#having played much older men on stage before as was indeed the practice in

[greatmuldini]

The events of 6 December 1890 were neither preordained nor were they premeditated. Nothing that transpired on the day was inevitable or irreversible: participants chose to stay in character, and to act out their roles in what would eventually be described by biographers and historians as the Parnell Tragedy (Jules Abels, 1966).

Everyone at the time would have been aware of the historical significance of their actions, if not the long-term consequences - excluding of course, the one female member of the cast who could not possibly have known what she was doing. By dint of this congenital deficiency she would also quite naturally be blamed for causing "Ireland's misfortune." Simple and satisfying in terms of its mass market appeal, feminine impulsivity does little to explain the supposedly rational decisions taken by the men around her in the name of patriotism and political expediency - which far from producing an amenable solution served only to exacerbate the crisis. Whereas the exact circumstances and full cast of characters have faded over time the larger-than-life figure of Charles Stewart Parnell still towers over the events of 6 December 1890 as the one man who could have had it all - and lost it all.

Sixty-four years later, the Fall of Parnell inspired an episode of the BBC's "experimental" television series You Are There which set out to present the known historical facts, faithfully, but with an added dimension unique to the new medium: actors would impersonate the key personnel as in a conventional re-enactment. While going about their "business," however, they would be interviewed by modern television reporters. The curious anachronism underlined the artificiality of the concept; it meant the programme was deliberately drawing attention to itself which would have been an unwanted distraction, for You Are There it was the defining feature. Neither the programme nor its - fictitious - journalists were interested in the exploration of alternative histories or in-depth character studies: the point was to demonstrate the possibilities of "live" television, ironically, in a simulated setting. Fact and fiction are trading places as the reality of 1890 becomes the subject of a 1950s fantasy, and the medium of the future interrogates the evidence of the past. For the actors it would have been a challenge to navigate between imaginative portrayal of a fully formed human being and the faithful rendition of the intrinsically incomplete historical record.

The historical record states that Charles Stewart Parnell was born in 1846. The son of a Protestant Irish landowner and an American mother was not naturally predestined to champion the cause of destitute Catholic tenant farmers; indeed, nothing in his early life pointed to any such leanings. As an aristocratic country gentleman he had nothing to fear and everything to gain from the firm imperial rule exerted by the British Crown over the Island of Ireland.

And yet it was Parnell, the English-educated man of pedigree, who emerged as the voice of the starving rural population. Having decided to enter politics for reasons that are still unclear, he found his calling as the Westminster MP for County Meath not in the defence of privilege but in the vocal support - initially for land reform and then increasingly for Irish nationalism ("Home Rule"). Over the next five years Parnell gained a reputation and a following as a fiery orator back in Ireland and a force to be reckoned with in the House of Commons, where is name became synonymous with the new parliamentary tactic of "obstructionism." If the English politicians could not be moved to act in Ireland's interest Parnell vowed to meddle in English affairs. And meddle - or obstruct - he did. After a century of inaction and neglect, the Irish Question seemed relevant again, if only because its proponents made it impossible for English laws to be passed. Parnell seemed to thrive on his tactical manoeuvring which he was prepared to carry to painful extremes, on multiple occasions – including arrest and imprisonment, at the risk of damaging his already fragile state of health.

By 1880 Parnell controlled both the radical grassroots movement in Ireland and the parliamentary representation of Irish interests in London. The position made him a frequent dinner guest in the homes of friends and allies, where on several occasions he also enjoyed the hospitality of Mrs Katharine O'Shea, the English wife of a fellow Irish MP, who was sympathetic not only to the cause but to the man who personified the struggle. Mrs O’Shea had a discreet arrangement with her husband, Captain William “Willie” O’Shea, the Member for County Clare and Galway: their marriage would exist on paper only for the benefit of Willie’s career; while he conducted his business in London she would reside at their official family residence and entertain important visitors. Parnell would often stay as a guest of the family - to recuperate after gruelling campaigns in Ireland, was the official explanation given.

For the next ten years the couple conducted an illicit affair that produced four children and saw the singled-minded saboteur of the political system lead a double life away from Parliament and in the company of Katharine O’Shea. The relationship was not as one might assume a tempestuous whirlwind romance but a curiously claustrophobic still-life of Victorian domesticity - an alternate, self-contained reality where Parnell and his "Queenie" could act out their fantasy of living simply as husband and wife. Their apparent longing for simplicity may also help to explain the ease with which they expected to lead two entirely separate and parallel lives, apparently unaware of or unwilling to acknowledge the inherent paradox and inevitable complication.

In the political arena Parnell was for most of the 1880s an extremely effective manipulator of moods and opinions, always weighing and adjusting the demands of Irish nationalists against the calls for the use of force from the British press, the public, and its politicians. Anyone looking for a core belief or deeply held conviction would have been disappointed by the vagueness of Parnell's own stated aims - which he used to great advantage because it allowed him to gain the confidence of the British side and the respect of his own following. As a small but significant minority, the Irish (or Home Rule) Party under Parnell's skilful machinations was able to make demands in return for the votes it lent to either one of the two dominant forces in 19th century British politics: the Tory (Conservative) Party or the slightly more reform-oriented Liberal Party.

Parnell’s elusiveness became his trademark: the less he said in public, the fewer appearances he made in Parliament, the taller he grew in stature. In 1887 he was accused of having endorsed the murders of two British politicians in Dublin. When the alleged endorsement turned out to be a forgery two years later, the popular reaction was one of relief and renewed admiration for the noble freedom fighter who had been so horribly maligned. By 1889, it seemed as if nothing could go wrong for Charles Stewart Parnell.

Home Rule seemed within reach when, in May of 1889, Katharine O'Shea learned of the death of a wealthy aunt whose fortune she was to inherit. The additional funds would have been a welcome boost to Katharine's finances had it not been for her husband's unexpected interference. Captain William “Willie” O’Shea chose this moment to strike, possibly to exact revenge, more likely to improve his own pecuniary situation. And thus, Captain O'Shea went ahead and contested the will, citing his wife’s infidelity, and his intention to divorce her. Surprised but hardly alarmed, the lovers welcomed what they thought would be an opportunity for them to make their relationship official, the sooner the better.

 From the very beginning their affair had been an open secret in political circles, but the Captain’s announcement put the fact of their adultery in the public domain. With their case not due in court for at least another twelve months (i.e. late 1890), Katharine and Parnell were powerless to stop the scandal from spreading, and their silence on the matter allowed grievances to fester. No public statement was ever published, nor did the couple make any public gesture of remorse. They did launch a half-hearted and unsuccessful counterclaim not to deny the adultery but to accuse Captain O’Shea of adultery as well, presumably to shame the Captain into withdrawing his allegation.

For an entire year the unresolved state of their private affairs overshadowed Parnell’s political battle; it affected his health and continued to corrode confidence among his allies in parliament and at home but most significantly among the ranks of the Liberal Party led by Prime Minister William Gladstone. Ironically, and with tragic consequences for Katharine and Parnell, the earliest and most vociferous condemnations came not from the Catholic Church (both Parnell and Katharine were Protestants) but from the other “Nonconformist” denominations outside the established Church of England, which was traditionally a preserve of the Tory (Conservative) Party. An influential group among the Nonconformists were Methodists, whose large working and middle-class following had found in Gladstone’s Liberal Party their political home.

When the divorce eventually came through in November 1890 (decree nisi), Parnell was branded a “convicted adulterer” but also won the legal right to marry Katharine after completion of the obligatory six-month waiting period (decree absolute). The salacious - and uncontested – testimony offered in the course of the trial was, however, fresh on the minds of his party colleagues who were meeting to decide on his future as party leader a mere fortnight after the court’s decision. Gladstone had already warned Irish MPs of the danger to their alliance, the implication being that the Liberal Party would lose the support of its Nonconformist base if it continued to cooperate with a “convicted adulterer.” The message was clear: Irish MPs had no hope of winning Home Rule with Parnell as their leader. They needed the good will and legislative might of a strong Liberal government - and Liberal voters had strong ideas about marriage and adultery. Gladstone did, in effect, issue an ultimatum to Irish parliamentarians: lose your leader or lose Ireland.

Party activists in Ireland meanwhile re-elected Parnell as leader of the Home Rule Party before news of the ultimatum reached their shores, creating an awkward situation which allowed Parnell to claim he had the backing of the party rank and file, while Gladstone faced the beginnings of a split in his own party over the very issue of Irish Home Rule.

Parnell promptly refused to stand down, declaring instead that he considered the matter of Mrs O’Shea’s divorce closed and that, far from being a friend of Ireland, Gladstone had betrayed their cause. Whether or not the accusation was based in fact [substance] hardly mattered in the greater scheme of things. It was Parnell's word against that of the Prime Minister, and a decision had to be made: should the Irish Home Rule Party defy Gladstone and keep Parnell as their charismatic leader, or should the convicted adulterer be deposed in return for English concessions?

On 6 December 1890, after seemingly endless negotiations, Irish parliamentarians convened another marathon session to break the deadlock without destroying the party, its leader, or their country. Obstacles proved insurmountable as Parnell himself chaired the meeting and overruled any motion calling for a vote. Members present at the meeting noted his increasingly autocratic behaviour with concern and were alarmed by the apparent disintegration of his mental and physical identity. What they were witnessing may have been, on one level, the self-evisceration of a disgraced politician, but the concrete struggle of the individual to control his own destiny, and the narrative about it, had gained additional layers of meaning that transcend literal explanations for Parnell's fate.

The extent to which he did control the mythology of his downfall as well as his subsequent (and posthumous) apotheosis is a fascinating subject for debate: was he drawing attention to the opposing forces behind his identity or trying to deflect attention away from his failure to reconcile the two when he claimed that Gladstone and the Liberals were the true enemies of the rightful Irish claim to self-determination? No longer was the crisis a moral dilemma but a question of national pride. The private transgression becomes an affair of state - no longer is it a moral dilemma but a question of national pride: if it was up to the English to dictate who is to be their leader, then Gladstone truly was the master of the Irish Party.

Parnell's rhetorical masterstroke elevated his imminent ouster as party leader to an affront of international proportions by blurring the very boundaries he had otherwise hoped to maintain between the private man and his public persona. It also drew an instant reaction from the assembled party colleagues. "Who is to be the mistress of the party?” put paid to Parnell's noble-minded aspirations and reminded those present once again of the sordid scandal and the root cause of their troubles. Unable to vote the party leader out of office, 44 of his fellow members stood up and left the room, 26 remained with Parnell. It is this moment You Are There chose to dramatize, for the sheer symbolism of the scene: the leader without majority, his party crippled for decades to come. The Liberal Prime Minister ruling unencumbered.

Parnell's story, the story of Ireland's struggle, could have ended here. Or it could have ended differently. If each of the protagonists had chosen a different course of action. Parnell, for his part, chose to fulfil what he must have thought of as his destiny: within hours of the party meeting that left him - it must be remembered - still nominally undefeated, he embarked on a tour of Ireland to speak at rallies and unite the crowds behind the candidates he chose to stand in by-elections. Any hopes of regaining the momentum lost in London were slim at best; the winter weather and Parnell's failing health reduced the schedule and, compounded by his ever more radical oratory, crowds became more difficult to control, and enthusiasm for the struggle was waning. But just as the chances of a concrete, real-life settlement were growing increasingly remote, the idea of the struggle captured the imagination of contemporary and subsequent generations, and Parnell became its idealized figurehead - not without considerable work from Parnell himself, who cultivated an air of steely nerves, superhuman strength, and emotional detachment in public while being fiercely protective of his privacy. The polar opposites that defined his existence, through their very incompatibility, presented an impossible conundrum: unable to reconcile the two, incapable of compromise, the Parnell machine was at a crisis point.

Campaigning in Ireland continued throughout the summer but none of the chosen candidates were victorious. Parnell and Katharine finally became a married couple on 25 June 1891, but their life together as husband and wife only lasted a little over three months and ended with Parnell’s death on 6 October 1891. They were both 45 years old at the time.

In poetic terms, Parnell had committed the ultimate sin of the tragic hero: to think of himself as indispensable. In the eyes of his supporters, and presumably his own, Parnell had become the personification of an idea, an idea that without him was thought to be non-viable. Parnell and Irish Home Rule were interchangeable; the means and the end had merged into one. Much like the fatal flaw carried by every tragic hero in the history of human endeavour, Parnell's hubris made him both unique and universal, gave him superhuman powers and made him vulnerable - not in a simple case of crime and punishment but in the pursuit of a noble mission that is ultimately larger than the man who has internalized it as his own.

To paraphrase Hilary Mantel, we tend to fictionalize those who can no longer speak for themselves; in Parnell's case there is perhaps a greater need than with many of his peers to interpret where we cannot explain, and to speculate were we cannot know.

Indeed, so strong was the sense even among contemporaries of a catastrophic derailment of their hopes and dreams, and so great the loss of confidence in the political process, it gave rise to an entire subgenre of historical fantasies indulging in mostly wishful thinking: what if Parnell's campaign had been successful and he had lived to see an independent Ireland? What if there had never been a scandal? What if we could turn the clock back far enough to prevent all bad things from happening? This being a male-centric scenario we easily move on to imagining the hero going about his business without "distractions," and what might have been if Parnell and Katharine O'Shea had never met. The further the fantasy travels back in time, however, the more it will be about erasure of the past rather than an extension of existing timelines. As a work of fiction, it may well be a legitimate subject for philosophical or even psychological enquiry that can provide a temporary reprieve from the struggle. It can never be the solution. [Part 2 of 2]

[athenasbloodyspear]

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed. 

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee. 

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them. 

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out. 

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends. 

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge. 

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12. 

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie. 

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove. 

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked. 

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.” 

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed. 

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter. 

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug. 

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back. 

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited. 

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee. 

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up. 

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically. 

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter. 

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures,  with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy. 

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.” 

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it. 

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store. 

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it. 

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists. 

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter. 

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts.  There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.” 

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up. 

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs. 

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed. 

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.” 

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.” 

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door. 

                                                           ~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years. 

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars. 

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast. 

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked. 

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?” 

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.” 

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.  

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.” 

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.” 

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.  

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.” 

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?” 

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.” 

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.” 

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said. 

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.” 

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister. 

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters. 

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.” 

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.” 

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately. 

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop. 

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door. 

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk. 

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?” 

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces. 

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door. 

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?” 

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started. 

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?” 

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.” 

“Wicked.” Maven calls back. 

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley. 

                                                        ~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi. 

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN. 

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.” 

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked. 

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage. 

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks. 

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands. 

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe. 

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.” 

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly. 

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured. 

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack. 

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio. 

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.” 

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.” 

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.” 

“Sure.” Levi replied. 

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote. 

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked. 

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.” 

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?” 

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded. 

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.” 

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.” 

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.  

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly. 

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio. 

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back. 

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.” 

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.” 

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.” 

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?” 

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased. 

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled. 

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”  

                                                        ~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect. 

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today. 

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states. 

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago. 

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between  her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?” 

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her. 

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again. 

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off. 

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad. 

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something? 

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open. 

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder. 

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly. 

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain. 

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point. 

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake. 

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak? 

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way. 

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side. 

“Oh hey Maven-” 

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door. 

“Maven wait-” 

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space. 

“Sorry.” Jake muttered. 

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed. 

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?” 

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.” 

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere. 

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter. 

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped. 

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake. 

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.” 

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.  

                                                     ~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player. 

However, none of these things were easing her mind. 

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake. 

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this. 

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray. 

                                                        ~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name. 

“It’s Maven.” He said. 

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair. 

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked. 

All four boys leaned in to read the screen. 

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS. 

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

[melisa-may-taylor72]

QUEEN BEFORE QUEEN

THE 1960s RECORDINGS

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

PART 4:

THE OPPOSITION

JOHN DEACON WAS THE QUIETEST MEMBER OF A MIDLAND-BASED FIVE-PIECE WHOSE GREATEST AMBITION WAS TO PLAY ANOTHER GIG.

Initial research John S. Stuart. Additional research and text: Andy Davis.

John Deacon was the fourth and final member to join Queen. He became part of that regal household 25 years ago this month, enrolling as the band’s permanent bassist in February 1971. His acceptance marked the culmination of a six-year ‘career’ in music, much of which he spent in an amateur, Leicestershire covers band called the Opposition.

From 1965 until 1969, Deacon and his schoolmates ploughed a humble, local furrow in and around their Midlands hometown, reflecting the decade’s mercurial moodswing with a series of names, images and styles of music. The most remarkable fact about the Opposition was just how unremarkable the group actually was.

Collectively, they were an unambitious crew: undertaking precisely no trips down to London to woo A&R men; winning only one notable support slot for the army of chart bands who visited Leicester in the ‘60s (opening for Reperata & the Delrons in Melton Mowbray in 1968); and managing even to miss out on the option of sending a demo tape to any of the nation’s record labels. The band’s saving grace is its solé recorded legacy: a three-track acetate — although even this was done for purely private consumption, and has rarely been aired outside the confines of their inner circle.

It is perhaps indicative of the Opposition’s modest outlook that their most promising bid for stardom, a beat contest, was called off before they had the chance to play in the finals. For John Deacon and friends, it seems, merely being in a band was reward enough.

Considering of all of this, it’s easy to imagine the response to the following story, related in the ‘60s to one of the Opposition’s guitarists, Ronald Chester:...[ ]

...[ ] “There was a teacher who worked at Beauchamp School, which John attended, who told fortunes. They went to see her one Saturday and were told, ‘John Deacon is going to be world famous and very, very rich. Of course, they all fell about laughing. She was determined that this was going to happen. But they all thought it was a joke."

What particularly amused Deacon’s colleagues was the unlikeliness of this scenario, given the plain facts of his demeanour. John was born in Leicester in 1951, the product of affluent, middle-class, middle England. As a youngster, he was known to his friends as ‘Deaks’ and grew up to be quiet and reserved, what Mark Hodkinson referred to in ‘Queen — ‘The Early Years’ as “a ghost of a boy".

“He is basically shy,” confirms Richard Young, the Opposition’s first guitarist/vocalist, and later keyboardist. “I suppose he was quieter than the rest of us — but he was fairly static with Queen if you look at him on stage.”

Ron Chester agrees: “John was quiet by nature. His sister, Julie, was the same. Once he got going, though, he wasn’t any different from anybody else. But on first approach, you really had to coax him out of his shell. We’d have to pick him up. He couldn’t walk down the road to meet us."

CONFIDENT

Despite any lack of personal dynamics, Deacon was a capable teenager: “He was very confident," recalls another of the band’s guitarists, David Williams. “But in a laidback sort of way. He didn’t have a problem with anything. ‘Yeah, I can do that’, he’d say. We used to call him ‘Easy Deacon’, not because of any sexual preferences, but because he’d say something was easy without it sounding big-headed. I remember saying to him once, I’m going to have to knock off the gigs a bit to revise for my ‘A’ levels. What about you?’ ‘No’, he said, ‘I don’t need to. I’ve never failed an exam yet, and I’ve never revised for one’. Ultimately, he was just confident, with a phenomenally logical mind. If he couldn’t remember something, he could work it out. And, of course, he got stunning results.”

John’s earliest interest was electronics, which he studied into adulthood. He also went fishing, trainspotting even, with his father. Then music took over. After dispensing with a ‘Tommy Steele’ toy guitar, John used the proceeds from his paper round to buy his first proper instrument, an acoustic, when he was about twelve. An early musical collaborator was a school mate called Roger Ogden, who like Roger Taylor down in Cornwall, was nicknamed ‘Splodge’. But his best friend was the Opposition’s future drummer, Nigel Bullen.

“I’d first got to know John at Langmore Junior School in Oadby, just outside Leicester, in either 1957 or 1958,’' recalls Nigel. “We were both the quiet ones. We started playing music together at Gartree High School, when we were about thirteen. We were inspired by the Beatles — they made everybody want to be in a group. John was originally going to be the band’s electrician, as he called it. He used to build his own radios, before we had any amps, and he fathomed a way of plugging his guitar into his reel-to-reel tape recorder. He was always the electrical boffin."

The prime mover in the formation of the group was another Oadby boy they met on nearby Uplands Park, Richard Young. “Richard was at boarding school," recalls Nigel Bullen. “He was always the kid with the expensive bike. He played guitar, and what’s more had a proper electric, with an amplifier. He instigated getting the band together. Initially, we rehearsed in my garage, and then anywhere we could. John played rhythm to begin with. He was a chord man, the John Lennon of the group, if you like."

SWITCH

Despite his later switch to the bass, Deacon’s technique on the guitar also developed, as Dave Williams reveals: “Later on, I remember he could play ‘Classical Gas’ on an acoustic, which was a finger-picking execise and no mean feat. It’s a bit like ‘McArthur Park’, a fantastic piece of music, and when I heard it, I thought, ‘Bloody hell. You dark horse!’ Because he never showed off."

The Opposition’s first bassist was another school friend of John’s called Clive Castledine. In fact, the group made its debut at a party at Castledine’s ouse on 25th September, 1965 (their first public performance took place the...[ ]

...[ ] following month at Gartree’s school hall). Clive looked good and appreciated the kudos of being in a group, but he wasn’t up to even the Opposition’s schoolboy standards. “I was the least proficient, to put it mildly,” he admitted to Mark Hodkinson.“His enthusiasm was 100%,” adds Richard Young, “but his actual playing ability was null, so we had a meeting and got rid of him.” Deacon took over, initially playing on his regu­lar guitar, using the bottom strings. “John was good,” Young continues. “It was no problem for him to switch to bass. He hit the right notes at the beginning of the bar, and we were a better band for it. Whereas Clive made us sound woolly, as anyone who just plonked away on any old note would, John was solid.”

DIARY

Young turned out to be the Opposition’s archivist, keeping a diary of each gig played, the equipment used, and the amounts of money earned (as indeed did John Deacon). Richard’s diary documented the day Deacon — now, of course, bassist in one of the world’s most famous groups — first picked up his chosen instrument. “In an entry for 2nd April, 1966,” says Young, “it reads, ‘We threw Clive out on the Saturday afternoon. Had a practice in Deaks’ kitchen, and Deaks went on bass. Played much better.’ John didn’t have a bass, so we went down to Cox’s music shop in King Street in Leicester, and bought him an EKO bass for £60. I paid for it, but I think he paid me back eventually.”

“John’s bass style with the Opposition was the same as with Queen,” reckons Nigel Bullen. “He never used to play with a plectrum, which was unusual, but with his fingers, which meant that his right hand is drooped over the top of the guitar. Also, he plays in an upward fashion, which I’d never seen before, certainly when we were in Leices­ter. Over the years, I’ve watched many bass players adopt that style. I’d say he has been copied a lot. I’ve mentioned this to him, but he doesn’t agree.”

Clive Castledine wasn’t the last member of the band to be dismissed. “The vocal and lead guitar side of the Opposition was changing all the while,” recalls Nigel. “Myself, John, and Richard Young were always there — as were Dave Williams and Ron Chester later on — but we had a succession of other musicians who I can hardly remember now. There was a guy called Richard Frew in the very early days, and a young lad called Carl, but he didn’t fit in. After we began playing proper gigs, Richard decided he wasn’t happy with his singing and wanted to move onto keyboards, so we brought in Pete Bart (formerly with another local band, the Rapids Rave) as a guitarist and vocalist. He was good, but again, didn’t last long.”

“Bart was a bit of a rocker, while we were all mods,” remarks Dave Williams. “We were impressed by mod bands like the Small Faces and the original Who. Bart seemed to come from a different era altogether.”

“Deaks had the Parka with the fur collar,” remembers Ron Chester. “And short hair, a crew cut. Mirrors on his scooter.” Richard Young agrees: “John was more of a mod than us. But you couldn’t really pigeonhole the band, because our music went right across the board”.

”Buying Deacon his bass was no one-off, and Richard Young is remembered as the group’s benefactor. Being older than the others, he had a steady job working for his father’s electronics company in Leicester, which brought him a regular, and by all accounts, generous wage. He rarely thought twice before splashing out on equipment for the other members.

RECEIPTS

“Richard bought me a P.A.,” recalls David Williams. “But he didn’t ask, he used to think that the group needed it. He’d buy it and then say, ‘You owe me this’. My mum used to get really annoyed. She’d was at that going- through-my-pockets stage, probably looking for contraceptives. She once found a receipt from Moore and Stanworth’s, a local music shop. It was for a Beyer microphone, which cost about £30. I was still at school, getting pocket money, and my mum said, ‘What on earth is this?!’ Receipts on the Sunday dinner table, that sort of thing. It was good, though. The group needed it.”

“I was dead serious about the band,” claims Young, who switched to organ with the arrival of Williams in July 1966. “Perhaps more so than anybody else. I could see it going nowhere if money wasn’t pumped into it.”

“Dick Young was an accomplished organ player,” adds Dave, “and he improved the group quite a lot. He always had plenty of dosh, and a car. But he was totally mad, a crazy bloke. He’d come round with an organ one week, then next week, he’d have a better one. He ended up with a Farfisa, with one keyboard on it, then one with two keyboards — one above the other. Then he had a Hammond, an L 100. which was really heavy. Then he had a ‘B’ series one. The ‘L’ was top-of-the-range and he sawed it in half to make it easier to carry!”

Dave Williams helped to improve the group as well. “He was at school with us,” says Nigel Bullen, “but in another band, who we always looked up to.” That band was the Leeds-based Outer Limits (who went on to issue several singles — without Dave — in the late ‘60s). “I joined the Opposition after they asked me to watch them and tell them what I thought,” recounts Dave. “The Outer Limits were older lads, all mods, but I was after something a bit more easy going, and the Opposition were my own age. They were okay, but I first saw them at John’s house, when they were still practising in bedrooms, and they were absolutely awful. I said, ‘Have you thought of tuning up?’ They said they had. But it sounded like they were playing in different keys — totally horrendous. It was so funny. They were so conscientious, they’d all learned their bits, but hadn't tuned up to each other. That was my first tip.”

“Our first proper gig was supporting a local band, the Rapids Rave, at Enderby Coop Hall,” recalls Nigel Bullen. “They used to play at this village hall every week. and then we ended up doing it every week for quite some time.” Richard’s diary records the Opposition’s debut taking place on 4th December 1965, and that the band’s fee was £2. Thereafter, they began to offer their Services in the local ‘Oadby & Wigston Advertiser’, which led to bookings in youth clubs and village halls in local hot-spots like Kibworth, Houghton-on- the-Hill, Thurlaston and Great Glen.

SCHOOL WORK

By spring 1966, the Opposition were playing every weekend, school work permitting. The peaks and troughs of their career are illustrated by the following memorable gigs: one at St. George’s Ballroom, Hinckley, on 23rd June 1967, when just two people turned up and the band went home after a couple of numbers; and a September appearance in a series of shows at U.S. Airforce Bases in the Midlands, at which they were required to play for four-and-half hours with just two twenty-minute breaks. It was nothing if not diverse.

“It didn’t seem to matter what you played,” says Dave. “People would clap simply because you were making music. They never said, ‘Do you do Motown, or soul stuff?’ ” The band’s repertoire initially consisted of chart sounds and the poppier end of the R&B spectrum. “Although we were inspired by the Beatles, we never did any of their songs,” claims Nigel. “But we covered the Kinks, the Yardbirds, and things like Them’s ‘Gloria’, and the Zombies’ ‘She’s Not There’.

They also altered their name slightly to the New Opposition, which they unveiled at the Enderby Coop Hall. “The name-change was decided overnight, when John moved from rhythm to bass guitar,” recounts Richard, whose diary records the date of the transition as 29th April 1966. Interestingly, though, it makes no mention of another local group also called the Opposition, long thought to have been the reason for Deacon’s crew adopting the ‘New’. The change did act as an impetus for further development, however, instigated by Dave Williams, who soon took over as the group’s lead vocalist.

“When I joined they were doing all Beach Boys stuff,” he recalls, “and I think I may have brought in a little credibility. In the Outer Limits, I’d been playing John Mayall, the Yardbirds, that sort of thing, plus that group was into really good soul like the Impressions, and fantastic vocal bands from the States. So I had a broad musical knowledge by then, whereas the Opposition had been a bit poppy.” Appropriately, the words “Tamla” and “Soul” were now added to the Opposition’s ads and calling cards.

Towards the end of 1966, the New Opposition were enhanced further by the arrival of Ron Chester, who’d previously played with Dave Williams in the Outer Limits, as well as in an earlier band, the Deerstalkers. “Ron Chester was a bit eccentric,” claims Richard Young. “He never used to go anywhere without his deerstalker. He was a really good guitarist (“stunning”, adds Dave Williams). We were probably at our best when Ron was in the band.”

On 23rd October 1966, the New Opposition entered the local Midland Beat Contest. They won their heat, landing themselves a place in the semifinals on 29th January 1967. They won this, too, and steeled themselves for the finals, which were due to be held on 3rd March 1967, when they were to be pitched against...[ ]

...[ ] an act called Keny. The stars of the show would have been the nearest the Opposition came to having a rival: an outfit called Legay. (A year later, incidentally, this band issued a now collectable single, “No One” (Fontana TF 904,£80J.) Unfortunately, for all concerned, however, the contest never took place. “That was a fiasco,'' laughs Ron. “Somehow we won those heats, but in fact, I don’t remember seeing anybody else playing. I don’t know whether we won by default or not. After that, they pulled the plug on the competition — probably because they knew we’d be playing again!”.

CASINO

“The heats took place in a club in Leicester called the Casino, which was the place to play,” adds Nigel. “The guy who ran the competition was an agent for the club. His company was called Penguin (or P.S) Promotions and he walked like a penguin too, with his feet sticking out. The final was going to be held in the De Montford Hall, which is still the main venue in Leicester. We thought, ‘Crumbs, this is it, perhaps we might make the big time.’ But the guy did a runner with all the money — people had to pay to come to the heats. So the final was called off.”

