading for his paper. Little by little, he begins running the analysis and organizing the numbers into a table. With the easiest part finished, Kihyun checks the time and becomes disheartened once again. It was already nearing 2 am and he still had several more analyses to run and a whole paper to write explaining it.

Saving his work, he pushes his laptop away and lets his head fall onto the table with a thunk. He’s not sure how long he sits like that, but sometime between his wonderings of if it’s too late to drop out and become a trophy husband and if a concussion would get him out of the assignment, something drums on the table. Kihyun turns his head slightly to see a hand resting near his laptop.

He had downed an energy drink and a half before his sexile and after finishing the second one on the walk to the library, he was halfway through his third but he was fairly certain he hadn’t texted Hyungwon about his plans of self-inflicted concussion.

Looking farther up the arm the hand was connected to, Kihyun realizes that it is not Hyungwon or even anyone he knows. The man is buff, certainly way more than any of his own friends, if the state of his forearms were anything to go by. He is wearing a light gray hoodie with the university logo huge across the chest. The hoodie rests halfway on his head and the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. His hair is fluffed like he just woke up from a nap and if not for his thick framed glasses, Kihyun would have put him squarely into the jock category. Still not sure if he’s hallucinating, Kihyun continues to stare before reaching out to touch the man’s hand.

When he actually makes contact, he jolts out of his stupor and nearly falls out of his chair, stopped only by the man’s grip on his forearm.

“Um,” Kihyun’s voice cracks slightly and he grimaces, “Can I help you?”

“Well, I’m working up on the second floor—” he starts.

“Oh my god, can you hear my music all the way up there?!” Kihyun interrupts before the man has a chance to finish, “I’m so sorry! My friends are always saying that I’m going to go deaf with how loud my music is. I can—” Kihyun cuts himself off when the man raises a hand.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” The man smiles and Kihyun nearly cries with how his face goes from stoic to adorable. “I was going to say that I was going for a walk to take my mind off my test in 5 hours when I saw your screen,” he gestures towards Kihyun’s laptop which has since gone dark. “Did you need help with your statistical analysis? Because I would love to help you.”

Kihyun is dumbstruck. He reaches out again, just to make sure this man was real. Then he pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming. “God, this is due at 10 am and I would love some help.” Kihyun mutters. "My name is Kihyun."

The man smiles once again, his eyes crinkling shut, “My name is Hyunwoo. I have to grab my stuff I’ll be right back.”

Once Hyunwoo was gone, Kihyun scrambled for his phone to text Hyungwon. <em>A gorgeous man just offered to help me with statistical analysis. I think I’m in love and I can die happy.</em>

Kihyun stacked most of his shit to make room for Hyunwoo. Just as he is puzzling through a page that looks more like doodles than notes, Hyunwoo sets his stuff down next to Kihyun.

Kihyun wakes his screen up and from the questioning look from Hyunwoo, simply shrugs his shoulders. “I have no idea what I’m doing at all.”

“Well,” Hyunwoo switches from the spreadsheet to Kihyun’s paper, “Kihyun, you are in luck, I had this class two years ago with this same professor. The data is different but I can tell you that she won’t like the way your report is formatted at all.”

Hyunwoo makes quick work of the formatting while Kihyun stares dumbfounded. Hyunwoo has switched back to Kihyun’s spreadsheet and the data he has collected when his forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Where did you get this data? No offense, but it’s kind of shitty.” When Kihyun starts to explain what he did, Hyunwoo shakes his head, “Yeah that’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

Before Kihyun can question him, Hyunwoo starts walking him through how he should have generated the data.

“Now you have these price points to run a regression and you just have to interpret the equation for how the two data sets relate to each other.” Hyunwoo looks at Kihyun. “Make sense?”

Kihyun looks at the regression Hyunwoo ran and blinks, “Not at all. Where do you get an equation from that and what do any of these numbers mean?”

“How have you made it this far in the semester?” Hyunwoo mutters under his breath before he starts explaining what the different parts of the regression mean and what to do with all the numbers.

Sometime around 4 am, everything clicked and started making sense, “Alright no offense, but I need you to shut up so I can write before I lose all coherence and understanding.”

Hyunwoo nods and returns to his own notes to study for his exam. The two work in silence until Kihyun hits a wall. “Wait, can you explain this part to me again?” Hyunwoo looks where Kihyun is pointing and nods before setting into an explanation.

Kihyun is furiously taking down notes so he doesn’t forget again while Hyunwoo watches on, “Why are you in a business statistics class as a linguistics major?”

“Dumbass friend recommended it as an easy elective and I didn’t even consider the fact that Minhyuk is a double major in mathematics and business.” Kihyun mutters. “At least Hyungwon is in my class, even if he’s also a business major.”

Instead of trying to continue the conversation, Hyunwoo hums in acknowledgement and returns to his studying.

Somehow, Kihyun makes it all the way to the end of his paper without needing any additional explanation.

Hyunwoo groans at 6:30, dropping his head onto the table and mirroring Kihyun’s position from several hours earlier, “7 am is really too early for a test.”

Wordlessly, Kihyun pulls his last energy drink out of his backpack and sets it in front of Hyunwoo, barely stopping his typing.

“No, I can’t take this.” Hyunwoo tries to protest, “You’ll need it for your classes today.”

Kihyun pauses his typing, saving his work. “I only have the one class today at 10 and there’s going to be places open then on campus, I can buy another one. There is nothing open now. Just take the energy drink as thanks for helping me.” He is so focused on finishing his report that Kihyun doesn’t notice the way Hyunwoo’s eyes crinkle up into a smile again.

Hyunwoo begins packing up his study materials and Kihyun has turned his music up again with more people coming into the library at the more normal hour. When Hyunwoo leaves, Kihyun absentmindedly wishes him luck, busy proofreading his report.

Just as Hyunwoo is getting out of his test, Kihyun hits submit on his report and data, holding his breath until the confirmation screen appears. Once it does appear, Kihyun saves all his material from the project and closes each one. He looks at his phone, seeing that Hyungwon had been awake during his love declaration but less than helpful. Minhyuk texted at 6:45 cursing 7 am tests and complaining that they should get coffee together. His roommate texted only 2 minutes ago that his hook up left and Kihyun can come back to the room. Kihyun scoffs and ignores him, responding an affirmative to Minhyuk about coffee and telling Hyungwon he didn’t die and his statistics angel explained everything so he was able to finish his project with 2 hours to spare.

As he is shuffling through papers so he can pack up and meet Minhyuk at the coffee shop just off campus, Kihyun notices a smaller note with a phone number.

 <em>Text me and maybe I can explain statistics at a more reasonable time :) -Hyunwoo</em>

Kihyun blinks and regrets giving his last energy drink to Hyunwoo because now he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating. Who knows how long he would have sat there if Minhyuk hadn’t texted him wondering where he is and why he isn’t at the coffee shop.

Immediately shoving all his notes and his computer into his backpack and Hyunwoo’s note into his back pocket, Kihyun briskly walks out of the library, letting Minhyuk know he’ll be there soon.

Adding Hyunwoo’s number to his phone, Kihyun opens a new message, <em>Hey, it’s Kihyun. Thanks for basically teaching me the first half of the semester last night. Just name a time and place and I’ll bring my notes.</em>

Upon reaching the coffee shop, Kihyun doesn’t see Minhyuk anywhere. Just as he’s about to text him, hands from behind cover his eyes. “Guess who?”

Kihyun turns around, “Minhyuk if you aren’t here don’t text me like you are.”

Minhyuk pouts at him, “I just wanted to make sure you would get here without making me wait too long. You’ve done it before.”

Kihyun groans, “It was one time!”

Minhyuk huffs, “It still happened.”

“If you’re trying to guilt me into buying you coffee it won’t work.” Kihyun steps up to order his own coffee before stepping aside for Minhyuk, “I do have some news to share though.”

Minhyuk nearly lights up and quickly orders his coffee and pulls Kihyun to an empty booth. “Tell me. Quickly too because I’ve got a classmate coming to discuss a project.”

“Okay so you know that hell statistics project that Hyungwon and I had due today that we weren’t supposed to start the night before?”

Minhyuk groans, “Kihyun I warned you about this!”

“I know!”

Before Kihyun can continue the story his and Minhyuk’s names are called. Kihyun rises to get the coffee because no matter how much of a hurry he claims to be in, Minhyuk always chats up the barista.

“Okay so as I was saying,” Kihyun continues, “I started it last night and then my roommate sexiled me so I had to go to the library. I got the first part done and then considered concussing myself but an angel descended from the second floor and helped me with everything and I got it done and statistics makes sense now! He gave up time to study for a 7 am test to help me.” Kihyun looks dreamily out the window, “He was a statistics angel. I think I’m in love Minhyuk.”

“Does your statistics angel have a name?”

“Hyunwoo,”

“Hmm,” Minhyuk hums. He looks over Kihyun’s shoulder, “Hi, Hyunwoo-hyung.”

The force that Kihyun turns his head should have given him whiplash. True to Minhyuk’s greeting, there stood Hyunwoo. He seems to have gone home after his and Minhyuk’s test. He’s wearing a different sweatshirt and a beanie over his hair. Most noticeable is his lack of glasses.

Kihyun feels his face heat up, “How much of that did you hear?”

“You think I’m a statistics angel?”

Kihyun puts his face in his folded arms while Minhyuk cackles. Hyunwoo taps the table like he did in the library so many hours ago. Kihyun looks up reluctantly, “Can I suffer my embarrassment in peace?”

Hyunwoo smiles and Kihyun tries very hard not to swoon. “No because I was ready to text asking if you wanted to go on a date that didn’t involve statistics.”

(“Wait, Hyunwoo-hyung when did you get so smooth? Stop asking my friend out and teach me your ways!”

“Minhyuk we have a project to work on.”)

[synnutwritesstuff]

Bad to Worse

Started as a few whump tropes: defiant whumpee, captured whumpee, overly intimate villain is really what caught my attention here, and all the nasty little ways an overly intimate villain can really fuck with the hurt/comfort cycle of torture and human emotions, especially as it relates to a captured whumpee

All these characters are mine. Let me know if you like it - there’s loads where this came from!

This started off fairly straightforward, and ended Very Complicated. I blame Clive Owen. A lot. 

TW: Torture, violence, electrocution, broken bones, bleeding, sensory deprivation/blindfolding, dubcon/noncon elements, implied dubcon/noncon

She opened her eyes and blinked as her eyes adjusted to a dark room. A single neon bulb lit a space the size of her bedroom, big and empty enough for the chair she sat on and a person in front of her, could hold maybe five or six people standing around, but not a table for that many. A masked figure sat on a stool in front of her, and still tugged back on her hair to wake her up.

“She’s awake,” the figure said with a smile in his voice. “Can you hear me alright?” His accent was British of some flavor, and pleasant on the ears.

Kathryn nodded, and then frowned as she realized that something was the matter. She knew out of habit that this man’s voice would have been blue-ish green, maybe turquoise but...She couldn’t see his voice on the air, even though she squinted trying to see it.

The masked figure nodded, leaning forward to grab her chin and pull it down, to force her to look at him as he let go of her hair. “That’s right, darling. Got a serum here built just for you, takes away your sound manipulation while leaving your hearing and your healing mutation intact. We’re going to draw your blood and saliva six times a day, and once we get the call, you’ll be on your way, no problems, nice and easy, alright?”

Kathryn stared at him, feeling something hot stir in her gut at his words. She yanked her chin free and spat on him. “You let me off this chair and we’ll see about your nice and easy.”

The masked figure sighed, and she watched him check his sleeve as if to see if her spit had gotten on him. They seemed to be in a repurposed shower, with tile walls and a drain in the floor. He wore dark blue coveralls, a hood drawn up over his head, white latex gloves, black tennis shoes, a white skintight mask that covered his nose, and wide, reflective sunglasses. “Kathryn.”

Kathryn knew it was stupid, but she shuddered at the fact that he clearly knew her name. She considered the fact that he really had grabbed her on purpose, and gritted her teeth. ‘Assume your captor is always lying,’ was a lesson she knew well. Still, he definitely knew what power she was missing, and he knew her name.

Gloved fingers gripped her chin again, drawing her focus back onto him. “Please pay attention. I think it only fair to tell you that if you harm me or any of my people, there will be reprisals. This is not personal, and aside from those conditions, we will feed you and no harm will come to you. Do I make myself clear?”

Kathryn tugged her chin from his grip again and spat on the floor. “Easy for guy who abducted me to set conditions. My people will come for me and you’ll be sorry you grabbed me. If you know who I am, you’ll know they’re very good.”

She couldn’t see any of his features (except the fact that he was white, behind his sunglasses, and his accent right now, at least, was British, but she heard a little smirk before he spoke. “We do know about your people, and are taking great care to keep you from them until the job is done. I have business to attend to. Be good.”

He left, the sound of a door behind her telling her that her cell was locked, leaving her alone in the space with just the empty stool for company.

Kathryn sighed, but there was no use worrying herself sick without anyone present. She helped herself organize the information he’d given her by repeating it back to herself, and also by repeating back what he’d been wearing, and his features and accent. She’d call him British Guy 1, which would help her keep a tally, and keep her mind fresh.

Still, once that inventorying was done, she rolled her neck, and tried to get some rest.

What felt like almost immediately, she heard and felt someone enter behind her.

“Who’s there?” Kathryn called, and she heard that her voice was a little hoarse, rough. She must have fallen asleep, nap length, she guessed, less than three hours, based on how her mouth tasted and her eyes felt.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” an American accented man said, coming in with a shiny metal kit that he opened to Kathryn’s right.

“Calm down,” a light Scottish brogue said, a woman, coming up to stand on Kathryn’s left.

“Open your mouth,” the American man said, glaring down at Kathryn and grabbed Kathryn’s chin. He wore the same ensemble as the British man, with the only noticeable difference being his voice.

She spat a mouthful of spit right into his face, and so he hit her across the face, splitting her lip, her blood smearing onto his white glove.

The Scottish woman said nothing, so Kathryn sprayed the American man with the blood that collected in her mouth. His mask was covered in her blood now, too. Her hands were bound behind her, so she had literally had nothing else to do but spit on him.

He swore at her, his accent sounding Midwestern, or possibly Southern, to Kathryn’s ears, and he grabbed her by the throat as Kathryn tensed her shoulders and neck muscles. She knew from experience that she was very hard to strangle, which meant this was going to hurt a lot.

“I’ll handle that,” the Scottish woman interrupted, putting her hand over the man’s hand. “Just get your samples.” She tutted impatiently, and Kathryn wondered how many more rounds of this they had to deal with that had the Scottish woman so ready to move on.

The American man let go of her throat, and the Scottish woman paused before touching Kathryn. “You’re up to five lashes for spitting, love,” she said kindly. “Unless you want more, don’t make me open your mouth.”

Kathryn decided that was enough for now, if they were going to do this draw five more times today, she had better pace herself in terms of pissing people off. She opened her mouth, and let the man swab her mouth. If he stuck the swab in so far it made her eyes water and made her cough, if that was more than was necessary, Kathryn ignored it.

She also didn’t say anything else as the woman drew a vial of blood from one arm tied behind her.

Kathryn was happy to let bygones be bygones for this interaction, her mind ticking away at what she knew so far, when the American’s voice spoke behind her.

“No, I’ll handle this. You go on ahead, and I’ll meet you there.”

Kathryn sighed. She got the feeling she was not going to get out of this with only five lashes.

The door opened and closed behind her, and Kathryn was not surprised to hear the Amercan man behind her. “Glasgow’s gotta go,” he said, pronouncing the Scottish city “glas-gow,” rhymed with cow, instead of Glas - go. “So it’s me and you, girlie. You fuck with me, I’m gonna make you bleed for it.”

Kathryn sighed, letting her muscles loosen as the clank of metal behind her told her he was unlatching the chains behind her. “Are you, like, Montgomery, or Jackson, or some other hellhole, then?”

She was in thickly padded cuffs, apparently, that he was able to tug on, yanking her off-balance at her commentary.

“I said to shut the fuck up,” he snapped, catching her in another backhand that Kathryn at least this time could roll with to soften some of the impact of the blow.

Kathryn staggered a little, her ear ringing on the side he’d hit. The serum they’d given to block her sound mutation had fucked with her ears a little, it seemed like. “Montgomery, for sure,” she said, gasping a little as he dragged her further back.

He was using some kind of hoist system that he was cranking down, she could hear the gears, or pulley, and he locked her cuffs into the hoist, and was now cranking her back up.

“You’re gonna regret all this talk, girlie,” he hissed, and she couldn’t see, but she could hear the gears of the hoist clank, or grip, as he locked her into place so she could just barely strain to get one toe on the ground to support herself.

Kathryn sighed. “Is this like one lash per word, Montgomery, or syllable?” She thought about that and shrugged. “I hope it’s not syllable or I’m gonna wish I nicknamed you Richmond, maybe.”

She heard the adjustment of his belt, and heard the test swing of the whip, a high-pitched whistling that was impossible to mistake.

“Oh, you better not miss,” she said, raising her voice a little to make sure he heard her. “You want me to count, cause you can’t, or you gonna just make this shit up til you finally manage to shut me up?”

That got him to storm out in front of her so she could see him. He dragged her chair and the British man’s stool away from her and glared up at her. “Fifteen,” he hissed, staring  up into her face. “Count out loud. You lose track, I start over.”

Kathryn blanched, and let him see it, but sneered at him regardless. He’d added ten lashes onto the spitting penalty Glasgow had mentioned. That was interesting. She filed the information away for later.

The whistle of the whip was fast, crack as it broke the sound barrier, and Kathryn gasped as it bit into her. White hot searing pain, instantly cutting her open. Her clothing took the brunt of the force, but after one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, her plaid shirt and undershirt were no longer helping her. The pain became so constant it was muted, somehow, like her brain had maxed out its ability to throttle all the way up to 11.

Kathryn didn’t try to stop herself making noises, which were now pained cries at eight, nine, ten, eleven. She heard the door open, dimly, but counted twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and finally fifteen.

Kathryn sighed, sagging. She flinched as she felt someone behind her. Blood flowed down her back in streams, and she could feel the slightest movements of air on the strips the whip had taken from her flesh.

“Good girl,” Montgomery breathed, patting her thigh.

Kathryn flinched her leg away, and swore at him. “Fuck off, Confederacy,” she said, but her voice was hoarse and tired and held none of the venom it had before.

He had picked up her chair, maybe to put it under her to give her shoulders some relief, and instead set it back down, well out of her reach, shrugging.

He patted her leg on his way out, and left.

Kathryn sighed and spent the worst of the pain (the pain she wouldn’t have been able to sleep through anyway) cataloging what she had learned.

At some point, she must have dozed, because the feel of air on her back and its accompanying spike of pain woke her.

Kathryn bit down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself groaning out loud where they might have heard it, but she heard Glasgow’s voice as a blue figure moved to stand in front of her to her right.

“I’m going to get you out of this shirt, alright Kathryn?” Glasgow said, moving Kathryn’s chair and standing upon it within arm’s reach of Kathryn.

She chuckled. “It’s ruined anyhow, Glasgow, you might as well.”

The woman made a disapproving sound in her cheek, but quickly cut Kathryn out of her ruined plaid button up and her black undershirt, leaving Kathryn in her sports bra, which had held up surprisingly well.

Kathryn held still as the woman put the swab in her cheek, and was interested as the woman just barely ran the cotton swab along her cheek.

The woman then did an upside down blood draw, which would have impressed Kathryn if her back and legs weren’t covered in her own dried blood.

“You guys gonna feed me or try to drain me dry til my friends get here?” She asked, watching as Glasgow filled not just one, but four little vials with her blood.

Glasgow gave a little shrug. “Not up to me.”

Kathryn snorted, but shrugged. There had been no Montgomery at this draw, so she decided she did not care.

Kathryn was interested when Glasgow pushed the chair under her, and her poor shoulders could get a rest. She sighed in audible relief and rested her head on her arms, dozing off more quickly than she had the first time.

She startled awake as air blew on her back again, but there was less pain, more surprise until she remembered that Glasgow had cut her out of her shirt.

“You didn’t fuck up once, so you get a meal, girlie,” a familiar voice drawled.

Kathryn rolled her eyes. “You miss me, Montgomery, is that it?” She asked with an audible sigh, but her tone was still light.

A different male voice chuckled. “She sure has your number, huh Richmond?” This voice was Eastern European, based on the way he treated his vowels and /h/ sounds, and Kathryn couldn’t stop a snort at what Eastern Europe was saying.

Montgomery, who was apparently actually Richmond, the actual capital of the Confederacy, snarled and kicked Kathryn’s chair away, making her legs dangle and her shoulders and wrists support her full weight again. She hissed as her shoulders seemed to catch fire at suddenly having to support her weight again. She breathed through her mouth. Her body would do what it always did, she just had to stay calm.

Kathryn glanced at Eastern Europe and raised her eyebrows at him. “Touchy.”

Eastern Europe didn’t look up at her comment, and she could hear the hoist grinding as it lowered.

Her feet hit the ground and there was enough slack that she could lower her arms all the way down.

Richmond was in front of her, putting a straw in her face.

Kathryn turned her face away, because she didn’t want anything he was offering.

“You want to eat, or not?” Richmond demanded.

Kathryn bunched up her aching shoulder muscles and lunged for him, thinking she could maybe get her shackled hands around him, or at least punch him.

There was a buzzing sound, and Kathryn realized in a split-second that she had miscalculated, that a third person had entered the room, aside from Eastern Europe and Richmond, when that person drove a cattle prod right into one of her wounds, and she dropped like a sack of hammers.

Kathryn moaned as she came to. She tasted blood in her mouth and her limbs tingled. She had a new wound in her head, too, from where she’d fallen and hit the ground. Her head ached terribly, and she left her eyes closed, because it hurt too badly to open them

She winced as she felt someone very close by her, and British Guy was shushing her.

“It’s just me, love. I think this might be a record you’ve set, quickest time to the cattle prod.” His tone was lightly amused, but not harshly sarcastic, his grip the same kind-but-no-nonsense it had been when she’d first woken up. His hand found her chin, and with more shushing noises, something cold pressed against the wound on the side of her head.

She hissed, trying to pull away, but his grip was firm, and the tang of antiseptic told her what he was doing.

She held still, but grumbled, “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of leaving me my healing mutation?” She wanted to know how much he knew, but she also wanted to know why he was doing this. Good cop, maybe, or maybe he was the interrogator. Glasgow was also sort of good cop, and Eastern Europe was at least decent cop. She’d also pissed off Richmond, but he’d started the whole thing off pretty pissed, so he might have been set up that way on purpose as well.

“If you keep up at this rate, not even your S Grade healing mutation is going to help you, love,” he murmured, and something cool pressed against her split lip.

She’d thought the room was very dark, but as Kathryn flinched from the sensation of something touching her lips, she realized that she was blindfolded, and jerked her head away in surprise and disgust. They must have done when she was unconscious, yes, very brave.

“It’s alright love, it’s the next step since you went after Richmond. Nearly knocked him over, too, and that would have DC’d him for this run. Settle down, it’s just me.” A firm hand pushed her hair out of her face and patted her shoulder.

Kathryn gritted her teeth but did settle as she smelled the antiseptic smell near her face again. “What happens to you if I knock you out?” She asked, and the question helped calm her down, settle her nerves despite having the blindfold on. She didn’t so much as rattle her wrists, had no idea how she was chained. She was seated, and her hands were in front of her, but she knew British Guy was within six inches of her right now, so that was something. He didn’t seem as afraid of her as Richmond had.

He chuckled. “Then they replace me with someone who probably doesn’t mind being round Richmond, whereas I loathe him.”

Kathryn snorted. That could have been a line, solidifying British guy’s place as good cop and Richmond’s as bad, but it felt honest to her, his chuckle and less than professional comment.

She tensed further as he pulled her forward off the chair, she had to be in her chair again, and began to dab at the wounds on her back, but that’s all he did.

“And who’re you?” She asked, more to give herself something to say than really caring about the answer. She thought about his accent, rolling it around in her mind, the way he didn’t ignore his /r/s, but didn’t pay them much attention. “Birmingham?”

He chuckled. “Your accent’s not bad, you know. You’re close, though. Coventry.” He hissed a little, and said, “Sorry in advance, love,” and Kathryn was braced for the absolute wash of pain that overcame her as the antiseptic came into contact with a much fresher wound than the rest, but even so she must have whited out there, because when she came to, she was laying on the ground, her hands all the way out in front of her, superman style.

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, and struggled to sit up, get out of this vulnerable position, but Birmingham was there, gently pushing down on her shoulder. .

“You’re alright love, it’s just me. Didn’t want to put more pressure on your wounds, so I lay you down. I’ll put you back to rights before I leave, don’t fret.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re playing Good Cop you’re meant to be a little nice, not all the way nice,” she complained, and if he noticed that her accent had picked up, tilted towards her father’s East London brogue in response to his own accent, he said nothing.

He just hummed in response and patted her hair as she hissed, exhaling pain as he tended to her wounds.

Kathryn had been thinking, anything to give herself something to do, anything to think about except the fire in her back and in her head, the horribly vulnerable position she was in, and the likelihood that she was going to get beaten again in this shit hole, and finally asked, “Is Eastern Europe guy Warsaw?”

Birmingham chuckled and pulled on her shoulder, helping her to her feet as he settled her back in the chair. Kathryn hissed as her bare, sensitive back came into contact with the chair, but there was enough slack in what had to be the chain that ran from the ground to loop around the shackles around her wrists that she could sit forward, in fact her hands were still in front of her. Huh.

She felt Birmingham in front of her, and felt him around her feet, her ankles. A clank of chain there too, and a heaviness round her ankles told her there was a leader chain between floor and ankle restraints.

“Bucharest,” Birmingham’s voice was a deep chuckle as he patted her knee.

Kathryn sighed in frustration. “Fuck those aren’t even close.”

Birmingham was seated near her, she could feel his knee press into hers, and she could feel him chuckle again. “Console yourself with some H2O before Richmond and Glasgow come back in, hm?”

Instead of the straw monstrosity Richmond had shoved into her face, Birmingham pulled one of her hands up and pressed a styrofoam cup into her hand.

Kathryn was so surprised she nearly dropped it, but she brought it to her lips and drank greedily.

Something tugged at her, buzzed at the back of her mind, but it wasn’t until she was clumsily eating a protein bar Birmingham had handed her that she realized what it was, recognized this.

“This isn’t just about the blood draws, is it?” She asked, frowning. “Are you lot recording my rate of healing? Is that why I’m not prone in some bed, that’s what all the sodding steps are for?” She gestured up near her face, the stupid blindfold. “Some kind of scientific study?”

Birmingham was making disagreeing noises. “No, love, that’s not quite-” and he reached up to stop her from yanking the blindfold off.

Kathryn growled at him, tossing her head back in a groan of frustration. “If you’re not trying to condition me and study me, then why tie me up like this?” She wanted to know. “If you’re not trying to interrogate me, why let Richmond add so many lashes?”

As if on cue, the door opened behind Kathryn, and she shoved the protein bar in Birmingham’s general direction. You didn’t need to have experience with something like this like she did to be able to guess she was not going to be able to finish her cement-flavored protein bar just now.

“Good morning, girlie,” Richmond’s voice was a slow drawl that made Kathryn want to put her own eyes out. At least she didn’t have to see his stupid, samey, masked face.

They were still close enough that she heard Birmingham sigh. He ran a hand over her cheek. “Be good, love.”

Kathryn growled at him too, because she did not need that kind of shit right now with Richmond, and at least one other person, whoever it was, in the room.

“Open your mouth,” Richmond drawled, and Kathryn sighed, but did it. She was just feeling almost back to full strength, and hadn’t gotten to eat but half that bar.

Richmond didn’t shove the swab in, just swabbed her cheek, and Kathryn thought they might have had a truce going, as someone else, she didn’t know who because they hadn’t spoken, pulled her wrists out and swabbed the inside of her elbow.

This might have been fine, Richmond snapping the cover on the swab, the other person putting a band around her elbow to get her veins to show up more starkly, if the door hadn’t swung open, and Kathryn hadn’t heard a sharp cry of pain from somewhere outside her cell. It was absolutely a cry of pain, and absolutely female, and the sound of it snapped her right out of whatever warm, hydrated Stockholm Syndrome place Birmingham and her apparent truce with Richmond had left her in.

She knocked whoever was doing the blood draw away from her elbow, driving her palm up into what felt like their nose (they’d been sitting far too close, which made her think it wasn’t Glasgow, who surely would have known better, or even Bucharest, who had also been in the room with one of her lashings out), blood exploding around her hand.

