#and how during the play within a play the player!thems made the curtain with their capes and then were tossing a coin back and forth

[agentravensong]

i would make propaganda to make sure the boys get stay ahead in the poll but a) i have to do some adult planning for the future stuff today and b) if i’m gonna make an in-depth r&g post about anything in the next few days it’s gonna be a guil-specific thing. so look forward to that i guess!

[cartoonishlyincorrect]

ok i know im late to the deltarune theory train by like, years now. but also I'm on a kick atm and have a few things I need to throw to the wind before I forget

Pretty sure this is widely agreed upon but Darkners are (in the light world at least) things that Lightners discard. The abandoned classroom hasn't been touched for years, all the Darkners you meet are represented in some way by items found within, and the secret boss is, even within the confines of that abandoned room, even further neglected: the Joker card is almost always the one removed from the deck, and Jevil's locked underneath Card Castle. In Cyber City it's popups and adblockers and long-forgotten malware.

Darkners are the result of Lightners discarding objects.

At the end of an Undertale No Mercy route, the first human confronts the player and encourages them to "erase this pointless world and move onto the next." I'm inclined to be suspicious abt this being "moving onto the next *timeline*" because that only occurs when the player sits on a black screen for, what, ten minutes? It feels like a concession more than anything, so what is this next world? And who are they talking to, specifically?

The Gaster followers are their own can of worms, but I want to focus specifically on Goner Kid, whose dialogue revolves around a "world where everything is exactly the same except you don't exist" before encouraging you to just forget it.

What happens if a Lightner themselves is discarded?

Every soul theory I've seen kinda falls apart at the end of Chapter 2 where Kris, independent of the player, opens a fountain regardless of whether a regular or Snowgrave playthrough was completed. The only conclusion I can come to is that Kris doesn't care about *what* happens during a run, just that it *continues* happening

Do you know what happens before you begin to tell a story? Do you know what happens after the conclusion? Where does everything go in those moments? Does it all just slip between the cracks? Does it disappear? Can it be brought back?

Maybe it can be true that the player is Kris's soul and also that Kris resents the player's actions because they're not their own. We only have their background as far as we're told it exists, and what does a background provide, really? If nothing else, I'd wager at least characterization and justification of actions

If I tell you a story and let you know that a character has a soul, does it become real in that moment, or has it always been that way? Does the story begin for us, but continue for everyone else in this world I've made for you?

Are we interrupting something?

What if you woke up one day knowing damn well that, despite everyone around you saying that this woman is your mother, this is your home, this is your school, these are the people you have been going to class with and this is your town and this is... you know it isn't true. And it can't be true, because you only began existing this morning, deep down you know it, as much as it pains you to admit to yourself, you understand at your very core that this existence you are living only started that morning and no one else seems to acknowledge it.

And then something else starts moving for you, puppeting you around, with some indiscernible mission in mind. If it stops, you won't exist anymore. You know this, you don't know how, but you do. It doesn't seem malevolent, not yet at least, it just wants to poke around your neighborhood, meet your friends, take you on an adventure.

It wants to understand your world. It wants adventure.

Something's just here for a story, it seems.

You go to watch a play. The curtains fall. Where do the characters, not the actors, the characters, go? Are they all dead now?

You go to watch a movie. The credits roll. Are they all dead now?

You go to read a book. The pages end. Are they all dead now?

You go to play a game.

You'll slip between the cracks if they stop looking.

[y2klostandfound]

New Game Express - Jet Set Radio Future on Game Players Vol.28 (Video Game magazine) (Hong Kong, 2002)

XBOX

February 22, 2002

SEGA ACT

6800 Yen DVD-ROM

1-4 Players

Graffiti on the street again with the boots on

The street graffiti game "JET SET RADIO", which has been well-received for its excellent gameplay and rich American comic style as the game stage, has been launched with the release of the Japanese version of Xbox, and its latest work "JET SET RADIO FUTURE" is also logically registered on the Xbox. This game not only greatly improves the picture quality, but also improves the game system and adds many new elements and new characters. In terms of gameplay, it also aims to put on roller shoes and graffiti around the streets, and it also provides 4 people to play the game at the same time. How can such an excellent work be missed?

Changes in different abilities of different roles

The number of characters appearing in this episode has greatly increased to 20 compared to the previous one, and the ability values of each character in the game have also been slightly changed. The items are divided into physical strength, spray amount, painting range, maximum gliding speed, turning reaction and waist twisting The seven angles, although the influence of these values in the normal game is not obvious, but in the battle mode, it will affect the relationship between victory and defeat. As for the gameplay, when the player is graffiti near a specific POINT, he will fight with the hexagonal police group led by the police department. At this time, an electromagnetic curtain will be opened around the player's position, and the player must knock them down within this limited range to continue the game.

Action types you need to know!

GRIND - The action of sliding on some wire or wire-like terrain.

AIR - This action can be made by sliding down at a certain speed.

WALL RIDE - You can jump on billboards or walls.

HAND PLANT - Press the X button on some green side to make this action.

TURN - Press the Y button while walking to turn around.

BACK FLIP - Make a 360-degree turn.

SHUFFLE - Press the left ANALOG STRICK during walking to reduce the speed.

The game's packaging cover. The 3 characters in silver color with a bright red background are very festive for the New Year, so you won't miss it when you buy it!

[chlerc]

on the move ; jude bellingham

— summary; being in love with the guy you said yes to no-strings attached has to be the worse thing ever. He made it worst by moving to Madrid, no goodbyes.

pairing — jude bellingham x fwb!f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1070 with a mix of social media posts.

content — lil angst(?) the girl who wants a forever with the guy who’s always on the move for his career. lil tadbit of asshole & toxic jude i think

NAVIGATION + author’s note: tbh idk where this went near the end, it’s sketchy…

is jude toxic if he’s based off this song…

Liked by judesgf, judeupdates and 29,462 others

ftballwags Jude Bellingham spotted with rumoured girlfriend, @ynusername ( last picture from her story captioned 2+2=22 in black and yellow )

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files4jude damn he got a girl now

luvjb22 she’s literally so gorgeous…

jbellinghamdaily caption @ my account wrongly, that’s me sorry guys

Liked by gioareyna, jobebellingham and 2,581,654 others

judebellingham what a place 🇬🇷

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jobebellingham who the flowers for

judebellingham @jobebellingham a cute photographer / my stalker

gioareyna cutie 😍

judebellingham @gioareyna all you 😘

ftballwags the flowers 🫣

j22de flowers are for me calm down guys

WAKING UP IN THE embrace of Jude had become her favourite thing over the past month. It was the way he had his arms around her waist, legs tangled with each other, the warmth radiating off his bare body and the comfort within him.

Him sleeping over at her apartment wasn’t foreign anymore, not with how the friendship escalated between them. From a friend to the rumoured girlfriend who in truth was actually a friend with benefits. Pictures of them together all over every social media platform but not once had Jude denied it but fueling it.

Her eyes gazed upon him as she adjusted to the golden streaks pouring in through her curtains. He had the kind of face that stopped her in her tracks. He was the kind of handsome that got into her bones, that spoke to her of olden times before he’s said a word. And he was so handsome as he slept, that steady heart, those steady breaths, more than enough to make her feel something she shouldn’t have.

She reaches for her phone and the screen lighting up, notifications flooding her lock screen but one catches her attention. “@fabrizioromano OFFICIAL: Jude Bellingham, Real Madrid player until 2029 for €103m plus 30% add ons!” She could feel the way her heart dropped, the blaring ringing sound in her ears and beads of tears threatening to spill.

“Why are you crying, m’love?” Jude shuffled under the covers, fingers running to swipe the tears off her cheeks as his hand cupped the back of her head. “You’re playing for Madrid next season?” The vulnerability in her voice almost broke him with how soft her sentence came out. “Yeah.” That was all he could get out knowing what was coming next.

“You’re leaving Dortmund? I thought you said you were staying.” Jude takes the moment to sneak a quick glimpse of her before looking away again, unable to maintain eye contact with her. “I did but if a club like Real Madrid offers you a contract would you have said no? It was for my career, not the money. Any amount of money from the team wouldn’t have been able to get me to stay.”

She knew this was coming all along, the talks and posts of Jude transfering to Madrid during the summer transfer yet she still got herself tangled in his mess. “So you’re moving to Madrid?” Her lips quivered at every word she’d said, struggling to compose herself when she should and had to. “Yeah, of course I‘m leavin’. You wouldn’t expect me to travel to and fro Spain, would ya?”

“So you’re leaving me behind too.” She mumbles under her breath, hoping to god Jude hadn’t heard it but he did with the close proximity between them. “There’s no way you’re acting sappy all up on me now. You went into this knowing you’ll never get anything out of it, I'm not staying just because you want me to or you need me.”

He untangles himself from her, throwing on his white sweatshirt that was on the floor. This was the kind of talk he wanted to avoid and he had never expected it to be with her. “I tell you I love you every night and I wake up to find you’re leaving for Madrid? I’m not even mad you’re leaving for Madrid, I’m mad I had to find out through a Twitter notification and not you when you were right in front of me this whole time.”

“Yeah what were you expecting me to say? I’m leaving for Madrid, whatever we have now ends here. No shit that was going to hurt your feelings like it is now but I told you that nothing will ever come out of this. Weren’t all your ‘I love you’ platonic?” There’s a hint of frustration in his speech as he huffed, hands crossed over his chest as he towers over his girl who was now standing. Once his girl, in his heart.

“Platonic? I literally am in love with you, Jude. The bare minimum you could do was to tell me you signed a contract with them, that would have prepared me for all this. I would have celebrated it and let you leave just like that.” She refuses to let him see the tears she’s gonna weep for him, not when he was being heartless but right.

“Love love love, all this bullshit coming from you. Then just continue being in love with me but I’m telling you I’m not staying for you. Wow it’s like you’re making me choose between my career and you! We agreed there’d be no love between us and you agreed, don’t push the blame on me like I’m heartless.” No one could ever experience it and she wished no one would ever experience the sorrow she felt. It’s almost like she’s his plaything, using it and throwing it however he wants.

“So it was something like you leading me on? Not addressing the girlfriend rumours?” And when his eyes were shifty and looking everywhere but her, it was more than a clear sign she needed. “No, not leading you on. I was just tryna be a gentleman but you obviously misunderstood that too. Addressing the rumours only makes it more complicated that it already is now, and you’ll just misunderstand it too.”

“I think you should leave, it does end here like you said. You’re not heartless, I was just stupid and wanted more from you even though you promised nothing. Thanks Jude, for opening my eyes.” She smiles meekly at him, not quite like the same smile he’d always see that reaches her eyes. “Yeah that’s what I’m doing, you’re living in wonderland and dreaming. Wake up, I’m not like how you imagined me to be. Nothing lasts forever, get over it.”

God he had been exactly how she imagined him to be but without this part. He definitely was everything she wanted even now despite everything he had said. Her eyes followed Jude as he left her bedroom, the shuffling of his feet and the slamming of the front door.

She should have known nothing lasts forever, she had walked into it knowing she’d never get anything out of it. She isn’t getting anything out of it and that shouldn’t affect her, that was what she planned to do after hearing his words. Nothing lasts forever, get over it.

Liked by gioareyna, masonmount and 348,937 others

ynusername ibiza, you were amazing 🤍

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gioareyna miss you

ynusername @gioareyna miss you too, catch up soon when i’m back in dortmund 💋

sofiamartinez gorgeous girl love ya

ynusername @sofiamartinez love you 🤍🤍

ftballwags absolutely stunning 😍

julianbrandt Ist diese hübsche dame single? (is this pretty lady single?)

ynusername @julianbrandt haha nein, aber für dich könnte ich 😂 (haha no, but for you i could)

Liked by ynusername, jb22daily and 34,837 others

ftballwags Stories of rumoured girlfriend of Jude Bellingham, looks like there’s no more Jude in the picture. ( last picture from her bf’s story. )

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ynusername 🤍

ftballwags @ynusername 🤞

judesgf NOW I HAVE A CHANCE 💪

jude_updates_22 damn i was rooting for them

bvb.updates bottled it like the title 😓

Liked by judebellingham, jobebellingham and 693,927 others

ynusername Love, Madrid 🎞️

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gioareyna always stunning

ynusername @gioareyna can’t even see my face 🙄 but thank you gio 😘

gioareyna @ynusername still pretty in my eyes

jobebellingham food looks good

ynusername @jobebellingham always saved some for you 😁

judebellingham pretty girl

ftballwags @judebellingham 🤔👀

charlottehartz my girl (who has a bf) 💋💋

ynusername @charlottehartz nope, all yourssss

Liked by jobebellingham, gioareyna and 6,065,709 others

judebellingham recently but life was better with you

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gioareyna your fault though 😓

judebellingham @gioareyna like i didn’t know that

jobebellingham fire caption 🔥 took you 7 months to realise

judebellingham @jobebellingham 🤬🤬

bvbdailupdates blud thinks we’re clueless

ftballwags now this is kinda sad

[spxllcxstxr]

Game On • J.P

(Gif not mine)

Writing Challenge: @lunalovecroft ‘s 2.7k Trope Writing Challenge! Congrats again! Everyone go check out their fantastic blog! Trope: Quidditch Rivals and Secret Dating

Summary: No one knows that rival captains, Potter and (Y/Ln), have been in a secret relationship for quite some time. Then, the Championship Game arrives.

Warnings: cursing, a small hint of steaminess (nothing big—it’s like a quick mention and that’s it), slight Wolfstar and Dorlene mention, mention of breakfast at the Great Hall, kissing, use of Ms when referring to the reader (only once), nonGryffindor!reader

Word Count: 2k

A.N: Kinda long winded but I actually like the dialogue for once??? Wow. Congrats again on 2.7k! Everyone go follow them because I get so happy seeing them on my dash ❤️ Hope you all enjoy and love you all ❤️

****

Your eyes snap open hours before they have to, your dorm still pitch black, the soft snores of your friends filling up the otherwise quiet space. The covers feel heavy and restricting on top of you, something you quickly remedy by kicking them clear off the mattress.

You swing your legs over the edge, feet meeting the cool wooden floor.

Rubbing your eyes, you glance over at the ornate clock on your nightstand. One in the morning. You sigh, your goal of getting a good night’s sleep before your important match in ruins.

Your skin crawls at the thought of the Championship Match only hours from now. The amount of blood, sweat, and tears you’ve shed in preparation for it is frankly quite concerning.

Unable to get back to sleep, you drag yourself out of bed, shoving your feet into plush slippers before slipping quietly out of your room. You’re forced to tiptoe around scattered books, most of them Quidditch related from last night.

There’s no way you’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon, the anxiety of the morning’s match coursing through your veins. The nerves were the worst part of competitive Quidditch—after all these years you still couldn’t shake them.

Absentmindedly, you think about heading to the Kitchens, the warm and comfortable environment sounding like exactly what you need.

Late night visits to the Kitchens aren’t anything new, you and James often sneak out after curfew hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Sitting in the far corner behind countless shelves and barrels was a frequent date for the two of you since it offered enough privacy from the rest of the castle.

The two of you could hold hands on the table, his thumb open to draw little figure eights between your knuckles. Your eyes could light up just looking at him without the fear of being called out. His lips could capture yours in a sweet or passionate kiss and no one would know.

The real and complete reason for keeping your relationship a secret was long since forgotten, but the general idea is still shared. It’s just easier being Quidditch rivals instead of being Quidditch rivals that snogged the second feet touched the ground. Neither of you were ever accused of going easy on the other during matches, and that’s how the two of you preferred it.

Plus, there was something romantic about sneaking around the castle and through secret passage ways pressed closely underneath his cloak. Stolen kisses in empty classrooms and quick shags in broom closets were fun when they weren’t inconvenient.

In the back of your mind you have an inkling that James might be huddled up in the usual spot as well, considering he has a match as well in a few hours.

You shuffle through the common room, a few third years spread out on the couch, sleeping atop their textbooks and notes. The fire crackles and pops lowly. A shiver runs down your spine as you step out into the corridor.

“Lumos!”

A murky blue light blooms from the tip of your wand, lighting up the dark corridor.

You shuffle across the stone, the occasional laugh or snore echoing throughout.

Filch isn’t an issue at this time of night, surprisingly the old care taker does get some sort of beauty sleep, though it does him no good, so you find yourself walking normally instead of carefully creeping around.

It doesn’t take long to get to the portrait of the bowl of fruit, faint giggles coming from the pear. You extend your arm to tickle the bottom of the pear, it’s giggles erupting even louder before morphing into an intricate brass doorknob.

Stepping through the threshold you’re immediately met with a blast of heat due to the large fireplace that practically takes up the wall to your right. Even though it’s the middle of the night, plates and goblets and utensils are clanking and crashing together, the pitter patter of house-elves darting around the area isn’t surprising at this point.

“Nox.”

The blue light fades and flickering orange takes over.

A small and pale grey figure rushes up to you, jittery like they’ve just consumed a gallon of coffee. One ear droops low enough where it’s almost dragging across the floor while the other is significantly shorter.

“Ms. (Y/Ln)!” The house-elf squeaks, wringing their lavender cloth between their fingers. “Mr. Potter is waiting for you!”

“Alright, Tilly.” You smile warmly at the elf. “Thank you.”

As you make your way to your usual spot in the back of the Kitchens, you hear Tilly bound back over to the counters, joining the many other house-elves that work down here.

Behind stacks of old crates and barrels, there’s an old and decrepit picnic table, obscured from the rest of the room. Each time you and James show up you’re surprised the house-elves haven’t chucked it into the large fire yet. It’s so rickety it’s practically only good for firewood.

And being the spot for the two of you to find refuge in.

James is sitting with his back against the wall, legs outstretched across the bench just like you suspected. He’s lazily tracing a finger around the lip of his steaming mug, hazel eyes lost in thought. From your spot you can see his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“You ok Jamie?” You ask softly, trying not to startle him out of his thoughts.

His eyes flick up to yours before he fixes his glasses and runs a hand through his bedhead.

“Knew you’d join me eventually, love.” He sends over a wink, face lighting up.

“And you didn’t think to pick me up at my common room?” You playfully scoff, slotting yourself between his legs, face pressed into his chest.

The red fabric smells suspiciously like the Quidditch shed, like he got in some late night practice.

“Oh yes, because standing out in the cold corridors outside of your common room after curfew is much better than just waiting for you in the warm Kitchens.” James’ chin rests in the top of your head, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

“Blimey, chivalry really is dead.”

“Y’know, you could’ve waited outside the Gryffindor Tower for me.” James points out, chuckling at your complaint.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp. “Who has the Invisibility Cloak, again?”

“You got here just fine, didn’t you, love?” He snorts, chest rumbling.

“Whatever.” You grumble, rolling your eyes in defeat.

James sighs, rubbing your side. “You ready for the morning?”

You hum noncommittally, the thought of tomorrow’s match swirling through your mind.

“Nervous, love?” His voice is soft and delicate against your temple.

“I mean, this is my last chance, Jamie.” You mumble into his chest. “And of course it’s against you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, (Y/n)?” James asks, concern laced within his voice.

“It’s just that you’re an amazing player and I’m—“

“A spectacular player as well.” He interjects. “I’ve seen you out there practicing. You’ve built a bloody good team this year. We’re on equal footing.”

“Yeah well, I’ve never beaten you before.” You huff lightly, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So?” He questions. “That doesn’t mean anything. There’s a reason you’ve made it into the Championship match, (Y/n). Because you’re a fucking phenomenal Captain. And I’ll hex anyone that tells you otherwise.” You feel his fingers flex angrily against your waist.

“You’re so sweet.” You pick your head up slightly to face him, a pout tugging at your lips.

“Guess I should give you a good luck kiss now, considering we won’t have time in the morning.” James’ hazel eyes shine in the flickering light while looking into your own.

“Does luck even last that long?” You bring your fingers up to hover over his sharp jawline.

“Sadly, love, we’ll have to test that.” He sighs.

You bring your lips to meet his, your fatigue making it a bit sloppier than it should’ve been. He nips at your lips, pulling you closer to his chest momentarily before pulling away.

You whine slightly at the loss of warmth.

“Gotta save some of that luck for myself, love. Can’t just let you win.” He smirks, lips grazing your hairline.

The two of you end up sitting there for another hour or so, listening to the fire crackling and the house-elves rummage around. Eventually, he pulls you underneath his cloak and drops you back off at your common room, a quick peck pressed to your lips.

You manage to drift back off to sleep, dreaming of James rather than Quidditch.

When you pry your eyes open for the second time, the sun is actually filtering through your curtains and most of your dormmates are awake and shuffling around.

