#also will be a tag dump once i figure out what new theme to go with

[scxrletheart]

Testing - Tag Dump

[feline-evil]

I would love to here you info dump about your ocs if you want to?

Grinning evily, I SHALL DO SO!

So ik its been a while since i've really drawn or talked about my boys but a refresher for everyone is i have an OC universe/story loosely titled Flesh and Bone with is a The Thing inspired story featuring my Oc's Clay, Damien and Jack! All three work on a shady arctic base run by an evil corp unbeknownst to them, and after a sequence of horrible incidence and creature attacks Clay is 'killed' only to come back as! Some sort of slopbeast thing monster! He's cool and chill though, not a threat to anyone; hes a wet bag of nerves desperately trying to maintain his shape as the man he was once before, because thats who he is!! It's a story about identity (both in all my main cast being trans men but also in the more metaphorical and subtextual reading of. Clays whole deal lmao) and exploring what that means, and its also about three gay fruits experiencing THE HORRORS!

I have not written it, it's far too big a task rn, but thats the basic idea <3 everyone can always feel free to check the flesh and bone tag or any oc tags (ie oc: damien, oc: clay, oc: jack ect) on my blog to see stuuuuuuff about it!

MORE BELOW THE CUT, LIKE WAY WAY MORE SO MUCH LMAO, and as always heads up for horror themed when it comes to my lil oc's and their world <3

Lately a lot of what i've been thinking about with my oc's has been the physical changes that happen throughout the time they spend trapped in that research base, because they are there for a LONG time they do look different than they do at the start! Obviously there's the general stuff like Damien's hair growing long and the roots showing, Clay's facial hair getting scruffy and his hair getting long and unruly too, jack cutting all his long hair off (too dangerous to wield a flamethrower frequently with all that hair in the way in his learned opinion); but then there's the more physical side of going through this really tough time too, more than just aesthetic changes like hair and clothing changes. The most obvious is yes, Clay IS just a writhing mass of meat that replicates the appearance he wants to be seen as; yes including his clothes his scarf has a heartbeat don't worry about it. But then there's stuff that's not Whatever the hell Clay's deal is; Jack loses a leg, they all gain a multitude of new scars, this is a long, tough situation to survive and none of them are untouched by this- but thats part of the point! You can go through traumatic stuff and you can make it through, it might change you, it might change stuff about you, sometimes in ways you cant undo, but you can still make it through!! And you can still be loved as you rightfully deserved, and you can live a long happy peaceful life!! Thats a big part of the heart of *waves hands* what i am doing in my head with my oc's.

When i can draw for longer periods again i'd like to make reference sheets with 3 views of each character on each, a before, during, and after.

Another thing i've been thinking of lately is the day comes back after 'dying'! And its both horrific and later funny so i like it a lot.

So. Thing style monster drags him away screaming from the base, he is torn to shreds, the last person to see him alive is Damien and he watches that thing tear him *apart*. Everyones pretty certain he's very dead.

Days pass.

Then Clay wakes up in a hollowed out ice cave, one thats been melted into this larger open space by the pile of dead flesh and meat that has been dumped inside it, the pile that he has also been dumped in. It reeks, its horrific, he has to climb and clamber his way to the top in a state of abject disgust and horror; he doesn't remember how he got here. He doesn't remember anything past that thing getting a hold of him. (Unbeknownst to him he IS that thing but he'll figure that out later, he kind of does know that to an extent but not on any conscious level nor is he willing to accept it to much later, boys in denial. When it killed him and ate his flesh for some reason it fucked the beast up and fully replaced whatever it was before with his memories and consciousness so this is him now, the body he had before is gone, this is Clay now)

The only way out of this cave is a very narrow passage leading up, he starts to try and crawl in. Too tight, he doesn't fit. He keeps trying and trying in sobbing desperation until....he.....does fit. Shoulders give way, he slides in, this gap too small to rightfully fit his head through he is somehow now fitting through. He's going to pretend he isn't, he's not a stupid man but he fully cannot cope with comprehending his body moving as if boneless right now, his brain cannot cope nor begin to even parse the possibility that he is morphing like slimy slipper meatgoop to fit through here. He escapes, collapses out there on the ice for a bit miles from the base. He cries for a bit. Repeats in his head over and over that that hole was big enough for him, it was normal, he crawled normally, it was normal and fine. And then he eventually starts walking through freezing winds and blizzards in the direction he hopes the base is.

NOT FUNNY YET I KNOW, BARE WITH ME. ITS THE NEXT BIT OK

Clay reaches the base eventually and climbs through a window, enters the currently empty dining hall. He's back! He is. So so mentally checked out and traumatised and FUCKED from his experience that all he can think to do is just....go back to normal, pretend it never happened. He sits down. Pours himself a coffee in his favourite mug.

Footsteps echo closer, people are coming.....

jack and Damien walk in and freeze. They stare at Clay.

Clay stares at them.

'H-hey!' He says, waving over, 'you uh! You guys are up early!'

DAMIEN GRABS JACKS ARM, GET THE FLAMETHROWER HE SAYS

CLAY GOES OOP!!!!!

(Art of this moment memorialised forever by my beloved boyfriend @subsequentibis btw!!)

AND CLAY THEN SCHWOOPS LIKE LIQUIDY MEAT UP INTO A CEILING VENT AND REASSURES HIMSELF THAT THE GRATE WAS DEFINITELY OFF THE VENT AND HE DIDNT JUST FIT THROUGH TINY TINY HOLES ITS FINE ITS NORMAL ITS FINE ITS FINE, AND HIDES IN THE VENTS FOR A BIT. LMAO, LOVE MY SILLY COMEDY BIT

[duckprintspress]

How to Edit an Over-Length Story Down to a Specific Word Count

One of the most wonderful things about writing as a hobby is that you never have to worry about the length of your story. You can be as self-indulgent as you want, make your prose the royalist of purples, include every single side story and extra thought that strikes your fancy. It’s your story, with no limits, and you can proceed with it as you wish.

When transitioning from casual writing to a more professional writing milieu, this changes. If you want to publish, odds are, you’ll need to write to a word count. If a flash fiction serial says, “1,000 words or less,” your story can’t be 1,025 and still qualify. If a website says, “we accept novellas ranging from 20,000 to 40,000 words,” your story will need to fall into that window. Even when you consider novel-length works, stories are expected to be a certain word count to fit neatly into specific genres - romance is usually around 80,000 words, young adult usually 50,000 to 80,000, debut novels usually have to be 100,000 words or less regardless of genre, etc. If you self-publish or work with a small press, you may be able to get away with breaking these “rules,” but it’s still worthwhile to learn to read your own writing critically with length in mind and learn to recognize what you do and do not need to make your story work - and then, if length isn’t an issue in your publishing setting, you can always decide after figuring out what’s non-essential to just keep everything anyway.

If you’re writing for fun? You literally never have to worry about your word count (well, except for sometimes in specific challenges that have minimum and/or maximum word counts), and as such, this post is probably not for you.

But, if you’re used to writing in the “throw in everything and the kitchen sink” way that’s common in fandom fanfiction circles, and you’re trying to transition only to be suddenly confronted with the reality that you’ve written 6,000 words for a short story project with a maximum word count of 5,000...well, we at Duck Prints Press have been there, we are in fact there right now, as we finish our stories for our upcoming anthology Add Magic to Taste and many of us wrote first drafts that were well over the maximum word count.

So, based on our experiences, here are our suggestions on approaches to help your story shorter...without losing the story you wanted to tell!

Cut weasel words (we wrote a whole post to help you learn how to do that!) such as unnecessary adverbs and adjectives, the “was ~ing” sentence structure, redundant time words such as “a moment later,” and many others.

When reviewing dialog, keep an eye out for “uh,” “er,” “I mean,” “well,” and other casual extra words. A small amount of that kind of language usage can make dialog more realistic, but a little goes a long way, and often a fair number of words can be removed by cutting these words, without negatively impacting your story at all.

Active voice almost always uses fewer words than passive voice, so try to use active voice more (but don’t forget that passive voice is important for varying up your sentence structures and keeping your story interesting, so don’t only write in active voice!).

Look for places where you can replace phrases with single words that mean the same thing. You can often save a lot of words by switching out phrases like “come back” for “return” and seeking out other places where one word can do the work of many.

Cut sentences that add atmosphere but don't forward the plot or grow your characters. (Obviously, use your judgement. Don't cut ALL the flavor, but start by going - I’ve got two sentences that are mostly flavor text - which adds more? And then delete the other, or combine them into one shorter sentence.)

Remove superfluous dialog tags. If it’s clear who’s talking, especially if it’s a conversation between only two people, you can cut all the he saids, she saids.

Look for places where you've written repetitively - at the most basic level, “ ‘hahaha,’ he laughed,” is an example, but repetition is often more subtle, like instances where you give information in once sentence, and then rephrase part or all of that sentence in the next one - it’s better to poke at the two sentences until you think of an effective, and more concise, way to make them into only one sentence. This also goes for scenes - if you’ve got two scenes that tend towards accomplishing the same plot-related goal, consider combining them into one scene.

Have a reason for every sentence, and even every sentence clause (as in, every comma insertion, every part of the sentence, every em dashed inclusion, that kind of thing). Ask yourself - what function does this serve? Have I met that function somewhere else? If it serves no function, or if it’s duplicative, consider cutting it. Or, the answer may be “none,” and you may choose to save it anyway - because it adds flavor, or is very in character for your PoV person, or any of a number of reasons. But if you’re saving it, make sure you’ve done so intentionally. It's important to be aware of what you're trying to do with your words, or else how can you recognize what to cut, and what not to cut?

Likewise, have a reason for every scene. They should all move the story along - whatever the story is, it doesn’t have to be “the end of the world,” your story can be simple and straightforward and sequential...but if you’re working to a word count, your scenes should still forward the story toward that end point. If the scene doesn’t contribute...you may not need them, or you may be able to fold it in with another scene, as suggested in item 6.

Review the worldbuilding you’ve included, and consider what you’re trying to accomplish with your story. A bit of worldbuilding outside of the bare essentials makes a story feel fleshed out, but again, a little can go a long way. If you’ve got lots of “fun” worldbuilding bits that don’t actually forward your plot and aren’t relevant to your characters, cut them. You can always put them as extras in your blog later, but they’ll just make your story clunky if you have a lot of them.

Beware of info-dumps. Often finding a more natural way to integrate that information - showing instead of telling in bits throughout the story - can help reduce word count.

Alternatively - if you over-show, and never tell, this will vastly increase your word count, so consider if there are any places in your story where you can gloss over the details in favor of a shorter more “tell-y” description. You don’t need to go into a minute description of every smile and laugh - sometimes it’s fine to just say, “she was happy” or “she frowned” without going into a long description of their reaction that makes the reader infer that they were happy. (Anyone who unconditionally says “show, don’t tell,” is giving you bad writing advice. It’s much more important to learn to recognize when showing is more appropriate, and when telling is more appropriate, because no story will function as a cohesive whole if it’s all one or all the other.)

If you’ve got long paragraphs, they’re often prime places to look for entire sentences to cut. Read them critically and consider what’s actually helping your story instead of just adding word count chonk.

Try reading some or all of the dialog out loud; if it gets boring, repetitive, or unnecessary, end your scene wherever you start to lose interest, and cut the dialog that came after. If necessary, add a sentence or two of description at the end to make sure the transition is abrupt, but honestly, you often won’t even need to do so - scenes that end at the final punchy point in a discussion often work very well.

Create a specific goal for a scene or chapter. Maybe it’s revealing a specific piece of information, or having a character discover a specific thing, or having a specific unexpected event occur, but, whatever it is, make sure you can say, “this scene/chapter is supposed to accomplish this.” Once you know what you’re trying to do, check if the scene met that goal, make any necessary changes to ensure it does, and cut things that don’t help the scene meet that goal.

Building on the previous one, you can do the same thing, but for your entire story. Starting from the beginning, re-outline the story scene-by-scene and/or chapter-by-chapter, picking out what the main “beats” and most important themes are, and then re-read your draft and make sure you’re hitting those clearly. Consider cutting out the pieces of your story that don’t contribute to those, and definitely cut the pieces that distract from those key moments (unless, of course, the distraction is the point.)

Re-read a section you think could be cut and see if any sentences snag your attention. Poke at that bit until you figure out why - often, it’s because the sentence is unnecessary, poorly worded, unclear, or otherwise superfluous. You can often rewrite the sentence to be clearer, or cut the sentence completely without negatively impacting your work.

Be prepared to cut your darlings; even if you love a sentence or dialog exchange or paragraph, if you are working to a strict word count and it doesn't add anything, it may have to go, and that's okay...even though yes, it will hurt, always, no matter how experienced a writer you are. (Tip? Save your original draft, and/or make a new word doc where you safely tuck your darlings in for the future. Second tip? If you really, really love it...find a way to save it, but understand that to do so, you’ll have to cut something else. It’s often wise to pick one or two favorites and sacrifice the rest to save the best ones. We are not saying “always cut your darlings.” That is terrible writing advice. Don’t always cut your darlings. Writing, and reading your own writing, should bring you joy, even when you’re doing it professionally.)

If you’re having trouble recognizing what in your own work CAN be cut, try implementing the above strategies in different places - cut things, and then re-read, and see how it works, and if it works at all. Sometimes, you’ll realize...you didn’t need any of what you cut. Other times, you’ll realize...it no longer feels like the story you were trying to tell. Fiddle with it until you figure out what you need for it to still feel like your story, and practice that kind of cutting until you get better at recognizing what can and can’t go without having to do as much tweaking.

Lastly...along the lines of the previous...understand that sometimes, cutting your story down to a certain word count will just be impossible. Some stories simply can’t be made very short, and others simply can’t be told at length. If you’re really struggling, it’s important to consider that your story just...isn’t going to work at that word count. And that’s okay. Go back to the drawing board, and try again - you’ll also get better at learning what stories you can tell, in your style, using your own writing voice, at different word counts. It’s not something you’ll just know how to do - that kind of estimating is a skill, just like all other writing abilities.

As with all our writing advice - there’s no one way to tackle cutting stories for length, and also, which of these strategies is most appropriate will depend on what kind of story you’re writing, how much over-length it is, what your target market is, your characters, and your personal writing style. Try different ones, and see which work for you - the most important aspect is to learn to read your own writing critically enough that you are able to recognize what you can cut, and then from that standpoint, use your expertise to decide what you should cut, which is definitely not always the same thing. Lots of details can be cut - but a story with all of the flavor and individuality removed should never be your goal.

Contributions to this post were made by @unforth, @jhoomwrites, @alecjmarsh, @shealynn88, @foxymoley, @willablythe, and @owlishintergalactic, and their input has been used with their knowledge and explicit permission. Thanks, everyone, for helping us consider different ways to shorten stories!

[rosafulmen]

random  wishlist  of  ideas  i’d  love  to  explore  for  light  (  kind  of  an  ice-breaker,  kind  of  like  a  springboard  )  :

anything  in  her  verses  tag.  or,  when  looking  more  at  the  themes,  explorations  of  guardianship  and  its  failings,  what  makes  a  god  a  god  (  the  question  of  benevolence  verses  malevolence  ),  clawing  oneself  from  the  brink,  themes  of  found  family  and  love  despite  unfathomable  odds.

explorations  of  the  verses  xiii  lore;  including,  but  not  limited  too  :  the  influence  of  etro,  light’s  memories  as  ‘the  saviour’  and  what  that  means  for  this  new  world,  watching  the  war  of  a  world  she  helped  bring  about  (  all  the  while  knowing  most  of  the  world  has  no  memory  of  her  or  her  friend’s  sacrifices  ),  themes  of  faux  gods,  worship  and  the  suspension  of  vahalla.  there  are  so  many  themes  that  can  be  snatched  from  both  xiii  and  xv,  take  your  pick.

i  have  to  properly  write  out  my  kingdom  hearts  verse,  but  literally  anything  in  that.  lightning  and  her  sister  were  from  radiant  garden  but  she’s  very  estranged  from  the  main  crew.  let  her  mentor  the  kids.  let  the  kids  crack  past  her  protective  layer  to  all  those  themes  of  hope,  perseverance,  and  strength  of  heart.  watch  light  panic  when  serah  runs  off  to  help  them.  let  her  begrudgingly  assist  because  she  claims  she  ‘doesn’t  care  about  them’  (  she  absolutely  does ).

anything  to  do  with  the  horror  /  existentialism  of  being  the  saviour???  the  very  fact  light  had  no  guarantee  she  would  remember  people  in  the  next  world  and  vice  versa  so  every  ‘saving’  was  just  a  heralding  to  death.  that  liminal  space  of  being  like  ‘we  have  no  promise  of  tomorrow,  so  let’s  live  for  today’.

same  deal  with  l’cie,  just  a  different  topping.  what  if  tomorrow  our  brands  advance  and  we  lose  ourselves.  what  makes  us  who  we  are.  what  makes  us  monsters  ?  just  all  the  horror  of  gran  pulse  and  seeing  those  cie'th  stones.

angst.  i  am  an  angst  fiend.  again,  the  xiii  verse  deals  with  a  lot  of  themes  of  loss  /  death  and  how  people  cope  with  it.

anything  where  light  is  a  bodyguard  sounds  absolutely  hilarious.  let  her  make  flying  commentary  under  her  breath  while  your  muse  holds  it  together.  let  them  take  her  to  places  she  would  HATE.

i’ll  probably  expand  on  this  later,  this  is  just  a  dump.

character  specific:

hope  —  to  this  day,  i  have  still  not  roleplayed  with  a  hope  and  i  am  DESPERATE  to  explore  the  bond  between  them.  give  me  all  the  themes  of  family  and  light  coming  to  terms  with  how  poorly  she’s  treated  serah  through  him.  let  her  do  right  by  hope.  let  her  love  him,  protect  him  and  watch  him  become  a  man.  give  me  all  the  themes  of  how  his  name  embodies  what  he  is  to  her.

serah  —  a  lot  of  the  same  themes  as  hope.  ALSO  if  serah’s  want  to  indulge  in  my  snow/light  angst  i  will  just  eat  that  up  for  breakfast.  it’s  the  absolute  self-hatred  lightning  has  that  her  sister  is  in  crystal /  dead  and  she’s  alive  and  she’s  still  managing  to  ruin  her  life.  how  serah  responds  is  totally  up  to  you.  also  themes  of  sisterhood  and  companionship.  let  them  go  to  coffee  shops.  let  light  teach  her  how  to  do  her  hair  and  makeup  when  their  mother  died.  PLEASE.

snow  —  hi,  i  ship  them.  outside  of  that,  just  the  development  of  their  bond  ;  where  light  once  considered  him  an  adversary,  now  he  is  a  friend.  how  his  staunch  optimism  imprinted  on  her  to  the  degree his  ambivalence  in  returns  gave  her  the  worst  anxiety  attack  of  her  life.

fang  —  how  two  women  can  be  the  same  but  also  very  different.  themes  of  guardianship  and  looking  after  those  smaller/weaker  than  you  (  the  costs,  the  sacrifices,  etc  ), drawing  strength  from  each  other.  the  growing  pains  and  awkwardness  of  two  people  primed  for  war  now  having  to  all  but  domesticate  at  the  end  of  LR.

vanille  —  a  lot  of  the  same  themes  of  sisterhood  that  i  applied  to  serah.  exploration  of  godhood  and  its  flaws  (  girlie  you  absolutely  did  not  need  to  pull  your  shit  in  LR,  love  you  ).

sazh  —  dajh’s  awkward  babysitter,  lightning.  i  love  the  role  he  took  in  xiii  as  a  sort  of  semi-parental  figure  /  guide.  he  wasn’t  overbearing  or  pushed  boundaries,  but  there  was  a  mutual  exchange  of  ideas  and  advice.  let  him  complain  his  bones  are  old  and  creaking  but  he’s  loving  every  second  of  it  and  light  just  smirks  so  sardonically  and  ups  the  anti.

[shadesofmauve]

Writer Chat Tag game

Tagged by @swaps55. Thank you!!!

