#Miles and Andrew are a collective mess

[aph-oklahoma-46]

Another Royal Au drabble

//No prompt this week and I’ve been really busy so here’s a thing I did for the Writing challenge I did on AO3

Colonneh really shouldn’t have been surprised. Huutsuu was still finding new ways to use the castle at home against him, why shouldn’t her new friends do the same when he visited. As he sat at the bottom of the drop, he glared up at the boys peeking down at him. They waved nervously, before retreating from the edge of the trapdoor and whispering adamantly.

The reason he was at Alex’s home was so that his parents and Francis could facilitate a courtship of sorts. Of course, they’d already found out about his and Alex’s… liaisons together in the past, but the people of neither kingdom knew that, so the monarchs had resolved to put forth a public romance that would ease the idea of the kingdoms intermarrying. So, Alex had been visiting Colonneh’s kingdom more often and Colonneh had been visiting his.

Of course, their siblings loved the idea of a new target friend to play with. For Alex, it wasn’t as bad as expected; he was after, rather experienced with troublesome siblings, and Huutsuu was much easier to deal with than both Miles and Andrew. Still, Colonneh got along fairly well with the two younger boys, playing pretend and hide-and-seek and other such games until he and Alex were supposed to make some appearance or attend some lesson. Soon, though, Colonneh realized that Andrew and Miles were just as capable of inconvenient mischief as Huutsuu was.

Thus, here he was, stuck in a pit after having fallen through a trapdoor in an older, relatively unused hall of the castle.

Miles looked down at him again and shouted apologetically, “Sorry! We thought it was supposed to be a door in the wall.” Andrew nodded.

“Well, that’s great, but it wasn’t and now I’m stuck.”

“Look on the bright side; you didn’t die!”

Colonneh rolled his eyes. “That’s great. Boys, go get a guard or someone to help me out.” He saw Andrew nod and rise before Miles caught his sleeve, looking down at Colonneh with an expression he’d seen dozens of times with Huutsuu when she was planning to screw him over.

“What do we get out of it?”

Colonneh looked up at him incredulously. “I won’t smack you for dropping me down a damn hole, how about that?”

Miles and Andrew looked at each other then shook their heads. Colonneh groaned. They were really going to make him negotiate his way out. Surely, they wouldn’t actually leave him down here if he refused to bribe them. He thought for a moment and decided that, yes, that is something they might do, so he’d better cooperate. It’ll be faster to do so, in any case.

“Ok, fine. What do you want?”

“Extra dessert for a week, and…” Andrew leaned into his brother and whispered in his ear before Miles continued. “And we want you to teach us some horse-riding tricks.” Andrew nodded again in agreement.

Colonneh sighed and leaned against the wall of the pit before answering, “Sure, now go get some guards.” The faces of the two boys pulled back from the edge and Colonneh could hear their footsteps receding down the hall. He slid down and sat against the wall, waiting for them to bring help and vowing to never follow them on one of their “expeditions” again.

//Royal Au, again! This takes place after it’s decided Alex and Colonneh should marry but before a public announcement is made, so the idea is that they ease into the whole public engagement, starting with state visits.

Colonneh belongs to @texass-shenanigans

[moviesstoriesandbooks]

Kinnporsche finale(🤧🤧 )thots

1) apo and mile are so fine. And fine actors. And have good chemistry . Like all of that together. Wow.

2) p'tong did a wonderful job in the three brothers scene. And he looks like the elder brother when they're all sitting together. He's taller.

3) but jeff was the one consoling him. I kind of think kim didn't know daddy korn didn't die. Even he didn't think korn would take it so far as to fake his death . It's my feeling.

4) someone make a side by side gifset of that stan lee librarian fight in andrew Garfield's spidey movie , brooklynn 99's gina and kimchay scene. It was fuckin hilarious. But also extremely romantic. Like , kim tried to not break bottles in the beginning. 🥺 So that chay won't be disturbed or even slightly inconvenienced. 🥺🥺🤧 Lovely.

5) the shot of the theerapanyakun crest being shot multiple times during the confrontation scene in the porch🤌🏽🤌🏽🤌🏽🤌🏽

6) Did daddy chan know?? I feel like he may or may not have. His death was cinematic excellence though. It kind of gave off the vibe that he won't be mourned. Maybe bodyguard deaths are not mourned.

7) it's also kind of sweet how the elderly guards like erika and chan may see kinn still as the boy who would play pretend or run through the hallways or mess with them on their duty hours and shit and i dunno it kinda hurt seeing how erika was like get kinn out of here and chan was like they're coming fuckin run I'm sorry i couldn't stop them 😢😢😢🤧

8) also we didn't get MUCH of arm , pol and pete bodyguarding because they were with tankhun and all of us like to make fun of them that they're scaredy cats and all that. But do you think, for even a minute , that Korn would place his eldest heir under the protection of weak men? No no no. Those are the best guards under their payroll. They're also the MOST LOYAL and TRUSTWORTHY ones , which is what tankhun needs. And boy they delivered.

9) bible. The scenes where he breaks down. Acting🤌🏽🤌🏽🤌🏽

10) like if we're gonna mention acting we'd be here all day. Every single cast member did their job. The mother- creepy as hell and made us question if this was really the end , WITHOUT OPENING HER MOUTH EVEN ONCE.

Korn- master deception but gentle and calm hence we're bound to fall into his trap like a snake moves with the charmer

Gun- violent explosive loud so we're less likely to listen to him ,but more likely to suspect him.

Chay- his childlike innocence still there , but clouded by kim' s dark aura which is still shy of leaving him alone

Kim- still can play guitar and hold a gun , won't bat an eye while killing you , and many many things which even the main family spies probably haven't a clue about I'm sure.

Like all these different character portrayed with utmost care and precision. The entire cast deserves a second season.

11) most favourite scene is vegas going "or heart?" And kinn screamed YANG!!! . Like that's love bitch. 😔

12) second fav scene has to be jeff kicking ass while making all of us collectively drool.

13) pete and vegas was the couple i was most scared they'd leave as a cliffhanger or somethin but thank God. Also macau💕💕💕💕. They're a family and i like to believe that prosche protects them from afar which is how he gets the minor family to behave.

14) the rings. They got the matching rings. I'd like to believe kinn's is platinum and prosche's is gold.

15) vegas took multiple bullets. There may have been an alternative ending in my mind for like a few seconds where i thought pete would shoot the last shot to finally kill vegas coz he didn't want vegas to die by another hand.

16) i mean the sight of apo coming in with guns blazing , tits sculpting white tee and all which cut right through his biceps had me moaning so it's no wonder kinn's hand strayed a little far from the gun . 👀👀

17)tankhun had his fun. Like he wasn't afraid to kick ass from afar. Please sniper tankhun in season 2 🥺🥺

18)also people have been saying kinn is stupid and all of that and he's not fit to be a leader . I'd like you to consider .. the gun -porsche-kinn scene. He tried to talk his uncle out of it.

19) in the meeting after korn's supposed death , that's when i felt that kinn was most out of reach. Without porsche by his side his animalistic side has the wheel and that's not good for anybody. But with porsche back at his side , kinn sees reason.

20) and which is why kinn is better than korn. Kinn is not a manipulative violent asshole . He also doesn't trust his father(asks porsche "do you believe that?")maybe we'll get to see kinn finally grow out of his father's mould and be better than him in next season.

all is well..... I guess.

I have certain expectations or theories for the second season and i want them to be real so bad. Maybe another post ..... Hm...

[binsofchaos]

Questlove | Soul Train

When Thompson was born, his pediatrician — an aspiring child psychologist — implored his parents to allow their child as much creative freedom as possible. Lee Andrews and Jacquelin Thompson were singers, and the doctor was curious to see whether their musicality would pass down to their newborn. From an early age, Thompson was encouraged to play in his food or draw on the walls. Luckily, he quickly took to the mess-free habit of banging on pots and pans. At age 5, he started drum lessons, which is to say he began tap-dancing lessons, learning the sort of rhythmic coordination that drumming demands. Eventually, he was allowed to touch the actual drums.

At the same time, he was receiving his own musical education from his family, who had a collection of almost 5,000 records. At age 4, Thompson was already schooled on the difference between Carole King’s “It’s Too Late” and the version by the Isley Brothers. His older sister liked mainstream rock (Queen, the Eagles); his mother grabbed any album with a cool cover (Miles Davis’s “Bitches Brew”). His father liked rock, soul, folk — pretty much everything. Any albums he discarded went to Thompson; one of his first was Stevie Wonder’s outré “Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants,” which, he has joked, was his version of Pink Floyd’s “The Dark Side of the Moon.”

On The Summer of Soul:

The film’s true feat lies in Thompson’s restoration and contextualization. The difference between a concert like this and Woodstock is neither talent nor star power, but an enduring mythology that kept one rattling around in our head for decades after, while taking little notice of the other. Outside a handful of extremely popular artists, most Black soul, funk and R.&B. acts were denied the same serious study — obsessed over and scrutinized, the subjects of articles and films and books — as their white rock counterparts. Jazz was studied closely, but Black popular music, while not exactly ignored, seemed to be dismissed as faddish. It wasn’t until magazines like The Source, founded in 1988, and Vibe, in 1993, that we saw a well-read body of serious, published criticism of hip-hop and popular R.&B. By virtue of sampling, their ancestral genres were finally given some documented analysis, too.

Thompson’s work — maybe even Thompson himself — continues this corrective: using a music guy’s detailed scrutiny to ensure that Black music has its deserved place in the intellectual history. In his book “Music Is History,” Thompson mentions a clip he loved from an interview with Nina Simone, “where she talked about how Black people in America were, in one important respect, deprived of something that Africans had, and that was a sense of their own past.” A record is a culture’s lifeblood; remembrance is the first step toward being understood. This is where Thompson, a “Schoolhouse Rock!” episode of a man, shines. “I am also concerned (obsessed?) with looking at how the universe of music resolves into galaxies, and galaxies into constellations,” he writes. American music is connected to global music. Punk is a cousin of reggae. Rock and soul are related. “At some level, music is like one gigantic organism, flowing through people at different times, in different places.” He told me that he wants to “lay out the evidence before the people so that it’s not forgotten. And if they come to it and embrace it, perfect, but I’m very much aware and accepting of the fact that people move on.”

...Joseph Patel, a producer on the film and a longtime friend of Thompson’s, told me that Thompson approached “Summer of Soul” as a kind of corrective. If the festival didn’t get to be the stuff of legend for their generation, maybe it could be for the next. “He’s on this mission to tell these stories as sort of a larger restoration project of Black history, and to show that Black history is American history.” Thompson encourages us to imagine a world in which Black music history isn’t merely consumed but is venerated and treated like the cultural monument it is — like the way it already exists to him.

On DJing

His D.J. sets have been his primary venue for instruction for decades, showcasing the history of soul or funk or dance. He keeps lengthy playlists, organized by genre, theme, era and style, and refines them into the story he wants to tell, a duty he approaches with reverence. It can take him months to work on a playlist. Thompson referred to his relationship with D.J.ing as an embodied love, as if the activity has taken on a physical form and turned into a person who changes and ages and might get traded in. “I’ve been married to records for 50 years — is it time for a new chick?” he said. The days in which he can spend hours combing through his trove of records grow fewer. Then he reconsidered: “Well, I mean, I don’t feel like I’m cheating — it’s almost like if my spouse were to pass away. It’s run its course.”

Last month, he D.J.ed a party for Madonna. He started off with a thematic set — “I’m in a room that sort of looks like a modern update of ‘Paris Is Burning’; I just naturally thought, OK, this is a rare chance for me to play a really good house set” — but the reaction was muted. Then he played a set similar to the one I heard at Soho House, and people went wild, dancing and vogueing to T.I. “I’ve been busting my ass for 10, 20 years, trying to figure out the definitive house music to play for parties. If these songs didn’t work at a Madonna party. ... ” He trailed off. I asked him about the discordance between his efforts of preservation and the ways people my age approach history. “I’m just trying to figure out if this is a transition I might not want to face.”

On Preserving Black History

Since “Summer of Soul” was released, he has become the owner of quite a bit of unsolicited music memorabilia. He has gotten truckloads of heirlooms, with the occasional accompanying note: I want to make sure that you have these artifacts because I know you’ll know what to do with them after I’m gone. The first night we met, he showed me a mint-condition bread bag, a strange piece of merchandising that the Supremes had done in 1966. A jazz station in West Virginia gave him its library, some 30,000 records. This summer, a collector in Minnesota gave him 800 hours of tapes showcasing the history of Black radio. He understands why these things get sent to him. “Who would care about this as much as I do?” he said.

These histories either go to him or end up in the trash, so he takes them all, describing himself as a “walking Blacksonian,” preserving them as best he can. The actual Blacksonian, or the National Museum of African American History and Culture, has approached him about housing his collection after he dies. It’s an offer he’s still considering.

The objects tell a story, and their preservation asserts that there’s a story worth telling. Over and over, his friends told me that Thompson’s prolificness wasn’t his most impressive feature; it’s that he never stopped being a fan. “Somebody’s gonna have to do a term paper in 2050,” he told me, “and I just want to make sure they’ve got their information right.”

