#don’t you see half of europe in shambles??????

[lewierre]

well,, this went well,,,

[amjustagirl]

castles in the air: chapter 2

chapters: one.// two.// three.// four.// five.// six.// seven.// eight.// nine.// ten.//

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x f! reader genre: university romantic dramedy, mild angst, fluff wc: 6k summary: kuroo tetsuro is your pain in the ass classmate. that’s all. really.

The semester hits the midway mark almost too quickly. 

Training grows harder, his captain unrelenting in his demands for more drills, more laps, more practice matches. His fingers ache, more calluses grow, thick and ugly on his palms, and he’d fall asleep in class far more often if you weren’t there to prod him awake. But it’s worth it, he tells himself. He holds on to his starting position because the team’s regular middle blockers are either injured, on academic probation or off in Europe on exchange, so his peers watch with envy when he gets to play almost every match, the defensive cornerstone when the team prepares its march to the intercollegiate championships.

He misses the camaraderie built with Yaku and Kai, the knowledge that they have each other’s back, the unwavering trust formed over years of working towards the same goal. The university team’s not half-bad, the seniors refrain from hazing the juniors (save for Sato-san, who prefers to shoot barbs, the immense chip on his shoulder from having to retake his first year screwing with his brain a bit), and he’s pretty sure he’ll make firm friends with the guys from his batch, but still - he misses his team.  

“Why work so hard when you’re not gonna go pro after college?” you ask, after a project meeting that you had to barge into his room to remind him about, his catnap stretching into an hour-long siesta that he’s horrified at himself for taking.  

“Cos I love the game���, he says simply. “I wanna play as long as I can.”

You don’t sniff at him, nor do you stare at him disapprovingly. Instead, you just peer over your laptop screen as you crouch on his bed. “Well. Just - just don’t burn yourself out.” 

“Are you concerned about me?” he asks slyly, propping his head up to stare at you. 

As expected, your head whips back to your work. “Psh. Concerned that I might lose a competitor, more like. Topping the cohort won’t be as sweet if you weren’t there.” 

“Cocky, I see. Let’s see who’s crying when they release the results - “

“As if! Considering the amount you’ve been studying, which is barely anything at the rate you’re going, you’re going the one who’s left crying  -” 

Ouch, that stings. With competition season drawing close, he has to admit that he really hasn’t been hitting the books as much as he should be, his notes are in shambles, his undone work is piling up, not because of procrastination but out of a sheer lack of time, and - yeah, he has to admit you’re probably right. 

“Oh well”, he remarks. “Guess you’ll be dropping me as a project mate next semester then.”

You stare at him as if he’s grown another head with gravity defying hair. 

“Kuroo Tetsurou, do you really think so little of me?” you say quietly, curling back behind the screen, almost as if he’s hurt you with careless words. 

“I uh - “

Then he sees it, you giving yourself an almost imperceptible shake, shoulders straightening. 

“Well”, you say briskly, flipping over your screen to show him an empty schedule that to his horror, is marked - ‘STUDY SCHEDULE FOR IDIOTS’, in bright red. “Let’s make sure your grades don’t suffer too much, in that case.” 

It’s testament to your strength of personality that he finds himself tucked into a corner of the library with you and your other friends to study and revise for exams almost every night after practice. 

“What”, you ask indignantly when he does a double take, shocked at the fact that you willingly associate with other living, breathing beings. “Did you think you were the only one with friends?” 

“Kinda”, he drawls. “Especially since you’re so -”

“I dare you to finish that sentence”, you growl, pointing a pen threateningly over his wrist. He closes his mouth with an exaggerated snap. 

Your tiny circle of friends are welcoming to him, even though they do look a little taken aback when you drag him in the first time but it’s cosy, companionable, and he gets a lot more work done than he’d have been able to by himself. It certainly helps that you lend him your notes, even though you grumble good naturedly, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only classmate you lend your carefully prepared notes to, because Sato-san and the rest of his team groans in envy when they catch a glimpse of your notes in his bag. 

“Gotta give the rest of us a chance”, Sato repeats his insult, laughing to himself. “You and that machine - what an unfair combination!” 

“If you can’t beat them, join ‘em”, he chuckles a little hollowly, swallowing the sudden urge to argue that it’s unfair to reduce you to that unkind nickname. Because Sato is his teammate, his senior. He can’t jeopardise any good will he has on the team but still, his words sting. He’s glad you aren’t around to hear the insults thrown your way, though he thinks you’re strong enough to ignore them anyway. Your sense of humour would probably even allow you to laugh at that horrid nickname - a machine - even if it’s inherently dehumanising, dismissive of all the hard work and effort you pour into your studies. 

“Why bother working so hard when you could just marry a rich husband?” You make a sound of discontent at his words and he adds quickly - “And hey, come to think of it, maybe I should start looking for a rich wife.”

It’s not his best day, not when he’s a little cranky after a hard practice where his captain yelled at him for not jumping high enough, fast enough to block the spikers, and you don’t let up on him either, drilling him on his finance calculations, on his marketing strategies until his head swims with figures and disjointed words, and he just needs a break from this relentless grind that’s slowly but surely wearing him down. 

“My mom was a housewife all her life”, you tell him. “My dad made sure we were always comfortable, but I tend to think my mom feels like she might’ve preferred a little more independence, especially when my brothers and I grew older.” 

Exhaustion forgotten, he thinks of his own mother. He sees her twice-yearly, once on mother’s day, once on New Year’s where she brings him to the shrine to pray, and while she shows some maternal affection for him, sending him money at regular intervals, asking about his studies, he’s never dared ask if she’s ever regretted walking out of his and his sister’s lives when she looks much happier, brighter even - than back when they all were a family, back when the walls would shake from the force of her arguments with his dad. 

“Sure”, he says. “Independence is good, I guess.” 

He thinks about his father, curled up in a corner, drunk out of his mind, cursing his ex-wife. He thinks about his sister, having to go to their obaa-san instead of their mom when she got her first period, met her first boyfriend. He thinks about himself, having to explain to his classmates with a strained smile that his mother doesn’t live with them anymore. 

“You don’t sound convinced. Please don’t tell me you’re one of those gross dudes that think a woman’s proper place is in the kitchen.”

The thing about you is that you’re far more perceptive than you have any right to be. 

“I just -”, he pauses, mindful that he might be treading into dangerous, murky waters. “Independence is all well and good, but I think you and your siblings benefitted from your mom being around for you.” 

You tilt your head, fortunately doesn’t take offense as he feared. “Yes”, you say slowly, the words treacle in your mouth. “But I’d like to think I can have the best of both worlds by having a husband who loves and supports me in whatever I choose to do. I guess I’m greedy - my dreams make me sound like I want to build castles in the sky but I’m not, really. All I want is a meaningful career of my own. All  I want is a family of my own. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for.” 

“That doesn’t sound like too much at all”, he remarks, taking a swig of coffee even though it tastes like wet dirt, in a bid to keep awake. 

“Of course you don’t - you’re a man. That’s always been your birthright”, you reply, mouth twisting, your tone more bitter than the coffee currently swirling in his gut. 

“I think the solution is to find yourself a nice husband who’d let you do what you want.”

“A decent man who respects that I’m entitled to do what I want”, you retort and he laughs, raising his hands up in defense. 

“As if any man could stop you from doing what you want”, he chortles, and you roll your eyes, pinch his arm playfully as he dodges your attacks. 

So yes - you’re headstrong and efficient, smart as a whip, good at your work. He highly doubts anyone would ever consider you a machine if they spend more than five minutes with you outside of class. You’re so easy to chat with, so easy to tease. There aren’t any airs about you, because you’re unabashedly you, scowling at him when he points out a mistake you’ve made in your work, laughing too loudly about some stupid chemistry joke he’s made, falling asleep on your books like a floppy seal when you try (and fail) to wean yourself off coffee yet again.  

“Why don’t you have more friends? From class, at least. Most young people these days have more friends, y’know?” 

You click your tongue against your teeth, mouthing indignantly young people at him. Another night spent in the library studying, your small circle of friends breaking up in favour of human pursuits like food and sleep. But midterms are coming, you seem to not mind spending a little time tutoring him on the finer points of accounting and cash flow forecasts, and he needs all the help he can get.

“Did we not just spend two hours sitting among my friends?” you reply pointedly. “Or did you think they’re just goldfish - “

“Oi, don’t put words in my mouth, princess”, he shoots back. “You know what I meant. You don’t seem to have friends in class except me - is it because I’m special?” 

“You’re really fishing for compliments here, aren’t you?” 

He gives you a flash of his patented smirk, leans back in his chair. “Nah, just wondering why no one else seems to have caught on to your fantastic personality.” 

You stare at him, obviously searching for the punchline in his words, but he just smirks back at you. 

“I don’t really find making friends easily. A relic from high school, I suppose. It’s even more difficult in business school where everyone seems a bit transactional.” You wrinkle your nose, spinning a pen in your fingers. “They didn’t really take much notice of me until the end of last semester when our grades were announced and then suddenly all they wanted to talk about were assignments and job placements and -” you sigh through your nose, forehead wrinkling. “They didn’t really see me as a person. That makes me wonder whether they see me for who I am, or for what I can do for them.”  

“But here we are - “ 

“Are we friends? I didn’t realise that”, you tease, as he pouts playfully, hand to heart. 

“You wound me, princess, you really do.” 

“Fine, I guess we’re friends”, you answer, a fond smile on your face that he can’t help but wish he saw more of. “You made me a business proposition, I fed you ramen, now you tease me about my books and I tutor you because you like to pretend to be a dumb jock, so here we are.” 

“Here we are indeed”, he replies, smirk smoothing out into a smile.  

It’s their loss, he figures, if they don’t want to be your friend. It’s their loss if they don’t get to see you as a human being, just a soulless machine, racking up points and scoring top marks, someone inhuman, soaring past them in the stratosphere. They don’t get to see the moments when you doubt yourself, when you hunch over yourself whenever you get poor feedback on your projects, when you pour your heart and soul into your work, shouldering more than your share when he falls short without complaint. 

“We did it!” you squeal at the end of the term, when your professor beams at you both, awards you the top grade for your project along with a long review. 

“Of course we did”, he replies smugly. The taste of success is addictive, oh-too-sweet. He chuckles when you shove at his shoulder playfully, catches your hand to rub it in that - “I told you you’d have no regrets partnering with me.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou, it baffles me how you’re so bloody annoying -” 

“Let’s go out to celebrate” he adds, ignoring her barb, still riding the high of success. “I’ll buy you dinner tonight!” 

“Not fish again. You’re such an old man”, you tease. 

“You need fish for docosa-haxaeonic acid”, he retorts, but you only tug at his sleeve, impatient when he’s dangling the promise of food before you. 

You both end up at the ramen shop anyway. It’s become your regular hang-out spot, both yours and his, so much so that the old oji-san recognises his order, grumbles when he doesn’t come in for more than a week. But the old oji-san’s clear favourite is you, always leaning over to ask how your week’s been, feeding you an extra ramen egg or bamboo shoots, and Kuroo points out that it’s probably because you’ve bought his crusty heart by chatting with him about he and his wife’s favourite long running soap operas, even bought him a bottle of sake to celebrate his birthday once you’ve learnt the date. 

“It’s called being a decent human being and listening when people talk about themselves, Kuroo.”

“You’re just sucking up for no reason”, he retorts and you chuckle, chopsticks held aloft. 

“It’s called being kind, you fool. Look it up, someday”, you retort before stuffing yourself full of ramen noodles, which you declare to the oji-san to be the best in Tokyo, nay, the world, as you always do. He swears the old man is about to declare you his honourary grand-daughter at this rate. Well - his grandparents would obviously love you too, his grandma’s been complaining that she misses him bringing his friends home, and she can’t wait til the day comes that he brings a nice girl home to meet her wait - he shakes his head clear of that thought, choosing to wolf down ramen instead of exploring that stray alley his brain seems intent on leading him down.

“Earth to Kuroo”, you call, leaning in, eyes gleaming with that sharp, mischievous tilt, an expression that you adopt too-frequently when you think you’ve gotten the better of him. You wave a hand across his face, and he jolts back, as if he’s fallen out of a dream. 

“Alien acid ate up your brain?”  

“Pfft, there’s no such thing.” He makes a show of shaking himself awake. “Just thinking about exams.” 

“You’ll do just fine”, you say dismissively, kicking his shin. “I’m sure of it.” 

“Cos if not it’d mean your tutoring skills suck?” 

“No! Because it’d mean your brain sucks, if all my tutoring didn’t help you one bit - ”

He pays the old man and compliments him for making the best ramen in the world, as he always does, though the old man only truly perks up when you wave at him and promise to come again soon before stepping back into the world outside. Summer is long gone, autumn is on its way out, and winter, with its chilly gales and bleak, short days, is about to arrive in full force. He tucks himself into his coat - Nekoma red, of course, gloves on his hands when he notices you try to zip your coat all the way to the hollow of your throat, shrugging your shoulders in a bid to hide the exposed skin of your neck to the nipping  winter cold.

Receives, bumps, one touches - movements on court that are honed through many years of training, movements that come naturally without his brain having to be engaged too much, but even though this particular movement is new, he doesn’t even realise he’s unwinding the wool scarf from his neck until he’s tugged you close, tilting your chin up gently to wrap it around your neck. 

“My skin’s a lot thicker than yours, so you better make sure you wrap up nice and warm”, he tells you with as much bravado as he can muster,  since you seem to be stricken silent from shock. 

You tuck your chin into the cloud of woolen weave, as you walk beside him, and he’s wondering if he’s wrong for acting over-familiar with you - you’re a friend, but you’re also a girl, and he wonders if his actions might be misconstrued when you glance at him, almost as if you’re looking at him for the first time. 

“Cat got your tongue, princess?”, he asks, his tongue engaging before his brain stops it from its instinct to provoke, to annoy. 

Luckily, your regular scowl crosses your face, and he knows you’re both back on familiar grounds. 

“I just didn’t know you could be nice”, you say airily, tossing your hair behind your shoulder as you dash ahead, laughing merrily. 

“I’ve always been nice to my friends!” he yells, white puffs streaming behind him as he chases after you. 

Your classmates notice around the same time he does that you’re actually friends. 

“Wow, I didn’t know that frigid bitch could actually be human”, Sato comments idly during a break in practice. “What did you do, charm your way into her pants? You gotta tell us if there’s really a stick up her arse if you do.” 

He bites his tongue yet again, preventing him from spitting out some acerbic remark or two. “We’re just friends”, he manages to say with a veneer of politeness. “We work well together.”

“Good for you”, Sato replies. “It’d be a joke if anyone wanted to date that bitch.” 

His mood doesn’t lighten when he turns up at your room for his usual study session after dinner, eyebrows drawn together, a weathervane for his stormy mood. You take one glance at him and snap your laptop shut. 

“Out with it”, you say. “What’s bothering you?” 

“Nothing!” he says too quickly. “Everything’s fine.” 

You obviously don’t believe him. “Did Sato screw up serves again? Or did your captain say something to you? You can’t be stressed about schoolwork, you’re actually ahead, which is good - “ 

“It’s fine”, he stresses, grimacing. “Can you just drop it?” 

Oops. He may have said that a little too sharply because you flinch back into your seat, wincing slightly, even though you try to cover that up with a quick shake of your shoulders, an impassive expression sliding back on your face. He didn’t mean to snap at you - you’re not the cause of his ire, far from it. 

So he fixes it the only way he knows how. 

“Wanna grab ice cream?” 

“What?!” you stare at him, flummoxed.  “It’s a school night and it’s cold, Kuroo!” 

“Perfect weather for ice cream then”, he chortles. “Any weather’s perfect for ice cream. I don’t know a time or situation that’s not a good time for it. C’mon, I know a place that we can study at - or not, since you said we’re ahead.” 

“I thought you only eat old man things like fish”, you jab, but allow yourself to be swept off to a tiny ice cream parlour just off campus. It’s definitely a step up from the combini ice cream the Nekoma team used to eat by the bulk, swirls of strawberry pink in white vanilla, chocolate parfaits abound, a sweet treat you and he both deserve after a hard week at school. 

You settle into a small booth at the back of the store, digging in with a tiny wooden spoon only after he prompts you. “Just admit it’s the best ice cream in the world already”, he teases as your eyes immediately widen when you take your first bite of the overflowing sundae he’s ordered for you to share. 

“It’s good”, you admit, through a mouthful of delicious, creamy ice cream, matcha and chocolate and azuki beans all melding together. It’s horrendously indulgent, because he orders you a huge vat of hot chocolate to go with it, along with pillow-like marshmallows that you giggle at, popping two in your mouth and puffing your cheeks out like a child. He aches to poke your cheeks and laugh at you, but keeps his hands firmly to himself. 

“See”, he says when the urge passes. “Ice cream is always good. In every situation, in every season, having ice cream is like, the go-to. You’ll weed out the weirdos in your life fairly quickly by screening them by their reactions to ice cream  -” 

“Please don’t soliloquise about ice cream, you’re clearly the weirdo here”, you joke, as he clutches his chest, acting affronted. 

“Hey!” 

You scrabble against his arm as he steal the sundae away, he smears ice cream against your nose resulting in a loud, indignant squawk and well retaliation is clearly in order - 

Long story short, you both get asked politely to leave (though the store owner winks at him for some undecipherable reason- he’s become fond of the obaa-chan by now), and you both sit outside on the curb, finishing your ice cream like two happy fools.  

Winter means a brief respite from school, at least at the turn of the year. 

The good thing about attending university in Tokyo is that he’s able to make frequent trips back home to visit his family, so they don’t make any complaints when he makes plans to hang out with the Nekoma team at an izakaya to count down the new year. Yaku and Kai are both in attendance despite the former playing for the Falcons, though with the waves he’s made in the V-league, he won’t be surprised if Yakkun told him he’s headed for Europe in the next year or two, and the latter busy with his studies at the Tokyo University of Agriculture. With Kenma, Fukunaga and Yamamoto graduating in a matter of months, he’s not sure when he’ll get to see his whole team again. He’s not going to miss a chance like this for the world. 

“Lev! Did you seriously grow taller again?!” 

“Yaku-senpai - you look shorter than ever!” 

“I dare you to say that when I can reach you!!!”

“Yaku senpai, please don’t murder Lev, we’ve got nationals in two weeks -” 

None of them can drink just yet, even though Kuroo’s definitely stolen sips of beer from his seniors before, but they’re still by far the rowdiest bunch in the diner. It’s a good thing Fukunaga’s aunt runs the place, and she’s always been fond of the Nekoma team, having fed them over the years, so it’s fine if they all sit around, bickering with each other, ordering so much food that the table groans under the weight of laden dishes. 

He’s debating the pros and cons of playing for a university team versus going pro directly with Yamamoto when the door slides open, and a familiar figure stumbles in, the wind howling outside strong enough to knock a person off their feet. 

“Kuroo?” 

He glances up and his mouth promptly falls open.

“Princess? Wha-what are you doing here?”

It’s probably the wrong move to address you with the affectionate nickname he initially adopted to provoke you, with his team falling silent, watching as their usually unruffled captain turns traffic light red at the sight of a slip of a girl - but they don’t know that he’s so accustomed to seeing you dressed in an oversized hoodie, comfortable pyjamas even, when he’s invaded your room to study - that his brain short-circuits at the sight of you in a form fitting sweater dress that highlights every dip and curve of your form. 

“I live near here, remember? Some of my friends dragged me out to count down the new year, like you it seems!” A gaggle of girls wave over at you, before Fukunaga’s aunt ushers them towards a table at the other end of the diner. “Is this your high school team?”

