#anyway i typed this up and exiled it to my drafts

[perexcri]

actually i hope byler cheats so bad next season that stranger things becomes the southern drama it was always meant to be the likes of which could only ever be found in the wet dreams of tennessee williams and it ends with one person dead on the pavement bleeding out and another on their knees screaming in the rain while tearing their clothes and dumping ashes on their head and another forced to leave hawkins under a false name and then it all gets buried until the year of our lord 2018 when an up-and-coming true crime podcast that loves to use people's personal stories of tragedy for storytelling and a quick buck unearths the whole sordid affair and uses it as fodder for their 45 minute production that's 37% comprised of hello fresh and better help sponsorships

[wallbeatjournal]

10 non-canon riverdale concepts, fic ideas or AUs you can't stop thinking about?

OMG anon. i love this question, i love concepts i love riffing but i'm also overwhelmed by it. ten is soooo many!! lemme dig through my gdrive fanfic graveyard for a second...and lemme put this under a cut to save some eyes.

hirarchie plots in my drafts folder:

one of those "i didn't know where else to go..." hero turns up on villain's doorstep after a trauma fics, in which archie seeks out hiram bc he thinks he's more interested in revenge than like. medical assistance or emotional support.

continued vampire AU ft archie getting properly bitten, more veronica triangulation, more shame

s3 juvie arc AU in which hiram actually visits to be so so soooo soso so nasty and sick about it all

kind of a dreamy fairy tale AU where archie is an ex-mermaid with very sharp teeth (but he already traded his voice and fins away to a different witch who skipped town in her volkswagen beetle) and hiram is a warlock and veronica is in kind of a cinderella-rapunzel situation.

a sort of inception<>rivervale fusion in which rivervale is explicitly kind of built around archie's subconscious and he keeps trying and killing and dying over and over in an attempt to create a hiram-free world where his dad might come back. narrator jughead is there trying to pick up the pieces every time archie bails out. hiram might be becoming meta-aware, or it might just be that archie can't imagine him without every advantage

fic where there's a zombie apocalypse on, and hiram has zombie archie locked in the basement at pop's. (archie pov of course)

my long slow serial wip where s5 archie goes with hiram when he's exiled and kind of rehashes teen traumas but (he thinks) without any illusions about what he's doing. reggie is there now so all i do is think about toxic reggie-on-hirarchie dynamics now. it's going medium.

10 is a LONG list anon. i went deep into the abandoned projects file and i'm still short. so. brainstorming some other stuff i think about but haven't actually made any gestures at writing bc it's not ~my brand:

s7 archie/reggie fill-ins idk if this counts as non-canon because it's more of a "missing scenes" type thing, but i really want more s7 boys-supporting-boys soft romance archie/reggie fic filling in the emotional layers and plot gaps and what-next of archie working on the mantle farm, etc

s6 reggie/kevin(/percival) i've been thinking a lot about s6 reggie/kevin(/percival). troubling. troubling! anyway even outside of the dynamics of reggie wanting to rescue kevin from mind control, i keep thinking kevin would be fascinated with reggie's puppet conscience. i think he'd try to adopt it as his own or at least share, he needs one too. i think they could get intensely psychosexual or simply sexual about the whole situation.

sex pollen. traditional sex pollen. riverdale is from one angle a comics fandom, and you can't have a comics fandom without some writer doing the needful and launching fuck-or-die chemicals at some characters sometime. percival's reggie-on-archie stabbing aggression spell already kind of had that vibe, which is probably why i think it should be archie/reggie. but i would also accept kevin/archie with a slightly different tone, kevin/jughead with a VERY different tone, etc etc etc. (and betty/cheryl. idk why them, they're not even my main f4f ship. i just think they'd wear it well.)

[tboytoby]

I really love the mlp/prime defenders art you did, the designs are so cool and I've never seen changeling william before!!! What was the inspo behind that? Just asking bc I love wiwi and I also love the bug ponies 👀

what if I told you I had a draft for this, forgot abt it and then LOST IT. anyways THANK YOUUU ahhh this ask made my day.

as for my pick - it has to do with William as a person and what he's been fighting with for the past two seasons. Will, in my eyes, views himself as a hindrance to the boys and rejected his powers because of how he got them. he feels like an imposter playing hero, when he never had the heart for it to begin with. Changelings are, intrinsically, imposters that leech off of other ponies' love, help and affection, something that I think Will would easily feel he does. that, combined with his original Wisp Form transformation, is why I picked Changeling over something like a Kirin or even just a normal Unicorn.

additionally, season 6 finds the Changelings under new rule, thus being allowed to produce their own love to sustain themselves beyond near constant starvation. that sort of self-love-turned-love-for-others is something William has ALWAYS lacked in my eyes. thus, even if he's separated from the hive, he remains in this state. it's a personal philosophy that you can't truly love others if you're always comparing yourself to them. self-hatred is not the same as loving someone, you need to be on equal grounds before you can say "I love you".

AAAND pony exclusive lore time for you - I imagined Will to be an exiled Changeling, much akin to him leaving Deadwood because he felt he no longer belonged. rather than making a perfect copy of another pony, he did his best to create his own illusion, drawing from aspects of Dakota and Vyncent before and after meeting them. I actually forgot to give his Changeling form a horn, he is supposed to have that. he pretty much constantly starves himself until he Absolutely Has To feed, and will usually leech off Vyncent while he's sleeping. it's a kind of fucked up "I love you therefore I take from you" type of shit. THE toxic relationship. and that kind of behavior further fuels his own downfall. I'm kind of obsessed with this AU at this point in writing I'm probably gonna start making comics and shit

[f0xgl0v3]

are we told on how Probatio’s work?

Did people like Octavian, Michael Kahale, Bryce Lawerence, etc. have to go through the Probatio process??

Would go look in the book but I’m not swimming through it again to try and find answers. That’s… probably my fault but I just got back from vocal auditions (fingers crossed I get the LeFou role-) and I don’t want to try and scramble through it to figure out.

Anyway this is 100% me just not remembering it and I will probably go back and try to read through for information. About all the roles, for the post. Probably might just post the beginning of my drafting process. Auhghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Anyway another Bryce Lawerence post soon potentially because he’s so silly and I like talking about him. Possibly might be an outlining for a Bryce underworld trip thing? Either it’d be in the same style I write all my posts, or an actual story? We’ll see when we get there I guess.

Anyway Bryce headcanon of the day is that through exile he got a pet reptile. Don’t know what type but he thought it’d be cool and actually took pretty good care of it. Or it’s a mouse. I like the idea of Bryce Lawerence with a mouse so really it’s all up for debate (or maybe a rat. I can see Bryce with a rat.)

[hournites]

would you consider ever writing a big bro little sister dynamic fic for Rick and Courtney? Like I feel you would make that fic hella interesting

I have! It’s called Uneven Bars — A no powers AU where Pat adopted Rick after his parents crashed — Courtney is a star gymnast and Pat marries Barbara when Courtney is middle school. I have several chapters written throughout the years so I’ve been stuck at their freshman year for a long time 😭 I really do want to go back to it soon. It would also be so interesting to write a drabble where Pat adopted Rick but he still never learned about his parents or the hourglass, so Courtney finding out her new brother is involved would be wild in a reimagined season 1.

Here’s a snippet of the next Uneven Bars chapter collecting dust in my drafts:

“So, we’re leaving for the cabin on Friday after Beth’s academic decathlon,” Courtney told her mom that Wednesday. She popped in two chocolate croissants in the toaster oven as Beth sat on her kitchen stool, helping Mrs. Whitmore measure out the portions for the dinner she was making.

Rick sat on the couch in the adjacent living room, fiddling with something on his phone.

Beth nods eagerly. She’s excited for the trip, they were going together with Yolanda Montez, a new friend they’ve made together at their lunch table after a scandal had exiled her from the popular clique at Blue Valley High.

Beth had never so much as biked to the town next over, much less gone on hours long road trip.

“Okay, sweetie, that sounds fun. Dad’s taking you, right?”

“What?” Courtney frowned, nearly burning her hand on the top of the toaster oven as she teased their snacks out. “No. He’s got that classic car convention. You said you were.”

Beth felt her stomach drop as she looked up at Courtney’s mom to see her dismay. “Court, Friday is my proposal for Project New America.”

“But—!”

“Oh honey, I’m sorry. The weeks flew by so fast, I knew something felt off on my calendar.”

“We were planning this forever!”

Beth shifted, uncomfortable when Courtney started to put up a fight.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Whitmore,” Beth told her. “We can reschedule.”

Crispy croissant crumbs flew out of Court’s mouth. “Beth, it’s not okay! Mom, you promised we could go! You said it was okay!”

Obviously Mrs. Whitmore couldn’t bring them, and while that was disappointing, Beth knew no amount of complaining about it to her would change her work schedule. Courtney, however, did not seem to see this the same way. Beth averted her gaze as Courtney got a bit more aggravated. Beth loved Court, but this parent-child type of conversation would have never flown in her home.

“Court, calm down,” Rick said suddenly. Beth startled, surprised to find him leaning his arm against the island counter right next to her. She kept her eyes on her lap instead of succumbing to the urge to look at him from the corner of her eye. “I’ll drive you girls if you want it so bad.”

“Really?!” Court asked, forgetting the chocolate croissants to tackle Rick, squeezing him tightly. “Oh my god. Oh my god, thank you, maybe you’re actually useful for something.”

“Yeah,” Rick let out an awkward chuckle, peeling Courtney off. “Not useless. Who knew.”

“Oh, but sweetheart it’s such a long drive,” Mrs. Whitmore worried. “You’d end up going all the way just to drive back, that will waste up your entire long weekend.”

“Uh,” he scratched his head. “Yeah, well whatever, it’s not like I had much going on anyway.”

“You should come too!” Beth said suddenly. She flushed, her heart doing a little number inside her chest. Her mouth kept going anyway. “To the cabin! We can all hang out! There’s a lake, and we can swim and...”

Rick looked at her. Beth couldn’t decipher if it were of fondness or that he found her completely odd. “Yeah, I’ve been to the cabin,” he reminded her, though not unkindly. “It’s been our holiday spot since I was eight.”

“Oh,” Beth said, wondering if the Whitmore-Dugans had a trap door to the basement underneath her stool. Maybe she could sneak herself out to calmly crawl away. At least, then, Courtney wouldn’t witness her best friend’s utter cognitive incoherency around her brother. “Duh. Right. I mean—It’s just a suggestion. Of course it would be totally lame for you to crash Courtney’s plans. I’m sure you have your own friends and uh, never mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind, actually. It’s been a while since we went. I’ll come.”

“Rick doesn’t have friends,” Court teased.

He glared at his step-sister.

Beth untangled her mental web of embarrassment, taking a deep breath before facing Rick again. “Really?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Rick was going to come and stay with them at the cabin. Rick was going to come with them and sleep overnight at the cabin.

“Oh my gosh,” Beth said, going a little green at the realization.

Courtney, however, didn’t seem to notice Beth’s sudden freak out, tugging on Rick’s sleeve. “Oh my god, yes! You can finally meet Yolanda! You two would absolutely get along!”

“And maybe you can invite Mike along too!” Courtney’s mom suggested lightly, taking the tray of beef wellingtons Beth was helping her turn over to stick into the oven.

“No!” Rick and Courtney both cried out in unison. Then stared at each other, equally baffled at their ability to speak the same sentence at the same time.

Beth started giggling again, absolutely unable to help herself, watching the so-called grizzly bear of a brother break into an indulgent smile.

[kanacozmez]

SLAMS DOOR OPEN. HELLO. infection is here please enjoy this (pasted from drafts. i didn't re read any of this I'm gonna hope it makes sense ^^)

ctommy is a possum hybrid because possums. I'm gonna have to give you animal facts for these I'm sorry they're just needed for these to make sense,, Possums often make homes under porches and in garages, etc, which.. ctommy with ctechno that whole era. Possums are protective of people! or well their family so (ctubbo, cwilbur, anyone u can think of that ctommy has stood up for, yknow) and they're protective of themselves (cut to every time ctommy has defended himself against anyone). Possums make really weird sounds, like look it up, then compare it to any weird-ass noise Tommy has made. that's it I don't need to say more. They use their tail as a fourth limb, using it to hang on things, I like to use that and go "hmm ctommy uses his tail to steal things behind his back", it makes sense okay

quick ones that I just wont explain: social animals, agile, possums can't control when they play dead and when they play dead they actually smell like, well, death. Possums are immune to snake venom, this is important for my cdream hc

so cdream! he's a naga/rattlesnake hybrid. The ENTIRE exile arc happens because well cdream cant control ctommy, with the others, a quick rattle (and probably like... him threatening them) he can get everyone to listen to him or at least comply-- he's no ctechno but he has power on the server, obviously. no one else is immune to his venom, but ctommy is, so he isolates him and makes ctommy fear him in any other way he can. he needs control, yknow it's his whole, thing or whatever. This one doesn't really add /too/ much to this hc but I'm adding it anyways, cwilbur is a cat hybrid because I say so, snakes and cats have similar-looking pupils and so, cdream uses that to make ctommy basically just lose his shit more. He stands in the forest nearby logshedshire at night and just watches ctommy, waiting till he notices him and calls out a hesitant, "wilbur?" then cdream leaves ^^

oh yeah! rattlesnakes can control how much venom they use when they bite someone btw. use that info how you please! Rattlesnakes also only eat one meal every two to three weeks (cdream prison arc... potatoes get low... he fine ^^) They live within rocky crevices, please just think about the place he took ctubbo and ctommy at the final disc war before he was put in prison, thanks! Oh and btw, there are green (tinted) rattlesnakes as well... just saying

TUMBLR USER POSSUMINNIT YOU ARE SO CORRECT OH MY GOD...

I love people's hybrid HCs for the DSMP and all of the ones mentioned here are so... they fit SO well omg. Though I am imagining C!Dream with the lower body of a snake and Techno calling him a "homeless worm on a string" because of it... which is equally as good.

Of course. I love cat!wilbur HCs. If I must be a cat, canon has to be as well /j theyre so GOOD.. your thoughts.. your brain is LARGE.. /pos

The idea of possums being immune to snake venom is giving me similar vibes to a honey badger. Except they're just ready to fight anything. They're not immune they're just reckless /hj /lh. Rare hybrid types of the DSMP!! GO!!

[radramblog]

Every Boros Commander, Part 1

Every one of these rambles is going to be longer and nerdier than the last, I guess. We’ll see how long I can keep that up for.

If you aren’t or haven’t been at least a casual fan of Magic: The Gathering, this post is going to be completely lost on you, sorry.

Oh also I’m having to split this in half since it took basically all afternoon to write and its still juuuust not done.

Boros gets a lot of shit for being bad and having bad generals for EDH until recently, and seeing as its my favourite two-colour pair I felt like exploring, well, every option we have for the combo. I’m excluding the new Commander Legends partner commanders in this, since I don’t have all day, and I’m also not covering Akiri and Bruse Tarl since no-one ever builds just Boros with them, and I’m not including 3-5 colour decks that just happen to have red and white in them. That’s not Boros.

Boros’s strengths are in manipulating combat, in tokens, and with Voltron strategies. It is the best pair for Equipment decks and top tier for Aggressive decks, to the point of being arguably shoehorned by WOTC into such strategies for a long time. Its weaknesses are mostly to do with card draw and ramp, possibly the most important things in a casual game of Commander, but the former is alleviated by many of red’s recent card draw options and the latter easily supplemented with mana rocks- if you have enough money, any deck can have good ramp, but enough budget options exist these days that it isn’t too bad even for the “worst colors”.

Anyway, enough beating around the bush lets get into this. Going in Chronological order.

Agrus Kos, Wojek Veteran (29th most played as of writing)

…It seriously took until Ravnica to get a legendary RW creature? Heinous. Cool as Agrus is as protagonist of the Ravnica novel, his card simply does not hold up in 2021, let alone beforehand. He’s a Glorious Anthem style commander, except he works best only with creatures that are both red and white, and not nearly enough cards produce multicolored tokens for him to boost. Oh, also he’s a 5 mana 3/3 with no protection or evasion that has to attack to get his effect. Save it for the novel.

Razia, Boros Archangel (30th most played as of writing, the last place finalist)

Speaking of Ravnica. Razia is fucking cool, between the art and unique, if underwhelming, activated ability. She is also 8 mana and not green. She is the only commander to my knowledge that can redirect damage to opponents’s creatures, so if that’s the deck you want to build, go for it, though enjoy the distressingly small cardpool. God, they couldn’t have given her an extra power, could they?

Brion Stoutarm (6th most played as of writing)

Brion is the first actually viable commander of the bunch, being a pretty decent head to either a Fling deck with Ball Lightnings or Acts of Treason, or just Giant Tribal with his Lorwyn compatriots. I don’t think I’ve ever seen or played against Brion yet, but I’d be interested in doing so. Having lifegain in the command zone with a deck that likes throwing damage around is pretty nice. It’s surprising that he’s still so high, especially considering EDHREC (my data source) only now pulls from the last 2 years of decks, but I’m certainly not sad to see him there.

Jor Kadeen, the Prevailer (19th most played as of writing)

Spoilers: Jor is actually the best Anthem commander. +3/+0 is huge, and when most of your ramp and some of your draw is artifacts you’re not going to have a hard time getting metalcraft. 5 mana is a fair chunk for an aggressive deck but he turns the damage output up enough notches that I think he’s pretty good. Underrated in my opinion. How are there more Tajic, Legion’s Edge decks than Jor Kadeen decks?

Basandra, Battle Seraph (24th most played as of writing)

Basandra is the head of my current Boros deck, being a pillowfort/combat manipulation deck. She’s, uh, not ideal in that even, since she stops even you from casting removal and such during combat. Having an extra must attack effect in the zone is nice, though, and a flying commander can be nice for closing games out. Basandra at least has the gift of being fairly open-ended, but also, she doesn’t really do anything, so that’s probably got something to do with it.

On a side note, fuck you Terese Nielsen for turning out to be a cunt. No-one else seems to have drawn this character, so I can’t even make an alter. Fuck.

Gisela, Blade of Goldnight (10th most played as of writing)

Gisela has a lot of very attractive words on her. Unfortunately, 7 mana and that ability means that as soon as you drop her out of the zone, you better use her quick because she isn’t sticking around long. Obviously lends herself to group slug or Earthquake decks, but the former paints an even bigger target on your head and the latter is even mana hungrier than normal. I prefer her in the 99.