[talvin-muircastle]

Another Update re: My Dad

So, for those of you new here, at the beginning of the year my father died of COVID.  

He left quite a mess for his second wife, including tearing up not only his will but hers, and things were Very Not Good for a bit.  Getting him cremated took a lot of hassle, but she did finally get reimbursed by FEMA.  

I have been calling her every week or so to check in on her, just see how she is doing living in that mobile home in a wooded valley four miles from a town full of rednecks.   She’s Canadian, and moved down there to be with my Dad, and has only a very few friends there even now.  

The mobile home and postage stamp of land will go to the State when she passes on or moves away, under Medicaid Estate Recovery.  That’s Federal Law, if you have to have long-term care, they may take your whole estate to pay for it. Fuck America.  

She had some things she wanted to send me, and I sent her a stack of large USPS flat-rate boxes and told her every time she had something ready to mail, I would do Click-and-Ship and send her the labels to print out.  She sent me some of the Sci-Fi books that I had grown up reading from Dad’s collection, his entire Andrew Greeley collection, a bunch of photos including the pictures from our wedding day, and the kilt Dad wore at our wedding.  He sprang for kilts for me, my brother, and himself for that day.  

All that is done, now, but (and keep in mind this woman and I have never met face to face, and the Pandemic and finances meant I could not go down there), she was complaining about the cordless phone dying on her, and it came out that she had to be very careful how she held the phone to keep it away from her pacemaker and there was no proper “landline” phone (and she is far enough out that cell service is shit.) Also, if the power went out, she then had no phone, it was all cordless.

I kinda freaked out, and so did my family, so she got a landline phone that is quite safe to have within six inches of her pacemaker, and last time I called she was using it and much relieved and very grateful. I was like...quick purchase on Amazon, you sent me eight boxes of stuff and I keep asking if you need anything, I think that really is important!

Four miles from anything, elderly, pacemaker, and using an ancient cordless phone (I mean, I think we are talking *at least* fifteen years old, from what she is saying) that needs power to call 911.  YIKES!

So that’s better.  

Not the best scan, but here is a pic of me and my Dad from my wedding day.  Nowadays, my facial hair looks a lot like his.

In fact, my face looks a lot more like his, now.

And his kilt fits me just fine, now.

Well.

[jaamytarts]

- Tim Drake was a mistake that went on too long for DC to turn back on, and is written to be gassed up by everyone to distract that he's at all times surrounded by characters 100x more interesting

- Miles Morales and Peter Parker have the same responsibilities but only one is a hot mess and that's because Miles is a better Spider-Man

- Lonnie Machin should've been the third Robin

- Fanon Batfamily sucks ass and is just a collection of one-note tropes and shitty personality redesigns

- (just for tumblr) Campy Batman sucks get that fever dream away from me

- Joker doesn't need Batman to be interesting

- Modern comics should officially do away with having a shared universe/continuity all around

- Adding onto that last point, Spider-Man should be set in his own universe. He has the history and the rogues gallery to manage

- Both TASM's sucked ass you all just like Andrew Garfield

- Poison Ivy was the wrong choice for Harley to have such a longstanding romance with, Harley's also better off as a villain or at the least an anti-hero

- Jason Todd hasn't been written correctly since his reintroduction as Red Hood and he should NEVER be a part of the Batfamily following his death

Wow, go off anon! Spit that fire.

- n52 Orm wasn't well written or very interesting character. People just like him cause he wasn't immediately hating Arthur. (and conveniently attractive)

- TO add onto Orm part. His romance with Erin Shaw was shit. and was mostly just fanon stuff since he was written out of the book. -Miles IS the better spider-man. I thought that was the point. - The Gotham City Sirens don't work as a team. And really just during the Hush stuff and they didn't work there either. - god TASM did suck. I fell asleep during the first one.

[introductions-are-a-spook]

Tag list: @kyuudomo @kissthe-gogoat @caloroso-cosmos @omrade-echorin < You said you like the last one so added you. Let me know if you’re okay with that, and sorry if not!

Let me know if you want to be added or taken off. Reblogs and feedback always appreciated!

Fifty miles from the Chapman house and twenty years ago, rain fell over an English boarding school. Children ran from building to building, clutching their bags under hunched chests in an attempt to protect them.

Visible through a window, one student sat huddled on a library bench, nose deep in a book. And of course they didn’t see through their concentration to the rambunctious upperclassman arguing with the librarian.

“I told you before, my father tore the book, not me. I can get the money to pay for it, it’ll just take a couple days!”

“That’s ridiculous. Just why in the world would a parent do that, hmm?”

“You obviously don’t know him like I do,” he snipped under his breath.

After a moment more of this, he sauntered over to where the bookworm- maybe a grade or two below him, sat. Flopping down, he groaned.

Finally the quiet one spoke. “Mrs. Kingsley’s going to wring your neck if you don’t replace the book soon, you know.”

“Yeah, I get it already. Geez.” The older boy looked at the younger with a raised eyebrow. “Hey I know you, you’re in my chemistry class. Mary, right?”

“Er, it’s Maxwell. And yes, what about it?”

“Isn’t that a bit too hard for you? You’re what, twelve?”

“Fourteen. You?”

“Aww, a little shrimp. I’m seventeen. Andrew, by the way,” although teasing, his tone lacked any genuine malice. He held out a hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you, prick.”

Andrew laughed. “Damn right. Whatcha reading?”

Maxwell tilted the book. A collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. “I want to be a detective when I get out of school, so I’m studying now.”

“That’s cool. We better get to class though, the bell’s gonna ring soon,” Andrew said, standing up and checking his watch.

Maxwell reluctantly closed his book and nodded. “Just try to pay for the book soon, okay? Mrs. Kingsley isn’t the only one who cares about this library.”

“Oh sure. I’ll just steal the money from my dad while he’s at church or something,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Nice meeting you, Maxwell!”

“Same here. Criminal!”

Andrew laughed and walked off. Maxwell allowed a chuckle as he went the opposite way.

~*~

Six pictures were laid out in front of Andrew. All of various bedrooms. Half he recognized- Maxwell’s, Isabella’s, and his own. The other three varied. There was a rather plain, maroon themed bedroom with several camera monitors in one corner. Another was coated wall-to-wall in weapons and a bright scarlet palette. The last of which was more pink and the most homely, with picture frames full of people everywhere. All belonging to Maxwell’s siblings, most likely.

And yet, Andrew was not confused. In fact, he was quite disturbed. He sat with his ferret, Brie, in his arms, petting her in an attempt to calm down.

He had finally worked up the courage to read the letter. Mr. Antigone had left a graphic plan of all the horrible things he would do if Andrew didn’t leave Maxwell as soon as possible. He detailed all the ways he could get away with it, and included the pictures as proof of his deadly seriousnessand capability.

Well if he hasn’t killed me yet, it probably means he wants me alive. He must be trying to beat me into submission.

What a mess. Within just a few weeks of going out with Max, Andrew’s world had turned upside down. Of all the people in the world, he had to fall in love with a detective.

A knock at the downstairs door stirred him. Quietly putting Brie in her pen, he cursed himself for not burning the letter as told. Walking down to the front on tiptoe, he slipped a kitchen knife into his pocket- just in case.

Another knock. Andrew took a deep breath, prepared for the worst, and opened the door.

“Maxwell! Oh, it’s just you, thank god,” he sighed in relief.

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. “Of course it’s me, who else would it be?” He cut Andrew off before he could respond. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter. We need to talk.”

A twinge of fear settled in Andrew’s gut. “About what? Is everything okay?”

“Given that you feel the need to answer the door with a knife in your coat,” he gestured to how poorly it was hidden, “No, things are far from okay.”

Andrew studied Maxwell’s face. His handsome features were pulled into a grave expression, his demeanor uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you come in,” Andrew said, holding the door ajar for the other man.

“Thank you,” Maxwell responded, sitting down at an empty booth in the main shop. Andrew sat down across from him, and they sat in silence for a long few moments.

Maxwell slowly tapped his thumbs together. Andrew could see how his eyes faded in deep thought.

“Andrew.”

“Yes?”

“Are you…” he took a shaky breath. “No. I know you’re the thief.”

Andrew’s stomach flipped, but he calmed himself. “You’re good. Guilty as charged. Is this my day of reckoning, then?” His tone was bitter, almost scared.

For the first time since arriving, Maxwell looked Andrew directly in the eye. “I have an idea.”

“You didn’t answer my question, but go on,” he said with a dry chuckle.

“Tell me, who is Nikos Antigone?”

Andrew stood up suddenly. “What do you mean, has he contacted you? Have you met him?”

“So you do know him. He sent me a letter- or, as it turns out, two letters. The first ‘anonymously’ telling me to run away from you, the second saying that you robbed him. Tell me, have you ever used violence in your hijinks?”

“I don’t know how much you’ll believe me, but no, I haven’t.”

“I figured as much. So it was Antigone that broke your nose a couple weeks back?”

Andrew hesitated. Was this an interview? But Maxwell seemed so genuinely worried. “Yeah, basically.”

“I’m very sorry,” he said, brushing a finger over the bridge that was still sore. Andy winced slightly, causing Max to draw his hand away.

“I’m not going to turn you in. I want to help, but to do that, I need answers. Could you tell me more?” He was now surprisingly soft.

So with a heavy sigh, Andrew spilled his guts about everything, even ousting Isabella’s involvement in the process. He also provided some insight on Jennifer. She was the daughter of a nobleman, one that rudely broke off dealings with the Antigone family’s crime loop, when she was just a baby.

Despite this, all four of them had attended the same school without realizing. She and the young Nikos were the best of friends, before they all went their separate ways, and Nikos followed in his family’s footsteps. Andrew was doing jobs for him simply to make him money and to be a jewel in his crown.

“You won’t have to be for long. If we can find a way to get him in the wrong place at the wrong time, we can pin all of your wrongdoings on him.”

“Maxwell, no. You could lose your job if you did that!”

“I’m more than willing-“

“And besides, I’m the one at the wheel, I should take the blame-“

“You think I haven’t shuffled blame before? You know neither of us have ever cared about morals and virtue.”

“That may be true, but this is still a huge risk. One I’m not willing to let you take for me!”

“Well too bad, because I refuse to allow you to keep on like this. If you don’t let me help, I’ll find a way to do something on my own.”

“Max, what the hell has gotten into you? Why can’t you let me sort out my own problems- or just throw me in jail already?”

“Because I love you, you nitwit!”

There was a long, charged silence. The tension of argument melted away, leaving something else entirely in its place.

“I… I think I love you too. And I don’t want you to get hurt. You have no idea the things this guy will do to you.”

Max held Andy’s hand, up on the table. “You’re right, I don’t. But I know with our combined minds, we can outsmart him.”

Andrew took a deep, shuddering breath. “Do you really think so?”

Maxwell nodded. “The Antigone family has done enough damage. It’s about time someone put a stop to it. I only have one condition.”

“That being?”

“For both of our sakes, you need to drop your game. Once Nikos is in prison, well…”

Andrew nodded and pondered for a moment. “I’d need something else after the fact- to keep me entertained. But yes, for you, I will.”

“Then our plot can be your last heist. Any ideas as to a replacement?”

“You could marry me, and we could run away together. Be musicians in Vienna till’ we’re old,” Andy smirked.

Max giggled. “Ask me again in three years.”

And then he gave Andy the most lovestruck look. Andy returned it. They glanced at their pose- they were awfully close.

“I’d ask if I could kiss you, but there’s a table in the way,” Andy whispered with a quiet laugh.

“Just get over here, you,” Max then pulled a laughing Andy by his tie to the nearest wall, moving close, only to be stopped.

“Hang the hell on, you’re the short one, shouldn’t you be the one-“

Max swatted Andy’s arm. “Oh, shut up.” And with that, they finally closed the gap.

Andy smelled like fresh cakes, and Max like old books. Where the thief tasted like strawberries, the detective was like tea with milk; both felt like smooth butter.

Andy’s arms were strong as he lifted Max and held him so close. They stood like that for a long time, pausing only to dash upstairs. Andrew had only one thought before his mind went blank with bliss.

Antigone thinks he can use me as a puppet. Poor man has no idea what he’s messing with.

[jemej3m]

HAVE U EVER THOUGHT OF A BAND!AU?? i love band au's and ur work!!! (not to mention but i think u would write an excellent drummer!andrew)

are you kidding me??? have i ever thought of a band au? bruh i breathe band au’s

also, i wanted this to be soft, so have some childhood friends starting a band out of their mum’s garage :DD

*

“Can I now?”

Neil ducked his head, trying not to show Andrew his grin. “No, ‘Drew.”

Andrew cocked his head. “How about now?”

Neil turned around and arched a singular eyebrow at the man. “You cannot shove your drum stick through Kevin’s brain, Andrew. Not now: not ever.”

“I hate you,” he muttered. Neil just grinned. 

“You say the sweetest things to me, ‘Drew.” With that, he turned and continued to tune his acoustic. Behind him, Andrew was going bright red. 

What started as a friendly, neighbourhood band had turned into something else entirely: Neil and Andrew were cramped backstage, tuning and warming up. Kevin was probably talking to his mom on the phone, whilst Nicky was most certainly trying to escape their security detail and go flirt with fans in the event centre’s foyer. He could charm a crowd. 