You tune them out the best you can, opting to go through your routine in whatever silence you can find.

Your routine is quite simple, you let your joints pop and muscles stretch, trying to shake yourself awake.

The rest of the castle seems to be alive with boisterous laughter and over the top festivities. Glancing around at the corridors and the Great Hall, you’re able to notice a pretty even split between red and gold and your own house colors.

This was going to be one hell of a rematch.

Marlene and Sirius have a crowd forming around them as they flex and throw out trash talk. You watch as Remus and Dorcas try to coax them down from the tabletop, but they seem unsuccessful.

Peter, Mary, and Lily are fawning over James, hyping him up, even you can tell from across the Hall.

But he isn’t paying attention to them, his eyes are clearly trained on you behind his round glasses.

“Already envisioning Potter’s demise?”

You tear your eyes away from him, instead focusing on your teammate.

“Oh absolutely.” You smirk, before throwing yourself into last minute charts and maneuvers.

Breakfast goes by quick, your leg never stops bouncing underneath the table and your fingers tap incessantly against your goblet.

You and your team strut down to the pitch earlier than anyone else. There’s a slight breeze rolling through the grounds, something you take into account.

It becomes a bit of a blur after you’ve changed into your uniform, the crowd begins to show up and their cheers take over your hearing.

Remus is announcing the game, which you have no idea why since it never goes well for anyone. His commentary ranges from picking on James to flirting with Sirius to just trying to get McGonagall pissed off.

Marching out to the center of the grassy pitch, broom in hand, you’re bombarded with your name being enthusiastically chanted across the entire stadium. Confidence bubbles inside of you as you face James, Madam Hooch just beside you.

“Alright everyone, I expect a nice, clean, and fair game today. This is the Championship, no one will get away with any funny business.” Her tone is clipped as her yellow eyes take in everyone. “Captains, shake hands.”

You and James take a step forward, his hand firmly grasping yours.

“Good luck, love.”

With your hands still connected, James plants his lips on your own, and you eagerly kiss back.

The crowd erupts into even louder cheers.

“Bloody hell!” You hear Remus exclaim over the loud speaker. “James and (Y/Ln) are now snogging on the pitch! You own me five bloody Galleons, Sirius Black! I told you, you—“

“Lupin!”

James takes a step back, his usual smirk painted across his face. His hazel eyes glint mischievously behind his goggles, which he takes the time to adjust like they were his own glasses.

The roar of the entire castle fills your ears after your little reveal.

It’s a little overwhelming, you have to admit, but it doesn’t deter you. You’ve spent too many hours training for this very moment to back down now.

You roll your neck, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, but pixies have already erupted in your stomach. You feel James’ stare burning into you.

“Mount your brooms.” Madam Hooch’s harsh tone cuts through the crowd, but you’re barely paying attention to her as you swing a leg over your broom handle.

The whistle pops into her mouth like usual, but in the split second before she blows with all the air in her lungs, you lock eyes with your boyfriend.

His red and gold robes billow behind him, confidence just rolling off of him. Dark and chaotic curls drift in the breeze.

He sends you a wink.

“Game on, love.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

For @lunalovecroft go check their blog out!

[seancekitsch]

Out of the Rain: a Marko x Reader fic

Warnings: bloodplay goes without saying bc vamp, rough sex, dirty talk, semi public sex, telepathy?? me projecting my music taste on this fic again. drug use, fast and loose use of vampire lore bc when i write i am god and u cannot stop me. also can u tell i have like…. v clear descriptions of the setting like i used to work at the place im describing but its not in california

No one had come in for hours. What's the point of staying open? You dim some of the lights in the store, which is one of three head shops in Santa Carla, but the only one open late. You're not really sure why this is the only store that stays open, why everyone else if worried about the three am walk back to their car on a weekend night. You've never seen anything of suspicion, just sometimes that biker gang watches people shuffle out. That was almost comforting, though. People didn't like those guys, so no one would make you use your switchblade if they were around.

The bright while fluorescent lights of your typical daytime ambiance faded away, and now green light bathes you in the “mood” lighting your boss thought was a good idea. The green lighting reflects off of the glass counters, shining it back at the ceiling and making everything that much more green. It fits, you think with the overall vibe of the store. The stale scent of weed, gently and miserably covered up by some nag champa incense, always burning in at least four different spots within the store. You'd long since gotten used to the smoke in your eyes. The music does everything to add to the ambiance. You always have full control of the music in the shop, usually because no one else is willing to take the night shift in Santa Carla. In fact, most of the boardwalk shops had a revolving door of night shift workers. You never got why, something clearly spooks them that does not spook you. Whether that makes you brave or stupid, you dont know. Jefferson Airplane’s Surrealistic Pillow pumps through the speakers in the store. But I suppose no one knows, you're my plastic fantastic lover.

The rain batters the boardwalk outside, a roar much different than the typical hustle and bustle of drunk teens, of the cliques and crews that come in and out; the few that sit and snicker in the doorway, never entering. Some too afraid to be associated with the implication of being spotted in the shop. We sell jewelry and vinyl too, you always say, when they balk at the idea of being in the same room as a bong or incense.

But then there's the other group that stands and idles in the threshold, also not entering. It's that biker gang. Four guys, a girl, a kid. Maybe he’s the brat of the girl and the one who takes himself too seriously, but maybe not. She looks too young for that. They'd been hovering around quite a bit lately, always after dark. You’d spoken to them, at least the ones that are talkative. The hair metal wannabe and the cute short one. Paul and Marko. You knew the dark haired one was Dwayne, but all he ever offered you was a curt nod and a tight lipped smile, respectful but indifferent. They're nice, not worth the spooky reputation they have. Any time it's not just you at the shop, your boss tries to spook them away. Good thing your boss isn't here tonight, because one of them is prowling around the storefront in the rain. That is, if it's not your spliff induced haze playing tricks on you.

No, one of them is out there. Without his little pack. The cute one. Marko.

You walk over to the door, which you haven't had propped open since the rain trickled in as a drizzle at the beginning of your shift. At least he had enough sense to be huddling under the awning. Fuck, he’s handsome even when he looks like a drowned rat.

“What are you doing out here?” You scrunch up your nose as you ask.

“Y’know, waiting for you to show up.” Wanted a look at that cute ass.

You blink at him. Did he really just say that?

“Okay… well, you know it's raining out there, right?”

“I might,” he offers noncommittally, eyeing the spliff still in the hand that's not holding the door. If it were anyone but him, you'd probably get fired for it.

Why is he just hanging around out here? That's hella weird. His curls are getting matted to his forehead, slick with rain, his jacket starting to look a little sad.

“C’mon in, Marko. It’s too wet out here. You’ll fuck up your jacket.” You nod towards the interior of the shop holding the door open as he passes you.

Wrong move, sweet cheeks.

“What did you say?” What did he mean, wrong move?

“I didn't say anything,” he offers nonchalantly as he thumbs at one of the tapestries on the wall. A garish mess that’s supposed to be the worm from Alice in Wonderland, but it’s distorted by a botched tie dye job of dark muddy colors. Every time you look at it, you assume one of the day workers did it.

“No, you said something.”

“Do you want me to say something?” there's both a threat and an innuendo in his tone. Maybe you do, but you just laugh, a sharp exhale through your nose, and bring the spliff to your lips again as he follows you deeper into the store.

You jump up onto the counter next to the ash tray, easy reach for each time you need to ash.

“So why are you really here?” your eyes narrow at him, kicking your sandal off on the floor where it lands a few inches from his boots. He looks uneasy in the space, like for all the wild shit you assume he’s into, he might not actually belong in it. He sways a little to the music, perfectly in tune with the rhythm. You sway along too, and suddenly he fills the space like he belongs. He just needed someone along for the ride with him.

“Do you ever come around during the day, or just at night because I’m so fun?” You’re teasing him, but it’s a nice easy feeling between you.

“Not really a sun guy,” bullshit, he would look beautiful with a tan, “but I do drag everyone here just to see you.”

“Awww, all for me? Do you have a crush, Marko?”

It’s more than that. You hear the words clearly, but his smile doesn’t move. You kick the other sandal off.

“I can hear you, I don’t know how, but I can. I bet you can hear me too.”

I can. You’re wrong about the tan thing.

You straighten up, mind clearing as you blurt out your next question. Something absolutely stupid.

“So what are you, a vampire or something?” he laughs at you, but his big toothy smile doesn't reach his eyes. No, there's something predatory, extremely dark in his eyes. Otherworldly.

How could you guess?  

“Well, that for one big fucking clue.” You ash the spliff for the final time, leaving the roach in the tray. You would think you’d be more surprised, more upset that you just found out vampires were real, and that you were in the same room as one. You have to say, weirder things are probably afoot in Santa Carla. Murder capital of the world can’t all be from some rowdy teens and a ten year old.

“You do those surf nazis?” is all that leaves your mouth. You kind of hope it was. They were the fucking worst. Racist, misogynistic, destructive. You’d had to threaten them a few times to leave your store on your shift.

“The—? Oh! Surf nazis. Yeah that was us. Ate a few of them.”

“Good for you. I mean— murder. bad. But they were nazis, and now they’re dead. so…” you trail off. Not really sure what to say next, but then you keep going. Remember everything you know about Marko.

“No, no I mean, it makes sense. Right? You and the guys only hang around at night. Aren’t vampires solitary hunters though? I don’t remember Dracula being in a frat.”

“They’re my pack. We take care of each other.” He says it with such fondness and devotion.

You feel a pang of jealousy run through you. You work alone for the most part, live alone, you’ve got friends but they’re all over the place. He belongs to something.

“And you're down with this?” he’s legitimately asking. You nod. You don't really have a choice, you're down or you get eaten, but like genuinely you are down with it. If he was going to eat you, he probably would have by now. There's probably a reason they've been hanging around the store, and in your sightline while you close up. You're putting things together.

“Like really?”

“Well, you haven't made me a kebab yet.”

He shrugs, frowns.

“Could still skewer you on something.”

Laughter erupts from your lips while you roll your eyes, music to Marko’s ears. This is why he took a shine to you, it's easy to get along with you, and you're not one of his brothers.

Something heavy falls in the room, and it's not the haze of the incense. He steps towards you, big blue eyes raking over your body, but always coming back to meet your gaze. He closes the space between you, easily fitting between your thighs; the rough patches of his jacket brushing against your bare skin where your shorts ride up. He leans in, like he's about to kiss you, and against all better judgement, you're going to let him.

You're going to let him.

The record skips. He holds out his hand, more like a gentleman than a biker gang killer, and helps you off the counter.

“Hold on, let me pick out a new record,” you turn without waiting for his confirmation, not at all surprised when Marko follows hot on your heels to the back room. Your boss’ office, the record room. Whatever you wanted to call it. His hands ghost over your arms as you push past the wooden bead curtain to enter the room. You can feel his presence close enough to touch. That's it, right where I want you. There’s his voice again.

He lets you actually pick out a new record. You slide it out of the sleeve and walk it over to the player. The static buzzes and pops as the needle finds the groove.

“Ocean Rain, you heard it?” No. He shakes his head, and you can feel it as he leans into your back.

“Echo and the Bunnymen. They've got a new album coming out this year.”

You turn to face him and his fingerless leather glove clad hands cover your cheeks.

He kisses you gently, tenderly. Not at all the way you’d expect. He’s eager, kissing like there’s something to prove. He licks his way into your mouth, tongue pushing your lips apart and you let him. His arms tighten around you as you kiss, tongues now greeting each other playfully. Your tongue explores his mouth, running along each and every tooth in his mouth. Huh, no fangs, you realize, and maybe he isn't actually a vampire. As if he reads your mind (maybe he does), he pulls away.

“They're, uh, hiding,’ he nods, almost to himself more than you. You nod as well, slow and uneasy, not quite believing him, but he pulls you back into a harsh kiss, more of what you expected. His hands roam your body as yours bury themselves in his curls. Still damp, but long and beautiful just as well. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, and his hands only briefly leave you to throw it and his gloves somewhere else, leaving him just in a thin white tank top. His mouth leaves yours to trail lower, kissing your neck. Your pulse point. Fucking irresistable. No, that's definitely his voice. Is this the end? Could be.

“I can smell you, hot stuff,” he moans into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You find yourself gripping onto his shoulders a little tighter, but he lets you sink. He guides you, again more gently than you thought he would; bare knees brushing the threadbare carpet floor before you plant yourself. You look up at him through your lashes and he all but bites back a groan.

“You gonna join me down here?” You lick your lips, waiting for something.

“Nah, I’m gonna let you have a head start,” there's a joke in his tone. You're learning that’s normal for him. He’s silent, or playing jester. It’ll be interesting when you let him fuck you. Shit, did he hear that?

“Quit thinkin’ so loud!” he runs an affectionate hand through your hair. “But yes, I heard you. Glad you're as eager as I am.”

That's encouraging. You take your time undoing his belt, connected to faded and soft leather chaps, not bothering to push them down his thighs before you move to the top of his jeans, teasing your fingers at the skin just above the waistline. He shudders under your touch, extremely reactive. Does he get touched like this often? Or is it just quick fucks? You don't want to think about who else he might be doing this with, focusing again on his body, and all of the offending clothing covering it. You unbutton them slowly, teasing. For a member of the undead, he seems to be out of breath under your movements. The zipper is pulled down just as slowly. You run your palms flat along the bottom of his stomach, to his hips before pushing his jeans down to around his ankles, hooking his boxers on your finger along with them. He’s beautiful, and you can help but stare. Hard, eager, and thick, greeting you with a small trimmed patch of golden blonde curls. You wrap your hand around the base.

You never expected a vampire to whimper, but that's exactly what happens when your tongue darts out of your mouth to lick the head of his cock. Quick, tentative little lick, testing the waters. Your tongue swipes across the slit at the tip of his thick member and his hands animate like you flipped a switch, rising up, going to your hair, rising up again, slamming down against the desk. Your boss’ desk. You lick a long stripe to the underside of his cock, paying close attention to the prominent vein there.

“So good, so good, oh you feel so-” he pants out, hands white knuckling the edge of the desk. Heat pools in your core, loving that he’s so vocal. Fuck, if he could just keep speaking. Your other hand moves to your shorts, sloppily and hastily undoing them and wiggling them down to your knees. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock and sink down on it, taking him as far as you can, until you couch when he hits the back of your throat.

“You look fucking beautiful like that. Please move, Please move, you’re so fucking good at this.”

You do, starting to bob your head up and down on the length of him, hollowing out your cheeks and flattening your tongue against him, cupping and massaging his balls in your hand. Your free finds itself between your legs, rubbing gently at your clit, stirred and encouraged by his praise.

“Does sucking me off get you hot and bothered?” Yesitdoes.

You keep bobbing your head, rubbing your clit, eyes trained on his until his eyes squeeze shut. His cock twitches in your mouth.

“Don't wanna- don't wanna finish in your mouth,” he’s urgent, grabbing you by the chin and pulling your mouth off of his cock. He pushes you back by your shoulders, letting you guide yourself back to lay on the rug. He pulls your loose shorts easily off your legs and settles himself between your legs, too eager to bother with removing his boots and everything.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long. Do you know how bad I wanted this?”

“Fuck me, Marko, dont say it. Just do it,” youre breathless under him, wanting nothing more than for him to be fucking you. He pauses.

“I dunno…” his thumb swipes up along your clit, drawing a whine from your throat, “For some reason I think you like it when I say things.”

You nod, knowing words will fail you. And he gives you what you want, lining himself up and sinking into you, groaning as he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“Oh I knew your pussy would feel like fucking heaven,” he pants against your neck, pressing a harsh kiss to the underside of your jaw. He sets the pace quickly, unmerciful and fast, fucking hard and deep into you. His hands push up your thin tee shirt, and you can feel his sigh of relief when he gets a handful of bare breast. He doesn't have to deal with a bra tonight. You hike your knees up, opening yourself as much as you can to him, wanting him to fill you to the brim. He looks into your eyes while he fucks you, which comes as a surprise to you. Maybe it shouldn't. You wonder what it would be like to be a victim of his. Does he treat them well? Have fun with them like this? Or is he vicious? You don't know if you could picture him like that… vamped out.

“What does it feel like?”

“What?” he thrusts sharply, snapping his hips into you, making you yelp.

“To be fed on, but not to die.”

Are you serious? You hear him in your head.

YesIam. He thrusts like that again, earning an identical yelp, now coupled with your thighs squeezing him around the middle. You're close already, and he can tell.

He nods, a question; You nod, confirmation.

He pulls at the neckline of your shirt, already scooping so it doesn’t ruin, and exposes your shoulder. Somewhere non lethal. His other hand comes up to grip your jaw, covering your neck but being careful not to squeeze it. You hope he bruises your jaw, you realize. A physical way to feel him when dawn comes. He slows his pace to a rocking, grinding into you, staying deep.

Then he bites. Stars erupt behind your eyes, and it feels like your blood has turned to seltzer. Every nerve in your body is in overdrive as you moan and shake and come undone around his cock. You're the kind of girl that comes from the bite of a vampire, apparently. He doesn’t let up. You can faintly hear him moaning against the open wound in your shoulder, and you hope you taste good to him. He licks the wound a few times more, softly, carefully, like he’s trying to soothe you when he finally lets you come down from your high.

When he pulls back to let you see him, his features are gruesome, full vampire with sharp brows and cheekbones, pointed nose even that much more so almost birdlike. Fangs and bottom half of his face covered in blood.Your blood.  He’s panting like an animal after the kill. But he doesn't scare you. Maybe he should, but he doesn't.  It's just Marko, no matter what, and if he wanted to eat you he would have. Several times now. His hand finally releases your jaw, to wipe the blood from his face. He wipes his hand then on your face, covering you in your own blood, hot on his fingers and palm.

“Fuckin sexy,” he pants, voice deeper and distorted. His thrusts speed up, trying to find his own release as your nails dig into his back, maybe making him bleed as well. You feel the rug burn forming on your back, you feel tears in your eyes. It's never felt this good with other guys.

When he comes, he comes with a howl, buried deep inside you as he shouts and shivers then stills above you. Your chest is heaving, trying to regain yourself as his face slowly fades to normal, and he slumps down on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, near the wound he tore open, now no longer bleeding. He mouths at any bare skin he can find, lazy half kisses as he spreads more mess and blood on you. Your fingers find his curls again, winding them around your digits as you stare up at the sickly green mood lighting bathing the walls of the room.

An hour later, Marko is helping you lock up early.

He makes sure to dump out all of the ashes from spliffs and incense, makes sure the vinyl is all in its right place while you make sure the register and inventory is all in its rightful place and order.

“You’re dangerous, you know.”

“Me?” you scoff, “That rich, coming from you.”

I’d do a lot of things I’m not supposed to for you. You kinda don't want to ask him what he means by that. For some reason that feels like a conversation you shouldn't have tonight. 

He leaves the store before you, holding the door open for you and letting you lock the doors. He slings an easy arm over your shoulder, not bothering to shield either of you from the rain as he steers you towards your car. You can feel the rain cleaning your face, the blood flowing away and saving you the shower you were going to take before collapsing into bed tonight.

“Where’s your bike?”

“I flew here,” he says with that devilish smile, and you're really not sure if he's joking or not. Your arm sneaks its way into his jacket and wraps around his waist, holding him close as he makes sure you get home same. Marko makes you feel calm, in a way you didn't feel before you moved to Santa Carla. How long had he been waiting to make his move? And does this mean he and his brothers would be coming around more often? Maybe being more friendly towards you. Each step towards your car feels heavy; You don't want to go home alone without him, but somehow you know he won't come with you. 

“Will I see you again?”

He grabs your car keys from your hand, and sticks them in the door handle. Of course you will.

Right. You just have to be near the beach at night. You know, where you work.

He kisses you full on the mouth, holding you close and tight, like you could slip away at any second. When he finally lets you go you pull away to be met with his face, full on grinning, his eyes still closed from the kiss. He doesn't look like a killer.

Marko watches you as you pull open the door to your car and more or less throw your ass into the seat.  He holds the door as he gives you one last smile, and says:

“You know, you should never invite a vampire into your life. Renders you powerless.”

And he winks. 

[thestraggletag]

Roll for Initiative, a Rumbelle D&D Fic

Summary: Tales of the Enchanted Forest was the hottest online D&D game, in part for its charismatic players, in part for the twisted turns of the DM's mind and in part because of the outrageous chemistry between its greatest OTP, the party's beautiful bard and the Dark One, an anti-hero side-character who is there to provide information and uncomfortable levels of UST. Mr Gold thinks it's a harmless flirtation that could never become anything else, just like his silly little crush on the town librarian, Belle French.