Tagging @virusq, @fenmere, @spaced0lphin if you feel so inclined.

What is your total posted wordcount on ao3?

292,540. But just you WAIT until the rewritten and expanded Sunset and Evening Star goes up.

Do you have a routine for writing?

When I was first writing A Star to Steer Her By, I was only working four days a week, so on Friday mornings I would sit down, gather all the pieces I'd jotted down over the week, and sew them together into a chapter. Since then I've developed exciting new health issues and switched to full-time work, so now I don't have a routine so much as a collection of Things That Work. To wit:

All writing is in google docs, because I can access it from all over, including my phone, so I can

Seize inspiration whenever it comes, play out the scene, and write it down. I've got a notebook by the bed and a water-proof notepad in the shower (THANK YOU, @swaps55, it's the BEST THING EVER). I'll stop partway through walks and write things on my phone. I will tell my boyfriend and occasionally house guests "NEED TO CAPTURE AN IDEA JUST A MINUTE BYE" and dash out of the room.

Write after dinner and before Bedtime Reading & Tea, IF I have the time and brain energy.

Revisit the outline once the chapter is done and record all scenes and important things discussed in them, because my memory has gone to shit and I'm in danger of leaving things out or putting them in twice.

Finding the time to stitch the pieces together is the hardest thing. I'm also working on putting everything that isn't the current chapter in One Big Doc, because I write wildly out of order and I keep losing shit.

What’s your favorite tropes/pairing

The pairings I write are obvious, so let's go tropes/themes. I love competence porn. I love teamwork and friendships that span more than a pairing. (The combination of those two things is why I love heist movies).

Do you have a favorite fic of yours?

I re-read A Star To Steer Her By occasionally and enjoy it immensely, despite the rocky never-wrote-long-fic-before start, but I'm honestly SO PSYCHED about some of the deep emotional waters uncovered in the Sunset and Evening Star rewrite... does it count if I can't share it yet? Also, I'm too deep into it right now to be a good judge. I haven't had that experience of going back to it (the rewritten version) as a reader. (I've done it with the published version; it was shitty. That's why I'm rewriting).

Your fic with the most kudos?

A Star To Steer Her By, to no one's surprise.

Anything you don’t like about your writing?

I can so, so tell the times I tried to force something without hitting flow (see above re 'some of published SaES is really shitty').  That's different from "Put the butt in the seat and stitch that story together", which has to happen. I realize that's kind of saying 'I like it when it goes well, and dislike it when it doesn't.' But eh.

I definitely wonder sometimes if I'm too heavy-handed with whatever point I want to make. Like having to put Joker in a situation where someone is an ableist asshole to show what he's dealing with -- it can feel cheap, because what he'd *actually* be dealing with is all this micro stuff that builds up over time, but it's hard to show that in a story. So there has to be a larger stand-in event, and it can feel like setting up a strawman. Not sure I'd say I dislike how I've done it, but I'm not confident in it.

One thing that I hope rarely shows but is really a pain-in-the-ass is that, since I write out-of-order and I'm sometimes dumping things from two different notepads, a draft email, and a new google doc into one chapter, I'll find that I wrote the same scene twice. Or more. Because I knew that info needed to be conveyed and I forgot I'd already done it. Figuring out which version to use, or frankensteining them together, can be brutal, and then you've done all this work and only progressed by one scene.

Now something you do like?

Well, see, I like it when it works and I don't like it when it doesn't. :P

When I share snippets it's always funny dialogue, because that's easy for me (though conveying the comedic timing is absolutely something I put a lot of work into), and because it tends to share well as small pieces. But I'm more pleased by the scenes that make me choke up, because they aren't as easy. I suppose I'm more surprised when they work. This includes the upcoming Emotional Cascade Failure chapter and The Vortex of Tears.

[beomglocks]

colors ; k.th

part of the badlands series!

colors: “you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece.”

based off halsey’s badlands album.

warnings and other: museum curator!taehyun, old money!y/n, mentions of depression and grass smoking, little bit of angst i guess??

taehyun sighed as he took down the 11th painting this week. the museum hadn't been very busy in the past couple of weeks, maybe because the weather was getting colder. one part of him figured that many people just wanted to be bundled up at home watching holiday themed movies and drinking warm drinks rather than appreciating enchanting artworks.

he couldn't fool himself though, he knew the truth. today's generation didn't care about the fine arts anymore. a shame, seeing as everything around them seemed to be inspired by it.

kang taehyun worked at his local museum. he had been offered the position by the owner one night while roaming the place. this should've been a red flag looking back. the owner seemed desperate for someone to fill in the position since the previous employee had left without notice. nonetheless, taehyun took the job and didn't regret it one bit.

open 24/7, the red haired boy was always working on the clock. not that there was much to do seeing as most of the people his age or even a bit older didn't hang around museums purely for the joy of it. actually, his only job was to exhibit the newly arrived collections, clean and dust them off, and conduct regular tours and workshops for the public. due to this and the fact that not many people even came by he would take regular breaks.

once in a while you'd see the occasional old person or art expertee roaming around the small museum. if you were lucky, you'd see the local edgy teens posing next to a piece they didn't understand just to get an aesthetic picture. taehyun would also have the unfortunate job of shooing them away or scolding them for getting just a bit too close.

recently his boss, who was the museum manager and maybe the only other person besides taehyun that worked there, had informed him that due to funds and unfortunate unforeseen events, the museum would be closing down in about a month from now. this caused taehyun to fall deep into a depression since this was his only job and he loved it here. the museum was like his second home. he found comfort in the silent images displayed throughout the building. they always told him a story and when new pieces came in he would sit and stare attentively at the new anecdote being told to him.

taehyun smiled sadly at the piece he had just taken down. it was a painting of 2 people kissing however both of their faces were covered by white cloths. this was his favorite and he didn't even have a clue as to why. probably because of the uncertainty of what the other was feeling or because of the fact that the other couldn't see each other's faces through the cloth, that would've made the kiss more exciting in his opinion.

he stepped out of the museum and into the frosty air of the outside world. it was only autumn so why was it so cold? he thought to himself. he discreetly pulled out a prerolled blunt and his white lighter from his pocket. he lit it and stuck in between his slightly chapped lips.

maybe smoking dope wasn't the healthiest thing in the world, especially for a boy so young, barely 19, but it helped taehyun get his mind off the inevitably of losing his job and being homeless for the winter. he shuttered at the thought. he would have to room with one of his friends, he sighed shaking his head. no, he didn't want to be a burden, yeonjun had helped him enough as it is.

he looked at his surroundings taking in the cold autumn afternoon. the trees had long lost their leaves and were bare. the sky was a murky gray color as if it were threatening to rain any time soon. he noticed a girl bundled up in winter clothes near the entrance of the building glance at him. he smiled at her and she jumped at the eye contact, thinking that he wouldn't catch her. taehyun chuckled as he watched her rush into the museum. "back to work," he said out loud to himself.

once the blunt had been almost gone, he smoked what was left of it and headed back into the empty museum. he was feeling light-headed, the effects of the blunt finally taking action, but taehyun was used to it so it barely affected him as much.

he made his way to the girl who was now starting to take off her jacket and scarf. taehyun tapped on the girl's shoulder to get her attention. "hi," he smiled at the girl, showing off his dazzling smile. "if you'd like, i could give you a tour of the museum." well what's left of it anyways, he thought to himself.

"oh...no thank you," said the girl. she smiled warmly at the worker. "well not to be invasive of your decision but it's sort of in my job description," taehyun replied as he rubbed the back of his neck. the girl sighed in defeat, "i guess i have no choice then."

taehyun laughed as he took her coat and scarf to hang up in the public closet, "yep, trust me. they say im not that bad of a tour guide, im quite fun to be around if i do say so myself. i promise not to bore you too much." the girl nodded, not entirely convinced. "if i do end up bored i will hold you accountable..." she took a moment to take a peek at taehyun's name tag, "kang taehyun," she joked.

as they walked through the museum the girl couldn't help but notice that it was fairly empty. "why are there almost no paintings in here?" she laughed hesitantly. "i thought this was a museum?" taehyun stopped walking, turning to her with a sad expression on his face.

"the museum is expected to close in about a month or so," he stated simply. "oh...that's terrible. may i ask why?" the girl responded. "my boss says we've run out of funds or something like that," taehyun chuckled bitterly. "people don't really give a shit about good art these days anyways."

"that's a shame..."

they continued to look through the various paintings that were still up and occasionally the girl would ask to see the ones that were taken down and left on the floor. it seemed the two were lost in each other's company as night started to approach.

"thank you for the tour of this lovely museum taehyun. it was fun but it's a shame such a nice museum like this is closing down," the girl said softly. taehyun nodded solemnly, he just wanted to get this day over with and crash at his apartment. he didn't blame the girl before him but talking to her reminded him of his harsh reality. a notification coming from the girl's bag made both of them jump as they were both lost in their thoughts.

"ah, that must be my father. he's kind of annoying when it comes to my curfew," she chuckled, digging her phone from her bag. taehyun watched her with a bored expression until his eyes reached her bag. he hadn't noticed this earlier but she had been carrying a louis vuitton bag. his eyes bulged at the expensive item that was so close to him, they got even larger when she fished out the latest iphone from it.

taehyun wasn't poor per se, he had just enough to get by since he was living paycheck to paycheck. however, he had never been in such close proximity to any luxury items. he suddenly felt weird being this close to this girl.

"what do you mean by curfew?" taehyun asks hesitantly. the girl sighs, "my father is one of south korea's richest chaebol's, maybe one of the big three at his point." she rolled her eyes as if this information was nothing. "he's super strict with me because i guess i'm just his show pony daughter whom he can show off to say he's a good father."

taehyun gulped, had he just been casually hanging out with the daughter of one of the richest men in korea? he felt sick at this. she looked up at taehyun's uneasy expression, "oh my god im sorry i just dumped that all on you! i just needed to catch a break so i came here, i didn't mean to drag you into my life story."

taehyun fixes his face, laughing nervously, "no- no its fine really. we all need a break sometimes right? im glad you got to have that time here." the girl smiled up at him, completely misreading his nervous laughter, "im glad i got to spend it here with you taehyun."

"oh before i go!" taehyun watched her pull out a checkbook from her bag and his stomach dropped. he silently watched her scribble some stuff onto the slip and tear it out, handing it to him.

"there's not too much i can take out of my account without my father flipping out but i hope this helps even just a little. whether it be in your personal life or with the museum."

taehyun eyes the check and chokes when he sees 50,000 dollars written neatly on the black line. he swears he can feel sweat going down his face like in the cartoons. "i- i cant possibly take this from you." he moves to hand the check back but the girl refuses to take it back. "taehyun, you love this museum with your entire being. i see the way to look at the paintings and the passion with which you explained them to me. i'd hate to see that taken away."

"plus, if you're gone who's gonna give me the tour when i come back?" she laughs as if this is something casual. taehyun's hands shake as he pockets the check, "i seriously cannot thank you enough...you don't know how much you just helped the museum and m-"

the girls phone dings again and she grumbles, "ugh why can't he just leave me alone. sorry but i think i really gotta go for real before he tracks my location or something crazy like that."

taehyun nods wistfully at the mention of her having to leave. he was really starting to enjoy her company.

"oh by the way," the girl giggles as she pulls her coat on hurriedly.  "was that you smoking weed at the corner of the museum earlier?" the girl chuckled to herself again just remembering it. taehyun furrowed his eyebrows, "why would you say that kind of thing at out loud and at my job?!" he scolded in a playful hushed voice.

"i just thought it was funny and you also smelled of weed the entire tour, i didn't mind though so don't worry," the girl concluded. she was starting to walk away towards out the door now. "i'll walk you out," taehyun offers. "such a helpful employee. is this in the job description too?" the girl jokes, turning to him while a smile on her lips. "well, not exactly," taehyun says smoothly.

she shakes her head, "i'll see you soon taehyun." he watches her walk off into the darkness of the night when he suddenly remembers something.

"hey what's your name by the way?" he shouts after the girl. for some reason taehyun really was hopeful of seeing her again.

"y/n!" came the disembodied voice of the girl he had just met.

[omegatheunknown]

AEW ALL OUT 2021

In which, not to get ahead of myself here, AEW puts on one of the best major wrestling shows in several years*, following the simple yet effective principle of giving the people what they want and sending everyone home happy and hungry for more.

- The incredibly 'Nitro' ending of the go-home Dynamite, which ran a little long on the 'heels beat everyone up and strut around like assholes almost too in desperate need of comeuppance' bit, short of garbage raining into the ring, did actually increase the heat for both promoted matches. Again, not rocket science, but executed perfectly. Catharsis was on the card, and catharsis went over several times Sunday. - Again, it's time to move on from the Casino theme, shuffling the deck and drawing suits really only detracted from the Battle Royale and seemingly always throws the production crew a curve. If they haven't hammered it by now, it's not going to happen. - Bit unhappy about the PAC/Andrade situation, but still over the moon with Andrade's promo style and Chavito being unhelpful at best.

*Pre-Card

Best Friends and Jurassic Express v The Hardy Family Office and The Hybrid 2 (**) - Not usually much to say about a loaded-up multiteam boondoggle, particularly when the show has yet to begin, but there were some moments worth sitting up to take notice -- there's a lot of talent in the ring, even if Jack Evans/Angelico aren't going to be more than mid-level mooks, little matchups with guys like Luchasaurus and Chuck Taylor are opportunities for innovative/weird spots. - Really this match exists to show-off Jungle Boy, play his theme song twice, and work him in to the aforementioned spots. I don't rightly know what Jungle Jack's ceiling is, but it sort of feels like he's plateauing, at least this version of himself. - Dan Lambert thing is interesting in that it doesn't seem to easily lead to something obvious... I mean who are Scorp and Ethan Page feuding with by proxy here, the concept of contemporary professional wrestling? Orange Cassidy and Kenny Omega?

*Main Card

Miro (C) v Eddie Kingston for the TNT Championship (***1/2) - 'Redeem Deez Nuts' T-shirts now available -- and made immediately redundant now that Miro has graciously redeemed Eddie's nuts. - Imagine looking at Miro, listening to Miro talk, and not really being able to figure out this guy is money. Also imagine panicking when he took a little while to find his groove in AEW. 'The Redeemer' is both entertaining and terrifying, and this match delivered heavily on the promise of two big fellas smacking together repeatedly. - Not only does Eddie's arsenal of power moves target Miro's neck, he may also be quite difficult to put in the full reclined camel clutch. Or he'd quite literally snap in half. It didn't come to that. - Weird heel turn by Bryce's attention span and the overall weirdness of the finish is all that kept this from being an excellent match, otherwise this was a tremendous curtain jerker and started off a dangerously fun run of pure adrenaline.

Jon Moxley v Satoshi Kojima (****) - The stakes were nebulous, the build was abrupt, yet this was a fantastic match and tremendous showcase for an underappreciated great who has been more or less just toiling for a bunch of years as a NJPW Dad. Same deal for Nagata, and I assume Tenzan is the same, Taka Michinoku even -- let's see it. - I have to assume the Cozy Lariat might have put Mox down, but Kojima otherwise played the hits (Koji Cutter, Piledriver, Brainbustaaaa) in a big way and Moxley once again proved he's become a very well-rounded wrestler who can match the intensity of just about any former IWGP champion. - More to the point-- KAZE NI NARE -- out of nowhere, too. Or out of nowhere to those not paying attention to the whereabouts of Minoru Suzuki (Right, he's just over here to fight Daniel Garcia and not Mox?), which I guess is to my own peril. Wow, though. Surprise Number 1- a complete surprise, and a welcome one. Let's have it.

Dr Britt Baker, DMD (C) v Kris Statlander for the AEW Women's Championship (****) - I love Kris and her best friends but she didn't have a prayer of dethroning Britt. She got one promo, several weeks ago, and though she did make a meal of Hayter and Rebel, the chase has been abrupt and not given much discussion, other than Mark Henry and whomever else acknowledging what is extremely evident -- Statlander is stronger than she looks, and she looks really strong. They've got her doing Cesaro-level 'modify your grip while holding your opponent's entire weight' nonsense, and it's amazing and scary. - Even with the reign of the good doctor not being credibly threatened, this was an excellent match that demonstrated the continued growth of the competitors in the women's division, even as it underlined that their storylines remain undercooked and perfunctory: Orange Cassidy whipping off his shades to urge Stat to get up was a beautiful moment. Britt's Panama Sunrise, also, too sweet. Statlander eating shit on her 451 and her pendulum moonsault was properly brutal, as were Britt's curb stomps. Really great match between these two. - Again, if they had bothered to write anything into this story, such as Kris' alien physiology making her immune to the lockjaw or something... actually, maybe that's a terrible idea. it's an idea. Undefeated challenger is defeated, on to the next for Dr Britt. Statlander and OC should tag against some of the boys.

The Young Bucks (C) v The Lucha Bros for the AEW World Tag Team Championship(*****+) - Can't not mention the insane entrance lined up for Fenix and Penta. It was bewildering, it was enchanting, it was aggressive, it was hype. It also reminded everybody how very badly we all wanted the Lucha Bros to win. The crowd has been setting new peaks with their volume since Punk showed up, but things were absolutely thunderous and ecstatic at the end of this match. Absolutely valid response. I yelled on the couch. - Nick's facial hair was a bigger tell that it was time for the Bucks to lose than anything else about this build. There's literally nowhere to go from there -- they've done the hair, the bandanas, the kicks, the animal print, the dangly earrings -- peak visual heel for this time and place. - Sincerely thought this was going to be too much of a full sprint spot-fest (the PWG-esque circle of trading blows is not really 'my thing') but even so they kept finding gears, and ramping and ramping and adding blood and brutality along the way. Even a bit of levity, with the tacked up sneaker, followed by the sincerity of Penta throwing himself in harm's way to protect his brother. Immense match, I think you'd have to go back to the Bucks vs the Addiction and MCMGs Ladder War to find a more thrilling tag team gimmick match. - If there's a single flaw to be found it's in the production not really settling on wide angles for simultaneous action at the start of the match. They figured it out. - Rey Fenix is the best luchador in the world.

Women's Casino Battle Royale (**1/2) - If nothing else, this really shows off that they now have a surplus of women's wrestlers who deserve time to hang in the ring. Unsurprisingly, the match picked right up when Thunder Rosa and then Jamie Hayter got to the ring, with additional props to Tay Conti and Jade Cargill, who was dumped rather unceremoniously given her general booking... - Okay, there was something else. Welcome to the rechristened Ruby Soho, who I've not seen a lot of outside of her extremely limited showcase in WWE, but she has so many friends in the back and in the industry and that's never for nothing, not in wrestling, anyway. Intrigued to see where she fits, and if the women ever get more than a match per show. - Touched on this in the preamble but this was the roughest part of the night for the home viewer, just weird decisions on cutting away from various entrances to show... nothing in particular happening. Also while the commitment to not-kayfabing the countdown clock is... admirable? It makes the pacing hinky. - Almost everyone who got new gear for tonight was looking like the white ranger -- Nyla, Swole, Bunny, someone I'm missing. Except Anna Jay, whose stars and glitter gear looked great.

MJF v Chris Jericho for the fate of Jericho's in-ring career (***) - MJF's unauthorized homage to Y2J's entrance: good. Fozzy's guitarist going off tempo with the instrumental Judas: weak, and would've been sad if this were the end for Jericho. Especially as the build has felt... muted, somehow. - Props to the commentary for continuing to feed the red herring of 'in AEW,' as a caveat to stipulation, it did feel like... a remote possibility that MJF would win. - Credit to Aubrey for calling this one down the middle and not putting the fix in for her friend Jericho, and I guess the Dusty finish will give MJF plenty to gripe about. - MJF wrestles with a pure heel style, holds, chops, blocks, and Jericho is fifty years old, so the level of wrestling on exhibition in these matches is well beside the point. It was solid to good, and I was fighting burn out from the first half of the card's level of excitement.