Aurelia, the Warleader (5th most played as of writing)

Aurelia was the “best” Boros commander for a long time, and it’s easy to see why- haste and an extra combat trigger add up to a lot of damage very quickly and it’s not like there was much competition for a while. She’s actually the only one of the top 5 Boros commanders that wasn’t printed in the last 5 years, so I guess she’s stood the test of time, much like Brion.  I’d argue she’s pretty boring though, seeing as she has the one thing she does, but she does it well and there’s no faulting her for that. She’s the closest we have to r/custommagic’s favourite “double combat triggers” legend. A lot of people seem to run her as Angel Tribal too, which of the available Angels in the zone I’d argue that’s a pretty good shout. The Red/Boros Angels are fun!

Tajic, Blade of the Legion (20th most played as of writing)

The first on this list I’d consider playing as Voltron, Tajic’s first card is indestructible which as a former Sapling of Colfenor player is fucking excellent in the zone for when you have to play defensively. He does, however, require other creatures in the deck to truly shine, and you do have to have those creatures attack, so it can be awkward to get the most out of him. He’s a cool dude though, much better than his other card imo.

Anax and Cymede (23rd most played as of writing)

The first draft I ever played was a Born of the Gods draft in which I splashed Anax and Cymede. Clearly, I had no idea what I was doing. Anax and Cymede look a lot like Tajic in deck, to be honest, since they’re creatures that like having buffs but also want other creatures around to benefit. Heroic is kind of an awkward requirement, however, and I suspect you’d be spending more time just having it as a buff for the royals themselves. Its nice to see a loving married couple as a Magic card, though, I’m sure things will be good for them always.

Iroas, God of Victory (9th most played as of writing)

Somehow despite it being common in the 99 of aggressive decks, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Iroas deck in my local metas. I think it has the potential to be pretty powerful, since if you can meet his (admittedly harsh) requirement he’s an indestructible evasive commander with that magical 7 power making commander damage a 3HKO. And when he’s not ready to rumble, he’s nigh impossible to kill on account of the limited targeted enchantment exile people tend to play in the format. Otherwise, he makes attacking free and bountiful for other creatures, and so is just kinda good to have around- I can see running him for that alone.

Munda, Ambush Leader (27th most played as of writing)

Somehow more people are playing Munda than Razia or Agrus, despite being just the worst commander with Ally in the text (outside the type line, love you Zada) and not doing actual anything outside of that. Why the fuck doesn’t he draw the cards? Why does he just stack them? God, Munda sucks. Also I have like 3 of them, since I drafted a lot of that deck in that environment and people just pass him around. Anyone want one? Be my guest.

Kalemne, Disciple of Iroas (11th most played as of writing)

Precon face commanders always get a bit more love and a bit more power than the average legend, and Kalemne is no exception. Double Strike in the zone on a creature that gets bigger is just nuts, and it means she kills people astonishingly quickly. Even my non-voltron Kalemne deck that just wanted to play big idiots had her as a huge threat since even if she gets killed she stays big. Kalemne also happens to be probably better for Giant tribal than Brion, though he does at least get to yeet those removal magnets if they do get removed.

Anya, Merciless Angel (26th most played as of writing)

I didn’t think Anya would be this low. While she is another indestructible commander, it is conditional, and her abilities are self-sabotaging- if someone is in range of being killed by her, you’re probably not going to want to attack them just so you can keep indestructible and buffs, but you also, yknow, want to kill them. I can see her being political in this way though- keeping someone alive with her swords at their throat can have some fun implications. I think shes underrated despite her awkwardness.

Archangel Avacyn (14th most played as of writing)

(Her colour identity is RW since her other face is a red creature. It’s a bit odd, I know)

Avacyn was fucking unbeatable in draft and obnoxious in Standard (though one of my favourite magic stories involves her, so,), and since I never managed to get one for Kalemne when that deck was around I have no real love for her. She’s generically powerful without leading in a particular direction, but her flip ability is pretty cool as is her story in the set. It’s OK. Also why do people keep putting her in Angel decks? You know she doesn’t flip off those, right?

Adriana, Captain of the Guard (22nd most played as of writing)

Adriana, Adriana. I didn’t dislike Adriana as much as I did until I actually did the math on her. Typical commander games are 4-player, so she is a +3/+3 anthem at maximum assuming you have good attacks on every single opponent and that none of them are dead yet. I’m really not sure why you’d play this over Jor Kadeen, and it looks like people aren’t, so. Melee was a fun mechanic in draft, but I completely understand why it hasn’t crossed over, ever, to other formats, seeing as there are 7 total cards with it and most of them are draft chaff. CONTINUED IN PART 2...ANOTHER DAY. PROBABLY SOON SINCE IT’S 2/3 DONE ALREADY.

[juvenilehousefinch]

Birds, Bonapartes, Biological Nomenclature

The more that I learn about the Bonaparte clan, the more I realize that the  family most famous for Napoleon I, the emperor and military genius, had connections to basically everything in the 1700s and 1800s. One shocking connection to me was that Tarrare (that hungry guy during the French Revolution who ate basically everything) worked under Alexandre de Beauharnais, who was married to a woman known as Rose Tascher de La Pagerie. After Alexandre de Beauharnais perished during the Reign of Terror, Rose remarried to a young general named Napoleon Bonaparte and adopted the name of Josephine.

Pictured above: the curl-crested aracari, photographed by Lonnie Huffman

Just as I never expected the Bonaparte clan to have a connection to the infamous hungry guy, I also never expected them to have a real impact on ornithology. It seems so out there, so disconnected from the politics and conquest that are usually associated with their name. While reading about birds in the past, I’ve frequently stumbled upon the name “Bonaparte” or “Beauharnais” (Josephine’s martial name by her first husband, and the last name of both of her children, who became instrumental in Napoleon’s securing of power throughout Europe)[1]. I always assumed that the names simply came from people wanting to honor monarchs that hailed from the Bonaparte-Beauharnais clan, as naming new species (well, new to western scientists) after monarchs was trendy during that time. One such example is the curl-crested aracari, whose scientific name is “pteroglossus beauharnaesii.” I mention this specific example because the curl-crested aracari is awesome and vastly underrated compared to better-known species in the Ramphastidae family, such as toco toucans.

I recently learned, however, that the Bonaparte family’s influence on ornithology is more than just symbolic! I decided to dig a little bit deeper into learning why the name “Bonaparte” appears so frequently in bird information, and I found out that Napoleon’s nephew and the son of his brother Lucien, Charles Lucien Bonaparte was a prominent ornithologist who was the authority on 165 genera, 203 species, and 262 subspecies. Learning about this was really cool for me because two of my primary passions in life are Napoleon and birding, and I find it really exciting that there’s this unexpected and kind of random intersection of the two.

According to the IOC World Bird List, among the species studied by Bonaparte are a subspecies of oriental turtle dove of Europe and Asia (Streptopelia orientalis erythrocephala), the blue-winged goose (Cyanochen cyanoptera) endemic to Ethiopia, and the Pel’s fishing owl (Scotopelia peli) endemic to Africa.

Pictured above: the blue-winged goose, photographed by Dick Daniels

Among Bonaparte’s notable contributions to ornithology is also his naming of the New World dove genus, Zenaida, after his wife. Bonaparte married Zénaïde Bonaparte, who was his cousin and the daughter of Joseph Bonaparte, older brother of Napoleon and Lucien Bonaparte. This was incestuous and nasty, but what can you really expect from European nobility? The Zenaida genus notably includes the Zenaida dove (the type species) and the mourning dove. Mourning doves are common where I live, and from now on, whenever I hear its iconic call of “hoo hoo hoo,” I’ll think of the Bonaparte family.

Pictured above: The mourning dove. “Dove by Almaden Lake” by Don Debold

Bonaparte also was an early supporter of John James Audubon, who was then relatively unknown as a naturalist. I would also like to note that Audubon grew up in France[2], and used a fake passport to flee to the United States so that he wouldn’t be conscripted into the Napoleonic Wars. (I can only imagine what Bonaparte must have said if/when Audubon told him, “Yeah, I came to this country as a draft dodger because I didn’t want to die in all those wars that your uncle keeps dragging us into.”) Bonaparte recommended him for the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia (now a part of Drexel University) while living in Philadelphia, where he and his wife moved after getting married so that they could be with Joseph Bonaparte, who lived in exile in the city. Unfortunately, Audubon’s bid for membership because George Ord, an ornithologist and member of the academy, disliked his style of painting. Well, George Ord isn’t the one amongst them who has become basically synonymous with ornithology and bird conservation in the United States, so evidently, Audubon got the last laugh.

On a slightly different note, a fascinating aspect of biological nomenclature that I had never considered before learning about Bonaparte was the frequency at which people named species after their own political leaders, like the afore mentioned curl-crested aracari. Now that royalty and monarchies aren’t nearly as relevant to most people’s lives as they were during the time of the Bonapartes, the trend has evolved so that people name species to honor celebrities and other pop culture icons. (Though, whereas before famous people had birds named after them, now discovery of a terrestrial vertebrate animal is uncommon enough that people only get bugs and worms unless they’re lucky.) Take, for example, Aleiodes shakirae, Aleiodes gaga, and Aleiodes colberti, wasps that are named after Shakira, Lady Gaga, and Stephen Colbert, respectively. There’s even a whole Wikipedia page dedicated to listing the creatures whose scientific names take after the Harry Potter series. (There’s a whole dinosaur named Dracorex hogwartsia, which translates to “dragon king of Hogwarts”! I’m jealous! … Also, read another book, smh.)

Anyway, anyone who complains that people are making everything political these days clearly hasn’t read their history. One of Bonaparte’s notable contributions to ornithological nomenclature was his naming of Wilson’s bird-of-paradise, whose colloquial name comes from Alexander Wilson, a prominent American ornithologist who laid the foundation for ornithology in the United States. The scientific name for Wilson’s bird-of-paradise is “cicinnurus respublica,” with respublica commonly being translated as “public affair” or “commonwealth.” Bonaparte wanted to deviate from the tradition of naming species after royalty and royalty-adjacent people, and instead honor the concept of the republic. In my opinion, this is disdain for royalty was entirely performative, given that Bonaparte was a descendant of an imperial dynasty, was a prince himself, and was afforded his privilege in life by the fact that his uncle seized power in France, installed himself as the country’s leader, and eventually crowned himself emperor.  

Pictured above: Wilson’s bird-of-paradise, photographed by Serhan Oksay

I’m always taken aback when I learn about just how connected the world was [for wealthy white men] before modern technology, and the influences that people from completely different geographical backgrounds could have on each other. It is important to acknowledge that so many of the naturalists from this time period were able to make such developments in their fields not because of their intrinsic talent as biologists and ornithologists, but also because of their immense connections and lucky circumstances that paved their way to success. Also, the “discovery” of many New World avian species wasn’t true “discovery” at all, because the indigenous people of the Americas had lived with those species for millennia. It was only “discovery” for westerners, who placed their mark of colonization on those species by naming them after rulers and other prominent western figures.

Although Bonaparte definitely had the passion to contribute so much to ornithology, he came from an incredibly powerful political dynasty that could bankroll his studies. He could travel wherever he wanted to and obtain any specimen that he wanted to obtain because of who his family was. Similarly, although Audubon certainly had a passion for birds and talent as an illustrator, he was only able to develop those skills through meeting the right people and having the generational wealth to do whatever he wanted in life. That’s not to say that every single ornithologist came from a position of wealth and power — the aforementioned Wilson, for example, was a weaver who lived in poverty in Scotland before emigrating to the United States and working as a schoolteacher. I don’t think that that makes the contributions of people like Bonaparte and Audubon less important or meaningful to the field (I’m also not an ornithologist so I don’t have that authority), but, as with most fields even today, it’s worth thinking about that the people who made these contributions reflect only the people with the access to the most resources.

NOTES: [1] Although Josephine is frequently referred to as “Josephine de Beauharnais,” she never actually went by that name during her lifetime. When she was married to Alexandre de Beauharnais, she went by Rose, and only adopted “Josephine” after having married Napoleon, because he liked the nickname. [2] Audubon was born in Haiti, where his father owned a plantation that he sold in 1789 when tensions began to rise between white slave-owning colonizers and enslaved people of African ancestry. The elder Audubon had a number of mixed-race children by a mistress who had ¼ African ancestry, but only the younger Audubon and his sister, who were both considered white, were moved to France alongside him.

[almondharry]

you look so good : three

you look so good [10.8k]

“Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent. 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Part three: Neumann’s Game Theory 

Neumann’s Game Theory

July 5, 2003

Genevieve’s forearms were gripped in an iron tight hold. Her mother’s long and bony fingers wrapped around like medieval vine; they curled and held Genevieve in place. With lips set in a thin line, her mother’s perfectly plucked brows were drawn in a scolding glare. The strength behind it could cut diamond.

“How did this happen?”

“I… I don’t know,” Genevieve mumbled. “I was playing and running really fast and I didn’t see the rock.” Her chin met the center of her collarbone. Loose pieces of gravel rolled under her shoe, the crunch calmed her. It was her favoured alternative over maintaining the heavy eye contact that glared from above. A drop of red splattered onto the pavement.    

“Oh, Genevieve.” The defeated sigh that slipped from her mother’s lips had less to do with mourning the dress, but more to do with the innocence that framed her rose tinted glasses. “Darling, there is only one thing I ask of you.”

Genevieve was no foreigner to her tone. It was laced with a classic sweetness, one that teachers liked to lay on thick when explaining instructions to kindergarteners.

Genevieve waited. She poked a finger in the horizontal slit of fabric that hovered above her knee. The broken threads were an easy fix; she had seen her mother tackle far worse from her work. She hypothesized it would take her six minutes at her sewing machine to restore the misalignment. It wasn’t those fancy new electric ones that had ten different settings. It was fashioned mechanically and had a joint foot pedal that Genevieve pretended was its best friend. It was humble and did all the required stitching.

“Yes, Mama?” Thin red streaks slid down the sides of her leg, tiny rivers went their separate ways. They darkened the navy blue of her dress.

Her mother’s eyes skimmed over Genevieve’s features in desperation. They took in her sweaty hairline, scratched cheek, and pouty lips.

Her tone dropped to a hush. It was a secret meant to be sealed between only them. “Never chase a boy, Genevieve. Don’t do it.”

***

October 31, 2019

Genevieve wasn’t used to the stop and go. It was something she never thought twice about when she was younger and needed to get across town, but now it was painfully obvious. A middle aged man in a green tie and second hand suit sat across the aisle from her. His ankle crossed over his knee and a newspaper open in his lap. At the front, three seats folded up and made room for a teenage girl in a wheelchair. She untangled the cord of her white headphones. A mother attempted to calm down her shrieking toddler. The boy, red faced and wet with tears, stomped his feet and waved his arms impatiently.

Genevieve didn’t mind the ruckus. Between being trapped in a self-imposed exile at a still library or the solitude of her apartment, the hustle of the city gave her much needed normalcy. Her head pressed against the window, she regretted her decision when the driver hit the brakes suddenly. The potholes on the concrete made her bang her forehead several times, but she kept it there because she liked to see her breath fog up the glass with each little puff. The cloudiness stained the window for a second before it disappeared. She enjoyed counting her exhales to pass time.

She was at a prime number, sixty-one, when the buzzing of her phone interrupted her recording.

Incoming Call. Meena.

Her thumb slid across the screen and she brought the receiver closer to her head. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Where are you?”

“Right now? Just by King Street. Shouldn’t be any much longer. Maybe twenty minutes tops.”

“Well, hit the gas, you’ve been requested.”

Genevieve mentally went over the list of people who beckoned her. She had already texted Liam and informed him that she was running slightly behind schedule. That only left Niall.

“Niall?” She laughed. ”Tell him I can’t give him a ride tonight, my car is at the shop.”

“No, not Niall— wait, how are you getting here?”

“The bus.”

“Ooh,” she hummed in realization. The toddler was now invested in a juicebox, his nose sniffled and palm wiped at his eyes for dried tears. There was still honking on the street and Genevieve nodded along to the soft music from the car radio beside them. “Those things are never on time, no wonder you’re so far away.”

“Sixteen minutes now.”

“I could’ve given you a ride if I had known.”

“It’s alright, I’ll be there soon anyway.” Green Tie flipped the page, Genevieve briefly glanced at the stock market numbers. “What’s going on there? Have they got on yet?”

“Nope it’s some poetry thing right now, they won’t be up until later. Liza said something about two more people on the set list.”

The invitation for Liam and Genevieve had stretched out to a few more familiar faces. It was Halloween night, that meant The Cabinet had colourful drinks, orange and yellow streamers on the walls, and faux cobwebs lining the bar tops. Usually Ted wouldn’t have put much thought to it, but when he noticed the direct correlation in risen sales, he made it a full blown out theme. There was a popular promotion; if you came in with a costume you get a small percentage off your drinks.

“Liam just popped into the loo to fix his face paint. There’s a guy here with a very detailed Ironman getup. Niall has taken a liking to a brunette in a lingerie set. I think she’s supposed to be a bunny, or a hamster. My drink is making my lips blue.”

“Riveting.”

“I think so too. It makes me a more believable zombie while getting me buzzed. Talk about a two for one special—” There was shuffling, ice cubes clinking against glass—“oh shit, I think… I think I see Professor Biggins.”

Genevieve groaned. He had become a common topic of conversation with Meena. She would mostly drag his name through dirt for giving her a mark that she strongly argued she didn’t deserve. He was the type of professor that had a God complex. To do above and beyond in his class—the only thing that Meena allowed herself to do—you had to fight through the trenches with your own bare hands. “Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a perfectly casual setting. I’ll just buy him a drink and ask him to give me his thoughts on my rough draft,” she said. “I have a copy on my phone.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

“Okay, well it isn’t a rough draft.” She let out a disgruntled huff. “It’s actually my final that I worked my arse off for the past week. But I’m not gonna let him know that, of course. Knowing him, he will rip it to shreds and make it seem like a mess of jot notes instead of well developed arguments.” Genevieve heard a gulp over the line when Meena threw back her drink. “You know I saw Lucy Wallace leaving his office hours in tears. Lucy Wallace! Can you believe it? I’ve never seen that girl with less than a four point oh, and he broke her, Gen.”

“Oh my God, leave him alone, he’s probably there to relax and not be bothered by students.”

She scoffed. “Relax? If I can’t sleep because of this bloody essay then neither should he. It’s only fair.” Genevieve could picture Meena squirming off her bar stool. “And if he really didn’t want to run into his students, he should’ve thought of that before choosing a pub on campus.”

“You’re walking towards him, aren’t you?”

“Yup, ten steps away,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “I hope he recognizes me behind this makeup. For being such a young prof, you’d expect him to be somewhat lenient and not have a stick up his arse. I swear to you Gen, this man hasn’t a clue what mercy means.”

“I’m sure you’ll give him a proper schooling on it then. With the whole definition and everything.”

