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tttinytrash · 4 years ago

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A prompt from the legendary Shy! I decided to go with this one first because the most ideas to fill in the framework they so kindly provided sprung to mind immediately, but expect the other two they sent along at some point soon. I took the liberty of picking Classic and Underfell Sans for the cast, but the nicknames will probably have made that clear anyhow. I tried to change it up and made the prey brave rather than the nervous wreck I often default to, so hopefully that pans out. Enjoy!

Nerds really do have more fun.

You’re not entirely sure how your socially inept self had made friends as good as these two, but your life had definitely improved exponentially after their addition to it. Red and Classic were both skeletons, but that was immaterial to your friendship with the two.

For the moment you three were tinkering away in the lab the university provided for your research. You were attempting to make a version of the monsters’ inventories that was more accessible for humans, or a TARDIS pocket as Classic had taken to calling the project. You couldn’t argue the accuracy of the comparison, though the name would sadly have to change for copyright purposes at some point. The idea was to make a pocket that was larger on the inside, thereby vastly increasing storage capabilities for the denizens of the world without magical capabilities.

Classic was at the far workbench, going over the calculations yet again while you and Red were closer to the machine actually intended to form the dimensional pockets. The burned scraps of a grocery tote bag, the cremated remains of your latest failed attempt, hung in place in the machine for now despite the machine not being active. Red was shoulders deep in the thing, checking that the soldering on the wires were holding after another failed test. You were busy removing the latest scorches from the machine’s plating when you heard the dull hum start.

You glanced over at saw the machine had started trying to form another rift, without any kind of vessel and without any of you having activated it. Worse, two thirds of the team was not even remotely beyond the safety perimeter! You didn’t even think, you just grabbed Red by the pelvis and dragged him out of the machine. You didn’t even process what he was saying, nor his angry tone as you bundled him up bridal style and bolted from the danger zone.

You were almost in the clear when you heard the explosion behind you and felt the searing heat on your back. Well, as least you’d gotten your more sturdy human body between your 1HP monster companion and the blast, you had time to think.

The pain ebbed as quickly as it came and you felt like you were in freefall...

-----

Red really didn’t know what the hell had just happened.

He’d felt the human yank him out of the maintenance hatch, and the glow and crackling of building energy he could get from over their shoulder as they ran clued him in roughly and mollified his annoyance in favor of concern. Then there was heat and he felt his body fall to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Classic had been far enough away from the blast to be unharmed, and therefore was free to rush over to where Red lay.

He groaned as the unharmed skeleton arrived, not missing the other’s visual sweep of his body for injury or dust.

“are you ok? where’s y/n?” Classic asked.

Red’s skull whipped back, not finding the human on the floor with him as he’d expected. “i-i dunno! y/n?!”

“Here...” came the weak reply.

Both skeletons homed in on the source quickly, which was oddly Red’s chest.

A tiny human lay on Red’s sternum sprawled as if having fallen. Y/n was severely reduced in size and dazed, but awake an aware much to both skeletons’ visible relief. Red scooped the sluggish human into his hands and did a Check on them. Their HP had definitely taken a hit, but they weren’t in the red. (Heh, nickname pun.)

The trio was collectively baffled, but the relief that everyone was ok for the most part was palpable. They now had the fun task of figuring out how to reverse this change. Oh. And the machine was smoldering, so that probably should be addressed too. This to do list was quickly looking very not fun.

-----

It was agreed upon (more like accepted, really) that a shrunken human really couldn’t live on their own in a house without any adaptations for such a small person. In the long term (Delta forbid this persisted long enough to need a long term solution) adjustments to your house could be arranged. In the short term, the skeleton pair would take turns hosting their human friend at their houses.

Classic took the first night, as he and Vanilla (his brother) had a place closer than Red and his bro, Edge. At the moment, Vanilla was out of the house at a sleepover (arranged before the incident) with Undyne. This left Classic and the human alone, and eventually watching TV together.

You had been set up with a fluffy hand towel for a blanket and set atop a pillow. Your pillow was on the couch cushion besides Classic, who sprawled with the grace of a sack of potatoes on his corner of the couch as he watched the cheesy sci-fi flick on screen. You were both making jokes throughout the movie, but as the night drew on and the ambient temperature dropped, you found your towel wasn’t quite warm enough.

You were waiting for a break in dialogue to ask for another towel, but Classic beat you to it. He looked over as if he were about to crack a joke at the expense of the movie again, noticed your huddled posture, and paused the movie. “you cold, kiddo?”

“Yeah, a bit. Are there any more towels I could pile on, maybe?”

“i’ll do ya one better, c’mere.” He offered a flat palm, waiting patiently for you to board.

You didn’t really have to hesitate, trusting the guy already and curiosity spurred you on as well. He gently lifted you and your towel, dumped the pillow on the floor absently, and moved to sprawl flat over the whole couch instead. This left his chest as a flat plane, on which you were gently deposited.

You sat there, surprised at the new level of contact. Sure, you three nerds had crammed yourselves onto the loveseat at your place to watch TV or game together and ended up with hips mildly wedged against each other and shoulders bumping, but that was the closest you’d ever been. To now be seated on Classic’s sternum was new territory.

“go ahead, get comfy and lay down. i don’t mind.” he encouraged.

You took his advice, curling on your side facing the TV, towel still tented around you. Classic increased the warmth his body offered even more by taking the liberty to partially zip his ever-present blue jacket up to the point that your body was zipped in, but your head was outside the confines of the giant garment.

“better?” he asked.

“Yeah, much warmer.” You could easily affirm.

While this was new territory, his casual attitude towards the whole thing dissipated the awkwardness you were feeling. Without that feeling, you really found you couldn’t complain. You liked cuddling anyhow, so finding a friend was also up for that was a boon in your book.

The movie resumed without further incident, though you may or may not have totally fallen asleep on your friend. Eh, he didn’t seem to mind.

-----

It’d been a couple of weeks since the incident at the lab, and today was Red’s day for hosting y/n. Red was playing a campaign in a very story based game, with the human watching from their perch on his shoulder while Classic lounged on the other side of the couch. Playthroughs of games like this were common with their group, and the three would usually switch off who had the controller each session with the other two chipping in and offering advice.

The biggest difference now was that y/n couldn’t take their turn with the controller, but they seemed content to snuggle into the fluff of Red’s hood, relishing in the warmth of their position by his cervical vertebrae. Ever since becoming small, they hadn’t been able to maintain their heat as well once the sun went down.

“I think I saw something on your left.” they offered.

Red panned the camera that way to find an enemy, which was swiftly dealt with.

“thanks, pipsqueak.” Red said as he collected the dropped loot.

“No problem. Hey, do you think you could get the bathroom door for me?”

“oh, sure.” he paused the game and crossed over to the bathroom. He gently cupped the human into his hands and gingerly set them on the floor just before the threshold. Inside there was a bathroom setup of bitty furniture, an investment that had been made early on for each of the skeletons’ houses. Once they went inside, he closed the door without catching the latch so they could push it open once they were done.

In the meantime, he approached the couch again where he saw Classic grinning at him.

“the hell you looking at?” Red groused.

Classic chuckled “a softy.”

Red felt the light blush on his face, much to his chagrin “shut the hell up. s’not like you aint doing the same damn thing.”

“well yeah, but i don’t try to claim i’m not a softy.”

Red groaned as he flopped petulantly onto the couch. “can’t help it, they’re just so small. plus, this is all my fault anyhow.”

“woah, what?” Classic sat up straighter, humor gone from his voice. “what do you mean, your fault?”

“i was fucking with the wiring when the machine started up. it had to be something i did that caused it to go haywire and blast them. least i can do is help em out when they need it.”

Classic was about to address the mountain of guilt Red had built upon himself, but was cut off by a growl from Red’s stomach.

“you hungry?” Classic asked, though Red knew he already had the answer to that question based on the tone.

Red buried his face in his hands, responding “no, and the human aint gonna believe the ‘i just need a snack’ lie forever. i just wanna protect them so damn bad.”

“yeah, they’re too smart for us. plus, i’ve been using the same lie.”

Red unburied his face, asking “instinct is cropping up for you too, eh?”

“yeah. especially since they get so cold at night. it went downhill fast as soon as i realized we had an easy fix.”

“tell me about it. they were so uncomfortable when they first changed, i didn’t wanna add to the discomfort by asking them about it.”

“well, the machine is back in one piece now so we can start working to reverse this mess come monday when the university lets us back in.”

“yeah, thank delta for that.”

Neither one realized that the human had heard some of their conversation from the bathroom, nor that they refused to accept their friends were apparently hiding something from them.

The human became determined to confront this issue that very night.

-----

Classic had gone home by now and you were settled in your bed, more of a nest of towels and an electric heated blanket than a real bed. Nest was probably a better term.

Red hadn’t come into the room yet (you slept in the same room as him so he could help you off the desk and to the bathroom if you needed to make a trip in the middle of the night) so you instead thought about what you’d overheard and what you were going to say. You’d caught only snippets due to distance, knowing something about an instinct they were both trying to hide from you, and you’d also heard “all my fault” and desperately wanted to address that if it was regarding you, which the conversation had seemed to.

Your planning was cut short when he entered, in a loose black muscle tank and flannel PJ bottoms pattered with jolly roger flags flying over a grey background. He flopped onto the bed without ceremony amongst his tangled blankets and immediately started scrolling on his phone.

You steeled yourself a moment before calling for his attention, leaving your nest behind on the beside table to approach the skeleton closer. “Hey, Red?”

He put down his phone, looking at you with a questioning grunt.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I heard you and Classic earlier...”

Red looked mildly alarmed “what exactly did you hear?”

“Enough to know you guys are hiding things from me, and it sounded like it was about me. And something about this being ‘all your fault’?”

Red sat up leaving his face a little higher than you, and only a foot of distance from your perch to his shoulder. “yeah, well it is my fault. since i was the one tinkering, the machine had to have been fucked up by me. and now...” he gestured limply at you. “i’m gonna do my damndest to fix it, but i hate that i did this at all.”

“Cut the crap.”

Red looked as if he’d been slapped. He instantly went from hunched and quiet, reluctant to open up to you at all (probably only caving so early knowing you would keep badgering), to sitting straight up, eyes locked on you in obvious shock.

“This was an accident. No one is at fault.” you stated emphatically.

He looked ready to protest, eyebrows tilting down almost as if angry.

You cut him off again. “You never intended for this to happen. I don’t hold you responsible, or anyone else for that matter. But that doesn’t even matter. You just said you were going to fix it. That matters way more than fretting over the past we can’t change. No more self pity. Not allowed. Got it, mister?” You wagged a finger at him, refusing to be the one to break eye contact.

Red’s expression had mollified during your response, and he was the one who lost the game of eye contact chicken when he changed focus onto his folded hands in his lap. “forgot how much spunk you have, looks like the size change didn’t touch that.” he laughed a little.

“You mean you forgot what made us become friends in the first place? I’m hurt, Red.” You feigned pain, placing your hands over your heart.

His laugh was stronger this time “sorry, pipsqueak. won’t make that mistake again.” He ruffled your hair with a two fingers, which got you laughing too as you batted his invading phalanges away.

“you win. i’ll try to focus on fixing, not shitting on myself. fair deal?”

“Sounds good to me, bud.”

You two lapsed into silence.

You felt accomplished, but only half of your mystery had been solved. you decided to risk it and push farther. You’d back off if he resisted though, as you knew opening up at all was asking a lot of your somewhat emotionally constipated friend. “So... what was the instinct you two kept referring to?”

“damn, you’re relentless tonight!” he laughed again, flopping back onto his pillow.

“Well it’s got my two best friends in a twist over it, I wanna know what the hell is going on!” you defend, happy to keep up the more teasing tone.

“fine, fine. but you asked for it.”

“Yeah, yeah, lay it on me!”

He barked a laugh, “alright, pipsqueak. there’s a protective instinct that can rear up among monsters who’re less flesh based. it’s been triggered by your small size and our desire to help, but basically we wanna take you in.”

“Ya lost me right at the end, there.”

“figured i would. skeletons, and some other races of monsters, have the ability to take other creatures inside their own body harmlessly. more specifically, it’d be me and classic fighting the urge to eat you, but safely.”

“Safely.... eat?” The humor left your tone completely.

The humor was gone in his too, saying “yeah, that’s why we didn’t say anything. that reaction right there. but yes, basically eat minus the chewing bit. it’s safe and you’d be let out later, but the idea is to put us between you and danger. pretty damn literally. but a fleshbag like you wouldn’t be a fan and we both knew that going in. now ya know.” he looked away again, not so much looking at anything but apparently not wanting to look at you.

You thought back to all the times you’d caught either of them trying to sneak stomach growls past you or how oddly often they’d been claiming they’d needed a snack, or even that one time Red had tried (and failed) to play off getting caught wiping drool away. It all clicked into place and made so much more sense. But far more importantly, you didn’t like the resigned tone in his voice.

You took a moment to process the new information in stifling silence, then asked “So... you thought I wouldn’t trust you?”

“what?” Red’s skull whipped around to fix you with a baffled look. “that’s not even close to what i said. i just meant it’d be pretty fuckin’ weird to you.”

“Yeah, well I went and made friends with two monsters after having shit luck with humans. I’d say I’m pretty open to new and weird.”

Red just blinked at you.

“If you want to, I’m unopposed. Go for it. You said it was triggered by a desire to help, and that it was safe. I trust you.”

Red’s brows were knit, sockets squinted a bit at you as he sat up. He stared you down like that, feeling like he was looking for the “gotcha” or any fear. You stared right back with nothing to hide, you weren’t afraid and didn’t want to take back what you’d said.

“yer sure?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

“Yep.” You popped the P for emphasis.

“alright. i’ll let you out when you change your mind.” he shrugged, holding a hand out for you to board.

You took that comment as a challenge and sat on his metacarpals confidently.

He brought you up toward his face while his free hand reached up from behind you, wrapping around your ribs under the arms. Using the new grip, he lifted you over his upturned face with your bare feet dangling in thin air over his opening mouth.

Ok, maybe your confidence had left a little. Your legs tucked up a bit in instinct, but you didn’t struggle when he guided your lower limbs into his mouth. You fought the urge to cringe away at the odd slick feeling of your feet sliding along his thick red tongue, or even more so at the feeling of his throat around your lower legs.

You still trusted Red, that wasn’t the issue, so you decided to fight your instincts just as your friends had been fighting theirs and refused to show any fear.

You pulled your arms in close to your chest when his grasping fingers left, and looked upwards as the world was sealed off by a wall of sharp teeth. Thankfully Red didn’t leave you waiting long, as a wet gulping sound drew your upper legs down with a surprisingly strong force. You clenched your teeth at that, barely keeping in the yelp of surprise. Another two gulps followed in quick succession, drawing your whole body into his waiting throat. The tissue around you pressed in, pushing you ever downward.

For a brief moment during your decent, you felt a warm tingling sensation akin to the light buzz you felt the few times you’d come into contact with a magical construct (Red had lobbed a bone attack at you when you’d be particularly snarky a time or two, usually blue so you didn’t get hurt.) This tingle was much stronger, and you couldn’t describe it any better than saying it felt like Red. ...was that his soul?

Your musing was cut off shortly after the buzz of magic left and you found yourself kicking a little in surprise when your legs had room to move. The rest of you spilled into the open space a moment later.

You felt a bit dazed as you just sat there a moment. You were somewhat pulled back down to earth as you felt a pressure coming from outside. It was immediately obvious the pressure was his hand pressing in at you, and the hand started moving, rubbing you from outside in soothing circles, slowly moving up and down your back. Even if you were out of it, you had the wherewithal to realize that was incredibly cute.

“alright, buyer’s remorse set in?” he asked.

“No...” you breathed, not quite done processing your current situation.

“you ok in there?” his tone was more concerned, the rubbing stopped but the pressure of his hand remained.

“Y-yeah!” You shook your head as if that would help clear the fog, clicking back into reality. “I’m ok. Wow, this is just... a lot.”

“sure you don’t want out?”

“Do you want me out?”

“...didn’t say that...” he mumbled.

You laughed, which earned you a half hearted growl.

“Hey, is it ok if I move around a little? I really want to, uh, check the place out now that I’m here if that’s cool.”

“oh, sure. i don’t care.”

He removed his hand, which left you free to experiment. Call it childish if you wanted, but you really wanted to feel out your new surroundings in an exceedingly literal sense.

-----

Holy shit this went so much better than he’d ever thought it’d go. The human was inside, no panic, and their soul had settled from the anxiety he’d been feeling during their decent. Guess they’d gone and proven him and Classic wrong. Again. Maybe he should expect that by now.

For now he laid back, feeling them slide back to the new lowest point as he got comfortable. He also very much heard their tiny squeak when they startled at the movement, which brought out a smile on him. He felt them quickly readjust, then felt a small point of pressure pushing outwards. A tiny moving bump raised in his shirt, showing where their small hands were pushing out. He didn’t protest, finding this all quite amusing.

On a whim, he used two fingers to push at that little raised bump. He heard them laugh, and then the bump showed up on a new spot, disappeared, and showed up again in yet another. This was a bizarre version of whack a mole, but he did play along until they ended the game with a breathy giggle.

They were moving again, probably trying to stand given the two distinct points of pressure. They slowly wobbled a few steps before he distinctly felt the impact of them falling over.

He laughed aloud at the “I’m good!” they called out.

Their movements inside were calm, but distinctly curious. It was all highly endearing on top of feeling good. The quieting of the protective instinct at last was also a welcome absence, leaving him feeling comfortable and secure. He didn’t really try all that hard to stifle his subsequent yawn.

The responding, smaller yawn from inside was a bit of a surprise.

“tired?”

“We were getting ready for bed, dingus.”

“fair point. we turning this into a sleepover or you going back to your own bed?”

There was a pause, then “Fuck it, sleepover.”

“fine by me, pipsqueak. g’night.”

“Goodnight, bonehead.”

He felt their weight settle, then relax as they slipped into sleep. He decided to follow them, hands folded over his stomach to protect the precious cargo inside.

#undertail vore #undertail underfell vore #extreme cuddling #safe vore #soft vore

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writingithink · 3 years ago

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Improbable Multiversal Transcending Temporal Spacetime Event Pairing: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Rated: T Word Count: 7,101 Summary: The best way to show someone you care is to blow up their job ... right? Notes: I'm back! And it's not a Tangled Timelines update (sorry!) But it is something? I've had this in my WIPs for awHILE now, and when I was cleaning my studio the other night I found a planning page for it in a random tote bag and was like ... oh yeah. And the ending just came to me and I love it when that happens. Hopefully there will be another chapter up for Tangled Timelines soon, though!

As always, infinite thanks to my wonderful beta, @hey-there-juliet who is fine with me randomly sending her fics at all hours and with no warning XP

All mistakes are mine, as always.

<<READ IT ON AO3>>

If the other him in the other universe had taken the time to imagine their human life together in a parallel universe, the Doctor doubted he would have pictured this. His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was always quite whimsical. Happiness had made him impractical, really. Because despite all of the drawbacks, all of the reasons he currently loathed himself, the Doctor knew every single reason why the other truly felt like this was the best possible option.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Sometimes, despite it not occurring too often, he was wrong.

They had spent five and a half hours on the beach at Bad Wolf Bay.

(I create myself.)

She had been so upset; said that after everything they’d went through, everything she did to get back, the other him owed her a proper goodbye. She had stopped speaking to him when he told her that, actually, he would never give her a proper goodbye.

And she didn’t let him explain why. Now that he finally could.