He's wrong.

Rating: Explicit.

Author’s Note: Surprise, @argoslight​, it is I, your Gifter! Sorry to make you wait till near the end but I just had way more banter to write in me than I thought. I hope you enjoy your gift. I’m so sorry to not be able to add more D&D elements but since I don’t play I don’t have a lot of idea of what could be done. Also I apologise for any mistakes! And thanks so much to @little-inkstone for her help and D&D knowledge.

The castle was quiet when she entered, her steps echoing against the stone. It was gloomy inside, curtains obscured and decor sparse and sombre, the castle living up to its name. But there were flowers on the table, moon lilies, her favourite flower. They bloomed only in the Eastern Mountains past the Old Wall, but she had long since suspected he grew some on one of his enchanted hothouses, with the excuse of using them for potions. 

“Where’s the rest of your pretty little troop of do-gooders, dearie?”

The voice came out of nowhere, echoing around the empty halls of the castle. Thankfully she did not need directions, knowing exactly when to turn and where to go. Soon she found herself in a vast room, with a table on the centre and curios filled with oddities and the like. Some others were displayed on pedestals, including a rather fearsome sword and a nasty-looking crown made of thorns. None of the artefacts were what she sought, but she was not there to bargain for an item, but rather for information.

“Off on their own quests, taking care of other things that need doing.”

The voice tsked, seeming not to approve.

“They let you enter the lair of the beast alone? Some heroes.”

The woman lowered the hood of her cloak and walked towards the unlit chimney. Immediately a fire blazed to life, as if the castle itself was trying to cater to her comfort. The fire provided much-needed light as well, revealing the profile of a man in the shadows. Or something that looked like a man, at least, if not for the reflective scales that covered his body and its strange eyes: gold irises around catlike pupils.

“I asked to come alone. I felt like we could talk more openly this way.”

She removed her cloak, ostensibly to drape it across a chair near the fire and let it dry. The creature, however, seemed to read more into the gesture, tsking again.

“You come here all alone, a pretty little lamb, and take off the only real bit of protection you have. Reckless, dearie, most reckless.”

 The creature stood up, walking slowly towards the light, revealing more of its form as it approached her. Leather pants and a long, reptilian-looking vest and coat. It wasn’t particularly tall but power emanated from it in suffocating waves. She closed her eyes, finding his cloying presence strangely comforting. Then again, she had always been odd. 

“Once again your pitiful little party of friends needs my help. How they weigh you down, Beauty.”

He stepped fully into the light then, revealing a being more creature than man, the reptilian skin and claws as off-putting as his unnatural eyes. She should’ve taken a step back, should’ve gone for her blade or the dagger tucked into her left boot, but she didn’t. As much as she knew she shouldn't, she felt at ease in his presence. Well, perhaps not quite. She certainly felt a strange sort of anxiousness in his presence, a fluttery sort of feeling that she attributed to being particularly attuned to his magic. None of the other members of her party felt that way. If anything, he repulsed them, which wasn’t something she could understand. To her he was… magnetic.

“Are you in the mood for dealing or not? I can trade for information.”

He snorted.

“With what? Your little band of misfits is dirt poor. That idiotic paladin of yours ruined your last mission. You really should think about ditching the man. All brawn, no brains. At least your rogue is a smart woman.”

His gaze left her briefly, running down the length of her clothing: sturdy black boots, a nicely-cut dress that stopped around the knees and a sturdy belt with a few pockets for her spells. But the clothing, as well-made as it was, was dated, old. Looked worn and was signed and stained in places, and it left a lot of her frail human skin exposed. She had not been able to afford an upgrade in a while, preferring to spend her coin in what could benefit the group.

His moue of distaste disappeared once his eyes fell on her cloak. Well, his cloak, since he had been the one to make it. It was a lovely thing in varied shades of green, shot through with golden thread, his trademark. She had bought it off him a long time ago, a simple thing to keep her warm during cold nights and dry when it rained. Miraculously, though, it also did not sustain damage, looking exactly the same as when she had first put it on.

“I’m glad at least my protection is serving you well.”

He ran a claw along the seams of the cloak, making it glitter, like to like, magic calling for its own. He looked smug, as if pleased she was wearing something he had made.

“It does more than we bargained for. I’ve been blasted with magic strong enough to burn through most fabric but it has not even frayed. How strange of you, Rumplestiltskin, to lose out on a deal.”

He shivered when she said his name, walking behind her to the safety of the shadow she cast next to the fire.

“Can’t help it if my magic is just that powerful, my dear. I’m glad you are a happy customer. Always thought that cloak was a nice bit of magic. Can’t fault you for always wearing it.”

She felt him close in on her from behind, to the point that it almost felt like they were touching.

“It smells like you. That’s why I wear it all the time.”

The noise he made behind her was inhuman, a cross between a whimper and a growl. His claws scrapped against the back of her dress, the feeling muted by her stays, but she could feel his breath against the back of her neck and that alone was-

“Hey, this is a decent stream! Keep it PG for the kids, you weirdos.”

“Damn it, Grumpy, I wanted to see how long it would take them to snap out of it!”

“Sorry, Snow, but I ate a big dinner and I aim to keep it down.”

The messages in the chatroom wheezed by, mostly disgruntled complaints about their OTP never catching a break. The other participants in the stream were mostly silent, their mics muted likely to hide the amused snickers. There was no video feed on any of the members of the party, all of them represented instead by artwork to preserve their anonymity. Once upon a time that had been a fanciful choice, and perhaps a way to stay safe when interacting with strangers on the internet. Now it was mostly to keep their private lives from being overtaken by the popularity of their stream. “Tales of the Enchanted Forest” was shaping up to be one of the hottest D&D online streaming shows, already on its third campaign and counting.

“Beauty is just trying to get us some answers, Grumpy. We can’t just go stumbling about hoping to run into some fairy wand by chance.”

“Oh, it’s that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“Enough! Can we get back to the campaign already? It took me weeks to plan and it kinda hinges a bit on the Dark One helping, which needs to happen today.”

“Fine by me, dearie, if the dwarf can curtail his temper.”

The party was composed of five characters, a paladin, a cleric, a bard, a rogue and a thief, which along with the Dungeon Master made up the regular cast of every weekly stream. But given the popularity of the show, and the amount of time they had been playing, they had managed to amass a good amount of side-characters, guests invited every now and then to help the campaign move along and keep the interest of the audience. And by far the most popular of those guests was the Dark One, a wizard of unknown lineage and tremendous power that served both as an antagonist and a pseudo-ally depending on the situation. 

His presence was likely the reason why the livestream’s numbers looked so robust. He had amassed quite a fanbase, due in part to the commitment the player put on the character (the voice-acting was above and beyond what anyone could’ve expected from an amateur performer, and the backstory was quite complex, revealed in bits and pieces fans had meticulously assembled together) and in part to the chemistry he had managed to develop with the group’s bard, a half-human named Beauty.

“Okay, let’s all go back to what we were doing.” The DM’s voice was authoritative, though also more than a bit pissed off. “Okay, Beauty, you were about to try and cajole the Dark One to sell you the information you needed in return for a vial of water from Lake Nostos. Though the water is valuable, it’s not guaranteed to be enough to tempt the wizard. You have to roll at least a 13 in persuasion to make the trade. Roll when you’re ready.”

...

Rumford Gold stretched within the confines of the small backroom of his shop, where he had his computer stuff set up. Initially he’d bought the computer to better conduct his online business. His laptop at home wasn’t cutting it and it was better to photograph the antiques, update the website and handle the deliveries from his place of business. He had bought a good camera, some light fixtures and, on a whim, a microphone, for instances where he might need to virtually communicate with clients. It was something that was happening more and more, especially because a lot of his clientele was European. The internet had truly turned his antiquing- more of a hobby than a profession originally- into a profitable business.

He had gotten into watching D&D while waiting late at night for a client to become available in Austria. He had played as a lad, one of the few happy moments he could remember from his childhood in Glasgow, but had given it up once he had met Milah. And after they were over he had been too involved in making something of himself to remember past childhood enjoyments. But apparently D&D had evolved with the times and he had gotten into the habit of searching for and watching online D&D campaigns in his spare time. From that to actually being a side-character in one of them took almost no time. It was frightfully easy to go back to that frame of mind of playing make-believe, only now he had a distaste for the clean-cut heroic types and more of an affinity for the morally-grey, shady characters.

So he had auditioned for the role of evil-wizard when there had been an opening for a side-character in his favourite D&D stream, The Enchanted Forest. And though the DM had written what he considered to be a very flat, uninteresting character, he had been able to give it his own spin. He knew the DM hated him for it, hated when he deviated from what was expected of him, but people loved him. It was half the fun, pissing the DM off.

The other half, he had to admit, was Beauty. The one with the brains in the group, clearly, a half-human, half-fairy bard with an uncanny ability to think ahead, and arm herself with knowledge. Most of the other members of her party were more apt to try and decapitate something than negotiate with it, or even befriend it. Beauty prided herself on more of a gentle approach, which sometimes got her treated as the “fragile” one. He thought it just made her all the more interesting.

Their flirting had just kinda happened. He was half into it before he realised it had begun at all and by the time he had grown conscious- and self-conscious- of it fans were lapping it up and loving it. Even the DM, as loath as he was to admit it, found the banter engaging, even as if stole the spotlight from his story and where he wanted it to go. So every now and then he got invited into a stream, sometimes to interact with the whole party and sometimes, like the session he had just finished, to speak only to Beauty. And what was supposed to be a brief conversation before the party moved to greener pastures became a whole session, with the chatroom full of engagement and the view count off the charts.

But the DM had had a short tolerance span tonight, and had nipped things in the bud much sooner than usual. He felt… unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. Itchy, almost, in a way. So he was more than happy when he received an email from Beauty, who seemed to share his dislike of how the session had played out. They had started doing that more often, sharing emails after a session, even when he did not participate in it. It was harmless, he thought. Just an innocent online flirtation that could never realistically turn into anything. Not that his more in-person romantic overtures could ever pan out. He was in his third year of being completely smitten by the local town librarian, and in his second year of being able to put two words together in front of her without the help from Scotch, something he was perhaps a bit too proud of. And though he had decided very early on that the whole thing was utterly hopeless he had not been able to steer his thoughts or affections away. Realistically he was perhaps more in love with the idea of Belle French than the reality itself, given how little he had personally interacted with the woman. But he knew just enough to fill in the blanks and create a beautiful picture of how he imagined her to be: bookish- an easy assumption given how many times he had caught her in public places absorbed in a book-, kind, generous and delightfully able to hold a grudge and enact revenge when the time came. A bit reckless, and sometimes quick to form opinions, but also quick to revise them. A tactile person, with a great sense of fashion and a carelessness about what was expected of her.

He saw her in his head as clear as day, but little of that image was based on any personal knowledge of her. So, perhaps, he had found in Beauty a fictional substitute, someone he could talk to, and flirt with, without consequences, adopting the persona of someone more confident, more at ease with that sort of thing. The Dark One was comfortable in his skin in a way that he could only pretend to be sometimes. All the money and power he had accumulated over the years had helped him evolve from the spineless, cowardly lad he had once been, but when it came to certain situations, especially those that necessitated a level of vulnerability, he was still hopeless.

Perhaps, he wondered, it was better to think about his online liaison with Beauty as the real thing. They wrote to each other often, in and out of character, and over the course of their correspondence he had confided in her more than he had in any other person alive. Small things at first, every day peeves and details. Nothing that could identify them, certainly, but surprisingly intimate nevertheless. And over time it had grown to stuttering confessions and barings of the soul on both sides. She had told him of her teenage years in a mental asylum, the product of an overwrought widowed father trying to do right by his grieving daughter. He had had a few choice words to say about that, uncharitable thoughts about her father prompting his own willing sharing of the sad story of his childhood, neglectful father and all. It had felt nice, to confide in someone, someone he trusted.

He glanced at her email, where she lamented how their scene had not been as long or as satisfying as she had wanted, and saw she was proposing to meet later in a private stream to finish it the way they had both wanted. She had proposed something similar once or twice before and he had politely declined but now he wondered why not take her up on her offer. What was stopping him? His imaginary idea of Belle French, who in reality had never given him more than a polite smile in passing? Too young, too good, too beautiful to ever see him as anything other than an old cripple? Whatever he had built with Beauty felt infinitely more real, and attainable. A relationship without ever meeting in person seemed ideal in many aspects and, perhaps, if and when it came to meeting in the real world, his physical shortcomings would not be relevant, nor would it his rather uncharitable reputation.

He sent her a quick reply to arrange a meeting, feeling like a bit of roleplaying was, in the end, quite harmless. And if it were to lead to something a bit more meaningful, well, perhaps it was about time.

…

“Water from Lake Nostos. A key ingredient in most powerful potions and even some spells. I’m sure it could prove useful to you.”

The bard showed him the glowing crystal vial hanging from a long chain around her neck, with the glowing milky-white water from the cursed lake in it. He made a move to get closer to inspect it but the woman took a step back, tucking the vial back inside her bodice. The wizard’s eyes lingered there, hiz gaze growing intense. The bard felt her skin flush in response, something that felt a bit like fear but wasn’t running down her spine.

“And I’m sure a new wardrobe could prove useful to you, dearie. You’re practically wearing rags.” Rumplestiltskin made a show of running his eyes up and down her form with just enough disgust in his face to make it seem as if he was only noticing the rather sad state of her dress. 

“It’s my best gown, I’d thank you not to insult it.”

He made a moue of disapproval, shaking his head for good measure.

“You’re far from your days as a princess. I hope seeing the world is worth putting up with your band of idiots that waste most of the gold they earn with your wit in pointless goose chases that you know will lead nowhere.”

Beauty didn’t respond. There was nothing she could say to contradict what he thought of her party, none of which was charitable to say the least. And she also knew that he was aware that all of it was worth the freedom she had won when she had left her life in her father’s castle behind. She did miss one or two things, perhaps. Her mother’s vast library being one and, perhaps, some of the fashions. Not so much the silhouettes- she had never liked how the sea of petticoats she was always forced to wear restricted her movement- but the fabrics and colours, certainly. And the shoes.

“I’m here to make a deal, Dark One. Are you doing business today or not?”

Lesser creatures would’ve rather bitten off their tongues that throw cheek at the Dark One, but Beauty did not even bat an eye, lips curling in a defiant little smile that had the wizard smirking, something like admiration blooming in his chest. It’s what he loved most about his little bard, her spine of steel. And perhaps her blue eyes, but that was neither here nor there.

“I don’t do business with raggedy urchins, dearie. If you want to sit down and negotiate you’ll need a bath.” He made a face, as if he could smell her across the room. “And a change of dress, while I put your current outfit to wash… Or set it on fire, I haven’t decided yet.”

She could tell that he was pulling his punches, that he was playing at being repulsed by her state of dress and hygiene just bad enough that she would see he did not really mean it, not in any real way. She would’ve been able to tell either way, but it was nice that he thought it important to spare her feelings. And she couldn’t deny that a bath sounded heavenly after so many weeks on the road, sleeping out in the open and washing in freezing-cold creeks whenever possible.

“Well, if you insist…”

He took her to a well-lit and spacious bathing chamber, with the biggest copper tub she had ever seen, already filled with warm, soapy water that smelled of vanilla. She wasted no time after the door closed behind him, stripping quickly, careless of her worn and mended garments, and slipping into the tub. It was heaven on her tired muscles, and her dirty skin, and though she would’ve stayed there for hours she knew that every minute spent bathing was a minute less with the Dark One. Their time was limited. If she didn’t return to camp in the morning her party would venture into the castle, likely thinking the most dreadful scenarios. She could picture Charming attempting to kick the front gate open and getting hurt for his troubles. She could not let them worry for her, or risk the rapport she had developed with the Dark One by coming in unannounced. 

She got out of the tub with only a bit of reluctance and found a towel that she was convinced was enchanted to dry her faster than possible. She found clothing laid out in the adjoining dressing room, the undergarments soft and made of pale cream fabric and the dress of a lovely velvety, forest-green fabric, with a belt embroidered in small pearls that matched the detail about the neckline. She put it on gladly, twisting every which way to lace it up at her back. Living a less princessy life had made her acquire a number of small skills, including the ability to dress up mostly by herself even in gowns that did not lace up at the front, like most of her travelling clothes.

She did not spot her mauve travelling dress or her boots, but she was sure that Rumplestiltskin had whisked them away and would subtly mend them with magic, though she was sure he would deny it if she were to point it out. The green dress was accompanied by matching slippers, butter-soft and silent as they touched the stone floor. She made sure to dry her hair out, noticing how it shone red-gold in the flattering light of the candles, and took her time brushing it and styling it out of her face, so it fell flatteringly down her back. Her neck and most of her upper torso was bare but for the chain keeping the vial of water tucked safely against her breasts, the wide neckline of the dress dipping low enough to leave her collarbones bare, but she didn’t mind it. She was inside the Dark Castle, with the Dark One. She was safe there. On the road she always had to think about not attracting unwanted male attention. Here she rather felt like the opposite.

It was a silly infatuation, and many would argue any interest or desire on her part was due to the wizard’s power, which some would say was an aphrodisiac potent enough to make some look past the Dark One’s rather unfortunate exterior. No one would ever believe her if she confessed she rather… liked his appearance. The green-gold skin, the wild hair, the talons, but also the exquisitely-tailored pants and vests, the frothy cravats, the slim coats. A beast and a gentleman. A rather enticing combination, she had found.

She went downstairs into the trophy room once more, where two massive chairs were pulled up next to the roaring fireplace, the main source of light. The Dark One was sitting in one of them, a snifter gingerly held by a clawed hand, containing some sort of brown-gold liquid. He glanced at her the moment she entered the room, unwilling or unable to hide his appreciation for what he saw. He had removed his coat, leaving only his high-collared vest and one of his open shirts to cover his upper body, no forty cravat in sight. He seemed less guarded, more adventurous than he usually was when it came to matters of intimacy.

“You clean up well, dearie. Wish I could say the same for your dress. A wash will only do so much for it, but I refrained from throwing it into the fireplace. You’re welcome.”

“Good, as it’s not your property to destroy.” Beauty sat down, with a poise that betrayed her royal upbringing, and primly crossed her legs at the ankles. “So, Dark One, are you prepared to deal with me now?”

She had dealt with him dozens of times before, she had no idea why it all sounded so much like innuendo now. She couldn’t say she minded it.

“Of course, my dear. I’ve had time to think about our deal whilst you were splashing about in the tub.” His sing-songy voice broke, getting suddenly deeper for a second or two, as if he was struggling to retain his composure. “The vial is certainly a good start, but perhaps not quite enough. Now, I’m prepared to be generous given our long and fruitful history of dealmaking together, but I must also keep up certain appearances. So I thought I would also demand… an evening of your time.”

He tried to make it sound sinister, but she was past getting scared of him. At least in the traditional way. She raised an eyebrow, adopting a rather coquettish expression.

“And what would an evening of my time entail exactly?”

“Oh, well, you know. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”

She made a show of thinking it over before offering her hand, which he shook without delay.

“It’s a deal.”

Several hours later she had won two games of chess, one game of checkers, and was sipping from her third coupe of sparkling wine as she listened intently to a story about a deal the Dark One had once made with a king from a distant land. He was a gifted storyteller, engaging and funny, knowing exactly when to pause or gesticulate to keep the flow of the story just right. The king in his tale was rather unfortunate, in the sense that his hubris and arrogance had led him to make a deal with the Dark One that he did not understand. Most of Rumplestiltskin’s deals seemed to be like that, Beauty thought. And when he came to collect people dared be indignant that he demanded what they promised in the first place.

“The king was furious. Never let go of the grudge. Hired several assassins to try and kill me. A waste of gold, of course.”

He let out a trilling laugh, which soon proved to be contagious. Somehow, over time, it felt like their chairs had moved closer, because if she stretched out a hand she could easily touch him. Odd.

“Serves him right, for making such an open-ended deal. What a rookie mistake.”

She didn’t recall removing her slippers but she must have, because her feet were enjoying being pressed against the soft cushion of the chair. He made a gesture for her to lean close, which was a bit of a balancing feat, but she managed. Her heart skipped a bit when he leaned close too, almost pressing his mouth against her ear.

“You have no room to talk, sweet. You struck a very vague deal yourself, committing to an evening of conversation, chess ‘and the like’. That little turn of phrase is an invitation to all manner of sins, even the darkest and most decadent of debaucheries.”

He hissed the last part, making her shiver. Not content with letting him have the upper hand she turned her head so their lips were inches apart.