There was a muffled flurry of female curses that were definitely not Glasgow. They sounded Austrailian, actually.

Hands gripped her by the shoulders and slammed her down, trying to shove her into the chair, but Kathryn could tell they were behind her, and drove the back of her head as hard as she could straight back, and heard Richmond swear at her and clip the back of her shoulder with his elbow.

Kathryn drove her knee into Australia’s face as she bent down, stunned and sputtering, but the chain caught her knee before she could do more but sort of collide with Australia.

“Who the hell is that?” Kathryn yelled at them, reaching up and yanking off her blindfold.

She saw a light brown woman’s face near her feet, struggling to right askew sunglasses.

“Melbourne goddamnit get the blood drawn,” Richmond snarled, and before Kathryn could think to raise her hands to defend herself, a blow to the head knocked her out.

Kathryn groaned as she came to. Her back was on fire, felt raw like an open wound and the left side of her temple throbbed with each beat of her heart.

She was hanging by her wrists again, no chair beneath her to stand on, and her ankles were chained and connected to the ground, a blindfold tied over her eyes again. She wouldn’t be kneeing or elbowing anyone like this, that was for sure, and she couldn’t see. Shit.

The door opened behind her, and she flinched at the sound, already dreading it, although if that was for the stirrings of air it caused on her wounds or the fact that it brought people and confrontation, she wasn’t sure.

“It’s alright love,” Birmingham’s voice was pleasant, pitched for her to hear first, but Kathryn could hear him address others, too.

“Nice and easy, lads,” he said, and he moved quickly, followed by two others, to stand in front of her.

“Hello, love, it’s me,” Birmingham said, and he traced a comforting hand down her arm that Kathryn yanked away from.

“How many people have you got here?” She demanded, and her voice was hoarse, like she’d been yelling some more, but didn’t remember it, or hadn’t been conscious for it.

Her stomach twisted and she sneered at Birmingham. “You beat me while I was out? Not really how conditioning works, is it? I gotta be awake for it to matter,” she said, making a disappointed sound in her cheek.

There was a male chuckle, Richmond, at her right elbow, and Kathryn turned her head to spit in his direction, even if she didn’t know exactly where she was. “Fuck off, you arseholes lost the war, didn’t you? So sodding proud of yourselves.” She was furious that one conversation with Birmingham and her thinking about data collection had made her forget she was a prisoner here, that where there was one prisoner there would surely be others. That she was on the Reserve, and her friends were looking for her, so that that meant she had responsibilities to the other people here.

Birmingham swore colorfully and that was all the warning Kathryn got before a blow landed in her stomach.

She vomited, gagging, as she threw up mostly water. She could hear a male voice panting near her, still to her right, and spat another mouthful of bile in his direction. “You hit like a sodding girl R-” she couldn’t even get his name out before he hit her again.

Kathryn had nothing left to throw up, so when her stomach was empty she just coughed, and coughed.

She heard the hoist creak, and that was all the warning she had before she was dumped on her knees, enough slack let out that she could lower her arms. She winced, not having been expecting to need to brace herself, so her knees hit the ground hard, but she was thinking about the next step, about why they might drop her down onto the ground, and so when someone came within arm’s reach of her, she had her mouth open, ready for a bite, or to spit…

But she just felt a hand on her chin as someone crouched very near to her. “Stuff the heroics for thirty seconds, won’t you?” Birmingham’s voice was tight with anger. “You haven’t even been here for twelve whole hours, let them do the bloody draw.”

She tried to yank her head away from his grip, but he moved too quickly, framing either side of her head with his hands flat, forcing her to stay in place.

Kathryn snarled curses at him as she felt hands pull her right arm out and pin it down against the arm of her chair.

Birmingham’s voice was right in front of her face as she growled and tried to pull away from him. “I get that you’re angry, love, but you keep fighting and they’re going to put someone else in charge who’s just going to sedate you until your friends come and pick you up.”

Kathryn heard a chuckle, Richmond, he was holding her arm, and she flinched from his chuckle, from the implication of what that had to mean in context of what Birmingham had said.

She gritted her teeth as someone gripped her cheeks, as a hand reached up and closed her nose.

“You can’t help her if you do this!” Birmingham’s voice called, a little louder over the sounds Kathryn was making to try to dislodge whoever held her nose. “If they knock you out til you’re done, you can’t help anyone!”

That got through to her. She sighed and sagged, opening her mouth.

Whoever was working on getting her to open her mouth stopped suddenly. There was the quick invasion of the swab, then nothing.

She growled as hands still worked at her right arm, disliking the feeling of hands on her.

“Over here, love,” Birmingham said, gently tugging her chin to the left. “You did wonderfully,” he crooned quietly, and when she felt him put a straw near her mouth, she sighed and drank the water, knowing she needed the fluids after throwing up.

Still, when he moved the water away from her, she asked him, “How many lashes they give me when I was out?” Her back felt terrible, one giant wound, throbbing with her heartbeat as she felt the stabbing pinch of the needle in her arm as Richmond and whoever else must have found a vein.

Birmingham ran his hand down her face, smoothing her hair away from her eyes. “Twenty, for bloodying up two people but mostly for pissing Richmond off a second time,” he murmured, just for her, and Kathryn didn’t need her sound mutation to hear the amusement in his voice.

She snorted, and winced as her right arm was released.

She flinched as she felt hands on her right arm again, but Birmingham was making little shushing noises. “Did so good, love.” He murmured, and he was rubbing circulation back into her arm, avoiding the bruises that had been left behind.

Kathryn shuddered and had to choke back a sob that ran through her chest as he pulled her arms over her chest as best she could. She pulled her hands away from him as the full, terrible realization of all of this hit her. “Sod off,” she breathed, ignoring the tears that leaked down her face. “At least the Bad Cop’s honest. Honestly fuck off,” she hiccuped, trying to raise her hands to push him away.

Birmingham snorted, and Kathryn felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as the same voice, changed drastically in tone. “You know love, it’s quite refreshing to see someone going through as much as you are keep her eye on the prize.”

She choked on a terrible sound that was half sob, half laugh. “So glad to entertain,” she said, and at least there was enough length in the chain that she could lean her elbows on her knees and put her head in her hands, trying to collect herself, to get a grip. “So you usually the Bad Cop then, hm Birmingham?” She asked, unable to stop herself. Even knowing what this was, she couldn’t stop from talking. The moment she shut up was the moment she’d start to lose her mind, she knew.

He snorted, and Kathryn shuddered hard as his hand came up to push her hair from her face even in the way she sat, even after her realization. “I’m whoever’s needed,” he said reasonably. He didn’t seem to be upset,that she’d cottoned on, that they were having this conversation.

Kathryn, dimly, recognized his calmness in the face of her realizing the plan as a very bad sign, but she was too busy talking, keeping the conversation going, to notice right then. “Oh yeah?” She asked. “Who are you right now, then?” She asked, her tone twisting, becoming dark and harsh, so much so that even he froze for a moment as he reached up again to smooth hair off of her face.

He recovered after an instant, and seemed to smooth her hair back again, for emphasis, as if just to say he had not, actually, as a matter of fact, been caught off guard by her words, but she knew better, she knew what had happened. “I’m the bloke keeping this site profitable while you’re here,” he said, and he planted a gentle kiss on her cheek as he levered himself to his feet with a grunt of effort.

Kathryn shuddered at his words, but they were honest, at least, which she appreciated, she could work with. He even left her chains the way they were, so she almost slept comfortably, and was asleep before she heard the door open behind her.

She heard another cry from behind her, from the hallway as the soft tread of boots filled her cell, and she flinched, standing in an instant even if her wrists were connected to the same loop that held her ankles, so she couldn’t stand all the way up, but she could twist at this angle to angle her face towards the sound. This cry was deeper, but just as full of pain as the first she’d heard.

She yelled back, the drive to do so completely instinctive. Kathryn didn’t think, just shouted, “I’m Kathryn! I-” And she heard a flurry of sound, a “-Dan!” and then everything went black.

Kathryn gasped as she awoke, because her back was still raw, but she saw stars as the gasp at her back still hurting the same as it has the last time she awoke made pain slice through her ribs. She tried to hunch over, protect her torso, but her shoulders were on fire, she was suspended up in the air again, ankles connected to the ground, but she was hoisted high enough in the air that she couldn’t touch the ground. “Fuck,” she murmured. This was really bad. She hadn’t even realized anyone was in the room with her, and they’d knocked her clean out.

“All you had to do was not shout your name.” Birmingham’s voice was so close she flinched, surprised.

He ran a hand down her arm and her back, carefully avoiding her fresh wounds there.

Kathryn flinched from his touch. “Fuck off,” she breathed, wincing, her tone emphatic but not loud. His touch, his actions, were so different from Richmond, who was surely the designated Bad Cop, that it freaked her out more than her initial realization of their roles had.

He chuckled. “If you hadn’t literally pointed out my role here, or if you stopped fucking around and making such a mess for even a single draw, I would,” he said, and again, Kathryn felt the truth in his words even as she bit back another shudder as he gentled down her other arm and side of her body.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked through gritted teeth, trying to stop her shakes and unable to do so as he ran his hand over her hair, down her back, over her arms. It was all wholly nonsexual, which made it even harder to calm herself down. Why was he doing this? The shaking in her arms made her realize that her arms were tender, that the air hurt her arms as much as it hurt her back. She was bruised to shit, and injured enough elsewhere that the bruises were no longer healing. Dehydrated, malnourished, too, probably, all factors which slowed her healing mutation down to a crawl. She wouln’t die of sepsis, but she also wouldn’t get better with any speed. Shit

“I told you darling, my job is just to keep this place afloat while you’re here. Since you’ve found me out, I’m not going to lie to you any more. Of that, you have my word.” His voice was a quiet lilt, and he chuckled as she swore at him.

He seemed about to say more, but the door opened behind her, and she immediately felt a hard hand press against her mouth.

Kathryn knew this trick, and had her jaw open wide, and found an edge of Birmingham’s hand and bit down, hard.

He swore fluently, and she was willing to guess that his real accent was the Birmingham accent she kept hearing, because it was almost impossible to keep a fake accent when you were in that kind of startled-pain, she knew from experience.

And then a hand hit her right in her solar plexus, and things shattered and broke insdie her and she was writhing and contracting and unable to draw breath like her lungs had forgotten how to breathe and she was gasping, no air, gasping, gasping...and something hit her again, like a freight train she felt things splinter and break but at leastshe could breathe, was sucking in shredded, gasping breaths and then someone grabbed her face.

“I appreciate the foreplay, darling,” Birmingham’s voice was a little ragged, but still amused. She felt his blood on her chin, from his hand where he grabbed her and where she’d bitten him, and grinned at him, knowing how close he had to be, able to feel his body heat in front of her. “And I do hope it’s worth it.”

She hardly had any slack in the chains, but he was hanging onto her, giving her a sense of how far away he was, and so she was able to move in by using his grip on her to pull herself forward, so she could plant a sloppy kiss on his temple. “Thank you for the foreplay, darling,” she mimicked, rubbing his blood from her chin onto him the best she could.

She heard him swear again, and people must have come into the room, but she didn’t hear a whip. Instead, pain exploded around her knees in two white-hot bursts that crunched sickeningly, hotter than the sun and twice as blinding.

Kathryn had not experienced this pain in a long time, and these catastrophic, torrential injuries being added to the injuries she already had, and her central nervous system blessedly tapped out for her. She passed out.

She came to with a sob as pain woke her up. She felt like her legs were being pulled apart at the knee. She  still couldn’t see, but she could feel blood dripping down her legs. Fuck.

She tried to make a list, and spoke out loud for the desire to get out of her own head. Not being able to see was awful, and speaking would be something she could set against that.. “Whippings, 35 lashes, I think, over what has maybe been an eight hour period?” Kathryn wasn’t sure about this math, but it was close enough for now. “At least one blow to the head, no actually make that two, no, three, if we’re including the blow that got me here.” She sucked in a breath as she cast her mind back. There was a lot to inventory. “One stun baton, had ribs burised, at lesat, and my knees had been, what, shot out?” She shook her head. There had been no rapport of gunfire. “Fractured at least, no way to know the damage right now, without being able to see them.” She sighed, but she was close to the end of her inventory, might as well finish. “There had been three blood drawings. At six per day, with an organized schedule, that assumes one every four hours, which argues for at least twelve hours.” She sighed, because her arms were even more tender than they had been. “Add at least one more draw, so 16 total hours, possibly several more.”

“It’s the worst beating I’ve ever seen,” Birmingham’s voice was low and interested wasn’t the right word, but it was close. She flinched at the fact that he must have been in the room this entire time.

He was seated below her, in her old chair maybe, as she was still being pulled in two directions, it felt like.

She snorted. “Not even the worse beating I’ve gotten in a place like this,” she scoffed, because it was true, probably, technically. She couldn’t quite remember, but the bravado felt good, helped to ground her and helped her feel more settled, blindfold, injuries, and all.

She felt Birmingham’s hand on her torso, and whimpered before she could stop herself. She could feel the painful flesh under his fingers, practically feel her bones move and grate against each other. “You’re gonna feel like an ass if I puncture a lung,” she gasped, remembering a training session with Miller where they’d nearly done just that.

Birmingham chuckled, and she thought she knew what he was going to say, she’d participated in this play before but then he said, “Doesn’t matter to me if you puncture anything, love,” he said, smoothing back her hair from her face in a way that had become very familiar, but was incredibly jarring as his words shook her entire thought process of why she was here completely apart. “You’re just here til your friends follow all the clues.”

Kathryn gasped, because this had not felt like her last experience with a place...like this, but to hear him say so was very upsetting. “What clues?” She asked, because any words, any questions, were better than the reality of what he implied. She ignored it, it was too terrible even to consider.

She flinched as she felt hands near her face, thinking they were coming for her mouth, but the blindfold was tugged off her eyes.

Kathryn whimpered at the suddenness, at the fact that he was so close to her he could take something off her face, and at the newness of sensation after...however the hell long it had been with that fucking thing on, but Birmingham was running his hand down the side of her face, making little shushing noises. “It’s alright love. I wanted you to at least be able to look me in the eye when I said this, because I don’t think you’ll believe me, and I really dont’ think you ought to take any more punishment right now.

Kathryn’s chest heaved at his words, but all that left her mouth was a choked little laugh. “You don’t, do you?”

Birmingham had her blindfold gathered in one gloved hand, and he used that hand to take off his sunglasses. He was a white man, maybe a little older than Kathryn based on the laugh lines around his eyes, with otherwise healthy looking skin with no identifying marks she could see. He had unusual eyes, which made her breath catch in her throat because they were quite identifying. His right eye was light green, lighter than her own dark green, and his left eye was light blue. The overall effect was grey, but they were not the same color.

He was standing very close to her, to allow her to examine his face, and she saw the corners of his eyes crinkle and wrinkles at the edge of his nose crinkle, in what was clearly a smile, as she seemed to finish her examination. “Very good, darling,” he said, as if they’d come to some kind of agreement, running his hand down her face and brushing his thumb across her lips before turning away from her, seemingly looking for something.

Kathryn shuddered, muttering, “Fuck,” as he seemed to come to some kind of decision, abandoning, what, his search for her chair? She had no idea where it had gone, nor the stool he’d sat on when she’d first woken up here.

He turned back to her, still standing within arm’s reach, still smiling up at her. “You’re not here to be interrogated, or tortured, and although the blood and saliva samples are a helpful bonus, they’re not why you’re here, either, love.”

Kathryn stared at him, her mouth falling open a little, because that made no sense. “What clues?” She repeated the last question that had come to mind, forcing herself to have something to say, to continue to collect information collect information. She watched him hungrily, so grateful to have her eyes back, to be able to process data visually as well as auditorily.

He shrugged, seemingly taking his fill just watching her. He reached up and ran his hand over her cheek and jaw, seemingly just because he could, ignoring the shudder that ran through her at his touch, before dropping his hand again. “Dunno. Our employer was extremely specific about the conditions you were to be held in, though, very specific about other instructions he’s given us about you, darling, but once we hear the message we’re waiting on from your friends, we’re to let you go.”

Kathryn flinched from his words, shaking her head at him. “You’re lying.”

Birmingham got right into her face, moving within six inches of her, and even though she was suspended in the air, above the ground, he was still a little taller than she was, just a few inches. “I’m not,” he said, his words crisp, maybe irritated, in a way they had not been thus far. He grabbed her chin. “I gave you my word that I wouldn’t lie to you more, love.” He seemed to think this was a bit too harsh, because he released her chin and ran that hand down her face, thumb over her lips.

Kathryn shuddered, looking away from him, her chest heaving as tears sprung to her eyes. “You said it doesn’t matter, if I puncture a lung. Does your employer want me dead?” There was quite a bit of evidence against this, but she was curious. She wanted as much information on who was actually in charge here. She believed Birmingham, for now. There was just too much that didn’t make sense, otherwise.

He shook his head, tracing the other side of his face with his hand now, running his fingers through her hair, making her shudder involuntarily as his fingers brushed against a wound on her head, making pain shoot down her spine and through her skull.

He muffled a curse. “Shite, sorry love,” he said, and he seemed genuinely sorry, adjusting his hand so the next time he ran his fingers through her hair, he would not hit the wound he’d hit. “No, they don’t, but I haven’t got any more information about what they want, ultimately, just what they needed us to do.”

Kathryn shuddered, a sob fighting its way out of her chest, and did not fight it. It didn’t matter what she did here. She believed Birmingham, and so that meant that all of these injuries had absolutely been for nothing. She shuddered, and then could not stop, and began to cry, huge sobs that made her ribs and back ache, that made her shake so her legs were shaking, and she didn’t know what would happen, if she’d shake herself apart with crying, or if they’d come back in to hurt her some more.

Instead, she felt gentle hands on her face, in her hair, down the undamaged parts of her back, gentle along her arms.

Kathryn automatically felt her crying subsiding under the soothing touch, thought at first she must have fallen asleep, until she heard a muttered, “No, it’s under control,” and realized she was not asleep.

She flinched from the hand that was still running up and down her arm and opened her eyes to see Birmingham talking on a radio of some kind, and she felt like throwing up as she realized he’d very deliberately taken the white gloves off everyone else used here.

“What the fuck?” She demanded, trying and unable to draw her arms away from him, the cuffs were too tight above her, but she could and did move her head away from him as he circled so he was standing in front of her. “Put that shit back on, it’s to keep me disoriented about who my captors are, you fucking idiot,” she snapped, her tone staccato and shuddering. She learned something about why she was here, and he immediately fucked that up with...whatever he was doing. It was making her angry, pissed at him, and she clung to that anger, as it gave her somewhere productive to go with her emotions.

He chuckled up at her, running his hand down her face and thumb across her lip. He showed her his left hand, the clear bite mark in the meat of his left hand, with tidy stitches between his ring and pinky fingers. “I know,” he said with a shrug, “But you’re the most interesting mark I’ve had in ages, and me and you, we’re connected.” He tapped his temple, covered at least by the hood he still had pulled up over his hair.

She shuddered again, shaking her head, turning away from him. “Sod off. This is a psychological trick mean to-” her words cut off as he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

“I said I was not going to lie to you, love,” he breathed, running his thumb over her mouth before letting her go. He drew a knife from the pocket of his pants, and Kathryn couldn’t stop the whimper in her throat. That knife was nearly as long as her forearm, and meant business. Normally, knives could not stop her, but she was so ground up from this place that it could kill her.

He’d also just said his employer did not care what condition she was in…

Birmingham shook his head, shushing her and running his hand down her face and thumb over her lips. “This isn’t for you, darling, look,” he said, and tugged on her chin so she was forced to look watch as he easily, one-handed, opened the butterfly knife, and swiftly drove it into his own arm.

She gasped at the blood that sprayed her and his pristine white mask, but Birmingham had barely drawn the knife from his arm before the wound began to close.

She stared at the wound as it closed, looking for a trick, but all she saw was a very similar hair-thin white scar on his arm where there had just seconds before been a gaping flesh wound. He wiped the knife onto his trouser leg, closed it, and replaced it in his pocket.

“Told you, love, we’re connected,” he said, moving closer to push her hair away from her face, soothe it down the back of her head and her neck.

Kathryn shuddered, but couldn’t help the sob that escaped her lips at the comfort, even if she knew it was false. She felt tears on her cheeks and mucus on her face as she struggled to speak. “I haven’t-” she began, and flinched as he moved quickly in front of her, as something was raised to her face. It was a handkerchief he was raising to her nose, very gently. “Blow,” he ordered, very much in the tone of father to child than captor to captive. She grimaced at the comparison, because how had things gone from worse to better to worse so quickly?

She obeyed, because she did need to blow her nose, after all, and she fully believed, now, that she would not be let down from here until the contract was done. He even moved the hankerchief to a different spot once she’d blown her nose and gently wiped her face and under her eyes.

Kathryn felt a lump in her throat she was fairly sure was never going to go away, but she didn’t ask the question she wanted to ask. Instead, she cleared her throat, not removing the lump there but feeling better about the attempt. “I haven’t met anyone with a healing mutation like me since I was at the last place like this I’ve been.”

A high pitched beeping sound emitted from somewhere below her, and Kathryn winced, but Birmingham quickly silenced the alarm on his watch and moved around on the floor beneath her, rummaging for things she could not see, before returning with a giant plastic container of water with a massive straw.

He held it up near her face and she drank until he took it away, could have had more.

He clicked his tongue, seemingly in sympathy. “I know love, but they’re going to be back in three hours to beat on you some more, and so I’d rather try to rehydrate you in small steps, not big ones, to increase the chances you keep it down.”

Kathryn shuddered involuntarily at his words and the extremely casual mention of severe pain in them, a series of shakes that just kept continuing until she felt his hand on her face, and stilled somewhat at the now familiar movements, thumb on her lips, hand down her scalp, over her shoulders, and the backs of her arms, gently over her sides.

“Are you really this bored?” She wanted to know as he turned back to set the water down and reached for something else.

He straightened with an IV needle and bag, and she flinched from him, but he made shushing noises at her. “You desperately need fuel to rebuild yourself, and you’re not allowed solids anymore, so please let me help you.” His expression was level, and his words about what she was not allowed sounded like they were from his employer.

She sneered at him. “I’m a prisoner here,” she deadpanned, as if he needed a reminder, or as if she did. It was more out of irritation that he’d even asked. “I can’t give consent for anything in this fucking place.” It did feel good, a little, to feel some of her anger kick back in.

The corners of the edges of his eyes were very tender as he moved closer and placed a kiss on her cheek, running his hand down her face and finger over her lips. She shuddered, but not as much as she had done at such intrusions before, which just made her angrier.

She felt the whine of the motor of the hoist, and it took her brain a moment too long to realize what that sound was, what it meant, and she cried out in pain as he feet brushed the floor.

She was choking on a sob as she tried to use her abdominal muscles to pull her legs off the floor as the hoist lowered her all the way to the ground. She relaxed a little as her butt hit the ground, and she could gently lower her abused legs to the ground, but she still winced as her heels hit, because it sent vibrations and radiations straight through her knees, making her eyes water and a sob leave her throat in earnest. Fuck…

She couldn’t even lay on her back, because it was still cut up.

Kathryn didn’t realize that her eyes had closed, or that tears stood on her cheeks, until Birmingham crouched next to her and wiped the tears away, carefully, as careful as all of the touching.

She didn’t try to fight him as he put in the IV and attached the bag to the chain that connected her wrist shackles to the hoist, although she did smile a little as he made a show of not putting his left hand within reach of her mouth as he wiped off her hands and arms.

She swore a little, because her arms looked terrible, like she was a drug addict,  were swollen and lumpy, black and purple and blues of deep bruising. She was sure her abdomen, and knees for sure, but her back as well probably, were worse. Kathryn was suddenly ver grateful that she couldn’t see her knees under the jeans she wore, or her back. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing whatever mincemeat she looked like right now.

He had wiped her hands, face, and feet down when he paused, and frowned at his watch as an alarm went off again. He grabbed the bottle and she drank as much water as he would let her, before he set it aside again.

She felt exhausted, drugged, and struggled to keep her eyes open as she looked at him. Apparently, accusation was clear on her face.

“I would never,” he said, putting a hand on his chest as if offended.

Kathryn snorted rudely.

He shrugged. “I’d never do such a thing without being paid handsomely for it,” he amended, grinning and patting her cheek and rubbing his thumb across her lips.

Kathryn sighed as he pulled his hand away, she grimaced as she recognized the emotion she’d just felt. She glared at him, feeling something like a snarl pull her lips up. “Are you being paid to do this, or just a pervert, taking advantage of a helpless woman?” She hissed as he grabbed a new baby wipe and seemed to be deciding which leg to clean of blood and grime first.

He looked up at her sharply, and he was so close to her, she thought she could hear him give a hiss of protest as he considered her words.

He seemed to think for a moment, eyes flashing, before he swiftly moved closer to her, and since she was no longer chained up, but chained down, her wrist restraints and ankle cuffs connected to the chain on the ground, she had nowhere to go as he loomed over her as she sat with her injured legs straight out before her. He seemed to be thinking hard, patting in his pockets for something with his hand that was further away from her while running his hand down her face and thumb over her lips with the other.

Kathryn heard a clank of chain and realized that without thinking about it, she’d tried to bring her hands up to stop him, stop whatever was about to happen, but the chain was too short. She couldn’t get her hands above her heart.

While she was distracted, Birmingham seemed to have found what he wanted, because he leaned into her space and instead of touching her face like he’d done countless times, he pried her mouth open and crammed something, she choked, it was a piece of cloth, into her mouth, covering her mouth with his right hand this time as she struggled to spit out whatever the hell, yuck...

She swore and tried to stop him, to fight him off, but the attack was too sudden and too forceful. She had tears standing in her eyes as he reached back to the kit that looked a lot like a fishing tackle box she could see sitting on the ground next to him and peeled off a piece of duct tape and placed it over the gag he’d put in her mouth.

Kathryn’s chest was heaving as she stared at him, flinty eyed. She bit down on the cloth in her mouth and glared at him, trying to get the gag out of the way of her tongue so she could speak, but she couldn’t. She didn’t even realize she had tears standing in her eyes as she glared at him, anger feeling like it burned her up from the inside. This was so stupid, what was she even thinking...

He made a little tutting sound, as if he could hear her thoughts,  and wiped the tears that had fallen down her cheeks away, glancing down, Kathryn flinched as he seemingly reached for something else in his pockets, but he was just shutting off the radio she’d heard him use.

He made little shushing sounds, wiping away more tears that had spilled, running his hand down her face and thumb across her lips, shaking his head as this made her more upset. “I apologize, but I didn’t want you calling me out for what I’m about to say, as it could get me in fairly serious trouble.” His expression was clear, but she did see the corners of his eyes tighten at the effect his gagging her had had on her. She shook her head a little, not at his words, but at herself, shaking off her thoughts. He had just gagged her, she reminded herself. She did not care what he was feeling, she reminded herself. Get a grip.

He reached forward and ran his hand down the side of her face and thumb across her lips, as if unable to stop himself, before taking a shuddering breath and saying, “Look, I’m not bored, or, or...” he got stuck on the word, apparently, Kathryn was surprised to see, needing two more tries before he could spit out, “a pervert, alright? I’m just thinking you might join us, after all this is said and done.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes at him, calling him terrible names around the gag in her mouth.

He shrugged and smiled fondly at her. “You say that now, pet, but our employer has a lot of plans for you and your friends. Who knows how things turn out after all that?”

Kathryn snorted, shaking her head at him. She had a lot she wanted to say, about the Reserve, and her friends, and what she thought about his stupid employer, but she could articulate none of it with the gag in her mouth, and trying to talk was making her drool.

Birmingham was within arm’s reach of her, but he moved closer, automatically caressing her cheek and swiping tears away from under her eyes. “I know it seems impossible, but I sat where you’re sitting,” he breathed, his voice so low as to be inaudible to anyone who would just be coming into the room, with her body between him and the door.

Her eyes widened in surprise, confusion.

He shrugged, equivocating a little. “Well, not exactly where you’re sitting, of course, but someone hired these people to grab me, before I worked for them.”

She sneered at him, calling him all kinds of terrible names, and he seemed to expect this, patting the air in a placating gesture.

“I know, I wouldn’t have believed it either, but,” he drew in a shuddering breath that Kathryn, watching his face, watching as he drew his eyes away from hers, did not think this emotion on his part was feigned. “Fortunes change fast.” He looked back up at her then, gray eyes seeming to bore into hers. “I just want you to know you’ve always got a place to go.” He reached up to caress her face, running his thumb across her lips, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek, holding onto her face as she tried to pull away, and then he breathed, “New York. 2551 Crescent. Code’s august, 87-67-05” into her skin as he kissed her cheek, then up into her hair as he spoke.

