#also might make her a little stand next time i’m in a studio

[spacerockband]

iced strawberry animal cookie sound of the summer!

[meliciousmel13]

➛ munch

paring: overworked!billie x wife!reader

warnings: literally just filthy smut with a little plot, riding, eating out, kind of pathetic billie(?) just at the beginning though, mirror sex, billie calls r good girl, strap-on sex, kind of proofread

wc: 2,433

SYNOPSIS: billie won’t stop working, you want to go out but she won’t leave the studio. you had an idea of what to do.

taglist: @chrissv4mp, @billiesguitar, @ilovebillieeilish2000, @d14n4ol, @raspberrymacaroon if your not a part of this list but want to be comment under my tag list post, which is on my masterlist.

an: here's another fic since last week i didn't post anything.

she was always in the studio. always. whether it was 3 am or 4 in the morning. you never got to see her besides when she got out the room to get water, or take a 5 minute break (which was apparently enough time for the whole week).

you never saw her. you understood. she had to work on her new album. it was just work. but the amount of times your slept in a cold bed was getting tiring, and kind of depressing, considering you barely saw your wife, when she was your wife.

“billie?” your soft voice echoed through out the home studio, billie didn’t notice you with her headphones on, “bills” you repeated her name, slowly entering the studio and standing behind her, she finally noticed.

billie removed her headphones and looked behind her, a tired smile finding it’s way on her face, “hey baby.” she said, while looking up, and taking your hips in her hands. you were wearing a silk satin robe, which was driving her insane.

“hi.” you smiled as billie kissed your stomach, “i wanted to surprise you.” you said, enjoying her hands on you, she hasn’t touched you in three weeks, and you were getting desperate.

“wanted to surprise me?” she smiled, for the first time in weeks, she almost forgot how happy you made her, almost forgot about you.

“yeah,” you smirk, untying you robe and seeing billie’s eyes widen. you were wearing almost nothing underneath, just lacy underwear.

“so it’s that kind of surprise?” she chuckled, trying to act like seeing you half naked in her studio didn’t affect her.

you hum, removing her hands on your hips getting in front of her and sitting on her desk, spreading your legs, “you can’t touch me though,” you said, tilting your head to the side, which made your untied hair go that way.

billie thought about her album, the amount of work she had to do was piling up each day. but she couldn’t deny you, she never could and never will, “you tryna’ tease me?” she placed her hand on your upper thigh, but you pushed it off.

“maybe.” you smile, innocently, like you weren’t dripping on her desk, “you’ve been working a lot.” you said, nonchalantly, while billie was imagining the way she could take you, “do you also sleep here?” you asked, curious.

“no— i sleep in our bed i just leave before you wake up.” she said, it made much more sense. why you woke up with a pillow next to you every time you woke up, and why her side of the bed was messy.

“how long do you sleep for?” you asked, again.

“six hours…” billie trailed off, couldn’t even look at your face, not like she was looking at it in the first place.

“don’t lie to me billie.” you threatened, closing your thighs, and getting off her desk.

“okay! okay, i sleep for three hours.” billie said, slightly scared of what you might do. you weren’t scared to make her sleep on the couch the last time she even remotely did anything wrong.

“three hours?” you said in disbelief, you knew her sleep schedule sucked, but it was getting borderline unhealthy and insane, “you sleep for three fucking hours? are you serious?” you said.

“no i sleep for two.”

“billie!”

“i’m joking!”

“don’t joke about that, god.” you sighed, with your head in your hands.

billie felt bad. didn’t know how much her not being there affected you, “i’ll take a ten minute break then.” you looked up, mischievously, this was exactly what you wanted.

“fifteen.”

“ten.” she argued.

“twenty.”

“fifteen.”

“an hour.” you smiled.

“fine,” billie caved, laying back on her seat, and looking up at you, “your so lucky your adorable.” she said, and you hummed, sitting back on her desk, scooting to the very edge of it, and billie immediately sat up, like she was trained to do it.

“god, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” she breathed, almost absentmindedly, your belly burned a little, but not from that fiery pit that had been present earlier. this was desire. you felt desired.

“bills,” you whimpered as she lifted one of your legs to kiss along your thigh. she focused all her attention on the one thigh, running her hands and lips over the soft skin.

“jesus christ,” she whispered, watching your skin dimple under her fingers. she squeezed it harder, her lips climbing up your thigh. she brought one hand to your other thigh because she knew she wouldn’t be able to give it the proper attention it deserved before she got hungry and dove right in. the faint smell was already driving her wild.

you whimpered again when she got to her destination. you could feel her heavy breath against your underwear. she looked up at you pleadingly, her pupils drowning out her bright blue irises.

“can i take them off?” she asked, running her thumb over the lacy waistband. you shuddered and nodded, unable to make out any real words. she bit her lip and took your underwear off, throwing the white lace behind her.

“holy shit,” she sighed, eyes locked on your wet pussy. “i wanna eat it so fucking bad, baby. please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking in desire. you looked down at her, watching her throat bob as she swallowed thickly. like she was genuinely drooling.

you didn’t feel pressure to say yes, but you felt it would be cruel to say no. billie wanted it so bad.

“yes.”

billie gasped, her warm breath fanning over your folds. she licked her lips. “slowly, please,” you said, your words shaky. she nodded and looked up at you briefly in confirmation.

she looked back down and used her thumb to spread you apart before her tongue dove in. you moaned loudly at the contact, watching her lap up every crevice with fervor. her nose bumped your clit, and her mouth opened eagerly, exploring your pussy with her skilled tongue. she dipped it into your entrance, groaning at the taste that flooded her. the vibrations set you into a fit of complete pleasure, so she continued humming softly as she ate you out.

she devoured you like a woman starved, lapped and groaned as if she hadn’t eaten in days and you were a desert oasis. her hands gripped your hips, pulling your pussy as close as possible to her mouth. like this was a privilege she’d never again be able to afford.

you built up to your high quickly, thighs clenching tightly around her head. “b-billie, i’m gonna—”

you whined when she pulled away, looking down at her in betrayal. her face was coated in you from the nose down. she only licked her lips, not bothering to wipe the rest of it off.

“not yet,” she said lowly. she managed to look away from your pussy, despite how much she just wanted to dive in and stay there the rest of the night. “i’m gonna go get the strap, alright?”

your eyes widened and you nodded, unable to formulate words. you hadn’t been able to feel the strap for months now, your rare and short meetings with her between shows, and business meetings were short lived, only able to kiss for barely a minute before someone barged in.

she pressed a kiss to your knee and got up, a bright smile on her face that didn’t match how much she was about to wreck you. she disappeared into the studio’s door, probably rummaging frantically in the closet and box where all the toys were. you closed your eyes, trying not to touch yourself at the thought of her.

“fuck, you’re so beautiful,” billie breathed from above you. you opened your eyes, crossing them when you saw the dildo fastened to billie’s hips. you leaned down and pressed a kiss to the plastic tip, making billie gasp.

“you wanna suck it?” she asked. you just nodded eagerly and opened your mouth. you wanted to feel it in every way possible after being away from her so long. she held it by the base and fed it to you, your lips wrapping around the plastic.

“good girl,” she praised, watching intently as you took whatever you could into your mouth, which wasn’t much, “you can take more can’t you angel?” she said, gripping the back of your head and making you gag against the dildo, “breathe from your nose, don’t— don’t panic baby.” she said.

you felt yourself leak onto the desk as she praised you, you sucked it a little longer, until the desire was too much and you pulled away, panting. she was panting as well, having thoroughly enjoyed the show you just put on for her.

“you wanna ride me?” she asked, knowing what your answer would be.

you nodded eagerly, practically drenched at the idea. “alright, baby,” she said, grabbing your waist and moving you aside for a second. she laid back on her chair, breathing heavily, the dildo jutting out from her hips standing tall.

she pulled you into her lap and looked up at you, naked, and needy, she pinched your nipples, making you gasp. “sit on it,” she commanded, her voice dark. it took you a moment to realize what she meant, your mind hazy, but you lifted your hips and centered yourself above the dildo. you let the tip prod your entrance before lowering your hips, moaning as you sunk down on it. you lowered them slowly, feeling yourself being stretched out.

“good fucking girl.” billie groaned. her movements on your nipples stopped, distracted by the sight of you taking her. she put her hands down on your thighs instead, squeezing as you slowly took more of her inside.

“bill— billie,” you moaned, bracing yourself on her clothed chest. you finally took all of her, squeaking in pleasure when she slapped your ass gently.

“fuckin’ look at yourself, messy on my lap. and who was trying to act bossy a few minutes ago hm?” she said, as if she hadn’t begged to eat you out.

you looked at the mirror behind her, she positioned you where you could see yourself on it, “see how— see how fuckin’ pretty you look.” she breathed as you started moving your hips up and down, slowly. “say it. tell me you’re pretty.”

you looked down at her and she slapped your ass, making you yelp. “i-i’m pretty!” she nodded her head in satisfaction. “that’s right. watch yourself.” you kept watching yourself, riding her cock faster as the pleasure of it increased. she thumbed your clit, rubbing it as she kept praising you under her breath. you rode her until your thighs burned with the exertion.

“you’re gorgeous,” she said as she started thrusting her hips upwards, helping you ride her. she looked down, watching the dildo go in and out of you. “your pussy too. so perfect.”

you bit your lip, stifling a moan. watching yourself riding her like that was embarrassing, but you didn’t wanna disappoint billie. and, truthfully, it turned you on.

you rolled your hips, and billie was halfway down the chair, practically sliding off of it, she was laid back, with her hands behind her head looking down to see her dick sliding in and out of you.

“getting tired angel? didn’t even do anythin’ yet. you don’t appreciate my efforts.” she said sitting up and holding you from under your thighs, sitting up from her chair. you yelped, wrapping your arms around her neck and not wanting to fall on the cold floor. billie would never drop you though, even though she teased it.

she didn’t pull out yet, just walked to your shared bedroom, still inside you, “billie.” you whimper, grinding softly on her.

“impatient too.” she mumbled putting you down on the bed, “can’t help it,” you gasp as she turned you around, positioning you so you could see yourself in the bedroom mirror.

“wanna’ fuck you from the back,” she mumbled, and took your hips, dragged you closer to her pelvis and you could feel the tip of her cock to your entrance, “you want this angel?” she asked, and you had your head laid down on the bed, nodding, “we can’t have that.” she took you by the hair gently and guided you so you could see.

“see? you can still see me, just in the mirror, kay’?” she smiled, and you bit your lip, as she took the dildo and prodded it at your entrance, sliding it in and filling you up, once she saw that you were still biting your lip, she took her left hand and put her index, and middle finger in your mouth, “fuckin’ look at yourself.” she groaned, you did, you saw the way your brows furrowed and the spit going down your chin, with billie’s fingers in your mouth.

“you like it? you like getting fucked like a good girl?” she asked in-between pants. your face told her all she needed to know, flushed and scrunched up from the pleasure.

your moans got more intense in volume, and she continued her exact pace, wanting to make you cum soon. “you gonna cum, baby?”

you nodded as best you could with her hand still in your hair, crying out her name. she held her pace, starting to sweat from exertion before she could tell you were incredibly close from the way your legs shook.

“come for me. come on my dick.”

you practically screamed, immediately obeying her. your eyes closed tightly, clenching around her dick as she slowed down her pace to let you ride it out. you swore you had seen a glimpse of heaven, your orgasm feeling like it lasted for centuries. finally, though, you collapsed on the bed, completely spent and breathing heavily.

she kept herself inside you as you recovered, waiting to be told what to do. “pull out, please,” you said after a moment. she pulled out slowly, holding your waist with one arm as she used her free hand to take the strap off.

when it was off, she brought you closer, keeping you against her chest as you cuddled up to her. she ran her calloused fingertips over your shoulders and your back, soothing you. your mind felt clear enough after a couple minutes, not feeling so tired anymore.

“this would’ve happened sooner if you weren’t so busy.”

[dwaekkicidal]

hiii!! can i req a fic or smh in which reader is lee know's younger sister and hes lowkey protective??? (i recently saw a fancall of him rejecting the idea of introducing his "younger sister" to the other members soo.. 😭😭) and like hyunjin gains a big fat crush on reader and reader is oblivious abt it but reader actually has a crush on hyunjin also and lee know founds out abt this?? 🥲 IDK IM SO SORRY THIS IS MY FIRST EVER TIME REQUESTING SOMEONE AND ALSO I'VE BEEN DYING TO SEE THESE TYPE OF FICS BUT THERE AREN'T ANY AVAILABLE..

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 3.3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings: fluff, brother! Lee Know, crush!Hyunjin, mutual pinning, kissy kissy, theyre in love your honor

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: catching up on requests, i kinda hate the way i wrote this but i hope you like it lol ♥️

“I think I’m in love with Y/N…” 

Chan and Changbin’s eyes widen while Han chokes on his iced coffee. “...You WHAT?? Minho's sister?!?” Changbin’s hand comes down on the back of Han’s head, shutting the boy up instantly.

Hyunjin cringes at the reaction, already knowing it was a bad situation in itself. But then the bad reaction coming from the best friend of the man in question only makes him feel worse. He scowls and he can feel tears start to prickle his eyes so he hides himself as best as he can at the moment, plopping himself on the couch and shoving his head in his hands. “I’m gonna die...”

Chan chuckles and takes the seat next to Hyunjin. “Listen man. I know he seems like the devil in human form, but he loves you like you’re his brother. At most, he might be mad at you for a while but he wouldn’t actually hate you.”

Han fixes himself and nods along as if Hyunjin could see him. “He’s… super protective of her after her last relationship. But! He sees us all as his brothers so it can’t be that bad!… I think?” He whispers the last part under his breath, thinking that nobody would hear him. But they do… And Hyunjin only whines more and curls into a ball on the couch, hands still covering his face.

The rest of the morning after that the boys tried desperately to lift Hyunjin’s mood. They managed to hype him up enough to get him cheery enough to leave the dorm and head to the company, using some excuse about wanting to re-record a few lines and wanting his opinion since Changbin wouldn’t be available.

They also figured that getting Lee Know in the vicinity, to show that he wasn’t onto Hyunjin, might help with his nerves, which worked! At first. What they didn’t account for, however, was the girl who was also on her way to the building to "spend some time with her brother.”

Though, you’d never admit to them that you were really only there for somebody else.

And it didn’t take long for you to find them. They were always in the same 4 rooms so after doing a process of elimination and hearing loud screaming from down the hall, you discovered a good chunk of the group.

The entirety of Danceracha along with Chan and Han were in the dance studio, mainly flopping around to one of their songs and not actually practicing. Well, other than Hyunjin that is.

It made you smile seeing them goof around with no worries, but the second you looked a little to the left, your heart immediately skipped a beat. Hyunjin was standing near one of the mirrors, sweat dripping down his neck and eyes focused purely on the motions of the instructor.

You recognized the choreo, it was one you had seen a week or so ago from the last time you visited. But something about seeing Hyunjin so focused on his craft and smiling when he got the moves right made you melt into a puddle.

Just thinking about him was enough to make your heart beat faster, but you were also just the tiniest bit insanely in love with him. So seeing him in person for the first time in what felt like decades made you feel things that words couldn’t explain.

You were cut from your thoughts by a hooded figure- your brother, joining the instructor in helping Hyunjin. Then came Han’s booming voice. He screamed out your name super dramatically as he motioned for you to come over to where he, Felix, and Chan lay across each other on the floor.

You tore your eyes from Hyunjin and looked at them, giggling and shushing him as you headed over to them. You made it over to them without causing any distractions to the others- or, at least you thought you did. Hyunjin was distracted the second he heard your name, though he didn’t realize that it was because you were in the room.

And his distracted demeanor was unfortunately obvious to both the dance instructor and Minho. Though luckily neither of them realized your presence either. They both just assumed the boy was getting tired so he called for a break and Minho pulled Hyunjin to where everybody else was sitting.

It was only then that both men finally realized you were here, and Hyunjin found himself almost tripping on air when he saw the familiar shape of your body amongst the cuddle puddle. Your back was to them, so you had no idea they were even done practicing until you felt a human throw himself on your back. “HEY!! Get off me, Min!”

Minho groaned happily, getting comfortable and stretching himself over you as if he just got home after a long day of work. A big smile took over his face as he made some comment about how chairs shouldn’t wiggle around so much.

Hyunjin watched and laughed to himself before finding a seat behind his leader. Han looked back at him and smiled apologetically, knowing all too well that he was stressed out of his mind. But, in an attempt not to draw too much attention to Hyunjin, he went back to scrolling on his phone and stroking Felix’s hair as if nothing was wrong.

Chan however turned around completely, scooting over to sit right next to Hyunjin before sighing. His voice was below a whisper as he apologized, “Sorry man. I didn’t know she would be coming today.”

“It’s fine. Maybe I’ll feel better now that I’m exposed to both of them at the same time.” Chan made a face full of doubt but didn’t persist. He simply leaned back onto his hands and joined in one of the conversations.

Hyunjin looked away from him just in time to watch you kick Minho off you the rest of the way. You made an ugly face at him and stuck your tongue out before looking behind you as if you were looking for somebody. He followed your eyes to the mirror, that same spot he was just practicing with the instructor.

He felt his heart panged a little and he found himself frowning at the thought that you might’ve started to fancy their dance instructor. Maybe Minho-hyung would want her to date him instead…? He is pretty attractive...

He rolled his neck and took a deep breath, shooing those thoughts away before looking back over at you. He watched your shoulders drop as you didn’t find whoever you were looking for, then you turned around and your eyes met his. Both of you made a surprised face for a moment before you laughed. “Pfft-”

You mouthed a ‘Hi’ at him and waved with a smile sweet enough to give him a cavity. He melted in his spot and waved back, watching in silence as you stared at him for a moment before turning to the blonde boy currently pawing at your leg for a second of attention.

He continued to stare at you for a while longer with a small smile on his lips. The time flew out the window and he completely forgot his other members were even there. He even forgot where he was at as he lost himself in daydreams about a future with you.

It wasn’t until the sun had started to set that he zoned back in. And it was really only thanks to the loud groans of the boys getting up and stretching. It left you, Hyunjin, and Chan on the floor as the others bid farewell and Minho told you to text him when you got home.

You agreed and sent him a thumbs up before moving to sit next to the other boys with your back against the wall. By the time you sat down, Chan was already on his feet, stretching and feigning exhaustion. “I’m gonna head home. Have fun you two.” He didn’t leave any room for questions as he sent a wink to Hyunjin and speed walked out of the room.

Silence fell between the two of you for some minutes until you attempted to break the silence. “And then there were two…” Hyunjin giggles and nods, turning his body to sit facing you and leaning his head against the wall. The two of you continued to stay quiet for some time after that, mostly scrolling through your phones and occasionally showing each other a post you found funny.

Though, it wasn't necessarily an awkward silence, it was a very comfortable silence that you would argue that you could sit in for hours on end without being bothered by it. You don’t know this, but Hyunjin would also agree.

Although he was a little too caught up in his thoughts to think about it. The confidence from the pep talk the boys gave him earlier that morning was still running through his veins, and he almost had half a mind to confess to you right then and there.

Then, all of a sudden an idea comes to mind and he blurts out a question, not giving himself time to overthink it.

“Do you-”

“So-”

You both speak at the same exact time, cutting each other off. Wide eyes are shared between the two of you before you burst into giggles and motion for him to continue. He tries insisting that you go first, but you close the imaginary zipper on your lips and throw the key towards the mirrors.

He chuckles and shakes his head, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I… Do you want to go on a walk with me? To the shore nearby? I know it’s getting dark, but I just thought it would be nice and- and the weather is still good so-”

You laugh at his rambling and he cuts himself off, brain malfunctioning as his mind gets bombarded with images of your smile. He finds himself subconsciously smiling and in that moment he realizes just how in deep he really is. It’s not until you nod and make a quiet noise of agreement that he’s snapped out of his trance.

He jumps to his feet and holds out a hand for you, helping you to stand before jogging over to the seats and gathering his belongings. A smile takes over your face as he rushes back to your side and leads you out the door with a hand ghosting your lower back almost protectively.

Hyunjin continues to lead the way up the seawall as he tells you about his most recent paintings and walks shoulder to shoulder with you, his hand occasionally brushing against yours.

He walks a little farther before you notice a heightened concrete platform. It has stairs that lead up to it and you can already tell it has a pretty view so you point towards it. He glances at it before looking back over at you.

“Should we sit here for a bit? I wanted to talk to you about something.” You smile and nod, taking the lead and walking towards the stairs. He follows you up them and watches as you head to the railing that separates you from the sea.

The air was comfortable around the time you guys had started wandering around earlier, thanks to the hot summer air finally cooling down. But now it was starting to become a biting cold. No thanks to the freezing, metal railing that you were leaning on.

You shiver a singular time and run one of your hands up and down your arm as you look over the sea. It was barely noticeable, but he noticed immediately and became a little worried.

And, how do you expect him not to notice? He’s constantly entranced by your everything and worries about you every single day. He just can’t help himself from just staring at you during rare moments like this. Rare moments when it’s just the two of you, enjoying each other's company.

Hyunjin realizes that he is staring when you shiver again and he licks his lips nervously. He stretches, silently pulling his hoodie over his head as he moves forward, gathering the fabric and presenting the neck hole to you.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head at him with a confused expression, but he insists and moves forward again. This time taking a big step and standing less than a foot away from you so he could put the sweater on you himself.

He gently places it over your head and helps it down around your neck. You pop your hands through the sleeves and grab the fabric by his hands, assuming that he would have let it go already. But he hadn’t. Instead, he sits there with pink cheeks and his lips caught between his teeth as he pulls it the rest of the way down your torso for you.

The action makes your heart flutter and your knees almost buckle at the way he's looking at you, eyes shiny and full of something you have only dreamed of seeing. You heart beats out of your chest as he stays close, not even trying to back away from you.

“A bit cliché, don’t you think?” You smile teasingly and, despite your comment, you slither your hands past the pocket and melt into the warm, soft fabric. It smells just like him, obviously, and you can’t help but take a deep breath. Your body physically relaxes at the scent and he notices immediately.

He bites his lip in an attempt to hide a smile and he chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, maybe a little.” Silence falls between the two of you again and you find yourself staring at him for the millionth time this night. He stares back, lost in your pretty lips. He really wishes he could kiss you right now.

He visibly gulps and tears his eyes away from your lips to look you in the eye “Y/N…” His breath quickens and you hum, signaling to him that you’re listening despite the lack of thoughts going on behind your eyes.

In the corner of your eye, you watch his fingers twitch. They hesitantly move forward, between your bodies, and grab your buried hands out of the pocket of the sweater. He sees your breath hitch and you glance down at your connected hands before looking back up at him.

“Listen, I…” He looks behind you towards the water momentarily and takes a deep breath before angling his neck to look at you again. “I know this might be inappropriate, but I really like you. I've had feelings for you for a while, but I was scared that you and Minho would hate me.” His hands are shaking as he talks and you stare up at him in shock.

Hyunjin’s eyes search yours as you blink repeatedly, a cute little habit that you picked up from your brother. It could almost make him laugh if he wasn’t so fucking afraid right now. But he waits rather patiently, thumbs running over the back of your hand as he tries his best to calm himself down. Your lips part after a few seconds and he holds his breath.

“You… like me?” Your eyebrows furrow and his heart drops. His eyes widen and he pulls his hands away from you as apologies start to pour out of his lips. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line, I just had to say something before I exploded. I’m really sorry, Y/N. I’ll leave you alone if I made you uncomfortable-”

“Wait no, Hyunjin! I- I’m sorry that came out wrong.” You laugh nervously and grab his hands, already missing the warmth. “I like you too. I really, really like you… I talk about you all the time to my friends, I’m sure they’re sick of seeing your name in their text messages.”

You both laugh and he seems to loosen up again. He waits a few minutes, letting your words hang in the air as his nerves calm down. Then he tries pushing it a step further.

His hands are warm as his fingers intertwine with yours and he smiles to himself when you reciprocate the action. “Your brother will kill me, but I’m willing to get cooked alive for you. Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

You smile widely and nod, “I won’t let him do that to you.” He huffs out a laugh and his eyes quickly flick to your lips again. “Can… Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks somehow burn even more, but you nod enthusiastically. He lets go of your left hand in favor of settling his hand against your cheek and rubbing the skin there with his thumb. You close your eyes and nuzzle into it, making him smile to himself as he leans forward.

Then, he finally closes the distance between you. You swear you can hear the fireworks exploding around you and you melt against his soft lips. The kiss is short lived though, as he doesn’t want to push a boundary and scare you away already.

You make a noise of disagreement when he pulls back and you wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him back into you as you whine. He smiles and doesn’t make you wait much longer before he pushes his lips against yours again, this time moving his now-free hand to rest on your waist and pull you into him.

You feel the hand on your cheek slide to the back of your neck, holding you there as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. His tongue slides over your bottom lip and you are in the process of parting your lips when a voice startles you both out of your skin.

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin flinches and you feel him frown against your lips at the sound of his surname as well as the stranger interrupting his important business. It was the dead of night so anybody around was seen as a threat so he went on high alert, backing away and preparing to hide you behind him.

But as soon as his lips leave yours, he realizes he knows that voice all too well. The two of you separate and look over to the stairs like deer caught in headlights. “H-Hyung??”

“Min-” Minho glances over to you for a moment, silencing you. He’s scowling but loosens up when he sees the genuine fear in both of your faces. He sighs loudly and crosses his arms around his chest as he stretches his neck. It’s only then that you notice Jeongin behind him, staring quietly with wide eyes and his jaw on the floor.

“I checked your location to see if you got home safe and freaked out when I saw you were near the sea at fucking half past 10.” You curse to yourself, forgetting that the two of you shared locations for safety reasons once you moved to the city and then again when you realized that he said it was already almost 11 o’clock.

“I thought something bad happened to you.” Minho nervously bites the inside of his cheek as his eyes dart between the both of you, then he sighs loudly and looks to the side, suddenly becoming flustered. An almost awkward silence fills the air around the four of you.