“And nothing less,” Meena agreed. “Text me when you get in, yeah?”

“Take it easy on him.”

“Not a chance, see you soon.”

***

Genevieve spotted Liam instantly. His Captain America shield, leaned against the wooden peg of the table, really gave him away. A simple light fixture dangled above them and spilled a dull orange hue. Across from him, Angie sipped a pink drink and Liza was in the middle of telling a story with expressive hand gestures. A witch hat contained her curls and matched the long black maxi dress that she had on. Genevieve grimaced at the dried beer on the floor; the soles of her shoes grew tacky with every step towards the table.

“—She was a complete psycho! Had too many screws loose!” Liza exclaimed with brows at her hairline. “I had a feeling from the start, Liam! But it seems like anything I say falls on deaf ears!”

Angie rolled her eyes with a bored expression. The jewelled bracelets that covered her wrist hit against the neck of her glass as she brought the rim to her lips. “She wasn’t that bad.”

“She wouldn’t let you come out with us.”

“That was a... misunderstanding.”

“She refused to get along with any of us for more than twenty minutes.”

“Some people like to keep to themselves. Introversion and all.”

“She threw your clothes off the balcony and almost started a fire.”

Angie hissed at the painful memory, her face crumpled as she swallowed her drink. It was easy to mistake her reaction as a liquor burn. “Okay, yeah, maybe that bit was a little too much.”

“Wait a second, she threw your clothes? From the balcony? Don’t you live on the twenty second floor?” Liam’s eyes could drop out of their sockets and roll on the table like a pair of dice.

“Lived. And it was the whole suitcase, unzipped, the whole shabang. Quite the show.” Genevieve’s eyes wrinkled with amusement when Angie waved her hands in a jazz like theatre fashion, a sarcastic smile pulled at her painted black lips. “I was just happy that my clothes broke the fall for my laptop. But she did manage to crack my camera lens.”

“She sounds delightful,” Genevieve said at last when she approached close enough to the group. Her teeth caged her bottom lip to bite a smile. Liam’s head whipped around and he stood up to grab an empty stool to join the table.

“Gen, don’t get her started, please,” Liza scoffed. She leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Genevieve’s neck to pull her in for a quick hug. Despite being taken aback by the immediate friendliness, Genevieve relaxed into her embrace. “We prefer not to have a reenactment of her many grieving nights. Thank you for making it.”

“Of course! Liam wouldn’t let me miss it. When do you guys go on?” Genevieve balanced herself on the stool after her jacket was shrugged off on a nearby hook. She shot Liam a nod in thanks.

He raised his glass of beer. The foam rested well below the halfway level. He pointed his index finger at it and his brows curled in question. Genevieve’s lips mouthed ‘sure’. He threw back what was remaining of his drink down his throat before he headed towards the bar. He slid at the empty spot beside Niall, who didn’t pay any attention, too engrossed in the brunette in front of him. He was given a twisted pinch on his side, he jumped and yelped in his seat and Liam snickered as the brunette walked away.

Liza’s eyes snapped to the inside of her wrist, they doubled in size when she analyzed the hour and minute hand. “Shit, in about fifteen. I should get going.”

The Cabinet was far from a fancy establishment. Genevieve recognized a few people from her course littered around the space, everyone had a drink in hand. There was a modest platform that served as a makeshift stage. Amps, mics, and a keyboard was plugged in and the thick black wires resembled withering snakes.

Liza’s block heels sounded against the floor as she hurried towards the side of the stage where a crouched down Zayn fiddled with a specific setting on the amp, dressed in all black. His neck arched towards her when she was close enough. He had a guitar pick between his teeth like a toothpick, it made his smile crooked. He plucked it out and  gave it to her in exchange for the microphone in her hand.  Beside him, another girl turned the knobs on a bass, probably giving it some last minute tuning.

“If I remember correctly, you must be Gen. Liam and Liza mentioned you a bit.”

“I am. All good things, I hope?” She laughed.

Genevieve was impressed by Angie’s outfit. Her shirt’s bell sleeves were wide and the length of her skirt stopped at two inches below the knee. Layered necklaces and rings glinted under the light. A scarf tied across her forehead held back her hair, but it peeked out slightly. It was the crystals on the table and a deck of cards that founded her hypothesis. “Let me take a guess… you’re a fortune teller?”

“Close, try again.”

“A gypsy?” Her voice squeaked in a higher pitch.

“I’m Angie, the tarot reader.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know the difference at all.” All the trinkets that laid on the table overwhelmed her. There were crystals in all shapes and sizes and charms that sat in a green bowl.

“Don’t worry, most people don’t. Here, do you want to give it a try? My great aunt swears by this deck.” Angie raised a brow. “She said something about how she had it spelled by a Sufi in India. Just between us, I think she’s ripping off the storyline of The Monkey’s Paw. But with her, who knows? Or maybe it’s the retirement home rotting her brain.”

“What is this exactly? How does is work?” It piqued an interest. Genevieve watched closely as Angie scooped the deck of cards to shuffle with expertise.

People tended to be a bit wary about myths, legends, and the ‘other world’. Genevieve understood the fascination that came along with it, but her belief regarding the supernatural was as weak as a packed public library’s wifi signal. Her belief stayed with something she could see and understand. For her, this was the existence of concrete numbers. If anything, a deck of cards was just another application of game theory. It was all permutations and combinations that were behind seeing the past or forecasting the future, not magic.

“There are two types of reading. You can do a question based or more of an open reading,” Angie said. “We’re gonna do an open one because that was the only one my aunt was willing to teach an eight-year-old on a snow day.”

“Sounds good, how do I start?”

“After the deck is shuffled, I’m going to lay out four piles of three cards each. All you have to do is tell me which pile you gravitate towards and we can go ahead with your reading.”

Genevieve nodded.

Angie’s fingers tapped the edges to align the corners; soon, the pile was neatly ordered. She gripped the two ends of the deck and bent them in a concave curve. One of her thumbs let go and the tension released, the cards slapped against one another in a harmonic way. After the shuffling, she distributed the cards on the table, her fingers looked like they were snapping at a poetry show except no sound came out, the card between her thumb and index prevented it. The cards were faced upside down, the intricate swirly blue pattern was identical on each card.

“You know what to do,” Angie hummed after she finished with the deck. She took a generous sip of her drink while waiting for Genevieve’s response.

She rapped her fingers on the table. There wasn’t a specific reason as to why her fingers drifted to tap the second pile to her right. Maybe because Genevieve’s hand was already propped on the table and it was the nearest deck her fingers could reach. Or maybe it was the Indian Sufi controlling her actions. Whatever it was, Genevieve hoped for the best.

Angie flipped the three cards over to reveal their faces. The blue pattern was replaced with three distinct images.

“Wow,” Angie said sharply under her breath. A whistle blew from her lips as she scanned the cards to interpret their meaning. On the first card, three women stood over flowers and fruit, all holding identical cups in the air. The second card had a skeleton in black armor riding atop the back of a horse. In his hand was a black flag. The last card had a royal figure behind a veil, a well-built pillar at each of her sides. “Three of cups, death, and the high priestess. Now that’s a complicated combination.”

“How so?”

“Well the three of cups means friendship which goes against the death card. And not to mention the high priestess means new knowledge. Which is a bit off. I think this has more to do with—”

Genevieve smelled his cologne before she saw him.

She felt heat lift off his skin from his close proximity. The space was packed, leaving him no option but to step into her bubble. His presence made Genevieve’s spine solid as a metal rod. The little hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Threatening scavengers wheeled hungrily above their table.

A glass full to the top was slid in front of her, the frothy foam almost dribbled over the rim.

“Don’t listen to her, this is all rubbish,” a voice to her left sounded, his breath hitting the shell of her ear. Genevieve wiggled on her stool at the jet of warmth that shot down her arm.

“Harry, you twat! Not on the cards! You know I have to give them back!” Angie lurched forward to swipe the cards nearest the drink. She began to collect all the spread out cards into her deck with a scowl. Genevieve could’ve sworn she felt a shy lingering palm hover over the small of her back, but Harry wasn’t brave enough to actually do it.

“It’s best you put them away before you give away another false reading. Wouldn’t be the first time, right Ang?” His voice was light and airy. It gave Genvieve the impression that Angie was the easiest to pick on in their group. From jokes about scorned exes to innocent jabs here and there, she took the brunt of it all.

As if it was even possible, Harry leaned further towards Genevieve, she was half a centimeter away from falling off her stool. He tapped the wood beside the glass with his pointer finger. “Liam sent this over by the way.” Genevieve nodded, without turning in her seat. Her throat was too dry to give a response, she gulped down her drink like it was water.

“Oh piss off,” Angie brushed off. Her eyes scanned Harry’s outfit and her mouth dropped open in offence. “What happened to the pirate get up? Wait, hold on a minute, do you guys know each other?” Her curious eyes bounced back between the two. Was the Indian Sufi working overtime?

Genevieve downed a large gulp to refrain from spitting her drink out. “What? No! Why do you ask that?” Genevieve coughed before Harry could answer.

Angie shrugged. “Looks like you coordinated outfits.”

Genevieve’s eyes snapped to green ones before they flickered down to his chest. The print was a carbon copy of the fabric that hung off her shoulders except for the number in the dead centre of the shirt. Thing 1. Thing 2.

Genevieve rolled her lips as she tried to think fast on her feet. Harry saw it in her eyes, the acute sense of panic. The answer being a simple yes prompted too many questions. Genevieve didn’t want to get into the how’s and the why's. It would be like untangling knotted necklaces that had very thin chains.

Sure, they did know each other at a different time. Now, years apart, the answer failed to uphold any truth. It was the same as admitting they didn’t know the other at all. Something passed between the two of them—a mutual understanding, a silent conversation.

Harry cleared his throat, his attention gravitated back to an expectant Angie. “By coordination, you mean picking the most common shirt as an excuse for an outfit, then yes, of course, we coordinated. Along with whoever is wearing a size small in this halfway across the world.”

“Forget it, I need another drink.” Angie’s curiosity went as quickly as it came. She slid off her stool and marched towards the bar. Her necklaces and rings jingled together like windchimes with every step.

And then there were two.

Harry pretended not to notice Genevieve wrap a broken fray of her jeans around her pointer finger. It was one of her many ticks. She picked at her clothing before an important presentation, a tricky exam, confrontation. She gave the thread a hard tug and it ripped off. She had one leg crossed over the other tightly on her stool. Her thumb caged the first knuckle of her ring finger.

Harry attempted to make eye contact, and she met his gaze for the length of a heartbeat.  

Harry watched as Genevieve released a relieved breath. Her tongue ran over her lips. “Thank you,” she sighed.

Neither of them knew if it was for bringing her drink over or keeping the veil on their past.

Before Harry could respond, there were two taps into a microphone. The electric shrill came to a stop; heads turned towards the stage.

“Having a good night everyone?” The small crowd gathered near the stage grew slowly as Liza adjusted her mic stand. It was like the beginnings of the holy mecca. An incoherent response was given in a cheer. “We’re The Red Day, thank you for having us! Our first song is one I’m sure will sound somewhat familiar. Here is Nine Hearts!”

Niall and Liam whooped and hollered from their new position closer to the stage. Encouraging claps and cheers were shouted. Angie raised her drink in support. Meena abandoned her professor for their set.

At the first few chords of Liza’s guitar and Zayn’s keys, Harry’s head turned to catch a glimpse of Genevieve’s reaction. He didn’t know if her music taste differed from what it was. Was she still into the same bands? Did she still hate karaoke? Somehow he thought his questions will be answered with a hopeful glance. Then his chin met his shoulder, a frown pulled at his lips. The stool beside him was vacant. She left a wet ring of water on the table, the only proof of her presence.

Genevieve was no longer there.

***

Sweat coated the back of Genevieve’s neck and the high points of her face. Drinks sloshed over rims and a couple drops misted her skin. The small space began to feel like a furnace, the dial set at the highest setting. Energy vibrated with ease through the huddle of strangers she found herself among. Her lack of height and the dim lighting did little to aide her view of the stage. Genevieve elbowed towards the flash of blond that caught her eye.

The song switched when Genevieve stumbled beside her friends.

“There you are!” Niall screamed, but his voice was muffled. He trapped her neck in the crook of his elbow, pressing a messy kiss to her matted hairline. “Haven’t seen you all night!”

“You have me now!” Genevieve knocked elbows with a boy who rushed to the bar. Her index finger and thumb squished Niall’s cheek. Even with the facepaint, his skin was flushed a certain shade of red he only got when was buzzed or severely sunburnt. “What’s this?”

“I’m a mime!” His costume only registered to Genevieve when her eyes landed on the black and white striped shirt. Her mouth parted in a drawn out Oh.

He pushed his drink into her hands before his raised to spread in front of him, an invisible glass barrier became apparent.

“You’re the loudest person I know, whose brilliant idea was this?” She snorted when his face contorted into extreme expressions. “Could’ve mistaken you for a clown. It’s more fitting.”

That prompted a deep chuckle from Liam. He was an arms length away. A blue drink in hand. With closed eyes, he nodded his head to the mellow beat of the music. A few lighters were in the air.

“Two costumes in one, I am going above and beyond! For the people, you know?”

“So generous.” Genevieve helped herself to his drink. It would be something that Niall would snatch from her if he was sober. Instead he swayed with the rhythm and mouthed the lyrics obnoxiously all while he clutching his heart.

Genevieve could only imagine the heat of the potted stage lights aimed at Zayn, Liza, and the unnamed girl. Sweat beaded their temples. She hadn’t been lucky enough to familiarize herself with their sound. As Genevieve concentrated on the music, a stubborn knot in her shoulder dissolved.

Liza was the frontwomen, a guitar strap slung around her neck and red lips kissed the mic. Zayn was a natural behind black and white keys, practiced fingers knew their placements as if he was recalling the alphabet. No-name controlled the bass with expertise, the sound traveled through floorboards and made toes curl. They were skilled at holding down a beat. The tempo and chord arrangements went together effortlessly. It testified to the hours spent at their craft.

Liza’s voice was deep and rough and settled in your bones. Zayn occasionally leaned forward into his mic to add light harmonies that complimented her voice. The contrast between them made for a balanced sound. The amps thundered as they progressed into the pre-chorus. The crowd became rowdy with anticipation. It was an electric, needy, callous disorder.

“I need to pee,” Liam winced, his eyes pinched in pain. He was in the middle of a funny dance. He adjusted his bulge and shoved his unfinished drink into Genevieve’s hand.

Genevieve’s protest didn’t make it out in time because Liam was gone in a flash. Her mouth hung open. His figure drowned in a sea of people.

The song neared an end. A roar flooded the bar, the praise and claps were deafening. It was obvious as daylight, they were pocketing hearts away with every strum of a guitar. Liza’s chest heaved to catch her breath. Her hair bounced as she crouched down, the mouth of a plastic bottle met her lips. While she hydrated, to keep the momentum up Zayn pressed closer to his mic.

“Evening everyone—”

Niall cupped his palms around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Yeah, Baby!”

Zayn closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath before he gave an acknowledging nod. “And Niall.”

“Woo!” Niall—an embarrassing soccer mom on the sidelines—didn’t quite know when to stop with the positive reinforcement. A couple heads turned towards Niall and by association, Genevieve. Zayn began to thank the crowd and plugged the student radio that he had started with Liza as another place to find their music.

Genevieve’s elbow dug in the soft pillow of Niall’s side. “You know him?” She raised a brow and pointed her chin towards the stage.

“Who? Zayn?” Genevieve nodded in confirmation. “Top lad. I smoke with him at the back after every gig. You should come. He has the best stuff.”

Genevieve’s jaw hung open in mock offence. “He’s your pot buddy now?”

“That’s what you get for abandoning me.” Niall shrugged. “I move on fast, you know?”

Genevieve recalled the last time Niall had reached out to give his invite. It was one of those weeks where too many things piled right after the other. Where days blurred into one because professors couldn’t grasp the concept of strategically placing due dates, despite having fancy doctorate degrees. “It was finals week!”

“More the reason to do it, if you ask me.” He wiggled his brows. He sighed when she pouted. “Don’t be jealous, there’s still enough of me to go around.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes freely and took a swig of the amber liquid, it slid down her throat with ease. The chords of the last song floated into the air and Genevieve didn’t bother to fix the strands of hair that stuck to her face. Her feet swayed with Niall’s, featherlight and carefree. Their arms pretzeled each other’s shoulders as they lost themselves in the music. It was a mix of knocking knees and withholding the other’s weight. Their drunken stumbles didn’t hinder their experience, if anything, it amplified it.

Liam and Meena nursed their drinks on the other side of the bar. Attempts at reclaiming their spots proved futile as the crowd grew more relentless and chaotic. All hopes of a good view died at once, like an annoying house fly under a swatter.

Meena caught Genevieve’s glazed eyes. They held eye contact, it was something they did at parties or pubs. Touching base to make sure all things are in order. Are you okay? Do you want to leave?

Genevieve shot her a thumbs up with a bubbling smile to dismiss Meena’s worries.

Meena narrowed her eyes on Genevieve’s shoulder. Her own fingers came to pinch at her top. Don’t you sleep in that?

And?

It’s wrinkled.

Genevieve spotted Meena’s professor over her shoulder. He laid some bills down on the table and folded his wallet. He then made his way slowly approaching Meena. Of course, he wasn’t in her peripheral so she had no idea. Genevieve raised her pointer finger and pointed behind her. After half a second of confusion, she turned around and plastered on the fakest smile for Professor Biggins; a perfect enactment of a comedy and tragedy masks. And so the conversation of her shirt was dropped.

Liza and Zayn wrapped up the last song, coming to a graceful end. They said their goodbyes and were off the stage in no time. Zayn proficiently folded the stand of his keyboard. Liza made sure her guitar was snug as a bug in its case.

It was a blur. Niall shoved around the group of people which were taking too long to dissipate. Genevieve squeaked when a harsh tug trapped her wrist. Niall lead her towards the door of the back exit where Zayn and Liza helped themselves to a few water bottles. Their equipment leaned against the wall.

Niall threw his arms around Zayn instantly, the sudden force caused him to stumble back. Zayn recovered easily from his falter, then beamed at Niall with a wide smile.  

“You lot killed it! Insane! Absolutely smashed it!”

Genevieve nodded at Niall’s words. “It was amazing to watch, I’ll be sure to catch the next set.”

“We will definitely let you know when we get it lined up.” Liza glowed with post stage euphoria. You could reach out and practically touch the energy still buzzing around her. “Oh, Zayn! This is Gen!”

The quick introduction was met with a kind smile and nod.