Kathryn’s chest was heaving as he pulled away, smiling gently and running his hand down her face again, his thumb across her lips, as if to seal his words into her mind.

She felt like his words were seared into her brain, like he’d stamped them there the same way he ran his calloused thumb across her lips, but she didn’t know if the brand was the healing heat of a cauterized wound, or the searing fire of agony, had no idea where her thoughts were jumping to, she was so surprised by his words.

The door opened, and she flinched away from it automatically, into Birmingham, a sob tearing its way out of her throat as, unbidden, she imagined getting her elbows broke this time.

“The hell is this?” Richmond asked. “Directives were very specific, Birmingham.”

Birmingham patted her on the cheek as he disengantlged himself from her, thumb swiping across her lips before he was gone, moving around her to stand. “Because you have better things to be doing now, Richmond, is that it?”

Richmond snorted, and Kathryn wondered to what extent Richmond and Birmingham played bad cop and good cop roles out of planning, or out of necessity given their seemingly opposite personalities, vinegar and honey.

(Stop it, Kathryn ordered herself. Stop romanticizing-)

As if he could feel her thinking, She felt a booted foot nudge her in the back. “How’d you feel, girlie?” Richmond wanted to know.

Kathryn swore at him, but froze as she realized Birmingham had not removed the gag from her mouth. Hadn’t wanted to risk her blabbing his words to his coworkers? Or for some other reason? Her heart pounded in her throat as Richmond seemed to realize she was gagged, moving to stand over her to peer at her.

He chuckled, and shrugged, putting his free hand in the air as the other held a kit. “Hey, whatever, man. Do what you gotta do, huh.” He leaned his leg against Kathryn’s back Kathryn as he stepped back over her, and she shuddered away from it, because his tone and words were very different from Birmingham’s, and she did not like it, no matter what she did or did not feel about either one of them.

The door closed, and Kathryn flinched away from movement in front of her.

Birmingham was settling back down on the floor, watching her closely.

She stared back, unable to plead her case that she would keep her mouth shut while she was still unable to speak.

Still, something must have shown on her face, because he rolled his eyes and, while one hand caressed the side of her face, the other eased off the tape enough to let him draw out the gag. She tried to spit it at him, but ended up coughing instead

She coughed once more, then swore colorfully at him for doing that to her. “Ought to gag you while Richmond’s around, see what you think about it,” she grumbled, and as much as she wanted to refuse the water he offered, she didn’t.

“That is the opposite of foreplay,” he deadpanned, and his tone was so serious otherwise that she flinched a little as she looked up at him as she sipped water, but his eyes were dancing. He was making a smutty joke, she realized with jolt, and he suddenly sounded so much like her friend Ollie that Kathryn shuddered, choked a little and nearly aspirated water right back up.

“You’re not supposed to joke that way with your female captives,” she said, coughing a little but smiling nonetheless. “Didn’t they teach you that at asshole captor school?”

He snorted a little, but didn’t take the water in retaliation for the insult like she thought he would. He shrugged. “Might as well not make smutty jokes, especially about Richmond, around any of the captives, regardless of gender,” he muttered, seemingly to himself, as he reached down to pick up something from the floor and tuck it behind him into his kit.

His watch timer went off, and she handed him the water back automatically, but she was staring at him, at the way lines tightened around his nose at the sudden shift in conversation, at the way he himself had shifted the conversation, actually, now that she thought about it, and at the way he looked away from her as he took the water bottle. “He really is a pervert, isn’t he?” She wanted to know, her voice low and intent as she watched what part of his face she could see.

Birmingham looked up at her, sharply, but the door opened before he could say anything.

On impulse (whatever crazy impulse had gotten her here, so whatever), Kathryn reached over and grabbed the gag from him, cramming it into her mouth before pressing the tape back down over her lips.

He ran his hand down the side of her face, running his thumb over her lips as he got to his feet, but Kathryn turned to see that Richmond, and someone else had come in.

She heard someone else moving behind her, and Kathryn sighed as the hoist pulled on her wrists. Richmond moved around and unclipped her wrist restraints from the floor.

“You’re needed in A7,” Richmond said, and Kathryn felt her blood run cold even as she thought, at least this time she was conscious as the hoisting happened, able to stand up, slowly, carefully with the movement of it. It felt good to stretch her legs. The water and the IV were doing her a lot of good. Her knees were painful, but they no longer felt like gravel and ground glass. Her back ached, but no longer felt like ground meat.

Richmond was adjusting her chains, making sure they were connected to the floor, and Birmingham, kit closed and in one hand, caressed the side of her face, running his thumb over her lips.

Did Kathryn imagine it, or did he look at her, glance at Richmond, and glance back at her, before he left? She had no idea, but it set her teeth on edge, the not knowing.

She knew that the feeling she had of trusting Birmingham, whatever his motivations, were false, created, structured. He’d admitted as much. She also knew that Richmond was clearly the bad cop here, and so any of whatever she thought was going on could, and probably was, a set up for that continued psychological payoff, a compelling narrative to lull her into, to assure her compliance while she was here and…

But the good cop bad cop routine was used in interrogations, when intelligence needed to be gathered. Stupid as she surely was for it, Kathryn believed what Birmingham had said about his employer, about this not being an information grab, but a holding pattern until some mystery asshole’s conditions were met.

“What’s the IV for?” It was Australia’s light voice Kathryn heard behind her, who had come into the room.

Richmond reached up, and Kathryn grimaced as he pressed himself against her, chest to thigh, as she tried to lean away from him.

“Hey, hold the fuck still,” he snapped, grabbing her by the face, hand over her mouth, fingers grabbing her left cheek, thumb grabbing her right cheek to get her attention.

Kathryn did, because he was so close to her that his gesture to grab her had made him move against her, all the way down to her knees knocking against his, and it hurt like hell. Maybe she wasn’t as recovered as she’d thought.

“She got beat so bad Birmingham took pity on her,” Richmond called with a snort, looking right down into her face as he said it. He still wore his sunglasses, so she could tell nothing about him except that he, too, was white. Still, something in his tone was not at all nice, made Birmingham’s name and the word ‘pity’ into something foul.

“Isn’t that contraindicated by the directives?” Australia wanted to know, her voice a nervous flutter behind Kathryn. If she picked up on Richmond’s innuendo, she said nothing.

Richmond still held Kathryn by the face as he smirked down at her. He was much stockier than Birmingham, and just about as tall, which was only an inch or two taller than Kathryn, max. “So is the gag, but I’m not gonna fuss, you?”

Kathryn was suddenly glad the gag hid her expression because she knew men like Richmond, knew that outside of his role, this was who he was, what she was seeing.

There was a grimace on her face as she came to this realization, and she was glad he could not see her expression, glad he could not easily see as the lightbulb went off in her head. ‘Got you.’

He was bullying the more timid Australia, bullying her into bending the rules as he was, and he was bullying Kathryn herself because he could, because he liked it. She knew this kind of man, this kind of person, and Birmingham’s comment flashed in her mind, helping her put all the pieces together in a flash of insight so hot it seemed to burn white hot through her mind.

A moment before it happened, as Richmond trailed his free hand up her leg, her abdomen, tracing patterns up her throat, she knew what was going to happen as he traced the shape of the tape across her lips and pressed a hard kiss down over it, pressing his body more tightly against hers as the chains on her ankles and wrists prevented her from moving. But the chains did not stop her head from moving.

Kathryn was ready, could feel his grip on her face go slack as he tensed with other parts of his body. She slammed her head forward into his face, bloodying his nose for what, the second time in as many days? which he had brought far too close to her, lulled by her more vulnerable position since she had been in that chair.

Blood exploded in front of her as she heard, and felt, bone crack, in him. If you had practice headbutting, as she did, it wasn’t hard to mash the very hard plate of bone that was the forehead into the much more sensitive mess of cartilage and bone that was a person’s nose.

He swore and his knee knocked against hers as he backhanded her, and Kathryn screamed as her barely healed knee erupted in agony.

His mask was a mess of blood and gore and his sunglasses had fallen off as he hit her again, and again, and Kathryn was idly interested that he’d gone into punches rather than stay with the backhanding.

He yanked the tape off her mouth, after hitting her in the stomach, pulled the gag from her mouth, and kissed her, bruising her lips before she could bite him.

She swore at him, using every filthy word she’d ever heard in every language she knew, and he promised her terrible things, ‘later.’

It was just punches after that, though, until he caught her once in the face with a huge blow that split her lower lip, her right eyebrow, and cracked her orbital bone.

He must have felt bone crack, or just needed a break, because he paused, chest heaving. He moved forward enough to tip her chin up, to see the damage he’d done, Kathryn guessed he’d want to inspect his work, and so she was ready, spraying his face, and more importantly, his uncovered eyes, with blood.

He sputtered in indignation, tugging up his mask to wipe away her blood, and when the mask now lay too loosely to conceal his face, he just sneered at her, yanking the mask off and throwing it onto the ground.

He was a white man in his late fifties, maybe younger. It was hard to tell with all the blood she’d sprayed on him. He had ice blue eyes and was tanned, with a faint line in a line from the corners of his eyes to over his ears that meant he wore sunglasses often in the sun. He had a scar on his upper lip and another in the side of his neck. He had high cheekbones, and might have been handsome if he weren’t such a black-hearted bastard.

Kathryn was working up to another mouthful of blood, but he moved aside and grabbed her mouth as he’d done before, not letting her spit up on anything but his hand. He dug his fingers into her cheeks, forcing her to spit up her mouthful.

He wiped his handful of spit and blood onto her shoulder, before hitting her again, so hard she saw stars, across the other cheek.

This one wasn’t angled as correctly, so her other eyebrow split and although she could feel that he’d blackened her eye, the bone under that eye didn’t crack. She clicked her tongue at him as he took a step back, out of spitting range, reaching for something in his kit.

Kathryn was panting, but she felt better than she had since Birmingham had told her that there was nothing they wanted from her. That might have been true, Birmingham might not want anything from her, or whatever he did want was confusing to her, nebulous, some future offer, some future promise that one day she would be like him.

But Richmond absolutely wanted something from her, something that had nothing to do with the role he might have been assigned to play, and more to do with the role he played here, because he could.

Kathryn had been dealing with Richmond’s kind of bully for a long time. She scowled as something rose to the surface of her memory and connected with a comment of Birmingham’s. “You do this to Dan, too?” That had been the strangled voice she’d heard, when the door had been opened, whose name she’d heard, who she’d called out to

She was rewarded with real shock, then pleased malice on Richmond’s face at her question. She could see his entire expression, from the slight widening of his eyes as they dartedto something near the door, to a tiny, cruel smile on his lips, and she wasn’t sure if she was pleased or very upset to see that her instinct had been right.

He darted forward and grabbed her mouth again, pulling her towards him into a horrible kiss. Kathryn muffled curses into his mouth as he grabbed her by the back of the neck to deepen the kiss, and she wished her ankle chain were just a bit longer...she was so close to being able to knee him, but couldn’t quite do it, so she settled on trying to yank her body up on the chains so she could drive her elbow into his back when...

A high pitched alarm went off, and she was not surprised when Richmond glanced automatically at the watch on his free hand. He swore colorfully, but let her go and set about packing up his kit.

He kissed her again on his way out, putting his hand over her mouth to stop her spitting on him, but she got in what she wanted to say before he left her line of sight. “I am going to kill you,” she breathed, threat and promise.

He hitched a shoulder, but didn’t comment further. She sighed as the door swung open, letting her eyes close, and flinched with a cry of surprise as a hand ran down along her face and a thumb brushed over her lip, but by the end of the gesture she recognized who it had to be, and she had begun to shake so hard she could hardly see straight.

Kathryn couldn’t help it, she let out a sob of relief at seeing Birmingham’s face, his sunglasses perched atop his head and his gray gaze taking her in. She watched as he seemed to inventory her new injuries, and clicked his tongue at what he found.

He lowered her to the floor like before, but it wasn’t until he was running his hands over her head, arms, legs, that she sobbed again, began to cry in earnest, tension begining to ease from her body. “You should see the other guy,” she said, her head in her hands.

Birmingham shushed her, brushing the hair out of her face.

She felt something against her hands, and flinched, but he just offered the water bottle. She sipped, and there was no alarm this time. She frowned at him, but he shook his head a little so she didn’t ask. She set the water bottle down when she was full, and startled, but didn’t say anything as Birmingham detached the IV line from the empty bag above her, and replaced it with a new one.

He was cleaning her up, running antiseptic wipes along her hands, arms, torso, and face, making little sympathetic shushing noises at the cuts in her face, and he even put a bandage on the cut in her face, helping to close her poor cracked orbital bone, before running gentle, careful hands over her.

He had moved much closer to her over the course of his treatment, and as he wiped antiseptic down her back, shushing her as she made pained noises, he reached up to caress her face, ran his thumb across her lips, and breathed, “You got him to admit what he did to Jordan. His hurting them was not a directive from the employer. Richmond’s in very deep shit, thanks to you,” into her ear.

Kathryn shuddered at his words, because there was a lot to take in there, and she leaned into Birmingham as he murmured compliments and tried to let him assure her that she’d done okay, that something here had not been for nothing.

She must have dozed, but when she woke, Birmingham was still there. He seemed to be reading something on a tablet that was on the other side of his legs from her, blocked from her view.

Birmingham shushed her, running soothing hands over her as she woke, but Kathryn had other plans.”That gag was contraindicated,” she breathed, keeping her voice to below a whisper. There was apparently a camera somewhere in the room, by the door, if she had to guess, based on the way Birmingham had placed himself so far, with her always between him and the door.

He chuckled and caressed her face, running his thumb across her lips. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you love?”

Kathryn gave a shuddering sob of a laugh, because no, obviously, she was not. She was off the deep end, so off the deep end she didn’t know where that left her, so no, she was not going to rat him out.

“I am so susceptible to this shit and I am just so tired of it,” she sighed, not even caring that she rested her head on Birmingham’s shoulder, and that he not only hadn’t prevented it, but was gently rubbing her back in careful little circles that didn’t intersect with any injuries.

He chuckled. “Don’t you reckon those healing mutations make us even more susceptible to this kind of shite than regular people?” He mused, running his hand through her hair.

Kathryn sighed, but instead of answering, she heard herself ask, “Did you hit me in the solar plexus?”

There was a pause, before he simply said, “Yes.”

Kathryn nodded. She’d thought he had, the timing made sense, but she’d been curious if he’d admit to it. It fucked up his ‘good cop’ order.

She sighed, but couldn’t lean on him again after that. She had more play in the chains than she had before, so she rubbed her eyes with her hands. “I dunno if we’re more susceptible to it, or if I just have the worst decision making paradigm ever.”

He chuckled again, and shrugged, and she found herself almost looking forward to the predictable caress down her face and thumb across her lips in the split second before it happened. “For what it’s worth, love, I’m grateful to you for getting rid of Richmond for all of us.”

She turned to stare at him, her brain racing back through memories. The gag had been his idea, she’d thought to keep his safehouse secret but it had been the trigger that had made Richmond snap. “You,” she breathed, wide-eyed. “You set it up, on purpose?”

He tapped her on the nose, before shifting to remove another empty IV bag and replace it with another.

She put her hands to her lips, frowning as she thought about that, about his tacit confirmation. It wasn’t enough. She wanted to know more.

She glanced up at him, but it was impossible to tell read anything from his expression, which was all covered except for his eyes, which he’d deliberately uncovered. The coveralls and outfit covered up everything else. “How’d you know it’d work?” She breathed as he settled back down, her eyes fixed on him, hungry for any details she could get as he answered her question.

He shrugged as he reached back in his kit. She winced a little, but he offered her a stack of protein bars.

She sighed and tore into one, devouring it as she watched him. If there had been a rule against her eating solids, apparently the issue with Richmond had rendered it a moot point. She did not care.

“I didn’t. But I recognized you, from the Reserve of course, and the dossier our employer gave us, and knew that I’d have Richmond on shift with me…” He shrugged, but she saw his eyes tighten, muscles around his nose crinkle in what might have been a grimace as he picked up tubing or plastic that might have been from the IV bag and tossing them into his kit.

“The odds were decent, if you could push them a little into your favor,” she supplied, wanting more information on him, on Richmond.

He shrugged, reaching out to brush his fingers across the bandage he’d put on her face. She frowned, but he seemed satisfied, with the distraction, maybe, and caressed her face and ran his thumb across her lips.

She was ready, had just been using one hand to eat the protein bar, and dropped it as she grabbed his hand and in a quick twist, had his pinky bent back against the rest of his hand. One twist, and she could break it, easily. Another twist after that, and she could break his entire wrist. She had the leverage advantage, with him leaning forward to touch her, and the wrist restraints just gave her a very solid tool to use  as well.

He grinned at her. “You know I heal like you do, love,” he said, as if she could forget him stabbing himself.

She shook her head. “I know you heal like I do, so everything hurts, every time,” she reminded him somberly.

Her mean trick was rewarded by a snarl across his features, a flash of expression: a tightening across his eyes, a flashing there as he looked away, a quick intake of breath, quickly let out. “It wasn’t just you and Jordan he hurt, is that what you want me to say?” He asked, his voice very low, and his eyes locked with hers for an instant, and she felt his gaze jolt through her before he looked away from her. “I can spin you a lovely tale or you can take my word for it that I have not lied to you since promising I would not.”

Instead of releasing her grip on him, Kathryn tightened it for a moment as she processed the implication of his words. “You lied to me before that,” she said, her breathing picking up as she thought back through their interactions. It was hard, given that so much of her time was muddied by injuries and pain.

She hazarded an educated guess. “The blood draws. They’re useless.”

If he smiled, it did not reach his eyes where she could see it. He tapped her on the nose with his free hand. She frowned, and immediately let him go when she realized he was making absolutely no effort to free his hand from its precarious position in her grip. He either did not care if she broke his finger, or wrist, or was doing a very good job pretending not to care. Either way, she did not like it, no matter how she was ‘supposed to’ feel about grabbing one of her captors.

He reached up to caress her cheek, and rub his thumb along her lips, but stopped his hand part-way there, and let it drop.

Kathryn flinched, and did the gesture, but to him, using her right hand, her left clanking uselessly. He was close enough that she could do it, and he did not move away like he thought she might, especially after she’d threatened to break his bones.

She traced her hand up his face, mostly on mask, but let her fingers linger on the skin she could feel by his temple. She ran her thumb over where his mouth pressed against the white mask, and saw his eyes flutter closed at her touch.

Kathryn gasped at this reaction, surprised even by her own daring for touching him in the first place, and they were so close that she watched his eyes open, and then he took her hand off his face and set it back on her leg.

Kathryn sighed, and suddenly this was all too much, too new, too terrible, even too interesting, which was much, much worse than the pain that sparked like wildfires all through her body. She dropped her head into her hands.

When she woke next, it was to Birmingham’s low voice. “C’mon love, you’re all done.”

She flinched, not sure what he meant as he lowered the hoist, not having remembered being chained back up at all, but her legs were able to support her weight, with hardly any pain in her knees at all. She held still as Birmingham made shushing noises at her mutterd cursing as she flexed her shoulders, but he did not reach up to touch her face, which hurt somehow, which made Kathryn angry.

She gritted her teeth as he connected her wrist restraints to her ankle restraints via another chain that he held the leader of. “Not going to lie, love,” she said, mimicking his accent more deliberately now, as opposed to the way her vowels had been elongating, rounding out she’d been doing by instinct, mimicking her long-gone father’s British accent. “This is not my idea of foreplay.”

He chuckled, which almost made her smile, but then he drew black fabric from his pocket. She automatically backed up a step, putting her hands up defensively.

His eyes tightened in sympathy as he made a little clicking noise. “Sorry love. You’re getting out of here, so there’s a bag on your head. Rules are rules.”

She hissed as he drew the bag over her head, every muscle tensing for a fight, and so it took her a moment to recognize the hand on her shoulder as his. She drew in a shaky breath and forced herself to follow along, and to listen as hard as she could.

She was moved up a hallway, turned right, then left, then right again, oh shit were they leading her around on purpose? And then the bag was removed and she squinted in brightest sunlight as she was harried into a van.

Birmingham was there, the only person in the back with her as he threaded her ankle restraints into the loop built there in the back of the van.

“No parting injuries to sell it, huh?” She asked, but her voice shook too much for the joke to land correctly.

His sunglasses were back on, but she thought she could hear a smile in his voice. “No, love. Just a drop off. You’re free to go.”

Kathryn flinched, wanted to tell him to come with her, but she had no onearthly idea how to do that. Instead, she sat in the back of the van, their knees touching, and tried not to think of anything at all.

Kathryn frowned as they hit a bump in the road and she saw a flash of light in her peripheral vision. She flinched, and looked again, but the bag still covered her head.

“Something the matter, love?” Birmingham’s voice was quiet, but insistent.

Kathryn’s mouth had fallen open a little as he spoke. She saw small blue triangles coming from his direction. “What’d you lot give me to dampen my sound control?” She asked, her voice shaking.

She couldn’t see him, but she could feel the muscles in his leg tense from there they touched. “Apparently not enough,” he muttered, and before Kathryn could say or do anything else, he leaned towards the front of the van and banged hard, three times, on the separator between them and the driver.

Kathryn startled as the van began to change direction, and the slight screeching sounds of the tires might have been disturbing, but they were accompanied by the faint yellow sounds screeching tires always made, and Kathryn knew all at once that she had full control of her sound manipulation again.

The van screeched to a halt, and Kathryn did several things very fast. First, she yanked the bag off her head. Then, she gathered up the yellow screeching sound the way someone else might quickly gather tangled up earphones at the bottom of a purse, messy but effective. She twisted that power and slammed it into the metal ring that held her chains to the floor of the van. Free, but still chained, she lunged forward, using some of the light red, tinkling, clanking sounds of the chain to give her movement a bit of bite, she pushed Birmingham’s hands out of the way as he raised them.  She stood and leaned over him.

The van was slowing down now, coming to a sudden halt as a result of Birmingham’s signal.

She had the angle advantage on him, and her hands thrummed with the sound she could feel all around her, their heartbeats, the van’s engine, and more sounds, she knew, if she concentrated. But that’s not what she was concentrating on, right this moment.

She reached forward and tugged,yanked his mask down so she could see the bottom of his face. Slightly tanned, dimpled chin, stubble, a cut on one cheekbone. She caressed his face, brushed her fingers across his lips, and then sat back down, hard, on the bench seat across from him.

Less than two seconds later, the door to the van was opened from the outside

Birmingham was on his feet, mask in place, and pulled her to her feet by one elbow. Kathryn moved with him, and stepped down holding up her hand as they were in bright sunlight, the van pulled up on the side of the road. They were at the back of the van, shielded somewhat from passersby by the open van doors, but that would not last for long. One man, masked and covered like Birmingham, worked quickly to unlock the padlocks of her restraints.

Birmingham himself was rubbing his chin as he looked at her, but he reached back into the van and handed her a bundled blue...something. “Parting gift,” he said. He did not touch her as she took the shirt, and pulled it on as the chains on her wrists fell away, but he did say, “Be safe, love,” before he and the other man climbed into the van, and it sped away.

Kathryn blinked in the bright afternoon light as she tried to get her bearings.

“There she is!” The familiar teal voice washed up the street, and Kathryn sighed as she heard it, easing muscles that had not eased since however long ago that she’d been grabbed.

She turned and was nearly knocked over as Ollie hugged her fiercely. Kathryn returned the hug, but hissed a little in pain.

Ollie froze, stepping away from Kathryn, her wide, unnaturally teal eyes bright in her light brown face.

Kathryn just shook her head, and pulled her friend into a hug. “Watch some horror movies while I was gone?” Kathryn asked, feeling her friend shudder a little at the comment.

Kathryn sighed with relief. She could work to put this behind her, but they all had some work to do to figure out what was going on and who was Birmingham’s mysterious ‘employer…’

Sixteen days later, Kathryn found herself in Long Island, on the run from having been framed for the murder of her best friend. No one believed her, she could hardly believe herself what had happened (Ollie, dead…) Some part of her brain short-circuited just at the thought. She gritted her teeth and forced herself up the street, peering at the numbers on the houses.

Crescent street was full of fairly well-to-do places. Old homes, but in a nice place. She hadn’t been found because she’d left all her electronics in her room at home, and because she knew Karine well enough to be able to evade her.

Kathryn found the correct house, 2551, and knocked on the door. It was very late, but she had nowhere else to go. Her family had been gone since she was a kid. The people who had become her family all thought she had killed Ollie. Kathryn drew the collar of her coat further up as she waited.

She finally heard movement on the other side of the old wooden door, and frowned as she realized the door had no peep hole. A voice spoke, nasal, American, small blue triangles that sluggishly filtered from his side of the door to hers.

“When did Japan invade China, sparking World War II in the Pacific?”

Kathryn frowned, but said, “August.”

“When was Spartacus’ slave uprising against the Romans?”

She frowned again, but said, “87, BCE I guess.”

There was a slightly longer pause, then, “In what year did Gagarin make history?”

Kathryn said, “‘67.”

“The Exposition Universelle was held in Paris in nineteen- what?”

Kathryn spared a thought at the fact that the man’s French accent sounded quite good, before saying, “Oh-five,” and there was a pause, and then she heard dark gray thumps of locks unlatching.

She knew he had given her this information, but Kathryn was not at all expecting to see Birmingham barefooted, wearing a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting blue t-shirt, his black hair sticking up at the back. “It’s half past two in the morning,” he said, and the nasal American accent was gone as he looked at her.

She pulled a picture of Ollie from her coat and showed held it out to him. “They killed her,” she said, gritting her teeth as pain seemed to rip through her, trying to hang on so she could finish. “And they said I did it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know. Come on in, it’s freezing.”

Kathryn froze as she started just taking her first step towards him. She noticed that he had hair-fine scars on his arms, just like she did, and continued into the house as he spoke.

Birmingham grinned at her. They were nearly the same height, she realized as he opened the door and stood aside so she could enter. “Never got round to talking about my primary mutation,” he said, as if they’d met by chance at the supermarket once. “You ever heard of a power called precognition?” Kathryn stared up at him as the front door shut behind him.

[ofhoneyandrosepetals]

Aarhus Universitet - Ansuz Raido Ravens (5)

Pairing: Modern!Ivar x reader

Description: Y/N is a freshman in Aarhus University and, being the roommate of both Torvi and Margrethe, that gives her some privileges and intel on the university, as it on the leading fraternity as well, Ansuz Raido Ravens, the Ragnarssons’ fraternity. Eventually, she gets engaged up with Ivar, who happened to gather a suspicious reputation among girls.

Warnings: swearings, violence and triggering content.

Word count: 5.332

A/N: due to Tumblr’s links problems (that sincerely I don’t know if it’s fixed already), you can catch up with the fic in my masterlist, which is in my bio!

You were getting ready for Hvitserk’s birthday party, combing your hair when Margrethe entered the room. Even if you haven’t looked at her, you could tell that something was wrong with her - you could feel it.

“All cool?” You asked her casually, getting back to your hair. There wasn’t much you could do anymore but leave it that way. Your hair wasn’t a thing that you cared about that much, especially for a party; you only wanted it to look clean and nice.

It was looking clean and nice.

“No, it’s not all cool,” you sensed some mocking in Margrethe’s tone. You turned at her.

“What…” you try to start a question, but the hushed you.

“You are…” you felt a tremble of panic on her voice. “You are pregnant of his child,” she whispered the pregnant word and you froze. How could Margrethe know? “How could you?”

You made a quick mental list of who knew about that whole drama: you, Ivar, possibly all his brothers, Torvi…

“Torvi told you, didn’t she?” You ask harsh, jaws clenched.

“Damn straight, she did! What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?” You snap at her, feeling a storm inside of you. What was Torvi’s purpose on telling Margrethe this? “I wasn’t. I just slipped, and so did Ivar, but I’m not pregnant, Margrethe. I’m not,” you watched as her eyes changed.

“Even so…” she was whispering. “How could you do that to me? I tried to warn you…”

“I know, babe, and I’m so sorry,” you get up and try to reach for her, but she pushed you away.

“Don’t call me like that, and don’t come any closer,” you did as she asked. She was biting her lips. “She’s trying to mess with my head,” Margrethe cried out as she sat on her bed.

“Who?” You sat on your ankles and touched her knees.

“Don’t touch me!” She shoved your hand out of her knee. “Who do you think? Torvi, of course!” She covered her face with her hands. “How could you do that to me, knowing what happened?”