Eventually, Jeongin finally fixes his jaw just in time for Minho to turn to him and nod his head towards the car. You hear a faint ‘Let’s go’ before Minho takes the first step down the stairs to follow Jeongin. You and Hyunjin glance at each other in confusion and you open your mouth to call out to your brother, but before you can he looks back at Hyunjin with fire in his eyes.

“Break her heart and you won’t get the mercy of the air fryer. I’ll kill you with my bare hands.” Then he looks at you. “And, please for the love of God, get her home before midnight or I’ll kill both of you.”

Taglist:

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The Current event makes me smile since it kind of confirms a headcanon I had that the Great Seven have animated movies based on them. Makes me wonder about the plot of the movies

Disney should get on the Twisted Wonderland AU Animated Remakes. What is Ursula was a good witch, what if Scar was right to take the throne and did he take it from Mufasa? (Or whoever is the stand in for him)

The Evil/Beautiful Queen...actually GOOD?

Yeah, it makes sense! Since the Great Seven are historical figures and the stuff of legends, surely there would be popular media made in their image. It’s like how the Disney fairy tales borrow from stories in the public domain or how there are historical retellings and reinventions (Hamilton, anyone?).

I believe TWST has mentioned films based on their own stories and history before too, but purely in the animated sense rather than live action. In book 3, Ace and one of the Atlantica Museum guards talk about an animated movie based on the tale of the mermaid princess and her prince; this movie is said to have come out ~30 years ago, which corresponds with Disney’s animated The Little Mermaid. Ace compliments the movie’s soundtrack too way to stroke your own ego, Disney/j.

Later on in Tapis Rouge, the characters discuss other films based on the Great Seven, including one Queen of Hearts movie. A Sea Witch movie is also mentioned; in it, she “goes gigantic” and also sings as she brews potions. The Octatrio quite enjoy this particular film.

(Side note: Another anon once suggested to me that people probably also write fanfics of Neige and Vil since they’re celebrities… Think like “My mom sold me to One Direction?!” Wattpad kinds of fics, but replace One Direction with Vil or something. You can read those post here!)

It’s… interesting this event specifically has Vil promoting a live action adaption of an in-universe animated film about the Beautiful Queen—an animated film which was the first full-color animated movie AND it originally released close to 90 years ago. They also reference the funding issues that Disney suffered while producing Snow White + inviting bank employees in to preview the movie to acquire more investments, stating that the studio that made the animated Beautiful Queen experienced the same. The in-game live action is even slated to come out “NEXT YEAR”. They’re not being subtle here with TWST’s references to their own version of the irl Disney Snow White (the live action is coming out in 2025, the OG is also almost 90 years old, etc.). I wonder if the EN server will actually get Tapis Rouge around the time of the irl release of Disney’s live action Snow White as part of a promotional campaign? 😂

UPDATE: There are even more not-so-subtle references to Disney animations in part 4 of the event, including discussion of cel animation, rotoscoping, adding blush to the characters, and how Disney brought in real animals/observed the “real thing” to help with animating similar scenes or subjects. They also cheekily say that most animation nowadays is CG 💀

I know some books under Disney publishing try to show alternate tellings or show the villains in a more sympathetic light, but I don’t know that they would ever commit to fully animating a film like that. It definitely would not happen in the style of traditional animation, Disney no longer seems well-equipped to handle that task 😔 I feel like it would also be pretty niche or might not get overwhelming positive reception with recent audience calls for “true bad guys” instead of twist or sympathetic villains (though I’m not sure what percentage of people watching Disney actually have this opinion).

I do wonder how those “AU” films would work though…? It wouldn’t be as simple as suddenly turning the G7 into “good guys”. The scenario and other characters would also have to drastically change. TWST doesn’t necessarily make the original “good guys” “bad” in a world where the villains are historical figures; we still hear plenty of positive or neutral stories about the achievements of the mermaid princess and other Disney heroes.

There are also times when the same story diverges into multiple separate stories that seemingly have no connection to one another. For example, there is a story where a princess marries a street rat (clearly referencing Aladdin) and they live happily ever after in spite of the difference in their social statuses. However, there simultaneously exists a story in which the Sorcerer of the Sands saves a princess from being deceived by a fake prince (also referencing Aladdin). The same goes for the mermaid princess (Ariel)—there is both a story referring to a “mermaid princess” who married a human prince and also a different story (clearly still pulled from the same film) about a mermaid who made a deal with the Sea Witch to find true love but broke her contract in the end.

Very cool idea, just not sure where it would lead or it it’s feasible or worth it monetarily for Disney.

[dnp-pet-rectangle]

WAD reflection from the perspective of a theatre director

Inspired by @/calvinahobbes who did an amazing job breaking down the show’s metaphors & using her English degree in this post, I wanted to share my perspective on it (even a month later) & get use out of my theatre degree lol. Also, warning, this will be very much a long, long essay with run-ons. I have ADHD & I love when my frequent hyperfixations intersect 🤪 There are major spoilers.

My Background:

I am a semi-professional theatre director, but more broadly, a theatremaker. I have a theatre degree from New York University’s Tisch School on the Arts (NYU Tisch), where I did a conservatory program with one of their studios which focused basically on those who wanted to do a little bit of everything and create new works & was the only studio training directors & playwrights. I originally went into the program as a performer. I did not mean to end up concentrating on being mainly a producer & a director, but that’s a whole other story. I also through that program had to take theatre/performance studies courses, which I loved for the most part & is an interesting interdisciplinary field. But I will try to define terms just in case since anybody reading this may not know any or all the specific terminology I might use. In short, I have a fancy degree that apparently should cost $300k 🤡 & I’m gonna actually use it with doing this lol

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Setting the Tone:

While Dan might call this a comedy special or comedy show, and thereby comparing it to other comedians, I actually think he is doing himself and We’re All Doomed (WAD) a disservice. I saw folks compare him a lot to Bo Burnham in the chat (who was actually was accepted and almost went to NYU Tisch for a different studio that focused on solely experimental work), which makes sense considering the theatrical nature of both of them. However, Dan actually goes further into the realm of theatre because of how he utilizes his crowd work (I’ll go into that later). I recognize traditional comedy specials/standup as having jokes or stories, when doing you know like late night talk show interviews, that can be made outside of the context of the show & slip into a conversation. Or with Burnham’s Inside Out, the songs & other parts can be done or understood mainly out of context, as seen through Bo uploading them to his YouTube channel. Comedy specials have the sections of their comedy stand-up thread together, but what Dan has done is weave his sections together. The length along with the intermission/interval being a part of WAD, adds to my point that he is not treating this as different material he tested out at different comedy clubs, but as something cohesive storytelling pieces. I think in terms of testing, Phil was the main sufferer audience member of the initial materials being created.

Anyway, you cannot as easily remove it from the context at certain points, because the transitions & the order of these different sections are treated as equally important, rather than a means to move on to the next section, with some possible space for improv.

Basically, I’m bi. Sorry, my brain started thinking about BIG when I started writing “basically” at the start of that sentence. Actually, what I am trying to say is that I would classify We’re All Doomed as a one-man performance piece/show, so I will be treating it as such in my review/reflection/breakdown. The comedy of it is important and there, but I don’t think it captures what WAD entirely is.

Also, unfortunately due to where I was at mentally at the time & the location it was being performed at, I never saw this live. To be honest, how it got framed marketing-wise did not help me feel connected with the actual purpose of the show, with hope being a key element. So while this was filmed, I am as much as possible trying to remove the cinematography as an element of my analysis. However, some things might be clearer on film, as with theatrical directing, you cannot add a zoom or crop & instead are trying to ensure moments are clear to an audience by what they see and hear through drawing their attention to it. With theatre being mainly about the live output by performers and intake by the audience, at the end of the day, what my job as a director is is to direct not only how the performers share the story, but also direct the audience on what is important to catch for understanding.

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Breakdown of Thoughts

Originally, I wanted to rewatch the show again, and started to, but considering I ended up writing about a whole page worth of things for each minute of the show & I was sleepy by the time I was like 5-10 minutes in, I decided to be nice to myself & stay up all night in my comfortable bed instead of staying up all night at my desk trying to take in-depth notes 🙃

I’m gonna breakdown this analysis/reflection into further sections, just to give myself some anchors & break up the blocks of text. Also as a way to just be that pretentious, maybe with an academic flair, as is fitting to be for something about Dan Howell (said affectionately 💕)

The Script/Writing

When considering the text of the show itself, two things came to mind for me:

(1) This is definitely what I would call intertext. Intertext is a piece of writing that relates to another or more other writings through allusions. WAD is an intertext which alludes mainly to other works of Dan’s on his YouTube channel. The ability to get the true impact of the show relies on you knowing Dan (as his internet persona) on some level. And as a theatre maker & longtime fan, I love that it is, it’s what the piece needed to be. As a theatre producer, the hiatus from engaging with his audience and the limited runway given to reactivate interest in him and his creative work I think made it difficult to get that audience in some venues, along with some other funkiness (mainly with promo) I am less knowledgeable on. But I think Dan has already learned/continues to learn from that, which I think may have been valuable for him. (sidenote: I need the tea on all that because I love knowing how presenting venues work with performers, as well as the lack of understanding they have of internet culture as it relates to venue leadership.)

(2) This was a work he made for himself. He mentions this both in the show & in reference to WAD multiple times. But I think what truly came to mind for me was that it is still powerful for him to write for himself. He is writing for what he needs to be hearing or wants to be processing creatively.

I think why it is powerful is that Dan has discussed before how much stress he put on himself regarding danisnotonfire, and later Daniel Howell, videos, focusing on the audience, and how he was presenting a specific style/quality of video to them. Add in the layer of being closeted & actively fighting internalized homophobia, and the anxiety he built up makes sense. And I might personally attribute that more to his need to pass as straight & catering I believe at one point to an audience of cishet men, whether actual or perceived by him. Not all videos, especially the most impactful ones in my opinion, rely on this, but it was a key piece of what he made during his rise in popularity on the platform. This catering slowly decreased with the amount of uploads he was doing, along with a more tangible understanding of his audience thanks to the tours he did with Phil. Basically I’m Gay I think was the true shift where he gave himself permission to write work that had a main audience of himself. That’s where his best work has come from, and I think since then, he’s been able to have the space to process things creatively through his writing.

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The Relationship Between Performer & Audience

When I was in theatre school, my directing teacher would constantly talk about not just considering the relationship of the performers on “stage” (I did a lot of more immersive work & we only had black box theatres, which is literally a room that is floor to ceiling black) but also the relationship of the performers & the story with the audience. By Dan knowing mainly who his audience would be, the show can now play with that understanding in mind.

This leads to my point that, overall, Dan does not use the fourth wall, and I think that is what makes We’re All Doomed work. It may also be why he called it a comedy show, idk.

For those who don’t know what the fourth wall is, it is a term from theatre originally that is about the way in which a traditional theatre stage (called a proscenium) has three physical walls around it, while there is no 4th physical wall, so the audience can see the performance. If does exist physically, it is only the curtain that acts as the 4th “wall”. So, in order to keep it as a separation between the performers and the audience, the actors treat the side where the audience is as a fourth wall. When someone breaks the 4th wall, this is when they speak to audience directly, rather than to another character. Examples from English-speaking pop culture would be the asides from Hamlet or Ferris Bueller in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. But when you are the only person on stage, the only way to have a fourth wall is when you don’t reference that you know there’s an audience there. Hence, a monologue where the character is talking to themselves or an entity that is not the audience directly (or assigned to be the audience by the director), it is the closest you can have a fourth wall when alone.

Dan in his videos and in his previous tours with Phil never were without direct engagement of the audience (obvious with the naming of Interactive Introverts). It was never not a variation on him speaking with the audience in any type of dialogue, even if done parasocially.

Some of that is not new to theatre, but I would say is that it has become more of a trend within new theatre starting in the early 2010s to have more interactivity and a more authentic, explicit message that no performance will be the exact same. I definitely saw that in the shows I saw both Off-Broadway (which sidenote, all that means is that there’s fewer seats in that theatre, not about quality of the work or how worth it is to engage with) and larger settings like Broadway and the West End. That’s what I love about theatre, and why my own work is more about immersion and direct audience engagement.

Now Dan’s creative works have never been skit only or interested in telling a story outside of the realm of connecting with an audience as a variation of himself, so again, him not using the fourth wall overall is appropriate and fits in with what I mentioned about intertext. The piece does however start with a fourth wall for the music number, which I will walk through fully sharing why I am saying that about the song & dance opening after establishing some other concepts to help build understanding.

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Design Can Work With You or Against You

I just want to say out the gate that the design was done really well, and I immediately felt a need to emphasize it after watching the first 10 minutes again.

First, let’s talk about the orange & black aesthetic of the show. Dan may have simply said that the orange just looked cool, but I think I would attribute more meaning to that color. Orange brings to my mind at first instance both a bright happiness/warmth and a sense of caution and warning, like road signs (at least those in America). The themes of the show reflect these two ideas and plays with the tension between them. I don’t know if he or the team meant to have that be a conscious choice, but there’s a joke I’ve had with other directors of when they get complimented on something unexpected, they just nod and say “yes, that was a choice”, even though it was just a random thing that happened or was something that you just thought would be cool to do. Orange runs through the show’s designs and it becomes clear that it is a tool for contrast and emphasis for the points Dan & the director want to make.

Now with the design team of costumes, lights, sound, and media, I can see a clear cohesion. Good theatrical design has the designs act as a character or highlighter in the story. Bad theatrical design can take away/distract from the core intensions of the show. It was so clear to me that the design was a character. And seeing that there were two media designers make complete sense considering the labor lift of both creating the projections displayed, but also creating/filming pieces of the media itself. The music/sound and lighting work well to articulate the manic feelings it means to instill in the audience and seeing it as a director, I assume part of the creative discussion was about parts of the media played they wanted to make sure were heard, and the lights help catch attentions in service of those pulled out moments. For costumes, I think Calvina did well in her post at articulating the elements of the costume and the progression it goes throughout the show. I’d rather not take up space to say the same thing truthfully.

With all the design elements, I think three characters could be defined (not including the audience), two as main characters, and one as a supporting character. I would name the main characters as “the Circle” (the looming set piece throughout hosting the projections used throughout) and “Dan On Stage/Dan performing” (the one in the physical space) with the “voiceover Dan/inner voice Dan” as a supporting character. The voiceover only exists in the beginning, and it is only shared with us to demonstrate the way in which the Dan On Stage singing is not really that aggressively optimistic and wholeheartedly believes the words he is singing. He is not the Dan we know from the Internet, so we can cathartically laugh at the attempt to pretend everything is fine. The voiceover only has one role, and it is to force Dan to confront this breakdown has an audience.

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Staging an Opening Sequence: Our First Stage Character is the Circle

In directing classes, often what you focus on is called stage pictures, which is meant to help you consider what the actual imagery you want to ensure the audience absorbs for their understanding of the piece. The first and last stage moment of each act should tell a basic story of what happened, and therefore, are heavily emphasized as important for directors. The Circle (capitalized for reference purposes) being lit up before the show starts and then again in conjunction with the light flashes and sound establishes the importance of the Circle to the show. When the projection comes into play, showing the speech of a 15-year-old Greta Thunberg before beginning to add more, we are then introduced to the purpose of the Circle to be an output/portal for the overstimulation of messages, in this case, I would claim it being what comes from the Internet.

The music/sound and lighting work well to articulate the manic feelings it means to instill in the audience and seeing it as a director, I assume part of the creative discussion was about parts of the media played they wanted to make sure were heard, and the lights help catch attentions in service of those pulled out moments. The Circle also through some of the lighting moments, mimic that of a clock, which again adds to the doomsday, the "end is near" type energy. To have the end of the opening sequence build to an explosion which then shows solid orange at the end while Dan is in silhouette begins the introduction to the orange emphasis & proposes a sort of prophet-like version of him after the apocalyptic imagery disappears as he rises to be seen. What we have opened with is setting the tone to how we should view these two characters of the Circle & the Dan on Stage.

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Song Time!

Dan is such a theatre kid & I love that for him. His dramatic side shows through the moment he used a rise to start his show at the top of the stairs, first in a place of seriousness with the sharp lighting and smoke to then bring in a very happy music number. The contrast & switching of expectations is a key of comedic works, and shows through most of the phandom who did not know WAD started with that, as it is indeed funnier if it comes as a shock. The movement & music mimic what folks attribute to as musical theatre, which is campy, happy singing. Knowing he was the one who suggested the song for TATINOF, I am loving Dan clearly wanting to have that opening number of a musical moment, even if it is dripping in irony. The Circle & the lights in this acts as a supporter to the message of it being sunshine and rainbows, with literal rainbow lights included. (Sidenote: I am 99% sure the pigeon coo is Phil, so if anything, I’m disappointed he was not credited as Pigeon sound effect AND remote crisis manager. Idk why I could tell, but both times now, it’s what I immediately thought when hearing that part)

I think of the musical number as the only place where he does have a fourth wall, because the number does not directly reference the audience at the start. It’s a one-man moment and it is about the performance not the audience engagement. It starts falling away when he starts pointing out the “and you”s, but the voiceover is the real break in our understanding of the world. It is emphasized by the color inversion of the sun & sky media of the Circle. The director is saying, this is important to how you now interpret what you’ve seen & will see, this is another shift from what was established of this world.

I should mention “world” is the terminology used to name what the environment the story is being told in with consideration, especially in theatre, of how much of a need there is for suspension of disbelief. I believe this term is also referenced a lot when discussing the fantasy and sci-fi genres, since those also requires some distancing from reality for the audience. This ties into a phrase I will probably end up using a lot of “rules of the space”. When establishing this world for the show you are presenting to an audience, there is a type of logic that must be established in order to understand what is the baseline for what the audience will be engaging with over the span of the show. But the voiceover immediately changes the rules of the space, because it messes with the Dan on stage, and messes with the messaging of the Circle. It adds a new context to the Dan On Stage, as while a fan will know that this song is not in alignment of our knowledge of Dan Howell, we get confirmation that this indeed ironic and outside of the branding that Dan has boxed himself into over his time on YouTube.

But the voiceover is also not in alignment with that “branding”. It expresses concerns related to the Dan On Stage’s mental wellbeing. There is no irony or subtext in that voice, it is the most direct in speaking to Dan On Stage, because it is being said by a variation of Dan in voiceover to himself. These could be seen as questions he knows to ask himself, but as someone who advocates for mental health & shares now about being openly gay, I interpret that he may feel he cannot express that outside of his mind for fear of undermining his advocacy points. The discussion of the “wonders” of the Internet also continue building in the tension that exists throughout WAD of how Dan feels about that space. The voiceover then proposes at first a type of equal extreme, which only sees the Doom, and as someone with clinical Depression myself, I think is only a furtherance of the breakdown, rather than the reality check it started off being. Not that what is listed is wrong by any means, but the barrage of it is meant to expand the drowning feeling, not act as call to action or consideration of the intricacies for engaging in the world. With the Circle’s sun imagery & the music having been inverted and shifted to something more sinister, Dan’s movement up the stairs fits a type of circular moment from the first entry of him, where the image of the prophetic figure is questioned on how he alone will solve the climate emergency. The slap & break of character for the Dan on Stage serves to confirm our understanding of the voiceover as the voice in Dan’s head & indeed there are not two Dans.

Also, the sparklers 🎇 showing up really make the key change for the song, but my producer brain is going, “girl, of course you lost money on this show, was that so VERY NECESSARY?” But the dramatic Gemini theatre bitch in me would 100% want this too. I just don’t have a capita£ester working to get sponsorship money in my life, so I have to be reasonable 😔 Also, the confetti with the high note is peak theatre gay so I again, love that for him. And of course, the confetti is orange.

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Hints of Orange

When the song reaches its end & the Circle starts showing squares of orange, rather than a full background, this acts as a seed for the breakdown and waterfall of cubes, which Calvina speaks to the orange cube hint at the beginning in her post. The sudden cut-out with Dan simply lit replicates a moment the Circle is not present. The Internet is not present. To crawl to a microphone, the message is not “hey this guy needs two mics”, because we see one on his face, but that the wired mic (which I will now label as “The Microphone”) is a metaphor. It’s a crawl towards sharing out, not suppression. Only when the voiceover of himself points out the audience does he does a full fourth wall break. The suppression did not work, and neither he nor the audience can believe that it was the Truth.

The wire of the Microphone being orange showcases that it was meant to be seen. I don’t think it even in play in terms of the sound, like it might not even be on, considering the feedback nightmare it would likely cause. And no standard microphone used on stages has orange wires, because that would pull the audience’s eyes to it. But that’s the point here.

The rules of the space are now this: the Circle is not always active, the Microphone has significance, the Dan On Stage knows there is an audience. None of these were true before, even the Circle was on before the start. This draws the audience to know there has been a shift & to have the first words said into the Microphone be “We’re All Doomed” solidifies the song moment was a blip, that this is really where we start at. As an example, in the social media section, Dan does a deliberate wrapping of the wire on his hand at the same time the Circle scrolls to the social media icon. It is how the director & Dan are ensuring that we understand “what he is saying and what is been shown on the screen are in tandem”, so if you’re paying attention to that wire, it signals you should look up too.

Every other prop, except I believe the gavel and wig, is also orange. The bubble gun is mainly what comes to mind for me, since the cubes are not as activated as props necessarily. But if an item is to enter the stage, what I interpret it as is that it must be orange, there must be high contrast, nothing in the physical world on the stage can become blurred, only screens have that privilege(?) to have things blend together.

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The Power Struggle Between Dan & the Circle

Once Dan has begun directly conversing with the audience, the rules of the space are:

(1) Dan On Stage acts, the design elements react (not including the Circle)

(2) The Circle and Dan have a symbiotic relationship, as neither have complete control over the other & react to what each other are doing

(3) The icons are our guides in understanding the sectioning done throughout the show

(4) Having “One Good Night” is the goal to reach at the end of the piece

As a person, as well as discussed throughout the show, we know that Dan has a contentious relationship with the Internet. It is what has given him his living but has also caused some of his worst moments mentally (2012? I don’t know her). It is the space in which lets him have an audience who have mainly showed him support, but also the space that has fed the cynicism that fuels his clinical depression. There lies in the way in which the Circle exists on the stage & looms over Dan in the background. It’s a necessary evil of what appears on the screen.

Why do I then say that the design elements are reacting? Well, if we remove the Circle from the equation, the lights, sounds effects, and props are all cued off of something Dan does like the clown honk. However, the Circle sometimes cues off what Dan does, but sometimes instigates what Dan speaks to. That especially is evident when video clips play that invoke what media Dan has been contending with on the Internet and the consequences of those things.

The Circle exists throughout both Act One & Act Two, but only becomes passive to the piece when Dan directly shows vulnerability & the removal of protective irony. Calvina spoke to this when discussing the costume choice of him opening the jumpsuit in Act Two to show the orange tank underneath.

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Cubes as Articulators

Oh Creator did I have to dig deep into my brain for this term of articulators. So my directing instructor had some key terms that I think I don’t think are universally used, even by American theatre directors or at least in academic settings. She defined articulators to basically be elements that helped give almost like checkpoints for the progression of a throughline in a show. For WAD, that is easily those orange cubes.

When static is displayed on the Circle’s screen each time we transition to a new section, it is not the typical emulation of TV static, it is that sea of orange squares. It is an articulation of those fear, issues, concerns, all those pinpoints Dan speaks to why he says “We’re All Doomed”.

That’s why there is the culmination of the orange cubes falling on him, when he reaches the top of the stairs at the end of Act One. When he circles back to the same stage picture of him at the top, it can been considered a repetition of the prophetic imagery I pointed out from the opening sequence. What changes is that the orange squares enter the physical world, falling onto Dan. He can no longer say they live in his head. They are here and stay in the space until the end of the show. In Act One, they are the looming issues that signal the Apocalypse. In Act Two, they are the rubble that must be sorted through.

Calvina was the one who named it rubble and the cubes as representations of Dan’s problems. To have the audience actually able to take a cube home, she argued, would be symbolic of the audience helping carry that weight. While I’d love that, I mentioned in my tags on her post that I think mentally, that rubble would still be at his feet, even with taking home that visual metaphor. This is Dan we’re talking about, and with personal responsibility being a topic of the show, while it’s not his burden to bear alone, he does have to recognize it exists.

I think the repetition of the prophetic imagery comes to its climax when in the aftermath found in Act 2, voting who to fire into space can and does end up with him being sent by the audience. It represents an understanding of where he exists now from where he did at 18 in terms of social, political, and economic access and the possibilities of his influence. There is a responsibility there that ties to how he can move in the world now publicly, so why wouldn’t he have an existential crisis?

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It is a Comedy Though, Right?

This is hundred percent comedy, and obvious dark humor at that. As a director, I love comedy, especially this type, because when an audience gets to laugh, the armor gets stripped away. They have no built-up resistance that let’s any uncomfortable point be heard effectively. It’s why the end’s vulnerability is effective, because we have already joked and laughed about our pains and our desire for escapism. Now we are able to move on into a place of reflection.

To underline why I say this is not stand-up comedy is that Dan has made it a stage show, just one that has comedy as a vehicle for telling this “story”. His interactions with his audience, through both quips based on audience reactions or “heckling” as well as explicitly asking for input into who to shot to space or what to add as a mad lib (generic brand for law purposes), are about being blended into the loose narrative constructed already, not actually to be reactionary like most crowd work I associate with stand-up comedy.

If anything, I could argue that it could be considered a comedy special that “Dan On Stage” is trying to make, but there is actually conflict being introduced that disrupts his set (both the comedy one and the physical one). There is clearly a showing of meta, as Dan makes sure to share thoughts on the creation of the show, the reactions from his overall show branding & imagery, the use of the lift because it was expensive to have. Dan’s comedy style can never be told without reference to behind the scenes, because if this is a creative means to process feelings, there are things about the show & its making that impact what needs to be processed too. It is also related to how his work is strengthened by acknowledging the two-way street of being in a parasocial relationship with his audience.

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Can We Have One Good Night?