CM Punk v Darby Allin (***1/2) - There are a couple benefits of Darby as a dance partner, and it's certainly better than having to watch Punk return against like, QT Marshall or Shawn Spears. Darby does make everyone look slow, but he can also be tossed around, and this raises his profile even in defeat, obviously. That said, the stakes here are... meta, at best, in that we want to see the man look good and justify the hype. It's a weird thing to root for. He certainly does look good. (Tights? Tights!) - It's fun to theorize about actually booking an angle where Punk is rusty and needs to regain his prowess, and maybe he'll stumble, but maybe the most we get out of that angle is hitting the GTS a little close to the ropes so Darby falls right out of the ring, in what was, for me, the spot that justified this whole match. - Sting's proud step-dad aura is still a hell of a thing, I really liked the end of the match kudos all around. - Match was good, hard to hang my emotions on. I wasn't watching WWE when Punk was in WWE. Definitely feeding off the excitement of others a bit here, and he sure can talk. I'd like to see him cultivate a stable, certainly.

Paul Wight v QT Marshall (n/r) - ...popcorn match? QT Marshall is like the anti-Daniel Garcia in that while his prominence and presence is just as inexplicable, I don't want it to continue, and he doesn't justify it in the process. - Match was two minutes longer than it needed to be.

Kenny Omega (c) v Christian Cage for the AEW World Championship (****1/2) - Crowd was both burnt out and more or less waiting for the post-match angle. Which I get. it's hard to cruise to the main event and having seen all the different things we've already seen on this card, even a singular performer like Kenny Omega and a legend with whom he (surprisingly? fittingly?) has superb chemistry with in Christian Cage were up against it to deliver something memorable. - Context dependent, I can definitely see rating this below their Rampage match, especially since... I mean Christian isn't winning the AEW title off Kenny at this or probably any other event. - But! It was really good! It was very good! They really do match-up well, and Kenny's v-trigger has rarely looked more devastating than when it knocks Christian flat. Christian got cut open in a novel and initially worrying way, and Kenny followed up a botched moonsault with a harder version of the same move off a rail, but it was a really great match and it deserved more energy than was available.

Post-Show - Calling back and inverting the end of Dynamite, The Elite strut about the ring, slightly less stoked than they were on Wednesday, but with the Bucks smiling through the pain, and Jungle Boy once again subjected to violence for his misguided heroism, Kenny 'not much a promo' Omega lays down a killer line about nobody being fit to challenge him who isn't unavailable, already tired or dead. - The Undertaker ADAM COLE, BAY BAY as Surprise #3 was a minor stroke of brilliance, and a fun swerve because while it's exciting to see him, his appearance at this point in the narrative does nothing to solve the problem of The Elite beating up Christian and Jungle Boy. Unless he's still sore about his unsolved murder, which he isn't. Storytime with Adam Cole is back and it's beautiful. Also Jungle Boy died for this. - Okay. But. Just. Okay. CM Punk and Bryan Danielson are All Elite. They will hopefully tag together. Bryan will head to NJPW, almost definitely. Minoru Suzuki just walked in and started slugging on Mox. The Forbidden Door is wide open. Will Kenny Omega one day return to Wrestle Kingdom? There are so many possibilities and they are all very exciting. This was a phenomenal show and it didn't have Hangman Page, Cody Rhodes, FTR, Santana and Ortiz, PAC, Andrade, Sammy Guevara, Team Taz, and the rest.

- Wrestling is good, actually. Imagine watching like five hours of wrestling and loving wrestling at the end of it.

*What competes- WK11, Dominion 2018, 2019, DoN 2019, 2021.. All-In, probably. Wrestlemania 30. A few Takeovers. Kris Wolf's retirement show...

[gallavictorious]

So. Mickey as an unofficial and entirely involuntary role model for South Side queers.

Thing is, while Kev's assertion that 'no one cares who you bang' largely seems to hold true, I still can't see it not causing at least a tiny bit of stir when the news first hit. You know, in general everyone just seem to know a lot about everyone else in the neighborhood, and maybe they know an extra lot about the Milkoviches because they're pretty damned dangerous, and you'd do well to stay both informed and clear of them. Now, Mickey is the neighborhood thug of his generation: the son and likely successor of a violent and homophobic Nazi, so him coming out as gay at his son's christening is... Well. Word gets around, is my point, even if most people are too busy with their own shitty lives to pay too much attention to Mickey's, beyond a wry observation or two.

Except some do pay attention. Some keep all this in their hearts and think about it often.

The years pass; Mickey goes to prison and escapes and returns and gets engaged; Terry burns down the wedding venue and threatens to kill him, Mickey gets married all the same. Word gets around, again. Life goes on, still.

And then one chilly February afternoon Mickey is walking home from wherever when he's approached by a teenage boy asking: “Uh, hey. You're Mickey Milkovich, right?”

In Mickey's experience that isn't the sort of question that leads to hugs and handshakes, so he's immediately wary, but a quick look at the boy dispels most of his concern. Sure, the kid looks nothing but South Side, scrappy like: can probably both take and dole out a beating, but he's clearly nervous – and not nervous in a way that suggests that he's about to do something utterly stupid like try to rob or murder Mickey. So, Mickey relaxes a little and lights a cigarette. Is maybe the tiniest bit curious, but mostly annoyed. “What the hell do you want?”

The kid hems and haws and Mickey is just about ready to walk away from this stammering snooze-fest when boy finally blurts: “I'm gay!”

What the actual fuck? Mickey stares. “Yeah? So fucking what? I'm married, asshole, and wouldn't be banging kids even if I wasn't.”

“No! Yeah, no, I mean – I know. I'm not... “ The kid's staring down at the ground. “I never told anyone before,” he adds softly.

Okay, that... does something strange to Mickey's insides, but he still has no idea what the hell is going on here. “You wanna talk to Ian?” he hazards. “Gay Jesus?” Riding out to save the day for troubled teens is Ian's thing, isn't it, but fuck, he really hopes he isn't starting with that shit again -

But the kid is shaking his head. “No, man, I was looking for you. 'Cause with your dad and everything I though that maybe... “ He pauses again, swallows. “I think my family's gonna be really angry if they find out.”

Ah. Still doesn't explain how that is any of Mickey's problem, but for some reason he can't find it in him to just shrug and walk away. He bites his lip. “They gonna kill you?”

“N-no. I mean... I don't think so. No.”

Then what the fuck are you whining about, you fucking pussy, Mickey doesn't say. He considers the kid, pale and damned near shaking before him, and wonders what he is supposed to say, what the hell the boy wants from him. Why the fuck isn't Ian here to deal with this shit? He'd be much better at it; he'd fucking love it, what with that goddamned Messiah complex he's got going...

But the kid hasn't come for Ian; he's come for Mickey and while Mickey isn't sure how the hell he came up with that brilliant notion it probably has something to do with the fact that Ian, for all he is as South Side as they come, still looks and walks and talks like someone who... well, whose homosexuality wouldn't completely shock you. This kid doesn't, and Mickey doesn't either. There's South Side and then there's South Side.

He gives a long sigh and tosses his cigarette butt to the pavement.

“Listen. I have no fucking idea if your family is gonna be cool with you loving cock or whatever, but if they're not, they're not, and that's not gonna fucking change, no matter how long you wait. Sooner or later you'll have to say something 'cause you'll be fucking miserable if you don't, and if it's gonna suck either way you might as well get it over with.”

He pauses, for a moment hesitating over what he wants to say next, because it's fucking soft and reveals way too much and... Fuck it. He clears his throat: “Fear's worse than whatever comes after anyway,” he says gruffly, not looking at the kid. Then, because this is the South Side and he ain't nothing but pragmatic, he adds: “You think it's gonna get violent, tell someone you think might roll with it first and bring them to back you up. Fuck it, pay someone to have your back if you have to. Or do it somehwere public so someone calls for help if it gets out of hand. Hit them back and hit them hard, yeah? Lots of people gonna think you're a pussy for taking it up the ass, or giving it or whatever, and you wanna shut that down real quick, or you gonna be having the same fucking conversation over and over. You hear me?”

The kid nods jerkily. He still looks slightly terrified – which is good because the last thing Mickey needs is some teenage queer running after him like a kicked puppy – but he looks strangely elated too. Hopeful, maybe; determined.

Mickey lets out a long breath, like a sigh. Can't quite belive he is doing this, but: “You have somewhere to go if shit goes sidways?”

A shrug. “I dunno. Maybe. I have an aunt down in Alsip. Maybe she'd let me crash there.”

“Give me your phone.” The kids looks surprised but does as he's told without comment. Mickey quickly enters his own number and hands the phonbe back. “Things go south, you text me,” he says. “I might know a guy who can help.” Though if that happens he is absolutely dumping this on Ian, who probably knows a lot of people who live for this short of shit. Fucking hippies.

“Thank you, man,” the kids begins. “I really - “

Mickey waves him away. “Yeah, yeah, get the fuck out of here.”

The kid does and Mickey remains standing there for a moment, staring after him and wondering what the hell just happened. This is all Gallagher's fault, he decides. Shit like this you can always safely blame on Ian. Not that he'll mention any of this to him, because fuck no.

And if few days later there is a text from an unknown number, saying just: “talked to my family they're pretty freaked but it went ok thanks” and if Mickey does feel a small surge of something not entirely different from satisfaction reading it, well... Whatever. It is what it is. Not like it's gonna be a regular thing or whatever.

But once more, it seems, word gets around, because there will be others. Not too many of them, but enough that it does become a bit of a thing; kids showing up outside his home or his work, or on his way to and fro. Mostly they just want to talk; want some kind of reassurance that there's a way to be gay and South Side, and you can still be a tough motherfucker while sucking some other dude's dick. Mickey primarily provides such reassurance by being a tough South Side motherfucker who swears and scowls and glares at them, but apparently this kind of works? There's a bit of practical advice at times, like “listen, if you brother can't accept you like banging guys he doesn't really give a crap about you so just cut him out” or “don't fucking hesitate, they start with that shit you punch them in the throat, like this”, and maybe a few instances of Mickey hunting down and kicking the shit out of some bullies or family members, if he decides that the kid isn't likely to manage it on their own and deserves a hand.

Now, Mickey doesn't exactly hide this shit from Ian, but he doesn't really mention it either because... Well, he just doesn't. The whole things is fucking weird, anyway. He doesn't know why he puts up with these stupid brats and he sure as hell didn't ask to be anyone's fucking guardian angel.

But of course Ian finds out eventually, and he is absolutely torn between mercilessly teasing Mickey about it (aaaaaw, Mick, it's so sweet that you care!) and just covering Mickey's entire body in kisses because he's so damned delighted and proud (I mean, it is sweet that Mick cares; hot too). In the end he probably goes for both, but pretty gently, because he knows Mickey and knows that making too big a deal out of it might freak him out. Or not. It's always hard to tell when Mickey will be embarrassed about something and when he'll just declare that liking what he likes doesn't make him a bitch. Ian figures it's better not to take the risk, though, not when they are teenagers in need out there! So, a little moderate ribbing, a lot of particularly attentive sex, and Mickey finds that he doesn't mind Ian knowing so much after all, because there's something about that stupid redhead looking at him like he's a fucking wonder that feels pretty good.

So maybe he'll keep on helping the kids, if they keep on showing up. You know, out of pure self-interest.

---

A/N: I'm still not sure if this idea is my own or if I've seen it discussed elsewhere, which seriously bugs me, but I was too invested in the notion to let it lie. If you happen to know of a fic or meta discussing similar themes, I'd love a link. Also tagging @sickness-health-all-that-shit because you expressed an interest. ;)

[transformers-fan-continuities]

Do you have any tips for starting a TF:FC blog? While I personally still have a bit to go before I feel I should make one, I do think the information would be helpful!

hfshdshgjfjhgHA I’m flattered that you ask me, as if I have any freaking idea what I’m doing fhfhfhffff

First tip, figure out what you’re comfortable posting! I’m still struggling with perfectionism, which means I don’t share WIPs and miscellaneous bits and bobs, because I just don’t think anyone would be interested in that, despite the fact several people have told me they are. So what do you want to post? Doodles, info files, ficlets, character designs, stream-of-consciousness rambling? All of those are valid by the way, curate your content as you see fit, your followers will love everything because we as a fandom are starving.

Second, look at other folks! Many fan continuity blogs I like have a taglist or about page somewhere, or at least a tag system that makes posts easier to find (assuming tungle’s tag search function works properly smh). Also consider, do you want asks and submissions open or not? Some folks have it set up so that they post everything to their main or art blog and then reblog the relevant Transformers stuff to a dedicated sideblog.

Third, aesthetic. Okay this is admittedly a little less important but I like choosing the theme and color scheme of my blog. This also kind of ties in to what you’ll be posting, make sure whatever format you choose is readable and easy to navigate, for both you and your followers. A useful thing I’ve seen a few blogs do is pin an information post or linktree at the top of their blog, so people can navigate it easily.

Fourth, get a backlog of content before you start and then post it regularly but sparingly. Not like, once a day or anything, but don’t dump a thousand posts in a week and then have nothing left to add. If you draw a few things, post one or two of them, and then post the rest the next day, so you feel less pressure to make some kind of post every day oh my god I’m out of new things to post I have to make something right now but I’m tired and uncreative hhhhhh. Backlogs help.

(Side note about content- mystery is always enticing, so maybe save some major plot points and spoilers, but hint at them. Just sprinkle in some winkwink nudgenudge and ominous foreshadowing so people get to wondering. Same with references to canon! Lil easter eggs are always fun to spot.)

Fifth, which you’ve already started doing by sending an ask to this blog, get connected to other fan continuities! Reblog their stuff, send some asks, treat other fans as you’d like them to treat you, and curiosity about your continuity will follow. I know for a fact that there are at least three Transformers fan canon ask memes out there too.

Sixth, but actually first and foremost,

this blog is for you.

Seriously! Do whatever you want with it! That applies to your whole continuity too. Don’t be afraid to post and reblog stuff that you like, even if it’s not necessarily Transformers, and on the other side, don’t feel bad for avoiding posting or reblogging anything if you want this space to be only about Transformers! Your blog should be set up for your ease of use and enjoyment, with your followers as an important but secondary consideration. Just Have Fun.

Secret seventh tip that isn’t actually a tip, maybe draw robot food? That seems to have been a wild success for me idk maybe try it?

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

And we’re back! There’s definitely some themes that come up in this chapter that will be echoed going forward, so I’ll try to point them out and explain my thoughts on those a bit. Other than that, I think this is a two-part chapter, just based on an initial skim, and we’re technically in the second ‘arc’ of the series, according to the BNHA wiki - though I have chosen to shove everything before the USJ into the ‘opening arcs’ tag for ease of tagging, since it’s really all just character / setting introduction before getting into the action.

[No. 5 - Smashing Into Academia]

So we get to see most of the top ten scores - Katsuki in first place with all villain points, and Izuku in seventh with all rescue points. We also see some other familiar names: Kirishima (2nd) with 74 points, Ochako (3rd) with 73, Shiozaki (4th) with 68, Tenya (6th) with 61, Tetsu^4 (8th) with 59, and Tokoyami (9th) with 57. I think we’ll get to see the others later, but for now, I’ll just look them up for ease of confusion: Kendo (5th) with 65 points and Awase (10th) with 56 points. So yeah, talk about your high scores!

This raises a few interesting thoughts:

First off, I know that Horikoshi had initially intended to put Shiozaki in class 1a, but either forgot or ended up deciding she wasn’t suited for it, thus the reason we see her name here but don’t see her until the Sports Festival. Also, I like how he uses the cutoff of the 5th and 10th place in order to fit in more 1b students when he comes up with them - it’s not a trick I would have immediately thought of myself, but it makes sense, and gives a good sense that it’s not just 1a dominating in these sorts of events.

[Discord: its cuz her hair was a pain to draw, which like- mood]

...though that then leads to the question of how certain members of 1a and 1b got in with their quirks. Like, I appreciate all of them, but some of the kids just… yeah, I’m not entirely sure what they could do. I suppose that just makes them particularly clever for getting in, which isn’t a shock when the bar for entry is high. 

I… am also surprised Kaminari isn’t higher up there, considering his zappy zappy could take out a whole field of them… though possibly also the people nearby him if he wasn’t careful. I suppose with those scores all in the fifties to seventies, though, even if he took out like thirty or forty points worth, it still would only be enough to get him in, not as a high score.

...speaking of high scores, Ochako only got rescue points from saving Izuku, which is what got her third place overall despite not even hitting thirty villain points. With how high the first ten spots were, and with there only being thirty-six spots overall, there’s a chance she might have missed the cut entirely and have not gotten in if she hadn’t pushed herself to save the person who saved her.

This is a running theme that I’ve noticed about Izuku’s character and narrative effects - he’s not All Might, who makes people feel safe with his presence. He’s not a larger than life figure who stands between villains and the rest of the world. What he is is a plain, unassuming kid who will push himself to breaking in order to save someone, in order to win. And in doing so, we see him in turn inspire others to act, because if this plain, unassuming fanboy can do it, why not them as well? I mean, hell, that’s how he got his quirk!

Recall this? It’s something that we see again and again in the series, something that I think is the core of Izuku’s character development and something he needs to realize in order to really come into himself as a hero and as a person. His greatest strength - that capability to become ‘the strongest hero’ like he desires - isn’t in One For All or in his fighting prowess, but in his ability to inspire others to become better versions of themselves, to push themselves just a bit more, and in so, those ripples end up saving more people and improving the future, one person at a time.

Izuku grew up in a world where his greatest heroes were the Symbol of Peace and (his) Symbol of Victory. While it’s not a title I think he will ever take on in full - I think part of the endgame of the series will be to move on past reliance on a few Symbols to ward off evil and have everyone work together to build up a better world - I do believe he really encompasses the ideals that would make him a Symbol of Hope to Japan and the world. As Hope, he’d give others the belief that they could reach out and be given help, that someone would be there for them if they asked - and, I would like to think, he’d be able to make that world together with his friends and allies, once everything is said and done.

Anyways, I sort of. Got rambling there. Uh. How far are we? One panel? ...ehehehe…

So we get the next two panels, which is the staff discussing Katsuki and Izuku - opposite ends of the spectrum. One got in with only villain points, the other with only rescue points. They note that Katsuki was able to keep going for the whole ten minutes, where most other students were slowing down by halfway through. A true endurance monster. Izuku, on the other hand, is noted to be the first in a while to take out the gimmick, even if others have stood up to it before.

(Also, I love Mic’s ‘kid just makes me wanna go yeah!’ What a mood.)

Hah, they also note that his backlash is like a kid getting a first glimpse of his power, plus how in every other way he looks like a typical failure. However, Mic and… some other staff member (possibly Midnight, I want to say? It makes the most sense) just like Izuku and aren’t so worried about that, while Aizawa chills in the back and thinks they’re all being noisy.

We transitioned to Izuku and Toshinori, 8 pm the night Izuku got the acceptance letter. Izuku is crying as he basically shouts All Might’s name, and Toshinori spits blood and basically has Izuku cover his tracks since, surprise, there are now other human beings here! 

Toshinori that can’t be good for your health oh my god.

But yeah, apparently the news that day (or any point that week, probably) is that the beach was cleaned up by some mysterious do-gooder, so now it’s a good place to go on dates again. I know Izuku said no one came by there (chapter 2), but still, it feels weird to think no one noticed anything at all over the entire ten months Izuku and Toshinori (sometimes as All Might!) was there, especially since I think they were at other parts of the beach when Izuku was doing swimming training? 

I mean like, what about the people who were illegally dumping their trash there? The people who have to cut through there because it’s a shortcut to get home? The people who get lost and accidentally stumble across it? Random villains trying to use it as a hideout or stash for their loot while hiding from the police / heroes??

Ah whatever, it is what it is. Toshinori congratulates Izuku on passing and gives him a high five.

Fucking hell that’s so cute, I already have it saved as a reaction image I love it so damn much. But yeah, Toshinori hasn’t mentioned his relationship with Izuku to the school (though I know this isn’t true because Nezu and RG know… though that might not have been until after Izuku passed and he knew Izuku was going there.) 

