#hey this post has been in my drafts since 2019!!!!! what the fuck!!!!!

[joefanelli]

freddie mercury + text posts 

[littlestarlost]

what happened.

All this hunger is Always following us Out where we survive under poisonous skies They’re dreaming, but nobody’s sleeping Just coked hearts speeding See all the gold teeth gleaming See all the young, healthy free men Just move into nothing

(CW: discussion of mental health, trauma, PTSD)

A version of this post has been sitting in my drafts folder for ten months. I know this, because I originally began to write it around late January, just in time for the one-year mark to have passed since I’d last updated Setting Sun. When I posted that most recent update, I had just turned 30 years old, and I promised that it would not be another year before the next update. I wanted, so badly, for that to be true. In hindsight, it’s honestly better that I failed to keep that promise; I fear it might have exacerbated the damage that’s already been done, and made the healing process that much harder.

It’s been nearly two years. I want to talk about what happened.

I first began to write about Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov because I recognized myself so keenly in them; Yuuri’s high-achieving anxiety and imposter syndrome, and Victor’s quietly functional depression. When I found YOI, I was in grad school; I was winning awards, the top of my class, and utterly terrified that it was all a sham. Being able to channel those emotions through these characters helped me realize my own greatness, to embody it and walk with confidence and bravado. It allowed me to go into my post-degree job search with my head held high, trusting that all the lessons I had learned would lead me to professional success. Yuuri and Victor walked through life with me, two shadows of my own psyche, two people who helped me understand myself.

The first few months of the job were fine. Then things became less than fine, and then continued to descend into the kind of mundane nightmare that only multinational corporate legal firms could manifest. Setting Sun, a story about love and self-acceptance and joy, began to twist around in on itself. I don’t want to go into detail, but suffice to say that I spent nearly two years being gaslit and abused, told I was worthless, constantly having panic attacks as I desperately tried to exert control over things that were way over my head. My body betrayed me; I was in so much pain I couldn’t walk, so stressed I couldn’t bring myself to eat unless I’d smoked weed to calm the nausea. I began to believe that I had peaked in grad school, that I was fooling myself, that I was going to be trapped in that cubicle for the rest of my life, doing grunt work without challenge or interest, in the kind of workplace where you get reported to HR for sighing too loudly. That is a thing that actually fucking happened to me; nobody asked why I might be sighing, and nobody stopped by to check in when I spent most days in tears. This was a place where less than half the people in the room put up their hands when asked if they had ever been creative as kids. This was a place where I almost never got to see the sun.

Because I was massively overqualified and even more massively underworked, I spent a lot of 2018 writing fanfic--my zine pieces, my zutara pieces, all sorts of creative things. I also began to write horror AUs; two stories, in particular, gained a fair amount of traction on this particular platform. When I look back now, I see them for the coping mechanisms that they were; in the case of the crossroads AU, where Yuuri is willing to sell his soul to the devil just to escape his commute, it wasn’t even particularly subtle. I poured all my energy into creative pursuits; it’s been my outlet my whole life, and for a while it helped. By the time I hit the SCP-9874 AU, I burned out so profoundly and utterly that it destroyed my relationship to YOI and cauterized the pieces. SCP-9874 was one of the most creative things I’ve ever done, but it also involved what is, in hindsight, a shocking level of violence and horror inflicted on these characters who were such a close part of me. I was doing this to them because I was hurting, all the time. I now recognize it as the cry for help that it was, and to this day I fantasize about taking down all the SCP-9874 posts and excising that portion of my legacy as much as possible.

I wrote Setting Sun’s 21st chapter in honour of my 30th birthday, in late January of 2019. Somehow, at the time, I didn’t realize how rough it was. How much it implied about me and how I was doing. How much it reflected the true extent of the damage I was suffering. I left Victor and Yuuri in an abandoned apartment with more questions than answers and more regrets than they or I had ever thought possible, and I thought, somehow, that this was a good turning point. Little did I know at the time that the worst was still to come.

I was able to finally escape that toxic office last October, when I found a new job that paid nearly double and was everything I wanted to do in life and more. But  Yuri on Ice hurt too much to think about, even as time marched forward and I began to heal. I had PTSD flashbacks to the old office; I dealt with echo upon echo of terror that everything would fall away to reveal I was trapped in the same old nightmare again. In January 2020, I actually took a few days off for my birthday and reread Setting Sun from the beginning, and I’d somehow forgotten how funny it is, how sweet it is, how hopeful. I had completely forgotten; it had been burned away by twenty months of agony. That realization hurt more than all the other ones put together, I think. I had a good long cry over that.

Fast forward to now, and people have started to find Setting Sun again. They’ve found it on and off in the months since I updated, and for a very long time I would read the truly lovely comments people wrote--thanking me for writing it, hoping I’d come back someday, wishing me well wherever I was--and I would dissolve into tears because I just...couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to go back to this story that I could no longer recognize myself in. And nowadays, when new commenters come, I will warn them about that last chapter I wrote, because I can recognize it as the outlier it is.

But something has very recently changed.

I couldn’t necessarily tell you exactly what. Maybe it’s that I passed the one-year mark at my new job, and the last of the poison has finally been excised. Maybe it’s because I’m looking at all my writing with new eyes as I prepare to try doing this for a living. Maybe it’s because it’s 2020, and the rules aren’t really relevant anymore. I don’t know. But I can say that, two weekends ago, I opened Setting Sun, and realized that it didn’t seem impossible anymore. I realized that the boys had been through more than enough. We’ve been through more than enough. We deserve the happy ending I always planned to give them, going back four whole years when I first planned out this massive weird tale.

It’s been a very long time. It’s been exactly long enough.

I can’t promise exactly when the final chapter of Setting Sun will arrive. I’m walking back onto previously thin ice, and my footsteps are more than a little hesitant, so as not to cause any undue cracks. But I can remember the joy and humour and fun again; I can conceive of jokes and silliness and sweetness again. My playlist is filling up again, with songs of hope and love instead of anguish and sorrow. The Yuuri and Victor who sit inside my heart are skating; the music is carrying them, the wind is rushing past their ears, their feet feel light again and they want to jump and take flight and make beautiful things.

I have bookended this post with lyrics from a song that’s been on the maybe list for Setting Sun for nearly as long as Setting Sun has existed. It’s a song I love quite profoundly, a song that means a lot to me personally, but I could never manage to make it fit. It’s a song about running away to the big bright city, about being broken on the world’s wheel, and about realizing you just want to go home. It’s a song that’s ostensibly about the tragedy of this process, but right now I’m sitting at my desk, listening to the line I, I, I wanna go back, back, back, back, with grateful tears running down my face, and I’m realizing that it’s not part of Yuuri’s story, nor Victor’s; it’s part of mine. Home may never be the same as when you left, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t waiting for you with open arms.

So that’s what happened.

Put my body on a wagon And carry me off to the ocean Let me float on into the eastern sun Out where tomorrow has just begun Where I used to be wild, back in my time Now I just fight to sleep at night So render me up into the elements Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I come from...

(Gold Teeth, by Hey Rosetta!)

[elizabethvaughns]

so i've been mulling over this for quite a bit now, so i might as well articulate my thoughts and get them out onto this blog. so i was just thinking: subjectively or objectively, which one is better? the if/then dc preview or the broadway production? long post (1750+ words), so i'm putting a read more break <3

now, objectively at the very least, i know i have to say it's the broadway production. why wouldn't it be? it's a lot more polished, it's...the final draft, of sorts, of the production. we all know the final draft is usually better than the rough draft. but here's the thing. when it comes to an artwork that has several different versions, one tends to gravitate toward the version they saw first and have a certain bias against all the other versions. if you saw the bway version first or the dc version first, you probably like that one more. now i'm not saying this bias is conscious by any means. absolutely not. however, when one falls in love with some media, in my case at least, they take it in over and over and over again. and then they get so used to that one thing that all other versions seem weird. i can pinpoint two non-if/then instances in my life where such a thing happened.

in the summer of 2018, i watched the RENT movie on netflix. now i was fully intending to listen to the obc soundtrack before watching the movie, but i never really got to it. anyways, that movie was like love at first...watch to me. oh man, i loved it so, so much. so i downloaded the soundtrack on my phone and, you guessed it, listened to it over and over and over and over again. one fine day, (about a few weeks after, actually) i realized i never actually had listened to the obc soundtrack. so i did. and it sounded...odd to say the very least. i mean, some of the voices were different, sometimes the lines were changed, all in all, a confusing experience. to say the least, if you asked me back then which version i preferred, i would've readily said the movie version. but now, three years in retrospect, i'm not so sure. the obc version is a lot more...complete, i like the vocals more, and i'm now salty that "christmas bells" as a song was cut. evidently, i like the obc version more(but i still love the movie version hell it's still one of my comfort movies).

in the fall of 2019, i listened to falsettos. i actually listened to both the obc and the 2016 revival cast recordings. i guess that lessened the bias a bit because i was exposed to both versions at about the same time. on the fateful date of 2 october 2019, i watched the falsettos revival proshot. that's when i truly fell in love with this musical. but, even so, my initial exposure was to both recordings so even though i had a slight bias toward the 2016 version, i still loved both of them.

now, back to if/then. i actually find it difficult to pinpoint where exactly my exposure to if/then started. was it the very first time i heard about it in 2018 when i read a very meta RENT fanfic on ff.net where elizabeth made an appearance and i thought "what the fuck"(pun very much intended)"is if/then" (psst if you find the fic could you please drop the link in the replies meta fic isn't really my shit but i want to reread it for nostalgia's sake)? or was it the very first time i listened to the obc recording in 2020? or was it the boot of a broadway production that i first saw on 13 march 2021? whichever one i pick, they all lead to the same conclusion: i naturally gravitated(and sometimes still do) toward the broadway production because it was the first version of if/then that i was exposed to.

now sometime in early april 2021 over my spring break, i watched a recording of the dc production. i knew beforehand that this production is a preview, after which some changes had been made, resulting in the broadway show. since those changes were obviously made to better the production, it would be a logical conclusion that the very presence of those changes entailed a...worse production (not considering the fact that the interpretation and the very liking of art is entirely subjective). one could say i entered the watching experience with an unconscious bias, of sorts.

from the very first note, i was caught off-guard. i didn't know they changed this much. when i watched the bway production, i was just enjoying it for all it was worth. but when i was watching the dc preview, i was comparing it constantly to its broadway counterpart. oh, david's shirt colour is different here. oh, anne's wearing a pantsuit instead of a dress(cute). oh, time for hey kid! oh wait no they put "the moment explodes" right here. also, i was just humming along to the songs, just mouthing along the lyrics(because i have them all memorized), and every now and then and getting thrown way off-track when the tune remained the same but the lyrics changed. most notably, in "walking by a wedding" and "you learn to live without". all in all, i had what one could consider negative opinions about the dc production because of that bias.

but then i watched it second time. a third time. a fourth, fifth, sixth time. and over that time, i fell more and more in love with that production. as i've said before, the interpretation of art is wholly subjective–what one may consider a shortcoming of a particular piece, another may consider a strength. let me take the placement of "the moment explodes", for example. in the dc production, it's before "some other me". therefore, the line "every friend i ever knew or thought i did" doesn't hit as hard because we don't know her situation with lucas yet. even so, "some other me" hits twice as hard because lucas is an even bigger asshole now. in comparison, however, "the moment explodes" is after "some other me" in bway as you all know. so the aforementioned line holds a much greater significance when compared to its dc counterpart. however, one could also consider that line (in the dc production) as a sort of foreshadowing for the reveal in "some other me" of the new normal of beth and lucas's friendship (or the lack thereof).

obviously, some changes were most definitely welcome, "this day" to be more specific. of course, there was that little reprising of "what if?" near the end of "this day" in the dc production which i really loved, but all in all, the mood of "this day" was much more fun and enthusiastic in bway as opposed to dc, which in my opinion is an excellent way to start an act. in contrast, some changes were...not as welcome. i don't know about you, but personally, i really enjoyed two cut scenes from "the story of jane"("no more wasted time" dc version). first, the scene where kate brings her kindergarteners to beth. it was fun to see higgs squirm. second, the scene where elena and beth's interaction parallels beth and stephen's in "map of new york". narrative-wise, i think that it is an incredibly important scene as we get to see two sort of boss-employee relationships mirrored to each other, only beth does it well as a boss (if that makes any sense). we see beth as passionate but still sort of hesitant in mony but she grows to be more self-assured by nmwt, and i think the aforementioned scene only cements that notion as beth takes on the role of mentor for elena. also, "the story of jane" was a really fun song and, as much as i love "no more wasted time", i wish it still contained elements of "story of jane". and while i did enjoy the reshuffling of "the moment explodes" such that it became clear when beth and lucas made up in the bway production, they were ultimately still...not talking during "you learn to live without. as a result, we miss that one scene from the dc production where lucas and kate attend beth's awards ceremony and shoo stephen. and need i talk about the lucas/david duet verse("you get that we're connected, / i feel like you get me") in "ain't no man manhattan"? honestly, i feel like dc anmm was, all in all, better than bway anmm–especially that one verse where lucas sings to this other dude about how everyone is connected(no, not the one to stephen, the one after that. the one that ends with "[something something] / who you helped get elected").

also the situations with stephen and with kate/anne in both timelines were relatively clearer in the dc production. even so, the actual distinguishing of the timelines was better in the bway production.

in conclusion, the relative merit of each production(broadway vs. dc) is really up to the interpretation of each viewer. scenes that may seem weak to one may be considered narratively important to another. both productions have their own merits and flaws.

to me, both productions are equally good. my previous assertion/assumption that the final draft is always better than the first is not necessarily true. some things that you think were actually pretty good get lost in the editing process. some other things that should've been cut (ahem ahem, kate's referrals to lucas with "she", ahem ahem, liz's "i don't believe in independents like i don't believe in bisexuals. pick a side" line) get left in there. art is subjective. the editing process is subjective. in the end, though, the only thing that matters is that you enjoy what you're watching and find personal fulfillment in it. and i do! for both of these productions. for both of the productions, i'm smiling all the way up to "here i go". i'm slightly saddened during "you don't need to love me". i'm empowered by "the story of jane"/"no more wasted time". i'm grinning in liz-verse all the way up to "i hate you". i feel like sobbing during "some other me". my throat clogs up when "i hate you" starts. i'm actually sobbing by the time "you learn to live without" ends.

...you get the gist of it. all in all, both of these productions are phenomenal and i'm grateful for their existence and to have been able to watch them in the year of our lord 2021.

i love this show so much i swear.

i talk a bit more comparing broadway and dc here.

my other ramblings essays:

if/then appreciation

"what if?" vs. "what if?(reprise)"

character analysis of lucas

[emgkheadcannons]

So accidentally read this ask wrong from @positivecorrelation, and thought it was about them ending their beef, went with that, and wrote everything below this. I just rechecked the ask and realised what you were asking for. I will make it work.

I don’t have a set headcanon on how they make up, but one of my favorite ideas is that Cassie, and Hailie team up to end the feud. So I started writing an entire fic, but I really wanted to post this so here is the headcanon and most of the fic.

Cassie convinces MGK to apologise to Hailie, not her dad, since he wronged her first. She does it with perfect little kid logic, and Kelly wants to not only be a good dad but also a good example for his daughter, so he apologises to Hailie.

Hailie would be really happy she received an apology, and would decide that if a 9 year old can convince her dad to apologise, maybe together, and with a little outside help, they can get this feud to end.

This takes place sometime late February 2019.

Cassie hated that her dad was in a feud with Eminem. A lot of people are being mean, harassing him when he goes out, and booing him when he does ‘Rap Devil’. She has noticed that her dad isn’t as happy, and is acting different. He is sleeping more and more.

Cassie had an idea to help him though. If her dad apologises to Eminem’s daughter then that should make things better, not perfect, but it was a starting point. First she needs to find her dad, so she can convince him that he needs to apologise to hailie. She finds him easily enough in the living room, working on a song.

She starts by asking about the beef, and why they are fighting. Then she asked if he apologized, which she knows he did, but to the wrong person.

“But dad, but your tweet was about his daughter, not him. Shouldn’t you have apologized to Hailie instead?” Cassie asks.

Kelly freezes, thinking about what his daughter said. His tweet was about Hailie. She was the one he insulted, but he tried to apologize to Eminem. He never thought about how his comment affected her. If some kid had said something rude to his daughter, he would expect them to apologize to her.

“You’re right Cassie. I should have apologized to Hailie.”

“Then why don’t you? I bet she would appreciate it.”

“It’s a little too late for that now, pumpkin.”

“It’s never too late to say you’re sorry.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“No it’s not. You made a mistake, you acknowledged you made a mistake, now you just need to tell her you're sorry, and that you won’t do it again. See simple.”

“You are right again, sugar bean. How did you get so smart?” Kelly asks as he scoops his daughter up, as she breaks out into a fit of giggles.

Later that night, after he has put Cassie to bed, Kelly thinks about what she said. He really should apologize to Hailie for his tweet, but how could he get in contact with her. It’s not like Eminem, or anyone close to her will help him, and a public apology will look like a copout after all the feuding he and Em have done.

“Fuck. I can’t set a bad example for Cassie.”

He scrolls through his contacts on his phone, until he sees Travis Barker’s name. ‘Maybe he can give me some advice.’ He checks the clock; it was only 10:30, Travis should still be up.

After two rings he picks up

“Hey Kelly. What’s up?”

“Do you know a way I can get in touch with Eminem’s daughter Hailie?”

“Why do you want to get in contact with Hailie Scott?” Travis asks threateningly.

“I just want to apologise to her, nothing else. My daughter was asking about my feud with Eminem, and asked why I apologised to him, and not Hailie, since it was Hailie I tweeted about. I thought about what she said and it’s a good point. I wronged Hailie, therefore I need to apologise to Hailie, but I have no idea how.”

“So why call me?”

“For advice.”