Yamamoto nods so vigorously he nearly falls out of his chair, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s eavesdropping shamelessly. You laugh at his antics, introducing yourself to him, and the younger boy looks like he’s about to rocket out of his chair when you ask if he’s the powerful wing spiker that Kuroo told you about, conveniently leaving out the fact that Kuroo’s mentioned that he’s a little over-enthusiastic, almost to a fault. 

“I’m Nekoma’s ace now!” Yamamoto half shouts, puffing his chest, as Shibayama and Inouka hide their smiles behind their hands. 

“I’m sure you are”, you reply, your smile so bright and earnest that Kuroo has to stamp down the urge to push Yamamoto away from you. “He’s said so many good things about you!” 

Yamamoto looks like he’s about to burst into tears, but Kuroo can’t seem to catch a break when Yaku leans over to introduce himself. “I didn’t know Kuroo had a girlfriend!”

Now Kuroo wants to stamp Yaku into the ground. From the frying pan, straight into the fire.  

“Oh!” you toss a look his way, biting down on your bottom lip. “N-no, you got it wrong. We’re just friends!” 

“That makes sense”, Yaku says. “We traded having a manager for having Kuroo as our captain.” 

You laugh again. He wonders if this is the most he’s ever heard you laugh - it just has to be at his expense, in front of his old team. 

“Is that so?” 

“Everyone thinks he’s a pain, but he’s really just an old man despite his Yakuza-like hair, if you haven’t realised by now. They all think we’ve been tormented by him for years, which is kinda true  - ” 

“Right”, Kuroo manages to get between the two of you, gesturing wildly. “That’s enough - don’t you have to hang out with your friends?” 

Yamamoto is still staring even after you’ve flitted away. Yaku is still grinning, mouth stretched wide.  

“She’s a pretty girl - not my type though, I still prefer girls with short hair. She’s definitely more your type though, Kuroo, maybe you should - ” 

For some reason, his brain stops working when it comes to you, so his tongue moves yet again of its volition as he snaps, a little too loudly, “She’s a bossy know-it-all, just like you. She’s definitely not my type either - ”

Yaku stiffens in his seat. “Did you just call me a bossy, know-it-all?” 

He’s too preoccupied defending himself from a roundhouse kick from Yaku to notice that you looked up  at him from your seat, a furrow in your brow that remains throughout the night, even after the everyone counts the year down in unison, the ridiculous variety show playing on the TV finally coming to an end. 

He's shepherding his kouhai out, bowing deeply to thank Fukunaga's aunt for her hospitality when he catches sight of you again, standing by the side of the road as you wave your friends off. 

"It's late", Kai pipes up from behind him unexpectedly. "You should go walk her home."

Ever the voice of reason, his trusty vice captain. He ignores the catcalls from his idiot team when he approaches you for the second time of the night, tries not to flinch when you turn to gaze at him, eyes flinty, though for the life of him, he can't imagine why. 

"C'mon princess." He runs a hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably. "I'll walk you home, lead the way."

"I can take care of myself just fine", you tell him pertly. "You don't have to go out of your way for someone who’s just a bossy know it all -" 

"Stop being stubborn, it's late. Young people these days lack common sense, seriously -" 

You ignore him, start storming off into the shadowed streets. Luckily, his long legs more than make up the head start you’ve gained on him, hand outstretched to grab the back of your coat. 

“What’s with you today? You’re more stubborn than usual.” 

You whirl around, shaking his hand off. "Oh, just add being stubborn to your description of me as a bossy know-it-all, that's just fine by me!" He frowns in confusion, as you speed up into a slow job, as if intent to shake him off. It makes no difference, he matches your pace easily.

“Stop!” He pulls at your coat sleeve, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Physics wins out, and he manages to drag you to a halt. He’s just glad you aren’t armed with a fork or pen, your usual choice of weapon because that might tilt the balance in your favour instead. 

“Fuck right off, Kuroo Tetsuro!” 

This is not how he wanted to spend the first minutes of the new year, spitting and avoiding the claws of a hell-cat. Not to mention the fact that the situation he’s in probably looks really suspicious to any passerby - a guy chasing after a girl, even after she’s told him in no uncertain terms to leave her the hell alone. But he wants to see what you see, even though he’s insistent that no insult was intended. 

“What’s with you today? I’ve called you a bossy know-it-all before, and you’ve never taken issue with it. In fact, you just insult me right back - I think my favourite insult to-date is pompous, rooster-headed prick, so it’s not like the vocabulary I used is new, and I seriously don’t understand why you’re pissed at me right now.” 

“Do you even hear yourself?” You spin on your heel, jab a finger into his chest. “I don’t care that you called me a bossy know-it-all, you gaping asshole! I just - I just thought -” 

“Thought what?” he echoes, seriously confused when you stop short, gaze suddenly losing its heat, falling like a comet discovering gravity for the first time. 

“It’s nothing”, you say firmly, marching on ahead towards the traffic junction. The roads are still busy with cars, even in the suburbs. “Really. Nothing. Everything’s just fine.”

“Oi, weren’t you mad at me?” 

You shake your head, resolutely staring at the road ahead. “I forgive you for being stupid, Kuroo Tetsuro. I think stupidity’s a blight on your gender,  it’s not just confined to you.” 

He stumbles over a stray crack in the pavement, before catching himself. When he recovers from his shock, it melds into confusion at your sudden magnanimity. “Uh, thanks I guess?” Then, because he knows food is the way to soothe the annoyance in your soul, he grins - “I was gonna offer to buy you dinner and ice cream, buy your forgiveness, you know - but I suppose that’s not needed anymore, huh.” 

You snort, loud and clear in the night. “You’re absolutely buying me ramen when we’re back at school.”

The traffic light changes from red to green. He moves forward, a step behind you. 

“It was my turn to buy dinner next, so it’s no loss to buy ramen for you anyway.” 

A familiar eye-roll tips him off to your next move, an elbow to his ribs which he dodges, sidestepping your attack neatly. “You’re annoying”, you grumble, and he just chortles, replying with a quip he knows will frustrate you to no-end. 

“Nah, I’m just Kuroo Tetsuro. Always at your service, princess.” 

“Those words are synonymous now, I swear -” 

Your bickering tapers off when you finally reach your parents’ apartment building, a modest, four storey block that’s thankfully just a bus ride away from his grandparents’ home. He should be happy his night’s almost over because it’s late, the night air growing colder with every passing minute, and he needs to be up early to continue revising for the upcoming exams. But he can’t help but drag his feet, prolong the time he has with you. 

“You sure you’re not still mad at me?” 

He doesn’t need you to know that he teeters on the knife edge of being snarky and annoying - Yaku, and to a far lesser, gentler, extent, Kai too, have both made it very clear that his way with provocative taunts can land him in hot water at times, so he’s also learnt to apologise, where needed. He’ll let you slap him if you’re still mad (not that you’ve actually used enough force to hurt him before, sans the time you stabbed with your fork for stealing your dinner), or throw yet another pen at him (that he’ll dodge anyway). He just doesn’t want to spend the first day of the year fighting with you. 

“And if I am, what’re you going to do about it?” 

He promptly drops onto his knees. Your mouth promptly drops open. 

“W-what are you doing?!” 

His jeans will survive the dirt and dust, even if obaa-chan might complain a little about him dirtying her pristine washing machine. “I’m very good at grovelling”, he informs you, laughing aloud as you dart forward to try tugging him to his feet, ignoring your hissing that you really don’t need to attract the attention of your neighbours, thank you very much! But there’s no way in hell you’d be able to lift a load that’s at least seventy kilograms of pure muscle, no matter how much you threaten said load, so he waits until you pant, exhausted, resorting instead to cheap tricks like prodding his nose with an indignant finger. 

“Kuroo Tetsuro, you stop this right now! Get up, or help me, I will hurt you -”

“I’ll get up after you accept my apology - I don’t think my heart could take it if you’re mad with me, princess.” 

He presses his hand to said heart, both to assure you of his sincerity and act as a shield in case you do decide to stab him right in the chest, which he won’t put past you, considering the way your eyebrows telegraph the way you’re fluctuating between exasperation and annoyance. 

“I didn’t hear any apology from you.” You eventually settle on exasperation, the better option in his opinion, even though there’s a vaguely murderous glint to your eyes that he doesn’t quite like. 

He scrambles to his feet. “I’m sorry for calling you a bossy, know-it-all”, he says contritely. “Please forgive me. I’d have a terrible year if you don’t.” 

“Fine”, you grumble, tone impatient, but he’ll take it as a win, since there’s no bodily harm inflicted upon him yet. “You’re still an asshole, Kuroo Tetsuro.”

“I’ll accept your insult, fair maiden, even though an apology was all I sought”, he says blithely. He’s courting danger right now, the equivalent of prodding nitrogen triiodide just to see what happens (it’ll explode, that’s what), but you surprise him when you don’t react, eyebrows suspiciously straight as you stare him down. 

“Did I say something wrong again?” 

This time, your eyebrows waver. He’s not sure if it’s a good thing. 

“Good night, Kuroo”, you say, so quietly that he has to strain to hear it. Then you reach for his face, and he flinches back, expecting a punch, a slap, a smack, but all he gets is a brush of your thumb against his cheek. It leaves a spark of warmth in its wake, heat rising in his chest despite it being the first day of January, deep in the winter's chill, but then you retract your hand, quicker than any attack of yours. 

“Happy New Year”, he vaguely hears you say, as you look away. “I hope you have a good year, Kuroo.”  

“Happy New Year”, he replies, watching and waiting until you disappear into the lift lobby, until the lift doors hide you from him.

m.list.~ taglist.~

a/n: hope you guys are enjoying the fluffy goodness between these two dorks. 

[astrovian]

Richard Armitage interview for Radio Times (31/12/21)

Full transcript under cut

It’s hard to believe that Netflix nail-biter The Stranger only came out last year. The first collaboration between Harlan Coben and Richard Armitage dropped on the streaming service at the tail-end of January 2020, making a big splash upon its initial launch and no doubt picking up some extra viewers as the nation gradually retreated indoors. Fans were quick to demand a direct follow-up, which sadly never materialised, but a spiritual successor arrives on New Year’s Eve in the form of Stay Close.

“I would love to have gone back to do season two, but it was a closed story,” Armitage tells RadioTimes.com. “So when the opportunity came to do another one with the same team, same writer – different cast, obviously – it was a no brainer. I said ‘yes’ immediately and then started reading the book, and just thought, ‘here we go again’. It’s a complete page-turner.”

Both stories involve an individual’s seemingly perfect life being thrown into chaos by buried secrets, but Cush Jumbo (The Beast Must Die) portrays the polished middle-class suburbanite this time around. That side of Armitage has been firmly locked away as he inhabits the role of dishevelled photographer Ray Levine, whose once-promising life was reduced to shambles following a devastating trauma 17 years ago, from which he has never recovered.

“It’s where me and the character are so poles apart, because actually I move on from things really quickly,” the North & South star reveals. “I can pick myself up, compartmentalise it and move on. I mean, you do that all the time as an actor. When you’re faced with massive disappointments when you don’t get work, you just forget about it and you find yourself in a forward trajectory. But Ray hasn’t been able to do that.”

Armitage attributes this stagnation to the memory problems Ray has experienced since that fateful night and the fact that he has nobody “to guide him” through the recovery process. His understanding of the character is clear and confident, having carried out exhaustive research in preparation for Stay Close, creating a “rich” biography for Ray that extends far beyond what is laid out in the source material. Not only did this inform his performance, but it also proved an invaluable resource when it came to crafting the look of certain scenes.

“The production designer would email me and say, ‘what do you think Ray’s flat looks like? What kind of things does he have?’ And of course, I had the answers, because I’d done a lot of the background work,” he explains. “So when I got to set, it’s almost like nothing needed to be touched, it was so perfect down to the half-finished Pot Noodles on the couch and the cheap white bread that he was eating… In-between takes, I would just flop down on the couch as if it was my apartment because it felt so right, which I just love.”

The disparity between Ray and The Stranger‘s Adam Price is quite deliberate, as the team at Red Production Company were keen to win Armitage back, but “concerned” he would feel the material was “too close” in style and tone. The actor speaks highly of his collaborators there, including founder Nicola Shindler, describing them as “good friends” that he hopes to work with again, but adds the caveat that their next project is unlikely to be yet another Harlan Coben adaptation.

“I’m always looking to do something radically different to what I’ve done before,” he begins. “I’d be really surprised, [as] much as I like Harlan and how much he likes me, I think it would be pushing our luck to do a third. But never say never.”

Netflix has certainly invested heavily in the mystery author, brokering a deal in 2018 that will see up to 14 of his novels turned into streaming shows or films over the next few years. So far, these adaptations have been spread across Europe, with productions setting up shop in the UK, Poland, Spain and France, despite most of the books being set around the United States. Armitage credits Coben’s understanding of human behaviour for why these stories have resonated so strongly all over the globe, while he also hails Netflix for bringing the consumption of international content into the mainstream.

“These shows are not curated specifically for Spain or for Eastern Europe [or] whatever it is… they’re not embargoed,” he continues. “Sometimes in the past you’d think, ‘well, that’s never going to work in America, so we won’t sell it to America’. With Netflix, anything goes anywhere. So we’re watching stuff from all over the world and whether it’s got subtitles or not, I think people are just fascinated with how it works.

“It makes it more interesting if it’s not in your language. [When] I watched Money Heist, Netflix dubbed it for me by default, and I spent a day looking for how to watch it in the original language… because the voice is so connected to the person. I’ve got great people that dub me all over the world, but I want to hear the actor’s real voice. I don’t want to hear another actor voicing their words in English; it’s like you’re removing such a huge chunk of the character, particularly in high drama.”

Armitage himself has been part of this global push. Not only has he just finished work on a Spanish film, but earlier this year he appeared in South Korean blockbuster Space Sweepers, which landed on Netflix seven months before Squid Game brought increased attention to the country’s cultural output. It’s the latest in a long line of genre work, having previously played Marvel’s Wolverine in two audio dramas, as well as bagging key roles in animated fantasy series Castlevania, psychological horror Hannibal, and Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit trilogy.

“As a teenager, I was really into fantasy, magic, and then science fiction, so the Tolkien world, the CS Lewis world, [and] then sort of moved into Isaac Asimov and the early science fiction writers,” he recalls. “So when my agent came to me and said, ‘Look, they’re scouting the world for the cast of The Hobbit’, I was immediately engaged because I knew those books, I knew the world and I was almost salivating.

“So when somebody comes to me with a brilliant science fiction script, like Space Sweepers, I’m immediately transported and my brain goes into that place. It doesn’t necessarily put you in line for any awards or anything like that, because they’re often sidelined in terms of critical acclaim. But in terms of an audience and a practitioner, I love it, so I dive straight in… The whole green screen thing doesn’t bother me, because my brain is so full of the imagery anyway, I can project myself into that world.”

Armitage agrees that sci-fi and fantasy is deserving of more recognition on the awards circuit, naming The Hobbit co-star Andy Serkis as someone who “should have won an Oscar by now” for his work in the field of motion capture. Nevertheless, he’s far from done with either genre, revealing he’s keeping an eye out for an as-yet-unrealised dream project.

“Science fiction is still an untapped fantasy of my own. I’d love to do a really, really well executed comprehensive science fiction series, which is not so far away from us [in terms of realism],” he says, explaining his ideal project would be closer in tone to Black Mirror than Star Trek. “So if the door opens for me to take part in those things, I’ll jump.”

[charmie-inspiration]

I thought I had to be quiet, I thought there is absolutely nothing to say about this. At first because I didn’t think there was anything to these claims because I have been here for awhile and fandom tends to take things too far. 

But this isn’t about that at all. I don’t want to even add to the conversation just like I wouldn’t argue with someone that climate change doesn’t exist. If you aren’t convinced by now then there’s nothing that I can say that would make it better.

The reason I am making this post at all is because I am going through this and if you ask any of my friends, I am sure they would agree on being worried about my reaction.

Because I have been here for almost five and a half years. I watched a 60s spy movie in 2015 and I fell in love with this stupid tall guy with the kind eyes and rumbly laugh. I’m 20 now and realising that a stable like that isn’t what you made it out to be, is hard. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know of our existence. I know that there are people out there who have to wrangle with the fact of losing someone close to them through a fucking daily mail article.

It feels like you just got broken up with over email, in a shitty side sentence while he tells you about his new woman. And that’s the point right. This isn’t about those women, it is about him and how he made you feel and those women and how he made them feel.

I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs and I had to wrangle with the fact that he is smoking at all. But that’s something a lot of people do. Drinking is something a lot of people do. And I suppose there’s a way to do so responsibly. However because I have no part in that community I know what it’s like when people that are close to you offer you to drink. And tell you to drink. And question why and how you don’t drink. Again and again and again. I didn’t say yes but I know tons of people would and do every day. They’re your friends, after all. You don’t want to lose them.

And he is Armie Hammer. I wouldn’t say no to him. I know that. And that’s how I know that they can be right, that sometimes you say yes but it’s not a yes. Society has issues understanding that no means no. That a drunk yes is a no. But a community that is largely female should look at themselves and do a fact check. A coerced yes is also a no. And that makes this abuse.

I am speaking up because this is one of the hardest things I have to do. Because if I can look at the 5 years that I spent following this man’s career, rooting for him and having my life changed because of him and still admit that there are things you can’t forgive or forget then so can you. 

Did you know that my first fic that I wrote in English was in The Man from UNCLE fandom? That I learned to speak this language like a native because of someone that I connected to through our love for tmfu and then because of our love for the actors in it. That’s tarnished.

Did you know that the first time that I ever travelled without my parents was to go to Crema? To meet friends I had made because of CMBYN and our shared love for it? That’s tarnished.

Did you know that I regarded Feb, 29th the happiest the day of my life? That after following this man for 4 and a half years I finally got to see him in person because I had been stuck in Europe where you don’t just see actors parading around all day. Not the kind that I wanted to see so badly anyway? That’s tarnished. 

And that when it all started coming together, I looked at my life where he’s in so many nooks and crannies, in the posters on my wall, on the lockscreen of my phone, in the messages to my friends, on every single social media on every single platform that I have used in the past 5 years. And that’s incredibly hard to just let go. I sat there and was like “I don’t know how to hate him.” But I learned to be disgusted by him and the absolute lack of remorse that he has shown. 

It’s hard because we all have our coping mechanisms and these days we rely on them more than anything else. I have lost my sport and I have lost someone very close to me that used to make me smile. And this was always, always something that I could count on. When I felt like absolute shit yesterday I wanted to watch tmfu because it’s the movie that always makes me laugh. And I wanted to read the stories that I had written that I am so incredibly proud of. But I couldn’t because he broke those things. The way I dealt with loss was always turning to those characters and knowing that not only I can’t do that right now but that I never can again, that life is gonna continue to shit on me and I have to do it without him sucks. 

He had a responsibility. He had a responsibility to be a decent human being, just like everybody else.

I am angry, I am devastated. I don’t know how to proceed with those shambles and I know that he hasn’t touched me, that I don’t have to look at myself in the mirror with the knowledge that I let him do what he did to those women to me. But I know I would’ve that still feels fucking shitty.

I don’t know if anybody will read this. I don’t know if anybody will care about this. This isn’t for you or for them and definitely not for him. I still feel nauseous, because I know that he would fucking get off on knowing the kind of control he has over my life. Has had for many years. I am still picking up the pieces of what I went through yesterday. It will take time and I have friends because of him that helped and will continue to help me through this. I am going to be okay, eventually. For me it’s going to be a lesson, getting away with a black eye so to speak. But there are real people who have really been hurt by this.