“Ah, yes! Liam mentioned you.” Zayn’s thumb struck towards the iron gate. A red exit sign was fixated on hinges above. “We’re going out for a quick smoke. You’re welcome to join.”

It was a common theme, Genevieved noted. There was no awkwardness or tough exterior that needed to be cracked to befriend Zayn, Liza, and Angie. No deadbolts or fastened chains, instead a welcome mat situated boldly outside their door. Genevieve found herself taking a step in.

“Liz, you coming?” Zayn inquired when he spotted Liza shuffling towards the opposite direction.

“Gonna grab some drinks first. Rum and Coke good for you?”

“Yeah, hurry back.” Zayn pushed open the door and they stumbled outside one by one.

The cool breeze made it seem like they just exited a sauna, the heavenly contrast stretched a wide dopey smile on Genevieve’s lips. It was a narrow alley of two red brick walls. Flies circled the lined dumpsters, but they were far enough that the smell wasn’t unbearable. She had been here on many occasions. She once held back Meena’s hair as she vomited in the corner, then again when Niall needed a place to quietly cry after his first breakup, and once more when Liam became insanely paranoid after a happy pill.

Zayn and Genevieve bounced back the typical introduction. He studied life sciences, had three younger brothers, and was doing research with a professor Genevieve once had. Alongside his work at the radio, he proctored exams and did part-time hours at a record store down the block. He smiled with his tongue flattened behind the row of his top teeth. He had buzzed his hair to purposefully display the tattoo behind his ear.

Niall and Zayn got talking about the upcoming game. They made light conversation until the door flung open, abruptly. It slammed against the wall with great force.

“Fuck.”

The ugly screech of metal against brick didn’t falter Genevieve. The sight the door revealed did. Zayn grabbed the swinging door just before it had the opportunity to collide again.

“Jesus, H, you’re gonna have to pay a fortune if that falls off its hinges,” Zayn warned.

“All I have is ten quid.” The self deprecation was laid on thick, a nonchalant shrug tacked on the end of his sentence. In his hands were tall glasses, the pad of his fingers turned slightly white from their hold. “—And your drink.”

“Where’s Liz?” Zayn asked holding his drink to his lip as he looked over the rim.

“She popped into the loo for a bit,” said Harry. She is thankful for the few drinks circling her veins because it helped lessen the intensity of his gaze when he noticed her standing there. “She’ll be out with Angie in a minute.”

It feels like she’s in elementary school and in trouble. Her previous departure was still fresh in his head, it flared an insecurity in him that he thought was long put to bed.

Lately, Genevieve made him feel one prominent emotion. Her quick dismissals made him invisible, like a little boy in red shorts at a gym class line up that everyone knew would be picked last. He was a blackened steel pot pushed to the backburner. However, the difference between that boy and Harry was the years that separated them. He has learned the art of confrontation. He won’t hide in bathroom stalls during lunch, he will not cower from her rejection. He is here, whether she likes it or not.

Genevieve avoided him by taking an interest in the sky above with her fingers braided behind her back. She expected him to hand the drink and turn around, but like always—she is proven wrong about him.

Genevieve doesn’t realize how tight the ally was until Harry’s shoulders brushed the crest of her collarbone to take the vacant spot beside Zayn. She had instinctively pressed her back to the rough brick wall to create as much distance as possible. The back of her sneakers squished old cigarette butts lodged in the cracks of the pavement. She held her breath for a moment and deflated when the only thing left of him was a gust of wind.

“Perfect.” Zayn dipped his fingers to the back pocket of his jeans.

They were pre-rolled. The white of the paper is less transparent at one end and more opaque on the opposite. The two joints are rolled into a twist in a way that doesn’t make the length lopsided and uneven.

Genevieve wasn’t an habitual or chain smoker. In fact, she hated the smell of reminiscent smoke. She indulged herself every once in a while. Especially when the pace of everything increased to uncontrollable speed, when deadlines weighed down on certain pressure points and occasionally, when Niall begged her to. It was effective to take the heaviness off her, the feeling of carrying extra body weight would evaporate.

Zayn and Niall picked up their conversation, Harry adding his two cents here and there.

You can hear stumbling drunks coming out from the front doors of The Cabinet. A pair of heels dangled from a girl’s grip as she made a run to cross the street with a friend. It was nearing the time where tabs were closed out and cab rides would be split.

“Fuck,” Zayn groaned with one spliff trapped between his lips and the other one behind his ear. He patted his front and back pockets like he was looking for his car keys or wallet. His brows frowned as he repeats it again. “I think I dropped my lighter.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Niall waved. “Gen, you always keep one on you, yeah?”

It’s humiliating.

The simple question among different company wouldn’t be much of a concern. It was innocent and didn’t hold much significance in a stranger’s eye. But Harry’s ears perked up and brows jumped at the little piece of information. The way his eyes fixated on her added a double meaning, it was enough to make something crawl under her skin.

Tiny centipede legs stomped all over her. The scales of a snake slithered itself around her neck, gradually suffocating her airways. Her mouth filled with live cockroaches.

Genevieve’s stomach churned.

“Gen?” Niall elbowed her side, breaking her out of her trance.

“Yeah?”

“Lighter?”

“‘Course.”

It was a weak fumble, her fingers trembled as she plucked it out from her back pocket. It was the most mundane looking thing on the planet. The white colour was chipped at the sides. The sparkwheel was dulled, but worked just fine. The flint spring was probably a bit beaten down.

With the back of her nail, Genevieve flicked the guard off. Her thumb pushed down and her free hand cupped around the igniting spark. It took two tries before the fork gave away and released the gas from the valve. A candle light heat absorbed into her skin. She brought the flame towards Zayn. His face was a soft yellow, and the tip of the spliff glowed a burnt orange. The flame died when it was no longer needed. His hollow cheeks inhaled a drag. Lips curled and he hummed in content. When he exhaled, a pungent smell of cannabis floated through the air.

Zayn handed it to Niall before swapping it out with the unlit blunt. Genevieve repeated her motions once more.

“Shit,” Niall sighed in bliss. “This one’s a good one.”

He handed the joint to Genevieve. Her thumb and index finger pressed the rolled paper to her lips. The smoke was smooth and Genevieve held it in her lungs for a moment. White smoke puffed out and Genevieve wishes it was thick enough to block Harry’s intentive peering. Zayn offers him a hit, but he declined by raising his drink to his mouth.

Genevieve takes another drag and taps off the ashes before passing it back to Niall.

It goes on like that for a bit. A calming silence fluttered between them. It took about twenty minutes for the high to settle in. There is an upward buoyancy in oil which is greater than the downward force of its gravity. That is why oil floats when mixed with water. Genevieve’s insides feel like someone stirred a spoon in the mixture; uneven bubbles of separated oil danced towards the surface freely.

She noticed her reactions weren’t as sharp when she laughed a beat after Zayn’s joke. It was easier to smile; two invisible strings pulled at the corners of her lips like she was a puppet in a grand show.

One side of her face was warmer than the other. The alcohol and weed blurred the edges of her view, but she felt his eyes on her. She stamped her eyes shut and threw her head back, soft giggles broke through. Everything was funnier when you were stoned. Her knuckle collected an escaped tear from her glassy eyes.

If Genevieve was sober, Harry would’ve looked away when she caught him. There was something charged in the air. He hadn’t seen her like this much before. She anticipated him to blink away when Genevieve locked her eyes on his. But he was shameless, and as usual, she held his stare for a moment too long.

Her fingers swiped the blunt from Niall. She took another hit in hopes of deluding herself into thinking that the tension between them was imaginary.

She inhaled too quickly. The smoke trapped in her windpipe and she spluttered a few coughs. Her eyes stung and fresh tears surfaced. Genevieve passed the spliff back to Niall and tipped her head back. The wall behind her propped her weight as she took a minute to calm her breathing.

In her compromised state, she could only think one thing clearly. She had to get out of here.

“I’m gonna grab some water.”

She didn’t wait to hear their response. She pushed herself off the wall. The door pulled open under her grip and Zayn and Niall said something she couldn’t make out. Her eyes squinted to focus under the soft yellow lighting. She made a beeline towards her jacket. It was easier to navigate the premises since a large amount of people had filtered out. Genevieve took out her phone and typed away.

Going hooome. -Gen

A bing sounded from her phone. The name of the group chat lit up as she wrestled an arm into her jacket.

If you wait half an hour, I’ll take you. Need to sober up first. -Meena

Gen whyyyy, stay for a bit longer! -Liam

I’m so stoned. I’m gonna go home and stuff my face with food. Or sleep. -Gen

Don’t worry, M! I’m already out! Where are you btw, didn’t see you? -Gen

Washrooms! There is a huge line :( -Meena

A girl is wearing a nice skirt, should I ask her where she got it from? -Meena

Munchies? -Niall

You know it -Gen

Eat a bag of chips for me -Niall

Maybe two -Niall

Ask her about the skirt. I have my money on H&M -Niall

Text when you get home safe -Liam

Genevieve walked for five minutes. The door of The Cabinet was far enough to be a miniature entrance of a dollhouse. She had missed the last departure time of the bus and decided the crisp night air would make for a sobering walk. Her reflexes were still a bit delayed. The traffic lights glowed on the sidewalk pavement until she harshly blinked to steady the blurred image. Everything was sluggish, her vision muddled and a few green and red circles floated about.

She recalled the corner shop from her childhood house, it sold cheap DVDs. The sleazy man at the counter never denied burning them illegally. The image quality was broken and poor. Her hands were a clump of squared pixels that took a minute to buffer.

The last button of her jacket was secured when loud footsteps mirrored hers from behind. She gripped the metal chain link of the bag sat on her shoulder tightly.

It was dark. Especially now that she passed the strip of convenience shops, no open signs lit up the streets.

She inhaled a shaky breath through her nose and a jagged puff came from her parted lips. The sweat from her palms caused her grip on the bag to slide down.

It could be nothing. Maybe she was hearing things. She didn’t want to assume the risk of turning around. Instead, she counted her steps from each lamp post to the next. They weren’t consistent. The range was from ten to sixteen. The mean would lie around twelve. The mode was eleven.

Before she began to compute the median, she choked on a sharp intake of air as the footsteps neared closer than ever.

Her neck stretched and examined her surroundings. You were intentionally supposed to put yourself in a very visible place or somewhere where a witness could be found, something she once read in an article online. Genevieve made note of the houses that still had their lights on.

“Are you avoiding me?” An exhausted voice huffed out. Impatient with a hint of naked hurt. “You are, aren’t you?”

Fear clenched her jaw. Her brain waved tiny red flags, the ones that topped cupcakes. The familiarity of the voice shot a clear fishing line and sank its hook in the flesh of her shoulder. The reel was being taken in and slowly she turned around. The crunch of gravel distracted her from the erratic thump thump thump of her pulse.  

“Harry?” She wheezed. She expected his name to roll off easily, but she stuttered and added another syllable. His name sat on her tongue with the weight of a rounded pellet.

“‘Course, who else would it be?”

“Holy fuck.” Stress alleviated only when he stood under the light of a lamp post. Her shoulders eased as the impending horror diluted. “Don’t you know not to creep up on someone who is walking the street alone? I thought you were a murderer!”

“Oh–shit, I didn’t think of that,” he confessed with a sheepish smile. A wave of humility flooded his features and he glanced towards the sky. With his fists deep in his jean pockets and head thrown back, he never looked more youthful. “Well if it’s any reassurance, I’m not.”

“Lovely.”

He spluttered a laugh at her impassive tone. “Is that a new thing of yours? Not answering questions?”

“What gives you the impression I’m avoiding you?”

“You ran out of there like a bat straight out of hell.”

“I have an 8 a.m tomorrow.” She didn’t. “Nothing personal, don’t be so sensitive.”

Harry uttered a string of words under his breath so incoherent they never made it to Genevieve’s ears. His boot kicked a pebble off the sidewalk to the empty street. Genevieve and Harry watched it skip twice before it laid in an anticipated still.

His boots resumed their trek towards the direction she had previously set her path to. It was a line of residential houses. Each one had identical roofs, a sharp triangular hat. He passed four houses before it dawned on him. He didn’t feel another presence trail after his shadow. Long legs halted in an abrupt stop. He peered to his left before he turned around fully, arms raised in question. “Well, come on then! What are you waiting for?”

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you home.”

Genevieve snorted. “That is the last thing I need”

“Oh, come off it. You’re out of your mind, literally. And you yourself said that there are actual murderers on the street.”

The prolonged silence didn’t falter for a moment. Crickets chirped and a frog groaned from the nearby pond. Genevieve held his stare without remorse. He needed to offer a compelling reason as to why walking her home was his concern. It hadn’t been for the past three years. She was far from a little girl who needed her hand held to cross the street.

It took a moment, but he finally caved.

“I’m headed in that direction anyway.”

Genevieve didn’t throw him a bone right away. His proposition molded into a clay-like fixture and took shape in Genevieve’s mind. The newfound tangibility allowed her to rotate it on an xyz plane to analyze from every which way.

Her weak inhibitions, admittedly the reason behind her decision, coupled with a lack of energy to put up a fight contributed to possible human error. She dragged her feet towards him, a ball and chain clasped snug around her ankle. Her mother’s words vanished into thin air.

The moon, a clipped toenail, played a game of hide and seek with surrounding clouds. It would peek out every other second—a shy toddler that clung to their mother’s calf. Thin overgrown grass blades swayed with the wind and became italicized, upright, then italicized again. A steady and delicate whoosh sounded between them rhythmically, their own personal metronome.

It was alien to walk side by side him. Short legs worked twice as hard for every step he took. To her memory, it was never this demanding. Her breaths, once even, began to puff out in quick jabs after a few steps. It blemished the silence and perked Harry’s ears. In an instant, his pace was adjusted and Genevieve was no longer the victim to his strides.

Harry’s index fingernail scratched above his top lip. It was his attempt to hide a budding smile. “You smell like maple.”

Harry had a tendency to short circuit, there were times he blurted out a phrase or thought meant to be kept in the space between his ears. He had explained it to her as an involuntary muscle spasm, he could control the twitch at times but he would slip up once in a while. His statement was full of surety, an irrefutable fact. For a second, she ignored it.

He turned to her with a boyish grin, it coined a painfully deep dimple to his left cheek. It conveyed that this was no slip up, it was deliberate.

“What?” Her laugh was dry and perplexed under his observation.

“And weed, but mostly maple—like the syrup. Is it a new perfume?”

Genevieve pressed the neck of her shirt to her nose and sniffed the cotton. She only smelled the weed. “I think you’ve finally lost it. Haven’t you?” Harry grinned to the floor, bashful and content. His hair flopped on his face. “Along with a couple of inches. Finally figured out where the barber is located?”

“You don’t like it?” He feigned offence.  

“Doesn’t matter what I like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your ears. It’s different, that’s for sure.”

“Good different? Bad different?” He prodded. “You gotta give me something to work with here.”

“Neither… I guess? It’s just changed, is all.” The pathway curved into a right turn. They passed by a low shrill of a heater attached below a window. “People change, it’s expected.”

“Not as much as we like to think, no,” he countered, his fingers threaded his hair back. “You are a prime example, haven’t changed a bit.”

Genevieve was unaware if he had taken to being the devil’s advocate as a part time hobby, but regardless she took his bait. They still had quite the trek to cover. “What makes you think that?”

“Well for starters, you still run a bit late.” A snicker fell from his lips, adolescent yet collected. A thumb jutted out from his closed fist.

“Well, it is better than not coming at all.”

“You only drink Stellas.” His index finger appeared. She felt like he put her smack dab in the middle of a boxing ring. He was red gloved offence which left her to fulfill the defence vacancy.

“—A classic. Can never go wrong with it.”

“Can’t smoke without coughing.”

“Hey. Happens to everyone. Mild error.”

“And carry that lighter.” The slow ringing in her ear ascended in volume like a train arriving at a platform. Tight sheets of saran wrap roped around her face. “One that’s not yours.”

Ah, there it was.

Her lungs were empty, winded as though he had delivered a suckerpunch to her gut rather of a small observation. Out of the four fingers, his middle one had a metal band. An ornate rose— bloomed, its petals laid vulnerably wide open. Would it leave a scar? Her bottom lip cushioned the front row of her teeth as she sorted her brain for something, anything.

“It’s a very useful tool. Comes in handy multiple times, more than you can imagine.”

He had a good eye, perfect vision, and an even better insight to see right through her.

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m sure it has.”

The shift in the atmosphere right before it begins to pour mesmerized Genevieve. The air would be stale and thick. It held a suffocating weight and the unbearable humidity made it harder to draw a breath; each inhale came through the narrow valley of a plastic straw. That’s how it felt standing beside Harry. She had forgotten about it for years, but now it mocked her head on.

“But these—” the pad of his index finger tapped his temple twice—“These are new, right?” He expertly switched topics when her head bowed down and an ashamed stare fixed on the pavement for a moment too long.

The reply wasn’t immediate and Harry kicked himself for bringing it up in the first place. He disrupted the natural current of the conversation and it was achingly obvious. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, probably even locked it and tossed the key down the gutter. They don’t talk about it, it’s something they don’t do.

A punishing silence dragged on for an eternity. She forgot how to string together a sentence. Time was needed to collect the pieces of her scattered brain.

Eventually, she gave out a long defeated hum. “They are, how do they look?”

The glasses sat on the bridge of her nose were wide framed. If you looked closely they had a tortoise pattern, the colour of toffee. When she smiled, the apples of her cheeks pressed to the underside of the plastic.

“So good.” He didn’t miss a beat.

She smiled, halfheartedly.

Good. Nothing had felt good for a long time. Genevieve didn’t realize it for a while. Denial was a wicked witch that masked what lay in front with a dozen spells. The days continued to come one after the other. Consecutive and strict. Then Mondays got confused with Thursdays. Months came and went. And suddenly it was years later. Everything was gone. He was gone, until he wasn’t.

“Enough about me.” She cleared her throat before it knotted in on itself. “How’s Esther?”

“Annoying as ever.” He rolled his eyes, words dipped in fond admiration. It was love, gentle and timid. “She doing great. We’re talking more now.”

“That’s good,” she sighed. That was the bitterest pill of them all. Harry was good. So good.

“She wanted to meet you.”

Her head shot up, she brought her hand to her chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, she asks about you a lot.” Genevieve gulped at the piece of information. She assumed Harry would have avoided bringing her up to others. The only way Genevieve could see herself in his current life is as an abandoned cardboard box, shoved in the back of his closet. Only opened to reminisce about what was. “Didn’t know how to tell her you won’t pick up my calls.”

“I got a new number. Dropped my phone in the toilet.”