“I never had the intention to hurt you, Margrethe, I mean it…” she shook her head. “And… I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, but it’s my life…”

“I was trying to help you!” She uncovered her face. “When you first came in, I liked you! I thought that maybe I could have a friend in this hell place…” she sighed.

“And you have.”

“No, I’m all alone. Ivar terrified me; he still does. Stay away from him, Y/N, he’s bad news.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for that,” you said gently, smiling without happiness.

“I…” Margrethe tried to start. “I want you to keep distance from me. Please. This whole shit isn’t healthy for me, it’s toxic, and I want distant from all of this.”

You got her point, she was right. This whole situation was toxic, especially for her. You were toxic. And Ivar too. And Torvi. And all that environment. You don’t dare to tell her that you talked with Ivar about their situation, otherwise she would have accused you of protecting him, of being on his side.

And maybe she would be right.

You nod at her wish and your phone starts ringing; it’s Ivar. You get up, taking a deep breath.

“I hope everything goes good for you, Margrethe. I really do. But I’m the type of person…” she raised a hand.

“I don’t really wanna hear it. You should go to your party, I’ll be okay.”

You nodded and left the room.

*

You and Ivar were walking to his place while you told him what just happened. You saw he wasn’t feeling touched for Margrethe’s situation.

“They always disliked each other, but we never knew why,” he said in a logical tone. “Maybe they don’t work together to share the same room and that started it, or maybe it’s Ubbe, I can’t tell,” he shrugged. “But that doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does! Torvi made Margrethe turn against me, and she got a reason for that. And I wanna know why,” you said determined.

“You like her, don’t you? Why?” You shrugged.

“I don’t know, I just do. I kinda… feel a little pity about her.”

“So you want to protect her.”

“Maybe it’s that. She looks so vulnerable in this place, like a gazelle among lions.”

“Did you just called me a lion?” Ivar looked at you, hungry eyes and a cocky smirk.

“Oh, I did,” you pecked his lips. You could already see Ivar’s place and hear the loud music.

“I think I gotta something to tell ya.”

“What do you mean with ‘I think’?”

“I know you had drinking problems and I don’t know your position on drugs, but…” Ivar scratched the back of his head, as he thought on how to deliver you the news.

“But?” You pressured.

“You see, Hvitserk’s birthday party is a little bit different than the freshmen’s…”

“How different?” Ivar bit his lower lip and frowned his nose.

“The freshmen’s party is kinda related to college - the council - directly, so we gotta keep the drugs low profile for people to buy it. But when it’s Hvitserk’s birthday party, he bears all the drug costs, so what I’m trying to tell is for you not to freak when you see waiters around serving blow, weed, all kinda meth shit.”

You froze when Ivar told you that. You could handle the alcohol, but drugs were another section of your mind and body.

“You brought me to a fucking triggering party,” you whispered not looking at him, but around.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I forgot to tell you earlier…”

“But I agreed to come, didn’t I?” You said abruptly.

“What you mean?”

“It would be… all on me, not on you. I can make my own decisions, I can handle the consequences.”

“I don’t want you to get all fucked up.”

“I’ll be alright. Let’s go,” you got his hand and started walking.

You didn’t want Ivar to feel guilty or whatever shit; that was his life. He was a drug dealer, he had a drug empire at college, and you couldn’t change that. Of course you had a choice, but you chose to be with him, meaning that you would be around shit like that, and it depended on you, not Ivar, if you wanted to get drowned by it. You made a choice and, among and between that choice, you had a lot more to take.

As you got closer to the house you could see the colourful smoke all around the place, dense, the heavy music pouding fitting the view. Ivar opened the door without knocking on  it. When he opened it you saw that a girl was hired to open the door, and she was about to do her work, worried that Ivar hadn’t knock, dismissing her work.

“Don’t worry, I’m hosting it, you don’t have to open it for me,” she nodded, focused on her job, closing the door.

“Why can’t you sit?” You heard someone screaming over the music, trying to be heard. It was Hvitserk, completely wasted - already.

“Dude, what you’re doing?” Ivar asked him.

“Trying to tell her that she can sit! She’s like that for hours - don’t you ever get tired?” He directed the last part of his sentence to the girl. She ignored him like a robot. “C’mon, sit, why don’t you sit?”

“Bro, are you alright? What have you used?”

Hvitserk ignored Ivar and went to get a chair, coming back with it on his hands. He placed it beside the girl and was pushing her down by her shoulders, trying to make her sit.

“C’mon man, leave her alone, let her do her job, she was hired for that.”

“Yeah, I know, but she can sit, right?”

“She was trained for that, you dumbass, she won’t sit.”

Hvitserk pointed a finger to Ivar, then that same finger pointed to the girl. “You can sit whenever you want, honey. That chair won’t go anywhere,” she ignored him.

“Hey,” you started at Hvit. “Happy birthday, man,” his eyes wide opened as he realized it was his birthday.

“Oh, right, yeah! Thanks, cool chick!” He hugged you tight. “What can I get ya? We have Jell-O shots - with father’s special -, we have father’s special, vodka, beer, whiskey, liquor, all kinda drinks, we have dope…”

“I’ll just… walk around…” you dismissed drunk Hvitserk and pressed Ivar hand once to tell him that you were cool. You two split and you started to wander. You could hear Hvit saying to Ivar: “Man, that new crank I got? I’m way too high up the sky, that shit’s good! I’m fucking hallucinating, people are gonna love it!”

You hoped with all your strength that all the booze was drug free, because whatever Hvitserk had taken, you didn’t want it. His eyes were red, injected, his pupils dilated. You could say it was terrifying.

You found the Jell-O shots and took one, the familiar taste of Ragnar’s special drink. You took one more before asking the bartender for a Cosmo and started wandering around again.

People danced around you by the heavy music, people played beer pong, people played strip poker, people were betting and people were doing lines and more lines of coke. Sometimes you would see waiters serving ecstasy and LSD.

You took a deep breath.

I can control myself, I can stay out of this, you tried to calm yourself down. You weren’t really into crank - anymore, you hoped -, but it wasn’t that easy to control yourself when you were surrounded by it.

As the lights went on and off and the smoke got lighter in some spots, you could see Torvi in the middle of a hundred bodies, dancing closely to Ubbe. She dropping it down close to him, almost giving him a blowjob, then going up again, rubbing her body, her tits, on him. His hands were all over her body, her ass and boobs. You watched them a bit while you sipped your drink.

Torvi’s reasons on turning Margrethe against you, that’s what you were thinking about as you watched Torvi and Ubbe in the crowd.

The house was dark except for the heavy dark lights, red and blue, flashing.

“Hey,” you hear someone saying behind you. You turn to see a waiter serving joints. You looked at the skin and the weed inside of it. You pressed your lips against each other.

A flood of Manhattan memories came over your mind, and you wondered if the weed would make some effect - in the beginning it was like hell, but as time passed, you didn’t felt much things anymore, and you needed more if you wanted to get higher. You took a joint without thinking about the consequences and quickly forgetting how you got when you started to smoke it.

It’s been years, actually, since you stopped it, but you truly believed you wouldn’t be that bad.

“Do you have a lighter?” You screamed over the waiter. He handed you a black Zippo.

“Take it,” he screamed back. You smiled at him thankfully and lit it. You puffed. The taste felt familiar, yet a bit different. You puffed deeply as you saw the white dense smoke.

One joint wouldn’t hurt, right?

A little bit more of alcohol wouldn’t hurt, right?

A single line wouldn’t hurt, right?

You were used to it, it wouldn’t hurt, of course it wouldn’t. It was your choice. What could go wrong? You were used to all of it. Your body was used to it.

The dark flashing lights and the colourful dense smoke weren’t doing any good to your burning neurons. People’s shapes were changing. More people kept appearing. Sometimes disappearing. What you saw it wasn’t exactly what you saw and at some point a plant got too much of your attention. You felt heavy, ethereal.

You asked a waiter for water, and after you drank it you felt a bit better. “Do you have any candy?” You asked him. You weren’t yourself anymore, at least not your current self; you were the self from Manhattan.

You were the girl who got way too wasted and killed a guy.

The waiter showed up with your candy, a pink little heart. You smiled at him and put it in your pocket, texting Ivar. I need you, now, you texted.

Ivar took some time to find you, but he did it.

“You okay?” He asked worried.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, moving your body at the music’s rhythm.

“I’m fine,” you said smiling. “And I want you.”

“Okay,” he said carefully, a hand on your waist as the other was caressing your cheek. “What did you take?”

“What?” His voice was fading.

“What did you take?!” You laughed.

“I smoked, Ivar. I smoked and now everything is twisted.”

“Okay. What else?” Ivar could tell when people took more than one shit, of course; it was all his job.

“Blow.”

“You shitting me, right?” You shook your head.

“I don’t feel like that for years, Ivar. I feel awesome.”

“Awesome will be if you don’t od.”

“I never oded, Ivar, and I took way more than that back at US. Now join me,” you took the candy out of your pocket, showing it to Ivar.

Anyone could tell that he was trying to fight the urge to take it, but being surrounded by all of that was turning it a difficult task.

“We could split it! We won’t even feel it!” You said.

“So what’s the point if we won’t get high?” Ivar asked.

“C’mon…!” You put the candy between your teeth and bit it. Ivar took the other half, carefully, as he deeply kissed you.

The music got louder and your arms got tighter around him. You put one leg around his thigh and Ivar got you by your ass and pulled you up, so you could place your legs around his waist.

Holding you by your ass, the kiss grows deeper as your body moves against Ivar’s by the music. You feel him groan as he squeeze your ass and you tighten your legs around him.

“I’m gonna need you to come a little down so you can make that little dance over my cock, yeah?” He mumbles against your lips and you nod, your legs going to his waist from his hips. People were dancing around you as you were making out. Ivar was moving, trying to find somewhere where he could place your back against.

Your hands were wandering under his shirt, feelings the strong muscles of his back and chest, his smooth and hot skin against your fingers.

You felt Ivar’s phone vibrating on his pocket, but both of you ignored it, but whoever was calling, they were insisting.

“I should probably get it,” he said out of breath on your neck and you sighed, rolling your eyes. Ivar pressed you more against the wall so you wouldn’t need to come down.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but all that make out session definitely got you a little sober - it fucking won the drugs.

Ivar looks at you with eyes that you have never met, saying: “I gotta go.”

*

You insisted to go with Ivar; he resisted a bit but his boner let you go with him.

Now all the Ragnarssons were reunited at the pantry - a space way too little for all four big guys and you. Torvi wasn’t with Ubbe.

“Magnus plans a hit on us tonight,” Sigurd started.

“How do you know?” Ubbe asked.

“Connections, you moron,” Sigurd says impatiently.

“Why tonight?” Hvitserk asks drinking of his water, a quick way of getting sober. It wasn’t working that much, but at least he wasn’t acting like an animal.

“Because they would get us off guard. You got any more intel?” Ivar asks Sigurd.

“It’s not a big group, six guys maybe.”

“I think they will try to blend with the crowd so we won’t notice them,” Ubbe says.

“Six guys is a low number for a hit,” Hvit comments.

“Not if they don’t want to harm anyone who’s not involved. It’s a low profile hit. One guy for each of us, and two more backups. They’re counting on Hvitserk being completely wasted, so one guy could handle him. Sigurd’s not as big as us, so one big guy could do it. The backups would be for me and Ubbe.”

“The Big Ubbe,” Ubbe said cocky.

“And Violent Ivar,” he said with deadly eyes.

“What shit is that, some kind of street name?” You ask.

“We hacked their system some time ago and we found their archives on us,” Sigurd explained. “We discovered that the “Violent Subject” is Ivar; Big is Ubbe; Junkie is Hvitserk and I’m the Little.”

“Subjects?” You mocked.

“They’re from the technology college, they like to show off,” Hvitserk said.

“And what do they want?” You asked.

“Our drug empire,” Ivar said, pulling out his Glock 42 and checking for ammo. “They’re gonna need more than two men to stop me.”

You tremble at the sight of his gun.

“Do you… I never saw that you carry a gun with you,” you said carefully.

“Yeah, I pack all the time, I need to; but not with you around. I didn’t want you to be anywhere near guns, but…”

“But I’m with you and that means I’ll be around them.”

“Unfortunately. I was expecting something like that for tonight, they’ve be holding themselves down for quite some time. I’m sorry if you don’t like it…”

“No, I’m cool,” you wave a hand at him.

“I want you to be here, close to Ubbe,” Ivar asked as he put his gun on his back again. “Ubbe’s gonna stay here to make sure nothing happens. I’ll take Sigurd with me.”

“What about me?” Hvitserk asked.

“Man, are you serious?” Sigurd said to his brother.

“Yeah, of course.”

“You hold your shit together,” Ivar pointed a finger to Hvitserk. “Go check if that girl sat,” Hvitserk’s eyes shined and he got out of the pantry.

“What was that?” Ubbe asked.

“Nothing important, just Hvit being Hvit. C’mon, Sigurd,” and so Ivar and Sigurd left the pantry, but not before Ivar kissed you and whispered that he would be back soon.

You and Ubbe were left alone, meaning that you would be around Torvi, and that wouldn’t end well.

“Do I have to be by your side all the time, like…?” Ubbe started to laugh and shook his head.

“Nah, go have some fun, I got it. I was prepared for something too, that girl at the door isn’t a simple girl. She’ll hold any shit until I get there.”

You nod as you went back to dance with all that strange people.

Some good minutes had passed and, at some corner, you saw women writhing around a pole.

If at least Ivar was here…, you thought to yourself.

Then, keeping a watchful eye at the poles, you see someone familiar. Of course that woman was Torvi, upside down and legs all up.

You couldn’t tell if it was the curious and angry side of your brain talking or if it was all that drug, but suddenly you felt an urge to discover why she made Margrethe turn against you. You cared for that chick and she didn’t deserve all that shit.

You get to the pole near to Torvi and ask the girl there if you could try it out. She smiled and nodded. You passed by at pole dance - perks of a past life in Manhattan - and screamed over to Torvi.

“Hey!” She looked surprised at you.

“Y/N? Hey, girl, what’s up? I didn’t know you were coming! And I definitely didn’t know you knew how to pole dance; that’s so cool!” She was way too drunk, you could easily tell.

“Wanna grab some drinks?”

“Yeah, why not?”

You two headed to the bar, Torvi babbling all the way. While she ordered for her drink, you start: “You know, when I decided to come to Aarhus, I had no idea I would be dealing with nosy people. Especially bitchy nosy people,” Torvi looks at you with the corner of her eye.

“Is that supposed to be directed to me?”

“That’s exactly directed to you, sweetie,” you get closer to her when she turn around with her drink, her back touching the bar. Torvi can feel the tension coming from you. “I’m just missing one point in all that pregnancy story.”

“What pregnancy story?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you slap her, her face turning to the right. Some people around looked at you two, but nobody really cared. The bartender ignored you two. “You know what I’m talking about, you’re the reason why Ivar knew and you’re the reason that Margrethe asked me to keep distance from her,” Torvi started laughing.

“So all of this is about Margrethe? Really? Why do you care for that dumb bitch anyway?” You get Torvi’s drink from her hand and throw it through the bar, the glass hitting the wall behind her, then you pushed her against the bar, hitting her.

“You had no right to tell your boyfriend that you saw the positive test in the trash that day,” you said pulling her by the collar of her glittering shirt. “And you had no right to tell Margrethe about it too. It was my shit to handle, not yours,” your nose was almost touching hers. She didn’t say a word. “What’s that shit between you two, huh?”

“Not of your business,” she tried to shove you off but you grabbed her by her hair.

“It is of my business in the moment it affected me. This quarrel of yours affected me, Margrethe was my friend and now she’s gone.”

“It’s not of your business, you crazy bitch!” She cried out trying to get your hand out of her hair. You slapped her again and grabbed her chin so she could look at you.

“Why did you tell her?” You said slowly in a low voice. Torvi’s eyes were terrified; you were scaring her. She said nothing. “Why did you tell her?” You screamed. She closed her eyes as she talked.

“I want her to go! Okay? I want her to leave my room, but she wouldn’t go because of you! I saw, I knew how close you two were getting and, if you two became friends, she would never leave!”

“Why?” You said in shook.

“Isn’t it obvious? She hates me because I took her place! She hates me because I got to be Ubbe’s exclusive, she wants to take my place! That’s so obvious! She goes around campus and badmouth them, waiting for me and for other girls to get away from them so she could have all of them just to herself!”

“You’re crazy,” you whisper. “Margrethe doesn’t want anything to do with these guys, she hates them…”

“And of course you believe in her story.”

“I’m not pregnant, okay? You started this whole shit over a lie, a misunderstood. You’re a self-centered bitch, Torvi, do you realize that? Margrethe needs to go not because you hate her, but because of what you’ve done to her. She’s miserable now, and she needs to leave to get a new fresh start. For herself. She needs to leave for herself, and not for you. You just… you get your shit together and stay away from me,” you give her you back and starts walking away when she says out loud: “Get my shit together? I’m the one who got attacked! You know what? You and Ivar deserve each other, you’re perfect, you’re two murderous…”

That word messed with your nerves. She was offending not only you, but Ivar. You turned, looking at her eyes. “What did you say?” You started getting closer.

“Nothing,” her voice trembled.

“Nothing? So now you don’t get the guts to tell that to my face? You’re such a coward… I want you to repeat it.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, you crazy bitch…” and that was enough. You don’t know how you did it, but you lifted Torvi to the bar, making all the bottles and glasses to drop on the floor. You get on top of her, holding her with your knees as you searched for something in your pocket. “You’re gonna fucking regret it.”

You pulled out what left of your joint. Torvi was lifting her head but you drop it down back on the bar with strength. Holding her head, you say: “You’re gonna eat my fucking joint, you cunt!”

You forced the joint down her throat, making her gasp. She was grabbing your arms, but you’re stronger. You punched and slapped her, and if someone asked why you were doing this, you weren’t sure if the whole gossip and Margrethe situation was a good  excuse for such behavior.

But no one stopped you.

And so you kept hitting her.

*

Ivar was back with Sigurd, complaining about the situation.

“What the fuck was that? Was that supposed to be a hit? Magnus wasn’t even there and they ran like headless chickens,” Sigurd laughed.

“Yeah dude, maybe they had other intentions. If it was a hit, or a big one, I think that would be a big shit.”

“Maybe it was a distraction,” Ivar stopped.

“No, it wasn’t a distraction. If it was, it would went down pretty different. You could tell by their eyes, they were outnumbered in forces.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Let’s get inside by the back, okay?”

Ivar passed through the pool, hoping to see you there. People were playing some basketball under the water, girls on boys’ shoulders. Hvitserk lowered his guard and was now in the middle of the Chicken Wings Challenge: 20 hot chicken wings in 120 seconds.

“Up for a swing?” Sigurd asked him. Ivar looked baffled.

“A swing? Really?” Sigurd nodded. “Sig, my bro, trust me when I say this,” Ivar’s arm was resting on Sigurd’s shoulder. “You don’t want my girl. You wouldn’t keep up with her,” Sigurd shoved Ivar’s arm off.

“Fuck you, Boneless,” he said laughing. “I’ll just ask Ubbe, then,” and Sigurd left, screaming over his shoulder: “You have blood on your eyebrow, by the way!”

Ivar tried to clean the blood when he felt a little more concentrate crowd, and not a dancing one. He sensed trouble.

He followed the screams and the view got him surprised.

Y/N on top of Torvi, at the bar, fighting.

“I go out for one hour and that happens?” He says to himself. Ubbe shows up, losing his shit.

“You better control your pussy,” Ivar gave Ubbe a petty look.

“I don’t think I have one, brother,” he said tapping his cock.

“You know what I meant, now go break those two apart.”

“Why? I don’t want to; let them fight. Everyone knows that girls fighting are a bad thing by people’s eyes, we should let them have some fun.”

“Y/N will kill Torvi!” Ivar’s features turned harsh and his tone got deadly.

“In that case, we should let them continue.”

“What? Ivar, are you crazy?” Ivar kept his eyes on his girl and Torvi. “I tried to take Y/N out of there, I can’t!”

“And if you, Big Subject, can’t do anything, what can the little Boneless do?” Ubbe sighed.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m unbelievable?” Ivar turned to Ubbe, furious. “I just risked my ass out there to stop a possible hit while you got to be here and have all the fun. Maybe next time I’ll let us be all fucked up by Magnus, what you think of that?”

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting?”

“Little Ivar overreacting, as he always did.”

“You say that again,” Ivar pushed Ubbe by his chest.

“Little Ivar overreacting, as he always did,” Ubbe repeated. Ivar nodded with pressed lips and punched Ubbe’s head, wrapping his arms around his neck and making him turn down, punching his stomach.

People around them started to cheer and that got your attention. You looked over the noise, briefly forgetting about Torvi, to see Ivar and Ubbe all tangled together, fighting too.

Getting advantage on this, Torvi pushes you and you two fall on the floor. You reminded of Torvi and hit her head against the floor, making her body stops and her eyes shut. Your eyes are wide open and you don’t feel any more response coming from her. “Torvi?” You try. Nothing. You shake her shoulder. Nothing too. You try to hear her heartbeat: it was there.

“Oh god,” you mumble and get distant from Torvi. You made her pass out. “What did I do?” You started crying, not being able to breath.

You get up, hands up your chest. All you wanna do now is leave. Getting to the entrance hall, you see the door girl and the chair at her side. “Are you going to use that chair? No, right?” You ask her and sit. “I feel that I can’t breath,” the door girl looks at you.

“What are you feeling?” She asks professionally.

“I feel like I’m fucking panicking and I can’t breath,” you said desperately.

She started to make breathing exercises with you which, after some time, helped you to get better. You saw Sigurd running through the house and after a couple of minutes the cheering noise stopped.

“What happened?” You asked the girl.

“I don’t know. Are you okay? Are you feeling better now?” You nod. “Okay, good. Just rest, I’ll come back in a minute.”

She came back with a glass of a water. You thanked her and sipped the liquid, slowly.

And then Ivar came in, a bloody mess.

His hair was loose and messed, his knuckles were bruised and he got blood on his eyebrow, nose and lips, all cracked open. You got up in a jump and went for him to hug him. “Ivar!” You sighed against his chest.

“Come, let’s go to my room.”

You gave the door girl a thankful look and she smiled at you.

*

Ivar was sleeping by your side, quite peacefully, his chest going up and down in smooth moves. Once you two were in his room, he helped you clean yourself and you helped him. He told about Magnus hit - or the lack of it - and you him about your fight. “Don’t take it too seriously, you were high, it was the meth talking.” You wanted to believe in his words, god knows you wanted to.

But that was just you.

A fuck up.

He told you about his fight with Ubbe. “Just a normal shit, that happens a lot.”

Once you two were clean from all the sweat, dirt and blood, Ivar took the big spoon spot and held you close to him, you letting his body heat take care of you.

“I’m so sorry for that, I’m a fuck up,” you whispered kissing his knuckles.

“I’m a fuck up too.”

You two were silent for minutes and more minutes before you asked him: “What will happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“With Ubbe and Torvi.”

“With Ubbe it doesn’t matter, we always fight, it’s not a big deal. But Torvi? Damn, you showed her a point, she’ll definitely be out of your way. Maybe she will even move out.”

“Will she… press charges?”

“What? No, she’s not crazy; we can’t have police involved, mainly in an event like tonight. The INCB and SKAT would have a fucking party, really. Don’t worry, you’re safe. Though she’ll probably move out, but it’s fine, really. Don’t worry about that, you need to rest.”

You wanted to ask Ivar one more thing, but he fell asleep. And you couldn’t do the same.

Taglist:  @mblaqgi @akamaiden @dangerousvikings @oddsnendsfanfics @deepdarkred @irishhiggins @tinypuppysoul @kingbouji3 @i-war-s-boner @capitanostella @loothbrok @noaor @thehuntress26 @sassymcgonagal1651 @hoodirwin5 @attorneyl @collecting-stories @certainobservationwasteland @dreams-in-different-colours @3x5gurl @readsalot73 @thisisparadisemylove @action-adventure-and-cheesecake @titty-teetee @cutiedaij @austenkingmylady @ivarthesweetheart @golden-pickaxe @lokis-sunflower-anna @bill-istvan @cynthianokamaria @hallowed-heathen @fuckthatfeeling @huffelpuffers

[thefantasticm]

Establishing Angst in AGBM

I am by no means a master of angst or conveying tension, and a lot of the times some of what I write that affects people the most was completely incidental. But I do try, and meet varying degrees of success depending on the scene. Here are some dank tools/things/advice I use and constantly keep in mind in order to help crank up the FEELS, and can apply to pretty much anything if you want some ideas as to how to do so.

1. Showing and Telling First thing’s first: ‘Show, don’t tell’ is absolutely ATROCIOUS advice. It is vague and unhelpful and wrong. Some things must be told. If everything were shown, every story in the history of man would sink to the bottom of the ocean, weighed down by a bloated scrotum of tedium and pedantry. There must be a balance, and yes, showing should be favored, but never to an extreme. I personally aim for a 70:30 ratio when it comes to showing and telling in my writing. It is a good ballpark to aim for because landing at 60:40 is still fine and 80:20 is also perfectly readable. Falling to 50:50 and below is where things start to get... bad. Anything below will usually be noticeably boring to even unpracticed readers. When it comes to conveying angst and tension in writing, emotions are key (so Cage has the right idea, but his execution is... well). It is fine and good and proper to tell the reader what the character is feeling, in simple terms. Yet it is something that must be balanced, as we’ve established. It is not enough to say “Hank was sad.” We must say “Hank was sad ABLOOBLOOBLOO.” And by ABLOOBLOOBLOO, I mean describing the physicality of that reaction. We’ve all been sad before, know what it feels like, so describing that churning gut, that beating heart, that sinking feeling - all of it helps to establish that sadness, and can make the reader feel it in turn. Maybe Hank will lash out with that sadness in an unhealthy attempt at emotional release. Maybe he’ll think about wanting to drink, or holding his gun, etc - and describing all of that becomes a showing of where that emotion takes him, depressive, reactionary thoughts that the audience can relate to. I say all that, but it’s also sometimes okay to just say “Hank was sad” and leave it at that. Sparingly, mind you... And exactly when those moments are most appropriate is a whoooole different discussion. 2. Third Person Limited This is less advice and more... information, since something like this is really at the mercy of the writer. Everyone has different preferences for how they narrate a story. I personally despise first person narration, I adore second person (in short bursts, it’s hard to carry a longer story with it), third person objective can be interesting or the exact opposite, and third person omniscient... well. In my very humble opinion, there is no easier way to suck all the emotional tension out of a story. If you are trying to tell an emotional story, third person omniscient is just... heinous. It can be great for grand, sweeping adventure stories, but when trying to establish an angsty emotional creep? Noooo fucking thank you. Holding the audience’s hand when it comes to how every character is feeling, giving information too freely - what a great way to remove any and all emotional stakes! Pick a character. A. One (1). Beyond that character, there can be no ‘outsider’ information. Everything must come through that one character’s eyes. They can infer, they can guess, they can assume the feelings of other characters. They might even be right most of the time! But the audience must never be told this through any other means. Which is why... Keep the narrating character uninformed. Nothing can dispel tension faster than certainty. Emotional tension and angst is most readily mined in what is uncertain. And God, this is such a fucking pain in the ass with ROBOT characters - not impossible, but fuck, I digress. Hank’s emotional hang-ups and struggles become more real and relatable when he does not know what Connor is thinking - when he projects, when he guesses, when he assumes. Hank does not KNOW Connor is in love with him, he simply perceives it, and convinces himself it is true, and thus convinces the audience. They see only what he sees, what he observes, and even when Hank is oblivious to it at the start, the audience is given the room and space to fill in their own conclusions because Hank does NOT know everything, and so when Hank has his ‘realization,’ the audience is even more convinced than he is! Absolute 9000 IQ shit, I know (it’s not). And so when Hank falls away from what he convinced himself of, which is separate from what the audience knows, it’s a little... gut wrenching? No, Hank, don’t doubt it! He does love you! But Hank can’t hear your screams from where he is... And when he comes back to it, when it is far more obvious, it has a much stronger effect. Can you imagine how fucking boring that shit would be if Hank was absolutely 100% certain Connor loved him from start to finish? Jesus. However, it’s important to give the audience a bit more to work with than just everything the main character perceives. Bits and pieces that the audience will pick up on, that the main character technically observes, but is something they do not out and out notice or give much thought to. Not every insight can and should be shared between the main character and the audience. The audience should have just a bit more information that allows them to draw conclusions that characters in the story might not otherwise think of. Which leads us to... 3. Dramatic Irony Mmm... Dramatic irony is just... *chef kiss* Mwah! It is beautiful and glorious. This is what makes the collective sphincter of an audience shiver with fear. I would not say it is my bread and butter, and good angst needs it not, but when it comes to a hard hitting tragic turn of events, no tool will smack an audience in the face harder than dramatic irony. Quick rundown: Dramatic irony is when the audience knows something the characters do not. Some of the most memorable tragedies make use of dramatic irony. Romeo and Juliet? The audience knew Juliet was asleep, not dead, but Romeo... did not. Oedipus? We know that’s his mom... Oedipus... Oedipus no! Dramatic irony is so powerful because the audience is given time to sense the impending doom but they are powerless to do anything about it. They want to stop it, but cannot. Helpless to watch things go wrong. The cold sinking feeling of your heart dropping to your feet. Dramatic irony can be hard to handle, since it will have little to no effect if you cannot get the audience invested in the story and the characters. It is also difficult in the sense that it can become somewhat silly if it is made too obvious. If the feeling of ‘oh god, x is probably going to happen’ comes too soon, the tension when it happens will not be as strong. On the flip side, if it comes too late, or god forbid, it’s not picked up on at all, it will fall flat. Not saying I did it perfectly by any means, but I did try. If you are looking to pull any sort of twist, or just fuck with the audience in general, dramatic irony is a great way to do so, without being hamfisted and preachy, or sudden and purposeless (like Alice being an android).