So I am asking you, if I can go through this because I know it’s the right thing to do then so can you.

[olderthannetfic]

Hey, sorry to ask this, but a few days ago I saw a post/discussion about the history of original work on ao3 (i.e. how and when it was allowed). I thought it was in my likes, but it's not, and I thought you had reblogged it recently, but I didn't find it. I was wondering if you have seen this discussion around? Or where I can find more about it? This specific post talked abt how who defended original work on ao3 were not the BNFs, if that helps.

That was me running my mouth in the reblogs of something or other. It’s just the one comment.

But what’s that you say? Some tl;dr about a pet topic? Don’t mind if I do! ;) (To be honest, most of this debate happened years ago, and a lot of the long meta was by me back then too, so…)

Okay, so, the situation with Original Works is actually super interesting and a microcosm of early years OTW wank.

This is going to be even more tl;dr than my usual. To try to summarize very briefly:

There were two big cultural factions. One thought “original” was the opposite of “fan”. That one was in charge of OTW. It was hard to get voices from the other side into the debate because they already felt excluded from OTW.

This divide broke down more or less into Ye Olde Slash Fandom on the “it’s the opposite” side and anime fandom on the “WTF?” side. Americans on one side and a lot of non-US, non-English language fandom on the other.

I. Media Fandom, Anime Fandom, and Early OTW

I went to that first fundraising party that astolat threw in New York City back in… god… 2007? 2008? I wasn’t on the Board or any official position until the committees got started later, but I was around right from the very beginning.

Whether you’re looking at volunteers or at people who commented on astolat’s original post, there were always a variety of fans from a variety of fannish backgrounds. People aren’t absolutely in one camp or another, and fannish interests change over time. If you go dig through Dreamwidth posts to find who was actually participating in this debate at the time, half of them are probably in the other camp now.

If you think like that sounds like a preamble to me making a bunch of offensively sweeping generalizations and divvying fans up into little groups, you’d be right! Haha.

I.a. Ye Olde Media Fandom

There are a lot of camps of people who like fanfic. One of the biggest divisions has been Ye Olde Media Fandom vs. anime fandom. Astolat’s social circle–my LJ social circle–was filled with people with decades of fannish experience and a deep knowledge of the Media Fandom side of things.

Those fandom history treatises that start with K/S zines in Star Trek fandom in the 70s and move on through the mainstream buddy cops like Starsky & Hutch to the more niche, sff buddy cops like Fraser and Ray or Jim and Blair are talking about Media Fandom. I try to always capitalize it because the name is lulzy and bizarre to me unless it’s a proper noun for a specific historical thing. It was coined as a rude term for “mass media” fandom aka dumb people who like, ughhhh, Star Trek, ughhh, instead of books. This is a very ancient slapfight from the type of fandom you find at Worldcon, often called “SF fandom” or plain “fandom”.

(Yes, this leads to mega confusion on the part of some old dudes when they find Fanlore and fail to understand that “fandom” there refers to what these people would call “Media Fandom”. They think only they get the unmarked form. But I digress…)

Media Fandom is a specific flavor of fandom. It’s where the slash zines were. It’s where the fans of live action US TV shows were. It’s the history that acafans have laid out well and that tends to get used to defend the idea of a female subculture writing transgressive and transformative fanfic. On the video side, Media Fandom is where Kandy Fong invented vidding by making Star Trek slideshows.

(Kandy’s still around, BTW. She’s usually at Escapade in L.A. Ask her to tell you about the dancing penises sketch in person. She’s hilarious.)

Astolat and friends had been going to slash cons for years. They founded Vividcon. And Yuletide. That meant that when astolat said “Hey kids, let’s put on a show!” we all jumped to help. This is a lady who gets things done.

From a Worldcon perspective, or even from an older Media Fandom perspective, this group was comparatively young, hip, and welcoming. Their fandom interests were comparatively broad. Just look at Yuletide!

In fact, yes, let us look at Yuletide… [ominous music]

I.b. Yuletide sucks at anime

From the very first year (2003), Yuletide mods have asked for help with anime fandoms, been confused about anime fandoms, or made bad judgment calls about anime fandoms. They’ve fucked up on Superhero comics and plenty of other things over the years, but anime has been the most consistent (well, and JRPGs, but there’s so much overlap in those fic fandoms).

There was already bad feeling about this. There were years of bad feeling about this.

I.c. Where are the historians?

Academic study of fanficcy things pretty much got started with Textual Poachers and Enterprising Women. Other acafans who are well known to LJ and later Tumblr are people like Francesca Coppa who wrote a very nice summary of the history of Media Fandom. These are not the only academics who exist, these academics themselves have written about many other things, and by now, OTW’s own journal has covered a lot of other territory, but to this day I see complaints on Tumblr that “acafans” only care about K/S and oldschool slash fandom.

There were years of bad feeling about this as well.

I.d. What kind of fan was I?

Now, by the time OTW got started, I’d moseyed over to not only a lot of live action US TV but a lot of old-as-fuck US TV that is squarely in the Media Fandom camp. But once upon a time, I was a weeaboo hanging out with my weeaboo friends in college. I learned Japanese (sort of). I moved to Japan. Livin’ the weeaboo dream!

More importantly, I used to be a member of a lot of anime mailing lists back in the Yahoo Groups days. I didn’t realize what a cultural gap that would cause until the original works issue came up on AO3.

I.e. Anime Fandom, German-language Fandom, Original M/M

Once upon a time–namely in that Yahoo Groups era–there was an archive called Boys in Chains. It was where you found The Good Stuff™. Heavy kink and power exchange galore! It was extremely well known in the parts of fandom I was in, even if you weren’t on the associated mailing list. It contained lots of fic, but it also had lots of original work.

Around that same era, I was on a critique list called Crimson Ink, which was mixed fic and original. The “original slash” and “original yaoi” crowds mixed freely and were in fanfic spaces. Remember, this is like 2003. You’re never going to get your gay fantasy novel published in English in the US. A couple of fangirl presses started around then, but they died an ignominious death after their first print run.

Fanfiction.net used to allow original work before it spun that off into FictionPress. We forget this today, but if you were an early FFN person, the separation wasn’t so great either.

Meanwhile, German-language fandom was hanging out on sites like Animexx.de, a big-ass fic archive that prominently mentions also including original work. I have the impression that Spanish-language fandom was similar too.

Shousetsu Bang*Bang was founded in 2005. It was a webzine for original m/m, but it was entirely populated by fanfic fandom types.

In all of those kinds of spaces, there was a lot of “original” work that was kind of slash or BL-ish and seen as fannish if it was posted in the fannish space. These weren’t anime-only spaces. They were multifandom spaces where it was seen as obvious and normal that a couple of huge fandoms like Harry Potter would dominate but that everything else big would naturally be anime.

While fans from every background are everywhere, I found that the concentration of EFL fans living in Continental Europe, South America, and Asia was much higher in this kind of space, even the exclusively English language part of it, than in my US TV fandoms.

II. AO3 Early Adopters

AO3 went into closed beta in 2009. In 2010, it was open to the general public (albeit with the invitation queue it still has). But not everyone was interested yet. Just like fandom is loath to leave the dying, shambling mess of Tumblr, fandom was loath to leave dwindling LJ/DW circles or was happy enough on Fanfiction.net. I used to see a lot of posts like “Why are you guys trying to STEAL fanfic from the original! FFN is enough!”

I literally could not give away the invitations I had. No one wanted them.

So who was on AO3? Obviously enough, it was all of us who built it and our friends. So that means a bunch of oldschool Livejournal slashers coming from fandoms like Due South or Stargate Atlantis.

The queue was open. Anyone could make an account. Everyone was welcome. In theory…

But more and more, there started to be these posts about how “AO3 Hates Anime Fandom” and “FFN is for anime. AO3 is for Western fandoms.” and “If you guys actually wanted anime fandom on there, you’d invite us better and make us more welcome.”

At the time, I found these posts obnoxious. People aren’t purely in one sort of fandom or the other. No one was stopping anime fandom from making accounts. No one was banning anime fandom. If there wasn’t much from old fandoms, that was because old fandoms seldom move.

Things began to change. Trolls on FFN forced the Twilight porn writers out, creating enough fuss and brouhaha to mobilize people who would rather have stayed put. AO3 got big enough that randos found it by accident. Original work started to pop up, posted by people who’d never looked at the rules and had no idea it was not allowed.

III. History of AO3’s Policy

I had argued for allowing “original work” during the initial discussions about the ToS. On one side of this issue was me. On the other, everyone else on the committee.

I was overruled.

Open Door started importing old archives to save them. Boys in Chains was hugely important to fandom history from my point of view. It was slated to be imported… maybe. Except that Boys in Chains is half original. AO3 was happy to grandfather in those stories, but the final archive owner felt, quite rightly, that it would be unfair to tell half of the authors they were welcome in the new space while spitting on the other half.

I was pissed. I had been pissed since being overruled the first time. To me, the fact that it should be allowed was so blatantly obvious that it was hard to even explain why.

(To be honest, this difficulty in explaining why and the even greater difficulty in figuring out the source of that difficulty is what held the discussion back for so long. When every assumption on either side is completely opposite, it’s hard to communicate.)

I felt betrayed. It would be like if you helped build something, and everyone was suddenly like “Well, obviously, we can’t allow m/m. It’s not normal fanfic.”

So we discussed it again and, again, it was me vs. literally everyone else. And still the “AO3 is only for Western slash fandom” bitching rose in volume and more and more people complained of feeling excluded from the new fandom hub. Finally, the committee agreed to open the issue up for public comment and get some more input. I was a fool and neither wrote nor proofread the post. It went out phrasing the question as allowing “non fannish” work or something of that sort.

I was furious. The entire point of the whole debate was that I saw some original work, the original work that belongs on AO3, as inherently fannish. And now this had been presented to the AO3 audience as something completely different. Think pieces were popping up in the journals of everyone I knew about diluting AO3’s mission and how we needed to save AO3 from encroachment. Public opinion was very negative. That’s both because of how the post was phrased and because OTW die hards at the time were mostly from the same fannish background. This tidal wave of negativity meant that there was virtually no chance of changing this poisonous rule. And if the rule didn’t change, the people who wanted the rule change were never going to show up to explain why it mattered.

If you’ve been reading my tumblr, I think you can guess what happened next.

I posted a long post to my Dreamwidth. It was a masterwork of passive aggression. In it, I wrung my hands about how simply tragic it would be if AO3 had to delete all of the original work… like anthropomorfic.

Now, I think anthropomorfic counts as fanfic as much as anything else, but I also knew that it fails most rigorous “based on a canon” type definitions of fic and, more importantly, it’s a favorite Yuletide fandom of many of the people on the side that wanted to ban original work.

That’s a nice fandom of yours. It would be a pity if something happened to it. 

Yup. Passive aggressive blackmail. Go me. Suddenly, there was a lot of awkward backtracking and confused running in circles in various journals. The committee agreed to table the idea for a while but not rule out the idea of allowing original works in the future. We agreed to halt all deletions of original work. If a fan posted it, the Abuse Committee (which I was also head of at the time) would not delete that work even though it was technically against the rules.

Time passed. The people on the negative side got tired. I wanted off that committee and had wanted off for ages, but I was damned if I was going to leave before ramming through this piece of policy. Grudgematch till I die! (Look, I never said I wasn’t a wanker.)

After a while, some other fans came forward with more types of “original work” as evidence that it should be allowed. These were from parts of fandom none of us on the committee knew a damn thing about.

This new evidence combined with the gradual accretion of original stuff on AO3 without the sky falling eventually led us to quietly rule Original Work a valid fandom. There was never even a big announcement post. I slipped a word to the Boys in Chains mod myself.

IV. What Were They So Afraid Of Anyway?

So why were people so resistant? Seems like a dick move, right?

Not exactly.

I mean, I was enraged and waged a one-woman war to change the rules, but the other side wasn’t nuts. The objections were usually the following:

I just don’t get why it would be allowed. It never was in my fannish spaces.

Most of our members don’t want this.

Most of the examples of things that ought to be included are m/m. We are privileging m/m if we allow it, and AO3 already has a m/m-centric reputation that can feel exclusionary to some fans.

AO3 is a young, shaky platform that can barely handle the load and content we already have. If we open to original work, we’ll be opening the floodgates. The volume of posting will be so high, it will drown out the fic we’re actually here to protect.

Protecting stuff that doesn’t need protection because it’s not an IP issue would dilute OTW’s mission.

If we allow it, idiots will try to turn AO3 into advertising space, posting only the first chapter and a link to where you can pay to read the rest.

If we add another category of text before we add fan art, that’s a slap in the face of the fan artists we are already failing.

These arguments all make perfect sense in context.

Obvously, the issue with the first two is that different fannish communities have different norms. I knew that a very large community disagreed with the then current AO3 policy, but since so few of them were around to comment, it seemed like a tiny fringe minority.

The m/m thing is… complex. M/M content with zero IP issues is at risk. It is always at risk in a way that even f/f is not (though f/f is also always at risk). Asking for m/m to be exactly equivalent to f/f or m/f in numbers, tropes, whatever is ignoring the historical realities. In our current moment of queer activism in the West, we treat all types of queerness as part of one community with one set of goals, but once you get to culture and art or even more specific activism, this forced homogenization is neither useful nor healthy.

OTOH, AO3 really did have PR problems related to the perception that we gave m/m fandom the kid glove treatment. That objection wasn’t coming from nowhere.

AO3 was shaky. It was tiny when I first brought up this argument. Hell, it wasn’t even in closed beta the first time we discussed this. Part of what made the quiet rules change possible was AO3 organically getting much bigger and OTW having to buy many more servers for unrelated reasons.

The “floodgates” thing was put to rest by tacitly allowing original work before the rules change. We had a period to study how fans actually behaved, and as I predicted, only a small amount of original work got posted. It was indeed mostly things like original BL-ish stories or original work that had been part of a mixed original/fic fest, exchange, zine, etc. Currently, the “Original Work” fandom on AO3 only has 76,348 works. That’s pretty big compared to individual fandoms but tiny compared to AO3’s current size.

The commercial argument was spurious because commercial spam had been against the rules from the very beginning. OH THE IRONY that nowadays AO3 has all these idiots trying to post the first chapter of their fanfic and then direct you to where you can buy the rest.

AO3 has plenty of fanfic of public domain works. One of the problems with gatekeeping original work is that any way you try to distinguish it (not based on a specific canon, not an IP issue, etc.) will apply to some set of obviously allowable fandoms.

As for fan art… OTW has failed fan artists. They needed protection as much as or even more than fic writers. Just look at Tumblr! If we had succeeded at making DeviantArt but allowing boners, fan art fandom could have been safe all these years. Or when Tumblr inevitably shat the bed, we could have scooped up all those people instead of them scattering to twitter and god knows where.

OTW has failed vidders too, at least in terms of preservation. I know I’m not the only one who thinks this. Other major people from like the first Board and shit have discussed this with me offline. Doing some kind of vidding project, possibly outside of OTW is on a lot of our to-do lists. But at least one of OTW’s biggest victories has been that copyright exemption. OTW has demonstrably done really positive things for vidders that other organizations and sites have not. As a vidder, I never expected to see good hosting for the actual video files, and I’m quite content.

But fan artists… yeah. That argument makes sense at least from a place of frustration.

BTW, for the love of god, if you’re a n00b to OTW stuff, please do not reblog this post excitedly telling me that hosting fan art is on OTW’s road map, so yay, good news. Someone always does that, and it’s so irritating. I haven’t been involved in OTW in years, but I used to be, and I know what is on the roadmap. The couple of you who do heavy lifting on sysadmin and coding and policy things are welcome to weigh in as usual. I know none of us like that we can’t host fan art. It’s not what we intended.

Nonetheless, I found this argument to be the perfect being the enemy of the good. If we can save more text now without losing much of anything, we should do it. The fact that we’re fucking up on the fan art front is not a reason to spread the misery around.

V. Is “Original” the Opposite of “Fanfic”?

Okay, so that tl;dr above is why “BNFs” were on one side and “nobodies” were on the other. BNFs from one cultural background founded OTW. BNFs from the other cultural background weren’t even aware that the debate was going on.

But what was the underlying philosophical problem in even having the conversation?

It took me a long time, but I finally worked it out: We had two completely different ways of categorizing writing, and they were so baked into how we phrased questions that everything ended up being unanswerable to the other side. Here is what I came up with:

Schema 1

Fanfic - based on someone else’s IP

Original Work - the opposite

Schema 2

Non-Fannish Work - School essays, stories you are writing to try to sell to a mainstream publisher

Fannish Work Type 1 - based on other people’s characters directly (i.e. fanfic) Type 2 - based on tropes or whatever (“original slash” and the like)

Now, in the current moment when half of Tumblr just got into Chinese webnovels and the m/m ebook industry is thriving in English, original, tropey, BL-ish work is no longer different from “things I am trying to sell”. But this is how the divide was circa 2005 on fannish websites, and it’s the divide that was driving this internal OTW debate.

VI. Let’s Summarize the Camps One More Time

So, again, the debate makes perfect sense if you understand who was involved.

On the mainstream “But that’s not fanfic? I’m confused?” side:

Big US TV fandoms in English

Fandom historians of K/S–>buddy cop slash–>SGA, etc.

Americans

On the other side:

Anime fandom

“Original slash” fandom that had already been chased off of everywhere

People upset that AO3 wasn’t farther on translating the interface and supporting non-English language fandom.

People upset about US-centrism in fandom

Yes, I am very white, very American, and by now very into old buddy cop shows, but this was basically how the breakdown worked. It meant that something that looked like a minor quibble to one side was really, really not.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

If Bombshells ever returned, maybe to explore the aftereffects of the war. Here are some superheroines and supervillainesses that could join the fight into the new era. The Cold War.

Jesse Quick; Jesse would totally join the families providing their homes to the displaced Jews of Europe while at the same time protecting her city from all sorts of crime. But her storyline might come with learning that in her need to help everyone and solving everyone's problems since she has the technology and the privlege, well... kinda appears as a white savior. At least to Lisa Snart which brings me to... 

Golden Glider: Well I think we can all guess that Lisa has a Jewish-like last name and while her big bro, Captain Cold, Leonard was working with the Nazis, I am so arguing that he was just conveinately converting in order to save his skin and his sister's. Anyway with her brother in jail and Europe in shambles after the war, Lisa can travel to America with other displaced Jews. Some families were kind enough to "foster" these peoples which is where Jesse comes in. Well Lisa isn't the type to accept the "pity" and dislikes how priviliged a life, Jesse leads. Then comes a whole new yet classic Flash vs the Rogues rivalry.  

Nyssa ah Gul: How can we forget another misplaced Jew. Well not Jew but Ra ah Gul's other daughter, Nyssa, whose entire adopted family died in the concentration camps while Ra was off whatevering with the Lazerus Pit. But since Ra's long gone from the picture, I suppose Nyssa will have to seek answers from Talia about why she didn't try to help her or contact her after finding out they were sisters. 

Mya: Meanwhile after WWII, India is revving up for a revolution after being used and abused by the British Empire in a war they didn't even want to be in. And after being in the war, STILL treated like second class citizens. That's why Myra, prodigy of Shiva is up to lead a revolution for her people.

Gypsy: Let’s not forget about all the other groups that Nazis were prejudiced against. Cynthia Reynolds or "Gypsy" as the SS slurred against her and her Romanian family. But with Europe's landscape in disarray, Cynthia can use her earth-bending powers to help and educate people that she is more than the fortune telling, pick pocketing stereotype that the world believes.