“‘Course you did.” Her building came into view and Harry feels like someone flipped an hourglass. Each grain fell too quickly. Harry’s vision darts around his surroundings as if he is in search for a lost valuable. He doesn’t look for an item in particular, but he hopes to find another topic of conversation to prolong the definite departure. His hands tremble. No matter how tight his fist clenched, the grains slipped.

He began his sentence without knowing how it will end. “You should… you should come over for dinner.”

The helplessness in his plea made Genevieve question his invite. “Dinner?”

Shaky fingers combed his hair back. He gripped the crown of his head in tepid frustration. “Yeah, or I don’t know, lunch? Breakfast? Brunch?—”

Genevieve saw the anxiousness grow in his eyes, a beast slowly rising from its slumber. If he had all the time in the world, he would spend it on completing his list. They would be there all night.

She knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. Committing to dinner with a non-existing appetite wasn’t at the top of her list, priority wise.

“—This is me,” Genevieve stated to put him out of his misery. A yawn escaped her. She wanted nothing more for her pillow to bear the weight of her head, which felt like a million pounds and more.

“I know.”

She coughed in her fist, a flush crept up her neck. Of course he knew. She busied herself with plucking the bundle of keys from her bag. “How far off are you?”

“Oh not by much.” His unclear answer made Gen tilt her head. A question mark hung in the air. “Just that way,” he added. A thumb pushed towards the street on the left. It didn’t even have a name plate on it.

It was one of the things about him that made Genevieve red in the face on multiple occasions. It was never a linear answer with him. He danced around to an nth degree. What do you want to eat? Anything. What time can you come around by? I don’t know, maybe seven. Where will you be at Tuesday? Can’t tell. Can you do this for me? I’ll try. At times, Genevieve wanted to dump a can of grey paint on him because that is the only colour he knew.

“Where do you live, Harry?”

“Are you inviting yourself over?” He was all cheek and wit. A tactic Genevieve saw him pick up from the master himself.

“Just answer the question.”

Genevieve doesn’t know why his living accommodation takes an interest. She conditioned herself to stop caring for his well-being and whereabouts ages ago. That’s something they don’t tell you about broken friendships. You can never resort to a hundred percent erasure of someone. There is no backspace or delete button.

Maybe a part of her wanted to know if he was actually safe, secure and stable, or if it was a front. She wanted a person to compare herself with. Sometimes Genevieve pictured them as two athletes on a track field sprinting towards the finish line. The white line signified growth, healing, and closure. Genevieve was always behind him.

“Edison and Fourth, apartment nine,” he clarified. His weight shifted from his heels to his toes. “It’s decent, but has a slight mice problem. Zayn has set up traps.”

Genevieve blinked robotically when she mapped the intersection in her brain. She frowned when the red pin dropped on the map. “That’s like a thirty minute walk in the opposite direction.”

“I’ll manage, I think I saw a bus stop not far away.”

It would’ve been a much shorter and efficient route straight from The Cabinet. Instead, his insisted pit stop tacked many more steps than needed.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way to walk me.”

“Yes I did,” his firm tone didn’t waver. The next words flowed like ripples do in a river. “I always will.”

Genevieve slipped her fingers into her back pocket and retrieved her phone. It was warm from her body heat. Her thumb hovered over the screen until it lit her home screen, the bottom half of her face illuminated with a fluorescent light. Her thumb tapped over an application before she typed in the address previously given as the desired destination. A bubble popped up with a potential driver and route. “I’m calling you an uber.”

“No you aren’t. It’s a waste of money.”

She looked up with a bewildered expression. “Don’t be crazy.”

“Cancel it.”

She hadn’t confirmed it, her credit card information covered the screen, but she wasn’t going to let him be privy to that. “No.”

It was unexpected, to say the least.

He jolted towards her in a way that blinded her eyesight to only the colour of his shirt. Red. Red. Red. Her nose brushed against cotton over his shoulder, lint rubbed against her nostrils. His smell reminded her of the grocery store aisle with all the detergents and softeners.

The lack of distance distracted her for a moment. “What are you—hey give that back.”

His fingers brushed against hers were like hot coal. The device was swiped away as if he had the hands of a practiced kleptomaniac.

“I said I am fine as is.”

Maybe it was the effects of alcohol and weed that set something off in Genevieve. It flicked a switch that she had no idea existed, his fingers crawled deep in her chest and pushed the lever up. Anger bubbled and frustration swelled in her. The simmering volcano rose.

“Can you just stop! All of it!” The pads of her fingers dug into his shoulder as she gave a hard push. He staggered back two steps from her force. When space was created between them, Genevieve exited a narrow tunnel, seeing the whole picture and not just some biased misrepresentation. “Showing up everywhere, giving me drinks, walking me home.”

Harry’s face crumpled like a ball of paper being thrown in the nearest trash can. His posture slumped, shoulders caved in on themselves.

“That’s a bit harsh, no?” When Genevieve didn’t reply to him he bit his lower lip. His unsure steps neared her, his voice dropped to a different modulation. Tender and watchful. “Genny...”

“—No, no.” Her words broke by a parched laughter that bordered hysteria. She backed away cautiously when his eyes glimmered with something. He was doing it again. The signature pleading glaze enticed its prey. It got him many things in life: assignment extensions, a bed, with a blonde if he was lucky. “I’m not doing this with you, not again.”

“Can you just hear me out?”

Genevieve’s expression was frozen in a revengeful scowl. She compressed her lips together, an attempt to not spew out nasty words. The skin around her lips turned a shade of white from the lack of blood flow to the vessels. There was only so much self control one could contain. She reserved her ration for a particularly complex problem or when Jonah was getting on her last nerve. Genevieve hadn’t penciled in a portion to give to Harry in such a long time.

“What’s there left to hear, Harry?” She exploded and his shoulders dropped immediately. A yellow light turned on behind a window pane in the building above her from the sudden raise in volume. She inhaled a slow breath in order to contain herself. Her fingers knotted in her hair and she inadvertently felt her throbbing pulse. Her hands motioned in the space that divided them. “This, us? Whatever you’re trying to find again, is not there. You’ve got an amazing life, even better friends. Hell, they’re probably a thousand times better than I ever was.”

“Not true, don’t do that—”

“You don't get it, do you?” Her voice croaked. Genevieve trained herself to not break composure near Harry. She memorized the floorboard to such a detail that she could navigate the house blindly, but now her weight gave away on a loose piece of hardwood and it creaked. “You’re making me think about it all again and it won’t be long until I go weeks without sleeping. I need you to...” Her nostrils flared to inhale a breath, she held it in her lungs as if it delayed the inevitable. But the silence spoke.

I need you to leave me alone. I need you to go away.

He shook his head rapidly. Stern determination fixed in his every word, “I’m not doing that. Not again.”

“Why the hell not?” She spat. Her nails pressed stinging half moons into her palm. Her words, rather vindictive and eroded, were rightfully just. “You were so quick to do it before.”

She looked into his eyes, they were level headed and cool; a complete juxtaposition when compared to hers. Harry wondered when her face became gaunt and the darkness of eyebags took up a permanent living.

“Genny.”

She wasn’t five years old anymore, but a horizontal sting settled above her knee. Her skin ripped open, red splattered all over the floor. He wore red. She saw red. She spilled red.

“I’m tired, Harry.” Admitting this made Genevieve feel small. She closed her eyes and waved her white flag.

Being around Harry was gruesome. Genevieve could only compare it to a drained battery. She didn’t have enough fuel to do this with him. The cogs were rusted from not being used in ages. He brought the rim of a metal container to her lips. His fingers clamped on the back of her neck to keep her in place as he tilted the container up. He poured battery acid down her throat. Concentrated sulfuric acid blackened her insides and poisoned her with every sip.

“I’m so tired.”

***

“On Hallowe'en the old ghosts come about us, and they speak to some; to others they are dumb.” - Hallowe'en by Eleanor Farjeon

---

© 2019 almondharry All Rights Reserved

Thank you eriza @booksncoffee for making the banner. Copyright also applies on banners folks! Remember this.

Always so thankful for my betas @haaaaaaarrry @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1

Tag list: @harryschanclas @wanderlustiing @daydreamsharry @quintessentially-weird @brassharry @kizsyou @thursday-iminlove @mellamolayla @at-least-im-1 @stylishmuser @stylesfics-xx @guccikingstyles @awomanindeniall @mylifeisatoilet @confusedkiwifan @wonderonrepeat @sydneysuit @sortaanonymous @infinitiae

Check the story page if you wanted to be added on the tag list.

[weneverlearn]

Feel Lucky Punk?!! -- Best of the bootleg obscuro punk comps of the way-early '90s? I believe so...

So first off, I thought I posted this a long time ago. But it looks like some old “Drafts” never posted, maybe, kinda... Anyway, dig into this, lemme know what you think. My faves, one day, way back. Pretty much still the same, though Cramps would be higher.

    Alright, a good pal got me thinking about my absolute favorite albums. Now anybody checking in on this here web log (or "blog") probably thinks about such a list 7 to 8 times a day. And while these are pointless exercises, given our intense emotions/opinions/bowel movements over such trivialities, they are nonetheless a hoot by any measure. And, also given that two beers in also tends to grease my memory wheels over this topic, I shall leap onto this mood and extol, in fact, MY FAVORITE FULL-LENGTH LPs OF ALL TIME (or at least for the next week; and assuming I don't blank on absolute faves that, on the way home from this bar, I will bonk my head and disclaim, "Doh!". Yes, I feel like a fuckhead typing at a bar, but you'd have to see this place, it's pretty laid back and sorta dead tonight, so no one seems to mind...) So I will proceed, and  this shall be a maleable beast from here until my death bed, wherein I will exclaim, "Does anybody have a brainscan memory chip blood back-up of the Ramones Rocket to Russia on them? Or was it Leave Home...?

Honestly, in no particular order, because this shit is impossible...

1) Ramones - Rocket to Russia

2) Rolling Stones - Exile on Main St.

3) Saints - (I'm) Stranded

4) Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground and Nico

5) Stooges - Funhouse/Raw Power

5) New York Dolls - Self-titled first LP

6) The Clash - Self-titled first LP

7) Smiths - Louder than Bombs

8) Dead Boys - Young, Loud, and Snotty

9) Death of Samantha - Where the Women Wear the Glory and the Men Wear the Pants

10) Dream Syndicate - The Days of Wine and Roses

Pagans - Street Where Nobody Lives

MC5 - High Times

Husker Du - New Day Rising

Prince - Purple Rain

Replacements - Tim

Devil Dogs - Big Beef Bonanaza

Thomas Jeffersonm Slave Apartments - Bait & Switch

Modern Lovers - Self-titled LP

Ronettes featuring Veronica - Self-titled

Dwarves - Blood, Guts, & Pussy

Blacktop - I Got a Baaaad Feeling About This

Richard Hell & the Voidoids - Blank Generation

Cramps - Bad Music for Bad People

Gibson Bros. - Big Pine Boogie

Starvations - Get Well Soon

Clone Defects - Self-titled first CD

Echo & the Bunnymen - Ocean Rain

R.E.M. - Murmur

Plimsouls - Everywhere at Once

[winchester90210]

The BH 90210 Rewrite - Pilot, part 2: West Beverly Blaze Out

Read Part One here!

Chapter Summary: Y/N tackles her first assignment on the WBB until some rain leads her plans south.

Pairing: No one yet. But it’s coming, I swear. It’s a slow burn. Just enjoy the journey there, folks.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Steve being Steve, Reader has a momentary breakdown.

Word Count:

Disclaimer: My work is not to be reposted in anyway without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging Is fine and encouraged!)

A/N: Last part of the pilot! There’s quite a bit of Steve this chapter but next we’re tackling our first episode which will include a lot more Brandon. Tags are at the bottom! Please message me if you would like to be added :)

Feedback is SO important!! Please leave your comments or questions in my ask box, in the replies, or message them! Even the simplest comment can make a writer’s day.

Italic sentences are the reader’s thoughts.

-

“So, shall we?”

“Let’s do it.”

The walk to the journalism room was quiet. You both were completely silent, the only sounds were the tapping of his shoes, and the squeaking of yours. That’s what you get for wearing new shoes to school, I guess. Your thoughts quickly drift, from the seemingly large size of the school, to Brandon, to the school’s journalism program, to that Steve guy. You haven’t even been there a day and you felt like you had so much to take in. Brenda seems nice, so you were glad to just maybe have a friend, and Brandon was probably the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen. At least, that’s what your hormones were telling you. But he’s also your prospective friend’s brother, which unfortunately trumps everything else. At least for now.

And boy, Steve was…interesting. You didn’t know what to think of him. One on hand you were totally appalled and on the other, you were almost intrigued. Not attracted, but definitely intrigued. No one had ever been so direct with you like that. A little too direct, sure, but there was still something different about it. Or maybe different about him. Either way it was something you didn’t have time to worry about, so you decided to push those thoughts away. Brandon puts a light hand on your back, guiding you inside the paper-cluttered classroom. His hand ghosting over your back is enough to send shivers down your spine as you walk inside.

“Andrea! There’s someone I want you to meet,” he calls out. A girl, or maybe it was a woman, stands up from her desk and comes to greet you and your tantalizing tour guide. Her hair is in brown curls, framing her face along with her round glasses. She carries herself with confidence, and not the faux confidence that too many people at that school seem to possess, but real confidence.

“You must be Y/N,” She shakes your hand, “Mr. Clayton told me you were coming, you have quite the transcript. Co-editor of your middle school’s newspaper, Editor of your last school’s paper by the end of Freshman year, until you moved. Very impressive!” She commends. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was a teacher or a student. She talked like a teacher, dressed like a teacher…but Brandon referred to her by her first name. Probably should’ve done your research before coming. “We’ve got two open stories right now, an interview with our custodial engineer, or you can do our ‘Star Athelete of the month’ piece with Richard Moore, point guard of the basketball team.” At the word “athelete” Brandon perked up. He was in charge of the sports articles here. What was she doing??

“Uh, Andrea-”

“Not right now, Brandon. Let her pick.” Andrea quickly dismisses him, staring daggers at him as she finishes her sentence.

“Oh, uh… I’ll take the interview with the Janitor,” You answer, looking to Andrea. Suddenly, a smile creeps onto Andrea’s face.

There’s a beat before she says, “Congratulations, welcome to the West Beverly Blaze.” Then, Brandon realizes what she was doing. Testing you, of course. “Do you want to cover the story on rising temperatures and the effect of global warming on Beverly Hills? Assigned immediately.”

“I’d love to.” You smile, approvingly, but also nervously. It sounded like a bigger story, and while intimidated, you were up for the challenge.

“Fantastic. Brandon, show her to her spot and help her get started. I have to check over the final draft for this week. This is the number one school paper in the country and I intend to keep it that way.” Andrea murmurs, flipping through the pages in her hand. He guides you to the empty spot, and pulls out your chair for you.

“So, do you just have a knack for writing about janitors?” He asks, a playful tone in his voice. You give him a small laugh.

“Oh, yeah, they’re just so fascinating,” You joke, watching as he sits down in the chair next to you. “I kind of knew she was testing me, they did the same thing at my old school. She seems to run a pretty tight ship here.”

“Yeah, she does… hey, if you need some help on anything with your article, I’d be glad to lend a hand. Ya know, since she’s strict with everything here and all.” Brandon proposes, turned to you, his arm resting on the back of his chair. In all honesty, he wasn’t any more experienced than you were. He had been at West Beverly for a few days, but hey, you didn’t know that. Something about you drew him in, and he wanted an excuse to see you again.

“I’d like that, Brandon.” You smile shyly at him, setting up your things to get to work. He does as well, accidentally bumping hands with you as he takes out his notepad. “So, do you play any sports or anything?” You ask, glancing at him as you log into your computer, hearing the clicking of the keyboard as you type. Wow, great small talk, Y/N. That will definitely make him fall in love with you.

“No, not yet, at least. I just write about them.” He chuckles. He takes a breath, “Hey, I’m sorry about Steve earlier. He doesn’t exactly understand basic human manners.”

“It’s cool, I know he didn’t really mean anything by it. I’m the new kid, I practically have a giant target on my head,” You shake your head submissively, not breaking your eyes away from the computer, trying to get as much done in the 40 minute class period as you could.

“It’s not, though. You should be able to exist at this school without Steve throwing himself at you everyday,” he insists, stopping his work to look at you. You can sense a dash of frustration when he talks. Your typing halts.

“It’s only been one day. It’s okay, really. If it gets to the point where I have to stop him, I will. Trust me…I know you just met me but…trust me. Alright?”

“Alright.”

At the end of the class you were pleased by the amount of work you got done. A surprising amount, considering you and Brandon talked mindlessly throughout the entire period, stealing glances at each other every once in a while. The conversation flowed so easily, the nerves you had meeting him were quickly replaced by a level of comfort you hadn’t expected. You were dismissed with the ringing of the bell, and were left with a sparkling smile and a “See you later?” From Brandon.

“Absolutely,” You grinned back, worrying that the heat you felt in your cheeks was visible. Ugh. You were fine a second ago, get it together, Y/N.

-

The rest of the day went off without a hitch, then lunch time came. The anxiety ate at your appetite all day, so you weren’t really hungry. You grabbed some fruit from the cafeteria and walked out to the quad, the grass crunching under your feet. Oh god, you think. Where were you going to sit? You could sit by yourself, which was a surefire way to get yourself branded a loser on your first day. You could join a random table, but you worried that would make you seem like a total weirdo.

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You look to the left, and see Brenda, with a petite blonde at her side. You quickly jog over, apple in hand.

“Brenda, you’re my savior. I hope you know that,” You joke, slightly out of breath from your little run, earning a laugh from her.

“Y/N, this is my friend Kelly. Kelly, this is Y/N, the new girl I’m showing around today,” She introduced, looking between you two, a cheery smile on her face. You both mumble “hi"s to each other.

“Oh, you should come sit with us! Where you sit during lunch can make or break you. Sit alone once, like that guy, and you’re like, socially exiled forever.” She warns, gesturing towards an otherwise empty table except for a blonde boy, working on a sandwich. Oh my god. Brandon? You follow Kelly and Brenda over to an empty table, quickly setting your stuff down with a thud.

“I’ll be right back!” You exclaim, before speed walking over to the denim-clad boy.

“What is she doing?” Kelly asks, dread coating her voice as she watches you trot over to him.

“Kelly, relax. He’s my brother, not a freshman,” Brenda objects, both pairs of eyes watching every move you made.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he mumbles, taking a long gulp out of his water bottle. You place both your hands on the stone picnic table in front of you, leaning forward. You wait a moment before speaking.

“Come sit with us,” You tell him, gazing to your table and back to him. There’s no way you’re letting him rot in high school hell because he was alone. No way.