Now it had been 57 days since she’d last spoken to him. Since he’d gotten more than a brief glimpse of her with his own eyes. That he’d spent piecing together a picture of what her life had been like here, without him. Such a short time, really, now that it was over (almost over), but yet also some of the worst moments of his entire existence.

It seemed fair that the multiverse would demand just that extra sequence of pain, considering everything he could potentially get in return. What another version of himself could only hope for, bitterly gambling eternities, following their timeline through all of it’s complicated swirls and turns, names weaving around each other, stamping themselves on the structure of creation.

Forever isn’t something that ends.

(How long are you going to stay with me?)

Quite the opposite, actually. And he knew, eventually, she would remember that. Knew it, but didn’t feel it.

The Doctor finally understood what all of the human writers meant about falling in love. Not just the terrifying sensation of the unstoppable freefall, but also the immense pain of crashing into the immovable object at the end of the journey.

They had sat on opposite ends of a Zeppelin. He had gone back to the Tyler Manor with Jackie, and Rose had gone back to her flat. Hoping to see her, talk to her, he had immediately joined Torchwood (once they agreed to his very detailed, highly specific, entirely ironclad contract). Their paths rarely crossed, and when they did it was just tiny, insubstantial moments.

A flash of her at the far end of a hall. Her name in a report (a lot of reports). Snatches of her voice, there one moment and gone the next.

It all made everything hurt so much more, somehow, having her so close but yet further than he could have possibly imagined.

But yet …

His imagination, when it came to Rose Tyler, was still quite whimsical. So when he tried to think of the bigger picture, waxing poetic, alone on his office couch, the Doctor tried to look at the last few years as the impact, and this as the aftershock. Still, philosophical jaunts weren’t exactly a solution to his problem. A temporary solution was moving his office even further away, so that’s what he did.

Plus, he found it kind of fitting, commandeering the inside of Big Ben. UNIT may have it in the prime universe, but in this universe he had the fancy landmark office. Well, office-slash-home (without Rose Tyler, a proper house with doors and things was absolutely unthinkable). Not that it was just about having a private laugh. The gears soothed him, the sound of ticking helped the gnawing emptiness that had filled his mind ever since the TARDIS dematerialized without him in it. The Doctor had thought it was kind of fitting - the closest he could possibly be right now to time.

Not that he wasn’t spending every possible spare moment working on the baby TARDIS, just a tiny piece of coral still, currently sitting in the extended electro-percussive environment chamber. He wondered if, in three years (his best-possible projected timetable), when the new TARDIS would be ready for flight, she would still not be speaking to him.

Incidentally, the emergence of that thought and the start of his supposed ‘self-isolation’ coincided to an alarming degree for how coincidental the two really were. The fact of the matter was, he was busy. Tons of experiments to run, alien equipment to identify, classify (and more often than not remove from Torchwood entirely), a baby TARDIS to tend to, and a backlog of Rose’s mission reports to hack into made spending slightly over three weeks in his tower easy.

The problem was the fact that during that time the Doctor avoided sleeping, barely remembered to eat, and existed on overly sugared tea alone. Not sleeping didn’t put the demons at bay, but at least when he was awake he wasn’t forced to confront the man he never wanted to remember being.

It had been 57 days since Rose Tyler had last spoken to him, and the Doctor detonated a bomb in the abandoned annex Torchwood had scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt.

Then the counter reset to zero.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she yelled, barging into the top floor lab where he had been checking the readings on the EEPEC.

Everything that he wanted to say to her, and the Doctor was struck mute.

“Whatever plans you think you have, however good of an idea it is, for the good of the planet or, or the galaxy or what, you don’t just go blowing up buildings without a word to anyone! Do you know that everyone else was too scared to come up here and have a word with you, because that highly confidential ridiculous contract you drew up made its way through the gossips and isn’t so classified anymore. Now no one wants to go toe to toe with the man who ‘speaks for the planet’,” Rose growled through the air quotes. “So tell me, Doctor, what genius reason you’ve got for blowing up the Records Annex?”

A slow smile spread across his face.

“It worked.”

“What?”

“Remember ‘run’?” he asked, bouncing away from the baby TARDIS and circling her, picking up his new sonic screwdriver as he did and deadlock sealing the only door off the floor.

“Run?” she frowned as he circled back.

“Run,” he whispered in her ear as he passed, running up a small set of stairs to flip a giant switch that activated the clock-lights outside of their automated timer. Likely no one noticed outside with the sun still out, but it lit up the lab. “Henrik’s basement, Nestene Consciousness, shop window dummies, you and me. How did that night end?” he asked, with a manic grin as he skidded to a stop in front of her.

“Oh, that ‘run’,” Rose breathed, trying to fight back a smile. “You blew up my job.”

“I blew up your job.”

She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and crossed her arms. His shoulders fell, exhaustion pressing down onto each and every bone of his new, much more fragile body.

“I just want to talk,” he told her, only a moment away from begging.

“Alright then. Talk.”

Everything he wanted to say to her, and all of it felt disjointed in his overtired mind. Yet she was here now, and if she left he didn’t have a new idea for getting her back again. So he talked.

“I’m sorry. That I made this choice for you, even if it was technically a different me who did it. I’m sorry that this is the best option, the safest option. I’m sorry I never got the chance to explain everything to you before. But I am never going to say goodbye to you, Rose. Never. And I know that the power of words doesn’t translate as well for you, the science of psycho-kinetic-telepathic influence on the elements of creation. But there are some things I can never risk saying aloud. There are some beings that exist, at least in our original universe, that could easily- … still, no matter what universe we’re in, I’m never going to say it. Forever, Rose Tyler. It’s longer than you can comprehend. An eternal silence stretching infinitely ahead, timelines swirling in every direction. This one is ours, if you’ll- if you could just- if you could see in twenty-odd dimensions and focused on individual temporal waveforms, the quantum reality of specific-”

“Doctor!” she shouted when his legs gave out, immediately grabbing hold of him, joining him on the floor.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, but when he moved to get back up she easily held him down. Rose gently manipulated his face, giving him a basic medical check. He couldn’t help but smile a little at how much she had learned while they were away, only to then frown at how hard he imagined it all must have been for her. Floundering, he tried to make a joke. “So, I’m still the Doctor?”

Which went ignored.

“You look like a wreck,” she told him, and it wasn’t new information. The Doctor now made much more frequent trips to the restroom and was well aware of how pale he was, of the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He had at least been making a disjointed effort to shave, which was another activity that had increased with his meta crisis, and admittedly it had slipped his mind for a couple days.

“It’s not easy, doing this without you,” he admitted. “But if you need more time, I want you to take it. I really am alright. There’s just so much I need to tell you, now that I can.”

“What do you mean, ‘now that you can’?”

“Different universe, firm walls in between. I don’t have to worry about using the wrong words at the wrong time and having cosmic consequences … for a lot of things, not all things. With our timeline in a different dimension and reality back as it should be, at least for the moment, I can tell you all sorts of things. Though the most important one, the one I’m never going to miss an opportunity to say, is that I love you, Rose Tyler. Forever.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed, caressing his cheek for a moment before helping him up. “But I’m still mad at you. Now you need sleep.”

“But I’m not done talking,” the Doctor complained, dragging his feet as she led him over to the sofa in the corner.

“We’ll talk more after you’ve gotten some rest, okay? I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, more horizontal than he remembered being just a moment ago. Something soft and warm ensconced his body. He hadn’t realized how cold he had been until just then.

Another breath and black oblivion overtook him. Peaceful until it suddenly very much wasn’t.

A shockwave. A rift in time and space. A breached void. A crack in reality. A big red button. No more. Howling, howling, howling.

“Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t know where he was. Nothing felt right; not the air, not time, not even his own body. The Doctor tried to do a quick systems check, and the results were all wrong. His hand flew to his chest, where only one heart was beating.

A choking scream echoed through the space, which seemed to be tick tick ticking, and he didn’t realize that it was him who shouted until soothing hands were brushing through his hair. Vision focusing, he saw Rose Tyler kneeling next to him, or at least it was something that looked like Rose Tyler. She felt too cool. Or maybe he was too warm.

“Are you real?” he asked, hoping that she wouldn’t lie to him.

Just one heart working, and it was beating too fast, refusing to slow down. The air was too thick, he couldn’t breathe.

“Yeah.” A sad smile. “I’m real.”

The Doctor didn’t know if he believed her, closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the moment she inevitably vanished. “I’m dying,” he told the being-who-might-be-Rose as he shuddered and collapsed back onto some sort of sofa.

“You’re fine,” she lied, but it was a lie she seemed to believe.

“Only got one heart beating,” he admitted, trying to get his breathing under control as his malfunctioning body began to sweat. The room ticked away, and he wondered if all of this was about to explode, if he should be running, if he even could run. His legs felt like lead. So did his arms. The air was too thick, dragging him down.

“That’s-”

The Doctor shut his eyes tighter, tears escaping that he hadn’t even realized were there. She must have vanished, just like he knew she would. And if she was never real to begin with, why did it have to hurt so much for her to go?

A weight rested on top of him, and he would never forget the feel of her. He vaguely wondered what it meant for him, to be having tactile hallucinations. Olfactory hallucinations. Even the buzz of time that had never left her skin after she took in the vortex was present.

“You’ve still got two beating,” Rose whispered as his arms wrapped around her in a tight hold that didn’t feel nearly strong enough to keep her. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her.

Her heart beat steadily over where his right heart had failed.

“I’m scared,” the Doctor admitted, eyes still closed though it was oddly easier to breathe.

“I’ve got you.”

“Please be real,” he whimpered, even as his mind grew foggier.

She said something, but he didn’t know what. Everything was fading away, darkness becoming darker, becoming void.

Nothing.

The Doctor awoke alone on the couch in his office. According to his time sense, he had slept for eighteen hours and twenty-one minutes. He felt better than he had in weeks, but also so much worse. He grabbed his pillow and screamed into it.

“What’s wrong now?”

The pillow dropped from his hands and his eyes locked with Rose’s as she raced up the slight stair onto the platform that separated his primary workspace from the rest of the top floor.

“What?” His voice cracked.

Rose Tyler sat next to him on the couch, hand immediately resting on his forehead, primitively gauging his temperature. The Doctor cleared his throat before trying again.

“Rose, what are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad, I’m so very, very glad you’ve come.” Her hand dropped away and he was able to get a good look at her, dressed in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts (Jackie had bought him a ridiculous amount of clothes before he left the manor, all of which he sent out to be cleaned). He swallowed audibly. “W-why are you wearing my clothes?”

“‘M locked in here. Door’s deadlock sealed.”

Flashes of memories began to speed through him. Attaching a re-calibrated Tziklian implosion grenade to a newly-repaired retroreflective Clishtahrr drone. Obsessively trying to circumvent his vision in order to peer at his own timeline, making himself sick. A contained rift event in the lower levels of the tower that made him feel like he had looked into the untempered schism again.

(Run, run, run!)

“I’m sorry. I don’t … I’ll just …”

He pushed himself up onto unsteady legs, found his sonic screwdriver and unsealed the door. And he wished he hadn’t trapped her with him, even if he was starting to remember why (inky black terror crawling up his spine, wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe).

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” she asked, following him as he went to check the TARDIS on autopilot, looking as if she was worried he would collapse (again).

“It’s coming back to me,” the Doctor admitted. Still had a good four hours to go before the shatterfry process would be complete. He straightened his shoulders, trying to stand tall as he turned to face her. “Things got a little, uhm, unpleasant. I’ll do better.”

“Unpleasant,” Rose scoffed. “I’m pretty sure you had a bleedin’ breakdown!”

“It’s been a difficult regeneration,” he deflected, turning away, leaving the platform and making a beeline to the tiny kitchenette tucked off to the side. Tea. He just needed more tea.

“So, this how it’s gonna be, then? All that stuff about wanting to talk, but now you’re just done?”

He nearly spilled the kettle with the speed of his turn, brows furrowed and mouth falling open. “What? Of course I want to talk!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Just, er, what did I say? Before?”

Memory was still a bit of a blur. Successful energy funnel for the TARDIS’ growth tank. Vodka tasting different in a universe without potatoes. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. No contact.

“You don’t remember?”

“I said it was coming back to me, it’s just not coming in the right order.” he sighed, refocusing on the tea.

“Well, what’s the last thing that you vividly remember?” Rose asked, moving around him, easily finding mugs and sugar and milk.

“Thirteen days ago, creating a temporal disruption chrono-field manipulator. Needed to siphon rift energy for our TARDIS. She needs a very specific growth environment.”

“Thirteen days?! Wait, siphoning the-” She leaned against the tiny countertop and covered her face with her hands. The only sound for a few moments was of the electric kettle quickly boiling the water. “Our TARDIS?”

“If you want,” the Doctor muttered, lifting a hand, wanting to touch her, but then thinking better of it. He clenched his fist as it dropped to his side.

Rose groaned as she turned back to him. “Of course I want that, you daft alien git! But you don’t exactly make things easy, do ya? I spent years getting back to you, and then suddenly there’s two of you and one of you abandons me just like I was always afraid of, but one of you stays and I’m expected to be able to process any of it? And then for weeks it’s an effort just to give myself space, knowing that wherever I go you’re so close, part of me wondering why I’m even trying to stay away when all I wanted for ages was to be back with you. Then suddenly you’re gone! I still know where you are, but there isn’t a chance that I’d actually run into you. And I still don’t know what to feel, but coming here yesterday, seeing you … I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so broken.” There were tears in her eyes. His nails dug into his palms with the effort it took not to wrap his arms around her, to wipe them away. “I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault.”

“It’s not. It’s my own fault. You haven’t done a single thing wrong,” he assured her.

“That’s not true and you know it,” she tried to laugh, but it came out watery. “I’ve been an absolute cow. And I still haven’t answered your question. You’d said some things about words being a type of science, and that you could say things here that you couldn’t in the other universe. Like you were paranoid, under surveillance or something? I think you tried to describe how your time sense stuff works, but you almost fainted.”

“Fifty-seven days without you and that’s what I was talking about?” The Doctor grimaced.

The kettle clicked off.

“If it makes you feel better, it was kinda romantic. The stuff about not saying goodbye and forever and blowing up my job.”

“Blowing up your what?!”

“That’s why I had to come here. You blew up the old Records Annex.”

“Riiiiight. That explains the drone bomb. It’s not like they weren’t going to blow it up anyway. Didn’t I help?”

Rose rolled her eyes before moving to fix both their teas. “We’ll get into that later. Right now I don’t even want to talk about us. I wanna know about you, what you’ve been doing these past two months. Because I didn’t even stop to think what this all must be like for you.”

Cuppa in hand, the Doctor led her back to the couch as he tried to think of how best to explain something that he barely understood himself.

“I was created in a two-way human-Time Lord instant biological meta crisis. Hundreds of years as one being, then suddenly two. Exact same mind, almost the exact same body, but different enough that I can barely comprehend existing in it. If you remember, the first forty-eight hours of the regeneration cycle are complicated and dangerous. Barely a few hours into mine I was dropped outside of the prime universe that all Gallifreyans are meant to exist in, cut off from all telepathic contact as the walls of reality continued to sway, slowly falling back into place. It’s been … an adjustment. Sometimes things don’t feel real, even when they are. Sometimes things feel incredibly real, even when they aren’t.”

“You had a nightmare,” Rose told him, placing a hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles through his layers. “I woke you up, tried to help. You didn’t think I was real. You thought you were dying, because you only had one heart.”

He tried to smile, and the action felt painful. “Sounds about right.”

“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t been so selfish-”

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I want you to put yourself first.”

“But I can’t stand seeing you in pain like this. What can I do to help?” she asked, a desperation in her eyes that he couldn’t bear.

“You’re already helping,” the Doctor sighed, finally giving in and leaning into her touch, lying his head on her shoulder. It was the closest he’d felt to time since they’d been left on that bloody beach.

Memories were still racing through his head. Energy coils radiating artron energy into a centrifuge. The smell of burnt flesh against the remains of a Bverni navigational system. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. No contact.

“The other Doctor said that you needed me.”

He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yes, because he needs you. He also said that I was dangerous. I am. He is. We are. But you already knew that. It’s easy, you know, to yell at yourself. Not often that there’s actually a separate you there to yell at. I destroyed the Daleks, but we’d already done that before we met. In fact, so did you. The other me was lashing out, knowing what he would have to do but not wanting to do it.”

“That’s another thing,” Rose said, moving to face him, dislodging his head, “you said that us being here, in this universe, was the best, safest option. What was that about?”

“Something’s coming. Has come. Ended and began. There’s a massive paradox surrounding me in the other universe. Incredibly dangerous, potentially catastrophic. All I know is that it has something to do with a woman named River Song who claims to be my wife.”

“Your wife?!”

“I said claims. And she did seem to be telling the truth, besides the fact that what she was saying was entirely preposterous. My soul is entirely bound to yours.” The Doctor took her hand and squeezed it. “So I think I have an idea of the kind of man I’ll have to become in order to keep the universe intact.”

“What’s that?”

“A liar. If she is going to believe that I could possibly join myself to someone else, someone who isn’t you, I’m going to have to lie. I’m going to have to forget. I’m going to have to lie so well and for so long that even I believe the fiction I’ve created for myself.”

He wondered what the other him in the other universe would think, then, whenever he caught a rare glimpse at their timeline surrounded in gold, bound with Rose’s for all eternity. What kind of explanation he would craft. The Doctor shuddered.

“But that sounds horrible!” she cried.

“It’s the sacrifice he’s making for the sake of the universe. My timeline is dangerous and someone, something is tampering with it. You and I made one tiny little paradox and it almost destroyed everything. This one is circular, might be able to be maintained, but the scale of it, Rose. And who knows if it will even work. River seems great and all, at least I hope so, but I don’t think she has much of a handle on time travel. That, or she’s a manipulative psychopath. Suppose that’s a surprise for the other me to find out.”

Rose sniffled and he pulled her into a hug.

“He’s going to be all alone.” The words were muffled into his shoulder, his shirt growing damp with her tears. He cringed and tried to think rationally, that of course she would feel this way, that it had nothing to do with how she felt about him him. But then again, maybe it did.

“He won’t be alone. He’ll find someone. I always do, eventually.”

“B-but I-”

“We’ll figure it out. How to get you back there, once it’s safe,” he whispered into the top of her head. Maybe that would be it- what she needed this him for. And if so, it would be enough. It would have to be enough.

“Really?”

The Doctor nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“So it’s not- you really weren’t abandoning me here?” Rose lifted her head, eyes brimming with a hope that had been missing before.

“Never.” The word felt as if it was torn out of his very being.

She cupped his cheek, stubble beginning to smooth out into the beginnings of a beard. He really needed to shave.

“I thought you said to never say never ever?”

“That was before.”

It occurred to him that he had tea, so he took a sip - it had gone cold.

“Oh, right, all the, uhm, psychic-kinetic-telepathy science stuff.”

He opened his mouth to correct her - she was very close, though - but was interrupted by the ringing of the giant clock. It was heavily muffled by the sound proofing adjustments he had made while setting up the office, but still audible enough.

“It’s eight now, yeah?” Rose asked, even as she moved away.

“Yes.”

She walked over to his desk, where the Doctor now noticed a pile of her folded clothes sat. He frowned when she brought them over to him.

“Do you think you could sonic these clean for me? I’m gonna quick hop into your decontamination shower.”

“Th- there’s a proper shower, it’s two floors down. First left, third right, door marked ‘Security Level Alpha’.”

“What, really?”

“Didn’t want random lab techs using it. Has a retina scan. It’ll let you in.”

Rose laughed, ruffled his hair, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before disappearing to get ready for work. The whole thing left him confused. He went through his list again, checking and double checking to make sure that this all was real . It was, just as it had been all morning.