They’d started the band up when they were just kids: Neil remembered Kevin grabbing him by the sleeve and dragging him across the street, where he’d noticed the three Dobson boys setting up instruments in their garage: Nicky on bass, Aaron on keyboard and Andrew on his drumkit. 

Neil, having been only 11 whilst the others were 12 or 13, wasn’t as outspoken or enthusiastic about joining them as Kevin was. 

“Come on, Neil,” Kevin insisted, dragging him by the elbow. “I’ll sing and you play the guitar. Okay?”

“It might be fun, Neil,” his sister, Dan, insisted, giving him a gentle push out the door. “It’s just messing around in a garage band. Nothing serious.”

If little Neil knew where he’d be, nine years later, he probably would’ve spontaneously combusted out of paranoia and fear. 

Adult Neil still got anxious - he always wanted to perform his best - but it’d taken years of gigs and scouts and labels to work them up to where they were now. It was a gradual process, which definitely helped the whole stage-fright thing. 

“What are you thinking about?” Andrew inquired, sitting down behind Neil and hooking his chin over Neil’s shoulder. He smiled, leaning back against his best friend. 

“Just stuff,” he responded. “How we got here. Where we’ll go.”

“Next stop on the tour is D.C.”

“Funny.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed, deadpan. “That’s what I’m known for.”

Neil just laughed, getting to his feet. “We’d better get ready before Kevin comes back.”

“Your brother is the worst,” Andrew grunted, following suit. 

“At least we’re not related,” Neil grinned, jostling Andrew’s shoulder. “You can’t talk: you’re Aaron’s twin.”

Andrew just pointed a stick at Neil in warning. 

*

The lights were flashing. Audience screaming. Neil opened his eyes out of his reverie and looked to his counterparts: Nicky was rushing up and down the front lines, giving out as many hugs as he could. Kevin was waving and blowing kisses. And Andrew - 

He stood behind his drumkit, shirtless and dripping with sweat. He still bore his armbands, brimming with blades and secrets, and in his hands he loosely held his favourite pair of drumsticks, a pair Betsy had bought him, one’s he’d been careful to not break. 

Neil’s mouth was dry as he walked over to where Andrew stood. A spotlight blazed from above, shrouding Andrew’s head and illuminating his hair like a golden halo. He looked angelic. He was angelic. 

“You were amazing,” Neil said, voice lost under the cacophony of the crowd. His hand was reached out, gently brushing the bare skin of Andrew’s bicep. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore: the post-show euphoria was driving him. 

Andrew didn’t need to hear him. He could read lips. Read intentions. 

They were ushered off the stage soon after, Neil’s ears still ringing, his fingertips still burning. Andrew tugged on a fresh shirt, a towel around his neck. He had the most laborious job out of all of them, save maybe Kevin. Neil looked away from the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck. 

“Good show,” Kevin panted, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. Neil nodded, the exhaustion of playing for four hours settling in. His shoulders ached, fingertips raw with playing both his guitar and the keyboard (Neil filled Aaron’s vacancy when he’d fucked off to college) whilst his throat ached from countless harmonies and backups he sung for Kevin. 

Genuine praise from Kevin was rare and prized for their band, and was usually reserved to the few moments after a performance finished. Then he’d go back to his regularly scheduled criticisms and evaluations. 

“Wasn’t it?” Nicky grinned. “We are such hot shit sometimes! Anyway,” he slung his guitar off to the side, careless. Neil winced a little. “I’ve got a cutie waiting in my car, apparently.” He winked. “His name’s Erik and he’s built like a wall. I’ll see y’all tomorrow!” 

“Jesus Christ,” Kevin said, not unkindly. They were all used to Nicky’s antics by now. He looked back to Neil. “You gonna stay with Andrew or me?”

Neil narrowed his eyes. Was he going to stay with his brother or his best friend? The choice wasn’t exactly hard to make. 

Kevin put up his hands. “What? I thought you two’d had a lover’s spat or something, before the show.”

“Kevin,” Andrew warned, voice low. 

“You guys weren’t as synthesised as you usually are,” Kevin continued. “Did Neil say something, again? Neil, what did you do?”

“Kevin,” Andrew snapped. 

The man took his final warning with a grain of salt and rolled his eyes, peeling off to cool down and head back to the hotel. He left Neil standing in the middle of the corridor, baffled. What the fuck was he talking about? A lover’s spat?

“Don’t think too hard, junkie,” Andrew muttered, fingers hooked into the collar of Neil’s shirt. “He’s just sprouting his usual bullshit.” But Andrew couldn’t look him in the eyes. 

“Right,” Neil agreed, smiling weakly. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Andrew tugged him down the corridor with a finger hooked through Neil’s belt loop. 

Neil went willingly. He always went willingly with Andrew. There was no one else in the world that he trusted more.

*

“What do you mean, you’re not a thing?”

Neil paused with his fingertips up to the door, ready to push it open. It seemed as though he had stumbled upon a conversation - perhaps not for Neil’s ears. 

“He’s not interested,” Andrew said, sounding exhausted. “And I’m not about to pressure him into something he doesn’t want.”

Huh. Maybe they were talking about a new guy. Andrew didn’t date that often - or very successfully - and he was usually not willing to talk to Neil about it whenever it did happen. Neil wasn’t quite sure why but respected his boundaries nevertheless. He just didn’t know that Andrew went to Kevin about it. 

Neil wondered who it was, this time. Roland? He’d been the most long-term thing Andrew had ever attempted. No, Andrew said he wasn’t interested in Roland. Unless he was lying. 

Andrew doesn’t lie to me, Neil reminded himself. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin insisted. “He’s been in love with you ever since he first saw you. Don’t give me that look, Andrew. Put away your knives.”

“Do you think so?” Andrew asked, voice low. Gravelly. Tainted by disbelief.

Something in Neil’s chest tightened. He sounded…hopeful. Neil was arbitrarily jealous. Who was this guy? 

Wait, why was Neil jealous?

He pushed against the door, ignoring the way that the two of them shifted so that it didn’t look like they were engaged in conversation. 

“We’re loading up the bus,” he supplied. “Time to get moving.”

And if Neil noticed the way that Andrew walked around him, careful not to brush their knuckles, well. 

He didn’t say anything. 

*

By the end of the third week, Neil couldn’t handle it anymore. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, or why Andrew was so adamant in avoiding him, but he hated it. He hadn’t felt this isolated since his early years when his father would shut him in a wardrobe and his mother would scold him for eliciting his father’s ire, before both of his parents died and Wymack adopted him into his strange little family, brought him into the tiny cul de sac  where Betsy Dobson and Abby Winfield lived with their own collections of abandoned kids. 

“Andrew,” he mumbled as he watched Andrew tuck himself into his own bed. They were sleeping in the same hotel room but they were millions of miles away from each other. Neil felt stiff and confused. 

Resigned, he shut the light off. 

*

“Fix it,” Kevin demanded. 

“Fix what?”

“Just tell him already. It’s getting nauseating.” 

Neil narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kevin threw Neil’s lyric notepad back at him. “‘Living limbless, lost, lonely, ever since you went and left me’? What do you mean, what am I talking about? I thought you two were already together - now he’s saying you were never interested? What the fuck, Neil. You’ve been practically married for years.” 

Neil blinked. “Me and -”

“Andrew, yes, who else?” Kevin continued, irritable as he scrawled down new ideas. “You’re so fucking dense sometimes - ow!” 

Neil stuck out his tongue, satisfied with the large black line his thrown pen had left behind. He fished out another pen from his bag and kept writing, letting Kevin’s banter distract him from how painful his chest felt. 

*

The tour was ending. They were looping back to South Carolina. Andrew hardly looked at him anymore, let alone spoke to him. Kevin looked at Neil with pity. Nicky tried to cheer everyone up with icecream. 

Neil couldn’t understand why they were falling apart. What had he done? What had he said? 

The screams irked him. They sounded less ecstatic and more afraid. Neil was falling apart onstage, overthinking. They’d just played for Charleston, one of their last stops on the tour. 

The curtains came down. Neil couldn’t move. The others were already off the stage. Neil couldn’t breathe. 

“Neil,” Andrew said. He couldn’t look Andrew in the eye. How was he to explain that Andrew’s estrangement had left him in such a miserable state that he could hardly perform without breaking down? 

“Neil, look at me.” 

Neil closed his eyes. “Whatever I did - I’m sorr -” 

“Abram,” Andrew whispered, before pressing a bruising kiss to Neil’s lips. His eyes flew open, though he didn’t move. It didn’t matter: Not a moment later, Andrew ricocheted back, hand over his own mouth. In his other hand, his favourite drumsticks snapped, falling to the floor in uneven halves. 

By the time Neil had opened his mouth, Andrew was gone. 

Neil spent the drive to the pub they’d chosen to ride out their performance high in silence. Andrew was stoic and unmoving, silent despite Nicky’s attempts at conversation. When they arrived, Neil felt like he wanted to throw up. 

It was bustling at the late hour, but dark enough to slip in unnoticed. Neil followed Andrew up to the bar: at one point, someone shoved into Andrew and Neil felt him press Neil against the marble top, warm from shoulder to shin. Neil wanted to lean back into him. He wanted Andrew to look at him, to talk to him. He wanted Andrew back. He wanted Andrew. 

Quickly, he turned around, ignoring the bar tender when he asked if he was sure he wanted a virgin martini. Andrew was right there, pupils blown, cheeks red. Angry. 

He was furious. 

“Andrew,” Neil insisted. “Why -” 

He grabbed the tray of drinks and disappeared before Neil could form a sentence. 

And - well. Neil wasn’t known for subordination. 

He waited patiently for the others to get drunk and disappear into the crowd, like they always did. Sometimes Nicky dragged Neil with him, if the night was right. Andrew usually just sat, patiently waiting for his family to return to him. His whiskey sips were cautious and slow. 

Tonight was different. As soon as they were alone, Andrew stood, knocked back the entire glass and strode towards the exit. Neil let his breath hitch and followed, almost jogging in order to keep up with Andrew’s stride. 

“Andrew, this is insane,” he said as they walked down the street, leaving the bar behind. “I’m losing my mind here. Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do?” 

“Exist,” Andrew snarled, hands curled into fists and shoved into the pockets of his denim jacket. 

Neil ran ahead of him, almost tripping over the uneven sidewalk. They’d walked far enough that they seemed to have removed themselves from any remnants of the club, and instead were stood in front of a circular, patheon-esque church and its haphazard graveyard. 

Andrew stopped walking and stared. In the moonlight his skin was pale enough to be translucent. 

“Tell me,” Neil whispered. “Truth for truth. We promised, Andrew. To never lie, to never leave. Why did you kiss me?”

“You promised,” Andrew corrected him. “I swore I would have your back. Does that have to constitute being attached at the hip?” 

Neil crossed his arms, petulant. 

Andrew’s sigh was aggravated. “It was never meant to be a problem.”

“What was?”

“You.”

“Andrew -” 

Fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, then slipped across the warm skin at the nape of his neck, then tangled themselves into Neil’s hair. Andrew pulled their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes closed too tight. Neil wanted to iron out the crease between his brows. 

“‘Drew?”

“Shut up,” the man croaked. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Andrew,” Neil said, weakly. “I wanted to kiss you.” 

Andrew’s nails dug into Neil’s scalp. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes,” his fingers carefully found their way onto Andrew’s jaw, forcing the man to look up at him. “I did.” 

Andrew just swallowed, red-cheeked. 

Neil pulled Andrew closer, head dropping to Andrew’s shoulder. His heart throbbed like a drumbeat, heavy and insistent and never, ever out of time. “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Andrew lied. 

“I think I like you, ‘Drew,” Neil whispered into the skin of Andrew’s neck. “I think I really do.” 

“I hate you,” Andrew managed, sliding his hands around Neil’s waist and holding him close under the Charleston moonlight. “I hate you.” 

“I know,” Neil managed, closing his eyes. It made a lot more sense, now. 

Between their erratic breathing and racing pulses, a drumbeat formed. 

[mendesmelancholy]

Marks - Chapter 2

a shawn mendes series

Chapter 1 Synopsis: A series where Shawn meets a fan in a tattoo parlour and gets a matching tattoo with her which sparks an unexpected dynamic between two people, learning how to love regardless of their mental illnesses. Warnings: anxiety attack/anxious thoughts, mentions of scars Word Count: 4k Taglist: @shawnmendes-s @negative-love @qrangr @sweetheartmendes @shawnsunflower @into-the-end @sunshineeashton @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @stokedmendes @someoneunimportantxx​ @shawnscheekscar​ A/N: Hey guys! I couldn’t wait till part 1 got to 200 notes (which is a little sad because I LOVE this series and I want other people to love it too. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! With love, Isabella x

     “Do you believe in fate?” He asks her abruptly. Her brows furrow but she nods, “This feels like fate is screaming at me. Like, this is what I’m supposed to do,” he runs his fingers through his hair, his grip on her hand tightening slightly, “I can’t even describe it.”