“Okay. Let’s think. You could try DMing her”

“I highly doubt she would read a DM from me, if she hasn’t out right blocked me on everything.”

“Right. No one will probably give you her phone number. So maybe write her a letter.”

“A letter really. Even if I do write her a letter, I don’t have an address to send it to.”

“I can actually help with that. You just write the letter. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay, a letter it is.”

“Oh and Kelly, you better be telling the truth about this. I don’t mind helping you, but if this is just a way to get to Eminem by using Hailie, or something like that, I will personally drive your career into the ground.”

“Don’t worry Travis I am serious about this. I’ll leave the envelope unsealed so you can read it before it’s sent off.”

“Okay. Call me when you’re done.”

Kelly puts his phone down, grabs pen and paper, and starts drafting his letter.

It’s harder than he thought it would. Swallowing his pride, admitting his faults, and humbling himself is hard, but he finally does, and the letter shows his regret for his actions. Now he just has to find that nice stationary someone gifted him.

******

Hailie was sick and tired of all the attention she has been getting from her dad’s feud with Machine Gun Kelly. She prefers the quiet life she was making for herself, but now she barely got a moment of peace. What makes it even worse is that she has never seen her dad so angry, worrying that things will escalate beyond diss tracks and insults. Hailey doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her dad, because he feels obligated to defend her honor.

She knows her father’s beef with MGK isn’t just about the tweet Kelly posted back in 2012 about her being hot when she was 16, (Kelly says he didn’t know how old she was at the time), and that it was more about how disrespectful MGK was to her dad, saying he was better than her dad, and claiming how Eminem was hindering his career, banning him from Shade 45, and whatnot, but she was tired of this shit. Yeah MGK was a prideful idiot, who was full of himself, but her dad did block him from Shade 45, and some of his friends have decided not to associate with Kelly. When Kelly really did try to talk to Eminem in private, and end their feud, he threw it back in the blonds face, making Machine Gun Kelly double down, and release that diss track, ‘Rap Devil’. Her dad then destroyed him with ‘Killshot’.

While going through her mail, she notices a letter. She couldn’t think of who would send her a letter. Maybe it was a former classmate, or a thank you card. Shrugging she opens the envelope, and pulls out the paper inside.

The letter read,

Hailie,

I am sorry for the tweet I posted in 2012 about you being ‘sexy as fuck’, making you uncomfortable, and for apologising to your dad instead of you.

When I posted the tweet I didn’t know you were only sixteen, and when I found out your age I should have taken it down immediately, and apologized to you, but I didn’t. Instead I made a half assed apology to your dad, who I should have apologised to anyway, but for a different reason.

My daughter helped me see my mistakes, and convinced me that it’s not too late to apologise for what I did. I am going to set a better example for her. I have deleted the tweet, and I promise to never do something like that again. I will make a public apology, if that helps you, or if there is something else you need me to do, please tell me. I want to make up for what I did to you.

I was wrong for what I did, and what you had to deal with because of my actions.

I know I don’t deserve it, and that you in no shape or form have to give it to me, but I would like to ask for your forgiveness.

Sincerely,

Colson Baker, (A.K.A. Machine Gun Kelly)

Hailie was shocked. Machine Gun Kelly sent her a handwritten letter, to apologise for something he did years ago. No one else who had targeted and dissed her has ever apologised to her. Her dad sure, but never her. She rereads it just to make sure.

She opens up twitter, and the tweet is gone. Looking back at the letter, Hailie smiles. Maybe Machine Gun Kelly wasn’t as bad as she thought. She did want to know how he got her address though.

Going back to her phone, she reopens twitter, and goes to Machine Gun Kelly’s profile. She unblocks him, before opening her DMs.

I got your letter. How did you get my address? - Hailie

A few minutes later she got a reply.

I’m glad you got my letter. Don’t worry I don’t have your address. I gave the letter to Travis Barker. He’s the one who got a hold of your address. - MGK

Hailie frowns at her phone. Who was Travis Barker? His name sounds familiar. After a quick google search, she sees he is the drummer for Blink-182, and that he probably got it from Paul Rosenberg. Okay that made her feel better. Going back to twitter, she sees that she has a new message.

Would you mind if I told my daughter that you got my apology letter? - MGK

Hailie thinks about it before typing her reply.

Yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind if you tell her. This doesn’t mean that I forgive you though. - Hailie

I understand, and thank you. Again I am sorry for my tweet, and dragging you into this beef. - MGK

Hailie doesn’t respond. She debates whether or not to reblock MGK, but decides against it. He really did seem remorseful for what he did, and is trying to change to be better for his daughter. That gets Hailie thinking, if Machine Gun Kelly’s daughter can convince him that he needs to apologize to her, and not her dad, then maybe together they can get their dad’s to stop fighting.

Hailie has a plan to end this stupid feud, get her dad from being so angry all the time, and hopefully get her peaceful life back. She will need Cassie’s help, and a few other people too, for this to work. First thing she does is call up Paul Rosenberg.

“This is Paul.”

“Hey, Paul this is Hailie. Do you have a second?”

“Sure. What can I do for you?”

“First are you with my dad.”

“No. Should I be?”

“No, it’s better if he isn’t around for this. Did you give my address to Travis Barker?”

“No, he gave me the letter to mail. I didn’t read it though. He said it was something important, and asked me not to read it. Is everything okay? Was there something in there I should Know about?”

“The letter was important, and you did the right thing trusting him. I just wanted to know how he got my address.”

“Okay, I’m glad my judgement was good, but this has me a little worried. Will you tell me what the letter was about?”

Hailie debates whether or not to tell him. On one hand the letter was an apology to her, she doesn’t have to tell anyone about it. On the other hand, if she tells Paul nothing, he might tell her dad about it in concern, which would ruin her plans. She makes her decision.

“It was a handwritten apology letter from Machine Gun Kelly.”

There is a moment of silence before Paul responds. “WHAT!”

“You heard me. He apologized for the tweet he posted about me, making me uncomfortable, apologising to my dad instead of me, and for dragging me into this stupid feud. He even deleted the tweet.”

Hailie can hear Paul tapping on his phone, probably checking to see if it was really deleted. “Damn, he really did delete it. Do you know what brought this on?”

“Yeah, his daughter.”

“Okay, makes sense.”

“So you know how you have been trying to get my dad to end this feud with him, well this gave me an idea. I just need to know if you are in.”

“I’m listening.”

“If Cassie can change her dad’s mind, then I should be able to do the same with my dad, right? Right. So I need you to do a couple of things. I need a way to get in contact with Cassie, and her mom. I will also need you to back me up later on.”

“Okay I can probably get in touch with Cassie, and her mom. Give me a few days. And I will back you up but I will need more details.”

“I will tell you the details later. I need to make a few more calls.

Next people she recruits are Alaina and Whitney. They have noticed how agitated Eminem has been lately, and agree to help with her plan. He also ropes in Travis Barker, Tommy Lee and Elton John, to help them too.

Paul came through with Emma’s, Cassie’s mom, phone number, and an understanding that Emma will listen to her idea, but she decides if Cassie is involved.

Hailie explains her plan. She and Cassie were going to convince their dad’s to meet, in hopes of ending the beef. Colson already tried once, but Em turned it down. This is where Cassie came in. She needed to convince her dad that he should try again, that he should take the higher ground, and be the better person. You know, set a good example. Emma can help with this too. Hailie has the harder job of convincing her dad to do the same. That he has defended her, and should talk with MGK. Once they have convinced both men to meet, they will have to pick a date that works for everybody. They will have Paul, Travis, Elton, and of course Hailie and Cassie, there when the two meet. Hopefully having both of their daughters there will keep things civil long enough to get something done. Paul hopes a collaboration comes out of it, but Hailie and Cassie just want their dads to be happy again.

******

Over the next few weeks Hailie e-mailed, Cassie and Emma,over how to get the two rappers to end their feud.

******

Hailie, Whitney, and Alaina have been dropping hints, and saying things, about ending arguments, burning the hatchet, and letting bygones be bygones. Em is really proud of his girls, being so mature, but fails to get the hints. Whitney even stages a fight with a friend, with an epic apology, but it still goes over Em’s head.

Now it is time for Hailie to confront her dad on his feud.

She has made it this far, there’s no turning back now. Hailie straightens her back, squares her shoulder, and walks into her dad’s office determined. Her dad looks up from some papers and smiles. It’s nice to see him smile.

“Hey Hailie.”

“Hey dad.”

“What brings you over? Not that I’m not glad to see you, it’s just you have been busy lately.”

“I came to talk to you. It’s about your feud with Machine Gun Kelly.”

The smile falls off Eminem’s face and his eyes harden. “You don’t need to worry about that son of a bitch. I’ll take care of him.” He stands up and heads over to the window.

Hailie takes a deep breath. “No dad. It was me he tweeted about. Everything has gotten out of control, and I have now been dragged into your stupid feud.”

Em turns around. “I know sweetie, and I’m sorry for that, but don’t worry I am crushing that blond asshole. His career is practically over.”

“Dad, that's not okay. Yeah, he is an asshole, and he deserved to be knocked down a few pegs, but this is overkill.”

“Hailie, this is my business. What I do…” Em didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“No, this isn’t just your business. It’s mine too, and I get a say in what happens. Machine Gun Kelly wrote me a letter…” Hailie didn’t get to finish what

“HE FUCKING CONTACTED YOU. I’M GOING TO KILL HIM. THAT STALKING SON OF A…” Em yells, as he heads for the door. Hailie steps in front of him, blocking the exit.

“No you're not. Now calm down. We are going to finish this conversation.”

“Hailie Jade Scott Mathers you better move out of my way.”

“No dad. I am a full grown woman, not a little girl anymore, and you are going to listen to what I have to say. Yes he wrote me a letter. He did it to apologise for what he did. The tweet, the feud, everything. Do you know how many other people have apologised to me for stuff they said? Have expressed regret for what they did to me? Not how many regret having to deal with you, but feel bad for what they did to me.”

Eminem thinks for a second, but doesn’t respond. Hailie continues.

“None. That’s how many. Everyone says sorry to you, not me. He is the only one. He admitted that he should have given me an apology for the comment, and even though it is years late, he still said sorry. Even after this whole feud, ‘Killshot’, and everyone hating him, Colson Baker is a big enough man to admit when he is wrong.”

“Just because he said ‘sorry’ doesn’t mean…”

“No dad, he didn’t just say ‘sorry’, he swallowed his pride, took responsibility for it, deleted the tweet, asked what he could do to make it up to me, and asked for my forgiveness. He wants to be a better role model for his own daughter. Here, read it for yourself.” Hailie hands him the letter, and waits while he reads it.

Em reads the letter. The kid really did set his pride aside and ask for his daughter forgiveness. He rereads the letter just to make sure he read it right, and he did. He was still unbelievably pissed that Machine Gun Kelly was somehow able to get to Hailie, but after reading the letter he doesn’t want to kill the blond idiot anymore.

“Okay he apologized to you, what do you want me to do? Just let him get away with running his mouth?”

“You have already won. He admitted that he couldn’t respond to ‘Killshot’. He tried to contact you more than once to end it but you said no. What I want is for you to be like Machine Gun Kelly, swallow your pride and set a better example for Alaina, Whitney, and I, and at least meet with him, so this stupid feud can end.” Hailie says as she holds her dad’s satire.

Em looks away, and sighs. “I don’t really have a choice in this so I?”

“You do have a choice. You can be an adult and meet with him, or you can be petty, and Alaina, Whitney, Paul, Fifty, Royce, Elton, Dre, and I will be disappointed in you.”

“Of course you got everyone to back you up. Fuck! Fine, I will meet with him, but I am making no promises about ”

Hailie relaxes. She will take it. For all intents and purposes, her dad has agreed, and she is tired, but she has a sense of accomplishment.

“Thanks dad. I’ll have Paul arrange the meeting.” She turns to leave.

“Hey, Heilie.”

“Yeah,dad.”

She turns back around, and her dad has wrapped her up in a big hug. She returns it immediately, and stands there for a moment. When they finally break apart Em asks her, “When did you get so smart, Jelly bean?”

“I don’t know dad. I musta learned it from you.”

******

The day of the meeting happens. They are in a studio in LA. It’s a neutral location. Paul, Elton, and Travis are sitting in the room waiting on the others to arrive.

“So, do you think this will actually work?” Travis asks.

“I don’t know darling, but hopefully with their daughters here it will be civil.” Elton replies as he crosses his ankles.

A few minutes later Eminem shows up with Hailie, and he looks put out. “Alright where is the blond fucker?”

“Marshall! I hope you don’t plan on using that kind of language today. Colson is bringing his daughter, and she is only 9.” Elton scolds. Em sighs knowing better than to argue with Uncle Elton about this kind of thing, even though he is pretty sure that she has heard worse from her own dad. He slumps into a chair between Paul and Hailie, already feeling done with the day and this meeting.

Kelly walks in with Cassie on his shoulders, and she is just chatting away, and Kelly is listening to every word she says. He sets her down in one chair, and takes the one between her and Travis.

“Hi Cassie.” Hailie greets.

“Hi Hailie.” Cassie says with a wave.

Em looks between his and Kelly’s daughters, and then it clicks.

“Fuuuuc-dge, fudge knuckles.” Em has to correct himself remembering that there is a literal child present. Hailie and Travis are snickering. At least Paul and Elton are trying to hide their amusement at his outburst. Em looks over at Kelly who gives him a look saying ‘yeah me too’.

“Our daughters played us.” Em says.

“Yep they teamed up to gang up on us.” Kelly says as he nods in agreement.

Neither rapper speaks, and the silence gets heavier with each passing moment.

“Let’s get this over with.” Em says with a sigh. “Everyone else out. This is between Machine Gun Kelly and me.”

Everyone but Kelly and Cassie begin to protest. Cassie decides to take action. She nudges her dad in the side with her elbow, and whispers in his ear, “Remember Dad be the bigger person.”

“Thanks pumpkin.” He whispers back, gives her a hug. She then grabs hailies hand, and heads for the door. The others follow suit, until it’s just Em and Kelly in the room.

“I’m sorry for tweeting about your daughter. I’m sorry for those things I said about you trying to interfere with my career, and I'm sorry for the other awful things I said about you. I really didn’t mean for that tweet to be rude, but I now see how it looks.”

“Did you fucking practise.”

Kells scratches the back of his head, breaking eye contact, looking down, at the ground. “Yeah with my daughter.” He mumbles out.

“Why did you post that tweet about Hailie?”

“To be honest, I thought she looked hot in it, but I didn’t know how old she was. When I found out how old she was I was disgusted with myself, but didn’t know what to do.”

“Okay fine I can understand that you didn’t know her age before commenting, but it was still shitty.”

“I Know.”

“Don’t ever do it again.”

Kelly looks up meeting Em’s Glare. “I won’t.”

Em takes pity on him, seeing that he is being sincere.

“I’m sorry too, kid. I’m sorry I banned you from Shade 45, talked shit about you, and called you a mumble rapper. You’re not.”

“Thank you.” A soft smile appears on Kelly’s face. Em can’t help but think it looks good on the blond.

Em can’t help but smirk. He was going to have fun picking on Kelly. “Am I really your idol?”

Kelly goes pink, and looks away. “Shut-up.”

“Oh no. You really looked up to me didn’t you? You wanted to be just like me. I bet you had all my albums, and posters of me.”

“Yeah but they always say never meet your heroes.” Kelly freezes, not meaning to say that out loud, making Em stop. Yeah Kelly did look up to him. Kelly really didn’t do anything, beside the tweet. Em did hinder his career, and was an ass to him, but the entire time they were feuding, Kelly still said he looked up to him.

“Look I’m sorry I was an ass to you. You just wanted recognition from me. Instead I dissed you, called you a mumble rapper. You tried to end this multiple times, and I didn’t want to hear it.”

Kelly is still blushing but he is looking at Em again.

“Your lyrics aren’t half bad either.”

The blond lights up. “Really?”

“Yes, need some work but they are pretty good.”

“Thank you.”

They sit there again not knowing what to do. Then Kelly pipes up. “So does that mean our feud is over?”

“Yeah it’s over.”

“What do we do now.”

“N

Em grabs his phone and texts Paul. Next thing they know Paul walks in. “Now that that is out of the way, we can call this beef over. I will set something up for the press.”

The details are hashed out. Kelly is going to open up for Em later this year, and neither one is going to sing their diss tracks of each other. Kelly does get to keep the moniker ‘Rap Devil’, to Paul’s disdain. Em thinks it’s funny (read cute).

Everyone parts ways.

Hailie links with her dad’s arm as they go down the hallway.

“The way you were picking on him, almost felt like you were doing it to get his attention.”

Em blushes as the statement.

“OMG you do think he is cute, that’s why you don’t want to give up this beef.”

“No I don’t. He’s an asshole who needed to be taught a lesson.”

“Okay Dad whatever you say.”

She hurries on head, but turns and gives her dad a wink. A new plan in mind.

[themusicplayedherlife]

Of Warmth and Growth

pairing: dick grayson x f!reader characters: reader, the team, dick grayson word count: 7.7k+ warnings: angst, self doubt, and boat load of fluff summary: dealing with a broken heart isn’t easy, but your friend megan is hoping to get you out of that fink by inviting you to her holiday party where you meet someone that might help you move on. a/n: there’s a whole story behind this--originally this was started as a requested oneshot, but i couldn’t bring myself to finish it, so i revamped it and wrote a different story that i posted some time ago. fast forward to november, i made it my goal to finish this before the new year, and i was so close, too, but family took priority. there might also be a disconnect, but I really tried smoothing it over, hopefully I did well. anyway, better late than never, though?

Happy Harbour

December 7, 2019

“Sometimes it’s very hard to move on, but once you move on, you’ll realize it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You’ll see.”

You want to laugh bitterly at Megan’s words, but her sympathetic smile and warm gaze are holding you back from doing so. She’s only trying to help, you’re reminded by your conscious as she continues to spew words of healing and bullshit. Utter bullshit. 