Izuku appreciates not having to worry about favoritism, and is excited for Toshinori being a teacher at UA. He asks if that’s why they’re meeting at the beach despite All Might’s office being at a very precise address that Toshinori cuts off. Toshinori then says he couldn’t tell anyone until the school made it public knowledge, and that he’d take the job while looking for his successor.

Izuku remembers that Toshinori mentioned he’d been looking for a while, and that he’d have been looking among the students. Izuku thinks about all their amazing quirks and raw talents, and stares at his hands as he brings up how he broke after a single use of the quirk and that he can’t wield it. Poor boy, no self-worth or realization of how impressive his first use was…

Toshinori points out that of course it’s not an immediate success - if someone suddenly grew a tail, they wouldn’t be able to do tricks off the bat. Izuku asks if Toshinori knew this would happen, and Toshinori says there wasn’t enough time, but everything worked out all right… or, well, All Might. 

What a fucking dad, that was a dad joke, I am so done. Someone stop this man. 

Anyways, Toshinori bends down to pick up some empty spray-paint cans, which shows that while the beach is clean, there’s still a lot of small junk and broken glass and stuff left to clean up, which I imagine was either something Izuku did during the month and a half between the exams and the beginning of the new school year, or something the community ended up doing once they all were coming there. 

He tells Izuku that it’s all for nothing for now, but once Izuku figures out how to regulate it, he’ll be able to put out just what his body can handle - and that the more he temperes his vessel, the better he can control the power. All Might then crunches those cans in one fist, which he’s really lucky they’re empty, or else he’d have gotten paint everywhere. (Would have been hilarious to see, though.)

But yeah, All Might makes the comparison of passing on the Olympic flame, and how the new torch burns weakly at first, but that the trials to come will fan it. 

The same couple on the pier notice All Might and ask where he came from, and All Might panics, running off, with Izuku following confused yet dutifully.

God that running pose is fucking hilarious I am cackling. 

But yeah, he notes that his own flame will wither and die, with his duty fulfilled. I like how you can just see that couple trying to make their way from the pier to try and catch All Might. 

Anyways, a short post, but the next page gets into spring and the beginning of the new school year, so I figure it’s better to cut it off here. Besides, I spent a whole page and a half rambling about characterization and narrative echoes, so shoosh.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Becoming -Part Two

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 2/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Thanks as well to @tinchentitri who also helped provide wonderful insight.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff  @just-the-hiddles​ @wolfsmom1​ @theoneanna​ @hiddlescastle​ @sabine-leo​ @alexakeyloveloki​  @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins

PREVIOUS

Things seemed…If not easier, then certainly less dire after that evening. Tom still found himself questioning just what he was doing but the contact with Jaime, seeing his son smile and laugh made the distance easier to bear. They’d settled into a routine, speaking twice daily, once in the morning as Jaime started his day and once in the evening as he settled to bed. Even with several thousand miles between them and the relationship between them still new and fragile for it, Tom allowed himself a cautious hope that maybe, just maybe this could work. Or at least not fail completely.

 When filming wrapped four weeks later, it had taken everything in Tom to keep from running from set, to his hotel, and then straight to the nearest airport. The last thing he had any desire to do was hang about at the wrap party, but as one of the film’s stars his presence wasn’t negotiable in the eyes of his agent and majority of the crew. In the end he’d stayed long enough to make what his agent called “a respectable appearance”. He’d smiled and shared a drink but it was clear his mind was every much elsewhere.

 The flight home, only two planes and a five hour lay-over this time, was nerve-wrecking. He’d called Jaime during the layover, grateful to hear his son’s laughing voice, even if the boy was thoroughly distracted by whatever was currently on the television screen. Tom smiled as he recognized the theme playing and sighed.

 “Uncle Tom? You’ll be home soon right? You can come over and then we can play!”

 Tom swallowed thickly, trying to not let the hope in the boy’s voice overwhelm him. “I’ll see you maybe tomorrow, I’ll have to talk to your Nan to make sure.”

 Seeming satisfied with that, Jaime continued to babble on until Tom had needed to end the call when his flight was announced as boarding overhead. He’d been reluctant to end the call, not wanting to part from Jaime. It scared him, honestly, how much the little boy had come to mean to him and in such a short span of time. At times it still felt surreal, the idea he was someone’s father. That he was Jaime’s father.

 But was he even that really? Yes, he was biologically Jaime’s father; he had the paperwork and lab results to prove it, but as far as the boy was concerned he was ‘Uncle Tom’, his mummy’s silly friend who played pretend.

 And the knowledge of it burned far more than he had ever thought it would. It shouldn’t. He should have been grateful to even have a place in the boy’s life at all. It shouldn’t matter what Jaime called him. It was clear he adored Tom, clear he seemed to think the world of him. But it did. He was the boy’s father and Jaime didn’t know. And he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to honestly live with that. Tom scrubbed his face with his hands before shoving his mobile back into his pocket and running off towards the gate.

 He’d made the call to Keira in the late morning after he’d arrived home and had settled as well as he could manage. It felt strange, having to ask permission to see his own child but he knew it was her right as Keira was Jaime’s legal guardian. He could press the issue, take the matter up in the courts and take full, legal custody of the boy but at what cost? Keira was the only stable thing in Jaime’s life and as much as Tom wanted to be, he knew he couldn’t be that for the boy. Not now, not when his life was so unsteady. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.

 Keira had agreed with minimal fuss; Jaime had apparently talked of nothing else from the time he’d finished speaking to Tom, throughout his bedtime routine, and well into breakfast after he’d awoken the following morning. “I figured as much,” she answered with a soft laugh, “Jaime is very much looking forward to seeing you.”

 “I am too.”

 Things fell back into their familiar new routine after that. Tom found himself spending whatever time he could at Keira’s with Jaime, ignoring the tearing at his heart whenever the boy called him ‘Uncle Tom’. It didn’t matter, he told himself. He was part of the boy’s life the hows shouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t let it matter. What mattered was he was a part of Jaime’s life.

 And that worked for a while.

 Tom did his best to balance the time he spent with Jaime with the demands his life placed on him; he did as much of the prep work for pre-production of his next project at home, only flying out at the last possible moment. He made sure to only be a phone or video call away from his son. It wasn’t ideal but it worked well enough. Tom found the work this time around grueling; when in the past he could let himself escape into the role he was playing, Tom couldn’t let himself now. Not when there was someone who needed him to be as present as possible.

 One afternoon months later, during one of Tom’s brief but desperately needed sojourns home, while they were both settled in the living room playing with Lego Jaime asked the question Tom had both longed for and dreaded with equal measure.

 “Uncle Tom, why don’t I have a daddy?”

 It was as if a pin had dropped. Tom found himself staring at the boy sitting beside him, confusion painted across his features. “What…Jaime, what’s brought this on?”

 Jaime shrugged, fidgeting with the Lego sitting before him. “Charlie’s dad takes him to the park and they play. I play with Nana Keira and you…But not my daddy. Mummy said he was away and couldn’t stay with us. But why?”

 Tom blinked at him, unsure of what to say. Jaime’s hazel eyes were large and full of question. God, how was he supposed to explain any of this to a five year-old?

 “I’d like to play in the park with my daddy like Charlie does,” Jaime continued, oblivious to the older man’s distress. “I like the swings and the slide. They’re fun and I can go high in the air. I like going high in the air. Mummy didn’t like going in the air but she always pushed me higher when I asked. Do you think my daddy likes going high in the air?”

 Again Tom felt his throat tighten as the enormity of Jaime’s questions overwhelmed him. “Maybe,” was all he could manage to whisper, though he knew it would do little to ease the questions he could still see burning in the boy’s eyes.

 “Jaime, my boy, come and get washed up for tea.” Keira’s voice echoed from the hall pulling Tom from his thoughts and sending his heart very nearly into his throat. Jaime pouted, clearly not ready for his playdate to be over.

 Tom smiled warmly at him, hoping it reached his eyes. The absolute last thing he wanted was to hurt or confuse the boy more than he already was. All he had done, after all, was ask questions that must have been rattling inside his head for a while.

 “Go listen to your Nan,” he urged, grabbing bits of Lego and dumping in back into the bin. “Go on, don’t you make her ask you a second time.”

 Jaime sighed, reluctantly got to his feet and dashed out of the living room.

 Footsteps in the hall pulled Tom’s attention from the mess around him. He dropped the pieces of Lego from his hand into the bin by his side and looked up to see Keira standing quietly in the doorway, an unreadable expression on her face. “I take it you overheard.”

 Keira nodded. “He’s been…Quite curious as of late. It was honestly only a matter of time, really.”

 Tom pushed himself to his feet. “I didn’t say anyth…I didn’t know what to say to him.”

 “I know you didn’t, but maybe it’s time you should.” Tom blinked at her in confusion. “He already adores you, Tom, and I know you feel the same. You aren’t good at sticking around, at being there for people, but I can see you trying. For Jaime. For yourself. And I can respect that.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I may never like you, Tom, but I am starting to respect you. Just keep trying, you never know what may come of it.”

 She smiled once more and walked from the room, calling out. “James William, those hands better be cleaned with soap and water.”

 Gods above, he still didn’t know what to make of that woman.

 Starting at his hands, Tom resolved to not bring up the subject with Jaime again unless, or until, the boy brought it up himself. As much as he wanted to her the boy call him ‘daddy’, and gods above he did, Tom knew he couldn’t just come out and say it. The words sat on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t force himself to say them aloud. It was fear, pure and simple. He was afraid of disappointing the boy. Afraid he wouldn’t be enough, wouldn’t be the kind of father Jaime deserved.

 “Uncle Tom! Are you staying for tea?” Jaime’s voice proceeded him as the little boy darted back into the living room, eyes bright and shining.

 “I…If it’s alright with your Nan.”

 Jaime reached out and grabbed Tom’s hand, dragging the tall man behind him as he raced back towards the dining room and his waiting grandmother. The question comes out in a flurry of excited words and Keira had to ask Jaime twice to slow down and repeat himself before she understood. She smiled warmly at the boy before turning her attention towards Tom. “Of course. Hope you’re alright with tomato soup and cheese toasties.”

 Tom smiled brightly. “Tomato soup and cheese toasties sounds divine.”

 Places set, the three sat around the scarred wooden dining table with bowls of steaming soup and warm toasted sandwiches sat before them. Jaime dug into the meal with the kind of abandon Tom himself tucked into pudding. “Pace yourself, Jaime. This isn’t a race,” Keira scolded.

 Jaime looked up completely unabashed, pausing to take a deep drink of his glass of milk. Tom laughed heartily at the sight. His told him many a time over the last thirty odd years that he had been a cheeky little lad growing up and that if there was any justice in the world and he had children one day they would be just like him. Gods above, he thought, Mum was right.  

 “What’s funny?” Jaime asked, his mouth full of cheese toasty.

 “Something my mum told me.”

 “Oh?” Jaime’s eyes were wide with expectation. “What?”

 Tom wiped his mouth with a napkin and folded his hands together, resting them on the table. “She told me many a time that I was a mischievous little imp, always looking for trouble, always trying something new.”

 “Mummy used to call me her silly little imp.” Jaime’s smile faltered slightly at his own admission. “I miss Mummy.”

 Instinctively, Tom reached out, resting his hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I know you do. I miss her too. She was a very good woman, your mummy.” He smiled softy at Jaime. “And I know she loved you very much.”

 Jaime blinked up at him. “You do?”

 “You were her silly little imp, Jaime. Of course she loved you so very much. She told me, just the once, how you were her whole world and I know she meant it.” Tom sighed, letting his hand ruffle through Jaime’s sandy hair. “You are a very lucky young man, Jaime lad, to have a mummy like yours.”

 “Is your mummy gone too?”

 Tom blinked at Jaime’s quiet question, caught completely off guard by it. He coughed once before speaking. “No, my mummy is still here. She lives in Suffolk though and I don’t see her as much as I should.”

 Jaime nodded, looking at Tom curiously. “Does she live with your daddy?”

 Tom shook his head. “No, Jaime,” he answered as truthfully as he could. “My mummy doesn’t live with my daddy. My daddy lives far away, all the way up in Scotland.”

 “Oh.” There was slump to the boy’s shoulders that tore at Tom’s heart. “Do you think my daddy is there too? Mummy said he lived far away too.”

 Tears burned in Tom’s eyes. “Oh Jaime…He doesn’t live in Scotland, but…But he did live far away for a time.” He didn’t know why he was saying it, didn’t know just what he was saying. But he knew he had to say something.

 “You know my daddy?” Jaime’s voice was laced with such naked hope that Tom felt his heart clench. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Keira tense. They both knew this was coming, that it had to come, but so soon?

 “Jaime…I…” He fumbled over his words. Why was this so difficult?

 “He does, Jaime,” Keira cut in, ending Tom’s nervous rambling. She shot him a knowing look, as if to say, now or never.

 Jaime’s eyes widened as he stared up at Tom with unbridled hope. “You know my daddy?”

NEXT

[pappydaddy]

Ophelia (s.h.)

A/N: This is the first part (yay!) out of the I Wanna Be Yours series. If you notice, there is a theme to this: songs!! Pretty much this entire series is inspired by songs and music so I put together a playlist on Spotify (if you have Apple music, feel free to make a playlist on that but please inform me first!) and I might make one on youtube but idk. 

  Each part is going to have the songs I listened to while writing it, inspired it, or fit with the contents of the part. Please, if you’re going to listen to the playlist, don’t put it on shuffle while you read it because I worked really hard to get the order right!! I hope you guys enjoy this!! (Also enjoy my weird, wide range of music😂).

PLEASE TAKE A SECOND TO LOOK AT MY PINNED POST AND SIGN THE PETITION!!

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!OC(named)

Warnings: Angst, violence in some parts, arguments, body image issues, feeling belittled/feeling weak, SPOILERS!!(for all seasons).

Fandom: Stranger Things 

I Wanna Be Yours Playlist (Spotify)

This parts songs: 

This parts songs: I Wanna Hold Your Hand - The Beatles | Ophelia - Lumineers | Poison - Rita Ora | Less I Know The Better - Tame Impala | Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST FOR THIS SERIES (TRYING THEM OUT) PLEASE DM ME OR JUST ASK!!

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

 Sitting in the driver's seat of her car, she listened to her brother ramble on and on about only two subjects: this new girlfriend named Suzie and Steve Harrington. Every time he brought the ramblings back to his fluffy-haired older friend, she found her mind wandering. Steve Harrington had proven himself to be much more different than she had first perceived. When she had moved to Hawkins, she had thought him to be an egotistical asshole who only cared about a title and he had proven her right through his actions until one day when he suddenly just wasn’t. Suddenly, Steve was the boy who was dating Nancy Wheeler and hanging around with Jonathan Byers. He no longer was ‘King Steve’ (the king title being passed to Billy Hargrove), he no longer had Tommy H. and Carol as his two annoying shadows. Ophelia wasn’t quite sure what happened between the three, but it must have been pretty big. 

  Despite the change in his ranking within the high school, she still didn’t fully trust him. His past actions went against everything she believed in. She believed in kindness and loyalty, not getting into fist-fights, bullying and ignoring people just because you perceive yourself as better than them. Maybe that’s why they never seemed to become friends for the majority of the time he went to high school.

  “Ophelia,” Her brother’s call of her name snapped her from her thoughts of her history with her brother’s friend. “Are you even listening to me?” He asked her when she glanced at him quickly. She pressed on the brake of her car, getting ready to turn into the bustling mall parking lot. 

  “Yes, of course I’m listening!” She lied, looking back in front of her. 

  “Really? Then why haven’t you been answering me when I’ve asked how Steve’s been doing?” Dustin perked an eyebrow at his older sister. Sure, her and Steve Harrington were not friends through most of Steve’s high school career, but that had changed when Dustin had brought them together to help capture Dart, leading to Ophelia’s second go around with the Upside down. He had changed once again. With Nancy Wheeler dumping in at Tina’s Halloween party and then running off with Jonathan, she had seen Steve once again change his spots. After fighting the Upside Down alongside him, their friendship blossomed. 

  “Because, we’re about to see him so you can actually ask him for yourself, Dipwad.” She commented, trying to get Dustin off her case. All she needed was for him to know just how she felt about the dopey, hair-obsessed boy. Sure, their sudden and shocking friendship was not the last of Steve’s changing. Through their growing friendship, she had watched as he changed into the dorky, clumsy, parent of six. Sure, he lost his charm, but somehow, his lack of charm captured Ophelia’s heart. Maybe it was finally seeing the true Steve Harrington that made her heart skip a beat every time she so much as heard his name. Or maybe it was the way he developed a new charm that the girls of Hawkins have yet to fall for, but no matter how it happened, she definitely fell head over heels for him.  

  “I don’t want him to know I’m worried about him.” Dustin exclaimed, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head as he gripped his hat covered curls in frustration. Ophelia gave him a look as she pulled into a parking spot, turning the car off swiftly. 

  “He’s fine, Dusty,” She reassured him, pulling the keys from the ignition. “Why are you so worried about him anyway?” She posed the question. Sure, he had been a little bummed out since he hadn’t gotten into any schools he applied for, and he was a little upset about having to get a crappy part-time job, but it wasn’t anything to make Ophelia too concerned. Of course, it hurt her a little hearing him talking about himself the way he does, but what hurts her the most was the little game him and Robin were playing. Seeing him shamelessly (and horribly) flirting with girl after girl who ventured into Scoops Ahoy was poison to her heart. Each wink he gave the girls was like a needle injecting the next dose right into her valves, wanting to kill the beating organ. 

  “Between you and me, I think he’s lost his mojo a little, Leah,” Dustin whispered to her over the hood of her car as they climbed out. She gave him a look that told him that he was crazy, but he just challenged it with a knowing look. “He hasn’t had a date since Nancy left him and he doesn’t go to parties. He’s lost his confidence and, in turn, lost his mojo.” Dustin explained. 

  “He didn’t lose his mojo, Dustin. He’s changed, he’s grown and he’s trying to figure himself out and he hasn’t tried to get a date since Nancy left him.” She pointed out, trying to cease her brother’s worries. Sure, he’s flirted, but he hasn’t actually put himself out there. Ophelia knows the difference between flirting and actually wanting a relationship all too well. Her trusting nature had made her fall privy to people just wanting attention or sex, but on the flipside, her trusting nature had let her experience some of the most beautiful relationships - most of them which had turned sour towards the end, but none-the-less, were still a beautiful heart-break. 

  “I’m still going to worry about him.” Dustin remarked as they walked into the mall. Ophelia hummed, dropping her hand on top of his hat covered head, ruffling it slightly before falling to rest on the bookbag he wore on his back. She made him stop for a second as she dropped her keys in her purse, pulling her wallet out. 

  “Alright, you head over to Scoops, here’s some money,” She told Dustin, handing him a couple of bills. “Steve is going to try and give you free ice cream, tell him no and give him the money or put it in the tip jar. Trust me, it has been my entire summer.” She instructed him. Admittedly, her heart would soar like an eagle in the sky when Steve would push her hand full of money, insisting that it was on the house every time she wanted an ice cream, thinking that he might just actually feel the same way she did, her desperate heart filling her mind with hopes that would quickly cloud over with dark thunder clouds when he would send flirty statements over the counter at the next girl. 

  “Wait, you’re not coming with me?” Dustin furrowed his brows, taking the money. 

  “I will be there in a few, I’m heading over to work to check the schedule, and Brett said he needed to talk to me about something anyway.” She told him, stuffing her wallet back in her purse. Dustin narrowed his eyes at her at the name. 

  “Whose Brett?” He cocked his head to the side. He had heard the name before, most likely from one of Ophelia’s friends gushing about random guys while they were locked up in her room. 

  “He works with me, he’s also the captain of the hockey team - Melissa never shut up about him in grade nine,” She answered him, patting his shoulder. Dustin hummed at this, nodding. He looked at the bills she handed him, counting them to see how much she gave him. “I won’t be long, Brett usually writes my hours down for me anyway.” Told him before walking away from him and towards the escalators, heading towards Tower Records. Dustin didn’t pay the information any attention as he made his way towards Scoops. 