     She brushes her lips with her tongue, watching him with uncertainty before looking at Tony. Tony is finishing the last word on her tattoo, nodding his head, encouraging her.

     “Okay. I’ll do it.”

     Her hands tremble as she writes down the lyrics. She does her best to steady her pen, but she can’t help the anxiety crawling into her chest at the thought of one of her musical idols having her handwriting on her for the rest of their lives. She looks up at Shawn, who’s sitting in the tattoo chair, with only his briefs on, chuckling at something Tony says. She looks back down to the counter, her mind going hazy and she can feel the anxiety attack coming on. She swipes at the tears forming in her eyes, digging her fingernails into her palms.

     She’s abruptly aware of his laugh and Tony’s words. She’s aware of the blood pumping through her veins. She’s aware of words surging in her head in a way she can’t quite keep up with. She’s aware of the fear accompanying the anxiety in her throat. Why did she agree to this? What if he doesn’t like it? What if he gets it and regrets it? What if he doesn’t want this? What if he’s doing it just to make her happy?

     Her breath snags in her throat, the fear stopping any sort of thing that could ground her. 

     Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.breathe.breathe.breathebreathebreathebreathe.

     The chant swirls in her head and she can’t breathe. The words jumble in her head along with the lyrics she’s meant to be writing but she can’t get her damn hand to stop shaking. She clutches onto the corner of the chair she’s sitting in, the one Shawn had sat in ten minutes ago, grasping onto something solid. Her fist curls around the Sharpie she’s holding, pressing the tip as hard as humanly possible against the paper. Her vision is blurry with tears, and even as she tries to blink them back, they smear down her cheeks almost the same way the Sharpie was bleeding through the tiny veins of the paper.

     Now, she’s hyperventilating. Her mind has gone eerily silent. She’s shut down. And all she’s left with is the physical reactions occurring in her body. The pounding of her head and heart, the pulsing of her arteries, the trembling of her muscles and the heavy breathing of her lungs.

     Shawn notices the hyperventilating. When he turns to look at the girl, his own heart stops. He’s quickly out of his seat, kneeling on the floor next to her.

     “Hey, hey, hey,” Shawn fumbles, his hand coming to wrap gently around her fingers which are digging to her chair. He can see her swallow hard, eyes boring into the paper in front of her. That’s when he looks at the shaky letters written on the paper and the big black smear from her stress on the marker. He can feel her shaking and he brings his fingers up to brush her pulse point on her wrist. Her heart is going a mile a minute.

     “Honey, breathe with me,” he says. She doesn’t respond, completely blacked out of her surroundings, unaware what’s occurring around her. Shawn’s mind fumbles over ways to get her attention. He needs her to look at him. In his anxiety attacks, he needed to look at someone. Whether it was Andrew, Connor, Brian or his parents. He needed to ground himself with people’s presence. To know he isn’t alone.

     Biting at his lip, he brings one hand he isn’t holding hers with to her right cheek. He gently applies pressure to her soft skin. She doesn’t resist. She allows him to guide her eyes to his and he smiles when her brown eyes meet his. His smile is reassuring and soothing, even though he can tell she’s not exactly looking at him. The look in her eyes is foreign and blank and completely and utterly zoned out and Shawn worries for a quick moment he won’t be able to snap her out of this state,

     “Hey, honey, just keep looking at me,” he doesn’t move his hand. He begins to exaggerate his breathing, showing her she needs to breathe. She seems to understand in her hazy state and begins to take deep breaths. Her breaths shake like her muscles are, still, Shawn doesn’t move his fingers from her pulse point and continues to monitor the pattern in which her heartbeats. His eyes on hers, his touch on her skin, his ability to ground her, is what brings her back. He can feel her heartbeat slowing and hear her breathing evening out. The foggy look behind her eyes begins to dissipate the way clouds part after it’s rained.

     “Hey, there you go,” he soothes, rubbing his thumb along her cheek, nodding encouragingly as she offers him a weak smile. She lets out a long final breath, her body slumping in her seat a little.

     “Thank you,” she mutters. Shawn nods again, unwilling to part from her just yet. She smiles weakly at him, taking another profound breath and steadying her shaking hand that hasn’t moved from the paper.

     “Sorry about that,” she awkwardly chuckles, referring both to her panic attack and the mess she’s made on the paper. She lets go of the pen and sits further back in her seat. Shawn’s grasp doesn’t quite reach so his touch drops from her cheek but rests on her knee instead. He’s still kneeling in front of her and his face is right in front of her. His tall stature proves to be much larger than her, the short girl still shorter than him in her seat and him on his knees.

     “You okay, honey?” He asks.

     “Yeah,” she sighs, using her right hand to pull at the hair tie in her hair. Her hair falls from the confines and flutters around her face. She runs her fingers through her hair, pulling slightly at the roots. Shawn frowns, waiting for her to continue, “Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

     “Did I cause it?” Shawn asks worriedly, sitting back on his heels, still touching her hand that’s relaxed its grip on the chair. The other hand on her knee falls into his lap, but Shawn makes an effort to have a hand on her. He doesn’t want her to get brought back to that place. So, he will anchor her.

     “No, not at all,” she sighs out. She promptly tries to distract herself, “Hey, uh, Tony?”

     “Yeah?”

     “Can you get me a new pen and paper?”

     “Of course.” Tony leaves without another word, never a man of many words, leaving Shawn and her alone. She licks her lips, slumping even farther into her seat and looking up at the ceiling of the tattoo parlour. She swallows, trying to collect herself after her anxiety attack and letting down one of her walls, feeling as if she owes an explanation to Shawn.

     “I’ve just had a lot of family stuff going on. And, I was already really anxious today, so just… having to do something important kind of threw me over the edge.”

     “You don’t have to do the tattoo if you don’t want to.”

     “No,” she blurts, “believe me, I do. I do,” she laments before continuing, her voice returning to its small tone, “I think I honestly needed to have an anxiety attack. I’ve been a dam waiting to break. That’s why Tony didn’t do anything. He knew I needed to release the waters.”

     “Got it,” Shawn says, reluctantly moving his hand from her and moving back to the seat. She barely remembers he’s only in his briefs, her mind occupied with the best way to explain her situation.

     “I just… how much did you hear earlier?”

     “When you guys started talking about my song and everything after that,” Shawn admits, leaning back in his seat as Tony comes back into the room, holding a new, undamaged Sharpie and a blank piece of paper. He hands it to her and she turns back to the counter.

     “Well,” she starts talking to avoid the anxiety returning as she begins writing the lyrics again, “When Tony said it was the least he can do… he knew my father. And my father recently died.”

     “Oh,” Shawn’s surprise is evident. He looks at Tony, who just shrugs and begins to busy himself with cleaning up his metal tray, “I’m so sorry.” Shawn finally says.

     “Don’t be. He was a scumbag. He had what was coming to him,” her bitter words take Shawn by complete and utter surprise. Her soft voice doesn't match the meaning of her words at all, but underneath the tone holds something so much deeper than her words. And Tony doesn’t even flinch. Shawn turns his attention back to her, watching her body language. She tenses slightly, before releasing the muscles in her neck and back, slouching once more. Shawn notices how poor her posture is and he has to withstand the urge to correct her on it. Shawn’s team always emphasises the importance of good posture, for both his health and his singing.

     “But, I’ve just kind of been on edge since I found out about the death. Hence, the anxiety attack,” she explains, finally finishing the lyrics. She puts the cap back on the Sharpie, handing the paper over to Tony who examines it with a smile and gives it to Shawn. 

     He grasps the flimsy paper in between his fingers and can’t help but admire the way her words look. They’re tall and narrow and small, but perfect. Her lines are neat and it’s even.

     “It’s perfect,” Shawn smiles, looking up at her. She rolls her lips into her mouth to resist a smile, before giving in. The smile is unlike any he had seen on her this morning. The tight-lipped grins were gone. Instead, this was a full, pearly white teeth smile that made Shawn smile even wider. It was contagious.

     “Good,” she confirms, the smiling dimming lightly as worry flashes in her eyes, “Are you sure you don’t want me to do another one? I’d be more than happy-”

     “-No. It’s perfect…” Shawn confirms, trailing off. He realises he doesn’t know her name.

     She catches his drift, “Astraea.”

     “Astraea,” he repeats.

     “It’s star in Greek,” she explains.

     “That’s beautiful. Truly,” he smiles, handing over the paper to Tony so he can trace the words onto transfer paper. Shawn’s eyebrows crease, looking at the exposed spot on his thigh, wondering how much it’s gonna hurt.

     The thought doesn’t last for long though, “Anything you care to listen to?” Astraea asks in her melodious tone, looking down at her massive phone in her tiny hand. Shawn bites his lip, holding back a chuckle at how adorable it is.

     “No, you can choose.”

     She raises her eyebrow slightly, biting back a smile before looking down at her phone.

     “Hope you like screamo,” Tony mutters, finishing the transfer paper sketches.

     “Hey, it is not screamo,” she protests, giggling slightly. Shawn melts in his seat.

     “Post-hardcore, whatever,” Tony corrects himself, shaking his head and motioning Shawn to lean back fully in the chair and relax. Shawn complies, watching as Tony cleans the spot with rubbing alcohol and water, before shaving off the hair standing in the way of the tattoo. When the area is sterile and clean, Tony carefully manoeuvres the transfer paper onto Shawn’s skin. He presses it down and Shawn’s watching his every move. He can’t help but admire how gorgeous the placement is and the way the words look against his skin. Any anxiety he had earlier about making such an impulse decision is released and he loves his tattoo already. 

     When the music comes on this time, Shawn’s expecting it. And he listens to it intently. Regardless of it not being his cup of tea, he’s always trying to better himself as a musician and that comes with listening to music he may not be particularly fond of. He picks out certain things he likes about the particular song: the smooth melody of the chorus, the filter over the singer’s voice in certain parts… and he begins to bop his head along.

     And Astraea doesn’t normally care if people don’t like her music, but a certain sense of satisfaction fills her tummy when she sees Shawn getting into it. The way he bops his head and bites at his lip when he’s listening intently. He doesn’t even notice that Tony’s getting ready to start the tattoo. However, when the needle switches on, Shawn jumps in his seat. Shawn looks at Astraea with a certain vehemence in his eyes. He’s seeking comfort and she gives him a reassuring nod, though it doesn’t seem to satisfy him.

     “Can you… can you hold my hand?” He asks softly and she nods slowly. She shuffles her seat next to Shawn’s. She experimentally reaches her hand out to his and he wastes no time scooping her fingers up between his and squeezing. Their fingers lace together and Shawn gives her a reassuring squeeze, to which she responds with a squeeze of her own. Her cheeks heat up at the small gesture and her chest begins to swell with a mix of emotions that are both positive and negative.

     “It’ll be done before you know it, and it’ll be worth it,” Astraea smiles at him. It’s another genuine smile and Shawn can’t help but smile, even when the needle pushes into his skin. The energy behind her smile is pure and contagious and he loves the way it makes his head go light. Not a care in the world. Until he finally recognises the familiar sting of the tattoo needle. It’s not bad at first, but then when it gets bad, it gets horrible. Astraea watches as the smile gradually fades from his face and bites her bottom lip, her face gradually shifting with his. Her eyebrows furrow into a position of worry, her smile becoming more of a grimace as she watches his mouth make an ‘o’ before he says,

     “Oh, fuck… oh, my, god,” he’s punctuating his words, pinching his eyes shut at the searing pain of the needle puncturing his skin. His grip on her tiny hand grows a little tighter. She looks away from his face and at the tattoo being engraved in his skin. She admits, it’s a really great idea, and it looks even better. She scarcely pays attention to Tony, who’s glance is flickering up to her to make sure she’s still okay with the tattoo. But, judging by the look gracing her features, she’s okay.

     “Hey, you’re nearly done with the first three words,” she notices, trying to distract Shawn. He focuses in on her voice, it’s quiet and smooth with a little bit of rasp and the perfect middle tone and it sounds like music to him. He opens his eyes and looks at her, who’s not even looking at his face, but at the new tattoo being traced out delicately, in her handwriting. ‘Out of my control, push and pull and then it's grabbing me - feel it in my bones.’ 

     When she looks up at him, she’s expecting his head to be tilted back against the seat, his face pulled into a grimace. But instead, he’s looking at her. His fluffy hair has fully fallen onto his forehead, his curls sort of frizzy and one sticking to his skin from his sweat. She nods reassuringly, squeezing his hand. Shawn notices how tightly he’s gripping onto her hand and goes to lax his grip, but she shakes her head at him.

     “It’s fine. Swear,” she says. She takes her available hand and grabs the now cold coffee on the countertop and sips at it. She’s still exhausted and she can’t imagine how Shawn feels, his coffee from earlier in the bin rather than his stomach. And whilst her mind is occupied with him, he watches with her intrigue. Her demeanour is so interesting. 

     Astraea is reserved. She’s shy and her voice is quiet, but based on her tattoo choices, she has a lot to say. She knows what to say and when to say it, but in an unexpected way. Shawn thinks that what she has to say is always shared with people who are close to her; who know her quirks and the stories behind all of those scars and know why her father was a scumbag. Shawn rolls his lips into his mouth, thinking to himself, She’s really gorgeous. And she’s puzzling. And he wants to get to know her. But he remembers, she’s a fan.