Your bitterness wins and you say, “I know,” wanting nothing more than for her to shut up. 

Her smile turns sheepish and she pats your hand affectionately before excusing herself to get more coffee, or to get away from you. You wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter, you haven’t exactly been good company to keep around since your break up.

Sighing, your eyes trail to the world on the other side of the small cafe’s window. It’s bustling and full of people with shopping bags, all of them preparing for the holidays. It really is a different world outside, you muse. Everything inside the coffee shop is warmer and cozier—quieter compared to the outside. It almost, almost makes you forget about your broken heart that was ripped and stomped on by the person you thought loved and cared for you, things that you still, unfortunately, feel for them.

Your red-haired friend comes back with two styrofoam cups instead of one, and she sets one down in front of you, taking her seat across from you once more. “I got you another earl grey.”

You pick up the warm styrofoam, enjoying the heat against your palm. “Thank you.”

Megan doesn’t say anything for once, instead she watches the world with you, letting only the soft jazz of the cafe to envelop you. You can tell she’s going over something in her mind, she’s never this quiet unless she’s thinking, and that’s—usually—never a good thing, at least not when it pertains to you. 

It’s not until you’re halfway done with your drink that she finally speaks, having grown restless with her thinking. She’s looking at you, her eyes narrowed and a little shaky, never really making contact with your own, but still facing your direction. “Sooo, I was thinking,” she drawls, “Conner and I are inviting some of our old friends over for a little get together this weekend and I thought, hey, maybe I can convince my best friend in the whole universe to finally meet my other friends, you know, I want us all to be friends and—“

“You’re rambling.”

“Right; sorry. It’s not going to be a huge thing, just a few of us watching crappy movies and drinking spiked eggnog, maybe play some games or something.” She reaches for your hand holding your drink and finally meets your eyes. “And I really want you to be there. What do you say, huh?”

“Megan,” you start warningly.

She raises a hand as a peace sign. “I know, I know! You said you wanted to keep a low profile this holiday season, but I really want to introduce you. They’re really nice people, a little odd, but so am I and you’re still my friend!”

You purse your lips, mulling over the idea. “Are the girls going to be there?”

“Yes! Well, Karen will be, I’m not sure about Wendy, yet. Should probably ask her tonight.”

Again, you think it over. Not only will you be in a small, confined space with a lot of people (she might have said it wasn’t going to be huge, but you and her have different definitions for small and huge), you’re going to be stuck in a confined space with strangers. It doesn’t sound very pleasing, but then again, you haven’t been very pleasant and there’s no denying that you always dodged her past intents to get you and her friends to hang out, and yet, she’s still here, trying to cheer you up. 

You owe it to her. 

“Okay, I’ll go.” She immediately squeals. Loudly. Blushing, you look around the cafe, and just as you feared, everyone in the small cafe is looking at you. You sigh, lifting a hand to stop her from over exerting herself—and from embarrassing you any further. “Just don’t expect me to bring anything.”

“That’s fine! That’s fine! As long as you bring yourself, I’m content.”

You’re going to regret it, you just know it.

Happy Harbour

December 14, 2019

You tug at the hem of your outfit, uncomfortable. You could hear the loud laughter of the people inside accompanied by the soft hum of Megan’s holiday playlist. In your hand is a Tupperware full of brigadeiro, a Brazilian dessert your grandma used to make for the holidays before she completely quit eating sweet things (in front of your mom anyway).

Fingers tighten around the container. Maybe you should go... You could always deal with an angry Megan later. 

“Are you going to go in or are you just going to stare at the wreath all night?” A deep, amused voice registers in your mind and your body jerks in response, almost making you drop the Tupperware if it weren’t for the steady hand holding you against their strong, chest. “Whoa, there!” he exclaims, warm air fanning over your neck. “You all right?”

He doesn’t allow you to pull away until he steadies you, making sure you’re upright before letting you go. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe out. “Thank you.”

He chuckles and you whirl around to meet your assailant and savior—and holy fuck is he gorgeous. They were gorgeous, too, but in that average kind of way. Nothing about them stood out to people, but to you? They were the most beautiful person you had ever seen. But this man in front of you, you had to be stupid not to notice how gorgeous he is. Striking blue eyes peering into you, a mischievous glint in them and matched by the lopsided smirk adorning his face; unruly black locks in waves and falling to one side as he runs his fingers through his hair. There’s something distinctly boyish and alluring about him that it renders you speechless.

“Megan never told me she had such a gorgeous friend,” he suddenly says. Or maybe not so suddenly because you’re sure his mouth had been moving before you allowed yourself to fall under his spell.

Hold on. 

Wait a second.

Gorgeous?

Did he really just call you gorgeous, too?

Your throat closes and your eyes widen, hopefully not comically or at all because holy shit. A really gorgeous man just called you gorgeous. The last person to ever compliment was your mom. But she’s your mom. She’s supposed to think you’re pretty good looking. And before that it was them. And realizing it now, they probably never even meant it. So this? This is new and weird and what the fuck are you supposed to say to something like that to someone like him. “I—“ 

A draft of air hits your back as the door is swung open behind you. The Christmas music that Megan has been preparing since June is louder than before without the door closed.

“You’re here,” she squeals, wrapping her arms from behind you, her chin settling on your shoulder. “I’m so happy you came!” She kisses your cheek messily and something sweet and alcoholic fills your nostrils. “And you brought something!”

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t make it a thing.” You laugh, pulling away as she makes a show of having to let you go. “How much eggnog have you had?” 

“Not too much.” Her eyes turn to the other guest and her eyes brighten. “Dick!” Dick? What kind of name is Dick? Was his mom angry at his dad? Noticing your stare, he smiles down at you, amusement never leaving his face before he turns to Megan. “You’re here! Wally and the others are already here.” She moves away from the door to let you both in.

Dick gestures to the inside of her apartment. “After you.”

Blinking owlishly, you thank him and enter the loud apartment full of people you don’t recognize—well, mostly of people you don’t recognize. There’s Karen and Mal by the Christmas tree talking to a redhead and a blonde, who Dick makes his way over to after excusing himself. Wendy is with Marvin by the snack table, the two arguing—really it's Marvin arguing—about which dessert is the best for the holidays, and a few other really gorgeous and fit people. Why are all of her friends ridiculously good looking?

“You okay?” Megan asks, her hand settling on your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

Your head swivels in her direction. “What?”

“You were frowning,” she says softly. “Hey, if I forced you to be here—“

“No,” you interrupt her quickly. “No, I’m glad you invited me, I just—I’ll be okay. I promise. You were right about me having to move on. I can’t avoid society forever because of a broken heart. I just need to get used to… this,” you say, moving your eyes around the party of people that seemed to already be coupled off.

She smiles gently but doesn’t seem all that convinced. “I’m right here if you need me, okay?” She takes the Tupperware from your hands. “Come on, let's say hi to everyone.” When you bristle, as you take off your coat, she laughs. “In moderation.”

An hour into the party and you’ve already become acquainted with mostly everyone at the party. You meet Wally and Artemis, the couple who were with Karen and Mal when you first arrived; Raquel and her baby boy, Amistad. Cassie and Tim; Jaime and Bart; Gar and some really weird guy who keeps glaring at Conner; Kaldur, who looks strangely familiar—and only smiles when you mention it before being pulled away by Megan—and Barbara, who eyes you momentarily before flashing you a warm smile. She’s a little intimidating, if you’re being honest.

There are still a few more people you have yet to meet, but you seriously need a break, and you say as much to Megan.

“You said a little party,” you say accusingly, as if you hadn’t known this was her definition of small.

She laughs, her arm hooked around yours as she pulls you towards the spread of food and drinks. “It is little!” She lets go of you, opens the treats you made and places them between all the others. She then grabs a clean cup to fill it with eggnog before handing it to you. “Here! Conner and I made it, so it might not be… good.”

You take a tentative sip of the thick liquid made out of egg and spices and doused with alcohol and holy fuck do you regret it. “You and Conner made this?” you sputter, the taste of bourbon lingering strongly on your tongue.

She pouts. “The recipe called for a ton of bourbon to counteract the sweetness!”

You pull the cup away and eye the liquid with scrutiny. “Did you put a whole bottle of Bourbon from Costco in here?”

“Yes?” she answers, a little unsure. “Probably. I don’t actually remember.”

Conner comes up from behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “Enjoying yourselves?” 

She tilts her head to kiss him on his cheek continuously and smiles. “Always.” 

You avert your gaze. 

“It’s good to see you again,” Conner addresses you after they’ve had their fill of small pecks. Honestly, you don’t blame them for being so affectionate and in love. It wasn’t that long ago that the two finally decided to give each other another chance after a falling out that Megan still doesn’t want to talk about. And again, you don’t blame her. You don’t want to talk about the reason why you and your ex broke up either, let alone think about it. 

You hum and reluctantly move your gaze back to their interlocked embrace. You manage a smile. “Same to you. Been a while hasn’t it?” 

Before he can reply, Gar interrupts with a call of their names. He’s standing near the fireplace with Bart, leaning over something. “Come check this out!”

Megan wiggles out of Conner’s hold and instead grabs his hand to lead him towards the boys. “Don’t go anywhere!”

Conner flashes an exasperated glance at you over his shoulder, which you return, before he wraps his arms around Megan again—the two laughing and joking about who knows what as they close the distance between them and the boys.

Sighing, you take another sip of the eggnog and your face scrunches in response to the liquid coating your tongue. “Bleh.”

“Fell victim to the spiked eggnog, I see,” a voice cuts through your thoughts as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eyes snap up to meet the familiar, amused gaze of Dick. “Uh, yeah.”

He offers you a different mug and you eye it suspiciously. He chuckles. “It’s just apple cider, I promise.”

You reluctantly relent, taking the mug he offers as he takes the one you had been drinking. You take a sip, and surprisingly enough, it really is apple cider, no alcohol at all. “Oh, god, thank you.”

He flashes you a pearly smile, and takes a sip of the eggnog without grimacing. “So, how did you meet Megan and Conner?”

“Oh, um, from school. We went to the same high school.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I was a year below them, but I became friends with Megan when she joined the cheerleading team. My friendship with Conner just followed naturally after that.”

His eyes brighten, as if what you’re saying is actually interesting. “Really?”

You curl a piece of loose hair behind your ear. “Uh, yeah. What about you? How did you meet them?”

“Oh, through our families,” he supplies, a little detached, as if it weren’t really important. “Most of us met like that.”

You frown, but try to hide it behind the rim of the mug. “Wow. Then you must’ve known Megan for quite some time, then?”

His eyes flicker to your lips and his turn upwards. “Actually, I’ve probably known her for about the same amount of time as you.”

Wait. If that's true…“Does that mean you went to the Halloween disaster of 2016?” You remember Megan telling you she would be inviting her friends to the dance, and you heard that she did. Maybe he was among them?

He snorts. “Is that what they’re calling it?” You nod eagerly, hoping to hear his side of what happened that night.

“No.” You deflate, and he huffs a laugh. “I wasn’t able to go, had plans that night. Did you?”

You pout, the disappointment you felt at missing that night coming to mind. “Unfortunately, no. I was sick, but I heard from Marvin and the others that it was a night to remember.”

You don’t get to ask him more questions because as soon as you open your mouth, the front door opens to reveal a beautiful girl with dark, raven hair in delicate waves and bright blue eyes entering the room. Immediately, everyone (excluding you, Marvin and Wendy—wtf Karen?) recognizes her and greet her with a loud exclaim of her name, “Zatanna!”

Dick turns to you and you already know that he’s about to excuse himself. “Do you mind if—“ 

You shake your head interrupting him with, “No, no, go ahead.”

Surprisingly, he reaches for your arm and squeezes gently. “I’ll be right back.”

You blink after him and mutter, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Be right back” doesn’t happen. He stays by the pretty girl’s side, the two of them being overly familiar with one another—tight hugs, continuous small touches, long eye contact, leaning against one another. You wouldn’t be surprised if they dated at some point, to be honest; or maybe they are dating—ugh. Why does the thought of it bother you?

“You all right?” Wendy softly asks, her kind eyes full of worry and briefly moving to Karen by the entrance.

What’s that about?

You try to keep from frowning. “I think I just need some fresh air,” you assure her.

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just be out for a moment, besides—“ you flick your eyes to Marvin by the dessert table stuffing his face with walnut bread—“I think you’d better stay to make sure Marvin doesn’t eat all the walnut bread.”

“Oh—damn it, Marvin!” She sighs ready to chastise her boyfriend, but she pauses to look at you. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You hum in agreement and watch as she saunters over to Marvin before turning on your heels and stepping out through the sliding doors leading to the balcony.

The cold winter air bites your skin, your long sleeved turtleneck not enough to combat the cold, but just thinking about going back inside makes you try to suck it up. You cover your mouth with your sleeve as you lean against the railing—Happy Harbor lights glinting brightly in the dark. 

Maybe you should leave. You’ve been here a good amount of time to deem acceptable, right? You’ve met some of Megan’s friends and even talked to a few of them for a while, and you didn’t show an ounce of disgruntlement—as far as you know—so you should be good right?

An ache fills your chest, pulsing slowly as you let out a long sigh. God, what happened to you? You weren’t always like this. So closed off and unwilling to spend time with your friends. You’ve practically been unconsciously ignoring Karen and Mal, attaching yourself to Megan when she is alone, or staying with Marvin and Wendy because they act least like a couple compared to your old classmates. And the moment the one person you’ve talked to for an extended period of time at the party joins his pretty friend, you become bitter about it! 

You need help.

Something heavy lands on your shoulders and back, strong cologne filling your nostrils and making you jump.

“Woah, easy, it’s just me.”

Startling blue eyes twinkle with mischief and your shoulders drop, heat combatting the cold air. “Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

He just grins and settles in the space beside you, eyes sweeping over the town you grew up in. “My job kind of requires that I do.”

You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, ignoring the fact that it’s not exactly your size. It’s warm anyway. “Thank you.” You lean forward, tightening the coat to fit you snuggly. “What kind of job requires you to have ninja like stealth?”

He chuckles, meeting your gaze. “I’m an officer at Bludhaven PD, trying to become detective.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Bludhaven? Really?”

He hums, elbow resting on the railing and cupping his cheek.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Gotham has its norierty, but so does Bludhaven. It was basically untapped, scandals and crimes hidden behind a veil created by corrupt officials, until a couple of years ago when it all came to light with Nightwing’s arrival.

“Yeah,” he drawls, mulling it over, “but what isn’t? Anything can be dangerous if you think about it.” He leans closer to you. “Where do you work?”

“Happy Harbour Times, Opinions.”

“Then you must have to deal with a lot of angry readers when you write about something they don’t agree with, right? Threats and angry phone calls and letters. Those can be dangerous, too, right?” he asks cheekily.

You laugh, ducking your head. “I guess you’re right.” There’s still no comparing writing articles to police work, no matter how light of a situation Dick is trying to make it. “Why police work, though? It’s not many people’s first choice. Especially in Bludhaven.”

He shrugs. “Always been interested, I guess.” He leans back, hands holding onto the railing and causing his blue cable knit sweater to wrap tightly around his arm muscles. “My guardian…” Now, that’s an interesting choice of words. “He was—is a fan of mysteries.” His voice is far off, stuck in his jar of memories. “When he took me in, we’d used to solve cases together, most of them taking place in Gotham, where I was raised.” He chuckles. “And I guess from there I just… I just decided I wanted to be a cop.”

“I see... And you decided not to become a cop in Gotham?”

“Gotham has good people looking out for her already.”

“She could always use more.” He cracks a smile, blue eyes twinkling with the city lights as they find yours, and you return it shyly. “But I get it. Bludhaven has become yours, in a way. Separate from your… guardian.”

“In a way,” he repeats, and you have to look away from or else your heart will stop. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “Happy Harbour Times?”

“Ah.” Your breath comes out in a puff, the night air still growing colder by the hour, but you don’t mind it. Dick doesn’t seem to mind either. “Well, when I was a kid, my third grade teacher told my parents I was a really good writer. So, they got me into workshops and short story competitions,” you recall, remembering the constant competitions your parents would sign you up for without your knowledge sometimes. They did it with good intentions, hoping to help hone your skill, but it was too much sometimes. “Truth is, I hated it. Never really liked… fiction, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, give me a good fiction novel and I will read it for days, but… it… it just wasn’t me,” you confess locking your fingers in place. 

“I was about ready to give up on writing when my tenth grade English teacher assigned us a topic to write about and I guess I fell in love with the research and being able to go out and interview people.”

“Yeah? And what was it that you wrote about?”

You bite your lip and find Dick staring at you, a curious glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t laugh?” He promises he won’t. “Robin.”

He chokes on his saliva, eyes growing in disbelief. “As in Batman’s Robin?”

You tuck strands of hair behind your ear, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah, um, the prompt was about vigilantes and I chose to write about him instead of the Flash, Batman, Wonder Woman and whoever else everyone wrote about.”

“Why?”

You shrug, trying your best to mask your embarrassment with a blase attitude. “Fighting crime with Batman? That was pretty cool, you know? He was living every kid’s dream.”

“Was he?” he asks, voice soft.

“He was!” you confess, smile blooming on your face as a memory of you and your friends playing as the superhero sidekicks comes to mind. It’s some of your best memories from elementary school. “But I didn’t want to just write about the good. He was a kid seeing some fucked up shit, after all.” You pause to look at him, only to find he’s not looking at you, but at the city lights. There’s something… wistful and forlorn in those blue eyes of his, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on his time in Gotham, seeing Boy Wonder up close and personal. “Being Robin must’ve taken its toll on him, both mentally and physically. 

“And I wanted to write about that. Even had my parents drive up to Gotham for the weekend so I could do some snooping, maybe even find Boy Wonder myself.”

Finally he reacts, lips twitching as he turns to look at you. “And how’d that go?”