Volcana: Now I know we didn't really get into Italy's part in WWII, but someone with volcano powers would totally be working in Italy, specifically Pompeii. The one issue is that, like in her origin story, she was working for Mussolini against her will and the Italian still wants their "super weapon" under lock and key in case of WWIII. 

Thorn: Meanwhile the late 40s-early 50s is totally not a time to be woman with a mental illness. Especially when the "understanding" doctors try to lobtomize you. So Roselyn Forrest's double personality disorder is a big problem in her life. Especially since her second personality is a scythe weilding maniac and her uncle wants to put her in an institution. Added to the fact that she is still suffering under Irish discrimination. Hopefully the Batgirls can help, not only change child labor laws, but views on mental illness too.  Giganta: A gorilla turned into a girl. Why shouldn't that be an experiment by the crazy Americans or Russians in a way to beat each other as the world superpower. Well technically the Russians wanted to send a gorilla into space and beat the Americans, but they thought a woman astronaut (or as they called cosmonaut) would make them look better. (All true look up Valentina , first woman in space). But besides being part of the space race, Giganta can bring spotlight to Africa where she was born, and which is being divided by the major world powers for exploitation. 

Crimson Fox: Constance D' Amis, French heiress would be part of the small army of woman workers during the YALTA conferance trying to get their say into how to rebuild Europe for the benefit of all. Who knows, maybe she even talked to Selina Delgatti. Hey French heiresses and Italian heiresses must know each other. Plus she expels hormones that can make anyone under her thrall which leads me to...

Queen Bee: Another pheromone expelling woman. A villainess though. Africa wasn't the only one being exploited and colonized. The former Ottoman Empire was being exploited for its oil and Lebenon is taken over by the French (Basically ample reason for Constance to go to Lebenon and fight Queen Bee). And the former queen is certainly not above going to the Russians to fight the US/Europe to get her country back. Or just team up with Lex Luthor to take down Supergirl and get her country back. I just imagine Lex and --- to be like an evil Mr.Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet okay. All suave, witty banter. It makes sense in my head.

Catherine Colbert: A bit like Lois Lane, Catherine is an everygirl. Well if the everygirl was a daughter of an dimplomat and had her sights on making a name for herself in NASA and trying to avoid the pressures of mysgonistic men that woman aren't fit for government. Being told that she is too emotional and should stay in the kicthen, Catherine rebelled by becoming a stone faced, cutting ice queen in the diplomacy track and also a horrible cook. Artemis and Cheshire: I'm taking a bit from the YJ story in that Artemis and Cheshire are half-french, half-Vietnamese. Since their abusive father was loyal to the Nazis, he disowned them and cast off their Vietnamese mother in Japanese concentration camps. While Artemis made it to America and tried to stay on the good ol American democratic way (while fighting petty looters in the streets of Gotham as one does), Cheshire went to Vietnam where she works as an assasin, for the communists and the non-communists. It doesn't matter to her as long as she gets paid. But times are changing in Vietnam as the fights about communism between the North Vietnamese and South escalate. 

Lady Blackhawk: Zinda Blake, hero of WWII and the Blackhawk brigade comes home to nothing. No money. No pension. No respect. Life as a veteran has no perks since no one has money to pay in Europe. Plus she'd still be trying to adjust to civilian life after nonstop combat and the inevitable PTSD while the Germany she loved is split into two. Hopefully Rudi and Helen will help to keep her in a safe place until she can get back on her feet.  Miss Martian: While I don't know whose in Harley, Ivy and Viktoria's circus, I feel like Miss Martian would find a safe haven there. While she did not experience the WWII, she did experience a similar prejudice and genocide on Mars being a white martian so I bet she can help with reprations. Or just join Starfire on the fire squad...wait nevermind. Fire is Martian weakness. Well at least have her and Starfire being alien girlfriends exploring the strange Earth world together.

Rocket: Again, haven't had the joy of reading the final vol of Bombshells United so I don't know exactly what Bumblebee has been up to nor the racism she had probably experienced. But Raquel would be in a similar boat. An African American teen in an unjust pre-Civil Rights movement society with the added difficulties of teen mom hood. I really want some spotlight on her whether she joins the Batgirls or strike out on her own or helps Icon just like in the comics.

Mercy Graves: Alongside Lex wherever he is, I want a similar debut to what Mercy did in JL. Mercy takes over LexCorps during Luthor's absence, absolutely crushes it and makes it more of a success than Luthor ever did because she is not obsessed with the Kryptonian heroes. Maybe she even teams up with Waller? Who knows? Or even have two heads, Mercy Graves and Lena Luthor, making millions and making plans, evil or no, always ending on top.

Silver Banshee: A woman whose screams causes people to age. How they could NOT use her in a war, I do not know. But I picture Siobhan's arc going something like after her family dies in battle or something or other, she taps into her genetic banshee powers. Fueled with grief/cynicsm/vengeance she travels around the Iron Curtain, causing death since death is a mercy compared to living in destitute misery.

Plastique and Roxy Rocket: One is a Canadian explosives expert, another just really, really loves rockets. Both would be very useful on either side of the Cold War. They're traditionally illanesses so I could see them as double agents like Cheshire, working for whoever pays the most for their time.

Roulette: Roulette’s big thing is gambling on illegal cage fighting activities. Well lets up the ante by having her big gamble being stoking US/Russian tensions. After all the longer the war goes on, the more she gets paid for her information on the other side, her contacts for weapons, her spies etc. She'd be rolling in dough, and loving it even when under threat of nuclear destruction.

Fire and Ice: No idea how the heck they would fit in to a post WWII world. But let's suppose they want to escape Brazil and Antartica respectively to be able to help out in the aftermath after doing nothing during the war. Jessica Cruz and Aresia vs Star Sapphire Meanwhile with Hal Jordan out of the picture, let's have the infamous Green Lantern vs Star Sapphire rivalry again.

Lady Shiva: Street fighter, assassin, mother of the future Batwoman, Cassandra Cain. Lady Shiva must be part of the Cold War. She is bit of a anti-hero so I doubt anyone would know where her loyalties truly lie, but she'd be on the side of whoever her daughter wishes to protect.

Cassandra Cain: The new Black Bat, continue Katy Kane's work, and the Batgirl's work, and all the work that needs to be done after WWII. She's the new heroine.

[hithisischris]

New Years debut DD

Happy belated (like really belated) NEW YEAR. I hope this year is prosperous for us all. Now I decided to do this the night of New Year’s Eve but I had no idea what to write I just know I wanted to write and I finally got some inspiration, anyway I hope you really like it!

————————————-———————————-

An official year since David and I met, it’s strange knowing that if Georgie hadn’t ended things with me two weeks before the new year, Maya would have never dragged my ass to that party.

“Babe what are you thinking of?” David’s soft voice brought me back to reality “I was just thinking of how we met, and how the fans won’t like me, they’ll think I’m not good enough for you. Which I’m not but you insist I am and that if I leave you, you’ll hunt me down even if it meant leaving the country and looking for me in Europe or something.” He chuckled at my rambling and grabbed my hand, god his hands; they are always so warm and soft. “Y/n you’re gonna be okay, they’ll love you. And if they don’t then why should we care what they think when we love one another” he rubbed circles on my hand and kissed my forehead. “We will get through this together I promise you.” I nodded and looked up at the set up camera. “Are you ready to start recording?” this end of the year David decided to actually do something the first half of the day, later on we will be going out with the rest of our friends so he can get some footage but right now he decided to do the Girlfriend Tag video for his second channel to finally tell his fans about us. I nodded and smiled at him. He leaned down to me and kissed my lips softly.

I was out of the camera view as he introduced the video “alright welcome back to my second channel, this video is gonna be different. It won’t me any bloopers but you guys will love this video-” he did his big dimple smile and glanced at me from behind the camera, my heart was pounding, I fear that maybe the camera could hear it pounding out of my body. I smiled at him even though I was nervous.

“-today I will be introducing you to someone who has become very important to me for the past year-” he signaled me to come out from behind the camera and sit next to him. “-guys this is my very pretty girlfriend y/n and we will be doing the girlfriend/boyfriend tag” I smiled at the camera and he interlocked our hands. “Okay, y/n do you want to start or shall I?” I thought it over, my voice felt like it had dried out. Was the even possible? Could your voice dry out from nerves. Gosh this is why I was never in the vlogs the camera always made me feel like I was being investigated for something, its why David asked me a million times if I was okay with actually making this video and to be honest I was but I still feel like a frog in a laboratory. “Yeah I guess I’ll start” my voice came out scratchy he nodded and went to grab the dry erase boards we’d use to write down our answers. I grabbed my phone which was where we had decided to write all of our questions “okay so hmmmmm the first question is, where was our first date” we immediately wrote down our answers, it was Applebee’s. We showed the camera our answers and then I spoke again “you are right-” I looked at the camera and said, grinning, “David had gotten Natalie to rent it for two hours so we could have a private first date, I had chosen the location because I was honestly craving their fries and didn’t want it to be over the top.” He nodded along with me “yeah it’s true her first words to me were ‘you have no idea how badly I’ve been craving to come eat here’” he laughed at the memory and unlocked his phone to ask a question “hmph I need a hard one-” I laughed at that and my nerves were no longer at bay, it was just like any other time between just with a camera. “-when did you meet my family” he looked at me then the camera and started to write his answer, “doofus you said a hard one, I met them when you made a deal with Ilya that if you could find him, he would have to go with you to Miami” he reveled his answer and after the question it had started to just go back and forth until his last question.

“Okay last question for this video, when and his did we meet?” He smiled at the memory and I smiled at it too, I looked at the camera “we met last year on New Year’s Eve at this party Dom was throwing, my ex had just ended things with me after revealing he’d been cheating on me for a couple months. This happened two weeks before Christmas~” (memory)

“God y/n I have been cheating on you for the past five months, I don’t love you anymore and to be honest I don’t think I have for a while now” my face was hot and teary I couldn’t believe this, all I could think of was how naive I had been and if I could return his Christmas present. After he said that I vividly heard the door of my apartment slam. My friend maya found me on the couch looking up at the ceiling, the tears were already dried but it was obvious I had been crying. “I’m gonna cut the balls off that piece of shit.” I glanced at her and snorted, she hugged me to sleep that night. Maya had been coming over every night after that, she’d make sure I was eating and drinking plenty of water. She hasn’t pushed me into leaving the house and I was thankful but after Christmas came around she decided that I should leave the house. “Okay come on y/n we are done moping and thinking of that selfish jerk. Kayla heard of this party on New Year’s Eve and it’s supposed to be super fun so we are going” I smiled at her and was greatful I had her so I nodded my head and as the night of New Year’s Eve neared she already had a dress picked out for me.

“Okay so have your phone on you on all times just in case we get separated, do not fucking hesitate to tell me if you want to leave. And lastly, are you sure you want to go out we could stay home and watch Boy Meets World on Disney+” I nodded and giggled at her “yes I am sure Maya, now let’s go before Kayla starts spamming you with messages” she snorted and grabbed we made our way downstairs once we got the notification that our Uber arrived. When we had arrived the party was in full blast the stench of weed and the beat of the music could be heard/smelled from down the hall. We made our way into the kitchen looking for drinks “where the fuck are the beers in this place” Maya shouted as we entered the small kitchen “they are in the cooler by the counter” we heard a voice behind us, maya said a quick thanks and grabbed two, I glanced to see who had given us the answer, “you look familiar” I said, maya turned around at my voice and looked at the guy in front of me “holy shut he does” he chuckled and was gonna respond to us when it clicked “youre that guy that dated that girl from that one show, Ohmygod I’m not gonna get this out of my head till I get it. What was her nameeee” Maya opened our beers handing me my bottle, the guy looked at us with excitement and curiousity “holy shit it was Cierra Remirez!” He let out a laugh and nodded. “Yep that’s my ex” he said it with a hand rubbing his neck “my name is Jeff, what are your names?” He seemed to be interested in Maya as he kept glancing at her, I giggled and said “I’m y/n this is Maya” he shook my hand and then mayas shaking her hand a little longer. “So what are you doing in an ordinary party like this I thought you hung out with that guy, what’s his name?” He grinned and finished my sentence “David Dobrik.” I nodded my head. I had heard of his name here and there and knew what he did to get famous but I had never really watched his YouTube videos. “Well he needs his new year montage so he got Dom to throw this party and here we are” I nodded and for a while we made small conversation until I felt like I was third wheeling and said “I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick” I glanced at both of them so Maya would get the message of swiping him off his feet, it took me a couple minutes to find the bathroom and once inside I just opened my phone to scroll mindlessly on Instagram I hadn’t known how long I was in the bathroom for until someone opened the door and slipped inside my instincts went on high alert and looked for something Incase I needed to defend myself with. “Uhm excuse me?” The guy in front of me hadn’t noticed me, he had a camera and his forehead leaning against the door he seemed startled at the sound of me voice “holy shit I didn’t know someone was in here-” he quickly turned around “-I’m,,I’m sorry I should have knocked” his cheeks redend slightly, he was cute his hair in shambles and his eyes were captivating. “It’s totally fine I should have closed the door” it became quite the only sound heard was the beat of the music. “I’m David by the way” he extended his hand I had let my guard down feeling at ease with him “y/n. I think I just met your friend Jeff” he looked at little disappointed “so you’re a fan?” I shook my head “no I’ve heard your name before but I have not watched one of your videos” he smirked “that’s a first” he said.

(end of memory)“~after that we stayed in the bathroom sitting uncomfortably in the tub where he made a joke we’d probably catch a disease and forced me to watch a couple of his videos” David laughed “that is so not true I didn’t force you to watch them I said sorry since you’ve never watched any wanna watch a couple of them’ and you said yes” I shook my head “no you said you’d pay me to watch a couple videos and I was like no that’s dumb” he rolled his eyes but didn’t say another word just looked at me and started to smile “we should end the video.” I whispered to which he nodded “alright guys so that was the last question, I hope you guys enjoyed the video from now on you’ll be seeing this pretty lady in all my videos” I shook my head at his statement “well okay not all but I’ll try and get her warmed up for the camera” he gave his last dimple smile at the camera and turned it off.

“Ohmygod I can’t believe that took us two hours, how do you do that every day?” He laughed at my question “well usually I have more fun people to do this with” I immediately pouted and said “I’m hurt you’d say such a thing, I’m not talking to you anymore. You no longer get kisses” he laughed and tried to bring me closer to him I put all my weight to not move and shook my head “I won’t forgive you till you apologize” my face was breaking out into a smile as David kept trying to pull me towards him. He began sitting closer to me his hand resting on my waist “I’m sorryyyy now give me some sugar” I scoffed and glared at him, he pouted “you are the biggest clown I know” “oh so now I’m a clown” I began to laugh and start leaning into him. When I was centimeters from his lips I said “you should start editing if you want to get the video up” and got up to get some water from the kitchen he looked stumped and said “you are an evil person” I laughed and waved a soft bye as he got his laptop and started to work on the video.

An hour and a half had past since he started editing and I was casually watching Criminal Minds “andddd done” David said coming out of his room, I glanced back at him and smiled he sat down next to me and kissed my lips eagerly making up for the tease I gave him earlier. After a minute he stopped and got his phone out, opening Instagram he posted a photo of us a heart for a caption and tagged me. After he posted it he left his phone and leaned his head on my legs falling asleep as I rubbed his hair getting some energy before having to go out for the vlog.

Maya was one of the first people to text me with a screenshot of his post “fucking finally❤️” her message read, looking at the photo it had been the first photo we had taken in the uncomfortable tub with probable diseases. His dimpled smile and my own who had finally been at ease.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are Weird: Horror movies

Alien: Can you not run it over with a truck? Human: You could, but you’d still need a silver bullet to kill it.  Alien: *Pulls out disintegration ray* Alien: I do not need not stinky silver bullet when i have this baby.  Human: *Sniffles* Human: You do me proud.  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: So these half fish half human beings are friendly?  Human: Depends on whose telling the story.  Alien: What do you mean? Human: They’ve been known to either be friendly to sailors and save their lives from drowning, or lure them in with their beauty and then drag them to the deep to drown.  Alien: That’s terrible!!! Human: You find that when it comes to non-human beings on Earth it’s one or the other; you get used to it.   ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: What is a “Baba Yaga”?  Human: She’s an elderly woman that roams the woods of Eastern Europe in a house with legs. She also might give you directions or eat you depending on her mood.  Alien: Why can your stories not have more happy creatures like these “fairies” I recently read about? Human: Don’t even get me started on those devilish frackers.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: You’re people truly are barbaric for destroying such natural beauty of your forests.  Human: That’s because all the evil shit lives in them.  Alien: Tiny rabbits and deer are hardly evil.  Human: Talking more about human flesh eating Wendigo’s and blood drinking unicorns.  Alien: ................... Alien: Come again? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: These “zombies” are hardly scary nor a threat, all they do is shamble and bite people.  Human: *Sets down book and bites Alien* Alien: OW! That hurt!  Human: Still think that’s not a threat? And I’m not even hungry.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: So all they have is a knife? Human: Well it’s a big knife.  Alien: And this is scary for you? Human: It’s scarier than if they had a tiny knife.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: These younglings of yours are rather idiotic.  Human: How so? Alien: They knowingly go to places that have had people disappear under questionable circumstances and think nothing will happen to them.  Human: We like to think of it as natural selection.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: I don’t believe you should send your eldest daughter to college. Human: But she’s so smart, she’d love it there.  Alien: I’ve been watching your research documentaries and there appear a higher than average amount of murders on collage campuses. Human: *Sees “documentaries”* Human: These are all about female college dorm horror movies.  Alien: They also have a large amount of time spent with other women in showers. Her skin would most likely dry out.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: This scientist is crazy! Thinking he can bring the dead to life by sewing different body parts together.  Human: Hey! Don’t go shaming the guy because he likes to accessorize. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Alien: Look friend human! I got you a doll to play with.  Doll: Want to play with me? Human: *Pulls out shotgun* Human: I’ve got about three good movies and four terrible ones worth of reasons to blow this thing apart.  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: So they can not cross running water? Human: Pretty much. Alien: Then how can they cross oceans? Human: doesn’t count as running water. Alien: how does the largest body of water on your planet not count as running? Human: Look. I don’t make the rules alright?  Alien: Fine. Then please explain why they sparkle in the sunlight? Human: You watched that shitty twilight movie didn’t you?!? ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Alien: How can a tree be scary? Human: take it you never watched “Evil Dead” have you?

[goodbysunball]

Quarantine Rock, pt. II

In this continuation of the riveting Quarantine series: mostly new, 2020 releases.

Black Curse, Endless Wound LP (Sepulchral Voice)

There’s a lot of repetition in metal band name imagery, but Black Curse might be one of the laziest monikers in recent memory. No matter: the band’s debut LP Endless Wound is an absolute crusher, a swirling mass of death metal bile accented by riffs that violently snap your head back and forth for you. The guitar player handles bass duties for Primitive Man, and there are definitely some similarities between the two groups, not least of which being filthy tone and gargantuan riffs (see the plodding “Lifeless Sanctum”). But Black Curse can thrash around with the ferocity of Salvation-era Funeral Mist, and hit a mid-tempo groove like peak Beherit, as on closer “Finality I Behold.” Those are some pretty big names to drop, but Black Curse more than deliver - Endless Curse feels methodical without sacrificing manic intensity. Real deal shit right here. My favorite metal album of the year so far. Ajna Offensive had some copies of the LP in stock for a split second, and I imagine they’ll get more eventually; alternatively, one can reserve a copy from Dark Descent now.