An internal debate begins. Anyone he dates has to like his music. Check. Anyone he dates has to act like he’s normal. He quickly wonders if her shyness is because of him, but his mind returns with Tony’s comments towards her and how she reacted. Still shy, but surer of herself. Check. But, what if she’s a fan who knew he would be here and plotted it? What if he’s already met her and she followed him or mobbed him? What if she stalks him? What if-

     His gut is telling him to trust her. Trust her the way she trusted you to hold your hand when she was getting her tattoo. The way she looked scared that you were playing a prank on her, but gave in. Give in, Shawn. Trust someone. And when Shawn returns from the journey in his mind, he realises he’s still watching her. And he thinks she notices. But she’s too demure to say anything. There’s a rosiness to her cheeks makes him want to caress the way he did earlier when she was panicking. And she’s fidgeting with her seat again with the hand that wasn’t holding his. 

     He likes her demeanour. A lot. He likes the calmness and quietness of her presence, even if the anxiety juxtaposes her calm nature. He likes the way she carries herself, even in her bad posture, she seems to sit with purpose. Quiet purpose. And god, he’s so fascinated by her.

     He wants to get underneath her exterior and see her interior, because if her outer appearance is even a fraction of what she looks like on the inside, Shawn would collapse in on himself.

     She notices he’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn’t even pay attention to the needle moving against his skin. Astraea lets him think. She can tell they’re good thoughts based on his body language and his relaxed jaw. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes glaze over as he wanders away in his mind and she also doesn’t miss the way his glance is trained on her. She wonders, what she considers to be foolish, if he’s thinking about her. Because she’s thinking about him.

     Sure, he was a popstar. But the normality of his entrance, his clumsiness of spilling his coffee at the shock of her music, his worried nature as he cleaned up his mess - was anything but popstar. His immediate willingness to hold her hand and make sure she was okay when she started feeling dizzy at his presence screamed anything but popstar. And the way he held her hand and cheek, bringing her away from that dark corner of her mind that seemed to take up all of her thoughts is imprinted in her mind for the rest of her life. This gorgeous boy with his gorgeous smile and endearing clumsiness and habit of using nicknames is so much more than a popstar. Even as a writing intern, she couldn’t find the words to describe him the way she wanted to. Speechless. Or wordless.

     Her attraction to him is undeniable, but she hides that thought away in a very remote part of her mind. He would never ask her out. He has dated models and been linked to singers and she was just an intern who liked tattoos. And she by far did not have enough confidence around someone she just met to ask him out. Or his number, to check on his tattoo healing process, she thinks she would say to him. Idiot, that’s fucking miserable. True, she agrees with herself.

     By the time they both snap out of their trances, they realise their gazes are on one another and Shawn just smiles, making the heat in her cheeks spread to her ears and they burn.

     Shawn finds it endearing. And by the time the pain of the needle resonates with him again, the tattoo is done. And so may be his time with her. And he tries to accept it. But something in his heart is nagging him, urging him to not accept it and do something about it.

     “Done,” Tony says plainly, cleaning the tattoo. Shawn looks down at it and his nagging heart is replaced with a full heart at how beautiful the tattoo is - it’s simple and so open to interpretation and so perfect.

     “It looks amazing,” Shawn and Astraea say together. Shawn laughs at the cohesion and she simply smiles, looking down at the ground. Tony stands from his seat, carefully placing the Saniderm over the raw skin and retreating to the receptionist desk to grab the coffee Shawn had brought him ages ago before starting the original tattoo Shawn came for. Shawn stands too, reaching behind Astraea to grab his joggers slung over the back of the chair. Their proximity makes her stomach bubble and the warm smile he gives her sends her over the edge, her tummy erupting with swarms of butterflies. She tries her best to keep her emotions at bay, but they're overwhelming. So she can't help the warm smile she returns instead of shying away.

     “Thank you,” he says, stumbling around as he puts on his joggers and tying the knot and she can’t help but watch the way his fingers move, “For the tattoo. It looks amazing- wait!”

     His abrupt exclamation startles them both, “We need to get a picture together! Of the matching tattoos!”

     “You think they’re matching?” She says inaudibly, biting back a smile that would split her whole face open. Coordinating, sure. A synonym for matching, but not quite as cohesive. But here Shawn is, believing the tattoos are matching. And he slowly nods and grins, looking at her.

     So, “Drop trow’,” she jokes and she rolls her lips in at what she just said. But, Shawn notices that it seems to be the first truly comfortable thing she’s said to him all morning. He laughs and he obliges before he moves to stand next to her. He’s truly taller than her. At least a foot. Her head doesn’t even reach his shoulders. Her tan skin contrasts to his pale thighs, but it’s a contrast that looks like art to him. He admires the small stretch marks on her hips and inner thighs which he can barely see, but still admires anyway.

     “Tony,” she calls. Over the music still playing, she can’t hear him approaching. Tony doesn’t even need instruction when Shawn hands them the phone and they arrange themselves to have the picture taken. In the shuffle, their bare skin touches and they simultaneously shiver, goosebumps rising along their thighs at the intimate skin brushing along the others. Neither of them says anything to the other, afraid that they were going crazy and that the other didn’t feel the same fluttering in their own chests at the touch. 

Her spandex rests right above the tattoo, not needing to be moved. Shawn however, adjusts his briefs so the hem is resting above the Saniderm. Both have their tattoos wrapped, but they’re visible. Tony wordlessly snaps a few pictures up close, then stepping back and capturing the look on their faces. Astraea looks flustered yet happy, her hair that’s down and frizzy around her shoulders adding the perfect element to the facial expression and Shawn is sparkling, his pearly white teeth beaming down at her. And when Astraea looks up at Shawn, Tony makes sure he gets that picture of them. Because he knows they'll want that intimate moment captured for the future. And in that way, Tony knows something will come from this. He’s always right about this kind of thing. 

[geek-gem]

Legendary's Sonic The Hedgehog Reboot

You know I’m gonna be honest about this. First things first I started the whole synopsis thing last week. This story was basically inspired or I don’t know if I should say based on the fake leaked story info from Reddit about the Sonic movie. https://www.reddit.com/r/SonicTheHedgehog/comments/7e8a15/some_info_about_the_upcoming_sonic_film/ Which is still old news. But also something I would of preferred over the Sonic movie we are getting.

I had trouble thinking of what to make this kind of a special thing. But last night something made me realized about this. Last week when I was on vacation, I was in the background on my phone, and also watched that Hellboy 2019 reboot with my family. To be honest despite the negative reception it had, I didn’t think it was that bad. Yet the film was an overall mess, had too much stuff in it, and was too long. But I feel like in a way a Doom film could be a R rated film something like it but more simple but that’s not the main topic. Before that long ago I watched Weaponized Nerd Rage’s video(A channel I don’t really watch) and last night I was watching and listening to it. It was mainly a comment under that video that made me realize what I was doing with this fan fiction stuff.

Basically this comment mentioned the Hellboy 2019 reboot as a, “bad fanboy dream come true” where that movie took 20 years worth of Hellboy’s comic history and shoved it into one 2 hour movie. Including this morning not long ago, I was listening to the review. With that same comment giving a example of imagine if the first Harry Potter movie wasn’t a direct adaption but a mis-mash of the entire collection of books. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDTSQ-IAMrk A person by the username of Anton A. gave that example and one reply talking about the idea of condensed Harry Potter. But also the reviews pretty nice and Weaponized Nerd Rage explains why that film doesn’t work. Or just I agree with him and Jeremy Jahns, who’s review I watched last night.

That’s a weird example to compare Harry Potter with Sonic. But the idea considering I also had my first draft which was more detailed. This is basically a Sonic Adventure adaption but taking liberties by not taking out the stories of Big, Gamma, also Zero from Amy’s story is out too because I never really think of him. But also Knuckles being taken out but with the idea that Chaos did come from the Master Emerald but Knuckles is trying to search for the Master Emerald pieces else where.

So this morning I decided to give the other actors(Deedee, Jennifer, Joe, and Shelby) character names. Because I’m basically done with this, along with the fact I should probably stop doing this. It’s also because this is why I should never write something like this for films or something. Along with the fact why the Sonic movie sounds like how it is. I’ll admit I’m still mixed about how the movie is presented. While I do feel four characters like Sonic, Tails, Amy, and Eggman seem like the perfect sour to start out with. I keep remembering a comment from a fan made movie poster on DeviantArt even saying that, but also it seems to make more sense. 

I just would of liked a more serious take but still fun adaption of the Sonic franchise. Something like Rampage 2018, and using a similar style like they did with Detective Pikachu with what they did with the Pokémon. Besides like I said I think it’s best I let this go. I will admit like I said, I’ll be honest if I’m impressed with the movie when it comes out. I’m just disappointed with how it’s looking despite trying to be positive for a long time.

I think I’ve said enough, besides Jim Carrey was right that some fans have this ownership with fans of a franchise. I just think the movie should of been different. Because as a fan for a long time again would of liked to have seen something different that would please not just the younger audiences but also older audiences.

"Prepare to go fast like never before. As Warner Bros and Legendary Pictures present an action filled adventure based upon the iconic Sonic The Hedgehog franchise.

The world's fastest hedgehog named Sonic(Tom Holland), a GUN soldier named Gary Andrews(Chris Pratt), and both their friends must work together to prevent Dr. Ivo Robotnik (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) from getting all of the Chaos Emeralds to unleash Chaos. An ancient creature that he wants to use to rule the world.

With the world trying to understand what's going on. Sonic, Gary, and their friends old and new must risk their lives not only to stop a global catastrophe from happening, but to also understand what is the reason behind Chaos and his anger, and to protect each other from the threats they face”.

List Of Characters.

Sonic The Hedgehog. Voiced by Tom Holland. A 21 year old blue hedgehog.

Dr. Ivo Robotnik. Played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan. A 53 year old scientist with a IQ of 300.

Miles Tails Prower. Voiced by Noah Schnapp. A 14 year old tailed fox.

Amy Rose. Voiced by Hailee Steinfeld. A 18 year old pink hedgehog.

Gary Andrews. Played by Chris Pratt. A 31 year old GUN sergeant.

Tikal The Echidna. Voiced by Auli’i Cravalho. A 20 year old echidna, princess of the ancient echidna tribe.

Abraham Westbrook The GUN Commander. Played by Idris Elba. The 53 year old commander of the Guardians Of United Nations.

Chaos. The God Of Destruction.

Rouge The Bat. Voiced by Lisa Hannigan. A 24 year old bat that works for GUN.

Miranda. Played by Deedee Magno Hall. A archaeologist studying the remains of the ancient echidna civilization. Living on South Island.

Emma. Played by Jennifer Paz. A resident of South Island. 

Derek Sanderson. Played by Joe Manganiello. A 41 year old GUN lieutenant. Including being one of the best GUN soldiers in the ranks, and Gary’s rival.

Lori Andrews. Played by Shelby Rabara. Gary’s younger sister.

[from-ash-and-stardust]

Doctor Psyche - Origins

{Here’s some content for y’all after a long ass Hiatus~}

{A superhero AU I’ve been working on with Andrew and Darla’s mun <3}

Well, let’s see. I guess I should start from the beginning. 

My childhood didn’t start out great. I was born to a very loving mother and father. Unfortunately, they couldn’t handle the loss of my twin sister. They put me up for adoption after she died. They couldn’t handle the loss of one child, so they decided they couldn’t keep the other. So I grew up in the adoption system. I immediately got scooped up by a very nice woman. I stayed with her until I was 5. I barely have any memory of her, sadly. She met a man and they got married very quickly only for her to be mysteriously found dead just weeks after. No one assumed it was her new husband. He got full custody of me after her death. I was devastated. He assured me it would all be okay. He told me he would take me out to eat to make me feel better. Get some ice cream. 

Instead, he locked me in a tiny white room and ran a bunch of tests. I went through this for years. He connected me to a machine daily. Pumped me with drugs. Messed with my mind. He was trying to reprogram me. He put a chip in my brain that he would use to control me if I wasn’t obedient. I never was. So I was essentially tortured to the point where I was too exhausted to not comply.

Eventually, they got tired of testing on me. They weren’t getting the results they wanted so they decided they’d throw me in a room and forget about me entirely. Needless to say, I grew antsy. I was sixteen at the time and I had a hunger to know what was happening in the outside world. Even more than that, I needed revenge. For everything they put me through. For the childhood they stole from me. For the life they stole from my adoptive mother. I escaped based on pure wit and whatever strength I could muster. Turns out they had me trapped in a system that kept me from reaching my full potential. A potential they gave me and that I never knew I had. Once I reached the outside world I could hear so many voices in my head it was deafening. I could hear people’s thoughts from miles away. I managed to run away to somewhere quiet. Where I could collect my thoughts. That’s when things started following me. Moving. Objects began to defy gravity in my stead and I had no control over it. I practiced in the woods for months. Learned to take control. To suppress the power I had. 

I was eventually found by the police. Put into the foster program. For the short amount of time I had left until I was an adult. Of course, no one wanted a newly seventeen-year-old with no education and barely any history. When I turned eighteen I was essentially put out on the street. For two years I lived my life on the streets, making money in street fights. Thievery. Whatever it took. 