“I don’t know,” He protests, the wind blowing strands of hair into his face.

“Yes, you do. Come on.” You argue, a pleading look in your eye but your voice barely stern. All it takes is a moment for him to look into your eyes before he falters.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” He says, fake annoyance in his voice. You grin, and his annoyed face quickly turns into a smile. You march back to the table with your new lunchtime recruit at your heels, the sun in your eyes.

“Hey, you guys know Brandon right?” You ask, a cheeky smile on your face. You sit down on the bench, feeling the stone under your legs. You sit next to Kelly, while Brandon sits next to Brenda, across from you.

“I don’t believe we’ve met!” Brandon quips, shaking his sister’s hand.

-

You don’t realize how long you’ve been working in the journalism room until the sunset beams into your eyes. Satisfied with the work you got done, you decide to loan the school’s laptop and take it home to edit your article. That way, you’d have a shiny finished product in the morning. Yawning, you pack up your things and begin to head out. Cons of working your ass off until sundown? You don’t have a way to get home, so that means walking the 5 miles back to your house. Lovely.

Striding home, a car horn begins to trumpet. It’s loud enough for you to involuntarily cringe, then you realize it’s getting closer. What the hell?

You hesitantly look back, only to see a jet black Corvette, adorned with a custom license plate reading “I8A4RE.”

“Hop in.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief, stopping dead in your tracks. “What are you doing here?”

He slows his car down to stop where you are, “Hop in. I can take you home.” You hear the rumble of the engine, and his hand tapping the side of his car.

“You avoided my question,” You protested before opening the passenger door and sliding in.

“And you still got in anyway,” He quips, waiting for you to buckle in your seatbelt before he drives. “You seem pretty smart, I’m surprised you were dumb enough to get in with me,” Sarcasm envelopes his voice. “I could be a serial killer.”

“I’d rather be dumb and dead than have to walk,” You joke, “Besides, you seem like a tool rather than a murderer.” He lets out a fake gasp.

“Wow! I invite you to take a ride in my prestigious, luxurious car and you spit in my face.” Fake offence is written all over him.

“I8A4RE? Very prestigious. My mistake.” You giggle. There’s a long pause while Steve drives away from the school, then he speaks up again.

“So, where do you live, anyway?” He asks, raising his eyebrows and locking eyes with you for a moment.

“Uh, I live on Alta Drive. It’s in The Flats. Do you know where that is…?”

“Hah, yeah, I know where that is.” You note the tone in Steve’s voice but decide not to press. It’s probably better if you don’t know. Getting into a car with a guy you barely knew was not your smartest decision but hey, he’s a jerk, not dangerous. You embrace the feeling of the wind in your hair and on your skin as he speeds up. You admire the colors of the sunset, the oranges and the purples and the pinks. Looking upwards at the sky, something falls directly into your eyeball. You moan out in surprise, rubbing your eye immediately. And before you can say anything else, it starts to trickle down onto you. And Steve. And Steve’s poor convertible with it’s top down.

“Do you want to put the top up?” You ask, wiping your forehead free of the rain.

“Yeah…about that... It doesn’t have one.” And as if on cue, the rain speeds up.

“…..What?” You question him, your hair quickly becoming soaked.

“I had to take it off, it was broken.”

“You didn’t think of…uh, I don’t know…maybe needing one? For the rain??” The rain and the wind are an evil pair, leaving you cold and drenched while you try to figure out why the HELL Steve wouldn’t put a replacement on.

“We’re going through a drought! I figured it would be fine!” You look at Steve in disbelief. Okay, maybe something inconvenient can come of getting into a car with a jackass. “This is going to ruin my interior,” he grumbles. You close your eyes and try to calm yourself down, resting your head on the back of the seat. You’re cold. You’re wet. But it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s…not fine. Your eyes shoot open.

“Oh my god. The laptop!” You yell, causing Steve to jump. Quickly, you move your backpack under your seat. Your heart sinks. Groaning, you put your head in your hands. “I’m dead!”

“It’s just a laptop. You can buy a new one. But I don’t think I can buy new eardrums.”

“It’s not my laptop to break. I could get suspended.”

“So, just buy a replacement. They’ll never know it was gone,” he scoffs.

“How rich do you think I am? I dont have fifteen hundred dollars to get a new one!” You’re not sure what’s worse, the feeling of doom from breaking something from school on the first day, or Steve…just talking.

“You have a house in the flats. I don’t think you’re as broke as you say you are.” He protests, tone sharp. “Man, for a hot chick, you’re really annoying.” Wow. He did not. You sharply inhale.

“Pull over, I can walk,” You snap, “While I appreciate the gesture, I’ve got over a thousand dollars to scrounge up by tomorrow morning.” You’re not sure what it is, but something about him gets under your skin. Could it be his arrogance? How shallow he is? It could be something entirely different. But you didn’t feel like staying to find out. So, you wait till he gets to a stop sign, and hop out.

“Hey!! What are you doing?!” He yells, his voice cutting through the thunder and the rain.

“Going home!” Ok.. were you being stubborn? Yes. Were you being a little dramatic? Yes. But you had gone through too much change and commotion these past few days so one breakdown is totally permitted. You were drenched and chafing anyway, so why not walk at this point, right? You were sure you looked like a total manic- hair in your face, saturated clothes, frustrated demeanor.

“You can’t walk home in this!!”

“Watch me!!” You practically mad dash down the street, sloshing as you jog. You hear the Corvette drive behind you, slowly.

“Get in!” He calls out.

“No!”

“Get in.”

“No!”

“Get in!” Is he really going to keep doing this??

“No!”

“Get in!!”

“Fine!” You huff, sliding in the car. He resumes driving, and you sigh. “Thanks for driving me home.”

And before you know it, you’re turning onto your street. Oh. You totally could’ve walked that. You spot your house beyond a set of gates and fix your hair, “Here’s my stop.” 720 North Alta Drive. It’s your house, but it doesn’t quite feel like a home yet.

“See ya.”

You walk into your house and sneak up to your room, leaving a trail of water on the marble floor, following you up the stairs. Changing your clothes, you grab your phone book. You look through it, searching for a specific last name. Victoria… Wade… Wagner… Wahlberg… Walsh.

Ugh. Do you call? It might be too soon. But what if it’s not? …But what if it IS? You sit at your landline, tapping your foot. You sit like this for a good (and by good, I mean way too long) amount of time, but a knock at the front door takes you out of your state. You look through the peephole and see none other than Steve Sanders. The Corvette driver himself.

You open the door with a loud squeak.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve takes a small black book out of his pocket, scribbles something down, and hands it to you. Oh my God. It’s a check. For $1,500.

“Steve…I can’t take this.” You object, handing him back the check just as soon as you got it.

“Yes you can.”

“No, I can’t. This wasn’t your fault. I just…took it out on you like it was. I’m so sorry. These past few days have been rough and-” You stop, watching as he ducks the rain dripping from the front porch. “Here, come in and dry off.” You move out of the doorway to let him in. “Just until the rain stops.” You see him hesitate but walk in anyway, taking his shoes off at the door.

“Oh, hello.” A deep monotone voice practically booms from behind you, causing you to jump.

“Oh, hi dad!” You laugh nervously, “This is my frien- this is my- this is Steve…Sanders. Steve Sanders. From uh… school.” You babble, putting Steve’s coat on the rack. Your father gives him a firm, almost painful, handshake.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Sir.” He awkwardly chuckles, glancing from you to him.

“I thought you were having a meeting at the beach club tonight?” You ask, twiddling your thumbs.

“It was cancelled because of the storm.” He deadpans, crossing his arms over his argyle sweater. You swallow. No, he was supposed to be gone!

“What about the country club?”

“Rats.” You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“O-kayy.” All three of you stand in the foyer, dead silent.

Then, your mother walks in- bright eyed and happy.

“Oh, hello!” She takes off her flour covered apron, and sets it aside. “Is he a new friend from school?”

“Uh…Something like that, yeah.” You respond, trying to strategize the quickest way to escape this. Or the most efficient way to knock down the chandelier so it can fall on top of you and kill you. Whatever’s fastest.

“You should stay for dinner!” Your mom beams, yooper accent strong and prominent. “I’m making spaghetti.”

“I would actually love to stay, Mrs. Y/L/N-” Steve begins, only to be cut off by you.

“He would LOVE to stay but you see his uncle…who’s a…a priest…just…died,” you stumble. Steve shoots you a look.

“Yes, and while Uncle Rodger’s passing has shaken us all, he wouldn’t want me to grieve. He’d want me sit down and enjoy a nice dinner with my new friend from school and her lovely family.” Steve says, putting his hand over his heart and pretending to get choked up. He gives your mom the best sad look he can muster, while you give him a classic “eat shit.” look. Meanwhile, your dad has done nothing but stare daggers at him this entire time.

“Oh, sweetheart stay as long as you’d like! I made plenty of food.”

-

So, Steve stays. And there you both are, awkwardly sitting on identical white couches adjacent to each other. You inhale, hoping to somehow release the anxious energy you’re harboring. He takes the tv remote and flips it on, the Hartley House theme ringing through the surround sound.

“Hartley House fan?” He asks, letting the theme play through.

“Never seen it,” you confess, setting your feet on the marble and glass coffee table in front of you.

“It’s good…” he trails off, “My mom’s in it.” He didn’t normally like to reveal that information to anyone, he’d typically try to hide it if he could. But with you, he felt okay telling it. Despite being loaded and somewhat emotional, he didn’t think you were the type to go fawn over his mother. He at least trusted you with that.

“Oh, cool,” You say, eyes on the screen. Not dismissively, but not overtly excited either. You both quietly watch the T.V. for a moment, and you couldn’t help but think that Steve looks nothing like his mother. He probably just looks like his father.

“He didn’t stop talking about you today,” He mutters, “it was gross.”

“Who?”

“You know who.” No way. No way. No. Way. Maybe you should’ve called him.

You gasp dramatically, hand lightly over your mouth. “Patrick Swayze is finally answering my calls?? Cause he was just so dreamy in Ghost!”“ He chuckles and roll his eyes. You give him a bashful smile, "So, he really talked about me?”

“Nonstop. It was annoying.” He confirms, putting his feet up on the couch with a light thud. You can’t help the grin that forms on your face or the butterflies in your stomach.

“What did he say??” You pry, taking your attention away from the tv.

“What did who say?” Your mother pokes her head in through the doorway, “Dinner’s ready!”

-

Dinner was fairly uneventful. Painfully awkward, but uneventful. It would have been fine had it not been for your father looking like he wanted to strangle Steve 90% of the time. And your poor mother, trying to defuse the tension with small talk about anything she could think of. She was particularly thrilled about Beverly Hills’ produce tonight. Hey, all things considered, it could have been much worse. Steve behaved himself… For the most part, and the storm fizzled out, so you kicked him out the second the skies were clear.

You make your way back up to your bedroom and stare at the open phonebook. You pump yourself up, and actually dial his number this time. The ringing of the phone begins and you consider backing out and hanging up. There was an awful twist in your stomach. What were you even going to talk about? What would you- someone picks up. You hear a woman’s voice through the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, uh, is Brandon there?” Please be the right Walsh family…

“He is. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Uh, Y/N. From School.” There’s rustling and clanking, then rapid footsteps. A different voice comes through.

“Hello?” The butterflies came back, but with a vengeance.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” You could hear his smile through the phone and he could hear yours. You had the most ridiculous grin on your face, you’d die if he saw you right now. You both laugh nervously as you twirl the red phone cord in your fingers. Huh. Maybe you'll like Beverly Hills.

-

-

-

-

Tag list: @be-patient-be-good @fangirl-imagines @bevelyhills90210 @lilo-1988

[myheroaizawashota]

[okay sorry these have taken me SO long to get into the grove of again, but have no fear! Why? Because I AM HERE! Also my tumblr draft box has taken a minor crap on its self and is for some reason coding things in HTML code when I go to write the request, so cute. We love that here! @gal-with-pastels Sorry it took so long but better late then never 😅😅]

Growing up with a quirk like yours was one of the most challenging things in the world. Aside from the fear you held for your own power, there was the constant torment and anguish that came along with your peers words as they taunted you for the villainous nature of you’re quirk. You never understood how a group of children could be so cruel, you never hurt anyone, nor did you plan to use this quirk for ill intent. You feared the power you held just as much as they did, and what people fear and don’t understand they tend to beat and exile. Growing up was hard, you learned a valuable lesson, it was easier to claim you were quirkless than to allow anyone else to ever know the power you held. While you always wanted to be a hero, you never accomplished the goal, who would want a hero like yourself anyway.

By the time you reached adulthood, the memories of your past seemed less familiar. Hardly anyone knew about the quirk you held, which played in your favor tremendously. While you never did become the hero you craved to be, you found other ways to help, and other ways to be close to that world. Taking a more behind the scenes route allowed you to mingle and meet all the hero’s you admired all through your younger years, and as chance had it, the love of your life. Never had you expected to meet such big league heros, though working at the top of the best hero agency in japan certainly helped with that. You could still remember the first time you were lucky enough to meet All Might. He was....everything the world pictured him to be and then some. He was charming and devilishly handsome with words that could make the muscles in your legs turn weak and gelatinous. That ever present smile of his could send your heart pounding a mile a minute whenever he casted it your way, blessing your day with it’s mere existence. It smacked you like a bag of bricks to the face when the number one pro hero admitted his feelings for you later down the road. Eventually the two of you dove head first in love, sharing little secrets and loving moments as your relationship progressed along. You’d even come to know the truth behind the muscles, the polar opposite of the well known symbol of peace. Though, through all the truths the two of you shared, you were never able to bring yourself to tell your lover about the curse that was your quirk. It was the only secret you kept from him, and it ate away at you.

As you walked along the dull lit streets of you’re neighborhood, arms threaded around one of Yagi’s, you couldn’t help but feel an ominous presence near by. Clinging yourself closer to your love, he couldn’t help but tilt his head, the proud smile he paraded around in fading to a look of confusion. “Abnormally clingy tonight darling?” He chuckled, the sound of his laughter spinning your fear into nothing but pleasant emotions.

You couldn’t help the smile that twitched across your lips, your eyes casted down as you tried to fight and ignore it. “I’m sorry Yagi, I’m just a little cold is all.” You couldn’t help the sigh that passed your lips. Truthfully, you were sighing at your own inability to be honest with the man. While he told you nothing but the truth throughout the years, all you ever did was with hold the truth from him and tell an endless series of white lies.

You were pulled from the self scolding lecture you’d been having with yourself in your head when you felt Toshinori’s thick muscular arm slither out from between both of yours. Confused, you watched as the overly inflated man you called you’re significant other began to unzip the jacket that hung tightly around his body, he draping the fabric around your shoulders. Leaning in he pressed a small kiss to the tip of your nose, his hallowesd eyes shining as they met with yours. “Well, were a few blocks from home, so hopefully this will help until we get there.”

You couldn’t help the guilt that riddled its way across your features as your hands tugged the jacket closer around your body. “A-actually it’s not just the chilly air bothering me Toshinori....I...can’t shake the feeling we’re being followed.” You whisper softly, moving closer to his side once more.

The edges of his lips twinged as he struggled to maintain his famous smile. He didn’t want to mention anything and freak you out, but he did as well sense the same dark presence that you did. Often nights he chose to walk the streets with you in his true form, but he was thankful when something inside his body told him to walk you home as All Might tonight. His massive palm moved to wrap around your hand, “everything will be fine, because I am her-“

Before he could finish the sentence however, a pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped tightly around your neck and head. You felt your chest tighten, as the dirt stained hands of the villain clasped over your mouth, his lips right at your ear as his eyes made contact with your lover. “Because what? You are here? Ha don’t make me laugh.” Forcefully, the villain tugged your body back, his eyes menacingly rolling your body over, tightening his hold on your neck as he grinned watching the smile began to fade off the pro hero’s face. “I almost didn’t recognize you walking around with such a pretty pet glued to your arm. I’ve got to admit All Might, i didn’t take you as the romantic type of guy.” The monster of a man laughed, he shaking you in his arms, causing your breathing to hitch for a moment. “Why don’t you and I play a little bit and maybe if you win I’ll let your little play thing go”

Toshinori was furious with how low this man would stoop just to get in some cheap shots as a way to boost his ego. Lips curling in disgust the pro hero agreed to the villains terms. “Let her go, and I will fight you.”

Your eyes shot with fear and panic watching as the horror before you unfolded. No, no! He couldn’t fight this villain, with your blood quirk you could feel the power the man restraining you held. Admittedly he was stronger than yagi was these days. Fighting with this man would certainly end his career if not his life! You frantically squirmed in the mans arms trying to warm the love of your life to disengage, but to your dismay all you got in return was a brave smile.

The man restraining your movements gave a low laugh, he uncovering your mouth to grab st your face, he squeezing your cheeks in on hand as he inspected you. “I think I’ll keep her for myself, nothing sounds better than kicking your ass and taking something away from you.” The villain purred moving to let his hands run over your body.

In defiance you let your leg extend out, meeting with your perpetrators shin, your snorting the snot from the back of your throat to lob into the others face. “Over my dead body!” You snapped back.

Growling the villain let his hands drop to your throat, constricting your air way furiously, his free hand moving to wipe your spit from his eyes. “I can arrange that!”

Struggling to breath you moved to pry his fingers off your throat, gasping as you failed. Your only relief was when Yagis fist collided with the mans face, causing him to drop your body to the pavement. You didn’t remember much else after that. The lack of oxygen to your brain was just enough to render you unconscious for the moment.

When you finally came to you, your brain felt hazy. You would have thought you were dreaming if it hadn’t been for the sight your eyes met with. You struggled to push yourself up on your elbows, eyes burning with tears when you saw your lovers body weakly struggling to hold himself upright. Clouds of smoke and steam began to rise from his shoulders, you knowing that he’d reached his limits. Horrified, you watched as the villain lunged to place the final blow onto yagi’s chin. You tried to scream out to stop the action, but your voice was to horse to scream. Doing the only thing you could do, for the first time in years you activated your quirk.

The pro hero had flinched in preparation to take the mans final blow, his heart pounding in his chest when the assailants body suddenly stopped in front of him. What was this about? The villain stood gasping as his body twisted in pain, he falling to his knees. With shaking hands, you clenched your first, causing the man under your hold to scream out in agony. “S-stop.....” you pushed out, earning the look of the bruised and bloodied hero.