Femme, Ruderal Exotique LP (Bruit Direct Disques)

Femme’s Chroma from the tail-end of 2017 took over my turntable for a good many months in early 2018. The French duo’s short vignettes of noise rubbing up against each other in confined spaces and somehow, despite all the jarring changes in volume, comes together for a rather cathartic listen. Ruderal Exotique follows the same formula, though this time around they’re coming at you at 45 rpm. I’m not sure if Femme’s changed things up or I’m just accustomed to power drills and blaring, bassy synths now, but all the sounds within Ruderal Exotique hit some pleasure center in my brain. Even though they’re still arriving in jagged shards, cutting into each other abruptly or dropping out into silence on a whim, when the album’s on it’s like it’s plastering drywall all over this miserable time and giving me permission to do, think or say nothing. It’d be fair to say that most of us need that regularly, but perhaps now more than ever. Gorgeous and abrasive, these 15 wordless tracks have been a balm recently, but Ruderal Exotique is also one of the most captivating listens of the year. Surrender yourself and cop yet another winner from Bruit Direct Disques, who have kindly opened up a USA e-shop run by The Business Anacortes.

Primo!, Sogni LP (Upset the Rhythm/Anti-Fade)

The Melbourne four-piece Primo! captured my heart in 2016 with the release of Primo Cassetto, a compact release bristling with tension and full of wry observations and wiry guitar lines. The follow-up LP, Amici, was as svelte and dry but twice as breezy; the playing was peppier and the vocals were softened and harmonious. I liked Amici fine, but little was imprinted on my memory after several listens, except the songs that had already appeared on Primo Cassetto. The band’s latest LP, Sogni, presses the best parts of the earlier two releases together into the grooves. Amici lacked the slower tempos of certain tracks on the debut, and Sogni brings them back with great success: “Comedy Show” is a particular standout, musically and lyrically reminiscent of latter-day Terminals, and closer “Reverie” is a drumless and haunting send-off. “Machine” and “Love Days” are the band at their most confident, the sound fuller than ever without dumbing down the lyrics or losing the scrappiness that makes this band so goddamn charming. Part of the fuller sound is thanks to the flourishes of Al Monty on various instruments throughout the album, but the band’s songwriting overall is stronger, looser - several tracks on the B-side even include extended outros (”1000 Words,” “The Present”), the band so stuffed to the gills with lean guitar lines that they had to make some room for more. Overall Sogni is the best Primo! album to date, placing the band firmly in the lineage of bands like Animals + Men and Look Blue Go Purple, responsibly self-aware post-punk sharp as nails and threatening to dance. Perfect for spring. Stateside people should look to Forced Exposure for the LP - they’ve even got some of the limited orange vinyl from Upset the Rhythm coming in.

DJ Screw, Bigtyme Volume II All Screwed Up 2xLP (Sinecure Press)

Yes: DJ Screw remains a larger-than-life presence that, along with Pimp C, has transformed how I, and many others, approach and listen to rap - but mostly I just wanted to highlight how sublime the versions of UGK’s “Tell Me Something Good,” and especially Point Blank’s “After I Die,” are on here. (The very pricey Houston Rap deluxe bundle including this 2xLP is still available.)

Anhedonist / Spectral Voice, split 7″ (Dark Descent/Parasitic)

Highly anticipated split between two death-doom titans: the dearly departed Anhedonist, and Spectral Voice, the modern scene’s torchbearer. Anhedonist’s “Abject Darkness” is an unreleased track recorded sometime during their tenure. It’s good, full of the killer “augh!” moments I prize, but it seems to tread water and repeat itself. You can kinda see why such a meticulous band left this one on the cutting room floor. On the flip, Spectral Voice turn in a devastating seven minutes on “Ineffable Winds,” eschewing any ornate arrangements and instead loading up on 10-ton riffs. I was disappointed with this record at first, mostly because the Anhedonist side left me a bit cold, but it’s encouraging to have the newer material by Spectral Voice be the better half. A few copies of this 7″ are still available from Parasitic Records.

G2G, s/t 7″ (self-released)

Snarling, sarcastic garage punk from this Sydney trio (plus drum machine), so stern and pockmarked that it’s off-putting at first blush. The opening track “Animated Satisfaction” is dripping with contempt, needling guitar lines combining in nauseating fashion, and it’s one of my favorite songs of the year. Can you deny a line like “I’m itchy and particular with my time”? You cannot. The band utilizes group vocals but they’re uneven, the guitars reek of grunge, and the lyrics are biting and delivered in a taunting manner. The shambling "You Don’t Say Shit Right” gives a lesson on how to say “Nietzsche” properly, the masked melancholy resulting in the best garage rock ballad I’ve heard since the Whines’ “It’s Raining.” “Wrong Way Corrigan” is the only track I’m not super keen on, but the chorus of “I rode it like a dump truck/all the way to your house” is pretty catchy. Overall, a fantastic debut. Limited to 166 hand-numbered copies: unleash the beast.

M. Quake, Fall In Love With Yourself 7″ (Purely Physical)

Martina Quake put this 7″ out on Valentine’s Day this year, and it’s a pretty dope sentiment to drop on that holiday. I blindly threw this in an order from Low Company on the strength of the title alone, and I haven’t been disappointed. The A-side features snippets from an interview with Eartha Kitt, while gauzy, swirling synths play underneath her arguments against self-compromise in relationships. It’s a fine appetizer for the B-side “Dub,” those same woozy synth samples brought to the fore and getting drunk on themselves, the track transformed from instructive to indulgent, decadent. The beat never locks, both sides remaining off-kilter but lush. A mysterious and powerful little record, one I keep returning to as a sort of palette cleanser, or night cap. The 7″ is readily available in Europe from Boomkat and various other retailers; not sure if ordering from Forced Exposure will net you a copy, though.

The Native Cats, Two Creation Myths 7″ (Rough Skies)

It’s true that the Native Cats are my favorite modern band, so my bias is going to be evident, but their last two 7″ records on Rough Skies, Spiro Scratch and now Two Creation Myths, have been nothing short of brilliant. “Run With the Roses” is the best Native Cats song to date, and will almost definitely stand as the best song of the year. Chloe Escott is in fighting form, sneering and powerful, then vulnerable, then resplendent. The track is startling in its starkness, buoyed by Julian Teakle’s bass and peppered with some of Escott’s electronics, staring you down and refusing to flinch. Oof, what a dominating, masterful track; gives me chills every time. The flip is “Sanremo,” a lush ballad that the Native Cats excel at creating, akin to “C of O” and “Cowboy Builder” but bolstered by Escott’s self-assured vocal performance, theatrical without a whiff of the maudlin. Lulu’s recently reviewed the record, and I think they said it best: 

“Few bands releases feel quite as consistently considered as those of The Native Cats. Never a second wasted, nor element unslaved over, their voice is one of the most unique, engaging, and resolute of the contemporary Australian underground.”

You’re gonna need Two Creation Myths. It’s limited to 300 copies - buy it, along with everything else available, from Rough Skies.

[officialleehadan]

Pineapple Box

Like the door that opened for vehicles at the base of the cliff, the windows to the dwarves’ secret mine were cunningly hidden in the stone walls.

At the foot of the cliff was a seething mass of undead.

Brandon could see that they were mostly skeletons with a few scattered zombies staggering among the faster undead.

Xaenxa moved to pull the rifle off her shoulder.

“Wait. We got somethin’ better.” Gardr said. In Thori’s arms was a crate.

Brandon had a moment of confusion when he saw the pineapple painted on the side. Thori winked. The half-dwarf was grinning as he pried the top off the box, revealing the grenades inside.

“That should work just fine.” Rhys laughed. He leaned out the window and flicked his hand at the crowd below. Fire bloomed from his fingers and ringed the monsters.

While not terribly smart, the undead did have some very basic self-preservation. Fire was their enemy. They shifted away from the flames to cluster neatly in a rough circle.

With a chuckle of glee that made Brandon back away from him, Thori began to methodically rain the small explosives down into the waiting crowd.

The thud of the grenades echoed through the stone under their feet and small bits of undead flew through the air. In moments the crowd was obliterated and Rhys sent his flames to clean up the bits.

“That’s certainly one way to handle them.” Evalene said with satisfaction. Blaec leaned out the window and looked down. When he pulled back, he was smiling.

“Well done.” He said simply.

Gardr smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. “Hgroth, Ulher. Stay here and keep an eye on things. Radio the other watch-points and make sure they deal with any other breaches with appropriate enthusiasm.”

The two young dwarves were a pair of brothers so alike that Brandon thought they might be twins. They shared a wolfish grin with the older dwarf.

The box of grenades rested on a low table as the two took up the watch at the window.

Gardr led them back down into the command center. “They’re getting bold.” He growled.

“Will they try to lay siege to this place?” Rhys asked. Thori shook his head.

“They might. It won’t do them any good.” He answered. “Every dwarf-keep has a well inside and this one has a helipad on top. If we have to, we can shut this place down and evacuate until the coast is clear or lock down as long as we need if we can’t get out.”

Brandon was shaken at the strong words. According to Thori, Dwarves had been working this mine for centuries. It was their home.

“You would leave? Just like that?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. Gardr threw him a glance over his shoulder.

“It would be painful.” He admitted. “To leave our home, but it would not be the first time we have done such a thing. Lives matter more than a single holding.”

“To my count, there are three great holdings in Europe that remain locked.” Blaec said to Brandon. Gardr nodded mournfully.

“The family lines have lost the way in. They have the keys, but no one knows where the doors are.” He told them. “You saw our front door. Even we couldn’t find it if we didn’t already know where to look.”

“Will you ever try to reclaim them?” Brandon asked curiously.

“There have been attempts here and there. No one really takes the lost holdings seriously anymore.” Thori admitted. Gardr nodded his agreement and stepped back to have a quiet conversation with Blaec.

Brandon filed the information away for later. If nothing else, it was good to know.

He looked down at the map. “Can we get a topographical map of this area? He asked, gesturing at the necromancer compound.

Thori pressed a button on the control panal nd topographical lines appeard on the screen. “We’re working on something a little fancier, but this is what we have for now.” He said apologetically.

“No, no it’s great!” Brandon told him as he leaned over the map. “So we need to get inside, right? And Rhys is going to go look at their actual compound tonight.”

He ran his finger along a high hill that cut off in a sharp cliff. It wasn’t far from the command camp and was higher than the field that stretched out before it.

“There’s already a lot of undead around.” He started. Thori leaned over the table from the other side.

“True enough.” Thori said. He looked over at Brandon expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “We’ll be cleaning them out for a while yet.”

Brandon shook his head and tapped on the mark that was the necromancer’s compound.

“What do we do if we can’t get them before they get enough undead for a hoard?” he asked seriously. “What if they already have enough and it’s just not on the move yet?”

“We’ll have to take them in the open before they can get somewhere populated.” Rhys said. He and Xaenxa came over to the map as well.

“It will take everything we have to stop a hoard.” Xaenxa said. She was more serious than Brandon had ever seen her.

Brandon gestured at the map, pleased, and also a little confused that they were still listening to him. “Right, so we need a plan to handle that if it happens.”

That brought stony silence to the team.

“What did you have in mind?” Blaec asked. He, Evalene and Gardr rejoined the conversation.

Brandon looked around at the faces of the people who were becoming his friends. He took a deep breath and looked back down at the map.

“So there’s a ridge here.” He said, pointing at the same cliff he had noticed earlier. It overlooked the dark compound and the only easy way for the shambling undead to head south. “I think what we need is to put the elves here, if we can.”

“We can. Lithuein will take my commands.” Blaec said. “What else?”

He watched with interest as Brandon dragged his finger over the field. “Vampires are tough, right? Hand-to-hand? Can we get them and the Wolves to work together for this?”

Thori looked over at Rhys doubtfully. Wolves and vampires didn’t often get along well, but a hoard might be enough to keep the two groups at peace until the threat was dealt with.

“If you ask her, Melaena will work with you.” Thori told Brandon slowly. “She respects you. She also owes Blaec that favor.”

“To be called in as soon as she arrives. Evalene called to let her know to meet us here, and not at the command camp.” Blaec mentioned. “Evalene and I will be in the lake. When the undead are on the field, I will burn the compound and everything still in it.”

“I’ll lay down burn-lines.” Rhys offered. He drew a line with his finger across the north end of the field. “Here. Don’t want them going anywhere we can’t follow.”

Brandon looked at the map. “The vampires are better climbers. Put them at the base of the cliff where they can retreat up if they need to. The wolves should be here.”

He pointed to either side of where they wanted to put the elves. “It should keep them away from the vampires, and they can watch the elves’ backs. Keep everyone as safe as we can.”

“I will be down with the vampires.” Xaenxa said darkly. “My Goddess will give me all I need and more against Undead.”

“Xaenxa can Turn some undead, and dispel others.” Rhys explained when Brandon looked at the dark elf in askance. “And when She cooperates, sometimes more.”

“Sometimes quite a bit more.” Xaenxa said with satisfaction. “When She is pleased with me. For this, she is very pleased with me.”

“We want in with the wolves.” Gardr said. “My fighting force can use RPGs. We open with that, it’ll soften them up a little for the vampires. Break their charge.”

Brandon looked down at the map, now covered in streaks of different color. The only member of the team not of the map was him.

“I’ll be with the elves.” He said slowly after weighing his options. “I’m not the best sniper there ever was, but that’s true of pretty much all of my fighting skills.”

“I will see that you’re placed with Lithuein. Though that does bring us to another problem. Your fellow humans.” Blaec’s face showed no expression. Brandon couldn’t hide a wince.

“They’re armed with machine guns for the most part. Full auto with armor-piercing rounds.” Brandon reported slowly. “Smaller weapons too, but those won’t touch a skeleton.”

“Won’t do much about a zombie either.” Thori admitted. “Put them with the wolves?”

“They’ll be less likely to shoot an ally.” Rhys said. “Hard to mistake a werewolf for a zombie.”

“I wish I could say something to defend them.” Brandon murmured ruefully. “But these guys, they’re tough, but they’re used to dealing with one or two zombies. Ten at the most. Some of them have never even seen a skeleton until now.”

“How likely are they to shoot the vampires if they get startled?” Evalene wanted to know. She traced the waterways with one fingertip. Brandon suspected she had a plan of her own with her husband that they would be handling separately.

“How likely are the vampires to try and eat them?” Brandon countered, dragging a hand over his face.

“So we’re putting the humans with our folk and the wolves.” Thori said, cutting off whatever reply Evalene might have had. He wore a little smirk that made Blaec roll his eyes.

“That is settled. It also leaves our team in position to handle whatever comes. I don’t think those positions will be difficult to get into. The humans excepted.” He said. He looked over at Brandon.

“Do you believe the director will accept this plan?’ He wanted to know. Brandon knew there was no getting around it.

“I’m not sure.” He said softly to their leader. “I’m just not sure. Nick was pretty mad. Me leaving like that was probably a serious blow to his ego too.”

“because you walked away from him?” Rhys asked skeptically.

“Because he did it in front of everyone.” Thori corrected. “Right? If you had done it in private he wouldn’t care so much.

“Exactly.” Brandon confermed. “He’s been my mentor for a long time. I mean, when I first spotted the influx of zombies, he’s the one I went to because I knew he would listen to me”

Walking away from Nick was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He hoped Nick would forgive him on a personal level.

Also, he didn’t really want to get court-martialed for the judgment call he had made. It was still shaking his world some that his loyalty was shifting slowly from the agency, to Blaec and the team.

“Alright. We’ll talk to Razz. He stayed with Command. He’ll work with us and he’s equal rank with your director.” Evalene offered. She rested a hand on her husband’s arm and he seemed to be leaning into it unconsciously.

“That actually might work.” Brandon said. He thought it over quickly. “That actually might work really well. Razz has the same authority over the troops as Nick. He can work strategy and Nick will listen.”

“See it done.” Blaec ordered. “Send whatever you need to, and then go find food. Rhys, the sun will set early this far north.”

“I’ll go get ready.” The firebird nodded. “Not expecting trouble. I’ll stick to the usual flight paths of the little local airplanes.”

“Do it, and try not to blow our cover. They know we’re here, I’m sure. They don’t know where we are.” Xaenxa cautioned.

Rhys chuckled and leaned over to kiss hr cheek. She took a swip at him and missed as she meant to.

“I’ll be careful.” He promised her. “Won’t take me long but I’ll get as much information as I can before I come back.”

“Do it. Also take a pass over the field we’ve planned. Tell us if there is anything we should be aware of.” Blaec said. He stretched and hooked an arm around his wife. Comfortable as he was underground, he still wasn’t letting her far out of his reach.

Brandon looked down at the map one last time. He didn’t feel ready for what was coming, but a least he trusted the team to have his back.

For now, that was all he could ask for.

+++

HGE - Mismatched

What do you get when you put a dragon, his mermaid, a dark elf, a half-dwarf, and a firebird into a zombie apocalypse?

A very frustrated human, who really isn’t sure how he ended up in this situation to begin with.

Death Valley Sand

The Regency

Red Scales and Golden Hair

En Route

Silver-White Knife

A Question of Faith

Coven Court

Aftermath

Under Stone

New Arrivals

Battle Lines Drawn

Deep Defense

+++

More Stories!

+++

Support me on Patreon

[ohblackdiamond]

all of your b-films (peter/ace, nc-17)

“Don’t kid yourself about the guys. They want the old days back as much as we do. Maybe even more.” Nine years after Peter leaves KISS, Ace unexpectedly joins him for a part of his club tour.

Notes: Thank you @collatxral-damage for the initial inspiration and showing me a lovely picture of Peter and Ace from around the fic’s time period that warms my heart every time I look at it.

Thank you Peter and Ace for just being messy, sweet boys.

“all of your b-films”

by Ruriruri

           “Morning, man.” Ace closes his eyes, rubs them with one hand—he looks like a kid when he does that, looks almost innocent. There’s never been anything innocent about Ace Frehley. Not since Peter’s known him, at least. Known him. Fucking known him.

           Peter shifts, forcing himself to sit up in bed as the old aches and pains rush through his bones. It hadn’t been a good crowd last night. The club circuit, lousy as hell even on its best days, isn’t where Peter wants to be, but it’s where he’s ended up. Paul’s there, too, though he’s booking the clubs out of his own vanity and desperation to tour, a fact that amuses the hell out of Peter—both of them going it alone and trying to pump up a crowd that hasn’t been around for either of them in almost ten years. The only thing really separating Peter from anyone still in KISS is the balance in his bank account.

           The only thing separating Peter from Ace is the carton of orange juice Ace is pushing to his lips. Peter takes a gulp, but Ace keeps holding the carton up anyway, so he manages a few more swallows before Ace, satisfied, sets the carton down.

           “Doing all right there?”

           “Yeah. Yeah, I’m doing all right.”

           “Good.” There’s the familiar pop of a beer can. Peter doesn’t question where Ace got it when this hotel isn’t even classy enough to offer a minibar, just watches Ace down half the can in three swallows flat before he continues. “You got this room booked for tonight, too, don’t you?”

           “Yeah. The gig’s only an hour away.”

           The corners of Ace’s mouth perk up.

           “You wanna have a cheerleader? I think I did pretty good there last night, even if I didn’t have the skirt.”

           “I want another lead guitarist, is what I want.” Peter laughs, dryly, then adds, “I mean it. You were something else back there.”

