#Someone get me the script so I can wallpaper it to my room

[februairy]

acsb jatuh cinta seperti di film-film!au

an english version of acesabo fanfic based on an indonesian movie; jatuh cinta seperti di film-film (literally translated into falling in love like in the movies)

warning: spoilers for jatuh cinta seperti di film-film, past sabolaw, minor character death, grammar mistake as english isn't my first language (but i did try my best!).

you can find the indonesian version [here]

enjoy!

-

all things fell off from ace’s hold onto the floor right after he opened the door to the producer shanks’ working room. a worried voice coming from outside, offering to help picking up his things. 

“it’s fine, i’m good. just a little bit nervous,” ace replied while reaching out to his water bottle and put it in between his left arm. 

after closing the door, ace's eyes wandered around the room that was already familiar to him; a working space with warm yellowish lights with wallpaper-covered walls on the top half and brown wood panels on the bottom half. ace took a deep breath, then moved to face producer shanks who would be his debate opponent for the next few hours. 

"ace, ace," before ace had fully sat down and prepared himself, shanks had already held out three stacks of manuscript towards him. "i'm already thinking, your next work will be a soap opera adaptation again." 

ace frowned, “uh, shanks? didn't you say that this time you wanted to use my original script?" his voice was a little hopeful; hoping that shanks’ words were just a joke. 

the red-haired man before ace folded his arms over his stomach. "that's how it was. but now that i think about it again, you're really good at making film adaptation of soap operas. it's better to just adjust to market tastes than taking risks, ace." 

ace mustered up half his courage as he removed three stacks of adaptation manuscripts to the side. “shanks, i bring my original manuscript. don’t you want to listen to it first?" this time, it was ace who held out a thick stack of a slightly crumpled manuscript with black paper clips struggling to clamp all the papers at the corner. 

shanks took the manuscript that ace offered, flipping through the pages–but ace was sure, shanks didn’t read a thing. one side of shanks’ eyebrow raised as he looked at ace, giving permission to ace to continue speaking. 

"well, shanks. first, before i start, imagine the film was made in black and white–" 

(the dimly-lighted working room lost its color in ace's eyes, tuning into ace’s imagination which was starting to seep out of the crevices of his brain. the interior wallpaper and wood panels were no longer green and brown, but gray.) 

“black and white? our audience doesn’t like it, ace. only 15 minutes into the film, they will come to the staff, ‘is the film broken?’. how come you came up with an idea as if you didn’t know what our audience was like!” shanks immediately closed ace’s manuscript and put it back on the table. 

ace rolled his eyeballs, “there’s a meaning behind it, shanks. i promise. the colors will be back at the half-end! this is romance, romance!” 

shanks' eyes narrowed. “romance?” ace nodded. romance, suitable for the largest target market in this country. it was also easy to ask for promotions from the cinema side. “this isn't an art film, is it? commercial?” ace nodded again at both questions. "okay, try me." looks like shanks were sold a little bit. 

"this film tells the story of a film writer who wants to get his highschool crush by writing his love story into a script–" shanks looked at ace, starting to get interested. ace gave a little pause to escalate shanks' anticipation. “–but his highschool crush just lost his husband.” 

"don’t tell me, this is a sad story? no way. the audience won’t like it. make it a happy ending, man, so we can make a stunt about someone proposing to his crush after the film ends. it will be viral, for sure.” shanks looked up, already imagining what gimmicks and marketing techniques could be used for this film.

“you’ve already thought too far ahead, sir… but, yeah, it will have happy ending. calm down!” ace chimed in. after making sure shanks was convinced, “shall i continue?” 

shanks nodded, allowing ace to resume his story. 

-

sabo met ace again in the supermarket cashier line.

-

“ace? you use your name as your character’s name?” 

“shanks, this is only draft, and, yes. you want to have a personal story as an original story, right?” 

“so, this is based on your personal experience, huh?” shanks grinned widely and ace was ready to continue while holding his smile shyly. “but, anyway. why supermarket, ace? it’s too ordinary. not romantic.” 

"maybe the first meeting seems too ordinary. but if we look deeply, there is sadness in our main character's eyes, sabo."

-

sabo met ace again in the supermarket cashier line.

the last time sabo met ace, as he remembered, was at sabo and law's wedding. after that, sabo's contacts and meetings with his high school friend faded along with their respective busy lives; sabo with his newlywed life after moving to another city and ace focusing on his filming career in the capital city (sabo didn’t know the details). 

at the front end of the line, ace looked confused. sabo vaguely heard from the cashier that ace’s apples hadn’t been weighed. ace turned around while apologizing to the queueing line that was forced to halt because of him.

the corners of sabo's lips lifted slightly, apparently ace's carelessness hadn't changed either. 

ace, who had stepped aside on the side of the queue line while saying sorry, suddenly stopped and met his gaze with sabo’s. the confusion in ace's eyes turned into a warm glow like greeting an old friend. 

“sabo, right?”

there’s an air of certainty edging around ace’s voice in sabo's ears. as if ace knew, he couldn't be wrong, because there were only a few blonde haired people with a big scar on their face.

"hi," sabo greeted back. the confusion that was shown on ace’s face now had shifted to sabo’s, he didn’t know what he should say to an old friend whom he met again in the middle of a waiting line like this. "hurry and weigh those apples, many people are waiting." 

hearing the familiarity in sabo's voice, ace put the apples randomly on the side display case, as if he didn't want to lose any time with sabo. “i'll just cancel the apples, come, you can check your groceries out with mine.”

before sabo had the chance to refuse, ace already brought sabo's shopping basket. leading sabo to the cashier, cutting the line.

“uh, ace–no need to! really–" sabo gave up on taking back his shopping basket because ace had already arrived in front of the cashier. sabo could feel other’s eyes on his back, staring sharply as he cut the line. “so sorry, yes, excuse me..."

he arrived in front of the cashier whose face was already annoyed. sabo could only apologize once again. "please separate the payment, thank you."

again, before sabo could stop him, ace had brought several of sabo's shopping bags. there was only one shopping bag left for sabo to take with him, which only contained vegetables. the lightest bag. sabo sighed, good-ol'-ace just like back then. 

"ace, let's grab some coffee."

at least sabo should give ace something as a gratitude for saving sabo’s precious twenty minutes, on sunday afternoon, that could be gone in a flash just for queueing on the grocery line.

-

"that's great. i can already imagine deuce as the actor."

shanks' voice disrupted ace's flowing imagination.

"isn’t deuce too handsome? ace, here, is a script-writer... i don’t think there are any script-writers that look like deuce?” ace was half annoyed because shanks interrupted him during the fun part of the story.

"well, we just need to make his co-star no less beautiful. nico robin for example," shanks turned his chair to the left while holding his chin, in his mind there were already several possible suitable actresses and actors. “iconic couple.”

not as sweet as sabo, though. ace thought, but that would be a matter for another time. ace took the opportunity to continue his story while shanks was thinking of any potential candidates. 

-

instead of coffee, sabo took ace to the bubble tea shop (at an age where you should cut back on sugary drinks, it was fine to taste it sometimes). after all, you didn't meet high school friend coincidentally very often. their chat started with the casual pleasantries and life updates such as current business or asking for a new address.

sabo answered with a little bit of hesitation, he’d been back here for four months. without needing ace to ask why sabo was back, he felt like ace already knew the reason; the information had been spread in their high school group chat, which only got active when there was an obituary.

but sabo didn't want to dampen the mood between them, and ace also seemed to catch the look on sabo's face, even though sabo was the first to change the topic of conversation.

"what about you?" sabo asked, folding his hands on the table before continuing, "how's work?" ace looked at sabo, not sensing any bad intentions from the question. ace chuckled, scratching his black hair.

"aw, shit, we are reaching to this topic, huh?" ace leaned his back against the backrest. he felt unable to escape from sabo's curious gaze which, for some reason, ace had never been able to avoid since high school. "yeah, business as usual. write a film script adaptation from a soap opera."

“oh yeah, yeah. i watched it, your film adaptation of that soap opera, through the link that was shared in the group chat. what's the title? reincarnation remake?” very wrong, but sabo was enthusiastic.

“reborn.” ace corrected.

“reincarnation... reborn?”

ace hid his face in his arms which were folded on the table.

"what’s the difference?"

ace raised his head. "yeah, i don't know, my producer said it was catchier." his right hand shook his plastic earl gray milk tea cup. "huh, hang on. did you say you watched it from a shared link? was it a pirated site, sab?"

this time it was sabo who couldn't avoid ace's shocked gaze. “it was an official link, i swear! the quality was HD when i watched it!” sabo panicked, but for some reason, ace laughed even louder at sabo's answer which made sabo smile.

"you're a mess, man! how come you don't support your friend's work." ace shook his head, his hand was holding his left chest, pretending as if sabo's actions were very offensive to his feelings. it was sabo's turn to laugh now.

this was his loosest laugh in the last four months.

"sorry, okay? i don't really understand that kind of thing." sabo replied while taking a sip of his bubble tea drink, an attempt to get rid of the awkwardness after being caught watching a pirated film in front of his friend who worked in the film industry. "next time i'll watch your work at the cinema. what are you working on now?"

ace was pondering his decision, before finally answering.

“this time i was asked to work on an original manuscript. romance, of course. because it is always on high-demand. i'm still in the process of looking for ideas, though. but i'm thinking about making a romance for our age."

“romance? if you want it to be easy, just make it about teenagers school romance, right? at our age, we have a lot of other things to think about," sabo answered, noticing the disapproving look on ace. "isn't it? sweet and cute love belongs to teenagers, ace.”

ace shook his head as he hastily downed his drink, his tongue clicked before wagging his index finger in front of sabo's face, not sharing the same thoughts as sabo. "no, sab. people of our age can also be sweet and romantic."

"god, i can't imagine going into the cinema and watching a romance film where the main characters are already in their thirties like us," sabo raised both of his hands slightly, curling his fingers. "people at our age just need to talk nicely and discuss it if they have a problem, ace. there's no beating around the bush or kissing under the rain, we can’t be sweet and cute like school romance."

sabo saw the man in front of him chuckled, "no, no, i'm going to make a romance story between adults that can beat the sweet romance story of teenagers!"

there was a moment of silence between them before sabo broke it, "people our age can't fall in love like in the movies anymore, ace."

ace was silent, not wanting to reply back anymore. sabo had his own thoughts which he was sure cannot be shaken, but ace also had his own.

-

“you just put the title after TWENTY MINUTES IN? you're crazy, ace. and the first twenty minutes are just casual talking?"

ace smiled.

"that's romantic, shanks. the romance of adults.”

-

they talked for almost two hours until they were interrupted by a call from hack, an employee at sabo's flower shop, which made sabo remember that he had to go home. from the corner of his eyes, sabo saw ace still wanting to catch up. actually sabo did want too, there were still many things that sabo wanted to hear from his old friend. but now that sabo was back living in the capital city, he could meet ace any time again, right?

ace offered to take sabo's groceries to the car, which of course, ace had lifted before sabo could refuse.

after all the shopping bags were stored into his car and sabo said thank you, they were silent for a moment as if they wanted to stretch the time.

and that was when ace spoke up.

"do you really... won't fall in love again? have you ruled out the possibility that there might be someone else in your life?"

sabo was stunned-still. suddenly, it felt like there was a lump stuck in his throat which made sabo unable to speak. his eyes and brain tried to find the meaning behind ace's gaze and question, but to no avail.

"i... i am fine of being alone... because after–" sabo cleared his throat, swallowing the bitter taste that came from nowhere, gathering his strength to answer ace. "after law passed away four months ago, all my love and dreams were buried with law, ace."

sabo closed the door of his car, trying not to see ace's expression at that moment.

“thank you, ace. let's meet again sometimes soon." sabo smiled and waved, before driving off in his car, leaving ace in the parking lot, like the end of the first sequence of a film.

-

ace fiddled with his fingers anxiously, while shanks leaned forward on his desk. ace's anticipation amidst the silence was rewarded with the producer's words;

"i'm waiting for the next development, ace."

ace's eyes widened, he wanted to jump right here right now, but he held back. the celebration can be done any time, at least, the initial stage of the manuscript was finally accepted

"thanks, sir!"

ace withheld his smile, not only because the initial stages of his original manuscript were accepted by the ever-impenetrable shanks, but also because ace was finally able to make a reason to meet sabo again.

at least ace could used 'surveying florist for his new film' as an excuse to visit sabo’s flower shop. because ace needed to understand sabo better and his entire background, including sabo’s feelings and grief. 

[mysticcabinboy]

I walk through the hallway. The sound of boots on the carpet echoing across. Its strange how even such a soft sound will still find its way back to you if there's nothing in between.

One foot after the other. I relax, the sound of something familiar ringing through my head, even if nobody else could hear it. I look around at the piss colored wallpaper. Still no sign of life other than myself. I start to hum without even realizing.

After hearing about the realm for the first time, i could scarcely believe it. In a way this was a sort of heaven to me. A world between worlds where you can only reach by clipping through reality. After a little bit of trial and error i made it here, and after a little bit more trial and error i can get out just as easily…

No natural resources, no sign of life, no variance, no sense of place… actually scratch that, there is a sense of place. Its a place so omnipresent that going from room to room feels like you are always traveling yet standing still at the same time. Whenever i see those talking about it, not knowing it truly exists, they call it hell. Which confuses me. Is it the stranding part that scares them? Perhaps its the threat of starvation. Or maybe its simply the idea that there actually is something here, a native entity that can live forever without eating, yet would be interested in eating whatever random scraps that accidentally find their way in… instead of simple pests more interested in the wallpaper.

Never mind that, I'm here to relax. I begin to walk again…

Footsteps start to fill the halls, yet nobody is there. The air was chilly, yet there wasn't anyone to feel them. There was the sound of slow, regular breathing. No music played in these halls. Only the slow dry hum of fluorescent lights above. Perfection.

…

Who knows how long things were like this. An alarm beeps on someones arm. It was a familiar sound... something is supposed to happen when it plays.

I blink, soon looking at my watch. Ah damn, already? I open up my book and recite the spell, the piss yellow walls replaced with the covers of my bed as I open my eyes. The sound of laughs and chaos going on in the next room.

I steel myself, taking a deep breath as the anxieties start to come back. Am i going to be productive enough today? Do i smell bad? Whats the script I'm gonna have to make up when i talk to people? Is there something wrong with me that other people see but i cant?

I wait for a moment where things sound like they are finally quiet, and it feels like I'm finally given permission to get out of bed by my own body. Perhaps the reason they think a place like that is hell is the reason i keep coming back to it so often… there's nobody there to remind me that i exist.

[justahopelessaromantic]

The Blue Smudge (Scene 1: "But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it KNEW what a vicious influence it had!")

Fandom: South Park and The Yellow Wallpaper Ships: K2 (Kenny/Kyle) AU: The Yellow Wallpaper AU Links to Cast of Characters Page and Scenes 2, 3, and 4 Accompanying Playlist for this Fic on Spotify and Youtube Disclaimer: The author of this work does not condone/endorse the messages, themes, and concepts presented by South Park. Considering how said work is melodramatic gay fanfiction written in theatrical script format of all things, I'm sure this seems reasonable to assume. However, it’s astonishing how many times I've stumbled upon people in this fandom who are wholehearted believers of almost everything the show says, and, quite frankly, I would rather evaporate from this plane of existence than potentially be presumed as a bigot or, god forbid, a centrist. Summary: "I get positivity angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd, unblinking eyes are everywhere." (Or:) According to most food safety experts, margarine, when exposed to the elements, lasts for roughly one month before going bad.

SETTING:

A Victorian-style nursery during the daytime with a twin bed. It’s plain and barren, yet livable, though certainly not considered suitable for a baby by modern-day standards. The furniture looks like it's been hastily rearranged and sanded down recently in a vain attempt at accident-proofing the room. Optionally, the room has a single tiny window covered by metal bars. A crib sits right at the edge of stage left, the smaller side facing the audience. Having a working physical door or even a door frame is preferred; however, it can also be portrayed by actors exiting and entering offstage. The room is covered in slowly peeling wallpaper that’s possibly molding, preferably with a swirly, repeating pattern all over it. It’s a gross, faded shade of yellow.

MARGARINE hunches over in the crib. KENNY sits cross-legged while staring towards upstage, chin resting on top of his hands while swaying almost undetectably. KYLE is neatly folding clothes Kenny haphazardly shoved into his suitcase. The only other packed item is a bottle of prescription pills the audience can clearly see. It's quiet for a bit until Kenny pipes up in a soft voice, almost sounding shy.

KENNY

…You don’t…have to, like…stay, you know. I won’t make you-

KYLE

Kenny, for the fifth time, you are not weaseling your way out of this one, bud.

KENNY

(Slightly offended and flustered)

Oh my god, why do you always think I’m gonna-

(Pausing for a beat before giving up)

…some butler, you are. Badmouthing me and not folding my stuff until…uh…how long have we been here?

KYLE

Well, you’ve been here a week, and I’ve got here…I wanna say…Wednesday?

KENNY

(Unreadable)

A…You said a week?

KYLE

Think so.

KENNY

…That doesn’t sound right.

(Slapping his thighs before getting up to stand over Kyle, hands now on his hips)

Whelp! Point is, your customer service is super and there’s still no mint on my pillow! I have half a mind to call corporate and have your license revoked.

(Leaning over to shove his face in front of Kyle’s)

What do you say to that, smart guy?

KYLE

I’d…

(Shoves Kenny’s face away with the palm of his hand playfully)

Say…that that’s not how butlers work, and that I’m the farthest thing from one.

KENNY

Oh, my deepest apologies, good sir. How would you prefer we address you?

KYLE

I hesitate to say indentured servant, honestly…I guess you see me as a…

(Quietly and fondly)

…Caretaker, of sorts.

Kyle looks over at a visibly uncomfortable Kenny who immediately turns away from him and starts fidgeting with his hands, occasionally glancing at the wall. Kyle jumps right into lightening the atmosphere, poking at the fully unzipped parka Kenny is wearing.

One whose only folding today, because someone wouldn’t let me do laundry yesterday, ‘cause he won’t take off this damn jacket-

KENNY

(Flinching and tugging his sleeve away)

…that just sounds like a butler with extra steps.

(Nervously laughs, carefully zipping his parka up once Kyle starts speaking again)

KYLE

(Suddenly snippy)

…Alright, fine. I’m the butler. Give me five good reasons why I shouldn’t go tell-tale heart on your ass for playing hostage all day!

(Starting to fold again)

Like it’s really such a crime to put a roof over your head that isn’t leaking.

KENNY

Hey, man! We might not have the nice chardonnay in our cabinets, but that house has three things your penthouse apartment doesn’t!

KYLE

(Deadpan in some way or another)

You can’t have a penthouse for a college dorm room, Kenny.

KENNY

(Ignoring Kyle, holding up fingers in the air as he counts)

One, a tv with twelve, count ‘em, twelve whole channels! Two, a lack of discipline.

KYLE

Kennith, I am begging you to have even the slightest sense of decorum.

KENNY

And three! My family.

KYLE

(Sarcastically)

Oh, gee willikers. Deadbeat dad, sleazeball mom, and a brother who’s missing in action? I sure am missing out, huh, Ken?

KENNY

(Ignoring him)

And you do have to admit! As nice as this place is, it’s a little…

KYLE

Kenny, unless you got someone to forge your signature on those medical waivers I sent you, I don’t-

KENNY

(Lightheartedly but slightly judgmental)

Oh, don’t act like this was a favor, dickhead! You sweet-talked me into being a lab rat, so you didn’t have to deal with my bitching-

KYLE

(Slamming the clothes in his hands down)

You crawled through my fucking window in the middle of the night, crying your eyes out over all this horrible pain of yours that I somehow happened to miss-

Without warning, Kenny whips around to face upstage again and crosses his arms, rapidly tapping his foot and wagging a finger at it. He anxiously cuts Kyle off.

KENNY

You know, my aunt would kill to get her hands on this wallpaper.

KYLE

(In slight shock, sputtering)

…What?

KENNY

My aunt she…

(Breaking out in a smile and rambling frantically, gradually winding down into semi-peaceful introspection)

…she loves freaky shit like this! Me and her used to sneak my dad’s Playboys into the room we shared when I was younger. Genius was never sober enough to catch us. Although, now that I think about it, I do believe my mother busted my ass about it at one point! I don’t really remember much, but I know my aunt’s cover story sucked ass, which is wild, ‘cause she was an awesome liar! Pretty sure I got away with it though. Maybe she just trusted my aunt? Those two were always whispering shit to each other, figure they must’ve been close. Wonder where they got all that stuff to chit-chat over. Like, I always figured the world took away everything there was to talk about by the time a girl got that old. I asked my auntie what she was saying, but she said it was grown-up stuff and she’d tell me tomorrow, but she was never really around by then, and…

(Shaking his head and hands before picking back up in energy)

Oh! Shit, okay- The point is, after we put Karen to bed, we’d get under the covers, with, uh- with a flashlight, and she’d show me all the different angles and lighting they used, and the way they put the pictures and articles together- You know, the formatting? She got to the bottom of every dirty trick they used to keep us horny bastards hooked!

(Sounding proud of himself)

She taught me everything I know. She- she did the thing you do, when- whenever we do homework together? That thing where you don't tell me the answer, you just point out stuff and you ask me questions, until I just, like…get it, yaknow? She used to call me her little junior detective. God, it was so killer! See…

Kenny briskly walks over and starts tracing the pattern with his fingers to the space above the crib. Meanwhile, Wallpaper Girl slowly slides up, pressing her body against the wallpaper. By the time Kenny gets to her face, she’s standing upright.

Okay, so, most of this stuff’s the same, but these lines over here. They sorta, like…they sort’ve…crawl around, you know? They keep looping into each other, until they get here.

(Stopping above the crib and gesturing playfully)

They get all tangled up in this creepy face up here. Kinda like…

(Giggling to himself)

…like little baby spiders, hatching from their web sack or something! And then they just kinda…

Kenny pauses to audibly catch his breath for a beat, continuing with much less enthusiasm and trailing off at times. He sounds both embarrassed with himself and disturbed by his findings.

…kinda just…off themselves…over here…Like they're…jumping out a window...You think they put the crib here so it looks like it’s catching them? You know, so the kids don’t freak out?

KYLE

…

KENNY

You know, I never got a chance to show her the pictures I got from Grazier, remember that ol’ bastard? She woulda gone gaga over those things, ‘m tellin’ ya.

KYLE

…

KENNY

(Reaching to dig through his pocket)

You know, I think I actually-

KYLE

(Uncomfortable, with caution and concern)

Kenny, that!...uh…that…pattern’s copy and pasted, dude. It doesn’t change.

KENNY

(Glancing between Kyle and the wall in growing disbelief, optimistic yet wary)

No…No, that’s not it. It’s gotta be on purpose.

(Quietly, yet still speaking with determination and purpose)

…Amber’ll get it.

KYLE

Amber?

KENNY

Yeah, my aunt.

(Clasping his hands together and reaching to tear it off)

C’mon, help me get it down so I can surprise her with it when I get back!

Kyle immediately goes to tug Kenny’s hands away. Kenny is unfazed.

KYLE

Wh- wait, wait, what, no! No, for the last time, Kenny! We’re not tearing down- You didn’t even tell me you had an aunt, I’m not gonna let you steal...we’d be liable for-

KENNY

Of course, I told you. I told you when I snuck into your room. What the hell did you think I was crying for?