David Williams wasn’t too fussed, as he scored another prize that night: “I remember taking a girl back to Dick’s car on the strength of us winning our heat. I said, ‘Can I borrow your keys, Dick? He said, ‘What for? You can’t drive!’ “

Were the New Opposition — or the Opposi­tion, as they dropped the ‘New’ again in early 1967 — left in limbo by the cancellation of the Beat Contest? Having achieved the most public recognition of their talents so far, were they disappointed with the loss of the chance to prove themselves further?

“No. It was almost insignificant,” reckons Ron. “We didn’t really look upon it as a stairway to stardom.” And what would John Deacon have thought? “Nothing really,” suggests Chester. “ ‘It’s cancelled. What are we doing next, then?’ That would have been about the depth of it. We were a village band, all gathering at the church hall to try and improve our abilities. The financial aspect of it wasn’t in the forefront of our minds. We were more concerned with our music, and if we could get a booking doing it as well, to pay off some of the equipment, then that was a real bonus. Three bookings a week was enough for us while we were working or still at school.” Despite any dodgy dealings, history does have the Penguin promoter to thank for the only professionally-taken photograph of the Opposition. (“We didn’t go much on photos in the band,” remembers Dave Williams.) On Tuesday, 31st January 1967, two days after winning the semi-finals, the ‘Leicester Mercury’ dispatched a staff photographer over to Richard Young’s parents’ house in Oadby. Here, the group lined-up in the front room, looking more like refugees from 1964, rather than 1967. The only indications of the actual date are perhaps Ron Chester’s deerstalker hat and the ridiculous length of David Williams’ shirt collars — seven inches, no less, from neck to nipple.

“Dave was very extrovert,” recalls Nigel. “But we all had those silk shirts with the great long collars made by our mums and grandmas for our stage gear.” Dave admits: “Our clothes were all a bit mixed up. We had silk shirts with tweed jackets — which were fashionable for a while — and bell-bottoms. Musically, we were pretty good, better than...[ ]

...[ ] most of the local bands around that time, but we had this squeaky-clean, schoolboy image which let us down. I used to get frustrated when we were billed with other bands, and they’d all play with so many wrong chords but had a better image and still the punters applauded. Were they stupid? We were still at school — we didn’t leave until we were eighteen — and weren’t allowed to grow our hair long”.

“After the mod thing,” he continues, “long hair became really important. Bands were growing their hair right down their backs. I remember getting to one gig with John and Nigel a year or so later, and the other group were already on. And when they saw us they turned round and said, ‘Look! They’ve got no hair!’. We were quite upset about that”.

“We also went through the flower-power look,” Dave adds. “And then we got into those little jumpers without any sleeves that Paul McCartney used to wear, the ones so small that half your stomach showed. And then it was grandad shirts without the collars and flares.” Ron Chester: “The flowery shirts and flared trousers were everywhere. We looked like a right shower of poofters. But so did everybody else. You stood out if you didn’t wear them.”

1967 also heralded the arrival of an additional attraction to the Opposition’s stage show: two go-go dancers. At least, it did if the existing literature on the subject is to be believed. “I vaguely remember it,” admits Richard, “but speaking to Nig, neither of us can recal who those dancers were”.

Dave Williams throws some light on the subject: “They were the jet-set girls of the sixth form, they came from the big houses. They came to a couple of gigs and just started dancing. Somebody who booked us for the following week actually advertised us ‘with go-go girls’. But they were never really part of the show.”

ART

On 16th March, 1968 for a gig at Gartree School, the Opposition changed their name once again. “We called ourselves Art,” reveals Nigel, “because Dave was arty, that is, he was training as an artist. It was as simple as that.” Dave agrees: “It was my idea, because I’d been doing art at school.” Nigel Bullen was aware of another band using that name around the same time (the pre-Spooky Tooth outfit), but assuming them to be American, reckoned they’d be no confusion. As the Leicester-based Art never made it to London, there wasn’t.

Despite wording like “A time to touch and feel, to taste and experience, to hear and understand” appearing on the group’s tickets, Richard maintains that Art was “just the same band” as before. “Nothing changed."

“It was mutton dressed up as lamb, really,” admits Ron Chester. “We thought if we were called something different, people might come because they were curious. But it didn’t make a lot of difference. The audiences were captive at the places we played anyway. There was nowhere else to go on a Friday or Saturday night. Everyone used to roll up to see whoever was on, whether they’d heard of them or not.”

1968 was the year psychedelia caught up with many provincial British bands. The Art were no different, but their acknowledgement of what had been last year’s scene in London was via sight rather than sound. Their light shows seem to have been particularly memo­rable, as Dave Williams explains: “They were brilliant. We used the projectors from school, filled medicine bottles with water and oil, and projected through them to get this lovely golden, amber backdrop. As the image came out upside down, when we poured in some Fairy Liquid, it dropped straight through in a blob, but came out on the wall like a giant green mushroom cloud. It was amazing, and we had about four of them at the back, projecting over the band.”

John Deacon was party to another of Dave’s exploits. “One day,” recalls Williams, “John and I bought a 100-watt P.A. — which was pretty big for those days — and took it into the lecture theatre full of kids at Beauchamp School (which Deacon had attended since September 1966) for our version of Arthur Brown’s ‘Fire’. We cranked it up as loud as we could, put the light show on, and let off these smoke bombs, which were DDT pellets we’d got from the chemist. All the kids started choking, and then the headmaster walked in...[ ]

...[ ] with a load of governors. You could see the fury in his face. One of the governors asked what we were doing. ‘It’s a demonstration in sound and light, sir,’ I said. ‘We’re using these ink bottles turned upside down, but we’re a bit worried about these DDT pellets so we might knock the smoke on the head, but we’re still experimenting.’ And he fell for it!”.

INFLUENTIAL

Towards the end of 1968, a crop of new groups began to have a profound effect on the maturing schoolboys: Jethro Tull, the Nice, Taste, and in particular Deep Purple. Ron: “We used to buy Purple records and learn to play them. We’d seen John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers and the Downliners’ Sect in Leicester, the Nice, King Crimson. These sort of groups. We learned a lot from just watching them. They were influential. There was always a big discussion in the band as to whether we should do a particular song. Once we’d decided that, there’d be another big discussion as to how we should do it. Everybody had their say.”

Hair, too, had finally began to grow: “John grew his quite long,” recalls Ron. “We all had longish hair, but not shoulder length. We couldn’t look too unkempt for the normal side of life, but we didn’t want to be too prissy for the other end of the spectrum. That was when we started playing universities, and we went a bit heavier. The audiences were far more serious minded about music and more enthusiastic. In some of the youth clubs we’d been playing, the audience would be moving around on roller skates, or peeling bananas all over the place, things like that”.

“We felt we were making an impression towards the last year or two of the band,” he continues. But it went no further: “We were at school, some of us had jobs, and there was an element of common sense overriding what we would have liked to have done. None of us wanted to chuck in our apprenticeships or courses. If we’d had a flair for writing our own material, we might have taken off. But we just played what was popular, nothing different from most other groups. That wasn’t a basis on which to launch ourselves. So it never happened."

“We didn’t think that far ahead,” admits Richard Young. “I just thought of playing and getting repeat bookings. John was probably the least ambitious of all of us, to be honest. I think he felt that there was no mileage in what we were doing, although it was good fun. I think he had the impression that this was a hobby, a phase he was going through.”

Sometime in the Sixties, possibly 1969, but maybe earlier, Art recorded an acetate. Whatever the date, the crucial point is that John Deacon was present at the session. “We weren't asked to do it,” recalls Nigel. “We just wanted to make a disc. I think it cost us about five shillings.”

The venue was Beck’s studio, thirty miles south east of Oadby in Wellingborough, Northamptonshire. “I’d never been in a studio before and it seemed awesome, really,” recalls Dave Williams. “It was a fairly decent-sized room for acoustics. It was all nicely low-lit, with lots of screens. The guy knew what he was doing.” Richard Young was less impressed, though: I’ve been in studios all my life,” he says. “That was just another session. Nothing about it stood out.”

The “guy” Dave remembered was engineer Derek Tomkins, who informed the group that they could record three tracks in the time allotted. “We’d only gone in there with two, ‘Sunny’ and ‘Vehicle’,” says Nigel, “and we didn’t want to waste the opportunity, so Richard knocked up a little instrumental called Transit 3’ — named after our new van, the third one — right there in the studio. Although we were purely a covers band, everybody had a bash at writing, but we never did anything of our own on stage. The exception was Transit 3’, which was incorporated into the set after this session.”

“ Transit 3’ was about about the only track we ever wrote," reckons Richard Young (“Heart Full Of Soul”, as reported in ‘As It Began’, is in fact a Graham Gouldman nurnber). “I initially had the idea, but I can’t really remember anything about it. It’s very basic. It wouldn’t take a great deal of effort to write something like that.” To the objective observer, “Transit 3”, taped in mono but well recorded, is a fairly uncomplicated, organ-led scale- hopper, reminiscent of Booker T & the MGs.

 “Everybody was listening to ‘Green Onions’,” confirms Nigel, “so Booker T would have been an influence there.” But for all that, it’s well- played, with memorable lead and twangy, wah-wah guitar passages courtesy of Dave Williams. And, crucially, John Deacon’s thumping bass is plainly audible throughout. On this evidence, the Opposition were clearly a tight, confident outfit. “Transit 3” could have been incorporated into any swinging ‘60s film soundtrack, and no one would have jumped up shouting, “Amateurs”!.

UNFAMILIAR

The other two tracks, covers of Bobby Hebb’s ‘Sunny' and the more obscure, soul- tinged ‘Vehicle’ (later a hit for the Ides of March), featured a vocalist, but an unfamiliar one: another of the Opposition’s fleeting frontmen. “We had a singer for a while called Alan Brown,” recalls Nigel. “He came and went fairly quickly. He was good, really good. Too good for us, I think. That wasn’t him saying that. We just knew it.”

On both songs, Brown is in deep, soulful voice, sounding not unlike a cross between Tom Jones and the early Van Morrison — if such an amalgam can be imagined. The Art’s reading of “Vehicle” is edgy and robust, dominated by Richard Young’s distinctive keyboards and Nigel Bullen’s bustling drum work. Dave Williams is again in fine form, delivering more sparkling wah-wah guitar, while on the cassette copy taped from Nigel Bullen’s acetate, at least, John’s bass is very prominent, over-recorded in fact, booming in the mix.

“Sunny” goes one better, breaking into jazzy 3/4 time halfway through, before slotting back into the more traditional 4/4. It’s an imaginative arrangement, with alternate soloing from both Dave and Richard, while the whole track is underpinned by swirls of Hammond organ and John Deacon’s pounding bass.

“We did ‘Sunny’ as part of our stage set,” says Nigel, “but I don’t recall us ever going into the jazzy bit. That’s quite interesting. We might have talked about that before we went into the studio, but I think it was just for this session. Dave had two guitars, a six-string and a twelve-string, or it could even have been twin-necked. I still quite like the wah-wah he played on that track. By this time Richard would have been onto his second or third organ — he was heavily into Hammonds and Leslies."

Operating as they did in a fairly ambition- free zone, and having prepared the listener for a mundane set of recordings with their trademark laid-back approach, Art’s acetate comes as something of a revelation. Let any bunch of today’s schoolboys loose in a studio for an afternoon and defy them to come up with something half as good!

Just two copies of the Art disc are known to have survived. John Deacon’s mother is believed to own one and Nigel Bullen has the other. “I’d forgotten all about this record,” admits Nigel. “We know that one copy was converted to an ashtray!. We stubbed out cigarettes on Richards at rehearsal one night.” Although treated with anything but respect at the time, the importance of the disc is now apparent to Nigel Bullen: “This is probably John Deacon’s first recording, apart from tracks he did in his bedroom on his reel-to-...[ ]

...[ ] reel, which are probably long gone. Although, knowing John, they’re probably not!”

The beginning of the end for Art came in June 1969, when John Deacon left Beauchamp. With a college course lined up in London, his days with the band were obviously numbered. He played his final gig with the group on 29th August at a familiar venue, Great Glen Youth and Sports Centre Club. By October, he’d moved to London to study electronics at Chelsea College of Technology, part of the University of London.

Another blow was dealt in November, when the band's lynchpin, Richard Young, left to join popular local musician Steve Fearn in Fearn’s Brass Foundry.

“They were a Blood, Sweat and Tears-type of group,” recalls Richard, “and paid better money than I’d been used to. I was out five nights a week, on about £3 per night, against an average of about £10 between us.” The previous year, Richard had played session keyboards on the Foundry’s two Decca singles: “Don’t Change It” (F 12721, January 1968, £10) and “Now I Taste The Tears” (F 12835. September 1968, £8).

SAVAGE

Ron Chester departed shortly afterwards, and gave up music: “I left in the early 70s, after John Deacon moved to London. John was replaced by a bass player was called John Savage, who unsettled me. He had different tastes and drove us a bit hard. His approach was totally different from Deaks's, and he was much more interested in the financial side of things. We’d all been mates before, we didn't just knock about for the band. It just wasn’t the same.”

Nigel, Richard and Dave pushed on into 1970 with the new bassist, changing the band’s name again, this time to Silky Way. They returned to Beck’s studio to record a cover of Free’s “Loosen Up” with another vocalist, Bill Gardener, but that was the band’s last effort. Dave left after falling into Nigel’s drumkit, drunk on stage at a private party one Christmas. “I waited for them to pick me up the next day,” he recalls sheepishly, “but they never carne.”

Richard and Nigel moved into a dinner- dance type outfit called the Lady Jane Trio — “Corny, or what!”, laughs Bullen — but Nigel left music altogether soon afterwards to con­centrate on his college work. Richard turned professional, moving into cabaret with the Steve Fearn-less Brass Foundry, before forming a trio called Rio, finding regular work on the holiday camp and overseas cruise circuit. In the late ‘70s, he joined a touring version of the Love Affair.

Down in London, John Deacon caught a glimpse of his future world-beating musical partners as early as October 1970, when he saw the newly-formed Queen perform at College of Estate Management in Kensington. “They were all dressed in black, and the lights were very dim too,” he told Jim Jenkins and Jacky Gunn in ‘As It Began’, “All I could really see were four shadowy figures. They didn’t make a lasting impression on me at the time.”

While renting rooms in Queensgate, John formed a loose R&B quartet with a flatmate, guitarist Peter Stoddart, one Don Cater on drums and another guitarist remembered only as Albert. The new band was hardlv a great leap forward from Art: they wrote no originals, and when asked to perform their only gig at Chelsea College on 21st November 1970, supporting Hardin & York and the Idle Race, they hastily billed themselves — in a rare fit of self-publicity for the quiet Oadby boy — as Deacon.

A few months later in early 1971, John was introduced to Brian May and Roger Taylor by a mutual friend, Christine Farnell, at a disco at Maria Assumpta Teacher Training College. They were looking for a bassist. John auditioned at Imperial College shortly after­wards. Roger Taylor recalled Queen’s initial reaction to Deacon in ‘As It Began’: “We thought he was great. We were so used to each other, and so over the top, we thought that because he was quiet he would fit in with us without too much upheaval. He was a great bass player, too — and the fact that he was a wizard with electronics was definitely a deciding factor!”

How did the members of the Art/Opposition back in Leicester, view John’s success with Queen? “It wasn’t sudden”, says Ron Chester. “First we heard he’d got into another group. We couldn’t believe that — were they deaf? There were all these sort of jokes going along. Then we heard he’d got a recording contract and the next thing he had a record out. It was a gradual progression. No one dreamed he would end up the way he did.”

“I don’t think we expected success for any of us" admits Nigel Bullen. “Richard maybe. He was the first one to go professional. But when John left for London to go to college, he left all his kit here. I thought that was the end of it for him. He had absolutely no intention of continuing. His college course was No.1. It was only after he kept seeing adverts for bass players in the ‘Melody Maker’ that he became interested again.”

He also seemed to lose some of that ‘Easy Deacon’ touch which so impressed Dave Williams in the ‘60s. “He’d ring up these bands,” continues Nigel, “but when he found they were a name act, he bottle out. When he went to auditions for anonymous bands, where he would queue up with about thirty other bass players, he had a bit of confidence. He just wanted to play in a decent band. Once I heard what Queen had recorded at De Lane Lea, and John played me the demo of their first album, I thought they were well set.”

CABARET

By early 1973, Dave Williams had forsaken a career in animation to join Highly Likely, a cabaret outfit put together by Mike Hugg and producer Dave Hadfield on the back of their minor hit, “Whatever Happened To You (The Likely Lads Theme)”. While Dave was in the band, they recorded a follow-up single which wasn’t released, before evolving into a glam rock outfit, Razzle, which later become the Ritz, who issued a few singles. “During Queen’s early days, before they’d had any real success, John came to see us once,” recalls Dave, “and said, ‘I wish I was in a band like this which could actually play some gigs’.” Dave concludes: “I remember John coming round once around that time, saying I’ve got a demo’. ‘So have I!’, I said. So we put his on first, and the first track was ‘Keep Yourself Alive’. My mouth dropped wide open and I thought. ‘Bloody hell! What a great track’. I remember saying that the guitarist was as good as Ritchie Blackmore — who was still our hero then — and thinking ‘They’re serious about this. This is the real thing’.”

RECORD COLLECTOR Nº 198 FEBRUARY 1996

⬅PREVIOUS: SMILE

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➡NEXT: IBEX, WRECKAGE & SOUR MILK SEA

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[jimlingss]

The Ultimate Drabble

➜ 1.8k || OT7 || Fluff

➜ When all the worlds collide together.

► This is an ambitious crossover of all the main male leads of my slice of life series. Albeit short, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thank you for joining me for such a long journey. It took over four years, but I’m glad that I was able to complete it and that you, the reader, was along the wild ride with me.

Ringg Ringgg.

The elevator sings as he gets off the right floor. The doors part and he steps out, adjusting the sleeves of his fitted black suit that hug his broad shoulders one last time and brushing a strand of his sleek hair that’s parted to one side away from his forehead.

There’s already a bustle, music and conversations leaking out from the conference hall. 

But when Seokjin enters, he isn’t sure where to go.

People are already mingling, holding glasses of champagne, laughing and making small talk. No one greets him and he dawdles around for a second before he decides to approach the harpist playing at the side, right by the entrance.

“Excuse me, do you know who the event coordinator is?”

The long-legged boy lifts his head, fingers still plucking at his harp strings, but he exhibits utter confusion. His black rimmed and gawky glasses are sliding off his nose, coffee brown hair barely combed. But in his polite smile, dimples appear on each side of his cheek. “I actually don’t know, sorry. I’ve been trying to figure out who the event coordinator is too. I’m just a hired college student.”

“Oh. Well, that’s quite alright. Thank you.”

“No problem.” The boy continues plucking, playing a lovely piece to fill the background noise.

But Seokjin is back to square one.

Or at least for only a few minutes.

As soon as he arrives at the refreshments table, he catches someone’s eye and they beeline straight towards him. “Excuse me, are you Mr. Kim?”

Seokjin turns around and finds a smiling man with plump lips, rounded cheeks, and crinkled eyes. But despite the boyish exterior, Seokjin recognizes him from the shows he’s been to. He’s Tony award-winning Broadway actor, Park Jimin. 

It was admirable that someone like him, with fame and power, would selflessly host such a charity purely for the betterment of humanity. Everyone these days seems to have ulterior motives, but the man looks to be the exception.

“Yes, I am.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Park Jimin.” The two men shake hands. “I couldn’t thank you enough for being one of the sponsors of our events.”

“It’s my pleasure. Valleyview Kim Hospital will always help support child welfare. If anything, I should be thanking you for reaching out to me. I wouldn’t want to miss out on such a great opportunity.”

The pair of them exchange a bit more conversation before Jimin is leading Seokjin to his designated table.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Jimin introduces and Seokjin is taken aback.

The man is tall with dark hair, dressed in a fitted suit with his sun-kissed skin glowing. He has high cheekbones with a long nose, mere presence commanding attention. But when he glances up and stands, the natural furrow of his brows seems to soften intentionally like he’s still practicing how to not look intimidating.

“Nice to meet you. I’m a partner of Jung and Park, a divorce law firm here in downtown.”

“I’m Mr. Kim Seokjin, I’m the chief executive officer of Valleyview Kim Hospital.”

“Oh, I’ve been a few times.” The lawyer seems to ease and he smiles.

“Have you?”

“Yes. Fortunately, nothing bad happened but you have an amazing team of doctors on hand.”

“Thank you. I’m glad we were able to accommodate and treat you fairly.”

Jimin smiles and moves onto the next set of people that stood from their seats to greet Seokjin. There’s a plump man who has a wide smile and a younger boy next to him. The latter has eyes the colour of a deep chestnut shade, a softened yet strong gaze. His features are gentle, cheeks rounded, lashes long, hair that looks fluffy to the touch and naturally pouty lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I am Mr. Min, president of Brilliant Top School. One of the best secondary schools in the country, and this is my son, Min Yoongi. He is a high academic, actually, the Student Council President that runs the internal affairs in our institution—”

“Dad,” the high-schooler calls in a husky voice, eyes drooping as if he’s exhausted and doesn’t want to be here.

Seokjin can empathize with him. Social events aren’t exactly exciting half the time.

“It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to hearing more about your school soon.”

They all take their seats, getting comfortable and Jimin smiles. “Dinner will begin shortly. Feel free to mingle and order any drinks or refreshments. There’s also auctions in the lobby if you haven't already taken a look. Thank you again for coming.”

The charity fundraiser looks like it’s doing well for itself. There appears to be plenty of sponsors from all across the board, different people from all kinds of different industries. Seokjin’s glad that so many can come together for such a great cause.

“Do you know who the empty seats are for?” he asks when curiosity gets the better of him.

The lawyer looks up from his menu. “Apparently, it’ll be where the First Lady is sitting.”

“The First Lady?” His brows raise in surprise.

Hoseok nods. “She was the biggest sponsor of tonight’s event or so I’m told.”

And soon enough, much to the bafflement of Seokjin, the First Lady indeed emerges. There are pictures taken with the hired photographers, people that approach and introduce themselves, shaking her hand. Swarmed by the masses, it seems like she can’t even get to the table without being stopped every few seconds. But eventually she arrives and everyone stands in courtesy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kim.”

“Likewise.” She smiles and introduces the boy Jin didn’t notice was behind her. “This is my stepson, Taehyung.”

“Hi,” he grunts half-heartedly. His blonde hair is a mess, clothing rather baggy, and the scruff all over his chin never once gives hints that he’s the wealthy son of a world leader. He doesn’t have brand name clothing, a polished appearance, or luxurious watches to his name. But despite appearing rugged, he looks not that much older than a mere college student.

“Hello.” Hands are shaken, greetings exchanged, but Taehyung doesn’t look like he wants to be here. Both he and Yoongi, with no words said to one another, seem to telepathically exchange mutual respect in that way.

A smile finds itself on Seokjin’s lips — he can still remember when he was that young and unimpressed with the world.

“Thank you for your contribution to this country.” Mr. Min is shaking the First Lady’s hand excitedly. “The funding you have put into education has helped us run so many programs for our students, like our scholarship program. The previous administration was looking to cut education, and it was absolutely terrible! It’s nice to know that there’s someone sitting in office who genuinely cares about the well-being of our children and the future generation.”

The woman is laughing politely, and this time, the principal’s son looks like he has no plans on stopping his ramble and the president’s son doesn’t look like he particularly cares either.

The former grabs his non-alcoholic champagne and downs the whole flute.

Soon, the conversations slow down and the music becomes quieter. The lights dim, and a single spotlight is put on the podium in front of the room. Jimin enters the stage, tapping the microphone once and then he flashes a brilliant smile.

“Good evening, everyone and welcome to the Break the Silence charity fundraiser. Tonight is about helping children find their voices, supporting child welfare in broken homes, and promoting the education of children in need. So, thank you for coming here tonight and aiding this great cause. Without the support and sponsors of tonight, I would’ve never been able to host such an event.”

The Broadway actor continues with his speech, speaking about each of the sponsors for the non-profit fundraiser and the bidding that’s happening in the lobby, and where the proceeds will go. Afterwards, it dials down to a more casual discussion of when meals will be served and when the bidding results will be announced.

“Thank you everyone who came here today to support the cause.” There’s loud applause that erupts through the room and the actor smiles, walking off the stage.

The harp player in the corner continues playing and plucking away at his strings, and promptly enough, the meals are served. Seokjin finds easy conversation with Hoseok. It never goes anything beyond polite work talk but he’s rather easy to speak to and Jin muses that he’s quite professional.

The First Lady is swamped the entire night, so there’s little he can say to her. Her stepson, on the other hand, doesn’t seem like he wants to talk and neither does the highschooler who’s found often texting on his phone with a smile that sometimes sneaks on his lips. His father isn’t bothered enough to ask him who it is on the other side — he’s too preoccupied speaking about the scholarship student program at his institution to other people mingling around.

But eventually, dinner is finished and dessert is served. 

Though not before the chef comes out to personally introduce the dish.

“Good evening, I hope you enjoyed your dinner tonight.” The man who approaches has doe eyes and dark hair flopping to the side. His black dress shirt is tucked into his black trousers hugging his muscular frame. Apparently his name is Jeon Jungkook, a World Renowned Chocolatier, or at least what Jimin had commemorated at the beginning and what Mr. Min had whispered about prior to the dish being served. “This is a chocolate ball created by using Amedei Porcelana, a dark chocolate made by the Amedei chocolatier of Tuscany, Italy. The chocolate on the side that you pour onto the ball is a sweeter milk chocolate, and there’s crème brûlée ice-cream inside with truffle shavings.”

“Thank you.” The First Lady picks up her fork.

Mr. Min is in awe. “This is absolutely wonderful.”

And for the first time tonight, Yoongi and Taehyung look like they’re actually alive and not half dying.

“This looks delicious,” Seokjin affirms and Jungkook smiles. 

“Please, enjoy.” The man continues on his way, a waiter following behind him and rolling the silver cart to help distribute the desserts.

It’s odd. Seokjin feels a sense of familiarity with these people. And in spite of being surrounded by complete strangers, he enjoys his night wholeheartedly.

The event continues, food finished and the bidding results announced. After a little more mingling, people begin to bid their farewells and Seokjin parts away from Hoseok, shaking the man’s hand once more with a promise that if the lawyer ever needs something from the hospital, then he’s just one call away. It’s an acquaintance-relationship built on mutual respect.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Kim.” 

“It was a pleasure.” Jin shakes Jimin’s hand one last time. “Feel free to contact me if you ever plan on organizing an event like this again. I would love to contribute to great causes.”

“I will.” They exchange smiles.

It’s a peculiar night, but not a bitter one. 

It’s sweet.

[wannawritefast]

Whiplash: Ch. 3- Practicing

A/N: Thank you for your kind words, lovelies! I really appreciate you guys engaging with my work.

Pairing: Gwilym Lee! Brian May x Reader

Pt. 2

Warnings: Mild language, alcohol, again... mentions of Stupid Men... fluffy??? kinda???

You and Brian had worked out that you would split the holiday between your families: Christmas with yours and New Year’s with his. Although you had confirmed with your parents and brother that you did, in fact, have a (fake) boyfriend and, yes, you were bringing him for Christmas, that didn’t make you any less nervous. You weren’t entirely certain you could even pull it off.

Brian suggested acting as if the two of you were a couple before you left for holiday. Just so it would be easier to play the part later.

The whole experience gave you metaphorical whiplash. It wasn’t because of any drastic changes in behavior. It was quite the opposite actually.

There wasn’t a massive change in how the two of you interacted. Sure, there was a little more couple-y PDA. But there was no other change in how he addressed you or interacted with you. That was what was most alarming. And, boy, did people buy it…

“Brian, I can’t just buy cereal for dinner.” You tidily placed the box of sugary carbs back on the shelf with a pointed look at the curly-haired man and continued pushing your trolley. Brian followed closely behind but not before plucking the box off of the spot you had placed it on, unbeknownst to you.

Brian underhand tossed the cereal over your head and it landed in the trolley with a clang. You could practically hear the defiance echo through the metal after the brightly colored box cut majestically through the fluorescent lighting. If you weren’t so taken aback, you would have been impressed with the aim.

You halted and immediately looked at your faux boyfriend. There he was, whistling and inspecting another box of cereal with trained attention. You plucked the box out of the trolley and tried to stroll past him but the box slipped out of grasp suddenly.

You whirled around and saw the cereal box in the hand of your favorite curly-haired guitarist. Brian shook it victoriously with a brow raised in challenge and you narrowed your eyes, determined. Oh, if he wanted to play… you could play.

All Brian had to do was hold the box straight in the air while you jumped up desperately trying to reach it. He even taunted you a few times lowering his arm just enough but raising it again when you got close.

“Brian,” you whined exasperatedly. Trying to be angry at him was much too hard when he was chuckling at you with that cocky smile on his face. “Give it back!”

“No way!” He replied. “You’re very cute right now, did you know?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t relent. And you certainly didn’t let him see the blush spreading on your face. “I see we’re trying to charm our way out of trouble again.”

“Ah, indeed I am,” Brian affirmed with a cheeky smile. You kept hopping up to reach it. You would have to work smarter not harder. “Is it working?”

You huffed a few times, beginning to tire, and blew a strand of hair out of your face and ceased all jumping. He cocked his head in confusion and you pressed a peck to his cheek. Now it was his turn to be stunned. 

Brian’s guard was down and you swiftly pulled the cereal box out of his hand. While he was still in shock you tucked the box into your torso and moved to run back to the spot where you had found it, not unlike a rugby player.

You made it about half way there before long arms locked around yours and stopped you. You squealed in surprise and Brian spun you around dramatically from behind. The cereal remained in your vice-like grip but Brian wasn’t letting go any time soon either. His laugh was right next to your ear and yours joined in.

“You kids are so cute.” A brittle voice sounded from behind you.

You and Brian immediately halted your antics, unraveling yourselves, and stood stiffly next to each other like two kids who had been caught red-handed. Your arm swung the cereal box roughly into Brian’s chest and he grunted. You blurted out an apology.

“No, don’t stop on my account.” An older woman shakily supported herself on her trolley. Her hair was white and her knuckles were knobby and her back was hunched but she smiled sweetly at the two of you.