More memories. Recalibrating the tower’s new sub-basement weapon’s vault. Burnt toast and no more jam left. Reports saying: Correct universe. Wrong time - future. Contact made.

It wasn’t fair that she had spent almost an entire day with him yet he had missed most of it. Still, he sonicked her clothes, as well as his tea. Finished his cuppa, and then had a second before Rose came back from her shower.

“Why’s there no one around?”

“Dangerous radiation leak,” the Doctor shrugged. “I fixed it almost as soon as it happened, but apparently there’s ‘procedures’. How’d you get in?”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Mighta shot a few of your doors,” Rose admitted, picking up an electro-pulse blaster off of a nearby cart. Non-lethal on organic matter. Very effective on fancy doors. “Nobody told me anything about a radiation leak, though.”

“Classified radiation leak.”

“And why’s that?” she scowled, hands on her hips.

“Everything to do with time travel is classified to this office. Bethany is not being very cooperative about putting you down as a liaison-whatever. Please believe me, I wasn’t trying to keep anything a secret.”

“Oh.” Rose glanced over at the EEPEC, absently biting her thumbnail.

The Doctor didn’t know what she was thinking, didn’t know if he should ask. After a moment she disappeared into the loo to change, promising to be back in a tick.

It was a funny multiverse, really, that his reunion with Rose Tyler would be such a stilted thing. That it would be about him and her, but not this him. Acknowledged with a few questions after his health, sure, but that was just polite. She’d always been compassionate, caring for others. Rose didn’t see him as the Doctor. Not the proper one. Sure, she used his name, but it would be easier for her to do that this time around.

He looked just like him.

He was him.

But he wasn’t.

Memories were still coming. Adjustments to Torchwood’s alien tech retrieval protocols. Nutrition shots. Reports reading: Correct universe. Wrong time - past. Contact made.

He went through the list again. Still real.

Unless it wasn’t.

Unless he wasn’t.

What would have stopped the other Doctor from knocking him out and uploading him into a matrix? Giving him a half-life with a programmed Rose Tyler?

The air here felt wrong.

(Wrong universe. Wrong universe. Wrong universe.)

“Doctor!”

(Daleks exploding. “What have you done?!”)

Pressure against his hands. Why was it so dark?

The Doctor opened his eyes to see Rose in front of him, pulling his fingers away from his palms. Oh. He was bleeding. Hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry, sorry.” He spun away from her in order to grab the first aid kit from his desk.

“What happened?” she asked, vibrating with barely contained panic.

“Nothing, nothing. Things just got jumbled for a second,” he assured her, efficiently cleaning his palms and wrapping them in gauze in a practiced motion.

“How often do you-”

“Hard to say. I’ve been graphing them. Seems to be stress contingent, but generally decreasing. My senses are gradually acclimating to this universe, so I have to hope that once they do, I’ll be fine. Perfect. Molto bene. No inconvenient lapses.”

“Stress? What h- oh.”

He didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh’. The Doctor clenched his jaw before facing her.

“We still haven’t talked about us,” Rose pointed out, approaching him slowly. Like he was a wild animal. Like he would hurt her. “And you … you don’t really remember yesterday still, do you?”

“Not really.”

His hands hurt. His body ached. One heart, and it was beating so quickly that he was sure it would give out.

Rose wrapped her arms around him and he automatically returned the embrace.

“Maybe I should just call in,” she suggested as she pulled away. “We can just take the day?”

“Or don’t and stay anyway,” the Doctor couldn’t help pointing out. “Some bits have come back, and didn’t they send you here?”

She burst into laughter. “Oh my god, they did!”

And it was beyond words, how great it was to hear her laughing again. To see her smiling.

But …

That was wrong.

Rose was upset with him.

Time didn’t feel right.

The air tasted off.

Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe. Wrong Universe.

The Doctor staggered backwards.

His respiratory bypass was malfunctioning. It was like it wasn’t even there. He couldn’t get air into his lungs.

Everything went black.

There was a shot of gold, and then a different kind of black.

“Doctor,” said a whisper in the dark. “The timer went off for the TARDIS. ‘M I supposed to take her out of that thing?”

A TARDIS timer?

TARDIS … timer …

The timer for the extended electro-percussive environment chamber!!!

The Doctor shot up from where he had apparently been lying on the couch and ran over to the EEPEC, swiftly shut it off, removed the tank housing their baby TARDIS, and then poured in the pre-prepared aqueous nutrient solution before inserting the tank into the quasi-dimensional artron chamber (currently set to it’s highest opacity setting).

“Hah!” he exclaimed, punching his fist in the air and itching to switch the chamber’s outside view settings to transparent. He turned to Rose, opened his mouth to ask her, and then paused.

It all came back to him, all of it, not just the jumbled recollections he had been getting earlier. Apparently he had fallen into a healing coma, and it seems to have been just what he needed … but it all truly hadn’t been fair to Rose. Though, to be fair, she was currently smiling like it was Christmas, so-

Christmas. Healing comas.

Huh.

“Shall we switch it to transparent?” the Doctor asked, unable to reign himself in any longer. “It was clear when Benny - quite the coincidence, right? - helped me set it up. This is a quasi-dimensional artron chamber. It’s funnelling in rift energy and centrifuging artron particles, and the end result in that chamber is the specific environment needed to properly grow a TARDIS. Well, along with the chrono-nutritio aqueous habitat. Benny describes looking into it as being similar to taking DMT, which, by the way, is completely inaccurate. It’s exactly like looking into an Eye of Harmony. If it’s malfunctioning, it’s like looking into the untempered schism, which I don’t recommend. But everything’s stable now, we could-”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to look into the vortex?” Rose interrupted, and …

“Right … erm, well ,” he hedged, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, it isn’t actually the vortex, but you’re probably not completely wrong. Best not risk it.”

Excitement abating, the Doctor slumped against the chamber and at that moment realized that he had been changed into jim jams.

Jim jams. Healing comas.

Huh.

At least these were his own pajamas, and not some ‘friend’ of Jackie’s, though how strange was it that he owned his own pajamas in the first place?

“C’mere,” Rose said, beckoning him back toward the couch, which she was sitting next to, but not on. Not your typical decision, but he had likely taken up all of the space earlier. “I made you some tea.”

It really wasn’t worth it, cataloguing the similarities between this and when he had first regenerated into this body … even though the list did seem to be growing.

“Perfect! Just what I need!” the Doctor smiled as he walked over, taking a seat next to Rose on the floor.

Silence fell as he sipped his tea, and he found himself unsure of what to do or say next. There was too much to say, and he’d certainly done a piss poor job of organizing his thoughts earlier.

“Feeling better?” she asked, after another moment.

Small talk. He could definitely do small talk.

“Mmm yes, very much so.”

“Better enough to talk?”

The Doctor coughed, having swallowed his tea incorrectly (bloody hybrid body, still acting up), before nodding. Rose moved onto the couch and he scrambled to join her.

“So,” she began and paused, face scrunching up in concentration (it was nice to know that he wasn’t the only one who found this whole business incredibly awkward), “I guess … what is it that you actually want? Aside from a working TARDIS, that is.”

His brows furrowed.

Sure, there were plenty of ways he could answer that question and have all of them be true, but he had a feeling that she was looking for a specific type of ‘want’.

Problem was, the Doctor wasn’t quite sure what that was .

“What?” he asked, in lieu of any better things to say (as the runner up response was to ask for some jam, or maybe a banana, or some of the takeaway from the shop down the corner and blimey, he was hungry).

“This whole time, all of it, since you c- since you were- since you stopped just bein’ a hand- ” the Doctor had a list of complaints and corrections that he barely held in “- nobody’s asked what you wanted. The D- the other Doctor chose for both of us, really, and I hadn’t really looked at it that way before. An’ I wanna know. What do you want?”

Removed from the actual experience itself (and therefore not feeling incredibly, deathly ill), visions of the slight peek he’d gotten four days ago of his own timeline played in his head.

The Doctor grabbed Rose’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“I want this.”

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked with a slight laugh.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the ‘p’. “Because as long as you’re happy, everything else is just- just semantics. I mean, obviously it’s going to be a bit dull until the TARDIS has grown enough for proper travel, but I think we can make do?” At least, he really hoped so. It hadn’t been going swimmingly so far, but the Doctor sincerely hoped that he could chalk all that up to the initial side effects of the meta crisis, compounded by all of the, er … technical difficulties he had run into while constructing the TARDIS’ growth tank. Also, his new hybrid body needed much more maintenance than he was used to, including sleep. Really was rubbish without regular sleep. Such a waste of time.

“So, if I were to suggest you moving into the flat?”

He opened his mouth, intending to immediately agree, but then frowned. The TARDIS was here, after all. And he absolutely could not move her. Not at this stage. Not until she could connect to other dimensions on her own. The Doctor looked over at the quasi-dimensional artron chamber, once again wishing that he could switch it to transparent and watch the process unfold.

“How moved in is moved in?” he asked once he forced himself to turn back toward Rose.

“You’d sleep there, shower there, eat some of your meals. Most of your clothes an’ stuff would be there. Y’know. It’d be where you live. With me. If you want.”

“And that’s what you want?” he double checked, trying not to telegraph his surprise - he must have missed a lot while in a coma, as last he knew they were teetering on the edge of a row.

Rose rolled her eyes, and that was much more in line with where he thought they were at, er, relationship-wise.

“Well, I don’t fancy living in a clocktower office. When I’m done working, I’d like to not still be at work, ta.”

She did make some excellent points … but still, it all implied that they would be staying together. And that was what he wanted, of course it was, but the Doctor still couldn’t help but feel he had missed something crucial despite the fact that he could now remember everything clearly.

“You blew up my job. ”

“I love you, too. But I’m still mad at you.”

“You’ve still got two beating.”

Maybe there wasn’t something to have missed. Human emotions were relatively complex, after all, and there was no rule requiring them to happen in isolation.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asked, realizing as he did that to Rose it was coming from seemingly out of nowhere.

This was confirmed as she blinked, brows furrowing.

“I don’t know. Maybe a little, but …”

“But?” the Doctor repeated, unable to stand the suspense.

“It’s hardly the first time we’ve had a fight, yeah?”

He nodded, unsure of where she was planning on going with this and hoping that he wouldn’t need to begin apologizing for every insensitive thing he’d said or done since they first met. It would take ages.

“Well, we always end up workin’ it out. And we did live together, travelin’ on the TARDIS, whether we had a row or not, so …” Rose shrugged, now examining her fingernails.

Speaking of the TARDIS, though …

“First things first,” the Doctor began, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up and began pacing, “I want it on record that I would absolutely love to live in a flat with you, with carpets and doors and things. Assuming we’d spend much of our time traveling about, that is.” He turned back toward her, having paced his way back over to the TARDIS’ QDA chamber. “The thing is, it’s … I don’t want you to think that- the TARDIS. She needs me here. This is a critical development period. For the next three to six months, the TARDIS will be growing in the chamber, learning how to connect to and create dimensions. Until she can manage it, I can’t move her and she requires near-constant monitoring. Every hour or two.”

“She’s like a newborn baby,” Rose commented, getting up and joining him at the chamber, where she stroked the side.

“Exactly.”

“Well, I suppose this’ll have to do then,” she reluctantly … agreed? “As long as we’re living in the flat as soon as she’s moveable, mind. The bathroom here is two floors away.”

“It’s a clocktower, Rose! There’s only so much space.” The Doctor scrunched up his face as he said the word.

“Then why’d you pick this place? I know because of the Rift, but doesn’t it stretch further than just the tower?”

“Nope,” he shrugged.

It’s not as though he hadn’t checked.

“Really?”

“Small rift.”

“Yeah,” Rose laughed, “a small rift right under Big Ben.”

The Doctor laughed with her, amazed that he finally could.

Then he frowned.

It was all a little too good to be true.

Was this real?

“Hey.”

He refocused. Rose was right in front of him, their eyes locked.

“You were getting that look in your eyes,” she informed him.

“Look? What look?” the Doctor asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew. Some sort of dazed tell, some sort of glaringly obvious indicator that his grasp on reality was failing him.

“This look you get when you start thinkin’ you’re in the wrong universe.”

Wrong universe, wrong universe, wrong universe.

“Well, I am in the wrong universe,” he couldn’t help but point out.

“Yeah, I know. Me too. But y’know what?”

Rose wrapped her arms around him, and it was almost as if she were his tether, grounding him to this new reality they’d found themselves in.

“It’s better with two.”

#TenToo x Rose #doctor x rose #pairing: rose x doctor #timepetals #fic: improbable multiversal transcending spacetime event #fandom: doctor who #my fic

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blancheludis · 3 years ago

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@whumptober2021 Day 5: Misunderstandings

Fandom: DCU, Batman, Superman Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Tags: Misunderstandings, Unhealthy Relationship, Miscommunication, Open Ending Words: 4.404

Summary: “I bought the bank,” Bruce says, his face unreadable as ever, but he looks like he is waiting for something.

Clark stands with his parents’ farm in his back, the farm that now belongs to Bruce, and he understands, loud and clear. I bought you.

So, with his mother’s home and well-being on the line, he has little choice but to follow when Bruce beckons.

---

“I bought the bank,” Bruce says, his hands hidden in his trouser pockets, completely casual.

His face is unreadable as ever but Clark knows that face by now, knows that Bruce never does anything without reason.

So, what Clark hears, loud and unmistakeably, is, I bought you.

He swallows, his mouth dry, searching for the right thing to say but coming up empty. The distance between them stretches, growing larger with every passing, silent second.

Then Bruce frowns, causing ice to spread inside Clark’s chest. Bruce bought him. That means he is not just holding Clark’s life in his hands but also that of his mother. He understands that the farm is safe for now, the house will remain standing – now the ball is in Clark’s corner to keep it that way.

“Thank you,” Clark says, far too late, but he somehow manages to sound calm, not as brittle as he feels, blindsided by this sudden change of his fate.

The frown vanishes from Bruce’s face but that only makes the icy grip around Clark’s insides tighten. He had not thought Bruce capable of this, trying to control him and demanding him to be happy about it, too.

“You didn’t have to,” Clark adds cautiously. Bruce could have just asked if he wanted Clark, did not have to go to the trouble of holding his home and family hostage.

“Nonsense,” Bruce says, dismissing in a way that seems to come so easily to him. It has Clark gritting his teeth, even while he keeps his face friendly – a very thin façade.

Here they are, regularly saving the world together, but they are apparently still not equals. Clark pointedly does not look at the house behind him, at the fading colours and the cracks in the porch, at the corner where the roof threatens to give in during the next storm. He did not grow up with money to spare but they were never poor, not in any way that matters. There was always warmth to be found in their house, always love.

Rather uncharitably, Clark thinks that is where they differ. Not because Clark is an alien with super strength and super speed, while Bruce is human. No, Clark is rich in terms of love. He knows where he comes from and where he belongs. Bruce, on the other hand, is lost, building relentlessly to hide the fact that there is no ground to build on.

“I’d invite you in,” Clark says, although he really, really would not. Whatever game Bruce is playing, he will not do it in front of his mother. “But I should tell my mom first.”

Bruce straightens even while his brow creases again just a bit, enough to make Clark wonder what the price for disappointing Bruce will be. Whether they will lose the house immediately or if he will dismantle Clark’s life in a different way first.

“I’ll come to the Manor once I’m done,” Clark offers quickly and takes a step towards Bruce, hoping he is not placating him too obviously. Bruce likes subtlety, after all.

They have known each other for a while now, fought next to each other, and yet he has no idea how to please Bruce, what is expected of him here.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Bruce says, still as unreadable, but he looks slightly less tense.

Clark smiles. It is a real thing if borne of relief instead of happiness. He is glad to take this to the Manor. It is already such an empty place, grief permeating its shadows. Clark will not feel bad about adding his own to it.

“Give my best to your mother,” Bruce says as he is already turning away, off-handed like there is nothing to it, just a social nicety.

Clark’s smile freezes. He stares at Bruce’s back. Later, he will think that he should not have been surprised. Batman is built to be a threat, his every move and word meant to subdue and intimidate. But Bruce is subtler than that, underhanded. Hiding his threats beneath well-wishes that, under any other circumstances would have been innocuous, is right up Bruce’s alley, although it hits Clark like a sucker punch.

He hears the warning loud and clear. I bought you and I expect you to fall in line. Or else.

Clark loves his home but he loves his mother more. “I will,” he says and means it. There is no other choice anyway.

---

Clark thinks briefly about contacting Diana. Perhaps she would have some insight into what Bruce expects. Although, if he is honest with himself, Clark knows. He noticed Bruce’s stares, slowly morphing from distrust to respect to something he thought was welcoming but might have been simple want instead.

He could have asked. Ignoring their bumpy beginnings, Clark liked working with Bruce. They could have built something. But perhaps that is not what Bruce is interested in. He likes control, that much is clear, and maybe he sensed that Clark does not want to be on the receiving end of that. That could be the game and Bruce will tire of it quickly. Somehow, Clark knows that will not be the case.

He is stalling. After talking to his mother, he went to his old room, her relief leaving a bittersweet aftertaste. There is so much to do, but he guesses Bruce’s patience will run out if Clark starts retiling the roof instead of doing as he is told.

No, he decides, he cannot tell Diana. She does not do subtle and Clark cannot afford force. He will give himself half an hour and then he will do what must be done. That is what heroes do, after all, even if he has never felt less like one.

Later, Alfred opens the door for him, smiling with a warmth that Clark does not understand. “Mr. Kent, what a pleasure to see you here.”

Clark nods in greeting, tries to pull up his lips and fails miserably. “I guess Bruce is waiting for me?”

He is and he is not, looking surprised when Clark enters his office. “I didn’t expect you so soon.” Clark was not exactly given a schedule, but he prefers to be early rather than late. “Come, we need to go over some things.”

Privately, Clark expects rules on how this new life of his will run. Instead, it is business as usual, talking about the League. He barely hears a word Bruce is saying but makes sure to nod in the appropriate places.

He stays for dinner – Bruce does not say he can leave – and while he knows that Alfred is an excellent cook, everything tastes like ash.

---

The first time they kiss, Bruce holds him like he is afraid Clark will disintegrate in his arms. Only when Clark pushes forward, acting eager to drown out the churning of his stomach, does the tension bleed out of Bruce’s muscles. If things were different, Clark could even enjoy this. He had thought about it, even, about Bruce. But either Bruce never looked at him the same way or he just likes to make sure his lovers cannot leave on their own terms.

All the following times, Bruce kisses like a drowning man, desperate for the air in Clark’s lungs even knowing that it is poisoned.

None of it makes sense. Clark is here to stay until he is dismissed. He will not refuse any of Bruce’s whims. And yet it feels as if it is Bruce who is waiting for the second shoe to drop, as if Clark will one day decide his mother’s home and well-being are not important for him anymore and leave.

It does not give Clark a sense of power. Instead, he just wonders when their time is finally running out, afraid of what the fallout will be.

---

“Where were you all our lives?” Jason asks one night when they are waiting for Bruce so they can eat dinner. “B is like a new person since you decided to give his sorry ass a chance.”

Clark did no such thing, but that is better kept between him and Bruce, so he shrugs. “Waiting for the right opportunity, I guess.” Bruce certainly did, and Clark did not have much choice but to follow.

He does not have much contact with Bruce’s family, but they treat him like he is one of them. Somehow, Clark thinks, this would be easier if they did not, if at least someone would acknowledge that he is nothing but a stranger, one of Bruce’s few indulgences, just one wrong step away from being dropped and put outside with the trash.