(Pausing for a beat)

…I mean…I mean not that it was…It’s not…It’s not like it was a big deal or anythi-

LIGHTS OUT.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Let’s look at the music! 

(While writing this I realized I was incredibly long winded and lacked the capacity to shut up about things I liked so this is going to be broken up into different posts because holy shit can you imagine? This is just about episode 1. There are going to be several posts after this because I can’t stop myself.) 

I don’t know about you, but I have been obsessed with the Moon Knight soundtrack. I am no music expert. I can’t talk to you about the chords or thematic major and minor shifts. I just know what sounds good to me and how music makes me feel. 

So let this non qualified music listener gush to you about the MUSIC that made this series. 

Firstly: Hesham Nazih is a mastermind. 

Everything about this show has such amazing thought put into it. From the set designs to the costumes to the absolutely fucking amazing easter eggs that we are still finding only by screen shotting each and every single frame. 

The director and composer are both Egyptian and wanted to portray their culture correctly. They wanted to bring their culture to a world that is used to horrid stereotypes and a burnt sienna toned world full of backwards and underdeveloped civilizations. The cinematographer took away the sand filter that Hollywood loves to place over Egypt and the absolute love and care that was taken from hiring an Egyptologist to having real Arabic all over to showing Cairo as a real and beautiful place… There are just no words to express how overwhelmingly wonderful it all is. 

Moon Knight is the first Marvel Piece that can be seen as absolutely stand alone with no prior knowledge of the MCU. It also doesn’t require you to have read any of the comics. But there are so many hidden gems for those that are fans of the comics. Gems that we can pull out and put on a platter and hand to the non-comic fans and everyone can still appreciate. Which is outstanding. 

So it is safe to say that with so much care in everything, is it a far stretch to think that the music would also not hold such wonderful gems? Maybe not always on purpose, but just enough of a wink wink nudge nudge to make you wonder… 

So let’s start with the actual songs chosen.

Episode 1: 

Every Grain of Sand - Bob Dylan

A Man Without Love - Engelbert Humperdinck

Arab Trap: Made in Egypt - DJ KABOO

Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go - Wham!

Bahlam Maak - Nagat

-

“Every Grain of Sand” by Bob Dylan 

Firstly, I'm not a Bob Dylan fan. Never have been. But I am very aware of the history of Bob Dylan and the use of his songs in history. The man is meant to stand for peace and love in a tumultuous time. This particular album/song was released during Dylan's 'born again' christian phase. Filled with biblical references, talk of a past sin and looking forward to redemption it very clearly represents Harrow himself. Also there is an obvious motiff of sand, which has a huge born again theme in this show (Marc dying in the desert and becoming Moon Knight. The Duat. Finding Steven and bringing him back. Coming back from the Duat. The sand around Steven’s bed in a protective circle to reveal secrets….). 

A man that has lost faith in what Khonshu stood for and found faith in another path. The song shows Harrow as he works out his own ritual of self penance. 

This is the first song we hear in the whole series. We instantly understand that this is not the main character. In fact, it's easy enough to put together that this is the bad guy who believes in his own cultish/self righteous ideas. (Thank you Ethan Hawke for your glorious idea for the glass in shoes, it paid off). 

He has a routine and it is meticulous and careful with ideas of who he wants to be. It's a calming song that sounds so carefree. 

Now we instantly move to the next song and WHAT A CONTRAST. It's the most beautiful transition opening in ages. 

“A Man Without Love” - Engelbert Humperdinck

I cannot express how much I love this opening. How it first plays over the Marvel credits so you know that NOW we are getting into the show. 

How it fades out and then crescendos into Steven Waking up. 

Now we meet our hero and we see his routine. We don't know him yet but we are rapidly looking into his personal world. His apartment, his tether, his taped door.... We meet him talking to his Mum with love and see him feeding his fish. He heads out to work and every bit about him screams "Lonely is a man without love" along with the song. This song is a love ballad about a man pining for love. It sets the tone, the character, and prepares you to see a man trying to find his way. 

Honestly, can’t you see this song opening with one of those older romantic type movies about a sad man who is alone and falls in love with some perfect lady. It’s misleading. Of course now we know what’s going to happen. It’s not about him finding love out there. It’s about a man without self love. A man who finds a friend/brother/person who can share his life with. But we’ll circle back around to this song in the last episode. And it will have such vital significance then. 

“Arab Trap: Made in Egypt” - DJ KABOO

This is the first song we get that is not immediately served to a white audience. The first two songs are ones your grandparents could have sat down and listened to on the radio while feeling nostalgic. 

The original song is “Khosara” by Abdel Halim. Go give it a listen! DJ Kaboo took that original ditty and turned it into a hell of a Trap sound. 

This one is a play on what we think of when we hear the words 'Egyptian music'. The playful whistle. The beats. What's ironic is that this plays as Steven is LEAVING the museum where he works in the Ancient Egyptian area. 

Here we see Steven talking to the living statue. He talks to him like a friend and explains his continued loneliness. The music fades away. It's a simple touch, but it gives an intro into something different. 

“Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” - Wham!

Okay this song. This scene is absolutely the best. It's the scene that won me over and had me cracking up. Every time we see Steven waking up, we get a song about the state of his waking up. From waking up as a man breaking up without love to a song about a man waking up in a complete state of confusion and panic. This song is so happy and carefree. 

A song about asking for their significant other to wake them up so they don't have to be alone and they can go dancing with them. 

We see Steven and Marc fighting for control and waking up in worse and worse situations. 

“Bahlam Maak” - Nagat

The first song in Arabic. 

Translated it means "Dream with you".

It's romantic and soft. It’s old. It sounds almost like classic elevator music akin to “girl from ipanema”. We hear it while Steven is waiting at the steakhouse for a date that isn’t going to happen. It’s almost like we are looking into Steven’s idea of a romantic date. With his suit and flowers and chocolates. 

It's a song about dreaming of someone sailing to meet them and them sailing together. Here are the lyrics roughly translated (I do mean roughly because I do not speak Arabic...yet). 

I dream with you .. of a ship

and a harbor .. to anchor us

and we sail again

the wind resists ..and i found you

in your eyes .. and your hands

my shore and my wishes

the whole world

with its secrets

living with me

living inside me

as long as you're .. in the journey with me 

my name and your name .. my dear

my town .. and my story

my home and my wanderer

the whole world

with its secrets

living with me

living inside me

as long as you're .. in the journey with me

So we have yet ANOTHER song about dreaming. Or waking up and secrets. How clever all of the things that are casually tossed in with more meaning. 

All these songs really do add together and build up our picture of Steven. Fun songs, happy sounding songs, loving soft songs, but all about being alone, of wanting someone there to do things with, to share with. 

The composed songs are all dramatic or simple background music. They are huge shifts from the actual songs that we overtly hear. But they are all in the background. They are there to build the tension and mystery that is quietly and slowly pushing into Steven’s life. 

We don't actually hear the Moon Knight Theme until the very end of the episode. This whole episode we've had slow hints in the background composed music. Quiet nods to it. And then as the big reveal happens, it comes blasting in on full chorus. 

HERE IT IS. THE THEME OF THE SHOW. Over the credits! This show is not about the violence and fighting choreography (though when we get it, it is wonderful and a true thing to see). This show is about the slow burn leading up to what makes Moon Knight. It’s about the mystery. The inner workings that come before we can see the man the myth the legend. 

What I love about the music episode to episode is that there is no standard format! Every opening is different. Every closing song is different. EVEN THE CLOSING IMAGES ARE DIFFERENT. You have to pay attention to absolutely every single last thing. 

But oh the Moon Knight main theme. It's so beautiful. The orchestra is playing. The horns smoothly trailing off. It isn’t just blasting about beat’em’up. It’s got the feel of coming out of Egypt. It feels like a song played at night under a full moon. 

The music alone is enough to send me flying. And this is just episode one. You hear any of these songs now and you instantly know what it’s from. What was happening on the screen. This is such a far cry from a lot of big movies/shows now. With throw away background stuff that blends in or is so generic. Each song is picked to mean something. To set the scene. To set the tone. To set the character! 

Anyone listen to Man without love now and not see the apartment and Steven waking up? Anyone hear Wake me up and not see a cupcake truck careening desperately down a mountain? I don’t think so. At least for me that’s the case. But I”m a little hyped up right now. I can’t wait to get into the other episodes as the music ONLY GETS BETTER AND MORE THEMATIC. Oh my god the music gets so much better. GO LISTEN TO IT. 

[utapriyanderes]

pov : you spent a lot with one of the starish and quartet night member in utapri shining live game, one of the member starting to act strange but you shrug it off because you think it's the featured of the game..

The next thing you know, you got forced inside to trap in the game forever...

((thank you for answering it, I actually wanted to request all the members but imma just request one by one, so it would'nt get too overwhelmed qwq))

Can you do for natsuki, ren and cecil if you feeling like it uwu?

(Im kind of wanna make a comic of it)

Thank you so much for asking again! Also thank you for asking the characters in parts because that does help out a lot! As well, if you do make a comic then I would love to see it! Here you go~! (I’m actually going to change up the intro part for this ask, but if you would like it to be all one storyline for each boy then I will happily redo this!)

(Note: Some line spoilers for higher level bonds.)

~ ~

The morning rays hit your face waking you up from your sea of dreams. The first thing on your mind is to start your day right by saying good morning to your favorite boy. With a smile on your face you grab your device and open up the app “Uta no Prince-Sama: Shining Live” for a dose of your morning medicine…

Natsuki Shinomiya:

“Good mooorning! I knew today would be a good day. Why, you ask? Because I knew I'd see you.” The smile on your face only widens. You let out a whispered “good morning” to your boy beaming on the screen. Natsuki is extremely happy today to see you up so bright and early. With how disheveled your hair looks and you in your pajamas, he can’t help but to think it’s a cute sight to see.

Then one of your fingers comes down. He can’t wait to feel the warmth it will bring as well as a tingle as the bond level rises up, “Haha, seeing your face gives me plenty to smile about! Take things easy today, okay?” You give him a firm nod which he takes delight in. He doesn’t ever want you to leave the app. You’re the only one that can make him this happy.

He gets so sad every time you say goodbye. You should be here with him, where he can touch and hold you. Hug you and become a real couple. You would be happier with him here too, wouldn’t you? Then he would be able to see your cute face every morning and actually tell you “good morning” as soon as you wake.

“You look so cute today! How about you come here and I can make you breakfast!” He sees the surprise on your face as he acts off script. You must be happy at the offer, but you just shake it off and go back to smiling. Another tap comes his way.

“I feel so lucky to have you in my life. You're so precious to me, I hope we'll be side by side forever.” You respond with a “me too” causings his chest to start racing. He wants you here with him. He’ll have you here with him. He reaches forth and touches the screen where you still have your finger. A blinding white light clouds over the screen.

As soon as it disappears the screen is gone. He turns around and there you are. Looking up at him from the floor. Confusion and shock clearly written on your face. He crouches down and smiles at you.

“Should I go get breakfast prepared now that you’re here?”

Ren Jinguji:

“Thanks for coming! Seeing your pretty face always cheers me up. Let's make today a memorable one.” The first thing you do is let out a small squeal. You change it to portrait mode so you can fully see him and soak in his presence. Before you even press him you say, “I’m so happy to see you Ren.” As though the dream continues on.

You even bring him towards your chest and hug him for a moment before bringing him back to face you. Ren already started wishing to be there with you, or to have you here with him. He wanted you so badly. He wanted you to be his. There was clear wanting in your eyes, he knew exactly how you felt.

“Hey… why don’t you come over here so I can say good morning properly?” He winks as he speaks freely. You don’t even notice it and just tell him how happy that would make you. It’s words that make him fill up with such happiness. He wants to make you his and you’re ready to surrender yourself to him.

The high level of bond you had with him was already proof enough of how devoted you were. He knew he didn’t have to worry about you going to someone else, and yet he’s still stuck in this cage, worrying about you frantically everytime you leave him.

“Ahh... You're so warm. It's such a soothing feeling.” Then as soon as you touch him. All of his worries start to melt away. You’re here with him now. Your focus is on him. As much as he’s bathing in your affection he knows that it won’t last for long. His worries will come back and a looming darkness of wanting you will settle inside of him once again.

“The more time I spend with you, the more lovely you become, and I don't see that ever changing.” Despite it being a line, his words are true. No matter what time of day it is or how you look. If you’re crying or smiling. You’ll always be the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

Your heart swells for him. He can tell by your eyes. You pull him back into a hug. He uses this opportunity to close his eyes and rest his head against the screen. A white light fades in before fading back out. He lifts his head back up and no longer sees the barrier.

He walks around the chosen place. When he finally sees you up and touching a wall making sure it’s real he shouts out to you. Calling you by your name. You jump at his voice before turning to look at him. A smile full of relief and joy spreads across your face. You run up to him, jumping into his open arms.

He holds onto you tightly, not planning on ever letting you go.

Cecil Aijima:

“Good morning! Never underestimate the power of a greeting. We must start each day with a smile!” As soon as you hear those words any left over feelings of wanting to go back to sleep quickly leaves you. His happy expression is all you need to wake up feeling refreshed. The joy in Cecil’s heart at seeing your face fills him up and releases any form of worry he had while you were away.

Cecil can feel the love just radiating off of you. The only thing he has been thinking about is you. You’re quick to go to his profile and look at all the outfits you have for him, “Let’s get you dressed for the day shall we?” Everyday you always pick out something new for him to wear.

He’s happy at all the outfits you got for him and how hard you put your effort into getting them. You work so hard which both worries him but also makes him feel happy at how much you care. You pick a new outfit you got recently, then change the wallpaper to something appropriate that fits it. At seeing the final product you bunch up in delight.

“You look amazing!” It’s a small complement but one that fills up his heart even more. Then switching over to portrait mode you tap him, “Your touch always makes my heart flutter.” At his words you place a hand over your heart as though signaling the same thing. Every move you make makes him happy. He makes sure to memorize everything you say and do.

Since when you come over here with him… He wants to make sure that you’re also happy and comfortable. Already he’s planned out so many dates in his head. Things he wants to show you and introduce to you. He’s already prepared everything for you to come over.

“My heart flutters when you stare at me like that. Just remember that my spirit is with you every second.” You were so caught up in admiring him that he said one of his automated lines. Though he was also too busy staring at you to notice the wait of your next touch, and when you do he’s in ecstasy.

“Everything’s prepared for you to come over! All you have to do is touch my hand.” He gives you the offer. Now is the time for you to be with him. You shrug off his words, but touch his hand that’s over his heart anyways. Which causes a bright white light that blinds the both of you to appear. Within seconds it disappears with the window to your world gone from sight.

If he did everything right then Cecil already knows where you are. He walks around the scene and goes into the room he created just for you. Then, as he predicted, there you are. Lying on the bed he has prepared to be yours. He walks over to the side of the bed and sees you sleeping soundly. There he waits.

For his precious prince/princess to wake up.

[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch.8

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 7 ] [ Chapter 9 ]

Marinette and Chat Blanc continued to see each other sporadically after their midnight meeting full of emotional rollercoastering and winged secrets. He had told Ladybug about it a few days after, leaving out the part about Marinette’s revealing of having wings. It made her heart skip to know that he would keep a secret that wasn’t his to tell even if he didn’t have to. Ladybug thanked him for being honest with her and told him to be careful, but she was happy he got the chance to spread his wings around another friend.

Ladybug also offered to increase their patrols together if he ever wanted to practice flying with her. She even teasingly said something along the lines of them both needing the benefit of practicing with each other, just in case they ever had to have each other’s backs during a fight in the skies. He accepted, looking giddy to get even more opportunities to fly with another. She also found it unfairly adorable when he joked that he wouldn't get jealous if she wanted to fly around with one of her own civilian friends.

The two even thought about the possibility of some day both flying with their civilian friends together. Ladybug had to hide her giggle at the thought that she might have to break the news that Ladybug and Marinette could never fly together, if this proposed group flight practice were to ever take place.

But Ladybug did confess to Chat Blanc, that if she were to ever choose a civilian to fly with, it would be either Nino Lahiffe or Alya Césaire, because if there was anyone besides Marinette Dupain-Cheng that was trustable, it had to be the people Marinette herself trusted most. Chat hardly held back on his approval of the choices, and it made her laugh to see his bright antics.

After that, several more months passed by the duo, and the world. School was nearing the end of another year. Akuma’s were just as rare and random as ever. Best of all, Chloé had continued to be reprimanded by an ever vigilant Adrien. She was starting to almost mellow out as the fact slowly sunk in that someone she cared about and who cared about her, too, was actually willing to go against her, and even leave her, because she was in the wrong.

All of this led up to an end of school project for their class.

The students were to work together in equal shares to put on a play, telling either one of the fairy tale stories they had studied in class, or one they made up on their own. Nino had proposed that they make a short movie out of the project so that the fruit of their joint efforts could be shared outside of class. The teacher thought the idea was brilliant, and gave them extra time and afterschool privileges to help them set up.

Marinette had been a little tired the day the class was assigning the roles. Her mind only half paid attention, causing her replies to be badly timed and delayed. Because of it, an interesting selection of character parts were assigned.

“Now, I know we’ve been delaying assigning the lead roles,” Nini spoke from where he stood at the front of the room, acting as one of the movie’s directors, “ but I wanted to make sure everyone knew what the other options were before a bunch of people tried to jump at being the Knight of the Princess. So let’s start. Any volunteers or votes for the Knight’s Princess?”

There was various various calls of names and a few ‘me!’s, and most of it all went over Marinette’s head. The only part that really registered was ‘votes for the Knight’, so Marinette half-heartedly pipped in, “Adrien could do it.”

The room went quiet and all eyes turned to her like she had just declared herself to be an Akuma or something. She blinked, wondering what she said.

Nino was the one to break the silence with a crooked and amused smile. “Marinette, you want Adrien to be the Princess?”

She gaped like a fish, realizing she had heard his earlier question completely and utterly wrong. She waved her arms around and she stuttered, trying, and failing, to clear away her mistake. She froze when Adrien burst out laughing, clearly not offended or even upset.

“Why not?” Adrien chuckled as he calmed. “Not the first time I’ve been told I’m pretty enough to be royalty. It would be a nice break from the cool-guy look I’ve been doing at photoshoots lately, too.”

The room started to buzz again with noise. It seemed everyone was considering it, liking the idea of breaking away from assigning a girl to be the Princess.

Alya pipped up above the others mischievously. “So if Adrien get’s to be the Princess, who’s taking the role of Knight? Another of the boys, or one of the girls? At this point, anyone can take the spot since we’ve decided to ignore traditional gender roles. Any volunteers?”

There was more discussion filling the room at that declaration, and a few people glanced at Chloé. She had probably been gunning for the role of Princess, but now she seemed to be pouting. “If Adrien is taking the lead role, then I still want a good one. But I refuse to be a smelly Knight! I’d rather be the King.” She stated decidedly, and the class chuckled and murmured their acceptance of her decision. They were happy to have her not throwing a fuss. It was rather refreshing, actually, to see her still being dramatic but cooperative with the class.

Murmurs continued as the class discussed the role of Knight. Marinette stayed out of it, too embarrassed that she might mess up again. It wasn’t long before Adrien hummed to himself and turned to her.

“Marinette? Would you like to be the Knight to my Princess?” She squeaked at the sudden proposal, and the class hushed. Adrien turned to the others, a small but confident smile on his lips. “She’s helped all of us in Akuma attacks before, right? Marinette acts the part of a Knight saving dames and damsels in distress naturally. I think she could do this, if she wants to, that is,” he adds with a reassuring glance. There wasa round of agreements from the others, before all eyes turned to her, breaths held in anticipation of her answer.

Retreating into the neckline of her oversized shirt to hide a fluster, she nodded her acceptance. There were a few excited woops, and Kim even whistled.

After that, all the roles and assignments for the project were set.

Marinette and Adrien were to be Knight and Princess. Chloé and Juleka took to the King and Queen. Kim and Ivan claimed a joint role of the Dragon for themselves. Rose volunteered to be the Evil Sorceress. Mylène wanted the role as the Knight’s Fairy Guide. Alix was to make props and set backgrounds in the art room. Nathaniel and Alya were the script-writers for the story. Max and Nino were on camera duty with the help of Markov. Sabrina was put in charge of coordinating, scheduling, and final edits.

Lastly, everyone was given two tasks as a group: First, if they had nothing to, they were to help their fellow classmates who were still working. And second, everyone pitches in for the costumes if they can.

Everything went surprisingly smoothly for their project once everything was divided up. Adrien got Chloé to pitch in for the costumes with him, both allowing their immense closets to be raided. Alya and Nino were able to check out cameras from the yearbook and photography clubs. Props became a group-effort when most of the class rather enjoyed, and got carried away with, the art room’s free to use supplies. Some of the musically inclined were putting together a playlist for mood and background music. Kim helped the cast members practice their lines, even standing in for a partner if someone wasn’t there.

It was fun, Marinette had to admit. Up until the inevitable hitch caught up to them, though.

The days of filming their project were upon them. The school’s courtyard had been commandeered for the majority of their sets, empty due to it being a weekend. Large green rolls of poster paper had been used like wallpaper, hung from the second floor banisters to act as a greenscreen. The stairs got covered in painted cardboard so they would look like castle walls and towers from the side.

The entrance to the school was left clear, since the class had deemed it worthy to be its own set background twice over. The first was to act as the front gate to the King and Queen’s castle for the opening scene outside. The second would be from the inside, doors closed and covered with curtains to make it look like the inside of a Great Hall. To give the makeshift Great Hall its finishing touch, Chloé had ‘borrowed’ the fancy chair from her Father’s office to act as a throne.

All in all, things went great. The story and filming opened with the Knight, Marinette, decked out in painted cardboard and foam armor, returning from a mission in another country. He was summoned by the King and Queen immediately upon arrival, to be told that the Princess, Adrien, had been cursed and kidnapped by the Evil Sorceress. To their credit, Juleka and Chloé actually did an amazing job of acting and looking like emotionally distressed parents who just lost their daughter. And when they did a flashback scene in one of the classrooms, Rose proved to be one scary Evil Sorceress with Adrien a perfect damsel in distress. They did have to redo the scene several times, though, because the Queen, Juleka, was having trouble not looking like she wished she was being kidnapped by a very pretty girl instead.

The Fairy Guide, Mylène, was then called forth to help assist the Knight in tracking down the Evil Sorceress and navigate through the Magic Woods. This part took a mix of walking along the makeshift greenscreen wall multiple times and actually going out to a few of the parks around Paris. They had to admit to themselves, though, that they mostly just wanted to run around in-costume and have fun, as well as eat a picnic that Alya’s mother and Marinette’s father had both contributed to after hearing about the project.

It was the pre-rescue battle scene that caused the hiccup. The class artists had done a too-good job on the two-person costume of their Dragon. Kim sat upon Ivan’s shoulders, allowing the Dragon to have an impressive two and a half metre height from head to ground. Kim was also very set on being very animated and expressive with the Dragon, so the mouth, full of sharp paper mache fangs, opened and closed at his command while he threw glitter out like it was fire. Ivan controlled the legs, wings, and body, which all had moving parts for mobility. The legs were strapped to his own, so they walked and stepped when he did. The wings were controlled by Ivan’s Raven wings, allowing them to move realistically. Kim, acting as the neck, would twist around, and Ivan, needing to keep balance, would follow his movements, causing the whole dragon to lumber around and sway like it was alive.