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

She could tell she had shocked him into inaction. Cocky Dark One, always in control of the conversation, always one step ahead of everyone else. It was nice to see him floundering, to catch him unprepared. Finally he gulped and put a little distance between them.

“Aren’t you the bravest little poppet.”

“My mother always said ‘Do the brave thing and bravery will follow.’ I’m a firm believer of the principle.”

Slowly, almost painfully so, both his hands clutched at the armrests of her chair, effectively pinning her to it. She knew she was supposed to be scared but she felt nothing but excitement, a buzzing just beneath the skin that made her strangely needy for something. Touch, perhaps, or more. The feeling was so overwhelming she did not realise at first that the laces of her dress were coming undone, as if invisible hands were painstakingly pulling them loose. She tried to make eye contact, but he ducked his head, pressing his face against the base of her neck, where it met her shoulder. She sighed, noticing how gentle he was, his touch feather-light, and discovering that she would not mind a rougher treatment. He was restraining himself, she realised, trying to be a gentleman. Sweet, but not what she wanted from him at that moment. Feeling bold Beauty carded a hand through his hair, pressing his face more firmly against her skin.

“Please, Rumple.”

Those two words seemed to have a magic of their own, producing a sudden and radical change in him. He moved too fast for her to see, wrapping her up in his arms and depositing her on the long dining table on the other side of the room. She did not know whether he used magic or simply moved inhumanly fast, but either possibility excited her, reminded her of the power of the creature looming over her, claws tugging at the unlaced bodice of her dress, dragging the velvet down to expose her undergarments. She was wearing the underbust corset he had provided over the snowy linen shift he had also left for her, so it was easy for him to simply tug the shift down a bit to expose her breasts. He leaned forward, nuzzling the space between her breasts, making a sort of satisfied purring noise as he sniffed up her clavicles and down her throat. Then, once he was happy with the level of squirming she was doing, he finally gave her what she wanted, closing his mouth, with all of its sharp teeth, around one of her rosy nipples. It was a strange feeling at first, more unfamiliar than pleasant, but when he began to suck it changed completely, little shocks of pleasure running from her nipple to between her legs. It was amazing, more than she had ever achieved with her own hands whenever she could get some privacy at night, and the feeling doubled when he grasped her untouched breast, his long claws estimulating the other nipple.

She sunk both her hands in his hair, fisting it in an effort to keep herself from squirming too much, feeling both aroused and impatient. She kept waiting for him to tire of her chest and move further down but when he was finally done sucking her nipples his head moved north, his lips blinding searching for hers till they were kissing. It wasn’t anything like any kiss she had experienced before, not even the unpleasant smack her former fiance had forced on her. Though it was just as forceful there was a wild quality to it, one she had never associated with the affectionate gesture. It was heavenly, the release of passion, far from cooling her down, setting her on fire, stoking her need for him till it felt like she would explode if he didn’t give her relief. 

He must have sensed it, her desperation calling to him like a siren song, because at some point he let go of her mouth to travel south, past her aching chest, and velvet-covered belly to where the skirts of her long gown kept her modestly covered. He wasted no time dragging the heavy fabric up, letting it pool around her hips along with the white linen of her shift. She did not have any other undergarments, having not been provided with any, so she was completely exposed to his gaze, from her milky things to her round hips. She squirmed, trying to picture what he must be looking at, the trim thatch of chestnut curls at the apex of her legs, obscenely drenched by this point and making a poor show of trying to hide the pink, glistening flesh beneath.

“What a lovely cunt you have.” His voice was dark, guttural, a monster trying to speak like a man. It thrilled her. ���Let me drink from it, precious.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, choosing instead to simply bury his head against her flesh, his tongue rough and wide as it lapped at her field parting them to seek out the bundle of nerves that was throwing for attention. She arched her back, feeling like it was only her firm grip on her thigh and hip what kept her anchored to the table. She fell into a rhythm of sorts, her body seeking out something she could not find but his mouth striving to compensate, to give her what she needed. It was heavenly and seemed to last an eternity, the sensations building up till everything but them faded away, all sensations muted. She felt him move to, thrusting his hips against the edge of the table, making it rattle in a way that spoke of his sheer brute force. It was heady to have someone like Rumplestiltskin, who had always strived to don the mask of a gentleman around her, be so unhinged, so animalistic. More than anything it was that complete loss of control what drove her over the edge. She cried out, feeling her inner muscles coil and her senses spiral out of control, her orgasm leaving her dizzy. It seemed to last forever and not nearly long enough. She laid there for a while after the feeling passed, feeling satisfied and wanting at the same time. A few seconds later he also keened, slumping against her still-parted legs, his hair tickling the soft skin of her inner thighs.

They lay that way for what seemed like ages, while they scrambled to try and collect themselves. The afterglow did not feel awkward or uncomfortable, and it loosened up her tongue enough to venture out that she had hoped for an even more intimate act, a joining that was even deeper than what they had done.

 “A deal for such a prize would have to involve all my deepest secrets, my most valuable truths.” He paused, pressing his forehead against the silky inside of her thigh, like a penitent would. “One day, perhaps.”

...

“Do you want to meet? I think it’s time.”

The orgasm had mellowed him out, otherwise he was sure he would’ve at least panicked a little bit. But in the afterglow of what they had just shared, albeit virtually, a meeting did not seem like such a bad idea. In hushed voices they arranged the time and place, tomorrow at a café and bistro in Boston. Nice and public, for both their safety. They knew both lived near Boston, so it seemed natural to pick the city. The drive wasn’t too bad, and he hoped it wasn’t a great inconvenience to her either.

Reluctantly they said their goodbyes, both trying to prolong the moment a bit more till they were both close to nodding off. With a final, reluctant goodbye they both disconnected, leaving Gold to clean himself up and make his way home. With his rumpled suit, disheveled hair and five o’clock shadow it must have looked like the walk of shame. It certainly didn’t feel that way.

...

He woke up in a happy mood, perhaps the best in a long time. Far from feeling stupid or embarrassed about his little bit of roleplaying-turned-porn-session he felt smug, empowered by the notion that he had made a smart, desirable woman come with only his voice and imagination. He felt like he was on the brink of something, as if an exciting possibility was opening up for him. 

He went about his day with a bit of a spring in his step, though most citizens of Storybrooke would be pressed to notice. It was only when he saw the book on gardening he was due to return to the library that afternoon- his two Moth orchids had developed small water-soaked spots on the leaves and he had wanted to consult some verified sources instead of relying exclusively on Google search results- that his mood dampened somewhat. As nice as last night had been- bloody fantastic rather- it did make him sad, somewhat, to give up his crush on Belle French. However unattainable it was still nice to have it, that bit of feeling that did not need to be reciprocated to be real. It had been nice to feel something for someone for a change, to look forward to each smile and each small conversation. But it wouldn’t be right, and what he had now was more valuable in any case. Perhaps, with time, he would grow out of his infatuation with the librarian and they could be friends. That would be rather lovely.

He crossed the street towards the library around three o’clock, wanting to beat the rush caused by children being let off school, a busy time for one of the only kid-friendly places in Storybrooke. There were some patrons about, and the afternoon light made the library look truly beautiful. Miss French truly worked miracles with her limited budget.

He found her easily, shelving a few books in the poetry section, and tried not to preen when she smiled widely at him.

“Mr Gold, hi! Always a pleasure. Here to return a book?”

The librarian was always sunny and welcoming, but she looked even happier that day, an excited sort of energy practically rolling off of her in waves. Thank goodness he had decided to give up on his silly little crush, otherwise he might have buckled under the power of her brightness. 

“Yes. And you look particularly happy today, Miss French, if I might say so.”

The librarian smiled even more, if possible, and leaned close, as if to tell him a secret.

“I have a date tonight.”

It hurt, the slightest bit, the shock making him take a step back, but less than it would have yesterday. And perhaps, he reasoned, this would be good. This would put them both in the path of becoming friends, allowing him to leave his crush behind much faster. He forced himself to enquire politely after the lucky man, listening as she talked about someone she had been flirting with for a long time now, and it seemed like the relationship was finally ready for the next step.

“I’m really happy. And very nervous. It feels like such a risk, after all this time building something that could easily fizzle out with a first date. But I’ve always believed in doing the brave thing, and bravery will follow. It’s what my mother always said.”

She had turned back to shelve a book as she finished the last sentence, so thankfully she did not see his jaw drop and his eyes widen, his surprise so visible no one could’ve missed it. His heart lurched in his chest, sheer and sudden panic making it difficult to breathe. Fuck. Fuck. It wasn’t possible. Belle was Beauty. Belle was Beauty. He tried to contradict the notion in his head but he had known Beauty’s British accent was passable but fake, and it made sense for him not to have identified her voice when she usually spoke with her natural Australian drawl, something he associated so closely with her. Everything else he had ever found out about Beauty, in and out of the D&D setting, coincided with what he knew, or thought he knew, about the librarian, one of the reasons why he had developed a crush on her in the first place.

The initial shock was followed by a spike of elation and then a sinking feeling of dread. He needed to cancel. She would be disappointed, but more disappointed if he didn’t and she realised her crush was a man a good deal older than her that was known for being the town monster. It would be awkward and she would not be able to escape him after it, both doomed to meet each other often, given the small size of the town. He could not put her through that.

He stopped himself then, noticing the familiar dark turn of his thoughts, dipped in so much self-loathing it was almost stifling. And he wondered if he really was thinking about Belle or about himself. Being a coward, taking the easy way out. He thought about how he had woken up, the world full of promise and the future bright with the possibility of something great on the horizon. And how he had felt brave last night, to leap into something that had been so worth it. Perhaps it was time to be brave more often. Do something, however small. Put the ball in her court, somehow.

“I wish you the best of luck, then. Perhaps some other time, if you’re not too busy, you could pop into my shop. I have a few antique books I feel you would appreciate.”

It was a nice recovery, and he was happy to see her smile, apparently welcoming the proposition. Everyone knew Mr Gold’s shop was only to be entered when making deals. He didn’t really allow idle perusal of his stock and no one had the money or interest to buy his antiques. His business was conducted mostly with people from major cities on the East Coast.

“Wow, an open invitation to traipse into Mr Gold’s shop, that’s not something one sees everyday. What do you want in return? I hear only deals can grant you access to the shop.”

She made sure to make it clear she was joking, something he appreciated. Feeling emboldened by her kind gesture he adopted a slightly higher pitch and replied:

“Oh, nothing much. Companionship, perhaps a game of chess, some good wine, conversation and the like.”

Being close enough he got to see as it dawned on her, as her brain quickly processed what he had said and where she had heard it before. And he knew, knew because of the way she looked at him, as if she did not recognise him, as if he was a brand new person to her, that she understood the implication, what he had meant to tell her without actually telling her. 

“Hope to see you soon, then. Good luck with the date.”

He turned around before he could second-guess himself, feeling terrified by what he had exposed but satisfied at the same time. This way it was Belle’s choice to show up. For all she knew he had no idea that she was Beauty. She could make up an excuse and simply not meet her, and their worlds would never merge. If she did not want to pursue anything between them all she had to do is cancel the date, or not show up. He would respect her decision and never push for anything, or acknowledge their online relationship in the real world.

He sent her an email just as he was about to get into his car, letting her know that he understood that this meeting was a bit of a risk and he would understand if she backed out at the last minute. There were other things he could do in Boston, and he was not adverse to having dinner by himself. And they could still be friends, no matter what she decided. He was halfway to Boston when he heard his cell phone ping, letting him know he had a new email. As he expected, it was from Beauty:

“I’m on my way. Can’t wait to meet you! See you soon.”

He smiled.

[polarbearaone]

☔︎ Sayuri

✞ synopsis: Aone thought your life with him was supposed to be long and happy, but all good things must come to an end right?.....

✞ pairing: Aone x fem! reader

✞genre: angst :(

✞ warnings: character death! mentions of v*miting, pregnancy and health conditions

The look on everyone's face when Aone proposed to you was to die for. Within the crowd there were surprised team players of the VC Date team along with elated coworkers from the construction firm that Aone invited. Oh, failed to mention that Aone proposed during one of his volleyball games. Soon you would be (Y/N) Aone, married to Takanobu Aone. Dating for the past six years, Aone was the best partner you could ask for. He never left your side, even accepted you with you and your past. When he met your parents, Aone told your father a trick to keep his plants from freezing during the harsh winters from Japan, since that day, your father began referring to Aone as “son”. Five years later, Aone was sitting on his soon to be in-laws couch, asking for your hand. Your parents understood how amazing Takanobu was, they knew he would never leave your side and always protect you.

“What theme should we have for our wedding?” Aone blurted out one day while dinner was steaming on the stove. “Already thinking about themes huh?” the way you looked at him, wearing his shirt while you made your way to the stove. If it were up to him, Aone would marry you in that very kitchen. The kitchen was where there were so many memories waiting to be made. “A turtle theme would be nice” you jokingly said. Aone started to lightly tap his chin, considering the theme. “Babe, I’m joking,” you said giggling. “oh” Aone said, in his little voice. “(y/n), can I ask you something?” Aone asked, playing with the strings of his shirt. You gave him a quick nod as you continued cooking dinner. “Can we get a turtle?” he said, a soft blush appearing on his face. Putting down what you had, you walked over and cupped his face. “Is it going to be our first child?” replying with the biggest smile on your face. The blush on his face matched the red shirt he was wearing. His brain was going wild, his dream was always to have a family with you. Kissing his forehead, you replied, “We can go tomorrow to the pet store”

The headaches began around a month after the proposal. You thought it was the stress of planning your perfect wedding. Aone noticed you were hurting when you did not accompany him to feed Kame, your turtle. He did not open the curtains like he usually did, nor did he give you a forehead kiss in fear that he will cause more pain. He started brewing tea and gave you some medicine. He let you stay in bed that day, and the day after that, also the whole week. Aone was worried sick, he knew stress caused headaches but every single day? His mother reassured him that the stress of working, trying to plan a wedding but also being there for Aone was a lot and that he should pamper her. Aone cleaned the whole house that afternoon, he even cooked your favorite dinner. It was supposed to be a perfect night, but you came home with a pale look on your face. The mere smell of the food made you run to the bathroom. Anything you ate that day came out of you as you hunched over the toilet. Aone held your hair back, softly rubbing your back. After emptying your stomach, you leaned into Aone’s touch. You needed him, his support, his love. As you slowly fell asleep on his lap, one thing ran through Aone’s mind, what if you were pregnant? You two were sexually active, plus it would explain the nausea and headaches. His mind was going wild once again, Kame finally will not be your own child anymore.

“hey honey, can I ask something?” Aone whispered into your ear as he massaged your head, a common occurrence in the morning. You hummed an answer. “do you possibly think you could be pregnant?”. The question lingered in your mind. Could you? It would make sense. After taking some medicine, you booked an appointment to the doctor. With Aone next to you, you knew you would be ok. The days leading up the appointment felt like forever. You were still with nausea and headaches, but you were excited to find out if a mini Aone was formed in your stomach. Finally, the day arrived. Aone was nervous next to you, you felt his handshake as he held yours. “Baby, you are more worried than me” you said giggling at him, “I just want you to be ok” he replied. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N)” The nurse called. “Wait here ok?” you reassured him before entering the hallway. After many tubes of blood later, the doctor asked you to come back when the results were done.

A week later, Aone and you were waiting for the doctor in his office. All Aone wanted to hear that you were pregnant so his worries can subside. The doctor entered with a gloomy face. “Unfortunately, the blood test we did let us know that you weren’t pregnant but there is something more concerning” the doctor stated. The grip Aone’s hand on you faded away, at this point he did not care if you were not pregnant. He wanted you to be ok. “What’s more concerning?” Aone asked the doctor. “ We see some hormones that are way higher than they are supposed to be, we only see these types of numbers when a tumor is present near the pituitary gland, we would like to do more studies to confirm our suspicions” Tumor was the only word in your mind. You could have a tumor. The doctor requested more blood work, and scans. The weeks following, many of your symptoms began to worsen. Your vision began to blur, migraines began more and more frequent, even had a seizure. Aone was terrified, but even with fear, he never left your side. He held you every time you felt weak, he spoons fed you soup his mother taught him to make. The wedding was postponed until you felt better but you told Aone that both of you should get married legally before having any celebration just in case anything happened. “Nothing is going to happen (y/n), you and I will get through this ok?”

You seemed to get worse. You had to be admitted to the hospital due to your condition. After many more scans, it was revealed that the tumor in your brain was a mere 5 centimeters long. Despite being so small, it caused you excruciating pain. The physical pain you felt was nothing compared to the news you received two weeks later. “We have extremely bad news” the group of doctors who had been treating you said. “The tumor located inside your brain is too dangerous to live with, it cannot be surgically removed” Your sobs could be heard from across the hallway. Aone tried to calm you down, he held you so close to him, he could not lose you. Your sobs subsided when the doctor cleared his throat “That is not all”. “It’s not your fault that you didn’t notice since pregnancy symptoms are similar to your symptoms but you’re roughly two weeks pregnant.” The room had an eerie silence to it. The pain inside of you was so immense that crying was not an option anymore. “You have to do something! She cannot live like this! What about the baby?” Aone practically yelled at the doctors. Despite knowing him for 5+ years, you had never heard him yell. “Baby, shh, its fine. They did what they could” You said, trying to calm Aone down. “B-but” Aone was choking on his own sobs. Now it was you holding Aone. The doctors made it aware that the last weeks of your life should be spent at home, with your Fiancé. The baby would not survive much longer, therefore the both of you should cherish the small amount of time you had.

The following weeks were filled with smiles and pain. You were getting paler, weaker. Aone could see life leaving you as the days progressed. He saw how tired you were, each day you got more and more tired. You could barely walk over and see Kame anymore. Aone resulted into bringing him inside for you. Kame specifically liked when your soft blankets covers his shard shell, Aone loved seeing you two sleep with one another, well three. Aone remained strong for you. When you would sleep, he sat near you, crying. The love of his life, the one who was supposed to be there for him through it all, was dying. He felt that he could not keep his promise to protect you. You nor his child. He got into bed next to you and Kame, wishing you a beautiful night. That morning was like any other, except it was Kame who nudged him to wake up. He groggily got out of bed to make your tea for your medication. Something felt off to him. Usually you nudge him to wake him up. He ran towards your shared bedroom, turning on the lights. He knew you would kill him if he did but he needed to know your awake. Despite the bright light shining in the room, you were silent. Kame on the other hand was making an array of noises. He walked towards you, tears threatening to fall. “Baby?” he whispered. He fell to his knees. He felt weak, he felt empty. Aone began to shake you, trying desperately to wake you. “(Y/N) this isn't funny, wake up” Aone shook you one last time, before screaming into the bed. He ran to dial an ambulance. The paramedics looked at Aone with sorry eyes, he knew what those eyes meant. “Take her to the hospital now” Aone said, growing at them. “ Sir-”... “I SAID TAKE HER”.