           He had been, too. Just like the good old days. No, better. Just like the days when they’d rented out ballrooms. Before Ace’d got on coke but way, way after he’d started drinking. Back when he thought he was untouchable and that made him untouchable, like a gulped-down placebo. He’d been good enough to make Peter want to do better, want to pound those skins with a fervor and a fever. Peter had watched the audience, those loaded expressions on their faces, how they shifted like kaleidoscope beads when he started bearing down, really bearing down. Laying into those drums, unleashing something he hadn’t had in eleven years now. Course, he was paying for it this morning, arms feeling like cement blocks, but Ace… Ace was all right. Ace could’ve played the whole damn show and been all right.

           Ace just shrugs.

           “’S nothing. I wanted to. Figured while I’m in town, y’know.” There’s not the ease to Ace’s words that used to be there. There’s an edge, an anxiousness. Peter hates to hear it. Hates to hear it because he’s heard it so much from his own throat. Ace shouldn’t have to worry like that. Should be spending his time in his recording studio, or helping Monique out with the multiplication tables, anything, just anything, but Peter knows damn well Ace’s time is split between when he has his coke and his pain pills and his booze and when he’s trying to get more of all three.

           “The hell’re you doing in town, anyway? This isn’t L.A. Isn’t even fucking Fremont.”

           Ace quirks a small smile.

           “Well, I thought you knew, Peter.”

Peter shakes his head.

But Ace can’t be here for any solid reason. Nothing out in some nowhere California suburb. Nothing he could want out here. Even a drug contact wouldn’t make sense. Neither of them can get the good stuff anymore, the pure shit that Ezrin used to pile on the studio desks like an early snowfall. The old dealers are long gone. Ace doesn’t really want to shove out the albums these days—he’s just looking to fund his binges. He’s doing magazine interviews, news spreads. Tapping the vein of one twenty-something KISS Army vet at a time, hoping they’ll buy whatever he’s selling out of pure nostalgia for being twelve and pimpled.

           Peter’s not much better. He’s not much better, but he’s trying. Sometimes he’s trying. He winces in pain as he reaches for the orange juice carton, taking another sip, remembering, faintly, that in Europe they just drank it at room temperature. The milk, too. No, no, the milk was warm. They acted like ice was a foreign concept. The girls, though—the girls spoke the same language all over. Legs spread like peanut butter across a piece of bread. Money changed, races, nationalities changed, but the groupies had never seemed any different. All of them just as eager to suck his cock or let him fuck them or both, depending on mood and inclination.

It hadn’t become a creature comfort for Peter the way it had for Gene. It hadn’t become something he needed, just something he liked. A fringe benefit a wife back home had never kept him from enjoying. Ace, either. Ace had told him once that Jeanette understood and Peter had laughed at him.

           “Lydia understands, too. She understands enough that she tries following me every fucking tour—really thinks I’m gonna leave her—”

           “No, no, I mean she really understands.”

           “About the girls?”

           “Not just that.” Ace’s face had scrunched up, just briefly, and Peter glanced away. Hadn’t pushed for more, but from then on, the knowledge was there, right there. From then on, he couldn’t so much as give Jeanette a hug without thinking about it. Feeling sorry for her, even, for taking it, for understanding, whatever that shit really meant. Ace was too much of an open book. Every lousy thing about him ended up tugged to the surface eventually, like an oil spill cresting over ocean waves. He couldn’t hide things. Didn’t have the heart to.

           Right now he’s watching Ace finish off the beer—behind him, he can see the remnants of a six-pack Ace left on the table near the closet.

           “You wanna go on with me again tonight?” Wouldn’t even be fifty people there, but they’d go nuts. For Ace they’d go nuts. “Just a couple songs… ‘Black Diamond,’ ‘Hard Luck Woman,’ what do you say?”

           “Aw, Peter, whoever you got as your lead guitarist is gonna be pissed if I show up again.”

           “Nah, he’ll just ask for your autograph.” In fact, last night he had asked for it, secondhand, too shy to ask Ace directly. Could you, could you get him to write his name on the setlist for me, he’d asked, and Peter had honestly meant to, but then another round of drinks had found its way backstage and he’d been useless again. “C’mon. Old time’s sake, Ace.”

           “Maybe.”

           “Don’t maybe me, Ace, either say you’re gonna do it or say you’re not—”

           “Let’s get out of here first.” Ace sets the beer down on the nightstand, and then he flicks it, frowning as it topples over. There isn’t a single drop draining out from the lid. He holds his hand out like an afterthought. “I’ll drive.”

           “Fuck, no. I’ll drive.”

           “Peeeeeterrrr,” Ace drawls, then giggles. “C’mon. One more car crash and we both get our names in the paper.”

           “One more car crash and I’m down another life.”

           “You got at least four more.”

           “I’m driving, man.”

           “All right, all right.” Ace shambles to his feet properly, yanking on last night’s jeans and t-shirt. Another nostalgia piece. This one’s got Debbie Harry in all her blonde bombshell glory silkscreened across the front. Debbie’s still taking care of her man, or so claim the tabloids, but Blondie’s long gone. Another fucking shame. Peter takes awhile longer to get dressed himself, lugging out his suitcase from under the bed and pulling out a fresh t-shirt and slacks. Ace watches him get dressed, which ought to rankle Peter more than it does, ought to make him snap out that he’s not some cripple, that he just hurts sometimes, that’s all, but that vague concern on Ace’s face stops him as he zips up his slacks and stuffs his keys and wallet in his pocket.

           “You ready?”

           “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

           They listen to the car radio, same as they’ve always done. Ace switches stations constantly, beer in one hand, the dial in the other, like he’s trying to hone in on a signal he can’t find. The heavy metal crap’s oversaturating the market. It’s not like it was back in KISS, back when they weren’t even solid on the word for it. There’s no soul to it now. No hunger. Just scrawny kids with shitty hair bitching about money and fame they don’t even fucking have. Peter keeps the radio on anyway. The wheel feels familiar in his hands as he turns off on an exit, directionless, aimless. Traffic’s not so terrible when he doesn’t know where they’re going, when they’re passing all sorts of kitschy shops and storefronts and letting mohawked teenagers cross the street in front of them. Traffic’s not so terrible at all.

           They ran out of the old topics last night. Wives and kids. So now they’re onto talking about Ace’s new album, coming out later this year—maybe, maybe. Peter’d done some of the drumming for it, even some of the backing vocals. There’s some good stuff there.

           “It’s all timing,” Ace says, dryly. “They’re working on another album, too, so if I can get mine out just before or just after—”

           “You’re better than that.”

           “’M not better than that.”

           Peter doesn’t answer. Peter doesn’t answer, and Ace doesn’t defend himself, just turns the radio dial again, finds an oldies station, and soon, there’s “Get Off of My Cloud,” slamming in as irreverently as ever. Jagger singing about parking tickets. Peter doesn’t even know what Jagger’s singing about these days, what album he’s promoting now, but he knows he still has an audience for all Brian’s been dead in his pool for twenty years now.

           “They’re still really good guys, y’know.” Ace is conversational, his sneakered feet tapping out of time against the rental’s dash. “Eric and Bruce are nice. I don’t wish them anything bad.”

           “I didn’t say I did—”

           “Gene and Paul, too.”

“Okay, now, that’s bullshit, Ace.”

“It’s not! You know it’s not, man.”

“Maybe you don’t wish them anything bad, but you’re not telling me they’re good guys.”

“You know ’em as well as I do, Peter.” Ace exhales. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter watches him lean forward and retie his shoelace as he talks, the beer can nestled between his thighs. “Paul’s always been a nervous wreck. You get past that and he’s all right.”

“You got past it, you mean. You used to blow him on tour.”

“You’re damn right I did.” Ace laughs and takes another gulp of beer. “Never did calm him down any, but—”

“Did you fuck him, too?” Peter’s not sure why he’s bothering to ask when it doesn’t matter. Ace’s list of conquests never got too extensive. He’d always done far more champagne and coke than groupies.

“Paulie? Nah. Don’t think he was up to it.”

“What about Gene?”

Ace blinks, then laughs again.

“Fuck, no. He’s an opportunist, but he’s not all that queer. You know that.” Ace pauses. Peter can feel his stare, brief but way too knowing, given how drunk he is, on his face. “You jealous, Cat?”

Peter snorts and changes the radio station.

           “Why the fuck would I be? I don’t care where your dick’s been.”

           “Dunno. Pretty late in the day to be asking me all that, is all.” Ace takes another swallow of beer.

“Just curious.” The words hang in the air for a couple seconds too long, and Peter clears his throat. “Figured it might make it feel like a high school reunion or some shit. Hearing ’em on the radio and thinking, Jesus, I fucked that bastard.”

Ace crooks a grin.

“You think that about me?”

“Maybe if I heard you more.”

Ace’s expression shifts briefly before that spaced-out, dopey look slips right back on like a baby’s bib. He doesn’t say anything for a good half a mile, doesn’t even hum along to the radio, which makes Peter a little on edge, but then Ace finally starts up again.

“Don’t kid yourself about the guys. They want the old days back as much as we do. Maybe even more.”

           “You’re a fucking liar. Keep going.”

           “You ever watch their music videos?” Ace closes his eyes and laughs. “Christ, poor Paulie. I haven’t seen anyone that desperate since Carter tried to get reelected.”

           “Good.” Peter reaches over for the beer in Ace’s hand. Ace doesn’t even blink before lifting it and tipping it to Peter’s lips, not that it shuts out his next comment. “They never did any better than ‘Beth.’ They never will. Nobody’s gonna let ’em forget that.”

           “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

           Ace lowers the beer. It’s as good a signal as any.

“Where’d you want to go, Ace?”

           “Mmm. I think it used to be just over… oh, change lanes, change lanes. There, yeah. Take a left.”

           Peter obediently makes the turn.

           “You sure about this?”

           “’S an adventure, Pete.” Ace cracks another grin. “All right. Pull in over there.”

           “The bakery?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Ace, I can’t parallel park for shit.”

           Ace laughs and fumbles over Peter, one leg on his lap, the other straddling the gear shift. Peter lets out a litany of curses, but Ace just keeps on, pushing Peter’s hands off the steering wheel and managing to park the rental—perfectly—amid a chorus of honking horns.

           “You crazy fucker!”

           “We got in, didn’t we? C’mon.”

           “I can’t come on with you on top of me, asshole!”

           Another snort.  Ace’s hair, plenty dark enough, but limper than it used to be, brushes against Peter’s face for a second as he climbs off him and steps out of the car, holding the door open for him. Peter stumbles out, breathing still a little heavy, following Ace into the dingy bakery.

           Inside, the counters are still laden with early morning pastries. Doughnuts and cinnamon rolls and muffins laid out beneath the glass. Some cookies and chocolates up top. Peter cocks his head, wondering what Ace wants, resigning himself to cleaning up the rental after. But Ace doesn’t even spare the pastries a glance before striding over to the counter.

           “You got any white cakes?”

           The counter girl nodded.

           “With white icing… nah, nah, it’s not for a birthday. Don’t write on it. It—” Ace pauses, glances briefly at Peter, furtive look on his face. “Didja have the tiered kind?”

           “The tiered kind?”

           “Fuck, gimme a pencil, I’ll just draw it.” Ace’s brow furrows. For a second Peter thinks Ace is still talking to him, but then he sees the girl hand him a pen and a napkin. Peter starts to look over as Ace draws, but Ace just curls his free hand around the napkin, like a kid hiding his answers. He pushes the napkin over to the girl at the counter without another word.

           “I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning. You got my name, right?”

           “Yeah.” The girl’s staring at the napkin. Peter recognizes that expression, that dawning look. It’s not one he gets these days outside of the clubs. Sometimes not even then. “You were in that band. KISS.”

Ace just nods and tosses his arm over Peter’s shoulders before they head toward the door.

“Yeah. He was, too.”

--

           Ace has Peter stop at a couple more places after that. Lunch at a soup and sandwich shop. Twenty minutes or so at a record store, Ace flipping through the rock magazines, brow furrowed. He’s looking for an advertisement for his upcoming album. Peter, meanwhile, skims the teenage girl shit, stuff like Tiger Beat and Rock Scene, snorting at the pinups. Ratt grimacing. Jon Bon Jovi shirtless. And, inevitably, there’s Paul with his fly unzipped and his tanktop askew, with Gene standing sullenly next to him, neither even trying to smile for the camera.

           “Look on the back side,” Ace says absently. Peter flips the page, half-surprised to see his own face staring back. His and Ace’s and Paul’s and Gene’s. It’s from the Japan concerts. It’s from when they sold out the Budokan five nights in a row.

           “Jesus Christ, doesn’t this shit piss you off?”

           Ace shrugs and doesn’t answer.

           “I’ve been out almost ten years and they’re still getting every drop of use from me they can!”

           “Hey, now. Marilyn Monroe’s been dead almost thirty years and she still sells pinups.” Ace pauses. “Course, you’re not quite that cute, but—”

“It’s fucking trashy.”

“You’d be more pissed off if you weren’t in there at all, man. It’s a good picture.” Ace leans over, tracing Peter’s face on the magazine spread with his fingernail. “It’s a real good picture.”

           “You’re an idiot,” Peter responds on idle automatic. Ace laughs again as Peter creases the magazine cover before he sets it back on the stand

           “They don’t have the ad in yet. ’S all right, though.” Ace cocks his head. “When’s your show start?”

           “Eight.”

           “Then we got time.”

           Peter almost expects him to ask for the keys again, but he doesn’t. There’s the familiar, brief clasp of Ace’s hand against his arm as they head out of the music store, too. Peter feels like an urchin, walking out of these shitty little shops without buying anything, when ten years ago, he’d been worth ten million. There’s nothing he wants here, but that doesn’t matter. He can’t help feeling fleeced. He can’t help feeling cheated.

           Once they’re back in the car, Ace is hopeless as usual. He’d stashed another beer in the backseat floorboard this morning, apparently, and now he’s swilling it down. He’s cracking jokes and making passes as if he has to anymore, as if he really ever had to, while Peter tries to keep his eyes on the road. It’s not until Ace strokes his arm that his concentration really starts to falter, and falter badly, and by that time, they’re almost at the hotel.

           Fucking around is thoughtless as ever. Peter pulls into the parking lot and they’re scrambling in the backseat before too long, but something about it feels pathetic now, like chasing that first cocaine high with the honest hope of catching it again. The scars from ’74 aren’t so bad on Ace’s face as they ought to be, but the lines sinking into his forehead and around his jaw aren’t just vague insinuations these days. They don’t keep Peter from kissing him. They don’t keep Peter from wanting him.

           “Let’s go in,” Peter finally says, armrest digging into his back, half breathless for all that they’ve only been groining around. Clothes not even off yet. Ace’s hand is wormed down beneath Peter’s slacks, but he hasn’t managed to get more than a few fondles in, and he’s been too damn lazy to even unzip him. “I’m not cleaning this shit up after.”

           “Who says there’ll be a mess?”

           “There always is.”

           “All right, all right,” and they stumble out together, Peter having to hold him steady. The hotel receptionist doesn’t blink, but Peter could swear he feels her stare on them both. Two middle-aged guys faltering around at only three in the afternoon. She’s got to be judging them, but Peter barely gives a fuck by the time they’re back in the room, sinking onto clean sheets and making each other ordinary again.

It’s better in the hotel. It’s a lot better. Ace never gets desperate for it even when he’s drunk; there’s this eerie, canny awareness to him that makes Peter wonder. Peter presses a couple kisses up Ace’s neck, trailing to meet his chin and finally his lips, remembering the sticky taste of black lipstick and the burn of first-rate champagne. He can’t leave a smudge on him with both their faces bare, but sometimes he wants to. Right now, he wants to. Ace, gasping beneath him, pistons his hips eagerly.

They used to keep it going forever. Usually there’d be a girl between them, sometimes two or three and they’d entertain those girls first, hotel overflowing with booze and blow and the pungent smell of sex. Three in the morning and they’d still be at it, the warm, wet heat molding skin to skin, and fuck, wasn’t it sordid, wasn’t it rotten, except when Ace would smile or crack a joke or—or some stupid shit like that, and yank the whole sorry lie out from under his feet. Remind him, crazily, that under the greasepaint, he was just some guy from Brooklyn who’d gotten lucky. Peter didn’t think Ace meant to do it. It didn’t even make him mad to be torn out of the reverie; in fact, there was something weirdly refreshing about it. Every tour had leeched a little more out of shy, cautious Paul until he’d all but replaced himself with that prima donna Starchild; every tour had hardened Gene up from a workaholic Kelly girl to an overbearing, self-righteous bastard. Ace had drowned in coke and booze, sure, but at least there was always something about him Peter could recognize. Something Peter could come back to.

Could keep coming back to, even now. Peter leans over, licks absently at the sweat beading and dripping on Ace’s face as he yanks down his jeans, yanks off his shirt. The rest of him’s softened up, but Ace’s legs are still skinny as ever, thighs twitching when Peter reaches for his cock and slowly eases into a steady rhythm around him. Ace paws lazily at Peter’s fly a few times, and at first Peter bats his hand back, until Ace’s fingers get a little more meaningful, the dreamy, dazed look in his eyes fading, and then Peter lets Ace unzip him and start stroking his dick in turn.

“Remember?” Ace says, all of a sudden.

“Remember what?”

“That first time. That first time, with Sweet Connie.” Ace isn’t breathing much heavier yet for how hard he is. No surprise. Peter had never gotten a great look at him from the drumkit, but any guy who’d get off onstage every night he could and still manage to stumble through choruses and encores afterwards had something, some kind of stamina holding him up. “Back in ’76. She was trying to be coy, y’know, like she hadn’t fucked every rockstar who’d come through Little Rock…”

“Yeah, I remember.” Connie had been a badge of honor. A sign of making it. Biggest whore in the whole damn South and yet they’d all wanted a piece of her. She’d taken turns with KISS, going from bed to bed like a demented circuit rider. “She dove right down under the covers like she was bobbing for apples.”

Ace snickers.

“Yeah, and then I got her outta the way…”

“I didn’t even know you’d switched at first.” They’d both been down there, after all. Ace had been pulling Peter’s toes, giggling like a Bond villain on acid as Peter spewed at him to knock that shit off while he was getting blown. Then there’d been a little rustling, a little mumbling, and then Connie’s mouth was off his dick and Ace’s was there instead, mouth tight and hot and wet around him. Didn’t feel any different. Didn’t panic when Connie popped back up for air and planted a hard kiss right against his mouth, confirming everything. Didn’t panic at all, just peeled back the covers to meet a pair of sleepy brown eyes, still half-covered in eyeshadow and greasepaint. Ace hadn’t stopped. Just given him a thumbs-up.

           Peter had given him one back.

           “Didn’t you? Nngh, thought my… technique might… might be distinctive…” Ace trails. That glazed look in his eyes is getting a little worse with every shove of his hips as Peter’s fingers rub against his dick. “Fuck, you’re not gonna stop at handjobs today, are you? Figured you were a little more romantic…”

           “Turn around, then.”

           “Nah, nah, just get over here,” and then Peter, grumbling, stops jerking Ace off long enough to shift and close that last lonesome distance between them. Straddling him like he’d done a hundred times before, easy. Easy. Ace slides his hand down, starts stroking their cocks together in an smooth rhythm while Peter shudders above him. His dick’s throbbing almost painfully against Ace’s, precum slickening Ace’s grip, always so casual, so relaxed. Only Ace could ever make fucking around seem almost languid and still manage to drive Peter insane with it. Every needy drive, every urgent breath he presses against Ace’s skin, the needy roll of his hips, craving more pressure, more intensity—every bit of it doesn’t seem to do a damn thing until Peter grasps at Ace’s hair, pulling roughly, until he presses a few more kisses to his neck and cheek and mouth. Until Peter’s teeth catch on Ace’s earring and tug, making Ace groan, turn his head from side to side.