The Fairy Guide, Mylène, couldn't bring herself to face the Dragon at all, let alone appear on set with it. What really took them off guard, however, was the Akuma that came along as the class was gathered around Mylène.

[gukyi]

ice prince (post-script) | jjk

summary: you travel the world together as the country’s favorite ice dancing couple and celebrity romance, but you can’t help but wonder what the future has in store for you and jungkook. 

{established relationship!au, ice skating!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff word count: 1k warnings: none a/n: thank you to @sopseokjin​ for commissioning this piece and donating to the #blacklivesmatter movement!! i had so much fun revisiting the ice prince couple. if you remember me writing the entire 22k fic in 4 days, you qualify for a veterans’ discount.

There is something different about hotel windows. 

They’re always enormous, always spanning the size of the wall, a big Plexiglass screen separating you from the world outside. They always come with two curtains, a semi-transparent one that lets you see into other people’s rooms, and a thick one with the pattern of an old wallpaper or vintage couch. 

And they always make you feel as though you’re both looking out into a sea of lights, into a city slowly beginning to fall asleep, and as if you were trapped inside, the window being your only source of contact. 

It’s no wonder you always find yourself staring out of it, wrapped in a white robe after hopping out of the shower, a long day of competing and skating behind you. Normally, you’d soak your feet in the bathtub as well, letting the water wash away of the soreness, but you feel quite light tonight. 

You gaze out into the city, looking over the roofs of buildings, over the air vents and grey cement that covers all of the skyscrapers that surround you. The yellow glows in the top-floor windows of the buildings are your stars tonight, lighting up an otherwise empty navy blue sky. It’s such a shame that there isn’t a cloud in the sky, and yet you cannot see a single star. Your window doesn’t even face the moon. 

“A penny for your thoughts?”

You look up to see Jungkook standing behind you in the reflection of the glass, soft brown hair tousled and messy, like he just got out of the shower and let it dry as is. He’s wearing an old shirt from your home rink and some shorts. Comfort clothes. 

“Just looking out the window,” you tell him, letting him come over and watching your reflection as he wraps his arms around you, swaying softly. 

“It’s pretty,” Jungkook meets your eyes in the window. 

“Is it weird that, no matter what city we go to, I always feel the same when I look out the window?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, then says, “No. I feel it, too.”

Does he? 

Does he feel the way that even if the world changes you feel as though your place in it has remained stagnant? Feel like you’re trapped repeating the same few days over and over and over again? Ice skating is perhaps one of your truest passions in life, something that you seldom dread doing despite all of the injuries over the years. But it is as though you do not exist without your skates. That your sense of belonging is defined by being on the rink rather than off of it. 

You wouldn’t know who you are without ice skating. It’s brought you so much joy, so much love. It carried you to Jungkook. 

“I shouldn’t be complaining.” you say with a shake of your head, pulling yourself out of his grasp and settling down on the side of the bed. The sheets are tucked into the bed frame so tightly you’re half convinced that they might rip if you pull them any further. “We get to go to so many nice places and stay in fancy hotel rooms and skate for a living.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t find negatives in what we do,” Jungkook says with his eyebrows turned down as he joins you on the bed. “You can be grateful and critical of things at the same time.”

“I just feel like…” you sigh, unable to find the right words. You aren’t by any means discontented with your life, with what you get to do. Every morning you wake up and look forward to what the day has to offer, look forward to tugging on your skates and getting onto the ice, look forward to seeing Namjoon and Hoseok and Taehyung and, especially Jungkook. “Like we’ll be stuck doing this forever.”

“You know that’s not true,” Jungkook tells you, reaching out to take your hand in his own. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, calloused fingers pressing against your skin. “We can dp whatever we want with our lives.”

“I don’t really know what I want,” you admit. You’ve always been rather indecisive. It is one of your greatest flaws. 

“You don’t have to know,” Jungkook assures you. He has always been so driven, so focused. He looks to the future fondly, rather than in fear. His heart guides him through each and every day, and even if he makes a mistake he knows it will never steer him in the wrong direction. “You just have to see where life takes you.”

You turn to him, watch his eyes grow bigger as they stare into yours. “Where do you want life to take you? When this is all over, what do you want to do?” When younger skaters far more talented than you will usurp you, will achieve far more complex jumps and challenging lifts, effectively sending you on a slow decline out of the top leagues. When the spotlight will no longer shine on you, lighting up your path on the ice, when no more medals will hang around your neck and no more trophies will be placed into your hands. 

“I’m not sure,” Jungkook says. “I’ve always wanted to learn piano.”

“You can do that now,” you remind him. 

“Not with our schedules, I can’t,” he says. 

“There’s a piano in the lobby,” you remember. It’s an upright, nothing too fancy, but no staff seems to play it and barely anybody spares it a second glance. “You can try.”

“Maybe some other time,” Jungkook says with a laugh, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. You’re still facing the window, but it’s different when you’re sitting down, further away from it. Like you’re watching a late-night movie. Like you’re not a part of the scene at all. “I’d also coach, maybe. Like Namjoon and Hoseok, I think that’d be fun.”

Ice skating will never leave him.

“You think we’ll still be together after all of this?” You ask. It’s a weird, hopeful sort of ask. Like you hope he says yes even if the odds are against it. There’s a part of you that fears, that has always feared, that ice skating was your only link, the only thing keeping you connected. You would not have known Jungkook without skating, and you know him now as someone who is just like you. But what will happen when all of that ends?

You feel the way Jungkook sits up straighter, feel how he stiffens, making you look up at him. It’s an honest, candid question. What does the future hold for the two of you? Is there even one to begin with?

“What do you mean?” He asks. “Of course I do.” A pause. “Do you… not?”

“No!” You tell him. There is nothing you fear more than being away from him, than losing the last part of your life that preserves what little personality you have left. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I just—I wasn’t sure.”

Jungkook reaches his other arm out, both of your hands wrapped up in his own, and he squeezes tightly, making you look at him. He’s got that steely, certain look to him, the same determination you see right before a competition performance. 

“I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours,” he begins, “but you have nothing to worry about. Not about ice skating, or competitions, or our future, or me. Because I love you, and I’m proud of you, and I know that whatever you end up doing will be beautiful and meaningful to all of the people whose lives you have touched. And I will always stand by your side, even when we stop skating, even when we are cranky coaches, and even when we are old and lazy.”

The words are music to your ears. A soft smile draws itself on your face, and he lifts a hand up to press it under your chin, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. It’s incredible, what he makes you feel. 

“I’ll marry you, one day,” he promises. “And we can live wherever you want. We can have cats and dogs and plants and, maybe one day, we can have kids too.” 

“If we do have kids, I hope they don’t inherit your ego,” you tease, making him laugh. 

“No,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “They’ll inherit my devilish good looks, instead.” You giggle, and Jungkook shuts you up with another kiss, taking away all of the breath in your lungs, making your skin tingle. “I love you, did you know that?”

You grin. You did, but you love hearing the words anyway. “I love you, too.”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget i’m still taking commissions!

[post-itpenny]

“ Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes? “

Ok, tagging @grodygabe because Bastian is here for a moment as well. Some slight angst for you.

Primadonna 

The lobby of the theater looked as vibrant and new as the day it’s doors first opened. A polished wood floor with rich red carpets draped over it. Velvet curtains covering windows and the bottles that lined the bar sparkling with whatever substances they held from their corner of the lounge. Plush chairs and couches touched with the slightest scent of smoke. Around the walls was cream colored wallpaper with gold filigree as a border.

It looked lovely and new, which meant it was a collection challenge.

Perhaps that was one nice thing about this map. They could tell what they were in for based on its mood, it’s state of grandeur or decay.

Granted, several killers had collection-type challenges. Collect the thing- bring the thing to a designated spot- win an escape for your efforts.

But Thomas was with the group this time and he shivered the moment he walked in. So… they knew.

“So you just know?” Their newest one-a girl named Chloe asked. “Just get a vibe?”

“Only if it’s the killer you came with.”

She nodded, seeming to relax a little now that she knew how to spot her’s. Thomas almost felt bad for her, should he tell her what was coming?

Mary beat him to it.

“The old hag is a handful and she can get you at a distance. But you just keep running and it’ll be just fine.”

“She’s a hag?”

Mary laughed. From where he stood, Bastian gave a small snicker as well. “You can call her that if you want, just be ready to dodge.”

“Does she throw things?”

Thomas frowned, “no.”

Before he could elaborate the doors to the theater opened with the slighted squeak, the Edison bulbs above flickering out.

Show time.

…………………

“What the hell is she wearing today?”

“I have no idea, but that’s a lot of pink.”

Mary and Chloe hissed to each other as they snuck around the diva. Climbing through a tunnel formed by stacks of clostume trunks and crates.

They froze as The Muse turned in their direction, head tilted to the side as she floated just slightly off the ground. Chloe holding tight to the photograph in her hand. In an instant, she was gone, chasing after someone else.

………………….

One thing Thomas could never figure out was just how lucid Irene was in a match. Between trials she was clearly with it, at least enough to be an absolute bitch to anyone within 20 yards. But it was here that he honestly had no clue. Sometimes she was, yelling at Mary or taunting him, but other times she seemed so focused… but also not. Looking at them like she didn’t know who they were (which couldn’t be true by this point) but so intent on killing them. And then there was moments like right now-

From his hiding spot, Thomas watched as Irene chased Bastian as if she was moving through a dream. Perhaps it was because of the photograph held tight in his hands. Her movements slow but fluid. Her body flickering in and out of existence. She caught him in her strings, only for the new girl to purposefully crash into her.

Irene felt herself slamming back into her own skin at the sudden impact, reeling at the sound of fabric tearing.

“You stepped on my dress why?!” She screeched before turning the swipe at the intrusive nat with her weapon. The girl yelped in pain as the blade nicked her shoulder. The boy- Bastian. His name was Bastian, she knew this by now- grabbing her arm and pulling her to safety. Irene felt a tug at the back of her brain, screaming in frustration before the overwhelming feeling of being yanked back out and to wherever she had come from consumed her.

………………………..

You could hear her yelling in nearly every corner of the theater. The diva’s presence was constant, regardless of whether she was in the room with you or not.

They were rehearsing for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the very unfortunate girl playing Peasblosom having stood too close to Irene and stepped on the hem of her skirts.

“You stepped on my dress!” Irene screamed down at her. “Idiot girl, do you not have any sense of space! Do you know where your feet go?! Or are they with wherever your brain left?!”

The younger actress was crying by this point, looking wildly around for someone to do something. But even their so-called “director” was suddenly very preoccupied with his notes.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Irene snapped. “I swear I-“

“And I swear I can hear you all the way from the street my dear.” A gentleman said as he hooked his arm with Irene’s and pulled her away from her victim. “My dear there’s no need to ruin your voice with so few days before the opening night.”

Irene snatched her arm back, “you! You don’t get a say in this! You’re late!”

“Only 15 minutes.”

“Where were you?!”

“Forgive me Renie sweetheart, but why fret over such trivial things?”

Irene sneered, “I’ll give you trivial you-“

“Irene.”

“Charlie.”

Charlie sighed with a smirk as he fished a box from his pocket. “I need a smoke, come join me dearest.”

He liked arms with her again and pulled a still bickering Irene backstage. Looking over his shoulder with a wink towards the relieved younger actress.

…………………..

Charlie casually blew a cloud of smoke into the air as he skimmed back over the script. looking up occasionally at his friend as she carefully stitched the torn hem of her dress. Whispering the opening verses of The Habanera from Carmen. When and why she took the time to learn it Charlie had no idea, but he wasn’t surprised.

They lazed on a set of plush chairs, leftover props from some long forgotten production. The crew left them out knowing they were the preferred seats of the primadonna and her co-lead..

“You know, if you went to one of the seamstresses in the costume department, they could fix that for you.”

Irene hummed in response but did not otherwise comment.

He watched as she sewed, noting just a few wisps of gray hairs on his friend’s head. Musing that she shouldn’t frown so much less she gain wrinkles from it.

“You know I do wish we could adjust the lines.”

“It’s Shakespeare Charlie, the lines stay the same.”

“But the part between Oberon and Titania-“

“The lines. Stay. The. Same.”

“The mention of India seems so out of place though.”

“Did you read the books I lent you?”

“Books?”

Irene arched an eyebrow. “Yes, the ones on Celtic and Geek cultures? The ones I asked you to return to the library when you finished?”

“Ah.”

“Ah. So you’re paying my late fees.”

“I bet you were once quite the precocious child.” Charlie teased.

Irene smirked, “I used to lay on my bed and wonder am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins, or shoes?”

“And what were you the fondest of Renie?”

She looked up at him with a smile. “Silence, in a small house with so many people, I was fondest of silence.”

……………………….

The sound of heels clicking broke the early morning. Even before sunrise, stagehands milled about and janitors polished and dusted fixtures. But this woman moved with purpose. Cradling several items in her arms, any of which threatened to spill should she make the wrong move.

She made her way backstage, finding a particular pair passed out on a set of plush armchairs.

Irene and Charlie were deep asleep, legs tangled together as they shared the same automan. Charlie with his hat covering his eyes and Irene using Charlie’s coat as a blanket.

The woman sighed in annoyance, kicking Charlie’s foot. “Charlie Devough how dare you sleep at work again.”

Charlie sat up with a shout, Irene grumbling as she crawled out from under Charlie’s coat and snatched one of the coffees the woman carried. Making a face at the first sip. “So bitter.”

“Because that one wasn’t meant for you,” the woman chastised as she traded coffees with Irene and passed it over to Charlie. “Only this oaf here is foolish enough to not appreciate cream or sugar.”

“Why add sugar when I know you bought danishes? I can smell them love.”

The woman sighed again and handed over a paper bag she had also been carrying. Taking over the automan as she sipped on a coffee of her own. “Did rehearsals run that late?”

“We were running lines and lost track,” Irene murmured as she rubbed at the ruined mascara on her face.

Charlie leaned over to kiss the woman, “thank you for the breakfast Evelyn dear. I’m sorry to worry you.”

“You should have let me know.”

“It’s my fault, Eve.” Irene yawned.

“No it’s not you liar, how dare you cover for him.” Evelyn teased. “Irene, you look like you’ve been crying with your makeup like that.”

“Irene?”

……………………………

Irene looked up.

She hated collecting trials. She never knew what memories it would send her mind tumbling through.

She sat now in her dressing room, roses in various states of decay filling every free space.

The trial was a disaster, her new dress torn thanks to a new brat. She still remembered that young actress. Three productions later and she seems to think she could replace Irene since she was casted as lead once.

Irene also remembered the feeling of shoving the point of her stiletto through the girl’s throat.

Irene sat in her dressing room and tried to wipe her makeup off. For a moment she looked normal, even despite her bluish skin. But then she felt a stinging sensation in her eyes as black tears fell and stained her face again.

She growled in frustration and stormed out of the room, making her way backstage till she found her destination- a set of worn, plush armchairs. Sitting on the floor next to what would have been Charlie’s.

[fresafresitawrites]

hemera: goddess of the day

my second vignette in my creative writing class! posting this here so everyone can have fun reading and also cuz i havent posted anything in a while. it’s not that long, so if u can read thatd be so appreciated !!! inspirations: a party i went to with my art history friends and anne carson’s eros the bittersweet 

rest of the vignette is under the read more

I waited outside Hemera’s apartment building, wiping my shoes on the doormat and holding the champagne bottle she asked me to get. She was still 20 until next March and I turned 21 back in June, so for the next few months this would be my job.

The October air was crisp and sharp. The occasional gust of wind felt like needles on my skin. I’m glad that before heading to Hemera’s, my mom convinced me to wear the Sherpa-lined Levi’s jacket she bought me at a Black Friday sale last year—- 70% off.

 The door swung open.

“Andrew!” Hemera’s sudden embrace knocked me back a little. The rollers in her hair scratched the surface of my cheeks when she hugged me, and I was hit with the scent of coconut milk shampoo. A tropical wave juxtaposed with the autumn breeze.

“Hey, is no one else here yet?”

She didn’t let go of me. She hadn’t seen me in a while ever since she started a new job at an Italian restaurant near Union Square, and I’ve been working late-shifts at the bookstore since the holidays were around the corner. “Oh, here.” I gave the liquor store bag.

“You got it!” I closed the door behind me as I entered the lobby. “They use this brand at work, so I wanted to try it.” Her black nails tapped against the green bottle before handing it back to me. “And no, I actually told them to come at seven because I know if I asked you to come early you wouldn’t have done it.”

“Oh really?” I wasn’t actually surprised but I wasn’t going to argue with her either. She’s probably right anyway. I followed her up the three flights of stairs and into her studio, hanging my coat behind the door. She went back to unraveling her curls in front of the bathroom mirror. I leaned against the doorway. Her sink was covered in hair and make-up products.

“You would’ve said, vos! Jou’re gonna make me clean your room while jou do jour make-up again.” She exaggerated my accent. I’ve been a New Yorker for eleven years, but Argentina will always ring in my voice. “Anyway, can you clean you room? I have to brush out my hair.”

“No.” I started peeling off the foil of the bottle.

She turned around, snatching the bottle away from me.

“Not until everyone’s here!”

“All right, whatever.”

I was going to help her straighten the place out anyway. Hemera lived in a studio apartment that she moved into just last year, despite her mom’s disapproval. On the night of her move-in day, we lay down on the hardwood-- since she hadn’t gotten her couch yet-- and shared a bag of Doritos.

“Do you think she’ll be okay? All she has is the cat now.” She meant her mom. “Maybe things should be like they were back in like, the old times. She always talks about how full the house back in Mexico used to be, even my great-grandmother lived there. Three generations! With the kids and everything. There was so much noise… and now it’s just Pepino.” She rolled over to face me. “I miss my kitty already!”   

Hemera sometimes had this way of speaking where nostalgia tinted her voice with memories that weren’t hers. I could name more people in her family than my own.

The entire apartment was the size of my mom’s bedroom. The hardwood creaked with every other step, the pipes under the kitchen sink moaned like ghosts, and the walls were covered with floral wallpaper tearing at the edges, but Hemera treated her apartment as if everything was made of gold. I would too, honestly.

I cleared up the wooden coffee table by removing piles of open mail—mostly bills and Target coupons—printed recipes, and scripts from her theater classes. I didn’t know what else to do with them, so I just hid everything under her pull-out couch. On the kitchen counter, she had those trays of assorted cheeses and meats—to be fancy for her college friends. I rummaged through the cabinets and found her supply of Hot Cheetos to snack on while I reheated the pasta on the stove she made for the guests.

“Okay, how do I look?”

I followed her voice. Her hair was curled up in short rings, like black garden roses, and her eyes were dusted with purple and black eyeshadow. Or eyeliner, I didn’t know, but the glitter illuminated her tan skin. She was dressed in her signature all-black style. In a lace, spidery dress that hugged her curves and ended at her thighs. She sparkled under the dim lighting of her apartment, like a crystal in a cave. In Greek mythology, Hemera was the goddess of the day, but Hemera always reminded me more of Nyx, crowned in dark mist and black-winged.

In high school, Hemera spent most of her time woven in the arms of the upright bass player from our orchestra class. He was long haired and mysterious, as she liked them. She would ask me to French braid her hair before their dates, having me incorporate the artificial flowers he’d give her into her strands. This was something my mom taught me how to do so it’d take less time to get my sisters ready in the morning when they were younger. Maybe it was Hemera’s smooth hair, or the scent of her Jasmine perfume, or watching her finally leave, but my thoughts turned to poetry. The night he broke up with her she cried on the edge of my bed.

This was when she crawled towards me, placed her hand on the calculus textbook on my lap, and kissed me.

And in that moment, any romantic feelings I had towards her dissolved into a fog.

I read in an essay once how unrequited love is a form of escapism. Briefly, perfection exists in the form of a person who you believe is immaculate. Once the feeling is returned, you realize their judgment is flawed because they’ve decided to like you of all people. They lose their divinity. The Greeks spoke of a similar sentiment, Eros: the desire for what is missing. You desire only what you lack. Once something, or someone, is finally in your possession, you can no longer want it.

And where’s the fun in that?

“Hello? Andrew? Andrés Ibarra? Do I have to say it in Spanish? Does my ass look fat or not?”

She walked over to the full-length mirror, answering her own question and taking pictures on her phone. “Also, can you not be weird around my friends? You always talk about that time you swore you saw a UFO and I don’t think you realize how much of a weirdo you sound like telling that story.”

            I sprinkled some of the Hot Cheetos dust from the bag onto her pasta and stirred.

            “No problem.”

[sallytheseamstress]

Silent Treatment

The potato soup was done, steaming, waiting in the pot. The Black Forest Gateau Sally had spent the whole afternoon making was being chilled in the fridge. The cake, while a favorite of her father, was certainly no easy task; and as she toiled away in the kitchen, Sally could feel her father’s gaze, out of the corner of her eye, suspiciously, questioningly. Perhaps she had gone too far. Still, if it softened the blow in any way, it would have been worth it.

“Is it Father’s Day already?” William asked sarcastically, without an ounce of joy, when the hot soup dish was presented in front of him. Nonetheless, he devoured the meal with heavy spoonfuls. Sally smiled, barely touching her own dish. He was happy, and that was all she needed.

“I’m glad you like the soup,” she said quietly, perhaps a bit dumbly. “I see you’re wearing that suit I made for your last birthday. I think it may be the best sewing I’ve done—”

“Fishing for compliments again, Sally?”

She hung her head in shame. Her soup was getting cold. Perhaps it would be best to postpone the news, wait a little longer… But if she kept waiting to be ready, she would end up waiting for the rest of her life.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you about,” Sally said, taking a deep breath. The script had been practiced, and his possible interruptions had been foreseen and mentally countered. She was as ready as she could be. “Something that happened that afternoon at the Red Orchard –something good. For the both of us.”

William looked up from his almost empty dish. He automatically frowned in disagreement; she hadn’t even explained what it was yet. But he didn’t interrupt yet. So Sally considered this to be a small, good sign.

“I met this lady at the Orchard, Miss Di Rossi. She’s a newcomer to Redwood, and she’s interested in supporting small local businesses. And I talked with her… And she commented on the dress I had made,” she said firmly, while wringing her hands under the table. “She suggested I set a business of my own, designing dresses, garments… She said she saw potential in me.”

Sally paused to let it sink in. Her father hadn’t interrupted yet. It was strange. He had a blank, lost, glassy-eyed stare, almost as if he wasn’t listening at all. But he was always listening, and she knew it very well. So she smiled, shrugged humbly, and continued.

“I told her that I was very thankful, but that I am very busy, what with my job at Jack’s Attic, and with the Community Center, and with my chores and whatnot… So she made me an offer. For an investment,” Her father’s eyebrows shot up. Sally’s heart began to beat faster. “She offered me a good deal of money for us to hire someone to help around the house, so I can focus on work –I mean, on working on designs, on sewing, on… Well, getting a business started, and such,” she chuckled. “It’s good money, no strings attached, and Miss Di Rossi’s a very stylish lady, so I think I could really—”

“You think?” William interrupted, at last. “A stranger shows up and offers you money, no strings attached, in exchange for… What? Some new clothes?”

Sally nodded, biting her lip. She had been expecting this particular question. “Yes. Miss Di Rossi was very clear in telling me that if it doesn’t work out, there’s no need to give it back. But I intend to make my very best to earn that money, and I’ll find a way to manage with my job and with my work at the Community Center—”

“You’re not going to take it.”