The doctor who was treating you slowly sat next to Aone in the waiting room. “She was strong” Like you a couple weeks ago, the pain Aone felt didn’t allow him to cry. “I know that nothing is visible yet but here” The doctor handed Aone an ultrasound picture. “The baby is too small to see yet but they’re there. No matter how much it hurts, know that they will both be there, forever.” The doctor gave Aone one last hug goodbye, before walking back to the hallway you once entered through. Aone stood outside the door of your shared house. How could he enter without you? How could he ever live without you? His thoughts were erased when he felt something hit his leg. Looking down, he saw Kame rubbing his head on his leg. Slowly picking up Kame, he headed inside. Sitting on the couch with Kame, he showed the turtle the ultrasound. “This is your sibling Kame, I’m not sure what gender they were but this is Sayuri, my small lily”

a.n: NOT ME CRYING UNCONTROLLABLY AT THIS. also I wanna thank @nuttymouthful for this idea! It was originally an reincarnation au! but I got lost at the end :( so I closed it with a bittersweet (?) ending. Reader was supposed to reincarnate as Kame but idk kame is a himbo turtle but that’s ok. PLZ REQUEST MORE ANGST I LOVE THIS

tags: @elianetsantana @girlofdystopia @kara-grayson04

[dreabbles]

kimetsu rescue

headcanons for a bondi rescue x kimetsu no yaiba au(-ish), featuring giyushino

both giyuu and shinobu are lifeguards at the country’s most popular beach along with the rest of the hashira (muichiro is a trainee while the rest of the kimetsu cast are volunteer lifesavers)

giyuu was formerly a competitive swimmer and water polo player along with childhood friends, sabito and makomo. he still plays waterpolo on the weekends.

shinobu’s a part-time paramedic whose skills are invaluable especially when it comes to drastic, near-death rescues.

while the program focuses on the rescues completed by the whole team during the summer season, fans quickly noticed the chemistry between giyuu and shinobu.

the pair has since grown interest, especially on social media.

more on giyuu

he’s the most comfortable in the water. during the annual lifeguard challenge, he always takes the lead in the swimming course. (the running course, however, is a whole different story.)

wanted to be a lifeguard after one saved him and his sister from a rip tide when they were younger. he trained under the same lifeguard who’d saved him then, urokodaki sakonji.

has a bachelor in physiotherapy which comes in handy from time to time. 

gets along with mitsuri, kyojuro, and gyomei. doesn’t mind uzui much but thinks he’s unnecessarily loud. occasionally argues with sanemi but they get over things easily. has no idea why obanai doesn’t like him, but it might have something to do with being caught having his hair braided by mitsuri. never gets paired up with muichiro because he isn’t actually a good mentor. lets shinobu tease him; he’s learnt, over time, to ignore most of it.

had once dislocated his elbow while on-duty because he got thrown off the buggy once and landed on a precarious position.

more on shinobu

because she’s tiny, head lifeguard ubuyashiki prefers that she man the tower instead of go out for rescues. she agrees for the most part, but when she’s on patrol, she does manage a few saves as long as they’re not overwhelmingly more than her size.

learnt how to use the jet ski to conduct rescues instead of using the board. she’s the main jet ski driver and would instruct trainees on how to use it.

is more often than not sent on crowd control because she’s charming and she knows how to keep control of the situation. is also sent to deal with comforting lost kids because of her motherly demeanour.

was inspired by her older sister, kanae, to be a lifeguard. kanae is also a lifeguard/paramedic but has been assigned at a different beach with less experienced lifeguards to conduct a year-long training program. younger sister kanao is a trainee lifeguard while aoi is a volunteer lifesaver.

almost a celebrity with how everyone knows her from the program. gets stopped often on the streets for photos.

the scoop on giyuu and shinobu, as told by colleagues

gyomei: “they have excellent teamwork. despite the lack of communication from tomioka’s side, he takes on instruction the best from kocho. we usually send them on patrols together. everything goes smoothly when they’re a team.”

muichiro: “kocho’s a good mentor. she looks after me and tomioka well.”

obanai: “kocho’s fine. the team benefits from her addition. tomioka, on the other hand...don’t even get me started on him.”

sanemi: “...what exactly about them do you want to know?”

kyojuro: “the usually hang out when off-duty as well! i sometimes join them, but most of the time it’s just the two of them. they aren’t dates, though! they’re adamant about that.”

mitsuri: “they’re the cutest! did you know that shinobu would usually poke tomioka? before, he’d just brush her away but since about a year or two ago, maybe, he’s started holding onto her hand to get her to stop instead. it’s really cute! they hold hands under the table when they think nobody’s watching! oh no! i don’t think i should have said that!”

tengen: “i’m pretty sure they fuck.”

rumor has it

giyuu and shinobu are each other’s first kisses.

VERDICT: confirmed. no other explanation needed.

giyuu and shinobu were once found naked in the beach, on top of each other, one summer evening

VERDICT: denied. shinobu admits to having late-night strolls, but not to the frolicking. “there’s too much sand for that sort of thing.”

giyuu and shinobu engage in excessive PDA

VERDICT: denied, especially when on-duty. they jobs are of high importance and they can’t afford to be distracted by each other. they don’t even hold hands in their “hang-outs”. now, people walking into their personal space while they’re doing more than just sitting next to each other is a different thing.

giyuu and shinobu live together.

VERDICT: confirmed. it cuts on individual rental costs. kanao and aoi also live with them.

giyuu and shinobu are an official item.

VERDICT: confirmed and denied. it’s a complicated relationship that even their colleagues don’t understand.

behind the camera

giyuu is very affectionate when it comes to shinobu. crew members have noticed that he’d always bring her coffee in the mornings and would carry her bag for her on their way home (despite her protests).

shinobu deeply cares for giyuu. she’s always there as support for his confessional interview and would sometimes lead him when he gets lost for words. she pokes him when she knows he’s getting restless, to comfort him.

they do get jealous, though instances have been scarce. giyuu’s used to seeing men melt at the sight of shinobu, but there was one instance when she actually entertained a man which made the frown on giyuu’s face grow deeper. he felt better when she later on punched the man. shinobu’s jealousy is more easily detected, but she’s also quick to shoo away the people that make her feel such ugly feelings.

though they don’t go for dates, they do sometimes “hang out” at classy restaurants where they need to dress up. they clean up well.

they get into disagreements at times, and they’d be in a cold war for the most part of the day (though they make sure it won’t affect work) until one of them takes initiative to make amends. shinobu’s style is to latch her pinky onto giyuu’s on their way home. giyuu’s is to leave a note in her locker. they talk about everything when they get home and, when they come in work the following morning, they’re back to normal.

undercover(s) // suggestive scenes

giyuu wear speedos occasionally, partly because he’s used to them, but mostly to tease shinobu. he knows she likes seeing him in them, and it’s obvious to everyone when she tries not to look at his package. (when they’re left to man the tower alone, she does sometimes give in to the temptation of caressing it while watching the ocean. she’s skilled like that.)

she gets back at him by prancing about with nothing but flimsy lace on. (she’d have told aoi and kanao to sleep over at their friends’ for the meantime.) she’s pretty accustomed to seeing giyuu naked--they have different rooms, but she’d sometimes had to wake him up and be greeted by his morning wood saluting her--but giyuu doesn’t have much opportunity to see her bare. she runs away from him each time he tries to touch her.

when they sleep together, they usually do it in giyuu’s room because it somehow excited shinobu more. giyuu doesn’t mind; his trusted stash of contraception is within arm’s reach if they’re in his room. 

they sometimes get adventurous and take suggestions from tengen. giyuu’s favorite experiment so far is the use of whipped cream when shinobu was going down on him. the experience was sensational. shinobu’s was leaving the curtains open for the night.

they like their after-sex cuddling and spooning. they bask in the afterglow of each other and though giyuu is an early riser, he doesn’t mind killing time on the bed, waiting for shinobu to come around. if they have time to spare, they go for a couple more rounds. (though they make it a point not to leave any marks during peak lifeguard season, their colleagues know them to enough to tell when they’d spent a night together thorugh body language alone.)

more headcanons for this au to be added later on

[watusichris]

Rock Gunfight in the Antipodes

Listening today to the hot new Grown Up Wrong! comp by Sydney’s Lipstick Killers, whose lone officially released single was produced by Deniz Tek of Radio Birdman, it occurred to me that my old Music Aficionado faux faceoff between Australia’s pioneering bands of the ‘70s (all of which I dearly love) has disappeared into the online ether. It’s time to bring it back.

**********

By Chris Morris

The mid- to late ‘70s were fertile days for rock ‘n’ roll in Australia. Here and there across the vast but not terribly populous island continent, fires were started by several attitude-filled bands bent on doing things their own damn way. They all managed to make their way off the island, but if they hit the American consciousness, it was for little more than a nanosecond during their heyday.

Who were the truest Rock Wizards of Oz? For this Down Under face-off, I’ve selected three contenders: the Saints, Radio Birdman, and the Scientists. All of them had fairly slim discographies; ironically, the act probably least known in the U.S., the Scientists, recorded most prolifically, with their core line-up producing several magnificent albums and singles during a productive four-year stretch in the early ‘80s. But none of these bands ever stayed together long enough to make a deep impression among the Yanks.

So where’s the Birthday Party, you ask? There are a few things to consider. First of all, though the band and its precursor unit the Boys Next Door were in business from 1976 on, they didn’t release their first LP until 1980. Also, Nick Cave is well known enough that more (king) ink needn’t be spilled on him. Finally, I still resent the fact that Cave stole PJ Harvey away from me, so it’s personal.

On with the showdown…

HIT ME LIKE A DEATH RAY, BABY

The Saints, founded 1974 in Brisbane

The prime movers of the Saints were a pair of literal outsiders: vocalist Chris Bailey, born in Kenya to Irish parents, and guitarist Ed Kuepper, raised in Germany. Thus the otherness of their work is no surprise.

With schoolmate Ivor Hay – who over time would play drums, bass, and piano with them – the pair founded a combo originally known as Kid Galahad and the Eternals (borrowing their handle from a 1962 Elvis Presley picture), but they swiftly renamed themselves the Saints and began playing in their hometown on the northeast coast of Australia.

Listening to their records, which were made in something of a cultural vacuum, it’s difficult to get a handle on where the Saints’ distinctive, aggressive sound came from. To be sure they were aware of such homegrown precursors from the ‘60s as the Master’s Apprentices and the Missing Links (whose 1965 single they covered on their debut album). It’s safe to assume they were conversant with the Velvet Underground, the Stooges, and Lenny Kaye’s 1972 garage rock compilation Nuggets. Yet they bred something utterly their own in the ocean air of Brisbane.

With Hay on drums and Kym Bradshaw on bass, Bailey and Kuepper mounted noisy local gigs that swiftly attracted the antipathy of the local constabulary; they wound up turning their own digs into a club to play shows. In 1976, they recorded and issued a self-financed single featuring two originals, “(I’m) Stranded” and “No Time.” These dire, ferocious songs were distinguished by venomous lyrics, unprecedented velocity, and guitar playing by Kuepper that sounded like a (literal) iron curtain being attacked with a chainsaw.

The record died locally, but a copy of its U.K. issue found its way into the hands of a critic at the English music weekly Sounds, which declared it the single of the week. This accolade got the attention of EMI Records, which signed the band and financed the recording of an album, also titled I’m Stranded, in a fast two-day Brisbane session.

The album, which was ultimately released in the U.S. by Sire Records, blew the ears off anyone who heard it, and it landed with a bang in England, where punk rock was lifting off in all its fury in early 1977. It was hurtling, powerful stuff that stood apart from punk in several crucial ways: While some of the songs were clipped and demonic in the standard manner, the Saints proved they could take their time on expansive numbers like the almost Dylanesque “Messin’ With the Kid” and the sprawling, hellriding “Nights in Venice.” And one has to wonder how British p-rockers took to their perverted take on Elvis’ squishy “Kissin’ Cousins.”

Made by musicians who never considered themselves “punks,” and who in fact abhorred the label, (I’m) Stranded is nevertheless one of the definitive statements in the genre, and it has maintained its force to this day.

Settling in England for the duration, the Saints decided to throw a curveball. One could not find a more profoundly alienated album than Eternally Yours (1978), a series of yowling protests, twisted prophecies, and savage put-downs, including the snarling second version of the single “This Perfect Day.” But, though the record was loud and for the most part swift, the group applied the brakes to their sound somewhat, and a couple of songs, including the caustic album opener “Know Your Product,” were dressed by a soul-styled horn section. Punk loyalists ran for cover.

By the time Prehistoric Sounds was issued in late ’78, the dejected Bailey and Kuepper were moving in different directions, and you can hear it in the grooves. The record is slow, almost listless at times, and its logy originals are complemented by incongruous Otis Redding and Aretha Franklin covers with none of the energy of earlier Saints soul-blasts. It is an album primarily for loyalists, and by then there were few in that number.

Kuepper exited the band on the heels of the third album’s release and returned to Australia, where he enjoyed a long career as leader of the Laughing Clowns; Bailey continued to perform under the Saints mantle with a shifting lineup that at last count numbered more than 30 players over the course of 37 years

Bailey and Kuepper reunited for one-off gigs in 2001 (at the ARIA awards ceremony) and 2007 (at Australia’s Queensland Music Festival).

THERE’S GONNA BE A NEW RACE

Radio Birdman, founded 1974 in Sydney

People who toss the “punk” handle around often throw Radio Birdman into the mix, but the sextet from Australia’s Southeast Coast may be best referred as the world’s youngest proto-punk band.

Its mastermind was guitarist, songwriter, and producer Deniz Tek, a native of Ann Arbor, Michigan, who emigrated to Sydney in 1971 to study medicine. As a teen, he got a chance to witness Detroit’s most explosive pre-punk bands – the MC5, the Stooges, and the Rationals; he would later wind up collaborating with important members of all those groups.

After apprenticing with and getting bounced from a Sydney band called TV Jones, Tek formed Radio Birdman (its name a corruption of a lyric from the Stooges’ “1970”) with singer Rob Younger; the lineup ultimately solidified with the addition of guitarist (and sometime keyboardist) Chris Masuak, bassist Warwick Gilbert, drummer Ron Keeley, and (on and off and then on again) keyboardist Pip Hoyle.

Rapidly acquiring a fan base made up of some of Sydney’s lowest elements, including members of the local Hell’s Angels, Radio Birdman ultimately took over a bar, re-dubbed (in honor of the Stooges, of course) the Oxford Funhouse, as their base of operations. The band’s severe Tek-designed band logo emanated fascist-style vibes for some; at a co-billed appearance in Sydney, the Saints’ Chris Bailey remarked from the stage, “We’d like to thank the local members of Hitler Youth for their stage props.”

Despite much antipathy and some attendant violence, the band maintained a loyal local following, and in 1976 it issued a strong four-song EP, Burn My Eye, via local studio-cum-independent label Trafalgar. This was succeeded the following year by a full-length debut album, Radios Appear.

Anyone looking for something resembling punk will likely be disappointed by that collection. The band wears its all-American hard rock/proto-punk influences on its dirty sleeve. Radios Appear is dedicated to the Stooges (whose “No Fun” was the lead-off track on the Aussie issue of the LP), and a song co-written by Tek and Stooges guitarist Ron Asheton, “Hit Them Again,” was cut during sessions for the record. Tek pays deep homage to MC5 guitarist Wayne Kramer with his playing, and blatantly cops a signature lick from the 5’s “Looking at You” at one juncture. The album title was lifted from a Blue Öyster Cult lyric, and the Tek-Masuak guitar-bashing bows to their multi-axe sound. Finally, in both Younger’s sometimes Morrisonian vocalizing and Hoyle’s Ray Manzarek-like ornamentation, homage to the Doors in paid in full. Given that Sydney is a beach town, there’s even a frisson of surf music in the mix.

Bursting with power-packed originals like the apocalyptic “Descent into the Maestrom,” youth-in-revolt anthem “New Race,” the cryptic, insinuating “Man with the Golden Helmet,” and Tek’s autobiographical “Murder City Nights,” Radios Appear was a power-packed set that established Radio Birdman as Oz’s leading rock light.

However, renown did not equal success in Antipodean terms. In 1978, the band cut its second album, Living Eyes, at Rockfield Studio in Wales; it was a solid effort that included remakes of three Burn My Eye numbers (including the wonderful Tek memoir “I-94,” about the Michigan interstate) and excellent new originals like “Hanging On,” “Crying Sun,” and “Alone in the End Zone.” But, with success seemingly within their grasp, Sire Records – their American label, and the Saints’ as well – switched distribution and cut their roster, leaving their new work without a home. Within months of this catastrophe, Radio Birdman disbanded.

The principals scattered, to Younger’s New Christs and Tek and Hoyle’s the Visitors; Tek, Younger, and Warwick Gilbert later joined MC5 drummer Dennis Thompson and the Stooges’ Ron Asheton in the one-off New Race. Tek also later recorded with Wayne Kramer and Scott Morgan of Ann Arbor’s Rationals in Dodge Main.

Radio Birdman’s original lineup reunited for a 1996 tour; in August 2006 – after four of the original sextet regrouped to record a potent new album, Zeno Beach – the band played its first American date ever, at Los Angeles’ Wiltern Theater. Your correspondent was there, and it was freakin’ incredible.

IN MY HEART THERE’S A PLACE CALLED SWAMPLAND

The Scientists, founded 1978 in Perth

Among the important Aussie bands of the ‘70s, the Scientists were among the first to be directly influenced by the punk explosion in New York.

As guitarist-singer-songwriter Kim Salmon – the lone constant in the Scientists’ lineup during their existence – wrote in 1975, “Reading about a far-off place called CBGB in NYC and its leather-clad denizens, all with names like Johnny Thunders, Richard Hell, and Joey Ramone, got me thinking…I immediately went searching for Punk Rock. What I found were The Modern Lovers and The New York Dolls albums.”

Salmon first dabbled in the new sound with a band bearing the delightfully punk name the Cheap Nasties. Cobbled together in Perth – the Western provincial capital of Australia – from members of such local acts as the Exterminators, the Victims, and Salmon’s the Invaders -- the early Scientists were as derivative as one might imagine. Their early songs, heard on their self-titled LP (the so-called “Pink Album”) and an early single and EP, sport original songs authored by Salmon and drummer-lyricist James Baker, the backbone of shifting Scientific crews through 1980. The tunes range from straight-up Dolls/Heartbreakers rips (“Frantic Romantic,” “Pissed On Another Planet,” “High Noon”) to buzzing romantic pop-punk in a Buzzcocks vein (“That Girl,” “She Said She Loves Me”).

Not terribly promising stuff, but, after the departure of Baker for the Hoodoo Gurus in 1981 and a brief stint in a trio called Louie Louie, Salmon assembled a new Scientists who would prevail for nearly four years. That outfit – Salmon, guitarist Tony Thewlis, bassist Boris Sujdovic, and drummer Brett Rixton – promptly relocated to Sydney and started making the noise they are noted for.

By that time, Salmon had begun cocking an ear to the Birthday Party (and no doubt paid careful attention to the sordid noise on the Melbourne group’s 1982 album Junkyard), had discovered the miasmic voodoo of the Cramps, and started grooving to the dissonant, slide guitar-dominated racket of Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band. In short order, he would also absorb the bluesy downhome assault of Los Angeles’ roots-punk outfit the Gun Club.

The Sydney-based Scientists hooked up with indie label Au Go Go, which issued a devastating run of careening, mossy records by the band in 1982-83 – the vertiginous singles “This is My Happy Hour”/“Swampland” and the corrosive “We Had Love” (backed by a faithful cover of Beefheart’s “Clear Spot”), and the heart-stopping mini-album Blood Red River, which bore the churning “Set It On Fire,” “Revhead,” and “Burnout.” Others were essaying a similar style, but the Aussie youngsters were beating their elders at their own game.

Eying the big time, the band moved to London in 1984. Some opportunities presented themselves initially: The band got European tour slots with the Gun Club and early Goth act Sisters of Mercy. But their deal with Au Go Go fell apart acrimoniously; while they made a pair of fog-bound albums, You Get What You Deserve (1985) and The Human Jukebox (1987) for Karbon Records (and a set of re-recorded songs, Weird Love, was issued in the U.S. by Big Time Records), they scraped by in Britain.

Defections from the ranks commenced in ’85, and by early 1987 the depleted Salmon used money from a housing settlement to move back to Australia, where he founded a new band, the Surrealists.

Still valued among the cognoscenti, Salmon, Thewlis, Sujdovic, and latter-day drummer Leanne Chock appeared, at the invitation of Seattle’s Mudhoney, at London’s All Tomorrow’s Parties Festival in 2006. Earlier this year, Chicago-based archival label the Numero Group issued a comprehensive four-disc box of the band’s original recordings.

So, at the end of the day, who is the all-time champeen of ‘70s Oz rock?

Scoring on points, the Saints are tops for Being Punk First with additional wins in the Pure Noise and Weltzschmerz categories, Radio Birdman takes the Technical Ability and Old-School Attitude slots, and the Scientists prevail in the Loud Young Snot and Grunge Thug division.

And the championship belt goes to…the Saints!

Of course, that could all change tomorrow, but that’s rock ‘n’ roll for ya.

[passable-talent]

what about,,, modern au,,, punk mucisian au,,,, anakin with tattoos pLEASE

may I introduce u to my new favorite gif...

also. plot twist! what if,, and hear me out,, you’re the musician, and he’s the fan?

i made an entire setlist for this fuckn au of my taste in punk-ish rock-ish music to base certain lines, moods, and lighting off of. it exists. i’ll hand it over if you ask.

stumbled over this headcanon as i wrote but,,,, modern au anakin absolutely grew up in nevada. desert. middle of nowhere. close to vegas and the racing. automobile industry. thank u for ur time  

This whole ‘music’ thing was actually working out. Imagine that. 

You were gaining fame slowly- your record company still didn’t get you big gigs, but you got something. 

Something like this, in fact. A small, dingy laser tag place, but it was perfect nonetheless. Perfect for you. You felt right at home- it was too hot, and the audience was still loud, since the music hadn’t started. The stage was small, but the lights were bright, and you were standing behind the curtains that had been hung barely a foot from the wall. 