“Well, I wouldn’t have minded having you around when I was still living here.” Jason’s grin looks real, not even a hint of sharpness beneath it, although nobody in this family could ever be described as soft. “Much fewer shouting matches.”

You should have bought your father a whore much sooner, Clark thinks but immediately scolds himself for it. Neither the children nor Alfred seem to know the reason for this arrangement. And Bruce treats him kindly, almost as if this were real.

And Clark does not only come here to warm Bruce’s bed. If he did not know any better, he would even say that Bruce values his company.

“Although your taste is questionable,” Jason continues, apparently not bothered by Clark’s silence. “You could do much better.”

And that is the thing, because in the situation he is in, Clark cannot do anything but acquiesce. He is getting a better version of Bruce than he expected, making it not hard to play along. But this, right here, is the best Clark can do while his mother’s fate is lying in Bruce’s hands.

“He’s your father,” Clark chides quietly, because what else is there to do?

Also, if he ignores the way it happened, he has little to complain about. Bruce is polite and giving and constantly concerned with Clark’s well-being. He does not think it is a façade. Not beyond the obvious.

But if it is not a façade and it is not real either, he has no idea what else it could be. Clark hates being lost. It makes him feel like he is in freefall and, for once, unable to fly. He is not naïve enough to think somebody would catch him either.

---

Clark expects kinks and pain and being uncomfortable the entire time, but Bruce is a generous lover. He never asks Clark to stay and yet always seems to be so glad when he does, almost like Clark is doing him a favour instead of not making a fuss about his duties.

None of it makes sense. Less so with every passing day.

Even with a handful of adopted children, Bruce is still regularly crowned most eligible bachelor. People are throwing themselves at him left and right. Some of them must be in it for more than just Bruce’s looks or money. There must even be someone who already knows about Batman. Someone who does not have to be coerced.

With a bit more time, Clark thinks he could have been that. Sometimes, when he lies awake in Bruce’s arms, warm and safe and satisfied, he resents that he was not given that time.

---

“Why don’t you invite your friend over to dinner?” his mother asks.

The roof has finally been retiled and Clark is thinking about repainting the living room. The question rips him out of his musings like someone dunked his head in ice water.

“My friend?” he asks, although he knows exactly who she is talking about.

Bruce is many things. His colleague and co-conspirator and lover. But they have never been given the chance to become friends.

“The one who helped with the farm,” his mother says, frowning at him. She knows exactly that he is stalling, just not why. And Clark will do everything in his power to make sure she never finds out. “I know you felt like we should have managed on our own, but who knows where we’d be without him.”

Without the farm, probably, but that does not necessarily mean they would be worse off.

“Bruce,” Clark says flatly as if he only just remembered the name. As if all of his thoughts do not circle around Bruce all the time these days – as if he does not sometimes think that is not only a bad thing.

“Exactly.” She smiles, honest and grateful and all the things she would not be if he were honest with her. “You never bring him here.”

Clark is sure his world would implode if he did. “He’s busy,” he dismisses, trying for a casual tone and failing. At least his mother might think he is merely nervous about bringing a partner home to meet her. And he is, just for all the wrong reasons. He is terrified of her liking Bruce.

“Well, you’re seeing each other all the time,” she keeps digging, knowing she always gets what she wants sooner or later. Not this time, though. “Surely it won’t be too hard to invite him sometime.”

“Mom –”

“Clark,” she says in the same tone she used when he smuggled frogs into the house as a boy. “I haven’t properly thanked him yet.”

What is there to thank Bruce for? Clark is paying their debt every day. It might not feel this way most of the time, but he is still acutely aware of the truth.

“I’ll tell him,” Clark lies. “But you shouldn’t get your hopes up. I can barely get him to sit down for dinner when he’s just a few doors down from his office.”

The very idea makes him sick, thinking about Bruce sitting at their dinner table, looking at their family pictures on the walls, sliding neatly into a spot where he does not belong. Bruce is a charmer, he would steal his mother’s affection within moments of coming into the door. And that cannot happen. Clark’s heart is not made to be broken in that way. His mother wants to see him happy, he knows, and it is too much to lie to her about that.

---

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Clark does not mean to say that out loud, but he has been thinking it often during quiet hours.

Because whatever this is, Bruce does not seem to want to rule him. He is content with them just being together and yet he lets that executioner’s axe hover over Clark’s neck.

“Ask what?” Bruce blinks at him, growing more awake. They are lying in bed together, worn out and sleepy and Clark has already decided not to go home tonight, which has too little to do with what Bruce is expecting of him and too much with how comfortable he is, here at Bruce’s side.

It would be easy to bow out, feed Bruce something inconsequential. But Clark is tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Why didn’t you just ask me to go out? Why did you have to buy me?” He has never said the word out loud and he stumbles over it.

Confusion burrows Bruce’s brow as he stares. He has gone very, very still. “Buy you?”

Clark clicks his tongue, remembering why they never talked about it. It is too cumbersome to hash out the details. “Me. The bank. Same difference.”

Understanding dawns on Bruce’s face, giving way to something far greater, far darker. Clark does not get a chance to interpret it properly because Bruce all but pushes him away, scrambling out of the bed and to his feet. He is naked but stands in a fighting position like it is second nature to him no matter what he wears.

“I didn’t buy you.” The offence in his tone is undermined by growing confusion. It sounds very believable.

“You went to quite some length to gain control over my life. I’d say that counts as buying.” Before him, Bruce’s expression grows brittle but Clark presses on. This has been weighing on his soul for way too long. “I didn’t expect you to threaten my mother, but I guess that’s all part of the game.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, still tinged with fear of the possible repercussions. “Only, you’re not even doing anything you couldn’t have gotten if you’d just asked.”

No underhanded humiliations. No kinks where superhuman regeneration abilities come in handy. No secret grievances to pay for. It almost felt real, a relationship like any other, if not for the way it started.

“You think I bought you.” Bruce sounds old, his voice is rougher than usual, almost pained. He is leaning away from Clark, even while his feet remain steady on the ground.

Clark frowns. “You did.” As much as he could be bought, chained not by strength but by concern for what he holds dear.

“And then -” Bruce clears his throat when his voice breaks. “You came into my bed because you thought I’d what?”

“Take the farm. Put my mother on the street.” Clark knows this and yet his voice lilts up, turning his words into a question.

Bruce closes his eyes, his face so raw and open as Clark has never seen it before. It looks like he is in pain, sudden and suffocating. A weight sits heavily in Clark’s stomach as he wonders, just maybe, if he got it all wrong.

“I bought the bank,” Bruce says, voice so low that Clark has to strain to hear him. “And then I forgave your mother’s loan the very moment I could. I have nothing in hand to harm you or your family.”

That is not true, a voice in Clark’s head says but even at that moment he knows it is uncharitable. Bruce would not – but –

“You’re not –”

He is cut off as Bruce starts laughing. It is a sharp-edged thing, clawing its way up from some terrible place, fed by self-loathing and doubt. “You thought I was blackmailing you into having a relationship with me? And you just agreed?”

Bruce does not mock him, the incredulity is clearly pointed at himself, drawing blood with a certainty that speaks of life-long practice. And yet, Clark feels offended. He might not be human, but he is not above emotions, above fear.

“What was I supposed to do?” Clark asks, watching as Bruce’s expression falls further, deep lines opening up where Bruce usually hides everything beneath a clear canvas.

“You’re Superman. You’re a reporter,” he says as if the latter somehow weighs more. “You know my identity, so even if you didn’t want to kill me you could have stopped me any time.” He puts out the idea of being killed as if there is nothing to it. “And you’d have been right to ruin my life because all I’ve apparently done is ruin yours.”

This is not how Clark imagined this conversation to go. He expected to be shut down immediately, to be pushed back into silence. But this? “You didn’t ruin –” he tries to say because, if anything, it seems they ruined each other.

“I raped you,” Bruce snaps, effectively cutting through Clark’s line of thoughts. “For months.”

For a long moment, all Clark can do is stare, the words sitting incomprehensible between them. His chest is hollow and yet something in there seems adamant to drag him down.

“No, Bruce. You didn’t,” he then says, his voice rough. “You never hurt me.” There was never any violence between them, no bruises, no humiliation. He never even had to hide a hickey. And yet, Bruce says the word rape with such certainty, such loathing, his judgement already made.

“You didn’t think you could say no. What else do you think that is but rape?” Bruce turns around abruptly, pressing one hand against his mouth. He looks small, like the tension in the air would be enough to smother him.

Clark knows he should say something, clear this up, but he does not know how. He is watching Bruce fall apart in front of him but all he can do is stare.

Then Bruce buries his face in his hands. “I can’t stop being Batman. I’ll do whatever else you want, but I can’t give up that. Gotham needs –” he cuts himself off, shrinks, impossibly, even further into himself. “If you insist, I’ll find someone to take over, but I’ll need some time. I’ll – you won’t have to see me ever again.”

Something is happening here, way too fast for Clark to follow. Bruce bought him, only – he did not? Because being acquainted with a billionaire apparently means that banks get bought just to help each other out.

He was so sure, though. The expectation for something lingered in Bruce’s eyes that day, and he never protested when Clark gave himself over.

“Bruce.” Clark’s mind is spinning too much to make sense of what is happening, but he cannot watch this, cannot watch Bruce damage himself beyond repair. And for what – an apology? Batman has nothing to do with this. “You forgave the loan?”

That is the easiest thing to reach for. Because Bruce did not rape him, did not harm him at all. That first night, Clark might not have come to him voluntarily, but he came willingly. He knew what he was getting into – or he thought he knew – and he still went. And it never mattered that Clark thought he could not refuse because nothing bad ever happened. A few scheduling conflicts, a few fake smiles when he was not in a good mood. But – it was a misunderstanding? Bruce never set out to control him?

Bruce is still turned away, likely as unable to look at Clark as Clark is to look away. “Of course,” he says, raw and honest.

“It’s not –” Clark breathes, then clarifies, “You don’t have to do anything. I definitely don’t want you to stop being Batman. We – I just misunderstood. But nothing happened.”

Months of uncertainty happened. Months of waiting for the punchline. Months of trying to figure out Bruce’s game only to learn that there has never been one.

“Nothing happened?” Bruce whips his head around. His eyes are wide, filled with some grief that Clark cannot even begin to decipher. “If that’s what you think then I’ll definitely make sure you won’t have to see me again.”

For some reason, that last thing stings more than the realization that all of Clark’s fears have been for nothing.

“I’m not a child, Bruce. Don’t treat me like one,” he snaps, not stopping when Bruce flinches away from him. “I might have thought that I didn’t have a choice, but you never did anything I would have said no to.”

A small voice in the back of Clark’s head asks him whether that matters. He would not have said no, not for anything as long as he thought his mother’s happiness was on the line. He pushes that thought down, unable to fully comprehend it, much less deal with it right now.

“Apart from demanding your presence and presuming your consent? I trapped you in a relationship you didn’t want.” Bruce sneers at himself, then deflates. He looks old, suddenly, hollowed out. “God, you must hate me.”

Does he? Clark wonders, even while he already says, “I don’t, aren’t you listening?” It is a painful dichotomy, this sudden anger and the stubborn incomprehension warring in his mind. “If you had asked me before you bought the bank, I would have gladly gone out with you.”

“But I didn’t ask.”

Clark has no argument for that, and while he still searches for one anyway, a sudden wall builds itself up between them.

Bruce’s composure is shattered but he still visibly draws the pieces together. Neither of them has yet reached for any clothes but he still stands as if in full armour. “You have my deepest apologies, Clark,” he says, too formal, too withdrawn, even if Clark does not doubt his sincerity. He has seen the ruin lying beneath Bruce’s mask, after all. “I know that’s not enough, but I promise you will never have to deal with me again. But, whatever you need from me, now or in the future, you will have it.”

What Clark needs is - “Bruce, stop.”

But Bruce does not listen, of course not. His eyes travel over Clark’s face as if to memorize his features and then he turns around, never looking back as he storms out of the room. Out of Clark’s life.

“Bruce.” No answer.

Clark should follow him. Bruce still has to find clothes and he does not have any super speed to aid in his flight. It would be easy and this conversation is not done. And yet, Clark finds himself remaining right where he is. In Bruce’s bed, naked but for the blanket pooling around his waist.

A misunderstanding, he thinks. Relief blossoms in his stomach but it sits there heavily, not quite releasing him. He cannot let Bruce go, not forever, but his mind is not his own right now. His skin still burns where Bruce kissed him just an hour ago and his muscles ache deeply. Soon there will not be any visible traces of their time together left and – Clark needs that. He needs to be his own person for a while.

Slowly, he gets up and puts on his clothes. He will leave town and visit his mother for a while. The living room still needs to be repainted and he is desperate to do something that makes sense.

Later, once he feels at home in his own skin again, he will go to Bruce. He can imagine the maelstrom of thoughts Bruce must battle right now. Guilt and shame and self-deprecation. Knowing him, he will not get out of this on his own but just do his best to bury it, ignoring the way it eats away at the very foundation of his being. Clark cannot let that happen, not when they have both contributed to their misery. He knows Bruce is a good person, knows he never communicates clearly. And yet he assumed the worst and gave in to it.

The living room, first, Clark thinks as he steps out into the sun, feeling its warmth as he has not done in weeks, even if his legs are not quite steady. And then the rest of their lives.

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #misunderstandings #dcu #fanfiction #consent issues #clark kent #bruce wayne #unhealthy relationship #miscommunication #talking helps #my writing #ao3

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bluebuzzmusic · 3 years ago

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NGHTKRAWLER Brings Miami Tech House to NoFace Records on “Covenant” [Interview}

The Miami music scene is a vibrant as it is competitive. Across every genre, young artists are making moves across gig slots and studio time trying to carve a slice of the pie for themselves. One of these artists is NGHTKRAWLER who recently landed one of his tracks “Covenant” on Max Vangeli’s label NoFace Records.

“Covenant” is a tech house track that uses soulful vocals and a busty bass line to get people moving on the dancefloor. It’s catchy, bouncy, and infectious to the ears. To talk about it, I sat down with NGHTKRAWLER and explored his origins and his future in EDM.

How’s everything going?

It’s going, man. It’s going. It’s been a solid year so far! Especially so since my new release. Shout out to my NoFace fam!

That’s great to hear! So to start off, how did you become NGHTKRAWLER? Specifically, how did you become interested in electronic music?

When I was kid, my eldest brother had me listening to freestyle dance music and disco. So I was listening to the Bee Gees and Vicky Sue Robinson. With EDM, a lot of its groove comes from that style. From there, I discovered the G.O.A.T. Tiesto and that really opened the door for me to really love electronic dance music.

That’s interesting! Especially since I know your earliest releases are groovy but more so in the bass music camp, which are pretty different from your latest release “Covenant”. How would you say that genre switch came about and did you feel comfortable making that switch?

You’re right! I originally was making a moombah-trap like my song “Muevelo” and a hybrid-trap song called “Freefall”. I’ve always had an interest in main-stage progressive house, as well. But with “Covenant”, I really wanted to try something different. Although I’m comfortable working in any genre, I thought, “Let me get a little techy with this one.” It’s still different because it uses elements and influences from my previous work. But the bass is still very tech-house which I like because it’s very groovy and meant to make you dance.

When you were working on “Covenant”, was it a side-venture that became something more or was it a main goal project? What was the process?

This was the process: When I was up in the morning, I try to make something new. So I started with the vocals. I was playing around with the vocal editing. As I was listening to the “Oh, ohs” you hear on the final version before the track was made, I thought to try some progressive house drums. That didn’t work. Then I tried deep house drums, but they also didn’t work. I tried other styles of house drums, until I added tech house drums. Then I thought, “Wait a minute! I think I got something here!” From there, I layered the drums with the bass lines for the groove and once I started doing the proper mixdown, I thought pffft…I think I got this one!

It had to feel really great when all the pieces come together working on a project like that. Speaking of your workflow, do you think the pandemic had an effect on your musical style, production decision or even your creative output?

I had take a hiatus from music with the pandemic. But my manager Marcus pushed me. He said, “Bro, we’re in a pandemic. Everybody’s making music right now. You need to release music. People know you can make music, but you have to release something.”

Then, jokingly, I made a mashup or edit of the Jauz song “Goodies” with the vocals from my song “Muevelo” and it was surprisingly groovy. When that happened, I thought to myself, ” If I can make this during a pandemic, maybe I should make something of my own.” Between that and support from my management, it pushed me more.

On that note, what is cooking in the studio with NGHTKRAWLER? What new projects can you tell us about?

Cooking in the background, we’re going to be pushing tracks to NoFace Records. But I also want to also want to work on other genres and focus on making an album. Like an actual studio album. I’m also pushing my music to some other major labels in the EDM scene that we all are familiar with. I have a lot of unreleased tracks now. I want to skip the freshman EP and boom…go straight to an album because I believe I have the potential to do it.

What do you want your legacy to be with your music in 1 year, 5 years or 10 years?

The point of my music is to make people dance. All I want is to make the people dance. You may be having a rough day or have the highlight of your life. But when you hear my music, you can dance the stress away or dance to your achievements. Live it up, because music is the language of the soul! I want people to remember my music as what helped them get through the day.

Make sure to check out the new NGHTKRAWLER release “Covenant” out on NoFace Records and stay tuned for future releases,

This article was first published on Your EDM. Source: NGHTKRAWLER Brings Miami Tech House to NoFace Records on “Covenant” [Interview}

source https://www.youredm.com/2021/08/16/nghtkrawler-brings-miami-tech-house-to-noface-records-on-covenant-interview/

#edm #music #music production #music news #edm news

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arcticdementor · 4 years ago

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Fertility is in freefall in almost every developed country globally, with 23 countries, including Spain and Japan, expected to see their populations halve by 2100. Italy will see its population go from 61 million to 28 million by the end of the century.

The many graphs documenting this are pretty much the same - a downward slope starting around the '70s. Some are an inverse hockey stick. The conclusion is inescapable: people in the West are either not having any kids or having way fewer of them than ever before.

Beyond monocausal pet theories, I believe the problem is systemic and shows up in different domains under different disguises. I look at a few of the possible issues and present the final blackpill at the end.

…

As online has become the top way people meet across the western world, a trend that's only accelerated under lockdown, the dynamics of dating have adapted to the new normal.

…

What you have then is men on apps typically trying to match with as many women as possible and women trying to match with a small selection of higher status men. That leads to the situation where a dating app's natural equilibrium is that a narrow set of men have "dating" access to almost all the women if they choose to, and they typically do. Even with the best intentions, these men aren't interested in relationships with all these women, even though they will see them once or twice. The more options a man has, the less inclined he is to want one relationship.

The fact that online dating has become normative in many regions, especially in urban areas, creates a false scarcity of men. Women are trapped in a situation where "men" will not commit, and it's pushing dating norms heavily towards more promiscuity because a narrow set of men hold all the cards.

Traditional enforced monogamy was a social technology that held this drifting-towards-polygyny tendency in check. Under liberal sexual norms, you get harems without the obligations, with women having to cover the costs of their SSRIs.

…

At the same time, as the pursuit of careers became normative for both men and women and effective contraception leveled more than one playing field, the timelines of family formation began to shift.

If you prioritize building a career in your youth (which is normative), then spend your peak fertility years in successive rounds of serial monogamy (which is normative) and then start to look around for a mate that's at the same level career-wise as you are around 30 with the idea that in a nebulous future you may eventually have children, you've reached a point of very little relationship leverage as a woman. A high level of education and income seems like a great asset in a future relationship, but by instinctively not "dating down," women's options get fewer and fewer.