Another term central to what my directing teacher spoke of was the “Core”, usually a question, though not always, that motivated what was being explored over the course of a theatre piece. At the top, as Dan on Stage exaggerates that love doesn’t exist (which Dan refutes as being an actual belief of his during the afterparty) and other sardonic phrases, he also states he wants to give his audience one good night, because he recognizes the escapism his audience finds in his solo and joint content. We’re All Doomed’s Core is “can we just have one good night, even in the midst of the horrors we have outside of these theatre doors?”. But I would also say that in terms of where his writing was at the time of WAD’s inception and the naming of his mental health book as You Will Get Through This Night, it feels more like Dan himself has been grappling with a Core of “can I have one good night? Or a full 24 hours where I feel mainly happy when all I am bombarded with about the world is suffering?” I think night can be both literal, since we know he has had sleep issues, and metaphorical, as the night can represent this depressive episode he was writing himself out of.

When the mood tracker gets discussed in the last portion of WAD, to see a sea of neutral or uninterested emojis demonstrates when he took the time to do it, the answer that night was “no, not really” 😕. The main one mentioned is the ritual of “Fry Day” he has with Phil (sidenote: why are these British men not calling it “Chip Day”, since this ritual falls on a Saturday?), which is a rare smiley face. The question he likely has then is “can I ever have a good night again?”

So for him to then turn to his own videos during one of those nights, to a video where he states his famous “embrace the void and have the courage to exist,” that showcases what I mentioned of his best work being written for himself, in this case, a future version of himself.

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Ending Sequence: Where Do We Land?

When the Circle does not display any media, it again shows the orange square motif, but after mentioning his own video, he turns to his audience for glimpses of what joy exists even in the face of Doom. The Circle changes into a display of different submitted clips showcasing this joy and hope that Dan was clearly looking for throughout this piece. He walks towards the top of the stairs to witness these clips. I cannot for my life at this point having now been separate from it for about a month, but I believe before the submitted media sequence, he states the famous line again of “Embrace the Void and Have the Courage to Exist”. With this last thing spoken, it gives that emphasis needed to take in the message emotionally and then witness what the Void (in this case the Circle) can offer.

--

A Good Director Should Go Unnoticed

When someone is not versed in theatrical directing, if the audience cannot tell what was a choice by the director or even consider the director themselves, this is weirdly a good sign. It means that it feels natural to what they are witnessing and to the messages that are meant to be communicated to the audience. As someone who also works in government, it feels very similar, as only bad work is evident to the general public. Obviously that is not true for everyone, but is an overall trait I think impacts both an understanding of public service and directing.

I am not familiar with any of the work of Ed Stambollouian, who through research, looks like he has done work with comedians like Joe Lycett (who I am also not familiar with) and directed TATINOF, but also more stripped down, exploratory theatre. Through a quick review of his portfolio, one, I am not shocked that Dan tapped him to assist with directing since there is a familiarity and two, his background tells me he knows how to direct for writer-performers, which is what comedians really are at the end of the day.

To direct for those who are doing one-person shows that they both wrote and performed, it is especially tricky to have the artist hand the reins over to the director. The director in this case acts as the artist’s eyes, because an artist cannot clone themselves. It is impossible for them to wear multiple hats at once, where they can give quality, objective feedback to themselves while also doing a full out performance. For Ed to be someone Dan has worked with before, there is already an established understanding of each other’s work styles, and a trust that otherwise would have to be built up before the work can truly begin to finalize the piece.

In short, Ed Stambollouian and the creative team on We’re All Doomed did an incredible job bringing what I understand Dan intended when he started writing this down in isolation. And @danielhowell you whole-heartedly deserve to call this your magnum opus. What can I say (sorry I can't help lovingly poking fun at you), your artistry shines throughout the show. I hope this too can be something your future self can turn back to.

🧡

(bonus) Thoughts on Orange Carpet & the Phil element

I didn’t fully rewatch the orange carpet, just to keep myself on task & not bring Phil too much into the main reflection without explicit reference in the show, but hearing Dan go “I’m alive in 3, 2…” made me laugh both times. He understands that we just want to know he has a pulse, ya know? Also them pretending it totally was live, when those fools (affectionate) cannot run a real live broadcast from their home for their lives. It just ran too smoothly, esp. in the transitions, for it to be anything but some very, very light editing on one improvised take they did. But I always support them in their acting, no matter how bad, like with DITL Australia’s opener or pretending there were not two apartments or that Google Feud being back was unplanned or Dil being pregnant with a statistically rare alien child or Phil living in a tiled, cramped bedroom or...

Also, Dan’s little laugh at the end of Phil’s sign-off is so fond it hurts. It also hurt that the VOD was hard to scrub through, so another deduction for the Kiswe platform.

Anyway, I’m glad that Dan was able to find space outside of the Dan & Phil branding of the 2010s as well as the image he was forced to manufacture for his YouTube presence, but also realize that with having a core audience that wants him to simply be happy, he can recognize that Phil is part of the things that make him happy. And can do so openly.

He is his own person, but it has been clearly emphasized now that Dan has no interest in not acknowledging that Phil always is and will be part of his present and future. He has made work like WAD & "Gay and Not Proud" to explore his way of thinking without the support of Phil present in the filmed/performed aspect. Dan acknowledges this intention, which is evident with him shooing away Phil at the beginning of “Gay and Not Proud” to process it alone.

It is also evident with the ending of “Daniel & Depression” and the WAD end credit of remote crisis manager showcasing the caretaking role Phil often plays in Dan’s life. But we know that caretaking is reciprocal, considering Phil's tactics with glue as well as his continuing health issues and anxieties. Dan has seen who he is without Phil by his side everyday in the public eye & has no interest in maintaining that Phil is absent for public projections.

I obviously do not know Dan Howell, or anything about him outside what exists on the internet. But in performance studies, there is a foundational understanding that there is no way to not be performing in some way during your day-to-day. Performing is not inherently a bad thing, as there are different roles you take on in your life, where how I engage at work is different from how I am hanging out with friends. This also has basis in gender studies, such as ideas that you can perform your gender "wrong". What has been so interesting to me in this phandom renaissance is the way Dan and Phil each perform as themselves in front of the camera now. What they share out and the layers they include--or choose to not remove--have been stated by them explicitly to be the most authentic they have ever been, without obviously removing their right to privacy. During the height of the glass closet that was their 2018 content, I remember thinking that it was going to be the most they would show us in the vain of "if you know, you know, and we know who will know". After the coming out videos of 2019, obviously that's not true, but the return of dapg has signaled a message of "we know you know, if you've been in the know" while veiled in a way that is not immediately perceivable by those who are casually engaging with their content. It is an authentic portrayal of themselves without filter, while also providing themselves space to not have to announce everything to the world. When you are in the know, it definitely targeted and causes psychic damage, but I am ready for anything and everything they throw our way.

[thegreatwizardelwin]

The Sea Hare: Scene 1 

A Freminet x Gn! Reader

Reader is a theater kid, vision holder, and upcoming librettist. They have been close friends with Freminet for some time now, but as it would happen, the symphony of their hearts has begun to swell. Crescendo!

You paced around your studio, acting out a scene for an upcoming show that was being written. As the librettist, you were in charge of writing the spoken dialogue. 

“Constantine, you poison me with your words of calumny! The more I am beside you, the more I hate the people of the world.” you exclaimed in character. “No, that’s no good.” you tapped your foot for a moment before returning to the typewriter and settling on a different line.

In the midst of your work, there was a knock on the door.

“Enter!” you called from the desk.

Through the door came Freminet, one of your good friends, escorted by the receptionist for the building.

“Oh, it’s you! Evening, Fremi!”

He looked around the studio, taking in everything. A moving staircase with small spotlights. A barren stage below it and other equipment to the side; microphone stands, low quality props, and a piano covered by a sheet.

“Good evening. So, this is the new studio you mentioned?” he questioned.

“Mhm, this is where I work, for now. It’s a lovely little arrangement, nice and quiet and next to the lyricist I work with frequently.” you explained, rising.

Freminet wandered over to you. His gaze was curious, wanting to know more about your work. The two of you stood, simply staring at each other. You pursed your lips, awkwardly looking away. 

“Would you like to see the manuscript so far?” you walked to the desk, seating yourself. He followed.

“Sure!” he said, placing his hands on the back of your chair and leaning forward.

You handed back a couple papers you had already typed up. Some had pen scribblings on them where you had made typing errors.

He looked over them with interest for a little while, having ransacked another chair and made himself cozy.

“How does one write dialogue so well? Do you just sit here and think about it?” he asked, handing the papers back to you.

You chuckled and took the papers. Then, you began to traipse your way across the room to the stage.

“Yes, but I also do some experimenting. I can act out what I write to make sure it feels natural, and to visualize how the real performers might take it.” you explained. 

You cleared your throat and began reading from the page in your hand. “Oh, Mr. Letterman, you are too late! That train has already left.” you spoke expressively, acting as a train conductor. You then pivoted and took on a new role: “For Archon’s sake! …Perhaps it is for the best that I never see her again.” you dramatically turned away from the now invisible conductor.

Freminet cocked his head, amused by your little performance.

“You have such charisma, why not try acting yourself?” he asked.

You paused, arms falling to your side, the paper making a crinkling sound.

“My stage fright is terrible.” you admitted. “I can handle one or two people, but entire crowds… I lose my voice and just stare off into space. But I still love theater, so I decided to be behind the scenes instead.”

Freminet looked down at the paper in the typewriter.

“You write good.” he commented quietly.

You smiled at him, using your vision to swiftly appear by his side. He shifted a bit, surprised by your closeness.

“And what about you, dear Freminet? Can you act?” you grabbed his shoulders and gently escorted him to the stage as well.

He made a sound of discomfort being moved, looking around at the stage.

“No.” he said flatly. “I’m too… calm… for it all.”

You laughed a bit. 

“There are plenty of calmer parts in shows!” you reminded him.

“I know but you have to be so exaggerated so that the audience can get it!”

“Not necessarily-”

“I’m too shy.” he stated with finality. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to be myself around others half the time. How could I be someone else?”

You backed off, sensing he was serious. You took his arms and spun him in a slow circle.

“Individuality is easy to know but hard to express, hmm?” you said, walking over to the steps of the mobile stairway.

He sighed softly, looking down at his boots.

“You’re right. But you seem to express yourself just fine!” he turned to you.

You gave him a little laugh.

“I’m not as open as you think. There are bits and pieces I guard too, you know. And, it’s ok to be quiet and not be conversational, that’s part of who you are.” you ran your hand up the railing.

“I’ve been this way since I was a little kid, though, I feel like I should be growing more open as I get older.” he put his hands on his hips, looking up at you.

You leaned on the railing.

“You wait, little boy, on an empty stage for fate to turn the light on.”

You flicked the small spotlight on, illuminating Freminet and the stage. He jumped, covering his eyes with his hands. 

“Your life, little boy, is an empty page that people want to write on.”

He gave you a dry glance.

“Stop quoting old musicals.”

“Timid and shy and scared are you of things beyond your ken~”

You giggled, flicking the light back off.

He pouted slightly.

“You’re not listening to me.” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

You descended the stairs.

“I hear you loud and clear, but I just like seeing you get all annoyed with me.” you patted his head, passing by him on the way back to your desk.

He blushed a little, accentuating his freckles. 

“Rude.” he huffed, yet trailed behind you like a duckling. “When are you going home?”

“In an hour or so. Do you want to wait and walk with me?” you perked up.

He nodded in confirmation. 

“I’d like that.”

+

You strolled down the streets of Fontaine, Freminet at your side. It was a humid twilight, having rained an hour or so ago. The lights of the city were just beginning to stand out, glistening in the puddles.

You were both rather quiet on the walk. Freminet was always quiet, of course, but for some reason he was distracted tonight. 

Arriving at your boarding house, you faced each other. He looked at you expectantly. You wrapped your arms around him, inhaling his fresh scent. He was quick to squeeze you, resting his cheek on your shoulder. 

Of course you had to make all the first moves, no matter how much he wanted it. It was part of his nature.

He’s so touch starved, you thought to yourself, feeling a little flustered at how much he clung to you. His gloved hands pressed against your back, keeping you close. 

You gingerly broke away. His eyes were glued to the ground, a soft pink dusting his face. He had the sweetest smile.

“Night, Y/N.” he spoke, waving shortly and continuing on his way.

“Night, Fremi.” you responded; a little lost, watching him walk away.

You opened the door to the boarding house, moved inside, shut the door, and took a deep breath. 

Whoa.

You sank to the floor, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden. 

Your landlady looked up from her book and coffee.

“Oh? Y/N, what’s the matter?” she asked, a little concerned.

“Not sure.” you muttered absentmindedly, drawing your knees up to your body and staring at nothing in particular. Your heart was racing.

Freminet is the matter.

She set her things down, approaching you.

“You’ve practically collapsed, are you feeling sick or tired?”

“Ms. Maddie…  I can hardly breathe!” you said wistfully, your tone conveying exactly what you were feeling.

It clicked for her. Being an old lady, she knew quite a few things about youngins.

“Were you with someone you like?” she suggested.

“Well, it was a close friend. But I…” your mouth hung open, picturing Freminet’s docile blue eyes, “I don’t like him… like that.” 

That was more of a question now than a statement. 

It was ridiculous really. You were always affectionate with him, it was bound to grow genuine at some point.

Ms. Maddie chuckled as old ladies do when they find something amusing.

“He takes your breath away it would seem.” she noted.

“I’m being silly.” you closed your eyes, leaning back against the door. “But then again he really is so…” you hid your face. “Why is this happening!”

“I think, Y/N, you are developing a crush on this friend.” she stated obviously. 

“I guess,” you conceded, “but, that complicates everything. Now that I’ve admitted it, it will be harder to ignore it.”

“Hmmm… then maybe you shouldn’t do that. You never know, it could be mutual.”

You spaced out even more at the notion that Freminet might feel love for you.

Ms. Maddie walked you to your room.

“Now, if you need anything else you come knocking, alright?”

“Thank you, Ms. Maddie.” 

You locked the door for the night and prepared for bed.

Nice, cozy pillows and blankets awaited you. A thought slipped into your mind about being able to sleep beside Freminet one day. To see him tired and peaceful and resting rather than the diffident little sand crab he was normally.

I’m losing my MIND. you lightly smacked your cheeks. But maybe she’s right. I’m not one to throw away my shot!

You rolled over, pulling the covers up over your shoulders, dead set on finding some way to express these emotions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sooo what do we think about theater kid mc? I just wanted to do something different i drew mimi on my computer but its too silly to use for the cover art

doodlebob freminet

Part 2:

[timeagainreviews]

Witnessing Greatness

Thinking about the most recent episode of Doctor Who, I find myself reminded of Roger Corman, who died last month. Corman was a producer and director of b-movies and television. He was also beloved by industry titans due to his work ethic and ingenuity as a filmmaker. What made Corman so unique is how he dealt with limitations. If an aspect of one of his films was lacking, he made up for it in other departments. If the effects were bad, the script had to be great. If the acting was hammy, he’d make sure the music gave it strength. Instead of spreading everything thin, he knew that giving a little bit more attention to individual elements would make for an overall better experience. If you’re not firing on all cylinders, make sure the ones that do are firing brightly.

“Rogue,” is an episode with many bright shining points, lighting up the sky of Regency Era Britain. But lost within that light are a few flickering bulbs that could stand to be turned a bit tighter. However, it’s not as though we’re poking around in the dark. Without a doubt, the brightest star in the Whoniverse at the moment is Ncuti Gatwa. In a stand-out performance from a series of stand-out performances, Gatwa has really outdone himself this week and I can’t wait to talk about it. The folks at Bad Wolf Studios have refused to spread things thin, but no story is perfect. For as much as I enjoyed this week’s episode, I didn’t have to reach far to find problems. But when I’m smiling this much, it’s harder to care.

It’s funny how a week ago I said I didn’t like fan theories and then promptly made one. Just as promptly, I am now abandoning that theory. After the trailer for next week’s episode, I no longer think Susan Twist is the Rani. I officially don’t know what I think. I kind of love that. I have seen the rumours of Susan Twist being Sutekh. Maybe the Doctor is in the Land of Fiction. The name S Triad is an anagram of the word TARDIS. Perhaps she’s the original owner of the TARDIS coming to retrieve it. The point is, she could be anyone, and I am not all that worried about it. Why that feels important is that I was often full of dread waiting for Chibnall’s next big reveal. I didn’t look forward to the ways in which he might next waste a concept by not properly exploring it. So being in a place where I am game for whatever feels zen.

Having two new writers this week was a major draw for me. I’ve seen what both Davies and Moffat can do, the good and the bad. This is the first time all season where I felt like we were truly wandering into the unknown. I did watch Loki season one, so I was familiar with Kate Herron’s work, but not as a writer. I was even less familiar with Briony Redman. But like I said, I’m game for whatever. The pair bring a metatextual reading to the Regency Era drama that fits Doctor Who’s brand of camp. I was reminded of Kate Beaton’s satirical comics from her “Hark! A Vagrant” series. “Rogue,” acts as a sort of love-letter to Jane Austen, so it’s only appropriate that they treat it with a playful touch. The Doctor and Ruby aren’t just visiting Bath in 1813, they’re cosplaying Bridgerton. But they’re not the only anachronistic party goers. This bash is about to go to the birds.

Leading up to this episode, an article in Doctor Who Magazine had given us random lines of dialogue from each story, including this one. However, the line “Psychic earrings. Choreography beamed into your motor system. Tap twice to choose your moves. It's like instant Strictly!” left me a bit nervous. We were fresh off of “The Devil’s Chord,” and part of me was wondering if they weren’t suddenly turning Doctor Who into a variety show. I’m joking a little, but I was rather relieved when the line turned out to be about dancing at the Duchess’ ball. The Doctor and Ruby are dressed to the nines in their period appropriate clothing. I love the idea of the Doctor wearing more from his wardrobe as it’s always been fun in the past. Tom Baker’s tartan tam o’ shanter in “Terror of the Zygons,” is one of his most iconic costumes. Ncuti said in an interview that he wanted his costume to make him look like he owned land. It’s a brilliant image to depict when you consider the Regency Era was merely four years away from the abolition of slavery in Britain.

The Regency Era also brought with it a change in men’s attire. Dandies like Beau Brummell popularised a look of comfort and wealth while simultaneously streamlining much of the frills from 18th century fashion. It’s funny to look at the ruffles of a dandy’s attire and consider it anything other than flamboyant, but it was a considerable shift toward more conservative styles. While women’s fashion continued to evolve, men’s fashion stagnated a bit. A standard had been established and you can still see its influence today with the basic suit and tie combo. No wonder the Doctors often dress like variations on Edwardian fashion.

The opulence of the period led to a lot of scandalising and gossip, which has given us centuries of great drama. While I’ve never read “Emma,” I have seen “Clueless.” I’ve never watched Bridgerton, but I can still get into the costuming and pomp. Basically you don’t need to be a fan of the genre to know the tropes. It was a nice change of pace that it was Ruby’s love for a tv show that puts things into motion. The Doctor and Ruby are tourists as much as the Chuldur, but with far less deadly consequences. Both groups are there to experience the emotional highs of the time, but the Chuldur don’t care who they hurt in order to do it. This of course is why Rogue, a bounty hunter, has also crashed the party.

You’ll be pleased to know I actually remembered to watch “Doctor Who Unleashed,” this week. Partly because I had some questions, but mostly because I wanted to hear them talk about the costumes and make-up effects. Davies mentioned that the season hadn’t yet had its baddie in a mask trying to take over the world, which I love that he considers. If you read my review of “The Witchfinders,” you may recall how much I appreciated the Morax being scenery chewing people in latex makeup. There’s something essentially Doctor Who about bug eyed monsters (sorry Sydney) and there’s something very RTD when those monsters have animal heads. Davies is now confirmed as a furry, I’m calling it.

The Chuldur share their appearance with birds, something we don’t often see in Doctor Who. I’m trying to recall bird villains from the show and I am coming up a bit short. There were the Shansheeth in the Sarah Jane Adventures, those bird people on Varos, that heavenly chicken from “The Time Monster,” and the Black Guardian’s hat. Considering all of the reptiles we get, I’m surprised we’ve gotten so few birds. If you also watched the Unleashed episode, you may have noticed that they digitally changed the bird version of Emily’s beak from black to orange. It’s the Vinvocci’s green faces from “The End of Time,” all over again! What’s funny is that this change in Emily’s beak gives her something of a penguin appearance. It’s not exactly the shapeshifting penguin I was hoping for, but I digress.

Speaking of shapeshifting, I rather enjoyed the Chuldur’s unique method of doing so. If you recall, when the Duchess spots her servant out in the garden, the bird form of the servant is played by the same actor as the servant. It’s not until she takes the form of the Duchess that her bird form also takes on the resemblance of Indira Varma. You don’t usually see that and I admire them for making two versions of the same makeup, if nothing else. Doctor Who has had its share of shapeshifters, so it’s nice to see them changing up the formula a bit. Unfortunately for the Duchess, this isn’t a Zygon type of body snatching where you have to keep the person you’re copying alive.

Ruby’s psychic earrings are doing a treat until they begin picking up interference from Rogue’s tech. A lot of people have mentioned that this episode seems to borrow a lot from “An Empty Child,” and so it’s only appropriate that the Doctor does a scan for alien tech. The source of the interference directs the Doctor toward the balcony where Rogue stands brooding. Meanwhile, the Chuldur version of Lord Barton has taken a liking to Ruby. The Duchess, still human at this point, attempts to introduce them, but Ruby is not impressed by the pompous dandy, referring to him as Lord Stilton. As Ruby strops away she notices a painting of Susan Twist’s character as an old matron. The Duchess refers to her as “the Duke’s late mother,” whose eyes still follow her around the room in judgement.

The Duchess takes her leave to the garden where she meets her fate with the Chuldur masquerading as her servant. We get a bit more of a look at what exactly the Chuldur do when they take over your body. What’s left of the duchess is little more than a desiccated husk. Meanwhile, in the study, Ruby has stumbled upon a rather intimate moment between Lord Barton and Emily. The bookcase obscuring her from the two frames them like a television screen. Ruby is unable to look away from the real life Bridgerton scene playing out in front of her. The Lord tells Emily that he will not marry her which would leave her ruined, but he is compelled by her nonetheless. However, before they can kiss, Ruby knocks a pile of books onto her head causing a disturbance. I rather loved this moment for Millie Gibson. It’s rare that women get to be portrayed as clumsy and that book definitely bonked her on the head. A great bit of physical comedy.

The Lord storms out of the room leaving Emily and Ruby to talk. Removed from the framing of the bookshelf, Ruby finds her compassion once more and comforts Emily. After all, Lord Barton was being a bit of an ass toward her. Emily is amused by Ruby’s modern sensibilities and lack of finery. You could tell this scene was written by two women as they actually take the time to let them have this moment. Meanwhile, the Doctor and Rogue take a stroll through the garden in order to size one another up. There’s a flirtatious energy between the two but a wary tension underlies the conversation. The Doctor muses about the stars, but on a terrestrial level. It’s not until he finds the Duchess’ shoe and then the rest of her that he gives away that he is not of this world. Rogue sees the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver and begins to suspect the Doctor is a Chuldur in disguise. The two confront one another as the culprit, but Rogue has the bigger gun.

Still comparing sizes, the Doctor and Rogue compare ships like they were Ten and Eleven comparing sonic screwdrivers. Speaking of sonic screwdrivers, it feels appropriate that the Doctor’s sonic would match his outfit. That’s so Fifteen. He’s a fashionable Doctor, so of course he would accessorise. It’s like they made his wardrobe and accessories with cosplay in mind. Rogue’s costume is also noteworthy. People have drawn comparisons between Rogue and Jack Harkness and it’s not difficult to understand. His long coat draws parallels to that of Jacks and he even mentions assembling cabinets in regards to the sonic. But what’s equally interesting is how Rogue’s gun resembles the type of handgun you would see in a Regency Era duel. Its barrel resembles that of a blunderbuss. He’s either deep undercover, or he’s got a thing for cosplay himself.

Rogue doesn’t get a lot of time for character development, but they do give him a few little moments, mostly through environmental storytelling. He has a striking birdlike ship fit for a heroic rogue, but inside it’s dirty and depressing. Possibly most telling on Rogue’s ship are the set of orange dice on his table. Rogue gets his name from Dungeons and Dragons, but beyond being a geek, these dice could tell us more about his personality. We learn that Rogue has lost someone, perhaps these dice belonged to them. Perhaps he is unable to move the dice from that spot because he didn’t leave them there. We also learn later that Rogue isn’t a very strong roleplayer. He’s quieter and more thoughtful in his improvisation. Perhaps his staged tryst was the first time anyone has asked him to roleplay since losing his partner. Either way, Jonathan Groff plays it with a vulnerable subtlety, and I loved it.

Speaking of loved it, we have now reached the portion of this article where I gush over Ncuti Gatwa. Now, I need to preface this by reminding you all that I have always been pro-Ncuti. I adored his portrayal of Eric Effiong in Sex Education. I never doubted for a second that he could pull it off. However, it wasn’t until this episode that his Doctor finally crystalised for me. We’ve seen that his Doctor could be flirtatious and fun, but we hadn’t yet seen the way in which he could use that to do Doctory things. We’ve had hot Doctors, but we’ve never had a Doctor who was so effortlessly hot. He’s hot in the same way the Second Doctor was bumbling, as in it’s almost a distraction from what he’s actually doing. It actually makes him slightly terrifying.

Even as his Doctor is standing in a trap, he’s able to use his charm to buy time. Also, once again the Doctor is stepping onto things that can kill him. An odd recurring theme. He maintains an air of authority even in the face of danger and that is so the Doctor. When the Doctor finds Rogue’s music playlist I think I may have melted. How could anyone incinerate such a beautiful person? How could you not want to dance right along with him? As much as I loved this scene and the meta reference to Astrid Perth, it does also buckle a bit under itself. First of all, wouldn’t the Doctor knowing an Earth song like “Can’t Get You Out of My Head,” make you question whether he was a Chuldur? Sure, they know Bridgerton, but it would be enough to give me pause. Furthermore, I’m not sure how seeing the Doctor’s many faces would cause you to not think he’s a shapeshifter. Kind of odd that one other face means shapeshifter but eighteen other faces don’t. Wait, did I say eighteen?