“Ready?” you heard Padme ask- Padme, the lead guitarist, your best friend. She was on stage, currently, hidden from the crowd by a blanket of black. On the other side of the stage, you knew, was Ahsoka, the drummer, a little tiny teenager you’d picked up last summer when your original drummer quit, and beside her was undoubtedly Aayla, your bassist. You were lucky- you were surrounded by such great friends that you could pull your weight without having to play the guitar. Which was good for everyone- you were an awful guitar player. 

“Anytime, loves,” you said, a smile lighting your lips. You’d almost overdosed on the anti-anxiety pills this morning- the feeling of playing a gig still unfamiliar and nerve wracking. 

But you heard the music start, and started to sing. 

Only when this particular song really kicked into gear did you toss open the curtain, and the cheer went up, almost drowning out the music. You were certainly the fan favorite of the band, only because you were the most expressive. You didn’t have an instrument, so you got to run around on stage, and kneel down to reach out, brushing your fingers to the crowd’s as you sang, like God to Adam. 

It really wasn’t a looks thing- for some, it might be, but not to most. Hey, if there was anyone that should really get the attention, it was Padme. She was unfairly beautiful. 

The great thing about being a punk artist was that most of your fans were, too. They came with their tattoos and snuck in their weed, their ripped jeans always leaving with a few more holes than they arrived with. A band like yours, so dominated by women, had really caught on with a female crowd, but there were always guys here, too. You never really cared to know if it was their dicks or their ears that brought them.

There was a little bit of a problem, though. You were well known for trying to make connections with as many fans as you could- not for your sake, but for theirs. You loved taking selfies, touching their fingers, winking at them during a particularly suggestive lyric, guys and girls alike. Which lead to a little problem, one that Ahsoka loved to refer to as your ‘wattpad fantasy’. 

Growing up when you had, you’d all been all over the internet, into each of its corners. You knew the common trope that teenaged fans had with their favorite artists- that they’d catch the eye of the main singer, and get dragged backstage after the show.

You had the opposite fantasy. Too many times did one or another audience member catch your eye, and yeah, sometimes you did consider catching them before they left after the show. It never worked- either you lost track of them, or you didn’t have the guts to go through with it. 

When you laid eyes on him, though, you wanted so desperately to go through with it tonight. 

You tried not to be obvious, you really did try to be subtle- but whenever the multicolored lights caught his hair, your gaze was pulled back to him, no matter how much you wanted to give equal attention to every audience member brave enough to wrestle their way to the front row. 

But you also wanted to make sure he knew. That you’d noticed him.

With one or two lyrics, lines like “tell me that you love me, even if it’s only for tonight”, you let your eyes catch his, hoping to whatever powers there might’ve been that he’d be looking back at you. 

The halftime break, the intermission, came faster than expected, and you dropped into the one room the laser tag place set aside for you, and tried to clean as much sweat from your scalp and hair as you could. 

“Alright, what is it?” Padme asked from behind you.

“What to you mean?” you asked, glancing at her through the mirror you were using to try to artfully smudge your eyeliner. 

“You’re favoring the left side of the audience. What, find a wattpad boy?”

“Another one?” Ahsoka called from the other side of the room, rubbing sore callouses on her palms.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved them off with a laugh, “let me dream.” 

Act II came around, and back to the stage you went, trying to be even more subtle this time around. Still, you kept track of him- he hadn’t moved far. Maybe, if you watched him carefully enough, you’d get to meet him before he left. 

It was hard to do, and you hadn’t yet been successful. You really weren’t supposed to offer fans any ‘free’ attention, or at least, that was the way your manager had put it. If you let everybody take a picture with you, then no one will buy backstage passes. 

A sentiment that your anarchist side absolutely resented. Fuck capitalism, you wanted to chill with your fans. 

But hey, back on topic! It was amazing how you could totally tune out during a song, and tune back in, still strutting around the state, still singing perfectly. Luckily, you’d brought yourself back to reality, right when the second to last song was about to end. 

When it faded away, you stepped to the center of the stage, readjusting your mic quickly and letting a real smile come over your face. 

And this- this was it. No matter how fantastic any show was, it would never top this. You always went out with the same song, way back from your first album, one of the first you’d ever written. You heard Padme start to strum.

“And with that, we’re coming to the end,” you said over the guitar, speaking to the audience like you knew every person there. “So I want you to all sing along with this one. Every damn word. Because tonight- this is a night none of us are going to forget.” You’d said it a hundred times, and yet, you meant it every time. When you stopped speaking, you started singing, abandoning your strutting and stomping for just standing at the front of the stage, looking at them all. 

“It was a fall night, late night-” There was a reason you always ended with this song. It was so beautiful, and so sensual. It was a promise, between you, and your band, and your fans, a promise that it was all for them, not for whatever rode in their wallets. A promise that you would keep looking out for them. 

And when you began the chorus, you dropped to your knees, getting that much closer to them, your smile so genuine, because you could hear them, every single one of them, like they were performing for you. It was their night as much as yours, it was their music more than it was yours. 

A hundred voices welling up around yours was always what kept you awake at night, kept you coming back, pushing through the looks that people gave you when you said you were trying to make it in the music industry, pushing through the late nights where you couldn’t make it through that lyric. This song, right here, this was what brought you back, kept reminding you what mattered. 

You stopped singing, and they continued without you. They always did- they would see how you just looked at them all, with the realest smile they’d ever seen, and they sang for you. 

You couldn’t help it. You watched him- and he was singing, too. 

This time, you knew for sure. You knew he was watching you, too, and when your eyes locked, the voices around you all swelled to a crescendo, like a soundtrack to the scene you were living through. 

You had to snap yourself back into the world to pick up the second verse. It stayed just as intimate, just as amazing, all the way to the end of the song, when you sang the final note, and just stood there, basking in it, in a world made just for you. 

The stage lights flickered out, and you disappeared into the dark. 

Over your earpiece, one of the roadies informed you that your mics were off, and that’s exactly the way you liked them. You dropped onto the stage, hanging your legs over the front of it. You were still a few feet from the closest little fence, but it was closer than you’d been to them yet. 

“Hey, guys,” you hissed toward anyone within earshot. That alone, in the dim light, gathered a crowd of twenty or so who had noticed you. You always did this at the end of the show- just to let them hear their name on your tongue. 

And maybe, today, to find him. 

You looked to a girl who had her hand outstretched to you, and you took it briefly.

“Hey, what’s your name?” you asked, and she shouted back “Oran!”

“Oran, almost like the color, huh?” You were so much more at ease now than you were, before the show. “I bet you hear that all the time.” You turned to someone else, always trying to make it through as many people as possible. 

How many could you touch base with before turning to him, so that it wouldn’t be suspicious? Was three enough, or should you do one more?

No, when you caught his eyes, there was no turning back. 

“Hey, what’s up,” you said, fighting to keep your heartbeat under control. 

“Anakin,” he said, then pulling a bright yellow card out of his jacket. That, you’d recognize anywhere- that was a backstage pass. 

Like the universe was aligning for you. 

“Well, Anakin, if you’ve got a pass, I’ll see you later, yeah?” As you usually did from a person who had a pass, you moved on quickly, giving this time to others who wouldn’t get more. You heard six or seven more names before Ahsoka was tugging on your shoulder. 

“Alright, alright,” you groaned, throwing your legs over the stage again and standing up, but not before blowing one last kiss toward the small crowd you’d gathered. 

As soon as you made it back, into where the speakers cluttered up all of the space, you collapsed against Ahsoka, laughing as she struggled to hold you up.

“What, thinking about your wattpad boy?” she said, throwing you to your feet.

“Oh, not again,”  Aayla whined, “he’ll be no different than every other one that you dream of finding at next week’s show, and then never see again.”

“No, no, this one’s different!” you insisted, grabbing onto Padme’s shirt. She brushed you off with a laugh.

“Oh yeah? How?” 

“His name is Anakin,” you said, rubbing your lower lip between your teeth. “And he’s got a backstage pass.” 

“What??” Came the collective cry, and you shushed them all before your manager appeared. 

It was showtime, baby. 

There were two or three of them, in total. The passes tended not to sell too well, and there were only a few available, anyway. The band just wasn’t quite big enough to pull that kind of fandom, save for a few die-hards who would one day get to pull out a photo and say ‘see? I was there at the beginning.’ 

Anakin was the last of the bunch. 

“Great to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand for real this time. His eyes were damn intense- no wonder you’d been mesmerized by them. 

“You too,” he said, and introductions went just as seamlessly with the others. Padme hugged him, and Ahsoka, little firecracker, gave him a playful punch for telling her that she looked taller when she was on stage. 

Now- there’s a reason Padme’s your best friend in the world. 

“Hey, it’s getting late,” she informed you, as though she were telling you to wrap it up. But she was smarter than that, and had set up the perfect trap.

“Oh,” Anakin said, looking slightly guilty and quite disappointed. “Well, I-” 

“Nah,” you cut him off, smacking the back of your hand against his chest, “You paid for fifteen minutes, you’ll get them. We’ve just got to start packing up. You can chill with us, if you want.” No matter the fame difference between the five of you, he was just another guy in his early 20′s, the same as the rest of you, save for eighteen year old Ahsoka. He meshed well with the lot of you, and even helped load ‘Soka’s drums into the truck. 

And, hey- he knew what he was getting into when he climbed into the back of the van with the four of you.

And what he was getting into was a bumpy-ass ride to one of the shittiest hotels the area could offer. It wasn’t even midnight, and you didn’t feel like climbing into bed just yet, so you let him follow the four of you upstairs so you could grab your phone and room key before leaving them to entertain themselves for the evening. 

“Come home alive!” Aayla called as a farewell, and Ahsoka snorted from where she was laying on her bed. 

“Come home capable of walking,” she said, and Padme saved you by slamming the door shut. 

“So what’s there to do around here?” you asked him, shoving your hands into your pockets. You walked close to him, shoulders almost brushing with each step, and his smile was just for you.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely nothing. You’re lucky you found the laser tag place.” You looked toward him with a laugh, the ugly carpeting of the hotel hallway stretching on forever in front of you.

“Seriously? How could you survive?”

“Hey, not every town is downtown LA.” 

“I’m flattered you think I’m famous enough to live in LA.” You stopped at the elevator, punching the down button. He nudged your shoulder playfully, those piercing blue eyes flicking over your face. 

“You’re gonna be. You guys are really good.”

“Good to know I have your blessing for my career.” 

“I’m serious!” he said with a laugh, and when the elevator door opened, he let you inside first. 

“Yeah, yeah. So if there’s nothing to do around here...” You tilted your head at him, watching as he rested his shoulders back against the buffed metal wall. “What do you do?”

“Find a friend’s basement to smoke in,” he said with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but join him. “Mostly we go see movies, or sneak onto a roof, if we’re lucky.” You narrowed your eyes, letting your gaze slide to the elevator buttons. 

“A roof, you say?” 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble-”

“Anakin, answer me this-” You pulled out your phone to check the time. “Do you think the lobby security agent of this Comfort Inn is going to be dedicated enough to check the roof at 12:23 AM?” The world outside this elevator didn’t exist as his lips turned up into a smirk.

“No, I don’t think they will.”

“In that case-” You slipped your second knuckle against the highest number on the wall- 6. Not very impressive, but it would do.

Once the elevator went down to the lobby, and back up again, you stumbled your way to the stairwell and up, finding the door that said ‘roof access- do not enter’. Since when do you ever listen?

If you listened to some red sign on a door, you wouldn’t have your head on Anakin’s shoulder, looking up at more stars than you’d ever seen in your entire life. 

You’d grown up in California, too close to some of the largest cities in the country to ever see the night sky like this. He’d grown up here, where there were warehouses for shipping to Reno, or Vegas, or Salt Lake City, but none of those cities were close enough to steal the sky.

“See those two, right on top of each other?” He asked, pointing to an area a few degrees up from the horizon.

“Yeah, I think,” you said, and he lifted his left arm, where he had a constellation pattern tattooed between his elbow and wrist. 

“It’s this one. The phoenix. The first constellation I actually saw in the sky.” You reached out, taking hold of his elbow, and positioning his arm, from your perspective, just next to the constellation. “My mom took me out to a field and showed me the stars,” he said, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the fondness in his voice. “For a long time, I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Me too,” you said with a laugh, “but I wasn’t good enough in math.” 

“My mom’s friend Watto says I’m too good with cars to fly a ship.”

“Wouldn’t that make you better?” You asked, readjusting so that your shoulder pressed to his. It was a little cold.

“You’d think so, right?” You were such a loud person, that all too often you fought against silence- not tonight. You let it envelope you, bringing with it peace. You could hear Anakin breathing, and it was so calming, your eyes slipped closed.

“You’re going to fall asleep up here,” he said, a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

“Shut up,” you groaned, “I had a long day, and you’re warm.” 

“You should go back to the room, then.” You rolled over onto your stomach, then, taking a good look at him. 

“But that would mean that this night has to end.” He lifted his chest up by planting his elbows down, bringing himself closer to you. 

“You said it yourself,” he said, voice smooth and quiet, “this is a night we’re not going to forget.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want it to end,” you breathed, unable to look away from him. You barely noticed it when he begun to lean forward, but then his lips were on yours, and that you certainly took notice of. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, thanks to the shock and the welcome nature of it, and you leaned into it. He brought his furthest hand up and let it slide to the back of your neck, as though he could keep you from pulling away. You wouldn’t.

Your lips were still parted when he pulled away, your mind struggling to catch up. He’d- he’d just-

Calloused fingers brushed your hair back, and you opened your eyes to their touch, being drawn right back to his gaze. 

“Then it doesn’t have to.” 

-🦌 Roe

part 2

[secondhand-trash]

A/N: a softer actually kinda wholesome part of the wholesome ghost content uwu

Warning: brief description of death/violence, cheating(between side characters, ghost daddy would never uvu), break-in robbery, brief nsfw below cut (voyeurism, female masturbation)

Word count: 4300

Q:

Where does a ghost go on vacation?

Shinsou Hitoshi had never been one for leaving his house. Life was already stressful enough, he would much rather stay within the comfortable confines of this nice house he worked hard to pay rent for when he could take a break. Even with dismay from his parents and relentless invitation from his friends, he still turned them down with an obviously fabricated excuse every time. He had everything he needed here. If he could, he would not take one step out that door at all which was ironic because now that he really had no reason and no choice to leave the house, he would give anything just to even poke his head out of these four walls.

Contrary to popular belief, you could never really quite feel your death. Of course, there was this short period of struggling in his case, together with the pain that slowly spread through his body and the numbness that followed suit. But all in all, it really felt like he was just slipping into a heavy curtain, free-falling onto a large bed with a mattress that let your entire body sank in until your consciousness was just floating onto of the pillows.

He had yet to register that he was already dead when his eyes snapped open again until he realised that he had forgotten to breathe and it really didn’t matter to him anymore. There really was no existential crisis that could compare to what he felt when he looked down to see his own body lying on the ground. 

Such a ghastly sight, he would much rather not think about now that it was long gone. 

He had wondered what life after death would be like anyone else but in all honesty, it was very underwhelming. There was no guidebook, no reaper showing up to collect his soul, nothing but him in an empty house. He could not leave the damn house no matter how hard he tried. Every time he stepped out the door or leap out the window frame, he would always end up right back at the spot where he took his final breath like some cruel joke, and eventually, he gave up. Not that he had any other choice.

No one wanted to move into a house where someone had recently died there and during the time of the house’s vacancy, Shinsou had set his mind to test the limits to his newfound existence as a spiritual being. In his little quest to self-actualisation, he had discovered several things. He could pass through things, which was fun and he spent a good amount of time poking his head into random objects for a while. Making himself tangible took longer for him to grasp, but eventually, he came to the realisation that the key to it was to not think too much about it and just do it like he would if he was alive. He still had his senses to some degree, but things that would bother him when he was alive, like the feeling of fire right below his palm per se (yes he tried that too, it was not like he could die twice anyways), did not have much of an effect on him now that he wasn’t. People appeared to be unable to see him, much to his delight after realising that none of the passersby saw him standing in front of the window for several hours like some cheap cgi from a b-movie.

He was still pretty pissed that he could not float. But hey, who knows, maybe he would unlock that skill later on after he jumped off the table for enough times.

What he had concluded after a while was that being dead was boring. He had all the time in the world but there was no cable or internet so binging whatever show he never got around to pick up while he was alive was not an option. Besides, it would probably stir up quite the panic if the neighbours heard the sound of people talking coming from the supposedly empty house. He did, however, picked up several new hobbies. He learned how to play the grand piano that was left here in the living room by the last owner. He always played it as quietly as he could, he would be in so much trouble if people picked up the faint music at night. It was hard figuring out the notes and scales on his own but with the amount of time he had, eventually he got to the point where what he played sounded somewhat decent. He also discovered a stack of vinyls and a record player covered with cobwebs stuffed at the back of the attic, one of which was an audio tutorial on how to waltz that was from god knows how long ago. Shinsou had never seen himself as the waltzing type of person, but when you were a ghost who was bored out of his mind, anything you could get your hands on was worth a try.

He stopped counting how long it had been since he died at some point, burying himself within the keys of the piano and stumbling to figure out how to practice each step without a partner. For a while, he felt like he didn’t quite mind spending his eternity like that.

Then one day, the door swung to show a woman with a large smile on her face and a couple that looked like they would die if they did so little as took their arm out of the others’ walked in.

Turned out, people would eventually forget about the young man who died tragically in the house as time passed and land got more expensive. The new owner of the house was a newly wedded couple, according to what the wife said giddily to the real estate agent. Shinsou watched from a corner of the living room as the agent handed them the key, sighing as he realised that his silence in the house would never be restored.

For a while, he felt like he could get used to this. Both the wife and the husband would leave for work in the day, giving him the personal space that he desperately needed. They would come back at dawn together, carrying bags of groceries and laughing as they walked in. Shinsou had no part in it, but he decided that if he never got to have a family of his own then being happy for the residents of this place he was stuck in was the closest he would get. He liked listening to the couple talk over dinner, smiling and nodding his head as if they could see him at all. Was it lonely that he was in a world of his own despite watching people around him carry on with their life like he had never been in this place at all? Kinda, but Shinsou figured that he didn’t mind it all too much. At least these people were happy, and there could be nothing more tragic than being stuck with a miserable family in the house he could never leave.

Until one day, he picked up that the couple stopped kissing each other goodbye before leaving the door in the morning. Until that evening when he realised that they stopped coming home together. He saw it all too clearly, the outsider that could go through walls that the living could not see through, and he was worried that this peace would not last much longer.

Until that one night, when he thought that the husband and wife went back to their old ways as he heard the laughing from outside the door only to feel his heart drop when he noticed how that woman giggling sounded nothing like the wife.

They didn’t even bother going into the bedroom, immediately all over each other the moment the front door was clicked. Shinsou curled up at the corner of the attic that night, pretending that if he heard nothing, then whatever was going on in the living room right now never happened at all.

The wife still wasn’t back the next morning and against his better judgment, he took a lipstick out of the woman’s bag and put it somewhere he knew for sure the wife would see.

He wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing when he saw tears streaming down the wife’s face after finding the unfamiliar lipstick that was clearly not hers. He stood and watched as she slammed the door, her cries and screams still echoing through the house even after she left.

Shinsou decided that he would never meddle with the living again when he saw the man broke down sobbing, while he could only stand there and wonder if it would have been better if he was never there at all.

The couple that wasn’t quite a pair anymore moved out soon after that, and Shinsou was left to his own device in an empty house again. It was funny how things could be cleared out so fast and as the man locked the door for the last time, it was like they were never there at all. All the pictures and tiny knick-knacks that made the house alive were gone, with only empty spots on the walls.

Sometimes when Shinsou sat in silence at night,, staring at the vacant spots around a house that was too big for one lonely ghost, he felt like he was never there too.

The next occupant of the house he died in was a family of three. He watched through the windows on the second floor as the truck pulled up and an excited child ran towards the door. He could hear the laughing from the parents even through the thick walls. Shinsou was never one for children, they were too noisy and too unexpected. He sighed, watching as the dad picked the child up to twist the doorknob, the sound of innocent blabbering immediately filling the house up right as the lock clicked.

He didn’t really think that these people would make much change in his routine, it was not like they would notice him anyways. He nearly felt the blood that wasn’t there retreating from his face when his eyes met with the young son of the family, the way his round eyes slowly widens told him the one thing that he was most afraid of.

The kid could see him.

He was expecting the child to scream, to run to his parents, or cry even. But he didn’t, much to his surprise. Perhaps the child mistook him as one of his imaginary friends that happened to be a lot more real and a lot less imaginary? He would never know. You know children, you could never really quite understand how their world works after you grew up. 