“I remember when my Harold and I were that young,” she rasped. The woman put her hand on the middle of her chest. You giggled sheepishly to diffuse the awkwardness. “It seems like just yesterday that we-”

“Marianne!” An older man yelled a little too loudly from the end of the aisle.

“I’m right here,” she answered. Harold hobbled over to where she was and put two boxes of chocolate biscuits in the trolley. “Harold, we have biscuits at home, luv.”

“But not the good kind,” he groused.

“We bought them yesterday, darling,” Marianne explained. “They’re blueberry. We only bought them because you said you wanted them. I don't even like blueberry.”

“Well, I changed my mind. I want chocolate biscuits now.”

Marianne rolled her eyes. “You do this every time. It’s wasteful. We’re not getting the biscuits.” She began waddling away still muttering to herself with the trolley after placing the biscuits on the shelf next to her.

Harold watched her with a frown on his face. After making sure that she was no longer paying attention to him, he mischievously put a finger to his lips and shushed you and Brian. You put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He grabbed the boxes off of the shelf and marched slowly but surely after her.

“My God…” Brian muttered after Harold was out of earshot. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”

You hiccuped on your laughter as you watched Marianne scold Harold from the other end of the aisle. “You think so?” You asked.

He hummed contemplatively. “I’m about 80% certain.”

“Only 80%?”

“Yeah, I figure if you don’t murder me before we reach that age, I’ll actually outlive you.”

“Oh, really,” you laughed. “And why would I commit such a heinous act?”

“Because of this.” Before you had a chance to stop him, Brian took his arm and scooped approximately seven boxes of that godforsaken cereal from earlier into his chest and shot toward the basket. He dumped the boxes haphazardly into the trolley and began pushing it away like a mad man.

He made it to end of the aisle and made sure you saw him drift the cart as he turned into the next aisle.

A child… You were fake dating an actual child.

[{...}]

The following weekend your sister came into the city to visit you. When she had originally planned to visit you, you had been sans fake boyfriend. But since you had made the arrangement with Brian, she was much more excited than she had been initially.

Donna took to temporarily living in your flat with extreme comfort. Your cat certainly enjoyed having another person around to dote on him and you certainly enjoyed having someone else to talk to. Brian was a great friend, er, fake boyfriend but it was nice to have another friendly face around.

Having your sister over meant showing her how you lived and taking her to the places that you usually went and that included seeing Queen play a gig.

With an ale in hand, you headed backstage little sister in tow. The people guarding the doors knew you by name and let you pass. Following intuitively the layout of how most pub stages worked (you had been to plenty of Brian’s gigs before to understand) you navigated your way to where the band was backstage. 

“Hey,” you bumped Brian with your shoulder who was turned around, tuning his red guitar.

Brian immediately smiled upon recognizing you. Instead of greeting you with a side hug, he took the mug out of your hand with a ‘for me?’ and began chugging it.

“Hey!” You scolded. You grabbed at your mug but by the time you got your fingers around it, half of your ale was gone.

“That was really good, thank you!”

You kept a tight grip on your mug in case he was getting any ideas about continuing his antics. “I asked if you wanted one!”

“I changed my mind.” He shrugged. “Plus, it tastes better when it’s yours.”

“So you just decided to drink my mug half-empty?!”

“I prefer to look at it as half-full,” a smile spread across his face. Cocky bastard. You batted your palm toward his shoulder and he laughed gleefully at your reaction. Brian caught your wrist mid-swing and halted your assault. You paused standing as still as Brian was.

“If you wanted me to grab you one, you should have told me,” you spoke gently, suddenly calm for some odd reason. “I offered to get you one.”

He still had his hand on your wrist. It wasn’t tight but the contact was there.

“I might take you up on that after the show,” Brian contemplated. He slid his hand down to hold yours and swung your arm playfully. “Thank you for letting me have some of your drink-”

“I didn’t really have much choice in the matter.” The lights on stage slowly turned on.

Someone cleared their throat next to you and you suddenly remembered that your sister was, in fact, present as well. Brian let go of your hand gently and turned to face her.

“Donna,” she supplied with an extended hand. Brian shook her hand firmly with a smile.

“Brian,” he answered politely, “it’s nice to finally put a face to the great ‘Donna.’”

“Likewise. My sister and I don’t get to meet up often but when we do, she does NOT shut up about you,” she looked at you with a giggle.

Your sister really loved digging you into holes, didn’t she? You gave her a pointed look. The realization of her lack of filter dawned on her suddenly.

“Not that she doesn’t talk about other things! She talks about you a normal amount. Definitely not obsessively or anything like that!” She rushed out her words in a poor attempt to fix what she had said. Donna smiled at you like she had smoothed everything over.

“Please make me sound more creepy, Donna.” You iterated through gritted teeth.

Brian chuckled. “Aw, you couldn’t be creepy if you tried.”

“Thank you, Brian.”

“Maybe a tad pathetic,” he joked with a grin. “A little sad, perhaps.”

“Yeah?” You lightly smacked his arm. He laughed in response. “Keep talking, poodle.”

Roger jogged up to the two of you. “Hey, Y/n,” he greeted with a charming look. The drummer clapped his friend on the shoulder. “We’re about to go on.” Roger suddenly noticed Donna next to you and turned up the charm. “Hello there. I’m Roger.” He extended his hand toward hers.

Donna smiled back at him and grasped his hand as she introduced herself. “You must be the drummer.”

“You’re a smart girl, how’d you know?”

“You’ve got drumsticks sticking out of your pocket.” She explained. “I have good eyes.”

“They’re beautiful, too.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned. But neither your sister nor Roger heard you. Your sister giggled and twirled the end of her hair around her finger.

Not this… anything but this… 

Brian chuckled and put an arm over your shoulders. He rubbed the side of your arm. The body of his guitar lightly rested against your side.

“I’d be more than happy to give you some private drumming lessons after the set.” Roger took the drumsticks out of his pocket and twirled one of them skillfully in his fingers. “How’s that sound?”

Before she could get another word out you interjected, “Yeah, that’s not happening. Turn it around and march it away, Rog.”

Roger faced you with a scoff. “But-”

“Did I stutter? Move it along, casanova.”

“Y/n!” Your sister scolded incredulously.

But you didn’t pull your gaze from Roger. You narrowed your eyes at him as he defiantly pressed his lips together. “Fine.” Roger stalked away.

“Are you kidding me, Y/n?!” you sister asked. “He was cute.”

“He does this with literally every girl, Donna.”

“Whatever.”

Brian turned back to directly face you and pulled his arm from your shoulder. “Anyways, I’ll take you up on that drink offer after the show, darling.”

If trying to repress your blush from his pet name wasn’t enough, he grabbed your open hand suddenly, pressed an exaggerated kiss to the back of it, and let it drop to your side. Brian walked to the huddle, leaving you dumbstruck with a half-finished mug of ale and an irritated younger sister.

It took you a moment to come back to reality and go back into the fray to watch the show.

[{...}]

The set ran unbelievably smooth. But to be fair, they usually played without any noticeable mistakes.

As per routine, you went out with the band to get drinks and you did, in fact, buy Brian a drink. He claimed to have been joking but you still got him a mug of ale.

The two of you together waited for the round that you were covering at the bar.

“How was the set?” Brian asked, leaning sideways against the bar and facing you.

“Horrible,” you sighed exaggeratedly. Brian’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m kidding. It was wonderful as usual.” You patted his cheek affectionately. He gnashed his teeth at your hand as you pulled it away.

He glanced over his shoulder at the table where the rest of the band, Mary, your sister, and a groupie were sitting. Your eyes followed his quick glance.

“And what’d your sister think?” He asked.

“Still a little cross at me for preventing the Roger situation. She’ll get over it by the morning though and-”

Brian cut you off. He turned back to you, looking down and fiddling with his fingers. “No, darling. Not about Roger. What’d she think of the music? Me?”

You smiled at Brian. He was nervous. There was certainly no need to be. “Donna loves you, Brian. And she loves Queen.”

“Really?” He questioned. “You’re not just saying that? I want to make a good first impression.”

“No,” you exclaimed assuredly. You grabbed hold of his hand. “She’s really impressed with you guys.” Brian let out a casual sigh of relief, feigning no big deal, but you knew better. “It’s impossible for people not to like you, Bri. What are you so worried about?”

Brian inhaled like he was going to speak but the bartender set down mugs on the counter for you to take. Only half of the round. You asked Brian to wait for the other half of the order and you walked to the table with the first half only to find your sister and Roger heatedly arguing. Freddie was leaned against Mary in amusement and John was fiddling with his wallet in his hands as if this was a common occurrence.

“Are you joking?!” Roger exclaimed. “Have you seen the way they look at each other?”

“I think I know my sister. Now pull your head out of your ass before I kick something else in that region, prat.”

“I know Brian.” Roger iterated. “I’m not a dimwit like you.”

“Perhaps your drums have affected your hearing so I’ll say it slower and louder,” Donna leaned forward exaggeratedly and Roger rolled his eyes angrily as the groupie sat back with her arms crossed, simultaneously irritated by the lack of attention and overwhelmed by the anger. “BRIAN. AND. MY. SISTER. ARE NOT DATING. Okay. Do I need to write it down for you too?!”

“No!-”

“Good!” She brought her mug of ale to her lips. “Its not like you’d be able to read it anyways.”

Roger weakly mocked her by leaning forward childishly and imitating her voice before retorting. “You don’t see what we see on a regular basis. You’re just visiting.”

“I’m her sister, you wanker! She tells me everything.”

Brian appeared next to you with the mugs in hand. You had been frozen to the spot in shock and amusement of the situation. “What did I miss?” He asked from the corner of his mouth.

“Look! They’re right here,” Donna turned to you and gestured her arm at you. “Why don’t we ask them, hmm? Are you or are you not dating?”

You and Brian looked at each other momentarily before beginning to stammer.

“Well, technically-”

“-it’s for a challenge with-”

“-and we’re staying the holidays with each others’ families-”

Roger halted the two of you assertively. “Wait, so you are?”

“No…” Brian’s voice went high in consideration. “Not technically.”

“How do you mean?”

You handed out the mugs as Brian and you explained what was going on. You both sat down in the booth with you in between him and your sister; Brian rested his arm on the top of the booth behind your shoulders as you leaned comfortably against his side. Roger sat scrutinizing the backstory and the explanation.

“Let me get this straight,” Roger shifted in his seat and gestured to you and the guitarist, “The two of you are fake dating over the holidays because your brother,-” he switched to gesture between you and your sister “-amongst other male members of your family, is a pillock who won’t leave you alone unless you’re dating someone even though you’re more than adequate without a boyfriend. No offense, Bri.”

“None taken,” Brian shrugged and took a drink from his beer.

“Did I get it right?”

You and Donna looked at each other for a moment before nodding at each other. You turned to Roger. “Yep.”

Roger, with his sunglasses on, nodded at you and Brian for a moment and finally put his arm around the groupie. “Yeah, and what‘re the two of you going to do once the holidays are over?”

You were taken aback for a moment. Brian and you suddenly looked at each other, both startled. You stopped leaning on him. Neither of you had considered what would happen after the holidays.

Brian scratched the back of his head and took a swig of his beer before answering, “Well, I suppose we go back to normal. Being friends. All that.” He took another swig of his beer.

You hummed in agreement and took a big gulp of the alcohol in front of you. “Yeah. We’ll go back to how it was before this arrangement or whatever you want to call it.”

Donna scoffed to herself. “Have you met our family? If Brian comes out alive, he certainly won’t come back normal.”

“He’ll be fine. They deal with crazy fans every weekend. It’ll be a walk in the park.” You leaned into his side again. 

“What if it doesn’t work,” Mary inquired sweetly. “I mean, I hope it does for your sake but on the off chance it doesn’t…”

“It just has to.” You answered with a shrug. “I have faith in us.” Brian brought his arm down to rest on your shoulders and he rubbed your arm.

“Well, what if it does work?” The blonde drummer asked. You cocked your head in confusion. 

“How do you mean?”

“What if it works a little too well and they end up really liking him? What are you going to do next year?” Roger asked. 

John spoke up too. “Yeah, what are you going to say if they ask about him again and want him to visit with you?”

You were beginning to panic. There was so much you hadn’t thought about. “I’m just trying to get through this year’s holidays. We’ll worry about the rest later.” You polished off the rest of your drink. You needed to get away from the table suddenly; the urge to vomit was bubbling in your chest. You put on a polite smile. “I need to use the loo. Anyone coming with me? Donna? Mary?”

Brian slid off the bench to let you out and you briskly began walking to the restrooms with Mary and Donna in tow.

You threw the door open and took pacing steps. “What have I gotten myself into?” Donna and Mary stepped into the bathroom, watching your distress. “Roger was right. I didn’t think this through at all. My god, what have I done? What if this doesn’t work? What if James doesn’t believe me? Or Dad? Or Granddad?”

“Hey…” Donna began. But you were too wrapped up in your thoughts. You fiddled with the ends of your hair.

“Oh goodness, what if this does work?! What if they want to keep seeing him? We can’t fake date forever! Brian has a life ahead of him. He doesn’t need to waste time on helping me with my stupid family.” You froze in your tracks as your stomach dropped. “What if Brian and I aren’t friends after this?” 

Out of all of the logistical worries and stresses, there was nothing more terrifying than not having Brian in your life. You couldn't bear it if you ruined the friendship between the two of you.

“You’re worrying over nothing, dear,” Mary urged. She stepped forward and pulled you into a warm hug. “One thing at a time, remember? Just like you said at the table.”

You nodded and took a deep breath. Mary was right.

Your stomach lurched suddenly. You ran to the nearest bathroom stall and emptied your alcohol-filled stomach. You’d had quite a few beers since the evening began, even before Queen’s set. Maybe your nerves had been a result of your drunken state… You were drained all of a sudden.

“I think,” Donna pushed open the stall door behind you, “that’s our cue to leave.”

“God, Donna, I’m sorry.” You clutched your forehead. “I know you don’t want to be dealing with hungover-me when you’re visiting.”

“It’s alright,” your sister grabbed your upper arm and guided you up from the floor. “Let’s go.”

You waddled out of the bathroom with a headache pounding behind your eyes and a dizzying ringing in your ears. The two of you headed to the booth together; the after effects were hitting you hard and fast and you were beginning to wonder if you had a touch of food poisoning. You leaned over the back of the booth with your head hidden in the crook of your arm while Donna grabbed your bags.

“Are you alright,” Brian’s voice asked. Everything was much too loud. The music playing. The people chattering. The drinks clinking. The chairs scraping. Your stomach tossed again but you repressed the reflex with a deep breath. 

You shot a thumbs up to him before quietly saying that you had thrown up. You were feeling seriously under the weather.

You felt a hand on your back, Brian’s. “Let me walk you and Donna home.”

“It’s alright, Brian,” you began. It was worth a shot to not pull Brian away from spending time with the band. Deep down you knew he was going to insist on walking you home; he always did. “I don’t want to stop you from having a good time.”

“I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.” Of course he wasn’t. “You and Donna both have alcohol in your system. No good time is worth your safety on the line,” he spoke gently. You leaned on him as he put his arm under yours to support you upright. “Alright, let’s go.”

“I’ve got our bags,” Donna affirmed gently.

You waved a vague goodbye at the table and there was a hum of ‘goodbyes’ as you left with Brian and Donna.

You arrived clumsily at your flat, to the simultaneous excitement and dismay of your cat. He immediately yelled at you for food after yelling at you in greeting. Brian went to feed him as Donna walked you to your bedroom.

Brian, on many separate occasions, although an animal lover, claimed not to be particularly fond of cats. And just as many times as he had said that he didn’t like them, you had caught him baby talking, petting, and even cradling your cat. Not fond of them, your ass… Brian stood in the doorway with your furry baby draped over his shoulder.

Donna helped you clean your face and tucked you into bed. You apologized to her and Brian once again. They both hummed that it was alright.

“You’re sure?” You asked groggily, already feeling sleep tugging at your consciousness.

“Yes,” Brian answered. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Both of you, I promise.” You slurred.

“It’s alright.”

“Breakfast tomorrow morning and we’ll call it even,” Donna bargained.

“Deal. To both of you,” you agreed through a yawn. “Okay. I love you both. Good dreams.”

You were so tired that you turned on your side and fell asleep almost immediately. You missed Brian set your cat on the bed. And adjust the blanket over your shoulder. And whisper ‘I love you too’ back.

But Donna didn’t miss it. Not at all.

TAGS:

@phantoms-lynn​ @andtheswordwentsnickersnack​ 

[raysofcrosby]

CHANGE MY MIND – B. JENNER

“𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘺; 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦.” ━ 𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧, 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

warning(s): just some slight cursing

word count: 6,336 [obvi didn’t proof-read]

authors note: ok so this is actually the first thing i’ve managed to write since finishing ‘little do you know’ and i’ve had it stuffed down in my phone notes for the last two months. i’ve been really bored and trying to write but ugh, it’s been a slow process– but hopefully this is the beginning of my inspiration to write again! i swear whatever this turns out to be– it’ll be better than this, but here you guys go! here’s some boone jenner for your dash :)

"I'm not going," you huffed, twisting around in your vanity chair and glaring at your best friend. "No fucking way am I going."

"You can't back out, Y/N. You already promised you'd go." Bailee said, sitting up from her lying down position on your bed.

"Yeah, well that was when it was a double date with you and Josh." You closed your eyeshadow palette before misting your face with setting spray. "You know, two people who could ease the conversation flow since, oh I don't know, you're both mutual friends!"

"You're thinking too much into this," she rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, sighing before pushing herself off of the bed. "Have I ever led you astray before?"

"Actually, yes," you put the setting spray down before fully turning to face her with a sarcastic smile on your face. "Let's see, there was that time you convinced me to match with you every day in fifth grade. Tenth grade when you swore up and down that my shirt wasn't see-thru. Let's not forget the entirety of junior high when you told me that highlights and bangs were an amazing idea. And to finish it off, you're the one who introduced me to Dylan."

"Okay one, it didn't take much convincing considering we had most of the same clothes anyway and our moms thought it was cool. Two, it wasn't see-thru until Kyle Schwartz dumped his water on you and at least you were wearing a tank top," she held up a third finger, raising an eyebrow. "Three, are you forgetting my horrible teasing phase with the middle part? And last," she sighed, dropping her hand altogether. "Please...just trust me on this one? I mean, Dylan was great in the beginning, he just turned into an ass as he got older."

"You literally just proved my–"

"One date, that's all this is. I'm not asking you to marry the guy, Y/N. You don't have to be in a committed relationship by the end of the night, just," she sighed, digging her vibrating phone out of her back pocket. "Just give him a chance, okay? And if this does indeed bite you in the ass, then I'll do whatever you want for an entire weekend."

"Whatever I want?" You smiled, standing up from your chair.

"Yes, I'll be at your beck and call."

You grabbed your purse from your bed and hung it over your shoulder, giving her a smile before smoothing out your satin tank top and cardigan. "Do I look okay? I should wear a dress, shouldn't I? The jeans and this," you motioned at your entire outfit. "It's all too casual."

Bailee laughed and grabbed your hands, giving them a light squeeze. "Relax, Y/N. It's cold outside and you're only going to a coffee shop. Your outfit is perfect, the ankle boots are perfect and he'll definitely love the way the jeans accentuate your ass."

You scoffed, dropping her hands before walking by her and heading towards your bedroom door. Just as you walked out into the short hallway of your quaint 2-bedroom apartment, a knock came from the front door. You turned to Bailee and nodded your head towards the door at the end of the hall. "Can you get her? That's Madison."

"Are you kidding? She's the only reason why I came over!"

You rolled your eyes before walking down the hall and over to your front door, opening it and stepping aside. "Hi, Y/N, sorry I'm late." Madison smiled, walking in with her backpack over her shoulder. "Professor Downs wouldn't stop talking."

"Madison, you and I really have different definitions of late," you laughed, closing the door and walking over to the kitchen counter as she set her stuff on the kitchen table. "You're what I consider, painfully early."

"Well, I can't let you be late for your date tonight, can I?" She smiled, coming over to the counter and resting her elbows on in. "So? What's his name? Where are you going?"

"His name is if she doesn't order an Uber in the next 30 seconds, she won't beat traffic and she will be late," Bailee replied, appearing from the hallway. "And they're going to that cute cafe on third."

"Lava Java? I love that place!" Madison clapped, turning back to you. "You have to order one of their vanilla cinnamon rolls– OOH, or one of their chocolate croissants."

"Chocolate? Mommy, can you bring me one, please?"

The three of you turned to see your five-year-old daughter, Riley, standing there at the end of the hall still in her school clothes. You walked by Bailee and Madison and squatted down in front of Riley, smiling at her. "Of course! But if you have to be a good girl for Madison, okay?"

She nodded, a frown on her face as she rubbed the side of her face. You took in her tired appearance, noticing the slight pink on her flushed cheeks. She hadn't been sleeping well the last few nights, often sneaking into your bed around 5 am and taking it over, so maybe her lack of good night's sleep was starting to catch up with her.

"Do you want to help me with my homework, Riles?" Madison smiled, coming up next to you. "We can have some popsicles while we do it too!"

Riley's eyes went wide and she looked at you for permission. "Give me a good luck kiss and that popsicle is yours." You chuckled, opening your arms.

She ran into your arms, tucking her head into the crook of your neck and wrapping her arms around you as tight as she could. You hugged her tightly, always remembering to treasure the moments like this as you cupped the back of her head. She turned her head to you and kissed your cheek, then pulling away. You tucked her dark hair behind her head and smiled, kissing her on the forehead. "I love you munchkin."

"I love you too, Mommy." Riley smiled, turning to Bailee. "You too Auntie Bailee."

"I'll see you later, kiddo." Bailee smiled, turning to you. "And your Uber is here, by the way," she held up her phone, waving it at you before locking the screen. "Have fun tonight."

You laughed as she lead you both out of your apartment door. She wasted no time getting you out of your apartment building and down to the street where your Uber was waiting for you. You couldn't even get out a single word before she practically shoved you into the car and shut the door behind you, waving after you as the car pulled away from the complex.

Your foot was tapping against the floorboard of the car as your hands twiddled in your lap. You couldn't believe you had let Bailee and Josh talk you into doing this, especially since the two of them had bailed. You loved them, you truly did. But right now you wanted to do nothing more than run them over with a Zamboni.

You've known Bailee practically all of your life. The two of you were the only kids in your pre-school group to refuse to take a nap during nap time, resulting in the teacher having to call your parents and pick you up. From that day forward, the two of you were a power duo, best friends, blood sisters– whatever you wanted to call it. The two of you were inseparable and with each other through every stage of life.

She was there when you met Dylan.

You were there when she met Josh.

Two very important stages that marked the beginning for both of you, though many years apart. Just when you thought you were going to suck her down into the black hole that was beginning to be your life, she met Josh and suddenly, life didn't seem so doom and gloom.

Being the protective best friend, you weren't necessarily Josh's number one fan the first time that you met him. Especially when Bailee told you everything that she had learned about him that first night. Your guard immediately went up the moment she mentioned that he was a professional athlete. Everyone knew how that side of the world played out on the relationship spectrum. Those men seemed to have a side piece in every city they traveled to because after all, Men really aren't shit. And just like she had been by your side the moment your life suddenly going down the drain, you would do anything to prevent Bailee from joining you in your personal hell.

Luckily for Bailee though, Josh wasn't like that. God, the kid treated her like a queen from the moment he met her. It's been three years since they started dating, they live in an apartment together and it was everything you could have wished for, for your best friend. Before you knew it, your duo became a trio and Josh was a well-welcomed member. What sold you, besides how he treated Bailee, was how good he was with Riley.

He knew of your past, Bailee had to have told him. Because that first night he came over for movie night that you, Bailee and Riley always had every other weekend, he had pulled you aside and just hugged you. He hugged you and told you that if there was anything you ever needed, no matter what, he was there to help– and that you were one hell of a mom.

Well right now, you needed him to come rescue from this sham of a blind date because you could feel your anxiety begin to have anxiety. The Uber pulled up to the cafe and you took a deep breath, failing to calm yourself. "Thank you, have a good night." You smiled, opening the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk.

You hugged your cardigan tight against your body as you looked up at the lit cafe sign. It felt as if your feet were glued to the ground and you couldn't bring yourself to move. You closed your eyes for only a moment, taking another calming breath before staring up at the sign again. "You can do this, come on..."

You took that first step and though your feet felt heavy, you took another. You hated that you were so nervous about this stupid date, especially since you didn't even know who you were meeting. You had an idea of a few candidates that Josh and Bailee could have set you up with. All being coworkers of Bailee that she often talked up from time to time– none of them even attracting some of your attention.

At least not enough to make you want to go on a date. Your dating game has been nonexistent for 11 years– from the moment you met Dylan. You were broken when he left like he did and it's taken you the last three years just to be able to pick yourself up and be okay again. There was that time last year when you attempted to go out on dates, and sure...some of them went good. But they all had one thing in common: they all ended up with the same result. That was last year though. Obviously, you must be ready to date. After all, Josh and Bailee set this up. Yet, in the back of your mind, you couldn't help but think about just how bad of an idea this could be.

God, you were practically damaged goods at this point.

When you finally made it into the cafe, you made it a point to look around at the customers lounging about. Granted, it wasn't that crowded since it was a Friday night and a cafe wasn't necessarily the first choice for nighttime activity. However, you did notice that there wasn't a man anywhere around you, looking like he might be expecting someone to walk in. Ooh, bright side...maybe he skipped out. Brushing the wishful thinking out of your mind, you walked up to the counter and greeted the worker with a smile.

"Hi, welcome to Lava Java, what can I get you?" She looked like a college student, at least a few years younger than Madison.

"Can I get a vanilla cinnamon roll and a large hot chocolate?" You smiled, pulling your wallet out of your purse. "Oh, and one chocolate croissant to go."

"Is everything else for here?" She asked, marking your cup. When she saw you nod in reply, she tapped more on her screen before moving to bag your chocolate croissant. "Okay, that'll be $10.75."

You handed over a $20 and grabbed Riley's bagged croissant before being handed your change. "Thank you," you smiled, sliding in the four $1s she gave you, into the tip jar.

"Okay, just go ahead and have a seat somewhere and place this marker on your table. Someone will be there shortly with your order."

You gave her a polite smile before grabbing your sign. You looked around the cafe, wondering just where you should sit. It seemed like there were three options: a few tables off into the back corner of the store, some worn, but comfy-looking couches to the right of that and then just snuggled next to the window, three empty booths. When you looked towards the window, you saw that it had started to rain and immediately you found yourself walking towards the booth.

You always found some sort of comfort in the rain. Maybe it was from all of those times on long car rides where you'd pretend you were in some music video that played on MTV while listening to whatever song was playing on your choice cd in your cd player. Better yet, it was probably from how much you and Bailee idolized Hilary Duff's 'Metamorphosis' album and decided that 'Come Clean' was your guys' theme song. Whatever the reason was, the moment you sat down and looked at the raindrops decorated on the window, you felt an invisible weight lift off of your shoulders and your whole body sink down into the chair.

The bells above the door jingled and your eyes immediately moved away from the window and towards the door, only to see a young mother and her son come in. He looked to be around 10 and like he was fresh from soccer practice– still in his uniform and covered in grass stains. You smiled to yourself, easily being able to picture you and Riley coming into this very café in the same situation– though, figuring out what sport she could possibly be playing four years down the road, was a puzzle in itself.

"Large hot chocolate and a vanilla cinnamon roll?" You looked to your right to see another worker, only this time a teenaged boy, carrying your order.

"That's me," you smiled, adjusting your posture as he placed the order in front of you and took your order number. "Thank you."

He nodded politely before walking back to behind the counter, leaving you alone. You sighed, bringing your wrist up from your lap and checking the time. It's only five minutes past when the two of you were supposed to meet– he was late.

No, no, don't get like that. It's raining, traffic is probably horrible. Stop trying to psych yourself out.

You took a peep at your phone before resting it on the table and then letting your hand drop back into your lap with a sigh. "Bailee so owes me if this guy doesn't show," you mumbled to yourself, picking up your hot chocolate.

"Oh God, I can already see the glare she'd give me if you sent her a text right now." You once again looked towards your right to see an extremely attractive man standing right beside the table. "Please, for the love of God, save me from that crazy woman."

You shouldn't have done it, but you couldn't have held your laugh back if you tried. You let your eyes linger on him longer then you should have. As your eyes traveled up, you took note of just how built he was. He couldn't have been a co-worker of Bailee's, those guys looked like they haven't done a workout in years. But this guy...this guy looked like he knew his way around a gym and most definitely ran 5k's on holiday mornings. He had style too, which was a lot to say for some men. Sure, he was wearing a basic casual outfit: basic dark blue jeans, some white Nikes, a maroon sweater and a black jacket–– but he wore it well...really well. Your eyes continued up to where you could see a chain peeking out from beneath his sweater just as his adam's apple bobbed. You sped up your gaze, taking in his trimmed, scruffy beard, his cocky smirk and blue eyes frozen on you.

Only then did you realize just how long you had been staring at this...extremely attractive stranger, without even doing the polite thing and introducing yourself. "Oh, I–," you cleared your throat, standing up quickly and taking in your difference in height before extending your hand out to him. "I'm Y/N."

"I know," he laughed, shaking your hand and nodding down at the table. "What do you suggest?"

"Oh uh, my ba–" You stumbled over your words, correcting yourself before you could say, 'babysitter.' "My friend suggested a vanilla cinnamon roll or a chocolate croissant and for a drink, I went simple with a hot chocolate."

"Sounds good, I'll be right back," he turned to walk towards the counter before turning back, pointing at your phone. "If you do text her, please tell her I showed up."

You just nodded and watched him walk away before looking down at your phone and plopping back down into his seat. You let out a huff of breath before grabbing your phone and unlocking it, opening your message to Bailee.

'YOU DIDN'T SAY HE WAS THIS HOT. I THINK HE CAUGHT ME STARING. I PROBABLY WAS SECONDS AWAY FROM DROOLING'

'hahaha, i've got you girl ;) now have fun and stay off the phone!'

'but i fully expect the details tonight. text me when you're on your way home and i'll come over!'