           “Fuck, Peter…”

           Peter watches the focus fade in and out of Ace’s expression like a flickering lightbulb. There’s something different about it than usual, something he can’t place. Like something’s bothering him. But he’s close. Too close to play around anymore. Ace’s strokes get more purposeful, free hand clasping Peter’s shoulder, leaving faint pink indents among the freckles, and Ace comes only a couple seconds later with a quick jerk and a curse, eyes sliding shut, grip loosening, come mingling with the scent of sweat in the air, all over both their stomachs and cocks. Peter half-expects Ace to finish stroking him off like usual, but instead he lets go entirely.

           “Mm, just use me, you wanna?”

           “You’re so fucking lazy,” but there’s no rancor in Peter’s words, none at all, as he repositions his painfully hard dick between Ace’s thighs. Ace smiles and squeezes them tight around him, enveloping Peter’s cock in a soft, slick heat that’s so easy to thrust and grind against.

           “’S a nice view. Always is.”

--

           Ace plays for him that night after all. “Black Diamond” and “Hard Luck Woman” both. He’s not on, really on, the way he was the night before, but that doesn’t really matter. The crowd still goes insane. Some guy, some fan comes up to Peter afterwards, asks if they’re gonna tour together, really tour together, the two of them, and Peter hasn’t felt so warm in years.

           “It isn’t the same without you guys,” he confesses, and maybe he’s drunk, but Peter doesn’t care. It feels good to hear. It feels good to be wanted. “KISS, I mean.”

           “It’s not,” Peter says, and he waits, wondering when he’s expected to give those stupid pat answers just to guarantee Gene’ll throw some backing vocals his way next album, or Paul’ll toss in a song from his discard pile. Peter hasn’t been playing their game over the last couple years and the last dozen interviews, and he knows it rankles the hell out of them, Paul especially, to still be dodging questions on why he left nearly a decade on. Has to be hurting Eric’s feelings, too, but… well. The only crime Eric committed was showing up for an audition, but on Peter’s lowest days, that’s crime enough.

           The guy doesn’t push for more, though, just leaves after a handshake. No opportunity to splatter his bitterness in front of an eager audience. Instead it’s just his band again—a band it’s bleeding him to keep—and Ace, sunk down in his seat, gulping down champagne like water. Peter hasn’t been keeping track of Ace’s drinks, but he has been paying attention to Ace’s demeanor. He’d autographed all the setlists, sloppily. Even a couple napkins. Added a star onto his name sometimes, the playing card others, like he’d forgotten his own moniker. Peter only knows because he’d signed them right after.

But what’s really concerning is that he’s not cutting up with the band. None of the half-remembered jokes, not even the old drunken bullshit about aliens and Jendell. No, Ace is just being quiet. A lousy sign if ever there was one. Peter sighs, checks his watch—half an hour since he had a drink of his own, which is downright impressive, and good enough for him to opt to lean in, nose brushing against Ace’s hair, not even half on accident.

“I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

           “Peter, ’s fine—"

           “You’re gonna pass out. I’ll take you back.”

           “Oh, the fuck do you really care, man?”

           “Jesus, Ace, just c’mere—”

           “No, I mean it, I really mean it.” Ace takes another swallow of champagne, then pushes the glass down the table. “Always figured I knew you better than anybody. Always figured I knew what you wanted.”

           “What’re you talking about?”

           “I mean…” Ace exhales, “Christ, Petey, you still got Gene’s bass. Sentimental as fuck. You can’t tell me you don’t know.”

           “Don’t bullshit me. What do you mean, I don’t know?”

           Ace’s eyes narrow. He grabs his arm and gets up abruptly, half-lugging Peter out of the chair.

“I ain’t gonna say all this shit in front of your band.”

Any other time, that would’ve rankled the saboteur in him. Would’ve made Peter want to demand Ace say exactly what he had to say right now, in front of God and the band and whoever the hell else cared to listen in. His pulse is already up higher than it needs to be when he takes a good look, a really good look, up at Ace’s face, those odd, dark eyes that always saw too much, the purse of those lips that he’d tried to kiss to bruising only hours before. The way his mouth’s starting to twitch down.

He’s not holding it together. Unbelievably, Ace isn’t holding it together.

“C’mon, then,” Peter grumbles out, and leads him out of the club and back to the rental the way he has two dozen times before. The drive back to the hotel is almost unbearable. Ace is quiet, mostly, for the hour it takes. Never offers any apologies or explanation, just changes the radio station every so often. Once Peter steals a glance to the side just to find that he’s passed out—but he jerks back awake when Peter makes too sharp a turn on an exit.

“You think I came clear over to fucking California for the hell of it?” he says softly, finally, after Peter pulls into the hotel parking lot.

“Figured it might be for the album. Figured you had somebody you wanted to see.”

“Only showed up for you.” In the dim light of the streetlamps, crossing over from the lot to the hotel entrance, Ace rubs his neck like he’s feeling around for a choker that isn’t there. He’s not stumbling quite so badly now. Peter’s seen him so much worse and still coherent. “I keep up, y’know? I keep up.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” They all keep up. They all fucking keep up. Gene knows what Paul’s doing knows what Ace’s doing knows what Peter’s doing, and vice-versa, all around the bend. Any given month. Any given month. That obsessive, incestuous circle of awareness. That underhanded vibe to following each other, endlessly following each other, through magazines and MTV, scattered columns and radio ads. He doesn’t understand it for all that he’s a part of it.

“You know why I came by, don’t you? Pete, don’t you?”

Peter knows. Maybe, deep down, he’s known the entire time.

--

           The next morning, Peter gets up early. Watches Ace sleep for a minute or two—he’ll be dead to the world way past check-out, if Peter doesn’t rouse him himself—but Peter doesn’t really mind. Another charge on a second-rate hotel isn’t the worst expense he’s dealt with over the last couple years. The days he had more money than God are gone, aren’t ever coming back, but he can afford this.

           And he can afford a cake from that little bakery, even if he can’t parallel park over there. Three tiny tiers, white icing. Not terribly bigger than a baby’s cake, the kind the parents buy just so they can tape the kid wrecking it. No real decoration beyond the little piped-on stars surrounding each tier. No writing on it, either, not when the whole of it’s gone unsaid and barely-said for going on thirteen years now.

           Thirteen years.

           Peter gets back to the hotel with the cake box under one arm, fumbling with the key. Fumbling with the crappy little saucers and the plastic flatware and the plastic cups that’re all the kitchenette offers. Trying to make everything presentable, neatly arranged on a tray, the cake right there in the center. He pours what’s left of that orange juice carton into the cups. It’s not champagne, but it’ll do. It’ll do for today.

           “Hey. Hey, Ace.”

           Peter has to poke Ace to get him to as much as open his eyes. Ace grunts, tries to just roll back over, but Peter clamps down on one of his arms, yanks him into sitting up in bed.

           “Ace, c’mon, man—”

           He’s afraid Ace is going to slink back down into the covers just to spite him. He’d deserve it. Deserve it as much as he deserved anything he ever got from a bedmate or a wife. But then Ace catches sight of the tray and that tired expression shifts to something else. Something warm. Something that could be all right, whether or not they ever make it again.

“You picked up the cake.”

“Course I did.”

“Pete,” and there’s a heaviness to Ace’s tone that isn’t just from waking up, maybe a slight, unbelievable crack, “Pete, you didn’t have to—”

“I did.” Peter swallows. “Thirteen years. Hell of a long time to put up with me.”

“Aw, Pete, you’re not so bad—”

“Nah, I’m worse.” The smile’s tugging on his face, pulling up his cheeks. His heart’s beating too hard as he reaches over, brushes Ace’s mussed, wavy hair back behind his shoulder, hand lingering there. His arms haven’t hurt all morning. Not a twinge of pain. It might as well be ’76 again for how good he feels right now. “Hey, let’s get this cut, yeah?”

Ace’s fingers catch his. Lace around his, really, callused fingertips against the back of his hand, stroking his knuckles. Peter rubs them in return. Every movement seems lighter. Every moment seems softer. Like something he can believe in, like a gentler reality than he’s pictured in years, as Ace rests his head against his shoulder, and smiles.

“Yeah.”

[180abroad]

Day 100: Welcome to York

Today, on our 100th day abroad, we finally went into town to start exploring York proper. It turned out to be a fun day filled with cobbled streets, chocolate, noodles, and football.

It was a sunny day with an almost cloudless pale-blue sky. As we entered the old town, we slipped into a stream of tourists making their way in as well. It was nice--enough people for the city to feel lively but not overwhelming.

We got a nice view of York Minster along the way. We would visit it another day, but for now we enjoyed gazing up at the soaring white-stone architecture. Our actual first stop was much more touristy: the York Chocolate Story.

The Chocolate Story was surprisingly fun and educational given the lukewarm reviews by Rick Steves and other travel guides. We were lead in a small group through a series of themed rooms, learning about the history of chocolate and its special connection to the city of York.

Standing in a hall made up to look like a Victorian street, our guide explained how it was only relatively recently that chocolate became a food. From its ancient Aztec origins, through its migration to early-modern Europe, and into the early 1800s, “chocolate” was a brewed beverage like coffee or tea.

It was only in the mid-1800s that an English Quaker named Joseph Fry discovered the secret to making “edible chocolate”--a novelty that took the continent by storm. In York, several entrepreneurial Quaker families developed their own chocolate empires, including Terry’s--of Chocolate Orange fame--and Rowntree’s--inventor of the Kit-Kat.

We got to taste a recreation of the original Rowntree’s chocolate bar recipe. There were bits of crushed cocoa nibs mixed into the chocolate, giving it a lumpy texture, and I don’t think any of us expected it to taste particularly great. But it was actually really good--dark but not bitter, and the nibs added a complex, roasted flavor. Not the best chocolate I’ve ever had, but almost certainly in the top half. It seems like the most important parts of chocolatiering were nailed down almost immediately, and everything since then has just been a matter of tweaking.

Next, we sat through a planetarium-style presentation on the Aztec roots of chocolate, including a sample of drinking chocolate prepared in the Aztec fashion: cold, spicy, and bitter.

After going through a couple more rooms dedicated to the various chocolate families of York--and more chocolate samples--we went downstairs to the chocolate “factory.”

As we took a crash course on the stages of chocolate production, we got to taste some cocoa nibs as well as some unsweetened 100% dark chocolate. The nibs were bitter but not bad. The unsweetened chocolate--which is just nibs that have been heated and compressed--was abominable. It was somehow horribly bitter and disgustingly bland at the same time, and the taste stuck to the inside of my mouth for minutes afterward. Jessica kind of liked it.

According to our guide, it’s actually quite hard to find 100% dark chocolate in stores. Only a small percentage of people like it, and chocolate companies just don’t think it’s worth the cost to make and distribute it.

A few years ago my dad found an image of a “Scotch wheel” showing all the flavor profiles of Scotch whisky. Jessica isn’t a big fan of Scotch (yet), but we finally found a wheel that we can all appreciate. The guides are also chocolatiers, so Jessica got to ask some advanced questions and generally talk shop with him while we waited for the last section of the visit to be ready.

The guided part of our tour finally over, it was time for us to make our own “chocolate lollies.” The chocolate of the day was Belgian white. Neither of us are big fans of white chocolate, but our guide insisted that we give it a try. Even people who don’t like white chocolate usually like Belgian white chocolate, he said. And he was right: it was really, really good. We each picked out a colored stick, then after he poured a circle of chocolate over one end, we got to sprinkle our choice of four toppings over it.

While we waited for our lollies to harden, we got to watch one of the other chocolatiers make a batch of chocolate truffles with a mango-cream filling. It was quite interesting, and Jessica was vindicated to learn that he too didn’t like eating chocolate despite loving to make it. (Though to be fair, Jessica does enjoy the occasional chocolate, while this guy gets violently ill from it.) We were a fairly small group, so we had to eat several truffles each. I mean, it would have been rude not to...

Our tickets to the Chocolate Story included a complimentary scoop of ice cream from the bar downstairs, but we decided to save it for later. For now, we had a date with some glass cats.

When we arrived at our flat, our host had left us a note telling us to come by the York Glass Shop for a free gift when we had time. We weren’t sure what to expect, but having enjoyed our visit to a glass shop in Bath, we were tantalized by the prospect of a running theme.

Our free gift was one of their glass cats, which came in black as well as birthstone colors. It was Jessica's turn to get a glass cat, so she picked out an aquamarine one. We also got some stained-glass bookmarks as presents for our moms.

With our glass gifts in hand, we walked around the rest of the Shambles, York's preserved medieval merchant street lined with tweed fashion boutiques, cheesy Viking stores, and everything in between.

For our first lunch out in this medieval city known for Vikings, roasts, and fried dough, we went to Wagamama, an Anglo-Japanese fusion chain. We had heard about it before, but we didn't actually know what it was. We enjoyed some yaki-soba, yaki-udon, and a plate of pulled pork gyoza. We laughed at the thought that this was probably meant to be exotic, but to us Californians it was practically a taste of home.

Our last big stop of the day was Clifford's Tower, the partially ruined stone keep that is all that remains of the old York Castle. If the Tower doesn't look quite like a typical English castle to you, you'd be right. It's design was inspired by French castles of the time. The chief architect is believed to be the Frenchman Henry de Reyns, who was also responsible for designing much of Westminster Abbey.

There wasn't a lot to see, but the view from the top was great.

In the lot below, a pop-up Shakespearean theater was being assembled. We checked, and unfortunately the first show was the day after we'd be leaving York.

Perhaps the most interesting story the castle had to tell--and certainly the most chilling--was about a pogrom that took place in 1190, when the castle was still made of wood. Anti-Semitism was erupting throughout the country in the wake of Richard the Lionheart's coronation and the start of the Third Crusade. When one such riot began in York, the entire Jewish community--around 150 men, women, and children--took refuge in the keep.

A bloodthirsty mob--including knights and commoners alike--assaulted the castle to try and drag them out. Rather than renounce their faith or allow themselves be torn apart by the mob, the people inside chose a third option. Before the last men took their own lives, they set the keep ablaze, turning it into a funeral pyre that would burn their remains before they could be desecrated by the rioters outside. There were no survivors.

Feeling it was high time for some more spirit-lifting chocolate, we headed back to the Shambles to claim our free ice cream and some hot cocoa.

Finally, we circled back to the Minster, where we saw a conspicuously lackadaisical statue of Emperor Constantine. York is unusual in that it was originally founded as a Roman military base--there was no preexisting local settlement in the area. Constantine was actually declared emperor in York, and the Minster was later built on the foundations of his military headquarters. Near the statue stands an ancient Roman pillar unearthed from the Minster’s foundations during a 20th-century retrofit.

Satisfied with everything we'd done that day, we headed home to watch the Poland vs. Senegal game of the World Cup. Poland played valiantly and scored two goals to Senegal’s one. Unfortunately, one of those two was an own goal, so Senegal took the win.

Next Post: York

Last Post: To York (Relax, Restock, and Reassess)

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Hey, I remember seeing a post about the Korean War on your blog a while ago, and I was wondering if you could educate me about it from your side. Because in America they make it seem like we were the Big! Gallant! Heroes! That swooped in and saved the day from the Evil Comunism (ooh)*spooky finger wiggle*. And that the South Koreans were inept and totally incapable of handling themselves, much less winning the war.

Hmm.

I’ll try to answer this as best I can, but keep in mind - this mostly comes from what I’ve heard from those around me or read from books, opinions on the Korean ‘net, and my own subjective opinions.

I am no history major - in fact, I hated the subject until recent, when I had to cram in for a test.

If you want proper objective facts with sources, I suggest using the Internet or reading books about it; Personally recommending An Ally and Empire: Two Myths of South Korea-United States Relations. I haven’t had the chance to read it from cover to cover yet, but it’s written by a Korean scholar who specializes in that part of our history.David Halberstam’s The Coldest Winter also does a good job of analyzing the political conflicts among the larger countries surrounding this war, although people say it fails to cover viewpoints from within Korea itself.

—

Now here’s my ‘answer’:When the Korean War (1950) happened, we were still recovering from Japanese colonialization, which ended in 1945 (along with WW2). The larger countries (USA, Soviet Union, etc) were like “Hey, Japan left this little country in shambles, what do we do with it?”And the US suggested they split up the peninsula in half, which they did. The South would be controlled by the US while the Soviets would have a more indirect control over the North.Now, I don’t know exactly what was going on in his mind, but after this, Kim Il-Sung (who was head of the NK government at the time) asked Stalin if he could start this war - and Stalin said no. 48 times.Stalin was not being pacifist or anything, he was just afraid of starting WW3 when the Soviet military was not ready for it.But Kim kept asking and he eventually went “Ugggh okay” but kept themselves out of it just enough to not cause a worldwide “WTF”. They did help, they just didn’t advertise it on hot air balloons.But the invasion itself was initiated by Communist NK all right, and the general notion is that the US saw this as a big middle finger.They were thinking along the lines of “Are you serious? Right in front of my FREEDOM? We let Germany take over Europe and look what happened to us as a result. Let’s not let that happen again. Stop communism from spreading; uproot it while it’s still stuck in a small peninsula. We don’t want WW3.”All in all, it was more of an act of protecting their anti-communist agenda rather than pure good will for the Suffering™ People of South Korea - after all, the US was one of the many armies that committed war crimes here.(On another note, it wasn’t the only one who fought in the war either; 67 nations aided South Korea, either independently or through the UN.)

While it is widely accepted that international military aid did help us drive NK and its allies back (by October 1950, the Chinese had sent their forces to aid NK) - and much of the older generation who lived the war do, in fact, consider the US as their heroes - the majority of current opinions are that of resentfulness; there wouldn’t have been a North/South Korea if the US and Soviets didn’t split us up to satisfy their own ideologies, and the war wouldn’t have happened at all.

So yeah, I think that South Korea wouldn’t have been able to defend itself on its own, but only because it wasn’t just North Korea that was invading. This started as an international war. They had the Soviets and Chinese on their back, and the US was one of the many countries that sent military aid, but mainly because they didn’t want that Communism™ spreading, not out of heroism. (Keep in mind that the Cold War is commonly considered as having started in 1945.)

—

Annnnd that’s about it, I never thought I’d pull out those history books again, but welp.If y’all spot anything that seems wrong or off, feel free to tell me.

[writinanon]

Goddess of War I

This is inspired by a post someone gave to @yanderedad about Freyja and about Ullr as either the Fem Dep or Male Dep being the incarnations of these Gods of War. It’s not exactly Fem Dep as Freyja but it’s close. As of right now it’s a little two shot.

Joseph felt that he and his brothers needed to bond, to regain that sense of Family that had been lost once they were split apart. So before they would settle and carry out Project Eden’s Gate, they would travel around Europe for a bit. A month of bouncing from place to place, together as a Family and not as the kicked around scraps no one wanted. John agreed to this plan readily and Jacob, ever used to being the silent protector, nodded and started to plan out how to keep them safe in the coming travel.

They had missed the train stop they were supposed to get off in and were now somewhere on the boarder of Denmark and Germany. Jacob was trying to straighten it out and get them back on track, John was trying to figure out where they were, and Joseph was trying to get them to enjoy the break. Clearly, they were meant to be there. He sighed as he continued to watch Jacob argue with the attendant. He was about to reopen his bible and read a few passage on patience when a shadow fell over him.