4. Repetition This is also highly personal choice, but over the years in writing I’ve found that pieces in which I used repetition tended to have better reception than those that did not. Repetition, whether it’s purely through language (which is mostly what I do) or theme, can help really really really drive home a point or emotion to an audience. Repeating certain phrases. Or just one word. Maybe a character says something they said once in the beginning of the fic. Of course, all of this must be done in moderation, and the timing of it has to line up with whatever you are trying to convey to the audience. Sometimes the ‘thing’ you are trying to convey can even be nebulous and mysterious, but then the point becomes to make the audience think more about it, which makes them more invested, which makes the hurts a bit hurtier... I do this a lot by repeating questions. What would he change? How had they arrived at this point? Honestly when I put it out like this I feel a bit silly, and it doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for some, and that is what matters. Mostly... it works for me! 5. The Short Short Long ‘Something was holding him back, a lump lodging itself in his throat. He thought of Connor at home and the way he called him Hank, Hank, Hank. There was nothing unusual about it, but beneath Wilson’s scrutiny it felt private, it felt intimate, and Hank could not find it within himself to lay open something that all of a sudden felt so profoundly raw.’ ‘Connor was the one that was embarrassed. Intensely so, to the point it had rubbed off on Hank. This was not a situation he would normally give much thought to, but Connor’s reaction made him feel as if he had done something wrong, as if he had broken some unspoken trust between them; and as he stood there watching the android, so human in the smallest of ways, Hank felt dirty.‘ ‘Hank wasn’t sure whether he dreamt those words or not. It felt like he did, with the hazy dreams that followed. In them, it was not Hank who left, but Connor - the one that could not be held down by the words that boiled in Hank’s chest but lacked the strength to be spoken; the outline of his body as he stepped through the front door, bathed in sunlight, warping the vision of him until there was nothing left.’ ‘In what capacity? It didn’t matter, did it? Hank needed him and his chest felt light; how easy it was to admit it now, all of a sudden, as if the past ten days, those agonizing ten days, had never happened.’ ...Get it? I’m not sure if this actually does anything. But I like it, so I’m putting it in. Long Short Shorts are also valid. Really the idea is that the rhythm of the tension suddenly gets much faster in the final point, thus making it seem more desperate, and driving it home more. But. I could just be imagining things? Hmm... 6. What Remains Unsaid Sometimes a character will want to say something, but doesn’t. Or they’ll think something, but say something completely different. Or they will infer a hidden meaning, unspoken sentiment, from another character. The things that aren’t said should still be told to the audience! However you want to do it. As much as these things can work in comedy, so too can they work in angst. It’s a very simple thing, but this can serve to drive up the tension, and have the audience clench their teeth from it. Deceptively simple! The feeling of ‘just say it, dammit!’ is a near universal one and should not be ignored! 7. DURRRRRRRRRR MUH CLICHE There is no such thing as an ‘original’ story anymore. You can add your spins and your twists and your little tweaks, but the fact of the matter is that every ‘core’ of a story has already been written. There is NOTHING wrong with cliche. NOTHING. Themes and plots and twists that are common are common because they are usually effective. Anyone who insists otherwise is... as much as I’d like to call them stupid, I really would, what they need is to be educated. The reason people tend to shy away from ‘cliche’ is because when it is done poorly, it is often excruciating. It can be really awful. But one should not shy away from cliche for the fear of doing it poorly. Embrace it! Write it to the best of your ability! If a ‘cliche’ is where a story leads you, then it’s not wrong! Why did I include this? Because most of all this fear of cliche applies strongly to angst, sad tropes, tragedy, etc. After that? Fantasy adventure stories and romance. 8. The High Highs Angst is worthless without a counterweight. Personally I think I’m god awful at writing fluff, but you will never be able to write good angst if you can’t squeeze out some manner of happy scenes. And going back to point #1, you have to show at least one of these happy scenes. It doesn’t have to be over the top. It can even be bittersweet. Hope over happiness, in case you don’t want to go full joyous. Once you start really getting into the angst the happiness and the hope will likely start to diminish, but I say it is usually a good idea to leave ONE good upwards scene interspersed in there somewhere. My final hopeful scenes in AGBM were Connor returning from Washington DC, and to a lesser extent the beginning of their final argument. I used a lot of loaded language in that small span of time to make the drop-off even worse, but that is an entirely different post...

9. Never Reward Your Readers Never reward your readers. Never reward your readers! NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS!!!!

Tell your story how you think it should be told.

NEVER REWARD YOUR READERS.

10. Alliteration Doesn’t actually do anything. I just like it.

[thedeliverygod]

1, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 16, 20, 28, 29, 37 for the ask fic meme!! :)

oh my god lol thank you

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

fluff. flufffluffflufffluff. I just tend to write cutesy romantic things with some comedy thrown in. 

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

coffee shop au lol. I made Kairi work in a coffee shop in my post-canon story but an au based off of it, I haven’t really had any good inspiration. I guess it doesn’t help that I don’t actually like coffee hahah. but I do like the atmosphere in coffee shops regardless. 

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

uuuuhhh I mean I’ve somewhat played with the idea of a Kimi no na wa/Your Name AU especially because of @paperypiper‘s art lol but other than that I don’t think I have many ideas floating around.

5. Share one of your strengths.

dialogue. always dialogue lolol. 

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

idk if you’d even consider this prose but idk I feel like I just really nailed Sora’s feelings of growing older here in a way that’s relatable but also heavily tied into the canon storyline as well

‘I can’t believe Ariel and Eric are married and have a baby now. I mean… it’s probably been at least four years since I’ve seen them, so it shouldn’t be too surprising.’ He let out a small sigh, closing his eyes, ‘Everyone’s been moving forward while I’ve just been stuck in place. Wonder how long it’ll take before I manage to catch up?’

There was no doubt that he was making progress back at home, but he’d still missed so much and he was never going to get that time back. That was what bothered him the most. As for his friends on other worlds, he supposed he was going to have to get used to feeling like he’d missed out on a lot. The more time he spent at home was less time that he spent out on other worlds and vice versa.

He let out a small laugh to himself, ‘It’s funny. Time was probably the last thing on my mind just a few years ago. Now I can’t stop thinking about it.’ He flopped over onto his stomach, ‘Maybe once I get used to “boring” life back at home again, time will go slower. Like what Donald was talking about.’

He hoped so.

Pushing himself back off the bed, he stood up and moved to the window. Sliding it open, he closed his eyes and inhaled, listening to the sounds of the ocean and the seagulls flying above as he remembered the words Riku said in the realm of darkness, ‘At least the waves sound the same.’

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

ooooh boy this one’s gonna be hard…

I think I’m gonna with this drabble where I sort of came up with the back story for the little table that block’s out Yukine’s light so Yato can sleep. I rarely like going back and “adding” scenes to canon but for some reason this one just felt right. And Yato hit me in the feels even though I wrote it myself lol.

Yukine inhaled sharply and felt his face start to get warm, “You more than any one should appreciate that, Yato. I’m trying to make up for everything I did but it won’t mean much if I have a master who goes around and does the same shit.”

Yato lowered the pillow, mumbling, “I get the point.” He picked it up and placed it back under his head, “And I do appreciate it.”

“But you won’t change.” The regalia turned over, his back to Yato.

“I’m trying.” He answered quietly, more to himself than to Yukine, “I really am.” After a minute of staring up at the ceiling, Yato finally slipped out from underneath his blanket and moved to the corner of the room.

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

I Can’t Quit You is really hard for me because of the nsfw content lol. But also Good Enough and I Can Barely Say have both had their difficult moments because I’m not always too familiar with the situations and feelings related to them that I write. Good Enough I also tried to do a lot of research about life/school/etc in Japan to make sure I can give somewhat of a sense of authenticity but I’m sure there’s some inaccuracies still. 

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

lol tbh I don’t think it’s ever easy. but Somewhere In Between, I somehow managed to crank out 15k words in 3 days which is more than I’ve like ever done in my life so I guess I’ll say that one.

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

yatori has taken over my life and I’m fine with that. The growth of their relationship and their familial roles with Yukine are just too pure and I love everything about them. 

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

being A L O N E (which hardly ever happens these days which is why I’m struggling), not having any responsibilities for at least a few hours (another thing that’s hard to come by these days), and a nice warm, sunny day. sometimes I’ll sit outside and write but sometimes it’s just nice to know that it’s nice outside lol. I often put on an old nostalgic movie to have on in the background as well. sometime i’ll do music, sometimes not.

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

@scarfblogs is amazing in everything; dialogue, description, ideas; everything is so good I cannot. also the best person I love her

@thatsnicebutimmarried‘s writing is just so whimsical and humorous and foidsjfsf. major inspiration for years and so glad to know her/that we reconnected through tumblr 

@hafuriyuki captures Yukine to perfection in both fanfics and RPs, but other characters as well. I always get hella excited when I see alerts from AO3 for updates because Nana’s works just always make me feel warm and fuzzy or left on the edge of my seat. 

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

okay realll talk idk if I would trust myself to do or not but one of my favorite unfinished stories is Simple and Clean by Candy-Mog. It’s probably one of the most re-read fanfics of my life lol. This was back in the day before Kingdom Hearts II, there were so many good fics that tbh canon KH2 was a bit of a let down lmao. but mannnn I loved this fic to pieces so if I had to choose one, it would be this one. 

37. Talk about your current wips.

just the 2 which you guys know about. The titanic AU I’m writing for the noragami big bang and the one based off “Quit” by Cashmere Cat ft. Ariana Grande. 1st is going to be more of a collection than a cohesive chapter-ed fanfic, 2nd is basically a smut fic with some feels and it’s going to take forever to write because I’m not too great at writing such things yet lol.

[sixmorningsafter]

76 Theses

Oh hey there, Gabi. Long time no see. Hope your summer is going well as if I don’t already know because I follow you on Instagram, and I hope your med school prep isn’t destroying you I’m going to grad school in the fall, so girl I can only imagine. EDIT: GIRL HOW DID YOU POST A CHAPTER TWO DAYS BEFORE YOU MOVED AND STARTED OVER IN ANOTHER PLACE FOR FREAKIN’ MED SCHOOL

LMAOOOO FWIW I didn’t start over, I literally moved like 30 minutes away (and my family did a solid 75% of the work because what are big over-involved Puerto Rican families for). Summer was GLORIOUS. And 6 months ago, loooooool, I’M THE WORST. But you’re the best. This review is the best. Hope you’re crushing grad school (I know you are instinctively but I also know you are because I’ve talked to you about it and despite your humble nonsense I can tell you’re killin’ it). ANYWAY, diving on in to this literary masterpiece of a review:

Anyways, let me start by saying, literally every time you post a new chapter, I think “I’m ready, let’s go”. But literally, every time I read a new chapter, I am not ready, and you slay me every single freakin’ time. Dude, I have no clue how you do it, but every time, I die. Any more deaths, and I’d be a freakin’ Winchester.

A/N: looooool that’s incredible because every time I post a new chapter I think ‘this is it, this is where everyone realizes I don’t actually know how to write, it’s been fun’. But in all seriousness, girl, the fact that you make a point to send reviews after every chapter and go into detail like this is just–like honestly it’s reason enough to crank out 30K words of my bullshit. Not even kidding. If literally no one but you read this story I’d still write it because getting your hilarious whip-smart reviews are life. It’s so appreciated. It’s so appreciated.  

Off the bat, while you may believe this is a “filler” chapter, it is a damn good filler I wish I could write filler chapters as nicely and uniquely wtf. If you meant filler as in full of wonderful delightfulness, then yas girl this is the filler-est of filler chapters. Because if you meant this is some fluff piece that has nothing of substance, if you thought for once second that we aren’t thriving off the Bamon drama of the Steroline giggles, we’d all have to chase you out of town good thing you’re already moving.

This chapter is amazing, and on a personal spiritual level, I still can not get over your similes. I know that sounds silly and amateur, but while you’re hella awesome at metaphors, your similes, dude, are unique af, and every single time I write something that barely resembles something you’ve written, I’m staring at my screen like what the actual fuck is the nonsense? Sooooo, rest assured, this chapter is awesome (to be explained in great detail), and you’re awesome too (also to be explained in greater detail).

LMAOOOOO CASSIE I HAD TO LOOK UP WHAT A FUCKING SIMILE WAS HELP ME WHY AM I HERE. But DUDE, I actually have some words to say about this, the first ones being - GAH. Thanks so, so much love. I’m beaming. The second ones being - I ALWAYS think they’re weird when I write them. Seriously. Like that feeling you said you get when you try getting creative with a description is the exact same one I get -ROLL WITH IT. I had to learn that by just sucking it up and posting shit with unusual descriptions and then seeing what kind of feedback I got for it (which tbh makes it sound like I’ve been doing it for a while lololol but I actually just recently started challenging myself to get more creative with my descriptions for things). It actually came from constantly reading writing with cool imagery (Six of Crows was a great one!) and realizing that they never fell back on tired/common metaphors. They always used something unique (Kaz’s voice being like dry leaves scattering across pavement or w/e? Lmao you know how I felt about the constant descriptions of Kaz’s voice but I loved that one). I’m clearly nowhere near that level but I’ve definitely taken to stopping a few times while writing and going, ‘Wait. This is a chance to come up with something cool. Slow down. Do better.’ Cause tbh I have no instinct for it. I don’t think in creative metaphors or similes or whatever. But if I labor over it for a minute or two I can maybe come up with something, so yeah, THE POINT OF ALL THIS BEING - it probably sounds a lot better to a reader than it will to you. They feel and read unnaturally to me because they don’t come naturally to me, lol, but the people reading probs don’t know that so trust yourself! Do it! Knowing you and your talent they’re probably incredible.

Okay, so, in an attempt not to be mundane, let’s go through this fav line by fav line please forgive me if I just rewrite the whole chapter because ff.net doesn’t let you copy/paste

“She remembered feeling alarmed, a little helpless, like a plastic bag caught in the middle of a hurricane” (us FL girls can spot one another from miles away) (but also???? great simile). Poor Damon, but also poor Bonnie. This girl is just tryna help—it’s the core of her being, tbh—and this boy is too proud. Not like proud-proud, but that oh-shit-I’m-exposed proud. You know.  A/N: AMERICAN BEAUTY REFERENCE WHADDUP. Lol I was channeling that plastic bag shot at the end of the movie. Granted there’s no hurricane in that but you know, us Florida girls put hurricanes into everything. And yeah, that’s a great read on Damon. His pride/confidence is something he uses as a shield more than anything, which isn’t to say it’s fake exactly, but more so something he relies on to stay detached and not really have to deal with things. It’s easy for him to be like ‘world sucks, I don’t care’. Anytime anyone sees below that confidence/armor, though, it’s really destabilizing for him because it makes the reality of his fears/anxieties harder to ignore, ya know?

Kai calling out “Friends?” is the most relatable thing. He’s a murdery little bean.

“And sure, maybe she’s being a giant, hypocritical pot to his doesn’t-deal-with-childhood-trauma kettle…” Yes girl, these lines are really awesome. Also, I like how Bonnie recognizes the cycle right away. She’s like ‘been there done that broseph’.

“Do you have any pop tarts?” this girl asks. Lol when you stress eat. Btw, we never find out if she got them??? I need answers???? I feel like Kai could 3D print pop tarts if he needed to.

“Toodles”: I had a friend (loose usage of the term) in hs who used to say that, for real, and it’s funny ‘cause she was this gossipy diva (Bekah?) and reading this just sent me back. Also, toodles is such a passive-aggressive thing to say, especially for Care. I don’t think toodles has ever been said without the backing vocal of ‘I hate you please die’.

“… the prospect of going through the whole song and dance made her bones ache, it was so tiring.” FINALLY, CAROLINE, YOU’RE FREE OF THE CURSE I can tell not really, but, at least, we’re getting through some of that warding doe. RIGHT!? Lol I was excited to put that bit in because it was sort of my attempted nod to everyone reading that it was okay (actually encouraged!) to feel frustrated with Caroline’s constant mood swings because she herself hated them. They weren’t meant to be read as a some ‘fascinating complicated girl’ thing, you know? I feel like a lot of shows (esp. with male writers) like to write these female characters that are difficult and volatile for the sake of being ‘interesting’ and I kind of wanted everyone to know that I wasn’t going for that. Caroline’s coming from a place of fear. She knows what she’s doing isn’t fair. She knows it’s angering and more trouble than it’s worth. And even more than that, she hates it just as much as everyone else does, and by the time we hit chapter 16, she’s finally too drained to listen to that frantic instinct to self-preserve. She just throws caution to the wind and lets it go. It’s still scary for her but what can you do. But you’re right, she’s getting there!

***Side Note*** when is Tyler gonna be a thing, I need some sma Tyler in my life rn Me toooooooo he’s my husband. He should be popping in for 18 or 19!

Stefan’s recap of what happened, “you planned the homecoming dance at the same time as the football game”/”False” is great. I really love your back-and-forth dialogue, like always, ‘cause it’s natural and it’s funny as hell. Idk, when I write it (or sometimes when I read other people’s), it doesn’t have that same fast pace hilarity. Maybe that’s just me. It’s definitely just you cause I’ve read your dialogue and it’s hilarious, but one thing I’ve found that super speeds up dialogue is removing the dialogue tags. Seriously. Makes a world of difference. Like I don’t think it’s even possible to write an extended snappy exchange with dialogue tags tbh, cause your mind will just naturally slow it down to read the description. Half the time I go back to edit, I’m just removing unnecessary dialogue tags or descriptions that felt needed at the time. It helps if you can pick dialogue that sort of speaks for itself in terms of how it’s said, too (and realizing that once you’ve set the tone of a conversation, you really don’t need to keep re-emphasizing that tone - it really only needs to be addressed if there’s a shift imo). Also, I’ve kind of found that leaving out subjects can both make dialogue sound way more natural and also speed it up. Like even in the example you used below: “You’re ridiculous”/ “Effective” / “Terrifying”/ “Productive”/ “And impressive as hell” it wouldn’t read the same if it was: “You’re ridiculous.” “I’m effective.” “You’re terrifying.” “I’m productive.” “And you’re impressive as hell.” See how it slows it down? And throw in dialogue tags and it’s even slower. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. “I’m effective,” I countered. “You’re terrifying,” he replied. “I’m productive,” I quipped. “And you’re impressive as hell,” he concluded. To me that just completely changes the speed/flow. So yeah, there’s my unsolicited advice on snappy dialogue, lolololol.

Caroline’s interjection: “Systematic overview” lol

“You’re ridiculous”/ “Effective” / “Terrifying”/ “Productive”/ “And impressive as hell”—ooooo, Stefan! Your heart-eyes are showing! 

***Side Note*** so, uh, are we ever gonna find out what Stefan allegedly did? Muahaha yes. Kind of. Iz cute.

His deadpan face eased into a smile—one of those twinkling, warm ones that reminded her of honey spilling off a spoon—and predictably, annoyingly, her stomach did a flutter—gold. I feel like you can really get away with lines like this when it comes to Steroline because a) Caroline is a writer and b) Stefan is a Disney prince I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU USED THAT BTW I’M GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF BUT DUUUUDE LISTEN I have so much fun writing in Caroline’s PoV because I can write things in a way that I can’t with other characters. I think you’ll see a lot of that in 17 when Caroline dives into her Matt history. And Stefan’s fun because he’s such a fucking sap so I can get as dumb as I want. He has a scene in 17 where I’m like ‘jesus christ dude get a grip’. Damon’s my annoying son because he’s closed off as hell so I always have to keep his thoughts muted and on-the-brink-of-something. Bonnie probably comes the most easily. Anyway, there’s my response to a question that was never even asked.

“It was the elephant in the room, big and obvious and floating over their heads like a light-up blimp. None of this frothy, chit-chat matters, it read in a glitzy, scrolling marquee, waving its animatronic trunk, y’all are fake.” … Does it ever get exhausting? Knowing that you’re literally the best at this metaphorical imagery thingies that need an actual name so I can use it and throw it in your face like, look at this gabi, think about what you’ve done? I almost cut that out because I thought it would feel random! See? That was one of those ‘pause’ moments where I almost left it as ‘the elephant in the room’ and then was like ‘you can do better than that’, and then after I extended it I was like ‘that sounds weird as hell but whatever roll with it’. So roll with yours, girl!

“An awkward beat passed as they regarded each other in the bright, exposing overhead light”/ “the lighting too clinical for such a personal conversation”. So, recently, coupling physical and metaphorical description has really been my jam, and I am so totally digging this. I have this weird thing where I feel like the lighting has to be soft for intimate conversations and if it’s not I’m like not in the right headspace for it, looool. So I’m glad you’re weird about that with me!

“[Katherine] was tough. Cynical. Her arms would lock tightly around him, jaw set, damning the world and the fucked up people in it.” Nice glimpse at the infamous Katherine Pierce. Can’t wait for a possible cameo from her in the future. NYE! Hopefully. I might be overselling NYE.

“Melted, really, like a clock in a fucking Dali painting.” Ok so like, do you Google this shit or is your brain just going a million miles a minute, coming up with stellar ways of impressing us (me)? Like jfc Gabi, calm down. LOOOL okay that one was instinctive because I compare legit every melty thing to a Dali clock. My sister’s cat has no bones and liquifies into whatever space she inhabits and we call her a melted clock.

“Floaty, useless goddamn feathers” this is cute i’m fine

“The Tylers” mention: Tyler believes in love? Is Tyler a Stefan, and that’s why Defan gels? Does Tyler have a girlfriend or boyfriend or a something?!?!? How cute! I feel like the best way to describe Tyler is like… surprisingly well-adjusted. Like he definitely had some shitty things go down in his life (abusive dad), but he had a loving mom and an unexpected support system in Damon and Katherine and because of that, he’s grown up to be this easy-going, confident guy. He’s definitely got a wild streak because of Damon and Katherine, but even when he went out with them they always kept an eye on him, always kept him out of the real dangerous stuff. He grew up loved. So when it comes to romantic love, he’s a casual optimist about it. He’s not some heart-on-his-sleeve romantic, but he believes it’s out there. His issue is kind of that he gets along with everyone (one of those types), so no one’s really knocked him off his feet yet love-wise. “The Carolines”: oh shit, called out. I love that he can read her like a goddamn book even though they aren’t anything under the surface at all. Like that just shows how good he is at this. Yessss, love that interpretation. I kind of wanted to emphasize how much he has everyone pegged so that it would heighten the contrast to how much he keeps having to redefine Bonnie.

“She’d cracked his varnish”—nice—“so thoughtlessly, like it wasn’t something he relied on”—oh shit—“and for what?/ “For shits and giggles? To see if she could?” Like usually I can handle these lines I’m lying but how sad and fucked up is it that Damon thinks Bonnie was only kind to him for something. I totally understand his mindset (like get where he’s coming from), but jfc honey, Bonnie is the Hufflepuffiest (which kudos btw for using the house for both ships, nice nice, I’m honored on behalf of us honey-badgers) and she literally didn’t try to help for anything. He def. struggles with the idea of people being kind for no reason. AND YAS GIRL HONEY BADGERS UNITE! KINDNESS EVERYWHERE! YOU get some kindness. YOU get some kindness! ERRBODY IN DA CLUB GETTIN KINDNESS.

“He scoffed again, shaking his head—worry. Concern./ “Unwanted things.” CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IS THE SHIT, MAN. All us writers out here (or just me idk) are screaming and, probably totally weeping.

“Her eyes looked a little buggy in her magnifying goggles, hair in a mess of curls, and instantly, unwantedly, he felt a bit of the cool distance warm right off him.” Oh silly boy. Like you can actually resist how adorable Bon-bon is. Also, love nerd!Bonnie, can she come back some more? I’m going to incorporate it into 17! I think. Lmao I will now.

“It means I don’t need you to fucking fix me.” Yikes, dude. I always worry that those mood-shift lines aren’t going to pack enough of a punch so I love when you single them out.

“One little emotion glitch”… It’s really interesting you put it this way. Stefonnie are all heartstrings and mush, and Daroline are very ones-and-zeros, very programmed­-and­-defined. And this ties into Kai’s “logic” speech, because while these no-strings-attached sillies think they can avoid what makes us all human, they’ve got another thing coming. These fools are just as sappy-feely as their romantic counterparts. TRUEFAX.COM I wanna change the story description to just that ^^ 

“Relax.” IF THAT SHIT ISN’T THE MOST ANNOYING THING EVER I HAVE NO IDEA HOW BONNIE DIDN’T DECK HIM RIGHT THERE. Not to call him out, but my boyfriend does this whenever I get worked up, and I’ve warned him, next time he tells me to relax, he’s getting hit. I literally read Damon’s “relax” in my bf’s voice, and I got so irritated. (Great job). I THINK YOU MEAN YOUR FIANCÉ WHHHAAAATTTTTT

“Your blood type was ‘tequila’.”

“Does that bother you” / “Not as much as it bothers you” OOOO GIRL EXPOSE HIM YAS another line I hoped packed a punch.

“Cat, is he lying?” lol when do they actually name her Never.

“Casually vibrant and loose” reminds me of sunshine for some reason. Sunshiny Caroline is my fav.

“Bonnie’s Caroline. Spirited. Brassy… A hell-raiser with a sparkling stare and a laugh like a bell.” Stefan, babe, stop.

“Badgering the witness!” LOL I’m using this in b&b, you’ve been warned, bye DO IT.

“Memory Lane was closed.”/ “Detour to Platonic Avenue”: good, good, keep it up. I love how they end up talking about it anyways? And it’s lowkey a daroline convo, but without a doubt, Damon would flirt it up, and it’d probably end in more sex, but these two goofballs I swear: “Told you I was the class skank”  and “it takes years of training” but also “No room left behind” “Nothing is good enough to make me forget about how much I hate heights” / “I am” OH SHIT IT’S GETTIN’ HOT IN HERE. But also????? Excellent example of what I was saying (re: daroline convo); Caroline lapsed into her natural, flirty confidence, not even realizing GIRL HOW AREN’T YOU REALIZING how something so saucy, that would naturally turn on Stefan, can’t be said so casually. HAHAHA honestly as I was writing that I was like ‘careful what you wish for steffy bear’ because like you said, that is natural Caroline. She’s confident, flirty, vibrant, etc, and if Stefan was already falling for the prickly, self-preserving version, how did he expect to survive this one, you know? I don’t approve of these characters’ dumb ass decisions I just write them.

“You’re Lawyer Dangerous-ing me, aren’t you?” and “Wow, I ruined you.” Love it. I feel like Kol pulled this shit on Caroline, and she lowkey trusts her brother, so she fell for things like this all the time. LOOOL Kol’s such a menace.

“You didn’t think you were Buttercup, did you?” / “That’s embarrassing”: I love sma Stefan so much. I liked tvd at one time, but that’s for another day lololol we’ve discussed this.

“Ugh, montage love” I’m sorry Gabi, are you in sma too? ya know every now and then I have to insert my frustration with how dumb everyone is.

“Was it real if the sun started to fade after a few years? Was it real if the gravity weakened and he had to struggle to stay in her atmosphere? Was it real if another planet got pulled in, too, one he could never see because it was always on the exact opposite side of her, moving in tandem with him, eclipsed by her glow?” Shit, girl. Like, go home already. Gah, thanks love. Another case of ‘pause. Think. You can do better.’ I’m telling you, you just have to roll with it!