When I had first watched this episode, I didn’t immediately recognise Richard E Grant as the mysterious extra face in the lineup of past Doctors. We now have three extra faces in the form of Jodie Whittaker, Jo Martin, and David Tennant (again), but this extra Doctor wasn’t registering for me. At first I thought he was the Valeyard, and then I thought he looked a bit like Jim Broadbent, which is ironic considering “The Curse of Fatal Death.” It wasn’t until I got online afterward and saw people saying Richard E Grant that I could see it. I wasn’t even 100% convinced it was him, but I’ve heard they actually took new footage of Grant for that scene, so I guess it’s him. The more interesting question is which him is he? Is this the Shalka Doctor or the Fatal Death Doctor? Maybe he’s both. Maybe he’s neither. This wouldn’t be the first time they’ve given us retroactive Doctors. Moffat gave us the War Doctor to great effect. But despite a strong performance from Jo Martin, Chibnall did a piss poor job of establishing the Fugitive Doctor as a character. I’d love to get excited for this mystery incarnation, but I’m taking a Tim Gunn stance in the meantime- “Make it work.”

With Rogue now on his side, the Doctor takes him to his TARDIS so they can recalibrate his triform transporter to be non-lethal. Recently in an interview, Ncuti Gatwa mentioned he had gotten onto his agent about playing someone like the Doctor or Willy Wonka. It felt a bit like wish fulfilment for his Doctor to sing “Pure Imagination,” to Rogue as they entered the TARDIS. I really loved Jonathan Groff’s slow growing infatuation with the Doctor. I’m a big fan of “Mindhunter,” but it’s a very heavy show, so it was fun to see him in a more playful role. In many ways, Rogue feels like a bit of River Song and a bit of Jack Harkness. He’s something of a reboot and remix at the same time. I don’t doubt we will see him again, which would be a nice chance to give him some much needed character development, but for the time being, we’ve been given enough to work with.

The Doctor and Rogue’s plan is to draw the Chuldur to them by exploiting their love for drama and scandal. What better way to whip people into a frenzy in 1813 Britain than for two men to share a passionate dance together? Besties, I’ll be real, I was grinning from ear to ear. Watching Gatwa and Groff dance was very exciting. I’ve seen people complain that the Doctor and Rogue’s romance felt rushed compared to the “slow burn,” of Yaz and Thirteen. Slow burn is a funny way of saying “non-existent for two seasons.” And I would much rather see two men share a passionate kiss than two women share a passionate ice cream. What’s wild is that I’m not usually the kind of person who likes the Doctor to have romantic relationships. They managed without them for 26 seasons. However, due to Ncuti’s emotional availability, it works for me. I can buy that his time with Donna might have left him more open to romance. Furthermore, this is the antithesis of queerbaiting. Ice cream is not a payoff.

The Doctor ends the dance by staging an argument with Rogue and calling him a cad. But Rogue doesn’t respond in turn with the same volatile energy. There’s a hesitation on his end that feels personal. As I mentioned before, perhaps this is him working up the courage to roleplay again. Perhaps his lost partner was more the avid roleplayer between the two of them. Or perhaps Rogue simply has a softer approach. What I loved is that his marriage proposal felt equally as shocking, but in a more emotional manner. It even feels like it takes the Doctor by surprise. There’s a moment where it actually feels like a real proposal. The Doctor says he can’t and you almost believe he considered it. Or maybe the Doctor can’t even pretend to say yes because of his marriage with River song. If he undoes their wedding maybe it can revert us back to hot air balloon cars, Winston Churchill, and pterodactyls.

Not to be left out, Millie Gibson has gotten a lot of time to shine in this story as well. She does a fair bit of choreography, but there is one bit of her choreography of which I was a bit disappointed. After learning that Ruby is from the future, Emily reveals herself to be a Chuldur, and she wants to cosplay as Ruby next. However, Ruby’s psychic earrings come with a battle mode, which complicates things for the feathered fiend. My disappointment however, stems from the fact that they kind of phone in the fight choreography. They went through the trouble of hiring Bridgerton’s choreographer, Jack Murphy, for the dance sequences, but the fighting felt like a second thought. It could have been really cute to see Ruby do some “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon,” moves, but instead she clobbers her with a book. A bit underwhelming. Still a fun idea, though.

The Doctor and Rogue abscond to the garden where they are pursued by the Chuldur who reveal their numbers to be greater than anticipated. As baddies go, the Chuldur were little more than hand wringing monsters foaming at the mouth for a bit of mayhem, but I liked that about them. The way they speak to one another reminded me a lot of the Slitheen. The last time we saw Indira Varma in the Whoniverse, she was playing Suzie Costello, the best part of Torchwood. Here she chews scenery with a zest befitting her brilliant makeup. The only time that I felt they went a bit too far with the Chuldur is when they call what they’re doing “cosplaying,” as it felt a bit too on the nose. Otherwise, I loved the idea of evil birds going around and messing up planets all too satiate a dangerous appetite for excitement.

The Doctor sees Ruby acting as though a Chuldur has taken her form and it brings out the fury of the Time Lord. I wouldn’t be the first and I won’t be the last to point out the parallels between this and “The Family of Blood,” wherein the Doctor has some long term punishment in mind for the bad guys. Unfortunately, it also feels like a case of writers giving the Doctor weird morality again. Rogue wants to send the Chuldur to the incinerator, but the Doctor wants to send them to a dimension where they can live out the rest of their lives somewhere where they can’t hurt anyone. How is that any different from what the Weeping Angels do? It’s “Arachnids in the UK,” all over again. When the Doctor expresses happiness that the Chuldur will suffer for a long time, it begs the question- as compared to what? I’m fine with the Doctor losing his temper and going too far, but what about his plan actually changed other than his attitude about it? He was always planning on sending them into a dimension where they would suffer for 600 odd years. A line of dialogue or two could have fixed that.

The Chuldur’s big finale is a wedding between Barton and Ruby followed by a light bit of mass murder, but the Doctor has other plans. The Doctor’s objection to the marriage reminded me a lot of Tom Baker. I could easily hear Tom saying that line about it being hard to hear things through those heavy doors. Gatwa has that bizarre alien charm that feels correct. However, neither the Chuldur or the Doctor know the entire story as neither side knows Ruby is still Ruby. So when the Doctor traps the Chuldur in the triform transporter, he’s also dooming Ruby to the same fate.

I’ve seen some confusion as to how the transporter actually works, but I think I can piece together enough to understand it. They had calibrated the transporter to trap up to six humanoids. When Ruby is first trapped, there are five humanoids in the trap. Rogue throws Emily into the trap bringing the count up to six. We’ve established that the Doctor was able to throw his psychic paper from inside the trap, so things can leave its field. My thinking is that as Rogue pushes Ruby out from the field, he overloads it with seven humanoids giving Ruby just enough give to fall out of the trap. What got a bit confusing is why didn’t Ruby just step out of her shoes? If you can throw psychic paper, then it’s not trapped by the field. Therefore, her shoes would be the only thing molecularly bonded to the field. They could even say the shapeshifters can’t step out of their shoes because they’re actually part of their bodies. But then we couldn't get the big sacrifice at the end.

The aspect of this that I found harder to follow was why Rogue would sacrifice himself in the first place. Sure he and the Doctor have chemistry and there could be a romance brewing, but he barely knows the guy. Perhaps he couldn’t stomach the idea of watching what happened to him happen to someone else. It was a chance to stop the sort of thing he was previously powerless to prevent. I could buy that well enough, but it barely felt earned. However, it fits the tone of the rest of the episode which was one of over the top romance and drama, so I digress. Around here, fun is king and fun I had. It didn’t matter that I didn’t fully understand people’s motivations. There’s plenty of time for that in the future.

The episode ends with the Doctor sending Rogues ship to orbit the moon until it can be retrieved again (or until the moon hatches like an egg, whichever comes first). He wants to move on, but Ruby won't let him until he takes a moment to feel his feelings. This is classic Doctor/companion stuff. The Doctor has always benefited from having humans around and I am glad they took a moment to reestablish that. The Doctor pulls out Rogue's ring from the proposal and slides it onto his pinky finger. Fans of Amy and Rory will recall that rings can be used to find lost lovers, so there's a seed of hope there. It was a fitting end to an emotional and exciting episode. I got to watch the Doctor and Ruby do Regency Era dances to covers of Lady Gaga and Billie Eilish. I got to see Indira Varma hunt people while dressed as a bird. This wasn’t just my favourite episode of the season, it may be one of my favourite episodes ever.

________________________________________

Before I go, I wanted to apologise for how long this article took me to write. I’ve been dealing with some pretty heavy depression as of late, and it’s been hard to write these last couple of reviews. Even though I enjoyed both episodes quite a bit, it’s been a struggle. Despite episodes dropping at midnight on Saturday now, I don’t usually get around to writing until Sunday or Monday. But I didn’t get any good work done on this article until Monday evening. These articles are actually very therapeutic for me. It feels like a lifeline to the outside world. You may not think it, but I read every comment and every hashtag. I appreciate them all. Thank you for taking the time to read my stuff. It means a lot.

[seoulmatez]

୨♡୧ NABI (나비) — a caterpillar leaves the protection of its cocoon and blossoms into a butterfly.

pairing. tsukishima kei x reader.

info & warnings. 6.3k wc, art students tsukki & reader, fluff, mutual pining, self-doubt on reader’s end (regarding skill).

note. inspired by the kdrama nevertheless! i also have a playlist if you'd like to listen while or after reading :) enjoy~

you blink at the sculpture situated in your workspace. unsurprisingly, its cold, inanimate eyes only stare back at you. the lack of response, though anticipated, draws a bitter laugh from your lungs. other than the fact that it’s unfinished, there’s something wrong with the piece in front of you. you’ve known it and your professor made that much clear during her class evaluations today.

what are you trying to convey? it feels empty. you aren’t showcasing your true potential.

by the time she had moved on to check the progress of the next student’s work, you felt as empty as she claimed your piece was. and, even though you didn’t have high expectations, the criticism hurt. your classmates must have been able to tell, too, because as soon as class was dismissed, they crowded around you with apologies for the harshness you faced and extended words of encouragement to help get you through the upcoming stages of the project. you thanked them, of course, but none of their words truly got through to you. you wouldn’t be standing here trying to figure out what had gone wrong or what was missing if they had.

“hey.” you jump at the sound of a voice several feet away. for the first time since class ended, you tear your eyes away from the source of your sorrows. it’s strange—you don’t think it shouldn’t be possible for your mood to shift so quickly, but the sight of a certain someone always seems to lift your spirits.

“hey yourself,” you greet tsukishima with a smile. it graces your lips naturally—isn’t strained or forced like it would be for anyone else in this moment.

heavy footsteps echo throughout the large studio as the man makes his way toward you. instinctively, his gaze falls to the idle figure before you. he inspects the sculpted model while speaking. “still working? i can get lunch alone if you’re busy.”

you shake your head and quickly snatch up the clear trash bag that you use to store your work. it’s transparent, sure, but you don’t want tsukki of all people scrutinizing your work. the bag crinkles loudly as you carefully place it over the sculpture in a poor attempt to keep it hidden from your companion.

“nope! i’m done for the day,” you assure him. your spectacle of storing the sculpture has the opposite of your intended effect, as tsukki’s golden eyes slowly pass between you and it. eventually, his stare lands and stays on you. it’s intense and you almost cower under it but you’ve known him long enough to know that, despite it looking like it, there’s no intimidation behind his eyes. you clear your throat, wiping your sweaty, clay-stained palms on the pants of your coveralls.

“where should we eat?”

after a lunch consisting of pre-packaged sandwiches and bottled water, the two of you decide that since you both have time before your next classes, you can spend it at the campus arboretum. you don’t find yourself here often, but tsukki leads you to a bench he frequents whenever he has downtime. you drop your bag on the edge of the seat before plopping down yourself. your companion joins you, albeit, a lot more gracefully.

it’s nice here, you decide, peaceful even. the scent of freshly mowed grass wafts through the air. it’s dewy, too—the sprinklers must have been at work earlier, sometime in the morning. if you looked hard enough at the patches of sunlight, you might have been able to see the little droplets of moisture sticking to the tips of the individual blades.

“how’d your evaluation go?” tsukki’s voice cuts through the silence.

damn it. you were hoping that minuscule detail you had shared would slip the blonde’s mind but that might as well have been an impossible ask of tsukishima. every piece of information he comes across is stored away in the neatly organized archive that is his brain. it can be useful at times; like when you seek him out to help you study or when you’re having trouble trying to remember the name of the ice cream shop you want to drag him to. other times, though, you consider it a curse; like when you attempt to cheat at board games or when you take a crack at convincing him that it’s his turn to pay even though it’s definitely yours. now, in this moment, his incredible memory has come back to bite you.

you exhale a breath that’s meant to be a soft sigh but comes out as more of a burdened huff. you don’t want to lie to him, but even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to. you’re as much as a glass wall to tsukki—he can see right through you without even trying. you keep your reply short and leave out the humiliating scene your professor put you through. “could have been better. i’ll figure everything out soon enough.”

“do you need help?” he asks, staring at the ground.

the laugh you let out causes tsukishima’s head to turn in your direction. his brows are knit together in confusion. another huff of laughter passes your lips before you wave your hand in dismissal. it’s not that you’re above his help, rather, it’s the fact that he even offered. you don’t put kind gestures past him—he can be nice when he wants to—but his concern catches you off guard. “thanks, but no thanks. i don’t want to distract you from your own projects. besides, i have it covered.”

“if you say so.” he doesn’t press because it’s clear you don’t want him to. though, a small part of him can’t help but feel that something is bothering you more than you’re letting on.

a comfortable silence blankets the two of you as you sit and enjoy the scenery. you hold your arm up to check the time on the watch strapped around your wrist. there’s half an hour until you need to get to your last class of the day. usually, you’d be itching to find something to do, something to keep you busy. sitting around and doing nothing isn’t productive and you find it to be quite boring. but this leisure time today doesn’t feel like that. it’s welcome and you’re truly enjoying it.

just as you’re about to lower your arm back to its place at your side, a set of deep-colored wings—maybe blue or purple—catches your eye. the wings flutter towards you, slowing with their approach to your hand. there are a few more languid flaps as the butterfly comes to rest on your finger. unconsciously, a smile pulls at the corners of your lips.

tsukki watches you watch the butterfly. the smile you’re wearing now is different than the ones he’s become familiar with. this one is more relaxed; your lips don’t expose your teeth like they would if you were posing for a picture. this one is calm; he can’t see the inside of your mouth like he’d be able to if you were laughing over something you found funny—funnier than it actually was. but this particular smile does share something with the others; it makes his heart feel weightless in his chest.

he clears his throat and asks, “do you like them?”

you cast him a curious glance before turning back to the insect perched on your finger. that alone, he thinks, is enough to consider an answer. still, he elaborates. “butterflies. do you like them?”

you hum in both understanding and confirmation, nodding your head to tell him yes.

“why?” he follows up.

“i guess i’ve never really thought about it,” you softly laugh. your exhale must have disturbed the butterfly because its wings pick up that rapid flutter, carrying it away into the air. you watch it go, fly with the wind, until it’s out of your sight. tsukki’s question resurfaces as you tuck your hands under your thighs. you ponder over it for a moment while you stare up at the sky. as far as you can see, it’s boundless. the butterfly that had just left you could be anywhere in the vastness of the cloudy blue canvas by now. “i like them because they’re pretty… and free.”

there’s a strange expression on your face when tsukishima looks back over at you, one that doesn’t match the lightheartedness of your words.

you look envious.

• • •

these days, it’s rare for you to be the first to the destination when you plan to meet with tsukishima. it’s become a habit for you to show up after him and on the occasion that you’re taking too long for his liking, he’ll come and get you from the studio himself. you’ve broken the trend today, though, choosing to drop the extra work you assigned yourself in favor of grabbing coffee with tsukki. you were sure that your brain would explode and leak out of your ears if you spent even a second longer analyzing the cursed sculpture.

“is it rude to start my drink if he isn’t here yet?” you mumble to yourself, chin resting on your crossed arms that lay on the table. the cup dripping with condensation on top of the white square napkin has monopolized your attention since you had set it down. on the other side of the surface sits tsukki’s usual iced americano. it’s the only thing keeping you from taking a sip of the beverage in front of you. you’ve come to notice that whenever tsukki is in situations like these, ones where he’s left waiting for you, he orders for you both and doesn’t lay a finger on his meal or snack or drink until you arrive.

it’s those consistent gestures that push you toward your decision; as long as his is untouched, yours will be, too.

you want to give yourself a pat on the back for resisting temptation and choosing to be considerate but the scraping that accompanies the drag of a chair stops you from doing so. you squeeze your eyes shut and shiver at the unpleasant noise. a chuckle sounds from across the table, leading you to open your eyes. there’s an amused grin on tsukki’s face that brings a frown to yours.

“that’s the thanks i get for treating you?” you mumble, aimlessly swirling the ice cubes of your drink around with your straw.

he raises his cup with his words, “thank you.” soft pink lips wrap around the clear plastic straw and you watch as the dark liquid travels up the cylinder. it draws your eye to the rest of his face—his honey eyes occupied with the passing pedestrians outside the shop, his buttery blonde hair tickling the top of his black and gold browline style glasses, the speck of dried green paint staining his otherwise unblemished skin.

your lips wobble in an effort to hold back your laugh but a short giggle makes it past despite your struggle to hold it in. tsukki’s eyes fall on you. a grin he knows all too well, one that means nothing but trouble, plays at your lips. “what?”

you tap your cheek, the same spot where the paint was splattered on his. “you have a bit of paint on your face.”

the man clicks his tongue in annoyance—at himself, not you. he’s normally better about making sure he’s cleaned up after class but today some of the paint he was working with must have splashed up while he was washing his palette. he sets his drink down before bringing his thumb up to wipe the dot away. it swipes over his cheek but the green doesn’t disappear.

“here,” you speak up upon seeing that his motion was unsuccessful in removing the blotch. you lean across the table so that you’re closer to him, within arms reach. your index finger pokes out to gently scratch off the fleck of paint. it lingers for a moment—your finger that now has a green spot under the nail—as you scan the rest of tsukki’s face. a close look that you’ve never been warranted before reveals a sprinkle of light freckles that dot his nose and sparsely spread to his cheeks. you’re not sure why, but your eyes flit up to his. and he’s looking right back at you. in this proximity, you can pick out flakes of gold like crushed foil sheets floating in the pools of honey.

you snatch your hand back when you realize you’ve been staring. with a fist over your mouth, you clear your throat in hopes that the tension you’ve created will dissolve with whatever’s stuck in your pharynx. what on earth possessed me to do that? you berate yourself, choosing to look at your drink instead of tsukki. if you kept your eyes on him, you would have seen that he was feeling just as bashful as you. the tips of his ears burn a blistering red and he’s also avoiding your gaze.

you discreetly shake your head in an attempt to physically rid your brain of any thoughts that have to do with being so close to tsukishima. they aren’t unpleasant but they are the last thing you should be concerned with considering how badly your sculpture is progressing. you sit up at the reminder. it’s a perfect excuse to move on from the awkwardness between you. “i guess that means your painting is going well.”

tsukki nods. “i finished it today.”

“really?” your voice squeaks and you pat your chest to regain your composure. while both of you are art students, you specialize in different mediums. despite this, you’ve always made an effort to keep up with tsukki’s assignments and the schedule he’s given. “don’t you still have a week until it’s due?”

“yeah. i didn’t need all the time allotted.”

you’re torn. on one hand, you’re amazed by tsukishima’s efficiency—you have been since the two of you were first introduced to each other. despite how fast he works, he consistently produces exceptional pieces. he’s a skilled artist who will have no trouble finding success after graduation. though, as proud as you are of him, you can never seem to bury the part of you that craves what he has—his competence, his speed, his talent. you don’t want to doubt and reconsider each move your hands make. you don’t want to constantly feel the weight of a deadline on your shoulders. you don’t want to question whether or not you’re cut out for this field.

your sudden silence doesn’t go unnoticed by the blonde but he has no intention of pressuring you into telling him what you’re thinking about. though, he has an inkling that it might be about the sculpture that’s been giving you trouble. all the conversations you have with him are normal until any mention of your project comes up. tsukishima isn’t one to pry and the last thing he wants is to agitate you by bringing it up, but he’s at war with himself. could he call himself a good friend if he were to stand idly by when you needed him?

before he has the chance to ask if something’s wrong, a soft smile makes its way to your face. it’s almost as though the bout of quiet was nothing more than tsukki’s imagination. he knows that isn’t the case, but maybe this is your way of telling him that you aren’t quite ready to disclose what’s bothering you. so, he licks his lips and bites his tongue.

it’s difficult, but you force yourself to set all of your coveting feelings aside. there’s something else you’re curious about, anyway. “since you wrapped that up early, what are you going to do with your free time in class?”

“i think i’m going to start a personal project,” tsukki replies, mindlessly tapping at the cup in front of him with his finger.

“oh yeah? what is it? another painting?”

“it’s a secret.” the words alone are enough to make your lips part in surprise; tsukki always tells you what he’s working on. even more surprising is what he does next. across from you, tsukki gestures locking his lips and tossing the key over his shoulder, all while sporting a smile.

you laugh. it’s breathy and laced with disbelief but the humor is still there. in the two years you’ve known tsukki, he’s never proven to be someone who jokes. he’s sarcastic, that’s for sure, but rarely a guy who goes out of his way to make others laugh. it’s new and it’s different but in this moment, his jesting is refreshing.

tsukki’s just happy to have cheered you up, even if it’s only a little bit.

• • •

another crumpled paper misses the waste bin next to your workstation. the sound of it hitting the floor seems to echo throughout the empty, silent studio. class ended hours ago and all of your peers had filed out then but you’ve been anchored to your seat since dismissal. the sun is setting now, dipping below the horizon. its dimming rays flood the room with a warm yellow. the quiet and setting sun should make for the perfect working environment but they don’t. the silence is suffocating and despite the patches of golden sunlight peeking in through the windows, you’re cold.

the stool you’re sitting on creaks as you swivel to face your creation. time has passed since your first evaluation and you’ve made additions and alterations to your sculpture but every time you look at it for a second too long, you’re filled with distaste. it’s clear that you’ve made visible progress on the piece but you have yet to figure out what more you can pour into it—yet to answer your professor’s question. the missing piece is beginning to piss you off.

your lips quiver and tears prick at your eyes. how pathetic, you think, crying over something like this. but the tears trickling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin aren’t ones brought on by sadness. they’re a byproduct of your frustration. you’re frustrated because something you’re supposed to love doing is giving you so much hardship, causing you so much stress that you’d rather destroy it than continue wasting time trying to find out what’s wrong with it. you want to scream at the top of your lungs. you want to shove this poor excuse of a sculpture over and watch it shatter into little pieces, listen to it crack and break.

maybe that would give you some peace of mind.

the buzzing of your phone against the desk it’s resting on distracts you from your destructive thoughts. you consider leaving it alone and letting it ring but the rational side of you is shouting to answer it. who knows what you’ll get up to if you ignore it.

the vibrations continue as you wipe away your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. your vision is still bleary but you can make out tsukishima’s contact name and photo. you don’t want him to hear that you’ve been crying but you know he’ll go out of his way to come here and check on you if you don’t pick up. it’s easier to hide your emotions over than phone than it is in person. so, with a resolute sniffle, you swipe the green phone icon to the right.

“hello?” your voice comes out more steady than you thought it would.

“hey.” tsukki doesn’t seem to notice the slight falter in your tone. you close your eyes in relief. “are you on your way?”

your eyebrows furrow at his question. were you supposed to be meeting him somewhere? “on my way where?”

“the movie theater.” his words take a moment to register but as soon as they do, you gasp.

“oh my god, i completely forgot.” you slap a hand to your cheek. you were the one who suggested going to see a movie tonight and you unintentionally stood tsukki up. you wonder how you’re capable of forgetting the plans you made but the answer is obvious and it’s right behind you. that damned sculpture. “i’m so sorry, tsukki. i’ll pay you back for the tickets.”

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” his response leaves no room for argument. you’ve come to learn that fighting over matters like these with him is useless; he’ll always win. so, instead, you sigh in defeat.

“are you still on campus?” he asks. you almost laugh. are you really that predictable?

you hum, spinning around to look at your piece. your head tilts to the right as your eyes follow the figure up from its head and down to its feet. you thoughtfully chew your lower lip. seeking out help has never been a strong suit of yours but the fact that tsukki called in the middle of your mini freak-out must have been the universe’s way of telling you to swallow your pride. maybe a fresh perspective would help get you through this slump. “actually, can i ask you for a favor?”

“ask away.”

“can you help me refresh on dynamic anatomy? something’s off with my sculpture and i think it might be the proportions.”

“sure,” his answer comes a lot quicker than you expect it to, especially considering how easily you forgot about the movie you had planned this evening. though, it shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise. tsukki doesn’t hold grudges—not with you, at least—and he even offered his help after hearing about your nightmare of an evaluation. “when should we meet?”

you’re inclined to say right now but you stop yourself. it would be rude to take the time that was once set aside for a fun outing and use it to research instead. “tomorrow night if you’re free. we can study at mine.”

“i’ll be there.”

• • •

the scratch of your pencil against the white sheet of paper along with the continuous hum of your air conditioner are the only noises that fill your room. tsukishima isn’t one for meaningless chatter and usually you wouldn’t mind but right now his silence makes you feel as though he’s staring you down like a hawk. you can’t be sure of how long it’s been since you started but you do know that it has felt like an eternity. your hand is beginning to cramp and the dull throb in your skull is a warning of an oncoming headache. you toss the pad of paper onto the empty spot of your mattress between you and tsukki. your head meets your pillow with a groan as you squeeze your eyes shut.

tsukki looks up from his textbook to inspect your work. the stretched arm sketched out on the page of your notebook is perfect, practiced, and the opposite of what he’d expect of someone who needed his guidance. he has a sneaking suspicion that the so-called “something wrong” with your project is nothing more than a product of your overthinking. still, he doesn’t enjoy seeing you this stressed.