“I learned that the citizens of Gotham really hate being asked questions.” He chuckles and you smile. “But those who did answer... you can tell they were grateful for him and worried about him. The kid really touched people’s hearts, whether they agreed with his nightly activities with Batman or not.” You tilt your head, watching his eyes light up with your words. “It’s just a shame I didn’t get to interview Robin himself.” You grab hold of the railing and lean forward. “But I’d doubt he’d have given me the time of day if I had gotten the chance to ask him. Probably too busy saving babies and punching villains with Batman.”

“I’m sure he would have made time for you.” Your fingers slip from the metal to turn to look at him, unsure of his sincerity. “How could he not?” His cheeks have become flushed with the cold, nose bright and blue eyes stark against his skin.

You smile, but you’re sure it looks more like an awkward grimace. “You’re just saying that.” 

“I’m not.” He frowns, sincere eyes knocking your breath away. “I know if he knew someone as sincere as you wanted to ask him some questions for their article, he would have dropped whatever he was doing to help you.”

You don’t know why you stand there, waiting for him to laugh in your face and say his punchline. You don’t know why he just stands there and stares back at you, quiet and shining with sincerity that he’s trying to penetrate into your being. It’s weird and totally unnecessary, but maybe a part of you is desperate to know if he’s really being sincere and a part of him is desperate for you to know he is.

“Hey!” Megan’s voice break through the trance you’re both in. Her head barely poking out into the cold and green eyes narrowing. “Get in here before you both catch something!”

Dick chuckles, attention moving from her to you. “Should we head in?”

You nod mutely, smiling tight lipped.

As you follow Megan inside, the only thing on your mind is that you might have already caught something.

Bludhaven

December 15, 2020

“You’re really not coming home for the Holidays this year?”

Megan is pouting on your computer screen, but you hardly pay her any attention. You have an article on Bludhaven’s growing homelessness due in the morning and you still have some revisions to do. Your little mishap earlier today took time that you were reserving for this article and now you’re running behind.

“‘Fraid not,” you tell her, your voice accompanied by the clicking of your keyboard. “I’ve been overloaded with a ridiculous amount of work this month and I need to get it done before the end of the year.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see her scavenging through boxes of decorations. “Won’t your mom be disappointed you won’t be coming home?”

“Nope,” you pop the “p” as you rewrite a fragment. “She’s coming down to see me instead.”

She stops, head lifting like a prairie dog on alert. “So it’s just going to be you two this year?”

“Maybe. Dick said he might stop by, but he’s not sure.”

“Ooh,” her teasing rings through your quiet bedroom and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not like that, Megan.” You wished it were like that, but it’s not, and maybe it’s for the best. Dick became one of your good friends since the party last year and one of your best friends after you volunteered for a transfer to Bludhaven’s Times earlier this year. You don’t want to mess with what you have, not right now when your life feels perfectly balanced.

“Don't let the person who didn't love you keep you from the person who will,” she says, sounding serious as hell and making you snort and pause in your typing. “Hey! Don’t laugh at my words of wisdom!”

“This has nothing to do with them, Megan. When I said I was finally over them, I meant it.” The moment you were able to look at an old tagged picture of you and them on their friends’ Instagram and you felt nothing, no numbness, no anger nor sadness, just a strange vagueness as if they were a stranger, you knew you were over them. “Dick and I… we like where we are.”

“Boo.”

Conner appear on screen and shakes his head as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. I respect your decision.”

She rolls her eyes, playfully pushing his head out of the screen. “I respect your decision too, doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“Heckling does not equate respect, babe.”

You laugh at their antics, their displays of affections no longer bothering you. Now, when you see them you just feel happy, happy for them and for you. Bitterness long gone from your bones, and there’s one person you can thank for that.

Your phone on your desk dings.

Dick 🥳🤩: Chinese food 2nite?

You: only if you promise to get extra egg rolls 

Dick 🥳🤩: Got’chu, omw.

“You’re smiling! Why are you smiling? It’s Dick, isn’t it? It’s totally Dick.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your face neutral but knowing you’re doing horribly at it. “I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, is he coming over?” She gushes, and Conner is back on screen, trying to wrestle the phone out of her grip.

You laugh when you hear a curse from Conner. “I have an article to finish, Megan.”

“You can’t just leave me hanging like this—“

All right, you’ve had enough. “Bye, Megan!”

Megan🧡: 😨 You hung up on me?

Megan🧡: 😡😡

Megan🧡: Expecting deets tomorrow ❤️

You: goodnight, megan!

It doesn’t take long for Dick to arrive and for you to shove your article aside—you’re almost done with it anyway, nothing wrong with a little break.

The door jingles and as you begin to clear your coffee table—where you and Dick usually eat dinner—of your paperwork, it opens to reveal Dick still wearing his uniform. You smile up at him briefly, gathering everything and taking it over to your round, small dining table that could probably fit four people if you really tried to squeeze them in. “Hey! Let me just grab some plates and we can—“

Before you can finish your sentence, or head into the kitchen, a hand wraps around your wrist, worried crystallized blue eyes staring into you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were almost mugged?”

Ah, hell. 

The crack in his voice makes your heart drop to your stomach and your eyes fall down to his ugly black shoes that you make fun of every chance you get just to hear his laugh. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Which isn’t a lie. Since you moved to Bludhaven, Dick has been checking up on you more often and even picking you up from work if he has the chance—“Bludhaven isn’t like Happy Harbor. It’s… tougher and harder,” he had said after offering to teach you some self defense moves. You had laughed and said you could handle yourself, but accepted it anyway if it meant spending more time with him.

Today was just bad luck, he was on the other side of the city and you had chosen to take the bus to work that day and hadn’t been paying attention. Next thing you know, you’re being threatened to give your purse up.

His warm fingers leave your wrist and instead they find your chin. Gingerly, he lifts your head to force you to meet his gaze. “When Rohrbach called me on my way here to check up on you because she was worried, I swear my heart almost stopped.” His eyes shine with worry and there’s a twisting in your gut. “What if Louie hadn’t been nearby, huh?”

“I’m okay, Dick,” you reassure him, wanting nothing more than to lean against him, maybe have his lips press a kiss on your forehead. “I handled him pretty well. Used those self defense moves you taught me.” It was why you were able to shake him off and run to the nearest officer for help. Dick inadvertently saved you.

He finally smiles. “Yeah, Rohrbach said you left him pretty bruised up.” His hand under your chin moves to smooth out your hair before cupping the back of your head and pressing you against him. “I need you to be more careful, sweetheart. Need you to be safe.”

Your heart bursts in your chest at the pet-name and you wrap your arms around his waist, fisting the jacket of his uniform tightly. His cologne makes you dizzy—ginger and spices for the holiday. “Only if you promise to stay safe, too.”

“I’ll do my best.” His soft lips land on your forehead briefly before he’s pulling away and you restrain yourself from chasing after him. “Let’s eat? You must be starving.”

“A little,” you admit, and let him pull you toward the couch. “Eating out of the cartons today?”

He flashes you a grin. “Why not?”

As you both settle next to each other on the floor, back being supported by your old couch and you turn on your television as he pulls out the food he bought, you can’t help but think that even if your relationship stay like this with Dick, you wouldn’t mind it.

Bludhaven

December 31, 2020

You check your watch for the umptenth time.

He’s late.

Everyone around you is celebrating, filling the bar with laughter and talk, most of it incoherent over the loud music and the inebriated state most of them are in. You’re only a few hours away from the New Year and people are already drunk out of their minds—this doesn’t spell trouble for the night whatsoever.

Dick 🥳🤩 (7)

7 outgoing calls, all unanswered and completely unlike him. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t answer your calls when he’s busy, that’s a given, but he always sends you a message if he’s going to be late or apologizes for not being able to answer your call. This just not like Dick. 

You try calling one more time, covering one ear with your palm  to hear the ringing, but just like before, you get sent to voicemail. Worry begins to over take your annoyance. You grab your bag and quickly make your way out of the crowded bar, not caring about the warm bodies complaining.

Driving to his place takes you about thirty minutes with traffic, and you occasionally find yourself cursing at other drivers and yourself. It’s a miracle you don’t get into an accident or pulled over. With his garage key that he gave you, you open the gate and make your way to the space that has become yours over the last couple of months with how much you visit him. 

Locking your car with a simple click of the key fob, you power walk to the elevator. One last time, you try calling him, hoping he’ll answer and apologize for being late, but once again it sends you to voicemail just as the elevator doors open on his floor. 

“Please be okay,” you whisper to yourself.

Taking out your copy of the key, you slowly insert it and tentatively call out to him as you open the door.

No answer.

You strain your hearing as you swear you hear some shuffling and thumping, but that noise could just be coming from down the hall. He does have some noisy neighbors. 

You enter the apartment and close the door behind you. “Dick?”

There’s a crash and you jump, your heart in your throat, but the familiar string of curses eases your fear. You follow the noise and come face to face with a wide eyed Dick shirtless covered in nasty forming bruises in the middle of his bathroom.

A whimper escapes your lips and you rush forward, cupping his face in your hand. “What the hell happened to you? I thought you managed to get the night off?” You turn his head this way and that, and then push him back by grabbing his shoulder to look at his torso and back. Only letting go when he winces at a particularly hard tug. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!”

He grabs your wrists not allowing you to give him space. “You’re not blushing,” he says cheekily, his eyes twinkling even with the slowly forming bruise.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why would I be—“ Your eyes drag down to his naked torso peppered with old wounds and spanking brand new bruises and you immediately feel a wave of heat spreading through your body. “Oh.”

He laughs softly, chuckling almost, low and a sweet timbre. 

But when your eyes fall lower, you’re doused in cold water, black, almost skin tight material—unitard?—and a black holster wrapped around his right leg greeting you. This isn’t his police uniform! What is he wearing? And why does it look like kevlar? “Why are you—“

You’re not allowed a moment to ask because Dick pulls you towards him with a tug of your wrists and you fall against his chest, barely bracing yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, large hands flat against your back.

“Dick?”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs airily into your hair and you don’t know what to do, you’re pretty sure he can feel and hear your pacing heart. 

You repeat his name, trying to pull away from him to look into his eyes. He doesn’t let you. 

He inhales. “Just give me a moment and I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

You sigh, warm air brushing against his bare skin, and the hands that braced yourself on the kitchen sink wrap around his torso loosely. “What happened?”

Circles are traced on your shirt, one hand climbing higher to cradle the back of your head. “Remember the guy who tried to rob you?” You nod and hum, remembering that crooked nosed, pale skin idiot who thought you’d be an easy target. “He escaped during transfer today with the help of some of his friends, and I went after them. Off record.”

You pull away from him and look up at him with wide eyes and slack jaw to find his serious gaze on you, lips pulled down into a thin line. “What do you mean off record?” Your throat closes and the back of your nose stings—he went after them ‘cause that man tried hurting you? “Dick, what if something happened—”

His eyes bore into you and his thumb find purchase on your face, tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “It's just a couple of scratches and bruises. I’m okay. I promise.”

You blink back your tears and lean into his touch. “You still shouldn’t have gone by yourself!”

“I didn’t,” he says softly. “I went with a friend.”

Your nose scrunches, your eyes still watery. “Rohrbach?”

He shakes his head. “No. Better, Robin.”

“Robin?” You try to remember if he’s ever mentioned anyone named Robin at the precinct, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t—“Wait. Robin? As in Batman’s Robin?” His gaze doesn’t change, it remains serious and your heart leaps in your chest. “You really know Robin?”

He finally cracks a smile and you’re half expecting him to say he’s joking (you don’t know which is worse, him joking about knowing Robin when he’s aware how much admiration teen you had for him or finding out that he really went after that thug and his friends on his own!), but instead he answers with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Dick, if you’re—“

He chuckles, his thumb that had been tracing your cheekbone dragging down to your bottom lip, slowly tracing the swell. You would have melted if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. “I’m not playing with you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fall to his torso and down to his pants and the hanging arms of his unitard and they snap back up, alarmed. “Are you—does this mean you’re also a—“ you can’t even form a proper sentence, the rushing of your blood flowing through your head and ears drown out your thoughts and voice.

His hands drop from your frame and you take a step back as he adjusts the unitard, slipping into it only to have you gasping at the familiar symbol on his chest—Nightwing.

Without waiting for his permission, your fingers trace the symbol, the material under your fingers soft and somehow firm. A deep ache blooms in your chest, your nose wrinkling and Dick reacts quickly, cupping your face with his now covered hands, and you’d laugh any other time at the fact that his suit is falling forward and down his arms, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself from crying.

It all makes sense now! His double shifts and all the injuries—gods. How could you have been so blind?

He rubs the corner of your eyes and coos gently, worry swimming in his eyes and honestly, that’s not fair! You’re the only one allowed to be worried right now! “Hey, hey, why are you crying, huh? What’s wrong?”

Your head falls forward and Dick leans down to press his forehead against yours. “This isn’t going to make me worry less about you, Dick.” Your fingers wrap around his thick forearms. “You promised you were going to try staying safe and this,” you pause to sigh, refusing to meet his eyes, ”this isn’t going to keep you safe.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the space between you. “I’m sorry I’m going to make you worry. I’m sorry I’m making you cry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you say with a sniffle, because it doesn’t. You don’t care that he didn’t tell you he was Nightwing or that he allowed you to gush about Robin when he’s always known who that is. What matters is that now you know Dick is out every night as Nightwing risking his life and you’re not happy about that. That’s what matters.

“But I won’t break my promise.” You squeeze his arm. “I promised you I would try, and ever since that night, I’ve done my best to keep to that, and I always will.” His nose bumps against yours, trying to get you to look at you and you do, suddenly aware of the lack of space between you. “I have someone to come home to now.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and your heart pounds against your rib cage. You’re no longer okay being just friends with Dick, not when he says things like that and when he’s looking at you like this either—like you’re the only thing that matters and all he wants is to keep you trapped in his arms (you wouldn’t fight him if he tried).

Before you can voice anything, coherent or incoherent, your mouth is sealed shut by a paid of chapped lips. It’s a small peck, but it’s enough to send a tumble of acrobats into a frenzy. And all you want is to feel his lips against yours again, and so you meet him halfway after a shallow collection of breath.

Lips move in tandem, heads tilting this way and that and it’s all very much like the passionate romcom movie kisses you’ve seen over the years, the kind you’d dream about every time Dick would kiss different parts of your face and never your lips. It’s all fire and sweetness, like fireworks on a hot summers’ day and watermelon juice dripping down your chin.

A loud boom echoes in the quiet night and you jerk away from Dick, eyes snapping to his bedroom entrance, the windows covered with blinds allowing the bright flashes of light to filter in.

“Did we miss the countdown?” you find yourself asking dumbly, a little breathless and mind still reeling from his intense kiss.

He presses another one to your temple, chuckling. “Does it matter?”

“It’s the New Year!” 

“Could really care less,” he grumbles, voice coming from deep in his chest as his lips dragging from the corner of your eyes to your lips, pulling you away from the firework show outside. “Too busy trying to make out with my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” you tease in between kisses.

“Mhmm, have been trying to make her mine for a couple of months now, but she’s pretty clueless. ‘S supposed to be one of the best reporters in all of the tri state area, too.”

“Should’ve said something, Dick. I’m not a mind reader.”

He chuckles, pulling away from your lips for just a moment. “There’s something else you should know.”

“What?” you ask, a little hazily.

“I was Robin.”

And before you can ask him to elaborate on that or you’re allowed to be embarrassed, he closes the distance between you once more and kisses you senseless.

To think you thought you’d regret going to Megan’s a little over a year ago; if only the you from then could see you now, happy and moved on.

[bettsfic]

Hey! I was just wondering if you would soapbox a little about your creative process. I absolutely adore your writing advice but was wondering a bit more about how your ideas form and how you choose which to pursue and do finished products look like you want them to? What's a bad habit you're trying to break? No obligation to answer, especially cause an anon is like tell me your secrets! But thank you for all you've written, you are so helpful and kind

thanks for the great question anon! i wrote a bit about my drafting process here but that doesn’t encompass the idea building side of things (also i’ve made some changes to the process so i was thinking about writing a more cohesive, updated version at some point).

i tend to think of project ideas as piles of aesthetic, and usually i only begin writing once the pile has toppled over and i can’t not write it. that’ll make more sense in a moment. 

i’ll walk through 2 examples of my idea generating process, from how they started to where they are now. 