That is until I was found by Space Corp. I had heard about them, sure. Who hadn’t? Even in captivity, I heard of the tragedy that happened there. The company head and his youngest daughter were murdered, the wife missing and his oldest was put in foster care until she was old enough to take over the company. It was one hell of a surprise to be approached by that very girl. She was two years younger than me and the owner of a company that sold equipment to some of the biggest space exploration organizations in the country. 

Why would they seek me out? 

Well, as it turns out, they’d heard of a reckless young woman who had been coming out of street fights almost completely unharmed and they wanted to know how it was possible. 

I said it was just luck. They said some people thought I was reading their minds. 

More words were exchanged and soon enough they convinced me they were the good guys. They just wanted to help. They offered me a home. An education. A new start. As long as I helped them. 

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

They don’t need to know about my plans for revenge. 

That? 

That’s personal. 

[galfridus1]

Happy Christmas!!

Have some angst! This is for the secret Santa - my giftee knows who they are. You are an amazing person! Merry Christmas!

Based on an episode from Inside Number 9.

Light, dazzling and brilliant obscured her vision. The cold sun shone a pale primrose, pouring from the sky to bounce off the snowy ground. It looked as if the landscape had been scattered with tiny diamonds. The pristine snow crunched underfoot as Elizabeth made her way to the church, taking the shortcut across the fields. The air felt close, cold, the cawing of the few squabbling crows swallowed up, sound muffled by the crystal blanket which covered the earth. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, the fire of the cold stinging her her face and throat as the clean taste of winter filled her with longing.

It was Christmas Day, and today she was going to tell him she loved him. He had said the words the previous day, her mouth running dry as she stared at the floor, unable to meet his gaze as he stuttered. She had tried to respond, to return the affection so freely given, and had completely failed, succumbing to the blush that bloomed in her cheeks and pushed uncomfortably down her neck. She bit her lip, thinking she must look a mess, a blotchy disgrace, and had made a hasty retreat as soon as Andrew had stopped speaking, chastising herself bitterly once she was alone. Why she always had to dissolve into a humiliating incoherence whenever he said anything important, Elizabeth felt she would never know.

But not today. Today, she was going to find Andrew and tell him that she felt the same way. It was not an overwhelming love of course - it always felt like something was missing, as if a piece of the puzzle were in sight but just out of reach - but he was stable and reliable, truthful and attentive, and honestly she knew she was not going to do any better. Her friends were all incredibly jealous, and when she was in his arms she felt safe enough. They had been seeing each other for nearly half a year. If she was not going to make a move now then she never would.

She did not normally go to the family service, preferring the cloak of darkness afforded by midnight mass. But Andrew would be there, cute nephew in tow, and so this Christmas she would be too. Elizabeth absentmindedly ran a gloved hand over her white woolen coat, brushing a few flakes of snow to the ground before checking her handbag, making sure she had the envelope she would need for collection. Today everything would go well: she was prepared.

As she stepped forwards, humming to herself as she looked up at the clear grey sky, the sound of her steps suddenly jarred, comforting, soft scrunch replaced by a hard scrape. She glanced down, looking closely at the white snow, alarmed to see not powder but shards of glass, glittering dangerously for what seemed like miles. Fragments of rainbow shone everywhere she looked and she stood still, not daring to move as her breath bloomed like smoke in the piercing cold air. Panic rose in her chest, her eyes darting from side to side. The silence of the field rang uncomfortably in her ears, making her wince and her heart race. She was frightened, lightheaded, unable to focus, unable to breathe as the world seemed to close in, the noise blooming to a piercing wail. She could not think, could not process, adrenaline coursing through her veins as the white glare shone to obscure her vision...

Elizabeth awoke with a start, sweat beading her brow, her breath coming in harsh rasps. She gulped painfully, her mouth dry as dust and she reached instinctively for the glass of water she kept on the bedside table. The digital clock face shone blue, casting a eerie glow over the otherwise pitch black of the room. Andrew was evidently sleeping peacefully beside her, untroubled by dreams, the blanket rising and falling evenly as he softly snored.

She reached out, intending to wake him, then thought better of it: it was a long way from dawn and her husband desperately needed his sleep. Since starting work as a junior doctor he had been perpetually tired, large bags resting permanently under his hazel eyes, and he would be on call the following day. One of the hazards of the job was working when you were asked, even if that meant spending Christmas Day tending to the sick.

Laying back into the pillows, Elizabeth closed her eyes, willing sleep to reclaim her. She turned, trying to find a more comfortable position then felt a warm arm envelop her, pulling her into a close embrace.

“What’s wrong,” whispered Andrew, his lips close to her ear.

“A nightmare.” Elizabeth relaxed as he nuzzled into her hair, “but it’s over now.”

“Stay with me, Elizabeth,” the voice urged, a hand moving the strands of long hair away from her face. “You have to stay with me.”

Elizabeth struggled against the cotton wool enveloping her, the fog which was settling into her brain. This was not right. She and Andrew seldom argued, and she had not once threatened to leave. The marriage was of course not perfect, but she did not care enough to make a fuss; far better to let the small stuff go, her husband was not being colourful enough to evoke a strong reaction in her. She tried to ask, to seek and explanation, but her eyes grew heavy, the lids dropping closed as the softness of the night swallowed her. She felt warm, safe, free from worry as the bliss of sleep came to claim her...

Elizabeth shook her head, trying to shuffle her memories back into place. She was sitting at the walnut dining table in her old-fashioned kitchen, the one she and Andrew had designed upon his promotion. As a consultant oncologist, the salary more than allowed a little luxury, especially with no children to care for. Her eyes roamed over the cream shaker cabinets, the white quartz worktop, the large aga and polished, stone tiles. It was peaceful, sitting here with a steaming mug of tea, idly leafing through a glossy magazine.

She was waiting for the turkey to cook, and had decided on a quick rest before preparing the brussels sprouts and the bread sauce, neither of which would take very long. It was their first Christmas alone - usually they spent the season with her family - and Elizabeth had been pleasantly surprised to find the preparations were easy without the distraction of children and parents, in the absence of the noise and the bustle and the constant demands.

The day felt listless, boring, anti-climatic. Elizabeth sighed, pushing the magazine away from her before draining her mug and standing up with a purpose. There was no point in brooding. Her life was comfortable, if uneventful. She was secure, well off, respected in the neighbourhood, and that should be enough for anyone. Elizabeth glanced up at the window, her mouth popping open as she saw the face of someone who was undoubtedly a stranger peering in at her with deep, emerald eyes filled with sorrow.

Her heart froze, every muscle in her body tense as she looked, trying to figure out what she should do. The man had his nose practically pressed to the glass, his wild blonde hair blowing in the breeze. It was snowing, delicate flakes swirling through the air to settle on the stranger’s hair and lashes. But he did not move, did not seem to speak, only staring and staring, his expression radiating a sadness and longing that took Elizabeth’s breath away.

Something seemed to stir, the cloud of her mind shifting slightly as she looked at him, and a pain so sharp it made her cry out stabbed at her chest, making her knees weak and knocking her to the floor. Yet she turned her head, seeking the eyes of the stranger as wave after wave of agony coursed through her body. The image swam before her, but still she could not look away, gold and peridot flashing through her brain as the pain intensified to impossible levels and her vision went white…

“Merry Christmas!”

Elizabeth gazed around at the familiar kitchen full to the brim with family and friends, all of them with grins plastered to their faces. “Surprise!” Andrew said jovially, moving around the table to give her a peck on the cheek. “Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t know what to say… thank you! Thank you all!” She looked round at the group, returning their smiles, unsure of what to do or to say. She never had been one for speeches and she felt her face flush red as her mouth ran dry. After some smattered applause and some hearty ‘here, heres’, the buzz of conversation started up, glasses chinking as wine was poured, bright red liquid shining like rubies in the polished vessels.

Andrew looked at her, hazel eyes narrowing slightly as he laid an arm round her shoulders. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten did you?” he asked, his voice slightly hurt.

“Oh, no. I just wasn’t expecting everyone to be here.” Elizabeth looked more closely at the crowd: everyone she had ever loved was there. Her best friend from school who she had not seen for years, not since she had moved away to take up a job in Australia; her brother who had given her some sharp words only the previous week when she had refused his demands for a loan, his disappointment and anger seemingly forgotten; even her first boyfriend, a short but intense fling from her days at university, was mingling with the other guests. Andrew must somehow have found out his address.

This was very unlike him, Elizabeth considered. Her husband did not have many faults - he was frankly too saintly to feel like a rounded individual at times - but he did harbour a strong streak of jealousy, as if knowing, though she never said anything, that her love for him was far from the overpowering passion she had at one point hoped would be part of her life. She was on the point of querying his behaviour when a smell suddenly crept through the room, the stench of tar and iron enough to make her gag.

“The cake!” Andrew cried and he ran to the other side of the kitchen, pulling open the oven with a single movement. Black smoke billowed out, covering the kitchen, the acrid, burnt taste stinging in the back of her throat. The guests coughed uncontrollably as the smoke alarm activated, the sound of sirens deafening and she covered her ears. “This was supposed to be a happy memory!” Andrew exclaimed as he looked around at everyone, his face falling slightly. Then the noise stopped, the smoke dispersed and all that was left were the faces of her friends, all laughing and smiling. She could see them: her friends as children as they played together; as teenagers laughing over boys; as adults celebrating good news in the pub; all of them hugging and smiling and calling her name...

“Elizabeth… Elizabeth!”

As she opened her eyes, she saw the smashed glass strewn over her body, covering her red dress and the dashboard of the car. Her head was pressed against the steering wheel, the seat belt cutting like wire into her stomach, the sound of sirens piercing the air. She could smell tar, see the ebony smoke and the bright, glowing sparks as a fireman cut through the frame of her vehicle, doing his best to free her from the wreckage.

“The car came out of nowhere!” a voice protested, and Elizabeth tried to turn her head towards the sound, her neck protesting as she moved. “He rammed her and left her for dead. You have to find him. You have to make him pay! I can’t lose her again! I can’t!”

Her eyelids were heavy, and she grit her teeth as the pain intensified to an unbearable agony. The man she had heard pushed past the policeman trying to restrain him, making his way towards her with lightning speed. His green eyes were swimming, tears pooling at the corners, his face haggard with a overwhelming despair the likes of which she had never before witnessed. But she had! She had seen this look before. She had seen his eyes look at her this way on countless occasions. As she watched, her brain shifted, memories flooding back as she looked at the man she was bound to for eternity.

“Stay with me, Elizabeth,” he begged, his voice cracked and trembling. “You have to stay with me. I can’t… I can’t…”

“It’s alright, Meliodas,” she whispered, trying to reach for him even as the memories continued to assault her. Her wings, the beauty of the celestial realm, the dark swirling mark of the demon she loved. The joy, the pain, the absolute agony as she watched Estarossa - no Mael, it was Mael - run him through with seven sharp swords, unable to run to his aid as the Ten Commandments looked on with impassive faces. She remembered the ache and longing she had endured as she waited for Meliodas to return, the emotion so sharp she could taste it, and the dozens more lives she had lived since then as both continued to live with their parents’ curses. Always living, never fading, never experiencing peace.

She tried once more to reach for him, and once more failed, her limbs refusing to obey her commands. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I married someone else…”

Meliodas choked, tears falling down his face. “It doesn’t matter,” he rasped out as he pressed up against what remained of the glass. “I love you. I wanted you to be happy.”

“I wasn’t.” The truth of her words washed over her like a comforting balm, and Elizabeth sighed. No wonder she had never been happy with Andrew. It was not her fault or his and she relaxed as the guilt she had carried began to fade. “I love you, Meliodas. And we will be together next time.”

“No- Elizabeth!” The scream registered as no more than background noise as the pain vanished, leaving her limbs warm and comfortable. As the memories stopped, her brain feeling numb and peaceful she made she she kept her eyes on him. She could not move, could not speak, could give him no comfort, but she would look at him until the bitter end. She saw anger morph his features as her vision blurred, and her eyelids closed for the last time in this life…

Meliodas stared at Elizabeth, breathing hard as he struggled to control the familIar whirl of anguish and hate which tore at his insides like tyrant dragons. He sensed her go, felt her soul slip through the air as his hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to kill, to destroy, but suppressed the urge, remembering the lessons of his training in Istar.

“I’m so sorry, she’s gone,” the paramedic consoled as she straightened up, turning to look him full in the face. “Did you know her?” she asked as she took a step towards him.

“It’s complicated,” Meliodas said with a sigh. He shook his head, pressing his pain down as he walked towards the police officer who was waiting to take his statement. Elizabeth was not gone after all. He could still sense her trace as she whizzed through the air, in search of the body that would carry her for the next life. And this time, this time, she would live and not reincarnate. This time, whatever happened, he would not let her down.

[itwasonimpulse-blog]

This makes the first part of a project I’m working on ( dubbed the Positivity Project ), where I collect the upbeat and feel-good music that I listen to each month into monthly-released playlists. January’s is a little (lot!) late, but the rest will be released at the end of each month.