“do you want to take a break?” tsukki suggests. his book closes with a thump. he peers down at you, patiently waiting for your reply.

you nod, eyes still shut. with your thumb and index finger, you create the smallest gap that you can without looking. “just a short one.”

the stillness that characterized the room a few minutes ago returns. tsukki glances over your figure; you’re resting comfortably, head denting your fluffy pillow, hands joined on your tummy. it’s nice to see you in such a pleasant state. the blonde was beginning the think he’d have to get used to seeing you with a crease between your eyebrows and a frown on your face. he knows the contentment you’re feeling now won’t last forever, but he can at least try to prolong it. he rakes a hand through his hair and shakes it as though the action will dispel the unusual jitters coursing through him. “would you like to see what i’ve been working on?”

you shoot up so quickly that your visions spots. a few rapid blinks are enough to solve your problem. with a turn of your head, tsukki appears before you. “you have it with you? it’s done?”

he simply nods.

“yes, i wanna see it!” you practically shout at him as though your answer should be obvious. and, to you, it should be. there’s never been a time when you weren’t bursting at the seams with excitement to see one of tsukki’s pieces. you reach out and grab his arm, squeezing his bicep eagerly. “show me.”

after prying your fingers off from around his arm, tsukki’s hand disappears into the side of his backpack. whatever he’s looking for doesn’t evade him for long because it only takes him a couple seconds to straighten back up with the item in his hold. he sets something in front of you, something you can’t say you were expecting. it’s a box—a small, white, plain box.

you eye the container suspiciously before facing your friend. “this… doesn’t look like a painting to me. or a drawing, at that.”

“just open it,” he urges you with a light nudge to your shoulder. you don’t miss the way the corners of his lips twitch into a smile.

you snicker at his veiled annoyance while picking up the thin, rectangular box. the lid is snug and you have to shimmy it a bit to remove it from the rest of the case. your labor reveals a piece of jewelry. hanging from a dainty chain is a butterfly charm. its wings up top are blue and the set on the bottom are purple. they’re similar to those of the butterfly you saw in the arboretum but the colors are lighter and more translucent—much softer.

“a necklace?” you question, carefully taking the adornment out of its box. the pendant sways like a pendulum with your movement and your gaze follows it back and forth. “who’s it for?”

the gentle swinging stops when tsukki’s hand stretches out to take the necklace from you. you’re taken aback and the tiniest bit wounded by his indirect answer. he doesn’t give you any time to dwell on the matter because it only takes a second for him to unclasp the metal fastener and bring the necklace around your throat. the pendant sits cozily against your jugular notch as tsukki clips the latch back in place. a set of large hands come to rest on your shoulders and they gingerly turn you towards the mirror in front of your bed.

“it’s for you,” tsukki speaks, letting his hands fall back to his sides. he observes your countenance in the reflection of the mirror in hopes of reading your reaction, though, you’re too occupied staring at the necklace. the expression you wear is calm, but tsukishima can pick up on that same sparkle in your eyes—the one from the day when he decided to make the piece of jewelry for you, the envious one.

“pretty,” you whisper.

you said that then, too, that they were pretty. that wasn’t the only thing he recalled you saying you liked about butterflies. “you should take notes from them.”

without looking up, you huff out a laugh. “are you saying i’m ugly?”

“no, you’re plenty pretty,” tsukki clears up his previous statement. you were joking with him but his clarification leads you to meet his eye in the mirror. as easily as his statement was delivered, there’s a troubled line between his brows. “i just mean… can i offer you some advice?”

others might view tsukki as a serious person, but you rarely see that side of him. his hardened, golden eyes harbor a sense of urgency behind them. you hold his stare and curtly nod in a gesture for him to continue.

“about your sculpture,” he starts, a hand reaching back to scratch his neck. he knows his words are necessary, knows that you need to hear them, but he finds that there’s something strange about him giving you guidance. he isn’t one to instruct or give his opinion in most situations but yours is a special case. you’re special. “you’re thinking too technically about things. nothing’s wrong with it; you just haven’t found a piece of you to put into it yet. free yourself from the confines of expectation and start to think about what you want to express through your sculpture.”

tsukki left you with his input at least a couple hours ago but as you lay in bed, it still feels like he’s beside you. his cologne lingers on your sheets—cedar and grapefruit; the one you got him for his birthday last year. you close your eyes and inhale deeply. a wave of serenity washes over you as you take in the fragrance.

your pointer finger traces the shape of the butterfly pendant resting between the dip in your collarbone. tsukki’s words echo in your head. you haven’t found a piece of you to put into it yet. is that really the solution to your problem? would that satisfy your professor? will it satisfy you?

there’s no way of knowing unless you try. and, luckily for you, your new necklace has given you the perfect idea of what to express through your piece.

• • •

for the first time since you’ve started working on your sculpture, you’re happy, excited even. the sense of dread that used to suffocate you whenever you looked at your project disappeared the day after your chat with tsukki. you spent the entire night thinking about what you could do to give the cold, bare figure some character in your likeness. it came easier than you ever thought it would and that’s all thanks to tsukishima. without him and his help, you were on track to turn in an assignment you absolutely hated and was sure to earn a mediocre grade at best.

for the past week and a half, you’ve devoted just as much time to the sculpture as you did when it was nothing more than an ugly reminder of your shortcomings—but this time around, you aren’t searching for something to fix. you’re adapting it—changing its expression, adjusting its pose, adding elements you wouldn’t have even considered without tsukki giving you a helping hand. you don’t end up scrapping anything but by the time you’ve put on the finishing touches, it feels like a completely new piece—one that you’re proud of.

you can’t wait to show tsukki.

it’s the day before your project is due and, surprisingly, you leave class on time. now that your sculpture is finished entirely, there’s no reason for you to stick around in the building until the sky is dark and the moon and stars start their shift. you do have one more order of business in the studio before you call it a day, though, and he should be departing from his own class right about now.

right on cue, a crowd of students pushes past the doors to the lecture hall you’re waiting outside of. tsukki is easy to pick out amongst the rest and you wave him over as soon as he catches sight of you.

“hey! ready to see it?” you ask as your companion approaches.

he can practically see the excitement radiating off of you. you’re beaming and bouncing on the balls of your feet. the show of enthusiasm brings a smile to tsukki’s face. he jerks his head in the direction of your building, “lead the way.”

you turn on your heel to begin your journey and tsukki follows. the weather is nice today—the sun is out but it’s not too hot and there’s a cool breeze in the air. you’re already in a good mood but the environment seems to elevate it even more. so much so that you almost forget something you planned this morning.

“oh!” you stop in your tracks. tsukki almost bumps into you but catches himself before he does. luckily you’re just outside your destination so it’s not too late to go through with your little arrangement. you sling your bag to the side and dig around it until you find the object you hurriedly stuffed in it hours earlier. tsukki’s beside you now and you can feel him staring down at you. you spin to look at him and hold out the item. “here. put this on.”

he eyes your outstretched hand with a humored snort. “you brought your sleep mask from home?”

“just put it on or you’ll ruin the big reveal.” you shove the koala bear eye mask into his chest, holding it there until his hand comes up to take it. tsukki has always had a hard time saying no to you and now is no different—especially with how happy you are. how could he deny you of this? with that thought, tsukki takes the fluffy grey eye cover and situates it on the upper half of his face. a few pieces of his sandy blonde hair stick up haphazardly due to the elastic band. you giggle at the sight.

“i’ll guide you, give me your hand,” you instruct him, wiggling your fingers despite the fact that he can’t see you. he holds his palm up and you take it, intertwining your fingers with his and tugging him behind you. his hand is warm and a lot softer than you expected it would be. holding it with yours feels normal… and right. you struggle to fight the growing smile on your face as you lead tsukki through your building.

there are a few turns and a flight of stairs but, thankfully, you’re able to get him to the studio without much trouble. when you pass the threshold that is the door, you swear you can feel your heart rate pick up. the organ threatens to jump into your throat with each step you take towards your sculpture. once there’s a considerable gap between you and your piece, you pull on tsukki’s hand to stop him.

“are we here?” he asks.

“yeah.” at your word, he moves to take the animal-themed cover off his face. the movement makes you panic.

“wait!” you yell, snatching his hands away and holding them in yours. tsukki’s eyes aren’t visible but you’re sure they would have widened in surprise at your abrupt outburst. hell, you’re even caught off guard by the turn of events. less than five minutes ago you were about ready to explode with excitement at the mere thought of finally showing tsukki your project. you aren’t sure where this sudden bout of fear came from.

you look over your shoulder to the fruits of your labor. just seeing it swells you with a sense of pride. it reminds you of how far you’ve come and tsukki’s the one who helped get you to this point. there’s nothing for you to be afraid of. taking a deep breath, you release tsukki’s hands and step to the side. “okay,” you nod, “you can look.”

slowly, tsukki reaches up to remove his blindfold.

it’s much different than the little peek he got of it before you hid it from him that handful of weeks ago. he expected as much but it’s more than clear that you took his advice to heart. it takes as little as a quick glance to tell that you found exactly what you thought was worth expressing in it. and tsukki thinks that the message you chose to share is fitting.

the expression on the face of your statue conveys a mixture of emotions. the furrow in its brows isn’t one of confusion or anger, it’s one of strain and trouble. the lips are parted, not in surprise or shock, but in struggle. its countenance is apprehensive yet hopeful. further down the body, the sculpture isn’t as bare. there’s foliage—lianas—at its feet that travel up its legs, roping them in and rooting them to the ground—trapping them where they stand. the right one is positioned mid-step and beginning to break free from the vines wrapped around it. the arm on the same side is stretched out in reach of something and its fingers are bent—almost as if the figure is attempting to grasp whatever it’s chasing.

a look to the left reveals what the sculpture is after—a swarm of colorful butterflies.

your eyes flit over to tsukki who hasn’t spoken a word. his amber irises are honed in on your project and you can’t tell what’s swimming behind them. his quiet plants a seed of uncertainty within you but you don’t give it a chance to sprout, don’t allow it any sunlight or water to blossom. you’re tired of questioning yourself and your abilities. this project is physical proof that you’ve grown—enough so that you know your worth as an artist isn’t dependent on anyone else’s opinion. still, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about what tsukki thought. he was more helpful than anyone throughout this entire process.

“so…” your voice slices through the silence. “what do you think?”

for the first time since taking off the silly sleep mask you had given him to put on, tsukki looks at you. and this time around, his face shows exactly what he’s thinking. the corners of his eyes crinkle with the smile he wears. it’s a rare one—not sarcastic or half-hearted or the mere upward tug of his lips. “i think it’s amazing. good job, you.”

his empty hand comes up to ruffle the hair atop your head. any other time you’d playfully scold him for so carelessly ruining your appearance but all you can do in this moment is smile in return. there’s a different kind of affection behind his familiar action—one that tells you he’s proud of you. with his hand still resting on your head, tsukki asks, “how do you feel now that it’s done?”

you look to your sculpture. instinctively, your hand reaches up to the butterfly hanging from your neck. upon touching it, your answer comes instantly.

“free.”

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

[gnrbitch]

Does she have alcohol? pt2

warnings: None!

(Contraband is the name of Y/ns band btw!)

a/n: Album name (choose whichever album you want!)

——

Los Angeles, California

Y/n and her band mates never kept the promise of hanging out with Slash, being too busy doing shows around the US and promoting their record.

Contrabands album, a/n had exploded in the months after its release. So that means Slash was seeing Y/ns face everywhere he went, making quite difficult for the guitarist to shake her off his mind.

And Slash was annoyed, not at the fact that Y/ns band got famous, he frankly didn’t care. He was annoyed at the fact that everyone else was able to come across her, except for him.

I mean how was that even possible? He thought to himself as he looked at a magazine with a photo of Lars and Y/n. Had she forgotten about him? Or did she just think he was weird? Slash thought. Maybe he just wasn’t as lucky, or maybe, he should’ve just asked Lenny for her phone number when they were at the studio.

~

The club was dark, Slash didn’t even know why he was here to be honest. Well he did, Duff had offered to pay for his drinks if he went out with them. So there they were Slash, Duff, Matt and Gilby sitting in a booth drinking. Obviously the other boys had some girl under their arms, but not Slash, he had just broken up with Renee in hopes that he would come across Y/n and finally be able to take her out. And he really didn’t have any interest in another girl if it wasn’t Y/n.

“Look who it is!” A male voice called out. Slash looked up from his drink to see James standing there along with all the other guys from Metallica… and the guys from Contraband. “Hey man!” Duff said “…Hey aren’t you the guys from Contraband?” he continued drunkly pointing at Sydney, Sammi, Benny and Mikey. “Yea man, we are” Sammi said, also pretty drunk. “Well shit! I love the record guys” He laughed.

“Sit down man” Slash spoke to the guys, now internally panicking at the fact Y/n might be here. Do I smell bad? Do I look good? Is my hair greasy? When was the last time I showered?

“Yea man let me just- hold on” “Y/N OVER HERE!” Sammi yelled to the bar. Slash had never turned his head so fast in his life.

And there she was, drink in her hand, flared leather pants, and a muscle shirt on. And the closer she got to them, he noticed she didn’t have a bra on. And he felt hot.

“Hey guys, i’m Y/n” she said, giving that pretty smile that had been in Slash’s head. She walked over to Slash’s side of the booth and sat next to him.

“Hey Slash” she said, putting the same emphasis on his name like she did the last time. “How have you been?” She said, leaning over so he can hear over the music. Slash smiled, letting his eyes roam her face before answering. “I’ve been good”, his eyes landing on Y/ns lips. “Even better since i’ve been seeing your face everywhere”

This made Y/n smile, which made Slash smile, cause god he loved to see her smile. “So seeing me on a magazine is better than the real thing? i’ve got to say im offended Slash.” Y/n said, giving him an overly exaggerated offended look on her face, obviously trying to hide her smile. Slash licked his lips before responding “See i didn’t say all that, maybe if I knew where to find you I could’ve seen ‘the real thing’.”

“um… do you guys know each other?” Gilby asked suspiciously looking at the pair, this was the preppiest he’s seen Slash in months.

“Oh yea we go wayyyyyy back” Y/n said with a teasing smile, looking over at Slash. “No way! how come i’ve never heard of this lady then man?” Duff said with a drunkly look on his face.

“She’s just fucking with you Duff” Slash responded, “We met when I went to New York to work with Lenny.” Duff and Gilby gave them a little “ohh” , and Slash’s attention was right back on Y/n.

“Where to find me? I’m every where baby” Y/n purred, answering his response from before. “Comon Y/nn, don’t make this hard on me” Slash said giving her a pleading look. Y/n smiled “Fine. Just for you though”. She took out a lip liner from her bag and grabbed a napkin, writing her number on it.

“Call me tomorrow morning” she said handing Slash the paper. “Why tomorrow morning?” He asked, finding it weird that she wants him to call her at such a specific time.

Y/n smiled, “Cause I wanna talk to you, obviously”

Slash looked over her face again, happy with her response.

——

Here’s part 2!!! hope you guys liked it 💟

[kindheart525]

To most, Lyra and Bon Bon’s basement was a garbage dump, dirty and unfurnished except for one small, tattered couch in the corner. It served no purpose except as a place for storage, littered with boxes and assorted equipment, some of which hadn’t been touched in years.

But to Flurry Heart, Blueberry Sticks, and Red Cedar, it was so much more than that. This crappy old basement was a place where ideas were born and brought to life, where they could release their creative energy and make music in a place where nobody would bother them. It wasn’t a real studio, but it was the best they had. It was also a place where they could just hang out and talk about life, which they were doing now after just finishing another round of practice.

Flurry sank into the old tattered couch next to Cedar.

“That’s a wrap! I think we finally got it down today. Maybe Luster will get off my ass about it being off-key now.”

Blueberry chuckled as she settled on the ground below them both, stretching out her legs to relax a little after a long day of practice. 

"I like Luster and all, but she can be a pain in the neck sometimes can't she? She reminds me of that one bitch-" 

Cedar interjected right away, her nose crinkling up in irritation. 

"You mean that one mare. I think she was just thoughtful, she cared about you. And so does Luster!" 

This fell on deaf ears, of course. 

"I know a lot about being thoughtful. I don't just get licks in on...on the uh...the snare drum." 

The awkward attempt at a innuendo ended with a cough and a nudge into Flurry’s leg.

Flurry scoffed, humoring her.

“Don’t we know it. You wouldn’t shut up about getting Peach Rings AND Patty Cake in your bed! You’re not special for getting two sisters to play your drums.”

A sly grin spread across her face.

“Jeweled Steps is more of an accomplishment anyway. Do you know how long it took till she agreed to pluck my strings?”

Blueberry gasped at the mention of Jewel and sat up, putting her arm to her chest and turning up her nose. When she spoke, she put on a snooty Canterlot accent and swayed her body side to side seductively. 

At this point, Cedar had shoved her face into the couch to try and block it out. 

"Ooou Flurrence Sparkleglitter Heart, how I dooooo miss your charms! They don't call me Strawberry Essence for nothing you know! I thought my sweet juices-" 

This was when Cedar blew her top. She clasped her arms around Blueberry’s mouth and began to speak over her. 

"I personally think we shouldn't be talking about these mares this way! They trusted you to do a very personal and intimate act! I would never do anything like that."

“You won’t even look at a stallion before he pops out a ring! Let alone-“

Flurry gasped mockingly.

“THINK about kissing him! So what authority do you have to tell us how to have a one night stand?”

Cedar scowled at her as she spit out a rebuttal.

“That’s not true! I’m just waiting for the right time! I know how to actually savor something special instead of treating it like a game like you do!”

Once Cedar was through ruining the mood as per usual, Blueberry, who was much less affected than Flurry, simply shrugged. 