…

Another set of depressing statistical slopes relate to testosterone levels and sperm counts. Like many nightmare-inducing downward trends, this trend also started in the 1970s. Since then, there has been a steady decline of 1.4% in sperm counts yearly, with a total drop of 52.4% over around 40 years. The causes for this are still unclear, but some of the potential culprits include a highly-processed diet, exposure to environmental chemicals, lack of sleep, sedentarism, quitting smoking (yes, it is a potential factor), a permanent state of low-level stress, and overstimulation - or, most probably, a mix of all of the above. Young people are also having less sex overall, even though it's being piped in 24/7 through every medium.

…

Not being able to afford a house, store generational wealth in any way, and fearing that your children may be condemned to a life of downward mobility, are not negligible factors in people's decisions to not have a family. This can also push some to have a family much later in life, limiting the number of children they can have.

…

Families aren't useful in themselves, they are a net drag on the consumption options of the individual, both in material and "experiential" terms. They are also a drag on the environment, pump out CO2, overpopulate, suffocate turtles and melt icecaps. Adding to that, having children makes you verifiably unhappy, a new branch of science called "positive psychology" informs us.

In a careful cost-benefit analysis, nobody should ever have children.

The appeal of "building a legacy" is limited as well. Taking pride in your lineage, in your town, in your country are all virtues of the old world, vices in the new. You have the option to "build a legacy" at work by increasing conversions by 20% on that new landing page or making partner.

A lot of Millenials are also traumatized veterans of divorce, from the first generation of people who realized marriages were about self-fulfillment and experiences and chose to have other experiences instead. Wanting a family seems like a mixed blessing at best if your experience of one involved mom's many boyfriends and every second weekend with dad and Jessica at the cabin.

Most aspirational places that young people flock to, like urban centers, are not created for families or populated by them. Having children also often means self-exile from your peer and status group. It means isolation and limiting status-enhancing consumption. Having children will literally ruin your life if the life you've created is that of a single urban professional.

…

I believe the main culprit for our current situation is a much deeper mechanism than all of the emergent phenomena listed above.

The simple version is: human beings are driven to procreate by responding to stimuli that typically lead to having children. Divert those stimuli, no more kids.

…

The pleasure we derive from sexiness or looking at attractive people will most likely either lead to a credit card charge or a wasted afternoon, not procreation. Even if satiating the first layer of pleasurable cues is not enough and we're still somehow set on having sex with a real person, this also will not lead to children because effective contraception is the norm.

For most of our history, having children was not a choice. It was what we were compelled to do by dark chthonian forces beyond our understanding. We are not set up to choose to perpetuate our lineage because what we'll choose are supernormal, marketing-inflated proxies of the real thing. We can also get lost in chasing other supernormal stimuli that push other ancestral buttons, like video games or hyper-palatable food.

The link between stimulus and the final response of procreation has been broken at every step.

This is a damning historical development. I can see ways in which culture can circumvent the edge of the cliff we're navigating, but it will have to look very different from the liberal 'choose your own adventure' menu.

#alex kaschuta #low birth rates #substack #read the whole thing

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vanessakirbyfans · 4 years ago

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There’s a singular vision that director Kornél Mundruczó had in constructing “Pieces of a Woman,” and he had the full trust of his actors, particularly Vanessa Kirby and Ellen Burstyn. The film had its world premiere at the Venice International Film Festival where Kirby won the Volpi Cup for best actress. Just ahead of its Venice bow, Oscar-winner Martin Scorsese joined the film as an executive producer.

The phrase “it’s difficult to watch” is often spoken in various cinephile circles when referring to dour, less-than-pleasant movie experiences. I can recall having those same conversations around films like “Requiem for a Dream” and “Son of Saul.” Similar words have been uttered about Mundruczó’s portrait of loss and grief.

The role of Martha, a woman whose home birth ends in an unfathomable tragedy, demanded a lot of the 32-year-old Kirby. She’s received rave reviews for her performance, planting herself near the forefront of this year’s best actress race.

Burstyn has been a staple of the cinematic industry for more than five decades. She’s managed six Oscar nominations over her career, winning best actress for Scorsese’s “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore” from 1974. Her passion and vigor for her craft is as clear as any thespian working today. When discussing her character Elizabeth, and her daughter Martha, who is a third-generation Holocaust survivor, drawn from screenwriter Kata Wéber’s own family experience, she becomes visibly emotional.

“Pieces of a Woman” marks the English-language debut for Mundruczó, who gained a passionate following with his breakout film “White God.”

On Thursday evening, in collaboration with the American Film Institute, Netflix will be hosting a screening with industry professionals, critics, journalists and Academy members.

Variety sat down with both Kirby and Burstyn prior to the screening.

You have had an incredible career, and are still working consistently. Do you have a method to choosing roles at this point in your profession?

Ellen Burstyn: Whenever I’m asked a question like that, I have the impression that people feel I get a million offers and I pick my favorite and that’s not quite true. I don’t have to turn down many films. If I like the director, writers and the actors, I’m prone to take it because in fact, there aren’t many roles written for a woman of my age. So when I get one, I’m usually very happy to get it.

In this case, I saw “White God,” Kornel’s film, and I adored that film. And I have seen Vanessa [Kirby] play Princess Margaret [on “The Crown”] and I don’t watch television very much. When I saw Vanessa, I went “who’s that?” I could see right away she was a special, really accomplished, talented actress. Unusually talented. I was very impressed with her. So when I have a filmmaker I like, a script I like, and an actress like Vanessa where I get to play her mother. It’s a win-win-win situation. That doesn’t happen very often. The roles that are written for a woman my age aren’t plentiful.

This role demands a lot of you, not just as an actress, but as a human. Can you talk about your experience filming?

Vanessa Kirby: Well, firstly, Ellen is one of my heroes. I was so excited that she agreed to do it. She’s always had this trailblazing fire in all of her performances. I so looked up to that, like Gena Rowlands, the same kind of dynamism. I’m so happy to have her in my life now and she’s someone I love very deeply.

How demanding it was on paper, and the idea of knowing that I would need to understand, and go into the psychology of that level of grief, while trying to honor all of the women that I spoke to, and that went through similar things, it felt like a responsibility. I’m always looking for something that scares me and that is seemingly insurmountable, and that alone was the birth because I haven’t given birth myself. I knew I owed to women to try to portray as true-to-life as possible. I was very lucky to watch someone do it for real, which helped me incomparably and I wouldn’t have known how to do it without her giving me the gift of allowing me to be there with her.

The 23-minute one-shot sequence of you giving birth is incredible. How many takes did you do and can you talk about that experience?

Kirby: The actual filming of it was just exhilarating. It was the best film experience of my life. We did four takes the first day and two the second day. I think Kornel used the fourth one. It was like doing a play. Shia is also a real theater animal, so is Ellen, and we all understood what it would require. It was exciting setting up, preparing and then launching into it freefall. And then at the end, to slowly missing word? Out of it – taking a long time to come out of it – and then reset everything. We would blast music around the house and dance around the house just to clear what had happened. By the end of it, your psyche does know any different and you feel like you actually went through this.

Your character is deeply flawed but with a lot of love for her daughter. Did you draw on anything from your own life as screenwriter Kata Weber did?

Burstyn: I always draw from personal experiences. It’s just part of what we do. I don’t know how to not do that. She’s a funny type of character [Elizabeth]. The story Kata wrote about how she was born, with the Holocaust aspect of the film, is from Kata’s family. The idea of being held upside down by your feet and the doctor saying that if she picks up her head, she’ll survive. That’s such a…deeply moving concept how one comes into the world. With the will to live, despite the frail condition of the body. It’s so moving to me. It explains so much about her character and her drive forward. That wonderful introduction of the character that Kata wrote. It’s kind of a pathetic version of whatever it is, make it better, go for it, do it. Don’t be satisfied with blandness. I think she’s a very strong character despite her limitations. She’s not in tune with her daughter but sometimes mothers aren’t.

Talk about Kornel’s vision of the film and how it compares to other directors you have worked with in the past.

Kirby: I knew that the film would be special. I always feel like his movies have a lot of soul and I love movies that have lots of soul. I knew that this was a personal story for Kornel and Kata. He had such a clear vision, and it’s so relaxing when someone has it. He had such a burning vision of Martha and needing that story to be told. It’s not about the loss of a baby, it’s more of a character study of someone that this happens to. How someone reacts to trauma and how individual grief is and he allowed me to really shape that. I felt a lot of respect and trust because of that. It was really profound collaboration.

Burstyn: I just feel his sense of sensitivity and is such a dear human being. Kind and a visionary. I felt like he allowed me to give what I had to give. I never felt interfered with. Sometimes directors come up with an idea and they say “maybe she does xyz” and you say “what?” I deeply fond of him.

If nominated, Ellen Burstyn you will set a record as the oldest acting nominee ever at 88 years and 98 days old on nomination day. How does that feel?

Burstyn: That’s a wonderful thing. I actually have a strong desire to be the oldest person ever nominated. That’s an encouraging thing for me to say to the women of the world, keep on trucking, as long as you can. Don’t give up, don’t retire, don’t sit back and say “well I guess it’s over,” it’s not over, until you declare it’s over. I pray that I get to be that example.

Ann Roth, the costume designer for “Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom,” also a Netflix feature, who if she’s nominated, she will be oldest nominee, of any category, at 90.

Burstyn: I’m jealous.

How do you feel about the reviews you are receiving and the possibility of being in the awards conversation?

Kirby: The film felt so much bigger than any of us. This is a subject about neonatal death. The women I spoke that had stillbirths and multiple miscarriages and it’s still a subject that’s really hard to talk about. The fact that you’re saying this conversation is happening around this [film], that means so much to me. If that means that a few more people watch it or more conversations start happening, and that was everyone’s intention with it. The best moments of my working life was doing that birth. It’s hard to articulate. I’m unbelievably grateful and touched that it’s for this film. It’s my first lead role too and I knew I that was ready. I waited a long time. I watched other people do it and I absorbed everything and felt really ready.

Burstyn: Honey, you’re a glowing example of what a fine actress is. You studied well and you came up the right way on the stage, which as far as I’m concerned, everybody who ever wants to be an actress should learn what is on the stage. You’re an absolute glory as an actress, and as a person I might add.

I wish you were my mother.

Burstyn: I can’t tell you how many people say that to me. After “Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore,” I became some type of archetypal mother that people never had and wish they did.

“Pieces of a Woman” will stream on Netflix on Jan. 7.

#Vanessa Kirby #Pieces of a Woman #Ellen Burstyn #Interview #Articles

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madrut16 · 6 years ago

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Day 10: Love Always Wins

A/N: I’ve had this one in the works for a while, it was the fic that I first started when I wanted to expand on MC’s Bloodkeeper powers and it’s where a lot of the ideas blossomed. I debated on whether or not to do a part 1 to this and have this be a little later in the month but, I think that it works best on its own and it fits really well with this prompt so, I’m posting it now! It will also give me more time to start a possible new ACOR AU series (only possible because I like to bite off more than I can chew and promise things I end up not doing) that has been floating in my brain for some time now.

I also want to start writing for a side Bloodbound pairing I have (Kamilah and Lily *cough cough*) so let me know if you’d be into that or if I’m the only one who thinks they have really good potential chemistry.

Bottom line, hopefully, you enjoy this idealized, not canon version of how Isabel defeats Gaius and turns the damsel in distress narrative on its head.

Book/pairing: Bloodbound (Adrian x MC)

Rating: PG-13 (some violence)

Summary: After Gaius has taken Adrian prisoner, both physically and mentally, and injured their friends, it’s up to Isabel to rescue Adrian and end things once and for all.

@kinda-iconic @choicesjulychallenge @endlesshero1122 @jlpplays1 @desiree-0816 @choicesfannatalie @krishu213 @choices97 @riseandshinelittleblossom @brightpinkpeppercorn @ladykateofhousebeaumont @tabithacarlisle @ella-raines

"Adrian!" Isabel's scream was earth-shattering, making the decaying temple walls vibrate.

The man in question didn't respond to her pleas, or even those of Kamilah seriously injured on the floor behind them. And yet, his beautiful features continued to twist in anguish as he fought with every ounce of strength to restrain himself, the ultimate struggle between good and evil.

This was the last thing he wanted in the entire world.

But the force that compelled him was too strong, his mind held hostage as he slowly inched towards her. The sharp dagger he held glinted in the dimly lit room. Behind him, the man pulling the strings grinned, clearly amused by the struggle.

"There's no use in trying Isabel," Gaius proclaimed. "You can't fight who you truly are inside. I knew all along he would come back to me, embrace his dark side. Throw away his weakness for the frail mortals like you, our unequals. This is who Adrian is, bloodthirsty, cold-hearted. A killer at heart."

She shut her eyes tightly, knowing deep down that his words are all lies. She had memories to prove it and after the endless amounts of training, she could now easily call up the ones she wants.

"Ab uno disce omnes," she whispered, her voice so quiet that no one else could make out what she was saying.

All at once, the memories came to her at once. First, she saw Adrian Turning Lily, even though it put him in incredible danger and she noticed something she didn’t catch in the moment: the self-sacrificing desire in his eyes. It wasn't just for her despite what he told her afterward, he had wanted to save Lily on his own ever since he had rushed inside the apartment. All Isabel had done was give him the permission he needed to disregard the rules in his way.

This faded into the next scene and she once again saw the confederate soldiers who he didn't want to kill, despite all that they stood for. The fact that they were human was enough for him. Finally, she recalled the first memory she had seen, back at the cabin 238 years ago. How he was so ready to suffer, to join his family in painful death than take another life.

All of this confirmed what she already knew in her heart, the belief impossibly rooted now. Her eyes snapped back open and she gave the monster a heated glare. She shook her head, uttering the word she said to fully enter this mysterious and complicated world.

“No.”

Gaius's scoff was deafening, his intimidating gaze drilling into her. "You humans are so naïve. I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you then,” he threatened.

"You’ll prove nothing," she retorted, raising her chin high in defiance. “I know the truth.”

Isabel turned her attention away from him, back to his former soldier, and her gaze immediately softened to one of anguish. Then, she made a quick decision. Her most impulsive one of all.

She ran toward him, much to the horror of her friends scattered like ragdolls behind her.

"Isabel? What are you doing?" Jax demanded, before hissing in pain as the deep gash on his side continued to slowly heal.

She ignored them, stopping just shy of the dagger’s blade pointed directly at her. All of her attention, her energy was on Adrian. She wanted to touch him, to hold him tightly, but even in her emotional state, a shred of rationality remained. She knew that she couldn't just yet. She could only reach out with her words. Luckily, the art of rhetoric had been a strength of hers for a while now, especially when she became passionate about whatever cause she decided to fight for.

"Adrian, listen to me,” she begged. “You can fight this! I know this isn’t you, that you don't want to hurt me!"

With a chuckle, Gaius held his hand out, causing Adrian to stiffen despite his best efforts and a look of calculating coldness to appear. "Are you so sure of that...poppet?"

Just as he forced Adrian to lunge at her, she grabbed the blade, disregarding the shooting pain in her hand. This caused Gaius to lose his concentration just enough to get Adrian to hesitate, once again frozen like a living statue.

"No! How did you—?” the Second son growled in astonishment.

The heightened powers had gone to his head a while ago, the narcissism more extreme than ever.

On the ground, Kamilah responded, her voice strained by her body’s intense effort to repair itself. "You underestimated her."

Isabel smiled briefly, grateful for the confidence of the person who once had a much different view of her. She only hoped that she was as capable as the senior vampire believed.

"You're wrong about him Gaius." Her stare burned into the vampire king's, unwavering. "Yes, he's made mistakes in the past, caused pain and bloodshed. I've seen that with my own eyes. But I also know that he did it because you taught him to. That you manipulated him, made him think that he didn't have another option. But, guess what? When he had the freedom to decide what he wanted, we all know what he chose!"

She paused to catch her breath, and she looked at Adrian who was still eyeing her, possessed with evil. But, there was one difference. He was listening to her. And so, she pressed on knowing that eventually, she would breakthrough.

"He chose to create a different, better option,” she continued, her words laced with raw emotion. “To use his power to help people, not harm them. He was brave enough to change the status quo when he knew it was wrong. And ever since he's been using his mistakes and regret to create a better world. Because unlike you, he’s refused to use his pain as an excuse to hate innocent people. That’s why he’s a good person!"

His expression remained unchanged and her heart started to break, as she knew that she would soon run out of time.

"Isabel," Kamilah pleaded, her tone wavering in sorrow for her adopted brother. "It's okay, you've done all you can. Get away while you're still able to!"

She shook her head, her stubborn determination at its height. "I can’t! He needs me. I'd rather die than give up fighting."

She had done this before, let her heart fly too close to the sun like Icarus. The last time, it almost killed her, she was lucky to be caught mid freefall. But this time, this time would be different. She knew the look in someone's eyes who actually wanted to hurt her. It was in Derek's all those nights ago. And now it was all over Gaius's smoldering red stare.

But not in Adrian's.

Despite the hardened exterior, she saw in his brown irises the complete opposite. That's what made her cling on for dear life to the small shred of strength she had left.

"Isabel, look out!" she heard Lily cry and she noticed Gaius clenching his fist just in time.

As he compelled Adrian forward, she readied herself and used her natural power to once again grab onto the blade, holding it inches away from her. She knew how to use the fright she felt instead of letting it consume her. This time, she was gonna fight until her last breath. As she pushed back, she started to lose hope and desperation set in.

"Snap out of it, I'm begging you!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. "Because I love you and I can't lose you to him! So please, just come back to me!"

Almost as soon as the words left her lips, he stopped in his tracks, allowing the dagger to clatter to the ground, much to Gaius's horror.

"Impossible," he exclaimed furiously as her palms dripped blood onto the stone floor.

"Do you really—?” Adrian questioned before the horrible pain of recognition came over him about what almost transpired. “Oh God, I could’ve…”

She stared at him in shock before she gasped in relief. "Adrian! Thank god!"

As she moved towards him, the reunion was cut painfully short as Gaius unleashed his fury and Adrian found himself on his knees, writhing in pain. "That is what traitors like you deserve!"

"No!" Isabel screamed as she watched him suffer helplessly.

Gaius turned his attention to The Bloodkeeper in front of him. At first, he had found her stubbornness amusing, but now it was nothing but a thorn in his side.

"Now Isabel, I was going to spare you after all your precious friends died. But now...now I think I'll have to do away with you first...and let them watch."

"No...not Isabel!" Adrian let out a strangled plea.

"Hush you pathetic weakling!"

Gaius gave him another sharp flick of his wrist, turning his progeny’s blood into a living furnace and sending him to the hard floor. He did this all while keeping his menacing stare on his main target. "Now, try to stop me, mortal," he told her, an overly confident look in his eyes.

Isabel should have been terrified. If four vampires, including Kamilah who was the best of the best, couldn't stand a chance against him, how could she? But, she wasn’t, because she was his one undoing. It was in her DNA, her genes, her long and convoluted family history. It would be up to her, just like it was up to her line since the very beginning.

A strange exhilaration coursed through her knowing that the moment she had been training for was here. Yes, there was fear in the mix as well, she wasn’t quite fully proficient, but she knew enough to be a sizeable opponent. She had already demonstrated that when assisting Kamilah in dispatching Priya to gain access to the temple. She looked back at Jax, who had helped her with everything. He gave her an encouraging nod and that was the last push she needed.

Isabel scrutinized her enemy, his hungry eyes the only testament to the restraint being held. He obviously wanted her to make the first move. But, she wasn’t inclined to give him what he wanted. Especially that.

Instead, she crossed her arms, not taking her eyes off of his for one second. "I don't think you really want to fight me."