"What's the verdict?" You almost jumped out of your chair at the sound of his voice, as your phone dropped into your lap. "Is she planning on castrating me anyway? I'd like to at least have a warning."

He placed his number sign down onto the table before settling down in the seat across from you. "It sounds like you've had a run-in with her alter-ego, huh?" You joked, sliding your phone into your purse that was resting on the windowsill.

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. "Try multiple times. She's quite...terrifying when she gets all riled up, but it brings Josh out of his shell so, I guess it's a good thing."

"Who are you?" You blurted out, widening your eyes before shaking your head. "Sorry, that was aggressive. I mean, I told you my name...though you already knew what it was...and what I looked like." You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head to the side. "I thought this was supposed to be a blind date? Oh God, are you like Joe from 'You'?"

He stared at you as you kept rambling on, his eyebrows furrowed just like yours. He dug into his jacket pocket before bringing out an iPhone and typing on the screen before sliding it across the table to you. You looked down to see text messages from Bailee.

'her name is Y/N and she's probably looking all doom and gloom because josh and i dipped.'

"I'm going to kill her," you said, sliding his phone back over to him. "Doom and gloom? Did I look all doom and gloom?"

He put his phone back into his pocket and shrugged his shoulders. "Kind of?"

You sighed, holding onto your drink with both hands before taking a sip. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be all..." you waved your hand aimlessly before taking a sip. "Wait," you pulled the cup back again, "that doesn't explain how you knew what I looked like."

"Would you call me a douchebag if I say it's because you were the first person I saw when I walked in and I thought you were extremely beautiful, so I just took my chances, hoping it was you?"

"Eh, maybe not a douchebag," you said, shrugging your shoulders before smiling at him again. "Cliche is more like it."

"Is that a bad thing?" He asked, leaning onto the table, raising an eyebrow. "Does that mean I've ruined my chances before we've even started the date?"

"Eh," you smiled, breaking off a piece of the vanilla cinnamon roll and nodding your head to the side. "We'll see how this goes."

He ran his tongue alongside the bottom of his teeth before smacking his lips and smiling at you just as his order was brought to the table– almost an exact match to yours. "So, Y/N, I guess I should probably introduce myself if I want to make the best impression on you, huh?" He asked, clearing his throat and holding up his large hot chocolate.

"I guess so...."

"Boone."

"Boone," you smiled, making a mental note of the way his gruff voice sent tingles down your body. "To a great date?"

He tapped his cup against yours and smiled. "To a great date."

❒❒❒❒

"You guys didn't do that, you're lying!" He laughed, leaning back into his seat and crossing his arms across his chest.

"I'm so serious!" You nodded your head, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you laughed. "That's why we don't play odds are anymore. It got us banned from football games for the rest of the year, not to mention a potential case of horrible frostbite."

"I cannot believe you guys streaked at a college football game during half time," he leaned towards the table and smiled, nodding at you. "I've got mad respect now."

"Oh come on, you're telling me that you haven't done anything like that?" He tried to hold back a smile and you pointed at him. "Ah, nope, you have. What did you do?"

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Initiation my first year in the OHL. It's a team ritual to sneak into the rink late at night after the first practice and have all of the rookies do a few naked laps with nothing but skates and a helmet." He leaned back into his chair once again, taking a bite of his cinnamon roll. "Nothing too major."

Your eyes immediately drop to his chest and when you see him move, you quickly look down at your hot chocolate picking it up and avoiding any kind of eye contact. Nothing would be more embarrassing than having to look him in the eye after you were checking him out.

You weren't sure how long the two of you had been sitting at the table and talking, that's how easy the conversation flowed between you two. Almost off the bat the two of you talked about your friendships with Josh and Bailee, seeing as the two of them were your common connection. When you first discovered that he was Josh's teammate, you felt a little nervous. Sure, maybe dating a professional athlete was Bailee's thing, but not so much yours. Professional athletes often come with some pretty heavy reputations and you were in no way shape or form wanting to even catch a glimpse of said reputation.

But as soon as the two of you got to talking...you found yourself thinking that maybe this couldn't be so bad after all. He was funny, smart and kind...a jackpot in your book. Yet you couldn't help but wonder why he was being put up on a blind date anyway. Surely he couldn't be having a hard time finding a girl to have on his arm. Whereas you, well, this date was your best friend's attempt at getting you out there again and preventing you from closing yourself off for the rest of your life. So what was his reasoning?

"So, tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" You asked, taking a sip of your hot chocolate once more.

"Well, I already know how you and Bailee are best friends, where you went to college, what you majored in, how you got banned from football games for an entire season..." He leaned onto the table and reached across the table, his hand pausing in front of yours as he raised his eyebrows, asking your permission to touch your face.

You nodded, surprised that you were even capable of doing that since you were frozen as just how close he was even just across the table. How his sandalwood cologne seemingly clouded your senses, as his thumb wiped the corner of your mouth. "And now I know that hot chocolate might just be your favorite drink, considering how you've gotten it all over your mouth. So tell me something that I don't know."

That I have a 5-year-old daughter sitting at home with her babysitter right now.

You wanted to say it. Normally, especially on the few dates that you've been on, it's been the first thing that came out of your mouth. It almost has to be. You're 26 years old and it would be a miracle to find a man who wanted to date you, even after finding out about Riley. But time and time again, you've been met with disappointment. And you can't really blame them, it's hard to find someone who wants to settle down at that age, let alone date someone who already has a first-grader. Boone though...you felt like maybe he was different, that maybe, just maybe if you said the words...he wouldn't run away terrified. At least, you were hoping so.

"Actually yes, I–"

The muffled sound of your ringtone came from your purse and he nodded towards it. "Go ahead, I'll throw away our trash."

You gave him a polite smile as you dug through your purse, pulling out your phone to see Madison's name on the screen. Your heart began to race as your mind immediately thought of all of the worst-case scenarios– that's normally what your life had been like the last five years.

Worst-case scenarios.

"Madison is everything okay?" You asked, watching as Boone walked over to the trashcan, throwing your wrappers away and putting the plates down into the plastic bin beside it.

"Yes, no? I don't know, Y/N," she sighed, sounding stressed. "I just got a call from one of Trevor's teammates and he's on his way to the emergency room. Something about how he took a really nasty hit in practice and I...I really need to go."

You felt your heart drop as you registered the news. Trevor and Madison had been dating since their sophomore year of high school. High school sweethearts who decided to go to the same college and have made it work no matter how stressful he gets from his hockey workouts or her from her school work. It was a perfect relationship, the one that you had lived not too long before.

He was a nice kid too, Trevor. Not to mention that Riley loved him just like she loved Madison. The two of them, whenever they were up to it, often babysat her together and whenever you had to do some work and her schedule allowed it, Madison even took Riley to a game or two of Trevors. The other reason your heart dropped? When you looked at Boone and you realized that you had to cut the date short.

"I'm so so sorry to interrupt your date Y/N, I just–" you could feel her start to get riled up and you shook your head.

"No, no, don't apologize, Madison. I'll be there soon, okay?"

After a million and one thank you's and apologies, you were able to hang up the phone just as Boone reached the table. "Is everything okay?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn't find the right way to say 'I loved this date and talking to you, but I really have to go because my babysitter needs to go see her injured boyfriend.'

Instead, you stood up, almost tripping back into your chair and grabbed your purse. "I really need to get home, something came up," you put your purse over your shoulder and pulled your cardigan tight against you. "I'm sorry, I had a really nice time."

"Well hey, let me drive you home–"

"No!" You said, almost a bit too loud as you looked around the cafe to see no one looking at you. "I just, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you and it's only a few blocks away, I can walk."

"It's not inconveniencing me," he said, grabbing his jacket off of the back of his chair and putting it on before digging his keys out of his pant pockets. "Besides, it seems like you're really in a hurry and my car can get us wherever you need to be, a lot faster than your..." you felt your cheeks warm up as his gaze lingered on your legs longer than normal before he cleared his throat and looked back up at you. "than your legs can get you there."

You thought about resisting his offer again, but you knew he was right. His short drive meant that Madison could get to Trevor a lot quicker than if you were to walk. "I'm so sorry for this, you're probably going out of your way and–"

"You don't need to apologize, Y/N," he said, leading the way down the sidewalk and to a blacked-out jeep wrangler, holding the passenger door open for you. "Besides, this just means I get to spend a little more time with you since you're trying to pull a Cinderella on me."

You were left without an answer as you climbed into his car and he shut the door behind you, walking around. For an NHL player, you had to admit that you thought he'd drive a much fancier car. Sure, Jeep Wranglers had the potential to be fancy as hell, but it was nothing like a Mustang Convertible, a Maserati or hell, even a nice Lamborghini. Another note about him that you had to make in the back of your mind:

Boone Jenner (so far) was nothing like the professional athlete stereotype you had put him in.

When you reached your apartment complex, you tried your hardest to get him to stay in his car and just drop you off outside of the door. But ever the gentleman he seemed to be, he continued to walk you into the building and even up to your apartment door where you tried to say your goodbyes again.

"For the last time, Y/N, my mother raised me right," he smiled, leaning against the wall by your door. "And if she found out that I didn't at least make sure my date got home safely, she might pull a crazy Bailee and castrate me."

You laughed, shaking your head at his comment just as a small silence settled between the two of you. You still had your arms crossed as you looked anywhere in the hallway except for at him. He was radiating confidence and you could only wish that some of that would rub off on you. He leaned off of the wall and stood in front of you, his hands rested in his jean pockets. "So, is this where you leave me your glass slipper?"

"What?"

"Cinderella, remember?" He smiled, raising an eyebrow as your confused expression. “Except, I guess in our case...the glass slipper would be your number.”

Just when you went to reply, the door opened and you saw a frazzled Madison standing there with her backpack tossed over her shoulders. "Okay, I thought that was you I heard, thank you again Y/N for coming so quickly," she looked away from you and at Boone before snapping her head back in your direction and giving you wide eyes. "I'm so so sorry. Oh, also, she's been complaining about not feeling well, so I gave her some medicine and she's sleeping."

"It's okay, Madison. I just hope Trevor is okay," you sighed, as Boone stepped out of the doorway and gave Madison room to walk into the hallway. "Thank you and text me when you get there, okay?"

You maneuvered your way into the doorway of your apartment, standing in the way of any view Boone could have into your small living space. When he turned back from the hallway, you could feel his eyes taking you and your flustered appearance in. You didn't want him to find out this way, not before you could even tell him– so the next best thing was to just get him on his way home before he could.

"Are you okay?" He asks, looking concerned. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, no, that's okay I–"

"Mommy?" The soft, sleepy voice of Riley caused you to turn around. She was standing there, only a few feet behind you in her 'Frozen' pajamas and holding on to her old baby blanket. Even from where you were standing, you could see that she was flushed– the ultimate sign of a sick child. "I don't feel so good..."

Before you or Boone could even get another word out, Riley hunched over and threw up all over herself and the floor. You immediately turned around to face Boone, preparing to explain what was going on...but the moment you looked at his face, you knew that you didn't need to.

The furrowed eyebrows, the widened eyes with slight hints of fear and the tiniest hint of disgust, most likely from the vomit, was written all over his face.

You've seen the look before and it honestly wouldn't be the last time you see it either. So, you did what you normally did and took a few seconds to remind yourself that, hey, it was going to end like this anyway...right?

"Goodnight Boone. Thank you for tonight and walking me home," you turn back to see Riley hugging tightly onto her blanket before she starts to cry, still standing there behind you. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah..." He said, still staring behind you as if he's seen a ghost or even unsure as to what he's looking at. "No problem." And with those three words, he disappeared down the hall.

You closed the door with a sigh before locking it and walking towards the kitchen counter, tossing your purse onto it. "Hi baby," you whispered, walking up to Riley and taking her blanket from her. "Let's go get you rinsed off and in some new pajamas, okay? Then we can camp out in the living room in case you have another accident."

Riley, as sleepy as ever, nodded and sniffled as she held onto your hand and you led her back towards the bathroom. You had her stand outside of the bathroom as you walked into her room and grabbed her some new pajamas before taking her into the bathroom with you before preparing a quick bath. It was something you never thought you'd ever be used to– cleaning up after a sick child. But a lot had changed in the last five years and you had a lot of growing up to do the moment you had Riley.

As you got her into the bath and tossed her dirty pajamas in the sink, you sighed and squatted down beside the tub, filling up a cup so you could get her rinsed off. You felt guilty about feeling so disappointed that your date had to end so abruptly. Trevor was injured and Riley was sick– and here you were, throwing yourself a mini pity party because you met a great guy and everything went to hell.

"Mommy?" Riley mumbled, looking up at you as you brushed the wet hair out of her eyes. "Did you bring me my chocolate?"

You laughed, cupping the left side of her face, happy to see a bit of color coming back to her. She was most definitely your child– sick as a dog and still thinking about sweets. "Yes, I did. It's sitting in the fridge, waiting for your tummy to feel better."

She yawned as you leaned forward and pulled up the drain, letting the water flow out as you picked her up with a dry towel and placed her on the floor. You dried her off and got her in her new pajamas before carrying her back out into the living room and sitting her down onto the couch. Your 'camping' supplies, as she liked to call it, were housed just in the small linen closet. It was really just extra blankets and pillows for whenever Bailee came over for movie night. You grabbed them and walked back into the living room, setting them out in front of the tv before looking up to see Riley passed out on the couch. You picked her up and placed her down onto the blanket, covering her up before walking back to your bedroom to get ready for bed.

You sat down on the edge of your bed and took a deep breath, letting your body fall back as you exhale deeply, staring up at the ceiling. You didn't want to close your eyes because every time you did, all you saw was just how quickly the smile on Boone's face had turned into the disappointment.

You already knew it, a kid was the dealbreaker...just like it was for every other guy. Tonight was the most fun that you'd had in a long, long time. The sad part is that you really thought he could have been different and that maybe he would have loved Riley, just like you and everyone else does.

And the small ache in your chest was just another friendly reminder that maybe you should stop getting your hopes up.

[pankaj0316]

How to Lose the Killer Fat Around Your Tummy

When you are diagnosed with diabetes, the first bit of advice you get from your doctor is: lose weight. Fact is... most diabetics carry too much belly fat.

You have two kinds of fat around your waist... subcutaneous fat and visceral fat. Subcutaneous fat is fat that is located under the skin. It is visible fat and is usually soft and squishy, the reason it is often referred to as 'love handles' when it is around your waist. If you are not overweight and lead an active life, this kind of fat is not dangerous even if your tummy protrudes a little bit. It only becomes a problem if you become seriously overweight. Visceral fat is different. It is not so visible. This is because it is 'deep fat', ie lies within the abdominal wall where it surrounds organs and releases hormones (which is why it is also called 'active' fat). Too much of this fat can result in the release of excessive amounts of hormones... this causes inflammation, which puts you at risk of a variety of health problems. In contrast to subcutaneous fat, visceral fat can make the stomach feel hard. Though it is not visible, as it grows visceral fat causes your tummy to expand. A hard, protruding stomach signals danger.

Why is visceral fat bad?

Many chronic health conditions are caused and/or made worse by this type of fat. These include heart disease, diabetes, some types of cancer, and back pain.

Heart disease... visceral fat cells release cytokines, chemical messengers that affect the actions of other cells such as, for example, those that control blood pressure, cholesterol and the regulation of insulin. As cytokines affect how organs function, having them floating around in your body is not a good thing. Elevated blood pressure and high cholesterol levels contribute to heart disease. Visceral fat tends to affect men and women at different stages in their lives. Young women tend to gain subcutaneous fat on their hips and thighs while young men usually add visceral fat to their bellies. Thus men in their 30's are more likely to experience heart disease than women. Woman are more at risk of visceral fat later when they reach menopause. Diabetes... persons who are overweight or obese are actually 90 times more likely to develop diabetes because belly fat affects how your organs work. Studies indicate that people with deep belly fat lose their sensitivity to insulin, the hormone that regulates our blood glucose levels. If you have diabetes or are diabetic, you need to lose weight and reduce your visceral fat so that your blood sugar levels are normalized. Cancers... cancer is caused by mutations in our cells. When we have excess visceral fat it signals our bodies to produce hormones that cause our cells to divide and multiply. The more often our cells divide, the greater the chances that one of them will mutate into a cancerous cell. Thus more fat means more opportunities for cancer to develop. Indeed, the WHO states that up to one-third of all cancers of the colon, kidney and digestive tract are linked to being overweight. Back strain and pain... your core, ie your abdomen or center of your body, needs to be strong if you are to have good balance and healthy joints, and protect yourself from injury. Having too much belly fat usually means that your abdominal muscles are weak due to the visceral fat surrounding your vital organs. When these core muscles are weak you back muscles have to take up the slack. As a result you are likely to strain you back and experience chronic backache.

What causes visceral fat?

There are plenty reasons why you put on fat around your waist... eating too much... growing older... family traits... alcohol... stress.

Excessive eating... when we ingest more calories than we use up in our daily activities, our bodies store the extra calories as fat. We all need to eat less. Growing older... as we age we start to lose muscle mass and gain fat. This is normal but it means that if we don't learn to eat less we will put on weight, ie get fat. Family traits... our genetics and family history plays a role in the type of fat we gain. If your parents had excessive visceral fat, the likelihood is that you will also have too much unless you take steps to stay slim and trim. Alcohol... drinking to much intoxicating beverages (wine, beer or spirits) contributes to a build-up of 'beer belly' which is mainly visceral fat. But note that beer belly can be developed by drinking wine or spirits, not just beer. Stress... continuous high levels of stress, of the sort we experience in modern life, causes a build-up of cortisol, the stress hormone, in our systems. Over time, this hormone leads to increasing amounts of fat around our tummies. Who is most at risk of visceral fat?Any one at any age who overeats (ie, eats more than they burn off in various activities) will develop tummy fat. However it does tend to increase with age, especially among women. Those most at risk of developing excessive visceral fat are... white men... Afro-American women... Indian men and women from the subcontinent... people who drink sugary drinks... those who are already overweight or obese. The good news is that visceral belly fat responds very well to diet... and all belly fat can be reduced significantly through exercise. So, to trim down to a sleek tummy line, forget about pills, purgatories and herbal remedies, and ignore the miracle cures... you can get rid of belly fat naturally with nothing more than a healthy diet and plenty of exercise. Reduce belly fat through diet One of the best ways to reduce both kinds of belly fat... subcutaneous and visceral... is to create a calorie deficit, ie eat fewer calories than your body burns. All you need to be able to do is to make a rough calculation of the calories you eat each day and reduce that figure by at least 25%. It is not too hard to do, and it works. At the same time you need to follow the Beating Diabetes diet. Here it is: Eat natural foods that are low in sugar, low in fat, low in salt, and high in fiber, and have a low Hypoglycemic Index. Your diet should consist mostly of plants and lean protein. Wash your food down with plenty of water.

Following this diet is pretty easy. First get rid of sugary drinks and foods... no more sodas and no sugar in your tea and coffee, which have been linked in some studies to the development of visceral fat. You must also cut out cakes and sweets, indeed any food with added sugar. If you crave sugar, fight the craving... it can be done. Eating lean protein from legumes and lean meats can help you feel full and reduce your cravings. To reverse your diabetes and reduce visceral fat, you must eliminate as much fat as possible from your diet. You need to eliminate entirely trans-fats and saturated fats which are closely linked to the development of visceral fat. This means eating unprocessed foods, ie lean meats, avocados and other fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as beans and oatmeal which are full of soluble fiber. To reduce your intake of salt simply stop using the salt shaker and avoid all processed foods as these are packed with salt, both to preserve them and give them favor. In fact, processed foods also usually contain copious amounts of sugar and fat in order to enhance flavors. Foods that are high in fiber are wholemeal grains such as oatmeal, most vegetables and fruits. Getting plenty of fiber ensures smooth digestion (provided you drink plenty of water). Eating wholemeal grains means you are avoiding simple carbohydrates such as white bread, other refined grains and sugary foods which are low in nutritional value but high in calories. These foods are high on the hypoglycemic index which means they are digested rapidly which gives rise to spikes in blood glucose, the scourge of diabetics, and the rapid development of visceral fat. Wholemeal grains are digested slowly (ie, they have low GIs) and are much healthier.

Reduce belly fat with exercise Research has shown that exercise plays a significant role in eliminating belly fat. A study published in the Journal of Applied Physiology in October 2005 compared men who exercised with men who did not and discovered that exercise is crucial in reducing visceral fat. The researchers found that a modest exercise program prevents significant increases in visceral fat, while more vigorous exercise results in significant reductions in visceral, subcutaneous, and total abdominal fat without any changes in the intake of calories. However, undertaking exercises that target the stomach area, such as crunches and sit-ups, does not get rid of belly fat... even though they strengthen abdominal muscles.

There are several ways you can reduce tummy fat using exercises: Get moving... just increasing your level of physical activity will burn more calories. If you have a sedentary occupation, get up from your desk and move around every hour or so. Parking away from your destination so you have to walk the final few yards and walking up the stairs instead of taking the lift can burn more calories and reduce you tummy. Take up cardiovascular exercises... it gets the heart pumping and reduces visceral fat by burning up calories. But start slowly with walking or swimming before working up to running or skipping rope. High intensity interval training... in which you alternate intense exercise with slower activities, burns abdominal fat and is ideal if you are not ready for sustained high intensity exercising. Start slowly by (say) walking for 5 minutes and then running for 1 minute. Strength training... can help you lose weight because muscles burn more calories than fat. You need to practice regularly several days a week. As well as reducing belly fat, strength training can help you to control your diabetes and prevent other chronic illnesses such as osteoporosis. Takeaway Belly fat can give rise to serious health problems whether you are diabetic or not. But you can get rid of it easily enough with diet and exercise... Eat fewer calories than you burn Avoid sugary foods Avoid fat in your diet as far as possible Avoid added salt Avoid refined carbohydrates Avoid processed foods Eat lean protein Eat foods that are digested slowly Eat lots of soluble Fredrick alcohol sparingly Reduce your stress level Take up aerobic exercises (cardio)Paul D Kennedy is a type 2 diabetic. He used his skills as an international consultant and researcher to find a way to beat his diabetes using diet alone and, about eight years ago, he stopped taking medications to control his blood glucose levels. 21 DAYS TO A SLIMMER, SEXIER YOU!   Click here

[mama-m1na]

