#anyways the bottom image is kinda old at this point but i still like it so fuck it

[iaminjail]

happy pride month to this bitch in particular reference image 4 first image:

[warping-realities]

Keeping Up With Old Friends (by the best of all @dumb-and-jocked & @callmecallmecrazy

It's a great pleasure to make images for this collaboration between two of my favorite authors. I had permission from both of them to do this and I spent a considerable amount of time trying to be up to par with their work, I don't know if I managed it but I still hope it's to your liking.

“Phil? Is that you?” Geoff could’ve sworn the man in front of him was an old classmate of his, having been lab partners their freshman year. The two had connected fairly well, with Geoff having hung out with the free-thinking, pot-smoking, curly-haired flower child a lot more than he thought he would. Except, scruffy and shaggy Phil was replaced with tailored-beard and straightened-locks Phil. Not only that, but his usual oversized hoodie and sweats had been replaced with a properly fit tee and jeans.

“Geoff! Hey man, how’s it going.” His voice was still the same lively and flamboyant pitch that it had always been. Phil met his friend in a hug over the cash register, squeezing Geoff a little harder than he had been prepared for.

“Surprised to see you here,” Geoff half-joked, knowing that the old Phil would never come close to a shopping mall, let alone a department store. If the job wasn’t so easy and the pay wasn’t so good, Geoff wouldn’t have ever entered either. Too bad college was so expensive.

“Ha! Yeah man, turns out they have some good stuff! Plus, it’s close to where I live.”

“Oh, did you finally move out of the dorms?”

“Yeah, I moved into the Kappa Sigma Alpha house.” The big smile he offered was met by a wide-eyed stare from Geoff. Phil was a free spirit, one who practically came out of the ‘60s. Last they’d talked, he’d been planning on living at an eco-friendly miniature house, certainly not at “prespter-prick incorporated”.

“What happened to living green?”

“Ya know, I wanted a change.” Phil shoved his hands into his pockets. “Plus, college loans are really bringing me down. I needed to save some money and fast. My uncle got me an in with the fraternity; he’s an alum.”

“Aren’t they, like, totally pretentious?” Geoff countered. “We used to joke about those preppy freaks and their smug arrogance.” 

Phil frowned, his expression made it seem as if he’d taken personal offense.

“Hey man, they’re cool. After my uncle had pointed out that I was a legacy, I got headhunted by the rush chair.  I’m not one of those over-confident princes having yacht parties and spending time at the country club.” Geoff’s tense muscles eased a little, causing Phil to smile. “I don’t think they do that kinda stuff anymore anyway.”  

He glanced at his phone, and then back at Geoff. Getting the message, Geoff quickly processed his items and had Phil pay. He was surprised to see Phil was buying more normal clothes. Cheap, standard tops and bottoms that were neither flamboyant or tame: just generic.

“Hey man, great seeing you,” Phil concluded the conversation politely. “Maybe we’ll hang out sometime? I gotta get back to the house!”

Geoff watched Phil walk out, noticing how well he filled out his jeans. The Phil he knew had been a short, skinny beanpole, similar to Geoff’s height but with less pudge. However, the new Phil’s buttocks had developed a sort of plumpness, just barely curving the pants out awkwardly as he walked away. 

“That was so strange,” Geoff said aloud, but he assumed that people changed. Phil seemed happy and healthy, and as long as he was saving money Geoff was happy for him. Maybe he always wanted to join a frat?

For the rest of his shift, Geoff continued thinking about the peculiar interaction, but by the end of the day he was too exhausted to think about anything. Once he had gotten back to his dorm, he lethargically changed and jumped into his bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

— —

“Phil? Is that you?” The big man standing in front of the counter didn’t exactly physically resemble Phil. He was fairly big at about 5 ‘10 (a few inches taller than Phil) and the Henley shirt he wore couldn’t hide the beginnings of bulging pecs. And his hair, last time uncoiled but still at shoulder-length, was sheared down, pushed up, and shiny from cheap gel. The face was still the same, even though the hair made his face look a little square.

The young man looked back at Geoff confused for a moment before a tinge of understanding glittered in his eyes.

“Geoff Elliot,” his voice was noticeably slower and deeper than last time. While Geoff went in for a hug, Phil replied with a one-armed embrace and pat on the back. He practically grimaced when Geoff attempted for more affection.

“Phil! Man, it’s been awhile. I haven’t seen you since your last time here.”

“Yes, Geoff, I’ve been very busy with school. And please, call me Phillip, it’s more traditional.”

“Wow, still living with the Kappa Sigmas?”

“Yes, I’ve been acquainting very well. What about you, Geoff?”

“Oh ya know, I’m still in old Walker. It isn’t great, but it’s definitely got a sweet spot in the middle of campus.”

“Living comfortably?”

“Ha, you know I’m not.”

“I can tell,” Phillip noted Geoff’s pale skin and tired eyes. Geoff was taken aback by the outright disdain.

“Well, I’ve got to work if I want to get a degree.” Phillip just nodded, causing Geoff to carry the conversation. “You’re looking good. Do the Kappa Sigmas expect gym time?”

“Yes,” Phillip’s stern demeanor dropped a touch, allowing a bit more levity in his voice. “There’s an expansive gym at the country club. It’s free and they even give you a few hours a day to use it!” 

He was practically giddy as he talked, allowing Geoff to relax a bit. This was the Phil he knew, chirpy and friendly though now not as exceptionally outgoing. And if Geoff was being honest, Phil seemed extremely content with his new situation. 

“Have you picked up any sports? It seems like you’ve got the bod now,” Geoff joked, knowing that Phil hated physical activity. He playfully slapped one of Phil’s broad shoulders and was shocked at how firm the muscle was.

“I’ve been doing a lot of golf! I play with several of the other guys and even some of my uncle’s coworkers. I’m getting my handicap down too.”

“Oh, you’re playing golf?” Geoff hadn’t expected an answer, but if one came he would’ve guessed football or baseball–not golf.

“Yes, it’s very enjoyable. And great for business bonding. Chance for us men to talk about the frat, women, sports and the like. Say, you watch the game last weekend?”

That was wholly unlike Phil, but Geoff guessed he was probably throwing himself into the fraternity world.

“Nah, man, I’m not into basketball.”

“It’s football season.” His reply was so direct and unvarnished that Geoff had to grip the counter for support. “I know not everyone is into the NFL, but I assumed you would at least watch like any other man. And our team is having an exceptionally great season. 4-0 in conference play.”

Phillip kept talking about football as Geoff stared deep into his eyes. Was this really Phil? The guy used to pretend like he didn’t know what sports were. What was happening to him?

“Anyway, Geoff, it’s been great catching up,” Phillip said, dumping his items onto the register. Geoff was surprised to notice that Phil was purchasing only name brand items. Not expensive, but not generic either. “Maybe we can grab some beers and watch a game sometime.” 

Phillip hastily paid for all of his items and walked out. Geoff couldn’t help but notice the increasingly larger derrière. His buttocks had developed a shelf-like quality, curving the cheap khakis out as he walked away. Its slight jiggling motion was a stunning contrast to the hard muscle covering the rest of his body.

“Yeah, great to see you Phil-lip,” Geoff forced out the last syllable. This was not the Phil he knew, but instead some dude named Phillip. Geoff continued on with the rest of his shift, the interaction slipping from his mind at the end of the day when he collapsed into bed.

— —

“Phil? Is that you? I mean, Phillip?” Geoff had hoped he wouldn’t see him again after their last encounter, but when he saw this barely-familiar-looking man his curiosity got the best of him. He told himself it was all in his head, but everything about these encounters were disturbing. Geoff wasn’t sure if it was steroids as his former buddy’s growth seemed extremely quick, but it could’ve just been the sudden makeover too. What was even crazier was the man next to him was somehow larger.

This Phillip was 6’4 and wore a baby blue oxford button-up with a yellow and blue striped repp tie. The shirt looked ready to burst as it was tight against the two firm mounds sticking out of the young man’s chest. On top of the set was a two-button navy blazer with the letters KE on the left side, which Geoff assumed stood for Kappa Sigma. His hair was much different, for the overgrown shag was now neatly cut, with short sides and tapered across the crown. The ivy league was sharply parted on the left side and held sturdily in place by an expensive looking pomade. Not only had his hair transformed, but his face had undergone a dramatic change too. His jaw, formerly a little pointed and sharp, spread wide and hung low, giving his face a distinguished lantern shape to match his newly-cleft chin. 

This Phillip stood ramrod straight while searching through a rack of new suits from Brooks Brothers. The man next to Phillip was older but otherwise nearly identical. He was thicker around the middle, but any gut he might have was hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His tie was black and grey with a subtle windowpane pattern, and his suit shared a similar palette.

The other man stared at Geoff for a moment before tapping Phillip on the shoulder.

“Pierson,” his voice was slow and deep. “I believe this boy is trying to get your attention.” 

The younger man turned towards the counter to see Geoff. A faint bit of recognition crossed his face momentarily.

“Geoff Elliot.” The voice was practically monotone, low and deep. He took a few powerful steps forward and offered a large, coarse handshake.

“Uncle,” Phillip turned to face the older man. “This is a friend from college, Geoff Elliot. Geoff, this is my uncle.” He gestured robotically between the two. The uncle offered his hand and it was the same rough shake.

“Nice to meet you…” Geoff sort of trailed off, hoping to get a first name.

“John Howard Johnson.” The reply was colorless. “Mr. Johnson will do.”

“Alright,” Geoff simply replied. “So, Phillip-”

“Please call me Pierson,” Phillip said curtly. “My uncle thinks I would be better suited professionally as Pierson.” The way he spoke, extremely even in both rhythm and pitch, was unnerving.

Geoff could make out some of Phil’s features in the hulking face before him. An upturned nose and naturally thin eyebrows over wide eyes resembled the Phil he knew. But the rest of the face clearly belonged to this cocky fratboy named Pierson.

“Okay, Pierson. So, any news about Greek Life?”

“I am very happy with the Kappa Sigmas. Life there is perfectly preppy.”

“That’s great. Glad to hear you’re doing good!”

“Yes, my uncle believes after college I will be an ideal candidate for his company, Hemplebaum Inc..”

“That place downtown with office drones filling foreclosures and manipulating bank accounts?”

“Correct,” Pierson stated blatantly.

“Huh, okay.” Geoff was getting sick of this conversation, and of this act. There was obviously something going on here, so he decided to just ask about it flat out.

“How long are you going to keep this up, Phil?”

“Pierson.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Geoff retorted. He knew it probably wasn’t best to argue with customers during his shift, but this was more important than a job. “How are you willing to sell your soul to some frat? We used to joke about these guys! Can’t you see something is wrong?”

“I’m offended by your tone, Geoff. And honestly,” he adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves while disgustingly eyeing Geoff’s uniform. “I grew up. You could do with some growing.”

“You’ve grown into a mindless fratboy.”

“And you, Geoff, are still a child. We ‘mindless fratboys’ are very well groomed and dressed. We speak with clarity and courtesy, and are diligent and helpful. We truly represent the apex of manhood.”

“Pierson,” Mr. Johnson suddenly interrupted the argument. Pierson stiffened up and faced his uncle. “I’m glad you had this chance to catch up with your acquaintance, but we have wasted time.”

“Of course, Uncle.” 

They turned to leave, but Pierson swiftly reached into a blazer pocket and pulled out a thick black card. 

“If you ever decide to grow up.” Pierson placed it on the register before he and his uncle left, giving Geoff a good look at their backsides. Despite the broad shoulders and bulging pectorals, both had a distinctly pear shaped body, with wide hips and massive butts that shook just a touch as they walked. Pierson’s rump was especially luscious, bouncing around inside those tight, pastel madras shorts. It gave Geoff a boner as he watched it wiggle. Sure, the man was the monster that replaced his old friend, but he had to admit the new douchebag look was kind of hot.

Geoff grabbed the card from the counter and examined it. It was a thick card stock and slightly textured with the Greek letters obnoxiously large in one corner. Right in the middle read “Pierson Buckley Folsom VI,” infuriating Geoff. That was absolutely not his last name, in fact none of those were his names! Had he changed his entire personality to fit in with these people?  Had Phil been putting on a fake persona the entire time he was in college? Was this who he truly was? Geoff calmed himself down before reasoning that the name changing was a deeper sign. This whole thing had become so ridiculous he couldn’t just ignore it. He’d have to do some investigating.

— —

“This is Pierson Buckley Folsom VI.” 

Geoff didn’t actually want to go through with his plan, but he had to make an attempt. If he could insert himself safely into this Pierson’s friend group, he might just be able to figure out what happened to Phil. Sure, Geoff wasn’t really built for the whole undercover thing, but he owed it to his old friend. Plus, Geoff knew if he let the matter sit, it would just continue to haunt him.

“Hey, Pierson. This is Geoff.” 

“Hello Geoff, how may I assist you?” He was already straight to the point.

“Well, you know I was thinking about what you said back in the mall. Growing up and all that stuff.”

“Ah,” Pierson’s stale voice came from the other end. “I assume you are interested in becoming a Kappa Sigma then?”

“Yes.” Geoff swallowed before continuing, “I would like to become a Kappa Sigma.”

“If that is so,” Pierson began monotonously. “We have a rush event this weekend at the Rolling Acres Country Club. Come golfing this weekend, I know you will enjoy it.”

“That sounds exciting!” It totally did not. He did not want to go to a rush event in the most posh, expensive neighborhood in the city. “What do I need to wear? I’m sure they have a dress code.”

“Meet me at the Kappa Sigma house before. I will have appropriate clothing.”

“Sounds good, thank you for your help, Pierson.”

“You are welcome, Geoff.” 

And just like that, the plan was in motion. This weekend, Geoff would be infiltrating enemy territory, so it was now time to do some research. He didn’t want to be suspicious, but as far as he could tell, the only person who thought something was amiss was him.

— —

The Kappa Sigma Alpha house was a well-built, classic home that looked like it belonged in Connecticut or somewhere else classy. The elegant mansion was extremely large, just like all of its brothers. It was so huge in fact that it had a room strictly dedicated for watching football, and that wasn’t even the media room! According to Pierson, there was a room with a movie projector on another floor. The football room was just a man cave according to him, except it was a sunlit, high-ceilinged game room. It was about five times bigger than the dorm Geoff was currently living in, which was only half the size of Pierson’s room.  

When Pierson had answered the door, he was dressed in a full monochromatic suit.

Geoff had expected something more casual, so he was wearing a faded pair of khakis and a plaid button-up. Geoff’s bulkier counterpart was intensely embarrassed by his attire and insisted he put on one of his old suits. Geoff thought about protesting, but instead allowed it. He fit quite well in it, as Pierson’s old suit was from Phil’s era. Geoff hated the whole dress-up ordeal, but he needed to fit in as much as possible, and to do that he would have to do everything Pierson said. 

“Are we going golfing in suits?” Geoff asked innocently, unsure if they’d actually be participating in the sport.

“That’s absurd!” Pierson remarked, his tone just barely leaving its usual flat level as he dodged the question. “We will be changing at the club.”

Geoff couldn’t imagine how most people showed up dressed like this, but he would do whatever made Pierson comfortable. And apparently, the change had been necessary. After they got past the gate and into the main clubhouse, every man he passed had a tie on. Some of the brothers were already dressed in polos and khaki shorts, with the color of their outfits being the only way Geoff could figure out who was who. After Pierson had checked them in for the rush event, they headed to the lockers to change. Once the two had stripped, Pierson handed Geoff a small white piece of fabric. Geoff was horrified to find it was a pair of whitey-tighties, completely generic besides a tiny logo and a thin, blue line running through the band.

“What,” Geoff asked. “Dude, seriously?”

“All of us wear them,” Pierson blatantly stated, showing how he had stripped down to his own. Geoff had only noticed Pierson’s behind before, but now he took his chance to examine the whole body. Pierson was thick from below his pecs down to his butt, no real waistline. The holes for the legs in Pierson’s briefs clung tightly to his thighs, making the curve of his extremely wide buttocks stand out. His bulge was extremely pronounced too, pushing the briefs to their limit. Everything about Pierson was just so big nowadays, his proportions practically comic level. He looked good.

Knowing he had to do it, Geoff quickly stepped into the briefs. The briefs made their way up both of his legs and finally began to engulf his private regions. He pulled the waistband up and let them sink into place. The bright, white fabric comfortably held his body from the tip-top of thighs to just above his pubic bush.

“Let me help you with those.” 

Pierson glided over to Geoff and dutifully pulled the briefs higher, a lot higher. Geoff’s belly button was now completely hidden, giving him a slight wedgie and his small package an even smaller moose knuckle. His flat bottom seemed more vertical than ever, and his 3-inch soft dick was nowhere near whatever Pierson was packing. Geoff should have been in pain, he should have been protesting, but something had subtly changed inside of him. The moment was deceptively erotic, something overly-personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in. The look of disgust he originally had on his face had faded away, replaced with a simple, charming smile.

With that done, Pierson handed Geoff some pink Bermuda shorts and a blue polo, each made of a stretchy and breathable material.

“You sure these are mine?” Geoff asked, noticing that the sizes were much too large. “I’m not sure I’ll fit.”

“I’m certain we’re the same size, Geoff.” Pierson replied, putting on his own set. The striped Hampton Lime polo he wore beautifully accentuated his pectoral shelf and–after being tucked into some tight cobalt Bermuda shorts–his blooming muscle gut. Geoff didn’t actually know the names of the hues, Pierson had strictly informed him beforehand. Pulled up to rest just below Pierson’s brief’s waistband, the shorts were held up by a fashionable belt that Geoff knew had a price tag with at least 3 digits. The shorts not only continued to advertise Pierson’s laughably large bottom, but also displayed powerful calves that looked as if they were stolen from a marble statue.

Although Pierson was certain they were the same size, they most certainly were not. Geoff was not surprised when his outfit failed to fit. The belt he had barely kept the shorts from falling, and even though the shirt was tucked in, it still draped over him more like a curtain. Unlike the briefs that had fit perfectly, the clothes were meant for a man much larger than him. A fraternity brother.

The final pieces were short, plain white socks and a pair of large golf shoes. Once again, Pierson had insisted the two were the same size, but Geoff knew his feet would never fit in the Size 14 giants. Even after tying the tightest knot he could, the shoes were still fairly roomy and loose, causing Geoff to focus intensely on every step in hopes of not tumbling over. Sighing in defeat, he noticed a small emblem on one of his socks, the same he had seen before on the briefs. He checked the other sock, and then also found it on his polo over the left breast. Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Geoff inquired about it.

“I don’t think I recognize this brand,” he started. “Are we wearing Ralph Lauren?”

“Not exactly,” Pierson replied, who had also finished getting dressed. “It’s a partner brand of Polo Ralph Lauren that made an exchange with the Carmichael Corporation. Apparently some financial deal.”

“What is the Carmichael Corporation?”

“They are an investing partner with Hemplebaum. The two often work together on acquisition projects. The event today is co-hosted by both companies. A lot of Kappa Sigma Alpha’s alum actually work at the companies, as the pair and the fraternity are continually functioning together. Almost like a cycle, I assume.” Pierson chuckled at that.