"Why not? You're nothing sweetheart. I'll be able to kill you easily."

She couldn’t stop the smirk from appearing on her face. "Then why haven't you? Why are you hesitating? It could be your love of drawing things out. Making your victims suffer until you bleed them dry. Just like you did to Adrian and Kamilah, to their families. But, I don't think that's it this time. I think...I think you're scared. Because you know that you’re just as human as I am. Something you’ve come to resent.”

"Me, afraid of you? Why that is preposterous," he laughed tilting his devilishly handsome face at her.

But, her eyesight was impeccable, and she noticed the slight quivering of his lips. The slight shaking of his hand.

"Is it?" she quipped. "Then I guess...you won't mind if I recite a little Latin for you then."

Behind her, she heard Adrian's confused murmur. He was the only one who didn't know about her abilities. Kamilah and Lily found out first hand in the earlier fight with Priya. But he was still in here, being held captive.

Gaius's eyes widened in alarm.

"No...it cannot be…you...can't know the truth!"

"What’s the matter Gaius? If you're so powerful, why are you so terrified of a frail little Bloodkeeper? Maybe because I’ve found out what you’ve tried to keep hidden. The truth about us, what we were born to do. I think they call it…destiny? But, why should you care if you’re unstoppable? If that’s so, then come and prove it."

Her goading had its desired effect, and, in a flash, he stood and dove towards her. But, he wasn’t fast enough.

"Ab origine, ab antiquo, ab aeterno!” From the original, from the ancient, from the eternal.

She shouted the enchantment just in time.

Instantly she began to glow, golden lines forming on her skin, flickering, churning with untapped potential. The energy, it consumed her and the room around her.

With a smile, she reached out to the discarded dagger a few feet from her. Concentrating on it, it soon rose from the ground and flew into her now cut free palm.

Gaius paused momentarily, not believing his eyes. "No…NO!"

He soon became livid and with a roar, he resumed his charge, but Isabel was quick to meet it.

Instead of backing up, she ran towards him at lightning speed.

Leaping over him, she dodged his attack and landed safely on the ground several feet away from him only slightly winded.

She smiled triumphantly now radiating adrenaline and confidence. "You're going to have to do better than that.”

Everyone on the floor looked at her in pure astonishment.

Then, her weapon clashed with his as the two began to spar.

They met each other stroke for stroke and blow for blow to the amazement of their audience around them as Isabel remembered the techniques Jax had taught her. When to press and when to dodge. To use the strengths of her body and the weaknesses of his to her advantage.

Then, Gaius managed to knock the sword from her hands and tried to tackle her to the ground.

However, he only managed to get her on her knees before she recovered, using her increased strength to resist further.

She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold him back forever, but her fast mind promptly calculated her next move. There were two powers she hadn’t used outside training yet—the most important ones. She just needed to be able to give herself enough time to do it.

He started to gain traction and she heard the frantic exclamations of her friends behind her. She closed her eyes, letting them give her strength. She wouldn't let them down.

Gritting her teeth, she bared down resisting the mental pull Gaius was giving her, trying to cloud her head.

Finally, she was able to push him off of her enough to crawl out underneath.

As she got to her feet, she didn't wait for a response, positioning her hands at her sides. "Lux ex tenebris!"

Instantly, streaks of lightning started to erupt from her palms, causing a bright light to fill the darkened temple. She gaped at her hands, this being the first time it had worked at the first try.

Gaius charged at her and she shot a bolt at him, and he slowed, the hot electricity charring his body. "Aghhhhhh!"

As he kept attacking, she used a mix of combat techniques and electricity attacks to hold him back.

But, she knew he wouldn’t give up, that's not what someone like him did, who saw himself as invincible.

He switched from a physical fight to a mental one. "Is that seriously all you have?" he taunted, his voice strained from the zaps of electricity. "You're just like them. Too fragile, too emotional to kill me."

This infuriated Isabel more than ever. She shut her eyes tightly as another series of images ran through her. Only these memories were all hers. Every time she was called too emotional, too stubborn, not good enough. So much that at one time she believed them. But now, she knew exactly how wrong they were, how strong she was, with or without her abilities.

Opening her eyes, she put her hands together and the electricity grew to form a glowing ball of plasma. She would show him that having emotions, choosing to love was so much more powerful than hate.

Taking a step back, she wound up and hurled the ball at him as hard as she could, and it plowed into him in seconds and it sent him to the ground hard, the heated energy immobilizing him in a fit of painful seizures.

"No... you can't...stop me," he hissed.

As he tried to sit up she was there in seconds, pinning him to the stone. "Don't speak," she ordered, holding him down now that she was draining him of his strength.

He gave her a sickening grin, still trying to weasel his way into her mind. "You're not going to...back out, are you? Just like your...sensitive little...Adrian did? As much as I... tried to get him to see...his true potential...his glory I never...managed to get...the lowly, submissive human out of him. He—”"I said stop talking."

She snapped, cutting him off by pressing a charged hand against him.

"He's not the weak one, you are! And yes, usually I believe in mercy. In being the bigger person. But for those like you and your accolades—Jameson, Vega, Priya—who do nothing but manipulate, and hurt, and abuse...there's nothing I want more."

As she went into her suit pocket, Gaius geared up for one more attack.

He grabbed the side of her neck with his one free hand and squeezed tightly, and she gasped loosening her hold on him. This allowed him to flip on top of her once more.

But, even black spots started to tinge her vision and her lungs burned from lack of oxygen, she was prepared.

As the pain laced through her, she pulled out the gleaming wooden stake, it's bark illustrious and white. The streaks of energy in her hand immediately ran through it. Then, she noticed that his last-ditch effort had left his chest completely exposed.

Checkmate.

"You...forgot...one thing," she growled, wincing from his fingers pressed tightly against her throat.

"What's that?"

The stake’s glowed, illuminating her stoic expression.

"Not even Rheya was invincible."

Isabel's voice was commanding as she used both hands to shove the weapon deep into his heart causing a ripple of black and red smoke to cascade and a crack of thunder to sound/.

The force caused a massive bolt of electricity to run through him. She watched as his eyes briefly widened and he howled in pain. He sizzled then crumbled into smoking ash on top of her, covering her in the greyish white substance.

Isabel remained frozen for a moment, her body shaking from the weight of what she had just done. Then, reality started to sink in. "He...he's gone," she stammered in disbelief. "It’s really over."

Swallowing, she looked down at the still crackling oak in her hand and she set it down remembering that she had to turn off her dormant powers.

"Ab origine, ab antiquo, ab aeterno."

This time, the light dissipated, and the energy retracted from her hands, leaving behind red burn marks. They would heal eventually, she needed the other set of words without the chant on. The temple darkened once more, the only light coming from the moon's peeking through. She stood and turned to face everyone behind her who were all in various states of shock and awe.

Her gaze immediately found Adrian’s and she blinked back tears as the thought of almost losing him overwhelmed her. She rushed to his side in seconds and as soon as he worked himself into a sitting position, she was in his arms.

“Isabel.” His labored breathing was a musical sound to her ears.

She pressed him to her tightly. “Thank god you’re okay,” she exclaimed.

“He almost got to me,” he muttered and when she pulled back enough to see his face, it was full of guilt. “I almost hurt you. I’m so sorry. If I had actually done something…I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

She shushed him with a kiss. “Hey, you don’t have to apologize, you had no choice. He was literally controlling you, Adrian. I knew that I would get through eventually, that you would come back. I just wasn’t sure if I’d have enough time.”

He reached up to brush a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of place and his hand lingered on the side of her chin and she saw a certain urgency on his face.

“What you said, say it again,” he demanded. “So, I know that you really meant it.”

She didn’t need to ask which words which he meant, she already knew.

Countless times she had planned elaborate scenarios for when she would actually say them, and they wouldn’t be just thoughts in her brain. For them to slip out in the heat of the moment was not one of them.

But, they had come out easier than she ever thought they would.

Peering into his eyes now, all of the fears that he wouldn’t feel the same and the challenges were too great dissipated. Because that same uncertainty was staring right back at her. And all of a sudden, she realized that this was perfect because of how natural it was.

Biting her lip, Isabel repeated her earlier declaration. “I love you, and that means all of you. Even the dark and broken parts. Everything.”

The look he gave her was of raw, unfiltered emotion. “Isabel…I love you too. I didn’t think that I could feel this way about someone again. But you walked in and ended up proving me wrong.”

And that’s when she knew that everything would be worth it, that somehow, they would defy the odds and find a way to be together for eternity, whether it was on her timeline or his.

She was brought out of their moment when he suddenly let out a groan and she remembered that he and their friends were still injured. Their natural healing would take some time from lack of energy and severity of the damage inflicted. But, with her help, it would be just like new. Isabel gasped and slowly untangled herself from him.

Her work as a Bloodkeeper wasn’t over yet work. “Sorry, there’s still one more thing I need to do. For everyone,” she said elusively.

As much as she wanted to help Adrian first, he wasn’t the person she needed to heal most. That was the person who Gaius made sure to hurt most of all. His former queen.

Following her gaze, Adrian gave her a tired smile. “Go. Whatever it is, I can wait for it.”

With a nod, she quickly ran to Kamilah’s side, who was trying to remain calm against the pain she clearly felt.

"Let me help with that," Isabel murmured crouching down beside the CEO. When she moved her hand over her abdomen, the vampire pulled away slightly before she could make contact, stiffening.

"Isabel, what are you—?”

With all of the abuse Gaius had given her, which was now coming back to the surface, the Bloodkeeper wasn’t slighted or panicked.

She responded with a gentle smile. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. It’s just another power of mine. Do you trust me?”

Kamilah hesitated, her shimmering brown eyes full of apprehension. Then, after a minute, she relaxed and nodded wearily. “I do.”

Isabel delicately grasped the bottom of the white dress shirt. “I need to lift this up, is that okay?” She received a confused nod.

She pushed the fabric up to reveal bare skin and the deep wounds struggling to close themselves up. Getting her hand ready, she continued to talk through the procedure to give Kamilah time to adjust to each step.

“I’m going to have to touch it with my hand in order for this to work, I’ll be as gentle as possible.”

The other woman simply looked at her curiously as she slowly lowered her two hands onto the gash, she felt her breathe in sharply on instinct before easing once more.

Isabel closed her eyes, willing herself to remember what her grandmother had taught her a few weeks earlier.

She pressed down softly putting some weight into her palms and recited the phrase needed. “Sana lucem vitae.”

Instantly she felt a tingling warmth spread down from her chest all the way to her fingertips. That’s when she knew that she had said it right. She counted the necessary fifteen seconds she needed to maintain contact before she opened her eyes.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw the soft pale-yellow glow radiating underneath her hands. She slowly lifted them away to reveal the now perfectly smooth skin where the lacerations should have been. The light retreated almost immediately, and her hands had healed from the electricity as well.

“My heaven’s…,” Kamilah whispered in awe. Slowly she sat up and groaned, the soreness from the connection of muscles and skin still being felt. “That was…thank you.”

Isabel smiled at her sincerely. “You’re welcome. You deserve kindness and love too you know.”

Jax was the next of the vampires she went to. "You...you did good kid," he stammered, still incredibly weakened.

"Yeah, you did!" Lily exclaimed, before wincing hard. "Sorry, it just really freaking hurts."

Isabel shook her head. “I know, but hold tight. It won’t in a minute.”

She made fast work of mending both of them.

“You know, I really love having you as my best friend, especially now that you can shoot lightning bolts,” Lily told her after she was finished with her.

“Me too Lil. I’ve never said this to you out loud but, you saved me you know.”

The gamer furrowed her brows at her. “How?”

A tiny pang of sadness pooled in Isabel realizing just how unappreciated her friend must have been by others. “After I left Derek, Alyssa was my only friend who I’d hadn’t pushed away, and then she moved to Massachusetts and I was here alone. And you welcomed me with open arms, no questions asked. I needed that more than you’ll ever know.”

“Isabel! Now you’re making me cry. You know how much I hate that.” Lily crushed her into a tight hug. “Now go, save your prince charming over there.”

The assistant smiled and made her way back to Adrian. When she said the enchantment this time, she kept her eyes open so that she could watch the process unfold completely.

“I’m guessing that this is what you and Ginny were up to while in Paris?” he asked her.

Sheepishly she nodded. “Yeah and then Jax helped me with the training once we left. I’m sorry I kept it from you, but Ginny insisted, said you were too overprotective to let me go through with it. I was going to tell you soon but then you got kidnapped so, that wasn’t exactly possible.”

“Eh, she’s probably right. I’m not mad about it though, you did what you needed to do.”

Good as new, he slowly worked himself up from the concrete as the others did the same.

“You owe me and Jax after all the loose ends are dealt with,” she quipped as the five of them walked out into the dark New York streets, still as lively as ever.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh? And why is that?”

Jax let out a scoff and Isabel gave him an incredulous look. “The bet remember? After we visited the Louvre. We were right, love always wins.”

The memory flooded back to him now. “That’s right. With everything that’s happened since I forgot all about it. What do I have to do to repay?”

Isabel locked eyes with Jax and they both shrugged as a euphoric feeling coursed through her veins, making her light as air. Peace, at least for now was accomplished and that was a satisfying thought.

With a smile, she replied in a sing-song voice. “I don’t know yet, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices july challenge #bloodbound #bloodbound 2 #adrian x mc #adrian x isabel #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #jax matsuo #lily spencer #gaius augustine #trigger warning: violence

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lasclfindyour · 2 years ago

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Freefall tournament unblocked 76

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

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Spit-Roast Psychiatrist [18+][Male Reader]

Part 2 -> | Female reader version

Frederick Chilton x Reader x Bryan Kneef

No plot, just fucking Dr. Chilton from both ends. For @thatesqcrush’s summer bingo: multiple partners square.

Warnings: NSFW, threesome, oral sex (reader receiving), anal (Chilton receiving), rough sex, degrading language, humiliation, cum licking. Bryan calls himself daddy. No talk of protection or consent beforehand, just assume it happened.

1,758 words

It was the look in his eyes that stoked the fire between your legs more than his mouth, skilled as it was. That pathetic, pleading look that always seemed to ask, “Am I doing well? Do I please you?” even as his face turned red and he suffocated himself trying to keep composure.

The leather of the ottoman creaked under Frederick Chilton’s hands and knees—a dull, rhythmic sound that followed the sharp slapping of thighs against his ass. A hoarse moan tore from his throat.

Bryan Kneef’s cock was so large it stretched him to his limit while dragging against his prostate with every merciless thrust. It was so much—so much more cock than the poor, fragile doctor was used to taking—it made his eyes unfocused and his head droop between his shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. When you had tauntingly asked if he could take both your cocks, his heart slammed his ribcage so hard he let out an involuntary whimper.

Then you laughed, “No? You don’t want that?”

Eyes wide at the thought of being violently fucked open, broken by taking both of you at once—taking anything on top of Bryan when his cock alone was too much—he shook his head.

“Then let me fuck your throat.”

The flat of your hand whipped across his cheek, the sting bringing him back to the present.

“Remember what you’re here for,” you threatened.

“Y-yes,” he gasped, “Sorry, sir.” He lifted his head, returning his tongue to your neglected erection. His breath fanned your shaft in hot bursts, matching the rhythm of Bryan’s hips as he gasped, half choking, trying to focus on pleasuring you in spite of the building ache between his own legs.

“That’s right,” you moaned. “That’s it.” Your fingers twined deep in his hair, eyes drooping with lust as they met his—looking up so pathetically, pleading, melting at the praise. “Remember, your only job is to be a good little whore and let us put all your holes to good use. Don’t forget.”

To prove his dedication, Chilton tried to be unflinchingly diligent circling his tongue as he serviced your cock, letting nothing distract him. A strained whine escaped his lips as Bryan doubled his pace, muffled around you in such a way that sent vibrations sizzling up your spine, back arching into his mouth. Bryan met your eyes with a dangerous smirk, silently asking if you enjoyed the interruption. It was a challenge that said he could make your boyfriend fall apart whenever he wanted. You grinned back, the sight of Bryan’s oversized cock disappearing into Chilton turning you on, making your fingers clench down in Chilton’s hair competitively, getting more of your own fill as you both used him.

Frederick Chilton was on top of a low ottoman as if he were on display upon a pedestal, putting both his ends at the right height for you and Bryan to fuck. Stripped naked and bereft of all his fancy trappings, he could have been any hired whore for you to play with, and the feeling of absolute humiliation made his thighs tremble. It built up a pleasure in his stomach that was impossible to restrain, yet forcing himself to control his own climax was part of the excitement.

He was your sex toy—he should not be allowed to finish first.

Bryan shifted his position, lifting a foot up onto the ottoman next to Chilton’s knee for leverage, bending over him as he fucked him harder, leaving finger-shaped bruises in the doctor’s pale hips.

Chilton moaned out again, arms shaking. Suddenly he was too weak to hold himself up, his ass in the air as Bryan continued to hammer it, his upper body slumping onto the leather cushion.

“Don’t you dare think about stopping,” you snarled.

A yelp echoed off the hotel walls as you grabbed a handful of Chilton’s hair and forced him back to your cock. Bryan’s eyes widened with mild shock, glancing between you, checking if the doctor was OK. You didn’t show any concern, but the whimpering hadn’t stopped.

His large hand splayed over Chilton’s lower back, stroking slow circles. His hips slowed, too, and he drizzled some extra lube onto his cock just in case.

“Shh, you’re doing well,” Bryan whispered.

“No, he isn’t.” You yanked Chilton’s hair even harder until he heaved a choked sob, and bobbed on your hardness with renewed hunger. “You don’t deserve this cock,” you growled, though your voice was husky and barely concealing a tremor.

Warmth began to spread through your lower body as your hips jerked into his mouth, reveling in his sputtered gagging. Your fingers unclenched their grip slightly with your sigh, your head thrown back, face to the ceiling as you lost yourself in the pleasure of his throat.

Chilton couldn’t say much, gagged as he was and breathless besides, but he let his satisfaction be heard with low, hungry moans that joined the wet sucking. His hips pushed back against Bryan’s, wiggling with impatience for him to resume his less gentle pace.

Bryan didn’t know Chilton like you did. While he did say he was OK with hitting and hair pulling, Bryan wasn’t accustomed to how vocal he was, always whining like a fragile baby. If something hurt enough to make him stop, the entire hotel would know it. But Bryan was quickly learning that Chilton was serious about his only boundaries being no hospital and don’t touch the scars.

“Such a whore,” Bryan spat, running a hand over one of Chilton’s ass cheeks and squeezing it roughly before dragging him heavily back onto his full length.

You felt his moan around the length of your cock.

With each brutal thrust, Chilton was pushed deeper down your length, his whole body rocking forward. His sloppy face was beautiful buried between your thighs, green eyes vacant and rolling back in his head as saliva dribbled down his chin, gasping around your girth every time Bryan pounded into his ass. You could tell he was close, trying so hard not to cum, but past his limit. If he kept moaning into you like your cock was the only thing keeping him alive, you wouldn’t last much longer, either.

“Yes, you take Bryan’s cock,” you encouraged. “You like that, huh? Let us hear how much you want it. Come on his cock for me like a good little boy.”

“Come on daddy’s cock,” Bryan added. “Come on daddy’s cock while you get him off—don’t you fucking stop. Use that smart mouth for the one thing it’s good for.”