You couldn’t tell if the look he was giving you was one of horror or one of disappointment, but regardless you couldn’t stand to make eye contact with him. Once the authorities arrived and the disaster was handled, you and toshinori continued your walk home in an awkward silence. You knew a lecture would be coming from the other, but you didn’t know when. Unable to hold his form any longer, the two of you made a detour into a nearby alley way. His muscles vanished and his body shriveled, a series of coughs ripples through his body. Those normally bright blue eyes that gazed at you with nothing but admiration suddenly staring back coldly. “I think you have some explaining to do Y/N....”

With a quivering lip, you looked down at the ground, moving to wrap an arm around your significant others torso, supporting his weight effortlessly. “I know....let’s get you home and cleaned up first. Then I promise I’ll tell you the truth. The whole truth....”

[lunaraen]

Some Aidesse writing?

When it comes to the Order, veryfew things outside their personal rooms are really theirs, and even then, most things inside their rooms are fair gameat some point.

Prank wars typically know nobounds outside the most valuable or cherished of items.

Aiden’s stuff in general, theexception, tends to be left alone, if only because half of it’s somehow managedto find its way into Jesse’s room and because the others warming up to him hasbeen a slow process that mostly involves each side trying to not pick fights orreopen old wounds. Screwing around with what’s his might be well within theirrights, but it’s a risky move if they don’t want to deal with him or the chancethat either side’ll get testy.

But that’s hardly grounds for himto legitimately claim anything outside the shaky domain that’s his room andwhatever he’s left in Jesse’s (or whatever she’s taken from him, like too manyof his shirts and several of the books he’s nabbed from their own privatelibrary).

Aiden can try to stake those claims,maybe, but it doesn’t mean much.

It’s not really practical to tryand act like there’s a spot on the couch that’s his, not when it’s in the living room with several couches that getused regularly by everyone in the Order, those still living in the temple andthose just visiting.

But it’s totally his spot.

It’s cozy, to the far right sideof the couch in front of the fireplace, positioned next to the armrest andright by the small side table, the one typically covered in crumpled papers orwhatever books he’s brought from his room.

Given the trouble Aiden used tocause for nearly all of them regularly, and then the way he almost got Lukasand Jesse killed, it would be easy to steal the spot or rub in the fact thatit’s not his at all and can’t be stolen, that it was their couch first beforeit was ever his, just like this was their home first. None of them have triedit yet, and the more time passes, the less likely he thinks they are to try.

Not worth the time, maybe, or tooclose to stooping to his previous level of petty, but he’s comfortable anyway.

In all their daily chaos androutine, moving between adventures and disasters and even back and forthbetween cities, he’s carved out a little place for himself that feels more andmore normal by the day, a place outside his room or Jesse’s where he can justrelax and watch the chaos whirl by. It’s normal by this point; nobody questionsit anymore, what he wants or what he’s doing here of all places.

It’s nice.

��Hey.” Jesse’s voice isnice too, less startling than pleasant, and Aiden smiles when he looks up,finding Jesse leaning over the couch and smiling down at him through her bangs.

“Hey– oof.” Less nice is the way Jesse jumps the back of the couch,landing less than gracefully in his lap as one of her arms quickly wraps aroundhis shoulders to steady herself. Aiden’s attempts to adjust amount to littlemore than futile, and brief, squirming, one foot letting him know it’s lostcirculation. “Thanks for the warning. Really appreciated that.”

“It’s not my fault you’re sobony.” The wriggle is brief but exaggerated, feigned discomfort betrayedby her grin as she twists enough to wrap her arms around his middle. He’sskinnier than her still, but nowhere near as outright skeletal as he was whenhe first got here.

Jesse, soft as she might be, alsoweighs a considerable amount more simply for all the muscle from training,which is impressive and also currently somewhat unfortunate for his poor legs.

“And it’s not my faultyou’re built like a brick house, but my lap’s suffering for it anyway.”He’d like to consider himself lucky that he’d already set aside his notebookand quill, but Aiden doubts Jesse would have sat on him if it meant possiblyfolding the pages or screwing up his quill, and then they wouldn’t be here,with his knee digging into her side and back or all of her weight pressing downon an oddly turned ankle.

(He supposes he’s just luckyshe’s cuddling with him in the first place, but this position’s notparticularly comfortable and, way shorter than him or not, all that musclemakes her dense.)

“Alright, alright.”Jesse detaches, with a bit more reluctance and dramatics than are probablyneeded, and shifts off his lap, lifting him onto hers before he can adjust. Hisankle appreciates it anyway, half-numb as it dangles off the couch.“Better?”

“I’ll take it.” Hewraps an arm around her shoulders, comfortably loose as his other hand snatchesback up the journal and quill.

“How kind of you. It’s verychivalrous and noble of you to put up with me.”

He grins, feeling as cheeky andsmug as she looks and sounds.

“I know.”

She nudges his shoulder, doing abad job of hiding her smile before ducking her head and briefly nuzzling hisneck. It gets the reaction he knows she’s looking for, and she laughs at hisstuttering yelp, only barely not a laugh itself in a desperate attempt to wardoff more attention to an unfortunately ticklish area.

It works, mostly because Jesse’sattention is now on the words scrawled onto the paper, gaze jumping from theneater sections to the ones almost entirely sketched out.

It’s fun to watch her gaze shift,her head tucked onto his shoulder, and still his grip on the book tightens whenher brow furrows.

“It doesn’t look like yourusual writing.”

And even now, after everything,after years of regret and reform, part of Aiden wants to pull it close to hischest, to get up and leave, to redirect the conversation in some brusque butfinal way to keep her nose out of his business. That desperate, twisting partthinks of insults, cold comments, and the sorts of mocking he’ll be openinghimself up to by answering honestly.

Even if it weren’t Jesse asking,he hopes he wouldn’t listen to it, a remnant of a poor time and a poorerperson, worse in character if nothing else.

But because it’s Jesse asking,with all the curiosity she can have and none of the malice or even teasing he’dunderstand and expect from someone else, it’s an easy urge to shove down,because he never wants to be that person again and especially not around her.

“It's–” Aiden pauses,licking his lips instead of biting the lower one again and hopes it makes himseem more at ease, “it’s not. It’s a letter– well, maybe two. I’m tryingto draft it. I was wondering if you could, y'know, read it over. I want to knowif I’m saying it right; there’s still a lot I want to touch up, I’m just notsure how yet.”

He knows if he asked the twopeople he’s writing to, they’d tell him to forget it.

Heck, he fully expects Maya tojust storm the temple after getting hers to chew him out for not visiting andfor being dumb about it when they live in the same town.

(She gets grumpy enough as it iswhenever he rightly mentions that their years-long “exile” in SkyCity was mostly, if not entirely, his fault, along with all the emotional andphysical bumps that came with prison and reform; neither of them ever blamedhim then, and they seem more than convinced now that all of them getting homewas solely because of his letter.)

It’s a five minute walk to theirplace, and it feels more potentially daunting than any of the much longer walkshe takes every day to get to whatever build he and the rest of the constructionteam are working on somewhere in Beacontown.

He hasn’t been to their part oftown yet, luckily enough, for work or for his own curiosity since he went weeksago to check out their new house.

Aiden picks at the upper cornerof the page, already curling and creased.

Letters are easier than actualtalking. In theory.

They might think he’s dumb forit, but he knows they’d appreciate the thought behind the letters.

Well, if he splits the letterinto two. He wants to write them each their own letter, but he knows they’lljust read each other’s anyway. They live together, and while they’ll respecteach other’s privacy and let each read the letter meant for them, Gill sucks atkeeping things from Maya whether she’s trying hard or not to get him to spill.

She’s terrifying when she wantsto be, and Gill’s sappy either way.

And, as Aiden’s learned, ifeither of them are worried or annoyed with Aiden, they’ll be sure to let eachother know it through letter-sharing and ranting, because they’re the type offriends to worry like that when they don’t really need to and really shouldn’tbe concerned in the first place.

Still, they’re worth the effort.If they share theirs, that’s their right.

Jesse’s hand squeezes his arm,gently, and he doesn’t know if it’s meant to be reassuring or just supposed todrag him out of his thoughts.

It manages to succeed at bothanyway.

“I’d love to check it.”As interested as she sounds, she doesn’t make much of an effort to hide yetanother glance between the writing and him, mouth pulling into a frown.“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I figure between me andLukas, you’ve seen plenty of bad drafts and more than enough trash writing. I know you’ve read worse from mebefore.”

Aiden’s letter to her, afterthey’d dealt with the Admin, read as desperate and awkward even when he wroteit, if significantly more mellow than anyone would have probably expectedbefore Sky City. Now it reads as even lousier than he remembered, too formal inall the wrong places and too informal simply because of their history.

With any luck, writing to twopeople who’ve been his best friends for almost as long as he can remembershould be easier, because and in spite of all their history and everythingAiden’s ever done.

“It’s never as bad as eitherof you think. That seems like a writer thing.” Aiden bites back a commentabout how it might be more about them, about their history where, even as Lukasstayed quiet, he was just as subjected to the Ocelot attitude of tearing peoplebesides themselves down for just about anything as Aiden was. If he staysquiet, they can avoid that conversation and Jesse can have more time to lookfor issues. Jesse tilts her head, eyes skimming the page for only a few momentsmore before she points at one line. “It doesn’t hurt to have a newperspective, though. I don’t think that’s supposed to be about theirhorse.”

Aaaaaaaaand maybe Jesse will justspot an obvious typo he should’ve caught in the first place, the scrawledsentence looking more rushed and oddly asking about their horse in a paragraphotherwise focused on their new garden and built home upgrades.

It’s the sort of thing that makesoutsider proof-reading valuable.

“Oh, bite me.” He huffsunder his breath as he scratches out the word, writing the slightly neatercorrected version above it. It’s why he has drafts, beyond his inability to besatisfied with a letter the first time. “I knew I missed something.”

“Only if you’reasking.” Her grin’s cheeky as can be, all teeth to let him know exactlywhat she’s responding to and accompanied by an over the top eyebrow waggle.

He loves her so much; it doesn’tmake her less of a dork. It’s just part of what he loves about her.

It doesn’t keep Aiden frompushing her shoulder, rolling his eyes as his tone goes dry, not monotone butas overtly sarcastic as he can make it.

“It’ll be hard for you toactually read if you’re busy gnawing on me. I taste terrible.”

“You’re not as bad as youthink.” He should expect the kiss on the cheek; he doesn’t. “In a lot of cases.”

Aiden could be sarcastic again,more biting or dry about how that’s not much of a surprise and how he’s good at being wrong, but the only thingdry is the inside of his mouth and he can’t help the lopsided smile.

“Good. That means there’shope.”

“There’s always hope.”

…that’s the sort of mindset hewants, and he hopes Jesse’s feedback will help let that bleed into the letter,spill over into whatever the finished products look like.

They all deserve a little morelight like that.

[mononoke-no-ko]

[Trans] Director Taniguchi interview from Resurrection pamphlet

By the request of the pamphlet’s owner, I won’t post the full look of the pamphlet. Just contact me if you want to see the Japanese text on some section, but please be moderate and don’t ask for the whole thing.

--After the movie trilogy, now it’s “Lelouch of the Resurrection”. Since when did you come up with the concept of this work production?

Taniguchi: Since quite a while ago. In retrospect, at early stage of the TV series planning, this work's concept already existed. At the beginning of the TV series planning, naturally I thought about in what kind of ‘form’ the conclusion would take shape. Then as this series welcoming its 10th anniversary, and its world has expanded, I thought “this time, let’s put them together into a ‘form’”.

--At that time, what kind of ending was it going to be?  

Taniguchi: It was something similar to this “Resurrection”. However, because a production is something that's perfected as you're making it, I do believe that TV is TV's one answer.

--So this work is created to draw that ending concept?

Taniguchi: For me, “to make something that fans would enjoy” is all there is. While affirming TV series as TV series, this time I wanted to expand the world of “Code Geass” in a broader sense. The feeling that I wanted to present this as one possibility is really strong. Because a work is a living thing, this work won’t be able to survive without the support of the fans. First of all we would like to express our gratitude to the fans who have given their support. At the same time, we also would like to welcome those who experienced “Code Geass” for the first time. With this work, we're considerably mindful of the first time viewers so that they'll also be able to enjoy it.

--When you're formulating the detailed story, what did you decide on as the axis?

Taniguchi: In the making of this work, the first thing I talked about with Okouchi Ichiro-san is "Let's make a fan movie that would make fans happy. However, with only that new viewers won't be able enter, so let's make the story easy to understand". Eventually we had a prolonged discussion on which points that would need to be compromised.

--In the end, the KMF is renewed, a new enemy also comes out, and it became a showcase of all-star.

Taniguchi: Since we're going to do it anyway, I didn't want to do it half-bakedly. Since the very beginning, we created "Lelouch of the Rebellion" by taking on board every elements that make up the work and elements that please the fans as much as we could. We're scraping things off not for the sake of narrowing the scale. Even though this time it's somewhat unreasonable because we're making it as an extension of "Lelouch of the Rebellion" trilogy, we take everything on board anyway. Well looking from another perspective, nowadays it's impossible to do this kind of work in a TV series. First the production site won't be able to handle it, then viewers also don't want to see this kind of dark works in TV anime. However if we lighten it, it won't be "Lelouch" anymore, so we decided that there's no other choice but to do it in a theatrical movie. If there's something I want to add, is that I think if it's for "Code Geass", there is an opening to do dark work in TV anime. However I think it would be difficult to do "Lelouch arc" within that 'opening'.

--How did you come up with the newly appearing country, Zilkstan?

Taniguchi: We already used Asia with Chinese Federations, and aristrocatic elements have been left to Britannia. Regarding E.U., "Akito the Exiled" already touched on it. In the world power map that was in my initial draft, I turned Antarctica into a country named "Penguin Empire", but we can't have an empire of penguin as the enemy (laugh). Narrowing down to the areas that we haven't done before, then around Arab or Africa. However, it seems the audience will be confused as to how to cut out certain ethnic or religion, then we might as well create a country. When the world was roughly divided into Britannia and UFN in "Imperial Road", there were still areas that don't belong to anywhere yet, so I figured to solidify that setting more firmly. Even though it's a new country, I want it to have persuasive power, and the foothold have to be solid so that the fantasy element "geass" can be supported, so I built it with discussing with each staff, while consulting with concept designer Teraoka-san, Hishinuma-san from art department, and researcher Shirado-san...

--A mercenary country that sends out mercenaries to other countries as an exchange of not having resources. Within the country itself there seems to be disparity as well.

Taniguchi: When the country is hiring out soldiers to other countries, people who have money will come along because they'll have a chance to build relationship with other countries. On one side, there's an area where rich people from abroad live, while on the other side, there are also local religious facilities. People who work for those religious facilities live in poor neighborhoods. It's a country with such structure. Because the capital is the entrance for the customers from abroad who come to buy the country's military power, there are railways and highways there. Behind the flowery part of the city, there's an exact opposite area. However, as identity as a country is necessary, the more I think about the foundation of the country, the more it becomes plain pictorially, so I was intentionally careful in how to capture the parts that aren't so.

--The character from Zilkhstan that you particularly emphasize?

Taniguchi: It's Chalio. Thinking about a character that holds his own against Suzaku, it has to be a character who has already given up on tomorrow. Should I call him a character that will be acceptable as Suzaku's opponent? While for Kallen and the others' enemies, I balanced it by introducing super modern weapons and ridiculously large stuffs. Although Suzaku and Chalio both have special machines, I wanted him to be a balanced pilot in a different way from Suzaku. His body doesn't move the way he wants it to, but he still charges ahead with obsession alone. That's the part we did thoroughly.

--Chamna and Chalio as siblings, are they supposed to be a contrast to Lelouch and Nunnally?

Taniguchi: Well, there’s awareness of it. But country-wise there's not much connection, after all the older sister is the religious leader, and the younger brother Chalio is the king. Although there's actually an idea to put Forgner on the side as a political counselor, but if Chamna controls both politics and religion, it will end up becoming a religious state. As you may have understood by seeing it, Chamna can use her geass multiple times, conversely, it's a contrast to Lelouch who risked his life just once. Because for Chamna, the direction she's facing has already completed since the beginning, she's almost completely free of doubts and hesitations.

--How about the highlights on the production side?

Taniguchi: The production was fully improved. The outfits, the hair presentations, even the filming processing, we renewed everything. I did things I couldn't do enough in TV series, like putting gradation on certain characters' hairs. On the action side, first I increased the amount of true-to-life hand-to-hand actions. Starting from there, old-type KMF gradually became the latest model. As I imagined the sensation of the whole thing heating up, I think it's good that this kind of flow came out.

--Your thoughts on the casts, such as Fukuyama-san?

Taniguchi: Because they're the people I've had the privilege to work with for a long time, the feelings are deep indeed. It's difficult to control everyone individually when you're building the characters. Even with the power of our animators, eventually we need to have logic to run through the voice play too. It's something only voice actors can do, so I trust and respect them. That's why there are times I gave them instructions like "At minimum you should do this much work" or "Everyone should already understand the balance there" (laugh). The balance there is achieved while consulting the sound director, but unlike during TV start, this time everyone has already understood that. All the actors who newly joined in this time have individuality so each of them is interesting, if I was to say it then Chalio-kun's voice actor, Murase Ayumu's peculiar sense of distance is very good. I first met him a few years ago, but he hasn't changed at all. Whereas Fukuyama-kun is a real bother (laugh), he's truly similar to Lelouch. But that's a good thing, so this is a compliment.

--While "Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion" is also a picaresque romance, as you have been depicting the character named Lelouch for 10 years, what do you feel?

Taniguchi: Though he appears to be  "dark", Lelouch is actually an honest person. The things he wants to do and his goals appear to be wholesome for some people, while for others they might seem "dark". If you make a character of justice deliberately do something that goes against the justice that character upholds, at that moment that character will become a lie. The things that Lelouch do, looking at the result, can only be seen as something dark from outsiders' point of view. Since he's only acting according to the goal he sets himself, he's totally unshakable. From the start, with this series, I thought of making it about the building process of the 'enemy' organization. Actually, that was also the underlying theme of "Code Geass".

--What do you feel now about "Lelouch of the Rebellion" series?  

Taniguchi: I feel grateful that "Code Geass" became a series, and that it has become something that's possible to aim for diversified expansion. "Lelouch of the Resurrection" is a reply for those who have supported "Lelouch of the Rebellion". I'm also very grateful for the privilege of being given such opportunity. I've been thinking about it, but this series is blessed. Various people helped and came to join us, and good things came out in unexpected shape. A work that includes all of those aspects, I'm really grateful to be able to get involved in such work.

--At last, please tell us your favorite scene in this movie.

Taniguchi: What I thought as something that came out better than expected, it’s the Zilkhstan animals. Like the birds in the wilderness and the chickens at the village. Also somewhere in the middle, ferrets appear in just one cut. This scene has been pointed out since the storyboard that "This is ferret". Please try to look for where it comes out by all means.