"I don't know, you might meet some stallion you REALLY can't resist! Pre-marital eye contact worthy, even!"

~~~~~~~~~~

Next: Slow Talkin'

[zerolostwalks]

"hold my hand" "absolutely not" "they'll think somethings wrong if you don't" *grabs hand and kisses cheek* / sweet tarts

“Do you need a job?” 

Reggie startled ever so slightly, trying his best to hide it by sitting up from the lounging position he was in while reading his book. Once up he found an aggravated Carrie standing in the doorway of the studio. 

“Are you talking to me?” He asked, looking around knowing full well he was the only one here. Everyone else had gotten pulled into various family holiday events. Even Luke and his mom had managed to reach a sort of compromise for the season. 

“Is there anyone else here?” She said again before releasing a long exhale disguised as a groan, “Anyway, did you need a job or not?”

“A job” He couldn’t help repeating the question, one of his eyebrows rising against his better judgment. 

“Ok, so it’s barely a job.” She said weight shifting as she adjusted her feet with her eye roll. Her gaze shifted away from him, examining the room around them, eyes lingering on the many photos Flynn and Julie had plastered across the wall. “I really just need someone to come with me when I go to my mom’s for Christmas.”

“I’m sorry what?” He really didn’t mean to blurt out the question as fast as he did. Still blinking away the shock of the words he was hearing. Couldn’t recall her ever mentioning her mom before, or anyone for that matter. Though if he had to judge based on the way Carrie’s face scrunched up and how she shifted her feet again she wasn’t very comfortable with the topic. 

“My mom’s been trying to reconnect and make up for lost time.” She said, voice bordering on her peppy show tone. 

“I don’t know.”

“It would be just for a week and she lives incredibly close to some decent skiing. So you could think of it more like a little winter vacation if you’d like.” Carrie said, her voice never straying far from that peppy ‘sales pitch’ tone which did not ease any unease he had at the idea. 

“What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch.” She quickly said, disbelief written all over her face in the short seconds before managing to school her expression again. “Look, me and my family are even paying for everything. All you have to do is show up.”

He chewed over the idea, also chewing the inside of his bottom lip not really buying this perfect vacation she was trying to sell him on. There definitely had to be something she wasn’t telling him. Why him? Why not any of her other friends? 

On the other hand, it would be nice to have something to keep him out of his parents house that wouldn’t also have all his friends playing their usual ‘let’s help Reggie without him knowing it’ tactics. It might take them all a while to believe Carrie had randomly offered him what basically amounted to an all expenses paid ski trip out of nowhere. But weirder things had happened. 

“All right, when’s this trip?” He asked, trying not to be floored by Carrie’s unexpectedly bright, if short lived, smile. 

“We leave tomorrow.” She said digging her phone out of her purse and settling on the couch so close to him she‘d barely need to move to be in his lap. “Quick, give me your number so I can send you the details.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” He said fumbling for his phone, caught a little off guard by both her sudden proximity and the amount of shit he suddenly had to do before tomorrow. 

He barely registered everything she said about texting her his address to coordinate with her driver. Far too focused on mentally making his packing list, hoping he had enough clean clothes. Didn’t even question her when she suddenly pulled him in for a series of selfies, the first half dozen inadequate because he didn’t look happy enough. He doubted he ever looked happy enough, certain she just gave up, and resorted to using whatever filter for whatever app she was sure to be posting it to.

The next day didn’t fare much better for his nerves. Pleasantly surprised when she did in fact show up at his place several hours before the sun would even dare to be up so they could get to the airport on time. Too tired to enjoy the fact he got to sit in the slightly roomier business class, falling asleep before the even finished taking off. It was a rare direct flight too, so he wouldn’t get another chance until the flight home. 

Just as they passed security and into the throng of all the friends and family waiting, Carrie’s hand gripped his bicep tight pulling his attention to her as they walked. 

“Ok so, before we get too far there is something you need to know.” She said in a sort of half whisper, trying to not be overheard but still trying to be heard over the noise all around them. “I may have lied about there not being a catch.”

His heart clenched, he knew it was too good to be true, but more than that he felt more than a little betrayed. Did she seriously wait til he couldn’t escape to tell him what basically amounted to his side of the deal? He didn’t get the chance to call her out though, as soon a woman Reggie could describe as overly sparkly was rushing toward them with a big smile. 

“Carrie?” The woman said, throwing her arms around Carrie who had never looked so tense before.

“Aunt Debbie.” Carrie said through a forced grin, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“What nonsense.” Aunt Debbie said as she playfully slapped Carrie’s shoulder. “Of course we were going to pick you up, Richard’s keeping the car warm. Your mom would have come but she’s a little preoccupied.”

Aunt Debbie tried to do a little hand wave through the air, her vibrant nails looking more like talons than Reggie expected them to, clearly trying to dismiss or wave something away. The movement only seemed to make Carrie tense up more than she already was. Reggie didn’t get long to focus on that though as Aunt Debbie’s attention fell on him.

“Oh sorry, you must be..?”

“Oh, right, sorry. Aunt Debbie, this is Reggie.” Carrie said as Reggie extended his hand out to shake Debbie’s, all of the syllables he was going to use to greet her with however froze up in his throat as Carrie continued on. “My boyfriend I was telling you all about.”

“Ooooh well aren’t you handsome.” Debbie said, patting his, the sensation all he needed to know he wasn’t dreaming. “Well, we better hurry up before Rich gets too bored and does something foolish. Did you check anything?”

Debbie walked off after Carrie’s reassurances they only had carry-on’s. Reggie did not follow, forcing Carrie to double back for him, if she felt any guilt over the situation she had it hidden well under all the resigned exhaustion she wore.

“Your boyfriend?” 

“It’s only for the week.” 

“Carrie we’ve barely ever spoken to each other.” He said in lieu of saying how they could barely be called friends. 

“Please,” she said, surprising them both, though she recovered faster than he did. “Like I said it’s only for the week. We don’t even have to get all lovey-dovey with the pet names or overt PDA.”

“But why do they need to think I”m your boyfriend?”

Carrie quickly looked over her shoulder to where Aunt Debbie was impatiently looking like she was waiting patiently.  “I promise I’ll tell you later.”

He sighed, slowly resigning himself to the idea. His only other real options being telling everyone the truth and spending the next week uncomfortably awkward around strangers or trying to find some way to pay for a flight back home and leaving Carrie alone, by herself. “You owe me.”

She nodded as she painted on that winning showmanship smile of hers, “Of course, now hold my hand.”

“Absolutely not.” The words were out of his mouth faster than he intended, still too caught up in his own blindsided irritation. Her smile barely faltered, the slightest furrow of her brow.

“They’ll think somethings wrong if you don’t.”

He glanced toward Debbie who had definitely stopped trying to not look confused. He didn’t exactly trust his mouth at the moment, so he merely held out his hand towards Carrie. She grasped it in hers and pulled him down so she could quickly press a quick kiss to his cheek and whispering a quick “thank you” into his ear. 

He swallowed hard, an attempt to both unclog his throat of all the wrong words and to clear his head of the memory of her lips ghosting across the shell of his ear. This was going to be a more complicated week than if he had just stayed home.

[loverontheleft]

What Next? (Revised)

Original request: random idea but what about a one shot where B comes home early from tour to surprise the reader and he finds some smut fanfics reader has been reading. he pushes her about it till she tells him everything and he then does everything she told him about in one of the fics that got her off??

Brendon x reader

Warnings/keywords: language, dirty talk, toys, thigh-riding, public sex, condomless sex.

Word count: 4.6k➡️5.8k

-||-

“Honey, I’m hooo- oh my god, baby.” Brendon’s voice drops from a sing-songy pitch to low and throaty desire; you shriek and jerk your fingers away from your clit, rolling over with such intensity that your phone goes flying from your other hand. “Well, don’t stop on my account,” he murmurs, dropping his suitcase unceremoniously on the floor and crossing the room in long strides to crawl onto the bed and kiss you fiercely.

You return the kiss, tangling both hands in his hair and wrapping your legs around his waist. It only occurs to you after that your fingers are wet, and with your legs around his waist, you’re definitely staining his sweatpants. You know Brendon doesn’t mind though; he’s always said he loves having your wet pussy all over him. “You’re home,” you whisper against his lips. “You’re home early.” You cling to him, and you’re sure he can hear the giddiness in your voice. “How are you home early?”

“Believe it or not,” Brendon teases, “they value my opinions and desires. Something about it being my band and my tour? Anyway, I missed you. I wanted to be with you. So I—”

“Please tell me you didn’t skip a show.” You know you look horrified, and he shakes his head, chuckling.

“No, love. I don’t think I could’ve gotten away with that. No, I just switched some in-studio interviews for phone interviews, did two promo shoots in one day instead of two, and hopped on a flight three days early. Wanted to surprise you. And,” he nuzzles your ear, his fingers curving over your breasts and pausing to circle your nipples with his thumbs, “it would seem I did surprise you.”

You nod and laugh, blushing a little. “I’m so embarrassed,” you admit, and he grins, hand slipping lower.

“Don’t be embarrassed. The number of times I got myself off to photos of you just this past month…damn.” His eyes darken a little. “Wait. They were photos of me, weren't they—whatever you were looking at?” His voice has taken on a playfully jealous tone and you nod unconvincingly.

“Don’t lie, sweet baby,” Brendon warns with a grin, off of the bed now and searching for your phone on the floor. “Ah, here we are.” He finds it, types in your passcode, and braces himself for whatever he’s about to see.

“Bren—” you start, but he holds up a hand, eyes scanning back and forth.

“Love…why are you on tumblr? And what the hell is Brendon Urie smu— wait, is this—are you reading—porn about me?”

He stares at you, wide-eyed. “I have so many questions. First, what does…’y slash n’ mean?”

You blush furiously. “Your name.” He looks confused, and you clarify. “It stands for ‘your name.’ It’s so the reader can imagine you’re…you know…saying their name. While you do shit. It’s a whole thing. Imagines. Also, it’s not porn. It’s erotica.”

His eyes move over the screen, thumb scrolling as he reads aloud. “‘and he groans as you arch and move under him. “You like being held down and fucked hard, honey?” You gasp your answer and he nods. “Thought so. Your pussy, Jesus Christ, so fucking hot and wet and god, I just—I might come from—fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Brendon gasps when you come with a shrill moan, tightening around him. “Babygirl, making me come,” he mumbles into your shoulder before biting your neck as his hips snap forward repeatedly and you feel him coming, hard and fast.’”

“Well,” Brendon says, finishing reading and crawling back into bed, “they certainly got the dialogue right. You been leaking our sex tapes, honey?” He grins at you and kisses you hard. After a moment, he pulls back. “Do my hips really ‘snap forward’ when I come? Because that sounds painful.”

“I mean, it certainly paints a visual, doesn’t it?”

“That it does. You like reading this?” He looks at you curiously. “No judgment; just intrigued.”

“It’s, well…yeah,” you admit, blushing again. “I like to see what other people think about doing to you. With you. Gets me so hot, knowing I’m the only one who will actually get the chance.”

“Does anyone write stuff about you?”

You can’t read the look on his face, and you shrug. “There’s a bit out there. Most of it is the reader having a threesome with you and me. There are a few where the reader and I fuck around without you and you catch us, but you let us finish and then fuck us both.”

“Well now,” Brendon purrs, rolling on top of you with a playful grin. “That’s interesting. Show me those.”

“Oh, shut up,” you say with a laugh, arching up to kiss him. “I don’t share.”

-||-

It’s two weeks later, late in the afternoon, and you’re curled up in bed together to indulge in your new hobby: reading various works of smut aloud and teasing each other with your hands. You’ve got your hand curled around his dick, stroking often enough to keep him hard, and he’s got two fingers rubbing your pussy, slipping in only once in a while.

You’ve been scrolling for a bit, searching through different pieces for one you saved last week. When you find it, you pass your phone to him. He reads the prompt to himself; you can see his eyes widen.

“They want us to do what now?” Brendon looks at the phone screen and back at you. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Not us,” you correct. “You and the reader.” He rolls his eyes and you shrug. “It matters. Anyway, the request is: But what if the reader was teasing B in public and he keeps trying to get her to stop and she ends up making him cum in his pants and he gets pissed and punishes her or something?”

“Baby,” Brendon looks at you warily. When you look back at him expectantly, he sighs your name. “This feels like a bad idea.”

“Did you or did you not say that you’d let me play with you based on these smut requests?”

“I did—but—”

“No take-backs, Urie.” You roll off of the bed and start rummaging through your closet, looking for something to wear. “Get up and get dressed; we’re going out.”

“Honey, is this really the one you want? Is it the best—”

“Read the response,” you call out from deep in your closet. “You might be persuaded. Read it out loud.”

You hear his sharp intake of breath. “What if after B comes in his pants, he gives the reader vibrating underwear to wear and he teases her like crazy so the reader comes multiple times, and then B and the reader end up having rough sex afterwards? Oh my god,” Brendon groans. “But…we don’t have vibrating panties.”

“Yes, we do,” you counter. He’s silent, and you grin. “I saw this post last week and bought them just for this. They came this morning; I’ve been waiting for them to arrive before showing you the post.”

-||-

Brendon groans quietly, murmuring your name when you kiss his neck surreptitiously as you sit next to him in the booth. “Love, we’re in pub—oh, right.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, grinning against his skin. “That’s the point. At least I was kind and asked for a table in the back.” You slip your hand down under the table and between his legs. “You getting hard for me, B?”

“Honey, you know I am.” His voice is low and his fingers dig into your thigh. “The only thing keeping me here is the idea of you with those fucking panties on, trying to hold it together. But that in itself is maddening.”

“Mmmm,” you murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Well, the food will be here soon, and you can focus on that.” He rests his head on top of yours, trying to control his breathing. “Think about the food,” you tell him, rolling your palm over him, loving how hard he is.

“I’m thinking about something else I’d much rather eat,” Brendon mumbles, fingers slipping higher on your thigh. “But now I’m teasing you, and I don’t get to do that yet, right?” You nod and he sighs. “And you’re not gonna get me off here, are you? You’re gonna make this last, aren’t you? You little tease.”

“Of course I am,” you say with a grin. The waitress comes over with your food and you smile at her radiantly. “Thanks so much!” You chirp, and you palm Brendon faster, grinning when he lets out a strangled moan. The waitress looks at him, a little unsure, and you smile. “He’s just excited about the food.”

She nods and walks away, and Brendon looks at you with a longsuffering expression in his eyes. “That wasn’t nice.” You shrug and pop a fry in your mouth, winking at him. “You are in for it, you know. Once I’ve come, it’s your turn. And I am going to torment you,” he comments with a small smile.

A thrill runs through you, and you dip a fry in ketchup. He groans when you bring it to your mouth and lick it clean before sliding it in your mouth. “You’re killing me, honey.” His voice is a tight whisper and he’s bucking into your hand slightly, keeping his upper body still by leaning over the table. “All I want to do is fuck you.”

You ignore him, and nod your head toward the hostess, who is approaching with menus in hand. She’s leading a group of six to the booth one away from yours and you grin. Brendon exhales sharply, flexing his fingers on your thigh.

You giggle, reach for your drink, and wrap your lips around the straw, hollowing your cheeks out and sliding it deeper into your mouth as you suck. His eyes are locked on yours, and he’s biting his lower lip; you love him like this. You squeeze the bulge in his jeans before stroking again and pull back off of the straw with a satisfied “ahh.” His dick twitches under your hand, and you bite your lip now, wishing he were deep in you, fisting your hair and telling you he’s about to come.

You lean in close to tell him this, lashes fluttering, and he twitches under your touch again. “Or in my mouth,” you add offhandedly. “Throbbing in my mouth as you come, spilling down my throat, praising me as I swallow.” His breathing catches and you smile. “You’d like that, baby? Coming in my mouth, watching me take your cock in between my lips and swallow all of your cum?”

“Shit, you know I would.” He breaks the rules and slips his hand back between your thighs. “And I think you would too, you dirty little thing. You love sucking me off, love how I fuck your mouth, don’t you?” You nod, trying to keep calm, rubbing him frantically. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” His lips are near your ear, and you shiver. “Because I’m thinking about how easy it would be for you to slip under this table and take my cock in your pretty mouth and finish me off with that soft, wet tongue of yours.”

“We’re not alone anymore,” you point out, and he shrugs.

“You wanted to make me come in public. The public has people. I knew that going into this whole plan.” He grins and moves his hand from your pussy and presses your palm onto him more firmly. “I know your little request said I was supposed to try to get you to stop, but I really couldn’t care less right now. So fucking close, so hard for you. Finish me off, honey.”

“I’ll remind you,” you say in a breathless voice, “the request also said you had to come in your pants.” He nods, and you glance at him, rubbing and stroking him with the firm pressure he’s made. “You still want me to?” He nods again, letting his head fall back against the booth edge. “Say it.” You press closer, so your mouth is against his ear and your hot breath sends shivers through him.

“I want you to make me come,” he whispers, chest rising and falling sharply. “Right here. Right now.” You squeeze him sharply and he moans, low in the back of his throat. “In my pants. Finish me off, make me come in my pants.” He looks at you desperately, hips rocking under the table.

“Well, I did say I was going to make it last and not get you off here, but since you asked so nicely,” you murmur, shifting slightly so you’re pressed against him more fully, your head nestled into his shoulder. “Come for me.” Your hand is flying, curved over the bulge in his jeans, fingers curled around him so you’re squeezing and stroking and palming him all at once. “You’re so hard; you’ll feel so much better once you come for me, B.” He bites his lip and lets out the tiniest groan, his rhythm faltering. “Yes, baby,” you encourage, tongue flicking his earlobe before whispering to him, “that’s it. Come. Think about me down on my knees, begging for you. I want your cum, Bren. Your pants are so tight, but just pretend you’ve got your cock buried in my tight pussy instead; that’s it, thrust a little and think about fucking me, think about me taking every inch of your cock before I get every drop of your cum. Fuck my cunt, give it to me—”

“Oh god,” Brendon whispers, reaching down and grabbing your wrist to hold your hand in place as he rubs himself roughly against your palm through his jeans. “Oh god, tell me,” and his eyes are wild.

“Come for me, Brendon.” His eyes slide shut, his body goes rigid, and you can feel his length pulsing under your touch. “That’s it, come for me,” you murmur in his ear before sinking your teeth into his earlobe and tugging. He gasps, unable to stifle it, and you press your free hand over his mouth. “No noise; people will notice,” you remind him, and he nods, eyes blazing above your hand.

“Fuck,” he whispers when his hips finally go still. You move your hand and lean in to kiss him softly. “Fuck, honey, that was…” he shakes his head a little. “So glad I’m wearing black jeans.” You move your hand off of his dick and grin, walking your fingers up his length and rubbing your index finger where you know the head of his cock is pressed. You let out a soft sigh when you find the wet spot on the denim and press slightly. “Fuck,” he hisses, trapping your hand. “Don’t start again.” You pout and rub the spot teasingly. Brendon arches into your touch, murmuring, “Love, you know it’s my turn.”

“Mmmm,” you agree, wriggling in your seat. “Should I go put my panties on, B?”

He eyes you suspiciously. “Don’t you mean change your panties? To the vibrating ones?”

You grin and shake your head. Brendon inhales sharply and presses his fingers back between your thighs. “You mean—fuck, I can feel you. Yeah, go put those panties on and let me tease you.” You slip from the booth and wiggle a little, looking over your shoulder and winking. “Go,” he mouths, grinning. “And hurry back.”

-||-

“Ooh,” you whimper as you sit back down. He looks at you curiously, and you shift to get comfortable. “I may have spoiled myself,” you admit, and Brendon raises an eyebrow. You pull up a picture on your phone and pass it to him. “This is what I got us.” He groans low in the back of his throat and stares at you.

“You mean to tell me…”

You nod, grinning and passing him the tiny remote. “You dirty little thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head, but his eyes are dark, and he’s toying with the remote in a way that already has your heart racing. Although, admittedly, that could be the three inches of curved silicone currently pressing into you. He presses a button, and you whimper when it starts vibrating, your nails digging into his thigh. “I’m gonna make you come so many times, baby.” His voice is low, and his eyes are fixed on yours. You know he’s going to keep that promise.

“Can you hear it?” You hiss the question, biting your lip. He shakes his head, eyes heavy with lust. “Okay, good.” You shift in your seat again, pushing the vibrator deeper—you rock forward so it’s pressing where you need it.

“Move to the other side of the table, sweet girl.” His voice is husky with desire, and he’s rubbing your thigh. “I wanna watch my dirty girl get off, wanna see the moment you come in your panties for me.” You nod and scramble up, and as soon as you’re standing, he hits the button again so the vibrations amp up; you gasp, your legs shaking. He looks concerned, and so does a woman at the other table.

“I’m okay,” you wave her off. “Leg fell asleep. Hate that, don’t you?” The other woman nods and smiles sympathetically as you slide into the booth.

“Jesus,” you whisper, reaching across the table for his hand. “It’s right where I need it; holy fuck Brendon, it feels so good.” You grab your plate with your free hand and pull it over, raising your burger to your mouth. He looks at you, amused, and you close your eyes. “Trying to focus on food,” you tell him and he chuckles, turning the vibrations down. “Thank you.” You sink your teeth into the burger while Brendon watches.

“How can you possibly be thinking about food? All I can think about is your pussy, clenching around that vibrator, your cunt fluttering so nicely the way it does when you’re about to come on me…goddamn, I wanna make you come.” He takes a bite of his own burger now, chewing.

“You’re gonna,” you tell him, spreading your legs slightly under the table. “So fucking hard.”

-||-

You’re breathing erratically, fingers clenched around the edge of the table, and Brendon turns up the vibrations even higher. “Hold it together, honey; I’m getting the check. Act normal when she comes over here.”

You whimper, letting your head rest on the back of the booth. There’s no accommodating the toy; legs spread wide or pressed together, it doesn’t matter: it’s deep inside you, buzzing insistently and pushing you closer and closer to climax. Brendon hands the waitress his card, and she glances down at it, her eyes wide.

“You are —oh god, I thought you were —I told myself it wasn’t—oh my god I’m so embarrassed but—I’m a fan,” and the poor girl is babbling, and you’re digging your nails into your thighs. You do not want to be rude to this girl; you cannot be rude to this girl. Holy fuck though, you need her to leave, so you can come. Brendon glances at you, and you know he can practically read your mind.

He turns back to the waitress and smiles. “That’s so kind. Thank you! I love meeting fans.” He strikes up a deeper conversation with her while he presses the remote again under the table.

You cannot react; you want to scream and writhe and buck wildly against your hand, his hand, anything, but you can’t. You focus on taking deep breaths. He’s talking with her, and she’s smiling so widely. You’re happy for him; he does love meeting fans, and you’re happy for her too: he and his music clearly mean a lot to her.

Brendon drops the remote on the booth bench and slides out to take a photo with her. You need the distraction, so you offer to take it and reach for her phone. “Thanks, love,” Brendon murmurs with a wink at you. Now she’s turning to you, talking about how much she admires you, and all you can think about is how she’s so sweet and so nice, but you need her to go away so you can come.

“But I’m babbling,” she realizes and blushes deeply. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just go get—thank you so much—I mean—okay, I’ll be back.”

“She’s sweet,” you say to Brendon, and he nods with a small smile. “We gotta go once she’s back though; I’m right there.” He looks at you sympathetically and turns the vibration off. “Hey!” You protest, hips twitching slightly. “I didn’t say stop.”

“No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “But I’m saying it. I think you need me to stop.” The waitress brings his card back with the two slips and she thanks him again before going to check on the other table. He leaves a large tip, signs with a flourish, and writes her a quick note on the back of the customer copy, signing again. “Let’s go.” He stands and offers you a hand, which you gratefully accept, seeing as your legs are still shaking.

-||-

“Pull over,” you order, gripping his thigh. Brendon guides the car off to the side of the road, letting it disappear into the cluster of trees as the sun sets. “Hold still.” You unbuckle and climb over the center console, settling in his lap with a sharp whimper. “God, it feels so good.” Brendon is grinding up into you while he kisses you hungrily. Every thrust sends the toy momentarily deeper, and the curve means it’s vibrating right against your G-spot. “B, I’m gonna come,” you murmur against his lips, moving urgently against him.

“Do it,” he groans, tugging at your hair. “Want you shaking and squealing, coming hard on that toy. Pretend it’s my cock; soak it, baby.”

You bear down right as he thrusts up, and your entire body tenses. With one hand in his hair and the other clawing at the window, you’re shrieking as your orgasm rocks through you. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe; your head is spinning and your vision is speckled; you’re trembling on top of him, gasping for breath, and you kiss him urgently. “Fuck,” you manage, resting your forehead against his and laughing a little. “That was intense.”

“Intense to watch too,” Brendon tells you, stroking your hip with his thumb. “So damn good to watch.” You’re still squirming in his lap from the vibrations, and he reaches for the remote. “Should I give you a break?”

“Probably,” you admit. “I’d like to say no and keep going, but I probably need a break.”

-||-

You’re at the traffic light before you’d turn toward your house when Brendon turns the vibrations back up. You instantly grip his thigh, back arched and heart racing. Instead of turning left toward your neighborhood, he turns right. “Where are we—”

“Just wait.”

You close your eyes, taking shallow breaths, and you wonder if he has any idea how worked up you are. He must know what he’s doing; you’ve been married long enough to know the effect you have on each other, and Brendon particularly knows how needy you get when he teases you.

“Love hearing you breathe like that,” he comments. When you crack one eye to look at him curiously, he pats your thigh affectionately. “Those quick little breaths. They tell me you’re so on edge, so close to coming for me. My dirty baby, tense and achingly wet, ready to thrash and scream and totally let go as soon as I give her permission.” His thumb moves in slow circles on your inner thigh now, and you whine.

“Don’t worry,” Brendon murmurs. “I’m going to let you come.” With that, he parks, and you open your eyes.

You’re not in your driveway. You sort of anticipated that, considering he took the opposite turn, but you’d hoped he was just taking the scenic route. Instead, you’re outside of his favorite bar. You groan. “Brendon, I thought we were going home. I can’t. I can’t take it much longer. I need to go home.” He opens his mouth, and you cut him off, knowing what his argument is going to be. “It didn’t say mine had to be in public.”

He smirks, patting your hand. “Still, it was implied. But okay, fine; I will let you come at home if we get a quick drink. One drink, then I’ll take you home—okay, my love?”

It sounds manageable; you agree and let him guide you into the bar. His hand is warm on the small of your back—all you can think about is the warmth of his hands all over your body when he’s got you naked. Even when you’re both rushing, his touch is always purposeful and intimate. He manages to make every touch feel like he’s in utter awe of your body; he never takes for granted the opportunity to touch you and caress you.

“This way,” he murmurs, stroking your hip with his thumb. The owner maintains a small, private section in the back for his more famous clientele, and while you and Brendon don’t always use it, you’re glad he wants to get you somewhere private.

“Let me get the drinks,” you offer. “It’ll give me something to focus on.” He shrugs and nods, passing you his card. You keep it tucked in your hand as you cross back to the main area; you approach the bar and the owner behind the bar catches your eye, nodding.

“Oh motherfucker,” you hiss, clenching your thighs. Brendon’s obviously hit the button three times and you’re barely able to stay standing, let alone speak. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself against the bar, as the owner approaches. You order quickly, squeezing your thighs together tightly and praying internally. You’re shaking when you return to the booth in the back where Brendon has settled, his whiskey visibly moving in the trembling glass you’re holding.

“Baby,” he says soothingly, reaching for your hand. “You’re shaking.” You nod, biting your lip and taking a large swallow of your vodka and cranberry. “We’ll go home soon, I promise.”

The bar is filling up with more people, and you groan under your breath, closing your eyes briefly. “Or,” you murmur, “ we could stay.”

He looks at you, one eyebrow raised, and you continue. “If we leave, we have a car ride separating us from bed.” You squeeze his hand. “But if we stay…” You nod your head towards the bathrooms with a wicked grin.

“I love you far too much to fuck you in a bar bathroom,” he comments, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “But I also love that you want it that badly. Let me take you home.” He knocks the rest of his drink back and gestures for you to do the same. “Come on.” He pulls you to your feet and clicks the button again, making your knees buckle. Brendon quickly wraps an arm around your waist, practically holding you upright.