“I see.” Geoff smiled at the new piece of evidence. Not only did he just find that a company was in on the ordeal, but three. There was definitely something peculiar about this “financial deal,” and whatever these Hemplebaum and Carmichael organizations were, they had to be behind the disappearance of Phil.

The two then made their way out to the course. A plethora of young, muscular men and older counterparts were already golfing away, chatting merrily about subjects Geoff knew he had no interest in. Stocks and economical talk were topics that were unsurprisingly extremely boring. Pierson made sure to introduce as many people as he could as they walked along, and Geoff made sure to mentally write down each suspect in his head. 

There was Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV from Carmichael, a man slightly older than the pair but identical in size and manner to Pierson. He was wearing a violet polo, docksiders, and light gray madras shorts. Then there was Henderson Harold Hearst from Hemplebaum; he shared the same age and exaggerated proportions with Pierson’s uncle, Mr. Johnson, who was also there. He was wearing a white sports polo, black golf cap, and a pair of golf trousers that somehow expanded over his massive thighs, showing off Mr. Hearst’s thick trunks and amble, jiggly buttocks that pressed generously backwards. 

There were a plethora of other businessmen that were also introduced to Geoff along the way. Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr. from Carmichael; Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth from Carmichael; Rotterham Casper Cornelius Southard from Hemplebaum; John Millard Koehler III from Carmichael. All the titles and accentuated names made Geoff’s head want to explode, but he hadn’t even met a quarter of the populus yet. There were still all the Kappa Sigma boys with names like Thurston F. Walbridge IV, Wyndham Judge Kilbourn V, and Hunt Johnstonbough. Geoff couldn’t understand how people remembered all of these obsessive, extensive, and money-grubbing men and their names. All of the businessmen and fraternity brothers were just a bunch of wealthy blockheads.

A sharp, static shock zipped inside of Geoff’s high-waisted briefs, causing him to pause momentarily. The shock sent a signal up his anus and tickled his prostate ever so slightly. In his head, Geoff immediately reevaluated his previous thoughts. These men weren’t obsessive, they were just clean-cut and well-maintained. And their names weren’t extensive and money-grubbing, they were traditional, conservative, and sumptuous. These corrections brought a cordial smile to Geoff’s face. Only now noticing he had stopped walking, Geoff jogged to catch back up to Pierson, causing his slightly-larger buttocks to gingerly bob.

As they walked out onto the course, golf bags strapped across their backs, Geoff could see a tall figure in the distance seeming to greet them with a small wave. Pierson returned the gesture amiably.

“Who’s that?”

“Prescott Neilson Powers IV. I invited him to play with us. Prescott is the Kappa Sigma rush chair. ”

“You invited the rush chair?”

“Prescott, yes. He’s been a close friend since I attended preparatory school, you should know that, Geoff.”

Geoff did not know this, as Pierson hadn’t existed less than a semester ago.

“I thought you would get on quite well. Besides, he’s on good terms with many important people. If you want to join the fraternity brotherhood, no one is a better connection.”

Prescott was in stretchy plum-colored golf trousers, a ballcap with the KE logo sitting proudly on the front, and a smoky-gray polo exactly like the ones they were wearing. Geoff had a bit of a shock realizing how much Prescott looked like Pierson. His body filled out the polo tremendously with broad shoulders, baseball-like biceps, and a thick but strong core. He also had that overly-wide posterior that led into legs and calves formed by deadlifts and deep squats. His hair–which was sheared down into a practically flat bit of black hair, shiny and parted–was the only noticeable difference between the two, but otherwise Geoff might have mistaken the two for brothers or cousins.

“Greetings!” Prescott shook Pierson’s hand and pulled him in for a pat on the back. For his part, Pierson tensed up a bit but did not resist.

“Prescott Neilson Powers IV, this is Geoffrey Elliot. We had few classes together last year, and now he is interested in rushing.” Before Geoff could correct the error of his name, Prescott grabbed him into a similar handshake-to-hug.

“Pleasure to meet you, Geoffrey,” Prescott said calmly. “Well, let’s play.”

“Are we taking the cart?” Geoff asked, pointing to a line of white, polished golf carts. He really didn’t want to walk around the entire course. He hadn’t exerted that amount of physical energy since high school gym.

“Of course not!” Prescott and Pierson chortled before Prescott continued. “I’d figure us three needed to work less on our glutes and more cardio!” Prescott then reached out and gave both Pierson and Geoff hard butt slaps. Geoff wanted to object, but a momentarily jarring jolt from his briefs once again silenced him.

“We all know this will not be enough to alleviate that problem,” Pierson quipped as they made their way to the first hole. Geoffrey completely forgot what he was thinking about and followed with a polite smile, his shorts now tighter against his inflated rump.

Prescott was extremely friendly and a little physical. Upon learning that Geoffrey had never golfed, Prescott took it upon himself to teach him everything he could, resulting in him saddling up behind him to correct stance and form, but also jokingly pressing his crotch into Geoffrey’s butt and thrusting. The boys all laughed at the horseplay, with Geoffrey nervously trying to hide his boner. If he wanted to fit in around these traditional, conservative men, he’d have to be a lot more careful. Luckily, his member had softened before anyone noticed, returning to its previous 4-inches soft.

Geoffrey had a hard time hating Prescott and the Kappa Sigma brothers. Taking away all the pomp of politics and social structure, Prescott seemed to be an incredibly friendly alpha; the kind of guy who would be quarterback, homecoming king, and class president (all things Geoffrey learned Prescott was). Geoffrey began to recognize that all the Kappa Sigma, Carmichael, and Hemplebaum men had so many things in common. There were so many things about them that Geoffrey really liked. They were gorgeously male and embodied masculine sophistication. They were groomed and cleaned, polite and cheerful. They were such ideal men, what Pierson had called “perfectly preppy”.

“My girlfriend will literally do anything I ask, that’s how dedicated she is to me!” Prescott bragged in a slow but still gloating voice.

“She was always into you,” Pierson added.

“Yes, sir. Her dad’s super rich, one of the department managers at the Carmichael Corporation. He’s inundated with old money. But what about you?” Prescott got a mischievous glint as his eyes located Pierson’s crotch. “Are you getting those fellows ready? It is almost breeding season.”

“What does that mean?” Geoffrey inquired.

“Pierson Buckley Folsom VI here is getting married.”

“Congratulations!” Geoffrey replied enthusiastically, forgetting that Pierson hadn’t had a partner less than a month ago.

“Thank you. We’re finishing some final details; her mother is very specific. Sometimes, she acts as though I’m unworthy.”

“She cannot do better,” Prescott assured.

“She is a perfectly suitable spouse. I am very pleased with the situation,” Pierson affirmed before setting up his shot and launching the ball.  He let out a whistle of appreciation as it landed in the green just a few feet away from the hole.

“Good shot,” Prescott and Geoffrey said simultaneously. Geoffrey hadn’t noticed his voice was beginning to imitate the other two’s, as it was now a little deeper and even-handed.

“Geoffrey, I know it’s late notice, but I hope you can at least attend the wedding. The club has strict guest limits and I’m running out of passes for nonmembers for the bachelor party.”

“Thank you, Pierson. I’m sure I can make it.”

Geoffrey didn’t want to attend for investigative purposes however, he just wanted to support his close friend Pierson.

“And if you join the fraternity and get your membership before, you can enjoy all the heterosexual fun.” Prescott winked at Geoffrey and snagged a nipple that was now stiffly pressed out from the polo. Geoffrey had somehow not felt the weight of his upper body before as he walked, as his chest now stuck out and increased his height by a few inches. Geoffrey should’ve cared more about his enlarged torso, but for some reason walking around with pecs straining a polo felt incredible, like a huge dose of testosterone had been injected into him.

After a few more rounds, the trio decided to take an intermission and head back to the club. The main ballroom at the Rolling Acres was a lively place stocked with booze and many other pompous and colossal-sized men. Before Geoffrey could figure out what was going on, Pierson and Prescott were already removing the caps from a collection of glass bottles and pouring multiple glasses full of amber liquid.

“Come on, sit,” Prescott instructed, slapping Geoffrey’s bottom before taking a seat. Originally, Geoffrey had intended on asking some analytical questions and refusing the drinks, but after a quick agonizing wince he discovered he didn’t want to upset his new friends, or the financial connections they represented. Taking a big swig of the liquid, he sat down in the chair, his increasingly wide and plump behind consuming nearly ¾ths of the extra wide seat.

“You’re getting pretty good at the trap shot, Pierson Buckley Folsom VI, ” Prescott toasted Pierson.

“You’re still better, Prescott Neilson Powers IV,” Pierson was already refilling his drink happily. The trio continued chatting until Pierson eventually excused himself to the toilet, leaving Geoffrey alone with a man he thought would have been detestable. But this afternoon was fun. He got a small knot in his stomach as Prescott turned to him with a viperous grin.

“Geoff? Geoff Elliot?” Prescott suddenly said, dropping his voice low. Geoffrey was confused for a moment, as he hadn’t thought of himself as Geoff in a while. It was almost shocking, but then he cautiously nodded yes.

“Please, call me Geoffrey, Prescott.”

“Oh, I will, Geoffrey,” he emphasized the name. “You look good, and I have to admit I was wrong about you, Geoffrey. When Pierson had said he had invited you, I did not think you would make it. But here you are: willing and able, and looking much better with the muscles might I add. These clothes have done wonders for you.”

“Thank you, Prescott. I am very happy spending time with the Kappa Sigma men and the alumni.” Prescott nodded and smiled as the robotic words left Geoffrey’s mouth. Geoffrey had been content with his answer, but he hadn’t processed the real meaning behind Prescott’s comment. Absentmindedly scratching his calf, he should’ve been surprised by the amount of fur that caught in his grip. It also should have shocked him how firm his muscles felt; the thick, robust quads and strong, sculpted forelegs now filled his salmon shorts appropriately. They were also helped by his waist, which had expanded out both in the pelvic and gluteal regions.

“I like having my fellow fraternity brothers around. It is truly a real lifetime bond, care to agree?” Geoffrey nodded as Prescott took another deep swig. “Something that really defines a man: who he is and who he’s going to be.” 

Prescott then seemed to stare at Geoffrey curiously. For his part, Geoffrey had no idea what to say, and so stayed silent. “If I’d known this is who you were going to be, I’d have made sure you were my brother a long time ago. Of course, I knew Geoff, but not Geoffrey. Not big, strapping Geoffrey.”

“Yes,” Geoffrey stirred his glass and sat there.

“And I still have yet to meet whom you will become. You still have a ways to go until you have finished.”

“Finished?”

“The rush event, of course. You did not think it was over, did you? It is only a quarter past one you jester!” Prescott then grabbed Geoffrey’s head and gave him a playful noogie. The respectable man’s knuckles drove apart Geoffrey’s hair, causing the slightly-greasy afro to spill out a little more.

“Your hair has been a little off today,” Prescott noted. “Did you use enough pomade this morning?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey confirmed. “I believe I did.” He fixed his hair precariously, making sure all the edges were still held together like a helmet. Geoffrey liked his textured ivy league cut chipper yet sharp, just like the fine fellows of Kappa Sigma Alpha.

“Now, Geoffrey, what do you think Geoffrey is like in college?”

“I’m Geoffrey.”

“Correct, but these past few semesters you have not been. I just wonder what you wish you had done?”

“I wish I’d attended more sports games. I love football, and enjoy playing tennis and golf.” The answers had been installed in his head without him knowing.

“Splendid!”

“I’d want to have a group of men to watch sports with,” Geoffrey added.

“Indeed, every game we have an event at the house.” 

Geoffrey stared at him with glassy eyes. He was confused. It seemed like Prescott wanted him to say something, but he could only shrug.

“Would have been nice.”

“I do hope you apply for the fraternity. The brotherhood would be a good fit for you.”

“I’ve really enjoyed myself so far,” Geoffrey admitted. “And the prospect of living in the manor is tantalizing.”

“Where are you living nowadays?”

“I have a dorm in Walker. It’s a heap, but I live alone.”

“Have you thought about living with other men? Such ideal, perfectly preppy men?”

“What?! No, I haven’t, I mean..” Geoffrey sputtered a little, not considering that factor in his infiltration plan. It seemed like a dream, to be surrounded by so many gaudy, haughty, and sexy men. After a momentary painful shudder, Geoffrey realized he would love to be surrounded by so many prosperous, presumptuous, and handsome brothers. Of course, his definition of handsome was a man who was traditional, well-heeled, and physically attractive to women. Geoffrey believed that men ought to align themselves to the only orientation, one where his 5-inch soft dick didn’t get aroused to the thought of other gentlemen.

“I’m not sure it’s right for me,” Geoffrey announced truthfully, authorizing a smirk from Prescott.

“It’s right for Geoffrey. For football-playing, fraternity brother, corporate shark Geoffrey.” Prescott smiled and got up from the table, ushering Geoffrey to follow him.

“If you become a brother, either the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum will pay off your student debt as long as you work a year-long internship with them after you graduate. I can set you up.”

“Really?”

“I always support my Kappa Sigma Alpha brothers.” His impish grin was the only signal Geoffrey had before another blow to his bottom. After a little excruciating twitch, Geoffrey returned to reality, his voluminous buttocks still vibrating as they had now accumulated a soft layer of fat that made him even wider.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond!”  Prescott chanted and stared at Geoffrey. Geoffrey hesitated, but his mind wanted it so bad. He wanted Prescott to like him, to be his brother. Geoffrey wanted to be one of the classy, dashing brothers.

“Kappa Sigma Alpha, brothers strong, brothers long. Four years forged the lifetime bond.”  Prescott smiled as Geoffrey repeated the stanza back to him.

Pierson then showed up a moment later from behind them.

“What did I miss?”

“Just the rushing of our newest member here!”

“Newest member?” Pierson replied excitedly. “You are going to become a brother, Geoffrey?”

“I must!” Geoffrey replied eagerly. He wanted to become one of these perfectly preppy brothers, which kind of went against his reason for coming here in the first place. But, why was he here again? Was it not to be rushed? For some reason, Geoffrey felt like he was forgetting something, but it didn’t bother him enough to dwell on it. Any inappropriate memory of infiltration or distaste had been sapped from his increasingly cordial mind.

“That makes me so elated!” Pierson exclaimed. “Let us go find my uncle then, that way we can have him officiate the necessary forms.”

“If I can have a moment,” Geoffrey paused the celebration. “I would like to use the restroom.”

“Well…” Pierson hesitated.

“Of course!” Prescott gave a reassuring glance to Pierson, although Geoffrey didn’t know why. “Around the corner over yonder and then westbound. We will go retrieve Mr. Johnson while you alleviate.”

“My gratitude.” Not only had Geoffrey’s tone adopted the same deep, flat, and robotic tone, but his vocabulary slowly became much more sophisticated. As he strolled over to the restroom, Geoffrey now felt the weight of his body as he walked. He hadn’t noticed before, but he had settled out around 6’3 thanks to his extended limbs. His newly broadened shoulders filled out his dark periwinkle polo nicely. They made him feel like he took up the entire doorway as he entered the lavatory, and his big, wide stride made his butt and crotch kind of wiggle as he walked. He could feel the fabric of his salmon shorts tighten around his balls and release, then tighten on the other side. It was mildly arousing.

After taking a hearty leak, Geoffrey pulled his briefs back up above his belly button. It was deceptively erotic, something overly-personal but seemingly inconsequential that he was giving up to fit in. And that’s what he wanted after all, to fit in. Why be unique and different when one could be conventional, classical, and consistent? That’s why he had come here in the first place, because he wanted to be like these men. Geoffrey wanted to be a Kappa Sigma, and after that work at either the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum.

Washing his hands in the sink, Geoffrey looked up and was very pleased to see the extremely handsome young man in front of him. He filled out his clothes almost to the point of bursting, from the Size 14 golf shoes to the Philadelphia blue polo. As he admired his form in the mirror, Geoffrey couldn’t help but brush the smooth-shaved line of his prominent jaw. He really could swear that his face had been almost heart-shaped, but now there was a distinctly hexagonal shape to the thing. Geoffrey was practically a hypermasculine parody: low brow, big nose, and wide jaw with a gigantic cleft chin: just like all the other men here.

Once he had finished appreciating his form, he exited the restroom and found Pierson, Prescott, and Mr. Johnson all chatting merrily. When they noticed his entrance, they immediately turned to allow him into the conversation.

“What can I do for you, Geoffrey?” Mr. Johnson asked. Geoffrey tried to find a concise answer for that question, but found that impossible.

“I want to become a Kappa Sigma and work with business and finance after graduation. I want every piece of advice you can give me.”

“Why is that?” Mr. Johnson was suppressing a smug smile though Geoffrey didn’t notice.

“I want to be just like you. And Pierson Buckley Folsom VI. And Prescott Neilson Powers IV. And all the men here at Rolling Acres.”

“Enjoy the event?”

“Immensely. I belong here with these kinds of men. I want to move into the Kappa Sigma Alpha house, not live in some pathetic university building.” He cast a disgusted look before continuing.  “I want to become an alumni and work under the Carmichael Corporation or Hemplebaum.”

Mr. Johnson smiled. “So, Geoffrey, are you willing to fully commit yourself to the Kappa Sigmas?”

“I am, sir,” he replied in a soldier-like manner.

“Excellent. Well, I can proudly say you are approaching the physical standards. Let me address one concern.” Mr. Johnson carefully moved his massive arm behind Geoffrey and patted his buttocks gently. Geoffrey didn’t react as a gentle sting pulsated his prostate and a charming smile adorned his face. Mr. Johnson’s hand moved away to reveal an enormous rump identical to the others’, one thick with muscles underneath but concealed underneath a spongy layer of fat. With the salmon Bermuda shorts now tight against his behind, the crotch of his shorts were pulled tight into a prominent moose knuckle, also showcasing his 7-inch soft dick.

“Yes, that is more appropriate.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, there is a rather large change that I believe is a necessity for your progression into the Kappa Sigmas as well as your new social circle.”

“What is that sir?”

“Your name, it is just too common and destitute. You agree?” Geoffrey snapped back confirmation even though it made his head spin. “Personally, I have always been very fond of names associated with old money.”

“You want me to change my last name?” Geoffrey asked, slightly confused.

“Not exactly. Your entire name will have to be reformed.”

“My entire name?”

“Well, I thought you wanted to succeed.”

“Yes sir.”

“So you want to change your name. What do you think would work?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“So you want my help, is that what you are saying?” The words were coming so fast and Mr. Johnson’s eyes were so enticing that Geoffrey nodded.

“Yes sir, please tell me what my name should be.”

Mr. Johnson crossed his arms over his shelf of pecs, clearly relishing in the moment even though Geoffrey had no idea why.

“This is my favorite part.” Geoffrey didn’t say anything, as his superior clearly didn’t want him to.  And he’d just asked for help so there was no need to say anything. “It’s a great moment, when you realize you want to be whatever I want you to be.” 