Apocalypse: Chapter 8

~~~VIII~~~

When the time actually came for the group to start their operation Rhamina was correct in assuming that it was another 'Distract and Attack' mission.

Kiran had somehow arranged for them to perform at the casino that night and even got other members of Yukitara's group to accompany them as a jazz ensemble.

The other three members of Apocalypse would be acting as the group's bodyguards, but when they began performing they would be searching for members of the gang they would be confronting.

"God, this outfit is the shit!" the ravenette chirped as she took a look at herself in the mirror, "I still want to know how Hana got my sizes though."

The outfit consisted of a cropped purple halter top with pleated layers at the front, a matching skirt that had a high slit up the left side which allowed for free movement despite the skirt reaching the floor.

Some of her back and stomach were showing, but the teen still looked pretty classy with her hair down to hide the skin of her back and the jewelry she never took off.

When the time came for them to head off, they rode with Kiran and the rest of their allies in a white limo: which was slightly difficult for Cloud with his buster sword, but he managed.

"Alright," Kiran said as he passed out folders to the three other Apocalypse members, "This is who we believe is going to be showing up tonight, but what you really need to know is their crest. If they have that, then they're fair game."

"Damn, Kiran, this is really fucking detailed," Sierra commented as she looked through the various profiles, "Did you make these yourself?"

Rhamina raised a brow before looking over Kerstin's shoulder to see that the brunette was right, but what caught her eyes was a certain set of information that seemed way too hard to get unless one had followed the targets for a long time.

"Kiran, what exactly have you been up to in the past five years that I haven't seen you?" she asked as she looked up to the older male, "'Cause this seems like the kind of information a professional stalker would sell on the deep web."

Her last statement caused the other members that Kiran brought to bust out laughing as the said male nervously scratched the back of his neck.

"What's so funny?" the eighteen-year-old asked, tilting her head to the side in confusion.

"It's because you made a very specific, but accurate guess," the Korean chuckled, "I've been working as an information broker on the dark web up until I joined this group."

"Aight," the ravenette shrugged as she leaned back into her seat and pulled out her phone to continue reading.

"That's it?"

"I mean, what do you want me to say?" she asked, looking back at her friend, "I've been working in the red light district since I was, thirteen-ish? I have no room to judge you for that shit."

"You've been working in that kind of place since you were thirteen?" one of the other Asian men asked with a raised brow.

"Yep! Went from serving drinks to beating people up for money," the teen explained with a bright smile on her face.

"Fuck yeah, that's one hell of an upgrade!" another one of the men laughed as he reached over to give the girl a high five.

Cloud stayed to himself as the others conversed as he absorbed the information he had just received.

He knew that Rhamina had been working in the red light district since before she met him, but he just couldn't imagine a younger version of the female doing it; especially, not after seeing the child version of the eighteen-year-old.

However, he also knew that she had to have learned her terrifying skills from somewhere; her fighting, her knowledge on the human psychology, and everything else she knew had to have come from some kind of experience.

When they arrived at the casino, the musicians began unloading their instruments as they were greeted by one of the casino employees.

As they were being led inside, Cloud couldn't help but notice how excited the ravenette looked, small clicking noises coming from her every now and then.

"She has a thing for gambling," Sierra explained as they passed the poker tables, the older female's eyes immediately lighting up.

"Don't ever play a serious game with her," Kerstin warned as she leaned in closer to the male, "She's a fucking sadist when it comes to games like that."

Once the group had made it to where they were set to perform, Rhamina turned to her friends and said, "Y'all can go ahead and get started for now, but just be as discreet as you can."

Walking around the casino, Kerstin and Sierra couldn't help but feel a little intimidated and excited while Cloud stayed indifferent.

Many of the members of Apocalypse lived in the middle or lower class of society, so they had never even stepped foot in such an extravagant place like the casino in North City when the world was still functioning.

"Man, Mina was lucky," Kerstin muttered as they passed another restaurant filled with nicely dressed people, "She used to perform in places like this all the time."

Upon seeing Cloud's brows to raise in confusion, Sierra explained what the seventeen-year-old was referring to while they continued walking through the marble halls.

"Professional fan dancers were a very popular form of live entertainment for the rich, so a lot of the time, Mina would be pulled out of school to perform in places like this," the brunette said, "Still made her nervous every time though... Her parents held her to very high standards."

Meanwhile, the ravenette was helping the group set up their electronics and going over the set order and list for the night.

While she was feeling confident in her skills and magic, the teen couldn't help but let her anxiety linger for a bit as she could remember the judgmental stares of her family.

'Shut the fuck up, Mina, you're a boss ass bitch who's doing this for a mission,' she thought to herself as she drank from a water bottle provided to them by the casino staff, 'The opinions of your heavily Asian family don't matter right now. You're basically a gang leader for fuck's sack!'

Despite her individual pep talk, the anxiety refused to leave, but the teen chose to ignore it in favor of looking at their venue.

They were performing in one of the ballrooms that had a stage at the front with multiple tables to the side with an open dance floor in the center.

By the time that the performance was supposed to start, the tables were full and the ravenette could see her companions standing in the back unscathed, but at the closest table to the stage she could see multiple of their targets.

As soon as the drummer finished counting off the first song, Rhamina started spreading her magic over the audience.

The song was of course a sultry jazz song that worked the female's lower range as she swayed to the beat.

It was about a soul who just wanted to have one last passionate night with their lover and as a pure romantic, the ravenette sold it completely as she took the mic and began weaving through some of the tables before returning to the stage for the end of the song.

Through the cheers and applause, the teen watched as many of their targets began to leave their table, leaving an older man alone at the table to continue watching the show.

Locking eyes with Cloud, Rhamina subtly nodded towards the leaving group before the next song started up.

The male followed her gaze and nodded back before getting the other girls to follow them out into the main casino.

As the group finished their set, the man never left, keeping his eyes glued onto the eighteen-year-old who practically ignored it until the show was over.

The group was basically surrounded by others who were telling them what a good job they did in their performance when the man approached her.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I must say that you gave a spectacular performance," he said as the female turned to face him, "You convey emotion well."

"Thank you very much, Mister," the ravenette said as she placed a hand over her heart, "The commentary means a lot."

"There is no need for formalities, you can just call me Robin," the man chuckled as he held his hand out to shake.

"Nice to meet you then, Robin," the female chirped as she took his hand with a smile, "I am called Hasu!"

Upon hearing the teen's performance name, Kiran looked over his shoulder to see the ravenette conversing with one of their targets, holding a thumbs up behind her back.

After a few minutes of talking about some random topic, Robin asked, "Hasu, do you happen to gamble?"

"That would depend on what type of game is being played," she replied with a small smirk, "What did you have in mind?"

"Just a simple game of poker, though I hope instead of gambling with money, you'd be okay with gambling favors," the male suggested, causing the female's heart to race with excitement.

"Raising the stakes are we?" the teen asked, nails digging into her wrists which she held behind her back, "I'm fine with that. That's what makes the game fun."

"So what exactly do you want from me if you win?" the ravenette asked as a casino employee led them to a private poker table.

"Your company for the rest of the night," the male replied as they took their seats, the dealer already shuffling the cards, "And you?"

"The honest answer to a few questions," Rhamina replied as she waited for her cards to be dealt to them, keeping her hands busy by playing with the poker chips.

"That's all you want from me?" Robin asked as they placed their starting bet, "Surely there must be more."

"I can't really think of anything else that I want," the female chuckled with a shrug as she checked her cards.

The game ended in about twenty minutes when the eighteen-year-old had run out of chips and lost the final game.

"Well, it looks like the goddess of luck had blessed you today," the teen sighed as she looked over to see that he had created a royal flush.

"Indeed she had," the male chuckled as they both stood to shake hands, "but I must say that was the most fun I've had in a game of poker, so I must thank you for that."

"I have to say the same," she replied with a bright smile before rolling her left shoulder back, "shall we go, then?"

"Indeed," the older male chuckled as he led the female over to an elevator that led to the attached hotel.

'Those little shits are probably fighting someone right now,' Rhamina thought as the elevator doors opened once again.

It was silent as the male led her down the empty marble hall and she knew something was up, he had lost that playful persona of his.

'That's how we're going to play?' she thought as he opened the door of a darkened hotel room to let her in.

When the lights came on, the room began to fill with a white gas and the teenager had turned around to see Robin in a gas mask.

As her body dropped to the ground, one last thought entered her head.

'Alright then... Let's play...'

About fifteen minutes later, the three other members of Apocalypse had made it to the top floor of the casino to see a very wobbly Rhamina held by two grunts as the older man held a pistol.

"Man, y'all are pretty stupid you know?" she giggled through her slurred speech, almost falling over if it weren't for the two holding onto her.

"So you're the three rats that sought us out?" Robin asked as he stepped forward, causing them to draw their weapons.

"Now, now, now, let's not do anything that might endanger the young lady," the man spoke as he cocked his gun and aimed it at the very giggly girl.

"What the fuck did you do to her?!" Kerstin growled, none of them backing down as the ravenette finally noticed her friends.

"There you guys are!" cooed the eighteen-year-old as she took a few wobbly steps forward, "You wouldn't believe how stupid these guys are, they blabbed about everything we needed!"

Before the teen could continue, the barrel of the pistol was aimed at her face causing a crazed glint to enter her eyes.

"Aw, is my chatter annoying to you?" she asked as she stepped forward so the weapon was resting right up against her forehead.

"What are you going to do? Shoot me? I honestly don't think you're motivated enough," the teen challenged as the three looked over at her in concern.

"What the fuck is she doing?" Sierra muttered as she looked to Kerstin who looked just as confused as her partners.

"I think she's finally lost it," the darkette replied as the older teen kept egging on the older male.

"Just pull the fucking trigger!"

Bang!

The three looked up in shock to see the ravenette completely fine as she held the man's wrist above her head, the gun still smoking towards the ceiling.

"Shame," the teen sighed in her normal tone of voice before she used her other freed hand to take the fun from this shocked grasp and shoot him in the leg.

"Looks like you were too slow," she continued as the two grunts just stared at her as she tossed the rope that was binding her to the side.

"How the hell did you get out?!" one of them asked before she cocked the gun once more with a closed eye smile.

"Y'all suck at tying knots," she replied before crippling them both as well, going to meet her companions who still stared at her in shock.

"Let's go, I know where Yukitara is," the ravenette spoke, ushering them out into the hall before leading them up to the roof, "Kiran should have told Hana already."

"Rhamina, what did they do to you?" Cloud asked, placing a hand on the female's shoulder as she looked to the sky for something.

"They gassed me with something that made my head go fuzzy, but that bang sobered me right up," she quickly explained before spotting a helicopter.

"That's her," Rhamina said as a ladder was lowered, "Come on we've got to go get Yukitara!"

"We're getting him now?" Kerstin asked as Sierra started climbing up the ladder despite all the wind being generated.

"Yep, if we don't, then that gives them a chance to move him," the ravenette explained, "one of them already went to report this, so up you go."

Once Kerstin was up Rhamina turned to Cloud and gestured to the ladder bet he shook his head and said, "I'll go up after you."

"Cloud, I'm wearing a dress," the eighteen-year-old deadpanned and before he could apologize, the female ushered him up, following closely behind.

"Thank you for doing this, Rhamina," Hana spoke from next to the pilot as they flew off to where her father was being held.

"Don't thank us yet," the ravenette spoke as her sibling noticed that the fifteen-year-old only thanked her, "Now we have to do the hard part."

"Not necessarily," the doll spoke as she gripped onto her parasol, " Not if I plan to tear their base to the ground."

"As you wish," Rhamina mused as she leaned back into her seat between Cloud and Sierra, "It is your turn after all."

Rhamina took the time in their flight to close her eyes and just breath.

Admittedly, all she wanted to do was just crash because being drugged wasn't fun, but she had responsibilities.

Her seatmates noticed this as they were quite tired as well, but said nothing and just took the time to rest and check their gear before arriving at a run down building where multiple people were already fighting.

As the helicopter hovered over the building Hana stepped up to the open side and her form radiated magic as she called, "Tower!"

Following her rising hand, a stone tower rose from the center of the building, ending just ten feet below the vehicle.

"Y'all stay here and take a break," Rhamina ordered as the younger girl lept down to her creation, slowly standing up, "Hana and I'll take care of the rest."

The teen then leapt down to the tower before anyone could protest and it began its quick descent into the building.

"Of course the brat is only taking Mina," Kerstin huffed as she looked to the hole left in the base of the opposing gang, "She didn't plan on taking the rest of us did she?"

"What do you mean?" the blond asked as the helicopter merely circled the building, giving them a good view of the fighting.

"Don't tell me that you haven't noticed how attached Hana is to Mina," the darkette said as she looked over to her teammate, "They go way back, but it's kind of fucking annoying."

"Yeah, but she is a force to be reckoned with, especially since Mina is the one who taught her how to use her magic," Sierra countered as she held her hammer between her legs.

"What kind of magic does she use?" Cloud asked as he looked over to the two teenagers next to him.

"She uses tarot magic or basically, she calls upon the spirits of the arcane to help do her bidding," Kerstin explained as she took out her phone.

"Have you noticed that all the people she trains end up being powerhouses?" the brunette asked from her spot.

"Really? Who did she train?" the seventeen-year-old questioned.

"Jessie."

"For real?"

"Yeah," Sierra confirmed as some bullets flew past the helicopter, "That month she spent in L.A. she was training Jessie and now he can kill a fucking dragon on his own."

Upon reaching the room where Yukitara was held, the two girls noticed two things; the man was alive, but he was being held in some sort of crystal.

"Can you take care of it?" the doll asked as the taller female stepped up to the large prism her father was suspended in.

"Of course I can," the ravenette chirped as she brought her hand up to the smooth surface with her hair floating behind her, "This isn't the worst thing I've had to consume you know."

The soft chime of a bell echoed in the room as the crystal began to melt, turning into a black liquid that crawled its way up the arm that was touching it.

Once the crystal was fully gone, Hana stepped forward to wake her father as the eighteen-year-old looked to her arm.

It looked as though the limb had been dyed black from the tips of her fingers up to her elbow, but she merely shrugged.

'I've dealt with worse,' she thought as the man caught sight of her.

"I heard you were out of commission for quite some time, Yukitara," the teen mused, placing her hand on her hip.

"Of course you would come running at the first sign of trouble," the Japanese man chuckled as he placed a large hand on his daughter's head, "Thank you for taking care of my daughter while I was away."

"Now, now. Let's not get things mixed up, I didn't do shit," the ravenette spoke before checking the time, "But we should get y'all home, it's getting late."

As the three Asians ran through the base who's owners were getting utterly destroyed they made it back to the original entry point where Hana once again summoned her tower.

"Looks like they've been having from," Rhamina hissed as she watched a shadow bird try to dive at the helicopter only for it to get shot at by Kerstin.

Upon seeing the tower, the pilot immediately flew over to allow them to board, but before Rhamina got on she pulled out one of her fans and threw it at the monster, severing one of its wings.

"Mina, what happened?" Sierra asked as they noticed her stained limb.

"I took another curse, it should be fully digested in a few houses though," the teen shrugged with a yawn.

"A curse?" Cloud questioned as the teen rested her head on his shoulder, not bothering to move upon seeing how exhausted the girl was.

"Yeah, or any magical ailments really," she muttered lazily, "My soul can break them down and consume them, and it speeds up or slows down depending on how much of my magic is being used."

With the main objective of their mission completed, the helicopter dropped the four off at the hotel before taking the two Yukitaras back to their home.

After taking the rest of the night and most of the next day to take a well deserved break, the four members of Apocalypse, both Yukitaras, and Kiran were taken to a Korean barbecue restaurant that was rented out for them that evening.

The conversation was filled with information on the group known as Scyphozoa; however, the tense subject was eventually broken by Hana.

"Rhamina, didn't you lose a game of poker to the man known as Robin?" the noirette asked before taking a sip of her tea.

"Yeah, I did, why?" the ravenette replied with a raised brow before eating some of the bulgogi she had been looking forward to the whole trip.

"I believe that you said you would dance for us if you lost a game of poker during your stay here," the fifteen-year-old smirked, causing the older female to choke on her food.

"Yeah, you did say that!" Kerstin chirped as she looked to the ravenette who was currently downing her water.

"And what do you know? There's a stage over there," Sierra added, gesturing to the large platform used for live performances.

"You want me to do that now?" Rhamina uttered with wide eyes as the brunette pulled a bluetooth speaker out of her bag.

"Okay, fuck all of you," the eighteen-year-old snapped as she took the speaker and walked up to the stage.

"How exciting, I get to see how much she's improved," mused Kiran as the female hooked up the speaker to her phone and set it to the back of the stage so she could hear it better.

Everyone put their attention on the female as she set at the center of the stage, kneeling in a bow towards the audience with the fan laid out in front of her.

Even if the girl wasn't in costume; Kiran, Hana, and Yukitara could tell that this would be a Japanese styled dance from the way she was set.

A few bars into the music the girl then sat up on her legs before flourishing the closed fan, allowing her gaze to follow the fluid motion.

As she stood up and stepped down the stage she made eye contact with her audience, making sure to keep her movements fluid and delicate.

The teen worked well to keep her movements loose and flowy so that the fan moved like a lead floating in the breeze.

She had excellent control of the fan and its extravagant movements as it blended well into her overall performance.

Even knowing close to nothing of the art form, the members of Apocalypse had to admit that the dance was stunning.

They could see each and every breath of the female took as she kept the soft smile on her face throughout the performance.

When the music ended and the female stood in her ending pose, those sitting at her table gave her a round of applause.

The ravenette then let out a sigh as she went to collect and return Sierra's speaker before saying, "There. Done. I did the thing."

"That was a wonderful performance, Hasu," the older Yukitara chuckled as she returned to their seat next to Kiran, "you should dance more often."

"Thanks, Yukitara, but I really don't have the time for when I have to make sure my kids don't die," Rhamina replied as she turned her attention back to her food.

"You did really good, Hasu," Kiran said as he patted the girl on the back, "You've come a long way since we were kids, you've a lot less tense now."

As the two got into a conversation about her performances, Cloud narrowed his eyes over at the male until a shadow stood over him.

"If you are available, I would like to speak with you outside for a moment," Hana requested in her usual flat tone.

No one paid the pair any mind as the doll led the blond right outside the large windows that gave a view to the table in the middle of the room.

"What did you want?" Cloud asked in a blunt tone as she crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight.

The emotionless female then surprised the male by giving a full, ninety degree, bow as she said, "I would like to personally thank you for helping to save my father."

"I was just following orders," the male shrugged as the female straightened herself out to stand while holding her hands clasped together at her stomach.

"Though that may be true, you still did it, so I thank you nonetheless," the noiret spoke, quickly bowing her head once more.

"Whatever," he sighed as he looked back inside to see Rhamina happily talking to Kiran, lightly shoving him with a smile on her face.

Following his gaze the female inwardly smirked before saying, "Rhamina speaks very highly of you, you know?"

"Huh?"

"She always sees the positive aspects of others she takes care for," Hana explained before letting out a sigh, "I just wish she would do the same for herself."

"What do you mean?" the male asked as he looked back over at the fifteen-year-old, catching the glint of an unknown emotion before it disappeared once more.

"Tell me," she started, looking straight into his bright blue eyes, "in the time that you've known her, have you seen her actually give herself a genuine compliment?"

"And I do not mean those jokes she throws out to give herself an illusion of an inflated ego," the teen clarified as she stepped closer to the man.

Cloud remained silent as he thought back to his interactions with the ravenette and he actually couldn't remember a single instance in which she gave herself genuine praise.

Hana then looked to the older female before saying, "I wish to be able to lead like her someday. I never noticed it much when we were younger, but she had many faces."

"I'm sure you've seen some of them already and I'm sure you've noticed how she has the respect, and in most cases friendships, of everyone in Apocalypse," she continued, stirring memories in the male of Rhamina's many personas, "Even here, not everyone had respect for me or even my father. Do you know how she gained that respect?"

"Not really," the blond admitted, "I never thought about it."

"While many would take being a multiple faced demon as a negative, she has learned to control each one and learned when to wear each one," the noirette explained, "That is how she gained the respect from others. She can read the atmosphere so easily and adjusts herself in response to it."

"Whether she is trying to comfort someone, gain the upper hand, or to even instill fear... she just knows," the fifteen-year-old continued, "I want to be able to lead like her."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Cloud sighed, grateful for the new information on the teen, but still confused as to why she would be revealing it to him.

"So you can get some insight on her true personality," Hana replied as she looked up to the twenty-one-year-old with a small smirk gracing her porcelain features, "Am I wrong to assume that you have taken an interest in Rhamina as a person rather than just simply your employer and boss?"

"What are you getting at?" the male snapped as heat flushed through his usually hardened form.

"No one would be staring at her for that long if they had no interest in her," the female continued as the ravenette looked at the two from her side of the glass, "Though if you really want her attention, you're going to have to be blunt."

"She's always been dense when it came to herself," Hana said as Rhamina stood up from her seat and walked out.

"You two alright?" the eighteen-year-old asked as she walked over, holding her hands behind her back, "You've been out here for awhile."

"Yes, we're fine," the doll replied as she turned to her long time friend, "Cloud and I were just talking about some things."

Now that the two stood side by side, the male noticed the stark contrast between the two females; from their looks, their personalities, and just the way they held themselves.

Despite their many differences, he could also tell they held some similarities as well; they both held a sense of unbreakable loyalty, the drive to become better in all aspects that they could manage, and their care for one another.

Cloud didn't have to know either one of them personally to see that they meant so much to each other.

He was brought back to reality with the sound of light laughter coming from both females.

"What?" he asked, defensively narrowing his eyes at the two.

"It's just that you looked really cute staring off like that," Rhamina explained with a soft smile as Hana used her wrist to hide her smirk at the male's reaction.

"Look at that, Rhamina, you've gone and made your brilliant swordsman flush," the fifteen-year-old teased in response to the bright blush that spread across the ex-SOLDIER's face.

"Hana, hush!" the eighteen-year-old chuckled as she looked away from the male who merely scoffed and began walking past them, towards the door.

"Cloud, wait! I'm sorry!" the ravenette cried as she reached over and latched onto the male's arm, causing him to tense.

"Please don't be mad," she said with her cheek lightly touching his bicep as she wore a lopsided smile with her eyes just looking up at his face.

The male just shook his head and pat her head, earning a happy trill before she let go, allowing everyone to walk back inside.

After everyone finished their very large meal filled with; lots of fun, drinking (mostly Kerstin), and dirty jokes (again, Kerstin) that were not really appreciated by the older Yukitara and Rhamina, they four from the Abyss were driven back to the hotel to pack up their things so they could leave as soon as they woke up the next morning.

As soon as the elevator reached the penthouse everyone started to their rooms, but as the ravenette was walking the world completely blacked out for a moment.

Before she could hit the ground Cloud, who was walking next to her, caught the teen by the shoulders and helped her steady herself.

"Are you okay?" he asked in mild concern as the female brought a hand up to her head.

"Yeah," came her breathy reply as she gave him a small smile, "My head just did something weird, I'm fine though."

"Are you sure?" he asked, keeping a careful hand on her elbow even as she started walking again.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she chirped, placing a reassuring hand on top of his, "Just go and pack up, okay?"

Even though he didn't believe her words, the male released her, albeit reluctantly, before he retreated into his own room.

Once the ravenette was back in her room, she tried to brush off what just happened, but still couldn't shake off the looming dread she felt as she packed up her things.

Early the next morning, the four ate breakfast before meeting Hana and her father in the lobby to return the key cards to the penthouse.

"Thank you for letting us stay here," Rhamina said as she gave a bow to the father and daughter, "May your future endeavors be blessed."

"There is no need to thank us, Rhamina," the older male spoke with a chuckle, "You were doing your duty as a leader and an ally."

"Indeed," Hana agreed as the ravenette straightened her posture, "Without all of you, we would have been much less efficient."

"Well, see you guys when the occasion rises again and don't forget to get those deliveries over to us asap," Kerstin spoke before the four made their way over to their vehicles.

Once all of their things were loaded into the van, Sierra got in the driver's seat, Kerstin got into the passenger's seat, and Rhamina got into the second row of seats while Cloud started up his bike.

By the time the group returned to the Abyss the sun was higher in the sky, but it was still morning.

When Rhamina collected her things, they walked back into their building with Cloud since the other two had some other appointments to take care of before settling back in.

"So do you think you have a better feel of the San Diego area now?" the ravenette questioned as they ascended in the elevator.

"Yeah, it's not much bigger than Midgar," he explained before a comfortable silence overtook the pair.

When they exited the elevator on their floor, the two walked over to their doors before pausing to face each other.

"Thanks for coming with us, Cloud, I know I wasn't with you for much of the fighting, but you did good!" the female praised as she gave him a hug.

"Well, I better start unpacking," she sighed as she pulled away, "I've got work later today and it's a Friday, so I'm working late tonight."

~~~Fin. Chapter 8~~~

Masterlist

[the-quiet-winds]

Close Enough to Start a War (part one)

i’m back. @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts is back (this was her idea, and it kind of developed from there). 

like, reblog, do all that nice stuff. this is part one of two. 

[Part 1: When the Thunder Calls]

the queens had not long started their second european tour and were currently stationed in paris, so none of them were aware of the documentary that had aired the night before back in the UK. that is, not until boleyn walks into the kitchen where the other queens are sitting having breakfast, frowning at her phone.

“did anyone else wake up tagged in a bunch of tweets about some documentary?” she asks. the others share puzzled looks before they reach for their own phones.

jane glances at her (rarely used) twitter. she had indeed been tagged in hundreds of tweets about a documentary, apparently by some guy called Professor Steven Redbridge, where he claimed to reveal the true story of Henry VIII’s wives.

“i don’t know why they still keep doing these,” cleves comments, raising an eyebrow at her own phone. “I mean, they could just ask us what it was like.”

“maybe we should give it a watch?” offers parr. she feels she knows what’s coming - another bland retelling of the six of them, basic facts about who they were, what they did, how they died.

plain, simple, dry.

boy, was she wrong.

“Henry’s first wife,” redbridge introduces that afternoon, the queens all seated on the couches and chairs in their rented space, “was Catherine of Aragon, the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand, the famous Spanish rulers who sent Columbus on his great quest to America.”

“at least he got that right,” grumbles aragon.

“Catherine of Aragon was primarily known as a devout member of the Christian faith, whom, once Henry was bewitched by Anne Boleyn, was sent off to a nunnery, the seemingly perfect place for someone as faithful as she.”

“when will people realise that there’s a big difference between christian faiths!” aragon glares at the tv. “i’m catholic. that’s really quite important to the whole story of england. besides, i didn’t just go.” meanwhile boleyn, who was squashed between cleves and jane on the couch that really was only big enough for two people, had her nose scrunched questioningly.

“he means ‘bewitched’ in a metaphorical sense, right?”

“catherine had given henry a daughter,” Redbridge continues, “but henry needed a son. could he find that with the beautiful anne, a shrewd political strategist who schemed for the crown?”

that last line caught everyone off guard.

“shrewd?” boleyn challenges.

“strategist?” asks parr.

“schemed?” cleves quips.

“anne boleyn, daughter of the french court, came to england in hopes of usurping the english crown from an unsuspecting catherine of aragon,” redbridge says smartly.

aragon throws a handful of popcorn at the tv. “that’s not true!” boleyn felt almost a bit of gratitude at aragon defending her.

“anne, meanwhile,” redbridge continues, “had her ways of enchanting henry. many reports claim that anne was not only a gorgeous french woman, but a witch.” he points to the base of his hand. “sometimes a sixth finger can come in handy.”

boleyn looks down at her hands, nearly in tears. all of the queens knew that, while she made a joke about it on stage, she is secretly very embarrassed about the abnormality, one that may have caused her death.

jane puts her hand on boleyn’s arm to comfort her. “turn it off,” she says to parr, who has the remote. “we don’t need to watch this rubbish.”

“it’s okay,” boleyn swallows slightly, blinking back tears. “i want to see how ridiculous they can get.” she sniffs and rubs her eyes angrily with her fists. “i’m not even proper french, let alone a witch.”

katherine, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, resting her back against the space next to jane’s legs, turns to look at her cousin, concerned, and boleyn sends her a watery grin, mouthing “i’m fine,” even though her eyes are still filled with tears.

“anne, however, couldn’t bewitch the king forever,” redbridge speaks. “after anne gives birth to a daughter, henry’s eyes start to wander, and soon his attentions turn to jane seymour, lady-in-waiting to the queen.”

“this ought to be interesting,” jane mumbles. she feels a weight against her leg and looks down; katherine was leaning her head against her knee. with a soft smile, jane lets a hand fall to slowly and absently play with katherine’s hair.

“there’s a reason,” redbridge says, drawing jane’s attention back to the screen, “that many people forget about the third wife. jane was very drastically different from her predecessors. where catherine and anne we’re larger than life figures, bold and unique, jane was demure, soft-spoken, and said to be very maternal.”

jane realizes that her spot may not be so bad, until redbridge speaks again.

“she is best known for her son, edward, and for dying immediately after.” he looks upward with a laugh. “ol’ jane seymour, if you’re up there, i hope you’re doing more than you did down here.”

jane can feel katherine practically start seething and she immediately tries to soothe her by running her fingers through katherine’s hair. the words sting jane as much as she tries not to let it affect her; mostly because, unlike the other queens, she fears redbridge was right about her. that was her legacy, wasn’t it? giving henry his son and then dying?

her thoughts continue even through redbridge’s next narration. “once jane died, henry moved on very quickly, finding love with the beautiful woman he saw in a portrait. when his new bride Anne of Cleves arrived in England, however, henry realises he’d been tricked. the woman he was marrying was the spitting image of a horse.” the editors included the sound effect of a horse whinnying to accompany his words.

cleves ‘humphs’. “the editing is taking it a little too far.” she pauses and smirks. “at least the horse is better looking than scraggly-beard over here.”

the ladies quietly chuckle at this as redbridge begins the next narration.

“Katherine Howard,” he states. jane feels kat stiffen slightly and begins to slowly play with her hair again.

“...was a young girl from England, only around sixteen upon marrying the king.” he pauses for effect. “this may sound horrifying and traumatic but believe me, it was just her plan.”

“my plan?” katherine repeats, quietly and incredulously.

“ever since she was a child, Katherine was known to bewitch more boys that Boleyn, enjoying lustful affairs with men much older than she. she was brought to court as a lady-in-waiting to Anne of Cleves, and immediately began her attempts to woo the king, the seductive temptress in his own court.”

katherine’s blood runs cold as the words wash over her. she didn’t “enjoy” any affairs, she didn’t even want any of them. she feels the hot tears threatening to spill from her eyes, and almost unconsciously she whispers, “i was a child.”

redbridge doesn’t stop there, however. “the young seductress soon had the king in the palm of her hand and he married her, but despite all katherine’s planning and manipulation, she wasn’t clever enough to conceal her affair of passion with the courtier thomas culpeper.”

katherine stiffens at hearing culpepper's name, everything getting worse by the minute. what happened with him was based from anything but passion. she can vaguely feel jane's hand weaving through her hair, but it doesn't seem real.

"the two were tragic as romeo and juliet - brought down by a forbidden affair," redbridge says wistfully, before becoming pedantic once again. "once the seductress was found out, no one could stop the warpath henry went on. he executed culpepper first, even though he claimed being unable resist katherine's advantages, before beheading the temptress herself." he chuckles despite himself, then lightens his tone. "well at least she didn't die a virgin - that's better than i can say for some of my friends."

parr stands up and switches the tv off. “i think that’s enough of that,” she says firmly. “i can guess the type of things he’s going to say about me, and i don’t think any of us need to listen to this any longer.”

katherine doesn’t even hear her, lost in what redbridge had said. is this what people would believe? did they believe it already? her breathing rapidly becomes shallow and panicked, and she doesn’t even notice being lifted from the floor and being placed on jane’s lap until jane wraps her arms around her, rubbing a gentle hand against her back and trying to soothe her with soft words. katherine’s head falls sideways against jane’s shoulder and she can’t even stop the tears that stream down her face.

"what a load of bullshit," cleves hisses. "i don't know what books he was reading, but he couldn't have been more wrong if he tried."

boleyn reaches over and pats katherine's shoulder awkwardly, parr lightly strokes her hair, and aragon starts swearing in spanish. jane continues her light ministrations across katherine's back.

katherine, however, feels too many hands on her, so full of panic and distrust that she can't help but try to escape. all she can think about is getting away from them, as supportive and lovely as they were, and doing it fast.

she throws her hands out.

the heel of her palm connects with something, and that something would turn out to be jane's nose.

katherine, had she been in her right mind, would have recognized immediately what had happened, seeing the blood beginning to drip from jane's nose, but instead, she simply jumps up and runs up to her room, slamming the door and locking it shut.

she curls up on the floor in the very corner of her room, knees drawn up to her chest as she rocks slightly. her breathing gets more and more erratic until she’s hyperventilating. those words from the documentary keep running through her mind. temptress, seductress, bewitching, part of her plan... that was what people saw when they looked at her story. the harlot who seduced the king and then committed adultery, that’s all she was to the public. they didn’t hear the screams of her nightmares, or see the figures looming above her, or feel the panic when any man approaches her.

she can see spots in front of her eyes and feels her nails dig into her shins and that tightness in her chest as her breathing keeps getting quicker and quicker until it stops altogether.

katherine's body unfurls as she passes out, her back landing solid against the wall with a loud thump, the last thing on her mind is an executioner's blade before it all goes blank.

[peaches-of-1]

Peachtober | Day 22: Ghost (Part 1)

Phantom of the Opera!AU

Phantom!Taehyung x Christine!Reader x Raoul!Chan

This is based off of the film since it is more readily available as a source of reference in regards of scenes and set up. I have never seen the stage play, so there’s that too. Anywhosies, enjoy the not so fictional tale of The Phantom.

Old feeble feet exited the fine carriage with his family coat of arms emblazoned on the side. He had come alone, only a few servants to help bring home whatever he wanted to keep from the old opera house. Now that Chan had gotten older and it was too aged to be enjoyed, he decided to let the public auction off whatever they could salvage. He was helped into his wheelchair and brought inside the opera house.

As he was rolled into a place where he could hear clearly the items being sold, a woman about the same age as him stood tall and regal like her mother always had. She had known Chan for a long time but hadn’t seen him in many years. Of course she’d be here. Their eyes met.

“Soyeon,” his lips silently formed, shocked to see her here.

She had been in America last he knew.

“Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen.” The auctioneer announced as a white gloved man brought it out. “A paper-mache music box in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey is Persian robes playing the cymbals.”

Chan looked away from his old friend Soyeon and to the brown mechanical music box with tarnished cymbals still attached to the poor creature’s hands.

The auctioneer continued to speak as the gloved young man showed it off, “This item was discovered in the theater vaults, still in working order, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Showing here.” The gloved man turned it on.

From the music box played a familiar tune. Chan’s throat tightened, and Soyeon smiled at the memories that the sound brought. It had been a beautiful masquerade…

“2k won. Let’s start at 2k won, anyone?”

A person raised their hand.

“Two thousand, thank you.”

Chan raised his hand slowly, so his maid raised hers to get the attention of the auctioneer for 3k. Soyeon raised her hand. 4k. Then to 5k. 6...7k, sold! To Bang Chan, the former owner of this very theater.

The music box was placed in his elderly hands, A collector’s piece indeed. Every detail exactly as she said. Will you still play when the rest of us are dead? He teared up thinking about her, the one he loved even after all these decades.

“Item 666, then...a chandelier in pieces.”

Silence settled over the small rich crowd. Many of those that were here now were mere babes back then and heard the tale from their parents or perhaps grandparents.

“Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained.”

But rather experienced. Soyeon and Chan knew that chandelier very well as they had been there on the very day the auctioneer vaguely described. Perhaps afraid to gain the attention of the old Phantom.

He continued, “We’re told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which features in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired and wired it for the new electric light. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination.”

Chan scoffed and began a coughing fit. If only he were just a ghost. Soyeon thought to herself why would he be scared now if he wasn’t frightened then?

“Gentlemen.”

The sheet was removed, the lights turned on, and the crystals raised up to the sky. A wave of tumultuous nostalgia rolled over the auction’s patrons.

The shining crystals illuminated the red and golden interior of Korea’s oldest theatre. The halls were alive with the bustling of dancers and singers and actresses and riggers and musicians, etc. of all ages and sizes. Language upon language was spoken whether it be song or native tongue, maybe even learned from another cast or crew member.

Music booklets were handed out by Conductor Himcham as people got ready for the last dress rehearsals before Opening Night in just a few hours. Hair and makeup could be smelled from onstage. Vocals were warmed up and alcoholic drinks were sneakily shared as one of the crew looked through a hole in the wall to see into the ladies’ dressing room.

Junjin and Andy were guided by the former manager, Mir, through the busy halls where they were bowed to since they were new faces but obviously older than much of the cast, a sign of respect. You and Soyeon raced down the steps and dusted your pointe slippers while in costume and talking excitedly.

Mir interrupted the music, “Pardon me. Pardon!” and waited for everything to settle down. “As you know, there have been rumors of my imminent retirement for the past few weeks. I can now tell you that these are all true…”

People gasped and chattered and were silent at the same time.

“It is my pleasure to introduce to you the new gentleman who now own the Opera de la Gu: Park Junjin and Lee Andy.”

The performers applauded knowing that the man’s time had come and hoping these men would treat them right.

Mir continued, “I’m sure you’ve read of their recent fortune they’ve gained in the junk business.”

“Scrap metal, actually.” The shorter of the two said.

The taller spoke, “And we are honored to introduce our new patron to Vicomte de Cheongdam.”

More applause as the young blonde entered, but you rushed to the front to see if it really was him. You looked wide eyed with Soyeon at your side.

“It’s Chris.” You said and looked at her. “Before my father died, at the house by the sea. I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts.”

You couldn’t stop staring at him with a bright smile plastered on your face.