“I don’t regret a second of that” oh Stefan, you lovesick fool

“I’m like a human Bermuda Triangle” love

“Just give him the Disney Prince look” and the process of him going through it, and him being like, “This is just my face” I’m dead.

“Danger Zone” lmfaoooooo, followed by “Whatever, Piss Pants”. Sounds like a classic Caroline x Kol moment Honestly, it was so nice to write them just having an easy convo, lololol. And TOTALLY a Care x Kol type exchange. Oh, Kol. I can’t wait to write him over the Christmas chapter(s). 

“Bonnie knew the ball was in her court to be the bigger person” to “…they all made her feel caught between telling him that everything was going to be okay and asking him if he wanted a gold fucking star.”/ “Unfortunately, the latter seemed to be winning out.” Okay, so I have to admit this: this “petty, four-year-old” Bamon is a little shamefully like me and my boyfriend. We’re like the diluted version of bamon in this fic. I’m the nerd/caring one, my bf is the cynical/well-read one, and we’re both petty af, and our form of affection is kinda like bamon’s back-and-forth. I mean, we’re not as fucked up at all, but idk, I see parts of our relationship in bamon, which is why they are otp does that mean I think ryan and I otp? maybe but I don’t like being gross. Anyways… FIANCÉ RYAN. CASS IS GETTING MARRIED Y’ALL. I OTP YOU GUYS ENOUGH FOR THE BOTH OF US SO IT’S FINE.

“Must be depressing” / “Don’t worry about it” / “Just means it doesn’t matter” / “Because isn’t that the human way?” Ooooo this shit boils my blood this is the kind of crap ryan pulls sometimes omg but moreover, this baiting thing is so aggravating. Say what you want to say and be done with it! WEDDING BELLS AND RIIIINNNIIINNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG LMAO literally any mention of you and Ryan’s going to bring that response out of me bye

“I mean, didn’t you tell me last night that your biggest fear is that something’s wrong with you and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else figures it out?” and Bonnie’s internal monologue “her head was caught in a hum as she tried to shake off the burn of hearing her biggest insecurity thrown in her face, casual, smug”. I got to admit, Gab, you really know how to write ‘em. Like I was literally hanging on every sentence like oh. My. GOD. DAMON WENT THERE.

Side Note: this whole scene had me all sorts of fucked up, and like damn girl, you really know how to write ‘em. Like I felt for Bonnie. Not in a personal way, but like having someone just throw your deepest fear in your face? Someone who you were just warming up to? Like shit.

GIRL thanks so much, that scene definitely took some tweaking. I always stress about those moments because it takes me so long to get a sense for exactly what kind of mood I built (cause I’m almost like… already in the mood when I start writing it so I don’t actually know if I built it or not? Like if someone who wasn’t me would feel it through the writing alone? Does that make sense? I always try to explain this and fail). But anyway, gah, so glad this pulled you in. Like it’s one thing to try and be funny and fail at it (my life) but for some reason it’s way more nerve-wracking to me to try and be dramatic/intense and fail at it. 

 Kai’s crème-bru-yay is like opening Pinterest and seeing the first promoted post lol.

Damon’s “would it kill you to stay for one dessert” and her “it might kill you”, which I translated to “I might kill you, you fucker” Exactly what it meant.

The Bon/Kid talk. Nice. I love how it parallels to the Care/Stef talk earlier (dunno if you did this on purpose?) Nope, but I’m going to pretend I’m put-together enough of an author to do things like that and say of course.

“I don’t even know what your vulnerabilities are, Damon!” Have you read Lee’s “Parachute” bamon fic. Damon asks, “Do I ever say anything I don’t mean?” and Bonnie says something like Uh yeah, you say whatever will bother people the most. That. That is so true, and I didn’t realize it until I read it in her fic. Noooo, I haven’t, but now I really need to!

He was a friggin’ serial killer and they’d played right into his game Jesus fucking Christ they were all going to di—I love how off the rails Bonnie’s thoughts are. Like she’s stilly lowkey pissy at Damon, but at the same time, she’s like we’re gonna die. LOL that’s why Bonnie’s the easiest for me to write, because I too am often balancing serious emotions with cracky off-the-rails thoughts. 

“I’m sorry but what the everloving fuck, dude?” So, first, amazing line lmfao; second, amazing scene, my friend. Damon, somehow, talking Kai down? Like who would have thought? “Not a good look, man.” I’m dead.

Jk that line is getting it’s own number. Just reading it makes me think that Damon must’ve said something like this to Tyler. Must have. Like, maybe Tyler’s talking about how he got into a fight at school, or maybe about how he screwed things up with a girl—idk idc, big brother!Damon is a good look. Toootally! I was 100% channeling big bro!Damon there, and I definitely hoped people would connect it back to Tyler. Tyler’s just someone that Damon wants better for, you know? Like him and Katherine take him along on their wild rides but like I said earlier, Damon definitely doesn’t want him to live the same kind of life or make the same kind of mistakes/sacrifices he’s made. So I can totally see him steering him off that path if he senses him heading down it. And just in general, so happy you liked that scene. It was one of the scenes I was most pumped for ‘cause I live for feels, and I thought it showed really cute sides of both Damon and Kai.

Kai’s fun fact about Dante, and Damon’s plain, “Bummer” lol.

Kai’s “Did you mean what you said earlier…thinking I was cool…?” I seriously don’t know how you made a serial killer adorable but how dare you :D

“Boyish, almost, like he was some angsty teen she’d walked in on listening to Britney Spears”, oops you did it again I’m hilarious my friend, you played with my heart for fantastic similes. Like, this one just epitomizes what you wanted it to, this sheepish, caught-in-the-moment-of-a-good-deed kinda thing. Like, Gabi, stop Yeeeesssss that was exactly what I wanted to get across but I wasn’t sure I got it across so YAY. Goes to show you. You never think that of your own stuff. Idk why this review response is turning into a giant PSA on cutting yourself some slack with your own writing but CUT YOURSELF SOME SLACK WITH YOUR OWN WRITING PEOPLE.

‘you are so much more than you think you are, you piece of shit’—see, that’s my kind of “terms of endearment”. LOL mine too.

Caroline vs. Cat, illustrated by “Are you trying to die?” is very much like me vs. a cat except I’m super allergic, so I’m doing the dying LOOOOOL love ya, Cas.

“Stefan!” She blustered out of her room with a scowl, padding down the hallway in Bonnie’s too-small Gryffindor slippers. First off, Caroline calling Stefan. Secondly, Caroline calling Stefan to be a meditator between her and the cat. Thirdly, why does Bonnie had Gryffindor slippers if she is clearly (eh) Hufflepuff (she could easily be Ravenclaw tbh). LMAO so I made them Hufflepuff at first and then I remembered Bonnie had a Gryffindor shirt and I thought it’d be funny for her to just randomly have paraphernalia from every house because she can’t decide who she is and goes through phases where she’s super convinced she’s one house and then it changes a few months later.

“Tide of amusement”/ “Wash of endearment”: teach me your wayssss I read that as ‘teach me your waaaavvveeesss’ we’re both hilarious

“Saint Stefan”: I really like (and appreciate) that Caroline is the one calling him this. That it’s not some jealous brother, but some girl who blatantly misunderstood him and is coming to the conclusion that maybe this savior complex isn’t as bad/ingrained as she thought. Honestly even just reading ‘jealous brother’ gave me such TVD PTSD. Gross. I’m with ya, girl. 

Stefan’s advice, “Dazzle him with that Rebekah charm” literally is the most Dad thing I’ve ever seen lmao

“Demon.” / “Demons everywhere.” Lolololololol

“Do your thing. Give me the sisterhood spiel or whatever Hallmark collection it was you were planning on plagiarizing.” Well shit. I’d probably pay to hear Damon and Rebekah’s verbal sparring. LMAO Damon vs. Rebekah would be amazing. I feel like they’d be fast friends, which makes me laugh because Kol would totally idolize Damon and yet him and Rebekah would loathe each other.

“But more importantly… Tiffany will be social media stalking you every inch of the way, seething with jealousy, so take a lot of pictures.” I love how she gives the realest advice, and then brings it to Rebekah’s level lol. I feel like big sister!Caroline is something we were deprived of and didn’t know it. Hahaha you know Rebekah would totally ignore that shit if it didn’t circle back to making her nemesis miserable. But sister!Caroline is definitely something I want to do more of, so I’m so happy you liked that side. Christmas time will give her and Kol some quality time (and Mama Liz!)

“I’m going to need some tea,” she says lmao.

 Oh this is the thing I was talking about when I referred to Lee’s fic: “he’d know before he’d even opened his mouth that he was going to hate what came out” and “why the hell had he even gone there? He could’ve just told her he needed space”. Very similar. You guys had the same revelation. That’s rad - I definitely have to go read her fic. Lee’s writing is always brilliant.

“Unfortunately, the hole he’d just managed to dig himself into had an echo, and the only sound in it was the disbelieving crack in Bonnie’s voice when she’d confronted him about bring up her parents.” Right in the heart.

“But maybe she thought he was a megadouche” he cares what she thinks! “Maybe she was waiting for him to prove that he wasn’t.”

“You missed a spot” / “A harsh spray of water cut him off from the pull-out faucet she’d shot straight at him”—if this petty shit isn’t me & ryan CAS AND RYAN ARE GETTING MARRIEDDDDDDDDDD

“And mean.” I love that tack on, it’s so childish, but epitomizes how she can’t even stay mad at him. “Very, very mean.” Their childish bits are my favorite parts to write. It’s in full-swing in 17.

 “I just had a really shitty week last week.” Oooo glimpse into the past. Like Bonnie’s with the Enzo/Klaus mention. More of that ahead!

“And don’t stop calling me kid.” / “It’s cute and I like it.” Can they just kiss and be together already omg You would think but everyone in this story is stupid.

“And he was struck by the most bizarre impulse to kiss her” see, even Damon knows!!!!

The “pep rally” / “I was actually a cheerleader for a bit in college” convo. Classic Bamon

 “Try not to do anything secretly heroic while I’m gone.”

“Maybe he was allergic to pep” / “maybe he was high on it” Damon and Bonnie sitting in a tree… D-E-N-Y-I-N-G

THE ALMOST STEROLINE NAME DROP I WAS ACTUALLY GRINNING LIKE A MORON WHEN I READ THIS MUAHAHA it was so stupid and I cackled writing it.

“I think I need to talk about Matt”/ “And I think you should probably tell me about Elena”. What? Caroline Forbes is talking about exes? Is doing something healthy that’ll further her relationship with Stefan? THERE IS SO MUCH PRIDE IN MY HEART – Also, I think this was a great way to end the chapter ‘cause it’s super cliffhanger and also super like a tvd episode, you know? Great, excellent, fantastic job! RIGHT? LOOK AT HER GO! She’s ready to confront some things! And because I took six months to reply to this and have the benefit of actually having the scene written now, I can tell you that she’s really going there. Saying things she’s never said out loud. It’s a hard scene for her. But she’s determined. So it makes me so happy that you’re proud of her (I’m proud of her!), and hopefully the next chapter will make it a little clearer why she is the way she is (and why it took her this long to get there). Also, YAY for show-like endings! You know that’s what I’m going for ;) TBH that’s a large reason why the chapters have gotten so long - I want like a whole episode in a chapter with a beginning, middle, and end, and I want them to set up a story for the next one, and for four central characters that usually ends up taking me about 8-10 scenes, loool. So I’m glad you like it that way, too ;)

Okay, so this is longer than I hoped, but I’m sure you won’t mind. Take your mind off med school, off the whole moving thing. Anyways, thanks a bazillion for being this awesome author that interacts with her audience, who puts at least 1000% percent into this fic when, really, you don’t gotta, and ya know… thanks for fulfilling the need everyone has seen tvd died (there were only 6 seasons right?)

Definitely only six seasons. And girl, psh, thank you for making all of the things you listed above worth it. Seriously. You guys make writing this story a legitimate joy - I literally have you in mind when I write. I anticipate who’s going to like what. Whose going to have a problem with what. And it makes me a better writer. Seriously. Anyway, you’re as lovely and witty and talented and kind and weird and wonderful as ever and I expect detailed updates on you and Ryan’s royal wedding every week and NEVER EVER APOLOGIZE AGAIN FOR WRITING A LONG REVIEW WHO ARE YOU KIDDING YOU’RE MY SUN AND I’VE SAID THIS BEFORE BUT I’LL SAY IT AGAIN IT TAKES ME FOREVER TO RESPOND BECAUSE I LEGIT CAN’T THINK OF A REPLY THAT’S WORTHY SOOOOO THANKS FOR MAKING MY LIFE K BYEEEEE

[ifartconfetti]

(idk if you want any number but imma send some anyway) 3, 16, 21, 35 & 45 for Magic (which verse is up to you I guess ?)

Isnt it a little to late to wonder if i answer random asks. Just. Yanno.  3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

Family support is extremely important to him so I kinda don’t dare to give him anything but a good upbringing. Bc hes my boy and I don’t like characters being all sad. Especially since Magic has these issues of desperately needing attention and appreciation and if I took this from him from the start he would turn out to be a really desperate attention seeker from any source possible  with no selfworth. And that is harmful.

Most fond memories are related to Amra taking a day or two off to just have some exciting family activities and trips rolling. She works a lot, and he is a mommys boy so these memories are kind of sacred.

Bad memories would be invalidating related. Most of the time he just rolled with gender, but the moment he identified 100% as a guy his hobbies suddenly became too girlish, too flamboyant and kind of problematic. It’s kind of a bad experience for an early teen to have people suddenly treat you badly even though nothing really changed. Why is it suddenly bad that he isn’t a rowdy boy? Why is it suddenly bad to pay attention to your looks and care for your body? Why is it suddenly bad to like pink glitter nail polish? And that was a big contributor to why he was such a moodswingy clusterfuck his teen years. It was a weird limbo of wanting to get accepted by his peers at any cost and wanting to send a big fuck you to the world. 

16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it?

Friendships. But that’s too easy lmao.Magic is generally not too big on material possessions, I mean he is the kind of kid who lost every figure of every boardgame he ever owned and grew up filthy rich. It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate it but when you have the option do get things at any given time they kinda lose their value.He’s a big hoarder in video games, especially with money. He’s big on MMOs and he has to make sure all of his characters look absolutely stunning. He’s the kind of max-level roleplayer guy who owns all the fancy shit somehow.He’s not too big on material possessions but he has a weakness for useless mundane stuff like bird feathers or seashells and he is embarassed to tell people about it so he mostly doesn’t. Hobbies that could get seen as weird and boring are locked away. He’s only loud about his flashy hobbies.

All the shit he collects like some kind of nature hoarder mostly gets forgotten after the trip it was collected at. He never really does anything with it, and especially doesn’t want to display it. It’s just the fun of collecting and finding sweet stuff.

He does have a weird knack for dumbass Tees and band tees. He also more or less collects these little festival arm ties. But these fall into the category of loud and flashy hobbies. 

21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper?

Magic doesn’t really have bad temper. He might collide with other people when something “You said something that doesn’t bode with my ideals and that insulted me but you didn’t say it because you are mean-spirited” happens.  

Magic is not a very patient guy in general. He can be, especially when he wants something from someone. But with himself? Not really. I want to be good at that thing now and not learn it, geez. With other people he’s way more patient though.

When he seriously loses his temper it gets ugly really fast. He will take all the weaknesses he has collected from just observing and talking to you and try to backstab you with that knowledge. And the worst is that this is soemthing you can’t just fire back to because his skill is talking and he will talk over you. So you just have to deal with him ripping your entire confidence apart. But he’s mostly hot steam so when the other person looks seriously hurt something just ‘clicks’ and hes back to normal and realizes that he just lost his entire shit and is sorry. But it takes a lot to make him go that way. 

35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure?

His guilty pleasure kind of plays into his useless items collecting habit. Oh and he also picks his skin and gets a disgusting satisfasction from popping zits of blackheads. He knows he shouldnt. But. He also probably enjoyed the Twilight series, which is a sin in itself.Pop music isn’t really a guilty pleasure bc he’s not afraid to crank it up to any goddamn overplayed pop song. 

His unguilty pleasure is sex. He likes it, he’s not afraid to ask for it. He has no real shame regarding questions about it. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about the social stigma. It doesn’t have to be as complicated as people make it be, yanno.45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

Depending on the other people’s personality he either is someone who can sympathize with without even really knowing him or he is the most annoying piece of shit they know. You know, he has a kind of Youtuber personality? He acts like he wears his heart on his sleeve, which he really doesn’t, but you just have to make people believe that you do. 

He’s a total socializer who manages to never tell too much about himself. You know the entire fear of getting rejected for who you are makes you really get good at reading people and adjust his information output accordingly.

How he sees himself is kind of a weird issue. He tends not to think about himself, he lives to entertain other people. This really bites him in the ass when he is suddenly met with the question of “What do I want to do my entire life?” Do I even know myself?? What DO I want to do with my life?? I guess I can talk to people and I’m halfway funny? People wanna bang me i guess? Are those Character Traits ™?

[liketotallydest]