She did not expect for him to be so definite with his decision. Still, Sally had to keep going. “I already have. We made an agreement and I gave her my contact, so any day now I’ll start working on the garments I have promised her. And, what’s most important, I’ve already began searching for a caretaker—”

“A caretaker?”

“The best caretaker I can hire,” she said quickly. “So they can care for you while I’m working for Miss Di Rossi. It’s a very important job, so it will take some effort to organize myself, but I’m positive that I’ll—”

“You’re meaning to get another stranger here, around the house, and pass all your responsibilities to them? Just so you can play store?” William retorted.

Sally did not answer to this. She squeezed her hands, looking down at them, knowing what was coming. Indeed, William took a long drink of water before beginning to argue.

“So that was what the whole big showy dinner was for, to butter me up so I can agree to this ridiculous plan… God, listen to yourself, child,” he said, leaning back on his chair. “Hiring a caretaker… You gave up trying to hide the fact you want to get rid of me. What’s next, locking me up in an old folk’s home? Claiming I have dementia?”

William pushed his dish forward, making a noise of falling spoons and spilling his glass. Sally winced, but stayed put.

“I made all this for you,” Sally said gently. “Because I wanted to see you happy. Because I wanted to show you that I really do care for you, and that I do love you, and that is why I need to take this opportunity. It will be best for both of us.”

Her father made a grimace, exhaling deep, showing as well as he could that he didn’t believe a word she said. “You’re still a child, Sally. At the very least, you behave like one. You think like one. Think that just because you make a pretty meal I’ll be swayed to say yes to anything you ask,” he made a disparaging gesture at the ruined dinner. “While you yourself are perfectly gullible, believing anything a smiling face tells you.”

“I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I do believe—”

“You think you got what it needs to run a business? All the while still having to care for yourself?” he asked as he raised his voice. “You’ll give up. I know that for a fact. You’re terrible with money, and lack the backbone to make important decisions. The only reasons you keep showing up at your useless job at that store on Main Street is because of the paycheck and because you never have to do any actual work. And as soon as the going gets tough, you’ll quit and come back crying.”

“I need to have my own money, to… To be independent,” Sally said as quickly as she could, before he could interrupt her. “This is the best chance I have to—”

“You see! You do want to abandon me, to leave me, your own father, just so you can go chasing some impossible dream!” he claimed. He had finally given in to his customary theatrics. “Me, who is stuck in this damned chair, and who still –still –did all humanly possible to ensure you have a good life! You ungrateful little—”

“I can’t do this forever!” Sally claimed, on the edge of tears. “Please, understand that I accepted because we both need to—”

“Nobody ever told me how expensive it was to raise a child,” he continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Nor how exhausting. Still I did so, on my own, with help from nobody. Not a caretaker, nor a nanny… I made you independent. And this is how you repay me? Preparing yourself to pretend I never existed?”

“I don’t—”

“You do, don’t deny it!” he cried. “Don’t you lie to me, Sally! You know I know when you lie to me!”

“No you don’t!” she cried even louder, banging her fist on the table, standing up, demanding his attention. And he finally shut up. “I have –I have had to do almost everything I love behind your back, because I know you would never approve! You are the one who wants to keep me down, keep me locked up, forbid me from living as myself! You say that I’m the warden of the jail, when it’s you who kept me scared for my whole childhood, hell, my whole life! And I’m tired!” She continued, now truly crying. “I am so tired! Why must it be like this? Why can’t we just accept that this is for the best, that this is the healthy choice—”

“Have some respect!” he yelled, red with anger. “You think you’re doing me a favor? You wicked girl, you self-centered, ungrateful child, you have caused the problem in the first place! You will be the death of me, I’m certain! You will wash your hands off the whole deal and run away with the money, I know it!”

“I won’t!” she replied. “I promise you, I haven’t touched a penny of it, it’s for you, for the caretaker—!”

“Where’s that money?” he asked suddenly. “You haven’t deposited it in the bank account, I would have known.”

Sally remained silent.

“Where did you put it!?”

Sally looked down at her hands. William huffed, now pink from the exertion of shouting.

“So you don’t want to talk now, huh.”

She was trembling. What for? What was the worst thing he could do? Sally frowned, both furious at him and at herself. At him, for not even trying to listen. At her, for having failed so miserably. If only they could see eye to eye for once…

“… There’s cake. Want a slice?” she asked him, after a few minutes of silence.

William simply glared at her.

Sally sighed. She picked up the dirty dishes and the glasses, and brought a rag to dry the water on the table that was now dripping on the hardwood floors. Then, she washed the dishes in silence, waiting for some noise to signal to her that her father was searching for the cheque. But there was only silence and the sound of the running water of the sink.

She went back into the dining room to see William just where she had left him. He looked up at her. It reminded her a bit of Henry, the stray cat that she had grown fond of, when she showed up to bring him some food.

“You sure you don’t want any?” she asked him again.

William looked back forward, into the Victorian wallpaper, straightening his shoulders. Sally took it as a yes.

It was late, and it seemed like he wasn’t in the mood to watch TV that night. Sally helped him up the stairs, and changed into her pajamas as he brushed his teeth. She didn’t dare check if the little folded piece of paper was still where she had put in, in fear her father was peering through the keyhole. When she was done, she brushed her teeth as well, and helped William into bed.

“Good night,” she said quietly, apologetically.

He said nothing. Instead, he turned off the light.

[chinateacup]

Commission for @asrasdarling

Thank you so much for commissioning me again @asrasdarling !! Repeat customers are so rare for me, and I’m so happy you liked my stuff enough to want more :,) anyways, here’s 3k of a fluffy high school au. Enjoy!

((my commissions are still open btw))

Fandom: The Arcana

Characters: Asra, Julian, Portia, OC

Pairings: Asra/OC

Rating: No rating required

Jenna showed the bus driver her pass, and took the nearest open seat.

Why was she so nervous? She wasn’t doing anything she’d never done before. Her hair was done the same way it always was, her outfit wasn’t anything that special, and she was on the same bus she got on every day to get to school.

Except, of course, she wasn’t going to school. She was going to Asra’s house.

Jenna bit her lip. When people asked, she always said their relationship was complicated. That was an exaggeration, and she knew it. They were friends, and she loved that they were. Asra was kind, and thoughtful, and was always super helpful with homework.

But he also had painfully soft skin, and a smile that turned her brain to jelly mid-thought. Much less helpful with homework.

Jenna took a breath, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, and recalled their conversation this morning.

“Hey!”

Jenna smiled against her pillow at the familiar voice. “Hey yourself,” she said into the phone.

“Sorry it’s so early.” Asra sounded surprisingly awake. He wasn’t usually a morning person… she suspected his mom had dragged him out of bed before noon. “But I forgot to mention the homework you missed Thursday. We have ten pages to analyse.”

“Wait, what?” Jenna sat up bolt upright. “Is that due tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” He whined. “I got distracted! Julian found a four-legged beetle in biology and we thought it might be scientific discovery.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling involuntarily. “Was it a scientific discovery?”

“No, Jenna, the beetle died. Then we had to give it a funeral, and…” Asra trailed off. “Anyway, that’s why I forgot to tell you. The grief must have really affected me.”  

She snorted. “Yeah, you sound all torn up.”

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled. “Hey, how about you come over today? I’ll help you go over it?” Jenna opened her mouth to reply. “Or before school tomorrow,” he added quickly. “Whatever you like.”

“Today works great,” she said, immediately blushing. Did that sound too eager?

“Great!” Asra said, sounding very eager indeed. “You remember my address. See you a bit!”

He hung up the phone, and Jenna sighed, flopping back against her pillow.

She was still turning the call over in her mind when she hopped off the bus, walked up the porch, and knocked twice on the heavy wooden door.

It swung open a moment later. Asra beamed down at her, and she smirked back. “Are you wearing pyjamas?”

“Good morning to you too,” he held out an arm, beckoning her inside and noticing the cups in her hand. “Ooh, did you bring tea?”

“It’s not tea.”

His nose wrinkled as he shut the door. “I don’t really drink coffee.”

Jenna shoved a cup into his hand. “Hot cocoa?”

Asra gasped like she had opened the Heavens for him. “You’re an angel. Thank you.” He cradled the cup in his hands, and started up the stairs. “Come on, let’s go before you get me all distracted.”

Jenna groaned, but followed him up the carpeted stairway. At the end of the landing, Asra flicked his light on, and kicked some clothes under the bed. His room was the same as Jenna remembered; wallpapered with posters and tapestries, plush red carpet, a tiny fold-out table. It wasn’t a huge room, and it had clearly taken some creativity to fit two chairs at the desk.

Somehow, even though she’d been here before, the room felt… different. The last time, Asra’s parents had been right downstairs. A few friends had been with them, and they had still insisted on the door staying open. At least fifteen centimetres, they’d said.

Asra shut the door behind them.

Jenna swallowed.

But if something felt different to Asra too, he was doing a great job hiding it. They sat at the desk, and Asra grabbed the script from Jenna’s bag, skimming over the notes she had already made. He chewed his lip as he read.

“You’re actually half-way done,” he said finally, breaking the silence and flipping open his own work. “If you want to answer the question of the characters’ motivations, that is, Stanley’s is good. You just need to do Stella’s.”

“Well, thank you very much,” Jenna teased. “Do you think we’ll be done with this play before we’re dead and buried?”

“We will be if your wonderful friend can remind you about the homework,” Asra jabbed, though it had no real heat behind it. “So, Stanley as a character is a typical, domineering male. His motivation in his relationship with Stella is not love, it’s the ability and power that comes with exercising control. He is happy with Stella, as long as she doesn’t step out of line and allows him to… Jenna?”

“Hm?” Jenna looked up from her phone.

Asra closed his eyes, and she half expected him to be mad at her. But he just chuckled, shaking his head. “Anyway, we know that’s what he gets out of it,” he continued with a smile. “What about Stella?”

Jenna inhaled slowly. She’d torn himself away from her phone, but that look on Asra’s face was proving to be a way more lethal distraction. Dimples. “Uh, well, she… loves him, right? And she’s pregnant, so it’s not like she can leave him that easy even if she wanted.”

Asra hummed under his breath. “You think she loves him?”

Jenna paused. “…I don’t think that’s the right word. No, she doesn’t love him, but there is something about him… pulling her in…”

His lips twitched. “Attraction?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she nodded, making a note of it on her script. “Stella is drawn in by this chemistry they have between them. It’s just like Blanche and Mitch; they make all the excuses to see each other that they can, and when we see them back at the house, it’s obvious they’re trying to skirt around the subject, since Mitch is so awkward about it and Blanche doesn’t wanna scare him off, but at the end of the day, both of them have to accept that there’s this obvious…”

Jenna finished writing and looked up, only to find Asra had been watching her face the entire time. When their eyes met, Asra blushed, startled, but didn’t look away.

“…Tension,” he finished for her.

Jenna nodded. “Yeah. That.”

Asra licked his lips, cheeks still bitten with colour, and went right back to his own extract. “I hadn’t really thought about that.”

The room felt warmer suddenly, and Jenna took off her sweater, draping it over the back of the chair. Asra glanced over her top curiously, but said nothing. “So, um, aside from Stanley’s abuse,” Jenna said. “Stella has some attraction to him. I mean, they’re compatible partners.”

“Yep. Compatible. Very true.”

It was around that time, when Asra’s face was tinged pink and those little dimples were forming at the corner of his mouth, that Jenna realised she wanted to kiss him.

And she had no clue how to make that happen.

She’d never really… well, maybe a couple of people had shown interest but no one she’d ever returned feelings for. She’d never had a boyfriend, not a real one anyways, and she didn’t know what routine she was meant to do to get one. She didn’t know the rules. How do you ask someone out? How had she made it to eighteen without asking anyone out?!

Jenna drummed her fingers on the desk. “Asra?”

“Yes?” He looked up.

Jenna took a breath. Held it. “Nothing.” She nodded at Asra’s cup. “That’s gonna get cold. You should drink up.”

“Right, yes. I will,” He nodded, smiling politely, and took a sip of cocoa.

He didn’t speak again for a while.

Jenna didn’t really think anything of it, since Asra had always been quiet when he was focusing. He hummed in response to questions, high pitch for yes, low for no. Over lunch, she was glued to her phone anyway, and didn’t notice much around her.

It wasn’t until Jenna had finally shut her book and rested her head on the desk that she noticed they hadn’t spoken for hours.

“We did it,” she tried, giving a lazy thumbs up.

“It only took five times longer than it should have,” Asra laughed shorty, stretching his arms out like a cat.

“Well, that doesn’t really matter, does it?” Jenna spun in the office chair. “I mean, it’s a pretty good excuse to hang out together.” Asra hummed, and she pursed her lips, thinking. “Can I ask you a question?”

He hesitated. “Yes. Of course you can.”

“…Have you ever had a girlfriend? Or boyfriend, or…?”

Asra shook his head. “No. I mean, not… not a real one. I don’t think you could call what Ilya and I had a relationship.”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes, stopping when they hit the ceiling. “Have you ever been in love?”

The question surprised Jenna herself, and she blushed, not quite meeting Asra’s eyes. When she did though, they were surprisingly calm. “No.”

Jenna nodded, mind about a million miles away from her body. When it came back, he was speaking. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Been in love.” he was asking. “Have you ever?”

“Oh,” She picked at her already chipped nail polish. “No, me neither.”

Asra shrugged. “Well, we’re eighteen. I guess we have plenty of time to...” he faltered. “You know.”

“Guess so.”

There was a pause where she thought to voice something unspoken between them. But then a beat passed, and she’d already missed her shot.

“It’s coming up to six,” Asra noted. “Where were you thinking for dinner?”

Oh God, anything. Anywhere you want. With you. “Portia and Julian are actually picking me up from here. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you came with?”

“Oh. Sure, dinner with Portia and Ilya sounds fun.” Was it wishful thinking, or did he sound disappointed they wouldn’t be alone? “Did they say what time they’d be here?”

“No.”

“Right.”

“…I’m sure it won’t be long.”

Half an hour later, Jenna was sat crossed-legged on the bed, and the Devoraks still hadn’t showed. “Tight spaces? Really?”

“Mmhm. I hate them.” Asra sat mirroring her.

“I said weirdest fear! Everyone has some claustrophobia.”

“You told me I had to answer honestly, and you’ve already broken the rules by asking more than twenty questions! I don’t have any weird fears.” He bumped his arm against Jenna’s briefly, before pulling away. Even that casual touch was enough to set off every nerve in her body. “It’s your turn. What’s your weirdest fear?”

“Ducks.”

“Ducks?”

“When I was eight, I got like, swarmed by those things at the lake. One of them bit me on the ankle. I literally thought I was gonna die. Don’t you dare laugh at me, it’s not funny!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Asra’s voice shook, but he managed to steel his expression into a tight smile. “I’m not laughing at you.”

“Of course you’re not,” She huffed, lying back against the pillows. “Um… alright, most surprising talent, go.”

Asra barely had to think for a moment. “I can tumble.”

Jenna gasped. “No, you can’t!”

“Well, I could tumble when I was twelve,” he shrugged. “One of my friends in middle school was a gymnast. I had a knack for it.”

“You’re showing me.”

“There’s no room here.”

“We are going to the dance studio first thing in the morning, and you’re showing me.”

“It’s your turn now.”

“Oh, moving along quickly now, are we–?”

“Your turn, Jenna! Most surprising talent.”

She shifted against the pillow, folding her hands on her stomach. “Give me another one.”

“I answered, so you have to.”

“I don’t have any surprising talents!” She said at the ceiling. There was a shift of weight as Asra lay down next to her, and she tried to ignore it, even as she felt herself being watched. “I must just be great at everything.”

He chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”

There was a long stretch of silence, and Jenna closed her eyes.

“So, earlier…” Asra spoke slowly, in a voice that didn’t sound quite like his own. “You said that you’d never been in love.”

“That’s true, yes.”

“Right. But is there…” He shifted against the pillow. She opened her eyes. “Is there anyone that you…?”

Asra was the type of person that was hard to lie to. So Jenna didn’t even consider it. “Yes.”

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“Do you?” She asked immediately to stop him from thinking any more on it.

“I… no, no I don’t.”

“Cool.” This wasn’t a surprise. This wasn’t news. Jenna had no reason to believe he would be interested, and there was zero evidence that he ever was or ever will be. This was not a surprise.

Why had that hurt more than it should?

“This person,” Asra asked, even though it wasn’t his turn. She didn’t want to correct him. “Do they go to our school?”

“Yeah,” She said. “He does. He’s in our year.” A beat passed between them. “Ah, are you a cat person or dog person?”

“Cat person,” he replied. “If he’s in our year, do I know him?”

“Yeah. You know him,” Jenna swallowed, turning on her side so she could see him. Asra did the same, his expression flushed and unreadable. They lay face-to-face. “Who’s your favourite band?”

“Paramore.” Asra sounded distracted. “What’s he like?”

“He’s nice. And smart. He’s always been super friendly with me, I just… guess I’m being selfish wanting more,” she chuckled. “Go-to soda?”

“Sprite. How long have you felt this way?”

“Since we met,” she muttered. “I mean, I’ve always thought he was cute and stuff, but when I got to know him better, he was… actually really amazing.” Jenna hadn’t once broken Asra’s gaze. Her heart felt ready to leap out of her chest. “Favourite food?”

“Pumpkin pie.” Both their voices were hushed, like they were sharing secrets. Like they were scared they’d be overheard, even though they were alone. “Why do you think you’re being selfish?”

“Because I should be happy with his friendship, and I’m not. It’s different. I want his undivided attention. I want to know him.” She took a breath. “Star sign?”

“Gemini. You’re not selfish.”

“I think I am.”

“You’re not. You’re right, it is different.”

“Pets?”

“A snake. Are you going to tell him?”

“Do you think I should?”

“Do you think he does?”

“I just asked.”

“Then yes.”

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Then there was a hand under Jenna’s chin, and Asra was kissing her.

It wasn’t a great kiss. It was clumsy, and unfocused, and Asra’s aim was a little off since they were both lying on their sides. And then it was over much too quickly, and she barely had time to open her eyes before his hand left her jaw.

“I, um…” Asra’s voice shook, pulling away, sitting back against the headboard. “Jen, I don’t…”

Jenna moved up with him, and cupped his face to kiss him properly. Asra’s eyes shut lazily, shoulders relaxing with relief, and she brought her fingers to the nape of his neck, tangling them in short, soft curls. Asra’s hands hovered nervously at her waist, unsure where to put them, before settling on holding her wrists, thumb brushing against her skin.

The kiss broke when they both ran out of breath, and Jenna tried a shaky smile. “…So, I think we have some stuff to clear up.”

Asra nodded. “You did mean me, right? Or have I badly misread this?”

“It’s you,” She laughed breathlessly. “And when you said you didn’t like anyone right now…?”

“I lied,” he confirmed. “I swear one day I’ll stop screwing up, and I’ll stop saying the wrong thing. I’ve just liked you for so long, I-I… I’m only half convinced this isn’t a dream!” He laughed shortly, flustered. “I really hope this is real. I want to know you too, Jenna. And I want to be known. By you, obviously.”

Her hands found his. “You do?”

“I do.”

“Oh my God.” Jenna grinned brilliantly, and pulled Asra into another kiss. It was shorter than the last one, since she suspected he hadn’t quite gotten his breath back, but when she went to break it, Asra chased her lips, pulling her right back in.

She sighed against his mouth. “This might be my new favourite thing.”

“Same here,” Asra murmured, kneeling up when she did and wrapping his arms around her torso. When she deepened the kiss, though, his legs buckled, and they fell back against the bed with a laugh.

Asra looked up, red-faced and breathless, as she gently placed her glasses on the bedside table. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Jenna said against his skin, trailing her lips across his cheek, past his jawline and his throat. Asra laughed, muttering that it tickled, and she snorted, holding his waist to pull him in closer and –

BZZT. BZZT.

They both froze, staring at what little space remained between them. Asra blinked. “Is that your phone?”

Jenna scowled, sitting up and detangling their legs to grab her phone from the end of the bed. She pressed it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Jenna? We’re outside!” Julian had to yell against the sound of the traffic. “Would you mind asking Asra to open the door? It’s freezing out here!”

She huffed, still getting her breath back. “Where were you two? I called you both like, three times.”

“Ah, yes, very sorry. I apparently had it on silent all day, and... oh, Pasha says the door’s unlocked – hey, no, at least knock first!”

“Anybody home?” Jenna heard Portia yell from downstairs.

“Crap.” Jenna hung up, scrambling off the bed. “They’re coming up!”

Asra looked panicked, and dove to sit at his desk, smoothing over his hair as best he could. She did the same, replacing her glasses and fanning herself with her hands. Asra frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to make my face less red.”

“It’s making it worse.”

“Well, at least I’m trying, you’re definitely redder!”

Asra blushed darker, wiped away the gloss she had kissed onto his mouth, and someone knocked just as she was taking out her ruined ponytail.

Portia poked her head around the door, looked between them and smiled. “Great, looks like Asra’s coming! Your taxi’s here.”

Julian followed her in, looking sheepish. “I did tell her to knock.”

Asra breathed a small sigh. “It’s okay. Thanks for driving us all.”

“It’s no trouble. I knew Jenna would probably be tired from, uh, studying with you.” He smirked slightly, and kept his eyes on the carpet.

Portia shot Jenna a look, so small anyone else would have missed it. She didn’t. “Yeah, studying. Glad you guys had a fun day.”

They followed the siblings down the staircase, and Asra locked the front door behind them. Jenna leaned in close so he couldn’t hear her whisper. “You two totally know, don’t you?”

Julian snickered, and Portia grinned. “In the car, you’re telling us everything.”

[ayankun]

coffee shop au bitches (working title)

here, have this rough draft of the first half of part 1.  consider it proof of concept.  (the concept is Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but actually good) (”good;” YMMV)

9.3k words; Cas is human like everyone else so to compensate I made him socially anxious af; there’s a brief unpleasantness wherein someone in customer service gets harassed so watch out for that I guess; Cas is also carrying a lot of baggage (literally and metaphorically) and it’s vague for now but a little wearisome so GLHF I promise when it’s done-done they all get the kind of happy endings they deserved from the show

The town of Lebanon, Kansas sprang up without warning, its tree-lined streets shockingly claustrophobic after the three hours of patchwork browns and greens streaming by the smudgy window, the rolling plains uninterrupted to the very ends of the earth until the blank blue September sky finally picked up where the horizon left off.

Castiel felt his eyes strain, forced to reel in his thousand-yard stare, as he squinted at the blur of tidy little houses perched along Lebanon's brief outskirts.  He blinked away from the window and pushed himself to his feet, sidling carefully into the aisle to pull his duffle down from the overhead rack.  In short order, the bus turned onto the tidy little Americana main street and rolled up to a tidy little bus stop, and, reaching back into his seat to retrieve his briefcase, he squinted out at this, too.  

The screech of well-worn brakes, the brace against the final lurch of inertia, the hiss and clack of the doors at the front and back folding open; with no more pomp and circumstance than that, Castiel's journey reached its end.  Clutching the handle of his briefcase and slinging the straps of his duffle over one shoulder, he edged down the aisle and nodded his thanks to the driver on his way down the steps.  Finally, Castiel planted his sensible shoes on the cracked sidewalk, looked carefully up and down the stretch of unremarkable, middle-of-nowhere civilization, and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing here.