“Almost there, baby. I’ll get you home safe and sound.” You’re audibly whimpering and clinging to him, and the minute you’re outside, you start begging him to let you come. “You’ve been so good,” Brendon mumbles into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “My best girl; I don’t think I can make you wait til we’re home.”

When you’re both in the car, Brendon reaches down between his feet and shoves his seat back. “Come here,” he tells you, and you crawl into his lap, reaching above you to manually turn off the interior lights. It’s dark out now and no one should be able to see you.

You straddle his thigh and rock tentatively, moaning when the vibrator presses deeper into you. “That’s it, honey; ride my thigh, fuck yourself,” he encourages, hands sliding up your back. “Let me hear how good you feel. Let me watch you come.” You whimper, shifting on his thigh so the silicone piece is angled perfectly and you start moving again, kissing him. “So sexy,” he moans into your mouth. “So fucking sexy.” You nod, so close that you’ll agree to anything. “Gonna come? Gonna come in those pretty panties? Gonna let me take you home and fuck your hot, wet cunt?”

“God, yeah,” you moan, pressing down against his thigh and grinding against it hard. “Fuck me, Brendon, fuck me, please— oh shit yes!”

“Only if you center yourself on my cock, pretty girl.”

You straddle him fully and rub yourself along his hard length. He’s gripping your hips and thrusting up against you desperately, and you tug at his hair. “Turn it up higher, fuck me hard, I can take it, Bren—please!” He does, and you scream, biting at his neck, writhing and thrashing as you come. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant, licking over the bite marks, hands moving over him. “Feels so good in my pussy; fuck, Brendon, give me more, more—I can take more,” you beg, and he obliges, kissing you fiercely when you cry out again.

Finally, you slump against him and bury your face in his chest. “I need you to take me home and fuck me for real, just give me your cock,” you whimper, clawing at his shirt, and he lifts you off of his lap, murmuring how he’s going to get you home and take care of you.

You settle back into your seat, shaking and trembling, staring at him longingly. “Don’t turn it off,” you groan when you see Brendon reaching for the remote. “Don’t you dare.”

-||-

“Bed,” he orders, placing you back on your feet. He’d carried you upstairs, both arms wrapped tight around you while you moved against his stomach, making yourself come again with a loud squeal.

You scramble for the bed; he shoves his jeans down and pulls his shirt off over his head. “Now,” he purrs and straddles you. You go limp and let him strip you, both of you moaning when he tugs your jeans and the panties down. “These are fucking soaked,” he groans, and you kick them off of you and onto the floor. “My dirty girl, coming in her panties for me.”

You nod, hips bucking, desperate for more contact. You need him. “Hands and knees,” Brendon tells you, and you turn onto your stomach with a happy sigh, gasping when he grabs your hips and pulls them back sharply, so your chest is pressed to the mattress. “Head down on the pillow and hold on, baby.” You love when he takes you like this; he’s able to get so deep and go as hard as you both want.

Brendon slaps your ass lightly, making you squeal, and then pushes into you. You both moan again—teasing each other all day was fun, but you’ll never get tired of having him inside you.

“So fucking wet,” he groans, reaching around to rub gently at your clit. You sigh happily, grinding back against the base of his cock.

“So fucking big,” you say, and he bites your neck, laughing a little. “Fuck, no really. You’re much bigger than what I’ve had in me all night. Longer, and—oh god,” you groan, “thicker, and—fuck me, Brendon, you feel so good—just hotter. Goddamn I love your cock. Love you, B.”

“I love you and your pussy too, honey. Shit,” he grunts, fingers digging into your hips. “So fucking much. Gonna come again, for you.”

“Come in me, please,” you beg. “It’s been so long; come in me, fill me, claim me, take me.” He groans above you and rocks against you harder. “God, you’re so—I’m gonna come all over your cock.”

“Do it,” he encourages breathlessly. “Do it. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” You let out a shrill moan and shove yourself back against him, bracing yourself with both hands flat on the mattress. “That’s my good girl, fuck.” Brendon is breathing hard now, and his hand slips down your thigh to rub at your clit more forcefully the way you love. “Be my good girl and come for me. Set me off by clenching your pussy around me and make me come.”

“Oh—fuck!” You don’t mean to shriek, but his fingers on your clit and his words and his cock—it’s all too much, and you feel yourself clamping down hard around him. He swears too and has to double his force to thrust against you.

“Now, now, now,” you chant, reaching behind you to tug your own hair. “Fuck me, I’m coming, coming for you, oh god Brendon, fuck my cunt, yes!”

“Fuck,” he grunts, groaning your name and thrusting once more before you feel him, a warm feeling that spreads and fills you. “God,” he moans, rocking against you sporadically, rhythm long gone. “I fucking love coming in you.”

“Baby,” you whimper, rolling your hips back to try to take him deeper, let him fill you more. “Brendon, I want it all.”

“My good girl wants all my cum, huh?” His voice is tight and he rocks forward once more, gasping as the last of his climax rolls through him. “Fucking love you,” Brendon moans, stilling inside of you. “Oh god, I love you so much, my perfect girl.” He pulls out of you slowly, and you whimper, letting your hips hit the bed. He drops onto his stomach next to you and pushes your hair out of your face. “Holy fuck,” he whispers and you nod, body still trembling. “You’re incredible.”

“The same to you, Bren,” you say with a soft smile.

Despite your mutually sweat-and-slick-covered bodies, he pulls you against him, both of you breathing hard. You’re both quiet for a moment, and he kisses the top of your head. “So,” he says, fatigue creeping into his voice. “My dirtiest, best girl. What’s next?”

“What do you mean? Next we sleep,” you tell him, a bit incredulously. “Or shower. Or both. Both would be good, actually.”

He chuckles and stands, crossing the room to your purse and grabbing your phone. He unlocks it again and goes back to tumblr, dropping the phone next to you. You look up at him, and he grins down at you with sparkling eyes. “No, honey, I know that. I mean…when we wake up and have recovered. What next?”

[mangoisms]

like the part of the song where it falls ━ miyuki kazuya

━ part three: also i wanted to be able to love. and we all know how that one goes, don’t we? read part one / part two

━ wc: 6k

━ warnings: none

━ masterpost

“It stinks in here.”

That’s the first thing Miyuki says when he steps into the studio the next day. 

Jerry, at the computer, laughs quietly. 

You grin. “Yeah. Sorry. That would be Dennis.”

“Right. Saw the release today. They’re not shutting you down.”

“Well, it was put much more nicely there. They’re not shutting us down now but they are giving us the rest of the year to perform well. If we don’t —” you make a cutting motion with your hand across your neck “— we’re out.” 

“Fixed our pay, though,” Jerry mutters, sending you a sidelong glance. 

Righttt. Dennis had unapologetically let it slip you’d been covering part of his check. You think it was revenge for him getting in trouble for not sending a representative down for the company to the press conference but really, it just makes them sound like assholes. 

Jerry was a little upset about it but you’d pressed that if push came to shove, you had your sister and Hector to fall back on. He had no one other than his grandma and while DJing at parties brings in a little extra side cash, it wouldn’t have been enough had you not stepped in. 

But that’s over now. They’re paying him his old rate again. 

Of course, you two might end up turned out onto the street come the new year but you’d cross that bridge when you got to it. 

Miyuki doesn’t say anything to that, though his eyes sweep over to you curiously. You just shake your head minutely. You’ll tell him downstairs. 

You and Jerry had come in early to set up. He hadn’t changed much but you two needed to do a few tests, run through some things, wake up that old muscle memory of how things used to be. 

Things are the same again now, except for the purple bruise on your temple, the professional baseball player standing in your studio, and the hubbub about your return tonight. 

“You want anything from downstairs, Mouser?”

Jerry shakes his head. “Had Jersey Mike’s earlier. I’m still good. When’re you gonna be back?”

“Won’t be long. We’re doing BestBuy tomorrow. Probably just an hour or something. That okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Where is the Lysol, though? He is right. Freakin’ stinks of weed in here.”

You snicker. “It’s in the closet.”

“Right, thanks. Have fun.”

You go over to Miyuki, who is taking in the room. Overall a small recording studio, you have the control room, where Jerry operates the sound board, then the live room — the actual studio — wherein you broadcast from. Both areas are separate from each other.  A glass window mounted above the sound board looks into it, showing the desk with the various computer screens, your mic and headphones, and a chair. On the walls inside the control room you have a few puzzles you and Jerry have done together framed, along with newspaper clippings of Night Owl’s sparse mentions in the media. 

More have appeared, though, from far more well-known newspapers, like the Washington Post, the New York Times. The new ones read things like:

WHO AND WHAT IS NIGHT OWL, KCSD’S NIGHTTIME RADIO SEGMENT? 

SOCAL’S MOST UNDERRATED RADIO SEGMENT, NIGHT OWL, ON 101.1 FM

UNKNOWN TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC BUT BELOVED BY UC STUDENTS AND GRAVEYARD SHIFT WORKERS, NIGHT OWL, A RADIO SEGMENT

HOW THE PADRES’ WINNING HOME-RUN OF THE WORLD SERIES THRUSTED A LITTLE-KNOWN SHOW INTO STARDOM

“Little-known show? That’s kinda cruel. And that’s coming from me.”

Jerry snickers. 

You grin. “Yeah, well, sympathetic press gets us more listeners, so they can keep going.”

“That is true…” 

The two of you slip out of the studio. 

He glances at you and smirks. “Nice shirt.”

You grin, tugging at the black shirt with just the Wonder Woman logo on the breast. “Thank you. Wonder Woman is excellent. I have a poster of her and the Wonderfam in my room.”

“Of course you do.”

He pushes the down button for the elevator. 

“I’ve been thinking I want to get some more snails if I get a bigger tank, like two of them, and you know what I’m gonna name them?”

“Let me guess — Wonder Woman and Superman?”

“Aw, look at you. All knowledgeable about comics now.”

“Well, you did talk my ear off about it for two hours straight.”

The elevator doors slide open. 

You smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

Your studio is on the tenth floor of KCSD’s building, which is located in Hillcrest, a neighborhood west of your apartment in Normal Heights. Right across the I-805. 

Outside, the sun is beginning its descent. The time change is in a couple days, so it’ll be setting even earlier after that. You take the time to enjoy the last long days of sunlight. It’s warm today, perfectly comfortable, especially with the sun still out and a light breeze. You’re in your Wonder Woman t-shirt, dark jean shorts, your regular Doc Martens that are scuffed and worn, and a pair of black over-the-knee socks, finished with a black cherry lip lacquer. 

“So, what was he talking about? Did they lower your pay?”

“Not mine. His. A few months ago. But,” you sigh, tilting your face to the sky, closing your eyes as you come to the crosswalk. You still need a second to adjust to the brightness. “Jerry lives on his own with his grandmother. It’s just them two. She has diabetes, though, and needs medication for it. We get insurance but it doesn’t cover the entirety of the prescription. The two of them wouldn’t have been able to live on that paycheck, so I told payroll to fill it from mine.”

Miyuki is quiet for a second. You open your eyes, a little more adjusted to the light. 

“Nice of you,” he says at last.

“It’s just me and Batman and Robin. It made the most sense.”

“Hm.”

The light turns. You two cross the street to the 7-Eleven, where Rico’s Tacos, a food truck, sits adjacent of. 

You and Jerry are loyal customers to them, so when you step up the window, you are instantly recognized. 

“Tee! What’s up? We heard about what happened! Free tacos for life, yeah? Or, well, maybe just a few months.” 

You grin up at Jaime Moreno as he leans out the window, handsome face split into a grin. 

“Cheap ass,” his sister, Juana ‘Janie’ Moreno, hisses, shoulder checking him out of the window to grin down at you. “Mi cielito, you can have as many free tacos as you want!”

“She’s not gonna go on a date with you,” Jaime mutters. 

“Yeah, well, she’s not gonna go on a date with you either, stupid ass.”

You laugh. Miyuki snorts quietly. 

Janie’s eyes dart to him, eyebrow raising. “Who’s this?” 

Jaime looks at him, too, blinking. 

You can’t help but laugh. “This is Miyuki. He’s the guy who concussed me.”

“Ohhh,” they say in unison. 

“Sorry, man,” Jaime says, eyes twinkling. “We don’t watch much baseball.”

“Oh, don’t feel bad,” you say. “I didn’t know who he was until I woke up in the hospital.”

“Okay,” Miyuki says. “Why don’t we order?”

“Right.”

You place your orders, he pays, and in no time, you’re sitting on the curb next to each other, soda bottles between you, feasting on your still-hot tacos. 

“Okay,” he says around a mouthful of a spicy chicken taco. “This is good.”

“Right? And look, no allergic reactions!” You grin, gesturing to yourself. 

He snickers. 

You two sit in a relatively peaceful silence. Cars drive up and down the street, some pulling into 7-Eleven for gas and snacks, while others line up at Rico’s for dinner. A few pigeons land near you, cooing, no doubt eyeing your food. 

Gold rays paint over you, picking out the red highlights in Miyuki’s dark hair, light brown skin glowing. 

Your stomach swoops like you missed a step and you look away. 

On the sidewalk, a teenage girl walks a small dog. A little girl skips ahead of them, running through the pigeons, letting out a delighted laugh as they flutter away. 

You smile, watching her go. 

Across the street, a woman hurries down the sidewalk, arms laden with grocery bags. One of them breaks, groceries spilling out. You pause, already starting to set your plate down to run across the street and help her, but someone else swoops in, kindly helping to pick up the vegetables and fruits that tumbled onto the concrete. 

You sigh wistfully. “I love humanity.”

“Not exactly representative of humanity collectively, is it? Logically speaking.”

“These are just outliers, you think?”

He nods like it should be obvious. “There are lots of words to describe humanity but I’m not sure good is one of them.”

“No?” you ask lightly. 

He shrugs. “Look at what we do. Pollute the earth, start wars over nothing, create mass weapons of destruction. Doesn’t sound very good to me.”

“You think humanity is inherently selfish and bad?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see anything that says it’s inherently good.”

You smile. “How miserable you must be to resent your own kind.”

“I don’t resent humanity. I just don’t think we’re good. That’s all.”

“So, what do you believe in?”

“Myself.”

“Miserable and lonely, then. Sounds like an excuse.”

“An excuse?” 

“You’re letting them win,” you say patiently. “Being a cynic, thinking humanity is a plague on this earth, that’s the easy way out. It excuses you, doesn’t it? Despair and cynicism are easy. It absolves you of responsibility. Removes yourself from the equation, from the possibility of helping because, why help if there is no hope?”

You pause and take a breath. You aren’t hungry anymore. Something bubbles inside your chest but you force yourself to be calm. To be patient. 

“Miyuki… You aren’t smart or philosophical for saying humanity is doomed. Not at all. You have to believe humanity is good.”

“Why?”

“Humanity named kindness so it must know kindness. We just saw a stranger help another stranger. They didn’t have to. But they did. If you look for greed, selfishness, or corruption, you will find it. Try looking for kindness for once, for the goodness of humanity.”

“You —”

“Are naive? The way that I am, it is strategic. Necessary. Because what else do we have? It’s too easy to go that route. And it’s what they want. The government wants us hopeless, wants us to think there is no way to solve the problems we have created. Wants us to think we are inherently greedy, selfish, and evil because it absolves them of responsibility. And when we believe it, it absolves us of responsibility, too. But it’s a double-whammy, because not only that, but we’re also getting fucked over by the government all the while. No one wins. Nothing gets better.”

You set your food ahead, gazing intently at him. In the setting rays of the sun, his eyes are honey brown. 

“Even if you can’t bring yourself to believe that, at least appreciate that you are here, existing with everyone else. How extraordinary it is that we even exist. You know how young the universe is? It’s just barely coming into adolescence. For this brief moment in time, life can exist. But for most of the universe’s life, it will be cold, dark, and empty. Stars will die out. Even the black holes will die in some quadrillion years.”

“Just sounds like an existential crisis if you ask me.”

“We’re here, Miyuki. Existing in that haven in time. We should enjoy our time here.”

“I enjoy my life.”

You take a leap. 

“I’m saying other than baseball.”

He falters. You can tell you’ve got him out, because his next words are sharp again. 

“Awfully presumptuous, aren’t you?”

You knew that. And yet, something inside you urged you to say it anyway. To presume. 

“I’m happy to be proved wrong.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. The sky is painted shades of pink and orange as the sun sets. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“What do you do for fun?”

“Baseball.”

“Other than baseball. I like photography, doing puzzles in my free time, watching Say Yes to the Dress, reading poetry, and making playlists. Not just for the show but for me, too. I like watching Batman and Robin move around in their tank. I like — love — the ocean and the beach. I like swimming, too, but the ocean is usually too cold for that, and the pool at my apartment complex isn’t taken care of enough and while I love swimming — love that feeling after several hours of it, when you’re in bed and you feel like you’re rocking on a boat — my fear of getting a UTI is stronger.”

His lips twitch. 

You nudge his shoulder with yours. “There has to be something. Like my puzzles. I do them in my free time but also if the show is particularly slow. Jerry likes to do sudoku and he likes Star Wars, but not the recent movies that come out. He says those all suck. Rogue One is apparently the only good movie to come out. I’ve seen it. It’s actually very… touching.”

He sets his plate down with a sigh and picks up the soda bottle, which is sweating in the warm weather. Air hisses out as he untwists the cap. He takes a drink. You try not to stare at the long line of his neck, Adam’s apple bobbing. Focus. You need to focus and stop ogling him. 

Easier said than done. 

“What are you going to do during the offseason?” you ask, trying for a difference approach. 

“The usual. Workout. Review game footage. Plan for next season. The only thing different now is I’m still house hunting and no, real estate doesn’t much interest me outside of that.”

You purse your lips, thinking. 

He sets the bottle down and looks at you. 

“You should show me.”

“Show you what?”

“How to…” he gestures aimlessly. “Enjoy life. Outside of baseball, I mean.”

You give him a sad smile. “It’s not exactly something that can be taught, Miyuki.”

“Maybe not. But it’s worth a shot. Prove it to me and I’ll believe you.”

“I’m not going to do it because of that. I don’t care about being right or wrong. You can think what you’d like. But… if you really want to, maybe I can help you get into the swing of it.”

“Do your worst.”

“No,” you say, smiling. “I’m going to do my best.”

The look in his eyes is hard to quantify but the set of his mouth is soft. 

“I look forward to it.”

[Night Owl Transcript — 20:07 — 11/4/2022]

Tee: It’s great to be back here, guys. Really, really great. I’m in desperate need of some good old human connection. Lucky, too, that our switchboard is literally lighting up. Wow. [Laughing] What a reception. Trending on Twitter, too. That’s fun. Don’t worry, guys, we’ll get to callers in a sec, for now, our first song of the night… I thought about it for a long time. Interestingly enough, there is only one song I know of in my catalog with the word concussion in it. And it’s a great song! But not the tone I’d like to set for tonight. So…

[Coldplay’s “A Head Full of Dreams” starts in the background]

Tee: What’s tonight's theme? Frankly, it’s me being grateful to be alive. To be here right now, in this moment of time. I hope you guys can feel that, too. 

[“A Head Full of Dreams” plays] Leave your broken windows open And in the light streams And you get a head A head full of dreams

[Night Owl Transcript — 21:47 — 11/4/2022]

Caller 52: Hello? Tee: Hi! Thanks for calling in. What’s your name? Caller 52: My name is Emi.  Tee: Hi, Emi! I’m Tee. Where are you calling from? Caller 52: From Japan, actually.  Tee: No way, are you serious? Caller 52: Yes. It’s only the afternoon here, so it’s easy to listen in. Many of my friends are since everything happened with Miyuki-san. I just wanted to say we are glad you’re okay. We’ve been listening for the last week but we’ll keep listening. So, you have some supporters across the pacific, too.  Tee: Hey, Emi, I really appreciate that. Thank you. And since it’s only the afternoon there, I hope you have a good day, too. I’ve seen a lot on Twitter saying people not just from San Diego or the SoCal area are listening in and so many callers are saying that, too. Guys — that is so sick. 

[Tai Verdes’ “A-O-K” starts in the background]

Tee: I feel like I’ve been saying it all night but — you guys are freakin’ awesome. I’m glad we’re all here tonight. 

[“A-O-K” plays] Livin’ in this big blue world With my head up in outer space  I know I'll be A-O, A-O-K I know I'll be A-O, A-O-K  When I see trouble come my way  I’ll be makin' lemonade

[Night Owl Transcript — 22:54 — 11/5/2022]

Caller 106: I just think it’s crazy that was your first baseball game, ever! Tee: [Laughs] Yeah, I know, just my luck, right?  Caller 106: Is it true he paid for your hospital bills? Tee: Every cent. From my week-long stay for the concussion and for the allergic reaction, too.  Caller 106: God, that is awesome. It’s really nice to have you back, Tee. Mouser did good but it’s just not the same. You’ve gotten me through three years of college.  Tee: Hey, that was all you. I just kept you company. Any requests? Caller 106: I’m about to drive home from work. I could use something to keep me awake. Something I can sing along to, you know? Tee: Oh, I got you. Roll down the windows and enjoy — and drive safely, please. 

[AWOLNATION’s “Pacific Coast Highway in the Movies” plays] I’m lonely, I’m confused, and I’m glad that you’re here Give me shiny things to stop my tears Pacific coast highway in the movies You promised me sunshine, why’s it gloomy? We’ll wait ‘til the night to catch the moonbeams Pacific coast highway in the movies

(03:07) you ever been to the zoo? (12:30) Jesus is that how long night owl runs? Until 3 am???? (12:30) yes :DDD good morning (12:31) It’s noon (12:31) And are you asking in general? (12:32) :( i’m talking about here! (12:32) Haha I know I just wanted to mess with you (12:32) No I’ve never been (12:33) we must fix fhat immediately (12:33) *that. are you busy today??? after bestbuy?? (12:33) Today?? No (12:34) yay! that’s what we’re doing today (12:34) welcome to day 1 of operation enjoy your life (in the offseason)

Things continue like that for the most part. 

Night Owl runs from eight to three, so you often sleep in until noon. Not the most sustainable sleeping schedule and the first few days are rough, since you’ve been on a ‘normal’ one without having the show, but once you get into the swing of it, it gets better. 

Your days are often free, too, so if Miyuki doesn’t have a photoshoot or an interview or any other kind of public engagement, you’re dragging him around the city. 

It’s mostly to just get him outside. 

He doesn’t need to pick up, like, knitting or something but… he should go out and do things anyway. They don’t have to be extraordinary, either. Even going out and sitting in a cafe and reading is good. 

He’s a bit of a solitary creature, you find. He doesn’t have friends here — “I have the team,” he says, but when you ask whether they hang out, he admits it’s never quite voluntary on his part. More of an obligation. Outside of that, there is nothing else. But the thing is, humans need social contact. Social support. It is quite literally hardwired into your DNA. 

And being solitary or a homebody doesn’t have to change. You get wanting to stay home. But it’s just… there’s a balance to these things, right?

Mostly… you just want him to enjoy himself. 

Bit by bit, it’s starting to work. 

You find yourself at Barnes & Noble with your sister at one point and find a book on Shohei Ohtani that seems interesting. You ask him about it and he says he hasn’t read it. 

You buy two copies and drag him to Balboa Park to read on the grass on a particularly warm November day. 

He humors you, and most of all, you certainly entertain him by asking, “What the hell an ERA and an OPS are,” and all kinds of questions about the baseball jargon you stumble upon in your reading. 

Oftentimes, you bring your new camera, a very expensive model you’d picked out at BestBuy a couple weeks ago after several hours of contemplation. 

Photography is just a hobby for you, nothing serious, which is why you still haven’t accepted the Padres’ offer to join their team. 

The show is going well. More than well. Most nights, you have a long line of callers and even more interaction on Twitter. Once people discover you, they tend to stick around, liking what they find. It helps you have people from all around the world listening. Your listeners in Japan and other parts of the world get the advantage of it being afternoon when your show airs, so it’s feasible to reach a wide audience there. Especially after all the attention you got. 

The blessings of modern technology also allow for each segment to be recorded and stored away on streaming apps, so if people aren’t staying up, they can listen the next day, after the fact. That is a popular option. 

The time continues to pass. Miyuki’s birthday comes up — turning a whole twenty-nine. You’re a few years younger than him at twenty-six. 

November ends and December begins. The city is festive, houses decorated in their various religious symbols for the upcoming holidays. But of course, the lowest the temperatures will go is the fifties and that’s at night. In the day, it floats around the mid-sixties. Cool but not uncomfortable. For some, it ruins the experience of the winter holidays, but you quite like being able to still wear shorts or leggings during the month, so you don’t complain. 

All the while, you and Miyuki hang out. You visit museums, art galleries, exhibits, botanical gardens. Sometimes you go to your apartment and complete your more difficult puzzles since he likes the challenge or you try to teach him photography. Sometimes you go to his apartment and he answers your questions on baseball or you cook together or you play shogi together (more like he teaches you how to play). He’d tried it out after your talk, said he was always forced to play it with one of his old teammates from high school but he hadn’t touched it since he graduated. Mostly, you think he enjoys beating you at it but you don’t mind.

That’s the point, isn’t it? 

You’re still searching for new things to explore, though. 

“Has there ever been anything you wanted to do as a kid that you never did? I always wanted to go to Magic Mountain but my sister is a scaredy cat.”

“Why didn’t your parents just go with you?”

“Didn’t see any use in even going to Six Flags if she wasn’t going to go and they certainly weren’t going to come with me on rides.”

He glances at you, curious. 

The two of you find yourselves sitting in the stands of a Little League game. You’d stepped out of a cafe for a late lunch when he spotted the fields and dragged you over to it, which was a nice surprise. Most often, if your days are not pre-planned, you just go where your whims take you. But now it’s his whims leading you to this field. Probably expecting a high school team or something. No, this is Little League. And you mean Little League. 

Most of the kiddos running around look to be four to six years old. Their batting helmets are too big for their heads. Volunteers stand around, watching like hawks. 

You watch with a small smile as a little boy hits the ball off the tee, then, instead of running down first base line, runs forward to chase it. 

A volunteer swoops in as the other boys of the team close in to grab the ball in clumsy formation; the volunteer lifts the little boy back over to the first base line and urges him on. He finally runs for first base. 

Miyuki looks amused, too. You wouldn’t have thought he’d enjoyed watching but these little kids are fun to watch. No one gets upset when they chase the ball after hitting it instead of running to the bases. Or if they make more clumsy mistakes. They’re just kids, after all. Babies, really. But they’re having fun and so, everyone else is, too. 

Even Miyuki, who watches with a soft look in his eyes. 

Or he was. Now he is looking at you, curiosity clear in those amber brown eyes. 

“What?”

“I know I’m being a hypocrite by saying this but you don’t talk much about your parents. Did they visit you when you were in the hospital?”

“You can ask questions about my life, Miyuki. We’re friends. Friends do that.”

“Right.”

“And no, they didn’t.” You shrug. “But that’s fine. My sister and I don’t talk to them. They had very specific visions about what we should do with our lives. Go to an Ivy League, become a doctor, an engineer, a programmer. Neither of us wanted that. My sister wanted to be a flight attendant and I wanted to be a radio host. Not very impressive or glamorous jobs in their eyes and certainly not jobs that would earn us six figures so we could give them money. So. We don’t talk. Well, really, they disowned us. But you know.”

“That…”

You shoot him a grin. “It’s okay. They weren’t that great growing up. They took care of us but it was always just a transactional thing and if we didn’t do something they liked, they always said something like After all we have done for you blah blah blah. As if housing us and clothing us and feeding us makes them good parents.”

You yawn, stretching your arms above your head. “Anyway, we’ve got Hector’s family now. They’re loads better.”

“Endlessly optimistic.”

“I can’t change anything,” you chuckle. “That’s in the past. I’ve grieved it, believe me. But in the end, there’s just nothing left for me. So.”

He nods and turns his eyes back to the field. 

Another little boy hits the ball from the tee. He doesn’t try chasing it but he heads straight for second base instead of first. 

“My mom died when I was a kid.”

You jolt, head whipping towards him. He doesn’t look at you, instead out at the field, where chaos unfolds, punctuated by parents’ cheers and urges and the kids’ yells and laughter. It balances the weight of his words but you still feel them pierce deep in the soft tissue of your heart. 

“After she died, my dad wasn’t all there. For most of my childhood and teenage years, he was never there. Had to cook, clean, balance the checkbook, pay the bills. He came around in my final year of high school but it still wasn’t…”

“Can’t make up for all that you had to do,” you murmur. 

“But it’s like you said. I can’t change any of it. He tries now, which I guess is what matters the most in the end.”

“Still,” you say softly. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that from such a young age.”

“I had baseball,” he says, looking at you. “If I didn’t have my parents, I had baseball. But I guess that’s the point of this.”

You tilt your head, silently urging him to go on. 

He lifts a shoulder. “I won’t have baseball forever.”

“I don’t know,” you say, smiling. “If there is anyone who can keep going forever, I think it’s you.”

“Yeah. Then they’d ban me from the parks.”

You laugh and turn back around, shifting on the metal bench. Your shoulder brushes his. 

“I don’t remember much from my childhood other than wanting to play baseball and be the best,” he says, finally addressing your previous question. 

“Didn’t even want to go to an amusement park or something?”

He gives you a suspicious looks. “What’s with you and amusement parks?”

“They’re fun!”

“Didn’t realize you were such an adrenaline junkie, tomcat. Maybe you did get hit with that ball on purpose.”

You laugh. “I am not and I did not! They’re just fun! This is coming from someone who has clearly never experienced the pleasure of a rollarcoaster.”