“Hallo.” A soft voice said and he turned to see a woman, smiling gently at him, at his side.

“Hello.” He stood to greet her and she smiled a bit wider, amusement dancing in her eyes and she looked him over.

“Are you a missionary? We don’t get many of those any more. Being that we’re ‘developed’ and ‘Christianized’ now.” She stressed the words as though they didn’t mean anything important. Her English wasn’t very accented but the odd lilt she put on words was bewitching to hear.

“I am afraid while I am a Man of the Lord I’m not here to convert anyone, today.” The Project would not thrive here because, though remote and secure, the language and culture were foreign to him. The Voice had told her already where he would go, Hope County in Montana. That would be where he found everything he’d need. Still he wanted to save all he could from the Collapse. She hummed softly and turned her soft honey brown eyes towards Jacob and John.

“And them?”

“My brothers are here with me to try and relax. It would go better if your country wasn’t quite so distracting.” She gave a sharper grin at this and shrugged her shoulders.

“Perhaps you need to be warier of the world around you Priest. Underestimating the smallest things can be deadly.” For a moment he thought that her eyes had turned from their warm honey brown to a pure gold color, shockingly the thing that scared him most was that she looked as though she were looking through him, through his Soul, and seeing his future. The moment passed and her smile turned pleasant again.

“Joseph? Who’s this?” Jacob and John were now at his sides and she took a half step back.

“No one of consequence. I simply wanted to see if you were here to spread your words. Have a nice day.” Her eyes returned briefly to Joseph’s. “If you want a war she’ll give it to you.” She turned then and left, vanishing into the station as swiftly as she had appeared.

“Joseph? What’s wrong, what did she do?” Jacob growled eyes still trying to track her though she was completely out of sight now.

“I believe we’d best be returning home soon.” Joseph murmured quietly, still completely unsettled by the woman.

Joseph tried not to think of the woman or her strangeness for a time. Eventually he managed to forget her entirely. John and Jacob hadn’t bothered to question him farther after they realized he truly knew nothing about the woman. He threw himself into his Flock and the preparations for the Collapse. Still he had no idea why it was that gold eyes were haunting him on this day. He had heard that a Marshall was coming to try and arrest him, that the sheriff’s department would back him up. He knew that there would come a day he had to deal with the local authorities but had thought that the sheriff not a fool.

“If you want a war she’ll give it to you.” He froze as he was putting on his glasses, looking in the mirror. Inside it, facing away from him was a woman. She was wearing a sheriff’s uniform and her hands had blood covering them. In front of her Faith’s fields were burning, John’s plane was crashed, and Jacob’s bunker was in ruin. Joseph stepped back, fear seizing his heart as the woman started to turn. He blinked and the image was gone.

“Father?” He heard one of his Children and he tried to put on a brave face for them. “Did you have another vision of the Collapse? Is… is it coming sooner?” He shook his head and assured them.

“No simply a reminder of what we must do, how we must prepare. I was not expecting it this early.” He reminded himself that lying was a sin but it would be a graver sin to worry the Flock. She nodded and he finished getting ready. He had a sermon to give.

Joseph was prepared, was expecting the heavy bootsteps that approached him. The Marshall walking confidently with a nervous Sheriff at his side. Joseph’s eyes instantly slid away to the other three behind them as he continued to preach. One was male, the other was female but she was wrong, her hair wasn’t the right color and she was too tall. Just as his eyes locked onto the final Deputy the Marshall interrupted him, waving his piece of paper around as though it had authority.

“Rook.” The sheriff grunted and she stepped forward.

“God will not let you take me.” He managed but his stomach clenched in fear. They weren’t identical, there were small differences here and there the length of her hair and it’s tone the fact that her skin wasn’t nearly as pale as the other’s, but they had the same eyes. Honey brown eyes stared into his defiantly. He found himself compelled to offer her his wrists. She took them gently and bound him in hand cuffs. “Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone.” He told her and she looked at him. Those same eyes were looking through him, seeing his Soul, and finding him wanting. She tugged him lightly away and toward the awaiting helicopter without a word. As she was bundling him inside, when no one could hear or see, her eyes returned to that shining gold and that sharp smile took over again.

“If you want war, you’ll get it.” She assured him before settling in as the others joined them. This woman would destroy everything, leave his family in shambles. But if she could be converted… Joseph finally returned her smile with one of his own. He would have her convert. He would have her. He had to, if only to keep his family safe.

[scottydd]

>

> #The great Brexit blame game

>

> **Bosses and ministers are already trading recriminations as a chaotic split looms**

>

> John Collingridge and Jill Treanor

>

> Sunday October 18 2020, 12.01am BST, The Sunday Times

>

>

> * 74: Days left to reach a deal with Brussels before the UK leaves the EU

>

> * 7,000: Number of lorries that could queue in Kent to cross the Channel in the worst-case scenario

>

> * 50,000: Customs agents that will be needed to process paperwork

>

> For the past four years, Rob Hollyman has been trying to work out what Brexit will mean for haulage firms such as his that cross the Channel daily. With 74 days until the end of the transition period, Hollyman, a director of Essex-based Youngs Transportation and Logistics, is still unsure.

>

> A 40-year industry veteran, he has attended seminars, phoned government departments, scoured the internet and even tweeted at ministers, including Michael Gove, in an effort to understand the practicalities of moving goods across the border with the EU from next year.

>

> “We don’t know what permits we are going to need,” said Hollyman, who runs a fleet of about 120 lorries. “You get these know-nothings [in government] who say, ‘You’ve got to get yourself prepared.’ How on earth do you prepare for something when you can’t find out what you need to prepare for? How can I get my vehicles ready to go over the water when I don’t know what documents are needed?”

>

> Youngs is one of thousands of companies facing with trepidation the end of decades of seamless trading with the EU on January 1. Four years of negotiations, planning and investment in new systems are about to be put to the test — in the middle of the deepest economic crisis for decades. Hopes that it will be a painless transition, thanks to a deal that former international trade secretary Liam Fox claimed would be “one of the easiest in human history”, are evaporating fast.

>

> The latest round of talks ended in acrimony last week. It remains unclear on what terms Britain will soon trade with its biggest partner — and whether it is too late to avoid chaos. Now, with the potential for disruption growing as the clock runs down, recriminations are flying.

>

> Since the summer, the government has been trying to encourage businesses to prepare for the end of the transition period, plastering billboards and taking out ads asking: “Is your business ready for the UK’s new start?” That has been distilled into a simple message: “Check, change, go”. Many companies complain the simplicity is a far cry from the reality.

>

> A change of tone has been noted in the government’s messaging in recent weeks, which some bosses believe is an attempt to pin the blame on “unprepared” businesses. “It’s all about the blame game,” said a chief executive. Last month, a leaked letter from Gove, who is responsible for Brexit planning, warned of queues of up to 7,000 lorries at Dover in a worst-case scenario. Gove told MPs that the government had surveyed businesses and found that 43% believed the transition period would be extended, granting them continued access to the single market, and that only 24% believed they were fully ready. “The consequences of a lack of business preparedness will be not just economic opportunities missed for those companies that don’t prepare, but potentially much wider disruption,” said Gove.

>

> Businesses, ravaged by Covid-19, today called for a deal. “Now is the time for historic political leadership,” said the Confederation of British Industry and 71 professional bodies in a joint statement.

>

> Last week, the blame game escalated when Treasury and Cabinet Office minister Lord Agnew accused businesses of taking a “head-in-the-sand approach”. “The traders are not as ready as they should be,” he said, adding that they “really must engage in a more energetic way”. His comments to the Treasury select committee reflected a growing fear that, even if a last-minute deal is struck, the economy is not ready for the changes about to hit it. Gove is among leading voices in the cabinet warning of the perils of an abrupt end to trading with the EU if no deal is struck, which would result in World Trade Organisation tariffs.

>

> Nowhere are those perils more evident than in Kent, where officials plan to install portable toilets along the M20 leading to Dover in anticipation of a queue of vehicles: 1,000 lorries, each nearly 60ft long, would stretch 11 miles.

>

> The reams of paperwork from customs declarations mean that about 50,000 customs agents — who would be hired by businesses to fill in forms — are needed. But the government has refused to say how many have been recruited. A 66-acre car park is being built alongside the M20 in Ashford to handle the overflow of up to 1,700 lorries. A new border will be created for international hauliers hoping to travel through Kent to Dover, with a “Kent access permit” needed to enter. Those without one face a £300 fine.

>

> Richard Burnett, chief executive of the Road Haulage Association, said it had been warning of the need for more customs agents for more than 18 months. The government finally published a “border operating model” — a guide to how the border will work — in July, but Burnett said “while it tells you what to do, it doesn’t tell you how to do it”.

>

> “Having lived and breathed the past four years, it’s been a shambles,” he said. “We’ve been asking the same questions — it’s groundhog day. Our industry does nothing but work hard to keep things moving. We have not got time to ensure people are trained from a customs perspective, and have not got sufficient customs agents to absorb the demand. If you can’t find a customs agent and try to send your truck without the appropriate paperwork, it will get turned around in Kent or Calais.”

>

> Myriad issues remain unresolved elsewhere. Car-makers, which rely on the just-in-time supply of millions of parts delivered by lorries, could see production lines grind to a halt if parts are caught in traffic jams at the border — a possibility even if a deal is struck.

>

> BMW’s Mini factory at Cowley, Oxford, receives about 120 lorries a day from the EU, containing some of the three million parts it uses daily. Jaguar Land Rover, Britain’s biggest car-maker with factories across the Midlands, uses up to 25 million parts a day in the UK, up to half of which come from abroad.

>

> That makes stockpiling beyond a couple of days impossible. According to Honda in Swindon, nine days of stock would require a warehouse of 300,000 square metres — which would make it one of the biggest buildings on the planet.

>

> WTO terms mean tariffs of 10% will be imposed on cars sold to Europe, or tariffs of 4.5% applied on the parts they import from the Continent.

>

> Another hideously complex issue about which car bosses have been warning for almost four years is “rules of origin” — determining where a car’s parts come from. Typically, Europe demands that at least 60% of a car by value must originate from the EU and the new trading partner to qualify for tariff-free trade.

>

> Even if there is a deal to keep tariffs at zero, car-makers are still likely to have to prove that 60% of their parts, which may have crossed multiple borders, originate from the UK and EU. That leaves Britain’s car factories with a huge headache, especially when it comes to electric vehicles: many of their parts, such as batteries and motors, are imported from Japan and elsewhere in Asia. The BBC reported that the car industry had asked for parts from Japan and Turkey to be treated as British in a trade deal — a plea that was rejected.

>

> Mike Hawes, chief executive of the Society of Motor Manufacturers and Traders (SMMT), said Brexit had “always been about damage limitation” for the car industry. “The sector has been preparing for it since 2016, yet even now we remain hampered by a lack of clarity on the exact nature of our future trading relationship with Europe,” he said.

>

> “The prospect of trading on WTO terms in 74 days is still very real and no amount of preparation could mitigate the catastrophic impact this will have on the sector — a fact about which we have been warning the government for years.”

>

> Whole chunks of the economy are on tenterhooks over the shape of any deal. An agreement on data adequacy — which could affect bank transfers and selling and buying online — hinges on the trade deal. The UK is quitting the European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA), meaning the UK’s Civil Aviation Authority will become responsible for certifying plane parts — and convincing other nations that its standards match EASA’s. Without that mutual reassurance, aerospace manufacturing could be at risk.

>

> Northern Ireland and its access to goods — particularly food — is another big problem. The government has spent £200m helping companies with the bureaucracy of shipping goods from Britain to Northern Ireland. But food manufacturers that ship across the Irish Sea, faced with the cost and bureaucracy of having to fill out hundreds of customs declarations for every lorry, are considering retreating from Northern Ireland, at least for the first few months of 2021. Businesses shipping to Northern Ireland will face a huge amount of paperwork, from customs declarations to export health certificates on meat.

>

> Stephen Phipson, chief executive of manufacturers’ trade body Make UK, said: “Because businesses are engulfed in surviving the pandemic, they are assuming that if the prime minister sticks to his commitments and does a deal, there’s nothing to do. Actually, there are so many changes, even with a deal.”

>

> In the City, “passporting” — the system the UK relied on when it was part of the 28-nation bloc that allows businesses to conduct financial services seamlessly across borders — is coming to an end. Now the focus is on “equivalence”, which allows trading across borders but is not so comprehensive.

>

> ^^Part ^^2

> Rachel Kent, head of financial services regulation at law firm Hogan Lovells, said financial companies doing significant business in the EU had been forced to set up subsidiaries on the Continent. “For some the cost is too great, and they will have no option but to terminate their client arrangements,” she said.

>

> Clients of UK-based banks need new documentation so they can keep dealing with EU entities. Processing payments — such as direct debits — has also required changes. Ignoring the changes and continuing to trade on current terms could result in criminal charges.

>

> Josh Hardie, CBI deputy director general, said: “Businesses are trying to prepare but they face huge barriers, whether that is the impact of the virus or whether it is clarity about what they are preparing for. The single biggest way of accelerating preparation is to get a deal.”

>

[coronamaths]

COULD WE HAVE DONE BETTER? - 9th May

The headline in the iNews today: “Coronavirus lockdown: The world reacts to Britain’s ‘incomprehensible’ response, botched testing and care home crisis” and wrote “While there is sympathy for Britain’s health workers, there is disbelief that Prime Minister Boris Johnson squandered vital weeks.  As Britain this week recorded the highest death rate in Europe – and the second in the world behind the US – an incredulous foreign press described the situation using colourful invective: it is ‘a shambles’, ‘a nightmare’ reflecting ‘negligence’, ‘complacency’ and ‘stupidity’.”

Contrast this with Johnson’s comeback speech on 27th April in which he said “I know there will be many people looking now at our current success and beginning to wonder whether now is the time to go easy on those social distancing measures.”

What did he mean by current success?

Did he mean the 25,000 official deaths (today over 31,000)?  Or did he mean the 100+ healthcare workers who had died by that time?  Or did he mean the financial hardship that millions of people have had to face?  Or did he mean the swathe the virus was cutting through care homes?  Or did he mean the tanking of the economy - the worst in 300 years

So could we have done better?  The answer is yes, yes, yes.  At every press conference we hear the mantra “we have taken the right decisions at the right time” but that’s not supported by any stretch of the imagination by the evidence.

WHAT THE MODEL SHOWS

We can use the model of the spread of coronavirus to show what would have happened if the same lockdown we entered on 23rd March had been deployed earlier.  The model is accurately tracking the number of deaths so we can use it with confidence to explore “what if” scenarios.  So I’ve chosen three dates - 15th February, 5th March and 12th March as alternative dates when a decision on lockdown could have been made.  The results are shown in Charts 9 and 16.

CHART 9 shows the current projection (red line) for the cumulative number of deaths by the end of the year - around 62,000.  Compare that to the lines for the other dates which show that:

1. If we’d acted very quickly and decisively (15th Feb yellow line) deaths would have been kept to double figures;

2. Even 3 weeks later at 5th March (orange line) deaths, at round 10,000, would be a sixth;

3. But the delay from 5th March to 12th March was critical, increasing deaths by another 30,000.

CHART 10 shows the same data but on daily basis.  Key features are:

1. The timing of the peak doesn’t change that much - within a matter of 10 days

2. Apart from the first date (15th Feb) the decline of the disease has a very long tail so the delay in deploying lockdown mean that in all scenarios the decision on how to relax the lockdown is difficult.

3. The peaks are important because they indicate the extreme pressure that would be put on the health and social care services.  A decision on 5th March would have kept that peak to a very manageable 115 deaths.  A week later the peak increases 6-fold but that number is about what we are seeing now about a month after the actual peak we’ve been through.

HINDSIGHT AND EVIDENCE

The argument usually put forward about this sort of analysis is that hindsight is a wonderful thing but doesn’t prove anything.  The difference with this though is:

1. The model doesn’t care about time.  It reflects the way a disease would spread at any time and is accurately tracking that spread now;

2. There is plenty of recorded evidence about what was going on leading up to the various dates on which the right decisions could have been made.

Let’s look at this evidence:

Upto February 15th:

1. From mid-January onwards the outbreak in China was in the news every day and we saw how serious it as by the fact that they had to build, from the ground up, two 1000-bed hospitals in Wuhan in 10 days.  These were completed by 5th February.

2. Despite this, on January 23rd Matt Hancock declared in Parliament that the risk was low and the NHS was “well-prepared and well-equipped” to deal with the disease.  He went further in saying that “the whole of the UK is always well-prepared to deal with these types of outbreaks”.  He also said that the UK was one of the first countries to have developed a world-leading test for the virus. The shadow minister warned that a global pandemic could be avoided if all governments took the right measures in a timely fashion.

3. By 30th January the disease had spread to 18 countries outside China showing how infectious the disease was.  WHO declared a global emergency - a “PHEIC” or Public Health Emergency of International Concern.  They gave clear advice to all countries to “test, test, test”.

4. On 31st January the first case was reported in the UK.

5. On 3rd February Johnson made a speech in Greenwich again underplaying the importance of Coronavirus and portraying the UK as a superman ready to lead the economic world through it.

6. So the scene was set by early February for the government’s tone and approach - ignoring the evidence; ignoring outside advice; underestimating the seriousness of the situation; and over-estimating our capability (some might even say lying).

7. Those first two weeks in February could have been used to prepare for lockdown but, of course, that didn’t fit with Johnson’s view.

Upto March 5th

1. The concession to the public to show it was being taken seriously was to “wash your hands”.

2. Through January and February Johnson missed 5 COBRA meetings

3. On February 28th WHO raised its risk assessment to “very high”, its highest level of alert.

4. Meanwhile Italy had replaced China on our TV screens.  The first deaths there occurred on 22 February and by the beginning of March, the virus had spread to all regions.  Social media was full of Italian doctors warning how serious this was.

5. Unperturbed by all of this Johnson delayed his “emergency” COBRA meeting until after his long-weekend break and then on March 3rd Johnson once again repeated that the NHS and the country were very well prepared.

6. On 5th March the first death was reported.  Alarm bells should have been sounding because of the evidence from China and Italy and the exponential way in which the disease spreads.

Upto March 12th

This was the crucial week and by the end of it:

1. The opportunity for lockdown had been lost through further delay and a further 30,000 people would die.

2. Italy went into lockdown on 9th March.

3. On March 11th WHO declared a global pandemic.

4. Johnson did a remarkable about-turn, still not accepting that everything they had done so far was wrong but saying that the “science had changed”.  What he meant was that Imperial College had presented a report showing that there would be potentially half a million deaths and the NHS would be overwhelmed if Johnson didn’t enforce a lockdown.

5. So a week after he’d confidently told the country there was still nothing to worry about he now said that “loved ones would die”.

6. Now they definitely knew the seriousness of the problem but still the lockdown was not imposed.

Upto March 23rd

Not only was the lockdown not imposed but large gatherings were still permitted - the Cheltenham festival being the most notable.  These 11 days of delay will have cost another 20,000 lives.

Credentials

Don’t forget you can check my post on “Background and Credentials” if you have any doubts about the authenticity of what I am posting.  You can get to that and other posts as I add them via the Index to posts.  Click here:  Index to Blog Posts

(Retrospective note 22nd May:  This is an update from the original idea, based on version 1 of the model, first posted 21st March and updated on April 14th.  See:  https://coronamaths.tumblr.com/post/618846658425470976/the-start-3-21st-march and  https://coronamaths.tumblr.com/post/618903342427537408/the-impact-on-deaths-of-delaying-lockdown)