  His sneakers squeaked against the tiled floor as he looked around the mall in awe. He hadn’t seen it yet, only heard about it in Ophelia’s letters to him while he was at camp, but nothing she said could do the actual thing justice. The bright neon signs, the high-end stores. The sleek glass in the ceiling letting the sun provide natural light. The fountain, the hustle and bussle. It was great. Walking into the sailor themed ice cream parlor, he took in the blue and white striped wallpaper and the cheery sailor tone playing. 

  Steve was nowhere to be seen when he walked in, so he fell into line behind the two people standing at the counter. He waited patiently, gripping the now crumpled bills in his hands. He could see the girl behind the counter with short blonde hair what had the softest wave to it. Her blue eyes looked bored and unenthusiastic. “Have a nice day.” She drawled, her eyes vacant of joy as she handed the two people their ice cream cones. 

  “Thank you.” The girl smiled at the blonde before the pair of them left, happily licking their ice cream. Dustin smiled, knowing he was so close to seeing Steve again. The girl behind the counter pressed her hands into it, leaning on them as she turned her uninterested gaze on the beaming Dustin who showed off his toothless smile. 

  “Hi.” Dustin basically bounced in his spot from excitement. 

  “Hi.” She drawled, not nearly as excited as Dustin was. Silence passed between them as they looked at each other. Dustin’s smile never filtered and the blonde’s expression never changed. Dustin opened his mouth, gesturing towards himself awkwardly. 

  “I’m Dustin.” He introduced himself, thinking that Steve had told his co-worker all about him. He told almost anyone who would listen about how excited he was to get back home and see Steve so he expected nothing less from his older friend. 

  “I’m Robin.” The blonde replied, a forced smile on her lips. She really just wanted him to order his ice cream and move along so that maybe the day could go by faster. 

  “Pleasure to meet you, uh-” He told her politely. Much like she wanted him to hurry up, Dustin just wanted this to be done with so he could see his friend. “Is-is he here?” Dustin asked with a gesture of his hand, his bright eyes scanning over the space behind the counter. 

  “Is who here?” Robin asked, somewhat intrigued with this strange child. He was so happy and cheerful, his eyes bright. Just then, the swinging door leading to the backroom burst open making them snap their attention towards it. With a squeak of his sneaker, Steve was there, his eyes wide with excitement, just knowing that his friend was out in the parlor. 

  “Henderson,” He stepped away from the door, raising his arms in the air, a wide smile on his face at the sight of the curly haired teen. Dustin started to laugh, pointing towards the older boy as his smile grew, his eyes squinting from it. “Henderson! He’s back,” Steve jumped around as he rushed around the counter, trying to reach his best friend. “He’s back!” He basically yelled, pointing to Dustin. He glanced at Robin as if she was supposed to care. Robin clued into just who the strange child was at the last name. Ophelia’s little brother. Their cheery happiness was almost uncanny.

  “I’m back! You got the job!” Dustin exclaimed.

  “I got the job,” Steve matched Dustin’s enthusiasm, making a trumpet noise while pretending to play one. “Hey, oh!” He said as they performed an intricate handshake. Robin watched the two with raised eyebrows as they pretended to be fighting with lightsabers before Dustin pretended to stab Steve, prompting Steve to pretend his guts were falling out. They finished the handshake, looking at each other and laughing. Steve rested his arm on the cooler beside him, both of them sighing and coming down from their laughter. 

  “How many children are you friends with?” Robin asked, leaning forward on her hands more, eyeing Steve. He certainly wasn’t the same Steve she knew in high school. Steve looked at her, sighing before sniffling as his smile shrunk. Swiping his finger under his nose, he gestured towards Robin with his hand, giving Dustin a look. 

  “So, hey, uh,” Steve started, looking around the parlor, placing both his hands on his hips and kicking his foot out. The musical laughter of the girl he was almost positive he would see today was missing. “Where’s your sister? I thought she’d come in with you.” He asked, looking at Dustin. Dustin shrugged, looking around the parlor to take it all in. 

  “She said she’d be here soon, she had to stop by the store to check the schedule and apparently some guy wanted to talk to her about something there,” Dustin told him, once again not thinking much of it. “I think she said his name was like Brent or something, I don’t know - I wasn’t really listening.” Dustin admitted. Steve’s heart sunk slightly, floating slowly to the bottom of his feet like a paper falling to the floor. 

  “You mean Brett?” Robin spoke up, her eyebrow perked curiously. One thing about her not being in the popular crowd, she learned to observe and gather her information that way. She could clearly see how Steve felt about Ophelia. Whenever she came into the store on her break, his brown eyes would light up like a kid on Christmas. He would constantly bring her up. He could be scrubbing the staff toilet and find a way to bring Ophelia up. She was almost positive that Steve was head over heels for her.

  “Yeah-yeah, that sounds right.” Dustin nodded, not paying much attention as he scanned over the ice cream tubs in the cooler.

  “Oh man, that guy’s been hooked on her for like two years, I heard he took the job at Tower Records because he heard that she was going to be working there.” Robin informed them. Steve could have sworn he had died right then and there. He felt strangely possessive and protective over the eldest Henderson since she squared up against Billy and lasted pretty well until she ended up on the floor next to Steve, knocked out. The sight of her beat up face was the last thing Steve saw before he finally clocked out. 

  If he was being completely honest, he had developed a crush on her way before Nancy. He would always see her floating around the halls of the school with a bright smile, always saying hi to everyone. It was like she was friends with the entire school population. You’d be hard pressed to find someone who didn’t like Ophelia Henderson, but somehow, Steve hung out with the only two people who didn’t. They despised the girl. Thought she was too nice, too good even though everyone at school has seen her knocking shot after shot back at parties. When he had developed feelings for Nancy, he had thought his feelings for Ophelia were long gone, but seeing her taking no shit from Billy and fighting the Demodogs alongside him last year proved him semi-wrong, instead of a crush, he had a fierce need to protect her and keep her way from any guy who he deemed not right for her (which was pretty much all of them). 

  As if on cue, she floated into the parlor with a large smile on her face. “Hey everyone!” She cheered, walking up to her brother and Steve. Steve looked at her, his own smile stretching on his face. He could practically feel his face light up at the sight of her. She smiled brightly at him, rolling up onto the balls of her feet excitedly. 

  “Hey, Leah, Dustin said Brett wanted to talk to you, what’d he say?” Robin asked, curious to see what the development of the love triangle that was brewing. Only an idiot couldn’t see that Steve and Ophelia both liked each other and you would have to be living under a rock not to realize that Brett Morris also chased after the oblivious girl. 

  Ophelia smiled wider - if that was even possible - at the question, her eyes lightning up with excitement. Steve gazed at her expression, wishing he could have caused it. “He wants to hang out with me, as a date!” She exclaimed, walking between her brother and Steve to stand in front of the counter. Steve wanted to die at this news. Brett Morris was a loser - a scrawny, entitled loser who flew through girls like crazy. He had no place going on a date with someone as pure and sweet as Ophelia. He wouldn’t appreciate the beauty of her eyes, swirling with different colours and sparkling with light. Would he fully understand just how precious her laughter was? 

  “Really? That’s awesome.” Robin smiled at the excited girl. 

  “Yeah, I know! I have to go get a new outfit,” She gushed, whirling around to look at Dustin and Steve. “I’ll be back later to get him, do not hype him up on sugar, understand be Harrington?” She told him, not sticking around long enough to get an answer, instead rushing back out of the parlor. Steve pressed his lips into a fine line, his nose flared. Robin looked at him with an amused smile, ready for the chaos of a love triangle. 

***

  Ophelia sauntered back into Scoops, looking at the rush to see Robin manning the counter alone, Steve and her brother nowhere to be seen. “Hey, Robin, where did Steve take my brother?” She asked as Erica and her group of Erica clones walked out. Robin looked towards her, a stressed out look in her eyes. 

  “They’re in the back,” She told her, nudging her head towards the door as she walked towards it herself. Ophelia rushed around the counter, following Robin into the back room as she burst through the door. “All right, babysitting time is over, you need to get in there.” Robin told Steve walking into the room. 

  “Yeah, and it’s time for us to go Dustin.” Ophelia told her brother. The two girls stopped, looking at the two boys. Steve backed up to stand beside Dustin who was at the table, facing them. Their eyes were wide and scared, almost as if they were caught doing something they shouldn’t have been. Steve held a half-eaten banana in his hand, his cheeks pushed out with bits of banana in them, mid-chew. She looked at them oddly, knowing that nothing good could come of this. 

  “Hey! My board,” Robin exclaimed, whirling around to look at Steve and Dustin. Ophelia looked over at her to see her standing by a board on the wall that seemed to hold the Russian characters on it. “That was important data, Shitbirds!” Ophelia rolled her eyes at that. It wasn’t important data to her, in fact, maybe now that the board was erased, the game would stop and Ophelia could find the anecdote for the poison. 

  “I guarantee you, what we’re doing is way more important than your data.” Dustin told her, earning a glare from his sister. Steve nodded along, eating the rest of his banana and tossing the peel to the table in front of Dustin. 

  “Oh yeah, and how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyways?” She challenged, walking to stand in front of the table.

  “What Russians?” Ophelia asked, suddenly very concerned. Steve and Dustin looked at each other with startled looks. 

   “Your brother intercepted a Russian transmission using some sort of radio and they plan to translate the transmission and become American Heroes.” Robin told her. Ophelia nodded slowly, taking the information in. 

  “How does she know about the Russians?” Dustin whispered to Steve.

  “I don’t know.” Steve spoke through a mouth full of banana, shrugging his shoulders. His brown eyes were wide, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. Under other circumstances, Ophelia would think he looked cute, but not when they were trying to translate a Russian transmission. 

  “You told her about-” 

  “It wasn’t me!” Steve defended himself, cutting Dustin off. 

  “Hello! I can hear you, actually I can hear everything. You are both extremely loud,” Robin broke the news to them. “You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country, on tape, and you’re trying to translate it, but haven’t figured out a single word because you didn’t realize that Russian’s use a completely different alphabet than we do,” She rattled off. Dustin and Steve looked at each other in shock before looking back at Robin. “Is that about right?” She asked. Ophelia stepped up, standing beside her. If these two idiots were getting into something then so was she. They were pretty much a package deal at this point. 

  Robin lunged forward, trying to swipe the tape off the table, but Steve grabbed it before her. “Woah - Oh! What do you think you’re doing?” Steve asked her with a crazed look in his eyes. Ophelia raised her eyebrows at it.

  “I wanna hear it!” Robin bounced slightly, showing more enthusiasm that she ever does when doing her job. 

  “I do too.” Ophelia told them, walking over and pulling out a chair from the table, sitting down in the spot in front of Steve. Steve shook his head at her. 

  “Why?” Both Dustin and Steve asked at the same time, mostly directed to Robin. They could see why Ophelia would want to, since she had been by Dustin’s side since Will’s disappearance. 

  “Cause maybe I can help,” Robin shrugged. “I am fluent in four languages, you know?” She disclosed to them proudly. Ophelia looked over at her, impressed. 

  “Russian?” Dustin asked, intrigued. Robin leaned closer to him. 

  “Ou-yay are-yay umb-day.” She told him. Steve and Dustin looked excited, making Ophelia shake her head, slapping her hand to her forehead. 

  “Oh-ho-ho!” Steve exclaimed.

  “Holy shit!” Dustin smiled wide, thinking that she actually spoke Russian to them. Robin straightened up, her face blank while Ophelia was questioning her brother’s sanity. 

  “That was pig-latin, Digus,” She told him, making their smiles fall. Steve looked down at Dustin, slapping him with the banana peel that he had picked up for some reason, muttering ‘idiot’ under his breath, not wanting to admit that he also thought Robin was speaking Russian. Robin sat across the table from Ophelia. “But, I speak Spanish and French and Italian, and I’ve been in band for twelve years. My ears are little geniuses, trust me.” Robin argued her case. 

  “I also speak fluent French and a little latin and, don’t forget, I’ve saved you two before.” Ophelia reminded them, giving them a knowing look. Steve and Dustin looked at each other, unsure if they should let them help. Steve definitely didn’t want to let Ophelia help. It was too dangerous, it went against every fiber in his being telling him to protect her. 

  “Come on, it’s your turn to sling ice cream and my turn to translate - I don’t even want credit, I’m just bored!” Robin groaned to Steve, sliding the ice cream scoop across the table towards him. The bell from the counter dinged, the customer wanting service. Steve looked at her hand before looking at Dustin. The bell dinged again making him sigh and grab the scoop, placing the tape back on the table again. He glanced at Dustin again as the younger boy shrugged, not seeing how the two girls couldn’t help them since they have yet to figure out anything so far. Shifting his eyes to Robin, seeing her pleading with him, but what made him bend like a hot spoon was when he looked at Ophelia. Her big eyes looking at him hopefully but with just enough glare that dared him to try and say no to them.

  “Fine, you two can help.” He grumbled, making his way out the door. Robin and Ophelia cheered, Robin scooping the tape recorder up. Steve huffed, defeated. He didn’t like the idea of her being involved with this. The past two years, he wasn’t able to stop her from getting involved with the Upside Down because she knew about it before him both times; this time, he knew about it before her so he had thought he could keep her out of it, but boy was he wrong.

[entity9silvergen]

Oblique- Chapter 2 (Sanders Sides Fanfiction

Previous chapter, Full Story

Story Info:

Summary: Unable to experience romantic attraction, Remus feels incomplete. Unable to feel sexual attraction, Roman feels less than. Maybe as the King, they decide, they will feel whole again. Their partners and friends, however, know this isn’t the solution and seek to help them realize there’s nothing broken about them before it’s too late.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil, Nate, Remy, Emile, Seth, Toby, Janus, Remus, Unnamed Orange Side, Romulus, Dragon Witch 

Relationships: Logan/ Patton, Virgil/ Roman, Janus/ Remus, Remy/ Emile, Toby/ Seth, Nate/ Orange Side

Other Tags: AroWriMo, Aromantic Remus, Asexual Roman, Spider Virgil, Snake Janus, Orange Side, 7th Side, Additional Sides, No OCs, Short Vid Characters

Warnings for this chapter: Sexual themes, internalized acephobia, internalized arophobia, arousal, romantic feels, minor self-harm, intrusive thoughts, Remus

Author’s Note: There is nothing explicit in this one but there is some post sex scenes and pre almost sex scenes. Also romantic feels. I am aroace so like I don’t actually know what I’m doing, first time writing something like this, but we’re doing it. If any of that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip this chapter. It takes place prior to the previous chapter and provides more context to what’s up with Remus and Roman but is not actually relevant to the plot.

====================

Remus felt good in that way only an orgasm could cause.

It was like… like everything inside him just melted away. Everything tense and tight just washed away. It was at times like this he really felt at peace. The only times he felt at peace. With his mind quiet, he really just felt like himself. Not Dark Creativity, not Intrusive Thoughts. Just Remus.

He should go be productive. Draw something that wasn’t totally obscene. Maybe take a shower without trying to swallow the soap. Eat something other than deodorant. Trim his mustache without cutting himself. Nah, he was still going to do all that stuff. He loved it, intrusive thoughts or not.

He started to roll out of bed when an arm stopped him.

“You’re always so quick to leave,” Janus murmured, draping an arm over Remus’s bare hips. Fuck, that was sexy. Why was he so sexy? All naked and relaxed… Disheveled. That was the word Remus was looking for. His hat, gloves, and clothes were long gone, messy brown hair and scales out for the world to see. Well, not the world. Just Remus. Janus was cute when he was like this, rare as it was. Not cute enough for Remus not to have a double take at his words though.

“Is that bad?” Remus asked hesitantly, a bit more of his insecurity in his voice than he would’ve liked. He knew Janus wasn’t mad and he wouldn’t make fun of him. It was just… ugh, the post-sex euphoria was kind of fading and Remus was starting to feel bad about himself again.

Janus looked up at him, breaking out of his affectionate daze. He frowned. “I mean… no? If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be. Staying the night is just nice.”

“Why?” 

The question tumbled out of Remus’s mouth before he could think, like most things he said did. He felt like he shouldn’t have said that but he couldn’t help it. And he really did want to know.

“It just… um, helps with the emotional side of hooking up?” Janus ventured. Remus tried not to frown. “The romantic aspect?”

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll stay,” Remus responded and flopped back down on the bed, letting his back hit the sheets once more. Janus stayed where he was. Remus just stared at the ceiling, unsure if Janus’s touch was nice or uncomfortable. They were both all sweaty. And sticky. Didn’t people normally shower after this? Or wipe off or whatever? Normally Remus would just run around naked and the air would dry him off and he’d be good as new but that didn’t really feel like an option right now.

“You look so uncomfortable.” 

“What? I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You’re like a tree right now.”

“Unfuckable unless you want splinters?” Remus cracked, looking down at Janus, but the snakey Side didn’t seem amused.

“You’re literally lying on your back with your arms at your sides,” Janus deadpanned. He shifted a bit, resting his head on Remus’s chest. “And that’s fine but you look stressed. Which is weird because you just came and normally that makes you all loose. Figuratively, not literally, don't look at me like-”

“I’m loose in so many more ways than one,” Remus responded with a shit eating grin, wiggling a bit. Janus sighed, sounding exasperated but fond. But then Remus sobered up. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You know I don’t really mind your jokes. Or lewdness. It’s just part of who you are as a Side.”

“Not that. I meant for not being… romantic. It’s just not my thing. I’m not Roman.”

Janus lifted his head to look at him. “I don’t want Roman. You think if I wanted Roman I’d be in bed with you? If I wanted Roman, I’d be having Roman.”

Remus couldn’t stifle his laughter. Roman probably wouldn’t want Janus either, not when Virgil was so clearly the Side for him, but Janus’s confidence and self-assurance amused him. He was right, Janus probably had the swagger to seduce whoever in the mindscape he wanted. Though he may be biased.

“I don’t really care if you do the whole romantic bit of a relationship,” Janus went on, putting his head back down. “Feelings can get kind of icky. You’re my best friend and I love you, I wouldn’t change that.”

Now, Remus knew Janus said that to comfort him but it just made him feel all kinds of bad. Guilty. Selfish. Ungrateful. He didn’t like these feelings. He was the Duke! He didn’t get down in the dumps. He was just pure, unfiltered nastiness. Not whatever this was. 

He didn’t know if Janus expected a response or not but he just smiled awkwardly and patted Janus’s hair. Janus didn’t comment on how grimy his hands were and just relaxed against him, seeming to enjoy Remus’s fingers in his hair. It felt weirdly intimate to be doing this. It was nice, Remus supposed, but it felt foreign. Like he was missing something. Maybe he was missing something.

He tried to steer those thoughts away. He was naked in bed with his best friend, not fully clothed and crying in the shower alone like he normally was when these moments hit. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about that. He was… This was a good moment. Good things were happening. He’d just had an amazing night of mindblowing sex. His friend- partner, fuck buddy, boyfriend, whatever- had just told him he loves and accepts him. How could he be thinking about this right now?

Janus would tell him he wasn’t broken. That he wasn’t missing anything. That he was amazing the way he was. But Remus couldn’t find it in himself to bring it up right now. It was hard, not voicing his thoughts. He loved talking, spouting out every thought that crossed his mind. These ones though… He didn’t really want Janus worrying about. He already knew what Janus would say. Janus was a two-faced liar who could trick the smartest Side in the mindscape but Remus trusted him. Janus knew how to be serious. He knew how delicate Remus’s heart could be when it came to- to… He wouldn’t tell Remus anything about himself that he didn’t believe. It was just Remus who didn’t believe it.

Remus loved himself. He knew he was amazing. He loved his creations and that he could creep any Side and Thomas out. He just wanted to live his best life. But that little voice telling him something was wrong, giving him memories of a time before, would always be there.

Maybe it was time he listened to it.

=================

Roman just felt so freaking good.

His heart just felt so full. He just had so much love in him that he felt like he was going to burst. It thrummed in his chest, letting the feeling of life flow freely into his limbs. He didn’t know why he felt like this. Maybe it was because of the role he fulfilled as Thomas’s romantic facet and his fanciful side. Or maybe he was just so high on love that it got him all giddy like this. He didn’t know, he just knew he liked it. It was an amazing feeling that he just wanted to have forever. 