The house was alive again, and Shinsou felt like he could get used to this, for real this time. The kid didn’t annoy him as much as he thought he would, and there were times when he didn’t even notice the smile on his face as he watched the boy ran to his parents to show them things he was proud of. They were good parents, Shinsou thought from his childless young adult perspective. 

He liked the kid, as wild as it sounded. He admitted that the young resident of the house was a cute kid, round eyes and wide smile, hair always tangled up in a mess quite like his own. There were times when he would creep down the stairs behind the adults’ back and when he placed a finger on his lips to signal the boy to not say anything, the child always had a hard time biting back a chuckle, shaking his head as his eyes sneakily followed the ghost’s figure.

The boy found a sense of pride in knowing something that his parents didn't, the purple-haired roommate was his friend and his friend only, a tiny secret that he shared with the young ghost who always gave him a thumbs up when he held up his drawings to thin air much to his guardian’s confusion.

Shinsou assumed that one day, as the kid grew up, he would stop being able to see him like the other adults. The idea made him feel lonely sometimes, but he was alright with it. If he never got to have a kid of his own, he supposed watching someone else’s grow up would be the closest thing he would ever get from having a family of his own.

For a while, he really thought that things would be set this time around and he would not have to be alone for a long time coming. Until that night when everyone was asleep upstairs and he being the ghost he was, decided to indulge in his ghostly lack of need for sleep to lounge around the living room, heard a rattling at the door lock.

He froze in horror when the door crept open and a masked man walked in, very careful with each movement and making no noises even though the wooden floor had a tendency to creak with the lightest of steps.

This felt all too similar. Someone breaking in at the depths of the night while everyone was asleep, unaware of the danger lurking just steps below. He could feel his blood curl at the familiar unfolding of events, and seeing the man snooped around made him recall the feeling of seeing his own dead body much to his dismay.

He thought of the parents, the good people who were just trying to live their lives. He remembered the child, so young and with so much potential, and the wide grin on his face. He had hoped to see him grow up, to see how he would look like years later when he got taller. His fingers trembled when he thought of what could happen to the family, of how they might end up just like him.

Shinsou clenched his jaw, hands clutching both in anger and in fear. The same thing was happening but something was different, this time he was here. Nothing would happen to the family as long as he was around, and he was bound to be around for a very long time.

The house was big, but one ghost haunting it was more than enough.

The mom screamed when she saw a man lying on the floor unconscious the next morning, with hardcover books and kitchenware all over the floor. The man was still alive, she realised after checking his pulse gingerly and woke her husband. The mask and the many tools in his belt hinted that whoever this strange man was, he was definitely not there for friendly inquiries. The couple was shocked and confused as to what happened for the burglar to be there, especially after looking around to see that no valuables were missing.  As for the child, he was barely awake as he made way down the stairs, rubbing his eyes when he saw the many people in his living room. He did not know what was going on but daddy and mommy looked very serious so he did the smart thing and left the scene, going to see if the purple boy wanted to see his new lego set instead.

The family moved out of the house as expected, you could not call somewhere home if you didn’t even feel safe in it. The child cried when his parents told him that they were moving, knowing that this meant leaving his new friend behind. Shinsou did not have the heart to say anything when the child strike up a conversation with him the first time, asking if purple boy could move with them too. Shinsou wanted to lie and say that he would be there with him, but he knew that it was better to not hurt the child even more when he would eventually realise that the ghost was nowhere to be found in his new home.

The kid was the only one who looked back before the family walked out of the door. Shinsou put on his widest smile and waved, despite really really wanting to cry.

The house was left unoccupied for a long while which made sense, murder and robbery didn’t exactly sound the most appealing. Shinsou had decided that he liked it better this way, no one around meant no one to get attached to. This time, even if someone did move in eventually, he was determined to not stick his head into a world he didn’t belong in. The living come and go, but he could not leave no matter how much he wanted to and he did not necessarily want to go through that again. 

He was pretty content with being alone, now being able to carry on with his newfound hobby of waltzing (badly) and playing the piano in minimum volume. Shinsou had a strong feeling that he was better of spending the rest of his eternity like that with no one around to disturb him.

And then you showed up.

You were unlike any other who moved into the house, the only one who was alone, much like him back when he stepped into those doors with a pulse. You were curious when you first walked inside, looking around in interest as if you had no idea what the house looked like prior. You intrigued him, someone closed to his age and bright-eyed, twinkling in interest when you saw something that you liked and scrunched your brows together when you didn’t. Poking your head through each doorway and quickly leaving to see the other rooms, mumbling under your breath about how one person could use so many rooms which he absolutely agreed.

Shinsou felt a weird emotion bubbling up in him when he saw that of all the rooms you could pick from, you settled moving your stuff into the one that he used to sleep in. 

Perhaps it was because you were young and single and very much so on your own, he felt way more of a need to respect your space than he did with all the previous residents of the house. There were many times when he stopped himself in the tracks as he was about to pass through the bathroom to get to another place, knowing that you were in there from the sound of water running. You were completely unaware of his struggles as you lounged around with shorts and thin thin crop tops, all sprawled out on the couch while the ghost was scolding himself to just take his eyes off you and look somewhere else. He was dead, but he was still young and filled with hot blood(?) no less and the fact that you looked so lovely with your hair wet and waist showing under the loose shirt did not help his plan to not pay attention to you at all.

But all inner struggles aside, you just seemed like a nice person to be around in general. He was always peaking behind you to see what you were reading when you were leisurely sipping your coffee on sunday mornings, slightly shocked and very approving when he saw that you had discovered some of his old books in the attic. You were the only person to notice that well-hidden trap door down the hallway, and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw you beamed in delight as you found the stack of records. He convinced himself that it was just his own loneliness talking and that he was only feeling that way because it had been too long since he came across someone his age, but something about the way you laughed when you were on the phone with your friends or the little dance you did when you were waiting for the water to boil made his heart flustered in a way he didn’t know ghosts could.

He wished he could talk to you.

His world was flipped upside down when you saw him for the first time. There were many times before when you would look past him, staring right past his ghostly existence, but he felt shivered running down his spine when you actually looked at him. 

Wonderful, he thought to himself as he froze in place, not knowing how to react as your eyes meet, there is no way they’re gonna stay knowing that I’m here.

It seemed like the living had once again outdone his expectations. You stayed in the house, much to his shock and delight, and you had started talking to him. He was very tempted to reply every time you greet him in the morning but refrained from doing so, remembering what happened the last time he interacted with the living. You had taken the liberty to test out different ways to provoke a reaction out of him, leaving sticky notes and pens around the house, going far enough to prepare food for him even though he never really sat down at the table. 

He thought you would give up eventually but you didn’t, and his will to steer distance from you was slowly faltering. 

The first time he did something for you was out of instinct, you forgot to take your clothes out of the washing machine and it was making him anxious because he had made the same mistake before, nothing could compare to the annoyance of having to do your laundries again. Your mouth hang open when you sprinted down to the kitchen after sleeping past your alarm to see your clothes spinning in the dryer, turning your head to see Shinsou sitting on the kitchen counter, looking anywhere but you as if he did nothing.

He could not forget how happy you looked as you thanked him, and he knew he was gone for.

You seemed to accept that you had a roommate and he was a ghost. Casually asking for his opinion on things despite never getting a spoken response. Your casual acknowledgment of his existence only made things more difficult for him. There were many times when he would think about you in a way that was everything but innocent while you were deep in slumber in the other room, his room. He could touch you if he just walked through the door and reached out, but he always managed to pull back before doing something he knew he would regret. He liked you far too much to risk driving you away and he would just have to handle this frustration himself.

He imagined the way you would sound as he caressed you when he reached down to palm himself through the fabric.

He was doing so well, pushing away any impure thoughts and acting as gentlemanly as he could in giving you space you rightfully deserved. But when he heard a moan from your room that one night, something inside him snapped. He stood in front of your door, the last bit of self-control pulling him back as the sound of your rapid breaths and wet noises which he did not need to make a guess to know its source filled his ears. 

You sounded even more heavenly than he had imagined, and he could feel his own arousal building up.

You knew he was here and still decided to went through with it, knowing that there was a chance he would notice. Then it must have meant that you wanted it to happen, right? Right? 

He waited for you to object, to scream, to push him away when he climbed over your naked form, soaking in your body that was displaying wanton lust as clear liquid leaked from your cunt all over the sheets, but you didn’t. Your pupils were diluted as he stared at you, face flushed and filled with desire.

He took your silence as permission to keep going, and he did not miss the way you mewled when he gripped your wrist.

“Let me take care of that.”

He finally did what he wanted and talked to you, along with many other things that he had only dreamt of doing.

“Ouch! You’re stepping on my foot!” 

A yelp broke him out of his haze and he snapped back when you hit his shoulder. You had moved the record player down to the living room under his request and right now, soft music was playing as he held you in his arms, one hand on your waist and the other holding yours.

“You were the one who suggested we do this so you better focus.” You sent him a glare and he smiled apologetically.

“For someone who said they have been learning how to waltz for quite some time now,” you hissed when he hit your toe once again, “you are really bad at this.”

“Don’t blame it on me,” he said pulling you close to him until his cheek was right against yours, “never had a partner to practice with.”

You snorted, mumbling something about him playing the dead card every time. He grinned, feet moving clumsily in unison with yours in each step as he gently swayed you.

You stumbled when he suddenly twirled you around, clicking your tongue in mock judgment before he eased your scrawl with a light peck on the lips. 

You sighed. “Good thing we have plenty of time to get better at this.”

Shinsou smiled, thinking that he had finally found a way and someone to spend all this time he had never asked for.

“Yeah,” he said in between kisses, enjoying your warmth as you hook your arms around his neck, “plenty of time.”

(Back to the masterlist)

A:

Maliboo

[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 5 (Kiro) Final Part [Broken Red Wire] & [The Curtain Rises] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

For the previous translations of Chapter 5: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Enjoy~

[Broken Red Wire]

After Kiro and I climbed up, I sat on the ground in shock and realized that someone really did come help us.

This person had a strong complexion. He smiled cordially at me after he noticed my scrutinizing gaze.

He looked familiar like I had seen him somewhere before.

Kiro: You’re also very late.

??: Didn’t I arrive before the end of your countdown?

He scratched his head and walked over, extending his hand out to me.

??: I didn’t say hello to you last time. I’m Ah Liu, nice to meet you.

Ah Liu: As a way of greeting, next time I formally invite you to drink the special offer from my store.

I responded with hindsight, Kiro pulled my wrist like a bear nervously taking away the sweet honey jar.

After giving him a helpless look, Ah Liu retracted his smile.

Ah Liu: There are inexplicable signal and magnetic field barriers. It wasn’t easy using Evol.

Ah Liu: After you entered the game, there was a constant delay in the positioning of the post. We were worried that something had happened. We discussed it and decided that I would go into the game to confirm your accurate location.

“We”?

I stood behind Kiro in bewilderment. Is there someone else besides Ah Liu?

Ah Liu nodded in response to the earphones in his ears and motioned to Kiro.

Ah Liu: After I entered the game, the same situation occurred and other people are still examining what is going on.

Ah Liu: But the problem here is, we’re not sure what special equipment is being used or…

Ah Liu: What special ability.

Kiro nodded solemnly at him.

Kiro: The plan is proceeding as normal.

After Ah Liu gave an “OK” gesture, he temporarily disappeared into the forest.

At this moment, I finally realized that, without a doubt, Kiro arranged everything.

He noticed my gaze and winked at me playfully.

Kiro: You see, I said I will protect you, right?

At this time, there was a “ding” sound from his microcomputer. Kiro looked worried for a moment, but he immediately collected his emotions, sat on the ground, and started the computer.

The progress bar on the computer screen showed 100%.

MC: What is this?

Kiro: This is the data analysis of that metal collar.

MC: You found a way to remove the metal collar!

Kiro was not as proud as I thought he would be. He just raised the corners of his mouth leisurely.

Kiro: Miss Chips, before you said you would get angry if I secretly left….

MC: Yeah? What about it?

Kiro: What would you do if you were really angry?

He looked into my eyes and spoke softly, but I somehow felt that something was wrong.

MC: What are you trying to say? You’re not trying to play any tricks on me, are you?

Kiro: I’m just asking so I can set a reminder to myself.

MC: That is best….

MC: Let me think, I won’t talk to you for a year and confiscate all your snacks.

MC: No matter how much you beg or apologize. No matter the reason, I will never forgive you.

Kiro: You will.

MC: I certainly won’t…

His voice was soft and when I turned my head to look at Kiro, I found that his eyes had turned to pure gold during some point.

Bathed in the morning light, there is an indescribable tenderness.

Kiro: I command you…

He gave me an extremely bright and tender smile.

I suddenly raised my hand to block my eyes, but Kiro moved faster. He quickly held my wrist and my vision was filled with a clear golden glow.

Kiro: All within my range of control belong to me.

Kiro: Get a good night’s sleep now, and don’t mention this game to anyone when you wake up.

Kiro: Then….forgive me.

He stretched out his hand gently to me, and I realized that I had lost control of my body again and couldn’t say anything.

My consciousness was slowly slipping away, and my legs gradually lost their strength. Kiro caught me.

Kiro: It’s all right, MC.

Kiro: I said, I would let you leave here safely.

My brain gradually stopped working, but I pinched my palm so that my consciousness could stay awake at the end.

I looked at Kiro, and strenuously opened my mouth to say something to him.

But I know that my whole body is being drained of energy little by little.

I’m going to fall asleep soon.

During this time, Ah Liu came back. He seemed to have known this would happen, so he didn’t ask much, and neatly connected a data cable to the girl’s neck.

Kiro: Are you sure this is analytical data?

Ah Liu carefully checked the analysis results and shook his head.

Ah Liu: The design of this metal collar is a bit unique. The time is too short so these results can’t remove it perfectly.

Ah Liu: He has a special heat induction system installed, which is quite troublesome. I can give you about 1.5 seconds at most and it shouldn’t be detected.

Kiro: Enough.

Ah Liu: OK.

Ah Liu took out the equipment without hesitation, leaned on the girl’s side and carefully dismantled the metal collar.

Soon, he found a small button that was not easily noticeable and Ah Liu cautiously reconfirmed the other lines before lightly poking in with a metal wire.

With a sound, the metal collar instantly turned into two halves.

Within the next second, Kiro swiftly closed them around his neck, resolutely and firmly.

Ah Liu lifted the girl on his back and said nothing more.

“I will not let go of your hand.”

The girl’s voice seems to be ringing in his ears.

Kiro glanced down and watched his hand slowly close up.

Out of nowhere, the forest was engulfed by a raging fire, and the wind blew away the last remnants of gentleness.

The silver hair was clear and distinct in the flames, like a sharp knife shining with cold light.

Electronic voice: Congratulations to Hunter No. 29 for advancing.

Fiery sparks rose in the air, covering Helios’s fading back.

Half asleep and half awake, I feel as if someone is running with me on their back.

On the electronic screen of the contact lens, the cute pixel bear went away by itself in the opposite direction of the flower bear. The red line between them stretched straight.

The word “warning” kept flashing in front of my eyes.

Warning. About to exceed the connection range.

Wait a moment….I begged silently in my heart.

Warning. About to disconnect.

Suddenly the little bear stopped.

It seems to have seen the same warning. The red thread is tightly connected together, like a distant but silent entanglement.

It stayed in place as if reluctant to sever the red thread.

My consciousness finally dissipated in the vague darkness, and as the little flower bear continued to move forward, the red line quietly broke.

Warning.

Connection disrupted.

[The Curtain Rises]

At the edge of the forest, two figures suddenly appeared out of thin air.

Ah Liu: Feeling this Evol! Strangely, there is a problem with this forest.

The sound from the headset seemed to be coming from another guidance, and he cautiously looked at the sniper rifle hidden in the woods.

Ah Liu: In this way, even if a player had a chance to run to the edge and ask for help, they would be dealt with.

He pointed to the highway ten meters away.

Ah Liu: This distance should still be movable.

As soon as Ah Liu spoke, a silver-white arc was drawn in the air and a man’s figure appeared in front of them.

Behind him stood a teenager in his early teens. The mist made them unable to see the man’s face and his eyes were faintly glowing with dark gray light.

Ah Liu turned around without hesitation. The moment he disappeared with the girl on his back, the man stretched out his hand.

Teenage Boy: Are you sending Evol? It looks amazing!

The boy widened his eyes in surprise as e he looked at the silent forest, showing a cruel smile, then turned to the man.

Teenage Boy: Teleporting Evol should involve jumping between spaces, what if you find that you can’t use Evol while jumping?

Teenage Boy: Joker, where would they be teleported to?

The man named Joker smiled, his eyes full of playfulness, and he did not speak.

The silver-white arc once again struck the air and the dim underground passage behind the white light appeared in front of his eyes.

I woke up groggy, feeling a faint pain all over my body.

I looked around and found myself in a tunnel, like an abandoned underground railway.

I suddenly remembered everything that just happened. The hunter game and Kiro leaving.

MC: Open map.

The air was quiet. I lowered my head and found that the metal collar on my neck is gone.

MC: Kilo, display location!

On the cold mechanical screen, only a bear wearing a flower is shown.

MC: Kilo, display satellite signal, zoom in.

The screen appears to show that I’m still in the forest but underground.

I took a heavy breath, gritted my teeth and stood up.

In any case, I must leave here first.

-End of Chapter 5-

[asherranceoftheheart]

Re:Loop

Fandom: GLITCHED Characters: Conrad (GLITCHED), Player (GLITCHED), Gus (GLITCHED) - Mentioned Pairing/s: Implied Gus/Conrad, Gen Warning/s: Possible De-realization Triggers (please be careful) Summary: A conversation between two people who lives beyond and beneath the Fourth Wall. Don't you have anything better to do? Hah. Sometimes, I wonder about that myself. Tag List: @scarlet-mangata

AN: Lmaooo the game isn’t out yet but I have some Thoughts on how the Player could possibly play a role in the game. I’ve only played the demo but it’s super fire lmao.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

So it ends.

The credits finally roll and the credits theme’s final notes slowly putters off and then…

Nothing.

The curtains have fallen on the main stage and you’re left behind with nothing but the darkness all around you. You lingered there in the silence for god knows how long (had it been seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years?) before you begin to move again.

Something flickers in front of you like the blinking lights of a broken sign and you focus. You stare.

Continue           New Game

At the corner of your eyes, you could see a faded out option: Exit. A part of you hesitates, considers it for the briefest second, before the selfish, greedy part of you dragged your attention back to the brighter options in front of you.

No. Not yet.

“This again? How many more times do we have to do this?” You tensed at his voice as it echoes out from behind you. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The question tickled something at the deepest corner of your memories. Somebody had asked you that same question before, hadn’t they? And if you could recall correctly… This was almost the same kind of situation that you and he are in right now. A story with a similar aesop about choices and the power of being able to determine your own fate and future...

You reach out your hand, fingers stretching out towards the New Game box in front of you. The tips of your fingers brushed the cold surface of the box before his hand grabbed your wrist.

“Aren’t you also tired of doing this same loop over and over again?” He asked you, a weariness to his voice that also had you feeling the weight of the metaphorical rocks on your shoulders and stomach.

You looked up. Brown meets bluegreenbrownblack—

Do you even remember what you look like anymore?

Has there even been an actual you before all of this?

Conrad shakes you a bit and you jolt back to yourself. You looked away from him, not answering his questions. It was rather ironic for you that when it’s only during these moments that you truly have the freedom to speak your mind that you lose the will to speak. Was it out of shame? Guilt? Or perhaps your pride choking you up from the inside?

You don’t know.

You don’t understand anything anymore.

“Come on,” he gently tugs you down into sitting on the ‘floor’ with him, the options that had been waiting for you earlier flickered out as you went along with his hold. “Let’s just… talk for a bit.”

The ‘floor’, if you could even call it that, was cold but not to the point it was freezing. It was just… there. For all you knew, you could be floating in the void but it wasn’t like things like that mattered anything in here, in the in-between. You hugged your knees to your chest while Conrad made himself comfortable beside you.

Time passed as the silence stretched out between the two of you.

“You can be really stubborn, you know?” He wryly said, after he probably realized that you had no intention of speaking first. “Whenever you’re like this, you sort of remind me of Gus.”

“I’m not going to stop,” you interrupted him before he got too sentimental for your own taste. “If you’re planning on doing an I know you’ve got some good in you speech, save your breath.”