“He called me Little Lotte.” You blushed at the memory.

“Y/N, he’s so handsome!” Soyeon exclaimed.

Chan spoke, “My parents and I are happy to support all the arts, especially the world renowned Opera de la Gu.” He looked at all those he’d be paying to perform for the masses.

A beautiful woman in her full bejeweled and bedazzled costume approached the Vicomte with her hand outstretched or him to hold. When he did, she curtised.

The old owner introduced her, “Gentlemen, Miss Jessica Ho, our lead for five seasons.”

“Brava! Brava!” Her maids and men in waiting cheered, knowing they’d get yelled at if they didn’t.

“Call me Jessi.” Her raspy yet squeaky voice replied.

The chubby man with a fake beard cleared his throat.

“Mister Park Jae-sang.” Mir said to introduce the man.

More applause.

Chan then spoke, “An honor, sunbaenim.” He then looked around. “I believe I’m keeping you from your rehearsal. I’ll be here this evening to stare in your triumph of opening night.”

He gave a small bow and left, but not before Andy and Junjin spoke with him for a moment. Everyone applauded at the tiny speech while Jessi told them sweet farewells. She then went to her makeup crew for touch ups saying how much they loved her.

Himcham called for attention, “Once more from the top, Jae-sang-ssi.”

Mir spoke to the Vicomte, “Thank you so much for your inspiring words. So wonderful and encouraging.”

They all passed by right in front of you and Chris didn’t give you so much as a glance despite your heart calling out to him. You looked down out of embarrassment at getting your hopes up, and Soyeon noticed.

“He wouldn’t recognize me.” You said.

“He didn’t see you.” Your bestie assured.

Her mother spoke to Andy and Junjin, “If you please, my good sirs.” and brushed them off to the side of the stage.

You and other dancers flew past them chained to each other in groups of three while Madame CL looked on to give you notes. She wouldn’t accept anything but the best as you knew from living under her roof since you were young.

“We take particular pride in the excellence of our ballet.”

“I see why.” Andy said. “Especially that little blonde angel.”

The blonde leaned down in a way that only years of training could make graceful and came up in a similar manner.

“Soyeon, my daughter.” Madame CL said, shooting them a frightening glace of warning.

The men and woman moved to scan the rest of the dancers.

Junjin stopped her and pointed his cane at you, “And that exceptional beauty. No relation, I trust?”

“Y/N. Promising talent, Park-nim. Very promising.”

You were too busy practicing your routine with the other girls to realize you were being chatted about, doing splits after coming out of a spin.

“Y/L/N) you say? No relation to the famous violinist?” The shorter man asked.

To which CL responded, “His only child. Orphaned at seven when she came to live and train in the ballet dormitories.”

“An orphan, you say~?” The taller one showed interest.

“I think of her as a daughter, also.” She cut off any hope of pursuing her pupil. “Gentleman, please stand to one side.”

As they were singing, Psy stepped on Jessi’s dress, and she scolded him, breaking character. Even though she was the one who was staring at the new managers instead of where she was supposed to be going. The two men continued to chatter about the girls they found attractive as Psy was being helped onto the large paper mache elephant. Jessi turned to smile at Junjin and Andy, but found their attention elsewhere, making her pout even as she sang the last crescendoing note.

The men failed to hoist up their male lead, causing his hat to fall off. All at once, things fell to pieces.

“I can’t believe it!” Jessi complained. “All they watched, all they want is the dancing!”

Mir had returned to the two men to say, “Well, the Vicomte seems very excited about tonight’s gala.”

The diva herself approached and then chuckled, “I hope he is as excited by dancing girls as the new managers because I will NOT BE SINGING!” She marched off to her dressing room cursing in both Korean and English. “Bring my doggie! Give me my doggie, bye bye.”

Andy looked at the past manager who was going through his last headache, “What do we do?”

Mir sighed, “Grovel. Grovel!”

The men also sighed and began to beg and kneel, pleading her to stay. They were able to calm her down...eventually...by persuading her to sing her solo song from Act III. Two seconds ago she was crying and complaining about her headpiece, but now she was all smiled.

“If my managers command it.” She moved center stage. “Conductor?”

Himcham rolled his eyes, “If my diva commands it.”

“I do!” She replied and then told everyone to shut up as she got ready and the conductor got into place. She sprayed her special throat spray that was a home mix and tasted like rotten bananas.

“Madame.”

“Maestro…” She gave a smile to Andy and Junjin and if the Vicomte was there, she would’ve given her biggest one to him.

Staff cleaning up the seating area stuffed their ears with cotton balls. A luxury not afforded to the rest of the cast.

Jessi began to sing, “Think of me, think of me fondlay when we've said goodbye/Remember me, once in a while please promeese me you'll tryyyyyyyyeeee/When you find that, once agayn, you long to take yer heart back—”

Suddenly, one of the painted backdrops fell on top of Jessi, knocking her down. The canvas, along with her heavy dress made it impossible for her to get back up on her own. She squealed and screamed for help.

“Lift it up!” Someone called.

“He’s here.” Soyeon said, grabbing your hands. “The Phantom of the Opera.”

Everyone looked to see if they could find him in the rafters.

“Good God, S, what is going on up there? How could you let this happen?” Mir yelled.

S, as the rigger was called, turned the wheel to lift the backdrop back into place, “Please, sir, don’t look at me for this. I wasn’t even at my post. I promise there’s no one there, sir. Or...if there is...it must be a ghost.”

Just as he said that, a letter with a red wax skull seal landed at CL’s feet. She was looking for him, but hadn’t seen any trace other than the envelope. She picked it up.

“Madame, these things do happen.” Andy said now that Jessi was on her feet.

Jessi spat back, “For the last three years ‘these things do happen’ and did you stop them from happening?” She pointed at Mir, raging. “NO! No you did not!” Then she turned her rage on the new managers. “And you two! You’re as bad as him with your dumbass ‘these things do happen’!”

She picked up her dress and took off her shoes to throw at them, “Until you stop these things from happening, this thing,” She pointed to herself. “Will not be happening!”

Lead singer and local diva Jessi left calling once more for her dog and her box. This time, she really left. The new managers looked at each other, worried because they’d have to cancel tonight’s show without her.

“Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me, I’ll be in Australia.” Said Mir as he quickly got out of there.

“Jessica Ho is...she will be coming back, won’t she?” Andy asked.

Madame CL chuckled, the opened letter in her hand, “Do you think so, Mister?”

They looked at her.

“I have a message from the Opera Ghost.”

Junjin exclaimed, “Oh, God in Heaven, you’re all obsessed!”

“He welcomes you to his opera house.”

“His opera house?”

CL continued, “And commands that you leave box #15 empty for his use. He also reminds you that his salary is due.”

Any grabbed the note, “His salary?”

She nodded, “Mister Mir used to give him 3,900,000 won a month.”

The tall man gasped and took the leader to read, “3 million 900 thousand?”

“Perhaps you can afford more with the Vicomte as your patron?”

“Madame, I was hoping to make that fact public tonight when the vicomte was to join us at the gala.” Junjin said with troubled eyes. “Obviously, we shall now have to cancel as it appears we have lost our star!” He ripped the paper and threw it onto the ground.

Andy piped up, trying to calm the worried faces, “But surely there must be an understudy?”

The conductor scoffed, “Understudy? There is no understudy for THE Jessi.”

“A full house, Andy! We shall have to refund a full house!”

“Y/N could sing it, sir.” CL said with utmost confidence and knowing what he wanted.

You looked up and glanced between the two men.

Andy looked you up and down, “What? A chorus girl? Don’t be silly, Madame CL.”

“She has been taking lessons from a great teacher.”

“Who?” He looked directly at you.

Returning his gaze with softness, you responded, “I don’t know his name, Sir.”

CL placed her hand on your shoulder, “Let her sing for you, Misters. She has been well taught.”

“Alright.” Andy said, knowing they should at least give you a chance. “Come on, don’t be shy.”

You began to walk to center stage with a bundle of nerves in your stomach, doing your utmost to remember what you had been taught. Of course all that the Angel had helped you learn wouldn’t fail you now, or so you hoped.

“From the beginning of the aria then, please, Y/N-ssi.” Mir said, raising his wand.

Junjin grabbed his friend’s arm, “Andy, this is doing nothing for my nerves.”

“Well, she’s very pretty.” He replied.

You sang the song you had heard for months on end from the wings and were now getting a chance to perform it yourself, “Think of me, think of me fondly/When we've said goodbye~/ Remember me, once in a while/Please, promise me you'll try/When you find that, once again, you long/To take your heart back and be free/If you ever find a moment/Spare a thought for me”

People began to come back to the stage, some half undressed, to see the girl Madame CL held so much affection for sing her heart out with a voice they had not expected. How did she gain such a talent? Musical genius must’ve run in the family. Even from the catwalk, crew stopped arguing about being at their given posts to look down at you and hear you sing.

On stage now in the finished dress, star clips cascaded down your hair. You looked into the audience while music played. This was really happening.

“We never said our love was evergreen/Or as unchanging as the sea/But if you can still remember/Stop and think of me/Think of all the things/We've shared and seen/Don't think about the things/Which might have been”

Chan was watching from Box 5 since he had not been there for the warning letter and no one had passed the news onto him. He watched as memories from your shared childhood played in his mind. CL and Soyeon looked on with pride.

“Think of me, think of me waking/Silent and resigned/Imagine me trying too hard/To put you from my mind/Recall those days, look back on all those times/Think of the things we'll never do/There will never be a day/When I won't think of you”

The Phantom listened from the deepest parts of the catacombs to his pupil’s singing. He had wished to see your performing debut but it had been taken from him. It’d be ok. He’d get his revenge soon enough. Just hearing your voice was blessing enough.

Cymbals crashed gently as horns played.

“Can it be?” Chan asked himself. “Can it be (Y/N)?” He stood and applauded. “Bravo!”

What a change! You're really not a bit the gawkish girl that once you were. The blonde young man thought and then raced down the stairs to make his way backstage and continued to think to himself, Long ago. It seemed so long ago, how young and innocent we were. She may not remember me, but I remember her.

He did not noticed CL lurking behind a doorway curtain.

You remembered to breathe on stage as you focused hard on this part, “We never said our love was evergreen/Or as unchanging as the sea/But please promise me that sometimes/You will think…” you began to vocalize as you had been allowed to do via sheet music and the conductor. “—of me!”

The audience exploded in cheers, whistles, and applause as the music finished. Meeting eyes with Conductor Himcham, he gave you a silent, “Bravo.”

You smiled and lived in the moment, scanning the audience of the awed faces. You had done it!

Now backstage, everyone was drinking and mingling even before the gala began. Chan fought through the crowd to where your dressing room was, being stopped halfway by Junjin and Andy who had chorus girls hanging all over them. Soyeon was also looking for you, knowing you’d be at your father’s shrine.

And you were. A picture of him was there as you lit the white candles on either side of it.

The voice you knew so well came through the vents, “Brava. Brava. Bravissima~”

You then heard Soyeon calling your name, “Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect. I only wish I knew your secret. Who is this new tutor?”

With a solemn face, you responded, “Father once spoke of an Angel. I used to dream he'd appear. Now as I sing, I can sense him. And I know he's here. Here in this room, he calls me softly. Somewhere inside, hiding. Somehow I know he's always with me. He, the unseen genius.”

Your blonde childhood friend looked at you with a confused and utterly puzzled expression upon her face, prompting you to explain.

You looked up at her, “Soyeon, when your mother brought me to come live with you, whenever I’d come down here alone to light a candle for my father, a voice from above and in my dreams. He was always there.”

She looked at you with attentive and curious eyes.

“You see, when father lay dying, he told me I’d be protected by an angel. An angel of music.”

Soyeon asked, “Y/N, do you believe...do you think the spirit of your father has been coaching you?”

“Who else, Soyeon? Who?” You replied fervently.

She shook her blonde curls, “Y/N, you must have been dreaming. Stories like this can't come true. 친구, you're talking in riddles, and it's not like you.”

Both of you spoke your thoughts out loud with you calling to the one who taught you for so long, “Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your ​glory.”

With your friend asking, “Who is this angel? This Angel of music.”

“Angel of music, hide no longer, secret and strange Angel.” and Soyeon repeated the plea and reached for your hands.

You looked about the halls, “He's with me even now.”

“Your hands are cold!”

“All around ​me.” You did not hear her words.

She gasped, “Your face, Y/N, it’s white!”

Your attention was elsewhere, “It frightens ​me…”

And finally you met Soyeon’s eyes as she comforted you, “Don’t be frightened.”

CL met you two when you were returning to the main area and said she wanted to speak to you in particular. She guided you to your dressing room and shut the door on some men who wanted to have a “private interview” with the female lead, you. Then the woman turned to you and smiled.

“You did very well, my dear.” She touched your face lovingly and then went to your vanity to pick up a red rose with a ribbon tied around it. “He is pleased with you.”

She handed you the rose which you held and looked at, rubbing the black ribbon with your fingers. She left soon after to allow you to be alone with your thoughts.

It had been a while since Chan had seen the excited managers. He had been distracted by other company members, but was finally close to your door when they called out to him once more.

“Seems like we’ve made quite the discovery with Miss Y/L/N.” Junjin grinned.

Andy added, “Perhaps we could present her to you, dear vicomte?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, this is one visit I would like you make...unaccompanied.” He grabbed the bouquet of flowers Junjin was holding. “Oh, thank you.”

And he gave a bow to CL before he went in since she was coming out at the same time, giving him a polite yet cold smile.

“It would appear that they’ve met before.” The tall man said.

“Indeed.” the other replied.

As he opened the door, Chan paused and stared at the now grown up beauty, “‘Little Lotte let her mind wander.’”

You smiled and laughed to yourself, “Remember that poem too?”

“‘Little Lotte thought: Am I fonder of dolls…’”

Both of your voices said in sync, “‘Or of goblins or shoes?’”

“‘Or of riddles of frocks’” You words overlapped with his own nostalgia.

“Those picnics in the attic.” and then the face you knew from the start kept quoting the poem your father read to both of you as children. “‘ of chocolates?’”

You couldn’t hide your pure happiness at seeing him again, “Father playing the violin…”

He crouched in front of you and held your hands, “As we read to each other dark stories of the North.”

You then made a face, “‘No, what I love best, Lotte said is when I'm asleep in my bed and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!”

He joined you once more to repeat the line, “The Angel of Music sings songs in my head!”

Your old friend gave a sigh and held you for a moment, “You sounded like an angel tonight.”

You thanked him and then told him what had been told to Soyeon not too long ago.

“Father said, ‘When I’m in Heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you.’ Well, Father is dead, Chris, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music.”

His eyes widened in assurance, “Oh, no doubt about it, and now we got to supper.” Chan stood and made his way to the door.

“No, Chris, the Angel of Music is very strict.” I said.

With a dumb smile, he replied, “Well, I won’t keep you up late then.”

“Chris, no.”

“You must change. I’ll order my carriage.” His hand was on the door. “Ten minutes, Little Lotte...and call me Chan.”

You stood from your chair, calling after him, “No, Chris--Chan, wait!”

The door closed behind your childhood love. You sighed. He had changed so much and yet he was still the boy you adored. Even after all these years, you were still his Little Lotte. You began to get out of your dress with the help of the costumers and took the star pins out of your hair. As you did so, you hadn’t realized you were being locked in once the ladies left.

He was silent as a mouse. Not a single click of the lock to warn you as you tied the front of your sheer and lacy robe which rested upon a pale colored silken slip. Soon, a wind caused your candles to go out, the only source of light in your room. A voice came from the vents. One you knew so well and had been expecting.

“Insolent boy! This slave of fashion basking in your glory! Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor sharing in my triumph!”

You looked around for the source of the voice, “Angel! I hear you! Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me!” You placed a hand over your heart as you gazed at the floor. “Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, Master!”

The husky tone replied, “Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror. I am there inside!”

Following his orders as usual, you faced the mirror and saw a figure cloaked in black, a white mask covering half of a face. What was behind yourself. He was not there, not a reflection but past your own image. Behind the mirror itself is where he stood.

“Angel of Music! Guid and guardian! Grant to me your glory! Angel of Music, hide no longer! Come to me, strange angel.” You sang as the very mirror opening along with the wall.

“I am your Angel…” He held out his hand to you and you approached. “Come to me: Angel of Music”

Even the violent rattling of someone trying to get in did not break the gaze you had on your angel.

It was Chan, with gloves in his hands, who had come to get you. He was worried for your safety, confused as to why the door had been locked in the first place.

“Whose is that voice?” He asked to himself. Then he called through the door. “Who is that in there?” your childhood crush called from outside though you did not hear anything at all.

No sensation did you feel or process other than the alluring figure before you. Even as Chris called your name, all you heard was the voice of the Phantom as you took his outstretched hand, covered in black.

“I am your Angel of Music...Come to me: Angel of Music”

“Y/N!”

You both then travelled the secret halls as he led you down the surprisingly well lit pathway. He kept his hand holding yours firmly and looked back at you to make sure you were still there from time to time. Sometimes, you looked back because you had no idea what was going on. Where you were.

Thoughts flowed through your mind at this sudden reveal, In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. That voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind.

He pulled you forward with motivations of his own passing though his head, Sing once again with me our strange duet. My power over you grows stronger yet.

“And though you turn from me to glance behind~” Oh he noticed, but assured you that, “The Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind.” as if he could read your thoughts.

The two of you went down some steps now. This was a place so very unfamiliar to you although much of your formative years had been spent running the halls of the Opera House. He helped you into a gondola that helped to cross the ever flooded part of the theatre vaults.

A gate rose to reveal what looked like his home. There was a bed. Pianos. Candelabras with intricate detailing. As soon as you hit land, the Phantom threw off his cloak and stared at you as your eyes looked curiously around his lair. The Phantom’s Lair, beneath the Opera House. Music sheets and aged posters for past shows were everywhere.

You let yourself speak aloud, “Those who have seen your face draw back in fear. I am the mask you wear--”

“It's me they hear…”

“Your spirit and my voice in one combined. The Phantom of the Opera is there, inside my mind.” Both of you sang, changing certain possessives respectively.

Something deep inside of you warned to beware the Phantom of the Opera.

He sang as you looked around at his expansive lair, “In all your fantasies, you always knew that both man and mystery--”

“Were both in you…” The words came from your mouth before you could stop them.

They made him smile as you joined voices once again, “And in this labyrinth, where night is blind the Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind…”

He then demanded, “Sing, my Angel of Music!”

As always, you sang out what your heart held, “He's there, the Phantom of the Opera~” followed by a wordless melody since no words in any language that you knew could describe what you felt.

As he goaded you on with “Sing!” you let your voice crescendo and go up an octoave.

“Sing for me! Sing, my Angel of Music!”

Higher still.

“Sing for me!”

You reached the highest part of your register in order to make him proud, to please the mysterious man that gave you your voice in the first place. He seemed to smile behind that half mask of his. A beautiful face from what you could see, hidden behind porcelain.

He then spoke as you walked arm in arm, “I have brought you yo the seat of sweet music's throne. To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music. Music…” he breathed. “You have come here for one purpose and one alone. Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me, to sing for my music. My music…”

With a firm stance, he stilled your movements and met your eyes for a moment, “Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses. Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. ”

He moved your gaze to him and held you so that the two of you were in the perfect position for a waltz. The only sound was his voice. The only feeling was of his hands on your body. The only sight was his face.

“Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light and listen to the music of the night. Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before. Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!”

You breathed in his scent of everlasting petrichor.

“And you'll live as you've never lived before.” He promised as the two of you turned in endless circles. “Softly, deftly, music shall surround you. Feel it, hear it closing in around you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this darkness which you know you cannot fight the darkness of the music of the night.”

You knew you could belong to him fully, but what about Chris? A memory of his blonde hair glowing in the candle’s flame came to mind.

A firm grip on your hand pulled you back to the one in front of you, “Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before, let your soul take you where you long to be.”

Your eyes did not leave his form even as you noticed beautiful busts and commissioned artwork as well. None of them could compare to the striking looks of the Phantom.

His deep voice lulled you as the spinning stopped and he stared intently into your eyes, tan skin and dark eyes persuading you, “Only then can you belong to me.” his hands held your face and slid down to your shoulders. The look in his eyes looked as if they couldn’t believe you were actually in his grasp.

He turned you around, hands gliding across the front of your corset to hold you passionately from behind as he continued to serenade you. “Floating, falling, sweet intoxication.” Gloved hands.

One held your own as you leaned into him. The other on your hip. Eyes closed, you breathed him and his husky melodic voice into yourself.

“Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation.” He placed your hand upon the unmasked side of his face.

Skin to skin contact that made you shiver. You wanted to face him once more, so you did. Opening your eyes, you saw how much he craved you.

“Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in to the power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night.”

Again, he linked his arm into yours and walking commenced. He took you somewhere else, to behind a curtain where you saw yourself. A 3D version of you head to toe in wedding attire. Seeing such an image made you faint.

Taehyung realized he might have taken things a little too fast, seeing as he was now carrying his affection’s unconscious body in a princess hold all the way to his ben where his love could lay until waking from her exhaustion. Suddenly being the lead in a show to this might have been too much for her.

Y/N had worked so hard tonight with her stage debut as the lead. All the adoration. However, all she needed was him. Taehyung knew she’d come to realize that.

““You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night.” he asked as he touched her face, so glad and still unbelieving she was with him.

All he could do was stare at her as the curtains around the bed closed around Y/N who seemed to glow. The Opera Ghost was just a man who had been treated like a monster, who had fallen in love from afar. And he would have his love, and his love would have him. All he had to do was wait.

You awoken to the sound of rhythmic cymbals and a light tune. Where had you woken up? Whose room had such a monkey as a music box? No one that you knew, was it? You saw the box through black lace curtains which you spread apart in order to stand, your white and sheer pull over floating about your feet.

“I remember there was mist,” You said to yourself as you began to walk into the main room. “Swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake. There were candles all around, and on the lake, there was a boat.”

Emerging from the bedroom, you saw the candles from your hazy memory.

“And in the boat, there was a man.”

Alas, there was the man still in his white mask as he turned towards you. He must’ve heard you talking to yourself above his organ keys. You couldn’t help but give him a smile and find your way towards him though he turned to nervously stare at the ivories before him.

“Who was that shape in the shadows?” You asked him directly. “Whose is the face in the mask?” At his one sided blush, you giggled. “What is your name?”

“Vuh...V, but please, my dear Y/N, call me Taehyung or Tae. Whatever is to your preference.” He kissed your hand which soon traveled to his face.

Your gentle hands caressed his tanned and glistening cheeks while watching him revel in the touch. However, you had always been the curious type and you wanted to see his entire face, what was behind the mask.

“Tae, what a beautiful name. I’m sure you have an even more beautiful face.” As soon as the mask had been removed from his visage, he whipped around in anger.

You gasped.

“Damn you! You little prying Pandora!” He screamed as you saw his face. “You little demon, is this what you wanted to see?”

The man stared at his face, half of which was deformed with scars and large bumps and let sorrow creep in for a moment before returning to chastising the one who revealed such a side.

“Curse you! You little lying Delilah! You little viper!” He hissed, spraying spittle onto your cowering form. “Now you cannot ever be free!”

The man saw the pure fear in your eyes and walked away, knocking down an array of paper weights.

“Damn you...Curse you!” Frustration seeped into his tone as he covered his deformity with one hand.

Was he cursing your or himself at this point? That you could not tell, but tears threatened to spill as you wiped your face and began to sit up in your white corset and undergarments as you still weren’t properly dressed.

Then he began to speak again, Stranger than you dreamt it. Can you even dare to look Or bear to think of me--this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven? Secretly...secretly, Y/N.”

W...H...Heaven? Was he calling you his Heaven? Tae looked at the false figure of you in a wedding gown and floral veil. This glance had seemingly given him an idea as he stated his thoughts aloud.

His eyes seared into yours as he came towards you, “Fear can turn to love. You'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster…”

To call himself a monster, to make all the assumptions wasn’t fair to either of you. Yes, you had taken his mask, but you did not think of his face being worth damnation.

“This repulsive carcass, who seems a beast But secretly dreams of beauty. Secretly, secretly...Oh, Y/N.” He hid his face behind his hand once more now that he was sitting next to you on the floor.

Your tears fell down your face due to pity--no--compassion for all that this man had come to believe about himself. All of these lies...all of his life it seemed. You reached out your hand holding the mask in it, returning it as you felt guilty for what you had done, causing so much of his pain to come to the surface.

The clock tolled as he stuck the mask back onto his affected side.

“Come,” his husky voice said as he offered his hand. “We must return. Those two fools who run my theater will be missing you.”

Junjin read the headline of a paper which echoed the same thing as all the others, “‘Mystery after gala night,’ It says, ‘Mystery of soprano’s flight!’” He scoffed and handed the paper to one of the theatre assistants. “‘Mystified,’ baffled 경찰 say. ;We are mystified. We suspect foul play!’”

The man folded up his sleeves and sighed before he continued walking, “Bad news on soprano scene. First our Jessi, now Y/N. Still at least the seats get sold since gossip's worth its weight in gold.” He smiled in spite of everything. “What a way to run a business, spare me these unending trials. Half your cast disappears, but the crowd still cheers. Opera! To hell with Gluck and Handel It's a scandal that'll pack 'em in the aisles!”

However, Andy had a different view of things, nearly screeching as he saw his business partner, “Damnable! Will they all walk out? This is damnable!”

“Andy, please don't shout. It's publicity, and the take is vast. Free publicity--”

“But we have no cast!” The shorter man hissed.

Junjin motioned to the door outside, “But Andy, have you seen the queue?” and then he noticed familiar handwriting on pristine white paper. “Oh, it seems you've got one, too.”

Andy rolled his eyes and read the bothersome letter:

“Dear Andy, what a charming gala! Y/N enjoyed a great success. We were hardly bereft when that Jessi left. Otherwise, the chorus was entrancing, but the dancing was a lamentable mess.”

The taller man took his turn to read his own note:

“Dear Junjin, just a brief reminder that my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the Ghost by return of post. P.T.O. No one likes a debtor, so it's better if my orders are obeyed!”

Both of the men exclaimed, “Who would have the gall to send this? Someone with a puerile brain!”

Looking at both letters, Junjin noticed, “These are both signed ‘O.G.’”

“Who the hell is he?”

“Opera Ghost!” They immediately realized.

Andy leaned against the bannister, “It's nothing short of shocking.” the two men went back and forth with their comments.

“He's mocking our position--”

“In addition, he wants money--”

“What a funny apparition--”

“To expect a large retainer--”

“Nothing plainer--”

“He is clearly quite insane!” Andy scoffed.

Suddenly, a rather angry and irritated voice called, “Where is she?”

The men looked behind themselves to see it was their patron Bang Chan.

Andy asked, “You mean Jessi?”

The blonde nearly laughed, “I mean Miss Y/N, where is she?”

Junjin shrugged, “Well, how should we know?”

“I want an answer.” Chan said firmly. “I take it that you sent me this note.”

The taller man was puzzled, “What’s all this nonsense?”

“Of course not!” Andy said with his friend replying soon after, “Don’t look at us.”

The young man thought out loud, “She’s not with you, then?”

Both of the older men spoke at the same time having “Of course not!” overlap with “We’re in the dark.”

“Sunbaenim, don’t argue. Isn’t this the letter you wrote?” Chan showed his own note from his jacket pocket.

Junjin brushed his hair back, “And what is is that we're meant to have wrote?..er, written.” he said correcting his grammatical mistake.

Their blonde patron handed the shorter of the two older men the note to read.

“Do not fear for Miss Y/N as The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again.”

The three men looked at each other, mystified.

Chan then broke the stares, “If you didn't write it, who did?”

Jessi and her entourage burst into the room with the singer yelling, “Where is he?”

“Ah, welcome back,” Andy said sarcastically.

“Your precious patron. Where is he?” She said.

He made himself known with a bow towards the woman, “What is it now?”

The overly made up woman squawked, “I have you latter, a letter which I rather resent.” 

“And did you send it?” Junjin asked.

Chan shook his head, “Of course not!”

Andy added, “As if he would…”

“You didn’t send it?” Jessi questioned with disbelief.

“Of course not!” The patron repeated.

“What’s going on?” the taller former scrap metal businessman asked.

Jessi held out the note, “You dare to tell me that this is not the letter you sent?”

“And what is it that I'm meant to have sent?” Bang Chan reached out a gloved hand and read this note.

“Your days at the {Opéra Populaire} are numbered. Y/F/N will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take her place.”

Both of the new managers took their star soprano by the arm and spoke in tandem, “Far too many notes for my taste, and most of them about Y/N. All we've heard since we came is Miss Y/L/N's name.”

Madame CL’s voice suddenly came out of nowhere, “Miss Y/N has returned.” she said from behind the gaggle of employees with her daughter Soyeon right beside her.

Chan’s heart nearly lept out of his chest, “I hope no worse for wear--”

“As far as we’re concerned,” Andy added getting a cold glare in return.

Before anything more could happen, Junjin asked, “Where precisely is she now?”

CL responded directly, “I thought it best that she was alone.”

“She needed rest,” Soyeon piped up.

The angelically handsome patron stepped forward, “May I see her?”

A shake of the head as the older woman answered, “No Chan-nim, she will see no one.”

Jessi and her love asked, “Will she sing? Will she sing?”

With a partial smirk, CL said, “Here, I have a note.”

Everyone surged forward demanding that she let them see the note, but Junjin was the only one who added ‘Please’ and so she gave it to him.

“Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature, detailing how my theater is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. .I shall give you one last chance. Y/N has returned to you, and I am anxious her career should progress. In the new production of Il Muto, you will therefore cast Jessi as the pageboy and put Miss Y/N in the role of Countess. The role which Miss Y/N plays calls for charm and appeal. The role of the pageboy is silent which makes my casting--in a word--ideal I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in box 5, which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant

                                             ~ O.G.”

Jessi scoffed and rolled her eyes while she exclaimed, “Y/N! It's all a ploy to help Y/N! I know who sent this, The Vicomte—her lover!”

Chan feigned surprise, “Indeed?” before looking over at Soyeon. “Can you believe this?”