You can listen to January’s on:

SPOTIFY ( X )

YOUTUBE ( X )

APPLE MUSIC ( X )

electric love - borns / anywhere - passenger / dreaming - smallpools / miracle mile - cold war kids / fire escape - andrew mcmahon / everybody talks - neon trees / brighter days - saint raymond / waking up the giants - grizfolk / head held high - kodaline / one of us - new politics / mess is mine - vance joy / ohio - andrew mcmahon / animal - neon trees / girl - jukebox the ghost / pompeii - bastille / bad blood - seafret / say amen - american authors / million bucks - smallpools / false confidence - noah kahan / stardust - new politics

[aph-oklahoma-46]

Drabble

//I didn’t get a prompt this week so here’s this very late drabble. Enjoy!

Miles shakes the dizziness away, trying to clear his head. He sits up and looks around, trying to remember where he was. What’s that sound, he thought as a tapping was heard throughout the building. He ignores it for the moment and takes in his surroundings, seeing old wooden walls and dusty light filtering in through windows. Beside him, Andrew groans and shifts on the floor.

Oh, right! He and his brother had gone to that abandoned house they’d found to mess around. Something must have gone wrong. He looked himself over, then went to check on Andrew. Satisfied that neither himself nor his brother had any visible injuries, he reached out and patted Andrew’s face until he got a response.

“C’mon, man, wakey wakey. We gotta go before Alex gets pissy.” The other boy groans and swats half-heartedly at Miles’ hand, cracking his eyes open. Miles grabs his forearm and helps him to his feet before going around the room and collecting their things.

Weird, thought Miles, Why’s there so much extra… shit. He spun around and scanned the room. Along with his and Andrew’s supplies, he’d found an extra bag and supplies with Emily’s jacket laying next to it. When he woke up, he hadn’t seen or heard any sign of her, just as he didn’t now.

“Emily? Em, where’d you go?” Miles wasn’t worried yet. If Em woke up before he and Andrew, she may have wandered to a different part of the house if she couldn’t wake them up. “Em, answer me! We gotta go.” He turned to Andrew, about to tell him to help him look, when he noticed his brother’s look of shock. He frowned and followed his gaze to the wall in front of them. On it hung a large mirror where the trio had probably performed some kind of ritual or experiment. Actually, thinking back, that was the last thing Miles could remember doing. However, looking at it now, last night was the last thing on his mind.

Emitting from the mirror was the dull tapping sound he heard when he woke up. The source, however, was what had Andrew dumbstruck. Emily stood on the other side of the mirror frantically waving at them and beaconing them closer. Her mouth kept moving, but no sound came from her except when she tapped the glass. She looked terrified Andrew and Miles looked at each other and then back at Emily.

Miles stepped forward looked at the mirror hesitantly. He said to Emily, “We… We’re gonna get you out, Emi, don’t worry,” before tentatively placing a hand on the glass. Andrew came closer too, speaking to Emily calmly for a bit before getting Miles’ attention.

“I don’t think she can hear us. All she can hear is when we hit the glass, I think. Just like how that’s all we can hear.” Andrew looked worried. Miles took a deep breath and nodded.

“Ok, let me think…” he frowned and pressed his head to the glass. What could they do? Suddenly, he perked up. “I have an idea!” he tapped to get Emily’s attention, then took a deep breath before exhaling onto the mirror. Once a large patch had fogged over, he began tracing his finger over it. When he was finished, the words CAN U C THIS were scrawled onto the glass.

Emily frowned at the foggy patch of glass before her eyes widened, then she huffed a breath onto her side of the mirror as well. ITS BACKWARDS was traced onto the glass, but the words and letters were reversed. Miles sighed in relief; at least they had a way to communicate. He breathed onto the glass again, writing WE WILL GET U OUT, then he turned to Andrew.

“Someone has to go get Alex. The other needs to stay here and see if he can figure out what happened.”

Andrew nodded. “You should go tell Alex.”

“What? Why me!?”

“Because it was your idea to come here, your idea to bring Emily, and your idea to do a ritual with the mirror; if anyone is gonna get their ass beat by Alex, it should be you.”

Miles opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. To be fair, all of that was true. “Fine. I’ll be back soon. Be careful and call me if anything happens or if you find anything.”

Andrew nodded again and said, “I will, but you better get going.” With that, Miles waved goodbye and headed out the door.

//This is why you don’t play with magic unsupervised, kids. Leave it to the professionals

[dipulb3]

2021 Lexus NX 300h isn't new, but it's still good

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2021 Lexus NX 300h isn't new, but it's still good

The current-generation NX might not be long for this world, but it’s still uniquely positioned as is.

Andrew Krok/Roadshow

For 2021, Lexus hosted a key party of sorts for its 6-year-old NX compact crossover. Previously, you could get an NX hybrid and an NX F Sport, but you couldn’t combine the two. That makes the arrival of this NX 300h F Sport Black Line about as much of a surprise as Monday following Sunday, though it’s a special-edition model limited to 1,000 units. Even so, at its heart, the latest NX mashup is plenty comfortable and competent.

Like

Sharper looks than standard hybrid

Darn decent efficiency

Comfortable in daily use

Don’t Like

Expensive for an aging vehicle

Cursed infotainment

Why can’t they all look like this?

Honestly, the F Sport should be the NX’s de facto face. Not only is this mesh-style grille far more appealing than the standard one, the F Sport body kit adds some weight to the lower front bumper, which has a pretty aggressive upward angle on the regular NX 300h and looks like somebody forgot to draw in a chin. Throw in some F Sport-specific 18-inch alloy wheels and you’ve got a solid looker, even though the NX has been around for a bit now.

It might not carry the flashy looks of its newer, harder-edged Teutonic competition, but the 2021 Lexus NX 300h F Sport’s interior is still a damn fine place to spend time. Unique touches inside are limited to contrasting blue stitching, a heated steering wheel and aluminum pedals, but there’s no sense messing with success. The seats have superb cushioning and support, and the center console’s raised setup means glances take less time away from the road ahead. It’s a little old-school in that physical switchgear absolutely dominates the NX’s interior, but the controls have good tactility and are dead simple to use with very little distraction. Cubbies and stash spots abound, including my favorite one, nestled just ahead of the center armrest and covered by a small removable vanity mirror. The automotive world needs more weird little touches like that, where nobody’s really quite sure why it’s there. I mean, there’s still a mirror in the sun visor, so who’s it for? The back row?

Speaking of, some compact crossovers choose to sacrifice interior space in the name of aesthetics, but not the Lexus NX. It doesn’t have the flat, wagon-ish roof of, say, a BMW X1, but my 6-foot frame doesn’t have any issues in the back seats, and with almost 43 inches of legroom, I definitely have room to stretch the ol’ gams. If you’re just one person or have a small family, the NX’s 16.8 cubic feet of cargo space should be plenty, although the hybrid system takes up a bit of space, shrinking the total capacity down from 17.7 cubic feet in gas-only variants. While that’s more storage than the Mercedes-Benz GLA-Class can muster up, it falls well behind competitors like the Audi Q3 (23.7 cubic feet) and BMW X1 (27.1 cubic feet).

Smoothness over sport

Lexus creates some of the quietest, smoothest-driving vehicles in the luxury segment, and even its second-littlest crossover really swings for the fences in this regard. While F Sport models do gain a sharper suspension, the NX Black Line is still among the most comfortable vehicles in the segment. Whatever bumps aren’t dispatched by the dampers transmit little movement to the cabin, and in traditional Lexus fashion, there’s a decent amount of sound-deadening material throughout the body, keeping most unwanted road noises at bay. Gobs of pedal modulation make limo stops a breeze, and the steering turns the car, which I imagine is the extent to which its future owners care about that.

It’s good that the brevity-averse 2021 Lexus NX 300h F Sport Black Line is a smooth operator, because it sure ain’t a quick one. Like all other NX hybrids, the Black Line gets its forward motion from a 2.5-liter inline-four mated to Lexus’ hybrid hardware for a net 194 horsepower. It’s a regular old hybrid, not a plug-in, so its battery is limited to a couple miles of electric-only operation at sub-highway speeds, but leaving the NX in Eco mode really puts that nickel-metal hydride to work. On one suburban jaunt, with speed limits never eclipsing 40 mph, I ran largely on electricity for a few dozen miles, resulting in an impressive 45 mpg. That’s an edge case, though — the EPA rates this NX variant at 33 mpg city and 30 mpg highway, which is OK for an electrified all-wheel-drive SUV, but I was able to beat both figures with little more than a light foot. The continuously variable transmission is so well tuned that I basically forget it exists, which is about all you can ask for.

There are driving modes beyond Eco, even though that is my clear favorite. Eco is all about efficiency, so throttle inputs are dulled and the powertrain does its best to be in its most economical range at all times. Normal, the default mode, has a firmer throttle response that does a better job of providing post-stoplight acceleration, but it eats into efficiency a bit. There’s a Sport mode, too, but why bother? Yes, the NX 300h F Sport does offer some semblance of sportiness, but it’s clear that the underlying Lexus still wants to be cool and collected as often as possible. The Black Line also includes Lexus’ fake-engine-sound synthesizer, which thankfully has a proper Off setting.

Lexus’ leather game is on point. Those seats are even more comfortable than they look.

Andrew Krok/Roadshow

Out, damned touchpad, out, I say!

One day, I won’t have to write about Lexus’ accursed infotainment system, which has been kicking around in various iterations for almost a decade now. Its current method of manipulation, a touchpad on the center console, remains as odd and unintuitive as the day it came out, as the cursor “snaps” to various parts of the screen while your finger tracks along. It’s hard to manipulate sitting still, nevertheless while driving.

An 8-inch screen, which is what my tester has, is standard and it’s fine, rocking the same old aesthetic Lexus has relied on for years. A 10.3-inch screen is available on other trims, which adds navigation, but it’s not standard on the Black Line, despite it being the most expensive NX variant available. Thankfully, Apple CarPlay and Android Auto are still along for the ride no matter what. Just add touch capability, for crying out loud, it’s already available on the LS. Who cares if you have to move the screen closer so people can actually reach it? A second, smaller info display lives between the speedometer and power delivery gauge, relaying relevant information about tire pressures, fuel economy or the trip meter.

If there’s one corner of in-car tech that Lexus has down pat, it’s safety. All NX models come standard with the Lexus Safety System Plus 2.0 array of passive and active technologies. This bundle features lane-keeping assist, forward-collision warning with automatic emergency braking, pedestrian and cyclist detection, lane-departure warning and full-speed adaptive cruise control. Blind-spot monitoring and parking sensors are included in the NX Black Line, as well. Parent company Toyota has had plenty of time to refine these hands-on systems, and it shows in their operation.

I can only hope that the next generation of NX gets rid of this touchpad once and for all. 

Andrew Krok/Roadshow

Down to brass tacks

In its press materials, Lexus says the NX Black Line prioritizes its customers’ desire for “exclusive styling and value,” but the latter claim is iffy, given that it’s the most expensive variant by base price, starting at $47,835 including destination. My tester rings in at $48,745 with some fripperies like door edge guards and illuminated doorsills, which is quite the pill to swallow for a compact luxury crossover that’s due for a replacement. But in context, it’s about on par with its competitors, all of which offer similar base prices and similar chances to load the cars up to high heaven with all manner of options.

The 2021 Lexus NX 300h F Sport Black Line’s hybrid powertrain and focus on proper old-school luxury help set it apart from the crowd. If what you’re after is comfort and efficiency, you’d be hard-pressed to find a better fit in the compact SUV segment.  

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[acsversace-news]

The second episode, appropriately named, “Manhunt”, continued on the heels of last week’s dramatic episode. The story is being told in a bit of a reverse, back-and-forth manner to elucidate Cunanan’s journey to Miami.

The episode began with a flashback to March 1994, where Versace (Edgar Ramirez) and Antonio (Ricky Martin) are seen lurking the halls of a hospital. While the mystery of Versace’s health remains fairly unknown to this day–the show alludes to the possibility he may have been HIV positive.

His sickness plays a big part in this episode as he battles an “unknown” condition. Donatella (Penelope Cruz) holds his sickness over Antonio’s head, highlighting that their sexual escapades have caused Versace to fall ill. It was interesting to see the show tip-toe around Versace’s health. Perhaps, it was to prevent the wrath of the Versace family that continues to stand by the notion he was HIV negative.

But the subtle hints of his sex life intermingled with the mention of therapy that may help him all pointed to one thing–but we’ll leave that to speculation.

This episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace took us further into the rabbit hole that was Andrew Cunanan.

Darren Criss shone once again in this episode–channeling a creepy, sadistic, troubled individual. Unclear as to the timeline of his whereabouts, we see that he is in South Carolina. A pit-stop at an old school Walmart shows him switching out his license plate for another, all while creepily smiling at a little girl watching him in action.

As he prepares to drive away, we hear the news on the radio mention he is a suspect in the murder of Lee Miglin (his third victim). This moment and a highway mile sign clarify that this is before Versace’s death–and Cunanan is acomin’.

Donatella was a bigger part of this episode as she handled the arrangements for Versace’s cremation–which was quite interesting, to say the least. The mortician prepared Versace’s body, “restoring” him back to the way he once looked. This was some epic artistry (if one can call it that), as Versace lay there lifeless in his casket, but made us feel he would wake up at any moment.