Mr. Johnson ceremoniously pulled a form out of his suit pocket and presented it to Geoffrey. “This is your fraternity contract. You don’t need to bother with the details. Just sign your name.“

In very literal terms, Geoffrey would be singing away his life. The fraternity, the proud men of Kappa Sigma, and all of the alumni who worked at the Carmichael Corporation and Hemplebaum were now permanently immune from any legal repercussions. Of course, there never would be, as they had plenty of experience in this sort of thing.

Geoffrey was about to sign, but he noticed a different name was listed on the contract.

“It is supposed to be made out by Godfrey Larimer Elverton Jr.?”

“A name I believe will fit you suitably.” Mr. Johnson offered a pen to Geoffrey and gave a conceited smirk. “Just sign.”

The order immediately processed through Geoffrey’s brain, bringing a clubby smile to his face as he wrote out his new signature. Once he had finished, Mr. Johnson took the contract back and made his way to the ballroom stage. He signaled for Geoffrey to follow him.

“Hello?” Mr. Johnson tested a mic, his lifeless bass resonant across the room. “I would like to request every man’s attention please.”

Geoffrey watched on as all the men in the room turned to look their way. So many masculine men dressed to the tens in lavish suits and colorful polos. They were all so refined, so perfectly preppy.

“I would like to announce our first success of the annual Kappa Sigma Alpha rush event: the newest man of Kappa Sigma, Godfrey Larimer Elverton Jr.!”

The crowded room burst into a controlled round of applause. Godfrey felt giddy, proud to become a part of this fine organization. After the room had calmed down, Mr. Johnson and Godfrey rejoined Pierson and Prescott. They continued a fascinating discussion about budgetary and monetary issues, as a recent Hemplebaum acquisition of an old theatre downtown had created quite a profit. Godfrey felt right as home, as if he had always meant to be a Kappa Sigma. He instantly embraced his new role in life and quickly was accepted as a full brother by the other men.

The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. After Godfrey, there were eight other boys who were rushed into the Kappa Sigmas. Godfrey didn’t realize that at the beginning of the day, these boys had all been exactly like him: crude, coarse, and shoddy. In fact, Godfrey didn’t realize that he had been like that at all. His memories had slowly shifted, causing him to remember a wealthier upbringing, one where he had pampered and shaped to become a Kappa Sigma man over the last 21 years.

“To be frank,” Pierson started as they made their way back out to the first hole. “I did not foresee you transitioning so fast, let alone becoming the first pledge of the day.”

“You should recognize that I have been training for this my entire life,” Godfrey replied sternly.

“Oh, I do,” Pierson conceded. “But I will need some testament to that claim. Four strokes is par.”

Godfrey turned to Pierson and gave a broad, bland smile.

“Pierson Buckley Folsom VI,” he declared with a club in his hand. “I’ll only need one.”

[animaginaryartblog]

[Image ID: Several digital drawings of Tails the Fox, colored and on a plain white background. He has been redesigned to resemble an island fox. His fur is still primarily orange, with a white muzzle and underbelly. His ears, the undersides of his tails, and his legs are yellow. His legs are patched with asymmetrical white markings. The tip of his tails are black, and black markings run over the bridge of his muzzle and down either side.

Bottom left: Tails has his hands clasped behind his back and his hips swayed forward as he squints sheepishly upwards. Top left: Tails's head seen from the side. Top center: Tails's head seen from the side, now with his muzzle open and his eyes narrowed. Top right: a redraw of an IDW Sonic panel of Tails grasping an unseen screen with wide eyes and open mouth. Center right: Tails glancing to the side, looking unimpressed. Bottom right: Tails with hands curled towards his chest as he looks up with an excited expression, eyes shining. Center: Tails's "surprised" sprite from The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, arms hanging, eyes wide, and jaw dropped. /end ID]

these are some experiments I did trying to figure out a Gaia AU Tails redesign. changing the characters' species is kinda becoming a ~thing~ for this AU. I chose an island fox because of Tails's connection to Cocoa Island in the gameverse, which I equated to Costa Rica's Cocos Island because I love finding excuses to make Costa Rica relevant in my AUs. Cocos Island doesn't actually have any native mammal species, but island foxes are at least native to the same general area kind of. same hemisphere anyway. bonus sketches below

[Image ID: Three black-and-white sketches of the previously described Tails design. In the top left is a drawing of him in profile, smiling. On the right are two comparisons of Tails at 8 years old and 12 years old. Handwritten notes point out that the younger Tails has "less pronounced markings" and "less chest fluff". He is also have a head shorter than the older Tails, with stubbier limbs, more oversized ears and bangs, and rounder eyes. /end ID]

[Image ID: A black-and-white sketch redraw of an IDW panel with Sonic and Tails. Sonic has been redesigned to look more like an actual hedgehog, with defined quills, bigger ears, and a more pronounced muzzle. He has his fists on his hips as he leans forward, glaring. Tails, with the same design as in the previous drawings, mimics his pose. /end ID]

[candycryptids]

■ -  Bedroom/house/living quarters headcanon

✿ - Sex headcanon

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

♒ - cooking/food headcanon

Tangy, all Tangy, give me Tangy Lore

■ - Tangy makes her long-term stay wherever the Scions have settled- the Waking Sands, the Rising Stones, unfortunately missed out on most of The Falling Snow.. while she’s still a much smaller Miqo’te staying in the Waking Sands she insists she doesn’t need much space to sleep, and just has a bunk with a leather bag hanging off one of the posts. Granted, that bunk is piled with blankets and pillows, and she doesn’t even sleep under them; it’s all just lumpy padding for curling up on top of and snoring. (After meeting with Chuu and finding out 1) there was a way to avoid getting arrested after the Banquet fiasco and 2) she could totally be stronger. Totally. And subsequently getting… let’s call it Off-Brand-Fantasia’d, she needs a bit more space.. she stops snoring most of the time, though. Having more snout apparently makes it easier to not snore!) She doesn’t ever keep an apartment of her own, but she does sometimes trek from Revenant’s Toll to Vesper Bay to check in on the old haunt, since Urianger seems keen to Never Leave. lmao.

This gets real long so here’s a cut for the sake of the dashboards lol (good lort there’s images down there…)

✿ - She’s Asexual! In that she doesn’t feel sexual attraction towards people, but she does enjoy the act? It’s a good way to relieve stress and it’s fun exercise and it’s a nice way to bond with others.

She does, however, struggle with the ‘Oops’ part of Chuu’s ‘Fantasia’ which was giving her a body with a dick :T There’s a learning curve. (Among other curves. Wink? Sorry dndndndnfke) Also, not necessarily sex, but she probably kisses her friends. Because she cares about them! Cheek kisses, lip kisses, forehead and top of head kisses… hand kisses… Kisses :)

Yda and Tangy pose is [Glomp Tackle] with fresh expressions but the rest are all custom done ;w; oh also shader is Neneko’s Love… I think.. 🫢 it’s all the same one 🤦 I just forgot to write it down

∇- I genuinely think Tangy gets a handle on Accounting by hanging out with Tataru so much over the years. It keeps Tataru’s mind off worrying about everybody as much while they’re away on business, and Tangy gets to wrinkle her brain (this takes. Such a long time though. She’s still not reliable for it, either, but she’s passable :3) .. for a proper aging headcanon tho I think as she gets older she becomes an anchor point for the Scions like Tataru is. Sets up shop and trains young adventurers in combat and cooking and camping. Her whiskers twitch when thunderstorms are brewing. She still sometimes needs nudging from her own students on things, but it’s usually in things relating to Reading. I feel like she has pretty bad dyslexia and maybe even dyscalculia that she’s just learned to deal with.

♒- LOVES food. Loves to eat. Loves to help with cooking. Measuring ingredients for recipes is actually pretty easy since it’s not demanded exactness, it’s just “half of this cup, level this cup, just enough to cover the bottom of this pan,” like, not exact. You feel cooking with your heart. And kneading bread is an excellent and fun work out to her. Can not bake.. Kinda wishes she could. She’s just not precise enough, and she gets the order in which things have to be done mixed up, so she ends up with some pretty…. Not exactly inedible but…. 🫢 It’s not appetizing looking.. and it doesn’t taste great… She’s not a picky eater, but she hesitates to eat snails. It just makes her a little sad, cos they’re cute to her. And then she eats them anyways =w=; the chef worked hard to make this delicious meal and she’s gonna eat it! (And not eating the snails would waste their life so. Honor their sacrifice and eat them.) Her favorite food is whatever she can eat with her hands/whatever’s in front of her at the time, and any of F’lahminn’s cooking. Even if it’s burnt.

[shout out to Elio for their Dango Props they’re so cute]

Oh shit I forgot to link the [Ask Meme]

[daemadness]

Hi! Now I don’t really know what has gotten into me but I’ve kind of jumpstarted a Die Ärzte hyperfixation about a year ago and have been eating up all DÄ related material I could find.

Now that means that I have also dived *deep* into the fandom. And by deep I mean: no content was too unhinged, no hurdle too absurd, no taboo too taboo (*coughs in ancient livejournal FuB fanfic groups and the cursed explicit fanart on animexx*).

There is just one major problem: being “only” 20 years old, even though I am a native German speaker, most of the interesting “secret” fandom lore is or has become unavailable to me.

I have had small joys like finding out I could still read the old Prawda magazines online for example, but with the DÄ board tragically having been shut down last year and a lot of links on livejournal with “new photos” or interviews leading to long since defunct websites, it’s a little hard to keep an overview.

So far that has not caused too much of a hinderance though. I can still sleep pretty soundly at night even with the for example tons of potential photos I might have missed out on seeing (despite the fact that it is tragic to me don’t get me wrong).

Now there is one (1) exception though that has been driving me I N S A N E for about a month now, because no matter where I searched I could find zero information on it and I’ve never had this happen to me before.

I skimmed most of the Meerschweinchen and Das Buch Ä (I have ADHD too, so reading long texts is kinda hard for me) but as far as I saw it, neither of them mentioned anything about that either.

Now this is where you come into play! *affectionatly points at you* Most DÄ fan accounts I know have been around for maybe 1 to 5 years max, but YOU are what I would call one of the few remaining monoliths of the ever so strong fandom “elders” (I mean this with the deepest affection from the bottom of my heart, I hope you don’t misunderstand me)

Anyways, I’m sorry, I keep babbling on and on, let me not waste your time any further:

On Livejournal there was one user who in 2008 made a funny little adorable fan comic on Bela’s well interesting behavior on stage with Los Helmstedt and Wayne in particular and how she found it unacceptable as “Farin is obviously his true love”. It was obviously just a very silly, adorable fan comic that I feel like many fangirls could and can relate too, BUT, the thing that caught me off guard was ONE LINE in one specific panel in particular, where the author’s self-insert curses Farin out. And that was (see attached image 1):

“UND DU! Ich werde dir nie verzeihen das du 95 gekniffen hast, als Bela dich küssen wollte!”

So I legitimately sat there in silence with my mouth agape wondering if I had just read that correctly. Don’t get me wrong, I of course know that FuB have kissed on stage multiple times before, but the way she phrased that instance in particular somehow made me get 100% more intrigued and excited because WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! And afterwards the author bickered with some other fangirls in the comments of her comic and THEY ALL SEEMED TO KNOW WHAT INSTANCE SHE WAS REFERRING TO, BUT NO ONE GAVE ANY ADDITIONAL CONTEXT (see attached image 2)

Now Mädness, you don’t know me, but I live in Germany, it is 1:13 am as I am writing this, tomorrow I have a free day from Uni, I have a stubborn tendency to want to know everything about my hyperfixations and I am angrily staring at the ceiling because no amount of google research can solve this mystery for me; so to quote the first Star Wars movie “You are my only hope!”. Please within your magnificent knowledge of this band and its fandom culture, can you explain to me what that thing was all about/what the story behind it is?

In any case, thank you for taking the time to read this rant whenever it may find you. Remember, Rod loves you <3

Heyyyy, thanks for the ask and kind words! I'm always happy to help, and you have DEFINITELY come to the right place! :D Even tho I don't feel particularly like a fandom elder - true that I have been here since 2009, but I literally have been here "only" since 2009 because I'm not from any of the German-speaking countries, so I didn't hear about them until that late. But I am definitely aiming to be like, the fandom archivist (or one of them), would love to found a website where I could just post printed interviews (I managed to save majority of them to my files before dä Archiv went down for good a couple of years ago), photos and link and keep a list of video interviews. I have already quite many reuploaded videos on my youtube channel because I started hoarding the videos, which was A REALLY GOOD DECISION because now I already have so many videos that otherwise would have become lost media.

Okay now to what your ask is actually all about: I am 100% certain that they are referring to the Absolut Live from 1995, where during Zu spät, Bela walked to Farin and tried to kiss him, and for a moment it looked like Farin was going to let him do so too, but then suddenly realized what was going on, started laughing and then this happened:

I keep going back to video regularly, trying to analyze it and see if I have missed something the last time, but haven't gathered anything new recently. To me it looks like Bela's mic touched Farin's face and it suddenly hit him that Bela wasn't aiming for a normal kiss-on-the-cheek but something else. Especially back then he used to shy out quite easily even around Bela if something like that happened, and he in general always does this self-defence laugh which happens in this video as well :D

Also oh well, LiveJournal days were something else. That's where I started, I don't think the english-speaking dä slash community is accessable to anyone who didn't join it back then as it's been dead for over a decade now. I still have my access there and it's such a goldmine, so much so I wish I knew how to archive every single post there (at least those that are not other people's fanfics) without having to manually browse through and copypaste the contents of everything myself. There's posts starting from like 2005 or something so there's A LOT OF STUFF, even if most links are dead and broken by now. And thanata-phaemo was the best artist! They definitely inspired me with my own drawings a lot, they did lots and lots of FUB fanart (some of that might still be up on Deviantart) and I remember always looking at those drawings and wishing that I could draw like they do, cos I had so many interesting and fluffy FUB scenarios in my head that I did not know how to translate into visual form. Nowadays I can somewhat do that, but still not perfectly as it would require an art style I have been trying to build for years but which is still today impossible for me to do.

But yeah, I hope this answered your question! I know the feel when there is something in written form and it creates all kinds of images in one's head, and you're just dying to know what it REALLY was about. Sometimes it actually sounds better than what was reality. I remember years ago finding a post on that said dä slash community on LJ, it was someone asking if anyone remembered how "Bela and Farin made out on TV in 2003 or so?" and that and all the comments made it sound like it was something different than what's usual them. For years I have kept searching for this video and wishing that it would pop up, and I think that last year it actually did. Tho, it was way more chill which is normal and you can't really see much, but it was still quite an interesting find and immediately made me feel like my search has ended, and I have finally come across this interview people talked about and which has been haunting me for 15 years. It's a nice feeling. (And if you're curious about the clip, I included it in my latest FUB video, which is on my youtube but also linked on a post here and tagged under FUB! :D)

[animehouse-moe]

Animerica Extra Volume 1 Issue 1: A Closer Look

Finally, finally finally I managed to get the first two volumes uploaded to the Internet Archive, which you can find here, and I really do recommend because of Tumblr image compression being kinda gross. Anyways, I wanted to take this opportunity to talk about the first issue of the magazine and what I really found interesting and cool!

First off is the advertisements that appear in the magazine. Considering the scope and popularity of the magazine, the "type" of companies that would advertise are somewhat different. I mean, AnimeVillage got the front cover ad. Not that they're a tiny company, but much like others in here, they're not a company that lasted incredibly long.

Still, what is incredibly interesting though is their website, which is still saved in the internet archive, though in a somewhat incomplete fashion, which you can find here. Anyways, getting to visit an old site like this is a lot of fun, mostly because of the personality that appears with it. Offensive and sharp color palettes, more than a few moving pieces, and a very blocky layout. Honestly, I think sites like this have a considerable amount more to offer in terms of heart and individuality than what modern web design has given us, but that's not the point. The point is that Animerica Extra provides people, specifically the community in this moment, with an experience from the past. I mean, AnimeVillage is from 1998, there's no way that the vast majority of anime or manga fans would even know about them as a company today.

Getting to the actual magazine itself though, there's just two things that I find interesting with the Table of Contents. Firstly, right at the bottom, just above the "Printed in Canada" statement, Viz offers a disclaimer (which you can't read here because of nasty Tumblr compression, so I'll transcribe it): "For the purposes of publication in English, the artwork in this publication is in reverse from the original Japanese Version".

Now, I don't have any OG manga volumes that were printed more like graphic novels, so I can't say for sure, but I find this disclaimer interesting. Either, a) this is a general disclaimer Viz gives about the difference between JP and English publication, or b) Viz is required to provide this disclaimer for the materials. Either way it's a very curious piece.

And then there's the "Vizit our World Wide Web Sites at www.viz.com...". Yes, Viz actually printed "Visit" as "Vizit" alongside "World Wide Web sites". Just such a blast from the past as to how the internet was viewed and interacted with.

And then there's the Yuu Watase feature from the first issue. I think it's something that doesn't immediately stick out to people in the modern day because hey, you just go to MAL or Manga-Updates and you can see everything that Watase's ever done like it's nothing.

But in the 80s that sort of accessibility was non-existent. I mean, like you'll see later on with the letters, people only found out about Animerica Extra through Animerica. It really highlights how valuable this sort of information was to the community during the era, because you simply just would not know anything about Yuu Watase without these pieces.

Similarly, you couldn't go and look up what a series was about on the internet, you only had word of mouth and direct interaction, so excerpts like these that give readers an idea of what is is they're about to read is incredibly important.

Just a quick aside here about advertisements. I know a lot of people will say, "but hey! There were TV ads during the 90s and 2000s that could be run for this stuff! Surely they could provide information and advertisement via that!", and I think the easiest answer is another question: can the modern day animanga industry manage that? Obviously not, no. The avenues that Viz could approach to advertise via were incredibly narrow, largely focused on anime specific storefronts or general comic stores, placing physical advertisement at the top of the pyramid, followed up by ads distributed via their tapes back in the day.

Anyways, back on track to the editorial for an interesting conversation! This one's very interesting to me for just one thing, really- the original sketch giveaway.

It happens today, rather frequently, but with caveats. It's not, "Hey we're running a giveaway so make sure to participate", it's "Hey we've got X mangaka appearing at a con so come for a chance to win their sketch!". The difference in the approach to the giveaway is entirely different. I don't know if I can really say that it's more accessible, but I think that it gives fans a greater opportunity to participate purely because it's cheaper, running on a far longer schedule (as the editorial mentions), and doesn't require in person attendance for the opportunity.

But to be fair, even those giveaways are only a recent thing as the animanga market's boomed. There was quite a long period of dead air in terms of this sort of activity, so I find it really interesting how the landscape has changed in how these now corporations approach these aspects of interaction with their communities.

Also, here's a link to the archived version of the website in the advertisement on this page.

And this magazine really just keeps giving more and more crazy information. This News Notes panel really surprised me. Yes, it's got a lot of plain information like upcoming or finishing anime, but most interesting is the information that the left column provides.

They talk about the mangaka of Steam Detectives appearing at San Diego Comic Con, and not only that, but bringing some early footage of the anime. I mean, that sort of thing has only just begun happening again in the last few years.

It's crazy to see how advanced and engaged Viz was back in the day with the industry overseas. Not that they aren't today, but that the curtain's been pulled across so we no longer get stuff like this in English.