But all good things had to come to an end.

Virgil withdrew from him, not quite letting go but enough that Roman craved his touch again. He leaned in for another kiss, and managed to successfully get one, before noticing the look in his boyfriend’s eyes. It wasn’t… a bad look. Not a new one either. Just somewhat different.

Virgil was definitely turned on. Expected, after making out for however long they’d spent doing just that. To be honest, Roman was pretty into it too and he could feel some arousal coming in. It was an exciting feeling, one only supplemented by the rush of affection he was feeling. 

So why did he feel so uneasy?

Virgil slotted his palms over Roman’s hips and gave him a sultry look. “You want to do a bit more?”

Roman opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. He didn’t know if it was from arousal or fear. He locked eyes with Virgil and nodded, trying to look eager. Virgil looked… excited? Happy? Satisfied? Something. He looked something good at his response and started undoing the zipper and buttons on his pants. Roman looked away, not really wanting to watch despite all the feelings happening down there. It was only once Virgil’s fingers were hooked around his underwear that it became apparent something was wrong.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Don’t call me dude when we’re in bed. You’ll kill the mood.”

“I’m trying to kill the mood. You look hella uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

“You looked away when I took your pants off and you flinched when I touched your underwear. Is that comfortable in your world?”

“I’m fine, Virge. Let’s just keep going.”

“We don’t need to do this if you don’t want to.”

“But I do want to,” Roman insisted, gesturing vaguely to his crotch which was very visibly hard through his underwear.

Virgil didn’t budge. “Having a boner and wanting me to touch you are two different things, Princey.”

Roman sighed. “I know.”

“Consent is sexy.”

Roman sighed louder. “I know, Virgil.”

“Communication is-”

“I know, Virgil.”

“Come on, talk to me, Princey.”

“You’re still killing the mood.”

“I know, Roman,” Virgil responded, mimicking Roman’s tone, before giving him a serious look. “What’s up? If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

Roman opened his mouth but, again, no words came out. How was he supposed to articulate his thoughts? He wanted to… do stuff. Sexual stuff. Touching. That sounded fun. Sex was supposed to be, like, a big thing in a relationship, right? So shouldn’t he want to do it, being the romance guy and all?

Maybe it was because sex was more of a Remus thing. Ew, no wait, he shouldn’t be thinking about his brother right now. Actually, that was a big turn off which was what he needed right now. But point was that sex was never his thing. Roman didn’t think about it much. Or at all. Should he? That was something people thought about, right?

Thinking about sex made him feel… gross. Not completely though? Thomas was a pretty sex positive guy so all the Sides generally viewed consestuall sex as a healthy part of a relationship but anytime Roman thought about sex in a more personal way, not as an abstract concept, he felt all weird. And he knew he shouldn’t. Sex was natural. Hundreds of generations of humans have been doing it. So why couldn’t he?

There was just this… disconnect. Between what, he wasn’t sure. His feelings, his body, arousal, desire, all of it. And it felt wrong. Like, it should be there. He didn’t know what it felt like but he could imagine it. He’d read about it and he could see it in his mind but when it came to the present moment, it just wasn’t there. He-

Odin’s eyepatch, Virgil was waiting for him to say something, wasn’t he?

“Can we… not?” Roman said weakly, hating how unsure he sounded. But to his relief, Virgil just nodded. 

“That’s fine. We’re not ready,” Virgil responded. Roman couldn’t tell if he sounded disappointed or not. “But I, um, I’m going to go take a cold shower. Figuratively, not literally. I hate the cold. I’m going to go jer- I’m going to go take a shower. And you can do whatever you need to do or take one after me. And then we can just hang out. Does that sound alright?”

Roman was a bit surprised Virgil seemed so together. Not anxious. He was still a bit rambly but mostly together. Maybe he was just trying to put on a face for Roman’s sake. Either way, he was grateful that Virgil was taking the lead on this one, however odd it may be for the other Side. Smiling, he nodded. Virgil returned it and wandered off to the bathroom.

But when he returned, Roman was nowhere to be found.

=======================

They both slunk out in the night, stumbling to the Neutral Zone with similar goals in mind. Consciously or unconsciously, it was impossible to tell. They were just hurting and that was enough to draw them together.

Still, they looked surprised at the sight of each other, Roman on the stairs leading up and Remus surfacing from the basement. It was dark but the red and green of their clothes seemed to stand out. They stayed silent, staring at each other wordlessly, waiting to see who would move first.

It was a third figure who broke the silence.

“Sup guuurlssss,” Remy slurred as he drifted through the living room, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. Both of the twins jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, but Remy was already wandering towards the hallway by the time they realized who exactly it was. “Go to the dreamspace if you’re going to destroy anything, bitches. Toby will be pissed if you touch his shit. Byeeee.”

The twins watched the Neutral Side walk away, his shuffle making him seem to float away in a very dream-like manner. But that was just how Remy was and they could ignore him and soon they were once again focused on each other. Remus spoke first.

“So why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked first.”

“But I’m older.”

“Explain or I fart and wake up the whole floor. And you know how smellicious this tank can-”

“Ugh. Okay, fine.”

“Well?”

“...”

“Princey.”

“What was the question?”

“Why are you here, Prince Boring?”

“Um, well…”

“Just spit it out, brother mine.”

“How do you sex?” Roman blurted bluntly.

Remus started at him. He blinked. Once. “What?”

“How do you do sex?” Roman repeated, looking flustered. “I can’t.”

To his credit, Remus was quiet for a full three seconds before bursting out laughing.

Roman scowled. “It’s not funny! I just… I can’t.”

Remus tried to smother his laughter to a series of giggles, wiping a couple fake- or real, who knows?- tears out of his eyes. “Oh Princey! You should’ve come to me sooner! I tried giving Seth some crash course kink lessons from yours truly but Toby hit me. Really hard. It was hot. Janus let me do my whole spiel on him but it’s no fun when you’re fucking the guy you’re teaching because he already knew all this stuff when he signed up to be my fuck buddy but now that you’re-”

“Stop. I already regret this,” Roman said, waving his hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Poopy.” Remus didn’t actually sound disappointed, a blessing in disguise. 

“I just… can’t get into it.”

“I know what you mean,” Remus said, surprising Roman. When Roman didn’t speak, Remus continued. “I can’t do feelings. All that romantic stuff? Bleh. Not for me. But I feel bad because I think Janus would like it. I’ve tried but it just feels like it’s… not… there.”

Roman suddenly felt a surge of mutuality for his brother. He was voicing exactly how he felt. Well, not exact. Opposite, really. But he felt understood. “Do you think it’s because of the split?”

“I- Maybe,” Remus admitted with a shrug. He rubbed a finger under his nose. Roman almost reached out to stop him from picking his nose but he was just scratching his mustache. “It feels like… like… I’m a mirror. And I shattered. A long time ago. And someone taped me back together. They really tried but they did an awful job. There’s sharp pieces sticking out everywhere ready to cut your hands open so you can watch as you bleed out but the reflection’s all fucked up and you just see all the dark, awful… goop inside of you. And there are pieces missing. And I don’t know where they are.”

“They’re probably in me,” Roman said softly. “I don’t feel like-” He gestured loosely in Remus’s direction- “that. I feel like- like a mirror that broke but got put together with glue. They made something new and it’s- it’s art. But it’s still broken. You just can’t always tell but it’s real and it’s there.”

Remus nodded, uncharacteristically solemn. He was playing with his hands, like he was nervous. Roman noticed tiny cuts on his hands around his fingernails, like he was picking at them. He wasn’t picking now though, just fidgeting. Like Virgil. “Do you think we’d be whole together? As King Creativity? Do you remember if he felt normal?”

Roman hesitated. “I don’t remember. But I think… Remus, I feel so empty all the time. Like I’m only half a Side. And not just about the sex thing. I feel so- so- so-”

“Oblique?”

“Oblique,” Roman whispered. “And I want to feel normal. And I think maybe we can do that if we tried to… I don’t know, unsplit?”

Remus didn’t say anything but his face betrayed him. With decisiveness, he offered Roman his hand. And Roman accepted it.

No longer would they be broken mirrors of each other. No longer would they be oblique. Soon, they would be whole once again.

Next chapter

[entomancy]

(Fic) Daywalkin’ in Vegas

...let’s be honest, this ‘short backstory fics’ thing has done what my writing tends to do, and Escalted.  So let’s escalate.

Title: Daywalkin’ in Vegas (Wattpad) Setting: Increasingly not even serial-numbers-off-VTM. VTM infact exists in-world as a gaming system, which really annoys Fancy Vampires. Warnings: Gore; depictions of violence/ death against a child. Words: 6537 Summary: A failed siring gets the attention of two very different parts of Vegas Below; and a young blooded nosferatu puts herself in the centre of a dangerous balance.

-

Beep.

Twenty-eight forty.

Beep.

Thirty-one seventy.

Beep.

Nox watched the till display tick up, comparing the total to her mental tally.   She had enough; she knew she did.  It might have been in tattered bills, tarnished coin rolls and bits of change so old they were chipped like gears around the edges, but she was always real careful to plan these trips down to the grubby dime.  In and out, as unobtrusive as possible.

Beep.

A final bag passed, the green-yellow numbers flickering one final time.  The cashier smiled in customer service plastic as she read out the total, then followed it with a look of awkward concern.

“That’s all for you?  We - er – we have some good specials,” she said hesitantly, nodding towards the little stack of brightly-labelled packages beside the register. It was mostly sweets and tampons, and Nox bit back on a grin at the sight. Nice thought, but that hadn’t been her ‘bloody’ problem for a while now.

“That’s it,” she replied, adding: “Thanks, though.”   Sure, it was an upsell, but a kind one. The girl even managed to keep back any disgust at the state of some of the cash; it had been cleaned up, but people didn’t tend to drop crisp ones into a cup on the sidewalk.

Nox carried everything out to the repurposed shopping cart that she’d left just inside the little bodega’s doors. The thing was unbalanced and took corners like a drunk, but it was better than playing pack mule herself. The new bags settled down on top of the day’s earlier buys: bulk discount batches of toilet roll, bleach and superglue, along with cheap fabric for bandages. Plus, now, thirty-eight dollars and eighty-six cents’ worth of the cheapest mince and frozen shrimp available within a four-mile radius.

There had been a time when she’d had to worry about dietary fibre. Or vitamins.

The cart’s wheels creaked and rasped on sidewalk dirt as she headed it away, hunching down over the handle as she pushed; partly for more control, mostly to keep her face in shade. Her battered baseball cap and hoodie did a pretty good job – accompanied by garish plastic sunglasses and a stained bike mask – but every little helped. It also added to the overall ‘bag lady out on an afternoon shuffle’ aesthetic she was going for. The trick was to inspire just enough awkward pity to be invisible, but not enough to be a target.

Apparently, her act was off today. She’d just turned a laborious corner, distracted by trying to keep the bags all stacked, when she felt a hand clamp down onto the top of her head and yank hard. She didn’t move, but the hood pulled away and she heard a yelp of disgust even before she swivelled around. Two young men stood behind her, gawking in revulsion at the revealed state of Nox’s scalp, in all its piebald, peeling, erratically-thickened glory. A thin braid slithered down her face, torn too-easily free along with the hood.

She gave the scene one more heartbeat to really settle in, before grinning widely. Faced with a mouthful of teeth like broken ivory, the youths managed to look even more horrified.

“Aye, that’s how I caught it too!” Nox cackled theatrically, before snatching the hat back from now-unresisting fingers and jamming it back into place. “Don’t go scratching yerself anywhere pretty fer a bit, eh?”

The lad – and his already-retreating backup – hesitated, then let out a string of bravado-born obscenities. Freak – gross – blah blah blah I-have-a-tiny-dick blah. He kicked at the cart as he started follow his friend, and Nox let just enough spill out to sate the petty spite.

Once they had gone, she picked up the packets again and began to fix her hood. The exposed skin was stinging and smarting already, a poison-ivy prickle that calamine wouldn’t touch. At least it was late enough in the afternoon that she probably wouldn’t blister from the exposure. More annoying was the missing chunk of hair, and she probed at it gingerly. No deep wound, thankfully; which probably meant that the straggly braid had been almost ready to fall out anyway. She tended to keep about half a head of hair going, on average; so it’d grow back.

The lads were long gone by the time she was ready to set off again. With any luck she’d be nothing more than an awkward moment in a day of shoving their weight around; quickly forgotten. Being gross in the eyes of idiots wasn’t a Breech, after all.

The rest of the trip back was uneventful. Streets gave way to alleys, sidewalks to cracked paving, to rotting asphalt, and even the graffiti began to wane as she got closer to home. The main occupants of this ass-end of nowhere – a ghetto’s dumpster of a place – didn’t exactly make it their business to advertise where they were. Those that needed to know; knew. Those that knew, generally didn’t care – which was honestly a hell of a lot better than the alternative. Nox had heard the stories of what it had been like only twenty years ago. It was strange to feel that there was any sort of luck to her history, but six years wasn’t twenty.

Reaching a gap in an otherwise unremarkable wall, she glanced around quickly, making sure that no one was watching. Then she straightened up, gripped either side of the overloaded cart, and hefted it up through the broken brickwork in one smooth movement. She vaulted in after it, dropping down into cool shade, and let out a sigh of relief as the accepting touch of Karloff’s Invitation washed across her. The sense was like a door opening in welcome; like taking the first familiar turn towards home after a long day’s drive. It also meant no more unwanted attention – without that explicit permission, you’d never be able to recognise the entrance, or even keep your attention on what you were looking for. She was as invisible now to all other turned-aside eyes as everything else within the Invitation’s borders.

A few more rattling corners later, Nox finally turned into the Homestead grounds. The whole area had once been a crammed-in mess of squat apartment blocks, copy-paste civic solutions built without charm to fill the need for cheap rooms. The Homestead was the only one of its kin still standing, now surrounded by an opened-out area of recent amateur demolition and scrap-built fencing. Bright splashes of street art cut across sagging concrete and the blacked-out eyes of the windows, although the tags and themes chosen indicated the difference between these creators and the more standard ones of the world outside. Most of this had been painted at night, for example, with rather more variety on the theme of ‘hands’ grasping the tins.

There was a lot more inside, and below, but she felt a particular warmth at these murals. Out here, on the surface. Bright in sunshine that most of them could never see. The Nosferatu might be Vegas Below’s crusty little secret, but they were damn well there.

Bits of cracked paving clicked and skittered beneath the cart’s wheels as Nox made her way through the fences and to the big, bolted main doors. There was a rough porch built around the frame, mostly to give extra shadows, and she looked up at the tiny glints of watchful glass sunk into the surrounding wall. She waved.

“Dimestore-Blade’s grocery delivery,” she announced, and listened to the familiar rattle of bolts start on the other side of the door. A few moments later it swung open and a hunched figure peered out, wincing back from even the thick porch shade. This was Max; an older woman than Nox in both kinds of age, who managed her marks via a combination of extensive bandaging and even more extensive needlepoint. Watery black eyes looked past her, squinting through a gap in the heavily-embroidered scarf wrapped around her head.

“All okay?”

Nox nodded and lifted the trolley over the threshold.

“Fine.” She didn’t mention the youths. Didn’t seem a lot of point. “Let’s get this lot into the freezer before it can walk on its own, yeah?”

Safely inside the slightly-fetid gloom of the entrance, Nox took the opportunity shed her bag-lady layers. True, she couldn’t actually overheat, even on a Nevada afternoon, but being swathed in that many layers was still claustrophobic. Beneath the mismatched fabric strata was an increasingly-threadbare pair of yoga pants and a dark vest, and Nox gave a small sigh of relief as she folded up the rest of her daylight-drag, shoving it onto a shelf nearby.

“Right,” she muttered, as much to fill the air as anything else, and turned back to the trolley. Max had already transferred much of it into precarious piles in her own arms. Her scarf had slipped down, revealing a hairless head webbed with splitting skin; much of it made whole again with patterned patches of colourful thread. The fabric discoloured over time, of course, but it reduced the leaking.

Balancing their burdens, the pair made their way further into the Homestead. Closest to the entrance was the most decrepit part, occupied mostly by shelves and old furniture crammed full of clothes and patched umbrellas for venturing out, and with years of dumped debris building up in corners. Rooms with windows – even those as thoroughly blacked out or bricked up as these were – mostly housed the rat runs or storage, because no one wanted to spend a lot of time somewhere where crap mortar could result in dayburns. Similarly, the roof and most of the top floor was given over to pigeon roosts and No avoided them whenever possible. She’d never much liked pigeons before this, and she still held that even their vitae tasted of garbage, somehow. Still, they were much dumber than rats, and they did lay eggs, so that helped.

The really lived-in part of the Homestead was underground. Everybody knew Nosferatu lived in the sewers, right?  Okay, so Nox would admit she hadn’t much understood the difference between ‘sewer’ and ‘storm drain’ before her life had taken its scabby turn, but she sure did now. Vegas had extensive storm drains – large concrete tunnels that lay under much of the city, designed to quickly shift heavy rain away from the tarmacked surface above – and they were ideal: underground, dark, not monitored.

And not actually full of shit.

The arrangement used to be… messier, Karloff had told her. When they hadn’t been so organised; when they’d lived closer together with others who had slipped through the cracks Above. Some of the Family had started off as those same ‘unfortunates’ after all; those who were aftermath-sired in a broken frenzy, or from the bloody jaunt of some fuckfang cutting through the ranks of those who wouldn’t be missed. Splitting their claimed tunnels off from the main circuit and establishing the Homestead proper had happened later, after the Vegas Accord had given the Nosferatu a Clan-status, and hunting them for sport stopped being an acceptable weekend activity.

Six years sure ain’t twenty.

Max chatted away as they walked; an idle litany of gossip, social media tidbits and reports from watchers all over the city, woven together into what Nox tended to think of as ‘Radio Max’. Spying on people was apparently another nos stereotype; but honestly when you didn’t really sleep, were functionally invisible to large portions of society, and had worked out how to divert half-decent broadband from badly-secured leisure networks overhead, it wasn’t difficult to get ahead on current events.

Plus the rats, of course. 

Information was power, and they had precious little of any other. Although Nox sometimes wondered how much of those scant threads of power that Karloff put such value on would diminish if Clanpires in general figured out how to just Google things.

They had reached what she thought of as ‘mainstreet’ of the Homestead tunnels – a long space with concrete pillars linking floor to ceiling every thirty feet or so, quite cheerfully lit by a mishmash web of light fittings rigged up overhead – when yelling broke out further down. Nox and Max shared a look of alarm at the commotion, but it was when her name became suddenly clear in the shouts that Nox’s stomach dropped.

“Get this stuff away, will you?” she muttered, carefully setting her packages down beside Max, and turned to meet the oncoming figures. Even wrapped in a heavy coat and thick gloves, she knew the loping form of Skaad instantly.

With features which sagged so violently that his bruise-yellow skin frequently tore at the edges, and a mouth like a lipless sharps bucket, Skaad was nonetheless gifted with some of the keenest senses in the clan, plus a damn-near eidetic memory. Which meant he spent most of his time skulking in hidden places, listening to things he shouldn’t, and following people who thought they were alone in their secret business. Having him sprinting towards you, so fast his eyelids were visibly flapping, wasn’t a great sign.

Back in the world Above – before her life had gone to hell in a weirdly specific way – Nox had been a paramedic. It was useful in the day-to-day, being the closest thing this bunch of ragged immortals had to a resident doctor, but there was only really one sort of actual emergency left down here.

Skaad skidded to a halt, and grabbed her arm with a worrying urgency.

“Got a phresh one. Get yer kit!”

Fuck. A fresh one meant one thing: someone had found a dumped fledgeling, one who’d been showing signs of the Change going wrong and been tossed aside by their disgusted sire. Intervening quickly could help, particularly getting a pigeon smoothie down them fast, but the panic on Skaad’s drooping face didn’t line up with -

“What’s so – ?” she started, but he shook his head, steering her towards the plastic-covered tunnel they used as a makeshift clinic. He leaned in to shove her again, but lowered his voice and muttered just before he did – and the words sent ice down her spine.