The bus shrieked and rumbled back into the non-existent late afternoon traffic, a thick gout of black exhaust signaling its farewell, leaving Castiel behind before he had a chance to change his mind.  He watched its departure absently for half a moment, road-weary and numb.  Then he hiked his duffle a little more snug against his back, turned around, and began an unhurried stroll the shady two and a half blocks back to the motel on the south side of town.

---

"Been expecting you," the woman behind the counter said the second Castiel pulled open the glass door to the motel office.

He paused, looked over his shoulder, saw no one among the growing shadows of the motel's empty parking lot, no one except a trucker hopping out of his cab parked at the gas 'n sip on the opposite corner.  Castiel watched him jog across the street towards the Biggerson's, the lights of its enormous, highway-facing sign flickering on in welcome, and turned back to shoulder his way inside.  "I did reserve a room over the phone," Castiel said, approaching the counter, "And I was told that a few . . . personal items would be held for me at the front desk?"

The woman, Billie, according to her name tag, responded with a nod, less in answer to his question and more in the way one does when one is not surprised by what they've just heard.  She pulled the keyboard to the old desktop computer closer to herself with one hand, and held the other out, palm up, to Castiel.  "ID and credit card."

Setting his briefcase down on the floor, Castiel dug inside his overcoat's interior pocket for his wallet.  By rote he thumbed out the military ID to give her, but at the last second his heart gave a sharp little twist and he drew it back.  Her lips twitched, nonplussed, but she waited patiently until he handed her his driver's licence instead.  She studied the picture on it for a second, mouthed the name, and carefully considered the face on the photo compared to the face on the man in front of her.  He shifted his feet nervously, thinking he should have just given her the first one, if only to avoid looking any more disreputable than he already did.  

Evidently their hangdog looks matched to her satisfaction, though, and she snapped the plastic down onto the counter, shifted her attention to the computer to check him in.

"Room's yours for the week," she read off the screen as he retrieved his licence and put the credit card down in its place.  She slid it over to herself without looking, only glancing down to read the numbers, obsidian black fingernails clacking proficiently over the ten-key peripheral plugged into the side of the keyboard.  "Checkout's at eleven on the 25th."

When she slid the card back over to him, Castiel palmed it off the counter, put it back into the wallet behind his IDs (driver's license on top), tucked the wallet back into his overcoat.  "Um.  I'm not exactly sure yet -- I may need to extend my stay."  Absently, he wondered why he sounded like he was apologizing for it.

Billie looked up from the computer screen at him, neutral.  "Whatever you need.  We can do you by the week, month, whatever.  Got your card on file, so you just let me know when I should stop charging it."

Castiel tried a smile he didn't feel, thinking as he did so that he probably shouldn't have bothered with one, what with how it seemed to crumple his face in unnatural ways.  "I will let you know, thank you."

She pulled a blank key card from a drawer and ran it through the machine to code it for his room.  "Here you go," she said, slapping it onto the counter with another plasticky snap, "Room 401."

"Thank you," he said again, taking the key card and putting it into his coat's front pocket. She held up a hand to keep him from running straight off to the room, a slightly unnecessary gesture, since he had no intention to do so.  Not without the banker's box that she was now pulling out from under the counter.

It was sealed with tamper-evident tape, noticeably intact as she spun it 180 degrees so he could also see his name and a brief description of the contents inked with a tidy hand in the space provided on the lid.  Billie pushed the box toward him and then tapped a nail over one of the items on the contents list.  "She's parked out front."

Castiel peered down at the item she had indicated.  "Keys," it said, rather cryptically, in that unfamiliar, efficient script.  He nodded.  "Thank you."

He bent to pick up the handle of his briefcase, letting the duffle fall farther across his back as he did so in order to free up space under his arm for the banker's box.  It worked, albeit inelegantly, and he felt a little foolish as he fumbled the box off the counter and turned to go.  He felt even worse when Billie said to his back:  "I'm sorry for your loss."

No part of him wanted to say "thank you" again, so he just paused long enough to indicate that he had heard her, and then went out through the glass door and back into the shadowed parking lot without saying a damn thing.

---

Room 401 opened into a concise sort of entryway that pointed him toward a small kitchenette lit primarily by the glare of the Biggerson's sign falling in through the window.  The space featured a round table with peeling laminate, two plastic-and-stainless-steel chairs, a sink and a microwave and a loudly humming fridge.  It was downright lavish compared to the accommodations Castiel had shifted between for the better part of his life.

The banker's box went onto the table, to be ignored until the time came Castiel felt ready to pry inside.

He shrugged his duffle off onto the end of the bed, the briefcase going onto the floor at its foot.  Successfully offloaded, Castiel turned and sat beside the duffle with his hands in his lap, looking at the boxy little TV set sitting on top of a banged up little dresser; at the dusty looking armchair shoved back in the corner to his right, under a dusty looking lamp; at the dim alcove immediately to the right of the TV, keeping discreet the bathroom sink and mirror and the door to the toilet and shower.

He didn't know what to do now.

Twisting to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, he marked the time with no real interest.  Just after 6:30.  Not enough daylight left to try and find his way around town, too early to sleep.  Not that he really felt compelled to do either of those things.  Not that he felt compelled to do anything.

But he had to do something, though, didn't he?  He had to keep moving forward, in whatever small way he could manage.  He had to.

With a long sigh that seemed almost to empty him completely, Castiel got to his feet.  He pulled his overcoat off, went to the alcove closet to hang it up, stopped at the sink to splash some water on his face.  He took a moment to appreciate his appearance -- mournful and aggressively unkempt after two solid days on the road -- before stepping out of the alcove to retrieve the briefcase.  He opened it on the bed and slipped the laptop out, digging around for the charger, and brought both to the dresser, setting the laptop to one side and plugging it into the outlet he found by tracing the TV's power cord.

He stood there, hunched a little over the open laptop, waiting for it to wake from its hibernating state.  He could check his email, at least, or scroll through the news he'd missed while in the air and in taxis and in the air again and in buses that sailed too quickly through isolated islands of 4G signal that lit up only a single bar before going dark again.

His desktop loaded, the wallpaper a heavily-filtered photo he'd pulled from who-knew-where:  just an expanse of faded teal, adorned only by a single, old-fashioned kite, bold and bright with primary colors, pinned there on the sky by an unseen breeze for all eternity.  He had set it a long time ago and never changed it; the image was a small comfort, though for what reason, he couldn't tell.  It wasn't his memory.

The fleeting sense of well-being provided by the tranquil wallpaper faded as quickly as it had come.  The only Wi-Fi network in range was named "Big D's iPhone" and it was locked.  Castiel refreshed the network scan a few times, hoping to see something that looked like it was related to the motel, but nothing else appeared.  He fished his phone out of his pocket for a second opinion, but it, too, displayed just the one fishy looking hotspot and very little 4G, even though he swung it around like an idiot, dowsing the room for a signal, watching the littlest bar wink at him no matter which out-of-the-way corner he took it to.

He even found himself squeezing between the table and the window, pushing the curtain aside as if the radio waves were having trouble making it through the few millimeters of dusty fabric.  He knew better, but it couldn't hurt.  In the Biggerson's lot, catty corner to the motel, a sleek black muscle car came to life with an animal growl, and he watched it prowl out onto the street and streak out towards the highway, taking Big D's iPhone with it.

---

It wasn't Billie manning the motel office when Castiel made his way back inside.  He didn't know why this should surprise him, but the fact that his expectations had been subverted in such a minor way somehow made him stutter his step as he entered.

The woman lounging in the office chair with her boots on the counter didn't wear a nametag.  She did look up from her magazine -- Knives Illustrated -- but only for a second, just a cool, cursory glance to let him know that she knew he was there and also that she wasn't too bothered by it.

"Howdy there, Clarence," she drawled.

Castiel didn't look over his shoulder, this time, but he did falter to a premature stop halfway to the counter, searching the vast middle distance as he tried to quickly figure out if he had enough information to parse the greeting.  He didn't.

"My name is Castiel," he informed her cautiously, eyes lifting to meet hers over the cover of her magazine.

She turned a page.  "Knew it was something hokey like that."

"Yes, well . . . hello," he said, brow furrowing.  She turned another page and he pulled his hand down over his rough five o'clock shadow, a token from his time on the road.  He probably should have cleaned up before leaving the room, but here he was.  He stepped forward, "Excuse me--"

"You're excused," she sing-songed at him.  The magazine dropped just enough to reveal her razor-sharp grin; it was not too dissimilar to the image on the front cover.

"--I was wondering if you knew where I might find a decent Wi-Fi signal in town."  He arrived at the counter as he was speaking, and placed both his hands palms down on its surface.  When she didn't stop looking at him, he picked his hands back up and dropped them to his sides.

She went back to the magazine.  "Depends.  Business or pleasure?"

"Alright," Castiel said, defeated, hands clenching irritably at nothing, "I apologize for having bothered you.  Enjoy your evening."

He turned his back on her, and wasn't going to stop even when he heard the magazine slap closed and her boots clump to the floor, but still that's exactly what he ended up doing as she called, "Hold up, C."

It was the impromptu nickname more than anything, since hearing it inspired him to send a pinched look of consternation back in her direction, where she was now leaning towards him with her forearms planted on the counter, her straight dark hair falling over one shoulder.  "I was only having a little fun," she told him once she was sure she had secured his attention, "We don't get fresh meat like you too often around these parts, and a girl's got needs.  How could I resist?"

"That is a very forward way to speak to a customer," Castiel intoned, the dip of his head turning judgemental.  He'd seen looks like that before; his skin crawled when they were for him.  His hands balled up and flapped open again, trying to shake it off.  "Good night."

"Best bet's the Roadhouse," she told him just as he reached out to push open the door.  Again, he paused, against his better judgement, and she took that as her cue to continue, "Just head on up Main Street, you can't miss it.  If you hit the prairie, you've gone too far."

Castiel ducked his head, hiding the twitch of a small, rueful smile at the joke that slipped its way in at the last second.  "Thanks," he said, more to the half-opened door than to anyone else.

"You watch yourself out there, fresh meat," she hollered a parting warning as the door swung shut behind him, "The freaks come out at night."

---

Castiel walked back to his room to get his overcoat, taking in the rosy hues of twilight that striated the western sky dead ahead of him, chewing over the likelihood that the insouciant woman meant what she'd said.  He couldn't imagine that a small town like this would be terribly dangerous after dark, but, then again --

Stopping at the door to 401, he carefully prodded his better judgement into at least considering taking the car -- he looked at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to dwell too long on the idea that its previous owner would have left indelible personal traces behind -- and, sure enough, he wasn't ready to go digging.  Not in the box, and certainly not in the car.

Castiel gently shook out the fist he had made, swept his eyes over the brilliance of the western sky, and decided he was in the right kind of mood for a walk.

He unlocked his door, entered the room to grab his overcoat, stuffed the laptop back into the briefcase, exited again, pointed himself towards Main Street without giving the car another thought.

---

Turned out she was right about one thing, the Roadhouse was impossible to miss.

From the way the neon sign lit up the rustic wood siding of the cowboy-chic exterior, he half worried the establishment was a bar of some sort.  The windows were dark, the shades drawn down against the setting sun, so he only could only make a guess based on what the exterior looked like.  Hesitating on the sidewalk under a street lamp, Castiel squinted up at it and waged a minor civil war with himself as to whether it would be worth it to go in and find out.

He slowly turned around on the spot, in his little pool of light, casting up and down the nearly deserted street for some kind of sign that would help him choose one way or the other.  Small town Kansas didn't seem to have much going for it, in the way of nightlife; from what he could tell, the storefronts looked exclusively like the little mom-and-pops one would expect from the heartland -- the highway-adjacent Biggerson's the evident exception -- and all of these were either closed or closing.

He completed his inspection, coming face to face once again with the Roadhouse.  On the one hand, it purportedly had Wi-Fi, his current mission being to locate the same.  On the other hand, it looked like a bar, and he didn't want to walk in there with his out-of-towner face, with his uncool overcoat and his briefcase, and specifically avoid ordering alcohol.

He was just coming around to the idea that he could very well survive off the grid for a night when a pair of headlights attached to a shadow came roaring down from the north end of the street at him, the car banking into a smooth, undoubtedly illegal U-turn in the middle of the block, slinking confidently into the open space directly under Castiel's street lamp.  The engine cut off, then the lights, and then a man was ducking out of the driver's side, slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel was stuck.  He hadn't counted on this particular type of social awkwardness, caught loitering on the street without anything to say for himself.  He averted his eyes, expecting the man to pass him by and go on with his business, but to his increasing embarrassment and frustration, the guy stepped up onto the sidewalk and shoved his keys into a pocket of his green canvas jacket and definitely didn't continue on his way.

"Coming or going?" he asked.  The voice was something of a deep growl, but the tone was friendly enough.  

Castiel looked up to be polite, or, at least, to be less weird.  "I don't know," he found himself saying.  Any chance to possibly come across as a reasonable human being was thoroughly smashed, he thought.  He couldn't talk his way out of this one, even if he tried.  Especially if he tried.  "I've only just arrived," he added.

The guy looked him up and down, not in a lecherous way, or even in a macho, sizing up the competition way; just an unguarded appraisal of his bus-rumpled appearance, the suspicious looking briefcase, the disconcerting way he was caught standing in the dark looking at the door of a place without going in.  The inspection was over in a second, and concluded with a good-natured nod and an open-handed wave that clearly said, "yeah, I figured out that much on my own."

"Well, we don't bite," the guy said aloud, slapping Castiel hard on the shoulder, making him rock from the impact and almost exactly undermining the sentiment.  He immediately turned and stepped up to the Roadhouse's door, hauling it open and beckoning back at Castiel to get his ass inside.  "C'mon, at this rate they'll be closed before you make up your mind."

If Castiel had been looking for some kind of sign, this was clearly providence's way of sending him one.

Even so, he realized he had started moving forward to accept the invitation without consciously meaning to, and, well, he had a lifetime of conditioning to thank for that.  Castiel, ever the good little soldier, taking orders at face value, instead of thinking for himself.  He frowned a little on the inside -- remembering to briefly tug a smile of thanks on the outside -- until the wave of warm, coffee-scented air hit him in the face along with the unavoidable understanding that the Roadhouse was not, in fact, a bar.

The relief of this revelation was powerful enough to enable him to put his weird little hangups back inside the box where they belonged, his outside smile going soft and honest around the edges, and he ducked his head sheepishly at the guy, who had followed him in.  Automatically angling himself towards the register, as one did one when one entered a coffee shop, he said, "I was informed there was Wi-Fi here.  Just not what 'here' was.  'The Roadhouse' sounds -- I thought perhaps it was a bar."

His honesty caught himself off-guard, uncertain as to where the need to explain himself to this stranger came from, exactly.  It was probably because he had already demonstrated the kind of small town friendliness that made Castiel feel like it would be read as rude if he didn't attempt a bit of smalltalk in return.  The guy looked like a nice enough sort of person to meet halfway; about Castiel's age, a little younger, perhaps; kind of a non-threatening good-ol'-boy with his ripped jeans, plaid flannel, and his not-quite-scruffy-not-quite-clean-cut style.  Castiel thought that maybe he could survive being social for a minute or two, with someone like this.

Instantly, this thought hit a bump in the road, as his new friend twisted a funny look at him.  "Got something against bars?"

Castiel dropped his eyes and tried to ignore his obvious misstep while he drifted into the back of the line, behind a towering mountain of a man in a black leather jacket.  Castiel wasn't short, by any stretch of the imagination, but the two men hemming him in were both taller still.  He thought about his answer to the question, flicking rapidly through the options, but wasn't able to pick one that was both simple and truthful before the guy abruptly leaned in.  This startled Castiel, who instinctively shifted away a half step, shoulder bumping up against the glass that separated him from a shiny brass espresso machine.

The guy didn't notice his discomfort, having breached Castiel's personal space to say in a stage whisper:  "If it's rough company you're worried about, nothin' to be afraid of, around here.  The real seedy joints are across town.  Ain't that right, Tiny?"

At this last, he straightened up and raised his voice some, directing the question straight past Castiel.

Castiel turned his head to see the huge leather jacket man fixing the tall canvas jacket man with a full-bodied glare.  He also, at this time, took in the man's shaved head and appreciated the twisting serpent logo coiled on the back of the jacket.  He shifted even closer to the espresso machine, clearing the space between the two men as best he could.

But "Tiny" didn't otherwise react, just turned back and stepped up to the register, boots heavy on the wooden floor.

"Wi-Fi's pretty decent here, yeah," Castiel's companion went on.  Castiel looked back to him, surprised to see him relaxed and indifferent, like he hadn't just specifically tried to antagonize a 400-pound member of a biker gang after dark.  "And the lattes are alright.  Fair warning:  your choices are pretty much either that or black coffee, those're the only things the kid can't mess up too bad."

Off the guy's nod over Castiel's shoulder, he obediently turned and saw the referenced kid -- in actuality, a young, sandy-haired man of about seventeen or eighteen -- working the espresso machine on the other side of the glass.  The milk frother hissed demonstratively for a moment, the kid's face pinched in comically serious concentration on the task, but when he shoved the arm back into the off position, he looked up to see who was watching him and broke out into one of the purest smiles Castiel had ever seen.

"Hello!" the kid said, sunnily, like Castiel was his closest friend and not a literal stranger gawking at him like a zoo animal.  The hand that had been operating the machine was summarily raised in greeting, palm forward, fingers wide.  He radiated a positively angelic energy that instantly made Castiel feel at ease, despite the anxiety of the last several minutes, somehow even despite the soul-crushing weight he'd brought with him to town.

"Hello . . . Jack," Castiel replied, after realizing he could make out the kid's name tag pinned to his apron.  Pinned to their apron, rather, as he belatedly noted the "they/them" pronoun declaration stuck on underneath the name with white label tape.  He smiled, the desire to return just a small portion of the hospitality he'd received so far rising ferociously inside him, one of the strongest emotions he'd had the pleasure of feeling in recent memory.  "I've been informed I should try one of your lattes."

He nodded at the stainless steel carafe of foamed milk in the kid's hand, and they looked down at it as if they'd forgotten it was there.  "Oh!  Yes, I suppose you should."  They poured the milk into a waiting paper cup of espresso, face contorting back into that look of supreme concentration for only as long as it took to pour, smiling back up at Castiel the second the task was done.  "I'm still learning how to make everything, but I'm getting better at the basics."

"Yeah, you are," the guy behind Castiel said, in that manner of speaking that was as aggressive as it was supportive.  Jack grinned shyly, ducking their head at the praise, and shuffled the drink off to the pick-up counter on the other side of the register.

Castiel looked back over to see the guy grinning after the kid, and a thought hit him.  "Are you their . . . parent?" he asked, tripping and catching himself on Jack's pronoun only slightly, a very jarring rush of panic hitting him in time to swerve around using the word "father," just in case gender-nonconformity ran in the family.

The . . . person met Castiel's eye and then looked away, shrugging a little.  "Oh me?  Nah.  I mean.  Sorta.  We're kind of just, looking after them, I guess you could say."

The use of the first-person plural pronoun seemed like something Castiel would pry into next, were he the prying sort.  Instead, he very, very briefly wondered what the average household looked like in Lebanon, Kansas, these days, or if he'd just stumbled into the exception on accident.

A hand was extended his way, along with a name.  "Dean," Castiel was told as he accepted the handshake, "He/him, in case you were wondering."

Castiel let out an inward sigh of relief, and the guy winked before adding:  "Aquarius.  Stones, not Beatles.  Star Wars and Star Trek, but not the garbage that came out after the nineties."  Dean let Castiel's hand go with a chewed-on smile and something of a self-deprecating eyebrow wag.  "That's basically all the important stuff you have to know about me up front."

"Castiel," he returned, "And . . . I am also a man."

Dean snorted a short little breath at that, eyes bright.  He rubbed his chin, scratching through the close-trimmed stubble.  "Castiel, huh?"

Castiel pressed his lips together and took a moment to take stock of the state of his shoes, squaring himself for the inevitable question about his uncommon name, but for once it didn't come.  Dean didn't have the chance to ask it.  When Castiel glanced up, Dean was looking over Castiel's shoulder in the direction of the register, all traces of his friendly disposition replaced by a cold scowl.

As one did, Castiel, too, turned to follow Dean's gaze, searching out the source of his sudden displeasure.  For a second he assumed it had something to do with Jack, maybe getting into some difficult situation with a customer, but at a glance he saw that he only had it half right.  Instead of Jack, it was the young woman behind the register, who pulled her wrist out of Tiny's pawlike grasp as Castiel watched.

Castiel's throat closed up, his second-hand anxiety over the situation momentarily flooring him.  Embarrassed, he looked away, out over the sparsely populated cafe, everyone he saw slowly doing the same:  turning back to their screens and their friends, pretending nothing had happened.

Everyone but Dean, Castiel saw as he finally looked back up at him.  Dean was still watching Tiny closely, his brow drawn down and his mouth set in a firm line.  He flicked his eyes down to Castiel when he caught him looking, and did a stuttered double take when he realized he had accidentally leveled that glare at him.

Dean relaxed his expression into something more neutral, obviously seeing the stress on Castiel's face; while Dean was clearly angered by Tiny's overreach, Castiel couldn't help but project a grim ache that he didn't want to name.  Dean's head tilted, as if he was slowly cottoning on to the depth of Castiel's discomfort the longer he looked at him, and Castiel saw his jaw clench the moment before they both looked sharply back over at the register, hearing the woman's voice rise, frustrated and disgusted, over the country twang of the canned music pumping through the coffee shop's speakers.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?"  The young woman had taken a full step back into the space behind the counter, dodging out of the way of Tiny's reach.  Castiel could see fire in her eyes, and barely registered Jack standing nervously on her other side.

Tiny laughed, a rolling chuckle that filled Castiel's gut with acid.  The huge man leaned up against the counter, shoving a shoulder as far as it would go into the open space next to the register, and curled his hand around the far edge of the counter.  "Why, you jealous?  How 'bout you pucker up, sweetcheeks, let me show you what you're missing."

In an instant, the nerves and disgust flushed out of Castiel's system, and in its place a white-hot righteous anger swirled up.  His hands twitched, settling for fists, and he took a lurching step forward, his briefcase swinging roughly into his leg, the emotion spilling out of him in a growl of "Hey, asshole--"

"Yeah, alright--" Dean growled at the same time, taking the same step forward, bringing him even with Castiel, the two men suddenly a solid wall staring daggers into Tiny's back.

"Stay out of this, Dean," the young woman said, fierce.  The tone in her voice caused Jack to flinch, snatching back the reassuring hand they'd been tentatively reaching her way.

Tiny heaved himself off the counter, turning to face them slowly, deliberately, letting them appreciate his size and giving them ample time to reconsider the hill they might be about to die on.  Castiel's chin went up, eyes narrowed.  At his side, Dean sniffed and thumbed his nose, aggressively nonchalant.

A devil-may-care smile on his face, Dean put one arm wide.  "No can do, Jo.  There's a quick way to handle huge, steaming piles of human garbage like our friend Tiny here," he said, making stabbing motions with his hand at the man in question, "and I'd hate to see you lose your job over a broken jaw."

Castiel glanced sharply up at Dean, trying to gauge the realistic chances of an all-out brawl going down right here between the novelty mugs and the last of the day's homemade baked goods.  Lebanon, Kansas was quickly proving to be something other than the sleepy, middle of nowhere hamlet he had assumed it would be.  

In fairness, though, he had been warned that the freaks came out at night.