Chilton whimpered, a wet gurgle as he frantically teased your head. His arms were shaking, threatening to give out under him again, and he couldn’t hold on—Chilton groaned deeply as he came, his untouched cock shooting its load onto the leather ottoman. As the breaking wave of his pleasure rippled through him, he sealed his lips around your shaft and sucked, directing its explosive energy toward sucking you off harder. Moaning and sobbing with his mouth sealed against your heat, you felt every helpless twitch of his body, the involuntary convulsions making his tongue frenzied. He sucked you off almost too hard in his eagerness, but it was the sound of his desperation, the sight of him so broken and drooling, that drove you to the precipice and hurtled you over the edge into a freefall. Then you were crying out as helplessly as he was, your release shooting down his abused throat and dripping down his already soaked chin.

Holding him between your thighs, you rode out wave after wave, squeezing his tongue for every ounce of pleasure as Bryan continued fucking into him, slowly now, guiding the pace to let you come down.

Finally, you ripped yourself away and looked down at the pathetic, panting wreck on his knees before you. His face was stained with tears and your release, and his hair was a clumpy mess matted to a flushed, sweat-drenched forehead. His cock dribbled cum from a weak orgasm with no contact.

“Oh, Frederick… I’m so disappointed. Look at you. Such a mess. Can’t even hold it together,” you taunted.

He pouted, but there was a fire deep in his eyes beneath the browbeaten expression. He loved being humiliated. Finally called out for the spineless bitch of a man he was… but knowing you loved it that way. He was a sexual object for you to get off on—he was wanted, just as badly as he wanted you.

Bryan’s hand settled at the base of Chilton’s neck, strong fingers wrapping around it tightly. “Look what you did to the furniture.” He pushed him down onto the ottoman like a naughty dog into his own mess. “Clean it up,” Bryan ordered.

When Chilton hesitated, nose wrinkling in disgust, Bryan chuckled darkly and pushed his face down harder, smearing his cheek into his own bitter puddle on the ruined leather.

“Don’t even pretend you don’t want to.”

And he was right. Though Chilton’s face turned a deeper shade of red and his lips trembled, his tongue extended sideways, past his cheek that was still squished against the cushion, dipping into the stain. His own taste was pungent, filling his nostrils with a smell not unlike the locker room at a public swimming pool, and the dry hotel furniture tasted of disinfectant, but his tongue lapped it all up eagerly.

“You like being our fuckdoll that much, don’t you? Pathetic loser.”

“Alright, take a break,” you shot at Bryan, who stepped away, stretching his muscular arms out. He peeled off and discarded the condom, then lazily fisted his cock to keep it hard.

Chilton was laying in a puddle of his own mess, panting, muscles trembling. You lay down behind him, wrapping an arm around his middle and curling your legs behind the curve of his. Protective, like when you cuddle in bed.

“Are you OK?” you murmured in his ear. “How was that? Do you want to stop?”

Shaking, lip quivering, he mumbled back, “Good. Mmm… that was amazing.”

Barely intelligible by the eloquent doctor’s standards, but you were pleased nothing had gone too far while he stubbornly refused to give the safeword. Bryan’s cock fucked him stupid, that was all.

“What would you like now?”

He glanced back at the solidly-built man now reclining on the couch in an obscene, man-spread pose and the pink, velvety coffee thermos standing in his lap. “I want to watch him fuck you in front of me.”

You followed Chilton’s gaze and smiled.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:

@beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen

#thatesqcrushsummerbingo #Frederick Chilton x reader #Bryan Kneef x reader #male reader

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getgamez · 5 years ago

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Saints Row: The Third Remastered

.ugb-612ef6c .ugb-video-popup__wrapper{max-width:1774px;border-radius:25px;background-color:#1b2838;background-image:url(https://getgamez.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/05/Saints-Row-The-Third-Remastered-free-1.jpg)}.ugb-612ef6c .ugb-video-popup__play-button svg{fill:#ffffff !important}.ugb-612ef6c .ugb-video-popup__wrapper:before{background-color:#1b2838;opacity:0.3}.ugb-612ef6c .ugb-video-popup__wrapper:hover:before{opacity:0.6}.ugb-612ef6c.ugb-video-popup{margin-top:-7px !important}@media screen and (max-width:768px){.ugb-612ef6c .ugb-video-popup__wrapper{max-width:242px;height:180px !important}} Game Overview Saints Row®: The Third™ Remastered gives you control of the Saints at the height of their power, and you live the life to show for it. This is your City. These are your rules. Remastered with enhanced graphics, Steelport the original city of sin, has never looked so good as it drowns in sex, drugs and guns. Years after taking Stilwater for their own, the Third Street Saints have evolved from street gang to household brand name, with Saints sneakers, Saints energy drinks and Johnny Gat bobblehead dolls all available at a store near you. The Saints are kings of Stilwater, but their celebrity status has not gone unnoticed. The Syndicate, a legendary criminal fraternity with pawns in play all over the globe, has turned its eye on the Saints and demands tribute. Refusing to kneel to the Syndicate, you take the fight to Steelport, a once-proud metropolis reduced to a struggling city of sin under Syndicate control. Take a tank skydiving, call in a satellite-targeted airstrike on a Mexican wrestling gang, and fight against a highly-trained military force by your lonesome in the most outlandish gameplay scenarios ever seen. Weapons of Crass Destruction – It’s one thing to defeat your enemies. It’s another to humiliate them. Hover jets, human cannonball cars and outrageous melee weapons are all part of the fun. Crazy Character Customisation – Create the most outlandish characters ever seen, from washed-up celebrities to maskless ninja pirates. Inside every sinner, there is a Saint. Who will you become? Over The Top Co-op – Fly solo or play online with a homie. Give freefall skydiving a try, landing in your partner’s flaming pickup as you make a desperate run toward a heavily armed Syndicate base. Steelport is always more fun with a friend. All DLC included – All three expansion mission packs and 30 pieces of DLC from the original version. Screenshots for System Requirements CPU: Intel i3 3230 / AMD Phenom II X4 98 or better CPU SPEED: Info RAM: 4 GB OS: Windows 7 64-bit VIDEO CARD: Nvidia Geforce GTX 560 / ATI Radeon HD 7750 PIXEL SHADER: 5.0 VERTEX SHADER: 5.0 DEDICATED VIDEO RAM: 1024 MB Read the full article

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captaindavid77 · 5 years ago

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Saints Row: The Third Remastered Free Download

Saints Row: The Third Remastered Free Download for PC Game Cracked - Torrent Download - Direct link Download Saints Row®: The Third™ Remastered gives you control of the Saints at the height in their power, and you live the life to show for it. This is your City. These are your rules. Remastered with improved graphics, Steelport the authentic city of sin, has by no means appeared so good because it drowns in sex, pills and guns. Years after taking Stilwater for his or her own, the Third Street Saints have evolved from street gang to household logo name, with Saints sneakers, Saints electricity liquids and Johnny Gat bobblehead dolls all available at a shop close to you. The Saints are kings of Stilwater, however their celebrity repute has now not long gone unnoticed. The Syndicate, a legendary criminal fraternity with pawns in play all around the globe, has grew to become Saints Row its eye at the Saints and needs tribute. Refusing to kneel to the Syndicate, you take the fight to Steelport, a once-proud town decreased to a struggling town of sin below Syndicate control. Take a tank skydiving, name in a satellite-targeted airstrike on a Saints Row: The Third Remastered Mexican wrestling gang, and fight in opposition to a highly-trained navy force by means of your lonesome within the most outlandish gameplay eventualities ever seen. Weapons of Crass Destruction – It’s one aspect to defeat your enemies. It’s some other to humiliate them. Hover jets, human cannonball automobiles and outrageous melee weapons are all a part of the amusing. Crazy Character Customisation – Create the maximum outlandish characters ever seen, from washed-up celebrities to maskless ninja pirates. Inside each sinner, there's a Saint. Who will you become? Over The Top Co-op – Fly solo or play on line with a homie. Give freefall skydiving a try, touchdown for your partner’s flaming pickup as you make a determined run in the direction of a closely armed Syndicate base. Steelport is constantly more fun with a friend. All DLC included – All three expansion project packs and 30 pieces of DLC from the authentic version. Read the full article

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jiemba · 8 years ago

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Sanvers Week Day 5 - Domestic

Cw: hospitals/illness, mentions of police brutality, homophobia

The first time Maggie felt him move, she’d woken Alex so frantically she thought someone had died. But when her wife took her hands and pressed them to her belly, beaming and insistent (“There, right there, do you feel it?”), Alex could only shake her head. That was always her greatest fear, in the beginning. That he wouldn’t feel like hers right away. That he’d never feel like hers at all. She remembered the pain of having Kara stand before her dressed in black, snarling that they didn’t share blood, and imagined her son spitting the same thing at her, mid-argument, in fifteen years. It had been drilled into her from day one, every time someone would congratulate Maggie but not her, or a stranger would ask how far along her friend was. Every time Eliza would make a shotgun subtle suggestion about ensuring that he had enough male influences in his life. When she would try to visit Maggie during her check-ups and the nurse would ask her, cautiously, if she was a family member. When she would do 3am runs to the grocery store for ginger beer and the cashier would ask how far along she was, only to say “Oh I’m sorry, I just assumed you were the mom”. Now, she couldn’t be more grateful for that distance. It was the only thing keeping her from screaming. She clenched Maggie’s hand on the way out of the doctor’s office, feeling the tremble of her wife’s skin, stopping to take her ashen face in her hands. “It’s gonna be fine,” she found herself saying, only because that’s what you said at times like this, even when the words were hollow in your throat. “We’ll figure this out.” Still in shock, Maggie could only shake her head, glazed eyes drifting somewhere over Alex’s chest, repeating the only thing she’d been able to say since they were told. “We haven’t even named him yet.”

Everybody told them, “It doesn’t matter if it’s a girl or a boy, as long as it’s healthy.” But nothing had prepared them for the news that they were having a son. Alex could only relate it to the same joyous freefall of Maggie telling her they were finally pregnant, reeling from nerves, euphoria, disbelief. She’d felt the world in that minute. Maggie immediately switched to calling him mijo, Alex kissing her wife’s belly at night and whispering how she couldn’t wait to meet him. They couldn’t stop imagining him. Any concerns that arose mostly came from other people - the sceptical glances and unsure comments when people first heard, the way they’d look at Alex like she had nothing to teach him. They were sipping M’gann’s virgin peach mojitos one night at the bar when Maggie had to tug her out of an argument with a hand around her elbow. “Alex, forget about that guy. You don’t have to listen to some idiot who doesn’t think you can kick a ball. Hell, between the two of us, our kid’s gonna be the most badass, grenade-obsessed, surfing, soccer-playing, crime-fighting science genius in the world. Or he won’t. Maybe he won’t be like us at all and he’ll be a funky arts student or something. It doesn’t matter. Whatever he is, he’ll be beautiful. He’ll be ours. OK?” Alex let her wife tuck some hair behind her ear, finding it impossible not to smile at the possibilities, vast as the sea. “OK,” she murmured, kissing her. “But no grenades until he’s at least five.” Maggie’s head tilted with the laugh, and she wrapped her arms around Alex’s neck. “You’re right, we don’t want him choking on the small parts.” Their own fears came later - faster for Maggie than for Alex. She remembered her brother’s bloodied face against the hood of a cop car at 17, his screams sounding hollow in that empty Nebraska field. She could picture her son at 7 or 8, too scared to wear hoodies outside the house, too scared to run in the mall, hiding under his bed when he heard sirens blocks away. Imagined herself passing on the safety speech her parents had given her and Eduardo, about where to put your hands, what to say, how to make it home alive. Throughout her pregnancy, she and Alex kept attending every Black Lives Matter march they could make it to, Maggie clenching her wife’s hand for the parts when she couldn’t chant, when she couldn’t speak, when she could barely breathe. Alex would stop in the street and kiss her soundly, cradling her wife’s growing belly in her hands, and say, “Listen, beautiful boy. Listen to all these people fighting for you.” After they got home from a march, around five months in, they were making a truckload of brigadeiros and Pão de Queijo (which Maggie would inevitably eat, disgustingly, in the same mouthful) when she stopped, took a deep breath. “Since he’s getting your last name, I think… I want to give him a name that reminds him of his heritage. Eddy and I – we were always so embarrassed of ours, and I just… I want him to be proud of his name, his skin, his language. Not how I grew up, you know?” “Of course.” Alex came behind her to kiss her shoulder, wrap her arms around her belly. “We could name him after your Tia maybe? A boy version?” “Actually, I was going to ask her for suggestions. Maybe she can help us name him? It could be a really nice gesture…” Alex smiled against her wife’s skin. “That sounds perfect.” The initial phone call, in the end, didn’t go as well as expected. Alex tried her best to stay in the shower and give Maggie some privacy, but it was impossible not to hear snaps of English between the Portuguese and Spanish, the yelling of no, absolutely not, you’re not telling them anything about this, they gave up the right to know anything about my life twenty years ago, they don’t get to hear his name, they don’t get to know he exists, you’ll always be his Vovó and that’s all that matters…

Afterwards, Alex found her wife sobbing on the kitchen floor, all hormones and bad memories, and scooped her into her arms. “Darling….” “I don’t get it, Alex,” she cried. “I haven’t even met him, but I feel so much. I love him, so much. Just… how? How could my mom have felt these things for me and still let my dad…?” All Alex could do was sigh, trying to quell her own fears of turning into her mother, and press kisses into her shaking wife’s hair. “I don’t know, beautiful. I don’t know.”

Everybody told them, “It doesn’t matter if it’s a girl or boy, as long as it’s healthy.” But they’d never truly considered the prospect that he wouldn’t be healthy. The doctors discovered it late. Alex and Maggie could sense the edge in their voices as they invited them in for more tests, telling them not to worry until there was cause to be worried. But when Alex heard the words “aortic valve stenosis”, she’d been the one to implode first, leaving to throw up before the doctors could explain to Maggie what the words meant. Back home, if Alex was a whimper, Maggie was a howl. Every day that week, she covered her mouth and screamed in the shower. Alex always heard, held her as she broke, let herself break with her, but nothing she said could convince Maggie that she had done all the right things, eaten all the right foods, that there was nothing they could have done. Their mornings had lost all light. Maggie would find herself holding her breath, unable to get out of bed until she felt him move. “Come on, mijo, wake up for me? Please? Just let me know you’re OK.” Often, Alex’s singing was the only thing that roused him, and she’d kiss Maggie’s belly after, assure him that he was doing a good job, that he was being so brave, that she loved him. Their friends did everything they could. Winn and James brought food, helped Alex with her paperwork so she could clock off early most days. Kara always commented on his heartbeat changing at the sound of someone’s voice, J’onn confirming that he could tell they were there. Alex pulled him aside, tears in her eyes. “Tell me the truth. Is he in pain?” J’onn could only sigh, bringing the closest person he had to a living daughter into his arms. “No, Alex. He’s just very tired. Keep singing to him. He likes it.” She did. For weeks, it was the only sound in their home that was beautiful. “You know what my mom would say if she were here?” Maggie muttered as she sat at the kitchen table one night, unable to stomach even her most desperate cravings. There was a bottle of wine in the pantry they’d bought when they first fell pregnant, saving it for the night they brought him home. They both seemed to feel its presence, just feet away – torn between wanting to swallow it down or smash it to pieces. “What?” “That this is my punishment. For the life I chose.” Alex shook her head a little, staring only at the table. But deep down, she knew if anyone was being punished, it was her. She had too much blood on her hands after all these years for it to be anything else. “Do you believe that?” Maggie’s lip trembled. “I don’t know.” It occurred to Alex then, almost out of nowhere, that they’d already painted his room, the back wall all spaceships and stars. She hoped it hadn’t been a mistake.

The doctors took no chances. Scans twice a week, bed rest for Maggie. Alex couldn’t always be there. She worked as much as she could, trying to save money for all the time she’d need off, and she was in uniform, overseeing evidence collection fresh after a raid, when she got the call. “Alex, you need to come here.” “Sure, I can drive over -” “No, Alex, you need to get here now. They’re taking him out.” Kara flew her straight away, Alex sprinting straight into the hospital leaving no explanation for why Supergirl had just dropped her at the front door. Maggie was in pieces, refusing to settle enough for the c-section, because what if he dies, Alex, what if he’s not ready, what if he dies and he never knows that we loved him… Alex grasped her hand as they prepped her stomach, drew a curtain across her lower half, got Alex a chair. This was happening. Dear God, it was happening. “We’re not gonna talk like this,” Alex told her firmly, tears spilling out of her eyes. “Not today. You remember when I was drowning? I was drowning, and you told me I didn’t get to act like it was the end. Because we were gonna have a lifetime of firsts together. You remember?” Maggie could only sob in response, the doctor announcing that they were going to start cutting. “No, please, not yet -” “Maggie, babe, don’t look at her. Look at me,” Alex told her, clinging to her wife’s hand as tight as she could. “Listen to me, OK? You told me we were going to have a lifetime of firsts. And we did, beautiful. Our first Valentine’s Day, first Chanukkah, first Christmas. Our first anniversary, at the beach house, remember? We had our first vacation, and I met your Tia for the first time, on the first trips to home towns. And today we’re having our first baby. Our beautiful boy.” “Alex,” she choked, wincing at the dulled sensations of being stretched apart, but Alex soothed her, brushed a hand over her covered hair. “Just breathe, beautiful. We’re meeting our son today. We’re meeting him so soon, darling. And he’s gonna have a lifetime of firsts too. A year from today we’ll be having his first birthday. He’s gonna walk, and ride bikes, and go to school, and bring someone home to meet us, and he’s gonna be so happy, Maggie. I promise, darling, we’ll make sure he’s so happy…” “I’m scared,” Maggie whispered, hiccupping on her tears as she felt reaching, pulling. “I’m scared too,” Alex breathed, wiping her eyes. “But we just started this. And it’s not gonna end today. OK?” “OK.” She wept, and she closed her eyes, and let Alex’s forehead rest against hers. But they couldn’t help but notice that when their son was taken to a table by the wall, they were the only ones in the room who were crying.

Two weeks from her son’s first breath, eleven days from his first open heart surgery, Alex found herself running. Running because the doctors had just told them of his first infection. Possibly his last infection. Updated his condition from stable to serious. Not yet critical. But maybe soon. Because of course the universe wanted to smack her down from being happy. Of course she didn’t deserve him. Of course motherhood was just another thing for her to fail at. She couldn’t run home. The place was too full of gifts people brought before it all went to hell, the useless baby clothes that were all too big for him, that he might never grow into. The fridge full of cooked dinners people had dropped by, the letterbox full of sympathy cards, the answering machine flashing red. God knows what they were going to do with it all, when this was over. She ran to the only place she knew held people she could trust. James was the first to see her at the door, half-dressed in his Guardian suit, mask off. He pulled her into a hug. “Alex, how are you doing? How’s our little guy?” “The same,” she lied. “I need to speak to J’onn.” But J’onn already knew. He called her up to his office, having heard her screaming mind from down the block. It wasn’t until he shut the door that her knees buckled as she sat, as her vision went dizzy. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, taking in everything she was thinking. “Breathe, Alex.” She couldn’t cry. Not even with a storm raging in her chest, not even with her world collapsing. It wasn’t real. She wouldn’t let it be real. After a while, J’onn said, “Maggie called, hoping to find you here. She needs you, Alex.” But Alex shook her head hard, letting it fall forward into her hands. “I can’t. I can’t be there if he…” “Alex,” he exhaled, his own mind screaming along with hers now. “As someone who’s lost children…” A sob escaped Alex’s chest and splattered against the window. “It was the most painful thing to hear my daughters scream as they were dragged to the furnace. But it’s my greatest regret that I wasn’t there at the end. Even if it meant burning with them.” He closed his eyes, body shaking from the shuddering woman under his arm, from the wound of his own memory. “He can’t do this without you. Maggie can’t do this without you. If it happens, it will hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt before. But if it happens and you’re not there…” Alex choked, wiped her face. “I should be stronger than this. Maggie should be falling apart, but I… He’s not even mine, not really…” “No, Alex. He’s yours. Before he even existed, when he was just an idea, he was yours.” “J’onn’s right, Alex,” Kara said, slipping through the door and kneeling before her grieving sister. “You and Maggie dreamt him up together, made him together, brought him into the world together. And you’re going to get through this next part together.” “I’m scared,” Alex choked. “I know,” Kara wept, holding her hands. “Maggie called me, she told me he was worse. She needs you there, Alex. Luca needs you there. And I know you need them too. So I’m gonna fly you over, OK? He needs his mom for this.” Once Alex caught her breath, she agreed to go, but only if Kara flew her to the desert first. Out there in the dust, she let herself collapse to the ground, let her sister hold her, let herself scream like she could burn the world down.