1. Vandal

Vandal is a novel i’m working on that i really have a lot of hope for. i’m about 60k words in right now and 75% finished. it’s about a teenage girl (sierra) who casts a spell on her hot, helpful neighbor (frank) to bind them together. the spell ends up working but backfiring when he becomes her foster father. then, in his custody, sierra gets jealous and casts a spell on his girlfriend (jenny) to break them up, but that backfires too: sierra gets taken out of frank’s custody and placed with a manipulative and abusive foster brother (leo). frank more or less kidnaps sierra and they have to Run From The Law. throughout the novel, sierra is inwardly battling Vandal, an immortal archangel that has possessed her and is trying to get her to kill herself so he can break free of the prison of her body.  

the idea for that story has a looooong breadcrumb trail and a huge aesthetic pile. since i couldn’t manage to get Baby traditionally published, i had a lot of that dynamic i could adopt into something else. i wrote at length about where that idea came from but i can no longer find that post (UPDATE: here it is). it’s somewhere in my training wheels tag. in short, i spent an entire summer watching/reading age gap stories and the male perspective in them bothered me a lot, so i wanted to write a story from the younger party’s perspective, and do the reality of those situations justice. i wrote that story, though, so i didn’t want to rewrite it. 

then, in december 2019, for reasons i don’t remember, i started reading snape/hermione fics. i really liked the dynamic, but it was a little too angsty for me, and none of the fics gave me the catharsis i was looking for, which was basically Grouchy Soft Boy Takes Care Of PTSD Weary Girl. being unable to find anything that fit the exact no-conflict, angstless dynamic i was looking for, i decided to write it myself using an A/B/O reylo idea i’d been kicking around for about 8 months but i could never land on, because i didn’t know if i wanted ben or ren. that fic turned out to be Reclaimed.  

to answer one of your questions, Reclaimed didn’t turn out the way i wanted it to at all, and i’m still kind of shocked by the traffic it has. i felt bad about writing it, because i was setting down so many other things to work on it, and it was a struggle from start to finish. at the time (and this is a major theme of my process), i thought it was a waste of energy.

but it opened a very important thematic concept to me, which is the idea of voicelessness and trauma, and recovery through finding one’s voice.

fast-forward to february, i’m headcanoning with @star-sky-earth just days before i have to head to nebraska for a writing residency. she and i are talking about a certain male celebrity who shall not be named, flirting with his younger female costar who shall not be named, and i said something along the lines of, “wouldn’t it suck to get a crush on a dude like him, only to find out he likes you back, and then you realize he’s actually kind of shallow and boring?”

i remember distinctly saying, out loud, “god fucking dammit,” because, right then, an aesthetic pile had toppled over, and an entire novel unfolded itself in my brain. i pound out an outline. it’s garbage. i play around with a vocal gauge. it’s not quite right. then, two days later, i write an opening scene that i don’t think is great but i send it to some people and they’re like, oh this is fire. 

the aesthetic pile looks like this:

lolita, where dolores is the one in control

delusions of grandeur born from a major traumatic event

obsessions with fairy tales and the escapism they provide

the consequences of extreme neglect

forced voicelessness as both a theme and a major structural constraint

a lot of wolf imagery

non-chronological timelines

i proceed to spend the next two days driving across the country brain-writing. by the time i reach nebraska, i hit the ground running, and write for basically 30-40 hours a week for 5 weeks. then, because pandemic, i decide to stay 2 more weeks, but i hit a snag. i write about 14k of really boring drivel and realize my outline has failed me. i toss the 14k and re-outline and try again. then, my attention is rattled by a crush on a composer who has no interest in me. 

i go home and fall into my annual summer depression and i lose focus. so, that’s where i’m at. i really miss vandal but it’s gotten super dark and i’m finding it difficult to manage darkness with everything going on. which brings me to my next aesthetic pile that has recently toppled over.

2. Eden

that’s not the title but it’s the project name. i’ve begun writing a YA sci fi comedy with an ensemble cast. this aesthetic pile took years to build before it toppled. it started with Elixir of Erised, hands down the best fic i’ve ever written by a huge margin. i reread it this past winter and was kind of amazed i’d written it. 

i really liked the idea of a potion showing you your deepest desires, but until recently have not had the patience to build an entire world around it. so, for the past 3.5 years, i’ve kept a document of “if i WERE to a YA SFF book with the themes of EOE, what would i want to include?” over those 3.5 years, here’s what the list became:

dark academia vibes

heist plot

soulmates

that list is not really conducive to an entire universe, and i never had the motivation to sit down and think through it. 

then i watched breaking bad, and a lot of things started clicking. at the same time, i was talking to my buddy kyle about my fallen knight archetype schematic, and i began fleshing out all the archetypes that went with it. i came up with 12. i built a database. i thought, wouldn’t it be cool to write something with ALL 12 ARCHETYPES?? haha but who would be dumb enough to do that?

me. i would. 

with breaking bad as the missing plot piece (which introduces the idea of conflict around the MANUFACTURE and DISTRIBUTION of addictive substances, with an ensemble cast of morally grey characters, which leads to a war), i had enough to get started. 

i wrote an outline. i wrote another outline. i wrote a third outline. i stopped to write some histories of this place i’d built. i wrote a fourth outline. gdocs became a mess so i downloaded scrivener and taught myself how to use it. i wrote a gauge of the first chapter and landed the voice on the first try. then i did a rough sketch of how a trilogy would go. then i outlined each book in the trilogy to make sure my character trajectories were on point. then i did a lot more worldbuilding. now i’m working on my fifth outline, which breaks the entire novel down scene by scene. 

and for Reasons, i’m tasking myself with writing the first draft in 6 days across two weekends. it’s a high-stakes adventure story with a very tight timeline, so i think it’s conducive to being written quickly.

which brings me to another question you asked, which is, what bad habits do i want to break? i always, always slow down at the halfway mark. sometimes i even give up. i have no idea why. no matter how much preparation i do, no matter how solid my endgame is, at the halfway mark i either slow to a crawl or set the whole project down and pick up something new. i do this with reading books, too. i can only ever read the first half of books. then i either skip to the end or put them down forever. it’s definitely something i have to figure out because at this rate i’ll never finish anything.

okay this took way longer than i thought it would to write but i hope it answers your question. tl;dr i follow aesthetic and thematic interests until they lead me to a point where i can’t not write the stories that develop from them. 

[edourado]

Warning - Part II

So I had an anxiety attack last night. What fun. 

And, since I was maybe twelve years old, writing is what actually calms me down, I finished this little piece that has been sitting on my drafts for AGES. 

Please note that I wrote 99% of it before the latest Avengers movies. So if you pick up any discrepancies, ignore them. It’s already an AU, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. 

Thanks for all the messages I got, supporting that I posted this. Honestly, I haven’t written anything since mid 2019, and September was the start of the worst time of my life, so I was very, very insecure going back to it. Still am. 

Let me know what you think. Tomorrow I think I’m gonna post a snippet of something else I was working on before all the mess, that I still feel excited about. 

Love you all. 

.:.

Son of a bitch.

Son of a motherfucking bitch, he can’t believe this guy’s luck. 

Or, maybe, it has nothing to do with luck at all. 

When he first met Frank Castle, Grotto knew he should be careful. Nothing about the guy said “friendly” or “willing to sway the rules”. They were both beat cops back then, but, honestly, Grotto was fooling no one. This decision of his to “go straight” was not gonna stick for long, no matter how many times his father threatened him or how many tears his mother shed. It was just in his blood.

And, right away, he knew Castle was not going to be one of his buddies. So best to keep a safe distance. 

Unsurprisingly, Frank, the condecorated Marine, started, you know, going places. Soon enough, Grotto - Officer Grote, now - was still in uniform while Castle was Detective. A blink of an eye and, what do you know. Sergeant Castle.

No grudges there, it’s not like Grotto had big dreams for himself with the police while he was still in bed with the… Wrong kind of crowd, to put it mildly. 

But he had always wondered about that one pesky thing. 

He is better looking than Frank. Yes he is, 100%. He doesn’t have any visible scars and a nose that has been broken about a thousand times, and he doesn’t frown so much. His eyes are a nice shade of greenish grayish blue, he has a nice smile. He can do pretty well for himself with the ladies, there should be no contest between him and Frank Sour-Face Castle.

And yet. 

He doesn’t get it. The guy is grumpy, the guy is broody, the guy is downright rude, but whenever he walks into a room, suddenly it’s all about him. 

Sure, he does have a nice physique, but you can’t even tell it when he’s wearing a suit, which he does everyday. Still. There should not be as many women following his every move wherever he goes. 

When he walks into the station, you can almost hear the collective sigh. From the hookers to the badges, everybody wants a piece of Castle, it seems. 

Not that it really matters. Grotto has his own thing going on with Sally Burnett from Chelsea, and also maybe a little something else with Tatiana Henry, from Williamsburg. He met this amazing nurse in Harlem the other day, Claire something, and he definitely would like to have something with her, but she knows Castle, and Turk tells him she’s involved with Luke Cage, so he’s not holding his breath. 

But then, just when he thinks he finally has the upper hand on the scowling bastard, he gets slapped on the face again. 

Frank lost the bet. Fair and square, he lost it. The one thing they were able to really talk about was basketball, and Grotto got to gloat for a whole weekend plus a Monday when his team won and Castle’s lost, spectacularly, and Frank had to cover traffic for him for a whole night while Grotto went out with Tatiana. 

He had been genuinely happy then. Not really because of the game, he didn’t really care that much about sports. Not even because he finally would get lucky with Tati. No. It was the thought of Castle sitting alone in the car, stopping stupid text-and-driving teenagers and chasing speeding assholes - or, better yet, too slow assholes - for an entire night. That made him almost tingle with petty excitement. 

But then, the bastard had walked in the coffee shop the next morning with a funny look on his face. And before Grotto could even say anything to him, before he could ask about his miserable night while gloating about the mediocre sex he had had with Tati - hey, sometimes you get a little too excited, you know? - the prick was, shit you not, smiling at someone. 

And yeah. Even Grotto could admit the guy was charming, with the kind of side smile that would look ridiculous on himself, but worked on Castle. 

And then, like a fucking slap on the face, Grotto saw that the pretty - gorgeous, so out of his league it was ridiculous - blonde that also got her coffee there everyday was smiling, too. Directly at Castle. 

God damn it. 

How the fuck does he do it? 

Grotto watched, flabbergasted- as his nana would say - as Frank walked confidently and almost leisurely towards the woman, the woman, the one woman nobody at the station ever had the balls to even try to chat up, because are you kidding?, and she was adjusting her hair and fuck this. Fuck this guy. What the fuck. 

“Gotta give it to the man”, Mahoney said from his side, finishing up his coffee. “He’s got it.”

“What the fuck he got that I don’t got?” Grotto asked, and he can admit that he sounded like a boy with his pride hurt. 

“Oh, my friend”, Mahoney laughed, and patted him on the shoulder while Grotto watched as the prick and the pretty lady struck up in hush hush conversation, all secret smiles and flirty eyes. “A whole lot.”

.:.

Well, that’s some predictable heteronormative crap, if you ask her. 

Not that they don’t look good together. They do, she admits it. Her angelic, ethereal good looks contrasts with his burly, hyper masculine vibe. It clashes but it also fits.

Ok. So maybe “predictable” wasn’t exactly the word, but still. 

Ava has been working on this coffee shop for almost a year, now. Her mom’s friend and neighbor, Sarah Lieberman, was nice enough to recommend her to Arlene, and what was supposed to have been a temporary job, just to get her shit together after high school and through the first semester of college, was becoming more and more like a nice career prospect. She was manager now, thank you very much, and Arlene was even talking about another shop, maybe uptown, closer to her dorm. 

But anyway. While the second location didn’t happen, Ava was managing this one, and learning about their patrons while doing it. 

Karen Page came in everyday, twice a day. Once in the morning, for a tall light roast Java and a croissant, and again in the evening, for a caramel latte, sometimes with syrup and whip cream. 

Frank Castle also came in everyday, but three times a day. In the morning - double espresso and a plain bagel -, during lunch - espresso and one single tiny donut hole - and in the evening, just before they closed, for an americano. Sometimes he brought his kids, who got hot chocolates and everything bagels (for the girl, his oldest) and grilled cheeses (for the boy, his youngest). 

She saw him looking at Karen sometimes, while she texted on her phone. She saw Karen looking at him while he talked on the phone or read the paper. 

And Ava sighed, her bisexual ass torn between fantasies of both of them, taking turns in her mind. 

Not that either one of them would ever consider going out with her 19 year old self. They were both officially grown ups, and she still took her laundry home, drove her dad’s old car, was panicking about having to deal with taxes and was intimidated by going to the bank alone. 

That didn’t stop her from flirting, though. 

“Morning, Frank”, she would say from behind the cashier, just to hear him say “Good morning, sweetheart” back at her, that usually scowling face of his making her toes curl inside her boots when he looked at her.

“Hi, Karen”, she would smile, opening the display window to fish the best looking croissant she had saved for the blonde that could have just as well been spat out of a Victoria’s Secret catalogue. 

“Hey, gorgeous” was the reply she got every time, which was certain to give her butterflies. 

That morning, though, Ava sighed, because, figures.

Karen had walked in and not walked straight to the line like she usually usually did, but lingered around the stools by the window. Five minutes later, she was about to ask Karen if she wanted her to prepare her order when Frank walked in and smiled at her. 

Not ‘Ava’ her. ‘Karen’ her. He opened the door, ran a hand over his hair and looked around for about a second before meeting Karen’s eyes, and then he smiled. Charming and still so big and burly, and Ava looked, and Karen was smiling right back, sweet and timid but with a hint of boldness and oh my God. Come on, now. 

They said something to each other, low and privately, and she saw the way Frank’s eyes roamed Karen’s face and hair, how his eyes glinted a little. 

Honestly, buddy. Same.

They walked to the counter then, and Ava squared her shoulders. 

“Hi, sweetie”, Karen greeted, and she smiled, because Jesus, how can you be this gorgeous and this nice? Looking like that, she ought to be a bitch, everyone would understand. 

“Hi, Karen”, she said, pretending not to notice anything unusual while Frank stood there by her side. “The usual?”

“Yes, please. And Mr. Castle’s order is on me, today.”

Shit. They’re totally doing it. 

Trying not to roll her eyes, she lifted her brows and punched in the order, stealing a quick glance at Frank, who winked at her, the beautiful bastard. With a grin, she moved to get the croissant, the bagel and prepare the drinks. 

Honestly. She could totally see it, they already looked so good together. 

Handing Karen’s croissant and Frank’s bagel to her and greeting the next customer, she hoped her own Frank or her own Karen hurried up and got there. She couldn’t wait to have this sort of sizzling chemistry with someone. 

.:.

Lisa Castle zipped up her backpack, sighing. 

She had payed zero attention to class today. Well, it was presentation day, and it had been Bobby Meyer and his group’s turn, so not much to miss there. It’s not like she hadn’t seen a potato lamp before. 

“Hey”, Leo called while they exited the classroom. “Your project is next week, right?”

“Yeah”, she said, sounding gloomy even to herself.

“Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just…” they got to Leo’s locker and Lisa dropped her voice. “I think my dad is dating someone.”

Her friend and neighbor stopped right when the lock clicked open, and looked at her. 

“He is?”

“I think so. Don’t know for sure.”

“Did you, like… See him with someone?”

“No, but… We spent last week at his place, right, Frankie and I. And this morning I saw a text on his phone. I didn’t mean to do it, it was just sitting on the counter after breakfast, and it pinged, I thought it was mine, and I saw the text.”

“What did it say?” 

Leo closed her locker and they walked to Lisa’s.

“Something about a croissant and coffee. I didn’t get it. And then when he read it, his face got all… I don’t know, like silly? And he texted back right away, and he never does that. He drives my mom crazy, we usually have to call to reach him.”

“You don’t like that idea? Of him dating someone?”

Lisa sighed.

“The whole thing surprised me, but, to be honest, I think he should. It’s been over a year since the divorce, and he’s been working too hard, even mom says so. Maybe a girlfriend would help him relax. I’m not against that, I just… Wasn’t expecting it.”

“I can understand that.”

They walked towards the exit and Lisa mentioned that he was picking them up today. Maybe Leo and Zach would like a ride?

“Yeah, sure.”

“You’ll see for yourself, he’s all different.”

They sat on one of the benches by the front doors to wait, and she went on about her discovery.

“I saw the name when she texted. Karen Page.”

“Karen Page? Why does that sound familiar?”

“Right? I thought so, too. At first I thought maybe one of our neighbors, or someone’s mom from school, but I can’t figure it out.”

“Let’s Google her.”

In no time, they recognized the name. She was a reporter from The Bulletin, and they both liked her immediately. 

The lady was, to put it mildly, a boss. 

“Oh my God”, Leo said, scrolling through Karen’s Wikipedia page. “She interviewed the Black Widow once and now they’re friends.”

“Who’s that?”

“Only like, the best Avenger. Natasha something.”

“Oh, I know who she is! She kicks ass!”

By the time Frankie and Zach joined them, they were excited about her dad’s new maybe girlfriend. But they decided not to comment with the boys yet, because… you know. Boys. Ruin everything.

“Mr. Castle is coming to pick them up”, Leo said to her brother, putting her phone back in her pocket. “You wanna drive with him?”

The boy shrugged. 

“Beats the bus.”

When he arrived, Lisa and Leo exchanged a look. 

“Pay attention to him. He’s weird, you’ll see.”

“Hi dad”, Frankie greeted, opening the back door and getting in the car. 

“Hey buddy.”

“Is it ok if Leo and Zach ride with us?” Lisa asked, opening the front passenger door. 

“Sure it is”, he said, smiling at them. “Hop in.”

“Thanks, Mr. Castle” Leo said, getting in after Zach.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Seatbelts, seatbelts, everyone.”

The boys, being boys, were loud and spoke over each other during the drive, talking about that stupid game of theirs, and Lisa texted Leo on the back seat about how they could find out if he really was dating their new hero. 

“Hold on, I’m gonna try something”, she wrote, and then turned to her left. 

“Hey dad?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Could we maybe get some Starbucks?”

“Starbucks?”

“Yeah. They got the new seasonal drinks, I haven’t tried them, yet.”

It was a long shot. Everybody knows dad doesn't like their stuff, he usually gets his coffee from a place near his work, and is always saying how Starbucks has too much sugar in everything and it’s not authentic and these chain restaurants are not as good as the local stuff, the places ran by families, with tradition, real heart, blah blah blah. 

So, everyone was surprised when he said,

“Sure.”

“What, really?” Frankie asked.

“Yeah. Why not?”

“OMG” she texted Leo. “If he orders a croissant”, she went on, after they exchanged surprised looks through the rearview mirror. “That confirms it. He doesn’t eat croissants.”

She thought they were going to the drive through, but he parked the car and they all walked into the Starbucks closest to their block. 

Frankie and Zach ordered venti Java Chips, and Frank made them change it to talls. Leo ordered a strawberry and cream, and Lisa went for the pumpkin spice.

“Just do me a favor and don’t get used to this, ok?” He told them after they were done ordering. “Go see if there are any seats.”

She and Leo lingered by the counter while the boys walked to the couch in the corner.

“No coffee in any of those, please” he instructed the barista.

“Sure thing. And for you, sir, anything?”

“I’ll have an espresso.”

“Ok. Anything else?”

There was a beat, a moment that stretched while he considered it. The girls watched him with bated breath. 

“Do you have croissants?”

Lisa and Leo looked at each other, and tried to hide their grins.