[junionigiri]

Work In Progress [BNHA] [Preview of Chapter 1!]

Rating: T for strong language (since Bakugou is in it )

Summary: For the year’s Interscholastic Fantasy Festival, Class 2A is working on a musical! The reluctant Bakugou is assigned to work on the script with Uraraka, who proves to be a more eccentric writer than he thought.

Relationship: Kacchako <3

Notes/Warnings: This is a preview of a part of chapter 1. Since there’s the main story and the story within the story, the chapters are pretty darn long. I’ll start publishing the chapters in full once I’m five chapters in ^^’ Apart from Bakugou’s language and liberal 4th wall breaks I don’t think there’s anything to worry about in this fic~

Bakugou seriously did not want to work on Uraraka’s dumbass script. It’s not that he was bad at writing--in fact, beyond his good grades, he knew he was pretty good at it. Principal Nezu had personally informed him that the essay he submitted on “Why I Want To Be A Hero” was one of the most well-composed ones he’s ever read.

It’s just that Bakugou hated fantasy. And hated fiction-writing (because fiction was not real, therefore it was a waste of his fuckin’ time).

Most of all though, he hated having to work with other people to achieve any kind of common goal. Look at his damn stats for cooperativeness in the character book and anyone with half a brain would get it. And to cooperate for a stupid ass waste of time like the Fantasy Festival? Who the hell thought up of the stupid Fantasy Festival anyway?! Weren’t there more important things in society to worry about?

And the fact that he was working with Uraraka fuckin’ Ochako was in itself pretty aggravating. It’s not that he hated her--in fact, she was one of the few to earn Bakugou’s (grudging) respect, since their infamous Sports Festival encounter when they were first years.

However, since their encounter at the festival, Uraraka learned not to be the tiniest bit afraid of him anymore. He knew that this girl wouldn’t be the type to just shut up and do what he tells her to, and he really didn’t feel like making such an effort just to write a stupid play.

But now that he knew that fuckin’ All Might was counting on him to write the script, well… he couldn’t get out of it now, could he? Bakugou was many things, but a disappointment to All Might, he’d rather not be.

So that was how he found himself stomping his way away from the common areas to his room, with Uraraka bouncing right behind him. They were going to sit down there to look over her draft, but it was overrun by the costumes, set-design, and props people with all their shit.

“Why your room?” Uraraka said, huffing as she struggled to keep up with Bakugou’s pace. “I don’t think girls are allowed there…”

“Let ‘em try to kick you out, Round-Face,” he growled as he tapped on the elevator button impatiently.

“If you say so, Explodey-face,” she teased, earning her a growl which was received with a giggle. This was what Bakugou was talking about. This damn girl knew no fear.

They eventually made it to his room, with Bakugou stomping the entire way and Uraraka skipping like an oblivious little red riding hood romping through the forest with a picnic basket, the purest picture of ignorance and innocence, unwitting of the ravenous wolf who lurked in the foreboding shadows of the dark, nightmarish wood.

Ugh. Really, Bakugou? Already gearing yourself up to write this fuckin’ fantasy shit? You guys haven’t even sat down yet. Don’t be too fuckin’ eager. 

“Uwaa, your room’s amazing, Bakugou! I didn’t think it would be so neat and sparkly~”

Much to his annoyance, Little Pink Riding Cheeks was already making herself right at home next to his desk. He felt a vein or two pop over his forehead, like in animes if they were in an anime. “Why the fuck wouldn’t it be neat and sparkly?! You expect a guy like me to just live in a dump?!”

“I’m just sayin’, I wish my room was as neat. I knew you were great at lots of things, but even cleaning?” she said wistfully. “Hey, I have an idea! Next time, let’s go to my room, and--”

“I ain’t helping you clean your damn room, Round-Face.”

She pouted and innocently twiddled her thumbs. “I -wasn’t- going to say that, but, you know, now that you mentioned it…”

He grit his teeth so loudly Uraraka gasped and asked him if his teeth were okay. “Let’s just…!!! Get this fuckin’ script over and done with already!”

“Eh, fine, fine. Sorry for teasin’ ya! Watch yer blood pressure, a’ight?” She reached over to open her bag and pulled out a messy folder that was crumpled, filled to its limit with papers with tags pointing in all directions. A post-it with a messy scrawl on it flew out as she pulled out the mess. “So, this is what we’re gonna be workin’ on!”

“What the fuck is that mess? Did you fuckin’ sit on it and flush it down the toilet and set it on fire?”

“How rude!” Uraraka puffed her cheeks. “I only sat on it once! On accident! And I don’t bring homework to the toilet! That’s just unladylike.” She opened up the folder and revealed a disorganized array of handwritten scripts scrawled on legal pad, post-its, sketches, more post-its, reference photos of their classmates with post-its on them, receipts, a grocery list, and a few folded-up paper bags from Tokyu Hands.

Bakugou’s fingers itched. He spent so much energy restraining himself from fixing the mess that was now taking over his desk that he barely heard Uraraka’s spiel.

“So, in the meeting which you missed, we drew lots. Everyone’s working on the production and stuff but all of us will be acting in the play too. Some of us bit parts and stuff, but yeah. I asked everyone what they wanted their roles to be. Based on those ideas, I sketched out my ideas on what their characters would be.”

She pulled out the sketches, and Bakugou had to admit, they weren’t badly done. He would go so far as to say that she might have a talent in drawing. They were scratchy and messy, but Uraraka seemed to place great care in drawing out the likeness of each classmate, and the details of each character and costume and even background information were at least 70% fleshed out for each of them.

“So based on the lottery, Deku-kun’s the lead character. You, me, Tsuyu-chan, and Todoroki-kun are gettin’ large roles, plus we gotta pay attention to All-Might-sensei’s important cameo. We’re gonna write the story based on all of this! And, if we want to allot time for practice and stuff, we have to finish most of the script in a week!”

“The f-- I’m gettin’ a large role too?! Nobody said that!”

“It ain’t my fault you weren’t at the meeting, Bakugou-kun.”

The blonde boy scowled as he went through the sketches. The fucking nerd Deku’s role was that of a ‘Squire’ (but his costume made him look like a fucking hobbit). Uraraka had a hood (fuckin’ coincidence from his red riding hood fantasy earlier) and a staff, and she was a ‘Mage’. Frog was a froggy lookin’ barmaid. IcyHot was a Prince (probably of the Land of Half and Halfs where people were always shitty and constipated). All Might was a Legendary Knight in exile (also fitting, in a morbid sort of way).

And Bakugou was… a Bard. His sketch had him wear fuckin’ poofy pants and a stupid fuckin’ hat with a feather on it and a stupid shitty tiny harp that the chubby babies in those old fuckin’ European paintings had. He all but made the paper disappear from a blast from his fist. “Oi, Roundface. Who’s the fucker I gotta kill besides you for giving me this pansy-ass role?!”

“Hey, it’s your fault. You weren’t there yesterday.” Uraraka repeated, not even the least bit apologetic. “And that thing you destroyed was a brilliant joint effort between me, Kirishima-kun and Kaminari-kun. Nice goin’, Explodey-face.”

“Fuck y’all! I’ll kill those idiots!” He shredded the paper further. “Gimme that pencil!” Within seconds, he sketched out something different, muttering expletives the entire time. After he was done, he dumped the pencil on the desk, almost breaking it into tiny little pieces.

Uraraka gasped. “Wow, Bakugou! That’s really impressive! A Dragon Tamer, huh?” She traced his sketch with one finger, which showed him with a fur cape, tattoos, a necklace made of the fuckin’ skulls and teeth of his enemies, pants and boots, and lots of fire blazing in the background for extra badassery. She grinned at him teasingly. “So you have been thinkin’ about this so-called fantasy shit too!”

“Fuck you,” he said, shoving her in the face unceremoniously. “Now I know that I gotta change that fuckin’ script of yours. Let’s just get this fuckin’ shit over with.”

“Okay…” Uraraka pulled out the legal pads, but shielded them from Bakugou. “Um. Just so you know, Bakugou, these are really, really, rough drafts, okay?”

His jaw jutted out in annoyance. “The fuck you mean by rough drafts. I thought I was just gonna edit your shit.”

She gave him a ridiculous look. “Well, you are. But also, I started workin’ on this just a week ago sooooo you gotta help me finish like a teeny bit of it.”

“How fuckin’ teeny do you mean.”

“Um. Like. 50% of it, mmmaybe…?”

Bakugou could almost see the smoke coming out of his own fuckin’ nostrils.

“Anyway, that’s exactly why we can’t waste anymore time, right?” said Uraraka, a positive beam glowing out of both ears. “And don’t you worry! The story’s practically finished in my head!”

There’s probably nothing in there but a single light bulb struggling to survive, thought Bakugou in annoyance. He put his palm to his face and tried his hardest not to yell at her. “Fine, Uraraka. Let’s just fuckin’ start already. No matter what, I’m kickin’ you out of my room by 10 PM.”

“Okay! Glad ya see it my way, Bakugou-kun!” She smiled and pulled out the first page of the script, which read:

*

 - Deku and the Final Fantastic Lord of the School of Wizardry!: The Legend of the Airbender’s Song of Ice and Fire -

(A Work in Progress)

Act One, Scene One: In Which Deku-kun Leaves His House and Adventure Begins

Written by: Uraraka Ochako

 *

“The fuck? Are you trying to outdo Class B’s lameass play from the last year’s cultural festival, Round-face?”

 “It’s a work in progress! We can edit it out later.” Uraraka said as she scribbled Explodey McSplodeface next to her name on the by-line.

[homesception]

May 31, 2013 - part 1: wherein Lobac eats a cookie.

To be fair, it has been like two hundred years since my last update.  That’s a pretty good nap.  Just means I’m all the more rested to work on new stuff, right?  I mean, I need to keep a spritely pace up if I still plan on catching up to Lobac’s liveblog before said liveblog catches up to the comic.  Which for sure is still an actual thing at all, and not a bit of exclusive humor between friends.

Last time Lobac was getting into some theory crafting and analysis of the classpect system.  I didn’t have much to say about that at the time, particularly not much that wouldn’t qualify as spoilers, so iirc I was mostly just responding with random thoughts and video links, half of which are dead now.  There was a bit left over looking at the troll’s perster names, which was also good stuff, but lacking anything coherent to say about it, I’ll just gloss past the rest of that post, apart from:

Lobac said:

Thank you all for sticking around °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

As if you could ever get rid of me.  ~{@PQ}~

Moving on, we rejoin the comic with PM visiting the Black Queen to retrieve the mysterious GREEN PACKAGE, which had been impounded by agents of the Black Court as a result of a traffic violation.  The Black Queen cuts an imposing figure, and Lobac is, of course, duly imposed.

later, Lobac said:

Are those… tentacles ( ´ _ ｀) I thought only the imps were affected by the prototypings?

OH SHIT OH SHIT THAT LOOKS SO COOL HOT DAMN (゜▽゜) Wowow look at her joints! Look at all the carapace-y stuff going on there!

These days, Lobac’s soft spot for this particular sort of shiny, black, possibly betentacled monster-type aesthetic is well documented.  I’m pretty sure she would have loved the black queen’s design even if it wasn’t just objectively cool as hell, but that certainly doesn’t hurt.  I’m kind of sad that we never got a proper fight scene out of this particular version of her.

That’s not a spoiler is it?  I’m pretty sure that’s not a spoiler.

Yeah, the random objects the kids threw in the general directions of their seizuresprites are directly affecting the final boss. NOTHING COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG HERE EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE

I don’t see the problem here.  Nothing the kids could possibly put in those sprites could be at all unsettling or dangerous.

haa haa.  hee hee.  hoo hoo.

Her face is so weird though It’s Jaspers-shaped, and her eyes are constantly narrowed, I can’t even tell whether it’s in distaste or amusement

Why not both?

Andrew sure is proud of that hand’s close-up She’s not even dramatically pointing she’s literally just saying “yeah I dunno anything about that kinda shit you best go down there and ask my pretty princess, I mean, subordinate”

It is a pretty great hand, honestly.  I think this particular image gets called back to a few more times yet.

Yeah Rose! You go and fulfill your as of yet unclear vaguely Seering-related destiny

Yeah, Rose!  Get on that, maybe!

ROSE NO YOU ARE 13 THAT IS GONNA TASTE AWFUL TO YOU Heh I legitimately don’t know whether her mom would be proud of or disappointed in her if she could see her now Is this an act of defiance or emulation Just silly teenage antics, probably, but I’d like to think she misses her

Rooooooose Rose nooooooooooooooooo （ ´ω｀） Ehehe I love how the artstyle turns super silly to reflect how upset/surprised she is

These two panels constitute one of the most iconic funny moments in the comic.  It works really well.  Shoot, I should have done the post topper-edit based on these, huh?  Oh, well.  The one I already did took like four hours, mostly due to my extreme rustiness, so I’m not going back now.

Otherwise, I also like to think of Rose missing her mom here.  Maybe not admitting it to herself, but still.  I also still ascribe to the “everything Mom ever did was 110% unironic, Rose made up the whole passive aggressive conflict between them in her head, her mom wasn’t passive agressive she was just a bonkers drunk rich lady” headcannon that I think I spoke about ages ago in this very liveblog.

Anyway, yeah, this is both a hilarious joke and a fantastic little character moment for Rose.  Another contributing factor to Rose being my big early favorite with a seemingly insurmountable head start in the ‘best character’ race.

Actually, lately, since the end of the comic, she’s been gaining ground again for me?  I mean, one of the trolls definitely surpassed her for most of my Homestuck fan life, but... eh, whatever.  There’s no way I can getting into how my feelings about those characters developed over the comics life without being way more spoilery than even I’ve already been, so that kind of talk will have to wait for later.  Even if later means ‘years from now’ or ‘never’.

BOO FUCKING YAH, IT’S THE WHITE QUEEN Or Windswept Questant, for now She’s also as of yet uncorrupted by the kids’ silly sprite shenanigans

Lobac had been waiting for this reveal for a while, I think.

PM: Command John to put the carved tablet into a pyxis.

You follow the command telling you to command John to put the carved tablet in the pyxis and type, “John, put the carved tablet into the pyxis.” You successfully do that, and he successfully does that too. Everyone is friendly and cooperative.

Ah yes, you so rarely get this kind of friendly cooperation from narrators these days

It was a rather uncommonly tidy sequence, for this comic.

Shit I just remembered those typing hands we saw when trying to name Jack, the reader is like a physically present entity??? Maybe???

What prompted this thought?  The earlier black queen hand image hanging in your head, then a bit about narrators entering text, and that old bit just pops up?  It’s cool how brains work, making intuitive connections and all that.

What if we eventually zoom out to reveal a human exile commanding everyone. We’ve only been watching that human mess around up until now. The real story begins when they just suddenly go “whelp that was kinda fun. gotta look for food tho” at an incredibly dramatic moment.They turn away from the console.  And then we watch them slump through the desert for thousands of pages and their journey of introspective self-discovery is the actual story. Yes.

Shit, Lobac just predicted the whole narrative!  No point in continuing this liveblog, I guess.  “[#P%]t

Well, obviously this means that WV has an uncanny knack for distances and PM has one for sounds AR can probably track down crimes by their scent He’s like McGruff the Crime Dog, but a little less fluffy

I used to love McGruff the Crime Dog.  Until I grew up and realized he was a tool of THE MAN.

dear gOD SHE REALLY IS PUTTING JACK IN DRESSES (*≧▽≦)ﾉｼ He and Slick are basically the same person, right? Oh man he is gonna stab the shit out of her one of these days

~{%|%}~

Jack Noir, more like JACK NO. NO YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE OUT THERE MURDERING PEOPLE AND FROLICKING THROUGH THE STREETS WITH YOUR ASSHOLE CREW. WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS IS PATHETIC o(`д´ ｡)

I’d say this is a “be careful what you wish for” moment, but I think Lobac knew exactly what she was doing here.

Ticket? Oh, this thing. Ha, ha, look at that, you are holding a ticket. How did that get in your hand? It belongs on the desk with the others. No, you are not here to pay a parking ticket. You explain to the frightening man that you are here to pick up that green parcel.

GIVE ME A C! GIVE ME A U! GIVE ME A T AND I AND E! sheeEEEE’S A CUTIE!!!!

Honestly, they’re all cuties.  the cuteness of the entire cast, even the villains mostly, in both visual depiction and personality, really is a big selling point of the whole comic.

There was a time when I wasn’t super into cute things.  I was never viscerally opposed to cuteness, never when through a virulently anti-girly-stuff phase, but these days I’m MUCH more into things being cute.  I just like cute characters!  Sure, I like things that are somber and spooky, but the best is when they’re somber and spooky AND super cute!

Like, Hollow Knight.  That whole game is like exactly my favorite aesthetic these days.  Sad and morose and dark and adorable.

But more often than not homestuck still comes pretty close to that ideal.  You just want to hug the shit out of all of these doofuses, a few stab wounds here or there be damned.  Speaking of stab wounds...

WHOOPS TENSION. THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT. I DO NOT ACTUALLY WANT YOU TO START KILLING PEOPLE OK

Maybe Lobac didn’t know what she was asking for earlier.

Wait, the crowns, what the fuck, he wants her to KILL THE KING AND QUEEN??? SHE’S JUST A MAIL LADY ヾ(´･-･｀)ノ”

How does he even know she’s desperate enough to kill people just to get one package?

The PARCEL MISTRESS departs with her mission of double agency. You wonder if she’ll actually be so foolish as to attempt to uphold her end of the lopsided bargain. You make a policy of handing out a REGISWORD and a HITLIST to just about everyone who enters your office. But you never think anyone’s actually going to GO THROUGH with it. 

What a phenomenal asshole That explains that

pretty much.  As for the box itself...

Yeeeeah you’re not actually gonna show me so, go ahead, taunt me, get it over with

PFFFFPFPFPFPFFF WHAT SOMETHING COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS APPARENTLY? NOT AS RIDICULOUS AS HIS FACE THO. Magnificent asshole cutie

Hahah, \[&P%]/

Anyway, at this point the action cuts back to the kids, and that seems a good a time as any to take a break.  I could just save this as a draft and finish the rest of lobac’s post later?  I mean, then I wouldn’t have to take extra time for another panel edit?  But I kind of want to post something now, so I guess well do this one in parts again.  part 2 scheduled for, let’s be ambitious and say may 2022

How did I ever use to have the time for this blogging shit?  I’ve been working on this for like six hours, and only got like a third of the way through one update?  I guess I was just younger then.

I’m so old now.  Time just gets away from me.

And my back hurts all the time.