Harry Styles' New Direction A year in the life of the One Direction star as One Direction's Harry Styles goes deep on love, family and his heartfelt new solo debut in our revealing feature. Theo Wenner for Rolling Stone January 2016. There's a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you'd passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below. Theo Wenner for Rolling Stone The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as "tousled," he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetly threw up, the spot became a fan shrine. It's said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of "Harry Styles." A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. ("Didn't read it," comments the nonfiction Styles, "but I hope he gets more than me.") But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash's Paul Simonon: "Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.") Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head. "Honest," he says, a year later, driving through midcity Los Angeles in a dusty black Range Rover. He's lived here off and on for the past few years, always returning to London. Styles' car stereo pumps a mix of country and obscure classic rock. "I didn't want to write 'stories,' " he says. "I wanted to write my stories, things that happened to me. The number-one thing was I wanted to be honest. I hadn't done that before." There isn't a yellow light he doesn't run as he speaks excitedly about the band he's put together under the tutelage of producer Jeff Bhasker (The Rolling Stones, Kanye West, "Uptown Funk"). He's full of stories about the two-month recording session last fall at Geejam, a studio and compound built into a mountainside near Port Antonio, a remote section of Jamaica. Drake and Rihanna have recorded there, and it's where Styles produced the bulk of his new LP, which is due out May 12th. As we weave through traffic today, the album no one has heard is burning a hole in his iPhone. RELATED See Harry Styles Play Mick Jagger, Perform New Songs on 'SNL' We arrive at a crowded diner, and Styles cuts through the room holding a black notebook jammed with papers and artifacts from his album, looking like a college student searching for a quiet place to study. He's here to do something he hasn't done much of in his young career: an extended one-on-one interview. Often in the past there was another One D member to vector questions into a charmingly evasive display of band camaraderie. Today, Styles is a game but careful custodian of his words, sometimes silently consulting the tablecloth before answering. But as he recounts the events leading up to his year out of the spotlight, the layers begin to slip away. It was in a London studio in late 2014 that Styles first brought up the idea of One Direction taking a break. "I didn't want to exhaust our fan base," he explains. "If you're shortsighted, you can think, 'Let's just keep touring,' but we all thought too much of the group than to let that happen. You realize you're exhausted and you don't want to drain people's belief in you." After much discussion, the band mutually agreed to a hiatus, which was announced in August 2015 (Zayn Malik had abruptly left One D several months earlier). Fans were traumatized by the band's decision, but were let down easy with a series of final bows, including a tour that ran through October. Styles remains a One D advocate: "I love the band, and would never rule out anything in the future. The band changed my life, gave me everything." Harry Styles reveals the inspiration behind his new music. Here's five things we learned about Harry Styles' new album. Still, a solo career was calling. "I wanted to step up. There were songs I wanted to write and record, and not just have it be 'Here's a demo I wrote.' Every decision I've made since I was 16 was made in a democracy. I felt like it was time to make a decision about the future  ...  and maybe I shouldn't rely on others." As one of the most well-known 23-year-olds in the world, Styles himself is still largely unknown. Behind the effervescent stage persona, there is more lore than fact. He likes it that way. "With an artist like Prince," he says, "all you wanted to do was know more. And that mystery – it's why those people are so magical! Like, fuck, I don't know what Prince eats for breakfast. That mystery  ...  it's just what I like." Styles pauses, savoring the idea of the unknown. He looks at my digital recorder like a barely invited guest. "More than 'do you keep a mystery alive?' – it's not that. I like to separate my personal life and work. It helps, I think, for me to compartmentalize. It's not about trying to make my career longer, like I'm trying to be this 'mysterious character,' because I'm not. When I go home, I feel like the same person I was at school. You can't expect to keep that if you show everything. There's the work and the personal stuff, and going between the two is my favorite shit. It's amazing to me." Soon, we head to the Beachwood Canyon studio of Jeff Bhasker. As we arrive, Styles bounds up the steps to the studio, passing a bored pool cleaner. "How are ya," he announces, unpacking a seriously cheerful smile. The pool cleaner looks perplexed, not quite sharing Styles' existential joy. Inside, the band awaits. Styles opens his notebook and heads for the piano. He wants to finish a song he'd started earlier that day. It's obvious that the band has a well-worn frat-house dynamic, sort of like the Beatles in Help!, as directed by Judd Apatow. Styles is, to all, "H." Pomegranate-scented candles flicker around the room. Bhasker enters, with guru-length hair, multicolored shirt, red socks and sandals. He was initially busy raising a new baby with his partner, the singer and songwriter Lykke Li, so he guided Styles to two of his producer-player protégés, Alex Salibian and Tyler Johnson, as well as engineer and bassist Ryan Nasci. The band began to form. The final piece of the puzzle was Mitch Rowland, Styles' guitarist, who had worked in a pizza joint until two weeks into the sessions. "Being around musicians like this had a big effect on me," Styles says. "Not being able to pass an instrument without sitting down and playing it?" He shakes his head. It was Styles' first full immersion into the land of musos, and he clearly can't get enough. Styles starts singing some freshly written lyrics. It's a new song called "I Don't Want to Be the One You're Waiting On." His voice sounds warm, burnished and intimate, not unlike early Rod Stewart. The song is quickly finished, and the band assembles for a playback of the album. "Mind if I play it loud?" asks Bhasker. It's a rhetorical question. Nasci cranks "Sign of the Times," the first single, to a seismic level. The song began as a seven-minute voice note on Styles' phone, and ended up as a sweeping piano ballad, as well as a kind of call to arms. "Most of the stuff that hurts me about what's going on at the moment is not politics, it's fundamentals," Styles says. "Equal rights. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. ...  'Sign of the Times' came from 'This isn't the first time we've been in a hard time, and it's not going to be the last time.' The song is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a child and there's a complication. The mother is told, 'The child is fine, but you're not going to make it.' The mother has five minutes to tell the child, 'Go forth and conquer.'" The track was a breakthrough for both the artist and the band. "Harry really led the charge with that one, and the rest of the album," says Bhasker. "I wish the album could be called Sign of the Times," Styles declares. "I don't know," says Bhasker. "I mean, it has been used." They debate for a bit. Nasci plays more tracks. The songs range from full-on rock ("Kiwi") to intricate psychedelic pop ("Meet Me in the Hallway") to the outright confessional ("Ever Since New York," a desperate meditation on loss and longing). The lyrics are full of details and references – secrets whispered between friends, doomed declarations of love, empty swimming pools – sure to set fans scrambling for the facts behind the mystery. "Of course I'm nervous," Styles admits, jingling his keys. "I mean, I've never done this before. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm happy I found this band and these musicians, where you can be vulnerable enough to put yourself out there. I'm still learning ...  but it's my favorite lesson." The album is a distinct departure from the dance pop that permeates the airwaves. "A lot of my influences, and the stuff that I love, is older," he says. "So the thing I didn't want to do was, I didn't want to put out my first album and be like, 'He's tried to re-create the Sixties, Seventies, Eighties, Nineties.' Loads of amazing music was written then, but I'm not saying I wish I lived back then. I wanted to do something that sounds like me. I just keep pushing forward." "It's different from what you'd expect," Bhasker says. "It made me realize the Harry [in One D] was kind of the digitized Harry. Almost like a character. I don't think people know a lot of the sides of him that are on this album. You put it on and people are like, 'This is Harry Styles?' " Styles is aware that his largest audience so far has been young – often teenage – women. Asked if he spends pressure-filled evenings worried about proving credibility to an older crowd, Styles grows animated. "Who's to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That's not up to you to say. Music is something that's always changing. There's no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they're not serious? How can you say young girls don't get it? They're our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don't lie. If they like you, they're there. They don't act 'too cool.' They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick." "Teenage-girl fans – they don't lie," Styles says. Styles drives to a quiet dinner spot in Laurel Canyon, at the foot of Lookout Mountain Avenue, onetime home to many of his Seventies songwriting heroes. He used to have a place around the corner. As the later tours of One Direction grew larger, longer and more frenetic, he offers with irony, "It was very rock & roll." He's not a heavy drinker, he says, maybe some tequila on ice or wine with friends after a show, but by the band's last tour there wasn't much time even for that. John Lennon once told Rolling Stone that behind the curtain, the Beatles' tours were like Fellini's Satyricon. Styles counters that the One D tours were more like "a Wes Anderson movie. Cut. Cut. New location. Quick cut. New location. Cut. Cut. Show. Shower. Hard cut. Sleep." Finding a table, Styles leans forward and discusses his social-media presence, or lack thereof. Styles and his phone have a bittersweet, mature relationship – they spend a lot of time apart. He doesn't Google himself, and checks Twitter infrequently. "I'll tell you about Twitter," he continues, discussing the volley of tweets, some good, some cynical, that met his endorsement of the Women's March on Washington earlier this year. "It's the most incredible way to communicate closely with people, but not as well as in person." When the location of his London home was published a few years ago, he was rattled. His friend James Corden offered him a motto coined by British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli: "Never complain, never explain." I mention a few of the verbal Molotov cocktails Zayn Malik has tossed at the band in recent interviews. Here's one: "[One D is] not music that I would listen to. If I was sat at a dinner date with a girl, I would play some cool shit, you know what I mean? I want to make music that I think is cool shit. I don't think that's too much to ask for." Styles adjusts himself in his chair. "I think it's a shame he felt that way," he says, threading the needle of diplomacy, "but I never wish anything but luck to anyone doing what they love. If you're not enjoying something and need to do something else, you absolutely should do that. I'm glad he's doing what he likes, and good luck to him." Perched on his head are the same-style white sunglasses made famous by Kurt Cobain, but the similarities end right there. Styles, born two months before Cobain exited Earth, doesn't feel tied to any particular genre or era. In the car, he'll just as easily crank up the country music of Keith Whitley as the esoteric blues-and-soul of Shuggie Otis. He even bought a carrot cake to present to Stevie Nicks at a Fleetwood Mac concert. ("Piped her name onto it. She loved it. Glad she liked carrot cake.") This much is clear: The classic role of tortured artist is not one he'll be playing. "People romanticize places they can't get to themselves," he says. "That's why it's fascinating when people go dark – when Van Gogh cuts off his ear. You romanticize those people, sometimes out of proportion. It's the same with music. You want a piece of that darkness, to feel their pain but also to step back into your own [safer] life. I can't say I had that. I had a really nice upbringing. I feel very lucky. I had a great family and always felt loved. There's nothing worse than an inauthentic tortured person. 'They took my allowance away, so I did heroin.' It's like – that's not how it works. I don't even remember what the question was." Styles wanders into the Country Store next door. It's a store he knows well. Inspecting the shelves, he asks if I've had British rice pudding. He finds a can that looks ancient. He collects a roll of Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles ("since 1881"), Lindor Swiss chocolates ("irresistibly smooth") and a jar of Branston Pickles. "There's only two shops in L.A. that stock all the British snacks. This area's kind of potluck," he says, spreading the collection on the counter. The clerk rings up the snacks. In the most careful, deferential way, the young worker asks the question. "Would you  ... happen to be ...  Harry Styles?" "Yep." "Could I get a selfie?" Styles obliges, and leans over the counter. Click. We exit into the Laurel Canyon evening. "Hey," shouts a grizzled-looking dude on the bench outside the store. "Do you know who you look like?" Styles turns, expecting more of the same, but this particular night denizen is on a different track. "River Phoenix," the man announces, a little sadly. "You ever heard of him? If he hadn't have passed, I would have said that was you. Talented guy." "Yes, he was," agrees Styles, who is in many ways the generational opposite of Phoenix. "Yes, he was." They share a silent moment, before Styles walks to his car. He hands me the bag filled with English snacks. "This is for you," he says. "This was my youth ..." Styles at age three. Courtesy of Harry Styles Harry Edward Styles was born in Worcestershire, England, in true classic-rock form, on a Tuesday Afternoon. The family moved to Cheshire, a quiet spot in Northern England, when he was a baby. His older sister, Gemma, was the studious one. ("She was always smarter than me, and I was always jealous of that.") His father, Desmond, worked in finance. He was a fan of the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, a lot of Queen, and Pink Floyd. Young Harry toddled around to The Dark Side of the Moon. "I couldn't really get it," he says, "but I just remember being like – this is really fucking cool. Then my mom would always have Shania Twain, and Savage Garden, Norah Jones going on. I had a great childhood. I'll admit it." But in fact, all was not perfection, scored to a cool, retro soundtrack. When Harry was seven, his parents explained to him that Des would be moving out. Asked about that moment today, Styles stares straight ahead. "I don't remember," he says. "Honestly, when you're that young, you can kind of block it out. ... I can't say that I remember the exact thing. I didn't realize that was the case until just now. Yeah, I mean, I was seven. It's one of those things. Feeling supported and loved by my parents never changed." His eyes moisten a little, but unlike the young man who wept over an early bout with Internet criticism, a powerful moment in the early One Direction documentary A Year in the Making, Styles tonight knocks back the sentiment. Styles is still close with his father, and served as best man to his mom when she remarried a few years ago. "Since I've been 10," he reflects, "it's kind of felt like – protect Mom at all costs. ... My mom is very strong. She has the greatest heart. [Her house in Cheshire] is where I want to go when I want to spend some time." In his early teens, Styles joined some school friends as the singer in a mostly-covers band, White Eskimo. "We wrote a couple of songs," he remembers. "One was called 'Gone in a Week.' It was about luggage. 'I'll be gone in a week or two/Trying to find myself someplace new/I don't need any jackets or shoes/The only luggage I need is you.'" He laughs. "I was like, 'Sick.'" It was his mother who suggested he try out for the U.K. singing competition The X Factor to compete in the solo "Boy" category. Styles sang Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely." The unforgiving reaction from one of the judges, Louis Walsh, is now infamous. Watching the video today is to watch young Harry's cheery disposition take a hot bullet. "In that instant," he says, "you're in the whirlwind. You don't really know what's happening; you're just a kid on the show. You don't even know you're good at anything. I'd gone because my mum told me I was good from singing in the car ...  but your mum tells you things to make you feel good, so you take it with a pinch of salt. I didn't really know what I was expecting when I went on there." Styles didn't advance in the competition, but Simon Cowell, the show's creator, sensed a crowd favorite. He put Styles together with four others who'd failed to advance in the same category, and united the members of One D in a musical shotgun marriage. The marriage worked. And worked. And worked. You wonder how a young musician might find his way here, to these lofty peaks, with his head still attached to his shoulders. No sex tapes, no TMZ meltdowns, no tell-all books written by the rehab nanny? In a world where one messy scandal can get you five seasons of a hit reality show ...  how did Harry Styles slip through the juggernaut? "Family," answers Ben Winston. "It comes from his mom, Anne. She brought him and his sister up incredibly well. Harry would choose boring over exciting ... There is more chance of me going to Mars next week than there is of Harry having some sort of addiction." We're in Television City, Hollywood. Winston, 35, the Emmy-winning executive producer of The Late Late Show With James Corden, abandons his desk and retreats to a nearby sofa to discuss his good friend. More than a friend, Styles became an unlikely family member – after he became perhaps the world's most surprising houseguest. Their friendship was forged in the early stages of One D's success, when the band debuted on The X Factor. Winston, then a filmmaker and production partner with Corden, asked for a meeting, and instantly hit it off with the group. He became a friendly mentor to Styles, though the friendship was soon tested. Styles had just moved out of his family home in Cheshire, an inconvenient three hours north of London. He found a home he liked near the Winstons in Hampstead Heath. The new house needed two weeks of work. Styles asked if he could briefly move in with Winston and his wife, Meredith. "She agreed," Winston says, "but only for two weeks." One Direction on 'The X Factor,' 2010 Ken McKay/TalkbackThames/REX/Shutterstock Styles parked his mattress in the Winstons' attic. "Two weeks later and he hadn't bought his house yet," continues Winston. "It wasn't going through. Then he said, 'I'm going to stay until Christmas, if you don't mind.' Then Christmas came, and ..." For the next 20 months, one of the most desired stars on the planet slept on a small mattress in an attic. The only other bit of house-dressing was the acoustic guitar that would rattle into the Winstons' bedroom. While fans gathered at the empty house where he didn't live, Styles lived incognito with a couple 12 years his senior. The Winstons' Orthodox Jewish lifestyle, with a strong family emphasis, helped keep him sane. "Those 20 months were when they went from being on a reality show, X Factor, to being the biggest-selling artists in the world," recalls Winston. "That period of time, he was living with us in the most mundane suburban situation. No one ever found out, really. Even when we went out for a meal, it's such a sweet family neighborhood, no one dreamed it was actually him. But he made our house a home. And when he moved out, we were gutted." Styles jauntily appears at the Late Late office. He's clearly a regular visitor, and he and Winston have a brotherly shorthand. "Leaving Saturday?" asks Winston. "Yeah, gotta buy a cactus for my friend's birthday," says Styles. "My dad might be on your flight," says Winston. "The 8:50? That'd be sick." Winston continues the tales from the attic. "So we had this joke. Meri and I would like to see the girls that you would come back with to the house. That was always what we enjoyed, because we'd be in bed like an old couple. We'd have our spot cream on our faces and we'd be in our pajamas and the door would go off. The stairwell was right outside our door, so we'd wait to see if Harry was coming home alone or with people." "I was alone," notes Styles. "I was scared of Meri." "He wasn't always alone," corrects Winston, "but it was exciting seeing the array of A-listers that would come up and sleep in the attic. Or he'd come and lounge with us. We'd never discuss business. He would act as if he hadn't come back from playing to 80,000 people three nights in a row in Rio de Janeiro." "Let's go to the beach," says Styles, pulling the Range Rover onto a fog-soaked Pacific Coast Highway. Last night was his tequila-fueled birthday party, filled with friends and karaoke and a surprise drop-in from Adele. He's now officially 23. "And not too hung over," he notes. Styles finds a spot at a sushi place up the coast. As he passes through the busy dining room, a businessman turns, recognizing him with a face that says: My kids love this guy! I ask Styles what he hears most from the parents of young fans. "They say, 'I see your cardboard face every fucking day.' " He laughs. "I think they want me to apologize." The subject today is relationships. While Styles says he still feels like a newcomer to all that, a handful of love affairs have deeply affected him. The images and stolen moments tumble extravagantly through the new songs: And promises are broken like a stitch is ... I got splinters in my knuckles crawling 'cross the floor/Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short/But I think that's what I like about it ... I see you gave him my old T-shirt, more of what was once mine ... That black notebook, you sense, is filled with this stuff. "My first proper girlfriend," he remembers, "used to have one of those laughs. There was also a little bit of mystery with her because she didn't go to our school. I just worshipped the ground she walked on. And she knew, probably to a fault, a little. That was a tough one. I was 15. "She used to live an hour and a half away on the train, and I worked in a bakery for three years. I'd finish on Saturdays at 4:30 and it was a 4:42 train, and if I missed it there wasn't one for another hour or two. So I'd finish and sprint to the train station. Spent 70 percent of my wages on train tickets. Later, I'd remember her perfume. Little things. I smell that perfume all the time. I'll be in a lift or a reception and say to someone, 'Alien, right?' And sometimes they're impressed and sometimes they're a little creeped out. 'Stop smelling me.'" With Taylor Swift in Central Park, 2012 David Krieger/Bauer-Griffin If Styles hadn't yet adapted to global social-media attention, he was tested in 2012, when he met Taylor Swift at an awards show. Their second date, a walk in Central Park, was caught by paparazzi. Suddenly the couple were global news. They broke up the next month, reportedly after a rocky Caribbean vacation; the romance was said to have ended with at least one broken heart. The relationship is a subject he's famously avoided discussing. "I gotta pee first. This might be a long one," he says. He rises to head to the bathroom, then adds, "Actually, you can say, 'He went for a pee and never came back.' " He returns a couple of minutes later. "Thought I'd let you stew for a while," he says, laughing, then takes a gulp of green juice. He was surprised, he says, when photos from Central Park rocketed around the world. "When I see photos from that day," he says, "I think: Relationships are hard, at any age. And adding in that you don't really understand exactly how it works when you're 18, trying to navigate all that stuff didn't make it easier. I mean, you're a little bit awkward to begin with. You're on a date with someone you really like. It should be that simple, right? It was a learning experience for sure. But at the heart of it – I just wanted it to be a normal date." He's well aware that at least two of Swift's songs – "Out of the Woods" and "Style" – are considered to be about their romance. ("You've got that long hair slicked back, white T-shirt," she sang in "Style.") "I mean, I don't know if they're about me or not ..." he says, attempting gallant discretion, "but the issue is, she's so good, they're bloody everywhere." He smiles. "I write from my experiences; everyone does that. I'm lucky if everything [we went through] helped create those songs. That's what hits your heart. That's the stuff that's hardest to say, and it's the stuff I talk least about. That's the part that's about the two people. I'm never going to tell anybody everything." (Fans wondered whether "Perfect," a song Styles co-wrote for One Direction, might have been about Swift: "And if you like cameras flashing every time we go out/And if you're looking for someone to write your breakup songs about/Baby, I'm perfect.") Was he able to tell her that he admired the songs? "Yes and no," he says after a long pause. "She doesn't need me to tell her they're great. They're great songs ... It's the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever." Is there anything he'd want to say to Swift today? "Maybe this is where you write down that I left!" He laughs, and looks off. "I don't know," he finally says. "Certain things don't work out. There's a lot of things that can be right, and it's still wrong. In writing songs about stuff like that, I like tipping a hat to the time together. You're celebrating the fact it was powerful and made you feel something, rather than 'this didn't work out, and that's bad.' And if you run into that person, maybe it's awkward, maybe you have to get drunk ... but you shared something. Meeting someone new, sharing those experiences, it's the best shit ever. So thank you." He notes a more recent relationship, possibly over now, but significant for the past few years. (Styles has often been spotted with Kendall Jenner, but he won't confirm that's who he's talking about.) "She's a huge part of the album," says Styles. "Sometimes you want to tip the hat, and sometimes you just want to give them the whole cap ...  and hope they know it's just for them." In late February 2016, Styles landed a plum part in Christopher Nolan's upcoming World War II epic, Dunkirk. In Nolan, Styles found a director equally interested in mystery. "The movie is so ambitious," he says. "Some of the stuff they're doing in this movie is insane. And it was hard, man, physically really tough, but I love acting. I love playing someone else. I'd sleep really well at night, then get up and continue drowning." When Styles returned to L.A., an idea landed. The idea was: Get out of Dodge. Styles called his manager, Jeffrey Azoff, and explained he wanted to finish the album outside London or L.A., a place where the band could focus and coalesce. Four days after returning from the movie, they were on their way to Port Antonio on Jamaica's remote north coast. At Geejam, Styles and his entire band were able to live together, turning the studio compound into something like a Caribbean version of Big Pink. They occupied a two-story villa filled with instruments, hung out at the tree-house-like Bush Bar, and had access to the gorgeous studio on-site. Many mornings began with a swim in the deserted cove just down the hill. Life in Jamaica was 10 percent beach party and 90 percent musical expedition. It was the perfect rite of passage for a musician looking to explode the past and launch a future. The anxiety of what's next slipped away. Layers of feeling emerged that had never made it past One Direction's group songwriting sessions, often with pop craftsmen who polished the songs after Styles had left. He didn't feel stifled in One D, he says, as much as interrupted. "We were touring all the time," he recalls. "I wrote more as we went, especially on the last two albums." There are songs from that period he loves, he says, like "Olivia" and "Stockholm Syndrome," along with the earlier song "Happily." "But I think it was tough to really delve in and find out who you are as a writer when you're just kind of dipping your toe each time. We didn't get the six months to see what kind of shit you can work with. To have time to live with a song, see what you love as a fan, chip at it, hone it and go for that  ... it's heaven." The more vulnerable the song, he learned, the better. "The one subject that hits the hardest is love," he says, "whether it's platonic, romantic, loving it, gaining it, losing it  ...  it always hits you hardest. I don't think people want to hear me talk about going to bars, and how great everything is. The champagne popping  ...  who wants to hear about it? I don't want to hear my favorite artists talk about all the amazing shit they get to do. I want to hear, 'How did you feel when you were alone in that hotel room, because you chose to be alone?'" To wind down in Jamaica, Styles and Rowland, the guitarist, began a daily Netflix obsession with sugary romantic comedies. Houseworkers would sometimes leave at night and return the next morning to see Styles blearily removing himself from a long string of rom-coms. He declares himself an expert on Nicholas Sparks, whom he now calls "Nicky Spee." After almost two months, the band left the island with a bounty of songs and stories. Like the time Styles ended up drunk and wet from the ocean, toasting everybody, wearing a dress he'd traded with someone's girlfriend. "I don't remember the toast," he says, "but I remember the feeling." Styles in Jamaica. Styles recorded much of his album there, turning his studio complex into a Caribbean version of Big Pink. Courtesy of Harry Styles Christmas 2016. Harry Styles was parked outside his childhood home, sitting next to his father. They were listening to his album. After lunch at a pub, they had driven down their old street and landed in front of the family home. Staring out at the house where Styles grew up listening to his father's copy of The Dark Side of the Moon, there was much to consider. It was a long way he'd traveled in those fast few years since "Isn't She Lovely." He'd previously played the new album for his mother, on a stool, in the living room, on cheap speakers. She'd cried hearing "Sign of the Times." Now he sat with his father – who liked the new song "Carolina" best – both having come full circle. Styles is moved as he describes how he felt. We're sitting in Corden's empty office, talking over a few last subjects before he returns to England. "I think, as a parent, especially with the band stuff, it was such a roller coaster," he says. "I feel like they were always thinking, 'OK, this ride could stop at any point and we're going to have to be there when it does.' There was something about playing the album and how happy I was that told them, 'If all I get is to make this music, I'm content. If I'm never on that big ride again, I'm happy and proud of it.' "I always said, at the very beginning, all I wanted was to be the granddad with the best stories ...  and the best shelf of artifacts and bits and trinkets." Tomorrow night he'll hop a flight back to England. Rehearsals await. Album-cover choices need to be made. He grabs his black notebook and turns back for a moment before disappearing down the hallway, into the future. "How am I going to be mysterious," he asks, only half-joking, "when I've been this honest with you?"

[originaldetectivesheep]

Year in Review - Books I Read In 2017

Last year I only read about a hundred of other people's works, so I was able to note everything.  This year....was not like that.  By more committed Gutenberg-grinding, I increased that number by a factor of three.  These are the highlights, excerpted notes on stuff that I found particularly good, or relevant, or interesting.

Robert Wallace - The Tycoon of Crime Another Phantom adventure, though this one holds back the appearance of the great detective a little and actually sets up a few tricks that aren't immediately obvious.  Most are, though, and this is not a great mystery, but it's a competent enough pulp, well-flavored with brutality and gore that's almost heartrending in the modern day -- because it's a callback to the trenches of the Western Front, where bad-luck wounds, dismemberment, and poison gas were just everyday facts of life.  That look in passing into the world of the men who wrote this stuff and were looking for it in their reading is the main attraction of this nowadays, but if you're looking to read a Phantom story, this is probably the pick of the litter.

Edgar Rice Burroughs - Apache Devil There are a few pulled punches in this, but not a lot, and in addition to a gripping narrative this story also packs a lot of good craft and a more united plot than it seems at first glance.  It's interesting from the modern perspective to see Burroughs so sympathetic to the Apache in the context of his vigorous racism against "savages" from other places; some of this may be closer exposure to Native American culture and thus the greater willingness to credit them as human beings, and some of it may be him pitching to his audience, where American natives were crushed, nearly extinct, and eulogizable, while black people were making the Great Migration out of the south and creating economic anxiety.  Either way, this is a pretty good book and not as garbage in its politics as Burroughs frequently is.

Abraham Merritt - Seven Steps To Satan Merritt's Eastern lore is well-worked into this tale, and more importantly he does a good job of keeping the reader on their toes, guessing what of this Satan's tricks are magic and what are just that, tricks.  The intersection of magic, illusion, manipulation, and hypnotism is a neat contrast to the usual suspicions of occultism, and the effect is really neat in keeping this Indiana Jones adventure full of darkness and mystery.  Harry is a little too obvious a plot jackknife, but you have to get to a resolution somehow, and he doesn't stick out too much in this world of super-minds and super-drugs.  Merritt has better stuff, but this is pretty good even so.

Stella Benson - This Is The End I had a limited selection of Benson's stuff, but this is definitely the choice of the batch.  As smart and observant as ever, and with nearly as flawless and perfect a flow of language and an eye for metaphor as in Living Alone, she also turns all of this around into a punishing, apocalyptic hammer of emotional weight and import at the turn and through on to the devastating finish.  I'd been reading up on the Somme and Verdun campaigns, which would have been the backdrop offstage for this, so this may have hit me harder than others, but it's hard to see how that ending, and Benson's poetry woven in around her prose, could fail to have the same effect regardless of circumstances.

Walter S. Cramp - Psyche For real, I nearly miscopied this author's name as "Crap" when writing this out.  This one is BAD, folks.  You can introduce your characters with a physical description if you like, though it does get kind of fan-ficcy, but do not attach a goddamn alignment readout to it.  The descriptions suck, the deliberate archaisms in dialogue suck -- do not write 'thou' unless you are going to use 'you' elsewhere to show correct tu/vous formulations in older English -- the staging and plotting sucks, and Cra(m)p can't be bothered to keep a consistent tense.  This is an awful book and should have been pulped a hundred years ago rather than continuing to waste people's time and electrons down to the present.

J. A. Buck - Sargasso of Lost Safaris Everything you need to know about this insistently self-footbulleting series can be found from the episode here, where in the middle of a taut thriller about bad whites and educated natives double-crossing each other, the protagonists fight the world's worst-described dinosaur for pagecount.  No explanation, they just needed another 500 words between two chapters and so they roll on the random monster table and get a fucking Baryonix or whatever.  The 'girl Tarzan' trope is at the outer edges of reality, and Tarzan did a lot of Lost World garbage too, but too much of this is too true to life to fuck itself over by throwing in dinosaurs like it aint a thing.  Fuck this stupid shit.

Wilhelm Walloth - Empress Octavia "Death was to stalk over it like a Phoenician dyer, when he crushes purple snails upon a white woollen cloak till the dark juices trickle down investing the snowy vesture with a crimson splendor."  When you write this sentence, stop.  Just stop.  I have bad habits like this too, but nothing, even a translation from German, is a justification for throwing out a sentence like that, especially in a second paragraph.  Stop.  No. Beyond this, this is yet another Ben-Hur wannabe that is in love with its research and can't decide what fucking tense it's in.  If you are interested in Rome, read Gibbon or Tacitus, or Suetonius or Caesar himself; if you want literature, stay the FUCK away from the Bibliotheca Romana.  The plot takes directions that only a German can and would go in, in its period, but this boldness alone is not enough to excuse the poor composition and overall aimlessness.

Stephen Crane - Maggie: A Girl of the Streets I'm sure this was revolutionary when it came out, but at this distance, it feels like parody or melodrama - a lot of which is coming from the dialect, which is even more intolerable in the present than it was when this was written.  This isn't even hard dialect, and there's no need for it to be consistently phonetic rather than, like, just describing people's accents.  You look at "The Playboy of the Western World" and what that doesn't do with forcing pronunciations, and then you look back at this, and you see rapidly which one does a better job of conveying the lifestyles of the deprived and limited.  I know this is supposed to be heartbreaking, but it's completely outclassed and replaced, for modern audiences, by The Jungle, which more people need to re-read and actually understand as a labor story rather than a USDA tract.  Anything, literally anything, else you can get out of Stephen Crane is going to be better than this.

John Peter Drummond - Tigress of Twanbi Seriously, this story would be greatly improved by getting the Tarzan shit out of it.  If it was Hurree Das, picaresque Indian doctor versus Julebba the Arab Amazon with their countervailing motivations and the local allies who ended up in the crossfire of her domination war in the African bush and his attempts to stop it or at least get out with a whole skin, this tale would be significantly improved in addition to completely unidentifiable for the white audience it had to be sold to at the time of publication.  So it goes.  Drummond's side characters are significantly better than his leads or his plots, and should have held out for a trade to Stan Weinbaum or P.P. Sheehan for a case of beer plus a player to be named later rather than having to submit to this dreck.

Robert Eustace - The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings Playing like a series of Eustace's Madame Sara stories -- there's definitely something to peel the onion on there, where every villain is a mysterious older Latin woman -- the plot here moves by the usual bumps of caper and medical/forensic detection, with seldom an attachment from one episode to the next.  The individual stories are entertaining, but this is a collection, not a novel, and going from front to back is like binging a TV series in novella form.  The individual tricks range from lame and overdone to Holmesian superclass, but this would be so much better if there was an actual whole narrative rather than this point to point.

Augusta Groner - The Pocket Diary Found In The Snow If I had gotten to this before Three Pretenders, I definitely would have thrown in a shoutout callback to Joe Mueller somewhere; Groner's Austrian detective is a more modern Holmes in a Vienna at the end of its rope, and in addition to the neat characters and relatable scene dressing, the mystery here is pretty good and the inevitable howdoneit epilogue is actually interesting rather than tiresome, which is always a potential stumbling block in this sort of caper.  Most of Groner's work that I have is pretty short, but at least I'll have the possibility of re-reading her in the original German later.

Anonymous for The Wizard - Six-Gun Gorilla It's easy to see why nobody, so far, has come forward to claim this clunky Western with a hilarious concept played absolutely straight.  This is a Madonna's-doctor's-dog exercise in crank-turnery written in Scotland by Brits who have never been to the high desert, for an audience that needs to be told that bandits aren't particularly interested in mining.  As a craft exercise, there's some merit to it: anyone can write a gorilla-revenge story in Africa, or a Western manhunt, but when an editor comes to you and says "so there's this gorilla and he's a badass gunfighter, write a story to fit these illustrations and make it not suck", that's when you really have to stretch your creative muscles.  There are signs that this was a house name product or a collab rather than one author, and more insistent signs that it was a joke played on the readership to see how long they'd put up with it.  It's almost magic realist in its combination of brutality and absurdity -- who the hell knows what British schoolboys thought of it in 1939.

Robert W. Chambers - The Slayer of Souls Probably not the inspiration for that song that was on like every compilation in Rock Hard and Metal Hammer in summer 2005, this Chambers joint is either pitched perfectly for the Trumpist present -- did you know that Muslims, socialists, Chinese people, unionists, and anarchists are all actually the same, and all actually parts of a gigantic Satanist conspiracy? oh wow such deep state many alex jones -- or an incoherent stew of staunch J. Edgar Hoover fanboyism that can't keep its own geography straight, which is actually kind of the same thing so never mind.  This is exactly the sort of story that George Orwell was so hot about in "Boys' Weeklies": good, craft-wise, and definitely gripping, but utterly complicit in a way and to a degree that almost becomes self-parody.  If you can stop laughing at it, it's got the good action and aggressively-expansive world-setting of good rano-esque anime; if you can't, Chambers has better short stories and have you heard of this guy called Abraham Merrit?

Stendahl - The Red and the Black It is maybe over-egging it a little to call this a 'perfect' novel, but it is closer to that perfection than it is to any other reasonable descriptor.  The society of the Bourbon restoration may be lost to us, but the characters stand the test of time, and Stendahl moves them in time with the plot -- the way that their actions are only tenuously liked to their outcomes is a triumph of realism -- with the hand of a master.  I like Stendahl's Italian stuff too, but France in his own time is his best course, and this is his best work.

Sylvanus Cobb - Ben Hamed What's really striking about this sword and sandal mellerdrammer is how relatively non-racist it is, and how easily it accepts Muslims as real people and mostly normal.  There's a bunch of orientalism, sure, but while the Giant Negro sidekick occasionally comes off servile, he's also smart, experienced, and independent, and takes, for his characterization, an appropriately central role in shepherding the star-crossed lovers to the end of their tale.  This could easily get a banging Arab-directed film adaptation today with very few changes -- and that's not just about how good it is as entertainment, but also about how far Cobb was ahead of the curve in 1863.

Talbot Mundy - C. I. D. Another inter-war Indian thriller, this excellent spy novel pits a wide range of the native-state establishment -- corrupt priests, a venal rajah, the incompetent British Resident, a motley gang of profiteers -- against the genius and initiative of Mundy's great hope for India, the always effective, never moral Chullunder Gose.  As expected, the top agent of the Confidential Investigations Division masterfully controls the whole chessboard, pitting the various enemy forces against each other and subverting each in turn before throwing in his reserves -- Hawkes, back in a smaller role as British India yields to British-Indian cooperation, and the obligatory American, a pre-MSF doctor who starts the book looking for a Chekhov's tiger hunt.  Thing is, this is fiction, and so it's Mundy who's really keeping all these balls in the air and weaving the skein of the story into an incredibly awesome whole.  If you have problems with Kipling and Haggard, start getting into Mundy from here. A neat thing that will not go unnoticed by other pulp deep-divers is the shots-fired bit introducing the Resident's library, which is noted to feature the works of Edgar Wallace.  Whether to make a point in the story -- "every colonial section chief, no matter how actually bad, secretly thinks of himself as Sanders", which I've used in my own stuff -- or to start beef -- "people read Wallace and think he knows about the colonies, but he has actually just been to the track and his apartment and needs to stfu before idiots making policy off his 'exceptionally stupid member of the Navy League circa 1910' worldview hurt somebody" -- this is definitely a callout, and definitely intentional.

Gordon MacReagh - The Witch-Casting I'm reading these Kingi Bwana stories in order, and it is getting suspiciously clear that as long as he put in a bit of African-kicking at the start, he was free to get as smart and real as he liked later in the story -- and the amount of kicking was something that there were subtle efforts to reduce.  This one starts off with Kaffa getting the brunt of it, but almost immediately turns around on that point as King and a larger collection of nonwhite friends-as-much-as-trusties do a witch-hunt unlike any witch-hunt you'd expect from '30s pulp, with a similarly sharp turn on African traditional religion that's nearly as out of place.  MacReagh cannot completely escape his own prejudices or the expectations of his time, but this one gets as close to the event horizon as any of his stuff.

Titus Petronius Arbiter - The Satyricon The modern age has ground a lot of the obscenity off this one, which for many years was mostly famous, infamous and/or banned for its central plots of man-on-man sex; in 2017, it takes more than boyfucking to shock people.  This is probably for the better; with the false atmosphere of licentiousness cut out of it, this is as it was at the beginning, a spicy story of Roman idiots having hilarious misadventures that, by subtle exaggeration, hold the follies and fads of their time up to ridicule.  It is longer than it needs to be, and some of the jokes are poorly preserved, and this translation is contaminated by unnecessary footnotes and inclusion bodies of later forgers' porn that's been stapled in over the centuries, but it's still a good, true look at Rome as it actually was at the height of the empire, without the hagiography of a historian or the religio-political axe-grinding of the Christians.  Probably worth the struggle.

Willa Cather - April Twilights I was collecting Cather from her papers at the University of Nebraska, and had to read this in the process of reformatting it; poetry does not well survive HTML->ASCII transitions.  The deep and dark and bleak is strong here; through the classical allusions, the callbacks to Provencal troubadours, across the American landscape, the same refrain runs: "I am old and decrepit and not emotionally capable of loving other people".  So, relatable.  The widespread criticism of Cather, that she can't get herself out of traditional modes even when this is to her disadvantage, is held up by her poetry as well; there's more than a few places here where you've got to frown at a bodgingly conventional rhyme or metaphor that someone more open to modernity would almost have had to have done better.  But there are, even still parts where that traditionalism works well, and is effective; it's worth reading out for those, even at all that.

H.P. Lovecraft and others - Twenty-Nine Collaborative Stories Most of what we now recognize as the Cthulhu Mythos -- and definitely any kind of idea of Lovecraft's stuff as a coherent whole or linked world-system -- comes out of these stories as much as his own.  On his own, Lovecraft moved to the beat of his own drum and followed his ideas where they went; here, he helps friends and fans plug their fanfic into what becomes a shared universe.  The stories are not all great; Hazel Heal put up some classics here but also some stinkers, and most of Robert Barlow's contributions, especially as they range into sci-fi, are kind of eh.  Zealia Bishop, though, does yeoman service as Lovecraft's official trans-Mississippian correspondent, and Adolphe de Castro's top-class works settle Lovecraftian mysticism in real foreign lands.  It's worth getting through these: there's good stuff in here, and you also get the sense and feel of how Lovecraft actively built his 'school' -- and ensured that he was the one to influence the direction of weird fiction for years to come.