Maggie left the NICU as soon as she saw them coming. She’d never wanted to fight in front of him. It made Alex long for the start of their relationship. It was a simpler time then, when they could argue about vacations and dishwashers. Not where they would bury their son next week, if they had to. Not picking out coffins the size of fucking shoeboxes. “Nice of you to show up, Alex.” She felt all the bite in the words. Absorbed it. “I’m sorry I left. I had to speak to J’onn.” Maggie trembled noticeably at the mention, knowing exactly what they would have discussed. She shook her head to clear it, twisted her wedding ring around, around. “He’s been OK today. They say if he starts breathing on his own again within the next 24 hours that’s good progress.” Alex didn’t ask what would happen if he didn’t. On the other side of the glass, they could hear Kara speaking softly to Luca. When you get bigger we’re gonna have the best time together. I’ll take you flying wherever you want, little one. I promise. Alex sighed, stepped a little closer to her wife. “I’m sorry I ran. I was just losing it, I needed -” “I know. I get that. But you didn’t even tell me where you were going. I was scared,” Maggie told her, dissolving in Alex’s grasp. “I know since we found out he was sick you’ve been distancing yourself. You barely felt him kick, you threw yourself into your work. But I couldn’t run. I felt him, every second of every day. Now, not being able to hold him… I feel like someone’s cut off my hand, Alex. I can’t do this without my wife.” “You don’t have to,” Alex whimpered, pulling her into her arms. “I just needed to go and breathe. But I’m here. I’ll always be here. For all of it. All our firsts.” Maggie sniffled, wiped her eyes. “I just hope they’re good ones.” They scrubbed in, suited up, covered their hair, saying goodbye to Kara as she left to give them space. But Alex still had to fight not to break apart seeing him there, his chest bruised, carved straight down the middle. Wires. Tubes. Her son. “He’s OK,” Maggie murmured, her hand rubbing Alex’s back and guiding her closer. “Come sit down.” The first thing Alex did was reach out her hand to take his. Even barely conscious, he knew she was there, his body seeming to release a wave of tension. “I missed you so much, beautiful boy,” Alex wept. “I’m so sorry. I’m back now, I promise. I’m right here.” He shifted in his daze, as if trying to edge closer to her hand, and she held on. Maggie leaned her head against her wife’s shoulder, wiping her eyes. “Looks like he missed you too.”

There was a sign on his capsule. It had hippos on it. “Hi, my name is: Luca Jon Danvers My parents are: Magdalena Sawyer and Alexandra Danvers I like: sleeping with my moms’ t-shirts and soft music I don’t like: loud talking I’m resting after major surgery. Please visit the washing station and cover your clothes in a sanitised gown before you hold my hand. Do not try to pick me up. Tell a nurse immediately if I turn blue.” They sat in silence for a long while, Alex reading the sign a thousand times over, still not able to absorb that this boy carried her family’s name. Beside her, her wife was praying for the first time in twenty years. Hail Mary, full of grace, she remembered, but after that, her mind was entirely dark. “He looks so much like you,” Alex whispered. And he did – the skin darker than hers, almost black hair on his head. Even his eyelashes, his lips. His eyes, on the few occasions she’d seen them. “He’s so beautiful.” “He is. Can you believe we did this? That we made him?” Alex shook her head “It was all you anyway.” “No. It was us. It’s always been us.” “I just…I feel like after all the things I’ve done, the people I’ve killed… Maybe that’s why. Maybe I don’t deserve him, Maggie -” “No,” Maggie insisted, grasping her hand hard. “We do deserve him. We deserve a real, full, happy life, remember?” Squeezing back, Alex kissed her wife’s forehead. “I want you to know,” she started, but her voice cracked. She swallowed. “I want you to know that I love you. And I’m proud of us for doing this. Whatever happens.” “I love you too, Alex,” Maggie replied, kissing her softly. “And when we get through this, we’re going to have the most beautiful lifetime of firsts, with this perfect little boy that we made. OK?” Alex nodded against her forehead, fighting not to sob. They sat for a few more hours. They took turns eating. Alex sang his favourite, the red robin song, over and over. It was about 9pm, when he started choking. The world spun. Doctors and nurses crowded him, Alex clinging to her wife, telling her that this was good, this was what they needed, that he was fighting his tubes. “Breathe, baby boy,” she found herself saying anyway. “Breathe. Please.” When his lungs filled with air, their world filled back up with light. And as he screamed and screamed, his skin the healthiest red they’d ever seen it, legs kicking at anything he could reach, Maggie and Alex clung to each other, relishing in the sound that meant their son was here, was breathing, was alive. When the doctors finally confirmed that he was stable, removing many of his tubes and wires, they asked who wanted to be the first to hold him. “You should, Alex,” Maggie murmured. “I got to have him for 8 months, it’s your turn.” “No,” Alex replied, running a hand down Maggie’s back. “Together. Always.” The nurses wrapped him up for them, getting them to share a massive armchair as they laid him across their laps. In tears, in disbelief, they stared down at their sleeping beautiful boy, both their hands cradling his head, his body. “God, he’s so small,” Maggie whispered, laying a thumb across one of his tiny feet to compare. Alex smirked through tears, raised an eyebrow at her wife. “Wonder why.” Maggie’s hand left Luca just a moment to lightly smack her, and for the first time in weeks, they laughed. For the first time ever, their held their son, and stroked his hair, and kissed his hands, and their lifetime of firsts had never felt so bright.

#sanversweek #day5 #sanvers #alex danvers #maggie sawyer

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boredout305 · 7 years ago

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Gerard Cosloy Interview, Part One

Since the early 1980s, Gerard Cosloy has run or co-owned some of the most important US-based independent record labels—notably, Homestead and Matador. Homestead and Matador’s rosters are legendary, and Cosloy’s spoken at length with Damian Abraham about the early days in two excellent podcasts (here and here). The following interview doesn’t focus on the long-defunct Homestead or the very-much-alive Matador. Instead, it revolves around Cosloy’s 12XU imprint—a label running on a much smaller budget, but nevertheless putting out some incredible releases. Like the label’s contemporaries—In the Red, Goner and Goodbye Boozy—12XU’s catholic tastes continue to impress, from David Kilgour solo records to double album collections by the Gary Wrong Group. 12XU’s commitment to vibrant, underground music is exemplary; its model should be duplicated by as many people as possible.

Interview by Ryan Leach

http://12xu.bigcartel.com/

Ryan: 2001 was an inauspicious year to start 12XU. The days of a band like the Raincoats getting releases on Geffen Records appeared to be over. Meanwhile, the record industry was trying to figure out its future business model after the rise of the internet and filesharing.

Gerard: Absolutely. There was that sort of weird, golden age where everybody was living off the various permutations of Kurt Cobain leftovers. I guess you can make the argument that Matador was living off of a lot of the leftovers from that period too. The goal with 12XU wasn’t necessarily to establish a new business that would be a “competitive label” or another version of Matador or Homestead. It was meant to be a smaller, leaner and meaner thing from the word go. As much as I like to say Matador had nothing to do with the formation of 12XU, it did have a little bit to do with label’s formation. There were a number of projects I was keen to work on that for a variety of reasons were not going to work out on Matador. My partners (at Matador) were either not interested musically or they didn’t think these acts had potential. There were also conflicts of interests—some of 12XU’s early artists were former Matador recording artists or in one prominent case somebody I was married to. The big impetus for me to start 12XU was a singer-songwriter from Montana, then Seattle and now currently based in Vancouver—a guy named Joel Phelps. He’s probably best known to a lot of people as the former singer and guitarist for Silkworm. But Joel has made a lot more records on his own since leaving the band. Ironically, he left Silkworm right when they signed to Matador. I think the guy is an amazing writer, an incredible musician and an interesting character. I very much wanted to work with him. Although Joel had a number of small labels in the US handling his records, he had no European distribution or representation. Helping him out with that felt like it would be a fun thing to do. Spoon, who I think are rather well known to a lot of people by this point, were between labels at the time. They had been dropped by Elektra Records.

Ryan: Were they still getting extricated from Elektra when you released Girls Can Tell (2001) in Europe?

Gerard: They were completely off Elektra. They were very much free agents. Spoon made a third album that I thought was really amazing. There were a lot of weird feelings surrounding the end of their tenure on Matador, both on the band’s side and on the label’s side. They were about to do a deal with Merge in the US. Merge is a fantastic and very well-run label. But at that point they did not have any particular setup for Europe. So I said, “Okay, I’ll do it. Let’s work together again and I’ll handle Europe.” The next two artists that followed, again, had their own family connections. I had been following Chris Brokaw since he was an undergrad at Oberlin University playing in a quartet called Pay the Man. Chris is probably best known as the guitarist and songwriter for the band Come who Matador had worked with for a long time. My ex-wife Sally Crewe, who’s originally from Leeds, England, and then moved all around before living in Austin, she had made a lot of recordings on her own and then cut some stuff with Spoon that was pretty hot. For a variety of reasons that material wasn’t going to come out on another record label so it became another fun thing to embrace. After that I did a record with Speaking Canaries. That’s with Damon Che, formerly of Don Caballero. There’s another vague connection there. Speaking Canaries had previously been on Scat Records. Scat had a distribution deal with Matador for a while. The early days of 12XU, the years 2001 to 2002, there were a lot of connections to Matador’s history and my own history going back quite a ways.

Ryan: I knew you were living in England in the early 2000s, handling work for Matador. But I didn’t realize your ex-wife was British.

Gerard: Yeah, she is British. But we met in New York.

Ryan: In the early days of 12XU you were still releasing CDs. This was back when labels were putting out vinyl records on small runs, if at all. Those Spoon LPs have sold for good money.

Gerard: There were certainly some records that I did vinyl and CD on. However, there were a number that I released on CD only. That’s very different from now. These days, I very rarely do CDs. I’m not sure that I will again. Merge did repress Girls Can Tell on vinyl. That album was well received. The two Spoon records 12XU released are still the label’s best sellers.

Ryan: In 2004, you left England and moved to Austin, Texas. What prompted you to move there?

Gerard: I had moved to Austin for a number of reasons. I had already lived in New York for a long time. I really liked Austin a lot as a visitor. There was a lot going on here musically. I liked the shows here; I liked buying records here. It’s a cheaper place to live than New York or Los Angeles. Austin has a great proximity to the rest of the country. I liked that you were a few hours away from the rest of the cities in Texas and only a two-hour flight from Chicago. Living in the center of the country had a lot of appeal to me. Like a lot of other people who came here for music festivals and trade fairs, I really liked the place. I ended up spending so much time here I just thought, “Why don’t I move here?” Instead of visiting once a month or creating excuses to visit, I just decided to stay.

Ryan: Between 2004 and 2011, 12XU was on hold. Throughout that time, the record industry was in a constant state of flux. What was that period like?

Gerard: It’s hard to sum that up quickly, because a lot of what happened during that period seemed like a blur. There were seismic changes in the way music was bought and sold and in the ways people discovered music. We’re still adjusting to those changes now. I don’t think those changes were necessarily good. I mean, if we had to we could talk about the pluses, but for the most part—especially for people making music on the margins—I don’t think the changes were positive. There were certainly big shifts with what was and wasn’t in vogue. Of course, that aspect of music is always changing.

Ryan: I can’t help but notice that journalism, especially print journalism, was in freefall collapse during that period.

Gerard: Yeah. But ironically what replaced print media—the journalism that was coming out in 2007 and 2008—I’d take that in a heartbeat over what we have now. The stuff I used to complain about—“This Pitchfork reviewer is really annoying”—I’d welcome some of those reviewers back with open arms. Compared to what’s going on now, that was a lot better. Now we’re in this one-hundred-forty character, TMZ, here’s-a-link-to-the-SoundCloud, cut-and-paste style of journalism. Obviously, you can find long-form writing and analysis. People are writing about cool stuff. But you have to look further than you ever did before for it. To say that that stuff is out of step with rest of journalism and the rest of pop culture—that’s always been the case. But the dichotomy is pretty severe right now.

Ryan: It’s not uncommon for record reviews to be simple rewrites of a PR company’s one-sheet. At this point, PR outfits seem to act as gatekeepers for a lot of what gets covered.

Gerard: That was a real shift. Obviously, PR has always existed and there were people willing to buy whatever a company’s line was. That’s not a new phenomenon. But what is new—even with what’s left of your so-called alternative media—is that there’s no skepticism anymore about the process. It’s expected that you cooperate with the PR people. I always had this fantasy that if you were publishing a really good music magazine, that you’d want your autonomy from the record business. You’d cooperate with them to an extent for access, but you wouldn’t let that change the tone of your criticism. You wouldn’t simply exist to regurgitate what they fed you. The other thing is that there doesn’t seem to be any skepticism about that fact that it’s a closed shop. Not everyone has access to PR. They might not have the money or the right connections. That has nothing to do with how good your band is. That has nothing to do with whether or not you’re making mind-blowing music.

Ryan: A couple of friends have started their own labels and pumped a disproportionate amount of their funds into PR campaigns. It got them a few more reviews, but it waserard: f to theirmount of their fundsse. ouping these expenses. d their own labels, and pumped a couple grand into in PR for th impossible for them to recoup their expenses. Most didn’t make it to their third or fourth release.

Gerard: Different things work for different projects. For instance, I can’t sit here and tell you that Matador doesn’t use PR. We have a highly paid, inhouse director of PR. Occasionally, we have used outside companies when we were overworked. So, I can’t say to you that I don’t see any value in it at all.

Ryan: I’ve viewed them as a necessary evil once you get to a certain level.

Gerard: Perhaps. But PR has to be working in concert with other things. In other words, one magazine feature or prominent good review in a vacuum, without stuff happening around it in retail, radio, social media and the streaming world; the band being on tour at the time—that review might only help you sell a few records. You might not sell a single record off a good review. Having the foundation in place and having a band identity, as well as momentum, is much more important than brining in a PR person. Maybe bring a PR person in then. I don’t know. I’m just saying, often people think having a PR person is the answer. Either they’re getting ahead of themselves or it’s an inefficient use of funds.

Ryan: That’s right. And it’s often the case.

Gerard: If you’re looking at working with a PR company, I think a good question to ask them would be, “How many projects have you turned down?” If the answer is none, that might tell you a lot about them.

Ryan: You had that horrendous housefire back in 2009.

Gerard: Right.

Ryan: I recall asking you if you had any old issues of Conflict and you mentioned that you’d lost everything.

Gerard: Everything was lost. I got out of there with a pair of pants. I had one guitar at someone else’s house and a guitar at a rehearsal space in North Austin. My car survived the fire. That was about it. It was horrible. It was very nice to be alive. It was great that no other people or cats or dogs were injured in the fire. I had safety nets. I had a job and a salary; family and friends to stay with and insurance. It was an awful experience, but people have gone through way worse.

Ryan: What was the impetus to start 12XU again in 2011?

Gerard: I had wound the label down around 2006 or so. The numbers were pretty poor and a lot the bands had moved on to other things. Running a UK/European-based label from Austin clearly wasn’t going to work. I did a comp on Matador called Casual Victim Pile in 2010. It was all Austin bands. It was not meant to be a comp that said, “This is the Austin scene.” It was a very biased selection. It was me saying, “Here’s a particular generation of bands, playing a particular type of music. I like them and I hope you do too.” It was a very affordable introduction to a lot of groups. That was all it was meant to be. I know the record was not very well received. Fans of the bands on the comp liked it a little bit. A few of the groups joked around about it: “Hey, we’ve got a record on Matador!” The album did not get good reviews. It did not sell very well. It created a little bit of acrimony from some local bands who did not get on it.

Ryan: That’s sort of like The Decline of Western Civilization. A few bands were filmed for it that didn’t make the cut. They weren’t happy about it.

Gerard: Yeah. There were these sort of pop, career-orientated bands—the 101X and KUTX groups—who were wondering, “Why do these shitty local bands get to be on a Matador comp? We have a PR person and a manager. Why weren’t we on the comp?” Honestly, it didn’t really concern me much. Although Casual Victim Pile was not well received, I decided fairly quickly to do another volume (Casual Victim Pile II, 2011). By the time the first record had come out another ten of fifteen really great Austin bands had formed. Some of them did not have a way of getting their music out. Half the bands from the first comp had already broken up and formed new groups. OBN III’s and A Giant Dog had started up. James Arthur had moved back to Austin. All of this stuff was going on—The Zoltars had gotten going. It’s like, “Oh, shit! I’d better do another one.” I think the second volume was better than the first one.

I couldn’t in good conscience involve Matador a second time. The first one was such a commercial bomb. It wasn’t a massive drain on company resources, but it wasn’t fair to make everyone there stop what they were doing to put effort behind a record that was very much one person’s folly. 12XU’s infrastructure still existed. I had the same PO Box; the website was still up. “Why not just start it up all over again?” As much as I bristle at Matador always being dragged into the conversation, I can’t deny that there’s a connection there. Casual Victim Pile II rebooted 12XU. And then it’s like, “Cruddy is the best band in town. They’re so great, night after night. They should have an album out and, hey, 12XU already exists.” After the Cruddy record (Negative World), people started asking me, “Hey, can we do a record?” There was no grand plan back in 2011 to turn 12XU into an eight-or-nine-record-per-year operation. It just kind of happened that way.

Ryan: There was a carry over as well from the earlier incarnation of the label. You were still doing records with Chris Brokaw.

Gerard: Right.

Ryan: One of the real gems from that period was the David Kilgour and the Heavy Eights’ Left By Soft (2011).

Gerard: Matador had a history with David. I’ve known the guys in The Clean for years. I was working with The Clean (Compilation, 1988) back in the Homestead years. There are a lot of tangled webs that go way back. Take Bim (Lamont Thomas). I’ve worked with Bim in one capacity or another since the Bassholes.

Ryan: You released Don Howland’s last record (Life is a Nightmare, 2015). That’s a connection going back to the Gibson Bros.

Gerard: Back to the mid-‘80s.

Ryan: Don had left Great Plains before they joined Homestead, correct?

Gerard: Great Plains signed to Homestead right after he left the band. All of my initial dealings with Don were very negative. He was writing for (Tim Anstaett’s) The Offense. Honestly, I can’t even remember what caused the acrimony. Perhaps I started a fight with Don which would’ve been a really stupid move on my part. But in those days, I tended to pick fights with everyone. Often it wasn’t even meant to be hostile. It was about having fun. Not everyone felt the same way about it. I understand that now. When you have a familiarity with someone they can read between the lines, understand the difference between an insult and kidding around. If it’s someone living miles away it can get taken the wrong way. Certainly, communicating in the letters columns of old fanzines wasn’t the greatest way to initiate conversations.

#gerard cosloy #interviews #12xu #homestead #joel phelps #david kilgour

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