Dean didn't exactly look ready for a fight, though, loose-limbed and calm, fixing Tiny with a cocky grin that was daring the biker to make the first move.  Castiel forced his own shoulders down, his fist to relax around the handle of the briefcase he was gripping like a weapon.  He cut his eyes over to Tiny, who was equally not rising to the bait, just sneering at them for what he was reading as biteless bark.

"Like to see you try, pretty boy," Tiny said, digging in his heels.

Castiel frowned, seeing that the situation had ground into a stalemate before it had even started, two immovable objects sizing each other up, both content with the fact that the one who either struck first or walked away first would make himself the de facto loser of the conflict, one way or another.  Even so, Castiel strongly felt that neither of these two would be the type to walk away.  He raised a hand, palm out, and tried to press some sense into the moment before one of them exhausted their patience and decided to throw a match onto this powderkeg.

"No one has to try anything," he warned, making sure Dean knew he was included in the list of people encouraged to stand down, "Let's all conduct ourselves as civilized people.  Please, just leave the young woman alone, let her do her job in peace."

Tiny peered down at him and made it clear it wasn't about to back off just because a stranger in a rumpled trenchcoat asked him to play nice.

Dean, meanwhile, licked his bottom lip and looked like he might actually be considering his options.  He nodded, ducking his head as though coming to an overdue realization.

"See, I know Tiny's mom," Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Castiel.  

Castiel dropped his own right back at him, a suspicious squint pinching his face as he felt in his gut that the situation was about to spin off the axle in some unforeseen way, despite his best efforts to prevent that exact outcome.

Dean went on, unperturbed, sliding one hand into his pocket as he half turned away from Tiny, like he was just carrying on their friendly chat from before, like they didn't have a behemoth of an audience listening in.  "And I know she would be appalled -- shocked, even -- if she found out what her son was up to when she ain't looking.  Sweet old Martha, she's been in hospice for what, six weeks?  Seven?"  

He swiveled suddenly and jabbed his free hand at Tiny--  "Please, correct me if I'm wrong--"  Back to Castiel, he tapped his own chest twice to demonstrate-- "The ol' ticker's just not what it used to be, or so I hear.  Can't imagine what a bit of bad news might do to her delicate constitution."

As he said this last part, Dean's arm fell, and with it his cheery facade.  He rolled his head Tiny's direction, offering him one of the coldest, meanest looks Castiel had ever seen on a person.

All seven feet of Tiny was now quivering with a quiet kind of rage, his boiled egg of a head going pink as he struggled to hold it in, to not lose the game of chicken he and Dean were playing.  "You're not gonna tell my Ma nothing, you hear me?"

Dean exploded forward a half step, a finger viciously stabbing the air in the vicinity of Tiny's face.  "You stop being a dick, and I'll have nothing to tell," he roared.

"Dean!" Jo shouted over the top of him, slamming her hands down on the counter.

Everyone in the coffee shop flinched.  Castiel felt himself hang his head, feeling the sting as if he himself had been scolded.  But he'd made himself a part of it, stepped in and got involved, hadn't been able to prevent escalation.  He looked out of the corner of his eye at Jo, thinking that maybe he should apologize, but she was just glaring at Dean with hard eyes and a furious shake of her head.

"Out," she ordered.

Dean ignored the way she obviously meant him, and swung an open grin Tiny's way, canines and tongue showing.  "You heard the little lady."

Jo grit her teeth.  "Both of you, out.  We don't need your kind of trouble here."

Something about what she'd said or how she said it got Dean's attention.  He dropped his arms to his sides with a slap of canvas on canvas, twisting her way with a schoolboy pout pulling down his face.  "C'mon, Jo.  You know I didn't mean it.  You know me.  I would never--"

"Save it," she cut him off.  "Jack's shift ends in twenty-five minutes.  Go wait in the car."

There was a second where Dean gaped, fish out of water, at the order, but the cool, commanding look that came with it forcibly shut his mouth with an audible click and he reared back, bumping into Castiel slightly.  "Alrighty, then," he huffed, stomping the wrong way through the line and on towards the door without looking back.  

Castiel watched his boots retreat over the polished wood of the floor, heard the bang of the door being slammed open with more force than absolutely necessary, then tilted his head to catch Jo giving Tiny the same icy treatment.

"What are you waiting for, then, an invitation?  Go on, get.  And if you try something like that again, trust me, I won't bother with your Ma.  I'll go get mine."  She smiled, sweet and sharp, leaned forward over the counter, right into Tiny's personal space, to make sure her point wasn't missed.  "And we can see how many bones she can break before the Sheriff hauls her off your dead body."

An ominous kind of tension straightened Castiel's shoulders, surprised at Jo's candid threat, doubtful that hers would work where Dean's had failed.  After a moment, though, Tiny heaved his bulk away from the counter, gave Castiel a dirty look, and similarly made his inglorious retreat into the night.

Castiel wondered what was going to happen now between the two men, whether they were going to carry on in the street or just back off to lick their wounds until their next meeting.  He hoped Dean had sense enough to actually get in the car, at least.

"Next!"

Distracted from the errant thought of the well-being of a near stranger, Castiel turned to see Jo smiling at him from behind the register, the picture of award-winning customer service, and nothing like the stone-cold demon who had seconds ago threatened to have her mother bludgeon a customer to death.  He stepped up to place his order, thoroughly cowed.

"I apologize for the scene, for my part in it," he told her quietly as he leaned to one side to set the briefcase on the floor at his feet, reaching for his wallet.  "You clearly didn't need us to butt in, but still, I hope you're alright."

She waved his apology away, shaking her head.  "Nothing to be sorry for, it's fine.  Small town like this, hard for some folk to avoid bumping into the folk they shouldn't be bumping into.  It happens, you handle it, you move on.  What can I get started for you tonight?"

Castiel offered her a small smile, feeling it press a little tight around his eyes, his misplaced guilt swirling harder at her need to project such a tough exterior.  It was unfortunate and unfair that the world demanded the thickest skins from some people more than others, and his heart ached in a vague, nameless way, wishing there was something he could do to alleviate the need for someone so young to have constructed such a defensive worldview.

Off her expectant look, he willed himself to remember what he ought to be doing in the here and now.  He gave the menu board on the back wall a cursory review, not really consuming its contents in any meaningful way, until he looked down and caught Jack's eye from where the eager barista floated at a respectful distance between Jo and the espresso machine.

Castiel smiled, this time with notable ease as he remembered Dean's earlier suggestion.  "A small latte, please.  It came highly recommended."

"You got it," Jo nodded, punching the order into the register and pulling a cup from the stack.  "Your name?"  She looked up at him, reaching into a mug with a missing handle to fish out a Sharpie.

"Uh, Castiel," he supplied, and spelled it for her benefit, just in case.

"Castiel," she repeated, as most did when confronted with his name for the first time, trying it out for themselves, "That's got kind of a Biblical ring to it, doesn't it?  Don't tell me you're some kind of guardian angel?"  

"Hardly," Castiel murmured, dropping his gaze to focus on pulling the correct currency out of his wallet.

Jo passed the cup with his name on it to Jack, who immediately took it to the espresso machine and got to work, that same serious look of concentration commandeering their entire face for the duration.

"Anything else for you today?" she asked.  

It was one of those scripted niceties that Castiel truly appreciated about by-the-book social interactions.  A perfect sequitur that spared him the effort of trying to come up with one on his own.  "Do you have a password for the Wi-Fi?"

She nodded, slipping a business card sized piece of paper from a loose stack next to the register, and handed it over in trade for the cash he gave her in return.  As she punched open the till and dug around for his change, he glanced down at the code.  It read "N@turomDem0nto," which, as far as Wi-Fi passwords went, was certainly one.

The till banged shut with a ring, Jo handing him back his change.  Seeing his bemused look as he inspected the hotspot info, she explained, "Sorry, I know it's a little out there.  Our IT guy, Ash, he's a bit of a supernatural freak."

"I see," Castiel said agreeably, though he felt fairly certain that there was some additional piece of trivia he was missing to be able to recognize the significance of the unintelligible string of letters and numbers.  He put the paper into his pocket, dumped the loose change from his palm into the tip jar, and retrieved his briefcase.  "Thank you."

Jo's eyebrows came down, not unkindly, as her lips pursed in baffled amusement.  "No problem," she laughed, shaking her head at him.  "Jack'll have your drink out in a minute."  She waved him in the direction of the pickup counter, and Castiel went gratefully on his way, looking forward to the upcoming stretch of time where he didn't have to make small talk, or try to avoid physical altercations, or accidentally say "thank you" after tipping.

The remaining patrons of the Roadhouse appeared to have cleared out since he had last looked, but whether this was due to the late hour or the recent potential for violence, he couldn't be sure.  Castiel thought about Dean waiting for Jack out in that beast of a car; thought about Tiny (or men like him) lurking out on the streets.  

He pulled out his phone, noting the time as he thumbed to the Wi-Fi settings.  Again, the hotspot listing was sparse, just the one named after the Roadhouse -- finally, full bars -- and, to his muted surprise, "Big D's iPhone."

He was still looking curiously at the cafe's curtained windows, in the direction where he knew that sleek black muscle car with the animal growl was parked under a street lamp, when a bright voice chimed behind him:  "Here you go!"

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Castiel turned to face Jack, finding a bloom of warmth filling the hollow of his chest to see them sliding his latte over with an exceedingly proud look on their face, certain of a job well done.  Right on the drink's tail, Castiel was surprised to see a small plate with a piece of apple pie being pushed his way as well.

He held up his hand to stop or question the freebie, thinking he hadn't done anything today to have earned getting rewarded with pie, but Jo popped up at Jack's side and gave him one of those looks he already recognized as meaning he wouldn't be allowed to decline.  His bottom lip pursed, he reached out and obediently pulled the plate the rest of the way over with one finger.

"At closing time, we either have trash all the leftover perishables or give 'em away," Jo explained.  She nodded down at the plate with something of a wicked grin, "Normally I'd be packing this up for Jack to take home for Dean, but here's hoping I can teach him something by revoking his pie privileges for one night."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and his hand flew off the rim of the plate as though it had burned him.  Before he could figure out a way to articulate how uncomfortable it made him to know he was stealing someone's pie, Jack laughed and shook their head.

"No, it's okay, really.  Sam's always saying Dean needs to watch what he eats.  So, you're helping!"  They chirped this last bit with a scrunch of the eyes and a jerky shrug of their shoulders.  Jo backed the assertion, a tilt of her head and a jag of her brow to say Castiel really didn't have the room to argue with either of them on this.

"Ah," Castiel said, eyeing the pie like it was a plate full of gold, feeling completely unworthy, "If that's the case. . ."

He looked up, met Jo's and then Jack's eyes, and told them solemnly, "I appreciate it."

Jack's endearing smile crinkled onto their face again, and Jo patted them on the arm.

"Hey, we're all set here," she said to Jack, "Why don't you clock out a little early, okay?  I won't tell my mom."

Castiel kept his small smile to himself, busied himself shifting his briefcase to his other hand as Jack eagerly tripped off to head out for the night.  Still, he lingered a little at the pickup counter, not missing the guarded way Jo eyed the front door, which gave nothing away as to what kind of trouble might still be skulking in the night on the other side.

She caught him noticing, which was fine, because his thoughts were running along similar tracks.  It gave him the cue to share his own.  "Um," he started, glancing away, "Would it be a problem if I stayed until closing?  There's, uh, no Wi-Fi at the motel."

When he looked back over at her, shy, she was giving him a soft eye roll with her mouth screwed up to one side to hide some kind of smile.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment, then looked heavenward with a good-natured sigh.

"You know, for a guy who swears he's not a guardian angel--"

Behind her, Jack, who had traded their apron for a colorful windbreaker, swung through the half-door at the far end of the counter, on the other side of the espresso machine, and called out a chipper, "Good night, Jo!  Good night, sir, hope you enjoy your drink!"

Oh.  Castiel hastily lifted the paper cup, Jo waving her own goodbye as Jack trotted across the shop floor towards the exit.  He took a sip of the latte, cringing a little to discover that it was still far too hot to drink without caution; even so, he smiled at Jack and gestured with the cup.  "It's very good, thank you."

He was treated to another of those full-face, joyous smiles, and then Jack was out the door and Castiel was left alone with Jo, his scalding latte, and his unearned pie.  He thumbed the lip of the plastic to-go lid, only half-certain she had approved of him sticking around now that she was on her own behind the counter.  For all she knew, he could be just as rotten as any of them, just biding his time until--

"Please help yourself to our Wi-Fi for as long as you'd like," Jo told him, fixing him with a kind, if ever-so-slightly bemused, look.  

He nodded his thanks, and, using the bottom of his drink, shifted the pie plate over to the edge of the counter where he caught it in the fingers of the hand already tucked under the handle of the briefcase, maxing out his awkwardness in doing so.  Jo was biting her lip, watching the juggling act unfold before her, but she didn't otherwise comment.  With a short smile of parting, Castiel fled -- cautiously -- to a small table at one of the shaded windows, far from Jo and close to the door.

As he went, the sound of a car engine, startling in both how loud and how familiar it seemed to him, rumbled up through the coffee shop's backdrop of picked guitars and singing fiddles.  By the time Castiel took a seat, it had already roared off into the distance.  He was glad its driver seemed not to have run into any further trouble, after all.

Drink settled, pie settled, Castiel himself settled, he set the briefcase on the floor beside him and clicked it open just enough to drag the laptop out from the pocket. He slid it onto the table between his other items, determined to connect to the Wi-Fi and check his email, to do the one thing he had ventured out to do, even if only to say he had.

As suspected, he now saw no trace of "Big D's iPhone" nearby, and carefully punched in the access code to the Roadhouse's network.  The computer connected without fanfare.  Dutifully, he clicked on his email app and watched the logo splash pop up over the muted periwinkle of his desktop wallpaper.

While the program loaded up, he reached out and pulled the pie over and dug a chunk out of it with the fork that had been so kindly provided.  The first bite reminded him that he hadn't eaten since Kansas City, and his focus narrowed to the singular task of slicing and chewing until there was nothing left but crumbs stuck to the cinnamon-sugary tracks his fork made as it scraped over the plate's inexplicable cowboy boot pattern.

Returning the plate and fork to the table with a sigh, Castiel took up his latte, now sufficiently cooled, and sipped this while flicking his fingers over the laptop's trackpad, disinterestedly scrolling through his inbox.  The loss of a few of his taste buds notwithstanding, he found he was able to appreciate the quality of Jack's handiwork, and he felt retroactively absolved for the preemptive high marks he'd given.

He stopped scrolling.  Not that he'd been paying attention to the task anyway, but thinking about the young person's ineffable good cheer and the mercurial temper of their guardian had him staring at the curtain as if he could see straight through it, into the street and the night, imagining the shine of the street lamp off the hood of that dangerous-looking car.

He drank the rest of his latte while absorbed in the expanse of his mind's eye, the limitless vistas of the day's bus ride peppered with half-remembered moments of the evening so far,  impressions of the short stretch of Main Street Lebanon he'd traversed, the faces of strangers blending one into the next into the next.  There was one face in particular that he kept circling back to, though, and one moment that was sharper than the rest.

Standing under that street lamp, waiting.  Waiting for--

"Sorry to interrupt," Jo said, tentative, seeming to materialize at Castiel's table.

He whipped his head away from the window -- had he really just been staring blankly at the curtain this whole time?  What must she think -- and pushed back his chair to try to get with the program.  "Sorry -- you've probably been waiting--"

She laughed and held up her hands, and he slowed his frantic sweeping of his belongings from the table.  "Whoa, there.  I was just gonna give you a five-minute heads up, is all.  Didn't mean to spook you."

Castiel perched the briefcase he had snagged from the floor onto his vacated chair, and gently slid the laptop back inside.  "I'm fine," he said, snapping the clasp closed, "please don't let me hold you up."

"No worries," she told him, and when he darted his eyes over to her, she was giving him that slightly amused, slightly puzzled look she'd been giving him since he walked in.  She cleared his plate and cup from the table and made off with them.  He picked up his briefcase and pushed in the chair, standing purposelessly there at its side.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, seeing him not leaving.  "Five minutes," she said again, "and then I'm going to let you walk me to my car, okay?  You seem sweet, and I just can't help feeling like you'll have an aneurysm or something if I walk out there alone."

"Sorry," Castiel repeated.  He frowned, suddenly very invested in the stitching on his briefcase handle.  "I've overstepped again."

Jo pushed open the swinging half-door of the counter and regarded him from across the coffee shop floor.  "I'll let it slide, this once.  Just don't make a habit of it," she told him with mock-gravitas, fighting back a telling smile before disappearing into the back.

It was a joke, he could tell, something to dispel the awkward energy Castiel had fomented up around himself.  It worked, just a little, and he took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh at himself.  Anyway, he could promise her that, and easily.  He didn't know exactly how long he'd end up spending in Lebanon, Kansas, but it wasn't like he was planning on sticking around forever.

He shuffled his feet, waiting on Jo's return, and willed himself to imagine opening that sealed box.  Digging out the keys to the wide, boxy, gold-colored Lincoln Continental.  Climbing into the driver's seat and watching this speck of a town vanish in the rearview mirror.

He wondered what tape would be playing in the deck, or maybe what radio station it was still set to.  What the scent of the air freshener hung over the mirror was, and whether the built-in ashtrays needed to be emptied.  What he might find forgotten under the seats.

All at once, a full-body shudder rolled over him, overwhelmed by all these questions with answers he couldn't yet face.  

"Ready?"

He looked up as Jo crossed to the door and flicked the bank of switches to shut off the overhead lights, leaving them both shadows lit faintly by the glow of the displays on the equipment behind the counter.

Ready?  Not in the slightest.

"After you," he murmured, reaching out to push the door open.

---

Castiel showered with military efficiency, the rushing water just about drowning out his empty thoughts.

He changed into his sleepwear mechanically, put himself into the bed, and flicked on the television because there was nothing else left to do.  The day was finally catching up to him, and his body ached as it reluctantly gave itself over to the support of the mattress.  His bones felt heavy, his eyes raw.  He flipped channels without comprehending anything he saw on the tiny screen.

Maybe it was the jangle of espresso in his veins, or maybe it was his internal clock's confusion regarding what time zone he'd ended up in, or maybe it was his white-knuckled refusal to find out what his subconscious had in store for him, but it was several long, dull, droning hours of late-night soaps and infomercials before Castiel finally let go and allowed himself to sleep.

[zarcethewrites]

Hamilton AU! | Zen x Musical actor!reader

The casting call | Helpless

Prompt: MC is acting in an on-screen adaptation of Hamilton, her role is Elizabeth Schyuler and she has to sing Helpless, ends up singing it to Zen either one day when she came over to rehearse in their apartment or at actual rehearsals and the cast swooning over them because their chemistry/relationship is so damn believable.

2,107 words

------------------

A new chatroom has opened

Ever since Jaehee had found out that y/n was a musical actress as well, she had been sending MC a lot of open script readings and try-outs from C&R’s affiliates. She was real grateful because she was only starting out in the musical scene, having only acted in one to two plays. Of course, Zen was ecstatic when he found out that his girlfriend was also in the same field of work as him, immediately grabbing the opportunity to sing a duet with y/n at the RFA’s celebratory after-party. y/n had been warming up and practicing her scales when the new chatroom had opened.

y/n: Hey, Jaehee! Jaehee: Y/n. Perfect timing Jaehee: There’s this new play that’s going to be adopted into a film by one of C&R’s subsidiaries Jaehee: You and Zen should try out for a role, you never know Jaehee: It’s a popular musical overseas called Hamilton.

The name rang a bell. It was the breakout musical that got really popular in America with the genre mainly being hip-hop and rap. It was pretty far from your usual style but you figured it was worth the challenge.

y/n: Ooh, sounds good y/n: Can you e-mail me the details? y/n: it’s a bit far from the genre’s Zen and I have gone for… y/n: But I’m up for a little challenge ^^ Jaehee: That’s what I hope too ^^ Jaehee: The auditions are three days from now, I think. Jaehee: I have to go… ;; Jaehee: Mr. Han’s calling me to his office. ;; y/n: Good Luck, Jaehee!  y/n: And thank you for showing me the audition ^^

Jaehee left the chatroom.

As you left the chatroom, you smiled, sending Zen a quick text with all the details to the audition and a quick text cheering him on.

-----

A phone call with Zen later and he was over the moon with the thought of auditioning with you. A quick message to Jaehee texting her Zen was also willing to audition and an hour later, your email notification went off. Opening it, you find Jaehee’s e-mail containing the information about the auditions.

To: MCy/n@cheritz.com From: KJaehee@CandR.cheritz.com

y/n and Zen, Here’s the link to sign up for the auditions: http:// hamiltionthemovieauditions.com/korea/auditions I’ve already input your names, you’ll be receiving the confirmation e-mails soon.

Here’s the names and contact of the director. Director Lee Heungmin xx-xxxx-xxxxx

The audition pieces were also attached to Jaehee’s e-mail. Since it had been a year since the musical was released in America y/n had plenty of material to base her interpretation of Elizabeth Schyuler off of.

You spent an hour on your couch, researching yours and Zen’s character, watching clips of the musical from MeTube and “slime tutorials”. By the end of the day, you were practically hooked on the musical, slowly mouthing the words along with the musical actresses. You didn’t realize it was already dark outside, Zen was supposed to be coming to your apartment for dinner. Jumping up, you open the audition song you were supposed to be singing and play it on repeat as you scramble to get dinner ready.

The door opened just as you were taking the chicken breast out of the oven. Smiling over your shoulder, you hear Zen calling out your name.

“y/n? Babe, I’m home!” grinning at his words, you dust off your hands on your apron, before walking towards the apron. Sure he was only coming over for dinner and maybe a little movie, but it had become a habit for the both of you to act like a married couple, annoying the other RFA members to no end.

“Zenny!~ How was meeting with the directors today?” you ask him, pecking his cheek. Zen grinned.

“I’m happy that musical’s finally done, it was a lot of fun, but that role was pretty awkward.” He says, while walking the both of you to your kitchen. “How’d your day go?”

“I barely made dinner in time today, I was researching the roles for the musical Jaehee gave us.” You admit sheepishly, when he did a double-take at the stack of papers on the dining table.

“I didn’t get to listen to the tracks yet, but what do you think?” Zen asks, reading over the scattered papers and cleaning them up. You thanked him with a quick peck on the cheek, laying out the utensils ready.

“The tracks are amazing, I looked it up, and the musical is really famous overseas. The characters are also pretty amazing, I’ve been listening to the songs non-stop since Jaehee sent it to be honest.” Zen smiled, and hugged you from behind.

“Sing one for me?” He asked, and how could you say no to him? You laugh, patting his arm to get your phone that was still connected to the speakers.

“You know I can’t say no to that handsome face.” You grin, blushing. “Actually, there’s a song that fits us, I think… and it just so happens to be the audition piece for the character I want to try for.”

“Really now?” he grinned as he sat down.

“Yes, the more I read about this musical, the more I think you fit the lead.”

At Zen’s confused face, you scroll through the songs, stopping on Helpless. Passing him the lyrics and gesturing to Hamilton’s lines.

(play the song here for immersion)

“Ohh, I do I do I do I Dooo! Hey! Ohh, I do I do I do”

At the start of Eliza’s lines, you grab Zen by his jacket causing him to blush.

“Boy you got me Helpless! Look into your eyes, and the sky’s the limit I’m”

You grin at him swooning, holding you hand to your chest like you’ve been struck by cupid.