You valiantly ignored the sharp gaze that was digging a hole at the side of your head. You tried not to let it bother you.

It’s an odd feeling to be seen for who you truly are. Even though you yourself don't know who you truly are.

“I know. I’ve watched you long enough to know that you’ll keep doing this until you either find whatever it is that you’re looking for or you grow bored of this… game.” the resigned acceptance practically dripped from his mouth, “Also I stopped trying to ask you to stop after a few loops, remember?”

Do you remember? If you were honest with yourself, the in-betweens have started to blur together the more you restarted the game. But he had a point, you’re not going to stop. You don’t even know if you could even remember how to stop anymore.

“You do know that after a while… you’re gonna run out of new lines to discover, right?” His voice softened. “You’re gonna discover everything that you can discover within the code of this game and you’ll see every ending, every outcome to your choices, every little secret… and then what?”

That’s the question now, isn’t it? What will happen to you when it’s all over?

“... It doesn’t matter,” you simply said as you stood up once more. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. What’s important… Is that I see through what I’ve started.”

The options flickered back into existence right in front of your eyes, this time you raised your hand without a single bit of hesitation in your bones.

After all, anything is better than facing your own truth, right?

“You can’t keep running away,” he sighs, you heard him stand up and walk a little distance away from you. He never did like the feeling that came from these resets.

A part of you bristles like an irritated cat.

“I’m not running away,” you said as you firmly pressed the New Game box.

It rang out with a bell-like sound that seemed to toll as an omen. The world began to flicker around them and you could feel Conrad shake his head at your stubbornness.

“The Bastion essence really suits you at times like these,” you heard him muttering under his breath and you rolled your eyes. “Try to play nice with everyone this time around, yeah? Be kinder to Gus.”

“No promises, loverboy,” you drawled as you closed your eyes. “Don’t hit your head on your way out of the void.”

“Haha, tall joke very funny,” Conrad’s sarcastic laugh was fading away as if he was on a ship that was drifting farther and farther away with each second. “... I hope you find the answers you’ve been searching for this time, friend.”

You huff out a humorless laugh.

You hope so too.

“Take care of yourself, Conrad,” you whisper and yet somehow… he heard it too.

“You take care of yourself too… ☐̢҉́͘͠☐̕҉☐̀͡☐̷̡̨͡☐̵̸̡,” and then there was one.

Alright… let’s pick this up again right from the very beginning.

[cecilspeaks]

173 - The Hundred Year Play

Quoth the raven: [bird noises] Welcome to Night Vale.

Listeners, some exciting news from the world of theatre! The 100 year play is about to reach its final scene. Yes, this is the play that has been running continuously since 1920. Written by a brilliant playwright Hannah Hershman, designed to take exactly 100 years to perform. And the tireless volunteer of the Night Vale Players Playhouse have been going through those scenes, one after another, for decade upon decade. There’s little time to rehearse, for each hour brings new scenes and each scene will only be performed once the play moves on, in order to keep up with the tight schedule needed to execute the entire script before a century elapses.

It is a monumental work of theatre, but like all work, it must some day cease. Today, specifically. I will be in attendance at that historic moment, when the final scene is performed and the curtain closes on the 100 year play.   More soon, but first the news.

We bring you the latest on the lawsuit “The estate of Franklin Chen vs. the city of Night Vale”. As you know, this case has grown so large and complicated that I’ve not had the time to discuss it in my usual community radio broadcasts. But instead, have started a true crime podcast called “Bloody Laws, Bloody Claws: The Murder of Frank Chen”, in which I strive to get to the truth of just what happened on that fateful night when five-headed dragon Hiram McDaniels met Frank Chen, and then later Frank Chen’s body was found covered in burns and claw marks. It’s a confounding mystery. The Sheriff’s Secret Police announce that it seems really complicated and they’re not even gonna try to solve that sucker. “Oh, what?” a Secret Police spokesman muttered at an earthworm he found in his garden. “You want us to fail? You wanna see us fail? That’s why you want us to investigate this case, to see us fail at it?” The family of Frank Chen say they merely want the appropriate parties, in this case the city of Night Vale, Hiram McDaniels and an omniscient conception of God, to take responsibility for their part in this tragedy. The trial is now in its 10th month, and has included spirited re-enactments of the supposed murder by helpful Players Playhouse performers in between their work on the 100 year play. 3 changes of judge and venue due to “some dragon attacks and constant interruptions from a local audio journalist, who hosts a widely respected true crime podcast”. Still, with all this, we near a verdict. Judge Chaplin has indicated she will issue her ruling soon. “Like in the next year or so?” she said. “Certainly within 5 years. Listen, I don’t owe you a verdict, just because you’re paying me to do a job, you can’t rush me to do it. The verdict will be done when. It’s. Done.” Chaplin then huffed out of the courtroom followed by journalists shouting recommendations for episodes of their podcast to listen to.

I was present, you know, on opening night of the 100 year play. Ah, how the theatre buzzed! Of course this was partly the audience, thrilled to be at the start of such an unprecedented work, but mostly – it was the insects. The Night Vale Players Playhouse had quite a pest problem at the time, and still does. It’s difficult to do pest control when there is a 100 year long play being performed on stage at every hour of every day. The curtain opened those many years ago on a simple set of a studio apartment,  a kitchen, a cot, a window overlooking a brick wall. A man sits in the corner deep in thought. A doorbell rings. “Come in, it’s open,” the man says. A woman enters, flustered. She is holding a newborn. “There’s been a murder!” she says. “The victim was alone in a room, and all the doors and windows were locked. “My god!” the man says and springs up. “Who could have done this, and how?!” the woman tells him: “It turns out to be the gardener, Mr. Spreckle. He served with the victim in the war and never could forgive him for what happened there. He threw a venomous snake through an air vent.” The man sits back down, nodding. “Aah! So the mystery is solved.” As a playwright, Hannah Hershman did not believe in stringing up mysteries a second longer than was necessary. The baby in the woman’s arm stirs. “Shush, shush little one!” the woman says. The man looks out the window where he cannot see the sky. “It might look like rain,” he says. “Who knows?” Thus began a journey of 100 years.

And now a word from our sponsors. Today’s episode is sponsored by the Night Vale Medical Board, which would like to remind you that it is important to drink enough water throughout the day. Drink more water! Your body cannot function without water. Without water, you are just dust made animate. Water forms the squelching mud of sentience. Try to have at least ten big glasses of water. Not over the entire day, right now. See if you can get all ten of them down. Explore the capacity of your stomach. See if you can make it burst. You will either feel so much better, or an organ will explode and you will day painfully. And either one is more interesting than the mundane now. You should drink even more water than that. Wander out of your door, search the Earth for liquids. Find a lake and drain the entire thing, until the bottom feeders flop helplessly on the flatlands. Laugh slushingly as you look upon the destruction you have wrought. The power that you possess now that you are well hydrated. Move on from the lake and come to the shore of an ocean. All oceans are one ocean that we have arbitrarily categorized by language. The sea knows no separation, and neither will you when you lay belly down on the sand, put your lips against the waves and guzzle the ocean. The ocean is salty. It will not be very hydrating, so you’ll need to drink a lot of it. Keep going until the tower tops of Atlantis see sky again for the first time in centuries, until the strange glowing creatures of the deep-deep are exposed, splayed out from their bodies now that they no longer have the immense pressure of the ocean depths to keep their structure intact. And once you have drunk the oceans, turn your eyes to the stars. For there is water out there too, and you must suck dry the universe. This has been a message from the Night Vale Medical Board.

20 years passed without me thinking about the 100 year play. You know how it is. One day you’re an intern at the local radio station doing all the normal errands like getting coffee and painting pentacles upon Station Management doors as part of the ritual of the slumbering ancients. Then 20 years passes and everything is different for you. Your boss is gone and now you are a host of the community radio station, and there are so many new responsibilities and worries and lucid nightmares in which you explore a broken landscape of colossal ruins. So with all of that, I just kind of forgot the 100 year play was happening. But they were toiling away in there, doing scenes around the clock, building and tearing down sets at a frantic pace, trying to keep up with the script that relentlessly went on, page after page. And sometimes one of the people working on the play would wonder: how does this all end? But before they could flip ahead and look, there would be another scene that had to be performed and they wouldn’t have a chance. So no one knew how it ended. No one except Hannah Hershman, the mysterious author of this centennial play.

Soon after becoming radio host, during the reading of a Community Calendar, I was reminded that the play was still going on, and so decided to check in. I put on my best tux, you know it’s the one with the scales and the confetti canon. And then took myself to a night at the theatre. I can’t say what happened in the plot since that first scene, but certainly much had transpired. We were now in a space colony thousands of years from now, and the set was simple, just some sleek chairs and a black backdrop dotted with white stars of paint. A woman was giving a monologue about the distance she felt between the planet she was born on, which I believe was supposed to be Earth, and the planet she now stood on. I understood from what she was saying that the trip she had taken to this planet was one way, and that she would never return to the place she was born. “We… are… all of us… moved… by time,” she whispered in a cracked, hoarse voice. “Not… one of us dies… in the world… we were born into.” Sitting in my seat in that darkened theatre, I knew two facts with certainty. The first was that this woman had been giving a monologue for several days now. She wavered on her feet, speaking the entire four hours that I was there. And I don’t know how much longer she spoke after I left, but it could have been weeks. She was pale and her voice was barely audible, but there was something transfixing about it, and the audience sat in perfect silence, leaning forward to hear her words. The other fact I understood was that this woman was the newborn from the very first scene. Not just the same character, but the same actor. 20 years later, she was still on that stage, still portraying the life to the child we had been introduced to in the opening lines. She was an extraordinary performer, presumably, having had a literal lifetime of practice. And that was the last time I saw the play, until tonight, when I will go to watch the final scene.

But first, let’s have a look at that Community Calendar. Tonight the school board is meeting to discuss the issues of school lunches. It seems that some in power argue that it isn’t enough that for some reason we charge the kids actual money for these lunches. They argue that the students should also be required to give devotion and worship to a great glowing cloud, whose benevolent power will fill their lives with purpose. Due to new privacy rules, we cannot say which member of the school board made this suggestion. The board will be taking public comment in a small flimsy wooden booth out by the highway. Just enter the damp, dark interior and whisper your comment, and it will be heard. Perhaps not by the school board, but certainly by something.

Tuesday morning, Lee Marvin will be offering free acting classes at the rec center. The class is entitled “Acting is just lying. We’ll teach you how acting is just saying things that aren’t true, with emotions you don’t feel, so that you may fool those watching with these mistruths.” Fortunately, Marvin commented: “Most people don’t want to be told the truth and prefer the quiet comfort of a lie well told.” Classes are pay what you want, starting at 10,000 dollars.

Thursday Josh Crayton will be taking the form of a waterfall in Grove Park, so that neighborhood kids may swim in him. There is not a lot of swimming opportunities in a town as dry as Night Vale, and so this is a generous move on Josh’s part. He has promised that he has been working on the form and has added a water slide and a sunbathing deck. He asks that everyone swim safely and please not leave any trash on him.

Friday, the corn field will appear in the middle of town, right where it does each September, as the air turns cooler and the sky in the west takes on a certain shade of green. The corn field emanates a power electric and awful. Please, do not go into the corn field, as we don’t know what lives in there or what it wants. The City Council would like to remind you that the corn field is perfectly safe. It is perfect and it is safe. 

Finally, Saturday never happened. Not if you know what’s good for you. Got it? This has been the Community Calendar.

Oh! Look at the time. Here I am blathering on and the play is about to end. OK, let me grab my new mini recorder that Carlos got me for my birthday. It’s only 35 pounds and the antenna is a highly reasonable 7 feet. And I’ll see you all there.

Ah. What’s the weather like for my commute?

[Shallow Eyes” by Brad Bensko. https://www.bradbenskomusic.com/]

Carlos and I are at the theatre! The audience is a buzz, with excitement yes, but also many of them are the insects that infest this theatre. The bugs became entranced by the story over the years, passing down through brief generation after brief generation, the history of all that happened before. The story of the play became something of a religion to this creepy crawly civilization. And so now the bugs are jittering on the walls, thrilled to be the generation that gets to see the end of this great tale.

The curtain rises on a scene I recognize well. It is the simple set of a studio apartment. A kitchen, a cot, a window overlooking a brick wall. A man sits in the corner deep in thought. A doorbell rings. “Come on, it’s open,” the man calls. A woman enters. She is very old, tottering unsteadily on legs that have carried for her many many years. “Please take my seat,” the man says with genuine concern. “Thank you,” she says, collapsing with relief onto the cushions and then looking out, as if for the first time, noticing the audience. I know this woman. I first saw her as a baby and later as a 20-year-old. It seems she has lived her whole life on this stage, taking part in this play. “My name,” the woman says, “is Hannah Hershman. I was born in this theatre, clutching a script in my arms that was bigger than I was. My twin, in a way. I started acting in that script of mine before I was even aware of the world. I grew up in that script, lived my entire life in the play I had written from infancy to now.” And she rises, and the man reaches out to help, but she waves him away. She speaks, her- her voice is strong, ringing out through the theatre. “The play ends with my death, because the play is my life. It is bounded by the same hours and minutes that I am.” the audience is rapt, many have tears in their eyes. Even the insects weep. “Thank you for these hundred years,” Hannah Hershman says. “This script is complete.” She walks to the window. “It might look like rain,” she says. “Who knows?” The lights dim.

Thunderous applause, cries of acclaim, and Hannah Hershman dies to the best possible sound a person can hear: concrete evidence of the good they have done in the lives of other humans.

Stay tuned next for the second ever Night Vale Players Playhouse production, now that they finally finished this one. They’re going to do “Godspell”. And from the script of a life I have not yet finished performing, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Many are called, but few are chosen. And fewer still pick up. Because most calls are spam these days.

[peakyxtommy]

The Proposal - Wedding Series AU

Summary: Tommy Asking You To Marry Him  | 1.6K Words | All Fluff (Modern AU) | *Photo Credit Pinterest*

The sunlight filters through the curtains on an early Saturday morning. Tommy laid wide awake, while your head rested on the center of his chest. The silk sheets covering your bare bodies from the evening before. While he laid awake, listening to your soft snores, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Today was the day. The day he was finally going to ask you to be his wife. 

It’s been a month since he’s talked to your father. Polly wouldn’t stop pestering him for the whole month. He took yet another weekend off, earning harassment from his brothers of him becoming whipped. Telling them to “Fuck off”, hold down the fort, and not to call unless it was an absolute emergency. He struggled with taking long weekends because it was what he found his identity and success in. It would always be worth it when he would watch the joy wash over your face when he told you he had a weekend or anytime off really. He would always expect you to fill the day with endless activities which would make him enjoy the time more making memories with you. 

Sometimes it would be lazy as well enjoying time doing activities around the home. 

Domesticated things of gardening, riding and feeding the horses in the stable, or cuddling on the couch watching various shows and movies. Him being suckered into watching your few favorite romantic dramas for the uptenth time, no matter how much he would tease and protest against it, putting up an act, just to give in because he loved the way you would act everytime going through the same emotions, repeating various quotes, and asking his opinion, just like it was the first time you both watched it together. He would end up having those ridiculous songs and quotes stuck in his head for days after, annoying him, but also reminding him of you which brought a smile to his face. 

As he lay awake enjoying the quietness of you both in bed, fingers stroking gently through your hair, he couldn’t wait for the evening he had planned. 

-

“Darlin,  are you almost ready?” He opens the door, smoke in hand, leaning up against the frame. His eyes scanning the semi-chaotic mess of the bedroom. A few different dresses are strewn over the bed, makeup products scattered across your vanity, and you humming away to James Bay playing in the record player. 

As you put the strap of the heel on your left foot in place, your head shoots up to meet his gaze upon you. Taking in his usual dressed up attire, noticing the haircut you gave him this afternoon, bringing out his flawless perfection even more, and the laid back nature of his stance.

“Yes, Tom. Just gotta get me purse together. Five more minutes, yeah.” You respond standing up, fingers gliding down your dress to straighten it out. Going to the walk-in closet to grab your white purse before adding your essentials to the bag. Then moving to quickly clean up your vanity, which made Tom chuckle as this was a habit you had. To tell him so many more minutes before trying to quickly tidy. Once things were to your liking, he clasped his warm fingers through yours before walking you both down the stairwell. 

He grabs your black winter peacoat, helping you button it up, as you leave out the door. The crisp winter air causes a shiver down your spine as you make your way to the passenger side, Tommy opening the door for you. Once he’s strapped in you begin the drive to London. All you knew about the evening planned was that he was taking you to dinner but the rest was a surprise, as he wouldn’t give any hints. 

-

He helps you out the car, as you take in the busy city atmosphere you missed but were glad you lived relatively close to. Everything was decorated for the holiday season which you loved since you were a little girl. A season that was slowly growing on Tommy since you’ve been a part of the picture. As you both cross the busy street, your eyes scan the tall building with lighten up igloos on top, reading the sign that says Coppa Club. You couldn’t help the excitement that was building within you.

“You got us reservations here Tommy!” You squeal as you both enter the warm building and the host finds your reservation. She leads to the elevator that takes you up the two flights to the rooftop dining. The strings of warm fairy lights hang above the igloo dining. She seats you at one closest to the corner and more private with the perfect view of Tower Bridge. 

“Thank you so much for bringing us here for dinner. I really appreciate it, you didn’t have to.” You feel the heat in your cheeks, as his cool blue eyes gleam at you. You’ve been telling him about this place for weeks, happy you were finally able to enjoy it for the first time together. 

“Anything for you. I did it because I love you and if I had to hear you mention this place to me one more time, I would’ve driven myself up the wall.” He chuckles teasingly toward you squeezing your hand. 

-

“Here you go Mr. Shelby, enjoy your ride.” The ride attendance ushers you on to the huge pod of the London Eye. It wasn’t the first time you two have spent an evening together on the ride alone finding it peaceful, finding solace in one another, even though it was a tourist attraction. You loved watching the lights that lit up the city, the other city landmarks, people watching, and listening to Tommy’s laughter as he would find ways to crack jokes or laugh endearing at your reactions during the ride as he held you close to him. 

“You really outdid yourself tonight Mr.Shelby. Should I be worried about you buttering me up for something?” Your hand comes to caress the softness of his cheek, seeing the mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“You think I’d have to do all this, just for me to get what I want. Pretty sure, I have you wrapped around my finger darlin.” He chuckles as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“I’m pretty sure that may be true, but don’t forget I’m pretty good at getting what I want as well.” You whisper hotly into his mouth, taking in the smirk on the corner of his lips. He brings his soft lips to connect to yours slow and passionately. His hand holds the back of your head as your fingers come to the nape of his neck. The kiss lasts for a while, the both you in your own little world as the ride continues to move until it comes to a stop at the top. 

When he pulls away he can feel his heart racing and body aching with desire but also the nerves settling in the pit of his stomach as he knows its’ time. 

“Do you remember the day at the cafe by the river?” He blurts out as his lower lip draws between his teeth. 

“Yes, I do. Why?” Your voice laced with concern wondering where he was going with this conversation. 

“That’s the second day, I almost lost you for good. What I knew then and what I still know to be true is, that I don’t want to spend another day without you by my side.” He gets down on one knee and pulls the velvet box from his coat pocket, taking his other hand in yours.

 “The day I got the call you were taken, it felt like a hole in my chest was breaking. I knew I had to get to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the little moments we had and how you told me you loved me in the middle of a quiet afternoon of tea because that’s you. Simple and easy going but so much more. 

You love adventure and helping others. You’re a hard worker and too smart for us all. You’re so damn stubborn but I love these things about you. I knew even five months into our relationship that I loved you but was too afraid to say so. I knew in the morning of us moving forward, that you are the woman that I want to marry, because who gets a second chance these days, especially someone like me. 

I promise I will always take care of you, keep you safe, and make you happy for all the days we shall be together.” 

“(Y/N) will you marry me?” Tommy opens the velvet box, revealing the stunning ring. Thomas Shelby was not a man that was super vulnerable and filled with long declarations of love. When he was it was always with purpose. In this moment you knew everything he said to be true, how much he really soaked in all your time together and spent in the good and bad moments. Neither of you regretted anything that came after that day on the river, knowing this moment was worth it as the tears rolled down your eyes and you could see the heat setting in on his cheeks as he waited for your response. 

“Oh my gosh, Yes! Yes, Tommy I will marry you!” He sides the diamond ring onto your ring finger and you help stand him back to his feet. 

“I love you so much (Y/N).” His hand finds its way to the back of your head again, as your faces come close together. Foreheads pressed together, noses touching. 

“I love you more Tommy. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.” 

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