“There are many words to describe rollarcoasters and a pleasure is not one of them. Besides, you’re still recovering from your concussion. I don’t think it’s a great idea to go on a contraption that shoots you from zero to seventy in a few seconds.”

“I’ll ask Hector when I see him tomorrow for my appointment.”

He chuckles. ”You do that. But you know what I have been thinking?” 

“Tell me.”

“We’ve been to the zoo, we’ve been all around the city but… why haven’t we gone to the aquarium yet?”

“Oh, my god, you’re right.”

“Doing anything tomorrow?”

“I have my appointment. We’ll go to the aquarium next week Tuesday. Be less busy.”

“Hey, maybe I’m doing something.”

“Are you?” you ask knowingly. 

He looks away. “No… but it’s the principle!”

“You’re right. Are you free next week Tuesday to go to the aquarium?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

You nudge his shoulder, smiling. He nudges back, then stays there, your shoulders and arms pressed together, skin against skin. Your heart does something funny at the feeling. 

You stay like that until the game is over.   

Your six-week follow up appointment is tomorrow in the afternoon. 

Another round of CT and X-ray scans reveal good — great — news. Your brain contusions are completely healed, which finally makes Hector relax. Your skull fracture is entirely healed, too. It wasn’t a very big fracture — if it was, you’d be in a whole lot more trouble, like, brain surgery kind of trouble — so it’s smallness in size lends a hand to your healing. The bruise on your temple is gone, too. 

You do have one question, though. 

“Soooo, when do you think I’m safe to ride a rollarcoaster?”

“Six months from now,” Hector says flatly.  

“What?!”

“One-hundred-and-nineteen. That was the exit velocity on that ball. Concussions don’t just heal like that. They take a long time.”

You pout. You’d figured that. You didn’t think you had to wait six months, though…

“How about two months?”

“Why do you even want to get on one?”

“For fun.”

Hector looks at you for a second, lips pursed. Then he sighs. “Three months. Wait at least three months from the day it happened, so October twenty-fifth to January twenty-fifth. Then after that, you can go. But you must exercise caution. Listen to your body. If you start to feel sick or if your head hurts, stop immediately. Okay? These things are different in everybody but you still have to be careful.”

“I will be. Promise.”

[Night Owl Transcript — 20:34 — 12/9/2022]

Tee: It’s Friday night, folks, which means it’s I-play-music-and-you-imagine-your-lives-as-movies night. Have fun and be safe out there. 

[M83’s “Midnight City” plays] Lookin’ at the milky skyline The city is my church It wraps me in its blinding twilight

[Off-air recording starts] Mouser: You and Miyuki sure are spending a lot of time together, huh.  Tee: Yeees? Why? Mouser: Just an observation. Tee: Is it really? Mouser: [Laughs] It is! You guys seem like you’re having a lot of fun together. Just surprised, I guess.  Tee: Why? Mouser: He just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy you’d be friends with.  Tee: I guess not. But he’s not all bad. I just think he’s… Mouser: Got a couple chips on those broad, broad shoulders? Tee, Mouser: [Laughter] Tee: Pretty much. Mouser: I guess I’m not surprised. Guy has bad luck when it comes to concussing people. Tee: [Chuckling] What? Mouser: No way. You don’t know? Tee: Know what? Mouser: Ohhhhh. Oh, shit. Wait. It was this thing… hold on. I’m going in. 

Jerry opens the door to the studio, rolling in the chair from the control room. You sit up, sliding off the headphones, pulling your legs from the desk, frowning a little. Midnight City plays quietly from the headphones that you set on the desk. 

“I thought you knew,” Jerry says, looking a tad nervous as he rolls up next to you, tapping quickly on his phone. 

“I’d never heard anything about it.”

“Well, basically, like, three or four years ago, during his second season here in the US and with the Atlanta Braves, a few weeks into the season, one of his foul balls hit a little girl in the stands.”

“What?”

He passes you his phone. It’s a recent article, talking about not just your concussion, but the other one, too. About a six-year-old girl who, in a home game in Atlanta between the Braves and the Washington Nationals, was hit by a foul ball in the first inning. 

“She suffered permanent brain damage,” he says, frowning a little bit. “Like she started having seizures after and stuff. Speech issues, mobility issues. I looked more into it after I first heard about it, just ‘cause I was curious about him, since he was visiting you and stuff. He did the same for her. Paid her hospital bills. Is still paying for stuff regarding her healthcare and making sure she has a good quality of life, I think. They say she’s doing good now.”

“That’s good at least,” you mumble, still scrolling the article. 

“But… after it happened, he slumped bad. Like really bad. Like the worst slump of his career apparently. This guy’s, like, a heavy hitter, right? Up there with Judge and Trout, I’ve heard. Defensively speaking, he was still okay. Not as good as usual but… on the offense, he was even worse. This was after his debut here in the US. One of the Braves’ best seasons to date. But that season…” 

Jerry shakes his head. 

“I mean, I get it. I probably wouldn’t walk away unscathed but… I don’t know.”

“It’s different in Japan,” you say quietly, handing his phone back. “They’re vigilant about keeping people safe. Here… nothing happens until it’s too late. Has it happened since?”

“No. Your incident was his second one.”

“They’re not the same, though. Behind the foul line… yeah, it should be netted. But out there in the outfield — that was on me.”

“He probably still feels bad, Tee. I mean… yours was bad. You got lucky. Really lucky.”

True. Headaches have increased in frequency and sometimes you’re still sensitive to the sun. But outside of that… you’ll be okay eventually. 

You knew there might be some underlying guilt, but never enough for you to reconsider where you stand. 

Is he humoring you because of that? Or because you are friends? 

You hope it’s because you’re friends. If it’s that first one… you don’t know. What can you do? 

You try to think of it from his perspective. If your places were reversed, you’d probably feel a little bit of guilt. But he’s more than made up for it — when he didn’t even have to. He had your forgiveness before you even woke up the day after. He always had it. 

“He got better, though, right?”

“Well, he accepted a trade deal with the Padres after that season. Three years here. It ended this season.”

“What?”

“How do you not know that? You guys hang out constantly!”

“The finer points of the Major League Baseball trade do not dominate our conversations!”

He throws his head back and laughs. You grin, too, shaking your head as you glance back to the computer to make sure the next song is correct. It’ll start straightaway. 

“Well, don’t worry about it. Your boyfriend —“

“He isn’t my boyfriend! Mouser!”

 Jerry ignores you, smiling knowingly. “Your boyfriend accepted a five-year extension. $120 million.”

“You know, on that thought…”

Janelle Monáe’s Make Me Feel starts playing. 

You two share a mischievous grin. 

You keep on askin’ me the same questions And second-guessin’ all my intentions Should know by the way I use my compression That you’ve got the answers to my confessions

It’s like I’m powerful with a little bit of tender An emotional sexual bender Mess me up, yeah, but no one does it better There’s nothin’ better

That’s just the way you make me feel That’s just the way you make me feel So good, so good, so real

Look, it’s all in good fun, alright?

He isn’t your boyfriend. No way. Your relationship is better now, after those boundaries were tested and are steadily improving as he opens up to you about his life but…

It’s just not possible. 

Even if he will be here for the next five years… and maybe more…

No. No. Not happening. It can’t.

It’s not like you’re swearing off the possibility completely but that just seems… out of this world. 

Out of the realms of your world.

Yes, he’s horribly handsome and actually kind of funny in that snarky way of his, while also having rare bouts of sensitivity and sometimes your breath catches when you see his face in the sun and your heart does a funny little thing when he looks at you but it’s… 

It’s nothing. 

It was evening, and no longer summer. Three small fish, I don’t know what they were, huddled in the highest ripples as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body one gesture, one black sleeve that could fit easily around the bodies of three small fish.

Also I wanted to be able to love. And we all know how that one goes, don’t we?

[myfavebandfizz]

Clash Magazine Interview - Feb 15, 2024

“Community, Togetherness, Collaboration” FIZZ On ‘The Secret To Life’

Martin Luke Brown, Greta Isaac, Orla Gartland, and the mononymous dodie are each successful singer-songwriters. Just a couple of months ago, Martin released his long-awaited debut album damn, ‘look at the view!’. Last year, Greta released the EP ‘I Think You’d Hate It Here’ – and she also runs a successful enterprise doing art direction for other artists. Among these artists is dodie, who in 2022 achieved the career-long goal of appearing on NPR’s Tiny Desk series, following the release of her critically acclaimed ‘Hot Mess’ EP. Playing guitar with dodie behind the desk was Orla Gartland, whose debut album ‘Woman on the Internet’ took the world by storm in 2021, and whose brand new single ‘Kiss Ur Face Forever’ was released at the start of August. 

The curricula vitae of these four musicians are long and impressive. And in June, they announced that they were coming together to form FIZZ, a gaudy, genre-bending supergroup which sounds a little like all of them and nothing like any of them, all at once. Alongside the release of debut single ‘High In Brighton’, the band announced that their debut album would be coming in September – and that its title would be ‘The Secret To Life’. 

I had the opportunity to all four cogs in the FIZZ wheel via ZOOM in July, and my first question was a broad one. 

“What is the secret to life?”

“That’s what we’re all trying to figure out!” Greta protests. 

“For me, the secret to life is finding comfort in absolutely everything,” says dodie. 

Orla agrees. “It’s community, togetherness, collaboration,” she adds. “Being in a band but also like…having tea together.”

Greta says that “The secret to life is unwavering commitment to carrying on,” while Martin’s answer adds a touch of whimsy to proceedings. “It’s playing Rocket League, with the boys standing next to me,” he says, quoting a track from the upcoming album.

I ask the band if it was scary to come together as FIZZ. 

“I think everything is scary!” says dodie.

“Relate!” says Greta, “I haven’t left my house in days!”

“We promised ourselves we would leave our egos at the door when making this album and there was something so unfamiliar about that,” dodie adds. “It was scary and difficult – and it still is – but at the same time it’s so rewarding.”

What I hear on ‘The Secret To Life’ is four egos in a room managing to co-exist, and when I share this with Greta, it seems to resonate. 

“We have to remember that we made the album and all of our voices are equal and that shows up in the tiniest places. The best decisions are made when we each have our voices heard.”

“It’s an honour to rock out with you guys,” Orla adds, in an ironic, self-effacing American accent. The band bursts into laughter, and I get a little peek into what it might have been like in the studio during the making of the album. 

The consensus among the band seems to be that it’s felt refreshing to leave introspection behind. Martin points out that dodie – known elsewhere for the quietness of her vocals – is screaming on this album. Martin himself meanwhile has gone from ruminating on masculinity on his debut to “banging on his chest and taking up space” here. 

I ask Martin how it feels to be the “token man” in the band, and he says that during their Latitude set, an older couple had asked his pronouns, thanks no doubt to his flamboyant stage outfit. 

“I’m a straight man,” he says “But I felt so touched by someone of that generation asking that. It felt so humbling. Growing up, I was quite flamboyant naturally.”

“It’s a slippery slope, Martin,” I warn him, citing my own experience as a trans woman. 

“Welcome!” the rest of the band jokes.

“Something I’m very conscious of is that our audiences are quite gay,” Martin says, pointing to dodie and Orla in particular. “And I wanna respect that and exist in that environment in a way that feels me and not like I’m pretending.”

At risk of making a lofty comparison, I tell the band that the album reminded me of ‘Sgt. Pepper…’ by The Beatles. I ask the band whether they feel as though they’re playing characters on the record – and if so, who those characters are. 

“We’re elevated versions of ourselves,” says Orla. “and pushing each other to be more out-there”. 

“We’ve relinquished expectations of what we should be making and how we should be presenting,” says Greta. “It was a realisation of what we’re craving in our own artist projects, which was explosive, uncompromising joy.”

I ask the band if the joy of the album is all real, or if there’s something bleak being played on here. Is ‘The Secret to Life’ an attempt to escape from a pervasive sense of existential dread? 

“That’s spookily like something we’ve said before,” says Orla. “That really we’re adults playing dress up and trying to re-ignite the joy in life.”

“It isn’t all sunshine and rainbows,” says Greta. “There’s this mesh between youth and adulthood that’s complicated and messy.”

“I will say that the whole process has genuinely been unadulterated joy,” offers Martin, placing a reassuring hand on Greta’s shoulder. “There really hasn’t been any kind of weird ulterior motive. Whenever I speak to other artists, everyone’s moaning about TikTok and how hard you have to work as a musician. It’s a slog – and for a lot of people, the shine of it has just worn off. I think the novelty of being a musician isn’t enough to keep you smiling anymore. Starting a band and doing an album like this is a response to ten years in the industry. It’s joy that’s come from pain.”

I suggest that listeners might share the band’s pain here, especially in the political climate of 2023. It feels as though FIZZ is the music people are reaching for. 

“I feel like I’m chronically afraid of the world,” adds Greta, laughing through gritted teeth. “And getting to create FIZZ was an escape from all of that, but naturally a fear of life creeps into it as well. I would hope it would offer comfort and validation when you need it,” Greta agrees. 

When I cheekily ask about the album’s lead single ‘High in Brighton’ and what it might be about, Martin tells me it’s all about paragliding. 

“If you do go paragliding or ride the zip line in Brighton,” Greta says with a wink, “then make sure you do it with people you feel safe with and trust – and check in that you’re ready to go paragliding.”

“Maybe just have a good time before the FIZZ gig,” Martin advises cryptically. 

The production on the album is busy, deliberately messy, and full of countless little exciting details. I’m interested to know when and how the band – and producer Pete Miles – knew when to stop. 

“Pete tells us when to stop,” says Martin with a smile. “He has a holistic approach to everything. Pete is a bit of a wizard and he sets us up as primary school kids and encourages us to just run around making noise. Then it felt like we would just get tired, and Pete would be like – that’s it.”

At this point in our conversation – which is happening over ZOOM – Martin silently leaves the room to have a wee. The rest of the band apologises, and I tell them it’s okay because I can’t hear him. “We can,” they say in chorus. 

Conversation turns to the latest single ‘As Good As It Gets’, on which Greta takes the lead vocal. She says she turned up to the studio upset and stressed that day, and tapped into “a voice I didn’t know I had”. 

“I don’t mean a singing voice,” she clarifies, “I mean the bravery of just going for it. We probably wouldn’t have been able to sing that way if we hadn’t felt that pain. That’s what’s so special about this band. Our fears and our vulnerability and our pain is given a function and a meaning. I was so grateful for that day.”

“For all the convoluted things that this job can be,” says Orla, “taking what you feel and processing it through song is the reason I got into this. It feels like 2% of what we do sometimes, but it’s still its core for me. To me, that’s the whole reason for doing music, and there’s so much of that on this album.”

“I love writing with you guys,” adds dodie. “Our whole ethos with FIZZ is to get rid of the restraints – and we’re such fans of each other that we said yes to everything, which makes the songs so maximalist but so interesting and so fun. If I could take away everything else, I would just wanna write with you forever.”

dodie’s words here are the sort of sentiment that would normally inspire a moment’s reflection, or hugs and thank yous. But in FIZZ, they go unremarked upon. The band just carries on talking about something else. And that’s not to say they don’t appreciate dodie’s words – far from it. It’s just that FIZZ has fostered a culture where the magic of collaboration is constantly acknowledged, love and friendship are constantly upheld, and celebration doesn’t just happen on special occasions. Maybe that – at the end of it all – is ‘The Secret to Life’. 

[mooncaps]

I've been thinking about money. Specifically: When does it stop being mine? How far does my moral, ethical, and legal responsibility extend for the money that passes through my hands?

There's been a recent Thing™ that has started me thinking about this topic, but I do want to be clear that I'm not buying the Thing™. I have no interest in buying the Thing™. I'm not trying to make a case for buying the Thing™. I'd prefer if everyone ignored the Thing™. I won't mention it by name because I don't want to draw in certain audiences to this post. I'm worried that if too many members of certain audiences work out which Thing™ I was just talking about, then this post will get derailed. I just want to organize some of my thoughts on the ethics of money. My hope is that maybe others can contribute to a constructive discussion and together all parties can come to a greater understanding of the subject. My fear is that I'm just gonna get shouted at by angry fans and angry anti-fans alike for daring to come on the internet and ask if there might be some degree of nuance to something.

So, with that out of they way, let's dig into this. What kind of nuances of morality and ethics apply to the money that flows through the economy, into my hands, and then into the hands of others?

If I go to a farmers market and buy a potato, how responsible am I for what the farmer does with that money? If she uses that money to buy pesticides that devastate local ecosystems, that's her moral burden to bear, but is it also mine? Is my only moral responsiblity for my money "did I spend it on something wortwhile in my life" or does it extend beyond that? What if the farmer takes the money I gave her for the potato and donates to a group that lobbies to make weapons easier to buy and one of those weapons is used in a murder? Me, the farmer, the lobbying group, the manufacturer of the weapon, and the murderer are all at least a little bit responsible, aren't we? Maybe even my boss for giving me the money. And the clients of the business for giving him the money. Their bosses for giving them money. Where is the line? When do I stop holding myself accountable for what other people do with the money they make from my purchases? It's all continually flowing from employers to employees to businesses to employers and back again. When it comes time for a trial though, it's the murderer taking the stand. No one's sending me a subpoena for buying a potato.

If I make every single ripple effect my responisibility, I'll surely drive myself insane. If I decide that nothing is my responsibility after the money leaves my hands, do I end up blinding myself to harm that I'm having a hand in? How do I navigate this in a balanced way where I'm mindful of my ripples without making other people's bad choices my fault?

Another wrinkle in this line of thought: Do I really need that potato? Is it the only potato available? Is it the most affordable potato? Do I even need a potato, or can I get comparable nutrients from another comparably-priced food product? Do I have an option for getting food that doesn't support harmful chemicals or corrupt weapons dealers?

Then comes the next level: What if it's not a necessity, but a luxury? Not a potato to eat, but a poster for my wall and it comes from a website known for stealing art? Or a movie made by a studio that mistreats its employees? The poster itself is not stolen art, but made by an indie artist trying to make ends meet. The movie has strong representation for an under-represented group of people. Am I doing good by supporting the indie artist and progressive movie? Or am I doing bad by supporting the corrupt website and studio? And since these are luxuries I can live without, should I refuse to spend my money on these things?

Further to that, will withholding my money make any tangible difference? Even if everyone stopped supporting that large website or movie studio, their CEOs are already obscenely rich. If they never make another penny, they'll still have enough money to continue doing great harm for the rest of their lives. And if I'm powerless to stop their harm, then should I just focus on the joy I get from that poster or movie and let what happens with that money after it leaves my hands be entirely their moral responsibility? Certainly those CEOs have the power and freedom to just stop doing harm any time they choose. Is it my fault if they keep choosing to harm others?

I could go on and on into other examples. If I work for a corrupt mega-corporation should I feel guilty that my labor enriches their business? If money is based on a gold standard, am I responsible for the imperialism, slave labor, and bloodshed that led to that gold being collected by my government before I was even born? If I give money to a homeless person who uses it to do buy something illegal or commit a crime, how responsible am I for the crime? 100%? 0%? 50%? If I'm the boss of a business do I have the right to fire employees who spend their money in ways that I disagree with or is it my responsibility to simply pay them as long as they perform labor, leaving what they do with their pay as solely their business? If my employee spends money on a video game I don't like, I suspect most people would agree that I don't have the right to fire them, but what if they're donating part of their paycheck to a hate group? What if the law doesn't agree about which groups should be called hate groups? Do I have the right as a boss to make a unilateral determination that I don't want my money going to hate groups, or has that money stopped being my money the moment it becomes their paycheck?

There are a lot of sticky moral quandaries surrounding the flow of money in our socieities and how to spend it responsibly, but the questions keep circling back to the same core concepts. How responsible am I for what other people do with my money after I spend it? To what degree does it matter where it comes from or where it goes? Are there definite parameters or is it all just too complicated and nebulous to have concrete guiding principles?

I don't know the answers to these questions. I don't know where the balance is between minimizing harm and obsessing over every purchase to the point of insanity. Even with luxury purchases these matters are not always clear to me. My goal is to live a harmless life, but I don't always know the best ways to do that.

And maybe the answer is just that these things are complex and confusing. There is no definite guiding principle, but we just have to do our best with each decision based on our knowledge and present circumstances. And even though we can't control all the ripple effects, we do what we can. It may even be precisely because there are so many things we can't control that we work so hard to do our best with the things we can control.

I don't have all the answers. I don't even know if I have all the right questions. Those are the thoughts I have at this time though.

If I've reached a point where I decided to post this, then I guess I'm opening up the floor for others to voice their opinions on the topic.

[clarklovescarole]

September 1938: Carole's Taxes

September 1, 1938 – Morning Post

Carole Lombard is selecting hip boots, leather coat and other knick knacks for a weekend hunting trip. She leaves with Andy Devines, Clark Gable and Norris Goff for the opening of duck season. 

September 2, 1938 – Lancaster New Era

“I Think That’s Fine”

Miss Carole Lombard, of the movies, recently delivered some remarkable observations on taxes. The government took something over 85 percent of her $465,000 income and she announced that it was perfectly lovely. “I’m pretty happy with the whole thing,” she averred. “I have no kicks at all – I think it’s fine.” 

The government, she continued, spent most of it “for me, on generational improvements on the country, and I really think I got my money’s worth.”

Very idealistic, though there are those who believe that as Miss Lombard recently took a two-week flyer working as a press agent, this may have had something to do with it all, but they are just horrid cynics.

September 3, 1938 – Stockton Daily Evening Record

It’s true what they say about Carole Lombard: that she’s a riot to work with. We saw that when on the David O. Selznick set, where Carole and thin Jimmy Stewart are making “Made For Each Other.” The story, by Rose Francken, appeared in Red Book as “Of Great Riches.” 

Carole’s stand-in was doing her stuff when we heard a lot of giggling and a slim, blonde girl in a good-looking brown sport felt hat and a lighter-toned sport coat appeared.

“That’s Carole,” someone said as the blonde burst into a peal of laughter.

Still hatted, coated and giggling, she climbed on the bed minus its headboard, footboard and posts, and Jimmie Stewart, also hatted and coated, followed her. More giggling as Carole burst out with: “Isn’t this silly?” By that time everybody was smiling or giggling, the slim little script girl in slacks and the sound mixer who wears a headphone as he sits at what looks to be a switchboard.

September 4, 1938 – The Knoxville Journal

The week in Hollywood – Carole Lombard scoots around the Selznick lot on a motor scooter, gift of Clark Gable.

September 6, 1938 – The Spokesman Review

Clark Gable accompanied Carole Lombard to her first day’s shooting on “Made For Each Other,” and then had to watch her make love to Jimmy Stewart…

September 6, 1938 – San Francisco Examiner

When Carole Lombard and Clark Gable play tennis together, she usually wins…

September 7, 1938 – Wilkes Barre Times Leader

Clark Gable finally sold his flashy $3,000 roadster because every time he took Carole Lombard out driving people recognized them…

September 9, 1938 – Buffalo Evening News

A newsreel photographer wanted to take pictures of Carole Lombard on a scooter she received from Clark Gable, but Carole quipped, “Only way I’m going to be photographed is from the front – never in a retreating position.” Which reminds me of a story told by Donald Crisp about the handsome Mr. Gable. “It was when I was a director in the old De Mille studios. Gable came to see me and was so nervous that I offered him a drink. ‘I don’t want a drink,’ he stammered. ‘I want a job.’” Those days must not seem very distant to Clark.

September 10, 1938 – Los Angeles Times

On blue days Carole Lombard invites her friends to tea and tells them the story of her life. 

September 16, 1938 – Star Tribune

Carole Lombard prefers the set cleared when she does those love scenes with Jimmie Stewart in “Made For Each Other.” 

September 17, 1938 – San Francisco Examiner

If any of the movie stars are AWOL in the next two weeks, you might try paging them at the Pomona County Fair. … Last year Clark Gable and Carole Lombard went with us and we never had so much fun in our lives.

September 18, 1938 – St Louis Globe Democrat

Cupid’s Arrows Fill Hollywood

Perhaps the news that attorneys for the Clark Gables are busy working out a financial settlement of their affairs is the most interesting romance item. Carole Lombard is house hunting in Brentwood, and the tip is that it has a direct relation to Clark’s impending freedom by way of Reno.

September 18, 1938 – St Louis Globe Democrat

Carole Lombard may earn $400,000 a year but she still lives in a rented house, drives a 2-year-old Ford and has never had a chauffeur.

September 20, 1938 – The Evening News

Clark Gable Signs For Role

Louis B. Mayer is shown signing contract permitting Clark Gable to play the role of Rhett Butler in “Gone with the Wind.” David O. Selznick, standing, will produce it and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer will release it.

September 20, 1938 – The Record

September 22, 1938 – The Province

Carole Lombard’s newest publicity pictures are all very dignified – no more harum-scarum poses – for a little while anyway. Incidentally, Mr. Gable has added another accomplishment to his ever-growing list – he has initiated Carole into the mysteries of skeet shooting.

September 23, 1938 – Los Angeles Times

Jimmie Fidler – Passing By

All the Hollywood news I know at this time is that Carole Lombard complained bitterly to Clark Gable about the smell of the stuff he uses on his hair.

September 24, 1938 – Buffalo Evening News

Sheilah Graham

Carole Lombard-William Powell, Clark Gable-Rhea Gable – how do the members of this quartet regard and treat each other in the narrow confines of Hollywood? 

Lombard and Powell are perhaps greater friends now than when they were husband and wife. When they first started making “My Man Godfrey,” their dressing rooms were at the opposite ends of the set. Halfway through the picture they were halfway nearer each other. By the time “My Man Godfrey” was in a “canned” condition, their two rooms were side by side! And the ex-Mr. and Mrs. dined together at least five times a week, and it looked as though Bill had nosed out Mr. Gable for first place in Carole’s heart.

Chilling – These Gables

Clark has never resented this reappearance of Powell in Carole’s life and recently listed Bill among the ten men he likes best in Hollywood.

Gable’s relationship with estranged wife rhea is something else again. Shortly after their separation, I remember seeing them at a New Year’s Eve party in Sam Goldwyn’s house. But Clark was careful to remain in one room and Rhea was just as anxious to stay in another. I saw them pass each other once. Their faces wore a strained smile. Nowadays, hostesses take good care to invite them separately, as Clark is very embittered anent the huge settlement he is paying his second wife. 

September 25, 1938 – Detroit Free Press

Carole Lombard may be a glamour girl on the screen, but off it she is becoming more of a hillbilly with each passing day. Of course, Clark Gable has had a lot to do with Carole’s back-to-earth trek. No girl who just pretended to like the great outdoors and limped through meadows in high heels would ever pass with Clark. Also there’s nothing halfway about Carole. On a recent dove hunting expedition with Clark, Andy Devine and several others, she was the first to shoot the limit.

“Carole will go anywhere a man will,” Andy told me. “We started out from a lodge beyond Bakersfield at 5 o’clock in the morning. She was up even earlier, cooking ham and eggs for the whole crowd. She tucked her trousers into her hip boots and waded through slush so deep she had to carry her gun over her shoulder to keep it dry. She cleaned her own doves, digging the shot out of them as efficiently as any of us guys.” 

So it looks as though the modern girl is dispelling the billing-and-cooling technic of the last century with a blast of bird shot through the heart of the dove.

September 26, 1938 – Chicago Tribune

There is a tremendous national interest in Hollywood and its performers, absolutely no interest in Hollywood executives. To my surprise, there is no resentment toward picture performers because of the high salaries they receive. “They pay most of it back in taxes,” the fans tell you philosophically. The pair about whom you are asked the most questions are Clark Gable and Carole Lombard. To the people these two seem to be the most typical of movie stars, exciting and glamorous.

September 30, 1938 – Wilkes Barre Times Leader

Clark Gable almost fell off the observation platform kissing Carole Lombard good-by when his train left for the East…

September 30, 1938 – Minneapolis Star

(Cedric Adams on Clark’s visit to Canada for a hunting expedition)

He made a daily call to Carole Lombard and frequently they talked for 10 minutes. They wired each other daily and exchanged a daily letter. Carole’s a crack shot and much of the telephone conversation concerned Clark’s hunting. Last year Lombard and Gable hunted together for three days and the two of them shot one teal. She killed it. Carole’s going to join him into the Canadian spot next year.

… Over the telephone and in telegrams, Gable calls Lombard Ma and she refers to him as Pa.