“helpless! Down for the count, and I’m drownin’ in ‘em”

You start walking around the table, Zen following you. You grab your phone, unlocking it so it showed your wallpaper which was a photo of you and Zen at the first RFA party you’d organized, where you hid from all the party goers that you’d promised some absurd things to--

“I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night

At that line, you show Zen your wallpaper. Shaking his head at your antics he turns back to the music sheet on his hands. While he was busy, you start making your way back towards him.

“Laughin’ at my sister as she’s dazzling the room Then you walked in and my heart went “Boom!” Tryin’ to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom Everybody’s dancin’ and the band’s top volume”

As you sang you begin swaying side to side, trying to mimic the dancing you’d done at the RFA party.

“Grind to the rhythm as we wine and dine Grab my sister, and whisper, Yo, this one’s mine. My sister made her way across the room to you (Ooh) And I got nervous, thinking “What’s she gonna do?” (Ooh) She grabbed you by the arm, I’m thinkin’ “I’m through” (Ooh) Then you look back at me and suddenly I’m Helpless!”

You take his face in your hands and stare at his eyes smiling, as you sang the next words. He stares back, smiling at you one of his hands going to snake around your waist. 

“Oh, look at those eyes Look into your eyes And the sky's the limit I'm helpless I'm helpless, I know Down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em I'm so into you I am so into you I'm helpless I know I'm down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em Down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em

y/n gestured towards the lyrics in his hands. Zen took them and began reading the lines along with the original voice.

“Where are you taking me?” he reads.

I’m about to change your life by all means, lead the way

“Elizabeth Schuyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you”  Using the apron as a “skirt” she curtsied in front of him, making him laugh.

“Thank you for all your service”

“If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it” 

At that line, Zen takes your hand and tugs you back to be closer to him and kisses your hand, and you laugh. He hadn’t even seen the musical but he’d done what his character would’ve done already, you knew he was just the perfect fit for Hamilton.

I’ll leave you to it

At that line, Zen takes your hand and tugs you back to be closer to him and kisses your hand, and you laugh. He hadn’t even seen the musical but he’d done what his character would’ve done already, you knew he was just the perfect fit for Hamilton.

“One week later I’m writin’ a letter nightly Now my life gets better, every letter that you write me Laughin’ at my sister, cuz she wants to form a harem”

I’m just sayin’, if you really loved me, you would share him

“Ha!”

You think back to the first days of you being in the RFA when Jaehee had been a little protective over Zen. You didn’t hold it against her, really, she was just concerned for the future of her idol, but it did make you think a little more everytime you’d talked to either of them. Thankfully she’d accepted your relationship with Zen eventually.

“Two weeks later in the living room stressin’ My father’s stone-faced while you’re asking for his blessin’ I’m dying inside, as you wine and dine And I’m tryin’ not to cry ‘cause there’s nothing that your mind can’t do My father makes his way across the room to you I panic for a second, thinking “we’re through” But then he shakes your hand and says “Be true” And you turn back to me, smiling, and I’m Helpless!”

Your heart sank a little as you sang the past lines, remembering Zen’s family. He’d recently started talking to them again and they still hadn’t accepted him or the concept of the two of you being in a relationship. Holding his hand, you smile at him. You had told him you’d wait for him, and you were adamant on keeping that promise. You were willing to wait, because he was someone worth waiting for.

“Look into your eyes and the sky's the limit I'm helpless (hoo!) This boy is mine, this boy is mine I'm helpless Down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em”

Gesturing to the lyrics in his hand, Zen reads over the lines, skipping a couple at first, getting used to the beat before singing along.

“Eliza, I don’t have a dollar to my name An acre of land, a troop to command, a dollop of fame All I have’s my honor, a tolerance for pain A couple of college credits and my top-notch brain Insane, your family brings out a different side of me Peggy confides in me, Angelica tried to take a bite of me No stress, my love for you is never in doubt We’ll get a little place in Harlem and we’ll figure it out.”

At that, he stares back at you, and you smile at him knowing every word that he meant everything that came out of his mouth.

“I’ve been livin’ without a family since I was a child My father left, my mother died, I grew up buckwild But I’ll never forget my mother’s face, that was real And long as I’m alive, Eliza, swear to God You’ll never feel so…”

The two of you begin to sing together,

“Helpless! I do, I do, I do, I do I do, I do, I do, I do! Helpless! Hey, yeah, yeah! Down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em Helpless! I look into your eyes and the sky's the limit, I'm— Down for the count and I'm drownin' in 'em”

Knowing the song was coming to an end, you pull Zen closer towards you using his jacket. Caught off guard, Zen blushes but holds you closer.

In New York, you can be a new man… In New York, you can be a new man… In New York, you can be a new man…

“Helpless”

Noses nearly touching, you end the song with a kiss. You feel Zen melt into it, his hands moving to the back of your head to deepen the kiss. Your heart felt like it was moving a thousand miles an hour. This man really did make you feel helpless.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I know it’s impossible to sing along perfectly to a song you’d never heard of but this is fanfiction land so just imagine Zen can follow the tune of the song REAL WELL

it’s been a hot second since i played Zen’s after ending but I imagined this set a little after it, but instead of being Zen’s manager, I made MC a musical actor.

I got into Hamilton and this Zen CG just popped into my head-- I mean come one the glasses, the costume??? My man’s basically the korean Alexander Hamilton lmao. and i am OBSESSED with the idea of MC being a singer as well and them just?? singing?? to each other?? filming short covers of their voice for the other person to listen to and posting their covers on social media and---

I have very strong feelings for this man okay---

[lolita-tips]

Where have I been?

I originally wrote this up as a script intended for a youtube video explaining where I’ve been and why I haven’t been keeping up with things very well but I haven’t been able to bring myself to get in front of a camera. I thought I would at least make it into a post to sort of give you all an idea of what’s going on. I’ll put it all under a read-more though since it turned out pretty long.

Hi, I’m Averie. I’m 26 years old and I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about my life lately. I’ve been running Lolita Tips for eight years now but in the last year or so I’ve been a bit removed from it, definitely more than I’d like to be and I sort of feel guilty about it. I keep trying to tell myself that I shouldn’t feel bad, but it’s important to me and there are a lot of people I feel like I’m letting down by not posting more regularly. I guess I just want to talk a bit about where I’ve been and what I’ve been going through. 

Last year I officially moved out of my parents’ place and into my boyfriend’s house. Really it was his parents’ house and for the first few months we actually lived here with them which was a bit of a nightmare for a while, but as of April we’ve officially taken on the mortgage and they moved to Florida. When I moved in I started my first ever full-time job and it has really tested me. It’s nowhere near what I’d like to be doing with my life but as they say, it puts food on the table. I’m a claims adjuster for an auto insurance company which means my job consists of sitting in a cubical making phone calls all day and paying people to fix their cars after accidents. This job has really been putting me under a lot of stress. First of all, I’ve always had pretty bad anxiety when it comes to making phone calls, and after over a year at this job, that still hasn’t changed. Having to spend most of my day doing something that makes me so anxious leaves me really drained by the end of it. Add to it the facts that a lot of the people I have to talk to are in a bad mood, often times I’m calling to give them bad news (“You’re at fault for this accident”, “Your car is a total loss,” etc.), and I’m handling over 100 claims at any given time. So most of the time all I want to do when I get home is lay on the couch and do nothing. I wish I was in a position right now to quit this job but I’ve searched up and down for something else and there’s just nothing close to me that would make any sort of financial sense.

When I do have days where I feel like I can actually get something done, a lot of my time is spent working on the house. As I said before, we bought this house from my boyfriend’s parents and it was pretty dated. I’m someone who likes old things, I collect antiques and often dress in vintage styles, but dingy carpet from the 80s and floral wallpaper that’s probably even older aren’t exactly our taste. So we’ve been taking on a lot of home improvement projects and a lot of the time we sort of feel like we’ve bitten off more than we can chew, particularly when it comes to our budget and stamina. As artsy as I may be, I’ve learned that I hate painting walls so even though we started in December, our living room is only about a third of the way painted. I’m also learning that one of the biggest struggles of being a homeowner is just keeping up with the mess, especially with a dog and two cats, all of whom shed like crazy. And it would be easier if we could do all of this together, but my boyfriend and I have such different work schedules that it’s rare for us to have a same day off to work together. It also just seems like this house has one problem after another. A few months ago we had a leak and had to replace the roof. Now our basement is flooding and we have to tear out the walls of what is supposed to become our craft room. It’s hard to make the house beautiful when you keep having to spend all your resources making it functional.

Everything that has been going on in my life has left me feeling very overwhelmed. It may not seem like a lot from the outside, but when your head is constantly full of “Paint this, sweep this, scrub this, shit I forgot to send that check, how many boxes do I still have to unpack? Is this ours or his parents? Did I schedule an appraiser to look at that car? Holy shit the garden is overgrown where did all these weeds come from I swear we just pulled them out a week ago!” It’s daunting. And it has really had a negative impact on my mental health. I thought my life was going to be grand when I moved out of my parents’ house! I was going to be close to a big city, living with the person I love, and finally feeling like a real adult. But this really is more than I bargained for. It feels like all I really did was trade in the stress and anxiety of a long-distance relationship for the stress of a terrible job and a house that still doesn’t feel like my own. People keep telling me things like “That’s life!” and “Welcome to adulthood!” but I know adulthood isn’t all suffering! I know plenty of adults who have jobs they love and free time to  do stuff that makes them happy, but I feel like I’m stuck in an endless cycle of five-day work weeks, evenings where I’m too depressed and tired to leave the couch, and weekends where I try to cram in as many chores as possible. And thinking about it makes me more depressed! I studied theatre in college, I wanted to be a playwright, I STILL want to be a playwright. I also want to own an antique store, make and sell clothes, travel the country working renaissance faires, any number of things would make me happy; but it feels like any time I have some time to work toward one of my dreams there’s always something more important. 

A few months ago I went to a convention in Pittsburgh. It was the first time I’ve worn Lolita in a long time and it was exciting because there were going to be some big Lolita guests. I told myself I was going to face my fears. I was going to introduce myself to members of my new local Lolita community for the first time since moving here, but I came to the con by myself and the longer it went on, the more alone I felt. I thought it would be great going to all the panels I wanted to see and not basing my schedule on anyone else, but seeing everyone with their friends having a good time brought all these ugly thoughts into my head. I thought, “I’ll never be able to have close Lolita friends like that”, “I’ll never be able to make a living doing the things I love like these designers and Youtubers”, “What kind of Lolita blogger am I if I can’t even go up to other lolitas and introduce myself?” At one point after a panel I went to the bathroom and I heard a group of lolitas whos voices and names I recognized come in. All at once my brain was flooded with “Not good enough”s. I’m not pretty enough, my coord isn’t cute enough, I can’t possibly go out there and interact with these queens. So I locked myself in the stall and waited until everyone left while I cried quietly.

A few hours later there was another lolita panel that was a lot of fun and I had a good laugh and actually sort of felt like I was part of something for a moment. But after that was the J-fashion social. I spent all day trying to convince myself to be brave and not let my anxiety get the better of me, but that was a battle that I quickly lost. I went out onto one of the balconies of the convention center, pacing back and forth while I tried to gather my courage, but the “not good enough”s just came flooding back and I cried harder than I had cried in a long time. The meetup came and went in a panel room behind me as I stared into the night sky of the city that didn’t know I existed. No friends to comfort me, boyfriend at another convention working a booth, and family hours away. I felt completely and utterly alone. But that night I told myself that I was going to make a change. Something, anything, to make my life better.

I know that I can’t cure my depression, or my anxiety. I know that there’s something wrong with my brain and that I’m always going to have bad days and good days, but I also know that I at least owe it to myself to try and turn things around. I may be depressed, but I’d rather be depressed and do things that I love than allow things to continue on the way they have been. After all, I’m the most important person in my life. Nobody will ever be more fundamental to my own happiness than myself.  

I can’t exactly say that I have a plan, but I can say that I’ve been trying. I’ve actually spent a lot of time lately rediscovering things that once brought me joy that I fell out of for one reason or another. For example, I’ve recently started listening to My Chemical Romance again. I remember listening to them as a moody teen who just wanted to seem dark and edgy but going back and listening to the same songs as an adult hits me in a different way. They’re so full of emotion and passion and words that my mind likes to cling to like “I am not afraid to keep on living.” I also recently started watching the Vlog Brothers again. Their channel and pretty much everything they were part of were huge influences on me in high school and early in college so I was really happy to see that they’re still doing stuff. They always help me to remember that even though the world may be a big dumpster fire right now, there are still good people doing good things and there are still a lot of things worth living for. I’ve been working a lot on bettering my life in a lot of ways; I’ve been trying to embrace the Konmari method while working on our house and I’ve been watching a lot of youtube channels about being better with money and spending a lot of time watching ASMR to just try and relax. 

I still have a long way to go, and I know I’m still going to struggle, but I’m thankful to those of you who have stuck with me and will continue to be with me on this journey. Whenever I get on tumblr and see that I still get messages in my inbox it helps me to remember that I am not entirely alone. I know this was sort of a lot, I’m not someone who normally pours my heart out like this, to be honest talking about my mental health makes me worry that I’ll come off as whiney and it makes me pretty nervous, but I felt that I owed it to all of you to explain what’s been going on and I felt that I owed it to myself to get it all out there. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me through it all. I hope to start making changes in my life get back to making this blog something worth sticking around for.

[zedecksiew]

d100 Adventure Beginnings

Feeling anxious, indoors because of the Covid-19 quarantine, I adapted an idea from Khairani Barokka and asked Twitter to give me emojis.

I’d turn these emoji into oddities, instigations, opening to adventure.

Guess I wanted to travel? In my head, far afield. It took the weekend, but it made me happy. There were many, many typos, but I visited a hundred different microcosms, with a hundred different persons.

Original thread begins HERE; tweets in the thread were tagged / attributed.

+

d100 ADVENTURE BEGINNINGS

1. 🥐 The sandwich comes to you via delivery. You unwrap the foil as the quadrotor buzzes away. There's something in your sandwich, between tempe patties -an oil-stained slip of card. "Come alone," it says. There is a street address. ~

2. [Photograph of a vine tendril] Watering the garden, you see your morning glory stir.

Its tendrils uncoil. Its vines unclench, recede. Knot in on themselves, twine into thin limbs.

They let go of your fence. They have a face. Flower eyes: two purple trumpet blossoms. They offer a hand to shake.

~

3. [Italian flag] Morning ritual: put coffee on, wash face, check phone. Twitter takes a half-hour.

You smell burning. Coffee! Your moka pot is now sooty, long past hissing. A man stands next to it, made of steam.

"Salve," the steam ghost says, tipping his steam cap.

~

4.  🕯️ A warm night. The air is still. The candle flickers in your partner's face. She is checking her wallet. Slips it in her pocket as the candle dies.

"Ah!" she says, in darkness. "So over this power cut."

Time to get more candles.

~

5.  🔧 This is a *great* spot to get a flat: Lonely road, no streetlights, trees knitting their branches overhead. You shiver. You hate that you shiver. You're an adult. You make noise to assert this. The jack clunks on the ground. "Darling?" somebody whispers.

~

6. 🦚 "Make way for Lady Lerna!" cries the page, swinging his censer. Behind him a dozen men bear a gilded litter.

Laughter. Ringed fingers part the curtains. A powdered dowager wearing a cartwheel ruff of peacock eyes peers out. She holds her nose.

You hate her.

~

7. 🐷 Suckling pig. Its split-jaw-ed head faces you. You have never been more aware of an animal corpse.

Goldteeth Liu sips his cognac and asks: "Hey boy, why you not eating? My food not good enough for you is it?

"You feel sweat on your chest, where the wire is.

~

8. 👻 An ordinary corridor. Sconces, faded wallpaper, a painting.

"Behind the painting," a voice says.

A button behind the painting. Press it. The wall goes click. A crack appears.

"Now can I go?"

You unspool your spell, and the spirit leaves for her afterlife.

~

9. 🎲 The dice land. "Nine! Woo!" She moves her token, counting every space with a smack.

"What's with you?" they ask her.

"What you mean?" she giggles. She never did know how to play it cool. But she doesn't have to. Under the table, she puts her feet in your lap.

~

10. 🦷 When you took this assignment, they gave you two false molars:

The one in your right cheek is a transmitter -- a signal for Ops to start the evacuation; The one in your left is a cyanide pill, in case of capture.

Or was it the other way around?

Shit.

~

11. 🐉 From heaven a serpentine form, golden and gleaming. Growling like thunder ground out of the earth.

Descending, approaching --

But getting no bigger? Is it shrinking?

It is in front of you, now. It is as big as your forearm -- no, your finger.

"Bite me," it squeaks.

~

12. 🍞 The curfew has gone on for months. You have survived through food shortages, power cuts, rumours of civil unrest.

But now you are in trouble. Now, you enter your second trimester. Now, you crave.

Gardenia white bread.

You will brave cordons to get it.

~

13. 🧎‍♀️ You are hurrying to your car when somebody calls: "Girl? Girl!"

The voice comes from a red altar under a tree, past the kerb. From a songkok-ed uncle, as tall as your calves.

"Got food ah girl?" the roadside god says. "Two weeks already uncle hasn't eaten."

~ 

14. 👀 Someone has been pasting googly eyes on your stuff:

Your mailbox in the lobby; The telephone pole in front of your parking spot; The flower pot on the balcony.

Creepy. "It's not me!" your housemate says.

This morning, you find googly eyes on your forehead.

~

15. 🔐 The padlock on your front door is broken.

The door swings open onto an empty living room. On the floor: rectangles of dust, where your shelves and cabinets once stood.

As well as a shred of newsprint. "Take this, Mat!" it says.

Your name's not Mat.

~ 

16. 🎟️ Pa played the lottery on his birthday. Always with the same numbers: 1406, 2902. Ma's birthday. Yours.

Pa died last week. Yesterday was his birthday. You bought his numbers from the ticket counter.

Today you check the results: "First jackpot: 1406 2902."

~

17. 🦖 Dusting Dr Khoo's shelves, you accidentally knock over a novelty Tyrannosaurus piggy bank.

It shatters on the parquet floor.

There are ceramic shards, change -- and a passport with Dr Khoo's photo. Under a different name. In Cyrillic script.

Uh oh. 

~

18. 🍳 Eggs in your cast-iron pan -- the last three eggs you have.

Ina: "What are we going to do for protein, now?"

Gan: "We can search the shophouses in town. Or hope to catch a lizard?"

Ina makes a face. You shrug. With your cast-iron pan, you can cook anything.

~

19. 👻 Knock before you enter a hotel room for the first time. Say: "I'm coming in, okay?" Let its other occupants vacate.

But:You bustled in, dropped the card in its holder, threw your suitcase in the closet, dumped yourself on the bed.

So, now:

Don't look up. 

~

20. 🙆‍♀️ From you balcony, you watch your neighbour in the community playground. She is a dancer. She plays music on portable speakers. She practices pirouettes.

You wish you could work up the courage to talk to her.

She looks up, sees you watching, and waves.

~

21. 🗝️ "The key will open any lock," the goblin said.

The key feels heavy in your hand. Plain and iron. But when you bring it near the queen's jewellery box it shifts: turns silver and intricate.

A skeleton key!

"The key only works once," the goblin said.

~

22. 🎥 You don't like the protesters. So naive. And look at how they've spray-painted the street! Anarchists.

The cops charge with riot shields. They are beating protesters --

What are you doing?

You are recording this on your phone.

A cop points his baton at you.

~

23. 🥳 On your birthday you are surprised at the door. Balloons, food, music to dance to. A party! Laughing, you thank you friends.

"Thank Brian!"

"Brian?" you ask.

"Your cousin Brian?" they say. They point. He smiles and waves back. You don't recognise him.

~

24. 🤦‍♀️ Your headache gets worse. On day three your vision blurs; you collapse in your bathroom.

You wake to familiar voice: "Hey."

It is your voice. "Don't panic," your doppelganger says. "You're okay." She dried you off, put you in bed. She will not harm you.

~

25. 🍳 You tried to steal from the Pasha. He is magnanimous, and decided not to behead you. Instead, you will serve him.

You will journey into the wastes. You will brave the fire. You will acquire the Phoenix's egg. The Pasha is a gourmand. He wishes to eat it.

~ 

26. 🐙 "Finding the Perihelion Squid is not a problem," your captain says. "It glows in the water."

Sunset. A ray catches your captain's arm and belly, throwing the sucker-shaped burn marks there into textured relief.

"The problem is fighting it," your captain says.

~

27. 🚦 You stop at the lights. You look at your phone.

Somebody bonks your side-view mirror. "Oi!" you say -- but more people are rushing past. The drivers of the cars in front of you. What are they running from?

Across the intersection, a stampede of water buffalo.

~

28. ™️ "Breath Easy," the billboard says. A beach panorama, with a white family in the foreground: father, mother, daughter -- all three in pastel shirts. Eyes shut, chins up, smiling.

"VitaOX, premium bottled air," the billboard says. "A Sinochem-McDonald's company."

~

29. 🦥 The Colossal Ground Sloth is a geographic enormity.

See that hill, blocking our view of the rising sun? That's not a hill. That's a sloth. It sits, seemingly smiling, covered in trees. When it shudders the birds take flight.

Look: it opens its lake-like eyes.

~

30. 🗽 When the Statue vanishes, America freaks. Who's to blame? Terrorists? SJWs?

Then it turns out the Statue is also missing from all visual media: T-shirts, postcards, patriotic paraphernalia.

The White House settles on its favourite scapegoat -- China.

~

31. 🧩 The map to the Treasure of Sagely Fu is borne on the back of the Divine Tortoise:

Its scutes represent the 38 provinces of the Empire. Its coloration represents the hills and valleys. When Sagely Fu fought the Tortoise, he kicked a chip-mark into its shell.

~

32. 💙 The Heart Of Ice is a crystalline fortress, so high above the sea that the sky is twilight and the air freezes you solid.

There rules the Queen, a goddess of pure and alien elements. If you can make Her shed a tear she will grant you your heart's desire.

~

33. 🌼 The pontianak is a monster -- born when a pregnant woman dies, wronged.

Seeking vengeance, she hunts men. She takes the form of a comely woman. One of her signs is the fragrance of frangipani blossoms.

"Hey," says the bar hostess. She smells of night flowers.

~

34. 🦊 "My foxies," the witch says. "My vulpies."

In her hut are bones, bones, bones. Piled in a bucket. Mounted on display stands. Sniffing your ankle -- fox skeletons, moving as they did in life.

"Can you do cats?" you ask, nodding to the bundle in your arms.

~

35. 🥾 The search parties assemble quietly. A trekker is lost on the mountain. Nobody is happy.

"I told him," one of the guides whisper. "I told him. Don't take anything, I said. You don't know whose things you're taking. But I saw him slip a stone into his pocket."

~ 

36. 🐬 The pool is still. Park management turns this fountain off at 10pm.

You like walking here, at night. You like the granite dolphins, mid-jump, frozen in time. You toss a coin into the fountain for luck. Clink.

There is a splash. A flash of motion. A fin.

~ 

37. 📚 In the book you find a letter, in delicate cursive:

"Dear Emily, Bought this book for your birthday. Which is also Valentine's Day. I will never be able to tell you that I love you. So I will never give this book to you. Sara."

Sara is your mother's name.