Busted.

“Yes, we have…” the barista leaned to check. “Butter, almond, chocolate and pistachio honey.”

They couldn’t contain the giggles while he thought about it for just a second before ordering.

“Yeah, one of each, please.”

“That’s a lot of croissants, dad”, Lisa said while he paid, trying to keep her tone casual. 

“Maybe I’m hungry”, he replied, a hand smoothing her hair. 

“You skipped lunch or something?”

He clicked his tongue at her and reached to pinch her cheek, which she evaded.

“Get some napkins.”

She let it slide, preferring not to comment that he never had pastries like these, especially not from Starbucks, that his story didn’t really make sense. 

Maybe he wanted some privacy. Her dad had never lied to them, so if he wasn’t telling her the truth about the croissants, maybe it was because he wasn’t ready yet. Lisa can understand that. 

And he seems happy. More than he had been this past year, so she can wait a little bit. 

He stopped the car in front of the Lieberman’s place and waited until Leo and Zach were inside before driving a few yards forward, to their place.

She missed having him home, everyday. His new house was just a block away, but still. Not the same. 

“Bye dad!” Frankie said, hopping off and walking towards the house - mom’s house.

“Bye, buddy. Math test tomorrow. Don’t play video games all night, ok? You have to study.”

“Yeah, ok!”

Lisa lingered a little longer. 

“Thanks for the drinks, dad.”

“Sure, baby. Just don’t get used to it, ok? Too much-“

“-sugar is bad for me. I know.”

She smiled up at him, suddenly very happy to see him looking not so heavy. There was something lighter about him, now that she was paying attention. 

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yes, you will.”

“Ok. Bye, dad.”

“Bye, honey”, he said, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. “Do your homework.”

“Ok.”

“And get started on your presentation.”

“Ok.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“Ok.”

“And maybe don’t tell mom about the Starbucks thing.”

“Ok”, she said again, this time smiling conspiratorially. 

He winked and honked when she waved at him from the living room window, driving away after she signaled she had locked the door. 

Finishing the last of her pumpkin spice, she made her way to her room, to get on her computer and find out more about Karen Page. 

Her presentation could wait.

.:.

His wife would say, when she was happy with him, that he was such a good reporter, he didn’t know how to not investigate stuff. 

“This clinical eye of yours, Ben, you see through everyone.”

When she was mad at him, she would say that he was nosy, meddled too much.

“Maybe you should learn how to separate work from the rest of your life, Ben”, that tone that gave him the chills. 

Either way, she was right. Not much got past him.

Not that these two were trying too hard to hide anything. 

Frank Castle was a good kid. Ben and Doris visited his mother at the hospital when she had Frank, they had watched him grow up right next door to him, went to his birthday parties, saw him off when he joined the Marines and flew off to protect the country, helped with the welcome party when he came back for the first time. 

Ben was there when Frank got married, he knew both his kids, was very good friends with his parents. 

He and Doris were there for Louisa when Frank’s father passed away, helped her along the grief, the bureaucracy of his will, his life insurance. 

Frank was like a son to him. 

Still, it was a surprise when he showed up at work, on a Monday. 

“Hey Mr. Urich”, he said from the door, knocking twice. Ben blinked at the sight of him. 

“Frankie! Hi!”

The man - taller than him, now - walked in and Ben got up from his desk to shake his hand. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting you, or…”

“No, no, come in. Can’t say I’m not surprised, though. Been here over twenty years, I think this is the first time you visit?”

Frank smiled, sitting on a chair in front of the desk. 

“I came to ask a favor, actually.”

Ben sat back down on his own chair, and looked at him. 

“I’ve been talking to my mom, and she mentioned a book she wanted to read, but can’t find anywhere. I got it for her.”

Frank showed him a bag from Barnes and Noble. 

“Knowing Louisa”, Ben said, reaching for the bag. “I’d say she only looked for it at Target and Walmart.”

“That’s what I said to her. I hope you don’t mind, I’ve been busy with work, and the house, can’t really find the time to make it to Queens these days. And she doesn’t want to drive any further than five miles anymore, so it makes it kinda difficult.”

“I’ll deliver it to her, don’t worry.”

They talked a little longer, Ben asked about the kids, Frank asked about Doris, it was all very pleasant. 

But he couldn’t fool Ben. He was a bit restless, a bit awkward, there was something going on. 

“I met one of your reporters the other day”, he said, finally. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Karen Page?”

Ah. There it is. 

Ben tried not to smile too knowingly. Half his staff had a crush on her. He just raised his brows in recognition and nodded. 

“Karen’s my best asset.”

“That right?”

“Kid’s a natural. Almost too good. She’s sitting on my old chair, I predict she’ll sit on this one soon enough.”

Frank smiled, and Ben was surprised. The last time he saw him smile like that, he was still married to Maria.

“How did you meet?”

“I, uh… Almost gave her a ticket.”

Ben laughed. 

“And we get coffee at the same place, just around the corner.”

“Son, that is almost too cute. A coffee shop romance?”

Frank looked at him, as if he had been caught, and Ben saw that fire cracker of a kid again. 

“Romance, what are you-”

“Come on, kid. I’ve known you your whole life. Can’t lie to me.”

Sighing in defeat, but with a lopsided smile, Frank leaned back on his chair. 

“I haven’t had anything serious since the divorce”, he mused. 

“You think Karen could be something serious?”

Slowly, he nodded. 

“What d’you think?” he asked Ben, and he thought about his anwer. 

“I met her during a complicated time of her life. Came to know her well, I got her into writing.”

“She mentioned.”

“She’s a good one. She really is.”

Frank looked at him.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’d be a fool to pass this up.”

He looked towards Ben’s window, apparently thinking. 

But his mind was already made, it was more than obvious. 

“She around?”

Pointing out the door, Ben took a sip from his coffee. 

“Last office to the right.” 

He shook Frank’s hand before he left.

“You don’t disappear. Come visit your mother. And Doris misses you.”

“Yes, sir. You send them both my love.”

Ben watched as Frank walked out of his office and made his way to Karen’s.

Shaking his head, he adjusted in his chair, going back to the article he was revising.

These kids. 

Good for them. 

.:.

He really did like her hair. 

The first time they kissed, it was by the water, two days after she bought his coffee. 

It was a cold night, she was all wrapped up in a scarf, he had a hoodie on, a beanie that made her want to pinch his cheeks - which was absurd. He was not a man whose cheeks one simply pinches. Her hands were cold, she had them buried inside her coat’s pockets while he told her about his kids - his son, the time he drew a Marine on the wall and told him it was to keep the scary guys away while Frank was deployed, and how that had been what made him decide to stay for good - and she was smiling, more than a little bit hypnotized by him, by this man that was a whole different kind of handsome. 

Karen, as a fair skinned blue eyed blonde, usually dated… Well, pretty men. Men that were classically attractive, all right angles and no bad sides. 

Frank, though. Frank was inexplicably beautiful. That rugged kind of handsome that she could not for the life of her explain why it worked so well, but it did. Everything about him was so attractive, his face, his broken nose, his jaw, his resting face that looked like he was ready to bite someone’s head off. 

But God, he looked so good. 

And he looked back at her, that face of his actually doing a pretty job in warming her up. 

She doesn’t actually remember what they talked about after that, but she knows he made her smile, and she said something else that made him smile, and then he was closer, her nose was freezing, but she felt warm in her belly, and then he was kissing her, small at first, just a touch of his lips on hers, one that lingered, but then it was a bit bigger, he leaned a bit closer and she parted her lips slightly, which made him raise his hand and put it on the back of her neck, bringing her closer. 

They stayed there for a few minutes, pressed together against the chilly wind, kissing without any sort of hurry or agenda, in spite of how cold it was. 

“Wanna get a coffee or something?” he finally asked when the wind picked up, and she nodded, closing her eyes when he kissed her again, and that was the day she found out he really did like her hair. 

Everytime they kissed after that, and the first time he spent the night at her place, and all the other times following that first one, he would spend a good while caressing her hair. Twirling a lock around his fingers, smoothing it on her head, pushing it out of her face, pressing his nose against it while they sat on the couch, you name it. Frank would always pay attention to her hair and Karen loved it, felt beautiful and cherished when he did it.

Missed it when he was not there. 

It was a bit after seven when she decided to call him. She knew she shouldn’t, he was working, he would be there later, but she was all by herself, and it was ridiculous, but she missed him. 

Her bag was packed and waiting on the couch, full of things she would need for the weekend, the very first weekend she would spent at his place, the very first time she would actually stay over. His kids were in Chicago with their mother for the long weekend, so she would not be meeting them just yet. 

Which was good, she was nervous about meeting them. 

What if they didn’t like her? What if she said all the wrong things? What if she embarrassed herself in front of this guy’s kids and messed it up so bad she couldn’t see him anymore? 

Pushing those thoughts away from her mind, she pressed the call button, running a brush on her wet hair while it rang, fighting the silly smile when he answered. 

“Hey”.

.:.

He does love her hair. More than a little bit, if he’s being completely honest. 

It’s not even a thing for him, normally. Maybe because he never met someone who’s hair he found so alluring, that caught the light like that, or twisted at the ends like this, or that particular color he had never quite seen before. 

Well, he had seen it, Karen was not the first blonde woman he ever met in his life. 

But the way those particular strands looked on his pillowcases, and the gentle and subtle curl of it around his fingers, the baby hairs that kept out of the towel she wrapped around her head after the shower. 

Honestly, Frank lived for the smell of it, any given time. 

His favorite, though, might just be that contrast of it against his pillowcases. 

She was asleep, but almost waking up. The sun was out already, and the birds outside were chirping like their lives depended on it. He felt her feet flexing under the covers, and, granted, they haven’t been sleeping together long, but Frank was starting to know a few of her patterns. 

First were the feet, then the slight frown, and then she would stir, stretch and then open her eyes.

Karen frowned and Frank raised his hand. Slid his fingers over her ear and into that hair, the heel of his wrist by the corner of her mouth, her cheek warm on his palm. 

As expected, she stretched, and Frank felt a hand touching his chest under the covers. 

For three days, now, he had been watching her wake up, and he liked going through the whole process (a fascinating thing to watch, Karen Page). Today, though. 

Today he put his fingers through her hair, and brought he face to his. She let out a small whimper of residual sleep, and turned her face into his palm, and that hair, that hair slipped and moved, fine fine fine strands of gold, and Frank moved to lie on top of her, nose on the crook of her neck, her arms around his own neck, hands grabbing her legs and adjusting them around his hips. 

“Morning, officer”, she mumbled in his ear, so warm under him. 

“Morning, miss Page”.

“So rude, waking me up like this.”

One breath, deep, the scent of her shampoo filling his lungs. 

“You wanna go back to sleep?” 

“Hmm”. And that hair, working like liquid rope around his fingers. “Maybe.” 

“Ok”, he agreed, pressing one simple, lingering kiss on her lips before turning them, fitting her back to his chest. “Close your eyes, then.” 

He did the same, feeling as she adjusted his hand against her chest, his nose buried once again in the long strands of blonde hair. 

“The lengths we go to avoid a ticket”, she said suddenly, making him laugh, laughing herself, turning inside his arms to cuddle against him, the top of her head under his chin.

He should buy Grotto a coffee sometime. Preferably before he arrested his crooked ass, but the only reason he could bury his nose in Karen’s hair right now was because of the bet he lost, so the very least he could do was treat the stupidest corrupt police officer he had ever  to a cup of coffee.

But he would think about that later. For now he would enjoy the warmth of the woman against him, and not even ponder about the rapidly growing feelings inside him. 

Later. 

[claraxbarton]

MCU Bucky Barnes

So here’s the thing.

I’m a costume designer by trade, and one thing that I actually really love about Captain America: The Winter Soldier (okay, among the things I love) is the costume design and the rhetorical value given to the clothes and, well, costumes in this movie. 

For example - when Sam and Steve have their heart to heart on the bridge that ends with Sam saying “but he doesn’t even know you” and Steve saying “he will” before going to steal his old uniform - the one Bucky last saw him in when he was Bucky. There are some other great costume points in this movie, actually a LOT of them (costumes, not wigs, don’t at me because I KNOW).

But one thing that has always stood out to me, and not in a good way, is the “I’m with you til the end of the line” flashback.

Now, here’s the thing, it’s not JUST about the clothes. We’re in MCU verse, so it’s MCU canon - obviously, the Steve and Bucky duo is drastically different in Marvel comics canon so - and Bucky starts this scene by saying his folks wanted to give Steve a ride to the cemetery.

Which is super cool and nice. So one, we know Bucky’s dad is still alive - and his mom, but two, we know they have a car.

So this is supposed to be when Steve is around 16? So it’s... 1936 (according to MCU wiki it totally is)

So cars.

Crazy popular ever since they started having closed bodies and all that. BUT, were they crazy popular in CITIES in 1936? Especially in the middle of the Great Depression?

There’s some evidence that actually no, that car ownership in a city like NYC was something like 1 car per every 43 people. Then again, looking at the NYC.gov 2015 Mobility Report we see that the population of NYC in 1936 is something like 7.2 million, and the number of registered vehicles in 764,000... or roughly one per every 9.4-ish persons. Which is a pretty drastically different number. This doesn't, of course, account for taxis or fleet cars being registered - so the number might seem inflated. I still think it’s probably something closer to 1 car per every 20 than every 43 but... I’m too lazy to dig that much deeper at the moment. Plus I'm sick, which is fueling this in the first place.

So, anyway you slice it, Bucky’s family was in 11%, 5% or 2.33% of New Yorkers who own cars in 1936. Which says something, I think, about Bucky Barnes that we don’t always - ever? - think of in fandom.

I’m not going to say that Bucky Barnes was loaded. Maybe his family owned a garage or a grocery store or a delivery service or a funeral home...?? or something. So, the vehicle could be occupational as opposed to private usage - but either way it’s a statement. Bucky’s family has money and/or Bucky’s family has steady employment.

I’ve been there. I’ve read the fics where Bucky works at the docks to put Steve through art school and get him his medicine. I love those fics. I love that head canon.

But I... don’t think it’s realistic in light of some evidence showing us that, actually, Bucky wasn’t doing too badly for himself.

Let’s now actually look at CLOTHING. Here’s the whole scene via youtube, if you want to follow along with what is about to get RIDICULOUS.

Actually, before I dive in, who is the costumer for this movie? And should I be like... reading into all this as much as I am?

Judianna Makovsky - fellow New Jersey..Ian?ite?no clue - 3 time Oscar nominee and designer of 5 MCU films and a lot of other big budget movies, including quite a few period pieces dealing with issues of race and class (The Legend of Bagger Vance, Seabiscuit, The Little Princess.. and also like Harry Potter and The Quick and the The Dead.) So, should I have some faith in Judianna Makovsky’s designs? I’m gonna go with yeah, yeah I should. 

So, back to the movie. The scene.

This is post funeral. We’re in 1936. As a general rule, the dress, colors and style of mourning wear was pretty much formalized in the early Victorian era. There was a great - read PHENOMENAL - exhibit at the MET a few years back on Mourning-wear and I’m still reeling from how lovely everything was - but the gist of it is this: you wore black when someone died. If you were a lady, and especially if you were a rich lady, you then went through a few different colors (dull black to SHINY black to purple/mauve and gray and white and then back to color within six months to one year). By the 1930s only the really rich were sticking to the actual rules of mourning - or like, really old people. And, of course, really old rich people. Really old rich WHITE people. Because it needs to be said: these are WHITE customs. I'm not saying people of other ethnicities didn’t follow them, but these are basically British Victorian practices that were assimilated into American culture.

I’m not going to go off on a huge sidebar about American fashion following in French dressmaking and British tailoring, but I need to say at least that much. Everyone who was anyone knew you got your dresses made in France or in the French style and you got your suits made in England - Savile Row in specific. I am NOT implying Bucky’s got himself an English suit, fyi. I just... have to be thorough.

BACK TO THE SCENE:

We’ve got our boy Steve. STEVE. Who just buried Sarah Rogers and what is he wearing...?

For starters, he’s wearing a windbreaker, check out the 1933 ad below, he’s the guy almost giving us the Fonz finger gesture, or maybe guy in the fedora on the end.

This thing isn’t falling apart at the seams, but it’s a very nondescript not really gray, not really blue - maybe was at one point. It also doesn’t FIT Steve. It also, in the ad above, would cost about $165.40 in today’s money.

My guess? It’s Bucky’s old windbreaker. Because it’s not cheap and because it’s just a bit too big on Steve. 

He’s also wearing a shirt that is maybe tan? And a brown tie and maybe - MAYBE black trousers. And if those trousers are black, it’s the only black thing he’s wearing. Not even a black tie, or a black arm band (which I’m pretty sure - but also pretty aggressively atheist so I don’t know - the Catholic Church would have provided for chief mourners and pall bearers right?). We also have our depressing as all shit Depression surroundings to clue us in: Steve Rogers ain’t loaded. Steve Rogers is poor as dirt. Side note: boys. Hiding a key under the ONE FUCKING BRICK on a walkway is not like... a smart idea???

So we can guess a few things here, we can guess that Steve and Sarah were really struggling - this checks out with the rest of MCU canon (wearing newspapers stuffed in his shoes, even when he had nothing he had Bucky, etc.) - and that all money probably went towards Steve’s numerous ailments, food and then the TB medication or treatment, as it was, that was available to Sarah.

We can maybe guess that Steve and Sarah weren’t very religious -but I don’t feel qualified to impart anything except my own agenda here so I’m not taking that stance. But like, real talk, not even an arm band?? 

But, well, let’s move on to the point of this whole long ass thing anyway?