William Hope Hodgson - The House on the Borderland A true classic, this is potentially the very most black metal horror novel ever written.  The brutality of the swine creatures, the remote devastation of the time-blasted cosmos, the liminality of dreams and reality; Teitanblood and Xasthur and Inquisition hope and fail to convey this sense of unholy immensity, of uncaring timeless evil.  Hodgson hits some heights in his shorter stories, but here, he hits it absolutely out of the park.  Completely essential.

Suetonius - The Life of Claudius Claudius comes off in this one like I've observed German colonial rule as remembered in most places other than Africa: "not worse than necessary".  Suetonius doesn't miss the caprices of a guy who almost certainly was on the spectrum, and had other distinguishing impairments, but also faithfully records a lot of good works and good ideas, with less wastage and idiocy than the likes of his surrounding emperors.  The translator's appendix, as expected, freaks out about the results of Claudius' expedition to Britain, and continues to vainly expect the Roman people to want to get rid of effective and oppressive imperial rule to get back to the ineffective oppression of the senatorial republic.  How someone who translates Latin can be ignorant of "senatores boni viri, senatus mala bestia" and what that actually means in the context of government is beyond me.

Julius Caesar - De Bello Civili This is in three parts, double-text, and when I can understand what places are being talked about (still not 100%, even after all of this, on where the heck in Italy Brundusium is), it flows well and is as clear in its language as anything else of Caesar's.  Even the structure is well-laid: in book 1, Caesar starts the war, and wins a big victory in Spain; in book 2, one of his generals gets disastered in Africa; and in book 3, the epic conclusion and final battles.  Though this is still ultimately a public relations exercise, Caesar doesn't step back from his own disasters, and gives full credit to his foes: this does tend to make him look better when he beats them up, and it is curious how nothing is ever directly his fault, and how most reverses go to troops losing their head and acting without orders, which would be out of character for his faithful super-army if it didn't keep happening.  As always, Caesar leans on logistics; his focus on the relative supply situations in Spain and in Thessaly is the key to success, and a dead giveaway that this was written or at least dictated by the commander himself, and not by some biographer who wouldn't've had that experience in keeping an army fed and watered in the field.

Katherine Mansfield - Something Childish and Other Stories What's really cool in this collection of earlier Mansfield is that you get to see her evolve through the War: she's already mature, and really good, in the New Zealand and Continental tales that precede it, but after the title story (dated to 1914, with a collapse-out at the end that is a KILLER allegory for that August, even if unintended), you really start to see how the nervous stress of total war wears on a population engaged, how the greater position of women in society transforms her and her work, and leads her on towards self-discovery.  The later and more experimental stories are, in general, slightly better, but this is all good material -- and there's a hell of a sting in the tail at the end.

Henry W. Herbert - The Roman Traitor In his introduction Herbert mentions a friend who encouraged him to finish this book, without which it would never have been released.  This friend should be dug up and beaten soundly with rocks, because this rehash of the Catilline conspiracy is utterly unnecessary as a novel or as antiquarianism, and Herbert is an awful, awful writer whose torture of language and narrative structure would shame a Nero.  The day you write the phrase "bad conclave" is the day your editor should throw you through a door.  This isn't the worst book in the Bib. Romanica, but it may be the very most badly written.  Just read the actual history from Sallust and forget this stupid garbage.

Gustave Flaubert - Salammbo This takes a while to really get its feet under it and show where it's going, but once it does, look out.  Flaubert masterfully captures the brutality of warfare and the color of the ancient world, and his language is superbly translated; you put this next to the staid English garbage in the rest of the Bib. Romanica and you wonder why most of them even bothered.  The turn at the end hits like a ton of bricks, especially if you like me don't know anything about Carthaginian history and don't know what's coming -- but it's also the only possible ending for this captivating chronicle of horror, misery and nightmare.  Just excellent.

Willa Cather - My Antonia A deeply drawn narrative of love, growth, and the midwestern plains, this book is more enhanced than anything else by Cather's commitment to its place and time: childhood is always a lost world forever, but the place that Jim and Antonia grow up through is thoroughly lost a hundred years and more on, but it survives in these pages down to the dirt on the floors and the chaff under the characters' collars.  After the narrator goes to Omaha, the tale weakens a little, and the end, for modern audiences, is probably a little under-tuned, but this is Cather's flagship novel for a reason, and definitely rewards the time spent reading it.

Margaret Atwood - Negotiating With the Dead This is another lecture series like the Forster above, but coming from different source, moving in different ways, and much more about Atwood herself and the roots of her writing in the Canadian landscape and literary scene that shaped her.  There is a lot about writing as a living thing in this book, and very little about it as a process: it's kind of a synthesis-antithesis-conclusion out of Forster and Bickham, more perceptive than either and leaving Welty, poor soul so far from the modern perspective, in the absolute dust.  It may be a question of eras, or just one of sympathies -- an adequately intelligent writer of speculative fiction is going to necessarily fall in with Atwood's ideas about doing something meaningful that also keeps the lights on -- but this book, out of all of the four in this mini-course, hit the most home and told me the most about what I do that I didn't already know.  It doesn't have the coherent, lecturized feel of the Forster, but at times there are just the most amazing insights, and the craziest images out of that crazy time that was the middle 20th century, and with how good it was I'm fairly ashamed to not have read any other Atwood before it, which makes me just an awful person.  At least I'm in a damn library and probably can fix that now.

Willa Cather - The Bohemian Girl A novella that should probably better and more widely reputed than it is, this one is mostly a meditation on love, maturity, and switching horses in midstream, but Cather, like no one else, manages to defend both the dour, hard prairie homestead and the need to escape from it.  This is her "zwey seele wohnen, ach, in meinen Brust", and it's kind of a thing all through her fiction, but in here it's especially well developed, with a coda that unlike a lot of her other ones actually works.

Talbot Mundy - The Marriage of Meldrum Strange Sales figures or editorial comment must have highlighted the "big team" problems in the last book, because this one cuts it down to the essentials: Ommony and Gose and Ramsden for muscle and some minor characters.  The plot is a good and twisty romance, keeping everything real, and it is just magic to watch Ommony work calm while Gose spits science like a Bollywood comedian, yin and yang combining to catch everyone in every trap.  A rare gem after several misfires.

Talbot Mundy - Old Ugly-Face One of Mundy's real best, this is an epic navigation of the human heart, against the majestic Himalayas....played by psychics battling to ensure the succession of the Dalai Lama.  Mundy gon Mundy, but the love triangle here is perfect and the environments are astounding -- a must read.

D. W. O'Brien - Blitzkrieg in the Past There's a chapter in this one called "Tank Versus Dinosaur", and that's about the shape of it.  You could also say "Sergeant Rock goes to Pellucidar" and not miss by much; a M3 Grant and crew ends up in a fantasy cavemen-and-dinosaurs past and has some adventures while talking '40s smack, and then romps their way home.  What's cool about it for authors is how O'Brien writes around his dinosaur: there is no description at all of the beast or its species or attributes.  It is big, and makes angry noises, because the author could not be assed to take the time out to do research while writing this story.  And yet it works, unless you're reading really close; let this be a lesson for anyone who can't finish their research up exactly correct on deadline.

Talbot Mundy - The Ivory Trail A lot of this raw, brutal epic of survival in the east-African backcountry is probably from life; Mundy tried this life and failed at it before he became a writer, and the asides and incidental scenes can only be from bitter experience.  Others might expect a purer adventure -- you'd get one from MacReagh on these materials -- but Mundy has the essential truth of colonialism: there are no secrets, mere survival is hideously tough, and everyone else in the game is more brutal and better equipped.  Conrad might have had the literary chops and adventurousness to end this differently, but even he who fared into the Heart of Darkness didn't have the stomach to write a middle passage like Mundy does here with his heroes in German prison.

Talbot Mundy - Guns of the Gods This Yasmini adventure makes itself a prequel, of her youth and how she got into the position of wealth and information mastery that sets up her later career.  The plot is tight if less convoluted than some that I've been reading lately, and the incidents woven through the intrigue and the treasure hunt are fantastic.  On a deeper level, the real judgment and sensitivity in the negotiation of east and west by Tess and Yasmini makes up for the stray Americans happening into the heart of the tale, and in a real way this is Mundy's most openly and solidly anti-Raj, pro-Home Rule adventure yet.  For both an excellent story and what's probably a local maximum in wokeness, this comes highly recommended.

Thorne Smith - Rain In The Doorway A kind of Alice in Jazz Age NYC, this is a ridiculous madcap adventure that loses little in the passage of time and not much at all in the way it winds back down to reality.  Smart and stupid and sexy in all the best ways, this kind of hilarity is pretty much Smith's best stock in trade, and this particular book is one of the better examples.

Thorne Smith - Turnabout The least hair of maturity creeps into Smith's writing here, as one of his interminable boozing Lost Generation miscouples actually gets in a family way as well as into an inexplicable supernatural adventure.  The very very familiar central trick is well executed, and Tim's advancing pregnancy provides a nice frame to hang the rest of the events off of.  The end is a little pat with the reinsertion of the Dutch uncle, but you live and deal.  This is one of Smith's better, and a good occasion to round out the end of the string.

Wilkie Collins - Armadale Collins makes up for his bad start with this absolute beast of a romance, bound up with mysticism rather than being an encyclopedia, but still turned out with real and vital if slightly implausible people.  The consistent mystery of the vision unites the book, but the way that the various Armadales react to that vision, its interpretations, and each other, is solid and real.  It is an immense read that demanded like six hours of flight time, but it is definitely rewarding, and worth the bother of pounding through the huge narrative.

Wilkie Collins - No Name There is a tangled tale and a half in this one, a desperate adventure of roguery in the name of revenge that keeps getting tangled up with coincidence as much as fate or intent.  The links may be a little creaky, but this is a huge, smart, intensely twisting drama with a lead for the ages in Magdalen, and an adversary worthy of her steel in Lecomt.  The end is a little formula and takes a little long to wind down, but this is an artifact of the time and the expected conventions, and it inhibits the power of this novel but little.  Good good stuff.

Talbot Mundy - The Thrilling Adventures of Dick Anthony of Arran "For a few days Cairo swallowed Dick."  NO.  Shut it.  Shut up.  Be mature.  Tuned to a compositional level somewhere between Sexton Blake and Lovecraft's middle-school works, this is not good or well-written Mundy, and there are research holes in it that might have been stabbed through with a claymore.  In places, his later quality pokes through, but in the main this is a stolid imitation of part Kipling, part John Buchan by a writer who does not have enough name weight to force publishers to his way of thinking rather than the reverse.  This leftover should have stayed left over and buried.

These were excerpted from the full writeups of the complete chronological list below, which accounts for frequent hanging references.  The pure volume of this list indicates why I didn't copy the whole of the writeup blocks into this entry.

Robert Barr - The Sword Maker E. Rice Burroughs - Land of Terror E. Rice Burroughs - Tarzan and the Leopard Men L. Winifred Faraday (tr) - Tain bo Cuailnge Robert Barr - The Triumphs of Eugene Valmont Richard Rhodes - The Making of the Atomic Bomb Robert Wallace - Death Flight Richard Rhodes - Dark Sun: The Making of the Hydrogen Bomb Richard Rhodes - Twilight of the Bombs Robert Wallace - Empire of Terror Robert Wallace - Fangs of Murder Robert Wallace - The Sinister Dr. Wong Mary Cagle - Let's Speak English! Robert Wallace - The Tycoon of Crime Stella Benson - Kwan-yin William H. Ainsworth - The Spectre Bride Robert Eustace - The Face of the Abbot Robert Eustace - The Blood-Red Cross Robert Eustace - Madam Sara Robert Eustace - Followed Robert Eustace - The Secret of Emu Plain Arthur Conan Doyle - The Uncharted Coast Edgar Rice Burroughs - Apache Devil Edgar Rice Burroughs - Tarzan and the Tarzan Twins Edgar Rice Burroughs - Tarzan the Invincible William W. Astor - The Last of the Tenth Legion Edgar Rice Burroughs - Tarzan the Magnificent Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Bandit of Hell's Bend Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Cave Girl Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Deputy Sheriff of Comanche County Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Efficiency Expert Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Girl From Farris' Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Girl From Hollywood Stella Benson - Living Alone Stella Benson - The Desert Islander Victor Appleton - Tom Swift and his Giant Telescope Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Lad and the Lion Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Man-Eater Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Moon Men Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Outlaw of Torn Edgar Rice Burroughs - The Rider Edgar Rice Burroughs - The War Chief Abraham Merritt - Burn, Witch, Burn! Abraham Merritt - Creep, Shadow! Abraham Merritt - Seven Steps To Satan Abraham Merritt - The Dwellers in the Mirage Abraham Merritt - The Face in the Abyss Abraham Merritt - The Last Poet and the Robots Edward Spencer Beesly - Catiline, Clodius, and Tiberius Malcolm Jameson - Collected Stories Fantasy Magazine - The Challenge From Beyond The Strand - As Far As They Had Got J. M. Synge - The Playboy of the Western World Abdullah/Brand/Means/Sheehan - The Ten-Foot Chain Stella Benson - This Is The End Stella Benson - Twenty Emily Beesly - Stories From the History of Rome Hugh Allingham - Captain Cuellar's Adventures in Connaught and Ulster, A.D. 1588 James DeMille - The Martyr of the Catacombs Sallust - Bellum Catalinae Edmond Rostand - Cyrano de Bergerac "Captain Adam Seaborn" - Symzonia, A Voyage of Discovery R.E.H. Dyer - Raiders of the Sarhad Walter S. Cramp - Psyche H.P. Lovecraft - From Beyond Robert F. Pennell - Ancient Rome Garrett Putnam Serviss - Edison's Conquest of Mars Irving Batcheller - Charge It Irving Batcheller - Vergillius Duffield Osborne - The Lion's Brood Dale Carnegie - How to Win Friends and Influence People J. A. Buck - The Slave Brand of Sleman bin Ali J. A. Buck - Killers' Kraal J. A. Buck - Sargasso of Lost Safaris J. A. Buck - Sword of Gimshai Wilhelm Walloth - Empress Octavia Stephen Crane - The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky Stephen Crane - The Blue Hotel Stephen Crane - The Open Boat Stephen Crane - Maggie: A Girl of the Streets Stephen Crane - The Monster and More Stendahl - Armance Victor Appleton II - Tom Swift and the Electronic Hydrolung Victor Appleton II - Tom Swift and the Visitor From Planet X Robert Curtis - Edgar Wallace Each Way John Peter Drummond - Bride of the Serpent God John Peter Drummond - The Nirvana of the Seven Voodoos John Peter Drummond - Tigress of Twanbi Robert Eustace - The Brotherhood of the Seven Kings Augusta Groner - The Pocket Diary Found In The Snow Augusta Groner - The Case of the Registered Letter Augusta Groner - The Case of the Lamp That Went Out Augusta Groner - The Case of the Golden Bullet Augusta Groner - The Pool of Blood in the Pastor's Study Anonymous for The Wizard - Six-Gun Gorilla Walter Horatio Pater - Marius the Epicurean John Russel Russell - Adventures in the Moon and Other Worlds Answers Magazine - Sexton Blake J. U. Giesy with Junius B. Smith - The Occult Detector J. U. Giesy with Junius B. Smith - The Significance of the High "D" J. U. Giesy with Junius B. Smith - The House of Invisible Bondage Stendahl - The Abbess of Castro and Others John Aylscough - Faustula John Aylscough - Mariquita Robert W. Chambers - The Maker of Moons and Other Stories Robert W. Chambers - The Slayer of Souls Edith Nesbit - My School Days Edith Nesbit - Re-collected  (self re-collection) Edith Nesbit - The Magic World Edith Nesbit - Wet Magic Stanley G. Weinbaum - The Planet of Doubt Stanley G. Weinbaum - Smothered Seas Stanley G. Weinbaum - Graph Stanley G. Weinbaum - Flight on Titan Stanley G. Weinbaum - The Red Peri Stanley G. Weinbaum - The Black Flame Stanley G. Weinbaum - The Dark Other Stanley G. Weinbaum - The New Adam Gordon MacReagh - re-collected shorter stories  (self re-collection) Stendahl - The Charterhouse of Parma Stendahl - The Red and the Black Sylvanus Cobb - Atholbane Sylvanus Cobb - Ben Hamed Sylvanus Cobb - Ivan the Serf Sylvanus Cobb - Bianca Sylvanus Cobb - Orion the Gold-Beater Sylvanus Cobb - The Gunmaker of Moscow Sylvanus Cobb - The Knight of Leon Sylvanus Cobb - The Smuggler's Ward Talbot Mundy - Black Light Talbot Mundy - Burberton and Ali Beg Talbot Mundy - C. I. D. Talbot Mundy - Caesar Dies Talbot Mundy - For the Salt Which He Had Eaten Talbot Mundy - From Hell, Hull, and Halifax Talbot Mundy - Full Moon J. U. Giesy - Palos of the Dog Star Pack J. U. Giesy with Junius B. Smith - The Wistaria Scarf J. U. Giesy with Junius B. Smith - The Purple Light Gordon MacReagh - The Slave Runner Gordon MacReagh - The Ebony Juju Gordon MacReagh - The Lost End of Nowhere Gordon MacReagh - Quill Gold Gordon MacReagh - Unprofitable Ivory Gordon MacReagh - The Witch-Casting Gordon MacReagh - Strangers of the Amulet Gordon MacReagh - The Ivory Killers Gordon MacReagh - Black Drums Talking Walter Moers - The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear Gordon MacReagh - Wardens of the Big Game Gordon MacReagh - Raiders of Abyssinia Gordon MacReagh - A Man to Kill Gordon MacReagh - Slaves For Ethiopia Gordon MacReagh - Strong As Gorillas Gordon MacReagh - Blood and Steel Gordon MacReagh - White Waters and Black Cardinal Newman - Callista J. U. Giesy with Junius B. Smith - The Master Mind Titus Petronius Arbiter - The Satyricon Talbot Mundy - Her Reputation Giancarlo Livraghi - The Power of Stupidity Willa Cather - April Twilights H.P. Lovecraft and others - Twenty-Nine Collaborative Stories J. U. Giesy with Junius B. Smith - Rubies of Doom Abraham Merritt - The Moon Pool Abraham Merritt - The Metal Monster Abraham Merritt - The Ship of Ishtar John G. Lockhart - Valerius William Hope Hodgson - Carnacki, Supernatural Detective and Others William Hope Hodgson - Carnacki the Ghost Finder William Hope Hodgson - The House on the Borderland Suetonius - The Life of Julius Caesar Suetonius - The Life of Augustus Caesar Suetonius - The Life of Tiberius Caesar Suetonius - The Life of Caligula Suetonius - The Life of Claudius Suetonius - The Life of Nero Suetonius - The Life of Galba Suetonius - The Life of Otho Suetonius - The Life of Vitellus Suetonius - The Life of Vespasian Suetonius - The Life of Titus Suetonius - The Life of Domitian The Lock and Key Library - Classic Mystery and Detective Stories - Old Time English Hume Nisbet - The Demon Spell b/w The Vampire Maid Hume Nisbet - The Land of the Hibiscus Blossom Hume Nisbet - The Swampers E. Hoffman Price - The Girl From Samarcand Flavius Philostratus - The Life of Apollonius H. P. Lovecraft - At the Mountains of Madness H. P. Lovecraft - Selected Essays including Supernatural Horror in Literature H. P. Lovecraft - The Case of Charles Dexter Ward H. P. Lovecraft - The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath and Others H. P. Lovecraft - The Dream Cycle H. P. Lovecraft - The Dunwich Horror H. P. Lovecraft - The Shadow Out of Time H. P. Lovecraft - The Shadow Over Innsmouth H. P. Lovecraft - The Whisperer in Darkness H. P. Lovecraft - His Earliest Writings H. P. Lovecraft - Poems and Fragments  (self re-collection) H. P. Lovecraft - The Cthulhu Mythos  (self re-collection) H. P. Lovecraft - Tales of Monstrosity  (self re-collection) H. P. Lovecraft - Tales of the Crypt  (self re-collection) H. P. Lovecraft - Tales of Paganism  (self re-collection) Edward Bulwer-Lytton - The Last Days of Pompeii Gavin Menzies - 1421: The Year China Discovered America Ernst Eckstein - Quintus Claudius Julius Caesar - The African Wars Julius Caesar - The Alexandrine War Julius Caesar - De Bello Civili Julius Caesar - The Hispanic War Talbot Mundy - Cock o' the North Julius Caesar - The Gallic Wars Katherine Mansfield - Bliss and Other Stories Katherine Mansfield - In A German Pension Katherine Mansfield - Something Childish and Other Stories Katherine Mansfield - The Garden Party and Other Stories John W. Graham - Nearea Andy Adams - A Texas Matchmaker Andy Adams - Cattle Brands Andy Adams - Reed Anthony, Cowman Andy Adams - The Log of a Cowboy Andy Adams - Wells Brothers Charles Kingsley - Hypatia Francis Stevens - Claimed! Francis Stevens - Nightmare! Francis Stevens - Serapion Francis Stevens - The Heads of Cerberus Francis Stevens - The Rest of the Stories  (self re-collection) Talbot Mundy - Hira Singh Henry W. Herbert - The Roman Traitor Robert Howard - Tales of Breckenridge Elkins Robert Howard - Tales of El Borak Robert Howard - Tales of the West Robert Howard - Swords of the Red Brotherhood Robert Howard - The Black Stranger Robert Howard - The Pike Bearfield Stories Robert Howard - The Exploits of Buckner Jeopardy Grimes Robert Howard - Weird Poetry  (self re-collection) Robert Howard - Collected Juvenilia Robert Howard - The Spicy Adventures of Wild Bill Clanton  (self re-collection) Robert Howard - Tales of the Weird West  (self re-collection) Robert Howard - The Treasure of Shaibar Khan Robert Howard - Red Blades of Black Cathay Robert Howard - The Isle of Pirates' Doom Robert Howard - Dig Me No Grave Robert Howard - The Garden of Fear Robert Howard - The God in the Bowl Virgil - The Aneid Gustave Flaubert - Herodias Gustave Flaubert - Madame Bovary Talbot Mundy - Hookum Hai Gustave Flaubert - Salammbo Willa Cather - Alexander's Bridge Willa Cather - My Antonia Eudora Welty - On Writing E.M. Forster - Aspects of the Novel Jack M. Bickham - The 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes (and How to Avoid Them) Margaret Atwood - Negotiating With the Dead Arthur Conan Doyle - Fairies Photographed Arthur Conan Doyle - Great Britain and the Next War Willa Cather - My Autobiography, by S. S. McClure Willa Cather - O Pioneers! Willa Cather - One of Ours Willa Cather - The Song of the Lark Heinrich Brode - Tippu Tib Willa Cather - The Troll Garden Willa Cather - Youth and the Bright Medusa Willa Cather - The Bohemian Girl Willa Cather - The Affair at Grover Station Willa Cather - The Count of Crow's Nest Willa Cather - The Shortest Stories  (self re-collection) Willa Cather - Tales ABC  (self re-collection) Willa Cather - Tales DEF  (self re-collection) Willa Cather - Tales G-K-O  (self re-collection) Willa Cather - Tales PRST  (self re-collection) Willa Cather - Stories W  (self re-collection) Henryk Sienkiewicz - Quo Vadis Charles Darwin - The Voyage of the Beagle Sinclair Lewis - Babbitt Talbot Mundy - Jimgrim and Allah's Peace Talbot Mundy - East and West Talbot Mundy - The Iblis at Ludd Talbot Mundy - The Seventeen Thieves of El-Khalil Talbot Mundy - The Lion of Petra Talbot Mundy - The Woman Ayisha Talbot Mundy - The Last Trooper Talbot Mundy - The King in Check Talbot Mundy - A Secret Society Talbot Mundy - Moses and Mrs. Aintree Talbot Mundy - The Mystery of Khufu's Tomb Talbot Mundy - Jungle Jest Talbot Mundy - The Nine Unknown Talbot Mundy - The Marriage of Meldrum Strange Talbot Mundy - The Hundred Days Talbot Mundy - OM: The Secret of Ahbor Valley Talbot Mundy - The Devil's Guard Talbot Mundy - Jimgrim, King of the World Talbot Mundy - Machassan Ah Talbot Mundy - Oakes Respects An Adversary Talbot Mundy - Old Ugly-Face Talbot Mundy - Payable to Bearer Talbot Mundy - Poems and Dicta Talbot Mundy - Rung Ho! Talbot Mundy - Selected Stories Gordon MacReagh - Projection From Epsilon Leroy Yerxa - Back from the Crypt  (self re-collection) Garrett P. Serviss - A Columbus of Space Garrett P. Serviss - The Moon Metal Garrett P. Serviss - The Second Deluge Garrett P. Serviss - The Sky Pirate Sinclair Lewis - Arrowsmith Robert Buchanan - Camlan and the Shadow of the Sword Robert Buchanan - God and the Man Henry R. Schoolcraft - To the Sources of the Mississippi River D. W. O'Brien - Squadron of the Damned D. W. O'Brien - Blitzkrieg in the Past D. W. O'Brien - The Floating Robot D. W. O'Brien - Gone In 20 Kilobytes  (self re-collection) D. W. O'Brien - Lost in Space  (self re-collection) D. W. O'Brien - Ghosts of War  (self re-collection) William Ware - Aurelian William Ware - Zenobia J. S. Fletcher - The Stories  (self re-collection) J. S. Fletcher - Perris of the Cherry-Trees J. S. Fletcher - The Middle Temple Murder J. S. Fletcher - The Paradise Mystery J. S. Fletcher - The Safety Pin Francis H. Atkins - The Short Stories  (self re-collection) M. P. Shiel - In Short  (self re-collection) Francis H. Atkins - A Studio Mystery Francis H. Atkins - The Black Opal Talbot Mundy - The Eye of Zeitoon Talbot Mundy - The Ivory Trail Talbot Mundy - The Man From Poonch Talbot Mundy - The Middle Way Talbot Mundy - The Red Flame of Erinpura Talbot Mundy - The Thunder Dragon Gate Talbot Mundy - Tros of Samothrace Talbot Mundy - Queen Cleopatra Talbot Mundy - Purple Pirate Talbot Mundy - A Soldier and a Gentleman Talbot Mundy - Winds of the World Talbot Mundy - King of the Khyber Rifles Talbot Mundy - Guns of the Gods Talbot Mundy - Caves of Terror Thorne Smith - Biltmore Oswald: The Diary of a Hapless Recruit Thorne Smith - Biltmore Oswald: Very Much At Sea Thorne Smith - Birthday Present Thorne Smith - Did She Fall? Thorne Smith - Dream's End Thorne Smith - Haunts and By-Paths Thorne Smith - Rain In The Doorway Thorne Smith - Skin and Bones Thorne Smith - The Bishop's Jaegers Thorne Smith - The Glorious Pool Thorne Smith - The Night Life of the Gods Thorne Smith - The Stray Lamb Thorne Smith - The Jovial Ghosts: The Misadventures of Topper Thorne Smith - Topper Takes A Trip Thorne Smith - Turnabout Thorne Smith - Yonder's Henry Wilkie Collins - Antonina Wilkie Collins - Armadale Wilkie Collins - I Say No Wilkie Collins - Miss or Mrs Wilkie Collins - My Lady's Money Wilkie Collins - No Name Wilkie Collins - The Haunted Hotel Wilkie Collins - The Law and the Lady Leroy Yerxa - Death Rides At Night D. W. O'Brien - Flight From Farisha Gordon MacReagh - Out of Africa  (self re-collection) Peter Cheyney - Quick Draws  (self re-collection) Talbot Mundy - The Thrilling Adventures of Dick Anthony of Arran D. W. O'Brien - The Last Analysis M. P. Shiel - Children of the Wind Edgar Wallace - 1925: The Story of a Fatal Peace M. P. Shiel - Prince Zaleski Edgar Wallace - A Case For Angel, Esquire M. P. Shiel - Shapes in the Fire Edgar Wallace - A Deed of Gift M. P. Shiel - The Evil That Men Do Edgar Wallace - A Debt Discharged M. P. Shiel - The Last Miracle Edgar Wallace - A Dream M. P. Shiel - The Lord of the Sea Edgar Wallace - A Raid on a Gambling Hell