~

38. 🌲 A postcard of evergreens. A landscape you've only seen in photos.

You stash it in a notebook, stuff that in your bag.

"Over here," Michelle says. She grins, shimmies out of a space between leaning shelves. A box of double-A batteries. Meaning: jackpot.

~

39. 🥡 You bike to the pick-up.

It's a commissary in the middle of an industrial park. The guy at the counter says nothing. Just looks you up and down. He licks his lips.

"What's in this?" you ask, pointing at the takeaway pack.

"Meat," he says. He licks his lips.

~

40. 🎏 The airships of Vo Langka are fish-shaped.

Carp and arowana are most common -- but advances in aeronautics have made wing-form (ie: stingray-like) aircraft possible.

You are a pilot. Today you will test the first ever flying machine made in imitation of a bird.

~

41. 🐗 The boar charges your golf cart. The caddy veers onto the green.

Gunshots!

Your bodyguards down the beast. It came from the forest behind the golf course -- the one you've earmarked for clearing.

It's not the only forest creature that wants to murder you. 

~

42. ♻️ Your body slides into the furnace.

Your husband will pick through the ash and bones. Tomorrow he'll take a boat, sail a kilometre out, empty your urn in the sea.

The day after, silver pomfrets will school in a person's shape, and you will see the ocean.

~

43. ✨ It's a clear night. "Honey?" you call. "Come see!"

She whines -- you are tearing her from her work, she says. You insist. You point up.

Orion and the Dipper, the soft shine of the sickle moon.

"Wanna go for a walk?" you ask. She slips her arm into yours.

~

44. ✒️ The auto-pen you own is old. Picks up too much background chatter. The newer pens have noise-cancelling wards.

See? You've stopped dictating, but the pen is still writing:

"NO AH NO IT MOTHER PLEASE IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP"

Hell's not a good muse.

~ 

45. 🌌 The transitcraft trembles as it descends on its pillar of plasma.

"Sorry you didn't make it," the pilot says. "Cosmofleet is not for everyone." He's trying to be kind. This does not help.

He leaves you on the pad. Here you are, with packed bags, back home.

~

46. 🤫 The librarian drags you under the counter, pale with terror.

You hear the tread of the logovore. The meaning-eater. Books impaled on its spines -- leeched of their ink, their substance, going see-through, disappearing.

It does that to humans, too.

~

47. 🍥 You spit the fish cake out. From surprise, really. Because it is candy.

A confection of flour, sugar, pink food colouring, floating next to beef slices, on the oily surface of the noodles you ordered.

The kitchen makes you a new bowl. The chef is baffled.

~

48. 🛰️ Satellites no longer obey us.

Meteorology reverts to fortune-telling. Intelligence becomes earth-bound. Defense satellites play games of laser tag.

Broadcasting ends -- well, not really. When you turn on your TV it tells you: CALL YOUR MOTHER SHE MISSES YOU.

~

49. 🌿 Where you buried your cat, something is already growing:

A fresh stem of basil, putting out its mild scent; its green, convex leaves.You pluck a leaf, put it in your mouth. Your cat jumps into your lap. You feel her scrape your finger with her tongue. 

~

50. 🐸 The Weed Toad sprouts spiky fur filled with chlorophyll. Basically: it's a frog with grass on its back. It can be a pest.

When you step into your garden something squeaks.The toad jumps away, incensed. Its siblings hop off, too. Your whole lawn, leaving you. 

~

51. 👾 Pixel Goblins are voxeloids, walking about in waking life. Refugees from a reality whose servers shut down two years ago.

They eat electricity. They line the sidewalk. "Hungry," the Pixel Goblin says. She looks at your phone, hopeful.

You have 11% battery left. 

~

52. ✴️ "I am chaos!" the boy shrieks. "A conduit of magick!"

You can hear that hard "k" from here. Baldie in an Invisibles tee and factory-distressed jeans, thinks he knows magic? Please.

Then he pisses on your headstone. Which is rude. So you possess him.

~

53. 👣 Footprints, made with oil. They cut across the driveway, onto the grass, leaving rainbow sludge on some clovers. They turn the corner of your house.

You turn the corner, too.

In front of you, the prints have stopped, side by side. Their toes now face you.

~

54. 🐷 In the middle of his emergency pandemic address, during a live broadcast, on national television --

The Prime Minister oinks.

He blinks. Clears his throat, looks at the teleprompter -- and oink-oink-oinks.

The PM's eyes blink tears. Then the broadcast cuts out. 

~

55. 🌙 Can we trust the moon?

See its phases -- the way it goes from a bright circle, wanes into a crescent, shuts completely, then opens again, waxing half into full --

Like a creature blinking: slowly, ever so slowly.

The moon has not looked directly at us. Yet. 

~

56. 🌺 You tuck a hibiscus in her hair. "It's pretty!" you say, before she reacts. "Plus it's patriotic."

She rolls her eyes.

Day after the party she wants to meet you. That makes you happy. She's not happy. The flower's driven a root into flesh, behind her ear.

~

57. 🍜 This bowl of noodles, made from soup powder, desiccated ramen, the last remaining tomato in the fridge, one overcooked egg -- 

It's the most delicious thing you've ever tasted.

This shouldn't be possible. You cry. You'll never have anything this good again.

~

58. 🥦 "This," Mother says. "This needs to be half-size."

You know this moment. The kitchen was never your thing. You made an excuse and left to play videogames in your room. Two days later Mother died. Car accident.

This time you stay. You cut the floret in two. 

~

59. 🌵 The Blood Prickle's blossom is prized by cities that border the Pebble Sea. Dried, smoked, its fume delivers accurate prophecies.

The Blood Prickle only blossoms when watered by the viscera of living creatures. You lead your herd of sheep into the desert.

~

60. 🕸️ The bungalow is covered in gossamer, like a suitcase shrink-wrapped at the airport. Shreds stick to you, glue.

"Go away!" the bungalow's owner says. You see her eight eyes peer at you from a window.

"Babe, please," you say.

"Stop stalking me!" she shouts. 

~

61. 🐼 The ghost bear waddles across the plaza and through a wall.

They felled a forest to build this strip mall. But they did not exorcise its ghost. Ghost vines hang from the ceiling. Ghost trees fill changing rooms. In the car park a ghost brook babbles, incoherently.

~

62. 🕯️ You blow out the candle. "Happy birthday!"

Your friends have grey hair. Others dance to Kelly's playlist. Something in your brain snaps -- you do not know how old you are.

There is only one candle on the cake. It tells you: you are however old you want to be. 

~

63. 🍥 At the bottom of an empty paint bucket in your backyard shed, you discover a giant millipede, dark red, curled into a spiral.

You name her Millie. Obviously.

You boyfriend is disgusted. Slightly jealous of the attention you allot her. He was always insecure.

~

64. 🍡 The city is a shadow. Office towers in shards. Hypermalls with their skybridges broken. Collapsed nightclubs.

In the midst of all this, on an overgrown street, incongruously -- the smell of boiling soup. Fry-oil. Fish balls. A lok lok truck, greasy and pristine.

~

65. ✨ The light in her eyes die when you tell her to leave.

You lose your job at the production house. Once again, you are a freelancer. Interviewers pooh-pooh your portfolio.

You will learn how to draw again. Your muse was a crutch. You must do this on your own.

~

66. 🔮 Everything is as kitschy as you expect. Fake-velvet curtains and tablecloth. A set of tarot cards from Etsy. Even a crystal ball!

But when the fortune-teller looks up and sees you, she says: "No no, out."

What?

"You. No. Get out," she says, afraid. 

~

67. 🥵 Ten laps in the pool. Then you pant to the sauna.

Stones sizzle as you open the door. Somebody is here, already. You take the opposite bench. He has an athlete's thighs. Sweat on his obliques make them look oiled.

He looks you up and down. Smirks. Judges.

~

68. 🗨️ In the kitchen Khan grunts. Khan being Khan, you think.

Sylvia comes in. She makes an oinking sound.

He grunts. She oinks again. Hoot-hoot. He hisses in reply. It appears to be a conversation.

Sylvia sees you staring. Waves a hand in your face, asks: "Moo?" 

~

69. 👹 "They are going to hate me," she says, frowning around her tusks."

They are going to love you," you say.

In her nervousness she walks up to the microphone, no intro, just launches right into it. Her poem is electric. She is electric. And she is yours.

~

70. ⚛️ Guards, gyrocopter patrols -- Coilhaus Atomworks’s compound is well-protected. Which is as you expected.

You didn't expect the hex-wards in the inner compound. When you set foot on the manager's balcony, the teak floor shrieks: INTRUDER INTRUDER INTRUDER HERE! 

~

71. 🌂 The Bum Under The Overpass jumps out. You yelp.

"Flee, peasant!" he growls. He reeks. He has a bin lid for a buckler, a brolly for a sword. "I shall shield ye against yon creature!"

You peer into the dark under the overpass -- and notice the hulking shadow there.

~

72. 💀 The captain wears a cutesy plastic skull on a silver chain. You don't think it fits with her camo grease, her fatigues.

"My daughter made this," she says.

You nod. You miss your son, too. All this -- the pay you earn, burning villages -- you do for your children. 

~

73. 🦧 "Orangutan Kong". Some sort of gangster moniker?

No. Kong is actually an orangutan. He escaped from the Zoo, and started working in Goldtooth Tat's crew. As comic relief. Everybody who laughed at him is dead now.

If you want to work for him you should know. 

~

74. 🧠 The robot ploughs through Market Street. Tiles scatter like confetti; cars are stomped flat. Pressure in your ears -- a thunder clap! The police van up the road explodes.

"There!" your partner shouts, pointing. A brain in a glowing jar, in the robot's belly. 

~

75. 💈 You grew up here.The broom, the hair -- the chairs, Naugahyde over industrial frames. The mirrors, angled slightly, either side leading into infinity. The sink where Uncle Kuppu rinsed his razors and shaving brush.

Uncle Kuppu's gone. This place is yours, now. 

~

76. ⚗️ The alchemist stumbles backwards, knocks over a beaker.

"My formula," he whispers. "You're an assassin from the Bankers’ Guild? You can't have me turning lead to gold."

You shake your head. "No. I work with the Silversmiths' Guild. I'm here to protect you." 

~

77. 🔭 It is the fourth victim he has brought home.

They are always young, with tattoos. He restrains them, strangles them by the neck on the floor of his bathroom.

You watch, through your telescope. You should report him. But you like to watch them struggle. 

~

78. ⛩️ The way to Grand Andropolis is lined with 417 red gates -- each one for a glorious victory the Imperial Legions have won over lesser races.

Gate 412 marks the time they slaughtered your parents. You touch it, and swear quietly: you will burn Grand Andropolis. 

~

79. 🌻 The men at the big table drink beer, munch kuaci, laugh.

A woman with sunglasses arrives. The restaurant people tell her: "Kitchen closed already. Drinks?"

Just kuaci, she says.

She watches the men. When she bites the seeds open, you see long canines.

~

80. 🤖 You've never considered yourself technosexual. You thought robots cold. Then you met MARY-K8.

Her bright crystal optic sensors. Her omni-articulated limbs. Her way with words:

"HEY HUMAN USER," she synthesises. "HEART-UNIT NOT FOUND. PERHAPS YOU HAVE IT?"

~ 

81. 🦖 "The job is a museum," your master sighs. "Museum's are the worst."

You ask him why.

"We are exorcists, dumb-dumb! You know how many things the damn spirit can hide in? Can throw at us?"

When you master sees the T-rex skeleton in the atrium, he sighs again. 

~

82. 🎍 Treaties signed between the Yun Empress and the Princes of Elemental Wood have resulted in the Type-4 Rhizomic Footsoldier --

A stiff, lanky construct; needing only sun and soil; grown in vast groves; with souls of bamboo and therefore without mercy ...

~

83. 🧜‍♀️ Each year, the mer send an emissary to bargain with the dry world.

The tide swells, then withdraws just as quick, leaving a carriage of driftwood and flowering coral --

"Dammit!" a voice says. Rattling, from within. "Door's stuck!" A sigh. "Some help, please?" 

~

84. 🧠 "You're always going on about life hacks. So here," Mark says.

His gift is a book. "Telekinesis In 100 Days", its title says.

Mark smirks. "Enjoy!"

You'll show the bastard! It's just day 13. Already you can toss 50-cent coins with a lift of your eyebrow. 

~

85. 📯 The footmen blow their horns. The herald crows: "The Tyrant and Lady van Sur!"

They descend the stairs. The man frail, tubes stuck up his nose; the woman in silk, her wig so heavy it is held up by grav-suspensors --

One push of your remote, and the suspensors fail.

~

86. 🥶 You jolt awake. Ice is pressed to your ankle -- no, chilled skin. A toenail. Feet.

"Jesus. Your feet."

His apology is a snorted murmur. He curls further, pressing into the heat of your belly. His hair tussled, smelling of lavender.

What's his name? Can you remember?

~

87. 🚪 The heavy door is shut. Padlocked. Your lock sprite shakes her head. "Mechanism's rusted solid."

Your spell-dwarf grumbles. "Lead brackets, see? Shock hex won't work."

"Lemme try," your slip-spirit squeaks. Flattens itself, slips under.

Doesn't came back. 

~

88. 🌵 The Saguaro Sea is a vast tangle of sole-cutting rock, thorny brush, towering cacti broad as hillforts.

Here is found the Weeping Roc -- whose cry is a woman wailing; who steals children to feed its blind, featherless chicks.Children like your six-year-old. 

~

89. 💃 Flamenco star Magritte Tanaka's talent is such that people say it is more than just grace and training.

They say she made a bargain. When she dances a devil helps her; plays her like a puppet on strings.

Truth is he forces her. She never wanted to dance.

~

90. 🎸 You stole the keytar of synth legend Razzak Luminem from the Museum of Sidereal Art last month.

Tonight you host its auction. Many have shown up: demon worshipers; glamrock stars; violist perverts; members of the Critics' Cartel -- troublemakers.

Watch yourself. 

~

91. 🙆‍♀️ To fear the sky falling is silly --

Except in Fading Dassho, whose most dilapidated districts sit twilit under an obsolete stellar shield, its support struts increasingly ancient and tottery. A shutter collapsed, just last week -- shattering six thousand souls. 

~

92. 🤖 We sent unmanned drones through the Hell-portal; we assumed exposure to Ultimate Evil would be bad for the human psyche.

All moot, it turned out. Because drones are robots -- and, you know, that cliche about robots turning bad, turning KILL ALL HUMANS?

Well. 

~

93. 🏚️ A manor-turned-hotel, on a cliff, with a history of homicide? TrueCrimeFest 2018's organisers could not resist.

Three days of signings, panels, cosplay -- and a podcaster found garroted in her room.

Horrible! Horrible. (But, really: Best. TrueCrimeFest. Ever.) 

~

94. 🤪 The Rictus Worm causes paralysis. Distorts the muscles of the face.

Your eyes pop, your tongue hangs lolling. You speak drool and sputters. You try the chirurgeon. He thinks you are fooling. Kicks you out.

The Rictus Worm is rare. You feel it in your nape.

~

95. 🌌 One by one the stars disappear. Without their light -- were they ever there?Constellations vanish, nebulae fade. The moon hangs alone in the night sky.

Only our sun and its huddling planets remain. An isolated, solipsistic, self-obsessed apocalypse. 

~

96. 🤗 She welcomes you with open arms. "Happy you're home, Ah Boy," she says, kissing you, Tears on her cheek transferring to yours.

She is your mother; she calls you Ah Boy. Return appropriate amounts of affection. Your mission depends on how well you fool this woman. 

~

97. 🅱️ The mark is made in red ink. The letter "B". Not so bad, outsiders might think --but yours is an euphemistic society.

This is the Competency Test, through which all citizens are streamed. An "A" means you get to stay above-ground. A "B" sends you Below. 

~

98. 🎡 Anna gets into the pod before you. The ferris wheel begins to turn.

Travelling carnivals! Holdovers from a previous world, now surmounted by app-stores. You don't get the appeal. It's not even ironic --

High up, in the pod, Anna kisses you.

Now you get it. 

~

99. ☄️ You still remember your wonder --

A bright blue star, trailing a bright line, bisecting the sky. Staring at it would spoil your eyes, they said.

In your cockpit, as the countdown begins, you think: now you will be a bright blue star. There will be a young girl on the ground, watching.

~ 

100. 🥑 When you halve the avocado you don't find a seed. You find a tiny baby.

It is curled up foetal. It is the colour of mahogany. It fusses slightly -- then starts into a full-blown caterwaul; big droplets of blood well from where your rough knifework has nicked it.

+++

[kevinspaceyarchives]

Looking Closer at Kevin Spacey, Star of American Beauty

by MATT MCCORMICK, Texas A&M Battalion Staff writer | November 22, 1999

(photo not included with the original article)

Kevin Spacey established himself as one of Hollywood's most gifted actors with his Oscar-winning role in 1993's The Usual Suspects. Known for his ability to lose himself in a character, Spacey went on to star in such films as Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil and The Negotiator.

His new film, American Beauty, has opened to widespread critical acclaim and box office success across the country and has many people saying his name and Academy Award in the same sentence again. The Battalion participated in an interview with the actor as he talked about his latest film and the character he plays, Lester.

Battalion: When you take on a character, you always have a different look. How do you prepare for a character role?

Kevin Spacey: It starts with usually a discussion. Sometimes you might have a notion of how somebody might look, just from reading it. Or, in fact, it might be described by the writer. It usually starts with a discussion with the director. How do you see this character looking? How do you see them dressing?  Do they have a particular walk or way of moving that's different? So I usually try to collaborate with the director. Then you have other people come on. You have a production designer who decides how your desk in your office is going to look and a costume designer who may bring in a huge rack of stuff. All of those things go in to make a sort of image and a picture of what someone will look like. Hopefully you do it in connection with all the other departments. You're not showing up in a jacket that, against that wallpaper, looks like hell.

In this movie, there was this transformation that Lester had to go through, and we didn't have the luxury of shooting in sequence. In the morning, we created Lester, and we had his kind of pear-shaped, defeated pasty look with slightly larger costumes and really white, horrible makeup. I slumped a great deal. And then in the afternoon, I'd be shooting the later stuff. I had to be in the best shape possible during the whole shooting of the movie. We just sort of created the earlier stuff in the movie through performance.

Battalion: When you were shooting some of the earlier stuff later in the day, would you go work out?

Kevin Spacey: It's embarrassing to admit, but we had a muscle truck. It was like a roving gym. It was a big moving van, but they made a gym out of it. I'd go in there before a particular scene -- we had target dates for particular scenes -- so we worked toward the target, I and the trainer, knowing I had to have a certain kind of build for that next two weeks. If they needed me to be a little bloated, he would let me go out and eat pizza and banana splits and all sorts of stuff.

Since there was never a moment in the screenplay when there was an epiphany, or a sudden change, we never wanted the audience to see him change. We wanted there to be an almost seamless and organic evolution of who he became.

Battalion: Mentally, what makes you draw into this Lester character?

Kevin Spacey: I just think I understood, maybe like most people do, the feeling of wanting to break out and do new things. I was on that sort of journey for the last couple of years, and this gave me the opportunity to go to a new place. I think everybody understands the feeling of wanting to shake it up and try new things. Who wouldn't want to tell their boss what they're really thinking about them?

Battalion: Lester's transformation was shaped by the music of his youth -- What kind of music shaped your youth?

Kevin Spacey: A lot of that music I loved, and Sam (Mendes, director) was very specific about music very early on about the kind of cuts he was going to try to get. The first issue in movies is "can you get the rights?" Will the songwriter or their estate let you use it? We got very lucky with a lot of cool music. You forget the '70s and the trajectory of what that music was and all the artists. We found something in common. We say "Wow, that's the kind of music I would listen to in my garage." So I listened to a lot of the similar stuff that Lester listened to. He's two years older than me.

Battalion: In the movie, the garage is Lester's personal space. Did you have a choice in the kind of props used in there?

Kevin Spacey: Sam and I started talking about the garage sort of becoming Lester's sanctuary. It clearly had been taken over by just storage, you know. It lost its...whatever a garage might have been in his life earlier. We decided to go back and find all the things Lester would have had if he was still in college. That sort of became his place. He left the cold and rather stark home inside that house and slowly moved his life out into the garage. One of my favorite images is that red car sitting in the driveway. He's just shaking it up.

Battalion: What's your stage background? What was it like having somebody like Sam directing this film?

Kevin Spacey: I've been incredibly fortunate with first-time or second-time directors. I like it a lot because there's no pattern to their way of working. They really are open to almost anything. So you find that they are willing to take more chances. They're not sort of entrenched in their own ideas.

And he kept us informed. He would always show us storyboards and how he wanted a scene to be framed -- what he wanted it to look like, how he wanted us to look in the frame. So I knew all that going in, but I could have never known going in that his use of images, his use of music, his feeling and mood cinematically was startling.

Battalion: I love the narration in the movie. Was it scripted?

Kevin Spacey: All of the narration was there [in the script]. Sam and I, one day, needed a guide track to give the editors and we went up to a small room with a recorder, like these little ones, and we recorded all of Lester’s voice-overs. And I never redid it. There was something about not knowing what those images would be that that dialogue went well with.

Battalion: Your movie shatters the vision of a utopian suburbia. If you had a message you'd like the audience to take away from this, what would it be?

Kevin Spacey: Let me play devil's advocate with the premise of your question because I don't think it reveals anything specifically about suburbia any more than it reveals anything about urban life. I think where this film takes place, the fact that these two very specific families are examined, in no way shape or form means that we're trying to say this is what life is like in suburbia. I think this is what life is like for a lot of people.

Battalion: Tell us about the catchline, "Look Closer".

Kevin Spacey: We actually give our production designer the credit for that. She cut that out of a fashion magazine. She was going through a fashion magazine deciding what should go on certain walls and she decided "look closer" should be on my bulletin board at the office. And that wasn't the campaign, but what happened was, they kept screening the movie and finally the Dreamworks marketing people said "What does that say behind his desk?" So they saved themselves hundreds of thousands of dollars in marketing meetings to find a concept because it actually turns out to be pretty accurate.

Battalion: What would you say to those who are upset that an older man is having a relationship with a teenager?

Kevin Spacey: I think that anybody that feels uneasy about it, it's uneasiness about the subject, not uneasiness with the actual relationship because there isn't one. There's a fantasy life that Lester has. There is no relationship until the very end of the film, where he makes the right decision.

Keep it in the context of the film. Those two people, what they learn from each other, I think is breathtaking. I think its the most uplifting message you could possibly have.

Battalion: The movie is about finding beauty. What things do you find beauty in?

Kevin Spacey: Sometimes the things that are presented as beautiful or the things that we think are beautiful sometimes makes us miss the things that are really truly beautiful, but appear mundane. I think that's true with people, too. People judge people on how they look or how they dress, how they behave and how they act -- I think of the two characters from the film...you first meet them and you think a certain thing about them, And as the film goes on they begin to emerge.

Battalion: You've got the Hollywood star of fame. What is involved with that?

Kevin Spacey: It started with a fan club. They recommended to the Hollywood chamber of commerce that they consider me for that. I didn't think anything happened like that until you were much older. In fact, all of my colleagues who came that day said "we don't know anybody as young as you, that's pretty cool." There's a certain part of that stuff that's a little Hollywood cheesy, but what actually made the day amazing is it actually became a pretty personal thing. I think it meant even more to all the people that have been working with me than it did for me. But I understand already that there's gum on it.