Speaking of things like that, because of the disappearance of things like this, we don't get to see interaction between individuals and the companies. The letters section in this first volume is so interesting because of the era it comes from. The accessibility of information is immediately addressed with the first letter that talks about them finding out about Animerica Extra via the mainline Animerica. Then there's the very talented letter sending that sewed a decorative pillow for their friend. But I think my personal favorite is the nonsensical letter penned by Jonkani.

These magazines are just a gold mine of history and culture pertaining to the North American animanga industry and community, that I really think is important to be able to experience and understand as it contextualizes where this slice of entertainment lies in the modern day.

And this just the first issue of the first volume, there's still 73 more to go that provide all sorts of wonderful and curious information and interactions. Incredibly happy to be able to provide this to the community, but also very hopeful that being vocal with this will both make people more aware of a history that is "ours", and inspire those that have pieces of history like this to archive them.

[mxescargot]

some image IDs TBA, apologies!

re: the tags in my last reblog - have some old/abandoned art of my hornet gijinka + star wars au designs this is gonna be a long post oops first was before i figured out how i wanna dress my hk gijinkas (still kinda proud of it esp the facial expression even if i didnt wanna shade it properly lol) second is her pretty much figured out design in training clothes, plus drawings of her as a togruta jedi (i should really get back to that au i love it so much) third is an unfinished thing from like half a year ago (damn) and thats what she wears post sealing of the black egg temple generally although maybe i shouldve given her more visible bags and stuff idt she would leave Everything at her camps right

she has a rope dart because thats what her attacks remind me of most, not the proudest of how heavily i referenced the bottom pose from another artist and idt i would do that as heavily now? but something something growth

in the third design she has a magic spider silk tabard thing instead of armour (hence the silvery iridescence), i imagine it would help with the whole agility thing. capes r inconvenient but hehe Swoosh in case u couldnt tell my hk gijinkas r kinda chinese fantasy vibes??? maybe i should make her a proper like royal princess kinda design sometime ough (and redesign the tiara in the first one to be more chinese as well... hanfu hair stuff is always sick as all hell) ...also when i first posted the first one i wrote a little drabble. i was not and am still not a person who does writing ever but uh

Hornet was usually good at hiding her problems and keeping a calm demeanour. After all, she was the Daughter of Hallownest, destined to inherit an entire kingdom. Hornet knew things were getting worse for her beloved Hallownest, but she could never have imagined that her own father would destroy their home, locking himself in a dreamworld she could never access. Hornet realized she’d never see the palace again, and let her tears finally flow; there was no longer a kingdom for her to rule anyways. (Please excuse my inability to write LMAO) For clarification: the tiara on her head is imaginary and I imagine gijinka!Hornet impulsively shattering her actual tiara once she realizes Hallownest has gone past the point of no return. The phantom tiara + the Hallownest seal in the background indicates how she’ll always be royalty and cannot distance herself from her father’s legacy.

yeah

apologies for the massive wall of text but this is what tumblr is for right

[abra-ka-dammit]

thought back to this time at Big Surf when i was a kid (8-10 years old?) where i went down a waterslide together with my mom in a double-innertube with her in the front and when we got to the bottom the weight difference between us flipped the tube up and me straight out of it over my mom and face down in the water

i cant really swim and i was disoriented and couldnt figure out which way was Up bc i wouldnt open my eyes underwater so i resigned myself to drowning (while still desperately holding on to the token that let us get a refund when we returned the tube lest it get lost?? also cool that my young self was so ready to accept death i guess) and when i gave up and inhaled i was already out of the water bc my mom had Done The Responsible Parent Thing and frantically pulled me up

for the rest of time i would always have whoever is heavier sit in the back part on 2-rider waterslides, which with friends usually ended up being me, but i never had that problem again lmao

anyways my mom was fat pmuch my whole life and started losing a lot of weight over this past like 6-10 years to the point where she even got surgery to remove a lot of the hanging/loose skin on her legs and butt, and the clothes she tries to recycle at me are actually Too Small For Me, as I sit at my mother's old weight span. admittedly part of me is kinda jealous bc she eats nothing but chips, snack bars, blocks of cheese, and diet dr pepper, and somehow lost all that weight while i similarly eat small quantities of garbage as my meals NOT by choice and have only gotten fatter

HOWEVER i went over there last week and my gal was GAUNT. like (loose) skin and bones straight up, she was telling me how weird it was that she could see her ribs and frankly my envy has turned to Concern bc genetically speaking most of the shit my mom goes through have a high chance of also happening to me and This Doesn't Seem Right

(she said she was going to see her doctor to talk about it, im kinda waiting to hear back bc much as i would like to lose weight and know she wanted to forever too, obviously we dont want that happening as result of some disease or organ failure or whatever the fuck)

anyways to connect these thoughts, as i was scrolling tumblr just now it occurred to me that if we went down that waterslide together with her in the back, she would be the one who gets yeeted off and the mental image was kinda hilarious

[blergeatkitty]

So as a birthday present to myself this year I decided to get myself a second microscope.

If you want to see things up close, send me an ask and I will do my best.

In case you’re interested, I am using a Vision Scientific VS-2FZ Trinicular Zoom Stereo Microscope with a 5MP camera for pics.

Here is today’s fun image set.

We begin at MAXIMUM ZOOOOM!

[ID: Hard to tell what this is up close. But they’re white, shiny, and sharp looking, interspersed with teeny dark bits. Are those fibres? Crystals? Flakes? Skin? Is that dark stuff dirt? Ink? Bugs? Blood? /End ID]

Un-zooming up a notch:

[ID: Um, still a mess of…stuff. Kinda white. More little dark dots. Definitely fibrous. But is it paper? Plastic? Some third and mysterious thing starting with a P merely for the sake of alliteration? And…Is that a curve at the bottom? /End ID]

Ok, not too helpful, let’s back out some more.

[ID: Ok, now we’re getting somewhere. It’s round and it’s fibrous and it’s white with little black specks. There might be a flake there too, same material. Can’t tell if this is normal or out of the ordinary. But it’s really round, even up close, and the round thing looks raised. Like the top of a LEGO block, but…fibrous, thready. /END ID]

And another YOINK on the zoom knob (you heard me, I just yoinked my knob. If you can’t handle that without giggling like a twelve year old then at least keep it down so the other kids can learn something)

[ID: Thé zoomed has been dialled back far enough that we can now clearly see the little round indented thing. The surrounding terrain is flatter, with definite horizontal striations of some kind. Is this proof of life? Were these once channeling some great flood of water, millions of years ago? And…hey, up there. In the upper right hand corner. Is that a shadow cast by another ROUND THING? Quick Robin! To the Bat Zoom/Unzoom dial! /END ID]

[ID: It is clear to me now from this vantage point at which I find myself that there are yet more of these round, fibrous masses. They are arranged in some geometric pattern whose ultimate purpose, for all my scientific knowledge, I cannot fathom. /END ID]

[ID: Thé image is the same, but an immense blade has descended from the heavens, its reflective point, glinting and metallic, pointing at the original target of our investigation. Perhaps if we zoom out fully we would have a better perspective. Quick Watson! The game is afoot! /END ID]

[ID: our perspective shifts beyond zooming, beyond the microscope. Returning to the macro-world, we find ourselves affixing our gaze upon an iPhone picture of an Xacto knife, blade pointing downward at a torn fragment of brightly illuminated absorbent paper towel. We can now see the circular, dotted landscape as the embossed dots making up the pattern on the paper towel fragment. /END ID]

Huh. The part I find nearest about this image set is the black dots. Totally can’t see them without the scope.

Oh yeah, and the fact that this entire time we’ve been looking at little dipped valleys as opposed to raised mountains. The final iPhone image of the microscope viewing area shows the paper roll dimples are all facing downwards.

Nifty!

Anyway, I’m going to do more of these. If you want to see the surface of something specific up close, feel free to ask.

At some point I’ll pull out the other microscope and my slides, because those are fun too, but right now I’m enjoying my new (early) birthday toy.

🥳🔬🧻

[ID: A final close-up shot of the paper towel fragment, brightly illuminated by LED light, dimples clearly facing away /END ID]

[volkswagonblues]

a lil guide to the Fire Nation for the ATLA fic writers out there

(aka. a no means exhaustive primer on east asia by an asian person)

This is a guide for fic writers want to write a canon-era story set in the Fire Nation, or featuring Fire Nation characters. A quick little primer on the tiny details of everyday life that you might not think about, but certainly stuff that would make me, an asian person, wince if I were to encounter it. BRUSHES, not quills. CHOPSTICKS, not forks. 

(note #1: this was partly inspired by a chat with @elilim​) 

(note: #2:  I originally intended it for zukka fic writers before realizing that other writers might find it useful. so apologies for a slight Zuko-bias for that reason)

(note #3: this is all stuff i was thinking about when writing firebender’s guide, in case anyone was wondering)

1. CLOTHING

Okay, I think the most straightforward way to describe what everyone’s wearing most of the time is “tunic”. They’re all just...tunics of different colours and varieties. Later when Zuko’s the Fire Lord he wears robes. The show provides a better visual guide than I could, here are a few notes to keep in mind:

a) Japanese people wear their collars LEFT crossed over RIGHT

I don’t think this would come up in writing as much as it would in art, but it’s considered bad luck to do it the wrong way because that’s only for dead people. Let my boy Zuko demonstrate:

b) There are no buttons

This is picky, but Wikipedia says “Functional buttons with buttonholes for fastening or closing clothes appeared first in Germany in the 13th century.[6] They soon became widespread with the rise of snug-fitting garments in 13th- and 14th-century Europe.” I kinda believe it. If you look closely, characters’ clothes are always tied together or wrapped in some way with a belt. If there are fasteners, they’re braided frog closures that go into a little loop, like the qipao-style dresses women wear in Ba Sing Se, or Zuko’s casual prince’s clothes in the topmost image. Anyways, I don’t think Zuko or Azula or the Gaang would technically button or unbutton anything when they’re changing clothes. Clothing is designed to be tied, not buttoned.

[so much more under cut]

c) This isn’t a real rule, but there’s something called koromogae, or the seasonal changing of clothing in Japan.

This is something I learned when I was writing firebender’s guide, and I just liked the fun detail about there being a strict calendar for when to wear something. I liked the idea of someone like Zuko, who actually spent most of his formative years outside of the Fire Nation, coming home and just suffering mutely through the summer heat because upper class etiquette says no changing into cooler clothes until August 15. 

From My Asakusa: 

And this website:

Generally, people change from thick, heavy, dark-coloured clothes for winter to thin, lighter, bright-coloured clothes for spring and summer. In traditional Japanese culture, particularly in formal settings such as tea ceremony, it is important to acknowledge the changes of seasons—in such circumstances, not only the patterns and colours of the kimono that are worn but also the utensils and furniture that are used are required to change. By changing their clothing, people notice and appreciate the change of seasons. [Japan Foundation]

Here are some visual guides from the official creators for clothes: (notice how it’s pretty much always left over right)

2.FOOD AND EATING

a) Traditional cuisine

It seems like the most common foods in canon are Fire Flakes and meat, to the point where poor Aang had to eat lettuce out of the garbage at some point.

HOWEVER, the Fire Nation seems to basically a big subtropical archipelago, so I would guess that seafood and rice are common. If you want to write about characters eating, a. quick google for “traditional japanese cuisine” would help you come up with a menu really quickly.

Wikipedia says:

The traditional cuisine of Japan, washoku (和食), lit. "Japanese eating" (or kappō (ja:割烹)), is based on rice with miso soup and other dishes; there is an emphasis on seasonal ingredients. Side dishes often consist of fish, pickled vegetables, and vegetables cooked in broth. Seafood is common, often grilled, but also served raw as sashimi or in sushi.

But before we get too serious, at one point the Gaang eats a “smoked sea slug” (Sokka’s Master) 

Oh ATLA, never stop being you.

b) Utensils

One thing to keep in mind is chopstick etiquette. Someone like Zuko or Toph, for instance, would have completely internalized all of these.

Another thing is that there are no glasses. Cups and bowls are made of ceramic or clay. Let the Gaang show you:

And another note: characters won’t eat “bread” in the European sense, ie. a baked lump of dough. Steamed buns, yes. Fried pancakes made from batter, yes. Flatbreads, okay I’ll give it a pass. Rice or noodles should be the most common carbs of choice.

3.ETIQUETTE

“In the homeland, we bow to our elders” - angry schoolmistress in The Headband.

Japan Guide has a list of etiquette rules for visiting Japan, which is interesting but not too necessary to read. In general, based on what The Headband tells us, Fire Nation characters would have been raised with a strong nationalist curriculum that values communal contribution over individualist expression. Even someone like Zuko, who openly rebels against that, probably couldn’t help but be affected by it. In general the Fire Nation seems to have an East Asian-ish set of values. It’s patriarchal, all the positions of authority are filled by men; there seems to be a strong emphasis on patriotism; there’s a sense of diffidence and respect towards one’s elders; and finally, there’s an emphasis on “knowing” one’s place in society and fitting into what’s expected of oneself.

I don’t really know how to describe it, but in China and Japan I sometimes feel like there’s rules for everything, and even people born and raised there acknowledge it could be stifling at times. You could go down a rabbit hole researching points of etiquette (for instance, rules on who has to sit where in group dinners...), but to me the most important thing is acknowledging that Fire Nation has a rigid system of etiquette, and also, they’re an imperialist power who’s pretty prejudiced against foreigners. Poor Aang/Kuzon gets called “mannerless colony slob” just for being slow on the bowing action (!!!)

(in firebender’s guide I had a lot of fun imagining the stupid microaggressions Ambassador Sokka has to face in the Fire Nation, so obviously I’m just biased)

4.WRITING AND DESKS

Characters would probably write on paper, with a calligraphy brush. Not quills or pens -- a brush. Technically, old Japanese and Chinese texts should be written top to bottom, right to left, but the show itself doesn’t do this, so I think you’re fine. 

One fun thing about traditional calligraphy is that you don’t use bottled ink. You have something called an ink stone, and then you grind your ink yourself by rubbing the ink stone in a special little dish with a bit of water. In my (very few) encounters with this stuff in the calligraphy lessons of my youth, the ink stones can be plain or have beautiful designs on the side. It looks something like this: 

ATLA is an East Asian-ish universe, so characters are likely to be kneeling at a table, not sitting. To demonstrate, here’s my boy Sokka doing his famous rainbow at Piandao’s:

and here’s the war chamber meeting when Zuko speaks out against a general’s plans to sacrifice some soldiers:

THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS: This is Zuko’s cute little setup when he’s writing his goodbye letter to Mai. In this case he’s writing in a chair and table. It’s possible that some furniture items, like a sitting desk and a bed in a bedframe (not a bedroll or futon) are special royal palace features. Normally in a private setting we see characters sitting on the ground or on a slightly elevated platform with a low table. Maybe Caldera is just different? Or rich people are just different: the Bei Fongs also have a sit-down dining table + chair setup.

(That little rectangular box is his ink dish!!)

5.A NOTE ON GENERAL CULTURE

It’s worth talking about a few general points of East Asian culture. I can’t claim to speak for ALL of Asia, and I don’t think I should. But I do think ATLA fic writers who want to set something in the Fire Nation should take a few moments to at least skim the wiki pages for filial piety and Nihonjinron (literally, "theories/discussions about the Japanese"). There’s a certain...vibe to...asianness... that I’m not sure I can explain without like, a doctorate degree in sociology. 

It’s a bit like gender, I guess. There’s no definitive checklist to what is a woman and what is a man, and we can argue that gender is performative, that it’s a construct, but at the end of the day gender is still (tragically) real in the sense that it still shapes people and affects how we walk and talk and dress and think. Nationality is the same. Obviously, the Fire Nation is a made up place in a made up show, but out of respect to the cultures that inspired it, I do think it’s worth familiarizing yourself with some of these cultures’ codes and values.

Also, ahem, if I can direct you to war crimes in the Japan’s colonial empire. Again, worth remembering that the Fire Nation was an imperalist colonizer too.

I might do a continuation of this post and talk through my more abstract takes about Fire Nation culture - Is Zuko an example of filial piety gone right or filial piety gone wrong? Why I think Zuko’s flashbacks are like, at least part teenage melodrama bullshit (the reason is son preference), how someone like Sokka might be treated once he’s openly Water Tribe in the Fire Nation (probably with racism...), specific aspects of asian homophobia and racism, etc. We’ll see.

This is not a definitive guide. Comments and critique welcome.

If you think there’s a factual mistake, PLEASE hop in my asks and let me know. I also think there’s a huge blind spot in ATLA for South and Southeast Asian representation, so I acknowledge that I can’t speak for all Asians, and there is no such thing as a “pan-asian” identity.

If there’s something else you’re curious about, I’m not a historian or anything, but I like research. Ask me and I’ll try to answer the best I can.

And oh, one last thing, this is how I do research when I wrote firebender’s guide, in case anyone’s interested in learning more (LINK)

[rwprincess]

Head Over Feet (Brian Johnson x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.8k

Synopsis: What’s that sound? It’s another anachronistic Brian Johnson songfic! (Based on Alanis Morissette’s Head Over Feet) You’re one of Bender’s trash-punk friends and things change drastically when he brings the scrawny brain from detention with him to meet you all. Set up in snippets, your relationship develops with Brian, even if you weren’t really looking for a relationship.

CW: Teenage smoking (including reader), swearing, parental abuse (being being kicked out), sexism, angst and fluff

“This is Johnson,” Bender indicated the boy he brought along to your group’s spot under the bleachers.

“Brian, please.” The kid corrected. You eyed the gangly youth from top to bottom; in his sweater over a crisply-ironed collared shirt and khakis, he definitely didn’t fit in here with you all. You’d be called grungy punks at best. You didn’t think any of you even owned an iron and crisp definitely wasn’t your style. You blew out a puff of smoke, exhaling the nicotine from your lungs and shifted your gaze to Bender, wondering what he was at with this. He wasn’t the best guy, but pranking this preppy little nerd by bringing him down to your hangout? That seemed beneath him.

“You, uh, running some kinda charity here, Bender? We’re not exactly Make-A-Wish material, kid.” Scorch told the blonde dweeb and you snorted at the thought.

“Shut the fuck up,” was all Bender said in response. The rest of the twenty minutes of Brian Johnson standing there was of course, incredibly awkward and it was clear to everyone that he didn’t fit in. But that didn’t stop him from coming back a week later. And again a few days after that. And again and again until, well, that dork had grown on the lot of you. While he didn’t partake in cigarette smoking like most of you, he did take Bender up on his weed on several occasions and was actually really funny while high. He did weirdly spot-on impressions and had a sense of humor that none of your group had anticipated.