“It’sh a kid.”

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

-

You didn’t turn kids.

When your working knowledge of vampires had been a general pop-culture miasma and some blurry memories of teenage Buffy marathons, finding yourself on the other side of the supernatural coin came as a shock in various ways. One of which was the weird sensation that you should have studied it all harder, somehow. Nox had certainly felt stupid, in her early days, as a man with a face like a charred wasps’ nest listened to her stutter her way through half-remembered fiction and worse-remembered reality. But she’d apparently got a few things right, and somewhere in that muddle had been the idea that you shouldn’t turn kids.

There were all kinds of theories as to why – from the debauched to the practical – but she found that in many ways it didn’t matter. Whatever fucked-up intention you had, it wouldn’t work. Too young just… didn’t take. And when a siring didn’t work, there was every chance the result would end up on her table.

She scrabbled through the assortment of old drawers and boxes that stored her gear, pulling out anything she thought might work. Bandages, thread, craft superglue, repurposed bottles of hard spirits that would do in a pinch for sterilising. The best-case scenario things. And the rest. Old herb pots of fine powders; thrift-store silver cutlery hammered and polished and changed into a very different set of tools. Sharpie-labelled bottles of liquids that moved weirdly in the light, and a range of refillable lighters that definitely didn’t contain hydrocarbons anymore. All the things she’d picked up in the last six years that fitted in with other sort of medicine.

The plastic curtain behind her was yanked back and a sound she had been trying not to hear finally demanded her attention. It wasn’t even a scream, and Nox hated, hated hated hated that she recognised the cadence there perfectly: raw, animal agony of sound torn from a throat that was violently reforming around it. She turned to see Skaad forcing flailing limbs down, looping thick restraints around rippling flesh, and finally allowed her full attention to turn down to the spasming form.

Gore looked different through vampire eyes. It was hard to describe exactly how – partly because wordsmithery had never been one of her strong points, but more because trying to compare feelings from now and then was always going to have a huge fucking hurdle of shifted species in the way. She’d still probably seen more human blood in nine years on the ambulances than during the half-dozen in and out of Vegas’ shadows, and but everything afterwards had been… different. Displaced. Detached. Just didn’t seem as visceral as it used to do.

But this did.

Acid tightened in Nox’s throat as she stared down at the shuddering mess in front of her. Blanched skin bubbled and writhed, tearing as it pulled away from the muscles beneath; themselves little more than contorting ropes of livid tissue that pulsed under dying heartbeats and spilled black fluid from ever-widening rents. The throat was gone, now a bubbling pit of desperate breaths, sucked past exposed tendons that wriggled like furious worms. Half-clotted ichor was pooling from gashes along the arms, down the stomach and further: the marks of peri-sire wounds, those that had been still fresh as the invading blood forced itself into collapsing veins. The eyes were side-to-side a sickly crimson-yellow, bloating out from a face that was collapsing in on itself, and throughout it all, the kid screamed.

It was revolting. Nox had to bite down on the vicious spikes of fight-flight that were going off in her mind, so violently she could feel her hands trembling from the horror and her disgust at her own reaction. It was an instinct, an unbidden response to a failing siring – she knew that – but understanding it didn’t make it easier. Everyone down here had ‘gone nozz’ during their own Turn. Hell, a few of those brought to her were walking around now, not seeming any weirder than any of them, but she’d still felt that awful surge of fundamental wrongness about them before they stabilised.

Nox gritted – all of – her teeth, and slammed her kit down on the table.

Instincts can fucking blow me.

“Let’s see what we can do.”

-

It turned out what they could do, wasn’t much. Cleaning, sewing, cutting, sealing – nothing held. Stitches fell from uncertain skin, or tore great new holes as fresh spasms pulled at the edges. Wet rags soon littered the floor, sodden with black and yellow fluids that turned the rough concrete into a slippery, stinking mess. The bleeding wasn’t slowing, even as the body seemed to be crumpling in on itself, gradually liquefying around the bones.

The sound had gone quieter, if not softer, and Nox didn’t have much hope it would stop soon. It might be days yet, before the final sparks of vitae or life or cruel continuation finally went out.

Too young. The kid – the girl, most likely, going by anatomy – had been just… too young.

They had to have known that.

“I’m outa tricks,” she said, although the words felt thick and sharp in her mouth. She wanted to keep going. She wanted to, so fucking much. But somebody had done this. Somebody who knew this would happen.

“I’m gonna make her comfy,” she continued, then hesitated even as she pulled out the frankly-horrific cocktail of morphine and street drugs that might make a dent in a system caught somewhere between undead and alive. Skaad looked at her, and held out a clawed hand.

“Want me…?”

“Nah.” Nox shook her head, and swallowed. “You can get the others outta upstairs, though. I need to – to make a call.”

Skaad stiffened, his jaundiced eyes flicking between her and the table for a moment, before he let out a low hiss and ducked away through the curtain. Nox administered the mix and tried to convince herself it would have any sort of palliative effect. Then she went back to the drawers and rummaged again, right at the back, until her fingers closed on the ridged plastic of an old nokia.

There weren’t many numbers in the phone, but it was the first one she selected, under B.

- SUMFCK SIRED KID. ITS BAD -

She threw the phone back into the drawer and hurried out, past the plastic sheet and into the tunnels, leaving sticky footprints in her wake. Not a great look, but everyone would already know what was happening. Nosferatu gossiped like – well, like a society of insomniac, semi-immortal shut-ins.

Overhead, an erratic cluster of repurposed pipes trailed down through the domed roof, emanating from the rat runs above. Drainpipes, corrugated plastic, bits of plumbing, and all of them shaking slightly with the constant pass of tiny feet within. They opened out onto tiny highways of shelving that lined the walls, all heading in the same direction as she was. Pairs of black-beady eyes glanced at her as they passed, and with so many concentrated here, she could feel the faintest flick of Attention in each one. They were all headed to a squat metal door at the end of an offshoot passageway. The rats passed freely back and forth narrow holes punched in either side of the door; but Nox knocked. She knew she was already expected and entered after a respectful moment.

Karloff’s chamber was bigger than it looked like it would be from the doorway. Nox wasn’t sure what the space had originally been – some kind of maintenance room? – but it was now dark, and warm, and smelled less of rats than might be expected given the constant rodent tide. Shelves lined the walls, full of books and occasional pieces of recycled pet furniture. One floor-ceiling tower was filled entirely with old radios, police scanners, walkie talkies and the like.

The old man himself lay where he usually did, propped up in a nest of pillows and blankets in a box-like bed in the centre of the room. He presented an impossibly gaunt figure: papery-brown skin layered like peeling paint across sharp bones, with eyes so thickly clouded they sat like grey-milk marbles in unclosing sockets. His face looked scorched, blackened at the edges of the old dry wounds that had taken his nose, torn away most of his lips, and presumably shattered the broken fangs that jutted from his mouth. There was – as usual – a huge white rat lazing across his chest, nearly the size of a terrier and wearing a dark silken ribbon, and its sharp crimson eyes fixed on Nox as she entered.

She bowed her head, and tried not to leave bloody footprints on the rug.

“I need a temporary Invitation,” she said. It was blunt, but there was no point in dancing around it. He’d already know anyway. As she spoke, the huge rat sat up. It’s pale paws were clasped in front of it, folded in a strangely human-like gesture, but Karloff himself turned his head only slightly.

“’Belton,” he said softly, in the throat-based hush of his voice, and Nox nodded. Her fingers twitched into fists, and she felt the sticky remnants of gore slide between them.

“I… I’m running out of options, and she – ” the words were sticker than her fingers, getting caught on her lips “ – she’s real bad.”

The rat cocked its head and Karloff drew a slow breath.

“You will not do it?” he asked. Nox’ throat tightened.

“If I gotta. But I want him to see her, cos I – I could do this, but I ain’t got a snowball’s chance of doing anything about it.”

Karloff’s head turned further, and the clouded eyes passed over her with an intensity that Nox could feel, as if they skipped sight entirely and went right into her heart instead. There was another stretched moment of silence, then the pressure dropped and the rat turned away, curling itself neatly under its master’s chin.

“It is done,” Karloff said. The long fingers on one hand twitched slightly, and the faintest hint of a frown dug into his face. “...take care with the old death. You have seen little of him.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you,” Nox added before she headed out again; first to check that the cocktail of drugs had at least calmed the kid’s screams, then back into the upper house. A few rats followed her as she slid into the squeaking, busy dimness of the runs to use the sink that still stood in one corner, using brownish water to at least scrub some of the stains from her hands. Then she set to wait, pacing with nervous energy.

No one joined her. By now, everybody would know what was happening, and no one wanted to be around when he came calling.

The problem – okay, so one of the problems, in a dreadful, tangled ball of ever-more layered problems – was that it was very, very difficult to kill a fledgeling in any way that could be considered humane. A body already in the process of tearing itself apart was resistant to most damage for the same reasons that you couldn’t punch a fog. Getting any kind of drug to land in an even-partly vampiric system was difficult enough at the best of times, and this…

Well, there was sunlight, but everything about Nox’s very being baulked at the idea of using that method. She knew with personal, hellish intimacy that the agony from that would get through even a Change. Torturing someone to death with one of the few things worse than what they were going through was really not the point.

Plus, there was a tiny, tiny part of her mind that hoped she was wrong. She’d only been dealing with this stuff for a handful of years, and while rumours varied widely about how old Belton actually was, he’d seen a lot of shit. Maybe she’d missed something. Just maybe…

It seemed to take an eternity before the roar of an engine outside broke through Nox’ whirling thoughts. She hurried to the door, took a careful breath, and peered out through the little viewing slot. Not that anyone else would have been able to ride a motorcycle up to the Homestead without the permission of Karloff’s Invitation, but it never hurt to keep caution.

A huge bike was settled just beside the front steps. It was black, but in the way a magpie’s wings were black, with oil-slick iridescence hinting around the edges. The rider – dressed to match, in that seamless continuity of clothing that Nox had started to think of as ‘vampire sunscreen’ – had already dismounted and was stood beside his bike, the raven-sheen of his helmet turned towards the door. There was no visible gaze to meet, but the weight of his attention was like ice down her spine, and she opened the door as deliberately as she could.

“She’s downstairs,” she said, as the figure came up the steps. The sun was already going down, barely spilling dying light over the surrounding wall of buildings, and the porch shadow was very deep there. It only got deeper as the big man stepped into it – and then paused, right on the edge of the frame.

“May I enter?” His voice was never as heavy as she expected, with a melodic edge that absolutely did not match what she knew lay under that helmet. Nox rolled her eyes.

“I texted you, and you’re here, right?”

He was always so… old fashioned about this. It wasn’t like it was a general requirement. Nox stepped back, gesturing inwards.

“Come in already,” she added. The man might have been big – although ‘fucking enormous’ would be a better description, needing to visibly turn and duck to get through the doorframe – but he moved deceptively fast, and was well inside the hallway, starting to remove his helmet before she had had time to shut the door. She turned to look, not even pretending not to stare as he unclipped all the security bits and lifted it smoothly free. The dramatic effect was only slightly spoiled by the oddly-bulging balaclava he had on underneath – but Nox supposed that if her ears could meet at the back, she’d want to keep them restrained inside a helmet too.

Belton looked… well, he looked like Belton. There just plain wasn’t anyone else like that. The best description she had ever been able to come up with was that he looked like someone had tried very hard to make a bat in the character creation screen of a pro-wrestling computer game. It was as if the underlying architecture that should have made a human skull had been stretched and tweaked and twisted into something approaching Chiroptera from the other side.

It probably said something worrying about her own psyche that – somewhere in the mess of emotions that Belton inspired – a part of her really, really wanted to see an xray of his head.

No time for this.

“C’mon,” she nodded him to follow her back down the Homestead’s passageways. The rats watched them from every surface; their skittering highways unusually still as the majority of glinting little eyes were fixed on the visitor. They were the only visible watchers, and Nox tried not to notice how empty every space they passed through was. It added another level of eeriness, with the just-abandoned debris of life seeming like some extremely localised Rapture. Even Nox’ rapid explanation of the situation fell muted around them; for his part, Belton just listened and nodded every now and then. He didn’t look around.

How familiar was he, with this place?  He’d come a few times since she’d been here – and of course, that first time meant he’d sure known where it was. Nox’ gaze slid sideways. Belton had removed his gloves by now, and the hands revealed couldn’t even remotely be thought of as human; the fingers were too long, bone and tendons standing stark beneath mottled grey skin; capped by black claws that curled from the nailbeds, polished to an obsidian gleam.

How many times had those hands run across the outer walls of the Homestead; at Karloff’s limits; searching for a way in?  How many times had those claws torn into sagging flesh, or crushed furry watchers into broken blindness?

How many times had he come before he had brought her here; a crispy mess of fledgeling coated in sand and gravel and gore, spat out by the desert and into hands that immortals feared…?

The plastic curtain seemed to rise up like an exclamation, a cold shot of right now breaking her thoughts, and Nox came to a sharp halt. There was still sound from inside: a bubbling, slurred collage of moans that had made it past the drugs, and her hand froze halfway to the curtain. The swell of renewed, visceral revulsion felt like she’d choke on her own fucking hypocrisy, and she couldn’t suppress a slight hiss.

“It’s – ” she started, through gritted teeth, but cut out as Belton gently touched her shoulder.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Nox’ fingers twitched, then she turned away, moving until she could lean heavily against the nearest concrete pillar and rested her forehead against the pitted surface. The groan might as well have been coming out of the air. It pressed down around her and her skin crawled.

She hated this, and she hated that she hated it like this. Some depraved motherfucker had dragged a fucking child into very literal hell and she’d tried, she’d tried with every stupid, macguivered bullshit tool she’d put together out of garbage; she’d tried everything and it was never going to have meant a damn thing and all she could focus on, really really focus on right now was how fundamentally disgusting that fucking sound was –

And then it stopped.

Nox physically sagged against the pillar, relief and nausea chasing each other through a stomach that was dropping into her boots. There was only one reason for the sudden silence, and she let her eyes slide closed, muttering the same half-wordless prayer she’d always used when a case went bad, or a patient flatlined in the ambulance. Whatever that meant now, she’d never been sure, but it still sort of fit.

She’d known. She’d known when she picked up that damn phone.

But fuck me if hope isn’t a bitch.

It wasn’t long before there was the faint brush of plastic again and Nox opened her eyes to see Belton smoothing the curtain back behind him, covering the sudden stillness. There was a long moment of silence before he turned to her. His eyes were the most human-looking part of his face, and the grey gaze sought hers.

“I’ll be on my way, then.”

Nox nodded numbly. They went out the way they came; still alone, still watched at every step by a hundred rodent stares. Back up, back to the door and out into the thickening dusk of the evening – and it wasn’t until the porch steps were creaking under his boots that Nox’s nerve rose again.

“Hey – Belton?” she managed, and the big figure paused. He looked back at her and one curled brow raised, moving an ear with it. Nox pulled the Homestead door shut behind her as she sought the right words. “This… ain’t your job, right?”

“I don’t have a real tight specification,” he replied, then shrugged. “But broadly?  No. To be honest with you, my boss couldn’t give a rat’s twat what happens with the Nosferatu.”

“So why’d you come?” Those words came fast, but Nox didn’t try to stop them. Belton paused again, then hung his helmet and balaclava over the big bike’s handlebars. He sat down on the steps, hunching a little in that strange shape his back took when he wasn’t standing, and Nox slid down beside him at the unspoken invitation.

Belton shook his head, what might have been a wry smile tugging at the edges of his too-wide lips. Glints of needle teeth flashed in the dusk.

“It’s a question of perspective, see,” he said quietly. “For someone like you?  This’ll ruin your whole year. Getting all Lady Macbeth with the inevitable. But for me?” He held up a hand and slowly flexed the clawed fingers. Once; twice; and Nox couldn’t draw her gaze away from the mottled skin as it shifted over his bones. Belton sighed. It was an old sound, so old that any hint of what it might contain had worn away like stone under rain.

“What’s one drop in an ocean?  Don’t get me wrong – ” he added, with the edge of smile falling away again “ – I’ll feel bad about it; but I’m not losing myself any sleep.”

She should have been angry. She wanted to be angry, at the casual way this bat-faced bastard just said it; as the so-recent feel of the kid’s crumbling flesh slammed against her thoughts and ghosted under her fingers, and bile she wasn’t even sure she had anymore swirled at the back of her throat. She should be angry.

“...thank you.”

“No need for that,” he replied – but Nox shook her head.

“Nah; there is. Things need saying.” She fidgeted with the hem of her pants for a silent moment, before continuing. “Don’t believe you actually sleep, though.”

This time there was no mistaking that Belton grinned; and the resulting expression was exactly as unpleasant as it sounded.

“No?  Not even if I say I’ve got little bats on my pyjamas?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Now that there’s uncalled for.”

Nox grinned, and even as she did she could almost hear Karloff’s voice in her head. Be wary of the old death. 

And yet…

There was another long silence, although this one felt less tense.

…fuck it. When am I gonna get this chance again?

“They found her in the desert,” she said carefully, scuffing dust across the steps with one toe as she spoke; an idle motion to distract herself from the nerves inside. Belton nodded.

“Aye. Letting lady sun do the dirty work. It’s an almost foolproof method, really.”

Nox looked down at her own hands; where the patchwork of thickened tissue traced patterns like dry riverbeds over her pallid brown skin. The sun burned bits went blistered red, then dark and crackly, then sickly pale when that peeled; slowly edging back to her default. It sure as hell wasn’t pleasant; but it wasn’t the chemical-melting collapse of flesh that she’d seen on others.

“So, that make me a fool or an outlier?”

“I said almost.” Belton leaned back a little, looking up into the dark expanse of sky. “Always going to take a risk when you don’t stay to watch. Although I’ll admit it takes some big balls to stick around for that sort of disposal. What with the deeply ingrained phytophobia of your classic vampire, and everything.”

Nox raised her most intact eyebrow.

“This is more about your junk than I want to know.”

Belton laughed. Really laughed; the kind of melodic tone that bordered on a snatch of song and that was so very out of place coming from within that face.

“Oh, I’m not claiming that kind of testicular fortitude. Sunlight scares the piss out of me as much as it ever did. Don’t think it’s the kind of thing you can get over. Built-in, you know?”

“You ride about in the day,” Nox pointed out, and Belton waved a hand back towards his helmet.

“I’ve got some really bespoke protective gear, see. Amazing what’s been done with polymers in the last thirty years.”

Nox blinked.

“…you’ve got bike pleathers?”

“Technically I’ve got an integrated neo-polymer baselayer,” Belton stopped and his nose crinkled – which was quite an extensive expression. “…ah fuck, that sounds like I’ve got plastic pants, doesn’t it?  Keep that one to yourself, will you?”

“Sure.” Nox’s shoulders sagged again as reality dropped back suddenly. She decided to just go for blunt. “With… the kid. Someone did that, and before that they – ” her words choked again, at the thought of where some of those peri-sire wounds had been.

“I know.” The amusement had gone from Belton’s voice as he stood up, heading back to his bike rather abruptly. The engine roared into life as he swung himself astride it, folding his ears into their cover, and Nox had to shout to be heard above the rumble.

“Do they… just get away with this?”

“There’s plenty that think they should,” he replied calmly; oddly easy to hear over the din, as he slid the helmet into place. “It was like that for a long time.”

Nox’s lips drew back, almost of their own accord, working to some defiant instinct she only had partial control over.

“And you?”

“Me?  I’m a monster on a chain that I put there.” Belton looked up, and just before the visor snapped closed, there was a flicker of crimson in his eyes.

“But I’ll see what I can do.”

-

[exkernal]

My Only Peace: 3/?

William insists he stay the night, and after a token protest, Nelson agrees. To his surprise, William leads him to his old bedroom.

"But it's the master," he says, confused. "It should be yours."

"Didn't feel right," Will mutters, and that's all the explanation he'll give.