As Jessi began dramatically lamenting in English, Andy tried to soothe her by saying, “여왕님! This changes nothing. You are our star! 여왕님, we don't take orders .”

Junjin wanted less drama, so he tried to comfort the diva as well, “This is a joke. 여왕님! The man is mad!”

She wasn’t taking any of it, though, “Traitors! Liars! Bitches! Hos! I can’t believe I ever--”

“Miss Y/N will be playing the pageboy—the silent role.” The black haired manager said.

Andy caught on quickly, “Jessi will be playing the lead.”

Although it’s what she wanted, the diva wasn’t going to bend that easily, “It's useless trying to appease me! You're only saying this to please me!”

Madame CL did her best to warn the two men, “Who scorn his word beware to those. The angel sees, the angel knows.”

Jessi packed up all her things with the help of her crew, “You have reviled me! You have rebuked me! You have replaced me!”

Chan literally did not have time for this, so he went to find wherever his love had gone, “Why did Y/N fly from my arms?”

The managers were still grovelling, “여왕님, pardon us. Please 여왕님, we beseech you.”

As the main doors to the theatre opened, there were dozens if not hundreds of men with roses. Before any of them could ask to give their roses to Y/N, the doors were closed and the managers used this to their advantage.

Andy held out his hand to the long haired woman, “Your public needs you~”

Junjin followed suit, doing the same, but on the other side, “We need you, too~”

Still pouting, Jessi replied, “Wouldn't you rather have your precious little ingénue?”

“여왕님, no!” The managers said in unison. “The world wants you.”

After getting Jessi’s dressing room back in order and much practice and constant praises being sung nonstop, the opera was coming soon. Tomorrow in fact. Makeup and rehearsals seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye, all the while Madame CL trying to warn them that this was a bad idea. This would not turn out well, ignoring and blatantly going against the Phantom’s wishes. However, they would not listen.

Andy shrugged, “We get our Opera.”

“She gets her limelight.” Junjin explained away the concerns.

Meanwhile, Chan was worried and thinking very deeply about what all of this could mean, “Y/N spoke of an ​angel. Is this her angel of music...? Angel or madman? Orders, warnings. These lunatic demands! Surely, for her sake…I must see these demands are rejected!”

Madame CL helped clean up stray clothing while the cast was getting dressed, “Heaven help you ​those who doubt. This miscasting will invite damnation. Oh fools, to have flouted his warnings! Think, before ​these demands ​are ​rejected!”

Who'd believe a diva happy to relieve a chorus girl who’s gone and slept with the patron? Chan and the second string entwined in love's duet! Although he may demur, he must have been with her!

Junjin scratched his head, “You'd never get away with all this in a play.” and wiped the sweat from his brow as he himself got dressed for opening night.

Andy offered him a good luck shot of soju, “But if it's loudly sung and in a foreign tongue, it's just the sort of story audiences adore.”

There was no denying that, “In fact ​a perfect opera!”

Chan was dressed in his own formal attire headed towards a certain box as he spoke of his plan to the most trusted Madame CL, “In Box Five a new game will begin…”

Soyeon and the young man spoke their thoughts to the older woman, “Y/N must be protected!”

CL grabbed his arm, “This is a game you cannot hope to win!” but then she sighed. “If his curse is on this opera…Then ​I fear ​the ​outcome should you dare to --”

The play began as a bedazzled and richly dressed crowd gathered in their seats, creating a full house as is always best for a business based on acting and the arts. The intro was great and the actors were so very in character that no one could tell that the lead hated the woman who was playing her male love interest. A comedy. A good laugh or several in fact. It was just that entertaining.

No one knew that vengeance was right around the corner as black gloved hands switched out a certain diva’s throat lubricant with something less helpful.

Jessi as the Countess sang her line, “Serafimo—away with this pretence!” and ripped off a tear away skirt to reveal manly breeches underneath. “You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence!”

And Jessi spread her fan to hide the false smooch before stepping to the front to sing one of her songs, “Poor fool, he makes me laugh! Hahahahahaha…”

Her vocals very birdlike in tone but more controlled and taught enchanted the audience even more.

“Time I tried to get a better better half!” she gave a large smile.

Countess Jessi sang along with the three person ensemble, “Poor fool, he doesn't know! Hohohohohoho…If he knew the truth, he'd never, ever go!”

Suddenly, a menacing voice came from above, asking, “Did I not instruct that Box Five was to be kept empty?”

All music stopped as eyes turned upward and yet unable to see the black cloaked figure which spoke.

Soyeon gasped, “It’s him. It’s the Phantom of the Opera.”

You couldn’t hear her and yet shared the sentiment, “It's him! I know it, it's him!”

Jessi snapped at you out of character, “Your part is silent, little toad!” and then gave a laugh and smile to the audience, fanning herself gracefully.

A dark chuckle reverberated off the walls, “A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad…”

She took this chance to get her voice spray, nagging her assistant for always getting it on her chin and then cleared her throat. Life performances rarely ever had a second take, but it seemed like this was a special occasion.

Countess Jessi repeated, “Serafimo, away with this pretence! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my—!” she wasn’t able to go as high as usual and instead began to croak like a frog in the middle of her line.

The crowd chuckled, and she tried to hide her embarrassment as she continued, “Poor fool, he makes me laugh. Hahahahaha--croak!”

More giggles which grew into full on laughter.

Jessi was so embarrassed that she grabbed her skirt and ran off the stage. Even the curtains closed to signify a much needed break. Junjin and Andy quickly made it on stage and spoke to the very amused crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minutes' time... where the role of the Countess will be sung by, er--” Junjin quickly looked behind the curtain to find you and bring you to the forefront. “By Miss Y/F/N.”

The crowd applauded and you were sent off to go change into the backup dress. There was a sense of dread in your chest, however. This is not what you wanted. Not at all. If he wanted you to sing for him...this was not the way to get you to do so. At least, not very willingly.

Andy smiled, “In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you, giving...you the ballet! Yes, the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera” He made eye contact with Himcham, “Maestro—the ballet, now!”

There was a lot of mess and mishap as the cast quickly moved up and around a bunch of things which seemed to add to the comedy of the show, but it was a mockery. Embarrassing, but it was just one night. Right? Just a small bump in the road. Music played and the dancers did their things, hauling live animals in the scene to make it more realistic and interactive.

However, above it all in the rafters, a chase was going on. An unlucky rigger had been looking for the Phantom ever since he left in the middle of Jessi’s croaking incident. However, now that he had found the ghost, he was looking to escape, to tell anyone that he was real. Yet, one of the ropes used to keep sandbags and set pieces above the stage was being unused, still in the perfect shape to hang someone.

Which it did. Him.

His body went limp and was then tossed over the side to make sure the job was done. Pandemonium! Screaming! Gasps! A few people puking in the audience and backstage. What else was there to do? People began to get up and leave. The poor chorus girls, too. It was as if time froze as a few of the ensemble members got close enough to see if it was him.

Quickly, Chan went to go find his love. You had just gotten into the wings with your makeshift dress under the cloak needed for the next scene when you saw the body fall. There was one of Taehyung’s roses waiting for you in the dressing room, no doubt in your mind that it was him that caused all of this.

“Chan! Chan!” You called as you saw him.

“Y/N, Christine, come with me!” he said as your hands met.

You shook your head, “No, to the roof. We'll be safe there.”

Junjin announced as best he could above the main crowd and over the screams, “Ladies and gentlemen. Please, remain in your seats. Do not panic; it was an accident ... simply an accident! These...these things do happen with uncareful crew.” he said, trying to grasp at anything to calm the viewers.

“Why have you brought me here?” asked Chan once you two made it to the roof.

You were close to tears as fear had stricken your heart, “We can’t go back there!”

He held your hand, “We must return!”

“He'll kill you! His eyes will find us there!” You gripped his hand tightly before walking further onto the roof.

“Y/N, don't say that…”

“Those eyes that burn!”

Chan tried to catch your hands again, “Don't even think it.”

Still, you could not listen. You had seen what he was capable of, murder. You knew it was no accident. How could it be? He was there. Taehyung was there and did not like being seen, so if he had been…you didn’t want the same to happen to the man you loved

“And if he has to kill a thousand men--”

“Forget this waking nightmare.” your childhood crush said.:

“The Phantom ​of the Opera will kill and kill ​again!” You felt close to hysterics, but what else were you to do?

“This Phantom is a fable. Believe me, there is no Phantom of the Opera.”

You knew, though. The way you looked into Chan’s eyes made him start to believe, too. Yet, he could not.

“My God, who is ​this man who hunts to kill? I can't escape ​from him. I never will!” Your voice spoke to the wind and to the man who had returned to you.

My God, who is ​this man--this mask of death--whose is this voice you ​hear, with every breath? He thought to himself, not wanting to add more questions into your already frazzled head.

You turned to him once more, “And in this labyrinth, where night is blind the Phantom of the Opera is here. Inside my mind.”

Chan had begun to speak at the same time as you, “And in this labyrinth where night is blind, The Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind.”

Though it was different. He believed it to be part of your imagination where as you knew he was real and he was everywhere you were. Inside and out. This unforgettable man who called himself V...Taehyung.

Finally, Chan made you look at him and let you breathe a moment before saying, “There is no Phantom of the Opera.” and put his hand on your cheek.

You closed your eyes, wishing it were true, “Chan, I've been there to his world of unending night. To a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness…Darkness.” Your feet made tracks in the snowy rooftop as you stepped back, “Chan, I've seen him! Can I ever forget that sight? Can I ever escape from that face? So distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face…”

Eyes in the snow, the memory came to you all so vividly, “In that darkness. Darkness,” you turned around and faced the city. “But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound.” The red rose tied with a black ribbon was firmly in your grasp as you couldn’t help but smile at the way he made you feel. “In that night, there was music in my mind, and through music, my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before…”

The blonde man in his black suit stood where he was, “What you heard was a dream and nothing more.”

“Yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes. That both threaten and adore~”

Bang Chan sighed and looked at the ground before looking at your cloak covered back, “Y/N~ Dear Y/N~”

On the wind you heard Taehyung call, “Y/N~~” and looked around to see if he were really there or a part of your imagination.

Chris held you from behind, enveloping your body in his arms as snow fell on the pair of you. If only it were a dream and nothing more. He led you to a spot on the roof in which one of the large pegasus statues would guard against most of the falling snow, making you forget about the rose in your hand, letting it fall into the cold.

He made you feel safe unlike you had felt ever since being enchanted by Tae’s music in his lair beneath the theatre. Still, Chan was there, making himself known and deciding to confess his feelings completely.

“No more talk of darkness. Forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you. My words will warm and calm you.” He said, turning your body to face him. “Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears. I'm here, with you, beside you. To guard you and to guide you.”

Was he being true to his words or just saying so? Right now, you needed something real. Something light to replace the smog in your mind.

You looked at his shoulder, unable to bring yourself to gaze at his face, “Say you love me every waking moment. Turn my head with talk of summertime. Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true. That's all I ask of you…”

He nodded, “Let me be your shelter. Let me be your light. You're safe, no one will find you. Your fears are far behind you.”

“All I want is freedom, a world with no more night.” You looked into rich brown eyes and smiled. “And you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me.”

Chan smiled and led you by the hand back into the main area since it seemed like the snowfall had lightened up a bit, “Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. Y/N, that's all I ask of you~”

You felt nothing but the truth within his words, his honesty and passion in every breath, “Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning.”

Then you looked up at him shyly as he held you around the waist, “Say you love me--”

To which he gave the swift reply of, “You know I do.”

“Love me—that's all I ask of you~” Both of you spoke your hearts’ deepest desire.

It felt as though you were one person and the way he kissed you, it made you melt into him and him into you. The heat of it enough to melt the snow around your loving embrace. Chan then picked you up and spun you around, making you giggle in pure joy. He held you so tightly and yet so gentle as if you were a treasure. And you were.

His treasure.

Again, you spoke in unison, “Anywhere you go, let me go too! Love me—that's all I ask of you~”

You shared in another loving kiss but had to pull back this time, “I must go. They'll wonder where I am.” Then you smiled brightly, the light even reaching into your eyes to glitter. “Come with me, Chan.”

He stayed still a moment, “Y/N, I love~ you!”

It felt as though your heart skipped a beat. It was just the two of you in the most pristine of settings and confessing your love for one another. You giggled and pulled him along.

“Order your fine horses! Be with them at the door!” You said, opening the door.

“And soon, you'll be beside me!” Chan beamed as well.

“You'll guard me and you'll guide me~” The words came out of your mouth, reciting the promise he gave to you.

The pair of you ran off.

Not knowing that Taehyung had been there the entire time, and that she had broken his heart. Why did Y/N not know that he had been there? Could she not sense him with the other man there? With a tight throat, V picked up the fallen rose and mourned the loss of his heart. His cold tears trickled from underneath his mask. The Phantom crushed the rose beneath his fingers, letting the red petals fall and create red blooms on the white surface.

“I gave you my music…Made your song take wing. And now, how you've repaid me: Denied me and betrayed me…He was bound to love you when he heard you sing.” He sniffled and spoke with a choked voice. “Y/N, oh Y/N…”

In the background, he could hear your joyous love song with someone who was not him.

“Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Say the word and I will follow you. Share each day with me, each night, each morning~...”

Taehyung threw down the remainder of the rose and tossed back his cape before mounting one of the roof chariots to yell at the heavens, “You will curse the day you did not do all that the Phantom asked of you!”

(part 2 on mstrlst)

[psychosistr]

Sunburned

Jonawagon Week- Day 2: Hamon.

Summary: While training to defeat Dio, Jonathan practices his hamon with Baron Zeppeli and Speedwagon watches from the sidelines. When the baron leaves them alone for a few minutes, Jonathan decides to have some fun. What harm could a few kisses do?

Speedwagon sat against some rocks as he watched Jonathan and Baron Zeppeli do their hamon training. It was fascinating, certainly, and he’d admit to being more than a bit envious of the power those two held, without a doubt. However, there was only so much interest one could garner from watching two men practice breathing exercises while standing on wet rocks by the side of a stream.

His spell of boredom was broken when the eldest of their group suddenly spoke up. “I have a few quick errands to run in town. Jojo- continue practicing while I’m gone.”

“Of course, Baron Zeppeli!” Jonathan responded dutifully while maintaining his training stance.

The older man nodded before leaping with amazing agility off of the rocks. He started to walk away, but turned his head to glance at Speedwagon. “Try not to distract him too much this time.” He tossed the remark at him before taking his leave.

Speedwagon sputtered indignantly at the retreating Italian. “I-! Wh-?! As if I’d ever!!” He glared hard at the retreating figure and grumbled while folding his arms. “Hmph! Who the bloody hell does that pompous bastard think ‘e is?” He was sulking now, though that part he would never admit to. “Treatin’ me like I’m some bother t’ ‘ave ‘round…”

He hoped it wasn’t showing on his face, but the baron’s words had cut him quite deep. He knew he wasn’t as strong as his companions. He knew he wasn’t able to use hamon like they could. He knew that he may end up slowing them down a bit…but…still…he WANTED to help.

He wanted to be of assistance in some way, shape, or form. A voice in the back of his head kept telling him that he needed to be there- to stay by Jonathan’s side. After all, he was there for the beginning of it all when Jonathan first confronted Dio and they saw the stone mask’s power and the monster it created side-by-side. Surely, that had to mean he needed to stay by Jonathan’s side until the end of the adventure, didn’t it? He certainly hoped that it did..

“Well, I for one am happy to have you here with me- distraction or not, Speedwagon.” Jonathan told him with a bright smile.

Speedwagon felt his heart do a somersault in his chest, practically choking him with just how pure and radiant that gorgeous smile was. It was like the sun finally peeking through the clouds after weeks of dreary London weather. It was brighter than any hamon Jonathan (or that insufferable teacher of his, for that matter) could ever create. It was more precious than any gold or jewel Speedwagon could ever get his hands on and he would cherish far more than if all the riches of the world were laid at his feet.

Yes, he thought, that smiling face was why he stayed. Jonathan was why he stayed. He did not know how much use he would be by the end of this battle, but if it allowed him to stay in the nobleman’s presence for just a little longer, then he would gladly do anything required of him. He knew, from the moment he met the larger man, that he had a heart of pure kindness that needed to be kept in this world as long as possible.

Whether that meant enduring something as tedious as boredom while watching him train and bearing Baron Zeppeli’s remarks…or even giving his own life to protect Jonathan, Speedwagon knew he would do anything for at all for him.

He realized suddenly that he had been too wrapped up in his thoughts when Jonathan suddenly left his position on the rocks and walked over to him- his body still aglow with freely flowing hamon. “Jojo?” He questioned with a raised brow. “Thought the baron said not t’ leave the rocks?”

Jonathan glanced around for a moment, a playful smile on his face. “What he does not know will not hurt him…or us.” He winked at the blonde before leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Speedwagon’s cheeks felt warm- and not just from the red color that had deemed itself fit to spread across his face. “W-Well then…i-if you’re sure, Jojo..”

Jonathan chuckled, a lovely, jovial sound that filled Speedwagon’s ears and brought a smile to his own face. “Quite sure, darling.” And, with that being said, he pressed his lips to the shorter man’s in a loving kiss.

Kissing Jonathan was a wonderful experience that Speedwagon treasured each and every time it happened, but this one felt different. There was more heat to Jonathan’s lips than usual, as if he were kissing the sun itself, and it left his own mouth tingling from the sensation. He found he rather liked it and wrapped his arms around those broad shoulders to keep the connection as long as possible.

The pair of love struck men stayed like that for quite some time, sharing kisses between each other’s lips in the sweetest of ways. Jonathan, ever the affectionate one, would also pepper Speedwagon’s brow and cheeks with loving pecks between longer, more passionate kisses to his mouth. Once, simply to be a tease, Jonathan placed a lingering kiss to Speedwagon’s neck where it was visible above the collar of his suit.

The whole affair got Speedwagon more than a little riled up, Jonathan as well by the look in his eyes, but they both knew that their other traveling companion could be back any minute. With one last loving kiss to his beloved’s addictively warm lips, the two finally parted with an unspoken promise to sneak off that night after the oldest of their group fell asleep and Jonathan resumed his breathing exercises.

Baron Zeppeli returned not even fifteen minutes later. He gave a brief glance at Jonathan before turning his attention to Speedwagon. “I thought I told you not to distract him from his training.”

Speedwagon’s head jerked up at the comment and he scrambled to his feet to be closer to eye-level with the other man. “What?! I ain’t done nothin’! I was sittin’ right ‘ere the whole bloody time!”

Baron Zeppeli glanced back at his protégé with a quirked brow. “Oh, so Jojo simply lacks the self-control to stay away, hm?”

Jonathan, who had been facing away while doing his exercises, turned to face the other two. “What? I’m afraid I don’t underst-” He froze when he looked at them. More specifically, he froze when he looked dead at Speedwagon. “O-Oh dear…” His face turned red and he looked away, one large hand coming up as if to hide his embarrassment…or possibly to muffle the chuckles that Speedwagon could hear behind his hand.

“Huh?” Speedwagon looked between the two of them, Jonathan red-faced but his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter and the baron giving him a knowing smirk. “What’s so funny?” The only reply he got was the baron pointing to the river and indicating that Speedwagon should check his face with two simple gestures from his finger. Speedwagon did just that and leaned over the clear water to see his reflection. Staring back at him was himself…along with several red, lip-shaped marks all over his face (as well as one conspicuous one on his neck) and his mouth was as red as if he’d just eaten a bowl full of fresh cherries. “What the hell?!” He blurted out when he saw the state he was in.

He poked at the marks on his face lightly before prodding at his lips with his tongue. There was a sting, certainly, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant…huh…

“I am well aware that all work and no play is not anyone’s desired state of being, Jojo.” The Italian scolded lightly, though he still had that amused, knowing smirk on his face. “But do try to limit your fun to when your training has finished for the day, will you?”

“Yes, Baron Zeppeli.” Jonathan nodded, his face still red but with an irrepressible smile on his lips. “My apologies.”

Baron Zeppeli gestured for them to follow him, informing the two (well, mostly Jonathan, really, but Speedwagon was still there, darn it) that he’d found an ideal location for the next stage of Jonathan’s hamon training. While he went on and on about proper breathing and regulating energy that Speedwagon could never hope to control, the blonde matched pace with his taller partner and whispered to avoid being over heard.

“So…” He began, cheeks slightly red but the smirk on his face and the light in his eyes speaking of mischief to come later on. “Think y’ could do that hamon thing again t’night?”

Jonathan’s eyes glinted with a similar mischievousness as he smiled back at the other man. “I think that could be arranged, Robert.”

Tonight would be quite enjoyable indeed, Speedwagon thought to himself while winding his arm around Jonathan’s.

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with TOMAS SABELLO, who is THIRTY years old. He is often called TROILUS and is NEUTRAL. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

He was born into a house of HATE. He was born into a house of hate and he was the sacrificial lamb that was to absolve all the anger that resided there. A coquettish mother who chased after love without a thought for how fickle it tends to be. A debonair father who only knew to love the fire of his anger and the way it made his blood sing. What a pair they made – with his mother’s multiplicity of illicit affairs and his father’s penchant for causing rather volatile scenes. When he was born – with his warm brown eyes, peals of INNOCENT laughter, and hair black as the night sky – they had believed themselves to be absolved of their cravings for drama and hormonal infatuation with one another. The moment they held him in their arms, they thought that God had finally granted them the KEY to love. Imagine their disappointment when her eyes began to wander towards the nurse and his teeth began to grind. Imagine their disappointment when, as their beloved son grew older, the apple of the eye began to rot, as all things do, as all things are meant to. But still, they clung to one another like blood clings to a knife, two sinners dragging their child through their self-made hell. Poor, TRAGICboy, for he knew no better than to do as they did – to love wildly and without restraint, and to destroy it in the next moment, broken hearts littering his Armani-scented wake. He was a boy in love with love, but only knew how to ruin it and ruin it well.

What he did know how to cultivate, however, was fanaticism and obsessive adoration. He discovered his affinity for acting when he was young, changing from one character to another upon Rome’s stage as easily as he changed from one LOVER to the next, leaving both the audience and his multitude of admirer’s wanting more, craving him. Through the many characters he took on, he was able to become a prince of tragedy, a feckless knight, an orphan with no parents to ruin him with their vices. And each time, more grew to love him and that impassioned glint in his eyes, for he was a work of ART of his own making, a statue of David that was not exiled to a pedestal – no, he was to be looked at, he was to be touched, and, above all, he was to be LOVED. Through the many roles he took on and the many souls that fell at his feet, he was able to make the world his, his face plastered on the screen and on playbills, his name harkened by photographers and devotees alike each time he stepped into the streets of Rome. It made no sense to him, with all those who laid flowers at his every step, why anyone would begrudge him for the glory that was duly his. Yet, they did, and they made it known by pressing a gun to his back and a knife to his neck. FEAR struck his heart and held it captive. Death pressed a kiss to his neck where the blade was meant to be. He could feel the brush of His scythe, ready to reap in his soul.

By the by he was able to acquire the services of a man who promised protection, but it would require a trip to Verona to meet him. A city that was murmured about uneasily within Rome’s more esteemed circles, those who spoke of the goings-on there often times draped in jewelry and armed with guns and bullets. With little decorum Tomas informed his family of his departure, informing his despairing fans that this was nothing more than a sabbatical, a means of gathering MUSE and INSPIRATION in the cobblestone streets of Verona overflowing with art, culture, and blood. And he had not been wrong, for, within the city he only BLOSSOMED, with the people he felt as if he were invigorated, practically heady with the torrent of inspiration that swept him up in its unforgiving tides. The muses themselves had descended from their Olympic thrones and fulfilled his prayers within the jewel of Italy. Little did he know that God saw fit to grant him what had long been denied – love. He found it within the face of a beloved woman far too good for the company that she kept, far too beautiful to be anything less than something angelically DIVINE. It hung there at the corners of her gaze whenever she laughed, stars falling from her lips whenever she did so.

It was a WHIRLWIND romance. All who watched envied them for the happiness that they were to be promised. Paintings, lyrics, and poems were weapons in his hands, ones he utilized more effectively than a blade in an assassin’s – which Verona seemed to harbor in abundance. Celeste was helpless to them all, a dove caged by his onslaught of affection. Tools of love were far easier for Tomas to wield than that of iron and steel. But when the words ‘I do’ fell from the tip of his tongue, he had not intended expected to wed the entirety of Verona. He had not known that he had wed himself to the war – for that is what he did, what the Montagues had expected him to do when, before GOD, he had promised himself to Celeste. But what they had not intended was for this man, with his affinity for breaking hearts, to break theirs by denying them his services and leverage. Tomas Sabello was a man that played the game of love and war far better than they had anticipated – and it was his turn to move his queen and declare victory over the city that thought it would do as it always did: destroy him. No, this aficionado of adoration was to teach them all what he already knew – he was a master of HEARTS, and he was to have all of theirs.

CELESTE DUVAL: Wife. The light of his life, the moon of his skies – there was no one more blessed than he, for he had what everyone spends their whole life trying to acquire. He has glory, wealth, adoration, and – above all – a beautiful wife who is perfection incarnate. In all honesty, he thought that he would never be worthy of a woman like Celeste, her wit and steel more formidable than he could ever hope to approach. And yet Fate dictated that he should be so lucky, and he knows better than to question the alignment of the stars. On their wedding day he had asked, truly, for only one thing: that she remain faithful to him. However, for some reason or another, he finds himself doubting the authenticity of her affections and her oath to fulfill those words. Not because he is insecure, no, but because when he studies the pictures that they take together, the notes that she leaves him, the small things she does for him and around him – there is something disingenuous, something that the devil on his shoulder exploits. This is not Rome, though, no, this is Verona. And the truth always comes out, before long.

PAOLA DAMASCO: Old friend. Their history is long and full of adventure, but, more importantly, it is full of affection. Tomas had never had much luck with true friends, they came in short supply when it came to the more elite circles of society – what with the backstabbing, politics, and gossip – so genuine companionship was something rare indeed. Yet he was able to find it as a child, in the form of a pick-pocket who wasn’t too good at her job. When he met her he knew that she was capable of making him better and a grappling hook onto which he could cling to the semblance of sanity in the midst of an unforgiving world. The plights of the world had been difficult for him to fight off, yet it was always better when he had someone to fight against it with. But now the setting had changed and this city was far more difficult to reign in than Rome. Now, more than ever, he needed this compass of a girl at his side. Together, they do as they did as children – fight the demons that tried to tear them apart.

ROMAN MONTAGUE: Charlatan. Tomas is quite practiced at donning a facade, on looking farces in the face and convincing others that they are something true. It is the life of an actor, after all, so the Sabello heir is familiar with discerning the worthy from the inane. Unfortunately for Roman Montague, Tomas has deemed him to be the latter, a man unfit of the crown that everyone seems intent to place upon his head. For reasons unknown to him, Celeste seems to be a part of that entourage that he surrounds himself with, sycophants and yes-men, blind to the fact that their princeling will never be worthy of the role that he has been cast for. Though the two men run in the same circles, Tomas knows this to be an unshakeable truth: his head shall never bow and his knee will never bend to a man that he deems unworthy.  And who is more unworthy than a man who hasn’t earned his crown?

JULIANA CAPULET: Secret. For the sake of his wife, he tries not to be seen on the other side of the Adige, where those with Montague affiliations are less than welcome. But he can’t help it after finding the muse of his dreams, the one who has a way of throwing him into frenzies of inspiration. With her gentle smile and bashful ways, he finds it difficult to imagine how a flower such as she – with petals so gentle and pure – has managed to flourish in a city where blood flows more freely than wine. The two of them met at the Twelfth Night Museum, rain falling outside so as to chase away any but the most avid of admirers of classical art, which meant that those who came to worship at the altar of masterpieces were the only ones to be found within the ages walls of the building. He had offered her shivering – and slightly rain-soaked – form his coat and that had been that. Her smile had won him. Her mind had kept him. And she seems intent on never letting him go. Though he is slow to admit it, he is beginning to discover that so is he. What a dangerous thing in war, to have something precious to lose – and to have that person be the “enemy”.

Tomas is portrayed by HENRY GOLDING and was written by ROSEY. He is currently TAKEN by LINA.

[paulinedorchester]

The Aeronauts describes itself as being “inspired by true events”; in fact, it plays fast and loose with its source material, and the changes it makes are not really for the sake of tidy storytelling. Nevertheless, I enjoyed this film very much, and I recommend it. (The night before I saw it I went to a concert that included a semi-staged excerpt from Jean-Philippe Rameau’s opera Hippolyte et Aricie, which also plays fast and loose with its source material, also not really for the sake of tidy storytelling, so that made the film go down a bit more easily. It also made me want to see the whole opera, fully staged! But I digress...)

The movie is about James Glaisher (Eddie Redmayne), a real-life British astronomer and meterorologist (the film implies that he coined the latter term, which he didn’t), and his record-setting balloon ascent of September 5th, 1862, with the experienced and respected aeronaut Amelia Rennes (Felicity Jones) as his pilot. That’s where fiction comes in: in reality, Glaisher’s pilot’s name was ...

... Henry Coxwell. (Also, Glaisher was a good 25 years older in 1862 than Eddie Redmayne appears to be.) However, the film makes the historical point that there were a good many women balloonists in mid-19th century Britain. The men with whom Amelia comes into contact treat her with tremendous respect: when she hesitates over the flight, James tells her that she is essential to the project; when, in flight, she reluctantly agrees to continue their ascent for as long as possible, she first gets him to agree that the decision on when to begin descending will be hers alone.

Amelia’s only conflict with the opposite sex occurs when she shows up at James’s workplace — the Royal Observatory, Greenwich — needing to speak with him, and is very politely told that she’ll have to wait outside while someone fetches him, because women aren’t allowed on the premises. (Good luck with that, gentlemen.) The only disapproval she encounters comes from her sister and aunt, and from James’s mother, who doesn’t care for the way Amelia makes a spectacle of herself (as indeed she does, showing up for the launch in a circus performer’s getup, complete with a performing dog).