And, as much as you would vehemently deny it, you liked him when he was sober, too. He was incredibly smart and helpful and while his jokes were different without marijuana in his system, he could be amusing. That first awkward encounter was back in March, maybe April. But now you spent time with him without the convenience of school pulling you together. Now it was June and you sought to spend time with him, even without the group. Tonight, you were laying in a field not far from the high school, just the two of you. You liked to listen to him ramble on about the constellations and the myths about why they were named as they were. You remembered liking that as a kid, but you didn’t remember most of the stories. You knew you could ask him questions about the actual stars, too. Like, the science of it, and he would know. But you’d rather let him ramble and tackle one subject at a time. Even though he focused more on science and math, he was a pretty good storyteller, and right now that provided you with more of an escape than talking about the chemical composition of a star. When he finished his retelling of Ursa Minor’s story, however, he remained silent and didn’t start up a new piece of lore. After a moment, you looked at him to see what the hold up was, but you just caught his eye as his gaze was already fixed on you. Your heart started pounding in your chest because you knew what was coming.

“You know, we could go on an actual date some time.” Brian suggested, breaking the silence. You closed your eyes, almost wincing at the words. He was generally more subtle than this, but the same idea had been brought up before. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Brian. In general, you did, and in the honest depths of your soul, it was as more than a friend. But, every time it came down to this subject, you panicked. You had never been serious with anyone and the thought of dating was completely foreign to you. You had messed around with some guys before but you never had feelings for them. You didn’t know how to depend on another person, to have an actual relationship with them.

I had no choice but to hear you

You stated your case time and again

I thought about it

You sighed, your eyes still closed. You didn’t know what to tell him. Before, he always left it as more of a hint and it was easier to dodge. Now he was just coming out and saying it. Basically asking you out, so you would actually have to turn him down this time. The terrible thing was, you didn’t really want to. The conscious side of you wanted to agree and go out with him, on a proper date. But your subconscious kicked you into fight or flight mode and if you weren’t in the middle of a field, you might have picked flight and walked away. But that didn’t seem to be an option.

“Look, Johnson. It’s not that easy. Just...don’t waste your time on me.”

“I’m already wasting my time on you.” He pointed out, but when you took a peek at him, he didn’t seem upset about it. He was actually grinning about it. “We’re already wasting our time out here. Or at the library, or under the bleachers… So why not like, a movie theater or dinner, or my house?”

“Oh yeah, your mom would love having me around.” You joked, humorlessly. The smattering of times you had met Brian’s mother hadn’t gone swimmingly. You could read the derision in her voice and knew she did not approve of her good little baby hanging out with a ne’er-do-well like you.

“She’d come around. You’re different once someone actually gets to know you.” He meant it as a compliment, but you took it as your out.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You leapt up, indignantly and he just gaped at you like a fish out of water.

“I didn’t mean anything bad by it, I swear!” He put his hands up defensively as you looked down at him. “Forget it, I’m sorry.” You had victory, he dropped the subject and your friendship could last another night and you could try to pretend like he wasn’t right, that you two weren’t meant to be something more.

*~~~~*

You treat me like I'm a princess

I'm not used to liking that

You ask how my day was

For the most part, working at Bert’s auto shop felt worthwhile and valuable. Other days, it chewed you up and spit you out. It was hard being in such a masculine environment and not fitting into that type. Customers (mostly men, but even the women too) thought that you were less knowledgeable and handy than your cohorts. Bender’s teasing didn’t help that image, either.

Now you slid into the booth at Gino’s pizzeria utterly deflated and defeated. Of course, Brian took notice right away. “Rough day?” He inquired, pushing a menu towards you even though he knew you ordered the same thing every time.

“That’s not even the half of it. Why does Bender hafta be such a dick all the time?!” You asked, incredulously but sincerely, diving right into your problem.

“I don’t know. I think he thinks it’s part of his charm? Maybe it is. I mean, we’re still friends with him.” You nodded at his point, but clenched your fists just the same.

“I just wish he knew when to back off sometimes. Like, he never realizes he’s taking it too far and digging you further into a shithole.”

“What did he do this time?” Brian’s gaze on you was unbroken; it made you feel important, like your opinion, your story, was the only thing that mattered.

“So we got this old guy in the shop today. Beautiful car, so of course he was hesitant with me touching it.” You began and his eyebrows furrowed, already not liking the direction this was going. “And I’m trying to prove myself worthy to work on this car, even though I would just be doing an oil change, which isn’t like a big deal anyway, right? Simple stuff.” You looked to him to get acknowledgement to move forward.

“I mean, I guess. I don’t really know about oil changes or anything about cars. But I know you do.”

“Right, so Bender has to go and make a crack to the old guy about how they won’t let me near it and I’m just the secretary for the shop or whatever. Just a total dick move. But of course the guy believed him and laughed with him and sent me to go get him a cup of coffee? I mean, what the hell is that?”

“That’s not right. And you wear a mechanic’s uniform at work, why would he think--?”

“Because macho man Bender told him I was! He was more believable than me.” You sank back and put a hand up to brace your forehead as the waitress approached the table. You prepared to order your drink when she set down exactly what you would have ordered in front of you and walked away, promising to come back in a few minutes. You blinked at the cup as if it magically had appeared.

“I uh, figured you’d get the usual and you’d need it when you got here, so I ordered for you. I hope that’s okay.” Brian said and then looked away, suddenly embarrassed by the idea. Since he wasn’t looking at you anyway, you allowed your lips to twitch up into a smile threatening to break out on your face...but only for a moment.

“Yeah, whatever. So anyway, Bender…” you carried on, pretending nothing happened, but secretly cataloguing his gesture in your memory.

*~~~~*

The only thing worse than arguing with Brian or him pissing you off was him making you laugh. There were times that you would go home with sore sides and itchy eyes from the tears that formed while laughing so hard. Then you would always, always reflect on the hours you just spent together, feeling the warmth and butterflies tickle your insides and a nervous heat would prickle your skin as you thought about how happy Brian made you. He never pushed you to do anything; he liked you the way you were. Sure, he would drop hints here and there about how you should stop smoking or give you advice when you had a particularly bad argument with one of your friends, but overall, he just accepted you. And you knew how hard that was to find.

You had never been popular and when junior high rolled around, you accepted that you never would be. You found your own little group of outcasts who understood what it was like to be kicked down time and again, and now he had somehow joined that group too. You knew he understood how it felt. Even though he looked different and came from a very different social circle, he had been looked down upon by his peers all his life. You were guilty of judging him the same way when you first met him, but now you couldn’t imagine life without him. He was cut of the same cloth and you could see yourself in him, which is why you just clicked. And he was so kind and so patient with you. You tried to push him away dozens of times, to put up the barriers and the walls that worked so well for everyone that came before him; you couldn’t be hurt if you never got attached. Where most people gave up and only saw the cold, distant bitch you gave them, Brian always saw something more. He didn’t give up in breaking down those walls, and even accepted just being your friend. That made you love him even more.

Shit, wait. Did you just think about loving Brian? A crush is one thing. Having a buddy to fool around with is one thing. Being in love was quite another.

You've already won me over in spite of me

Don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet

Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are

I couldn't help it

It's all your fault

*~~~~*

Mercedes Johnson was all about keeping up appearances, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t hear her arguing with Brian on the other side of the door, about you. Again. You had known from the second you met her that she didn’t like you. She was instantly worried about the influence you’d have on her son; it was a common reaction from parents based on the way you looked and the company you kept. You would think you’d be used to it by now.

However, it truthfully bothered you more because this was Brian’s mother. You were hoping that she would be different and see the person underneath like her son had, or at the very least, that she would eventually warm up to you. You had no luck with either.

“I’m not comfortable with having her over at the house right now.” You could hear her tell Brian.

“She’s my friend, ma. Of course she’s going to come over--”

“I’m aware of that but you know I wish she weren’t. I would prefer that you keep the company of other friends.” The formality of her sentences while she was still cruelly putting you both down made you cringe.

“You don’t know her because you won’t give her a chance. She’s not that different from my other friends.”

“You have friends in the Physics Club, from Knowledge Bowl, Honor Students. You don’t need the association with a hoodlum like that or John Bender and I don’t know why you keep insisting on bringing them into my home when I have repeatedly told you no. I don’t want them around your sister, or even you!”

“Fine. Then we’ll leave.” You heard the door swing open harshly and Brian was motioning for you to follow him out of the house.

“Brian Ralph Johnson!” You heard his mother cry after the two of you. Brian held open the front door for you and you looked at him cautiously before rushing out. You knew you weren’t wanted there, but you were worried that he wouldn’t come with you. You were even more worried that he would. “You are not leaving this house.” Mercedes put on the most intimidating tone you had witnessed her use.

“No, I am. We are. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t bother coming back tonight if you walk out of this house!” She was now pink-faced and losing all of the reserved, polished look you had seen her have. She had never been so...uncomposed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” Brian said and grabbed you by the elbow as he escorted you down the driveway to your car. He immediately got into the passenger seat and as you sunk behind the steering wheel, you glanced at him.

“Brian, this is stupid. You don’t have to---you shouldn’t do this.” The whole situation reminded you of the many times you had been kicked out of your house. This was just another home you weren’t welcome in.

He clenched his jaw in response. “Let’s just go. I’ll figure it out later. Please, just drive.”

Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole

You're so much braver than I gave you credit for

That's not lip service

“Your mom gave you a choice, you know. It’s not like she told you to get out. She actually told you not to leave.” You said as you both sat on the trunk of your car, looking out across the field that was slowly turning to a golden hue, both from the afternoon sun and the change into autumn. Neither of your houses were really an option to go to, so you just chose the empty field that you would look at stars in during the summer.

“It’s not like it was really a choice though, was it? I’m tired of her trying to control every part of my life. I need to start thinking for myself, doing things for myself. She needs to understand that I’m going to do what I want, and like who I want to like.” He looked at you meaningfully for a moment, but you looked away quickly. It was too heavy for you to process right now.

“That’s a big step. I’m really impressed with you for standing up for yourself.” You told him, and he gave you an appreciative, heart-stopping smile in return that caused your cheeks to flush. Your parents had shouted at you to leave so many times before, any time you were ‘inconvenient’ for them, that it was hard to relate to someone who chose not to stay. But you wanted to support him and you did feel proud of him today. You thought back to the most recent event in which you had been dismissed from your family, and how you had tried to take it out on Brian:

You slammed your locker and watched him almost jump out of his skin. “I don’t want to talk about this.” You growled at Brian.

“I understand that, but you need to. You can’t just--”

“Just what?”

“You can’t just act like nothing happened or run away from it...run away from here.” You had been disciplined at school yet again and your parents had had enough. You had a big fight with them the night prior and did not sleep in your own bed. The tiredness racked your body today and you were stiff from sleeping in your car. If it weren’t for the social aspect, you wouldn’t have bothered coming to school. But you quickly realized you weren’t in the mood to talk to anyone, and you were only making the situation worse.

“Like hell I can’t.” You stated, quickly turning to walk away.

“Y/N, don’t. Come on, talk to me. Tell me what happened. We can figure it out together.”

“There’s nothing to figure out, bucko. I’ll be fine. I’ll do this on my own. I’m used to that anyway.”

“But you don’t have to be alone, Y/N. That’s what I’m saying! That’s my whole point: I’m here for you!”

“I didn’t ask you to be, Brian.”

“No, because friends don’t have to ask.” His words scared you. Nobody had so adamantly offered to be a safety net to you before.

“Yeah,” you scoffed, “we’re great friends. We’ve bonded so much in the, what, four months you’ve known me?” You rolled your eyes, trying to make him feel uncomfortable, to drive a wedge between you. You only knew how to put up walls, how to run.

“You know we are.”

“Yeah, sure, right. Friends. Not like you want to sleep with me or anything.” You tried to drive another knife into him, to play it off like he was following you only because he had a crush on you, one you tried to pretend wasn’t reciprocated. “It’s not going to happen, Brian. So just accept that we’re not friends.”

He let you get about three steps away before you heard him say, “No. I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. Sure, part of me wants something more, but...I care about you, Y/N. And if we can just be friends, I am happy with that, I swear. But don’t do this to me. Don’t try to shut me out or walk away or act like you’re fine. I know you well enough to know you’re not.” When you turned around, you could see that he had tears rimming his eyes, threatening to fall, which made your own tears spring up as well. “I am your friend. I’m not going to just let you go and do something stupid. You are going to talk about this. If not to me, then someone else. But you can’t just run away or sleep in your car or, or…”

“Okay.” You said, softly.

“Okay?”

“Fine, let’s talk about it. I screwed up again and my parents kicked me out. So what do I do?”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I...we’ll think of something.” He began to tell you, but you bit your lip and drowned him out in your own sobs. Everything crashed in on you at once; you hadn’t escaped in time. You slid down your locker wall and sat on the floor. Brian joined you and put his arm around you tentatively.

You are the bearer of unconditional things

You held your breath and the door for me

Thanks for your patience

After that day, you knew he wouldn’t let you go. You tried your best to brush him off, to hurt him, to land irreparable blows. But it was all in vain; he stuck by you. You admired how he stood up for you, for your relationship, whatever that meant. He didn’t back down, even though you knew he genuinely cared what you thought. He was willing to put everything on the line just to be with you, in whatever capacity you would allot him. And today, he had chosen you again. He had picked a fight with his mother and chosen you. He placed you above being safe and comfortable and at home right now.

“I’m sorry, this must seem so stupid to be complaining about. I know I don’t have it that bad, it’s just that--”

“No, your problems are valid, too. Your mom sucks.” You told him and he laughed, “But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t...weird to have someone be given the choice to stay instead of being yelled at to get out and that you’re worthless and---I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make this about me.” You said softly, looking down at your hands.

“No, I get it. It’s gotta be on your mind a lot, the uncertainty. Plus, I don’t mind talking about you.” He nudged your shoulder with his own, trying to be playful but you knew he meant that. He always put you first. You couldn’t help your next impulse as your hand shot up to cup his face and you leaned in and kissed him roughly. You weren’t entirely sure why you had done it. It would probably change everything and you couldn’t tell if you were doing it selfishly to feel like someone cared or to keep him around or because you truly wanted to. Of course, he kissed you back, and the feeling it gave you pushed a lot of those doubts from your mind.

You're the best listener that I've ever met

You're my best friend

Best friend with benefits

What took me so long?

*~~~~*

The kiss in the field still didn’t mean you were “together.” Realistically, it complicated things for a while. You avoided Brian for a couple of days and didn’t discuss it when you finally caved in to your desire to see him. He didn’t bring it up either, even though there were many times he would look at your lips like he wanted to make a move again, but you never talked about it. Things began to look “normal” after about two weeks. You spent time at the record shop, or under the bleachers with your friends or in the library with his friends. He nagged you about giving up smoking and you finally listened, much to his surprise.

“What made you finally decide to quit?” He asked, looking at the nicotine patch on your arm. You shrugged, not wanting to tell him the truth.

“I guess I just finally got tired of you being a broken record, mother hen.” You teased him, but he just smiled because he was happy with your choice. The truth of the matter was, you had done it for him. While you weren’t with him, you wanted to be. You didn’t want to keep doing something that bothered him so much, but you also knew that eventually, your habit of smoking would cost time with him and you didn’t want that. You lied to yourself that you didn’t want a relationship and weren’t thinking about a future with Brian, but you were. Every time he helped you study or encouraged you to do your best, the time your parents were out of town so he had made you his “specialty” of spaghetti in your kitchen, when you drove him around singing songs together on the radio...you thought about doing those things with him forever and instead of the fear you used to feel at such a thought, you felt happiness. You anticipated a future with him, something to look forward to.

I've never felt this healthy before

I've never wanted something rational

I am aware now

I am aware now

*~~~~*

“It’s kind of weird, yeah. But they’re cute together, I guess.” You had just returned from a movie with Bender and Claire. You were surprised at how long their relationship had lasted, especially since you had hated Claire at first. You assumed she was dating Bender as a statement, but it had been over six months and they were still together and it just seemed to work.

“It must be nice to have someone like that. Even if they don’t make sense, they care about each other. It just must be a nice thing to have a relationship like that.” Brian looked at you for a moment before backpedaling, realizing he must have made it sound like he was guilt-tripping you. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you out again. I really just was complimenting them--”

“Well, maybe you should.” You cut him off.

You realized how rare a find like Brian truly was. He always put you before himself; he listened to all of your problems and knew when to offer solutions and when to just listen. He was endlessly supportive, and kind. He kept taking giant risks just to be with you, to show you that you mattered to him. You knew, without him saying it, that he loved you. Why else would someone go to the lengths he did, just to make you happy? You had tried everything to shake him, to get rid of him so neither one of you would be in too deep to get hurt. But he stayed, and now, you wouldn’t want him to go anyway. It was too late; you were both already in too deep.

He just blinked at you, sure he had heard incorrectly. “Wh-what?”

“I said, maybe you should. Ask me out again.”

“Y/N, do you want to go out with me?” He asked, unsure. It felt like a setup, but he knew you wouldn’t do something so cruel to him.

“Yes.” You replied, softly.

“Why?” He asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“I don’t know. I guess you won me over.” You chuckled, but he failed to see the humor in it, so you changed to a more serious tone. “Brian, I thought that these feelings would go away, that you would go away. Lord knows how hard I’ve tried to push you. But...you didn’t and the feelings didn’t. I-I love you. And I’m pretty sure I’m going to keep loving you, I don’t want to waste my time with anyone else. And...And I think that you love me.”

“I do.” He breathed quietly, with zero hesitation.

“So, why fight it any more? I was afraid that I would hurt you, but I think I’ve already done that and you’ve stuck around.” He nodded in confirmation of that fact. “And I was scared that I would get hurt but...but I’ve realized that you won’t do that to me, either.”

You've already won me over in spite of me

Don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet

And don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are

I couldn't help it

It's all your fault

He took your hands in his, “You’re serious? You really want this? Because, you know how I feel. How I’ve always felt.” You nodded in response, tears quickly filling your eyes, which was a rarity for you. He leaned in towards you to kiss you, for the first time since your conversation in the field over a month ago. He waited for you to be ready in every aspect of your relationship and you had never known so much love and respect before. It took some adjusting to, but he had pulled you in and made you fall for him again and again.

Just gonna tag my buddy...

@90sinequity

[argumentl]

The Freedom of Expression Ep 58 - [NSFW] The truth behind the DIR EN GERY misprint, and a mysterious voice...

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru, with this week's episode of the Freedom of Expression. Joe, Tasai, welcome...Um..

T: Ah!

J: What is it?

T: No way!

K: Its 'Young Jump'

J: Ah, Young Jump.

K: I think you already know about this, but we put an ad on it like this *shows back page*.

J: Oh, looks great!

T: Yeah, it does. Very impactful.

K: Its good, isn't it?

T: Yeah, great impact.

K: There's something a bit odd about it.

J: Haha

T: Huh? Where?

J: Eh? Something odd?

K: Yeah, its a bit strange. There's a bit of a mistake.

J: Is the kanji for Oboro correct?

K: Yeh, and this is right, about the release on the 28th of April.

J: And Wenesday is correct, right?

K: Yeah, and the explosion screening schedule is ok.

T: Yeah, it is.

K: The ticket price info is also all fine.

J: Yep.

K: After that there's only this bottom section.

J:Yeah.

T: DIR EN...

T, J: GERY, haha.

J: Has a new band formed?

K: We screwed up.

J, T: Hahaha

K: Its hard to believe, right?