--

Then we go to Mr. Barnes, looking dapper AF. Also, hey, check out this ad from 1933 featuring... pretty much exactly what Bucky is wearing down to the god-damn two-tone shoes:

If you’re curious, yeah $24.98 in 1936 is $475.44. I'm not suggesting Bucky Barnes went out and bought a brand new suit for Steve’s mother’s funeral - for one thing, this ad is from 1933. BUT, that suit fits Bucky. Quite well, and it’s in good shape. He’s also sporting that super stylish mid-late 30s into 40s deeply angled collar shirt - as is our dude up in the ad - and so we know these clothes are at least new-ish. We also can see that the suit is definitely of the mid-30s moving into the boxy silhouette of the later 30s and early 40s and NOT the look of the 20s and early 30s, which has an almost bell-bottom fullness to the legs instead of our straight-leg here (though we can debate nuance if you want to hit up my DMs.)

I should note, Bucky’s shirt is not bright and pristine white - it’s kind of grayish? And I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be an old-timey sepia thing or an indication that Bucky can’t afford to... bleach a white shirt? So that’s an odd choice for sure because we’re still in an age when a crisp, white collar shirt means something (Hey, if you want to hear me go on about the democratization of men’s fashion via shirt collars and 19th century Victorian suits, let me know because I am READY).

All this is to say: I don’t think Bucky Barnes is a poor dock worker. I think Bucky Barnes of MCU canon. Okay, so the MCU wiki on Bucky/The Winter Soldier is an actual mess (because it tells us that Sarah died in 1936 and that’s FINE but I’m not going back to change my math because I’m SICK so just... I went back and changed it. She died in 1936. Fine. The damn wiki also says that “a year later, during their art class, Barnes and Rogers found out that the United States of America had joined World War II. Which, like, I’m sick, but there are a few years between 1936 and December 8 1941... just... I’m no rocket doctor but...

ANYWAY. Bucky is a three time YMCA welterweight boxing champion by this “year later”/ 1941-1942. He and Steve are also in an ART CLASS together. Bucky also trained Steve in boxing at Goldie’s gym before the two of them went to enlist - Steve rejected and Bucky, again quoting MCU wiki, “drafted” (which I'm gonna take to mean he didn’t try to enlist when Steve got rejected, they went home and Bucky got called up later but... hey, who knows?!).

So, I can’t easily find the prices of gym memberships in NYC in the 1930s right now because I don’t feel like wading through all of the articles complaining about Equinox pricing in 2019. But I do know that part of Roosevelt’s WPA (Works Progress Administration) building projects included building more public gyms - as well as libraries, auditoriums, pools, parks etc. Check out your local public buildings - if they are WPA projects they will have a cool plaque like my local NJ library does! All that is to say, there were free or very cheap PUBLIC options where Bucky could have trained Steve.

Bucky trained Steve in a private gym. Do I like to think that this is the same gym Steve and America’s ass are working out in in The Avengers? Yes, Yes I do. Do I like to think that Steve likes to box because it reminds him of Bucky? Yes, yes I do.

But moving on: it’s another sign of wealth.

So is this “art class.” Whether we are in 1937 or 1941 - we’re still in the Depression. Steve still has all of his health issues and presumably accompanying “medication” (wanna talk 1930s medicine? Again, slide into my DMs or shoot me an ask). So Steve either has a side job making enough to cover all of that, rent? and enrollment in an art class.

OR maybe Steve is teaching the art class and Bucky is his model for life drawing instruction (yeah, it’s a fic bunny I’m sharing with the world).

OR maybe... Bucky is paying the rent and other things or Steve is living with Bucky and can afford the class and meds... somehow or...

OR I'm not saying that Steve is Bucky’s kept man because Steve Rogers would punch anyone who dared to say such a thing.

All I’m saying is, Bucky Barnes was not a poor dude. Bucky Barnes... had some money.

And also I’m about to be late for my doctor’s appointment so I gotta run.

At me with your thoughts!

[mjihkaaaa]

Transcript: “Randy Writes a Novel” by Randy Feltface

I have transcribed this hour-or-so-long comedy piece. if I put the transcript on tumblr, it might pop up in the search results of some poor sod wondering whether it’s a thing that exists. fAiR uSe DiScLaiMEr or something, I’m making no money off of this and am posting it out of the goodwill of my heart, and also I sat down for two hours to make the transcript so it’s probably work. /original date of transcription, not that it makes a difference: 2019-07-16 /link: you can find the actual piece yourself or buy the dvd like a good consumer