More important though, from my point of view, is a political point that the film makes: The Aeronauts is about a man and a woman who work together as equals, without serious conflict, to achieve a goal. We’re not seeing a great deal of that in real life at present, and what’s worse is that we’re also not seeing it held up as an ideal. So I’m quite in sympathy with this film’s politics. The Aeronauts is not a romance, by the way — although I have no doubt that plenty of fan fiction in that mode is being written and posted even as I type these words!

When Amelia visits the observatory, it is to tell James that she has changed her mind about serving as his pilot after first having accepted. The film presents her as the widow of a (fictional) famous aeronaut, Philippe Rennes, who died trying to break an altitude record, and she has flashbacks before and during the flight. Later in the film we are shown the exact circumstances of his death, which are indeed pretty harrowing. No spoilers here, but be warned.

Tom Harper, the director of The Aeronauts, has borrowed a couple of pages from the Christopher Nolan / Dunkirk playbook, to both good and bad effect. Periodically we see an overlay, if that’s the right word, showing how much time has elapsed, how far they’ve ascended, and what weather phenomena James has observed at that point. This culminates in a graph showing the balloon’s full ascent and descent. On the other hand there’s the film’s sound design: even when the characters are on the ground there is so much extraneous noise as to obscure a good deal of the dialogue. Once aloft they’re fighting to talk over the wind, which is worse. (I know: Dunkirk won Oscars for sound editing and sound mixing. I remain bewildered by this.)

The Aeronauts was produced by Amazon Studios, which means that in the long term the easiest way to see it will be on your computer or television. That would be a pity. The cinematography is excellent, and should be seen on the largest screen possible.

Oh, and I nearly forgot — I saw The Aeronauts at the Chicago International Film Festival, the sort of event where people involved in making a film are likely to attend a screening of it, and guess who was there? Eddie Redmayne! (So was the director, but who cares about him?) He’s working here, apparently — on what, wasn’t revealed. He talked a bit about practicing in the balloon, and told us that last week he took a riverboat tour. Every visitor to Chicago should do that, but I wonder what it was like. Did people completely loose their heads?

[sailor-cresselia]

Zi-O 14: Raw viewing

Hm. Hmmm. HMMM.

omoshiroi.

Here’s the liveblog for Zi-O 14, pre-subs.

These are apparently taking me several hours to watch now, since I’m taking notes live, and with checking the wiki to get names right and backing up frequently to check images and figure out what I can actually hear. Whoops.

(WOW that phrase comes in handy.)

Woz, where’d you go – oh, so the clock’s not just some sort of Aesthetic Background. It’s actually there.

Okay, I can’t tell if he’s pissed because Sougo’s kinda dead, or because he’s not the reason Sougo’s kinda dead, but Geiz is pissed.

Aw. I think he might actually care.

“Can’t you just tell them that I’m right here?”

“They wouldn’t believe me.”

Urgh, I can’t actually get what they’re saying. I THINK it’s along the lines of:

Takeru: “So, I’m the only one who can see you, and it ‘might’ be because of this.” He pulls out the Ghost watch.

Sougo: “Ohhhh. So Geiz is headed to see the past you.”

Takeru: “Wait, what? The past?!” (oh god no not time travel again!)

(Re: the opening)

HEY WAIT.

Apparently, episode 11 was the last time that the final shot of the Opening had that uncomfortable ‘burning page reversing itself while grainy footage of Zi-o on his bike’ sequence. Episode 12 turned it to being a straight shot of Zi-o Riding his bike straight at the camera between two jets of flame. I only noticed watching 14, just now, but huh. I thought the only changes that had happened so far were the shots of the Time Jackers updating.

I’ll have to check on that later.

Ohh… Another Ghost immediately went after the crane operator… that��s really heartbreaking.

(Geiz, bud, what’s with the terrible green-screen? Your transformation’s usually better done than that.)

Hora: Come on, we need to kick Geiz’s butt in the past.

Tsukasa: Pft. Plebe. I can travel on my own, thanks. (proceeds to open a dimensional portal of his own)

Thank you for not summoning the hoodies this time, Geiz.

Enter Ryuki!Decade… who promptly changes to Ghost!Decade… oh, this could be good. (I paused mid transformation to write, mind you.)

The rules of time travel say that only one version of a rider’s powers can exist at a time. Somehow, the Another Riders count as this, but the Ride Watches don’t, which bugs me. But now… We have Another Ghost present, Geiz is using the Ghost Watch, and Decade is about to use the Ghost Card.

How will this play out… (spoiler alert to 2:00 am samantha from 3:30 am samantha: it made absolutely no difference. drat.)

SURE, you’ll let TSUKASA be spooky, but what about Takeru, huh? HUH?!?

Okay, so Geiz just summoned Musashi and Edison. Another Ghost has Robin Hood and Newton. Tsukasa got Billy the Kid and… um. I think that’s Beethoven? Yup. Beethoven.

OUCH. Geiz’s losing streak continues, with a distressing looking slash from the Gan Gun Saber, followed by a pair of Rider Kicks from Ghost!Decade and Another Ghost.

That red-and-black aesthetic of Another Ghost’s Emblem behind his kick though… Mm. Yes. This is still such a good Another Rider look. … and actually, this is the first time since Another Build and Another Ex-aid that we’ve seen this much of an Another Rider using their bases powers, isn’t it? Build was making bottles and using them, and Ex-aid was summoning bugster mooks. Okay, that’s admittedly actually a Bugster thing, but he was also generating game areas, so it still counts.

Hm. No sequence breaking for us, it would seem. Decade just wiped the Ghost Watch, turning it blank… and tossed Geiz the Decade Watch before taking off.

Interesting.

Or we could have some compeletely different sequence breaking, seeing as how Takeru had to pilot the time mazine for Sougo. Yanno, due to incorporeality. THEY landed just before Mika’s brother dies, as opposed to Geiz landing just after.

I hate to say this, but Nani The F*ck? So clearly, inherently magical Takeru can also force shove objects, because he just deflected the beams before they could hit either Mika or her brother. So now he can’t become Another Ghost, which sends Sougo back to his body… in 2018. While 21-year-old!Takeru is now in 2015. Where spooky!18-year-old!Takeru is supposed to also be.

Oh deary. So Heure pulls out the blank watch he was going to use to make Another Ghost, and summons a bunch of Ganma mooks with it. Fine, good, he’s ticked, makes sense. They attack 21!Takeru. Fine, fine.

Makoto shows up, asking why Takeru isn’t transforming.

He’s asking 21!Takeru – who, being from an altered timeline, does not remember being Ghost (allegedly).

“Oh, right, I’m a Kamen Rider. Makoto, let’s go!”

Mind you, Makoto is played by the same actor as always, and clearly neither of these men have aged a much more than a day since 2015, since they still look pretty much identical. This is for the best, because otherwise we’d have to wonder why Makoto doesn’t catch that suddenly Takeru (who should not be aging in 2015) looks bit older than he ought to.

((Takeru: Oh, man, I’m out of practice, last time I did this was December, one year ago for me, two years from now… I might be stuck here… ~oh well~ ~not like I haven’t gone off script like thirty different ways before~))

I don’t know what just happened in the hospital (2018) but I do not like it. That was very uncomfortable to watch. I can get that the whole Sougo-going-back-to-his-body thing just was undone, since Another Ghost exists again, but. What was Woz explaining? And he didn’t move when he said ‘waga maou.’ That was… that wasn’t a thought sound effect for that, the ‘stylization’ for thoughts and narrative are about the same, and they aren’t as faint as that. That felt like… idk, a telepathy thing?

~It’s not Ghost without sister issues~

Takeru: (oh no oh no I think we pulled it off? Maybe? Oh no Makoto’s looking at you say something)

Takeru: Uh, okay, uh, hey, Makoto, give the other Takeru my regards.

Makoto: ???

(exit: stage future)

Geiz is worried. That is a worried Geiz. And a stressed Sougo. And an uncle who is definitely faking his usual, already awkward laughter.

Sougo’s uncle has too many dishes ready to not have known there were extra people coming.

(Hee, Narita’s got Akari’s Shiranui cannon! And they mentioned her by name! Eee!)

TEAM WORK. THIS IS THE BEST THEMATIC TEAMWORK YESSSSS.

Sougo using the Ex-Aid watch with his mech is cool enough – it gets the same hammers that he does.

And then Geiz comes in with Genm. AND THE PURPLE WARP PIPES YESSSSS!

Is that. That’s the Cross-z watch.

MECHA BUILD AND CROSS-Z UGH YES.

Bottle boyfriend mecha RIDER KICK!

Hm. More mook summoning, by Another Ghost this time, ala Ex-Aid and OOO.

Pft-ahahaha.

I love Tsukasa’s reaction to Woz’s speech.

Tsukasa: What. What are you doing.

And Woz just growls.

NEAT. I knew that the Decade Armor let Zi-o get the Mid-forms of the Legend Riders, but I didn’t think of how that screen variant of the helmet could come into play with it. It shows the Zi-o-with-Decade color scheme before he changes, and when he puts in the Build watch… it’s shuffling, kind of like a character select screen – or cards being dealt. You can see Ex-Aid most clearly going by, but I can tell there were others.

Welcome back, RabbitTank Sparkling!

And Tsukasa just tells Woz to shut up and grabs his book. Was he always like this? Because I’m liking the snark.

I don’t know what this sword is called but I really really like it. Not only are the Ex-aid sound effects back in English, but it let him summon Max Flare, Funky Spike, and Midnight Shadow’s tires! (fangirl squeal)

Welcome back, Grateful!

“Why did I give him my watch? Eh. Thought it’d be interesting.”

(I think that’s about what he was saying? Ish? Approximately?)

Hang on, that screen? The mask for Decade is a Zi-o variant, but RabbitTank Sparkling and Grateful are their usual appearances.

And now Geiz has someone he wants to punch even more than he does Sougo or Woz.

So, overall...

Interesting indeed, Tsukasa. Interesting indeed.

[searchingwardrobes]

Natural Opposite: Re-post 4/16

Finally, my last re-post!

I know I sound like a broken record, but I seriously had the best beta in @distant-rose. Especially considering how busy she is. She took being my beta seriously and helped me make this story ten times better. Thank you, Ro!

I also had the best artist in @optomisticgirl. I mean, how did I get so blessed with these two? Her art for this chapter blew me away. I never expected a picset of their “first meeting” routine, and seeing it come to life was such a gift! You can see it here and also check out her art for Chapter Two

Summary: Dance is more than Emma Swan’s career; it’s practically saved her life on more than one occasion. But when it comes to reality TV shows, she’s always danced in the shadows of her twin brother David and her sister Elsa. Her first season as a pro on Dancing With the Stars was a disaster, and she enters her second season determined to prove herself. All she needs is a good partner. Hollywood bad boy and ladies’ man Killian Jones isn’t what she had in mind.

Rating: M for mature themes, steamy dance routines, and sexy times (But NOT smut)

Trigger warnings: discussions of online solicitation of a minor, bullying, statutory rape, and emotionally abusive/controlling relationships; stalking; anti-Rumbelle, anti-Neal

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be added to my tag list) @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @kday426 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @followbatb @onceuponaprincessworld @hollyethecurious @ohmakemeahercules @sambethe

 Chapter Four: Light it Up

Emma felt that familiar pre-performance fluttering in her stomach. She bounced on the balls of her feet and chewed on her bottom lip; habits that Ingrid had always teased her about. The lights of the studio were shining hotly down on the dance floor, and the crowd was pumped.

“So,” Killian said at her elbow, “is it normal for me to feel like I’m about to throw up?”

He gave her that usual charming smile, but he also looked slightly pale under his heavy makeup. The tips of his ears had also turned red. The past few weeks teaching him the choreography had been difficult, but not in the way Emma had expected. She thought it would be filled with Killian’s constant flirting and her barely contained aggression. Instead, after that awkward fall, things had been rather cold and professional. If Emma were completely honest with herself, she would admit to throwing up a wall. She didn’t care if Regina hit the roof; she had decided to be a strictly professional dance teacher and nothing more. Ratings and votes be damned. Even more surprising was that Killian seemed to take her lead, pulling back from his attempts at banter and flirting.

She looked over at him now and attempted to give him an encouraging smile. “I’ve been doing this since I was a kid, and I still get nervous. But surely you’ve felt the same before as an actor.”

Killian shuffled his feet then scratched behind his ear; a gesture she had already learned was a nervous tic. “I confess, nerves are a normal part of my profession, but this . . . this is quite different.”

She took a deep breath, then reached over to take his hand. They needed to play up their partnership for the audience soon anyway, they may as well start now. “You know the choreography perfectly. Now it’s time to just enjoy the performance.”

He glanced at their joined hands with slight surprise, then smiled tentatively. “Thank you, Swan.” Then he cocked an eyebrow at her. “And I am blessed with the most beautiful partner. Have I told you how incredibly sexy you look?”

Emma pulled her hand away, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. “You know, every time I think you’re being genuine, you go and say things like that.”

His eyes went suddenly wide as he put a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Swan. I’m being one hundred percent sincere, I mean, look at you.”

Emma rolled her eyes and smacked him lightly in the chest. The costuming department had stuck with his usual look, putting him in a filmy red dress shirt, open half way down his chest. His pants were simple black dress pants. Emma was in a short sequined number with a red pattern of flames shooting up across the nude fabric covering her chest and arms. They were dancing to “Light it Up” by Major Lazer.

Suddenly a strong hand clapped onto both Emma and Killian’s shoulders. Emma turned, her face brightening to see her twin brother standing there.

“Just wanted to wish my little sister luck,” David teased.

Emma shook her head as she gave him a side hug, “Only little by three minutes.”

Killian reached out to shake David’s hand. “Reminds me of my older brother Liam. Always calling me little brother, even now.”

“Good luck to you too, Killian. I like what I saw of you two in dress rehearsal. I’m glad my sister finally got a great partner.”

Emma could tell that Killian appreciated the compliment by the way his blue eyes widened a fraction and lit up. “That’s encouraging praise indeed! Any tips I need to know? I must confess, I’ve never watched the show.”

“Well,’ David told him, pointing to three people chatting at the other end of the backstage area, “you have to be prepared for the judges remarks. Votes matter more, of course, but the viewers can be swayed by what they say, and no one wants a low judges’ score. Tiana is a former dancer with the New York City ballet. She’s more on our side because she knows how hard our job is. She’s big on the performance factor. Then there’s Blue.”

“You mean Marilyn Blue?”

David and Emma both snorted at the same time.

“No,” David corrected, “it’s just Blue. Trust me. Maybe Madame Blue. She’s the most notoriously famous teacher and judge in ballroom dancing. She’s old fashioned, picky, and she hates gimmicks and props. Fortunately, the audience a lot of times loves the very things she hates. But getting a high score from her is extremely difficult.”

“And what about that last guy. He looks like he’d be one of Hook’s crew on my show.”

“Yeah,” David agreed, “or a member of an 80s hair band. Name’s Edward Teach. He’s choreographed some of the most famous music videos from the late 80s until the early 2000s, and like any choreographer, he’s arrogant and rude.”

Emma shook her head, “Half the time he seems bored out of his mind.”

“Or possibly stoned,” David put in, to which Emma nodded. “He also loves the women, hates the men.”

“So . . . “ Killian said nervously, “no pressure.”

David just slapped him on the back and then walked back over to his own partner, who looked as if she may burst into tears at any moment. Killian watched the fifteen year old for a moment, and then said, “Well, if that little lass can do it, so can I. Right?”

Emma took his hand again. “Right.”

Just then, the studio audience burst into roaring applause as the group number they had all shot earlier in the week played on the jumbotron above the stage. It had been shot on a Disney backlot and choreographed to the song “Dancing in the Streets.” The pro dancers shimmied their way through a fake “town,” picking up celebrity partners along the way. Killian was the last celebrity “revealed.” He and Emma “met” in a bookstore where she found him reading a copy of JM Barrie’s Peter Pan. She was surprised how much it looked like an actual meet-cute: Emma spinning and bumping into Killian, causing him to drop his book in surprise. Hopefully that kind of chemistry would come across in their live dance as well.

As expected, Killian’s reveal caused ear-splitting screams from the studio audience, despite the fact that their partnership had been revealed on YouTube a month ago. Then the couples walked out on stage one at a time as the host and hostess, Marco Carpenter and Ashley Herman, announced them. Once again, Emma and Killian were announced last, and they would be the last to dance as well. They both tried to relax in the cast balcony and even cheer on the rest of the cast, but it all seemed to go by in a sort of haze. She remembered David and his partner, the Disney channel star, being absolutely adorable in a sweet waltz. She cheered like crazy for Elsa, who practically lit up the dance floor with her wounded Marine, Graham, in a cha cha cha.

“They’ve got really good chemistry,” Killian whispered in her ear, and Emma had to agree.

But there were awkward moments, too. Merlin’s dance partner was Cora Heart, the matriarch of a reality show family. She was not only awkward but way too handsy with Merlin. Ariel’s partner Archie was a sweet former child star now all grown up, but he forgot half his choreography. If Emma had to pick the two celebrities going home in the first elimination, it would be them.

Then, finally, it was her turn to dance the samba with Killian. They took their place on the dance floor while the jumbotron behind them showed a video package of their first meeting and their rehearsals. The editing team did a great job, making it seem as if Emma and Killian had shared many hugs and smiles. They even edited Killian’s flirting to make it seem like Emma was rolling her eyes or smacking his chest in a playful manner instead of an irritated way, eliciting laughs from the audience. Of course, they ended with their fall at their first practice, editing out Emma’s abrupt departure. A blush stained Emma’s cheeks as the audience whistled and hooted.

Behind her, Killian placed his hands gently on her shoulders, “You okay, love?”

Emma just nodded, suppressing the urge to shrug him off. “Sure. Just ready to do this, you know?”

Killian gave her shoulders a squeeze in reply.

“And now,” the announcer intoned, “dancing the samba with his partner Emma, Killian Jones.”

The music started, and just as it always did, it sent Emma to another mental plane. She poured herself into the dance, channeling her joy raising Henry, her freedom when she danced, her love for David and Elsa, her gratitude for everything Ingrid had done for all of them. Every time she danced, she drew on all of it.

The thing was, that last season with Leroy, that hadn’t worked. How could she lose herself in the music and in her own soul when she was trying to guide an awkward novice through a routine he couldn’t remember? But with Killian, it wasn’t like that. He seemed to be lost in the music as much as she was, the choreography coming as second nature. She already knew he was a great actor, so she wasn’t surprised at the intense looks he gave her as he ran his hand down her side or the way he buried his face in the crook of her neck when he yanked her close after dipping her. When they finished, the crowd went wild, and in her relief and enthusiasm, Emma threw her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug. They then turned to the judges, grinning broadly, their arms still around one another.

Emma had been following Dancing With the Stars for years, even before auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance. She knew exactly what to expect from each judge, especially the first week. So she wasn’t surprised by Tiana’s gushing praise for their chemistry and level of performance. Neither was she shocked when Tiana said they needed to find a deeper connection; she pretty much always said that in the early weeks. Also as expected, Blue was happy with the straight forward samba choreography, then gave a laundry list of things Killian needed to work on. Things Emma already knew; his incorrect frame, how he didn’t bend his knees quite low enough or reach quite far enough with his arms, nothing Emma wasn’t planning on tackling anyway. Teach was always the wild card, but it still didn’t shock Emma when he shrugged and noncommittally said that it was “a decent performance for the first week.” She didn’t let herself get excited yet, though. The judges were always nicest on the first night. They had even managed to find positive comments for Leroy last season.

But when they got sevens from all three judges, Emma’s heart soared with elation; it was an incredibly high score for week one. As a matter of fact, it was the highest score of the night, one point higher than Elsa and Graham and two points higher than David and Violet. Emma couldn’t believe it; she had gone from the lowest scoring pro last season to winning the night. She tried to temper her emotions, after all, they had a long way to go, but she squealed in delight. Killian grabbed her in a side hug, lifting her an inch off the ground, and Emma threw her arms around his neck. The mirror ball trophy seemed more than a dream after the way they just danced.

Since Emma and Killian danced last, there wasn’t enough time for a post score interview with Ashley. Emma was relieved, worried that the hostess would bring up that embarrassing tumble in rehearsals. Once the show wrapped, the pros huddled together, encouraging the ones who got low scores and praising the ones who did well. Meanwhile, Killian was swept along with the other celebrities, who were all gushing about his high scoring dance.

Emma was surprised when she stepped out of her trailer to find Killian waiting for her. Emma pushed her hair, still stiff with hairspray, off her face and tucked it behind her ears. She bit her lip, feeling a bit self-conscious for some reason about her pink forehead and cheeks, freshly scrubbed of all stage makeup. Killian grinned up at her as she descended the trailer steps. When she reached the bottom, she swallowed awkwardly, fiddling with the zipper of her hoodie. Why was she suddenly feeling awkward around him? All of the hand-holding and hugging had only been for the cameras. And the nuzzling, and the caressing . . . . Ugh, what was wrong with her? She had done all of those things with plenty of partners over the years. On SYTYCD, she had even kissed a partner once as part of a routine. That dance had even gotten over a million views on YouTube, and she still didn’t feel nervous around that guy.

“So, Swan,” Killian said, “have I proven myself?”

Emma masked her nervousness with a half smile as she cocked her head to study him. “I don’t know, Jones. Maybe this week’s choreography was me going easy on you.”

Killian’s eyebrows arched slightly. “Oh really?” He leaned into her personal space. “And are you flirting with me?”

His close proximity had Emma swallowing nervously as she wet her lips. She thought back to their dance earlier and Killian’s intense gaze, his hands grasping her waist and ghosting down her thigh. Get a grip, Emma!

She rolled her eyes. “You wish.” She brushed past him and headed for the parking lot. She glanced over her shoulder and called back to him, “8 am sharp. We’ll see how cocky you are then.”

[pankaj0316]

How to lose weight fast

How to Lose the Killer Fat Around Your Tummy

When you are diagnosed with diabetes, the first bit of advice you get from your doctor is: lose weight. Fact is... most diabetics carry too much belly fat.

You have two kinds of fat around your waist... subcutaneous fat and visceral fat.

Subcutaneous fat is fat that is located under the skin. It is visible fat and is usually soft and squishy, the reason it is often referred to as 'love handles' when it is around your waist. If you are not overweight and lead an active life, this kind of fat is not dangerous even if your tummy protrudes a little bit. It only becomes a problem if you become seriously overweight.

Visceral fat is different. It is not so visible. This is because it is 'deep fat', ie lies within the abdominal wall where it surrounds organs and releases hormones (which is why it is also called 'active' fat). Too much of this fat can result in the release of excessive amounts of hormones... this causes inflammation, which puts you at risk of a variety of health problems.

In contrast to subcutaneous fat, visceral fat can make the stomach feel hard. Though it is not visible, as it grows visceral fat causes your tummy to expand. A hard, protruding stomach signals danger.

Why is visceral fat bad? 

Many chronic health conditions are caused and/or made worse by this type of fat. These include heart disease, diabetes, some types of cancer, and back pain.

Heart disease... visceral fat cells release cytokines, chemical messengers that affect the actions of other cells such as, for example, those that control blood pressure, cholesterol and the regulation of insulin. As cytokines affect how organs function, having them floating around in your body is not a good thing. Elevated blood pressure and high cholesterol levels contribute to heart disease.

Visceral fat tends to affect men and women at different stages in their lives. Young women tend to gain subcutaneous fat on their hips and thighs while young men usually add visceral fat to their bellies. Thus men in their 30's are more likely to experience heart disease than women. Woman are more at risk of visceral fat later when they reach menopause.

Diabetes... persons who are overweight or obese are actually 90 times more likely to develop diabetes because belly fat affects how your organs work. Studies indicate that people with deep belly fat lose their sensitivity to insulin, the hormone that regulates our blood glucose levels.

If you have diabetes or are diabetic, you need to lose weight and reduce your visceral fat so that your blood sugar levels are normalized.

Cancers... cancer is caused by mutations in our cells. When we have excess visceral fat it signals our bodies to produce hormones that cause our cells to divide and multiply. The more often our cells divide, the greater the chances that one of them will mutate into a cancerous cell.

Thus more fat means more opportunities for cancer to develop. Indeed, the WHO states that up to one-third of all cancers of the colon, kidney and digestive tract are linked to being overweight.

Back strain and pain... your core, ie your abdomen or center of your body, needs to be strong if you are to have good balance and healthy joints, and protect yourself from injury. Having too much belly fat usually means that your abdominal muscles are weak due to the visceral fat surrounding your vital organs. When these core muscles are weak you back muscles have to take up the slack. As a result you are likely to strain you back and experience chronic backache.

What causes visceral fat?

There are plenty reasons why you put on fat around your waist... eating too much... growing older... family traits... alcohol... stress.

Excessive eating

... when we ingest more calories than we use up in our daily activities, our bodies store the extra calories as fat. We all need to eat less.

Growing older... as we age we start to lose muscle mass and gain fat. This is normal but it means that if we don't learn to eat less we will put on weight, ie get fat.

Family traits

... our genetics and family history plays a role in the type of fat we gain. If your parents had excessive visceral fat, the likelihood is that you will also have too much unless you take steps to stay slim and trim.

Alcohol... drinking to much intoxicating beverages (wine, beer or spirits) contributes to a build-up of 'beer belly' which is mainly visceral fat. But note that beer belly can be developed by drinking wine or spirits, not just beer.

Stress... continuous high levels of stress, of the sort we experience in modern life, causes a build-up of cortisol, the stress hormone, in our systems. Over time, this hormone leads to increasing amounts of fat around our tummies.

Who is most at risk of visceral fat?

Any one at any age who overeats (ie, eats more than they burn off in various activities) will develop tummy fat. However it does tend to increase with age, especially among women.

Those most at risk of developing excessive visceral fat are... white men... Afro-American women... Indian men and women from the subcontinent... people who drink sugary drinks... those who are already overweight or obese.

The good news is that visceral belly fat responds very well to diet... and all belly fat can be reduced significantly through exercise.

So, to trim down to a sleek tummy line, forget about pills, purgatories and herbal remedies, and ignore the miracle cures... you can get rid of belly fat naturally with nothing more than a healthy diet and plenty of exercise.

Reduce belly fat through diet

One of the best ways to reduce both kinds of belly fat... subcutaneous and visceral... is to create a calorie deficit, ie eat fewer calories than your body burns. All you need to be able to do is to make a rough calculation of the calories you eat each day and reduce that figure by at least 25%. It is not too hard to do, and it works.

At the same time you need to follow the Beating Diabetes diet. Here it is:

Eat natural foods that are low in sugar, low in fat, low in salt, and high in fiber, and have a low Hypoglycemic Index. Your diet should consist mostly of plants and lean protein. Wash your food down with plenty of water.

Following this diet is pretty easy.

First get rid of sugary drinks and foods... no more sodas and no sugar in your tea and coffee, which have been linked in some studies to the development of visceral fat. You must also cut out cakes and sweets, indeed any food with added sugar.

If you crave sugar, fight the craving... it can be done. Eating lean protein from legumes and lean meats can help you feel full and reduce your cravings.

To reverse your diabetes and reduce visceral fat, you must eliminate as much fat as possible from your diet. You need to eliminate entirely trans-fats and saturated fats which are closely linked to the development of visceral fat. This means eating unprocessed foods, ie lean meats, avocados and other fresh fruits and vegetables, as well as beans and oatmeal which are full of soluble fiber.

To reduce your intake of salt simply stop using the salt shaker and avoid all processed foods as these are packed with salt, both to preserve them and give them favor. In fact, processed foods also usually contain copious amounts of sugar and fat in order to enhance flavors.

Foods that are high in fiber are wholemeal grains such as oatmeal, most vegetables and fruits. Getting plenty of fiber ensures smooth digestion (provided you drink plenty of water).

Eating wholemeal grains means you are avoiding simple carbohydrates such as white bread, other refined grains and sugary foods which are low in nutritional value but high in calories. These foods are high on the hypoglycemic index which means they are digested rapidly which gives rise to spikes in blood glucose, the scourge of diabetics, and the rapid development of visceral fat. Wholemeal grains are digested slowly (ie, they have low GIs) and are much healthier.

Reduce belly fat with exercise: Research has shown that exercise plays a significant role in eliminating belly fat. A study published in the Journal of Applied Physiology in October 2005 compared men who exercised with men who did not and discovered that exercise is crucial in reducing visceral fat.

The researchers found that a modest exercise program prevents significant increases in visceral fat, while more vigorous exercise results in significant reductions in visceral, subcutaneous, and total abdominal fat without any changes in the intake of calories.

However, undertaking exercises that target the stomach area, such as crunches and sit-ups, does not get rid of belly fat... even though they strengthen abdominal muscles.

There are several ways you can reduce tummy fat using exercises:

Get moving... just increasing your level of physical activity will burn more calories. If you have a sedentary occupation, get up from your desk and move around every hour or so. Parking away from your destination so you have to walk the final few yards and walking up the stairs instead of taking the lift can burn more calories and reduce you tummy.

Take up cardiovascular exercises... it gets the heart pumping and reduces visceral fat by burning up calories. But start slowly with walking or swimming before working up to running or skipping rope.

High intensity interval training... in which you alternate intense exercise with slower activities, burns abdominal fat and is ideal if you are not ready for sustained high intensity exercising. Start slowly by (say) walking for 5 minutes and then running for 1 minute.

Strength training... can help you lose weight because muscles burn more calories than fat. You need to practice regularly several days a week. As well as reducing belly fat, strength training can help you to control your diabetes and prevent other chronic illnesses such as osteoporosis.

Takeaway

Belly fat can give rise to serious health problems whether you are diabetic or not.

But you can get rid of it easily enough with diet and exercise...

Eat fewer calories than you burn Avoid sugary foods Avoid fat in your diet as far as possible Avoid added salt Avoid refined carbohydrates Avoid processed foods Eat lean protein Eat foods that are digested slowly Eat lots of soluble fiber Drink alcohol sparingly Reduce your stress levels Take up aerobic exercises (cardio)Paul D Kennedy is a type 2 diabetic. He used his skills as an international consultant and researcher to find a way to beat his diabetes using diet alone and, about eight years ago, he stopped taking medications to control his blood glucose levels.

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