J: Incredible. I did not expect this..Dir en gery.

T: I thought it was like a trick or something.

J: Oh, to make it go viral or..?

T: Yeah, going with Dir en gery.

J: Kaoru, what was it?

T: We'll find out about it here.

K: It was a total mistake.

J, T: Hahaha

J: Seriously? Eh? Really?

K: Yeah.

T: Does that mean it was done on a hurry, if its a seroius mistake?

K: Yeah, I guess so.

J: Well, Tasai, you work for a newspaper, and I also work for Rolling Stone, so we understand this, but our work is handed in for checking, you know, proof-reading. And they do spot mistakes, but honestly, I have never seen mistake of this size before.

T: Yeh. This is at the level of 'accident'. However, there is a case for saying that we cannot attack this. What I mean by that is that we too make mistakes.

J: Yes, thats true. There is that. Well, this goes for magazines etc too, but if you do proof-reading within the organization, for example, if the writer writes an article, the editor will proof-read it, and they may intend to, but if everyone is really busy with loads of other work, they will run out of time. Then they will get it checked by an external proof-reader. Even then there are sometimes still typos left over.

T: Yeah, there are.

J: There are, right? Human error happens.

T: Yeah, like if I misspell a name or something, I can correct it on the digital version, but on paper it appears on every copy out there.

J: Yeah..

K: But like this?!

J: Yeah, we say this, but we've never seen a typo this bad. Like, I've mistaken small details in names and stuff before.

K: Yeah, like Young Jump becoming Young JumP, right?

J, T: Yeh, haha.

K: Not like this! *points to 'GERY'*

J: Haha, this is...

*Sound of strange voice occurs in background - On screen text: 'What was that voice?! One more time.. (Clip of strange voice re-plays) No-one during the filming heard this. Its a mystery voice'*

J: Tell us what happened?

T: Yeah, lets ask.

K: Um, we had the design made, and the designer made the regular logo and put it down here in this fixed spot, so it looked as if the logo was done, even though there was a mistake in it. At the time, I wasn't looking at the band name, I was looking at the overall design, and ths impact it had. Like this image of Kyo from RokumaykanGIG. My eyes were drawn to the best parts of the design. It wasn't really designed to emphasize the band name. Its designed to showcase this top part, so I, like, didn't see it. Die didn't even see it, and he normally checks these really carefully. Even if we miss something, he normally spots it straight away. 

J: Ah, even Die didn't notice it! ???*1

K: Yeah. We were too busy checking that there were no mistakes in the tour schedule.

J: Yeah.

K: But the information is all correct, so if its just the band name with a mistake, well, maybe its ok.

T: This could become a really rare item in time to come.

J: Yeah, cause there isn't gonna be a misspelling with Dir en grey again after this. That point will be strengthened.

K: Not for a while yeah. A long time ago, we had a single out called 'Filth', and there was a mistake in the title of the song on the cover jacket.

T: Eh? So this is the second time this has happened to you?

K: Well...yeh.

T: Hahaha

K: Well, we occasionally make small mistakes *2, but...

T: This is big.

J: Can I suggest something? Good things come in threes.

K: Ah, terrible.

J: So there will be a third time to come, imagine it, it could be both the title and the band name with a mistake.

T: Hahaha

K: Well, what can I do about it now? If you buy the single 'Filth' even now, its still like that. So filth is spelled f-i-l-h..huh? h-f...um, it's..

T: ..t-h

K: f-i-l-t-h, but the i became f, I mean h. So because there were two h's I realised the mistake. If there really is only one h, it could be that they just made the letters look in that style, but they look the same to me.

T: Ehh? I want to line Filth up next to this magazine.

J: Yeah

J, K: Hahaha

T: Don't you have it here? Filth?

K: We do.

T: Lets put them out together!

K: When I saw this (*Young Jump*) though, well, I thought it was quite rare*3, it could become a talking point. If you take a bad thing in a smooth way, someone will notice, so I thought we could just go with it.

J: Brilliant!

K: And then I posted on Twitter, like 'Ooops'. And that was a photo of the actual magazine, so it really was like 'ooops'.

T: As soon as I saw your Tweet, I was like 'Huh?!' and I went to the convenience store and bought it. haha

J: Well, in that sense it is a rare item

T: Can we decide on the correct reading for this? How would you say it?

K: Ge-ri?

J: Dir en gery (ge-ri).

K: jeri? geri?

J: geri? jeri?

T: gari?

J: Its geri, right? Well, jeri is like..

K: In the basic form its geri, right?

J: Yeah. jeri might have to be 'Gerry' with two r's.  Which is best Dir en jeri or Dir en geri?

T: Should we decide? Even though it doesn't really matter.

J: Yeah

J: Dir en geri sounds like a struggling country rock artist or something, haha. Dir en jeri has jellyfish vibes.

T: The official name: Dir en Gery (jeri). haha.

J: I want you guys to do a joke live show as Dir en gery. You could switch parts, like Kaoru, you could be on drums.

K: Ah, but we did kinda do that once, we changed parts on stage. I just made a load of noise.

J: Ahh, so you could do that as Dir en gery somewhere officially and play one song.

T: Ahh, thats a good idea.

J: Do a cover or something.

T: You could do ???*4

K: Er, no. haha.

J: Haha, this will getting bigger and bigger.

T: But I heard recently at the MeguroRokumaykanGIG screening, Kyo said  that Toshiya used to play guitar a long time ago.

K: He was playing guitar the first time we saw him playing in a band...well, I don't know if he was playing it, or just waving it around a lot.

T: Yeah, Kyo said the stage was going wild.

K: Yeah, he wasn't playing.

J: So, when you guys switched instruments on stage, what did you do Kaoru?

K: Drums.

J: Oh, drums?

K: Thats the one I wanna try out the most.

J: So if you guys played as Dir en gery, Kaoru, you would be..?

T: Drums?

K:...Nah....*imitates playing the castanets*

J: Tambourine? Oh, castanets? So, it doesn't necessarily have to be the same instruments you play at the moment?

K: Yeah. As long as we play as a proper band.

J: Yeah, so Kyo could play the recorder..

T: Someone could hit the ???*5

J: Yeah, yeah. Oh, that would be good.

*The single Filth gets passed over*

K: I'll just get it out.

*K shows cover jacket to J*

J: Oh, here, right?

K: Can you see, there are two h's.

J: Yes. I see.

*K shows it to T*

J: The first h is a typo?

K: Yeah.

T: Its a bit difficult to spot though.

K: We didn't even notice, we thought it was just the design.

J: Yeah. Put them together now.

*K puts magazine and CD together*

J, T: Hahaha

K: By the way, it was the same person who designed both of these.

J, T: Haha

K: When he saw it he was so pained.

T: Its ok, ???*6

J: Ahh, well, it can't be helped though.

*On screen note: Again? (weird voice appears)*

J: Even if there is a spelling mistake, its conveying the atmosphere that is the main thing.

K: Yeah, thats the emphasis.

J: But on the other hand, you could say that as soon as 'Dir' appears, people recognise it as Dir en grey, even with this kind of misspelling. The name is that well know.

T: Hmm, yeh

K: Hm, well, yeh, if you look at it up to here. But for us, its impossible.

J: Well, I guess yeah. It goes for Rolling Stones too. For example, if the last n in Rolling Stones became an m, you wouldn't immediately spot it. If it came up all of a sudden, you would just think 'Ah, the Stones'. It's that kind of name recognition. You could see it in that way. But I didn't know it was the same designer who did it both times.

K: Our boss was pretty mad about it.

J, T: Hahaha

J: Really? I see.

K: He couldn't believe it.

J: Well, yeah. Its also the most important part.

T: Well, yeah, and cause its already in circulation.

J: Yeah. Well, everyone can keep it as a treasure.

K: Where's Kami?

J: Yeah, isn't he here?

Kami: Oh, Im here, I was just listening the whole time. People make mistakes, right?

T: They do.

Kami: This is just a mistake. So its wrong to point blame.

T, J: Yes.

J: Kami, have you made a mistake recently or something?

Kami: Im always making mistakes, and always getting into trouble.

J, T: Haha

Kami: As soon as you've made a mistake, it hurts, right?

T: Yeah, I know that feeling.

Kami: Yeah.

J: Yeah, the person who made the mistake knows it, you don't have to tell them.

T: Yeah, that hurts the most.

Kami: I bet if you made a mistake like this though, you'd get into big trouble.

T, K: Haha

Kami: I think you really would.

T: Well, heh, yeah. But if even Die overlooked this..its like a demon interferred..

J: Yeah, unbelievable.

K: But, anyway, Im taking it in a good way. Well, I mean, it's not good to take just any old thing in a positive way, but....its a bit like those remarks by Mori that we discussed recently.

J: Oh yeah.

K: Like how to move on with it.

J: Yeah, we can learn from that.

K: Yeah.

*Sound cuts out. On screen note: Suddenly, we were unable to record to voices. Was it linked to that sound we heard earlier?*

K: Um, the sound..

J: It seems as if the sound went off.

T: I wonder whether its to do with what we just talked about?

K: What, like, 'Stop this conversation?'

J: Haha, like from ths designer's perspective...'Please stop it!'

T: Haha, yeah, 'Please!'

J: So, what about the Oboro single?

K: So, we're at the last stage, just the mastering, and a little more discussion, and we're about finished. And then the packaging. Well, there's just a little bit longer till the 28th, about another month.

J: Well, Im looking forward to it.

K: Ok, lets finish here for this week. Thank you.

*On screen note: The voice that no-one, including the staff, heard during recording was recorded into the mic data.*

*1,4,5,6 Couldn't catch

*2, 3 Not entirely sure

To top

[anchoviesinthenightsky]

Okay here’s something I had thought of from when I had only seen the trailers that’s been in my head I want to share: so for basic clarification, I thought from one of the trailers the boys would’ve been captured in like, those metal bar crates at the climax of the story, like old fashioned movies. Now to elaborate.

Luca and Alberto had been captured after being seen, as Giulia and Massimo were the only ones trying to convince the town they were good (the town believing they had been brainwashed by tricky sea monsters, like old myths) (don’t know about Luca’s parents) With their pictures taken, they are sent via them in train where they managed to escape from their cages, and jumped out of the sidecars into fields, as it had been raining; running for a while til they find and decide to hide in an old barn in their sea monster forms, and now with the adrenaline crashing, just cuddle up together and cry from relief and stress. They ended up in Switzerland, don’t know how to read or write or anyway to get back.

On the run or taken in by some farm family? Who knows, but we can agree Switzerland is gorgeous. Sorry if this is much, I just wanted to share this somewhere. It kinda sounds like a old fable a small town believes that nobody else does anymore cause of science. 🤷🏻‍♂️

AN: Okay, I didn't write everything in this prompt, but I think I got a lot of the points! I hope you like it :)

__: *✧･ﾟ:*___ >><(((・> ______ >><(((・> ____ _: *✧･ﾟ:*__

Alberto’s wrists burned as Luca untied the rope from around them. He inhaled deeply as he shook his hands to get the blood flowing. The train car stank of rotten wheat and newly caught fish.

“Thanks,” Alberto said. It was his fault they were there. His fault for dropping the umbrella in the rain. His fault that Luca had to rescue him when Ercole pointed a harpoon at him. His fault for falling off the bike. His fault Luca turned back instead of run.

The feeling of nets pressing into his scales still felt present, even though it’d been hours.

“I’m so sorry about all of this Luca,” Alberto said. He stared down at his hands. It was too difficult to look at his friend now. “I’ll get us out of this.”

“Alberto,” Luca put a hand on his shoulder, and Alberto flinched away from it. Luca moved it, letting the hand hover near him without touching. “We’ll get out of this together. It’s not just you anymore. I promise.”

Albert’s heart was in his chest, and he felt it ache. He’d been alone for so long.

When he finally looked up, Luca was sitting next to him with his knees pulled up to his chest. His cheekbones were bruised purple and there was a cut on his arm that matched Alberto’s scar. Behind Luca, Alberto noticed daylight spilling through a hole in the train car.

He nudged Luca and pointed to it.

Luca’s mouth pinched. “Do you think we’d fit through it?

“Maybe?” Alberto stood up. His feet were unsteady beneath him.

Alberto took a deep breath. He had no idea when the train would stop, and he didn’t want to be around to find out.

Hewalked over to the gap in the train car panel. The bottom half of the metal panel was completely rusted, and when Alberto kicked it, the rust crumbled away.

“Luca! Come over here, we can make the hole bigger!” Alberto called behind him. He kicked at the panel again and more light spilled through.

____

Alberto hit the ground hard and started to roll down the grassy hill. The sky spun into the ground over and over and over, until he eventually slowed down. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The clouds covered the sun, and rain poured onto him. Alberto laid, catching his breath, and taking stock. His ribs hurt, in an aching way. There was a dull throbbing in his shoulder, but he didn’t feel any sharp pains, which was a good sign. He took a slow breath, gently expanding his lungs to check how badly hurt his ribs were. As the skin expanding, he felt a sharp sting and he exhaled hard. He tested the idea of sitting up and felt like he might get sick before he even moved. That was probably less good.

“Alberto?”

Albertocould hear mud squelching as Luca crawled over to him. His face, green and bright against the grey sky, came into Alberto’s view.

“Hey Luca.” Alberto said quietly. It hurt to speak.

“You don’t look so good, Beto.” Luca said.

“Mmng,” Alberto breathed out.

“Can you sit up?”

Alberto shook his head the tiniest bit.

Luca bit his lip and looked around the valley. “I don’t think we can out in the open. They’ll see us,”

Alberto watched Luca’s face as he got more and more stressed. His thoughts felt slow. It was like he was dragging them through sand and murking the water while he did so, but what he did think of was how Luca blended into the grass well enough. And that he must stand out, purple among all the green.

“Alberto!”

“hmm?” Alberto focused on Luca.

“There’s a barn not too far from here.” Luca pointed behind him. Alberto didn’t raise his head to see where he was pointing. “I think we should go in there and dry off.”

“Okay,” Alberto said, keeping his voice quiet.

“You need to get up, Beto,” Luca held out a hand.

Alberto took it, wincing at the pain in his chest as he moved. Luca must have noticed because he slowed his movements. “That’s it. Just a bit more.”

And then Alberto was sitting. Everything spun around him as Luca pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, lean on me.” Luca said, looping an arm around Alberto’s waist to keep him standing. “It’s not too far. We’re going to be okay.”

____

The barn stank, and Alberto crinkled his nose as Luca lowered him down to the ground and leaned him against the wall. “There we go.”

Luca squatted down and wiped the last of Alberto’s scales from his face. His fingers were gentle, barely touching Alberto’s skin, as if he worried that any touch could cause him pain.

“Thanks Luca.”

“Of course.” Luca gave him a small smile. “I saw a blanket near the entrance. I’m going to go get that. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay” Alberto leaned back onto the wall. The wooden panels pressed into his back. He still couldn’t take any deep breaths without his chest hurting. He felt anxiety starting to swell with each of his shallow breathes. He had no idea where they were. No idea how to get home, and, after how the town of Portorosso had treated them, his home no longer felt safe. It was too close to all the hurt.

“It’s a little worn through in places, but it’ll do,” Luca said as he returned with the blanket. It was grey and patterned with plaid. The blanket looked like it might have once been warm, but now it was thin. The sides of it were fraying, and holes dotted the fabric.

Luca draped it over Alberto. “There, that’ll help right?”

Alberto’s foot stuck through one of the holes, but it did help.

Luca sat next to Alberto and wrapped his arms around himself. “That’ll help,” he repeated, more to himself than to Alberto.

“Luca,” Alberto said, his voice strained. He lifted a corner of the blanket. “You too.”

Luca shook his head. “It’s for you.”

Alberto kept holding up the blanket, inviting Luca in.

Luca took a deep breath and gingerly scooted under the blanket. Alberto leaned his head on Luca’s shoulder.

Luca sniffed, and Alberto looked to see a tear rolling down Luca’s face.

“We’re never going to be able to go home.” Luca said. He stared straight ahead, looking beyond the walls of the barn, and imaged the mob of people in Portorosso who’d forced them onto the cages.

Alberto placed his hand on Luca’s thigh, hoping it’d comfort him.

“Portorosso wasn’t your home,” Alberto whispered.

“But they’ll go searching for sea monsters now,” Luca replied quickly. “My whole village—they’ll have to move. What if we do manage to get back and no one is even there?”

“We can’t know that.” Alberto shook his head.

“I never should have raced.” Luca said quietly. “I never—”

“Hey,” Alberto cut him off, louder than he meant to. He coughed, and it sent pangs through this chest. “You were just trying to be a good friend.”

“No, I was a horrible friend, I—”

“No,” Alberto shook his head more vigorously, “this is not your fault.”

“But I—”

“Other people did this to us,” Alberto whispered. He looked into Luca’s eyes. They were red from crying and the skin around his eyes had turned teal and scaley. “It’s their fault.”

“But why would they do this?” Luca said. He sniffed again. “I mean, how could they hate us so much?”

“I don’t know,” Alberto replied quietly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

Luca wiped the tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I guess.”

“I know.” Alberto scooted down so that he was lying on the ground. “We should sleep. Figure out the rest in the morning.”

“Yeah, we probably should.” Luca laid down next to him.

“Goodnight Luca.” Alberto said, curling into himself and closing his eyes.

He heard Luca shift next to him before he felt Luca’s arm wrap around his back and pull him closer. A tear fell onto his face, and then Luca’s face was near his. Breathing warmth onto his face. “Goodnight, Beto.”

[antebunny]

Wei Wuxian, worst supervillain: part 2

Full series here.

-

“Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian, with the urgency of a doomed man. “You gotta help me.”

“What’s the problem?” Wen Ning says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Wen Qing says, without looking up from her book.

She’s sitting comfortably on the single couch in Wei Wuxian’s so-called villain lair. In reality, he couldn’t afford anywhere else, and the Burial Mounds are rent-free and neighborless. She still made Wei Wuxian buy the red couch, and it remains the only splash of color in the whole complex.

Wei Wuxian pauses, his palms still slammed down on the creaking table in the center of the room. Wen Ning continues mixing his tea. “Okay, first off,” he says, mortally offended, “you didn’t even know what I was going to say. And second, I wasn’t even asking you!”

“I’m answering for A-Ning,” Wen Qing says calmly.

“Wen Ning is a free man!” Wei Wuxian argues. “He can make his own decisions!”

“What do you need help with?” Wen Ning intervenes, dragging Wei Wuxian’s attention away from the argument.

“I’m not being taken seriously!” Wei Wuxian wails.

Wen Qing snorts. “Why would I?”

“I didn’t mean you,” Wei Wuxian says, once more mortally offended. “I mean the superheroes! They’re not taking me seriously as a villain! Last time I robbed the national bank, they just sent Lan Zhan, and we didn’t even fight!”

“Right,” Wen Qing says drily. “You just debated philosophy for two hours.”

“He had some interesting points,” Wei Wuxian mutters sulkily. “What was I supposed to do, just not debate him?”

“Yes,” says Wen Qing.