And after all that fancy make-up and placing him in a beautiful casket–he was cremated and whisked away to Italy in a gold box.

The FBI was a hot mess this episode as they grappled with the manhunt for Cunanan. Clearly unprepared, the FBI agents were way in over their heads. They had only 10 copies of the wanted poster and no idea where to look for Cunanan.

This would present as a problem at the episode’s end when Andrew Cunanan would use his actual name on the paperwork. A moment when the suspicious pawn shop owner could have reported him–but there was no flier up on her bulletin board about him. Sigh, FBI.

Cunanan’s weird behavior went up a few notches this episode as he found a home in a beachfront hotel, Normandy Plaza. It is here where he meets Ronnie (Max Greenfield) and befriends him and continues to embellish and lie about his life.

One of the most bizarre moments of this episode was Cunanan scoping out elderly men to be an escort for and tormenting one he picks up on the beach. This torture session was inclusive of Cunanan wrapping the man’s face with tape, rendering him unable to breathe as he pranced around the room in his underwear. Suffice to say–he let him live.

While Cunanan’s dark side becomes more apparent this episode, Versace’s health went from dire to optimistic. In fact, Antonio even proposed to him–pledging he wants only him–and not the additional entourage of men in their lives. It was a bittersweet collection of moments in Versace’s life, only to be clouded over what was to come.

Out for a walk, Cunanan stakes out Versace’s home where he sees Versace on the balcony. Frazzled over the unexpected opportunity, he rushes back to the hotel for his gun–and bids farewell forever to Ronnie. Unfortunately for him, when he returns Versace has left for the night.

When murder plans fall through for the night, Cunanan heads to a cafe, where he is recognized by one of the employees (thanks to 90’s hit show, America’s Most Wanted). By the time the police arrive, Cunanan is gone and heads to the club where Versace was at.

The final moments of the episode leave us with a haunting feeling as we quietly hear Cunanan tell someone his full name.

The second episode of this intriguing installment was on par with the premiere–if not better. The story is getting darker, the events are coming together, and we are falling deeper and deeper into the twisted psyche of Andrew Cunanan.

Darren Criss’ performance is unlike anything else–and this episode was no exception. Those particular moments where his eyes went dark or an odd, uncomfortable smile took over his face were unlike anything we’ve seen before.

As the story continues to build, watching these events unfold and watching Criss will be absolutely epic.

[itsfinancethings]

Prince Andrew, the Duke of York, has found himself at the center of controversy surrounding his relationship with disgraced American financier and convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, who died in an apparent suicide in a New York City federal jail in August. In an exclusive televised interview with the BBC at Buckingham Palace broadcast in the U.K. Saturday, Queen Elizabeth’s son was questioned about his relationship with Epstein and allegations made by a woman who said he had sex with her when she was 17.

Although it is not the first time that Andrew, who currently stands eighth in line to the British throne, has faced controversy, it is undoubtedly the most serious. Here’s what to know about the Duke of York, his past controversies and his links with Epstein.

Who is Prince Andrew’s family?

Now 59 years old, Prince Andrew is the third child and second son of Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip. In 1986, he married Sarah Ferguson, who came from a well-connected family and was initially well liked by the press and public for her fun and outgoing character. The pair had two daughters, Princess Beatrice in 1988 and Princess Eugenie in 1990, before their divorce in 1996.

Public opinion began to turn against Ferguson after a series of incidents, including an undercover sting in which she was caught on camera offering access to Prince Andrew in return for £500,000 in 2010. In 2011, it was revealed that Ferguson had accepted $15,000 from Epstein in order to pay off her debts. The duchess has tweeted in support of her ex-husband, saying “Andrew is a true and real gentleman and is stoically steadfast to not only his duty but also his kindness and goodness.”

John Shelley Collection/Avalon—Getty ImagesThe wedding of Prince Andrew, Duke of York, and Sarah Ferguson at Westminster Abbey, London, UK, 23rd July 1986.

As is traditional for many male members of the Royal Family, Andrew has had a successful military career, joining the Royal Navy in 1979. He was also a pilot in the Falklands War, where he took part in missions in the conflict from April until September 1982; an experience he raised in his interview with the BBC. Since 2015, he has held the rank of Vice Admiral.

Andrew is also a chancellor at the University of Huddersfield, whose student union has lobbied for him to be removed on account of his links to Epstein, and is also actively involved with or the patron of several charities and trusts.

Has Prince Andrew been involved in any previous controversies?

Prince Andrew is no stranger to controversy. His judgment has come under scrutiny several times, including his past meetings with Libyan dictator Muammar Gaddafi’s son Saif; his connection to Timur Kulibayev, the son-in-law of the then-president of Kazakhstan who purchased one of Andrew’s properties for £3 million more than its asking price; and his hosting of the son-in-law of Tunisia’s ousted president, Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali at Buckingham Palace.

In 2011, Andrew stood down as Britain’s “special representative” for trade and investment, amid increasing criticism of his relationship with Jeffrey Epstein. He had held the post since 2001, with the purpose to promote U.K. trade interests abroad. The numerous foreign trips that Andrew took as part of this role, including trips to the U.S. where he had interacted with Epstein, were heavily criticized for their cost, earning him the moniker “Air Miles Andy.” During his interview with the BBC, Andrew attempted to dispel his reputation as a “Party Prince.” “I was single for quite a long time in the early 1980s, and after I got married I was happy. I’ve never felt the need to go and party,” he said. “Certainly going to Jeffrey’s was not about parties. Absolutely not.”

What are the allegations against Prince Andrew?

Virginia Giuffre (sometimes referred to as Virginia Roberts) has alleged that Epstein “made her” have sex with Andrew “several times.” Giuffre said she had sex with the prince, whom she said she called “Andy,” on three occasions that she detailed in an affidavit from a federal court filing in the Southern District of Florida—including at the London home of Epstein’s former girlfriend and longtime friend Ghislaine Maxwell and at Epstein’s New York City mansion when she was 17 in 2001.

A widely-circulated picture shows a smiling Andrew with his left arm around Giuffre’s waist. Giuffre alleged in court filings that it was taken at Maxwell’s London home shortly before the first time he had sex with her, according to her affidavit.

Maxwell, who was a British socialite for many years, has denied the allegations of wrongdoing.

Andrew has repeatedly denied Giuffre’s allegations, saying that they never engaged in any sexual activity and that he does not recall meeting her.

Andrew is just one of many wealthy and powerful men that Giuffre has said she had sex with at the behest of Epstein or Maxwell. All of her allegations have been denied.

Epstein’s death effectively ended his criminal prosecution but his alleged victims have called for prosecutors to continue investigating potential co-conspirators. Epstein had previously settled several civil lawsuits over alleged abuse.

Jeenah Moon—Bloomberg via Getty ImagesVirginia Giuffre, an alleged victim of Jeffrey Epstein, center, exits from federal court in New York, U.S., on Tuesday, Aug. 27, 2019.

How has Prince Andrew responded?

In response to Giuffre’s allegations, Andrew told the BBC interviewer, “I have no recollection of ever meeting this lady.” He said that on March 10, the day Giuffre said Andrew had sex with her, he had taken one of his children to a party at a popular pizza restaurant and stayed indoors with his children while he was on leave from the Royal Navy.

Part of Giuffre’s description of the night in question also described Prince Andrew as “profusely sweating” while they danced in a nightclub. Andrew responded by saying that it was “almost impossible for me to sweat” at the time due to suffering what he described as “an overdose of adrenaline in the Falklands War when I was shot at.”

Regarding a photograph of Giuffre and Andrew together that was provided by Giuffre to the press earlier this year, the Duke was unable to explain it and said that he had no memory of the photograph being taken. Andrew said that while it could not be determined whether the photograph was faked, he said that he did not believe the photograph was taken in London due to his choice of attire and said that “public displays of affection are not something that I do.”

Responding to Giuffre’s other allegations, Andrew denied having sex with her in New York at Epstein’s mansion and on Epstein’s private island. Andrew also denied being present in these locations at the times that Giuffre has alleged. “I’ve been through it and through it and through it over and over again, and nothing. It never happened,” said Andrew.

Andrew also said that until 2006 when an arrest warrant was issued against Epstein, he had no idea about allegations that Epstein was involved in alleged sex trafficking.

“At the time, there was no indication to me, or anybody else, that that was what he was doing. Certainly when I saw him in the U.S. or when I was staying in his houses in the U.S., there was absolutely no indication,” Andrew responded. When asked if he would be willing to testify under legal oath, Andrew said he would be duty bound to do so “in the right circumstances. There’s just as much closure for me as there is for everybody else.”

How are Prince Andrew and Jeffrey Epstein connected?

According to Andrew, he met Epstein in 1999 through Maxwell, whom he had known since she was a college student in the U.K. Andrew says that he saw Epstein about twice a year, and if Andrew was in the U.S. on a visit or trip as part of his role representing international trade, Epstein would offer up the use of his houses for him to stay in. Andrew also confirmed that he had traveled on Epstein’s private plane, visited Epstein’s private island and home in Palm Beach, Fla., and visited Maxwell’s house in London’s Belgravia neighborhood.

Andrew invited Maxwell and Epstein to a party hosted by Queen Elizabeth at Windsor Castle in June 2000, at a celebration commemorating four royal birthdays. The pair was also invited that same year to a shooting weekend at Sandringham House, one of the Queen’s country homes, reportedly to celebrate Maxwell’s birthday.

In May 2006, an arrest warrant was issued for Epstein for sexual assault of a minor; two months later in July, Epstein attended Andrew’s daughter Princess Beatrice’s 18th birthday party at Windsor Castle. During the BBC interview, Andrew said that he had invited Maxwell to this event, and that Epstein had come as her plus-one. Andrew also said that he was not aware of Epstein’s arrest warrant in the U.S. at the time the invitation for the party had been sent out.

Stephanie Keith—Getty Images A protest group called “Hot Mess” hold up signs of Jeffrey Epstein in front of the Federal courthouse on July 8, 2019 in New York City.

What has Prince Andrew said about his friendship with Epstein?

“We were friends because of other people,” said Prince Andrew in the BBC interview, referring to Maxwell several times as the main reason for the connection between the two men. “It would be a considerable stretch to say that we were very, very close friends. But he had this extraordinary ability to bring extraordinary people together, and that’s the bit that I remember. Going to the dinner parties where you would meet academics, politicians, people from the United Nations. It was a cosmopolitan group of what I would describe as U.S. eminence.”

Giuffre has accused Maxwell of acting as Epstein’s “madame” and “co-conspirator” in court documents released earlier this year from a 2015 defamation lawsuit she brought against Maxwell. In those documents, Giuffre alleged that Maxwell was “one of the main women” whom Epstein used “to procure under-aged girls for sexual activities.”

Maxwell has denied Giuffre’s allegations in both public statements and legal filings.

Andrew said that he ceased contact with Epstein after he became aware Epstein was under investigation in 2006, and says he was not in touch with the banker until 2010. In December 2010, a few months after Epstein’s release from prison after 13 months, Andrew stayed with him at his house in New York. “I went there with the sole purpose of saying to him that because he had been convicted, it was inappropriate for us to be seen together,” said Andrew. He said that during this visit, he only saw Epstein for a dinner party, a walk in the park during which the two were photographed together and crossing paths in a corridor in the house.

Andrew said that it was during the walk in Central Park that the pair decided they would part company, and that from that day forward, they would not have any contact. Soon after those images surfaced, Giuffre gave an interview in which she alleged Andrew had sex with her.

When asked if he regretted that trip to New York, Andrew said that he did. When asked if he regretted the whole friendship with Epstein, Andrew replied: “Still not, because the people that I met and the opportunities I was given to learn, either by him or because of him, were actually very useful.” Andrew said his initial reaction on hearing of Epstein’s death earlier this year was one of shock.

How has Virginia Giuffre responded?

Giuffre said in her affidavit that Buckingham Palace’s denial that Andrew had any sexual contact with her is “false and hurtful.”

“Given what he knows and has seen, I was hoping that he would simply voluntarily tell the truth about everything,” she said, according to court documents.

Giuffre reiterated her position earlier this year when she said publicly about Andrew that “he knows exactly what he’s done and I hope he comes clean about it.”

Virginia Giuffre, an alleged victim of #JeffreyEpstein, says Prince Andrew “knows exactly what he’s done and I hope he comes clean about it”. He has always strenuously denied any allegations. pic.twitter.com/MEYTL9bA2J

— Lizzie Robinson (@LizzieITV) August 27, 2019

Lawyers who have represented Giuffre did not respond to a request for comment on Monday.

What happens next?

The Duke’s interview has received fierce backlash from observers and commentators both in the U.K. and in the U.S., with one commentator calling it “not so much a car crash but an articulated lorry [semi-truck] crash.”

In the interview, Andrew said he will continue to work with his chosen charities. However, there have been calls for charities associated with the Duke to cut their ties with him.

Lawyers based in the U.S. representing Epstein’s victims have also strongly criticized the interview, with one calling for him to speak to the FBI about his involvement with Epstein.