It's exactly as Nelson left it two years ago, with one notable addition on the mantelpiece: a framed photograph of the original Minutemen at the height of their glory.

Nelson stares at the youthful faces of his comrades. They're all old or dead or disgraced now. He sees his younger self, brimming with confidence that bordered on the absurd, standing close to Hooded Justice, who looked like a god among men. Even in the black and white photograph, his desire for closeness is obvious. How he couldn't resist the back pats and shoulder clasps, or any of the other myriad of socially acceptable touches that always lingered a little too long.

Little wonder that their relationship became an open secret among the Minutemen.

Nelson sinks into the old familiar bed, but he already knows he'll have trouble sleeping that night. After all, this was the very place where he and Will made love for the first time.

"Making love" was probably not the right term for it. He'd lusted after William from the moment he first appeared in the New York Gazette. At first he told himself that it was simply admiration, but it was the beginnings of a school boy crush, the kind that used to keep him awake at night in the boarding school dormitory, intrigued and disturbed at the same time.

After his brief meeting at the Reeves' home, he reached two conclusions: that young Officer Reeves was not a simple courier but Hooded Justice himself, and that there was a spark between them.

He cautioned himself. He'd become quite adept at recognizing the subtle cues that men put out, but he'd been wrong before. One of those wrongs resulted in a black eye and cracked rib, which he passed off to his fellow Marines as the result of a drunken fall after a night partying. Luckily, the other officer was too embarrassed to tell their superior, or else Nelson would've lost more than his pride.

It goes without saying that Will wasn't what he expected--and truthfully, Nelson's only experiences with black people were as servants--but it didn't take long for him to fall head over heels.

To stave off the early morning awkwardness, Will suggests they go out to brunch. The diner is similar to their old meeting place, though slightly more upscale. IT reminded him, bitterly, of their last conversation together.

Don't think about that now, he tells himself. Not when William is actually speaking to him.

"Don't worry," Will mutters, opening up a newspaper. "If anyone asks, we're two retired cops catching up."

Nelson bristles a little. "I'm not worried."

And he's not. There was a time when that's all he'd be thinking about, but those days are long gone.

"Isn't that your friend?" Will says, jabbing at a black and white photo of Adrian Veidt. "Ozy-man-mouthful-of-a-name?"

He snorts. "I wouldn't call him a friend exactly. We've barely spoken since my, uh, bout of foolishness in '66."

The waitress brings them their coffee. Nelson doesn't wait for the scalding beverage to cool off. He's too eager to do something with his hands.

"Speaking of Veidt," he says, "he told me an interesting theory about you."

"Oh yeah?" Will raises an eyebrow.

"He investigated Hooded Justice's disappearance before I ever formed the Crimebusters. Apparently, it led him straight to Eddie Blake. Eddie mistook him for a criminal, and beat him up."

William chuckles. "You don't say."

A smile twists at Nelson's lips. "Adrian concluded, based on your documented feud, that Eddie killed you back in '55."

His expression darkens. "As if that sniveling little pissant  could ever get the drop on me. I should've snapped his worthless neck after he attacked Sally."

"That probably would've been for the best," Nelson agrees. "I thought it best to let Adrian believe his theory--after all, you don't want the worlds smartest man on your case. "

"More like the world's best PR man," Will mutters.

Nelson clears his throat. "Have you read Hollis's book?"

"Might've skimmed it in an airport," he says breezily. "Why?"

"According to Hollis, you were an East German strong man with, um, strange proclivities whose body was found in Boston Harbor in 1955."

Will's whole body shook when he laughed. Making Will genuinely laugh-- not a wry chuckle or sardonic snort, but a real honest to God laugh-- was so rare that Nelson always savored the sound like it was the New York orchestra. He joins in.

The waitress brings them their plates of bacon and eggs, and their laughter dies down.

"It's funny how they all thought my costume was some sex thing," William says, voice light, but there's a slight menace to his words. "Think that says more about them than me."

He's dying to ask William the meaning behind his costume. That was one thing they never discussed during their relationship. Yet he hesitates. Maybe they didn't discuss it for a reason.

"Nothing against Hollis," Will goes on, "but he never knew when to keep his mouth shut."

"I had to call him on the verge of tears to stop him from publishing more details about...about us," Nelson says. It hadn't been the verge of tears, but William doesn't need to know that.

He and Will rarely broached the topic of "us," never defining the relationship that consumed Nelson's life for sixteen years. They had to keep it secret, for one. For another, Will was a married father for most of it. Friendship is what he called it in his will. "He was a very good friend," is how he explained it whenever anyone questioned him about Hooded Justice. He always hated it, just a little bit, but that hatred paled in comparison to the terror of being found out.

Will frowns. "Yeah. Sally wasn't too happy with some of the stuff he said."

"Mm," Nelson goes. "That's a bit of a pot-kettle situation. Sally basically outed me in her latest interview, without naming any names. It's was still abundantly clear who she meant, though."

"She probably didn't think it mattered, since we all thought you were dead." Will says that last part with an edge to his voice.

"I don't really blame Sally," he says, eager to avoid that conversation again. Keep it light, Nelly. "Did I use that term correctly? Outed?"

"How should I know?" Will says through a mouthful of eggs.

"You're the one who lived in San Francisco."

"Yeah, but I wasn't hanging around that scene. Not that much, anyway. I know as much about the counterculture as you do."

Nelson feels warm, and it has nothing to do with his coffee (which is lukewarm now, anyway). He has no claim on Will's heart, and it certainly isn't his business if he's had any dalliances (Lord knows Nelson hasn't refrained). Still. He's glad all the same.

Will glances at the window. "You know, it's a good thing for the young ones coming up. That they have a community that's putting up a fight. Maybe it won't be as hard for them as it was for us."

He's surprised that Will's bringing it up. This is the closest he's ever heard his former lover come to acknowledging that he was a man involved with men. Not that he ever expected him to; after all, Nelson rarely verbalized it either, thanks to his years of keeping it secret. Even now, as an old nameless man with nothing left to lose, he couldn't completely let go of his fear.

"Yes," he mumbles, "it is."

Will insists on paying. "Technically it's your money," Will says when Nelson resists. Now that brunch is over, he's not sure what to do with himself. At the diner, they had a good report going. But now what happens when there's nothing to do? Will William come to his senses and get sick of the tag-along?

"Wanna see how I spent your money?" Will asks. They journey through New York's mobbed streets, as much an adventure as his days soldiering through the jungle.

Will explains that he auctioned off the Minutemen memorabilia  for the Southern Poverty Law Center. "That was a good idea that you had," he comments, "so I did it. Altogether, it came too nearly a million."

William doesn't mention the one piece of memorabilia he's kept, so Nelson doesn't either.

They stop at a grand old movie theater, the kind that was popular when Nelson was a boy. It looks as if it's been recently touched up, casting an impressive figure. William looks at him expectantly.

"You bought a theater?" Nelson says. Well, it makes sense; Will was always a cinephile.

"And fixed it up," he says proudly. "When I first started working here, it was a dump. Now it's the most profitable historical theater in the borough."

William gives him the tour.

"We play all kinds of films here. The modern stuff, but we also show classics. There's theme nights, too. Some of the kids get all dressed up for some of the showings, but I don't know much about that. If we hurry, there's a showing I want you to see."

William takes him to a projector room. There's a smattering of people in the theater below, maybe a dozen scattered along the wide rows. A young white man with wiry long black hair sits by the projector, loading up a reel.

"Mr. Reeves?" he says, more politely than his appearance would suggest. He looks curiously at Nelson.

"You can take an early lunch break, Don," Will says. "I've got it from here."

"Thank you, Mr. Reeves!" the youth says. He doesn't hesitate to take him up on the offer.

The movie starts. It's a black and white, silent picture that takes Nelson back to his childhood. A man chases another on horseback, his face obscured by a hood.

"This is that film you always talked about," Nelson says. "Trust in the Law, was it?"

"I'm surprised you remember," Wilal says. Nelson's a little offended by that. But only a little, seeing what an ass he'd been before.

He also remembers that a young Will was watching this movie when a race riot broke out in Tulsa. William mentioned it once, early in their relationship. At the time, Nelson privately assumed that Will was exaggerating; he was only a child when it happened, so surely it couldn't have been as bad as he said. Or perhaps, if it was bad, than it was somehow...justified. Now, the memory sickens him. He wishes he could go back in time and knock some sense into his younger self.

"Didn't it inspire you to become Hooded Justice?" he asks. The flicking black and white light casts shadows on their faces.

"Partly," Will says. He looks directly at Nelson. "I never did tell you what made me put on the mask that first time."

Nelson feels cold. There's a shift in Will's tone that seems to change the very air around them. It feels ominous.

"It started with Cyclops," he says with a faraway look in his eyes. "Though I didn't know it at the time. I arrested a white man for throwing a Molotov cocktail at a Jewish deli. When I brought him in, some other officers took him off my hands, saying they'd book him. Days later, I saw the same man walking free.

"I was told not to question it. But I couldn't let it go. So one night, when I was walking home, three of my fellow officers jumped me in an alley. They beat me, forced me into their car, and drove to a secluded area. They tied my hands together, put a bag over my head and a noose around my neck, and strung me up from a tree."

"What?!" Nelson gasps. His hands ball into fists, clenching his pants leg. How is this the first time he's hearing about it?

"I struggled and kicked. I felt myself chocking to death. I was so sure I was going to die. But they cut me down. I was a crumpled mess on the ground, sputtering and coughing, when the officer yanked the bag off. He got right up in my face like this," William leans so close that his breath's in Nelson's ear.

He whispers what the officer told him that night, directly into his ear. Nelson feels sick to his stomach. He wants this to stop now. But willful ignorance won't change what's been done to Will.

Will leans back. "I walked home in a trance, with the noose around my neck and the bag in my hands. Couldn't tell you what I was thinking, even if I wanted to. Guess you could call it being on autopilot. As I got close to home, I heard a lady screaming in an alleyway. A couple was being robbed. I didn't think. I ripped eye holes in the bag and put it back on. Then I beat the robbers to a bloody pulp. They weren't the ones who wronged me, but it felt so good to act. To have power. To bring justice, even if it was justice for something as small as a mugging.

"The next day, I saw it in the newspaper. They called me a hero. And well, you know the rest."

William looks off at the screen, where the townsfolk cheer for Bass Reeves.

"William..." Nelson says weakly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Without looking, he says, "Would it have made a difference back then?"

He wants to say yes. Yes, of course it would have. If Will had told Nelson about being lynched, for God's sake, then Nelson would've cared. Even when he was at his most racist, he still would've believed the man he loved. Wouldn't he?

But then...he'd had doubts about Tulsa. He hadn't believed Will then. William tried to tell him many things over the years, tried to open his eyes, yet Nelson remained willfully blind until it was too late. Until Will's absence finally caused him to reevaluate those beliefs. So if William had told him about being lynched in 1939, would it have been enough to finally make Nelson change? Or would it have been another Tulsa?

"I don't know," he croaks, mouth dry.

"Yeah, well, this way we never have to know the answer," Will mutters.

The words resonate with Nelson. If they knew the answer, then well, maybe they wouldn't be having this conversation right now. There were some things that William could never forgive. Perhaps they both needed the deniability.

Hesitantly, Nelson puts his hand on William's knee. William lets him. "I'm so sorry, Will. I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry that you couldn't tell me. I should have been there for you. I should've...God, I wish I could change so much. And I want to kill those officers."

William finally looks at him.

"Don't worry," he grunts, "I killed most of them, the night of the warehouse fire. When I called you about Cyclops mind control."

"Oh," Nelson mumbles. Regret hits him all over again. Why hadn't he listened to William back then? To think how different there lives might have been if he had. "I should've listened to you. I should've helped you get the bastards. I'm--I'm sorry I was such a racist little prick."

"I always know you're serious when you start cussing," Will says wryly.

Nelson snorts. It comes out more like a sniffle.

"Don't tell me you're crying again," Will says, but he can't help it. The nicer William is to him, the worse he feels. We wishes Will would scream at him or strike him, anything that would make them even. The house doesn't feel like enough. The money isn't enough.

"I'm sorry," he says, again, rubbing at his tear-stained cheeks. "I didn't--I'm not--"

"You're not making any sense," he says. "Nelson, calm down."

"I just want you know," he says shakily, "that it wasn't the mask."

"What?"

"It wasn't the mask I fell in love with. That's not true. Maybe I didn't show it the right way, maybe I was too selfish and blind to treat you the way you deserved, but it was never the mask. I really did love you, Will. Please believe me."

"Nelly," Will says softly.There's no anger in his beautiful brown eyes, no hatred. They're softer than usual, showing something that Nelson won't dare read.

Will's hand cups the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair in a way that's a little rough and a little tender, just like he remembers. For a moment, they stay like that, faces bent towards each other, eyes locked on one another.

He's not sure who initiates it, but when their lips meet it's surprisingly gentle. Their first time was all raw passion; their last, bittersweet. This is something new entirely. William pulls him closer, deepening the kiss, as the movie plays in the background.

Nelson can't bring himself to care about anything else.

[ibeati]

2008 Internet Real Estate Agent

Happy New Year! Here's to 08 being the year for taking your business and personal life in their highest level. The need for people to connect and exchange things and services has been one of civilization's ongoing themes. Currently, the need for people to get on the internet and search for real estate advice is going to increase exponentially. The big question is, not even how technology will advance the real estate industry, but rather how will you use it. 2008 poses many challenges for those real estate industry and its irrevocable relationship with the internet. Ways are you positioned to garner your share of particular real estate leads and marketing potential of the internet? Presently investing in old traditional training techniques of sending through post cards, fancy listing presentation displays and a creative tag line? You already know that marketing to your sphere regarding influence and past clients is essential. But what other enterprise systems have you implemented for seller or buyer brings? How are you spending your education dollars and instance? Now is the time to take action. Search engine optimization and online lead generation is a cut-throat game, and it is growing more competitive by the day. You've see the articles, watched it on the news and read the press releases. The biggest companies in real estate are investing any lion share of their resources to the internet. No more good old traditional training, old school marketing or ideas. Big corporations are dumping money into their internet business in order to contend in the networked society we live in. What are you going through now to further your education and online real estate leads business? That's your challenge in 2008 and outside of. As I've stated before, you can still create a highly successful online real estate lead-generation business. However , these days will be numbered. The Web is big, but it's a finite reference. Well, more accurately said, cyberspace is infinite, and yet people will only dig so deep. Real estate Web sites who capture the top spots in the search engines are garnering premium quality leads and massive lists of interested buyers along with sellers. But, as more and more big-brand companies compete and even figure out how to grab high ranking search engine positions, they will slowly but surely elbow out the little guy. It's the nature of an market place to be "open" to early adopters at the beginning and then gradually close to only those that can afford the great investment of time not to mention money needed to stay competitive. As more and more buyers and also sellers use the Internet for real estate research, the "evening plus weekend traditional real estate agent marketing model" is fast staying extinct. If you want to stay competitive in the period ahead, you will have to grab a piece of the Internet action, and now is the time to grow your foothold. You CAN still create a successful real estate over the internet lead-generating business. You CAN still get top spots from the search engines. It's not too late, but I guarantee any time you wait, it soon will be. More and more, I get enquiries from companies selling real estate leads. They notice Now i'm everywhere on the internet. My sites rank very high organically just for specific real estate search terms and cpc. I also personally own the right spots on other real estate portals that travel targeted traffic to my listings, my sites and sure..... generate high quality, exclusive leads. I just received a label from a company selling real estate leads. As published into my book, Internet Real Estate Agent: A Guide To Dominating Internet Realty Leads and Marketing, there are specific questions you must ask in avoiding wasting money and time. After going back and to fruition with the skilled sales rep., I was able to hone down the fundamentals of how the program works. Here's how their direct program works: 1 . A person is watching television, listening to the radio and / or sees a banner ad online. The add is expecting the person to call a phone number to learn about a real estate place a burden on advantage and commission rebate back to them if they obtain or sell real estate. 2 . Pay $60 a month for just a zip code. 3. Pay 19% referral fee within closing (this gets split between the "lead company" as well as customer at closing). 4. Here's the kicker.... the particular leads are given to 7 other agents as well. The real estate sales lead business model isn't new and many providers have a slight variation to it. Personally, I would never order leads from this business model. I prefer to create my own exclusive cause systems. Here's some of the pitfalls with the real estate lead business design you're being sold. 1 . Leads coming from TV, Print, r / c or the internet that rely on some form of incentive offer are likely to be very low quality leads. One of the incentive offers is a "commission rebate program". Need I say more? 2 . The reason pay a monthly fee so you can compete for the result? Why not get EXCLUSIVE leads that are not incentive qualified prospects. You can't do every lead program on earth, so find and chose how you spend your money and time. 3. I have a hard time paying a referral fee to a professional when I'm competing with other agents, given the minimum quality lead and there's no personal relationship. That's not the referral, it's a lead. No relationship, no history rarely are commitment from the potential customer to use me. I like paying reference fees to agents that have personal relationships with their authentic clients. When I get a referral call from another professional, they know the person being referred to me and When i get the client. That's a real referral and qualifies towards the big referral fee. 4. There are so many ways to produce leads. You should pick and chose the best ways to spend your time and money. After reading Internet Real Estate Agent, you won't come prey to poor Internet business models. You may make a mistake or perhaps two--I do from time to time when trying something new--but, all these mistakes are quickly remedied. You will understand exactly how to extend your real estate website, what to know before buying a properties website, advanced concepts for Google AdWords, how to current market your listings online for more leads, the shifting Broker/Agent model and much more. Discover how to set up your own internet realty lead generation machine. Don't be dependent on any one company for sales opportunities. Get educated and become independent! The book will draw you through a tremendous amount of information and facts, not hype, regarding Word wide web real estate lead generation and Internet marketing. It's the lowest cost real estate instruction and education you will ever spend. It's all about word wide web real estate lead and marketing. Keep this book with you and use it as a trusted reference guide. Start working with your Web site, and then move onto the other areas of online list size and Internet marketing. Once you have your online real estate lead-generation business put in place, it really will run 24 X 7, by positioning the right message in front of the right people, at the right occasion. Agents and Brokers already know they need to market to history clients and their sphere, but it only gets you will so far. They also know the urgent need to embrace the world wide web. The value of traditional farming techniques is diminishing. It's a fact, everyone is mailing something; everyone is doing longer open properties; and everyone is getting into the real estate business. But, rarely anyone is doing online advertising. Even fewer are doing it ideal. In fact , most agents and brokers attempting to do web based lead generation and property marketing are doing it totally erroneous. Don't waste money and time by buying leads originating from a company that sells false dreams of Internet riches. Take control of your business lead systems and start implementing your prepare today. Here's a short sample from the book: Marketing Your own Listings for Leads The majority of this book has been regarding creating a real business Web site, driving quality traffic with your Web site, and converting that traffic into leads. At this time let's focus on how to create more business by online marketing your listing online. You've worked long and very hard to get the listing, now let's leverage that listing to set-up more business. For most of the homes I've sold, typically the buyers began by viewing the pictures and information online and then contacted me about a private showing. Any time you market the property correctly, you will get leads. Using the list of selling resources below, I average over 2, 500 precise property views for each listing. I get highly capable internet buyer and seller leads when marketing a home online. Think about that for a second. Online, people are hunting for a specific home, in a specific area, in a specific college district, in a certain price range, etc .... and my entries are showing up. That's a ton of quality traffic the majority it was free. I just read the other day about a Home of Technology who serves on a major MLS panel who said the traditional business model of getting leads from sustaining open houses is almost dead. People are using the Internet for researching, and they are contacting an agent long before they enter the house. Dependant on my personal experience, I agree with this assessment. Having expended many Sunday's working at open houses, I think it's very rare for someone to walk through the door as well as say "I don't have an agent. " The following list of strategies will put you in a position to actually make more money from each one listing you have. If you don't have any listings or are having their first go real estate, I suggest approaching an agent in your office that has a list of and ask if you can do some Internet advertising for him or her. Be sure that you abide by any local MLS rules you have...