“I can’t just ignore Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says belligerently. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be concerned? If the superheroes don’t take me seriously, how am I supposed to secure the safety of your family? If I just rescue them the government will never stop hunting them!”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “It’s not my fault you chose the stupidest way to go about it. Now both of your siblings are mad at you.”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to retort and then pauses. “Okay, but,” he tries, “it’s too late now! After last Friday–”

“There were easier ways to explain to Meng Yao where he got his psychic powers from,” Wen Qing notes, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Both Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning flush bright red.

-

“–the truth, Meng Yao,” the Yiling Patriarch said melodramatically, and his black coat billowed out behind him as he stalked towards Meng Yao.

The young man scrambled backwards over the rubble of the destroyed convenience store, his honey eyes wide with fear at the sight of the masked supervillain loomed over him. He was the communications director for the superheroes before all this happened, but during this fight Wei Wuxian had noticed his fledgling psychic powers and looked at the young man, who happened to look eerily similar to Jin Zixuan, and realized what was going on.

“They never told you what happened to your father,” Wei Wuxian continued, easily cornering Meng Yao.

Back in the Burial Mounds, Wen Ning leaned towards his computer like he could merge into the scene. His fingers flew across the keys, as he suddenly remembered some quote about a father that would be perfect for this situation. If only he could get to his list of villain phrases fast enough–

Wei Wuxian paused as the line flashed in front of his eyes, projected by his mask. Without registering the words, he read it out loud. “I am your father!”

Meng Yao stopped cowering.

The Yiling Patriarch stopped stalking dramatically. “Ah, fuck,” he said, his pointed finger drooping. “Wait–I meant–”

Two superheroes landed on the pile of rubble beside Meng Yao.

“Darth Vader, The Empire Strikes Back,” Hanguang-jun said confidently.

“How are you so fucking stupid,” Sandu Shengshou said, almost wonderingly. Bright purple lightning crackled around his fingertips.

“Shut up, I don’t know you!” The Yiling Patriarch cried. “I meant Jin Guangshan! I meant Jin Guangshan!”

-

“I think Zewu-jun’s handling it,” Wei Wuxian says evasively.

Wen Qing snorts. “Sure.”

“The point is they’re not taking me seriously!” Wei Wuxian insists. “Wen Ning, what can I do to make them take me seriously as a villain?”

“Do something only a villain would do,” Wen Ning suggests.

“Well obviously,” Wei Wuxian says. “But what?” He pulls out the chair across from Wen Ning and plonks himself down in it. They both ponder this question.

“Maybe you could kidnap a hero?” Wen Ning suggests.

Wei Wuxian brightens. “That’s a great idea! But who?”

“Oh my God,” Wen Qing mutters from her comfy seat on the couch.

“Not Jiang Cheng, he’d kill me,” Wei Wuxian muses. He props his chin up with one hand. “And I don’t want to kidnap someone who’d get actually scared…Lan Zhan! Perfect. I’ll kidnap their precious Hanguang-jun. Then they’ll have to take me seriously!”

"Kill me now," Wen Qing groans.

-

When Lan Wangji wakes up to see the Yiling Patriarch looming over him, he thinks he’s still dreaming for one embarrassing moment. He’s glad he recognizes his mistake, or he would’ve said or done something mortifying that he prefers not to think about.

“Good morning, Lan Zhan!” The Yiling Patriarch says, grinning evilly. “You are in the lair of the Yiling Patriarch.”

Lan Wangji sits up. He’s on a soft red couch, wrapped in at least three blankets. Other than that, the large room is rather sparse; the walls are plain stone, as is the floor, save for a threadbare rug on top of which a rickety old table sits, with four chairs of varying styles situated around it.

“How does it feel to know you’ve been kidnapped by your worst enemy?” The Yiling Patriarch says gleefully.

He leans closer, and Lan Wangji swallows, his throat dry. It seems that the Yiling Patriarch forgeos his high-collar black coat when he’s at home. He’s currently wearing a baggy black shirt and black ripped jeans, which means that when Lan Wangji looks up, he’s looking directly at his collarbone, then up at his jawline, and then at the bottom half of his face. As he leans in, his lips curve in a wicked smile, and no, Lan Wangji not thinking about his forearms, or those beautiful, slender hands–

“How does it feel knowing you’ve been rendered powerless?” The Yiling Patriarch continues. His silver eyes track the movement of Lan Wangji’s throat. “Are you uncomfortable?” He asks worriedly. “This place has no heating–you know, free rent, that’s how it is–and I didn’t have anywhere else to put you, but I thought I brought enough blankets. Do you want tea? I can make tea!”

And the Yiling Patriarch bustles off, throwing a “Be right back! Don’t go anywhere!” over his shoulder.

Lan Wangji pushes the blankets off. “I am quite comfortable,” he says to himself. Perhaps he could’ve said it earlier, but he wasn’t going to dissuade the Yiling Patriarch from making him tea.

The Yiling Patriarch returns with two cups of jasmine tea, and invites Lan Wangji to take a seat at his table.

“Sorry about the chairs, they’re kinda falling apart,” the Yiling Patriarch says. “I got them at a yard sale. Well, four different yard sales, so none of them match.”

“It is fine,” Lan Wangji says.

“Right, right.” The Yiling Patriarch clears his throat, and pushes one teacup towards Lan Wangji. “Anyway. I thought it was time I proved my worth as a villain, don’t you think?” He leans back in his chair. One of the chair legs squeaks.

“You could always retire,” Lan Wangji suggests.

The Yiling Patriarch’s casual smile drops. “Not until I’ve done what I set out to do,” he says seriously. He pulls up his villain smile again. “Though I’m sure you heroes must be eager for me to retire, hm?”

“I am worried one day you might be seriously injured,” Lan Wangji replies.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” the Yiling Patriarch says, shaking his head. “The tragedy is not to die, but to be wasted. I have so much–”

“Hannibal Lecter,” says Lan Wangji.

The Yiling Patriarch scowls at him. “Stop doing that. As I was saying, I have so much to do, and so little time on this earth. If I must turn to villany to accomplish my goals, then I will. You cannot debate me into giving up my pursuits.”

“Why must you turn to villainy?” Lan Wangji asks. He drinks his tea. It’s over boiled, but still the best tea he’s ever had.

“Because otherwise, nobody listens,” the Yiling Patriarch says. “You think I didn’t try the proper way first?”

“No doubt you tried,” says Lan Wangji. “Nevertheless: what are your goals? Why do you hide your face? Who are you protecting?”

The Yiling Patriarch slams his teacup down. “You want the truth?” He pauses. “You can’t handle the truth!”

Lan Wangji sips his tea. “Colonel Nathan Jessup, A Few Good Men.”

“Stop doing that!” The Yiling Patriarch cries. He stands up and shakes his finger very threateningly at Lan Wangji. “You seem to have forgotten that you have been kidnapped, Lan Zhan.”

“I have not,” Lan Wangji says. The location leaves something to be desired, but other than that he thinks it’s a very fine first date.

“Then–! Don’t forget who holds the power in this situation!”

“Mhm,” Lan Wangji agrees. He sips his tea again. “Thank you for the tea.”

“O-oh, of course,” the Yiling Patriarch says, thrown. He sits down again. “You seemed like a no sugar type of person.” He pauses. “I mean, if you want sugar, I have some in the pantry. I think. Unless we ran out.”

“No need,” Lan Wangji says. He is, in fact, a no-sugar type of person.

“That’s good,” the Yiling Patriarch says. He smiles at Lan Wangji, who almost smiles back, heart set aflutter by the gentle smile on the Yiling Patriarch’s face.

“What is your plan?” Lan Wangji asks.

“My plan?” The Yiling Patriarch echoes, thrown once more. “I mean, my villainous plan! Uh. The one that I have.”

“Is this all for your image?” Lan Wangji presses.

“Of course,” the Yiling Patriarch says immediately. “You know me. Vanity, definitely my favorite sin.”

“John Milton, The Devil’s Advocate.”

“Shut up! I can’t believe you memorized all these quotes,” the Yiling Patriarch bemoans. “Lan Zhan, you’re ruining all my fun.”

Lan Wangji sips his tea again. “I am quite capable of research.”

“I’ll say,” he mutters.

“It is not too late to turn back,” Lan Wangji says, trying for once to put the turmoil of emotion he feels into his tone. “We can still put old wounds behind us. I can help you.”

The Yiling Patriarch slumps against his table. “Can we?” He asks, subdued. “After all, our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real.”

“Hannibal Lecter again,” says Lan Wangji.

“Fuck you! Hannibal Lecter is a good villain!” The Yiling Patriarch swells belligerently.

“And you,” Lan Wangji says calmly, “are not a very convincing villain.”

“What do you mean?” The Yiling Patriarch demands. “I kidnapped a hero! Only villains do that!” He sweeps one arm across the situation, gesturing at the hot jasmine tea and the pile of blankets on the couch behind them, and at Lan Wangji, seated primly on the old wooden chair provided for him. “This is a kidnapping!”

“Hm,” Lan Wangji says.

“I am a supervillain!” The Yiling Patriarch insists. “There’s no coming back from that. I destroyed a skyscraper last week. I’ve cost the government too much money for them to ever forgive me. There’s no way for you to redeem me!”

“There is nothing to redeem,” Lan Wangji says sharply.

The Yiling Patriarch flinches. When he stops, his expression is scraped raw. “R-right,” he says shakily. “O-of course–”

“I meant there is nothing to redeem, because you are already good,” Lan Wangji says hurriedly, realizing the misinterpretation of his statement.

The Yiling Patriarch pauses, mouth half open. “Lan Zhan, there’s no way for you to know that,” he croaks. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I do,” Lan Wangji says quietly. “And I don’t need to.” He hesitates, then reaches for the Yiling Patriarch's hand. He grips it tight, and the Yiling Patriarch lets him. “You are good.”

The Yiling Patriarch draws in a shaky breath. “Wei Ying,” he blurts. “Courtesy Wuxian. That’s. My name.”

Lan Wangji can feel the corners of his lips curve into a smile. “Wei Ying,” he repeats. “Wei Ying, you are good.”

[dailybayonetta]

What do you use to edits gifs? I really wanna get into this kinda thing but I dunno what program or website people tend to use

I'm old fashioned, so I mostly use Adobe CC 2017 or Adobe CS6 (if i need to do an old effect / function which isn't avaliable in newer versions) There are some online editors, but I do not find them suitable from tumblr format. Like, i’m sure they are fine if you just want make gifs / use gifs for other sites  But for the most part all of the internet moved pasted GIF format cause it’s dated and it’s heavy - which is bad for mobiles and stuff. BUT ANYWAY Also - it's always morally correct to pirate adobe products, just saying

Then there's two options (taken from HERE):

I use the second option because it's easier, the newer version of photoshop always have this feature and because it's great for video games.

You can look at first option, but honestly, unless you're giffing animation / animes / some HD films from BLU-ray, I found the first method to be too much time consuming (in my opinion.)

Here are links to some tutorials that will help and teach u about gif sizes as well (some are with images!):

♥ // ♥ // ♥

I can't explain all of the stuff, but things you need to consider when it comes to quality of GIFs:

a) getting footage; while clips from youtube is an easy way of founding a needed stuff (or if, let's say, a console game you can't capture) - but there's the catch, youtube eats all the quality of video because of compression. even 1080p clips do look bad on BIG gifs - EXAMPLE OF MINE (made during time when bayo1 didn’t had PC port) - and most of the footage either has watermark or SUBTITLES (which are pain in the ass when you want to put subtitles yourself - you cut like 45% of the bottom and it’s not great)  ideally - you want to capture stuff yourself, even more ideally - capture stuff with OBS or bandicam which do not compress your footage and the output image is great, NVIDIA capture feature is an okay option, but it has a bit of compression - but honestly, not the worst option, it’s definetly a more safe option for your hard drive capacity i reached that point, when i started giffing specific scenes of bayo2 - i freaking emulated the game, terribly, but did so cause youtube just doesn’t provided what i wanted  like, you can use capture device, but i ain’t spending money on that unless i’ll be a streamer or idk content creator (but forget about that) 

b) coloring is your bread and butter; for the most part, even not that great of quality gif can be saved by coloring / adjusting brightness / levels and all of that. as an easy example, THIS SET, was taken from basic 1080p footage, but because i softed colors, almost all video compression is gone  cause when you loo at something LIKE THIS SET, man, this was not a great time for coloring it looks bad

or an example like THIS SET, that trailer is DO DATED that there’s just no HD version of it and you can see pixels, it’s bad in original game and looks even worse compressed that even coloring didn’t do much while starting, you can always use PSDs / colorings created by people - I suggest going into searching on tumblr in general or CHECKING THIS (it’s outdated, but some stuff is still avaliable) or even just do basic adjustement it’s fine. but eventually, you’ll just starting creating and doing it yourself, because it’s just simply easier.  c) tumblr compression / limiting; this site changed a lot, not only gifs automatically converts to gifvs (it’s like a video of your gif, again, done for mobile) and unless you have extension that gets rid of that, nothing u can do about it

but currently all you need to know is that: at the moment tumblr limit of giz size is 8MB, if you got past that - the gif is not gonna work. (and it loads badly, it was bad even before, but tumblr is a mess if saying it easy)

Honestly and that’s all I can say. it’s gonna be rough at the start, but eventually and quite quick you get the hand of it, you even might find a more suitable way for you to gif or color stuff or sharpen your gifs (that’s another whole story) If you look back at my old stuff from freaking 2013 from my main blog - enjoy the ride (82 pages!!) - it wasn’t looking great and it took some time for sure to start making progress and be better at that or even just for this blog in particular - half the less pages than on main - but i still chagned a lot in my “style” of editing and colorings

But most importantly - just have with it, it’s not the most enjoyable ride, considering this site history, but I still find it a enjoyable hobby :)

[enochianribs]

Chapter 2 of the Cabin AU is up now!

Read on Ao3 here, or under the cut. 

(Reblogs appreciated!)

The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered.  The roof had a leak. Dean woke up to a growing wet spot on the pillow next to his. He laid still, eyes crossing as he stared at the ceiling, watching the bead of water run across one of the unfinished boards, suspending itself for an entire minute until it plopped right next to his head. Slowly, his mind pulled itself out of his dream, though the haze lingered. 

 “Mmm...great.” Another item on his to-do list. 

 Dean was willing to bet there were more leaks in the living room. 

For a moment he debated allowing himself to be lulled back to sleep. It was all too easy to slip back to that dream again: blurry hands, soft mouths, quiet murmurs, everything he missed and everything he’d never had. Not really. 

 Rain gently pattered against the outside of the cabin, the storm grinding in from the East and then settling its haunches right over the hills to stay for the night. The sun was rising, and the pink sky cast shadows from the drops on the window pane, little spots phantom dripping down his sheets. 

 It was the first morning since he’d gotten to the cabin that he’d slept in past sunrise. Sluggishly, he sat up, diggin the heel of his hand into his eyes as a yawn fought its way out of his chest. He turned his head, and reached out with a hand to wake his companion, before reality caught up with him and his hand fell to the mattress, going through the ghost.

 That’s right , he thought. His mouth tasted like ash.

 If he laid there any longer his chest would become heavy, and his breaths ragged, so he tossed the covers off, and trudged over to the shower. The cold water bit through the fog better than anything else could, and he leaned his temple against the glass door waiting for it to heat up and fill the room with steam. 

 Normally, he’d air dry, but it was chilly and an urgency hung around him. He grabbed the bleach-spotted towel hanging sadly by the door towelled off quickly. 

He wandered idly, picking his daily morning tasks up and dropping them before he’d complete them. Something pulled him around the house. He was forgetting something.

Dean was midway through folding the quilt and draping it on the sofa arm when they caught his eye. 

Two large feathers sat in the middle of the massive dining table (he still wondered who had built and what they’d been thinking—  the thing could seat the knights of the round table if necessary). Tugging the fridge door with one hand he reached blindly for the pot of coffee he kept iced, and nudged it closed with his knee, never taking his eyes off them. 

They were captivating. He continued to stare as he poured himself a cup, spilling some of the coffee onto the counter. He’d forget to clean it up, and it would stain, but that was okay. If they asked, he was experimenting with wood staining.

Dean could examine them once he made himself some kind of breakfast. Those were the rules: remember to feed yourself, and then you can do whatever you want to with your day. Breakfast ended up being toast and jam, and he plopped it down at the end seat of the table, and reached for the feathers before he took a bite. 

The color on the first one was so dark it looked heavy, but it was as light in his hand as any feather should be. He held it up and squinted, twisting his wrist back and forth. It caught the light and reflected a shimmering oil slick back at him. The colors shifted, hues iridescent.

 At first glance it could be a raven’s, but it was at least four times bigger than that.

 The second one was more muted, the black towards the base of it dappled into a brown and white, and it was downy soft where the other was sharp and precise. Yesterday he’d thought it was grey but better light proved that it was a grey-brown.

He’d assumed that it was from the same bird—  creature , but now he wasn’t so sure. Dean didn’t know the first thing about birds. However, he knew several people who did. 

▵▿▵

“Hey, Bobby. Can I talk to Rufus?”

“He’s kinda in the middle of some’in’, Dean.” The roll of his eyes was audible, as someone yelped in the muffled background. “Can I call you back?”

“Please?” Dean asked, grinning cheekily even though he wasn’t there to warm Bobby over in person. 

Bobby made a disgruntled noise and paused, before sighing. “You’re doing the face aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Fine. You never want to talk to me .” 

“You know that’s not true.”

“Hm.” Bobby replied. Out of spite, he kept the phone next to his face as he shouted for his attention. “Rufus! It’s Dean.” 

Ouch , Dean mouthed wincing at the volume, as he listened to the sound of two old men grumbling at each other before fabric shifted, and Rufus picked up the phone. 

“He lives.”

A smile burst its way through Dean’s concentration. “Hey Ruf, gotta question for you.”

“Coulda called us sooner. We were beginning to wonder if you’d sold the cabin and moved somewhere warmer with pink flamingos.”

The image made Dean snort. Him at the beach? Unlikely.

“Nope.” Dean quipped. “Still here and freezing my ass off. You guys ever think about installing a damn heater?”

“And pay that bill? Hell no. We added a fireplace, what more do you want from us.”

Good ol’ crabby Rufus. “What do you know about birds?” 

“A lot.” As per usual, he was being obtuse.

“Know of any big enough to leave behind two foot feathers?”

Rufus whistled. “Not in North America, unless you’ve got ostriches running around.”

“That’d be a negatory. So there’s nothing you can think of?”

“Nope. Did you find something, kid?”

“Holding one right now.”

“No shit.” He could hear the bewildered tone of his voice over the shitty connection. “Well, I guess keep an eye out. It’d be real hard for something that big to hide, and even harder for it to sit comfortable in those pine trees with the branches so dense. I’d say you’re about to make the biggest zoological discovery in North America in the past century. Keep us posted?” 

“Will do.” Dean said, and he heard Rufus handing the phone back over to Bobby. 

“Hope everything’s okay up there, Dean.”

“Everything’s peachy, honestly. Anyways—” He checked the clock on the stove. 8:30. The hardware store would be open in a half hour. “I’ve got some errands to run, so I’ll leave you to whatever it is a couple of old farts do in retirement.”

“Hey—” 

Dean grinned to himself. “See ya, Bobby.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

The line went silent, and Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket, bobbing his head to the side in thought. Though he didn’t get a definitive answer, at least the call had eliminated the options of native fauna. 

▵▿▵

At nine in the morning, Dean was usually one of a small line of people waiting outside Lafitte’s Goods to needle Benny’s brain for fixes and tools of the trade. Pamela was waiting against the brick wall, hand shielding the summer morning sun from her eyes, reading a 99 cent paper back with interest. 

“Hey, Pamela.”

“Dean-o. Call me Pammy.”

“Really?”

“No, of course not. But Pam works. I’m not your mother.”

“You call your mom by her first name?”

“Fair point. What’re you here for?” She nodded her head and bounced off the wall, as Benny unlocked the doors. A couple of grizzled old men shuffled in ahead of them, beelining it for the plywood. 

Porch season. 

“Roof’s got a leak.”

“Leak season.”

“Apparently. This is the third one since I got here.”

She squinted at him, like he was omitting something important, and popped the bubble of gum in her mouth. Dean started to itch under her scrutiny. He hated being studied like a lab rat.

What was the woman? A witch? Why was she peeling back layers of his get-up without warning.

Dean coughed, and used Benny’s presence as an excuse to wiggle out from under her gaze. “Gotta—  yeah, see you.” Turning on his heel he fled towards the adhesives, face contorting with embarrassment. 

Holy fuck, somehow he’d gotten even more awkward. 

Dear god, help me. 

Benny never pried unless Dean seemed interested in offering up information, and for that Dean was actually incredibly grateful. Most days he didn’t want to talk about anything, certainly not his past, but Benny and his bushy beard and warm eyes had managed to wiggle through his walls, just a little. 

“Benny.”

Benny stared at him from behind the register, inquisitive expression considerably easier to cope with than Barnes' hungry expression. A friendly smile danced across his face as he assessed Dean’s no-doubt rosey cheeks. 

“She’s got her claws in you, huh.”

Dean ducked his head, glancing sideways at the brunette woman still looking at the different kinds of rope. A tramp stamp peeked out from under the bottom edge of her tank top. Dean tapped his fingers on the pock-marked wood counter and turned his attention back to his friend. “Is she always like that?”

“Sure is,” Benny drawled, ringing up everything Dean had haphazardly shoved onto the counter in his escape. “You just happen to be the newest, prettiest , plaything in Pringle.” The burly man winked.

 Pink crawled up Dean’s neck  from his collarbones and spread into his cheeks once again. Christ, there was no escape from these people. Still stammering, Dean practically ran back to the Impala. 

▵▿▵

 The phone vibrated in his back pocket. By the third ring, Dean had parked Baby in her usual spot, and he struggled to tug it out of his pocket, checking the Caller ID. 

California. 

He pumped the window down, the air getting warm inside the car, and he flipped the phone open, inhaling sharply. He should have called before now. Shouldn’t have let so much time pass. In the fall, he’d be too busy to take any of Dean’s calls anyways. 

“Hello?”

“Dean?”

“Sammy.”

Several seconds of too-long silence passed between them. 

“Where have you been?”

Dean swallowed, thick, guilt permeating the small space. 

“Sorry, I just—” He didn’t have an excuse. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You still could’ve picked up the phone. I tried to call you about six times. You don’t always need to have something to say, y’know…  It just would’ve been nice to know you’re still breathing.” His brother’s voice was basically a whisper at the end. 

“I know.” Dean closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing shakily. “I know.”

“I had to hear it from Bobby. Dean—” Sam’s voice pitched up to that octave it always did when he was upset. “Dad’s gone again.”

Fuck. 

“And that’s fine. It’s not like I’m ten and incapable of caring for myself but I thought—  I thought he’d be back by now. It’s been a couple of weeks.”

“Shit, Sammy.” 

“I think he’s fine. He sent a vague text a couple of days ago, it’s just with school starting in two months I get worried. Not even for him, just for us. I can’t pay for school myself, and I can’t afford to miss anything because of Dad. If my grades drop, I’m out.”

“I know.” God, Dean knew.

Sam was a late bloomer for college. The kid was brilliant, but he’d been dealt a bad hand, and it was a miracle Rufus and Bobby had invested in a saving fund for the two of them decades ago. At twenty-two, Dean knew that he’d already had trouble securing the scholarships. Stanford wanted the best and brightest, not the kid with seven schools on his high school transcript and an overabundance of unexcused absences. 

The guilt piled up and perched itself on his shoulders until he sagged into his seat under the heaviness. It was his job to keep John out of trouble, not Sammy’s. And instead he’d run away from that responsibility. 

The repair materials sat in the backseat, and his heart twisted in his chest. The meadow sat peacefully in the late afternoon sun, just across the short distance of woods, and it still kept its secret. He didn’t want to go back. Not yet. Not until he’d had his fill of independence.

“Look,” He could kick himself for how his voice cracked. “If John doesn’t turn up by the end of the week, I’ll come back. I’ll help. Promise.”

For what it was worth, a facet of his brother’s relieved sigh sounded apologetic.“Thank you, Dean. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“Okay then.”

“Bye.”

“Talk to you soon, Sammy.” Dean’s jaw clenched involuntarily, as he flipped the phone closed and tossed it against the passenger door. His frustrated shout echoed between him and the trees, but he didn’t feel better.

Always this .

Historically, John would do something stupid and irresponsible and Dean would drop everythign to clean up the mess and no one would thank him. Not really. That was fine.

Family was supposed to break your heart. 

 ▵▿▵

 The leak proved to be an easy fix. 

Dean fought the attic door that led to the roof, following the small staircase up until he was on the balls of his feet, head sticking out as he pulled himself onto it. The shingles were rough, cracked and damaged from the winters, and he scrapped the length of his arm against it.

 The source of the leak took only a minute to find. Five or so shingles were missing, leaving nothing but the wood underneath, which did nothing but absorb any and all precipitation. The rubber sealant smelled terrible, and he gagged dramatically, almost dropping the metal can in the process. Done applying, he plopped his ass down, determined to see it dry properly before he went back inside.

Half assing things had always resulted in a stern talking to in the least, and it had been something he’d struggled with growing up, his mind yanking him a thousand directions until his head was spinning and John was disappointed. 

Dean grit his teeth, purposefully dragging the raw scrape against the rough roofing, the burn biting through the thought, bringing him back down from that far off place he so frequently wandered to. He didn’t even know how he got there, but he found himself lost, shrunk down, smaller than the hand-me-down leather jacket he tried to fill.

From the roof he could see almost everything. It turned out that Rufus and Bobby’s cabin foundation was built onto a gentle slope.

The rain clouds had dissipated, migrating to the flat plains further south, and it left a crisp atmosphere behind. The sun poked through the remaining gargantuan cumulonimbus clouds, sunbeams gently caressing the grass. Grey mist rose from where the creek beds greedily absorbed the heat. It reminded him of the paintings of cowboys, sitting on a stallion, bathed in golden light, their backs to the audience, all the edges illuminated and throwing everything else into stark purple shadows. 

 The burn of the scrape subsided as a sense of peace settled Dean, his body melting into the shingles. An hour passed before his stomach growled, and he climbed back down for lunch.

 ▵▿▵

 Tapping. 

Tapping at the window pane only inches from his face. 

Groggy and only slightly encrusted (gross) Dean opened his eyes and was met by dark blue ones, a tawny human hand pressed up against the glass. 

 Dean’s soul evaporated out of his body, back pressed to the headboard as he scrabbled for the small knife he kept under his pillow. Before he could look again, it was gone.He launched himself out of bed, so very entirely grateful that he’d had enough sense to go to sleep in his boxers and his worn-out threadbare Kansas shirt. 

Holy hell.  

Fingers trembling, he opened the window, leaning almost all the way out, hovering a few feet above the ground.A single feather slowly came to rest soundlessly on the pine-needle carpet. The view from the window remained unyieldingly motionless. 

Black-eyed susans had begun to sprout in the shade, despite themselves, and now they quivered where they grew between the pine-roots even though the morning wind had not pierced through the woods yet. 

Craning his neck, he glanced up, half expecting the last thing he’d ever see to be a terrifying bird man staring down at him like he was lunch. Nothing. 

Dean practically fell out of his room, chanting under his breath in a poor attempt to calm himself down as he stumbled down the short hall to the living room. 

It’s human.

“No,” Dean spoke to the picture frames on the walls. He had no idea what he was denying, but the situation begged to be denied. He paced back and forth in the living room, no doubt wearing the floor down despite the fact that he was wearing socks—  the ones with the holes in the heel. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Oh my God, it was so very not okay. 

Suddenly, the couch seemed like the perfect place to suffocate himself to unconsciousness. Someone else could deal with this. 

 No , he thought. You wanted this to happen, you dirty liar. Stop panicking and deal with it. 

Wings was human- or at least partially human. He looked like a man. Dean’s thin eyelids fluttered closed, and the image was painted on the backside of them with crystal clarity. Square jawline, arrow-straight nose, curiously arched eyebrows…  and the eyes . They were so blue. And they had been looking right at him. Watching him. 

It was entirely ridiculous that his eyes overshadowed the massive lurking darkness behind him, of what had to have been his wings. 

A human with wings. 

This was crazy. Everything was crazy.

The way he saw it, there were two directions this could go: he could pretend he hadn’t seen anything, and this would be tucked away into the delusion box that he kept under lock and key at the back of his mind and he could grow old being none the wiser of whatever breach of reality this was, or he could go find it. 

The first option was sounding real nice. Normal. Well adjusted. 

He was well adjusted. 

Besides, Dean wasn’t entirely convinced it wasn’t a dream.  this entire thing was a fever dream and he was in some hospital bed back in Lawrence, stuck in a coma. Dean pinched himself, viciously and stared at the white marks left on his forearm, helpless. 

Nope. 

“Okay.” He barked out a laugh. 

He should call Jo. 

After a few more minutes of pacing and hyperventilating, he decided against it. He would tell her—  of course he would! —but when it came up.

The Harvelle’s were good people and they’d shown him nothing but kindness. 

The situation had to be broached with care, or the small home he’d built in the life he wanted to live would topple in on itself, and the rubble and dust would drown him.

Trust issues were a problem of his, and he’d been aware of them since high school, when he’d had too many secrets to keep and any semblance of a support system was states away. 

God, he knew the way he clammed up was obvious, but sometimes he surprised even himself. If he was being honest, there was a lot more to it than a strong need for privacy. Didn’t matter though. In the end, after all the nit-picking and self beratement, it boiled down to fear. 

Jo could keep her mouth closed, but there was always a chance she’d accidentally tell someone, and there was a high chance it would be the wrong person. If he let it slip that this thing existed, who knew what would come packing. And he knew sooner or later, someone would bring the heat. Words got around easily in a small town like Pringle and he knew everyone would be at his door, wanting a chance to see the freak of the week. 

Which… was a thing that existed. A human with wings, that called the small clearing his home.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He felt protective over the man, almost ferociously so. 

The day’s hunting trip wasn’t happening— now Dean was paranoid.

What if he accidently shot him? Or scared him off permanently? 

His stomach churned, acid and bile climbing their way up his throat. The burn was familiar. Half his childhood had been spent subsiding panic attacks and anxiety, calming down Dad or Sam or both at the same time. 

▵▿▵

The tin echo of a gunshot managed to penetrate through the thick log walls of the cabin.In a heartbeat, he was scrambling for the ancient shotgun. The front door swung open, the little voice in his head told him to close it behind him, but his feet carried him quicker than his mind and so he left it swinging on its hinges at his back. 

An anguished scream gargled its way from somewhere deeper into the woods, due south of the cabin. Rocks dashed the soles of Dean’s feat and he swore out loud, having forgotten his boots at the door. 

Shit shit shit.  

Someone was nearby, and they were ballsy enough to fire a weapon despite the illegality of hunting on private property. His mind raced at the same speed he ran towards it, a limp skewing his gate every few steps. Stray branches caught the sleeves of his shirt, tearing through the fabric as he refused to slow down. 

It’s just a deer. 

He knew better. 

They’re just after a deer, or a bison that wandered away from the heard or an elk or something—  

Another blood curdling scream erupted from amongst the pine, this one loud enough to rattle the crows out of their nests. They cawed, the sound of dozens of pairs of wings taking flight muting the pained groans. 

He knew better. 

Please—  please. Not Wings.

He faltered over a boulder, panic overtaking muscle memory and skidded to a halt at the crest of a ledge. The scene below knocked the breath out of his chest, leaving a vacuum in its wake. 

Campbell, one of the more elderly hunters of the area was standing over another tawny body. Giant black wings sprawled out, twisting and twitching in the dirt and mud, feathers slightly splayed underneath his back. 

Campbell’s face distorted in pain, a tense moment passing before his wild eyes landed on Dean, the whites of his too visible, even from ten yards away. Blood pumped out from a wound on his neck, and he had a hand clamped down onto it, slick with red, he held a shotgun limply in his left hand, the butt of it dropped heavily to the ground. 

Semi-satisfied that Campbell didn’t seem interested in shooting again, Dean fixated every ounce of attention on Wings and his breath hitched. Smeared across his mouth and chin was a copious amount of blood. He’d bitten Campbell. Dean’s heart swelled with pride.

Good . 

His short encounter with Campbell prior had proved that the man was a bag of dicks, cocky and far too keen on the killing aspect of hunting. It skeeved Dean out then, and it certainly did now. Campbell was still looking at Wings like he was prey. Though no component of the scene begged to differ: the man was naked, teeth bared, but he was incapable of escaping, the gunshot wound in his abdomen bleeding him dry. 

Dean leveled the end of his shotgun at Campbell’s head. “Get the fuck away from him.”

Campbell backed away from Wings, the muscles in his right arm tensed, like he wanted to put it up defensively, but it was necessary he kept pressure on the wound. It looked like Wings had gone for the jugular. “It attacked me, Winchester.”

“And?” 

“You’re fucking crazy.”

Dean would put money on the fact that he looked the part, he could feel his chest heaving, something akin to dull rage pumping through his veins. He prayed the tremor in his hand didn’t betray his hesitation. “I said move .”

Obeying his orders, Campbell stepped back, never taking his eyes off of the strange man. Agony flashed across his face where he laid in the dirt.In his hands, he held a silver blade. Wings looked from Campbell to Dean, expression visibly softening.

“Give me your coat.” Dean didn’t have much time, glancing at Wings, he saw that a red gleam of blood was starting to trickle from the corner of his mouth and his eyes moved frantically. He slid down the slope and went to take off his jacket and remembered his was only in his boxers. “ NOW .” 

Campbell shirked it off and threw it at Dean, staying exactly where he was. Moving quickly, Dean pressed the thick fabric to the wound, moving his other hand to the back side to see where the bullet went. There was no opening there, and he was thankful that Wings was naked. He could skip the sometimes detrimental process of removing his clothes to assess the wound better.

 He tied the jacket around him and slid one arm under his legs and the other across his shoulder blades, lifting him up carefully. Dean had to get him back to his house immediately, before Wings lost too much blood.

One last time, he regarded Campbell. He felt the sneer tug his lip up, his voice like acid trying to eat through the other man’s bones until he was nothing. “Get the fuck off my property. And don’t tell anyone about this. He’ll be fine, not that you care. But you won’t be if I see you here again, or if I hear about this from anyone. Do I make myself clear?”  

Samuel’s eyes darkened clearly at war with Dean’s threat, but his skin was taking on a pallor akin to lethal blood loss. He nodded curtly, acknowledging the agreement, at least for the moment. 

Reasonably satisfied that Campbell wouldn’t shoot them in the back, Dean turned and left, the body draped over his shoulder too warm.Dean’s hand wrapped around, hand feathering over his taut side, avoiding the wound. He could feel his fingers wet with blood. 

Wings was whispering something feverishly, though Dean couldn’t catch a word of it, his eyes glazed over with pain, searching the sky for something with a fervor of a religious man with hell hounds on his heels. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean murmured, straining to carry the both of them the distance to the cabin. “I’ve got you.” 

Wing’s head lolled to the side, and his body went slack. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but Dean couldn’t afford to cry now. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to get them inside safely. He swallowed the terror. He ducked and wove through the undergrowth, fearing that the drooping wings would catch on a branch or boulder. 

The time it took until he could lay Wings down on his dining room table felt like hell had manifested on Earth, keenly able to feel life slipping away in his arms.

Once Dean managed to put Wings on the table without his head smacking the wood, he tore the kitchen apart for salt and a bowl of water and some clean washcloths, and sprinted to the bathroom, yanking the drawers out and emptying their contents onto the counter and sink until his eyes landed on the tweezers and isopropyl alcohol.

It wasn’t a perfect med kit, but there was no other choice. It had to do. 

Dean approached the table cautiously, worried that too much movement would set him off. The dark wingspan spread out almost three feet on either side of the table and Dean swallowed a stone.

He had no idea what to do next, not really. The closest experience he’d had to being a doctor had been treating John’s stab wound when he was thirteen and John had come home more beaten than usual.  

He stared helplessly down at Wings.  

“He...help.” Wings voice was like a ghost’s, he barely heard it, and he was standing right next to him. He looked up at the cobwebbed chandelier lighting like it was something holy and mesmerizing and Dean realized he was losing him. 

“Shhh… it’s okay.” His forehead was sticky with sweat and drying blood, and Dean pushed some of the unruly black wisps from his eyes, humming low. “I’m gonna help you.” 

Wings hand shook, following the edge of the table, feverishly searching for something to hold onto. Tentatively, Dean slid his fingers between his, feeling his calloused palm against his own. “Wings. Wings, you gotta listen to me. Wings, please . You have to lay still.”

He had no idea if the man understood a single word he was saying, but it seemed to do the trick. Over the span of a terrible minute, his breathing slowed down, and his grip on Dean’s hand went from frail to almost bone crushingly alive. 

Wings’ blue eyes were on him, flickering a little in the low light. Dean waited, untrained, unable and unwilling to play operation on him while he was still conscious, eyes desperate to look at anything but the daunting task before him. 

Eventually, he passed out, his painful grimace replaced by a soft one, and Dean began to remove the shrapnel bullet, praying to anyone who was listening that it had not shredded his insides beyond repair. 

 ▵▿▵

 At some point in the night, Dean had gotten up to draw the curtains and lock the door, willing to sacrifice only a moment to seal them away from the rest of the world. 

 Now, sunlight pierced through the cracks, illuminating them both in thin lines of white light. He watched Wings toss and turn, his face gnarling into pain each time he moved.

 What if Dean had fucked it up? What if the next breath he drew was his last? His mind raced, punishing him for every moment’s hesitation that could very well lead to his death. 

 Dean caught himself following Wings jawline, examining the stark contours of his face like he would never see them again. Please, just please make it out alive.

 “Don’t die on me, Wings.” The words slipped out subconsciously. “Please, God, don’t die on me.”

 Dean had the decency to cover him up with the quilt. The two’s hands were still tightly entwined long after the heartbeat in Wing’s wrist lulled Dean into sleep, tumbling heart over head.