||[Beard guy] Hey Randy? Yeah mate? ||[Beard guy] Ready to do this? (exhale) Yup! ||[Announcer] Please, without further ado... Welcome to the stage... The purple one... Randy! (Applause) YEEES! HELLO! THANK YOU! LOOK AT YOU ALL, MMMH! This is so EXCITING! This is my favourite bit of the show, this bit; The expectation - You don't know what to expect, I don't know what to expect. I've got high hopes for you people. I think you're gonna be fantastic. Some of you may have never seen me before, there's probably a couple of you wondering what the fuck is going on right now - couple of people up the back probably regretting smoking that spliff before they came in... "... ... ... the fuck is that?" it's alright, just relax. Throughout the show I'm probably gonna walk from about here, over to here. Any further than that, it's gonna ruin the magic, alright? And, um, this is pretty much what it's gonna look like for the next fifty-fix-and-a-half minutes, so just adjust your eyeballs to this shit accordingly. Looks pretty good, we did my tech rehearsal today, and we set this lighting stand and was like that looks good, that's good, and Stu, my lighting guy back there, said "iS tHaT iT?" and I was like ehh... eh... no, Stu, we can turn on the lamp as well, like this ... (lamp turns on). Yes. So we did that just to justify Stu's certificate for... in fucking... theatre production. GIVE IT UP FOR STU! UP THE BACK! (Applause) Who's having an alcoholic beverage this evening? (wooing) Ah-WOOO! I don't drink anymore, I used to SLAM that SHIT into my FACE like a WEAPON but I quit ... and nothing really changed, you know, I didn't notice too many differences between being sober and being a drinker ... UNTIL ... the first time I got pulled over by a cop, and had to do a random breath test sober. Because my physcial and emi-seeonal reaction was exactly the same as it had always been when I was a drinker. Which was ... - "OOOOH fuck I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "wind down your window please sir" - "IIIII'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "one long breath into the bag sir" - "NAAAAAAAAAA I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm- (blow) I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked I'm fucked" - "... you're free to go mate" - !!! ... oh yeah, I am, and the sense euphoria I felt was the closest feeling I've had to being drunk since I quit drinking. To the point where I now drive around on friday and saturday nights, LOOKING for cops. And if I get pulled over, I pretend I'm drunk just to get an extra rush... AHHH! Seriously, if you ever get pulled over, and you're sober, pretend you're wasted. Oh, the BUZZ! It's like shelving nine pills at once, it's fucking sick. Seriously, the next time the cop's walking towards the car, just be like - - "ohh, shush everyone he's COMING! act normal he's comin- put it down! put it down, he's coming! shush he's comi-!! he's here!" - "... ... ... Wind down your window please, sir." - "yeah, I'ma do that, I'ma do that, I'M DOING IT! ... Ah, it's electric. The button's in the middle 'cuz it's electric." - "... ... ... Have you had anything to drink tonight, sir?" - "NOOO ossifer [officer] not on a tuesday" - "It's a friday-" - "NO friday either mate!" - "One long breath into the bag please, sir." - "yes I will, you fucking champion ... y'know, people say youse are cunts but I don't reckon youse are, PBRRTT (blow) - WOOO! hahaaa..." (Cop checks bag, shocked.) - "Uh... You're free to go." - "FUCK YEAH! BRRRRRRRRR MEEPMEEP" (Applause) I took it so far once, I got down to the station for a blood test - ahhahaAA, gets addictive when you get to that stage... I've got track marks, it's out of control! and laDIES AND GENTLEMEN - you're very close, aren't you. Hello! (Shriek) Um... The reason we're here is because, didididii, didididi-didii, I wrote a book! Yes! Woo! Yeah, you can clap, but I'm concerned that it might be a bit shit. I don't know. It's weird - this is it here - I'm not sure if it's any good 'cuz I think I'm too close to it, y'know, I can't tell anymore. I'm concerned that it might be, like, an ugly baby that I'm looking at through the eyes of a loving mother? And it's not until I take it out for a walk in its little pram and people start screaming in horror and crossing the street to avoid me that I'll realize I've made a piece of shit baby? There's nothing worse than a piece of shit baby, is there... - "Ah, who's this little guy- WAUGH YOUR BABY'S A PIECE OF SHIT!" - "God... damn it..." But do I need to be told it's good to know that it's good? You know, that's how it goes with comedy; If I come up here and tell a shit joke, you tell me it's shit by not laughing, and I stop telling that joke. But with a BOOK I won't know it's shit until it's out there. Forever. Until I DON'T sell a million copies. Just wake up one morning, surrounded by towering boxes of unsold books, featuring on an episode of mentally deranged hoarders... We need to lay off hoarders, by the way. I think there's one too many television programmes "exposing the horrors" of people that like collecting shit. It's their house, let them do it! - "No we have to fix them!" No you don't, people are fucked up! If they wanna climb over a stack of cat shit stained national geographic magazines from the nineteen seventies to get to the kettle, fucking let 'em. THEY LIKE IT. - "Yeah but it's a mental illness-" Yeah, well, may be, but I would argue it's MORE insane to film them doing it, and then package it like a tacky microwave meal for one, so assholes can sit at home going "LOOK HOW SHIT THAT PERSON IS! They've got too many of the same thing..." ... Who's more insane in that sce-nario, I ponder... ANYWAY my book... My book is called "Walking to Skye", it's about a young man who walks from the southernmost borders of Scotland up to the Isle of Skye in the far north, retracing the footsteps of his great-great-grandfather and having a massive existential crisis along the way. It's a reeeeeeeeeeal HUMDINGER, and now that I've written it I'm terrified to let anybody read it, so what I've decided to dewwww, is; I'm gonna read bits of the book out, you're going to react, and then at the end we'll all collectively decide whether or not I should kill myself. Okay? Okay. Here we go. Hm-hm-hm. Ready? Everybody comfortable? No-one needs to go to the toilet, or get a drink, or anything? No? If you do, seriously, just go for it, because fucking... (waves hand in front of eyes). I'm not.. going.. to notice... Ahem, okay, ahem... Here we go. Alright. Here we go, here we go, okay. Khm. Blblbl. Okay. Phew. Alright. Here we go. Walking to Skye, chapter one. ... Phew. Okay. Khm. Blbl. Okay. Khm. Phew... (Sigh)... (Shivering) Read it... Just fucking read it... Come on man... Just... Son of a bitch... Pth... EHGgghhh... I'm too scared. (Audience goes "aww") No, fuck off. It's weird being scared for this, y'know, it's strange to be scared of something so intangible as JUDGEMENT. You know, I care what you people think, but taste is so subjective. Y'know, one man's "To Kill a Mockingbird" is another man's "Twilight" saga. Hello there, what's your name? (Matthew:) "Matthew." Matthew! N- where- right about there, mattie (adjusting line of sight)? Tell me, Matthew, what do you fear, what's your greatest fear, what are you scared of mate, we're all friends here, open up, unpack some shit, what are you-.. What's your biggest fear, Mattie? (Matthew:) "It must be rejection." Rejection? Same as me. <close> what do you know about my fear of rejection? </close> How old are you, man? (Matthew:) "Twenty-six" Twenty-six! The twenties are the time for rejection, my friend, it is the best time for rejection. Have you been rejected a few times? (Matthew:) "Quite a lot." Fucking rack it up, Mattie, rack it up mate, you just get- you wear those scars like a fucking warrior, mate! And then you get to thirty-six, my age, and you could not give a fuck, my friend. I'm telling you mate, rack up the rejection while you can, and then just.. fucking.. grab whatever's left. That's what you've got to look forward to. Let's hear it for Matthew! Yes! (Applause!) Rejection, eh? I think, actually, Mattie, Mattaroonie, Matterectomy, I think for me, Mattanoonles, I'm actually more scared of ... failure, in this case. I fear that I might've written a shit book, and as a result I'll fail, y'know. But I believe, Mattress, I believe it was Ernest Hemingway who put it best when he said "The first draft of everything is shit". And I often thought of that while I was writing my book, it's a great thing for young readers and young writers, sorry, to keep in mind, because it kind of lets you off the hook, y'know. And it makes you feel not so bad when you churn out something akin to Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction. - "Every nerve ending in my body tingled as he boldly placed his swollen member directly onto my left shoulder ... and whispered into my ear ... 'tickets please' ... suffice to say, that won't be the last time I catch the bus to Broad Meadows." Khm. True story, true story. Okay, I'm gonna read the book - Broad Meadows, good suburb, Broad Meadows, good name! (Audience member goes WOOO!) Hahahaha, WEEEEEW! Has Broad Meadows ever had that reaction anywhere ever? How good is Broad Meadows- WOOOOOO! WOO! Wooing is one of few things you can do in a crowd. You can't woo when you're on your own, can you... You can't just be walking down the street like WOO! - "What's wrong with that person?" But if there's a group of you going "woo!" it's like, - "Naw, they're having a nice time, aren't they..." Wooing in- when you're in an audience is one of the few times you can get away with wooing. You can't, fucking- don't woo at the butcher's, y'know? - "I'll just have a ... 2 pounds of some sausages and uh, some pound of mince, and let me- six pound fifty WOOOOO!" - "I no longer wish for you to purchase my meat products." What was I talking about? Ah, Broadie? Yeah, Broad Meadows, it's a good name, Broad Meadow, like it makes sense, there was an expanse of just fucking... no stuff, there was some broad meadows, and they went "let's fucking build it here" and it was an honest name. All these new subdivisions now, they're all fucking, just... - "What are we gonna call this deserted swamp?" - "Um... Spring Valley Mountview Niceface." Fuck that! Name them honestly, y'know? - "Where are you living now?" - "Shitty water feature." - "Ah!" - "Where are you?" - "Stabbyville." - "Ah! ... How's that?" - "Yeah, it's good, it's close to schools, which is great, but um... We do get stabbed a lot though, it's a... You know, we knew the risks..." - "'Cuz it was in the name?" - "'Cuz it was in the name! yeEEeeAh." I like an honestly named place. I was Broken Hill recently, that's an honestly named place. - "We had a hill, we fucking broke it. Welcome to Broken Hill." Actually, Broken Hill have gone one further, they've named all the streets in the centre of town after elements. 'Cuz it's a mining town, they went thematic with that shit. So you're walking down Chloride, and you hit the corner of Bromide, or Oxide, I love that! That makes sense to me! I live in Collingwood - it'd be much easier to direct people to my house if I could send them to the corner of Soy Latte and Hipster Fuckwit. That'd take out all the guesswork ... When you're heading to Frankston, don't forget to check out the beautiful parklands on the corner of Bucket Bong and Pregnant Teenager. They are just enchanting. Alright. Gonna read the book. Blblblbl. You cool Matt? Sick. I'm gonna keep talking to you so you feel included. Therefore, not rejected. Khm, okay. Alrighty. Okay. Here we go. Alright. Shut up, I'm gonna read it. Okay. Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one . . . Fascinating man, Ernest Hemingway. I didn't know a lot about him, but I kept thinking of that quote, "the first draft of everything is shit", while I was writing my book, and I started to think, "who are you to tell me my first draft is shit, Hemingway? What did you ever do that was sO fUckIng gOOd?" So I realized I didn't know anything about him, so I decided to do some research on him, and it proved to be an excellent means of putting off writing my book. And now I can tell you everything I know about him as an excellent means of putting off reading you my book, so... Swings and roundabouts, my friends, swoongs and rimbledibbledoodledoodoos, as they say in Scotland ... They don't say that. No-one has ever said that. Anyway, what I suggest we do, okay, is I'm just gonna tell you a little bit about Ernest Hemingway, bit about Hemmers, and then we'll just let the segway into reading the book develop organically. Like a runaway fungus at the bottom of a misplaced coffee cup. - "Aw, guys, how long has this been behind the couch? ... There's little people in it!" - "Save us! Save us from our porcelain prison!" - "wwWAAH!" (tosses cup) KSSSH - "We're free!" - (Running noise, tktktktktktk) - (Randy steps on the little people with an audible crunch) It's just for me, that bit, it's just for me!.. Okay. Okay, here we go, ladies and gentlemen, for the very first time I would wager in all of your living memories, I now am proud to present to you, the life and times of Ernest Miller Hemingway in approximately three and a half minutes. Go! (Background shifts) Born in Chicago in eighteen ninety-nine, son of a physician and a musician, reasonably uneventful childhood, decided to study journalism. Enlisted with the Red Cross during World War One, got blown up in Milan and spent six months in hospital with severe shrapnel wounds in both legs, fell in love with a nurse, they decided to get married. He came home to prepare, she stayed there and ditched him for an Italian soldier, which initiated a life-long pattern of him rejecting women before they had a chance to reject him. Take note, Mattie. Got a job as a foreign correspondent, fell in love with his roommate's sister, married her and moved to Paris. They hung out with Gertrude Stein, they kicked it with Pablo Picasso, he started writing in earnest, moved to Toronto, had a kid, moved back to Paris, published a couple of books, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, converted to catholicism ... ... ...  Cut his head open after pulling on a cord thinking he was flushing a toilet, and instead ripped a skylight from the roof and smashed it onto his face, moved to Kansas City, had another kid, his dad committed suicide, he shot a lot of bears for some reason, had a car accident, had another kid, went to Africa to kill some wild animals and got dysentery - Karma! -, published another book, moved to Cuba, shot himself in the leg whilst aiming at a shark! Cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, published "For Who the Bell Tolls", sold half a million copies in a couple of months and got nominated for a Pulitzer prize, cheated on his wife, got divorced, married the other woman, became the self-appointed leader of a band of village militia outside of Paris, and was subsequently brought up on charges for contravening the Geneva convention and got away with it like a FUCKING CHAMPION! Got pneumonia, moved back to Cuba, and spent most of his spare time on his boat, tracking nazi u-boats with a machine gun and a pile of hand grenades - I AM NOT MAKING THIS SHIT UP! Had a few more car accidents, three more concussions, got clawed while playing with a lion! ... Got depressed, drank, got fat, published a couple of more books, went back to Africa to shoot some more wild animals and barely survived two separate plane crashed in the space of twenty-four hours, winding up with a fractured skull, internal bleeding, cracked spine, ruptured liver, first degree burns, and a paralyzed sphincter muscle - Karma! -, won a Nobel prize, had a file opened on him by J. Edgar Hoover, left a bunch of shit in a safe in Cuba and moved to Idaho paranoid that the feds were following him, which they were, because he spent most of the nineteen fourties working for the KGB! AGAIN, NOT-MAKING-THIS-SHIT-UP! Suffered from hepatitis, nephritis, hypertension, hemochromatosis, anemia, and impotence - Karma! -, got committed, received way too much electroconvulsive therapy and came out all fucked up, started hinting at suicide so immediately got re-committed, received another couple of months worth of electroconvulsive therapy, got released, put both barrels of his favourite twelve gauge shotgun into his mouth, and BLEW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF. WHAT A GUY!!! (Applause) Ah... That is all true! What a fucking unit! Hemingway is the quintessential anti-hero, the talented, charismatic, belligerent, suicidal, alcoholic genius that can't keep his dick in his trousers. And he still found time to write about fifteen books! I've written one, and it took me ages, because I procrastinate like a motherfucker! I only got this written by doing most of the work in my local public library, because it's very difficult to masturbate in the reference section without getting caught. It's... It's almost impossible, in fact ... Almost. I don't even enjoy masturbating anymore, I just do it to avoid other tasks. And if it's something I really don't wanna do, I can seriously just go back-to-back wanks, just AARGH, just 'till it's painful, like NAAAAAAAAH, like hurty cum, like MWOOOAAARGH, WOOOMMMHHH MHHHH MMHHMHMMM RMMMMMHHHHOOkay fine I'll do the fucking dishes. And you know the weird thing about books is that you only really need to write one to be considered to be a great writer. Until last year, "To Kill a Mockingbird" was the only book that Harper Lee ever published. One book in eighty-nine years. To be fair that one book did win the Pulitzer prize and sold over fourty million copies, so she didn't really need to do another one, did she... - "Hey Harper, you gonna write another book?" - "Nope! Did you read the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one. Just doing the one." Imagine if I did that. Came up here, told one joke, and then stared at you for fifty-eight minutes. - "You gonna tell another joke?" - "Nope! Did you hear the first one? FUCKING NAILED IT! I'm just doing the one." There's not many jobs where you can just do the one, is there... Just... Writers, and... Suicide bombers. Hard to do two of those... Or maybe UFC fighters that get punched in the head so hard in their first bout that cerebral fluid trickles out of their eye sockets. - "Ohhh, that's fucked Randy..." It happens. It's pretty much the perfect example of why we're sort of festering in this evolutionary cul-de-sac, isn't it? - "Welcome to planet earth, there's approximately seven billion of us, as you can see there's quite a few of us that don't have any clean drinking water, OH! Here's a large group of us that get paid millions of dollars to knee each other in the face! Obviously still... Ironing out a few of the kinks." Martial arts, mixed or otherwise, should not be the domain of fat-necked roughians trying to stomp on each other's ballsacks. Just as yoga should not be taught by twenty-two year old gym instructors that did a one week yoga retreat in Bali and now get around in low-slung fisherman pants with a bindy and a plat talking about mindfulness like they've ever had any fucking life experience at all. I'm sorry, you can tell me to relax and center myself when you spend maybe ten or fifteen years considering what that actually means. Until then, go back to taking photos of the froth on your coffee and shut the fuck up. And I'm torn! I'm torn because I do yoga! I buy oragnic vegetables. I blindly sign internet petitions without reading the fine print, give myself a good old pat on the back and go back to downloading hardcore pornography... I'm trying to be a good buddhist, I'm trying... But it's even difficult to identify as buddhist in the current climate without coming off as some sort of new-age pompous twat dipping his toe into the "What does it all mean?" kiddie pool while holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and staring lecherously across the back yard at your cousin's tits. - "Geez, Tamara's grown up since last Christmas, hasn't she..." And I mean, Buddha was just a dude who found enlightenment sometime around the fifth century, and he decided to stick around and talk about it, y'know. But he made it clear that everything's optional, I guess, y'know, "here's the thing I've discovered, I think it's pretty nifty, but you can find your own way through it". He was kind of like a benevolent woodwork teacher, just overseeing the workshop, but allowing his students to discover for themselves which machine is most likely to cut their fucking head off. - BRRRRRRRRRRR-WAUGH! - "It was that one, Gareth, well done. A plus, matey, A plus for you." And there's been loads of other buddhas since, right, but they haven't necessarily felt the calling to stick around and talk about it. I guess they just become enlightened and fuck off. I think that's fantastic. But ... Are you only enlightened if you're able to share it with people? Y'know? If I write a book and nobody reads it, is it still art? What is the collective noun for monkeys? ... ... ... Seriously, does anybody know what it is? I was trying to think of it all day. Anybody? (Inaudible audience response) What? (Audience member:) "Gang" Gang? Gang of monkeys? Coming through on my gang of monkeys, we're a little gang of monkeys, ooh-A-A-A! It's not gang! Anybody else? If you come up with something stupid, I'll sing a dumb song about it ..? What else? (Inaudible audience response) What is it? (Inaudible audience response) ... Oh you people are fucked. Does anybody know what it is? It's not barrel, by the way. It's troop. What, what did you say, uhh... Gang. Who-what, what's your name, who said gang? Where are you? (Victoria:) "Victoria." Victoria? How are you, Victoria? (Victoria:) "Great." Thanks for coming to my show. Hey, Victoria, riddle me this m'sister, have you read "Go Set a Watchman"? Harper Lee's new book? (Victoria:) "Naw." Naw. Has anybody read it? (Audience member:) "Half." Half. That is the best book review ever. - "I read half." Has anybody read "To Kill a Mockingbird"? (audience responds yes) yEES we reAD IT at scHOOL, fuck off. For those of you who haven't- for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, "Go Set a Watchman" was the Harper Lee book that came out last year, right, and if you don't know the backstory, alright, I'll just fill you in. Victoria, listen up. Um... Basically, Harper Lee, right? So, Harper Lee, she had a stroke in two thousand and seven, and until she died earlier this year, she was in like, assisted care, she was in a wheelchair, she was deaf and she was blind, and her sister Alice had been taking care of all of her affairs, until Alice died in twenty fourteen at the age of one hundred and three, like a fucking boss... Anyway before Alice died she was pretty much the last line of defence between Harper and this 'lawyer' that had just sort of been loitering in the wings, right. And when Alice died, this 'lawyer' just happened to discover the manuscript for "Go Set a Watchman" in the locked safety deposit box in an obscure vault in a random bank, where it had been busy minding its own business for the last fifty-six and a half years, and according to the 'lawyer', Harper was delighted that the manuscript had been discovered, and suddenly reversed her life-long vow to never ever ever publish another book ever ever again, particularly not "Go Set a Watchman" which she actually wrote before "To Kill a Mockingbird" and didn't think was very good. Other people think that maybe the 'lawyer' was attempting to get filthy rich by brutally fist-fucking an eighty-nine year old stroke victim, but the question is; ... ... ... The question is, if "To Kill a Mockingbird" had've stayed in that vault, alongside this newly discovered manuscript, would it still technically be a work of literary genius? Or is it only when something's been evaluated by the world and possibly someone's made some cash off it that it's considered to be valid artistic expression? Is art only art once it's been witnessed? Acknowledged? If I don't take a bow at the end of this show, does it devalue the performance? Will you feel unsatisfied? Or rejected? ... I recently read that book "The Pleasures and Sorrows of Work" by Alaine de Button, and in it, he says; "we might consider art as anything which pushes our thoughts in important, yet neglected directions". Now, I'd like to consider what I do artistic expression, but that sort of poses the question - do people really need their thought pushed in the direction of old ladies being brutally fist-fucked? Is that my artistic legacy? Is that what I'm gonna leave behind? Y'know, "Randy... He was the old lady fisting guy, wasn't he? Eh. Very droll, very droll. Yeah." Because Ernest Hemingway is remembered more for his literary talents than for being an insufferable cunt with a penchant for killing shit and cheating on his multiple wives, does his artistic legacy outshine his tactless and unfortunate personal life? Is it better to be a mindful human that leaves no palpable remnants of artistry behind, or a violently unlikeable sexual deviant that shits handfuls of heart-breakingly beautiful sonnets and sonnatas out of his asshole before brunch? Because it's the image of the tortured, self-destructive artist that prevails nine times out of ten. Amy Winehouse was just a girl that wanted to sing some songs, do you know what I mean? So... Should I just keep my fucking mouth shut? And try to navigate towards enlightenment, leaving behind an intangible trail of good deeds? Or do I dive deeper and deeper into the inky, black ocean of self-destruction and self-indulgence until I nail my chosen art form, leaving an echo for the eternal wonderment of countless future generations that will just breeze over my asshole personality? ... it's what's keeping me up in the night times. Eh... (Pause) Y'know, from the moment we're born we become less than human? You know that? E-... E-hh... Eh... All the bacteria from our mother is passed onto us on the way out of the womb, and from then on, we just continue to collect shit, on the inside and the outside, until the day we expire. Occasionally, you get to choose what that shit is, but most of the time you have very little say in where it comes from or when. You just have to duck and weave your way through the shit for as long as you can, until the chunk of shit with your name on it finally-AAARGH! cleans you up. Look, I know this was billed as a comedy, but a-ha-ha-HAA! LET'S TALK ABOUT DEATH! Woo! There are some pretty fucking ridiculous ways to die, though- OH, like that guy, that scuba diver they found when they put out the bush fire! *oh my go-od have you heard this fucking sto-ory?* They put out, like, a bush fire, and they found a dude in full scuba gear, and they figured out that the water bomber plane or helicopter that scoops up the water to put out the fire accidentally picked up a diver and dumped him into the flames! What a fucked up way to go! It's pretty much the polar opposite of "He died peacefully in his sleep", isn't it? Just dumped out of a plane into a blazing inferno... with a highly flammable gas tank instead of a parachute strapped to your back? - "NOOoo!" (Explosion noice) "I just wanted to look at the fish..." What do you say to his family? - "Uhh... At least he died doing what he loved." Well, he was a firefighter that enjoyed skydiving and water sports, but I'm not sure he ever wanted to combine the three... That's better, isn't it? - "Tell more jokes you little purple fucker." I had a good joke the other day - How do you know if a hippie has been to your house? ... They're still there. Haa... How do you know if someone's vegan? ... They'll tell you, yes, ahaHAHAA! Hahahaha, I'm vegan. Um... I initially became vegan for environmental and ethical reasons, and now I just do it to give people the shits at dinner parties. Like, - "Get it away, I can't eat that, meat is murder, STOP HAVING FUN EVERYONE!" It's a funny conversation, the vegan one, you bring it up, people just go - "... shut up fuckhead" But it's funny, 'cuz you know you don't actually need to eat meat. You don't NEED it. Nobody actually needs it. Unless you're on hemodialasys and you have to inhale a rare porterhouse steak every three hours to stop your kidneys backing in, you don't actually need it. That makes it a choice, and it's your choice. As long as you understand that that choice is born from belief and that particular belief is called "carnism". It's an inherited belief system that sort of conditions us to eat meat, and the notion is so... pervasive, I guess, it's viewed as a given rather than a choice. But it's totally a choice. - "Where do you get your proteins from then you little poofter!?" PEAS! (Gasp) It's crazy. And I know it's easy to just lump veganism in with all the other food allergies and just go - "They're the annoying fuckheads that don't eat the good stuff" which I get, I totally get... We're having Christmas at my house this year, right? Three months out, my cousin calls me to discuss her son, my cousin's son, which makes him... Someone I couldn't give a fuck about, anyway; She calls me up, the first thing she says - she doesn't even say hello - the first thing she says is "Brayden can't have blue." - "What the fuck? - "BRAYDEN can't eat BLUE FOODS." Apparently this kid, if he eats anything with a blue food preservative in it, he just KLKH (imitates death) just taps out. That is bullshit! Firstly, don't call your kid Brayden. Secondly... secondly, blue is not even a natural colour for foodstuffs. It occurs very rarely in nature- name me one blue food. (Audience member:) "Blueberry." BLUEBERRIES ARE FUCKING PURPLE! I'm talking about mentos blue, like seven eleven slushie blue, what flavour is that? Fucking highlighter? - "Ah no Randy, blue means mint-" MINT IS GREEN- if you planted mint and it came up blue, you would SET that SHIT on FIRE. - "And that's cool! It's cool! it's like ice, it's like water!" Water is clear. The only time water is blue, is when there's billions of tonnes of it and it's all in the one spot. And then it's got all sorts of shit in it, like salt, and SHARKS ... BLUE MEANS SHARKS IN IT! don't eAt iT it'S gOT SHARKS IN IT! You know, when sharks eat people, it's fucked, but it shits me how they immmediately go out and kill the shark like - "awrH it's gONe roGUe. iT's gOnE rOgUE!" No it hasn't, it's just doing what millions of years of evolution have programmed it to do, fucking swim around eating shit. - "yeeeeeeeah but ... ... ... it came into our bit. thIs bit's oUR bit oF tHe ocEAn." No-see that bit there? That big fucking wet bit? That's its bit. This bit here, all of this dry bit here, that you're standing on with your legs, your legs that have evolved to stand on the dry bit, that's your bit. You go into its bit, you're going to get bit. That's the lesson. ... Paddle out next to a seal colony and wiggle your ass around like a slutty little ol' dove, complaining when you get munched. It's that weird disconnect, y'know, it's the same thing as carnism, it's like if I imagine a pig is just a pig, and all pigs are the same, then I can detach what is on my plate from how it got there. It's just how most of us are brought up, y'know. But if you saw someone slit the throat of a Labrador, and then string it upside down to die an excrutiating death just squirming and bleeding out at the end of a steel hook, you'd think it was a bit fucked. How is a pig any different? It's not. It's actually not ... I said that on stage in Rock Hampton, in Queensland about four months ago. I was like, "how is a pig any different?", and a man in the audience yelled out "BACON!". Touché, sir. You win this round. He actually came up to me after the show - I was standing at the merch desk not selling anything - and he-.. I saw him coming from the other side of the room, just this massive dude, like - (stomping noises) - "Ah, you're a large man" and he said - "I was the one that said bacon" - "fucking don't kill me" and he goes - "nah, you alright mate, you alright mate, you alr-" It's the most passive-aggressive Aussie male thing you can say to another- - "naah, you alright mate, you-" It basically means "I wanna punch your fucking head in, but I don't wanna upset me misses. You alright mate." Anyway, he goes to me, - "Mate, you're not gonna make any friends in rock hampton being vegan. Did you know that Rocky is actually the beef capital of Australia-" - "ah fuck I didn't know that" - "-with over two and a half million head of cattle within a two point five k radius of the town centre?" - "fuck I didn't know that either" - "And that is a fair wack of the thirteen million head of cattle in Queensland alone, seventy percent of which is bred purely for export. Few fun facts for ya matey, few fun facts." I said - "thank you sir I did not know any of that" Did you know that, globally, cows produce thirty-eight percent more greenhouse gas than every single car, truck, bus, boat, train, and plane combined each year? That breeding animals for food uses up one third of the planet's fresh water? Takes up fourty-five percent of the earth's surface, and is responsible for a whopping ninety-one percent of amazon destruction, making it the number one leading cause of species extionction, resource consumption, and environmental degradation destroying the planet on a daily basis? FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA MATEY, FEW FUN FACTS FOR YA! Now, I'm aware this is in danger of becoming a TED talk at this point... - "jesus, a lot of statistics, is there gonna be a test?" It's alright, it's fine, I'll read the book, alright? I'll read the book. Not forcing my opinions on you, I'm merely saying them with a microphone, and you're paying for it. LOCK THE DOORS-no, seriously, okay, here we go. Khm. I'm gonna read the book. Y'know we've got McDonald's home delivery now? Does anyone do that? (Audience responds) You... You do? You know you can already get it in your car? You can get it without getting out of your car, but what McDonald's have now done is they've removed the gruelling walk from the front door to the car, so you no longer have to do that humiliating - "BWAAAAAARGGGGGHHHHH- WUUUUUUUUUAHHHH! OOOOOOOAAAAARGGHHHH! Now I have to reverend carpool! Oh, God damn you, God damn you -click- MRRRRRRGHHHH! HMMMMMRGHH! MMMMOOUUHHH WHY CANNOT THEY JUST BRING IT TO MEIN HAUS?" Well now they can. I think it's a good thing. Keep the fatties off the streets, STOP 'EM HOGGING UP THE FOOT PATHS, if they wanna eat shit, let them do it in their own home- WHO'S WITH ME? (Audience starts applauding) Don't clap that, it's a horrible thing to say. yoU'RE moNSTerS! ... Okay. You all good Mattie? Sweet. Okay, here we go. Blblblblbl, okay, kh-hm, alright, here we go, buggedabuggedabuggeda, okay. Stop it! Okay ... Do you like my typewriter, by the way? Isn't it beautiful? It's basically here just as a prop, but occasionally I am always tempted to just go ... (humming). Eh? A few "Murder She Wrote" fans in the house? Heyo? Everyone else going - "What? What is that? Sounds like an old person's joke." ... it is! It is! It totally is! Alright. Here we go. Okay, fuck, here we go. Blblblblbl. Walking to Skye, chapter one ... I bought a bookshelf on Gumtree recently, um, it was an amazing experience, I'll quickly tell you about it and then I'll read the book, but- I found it strange, becasue it made me start to think about the way our, like, methods of communication have sort of changed over the years, y'know? In the old days, if you wanted a bookshelf, you'd just go see Gareth the Bookshelf Guy, 'cuz he was the dude in your tribe that made the bookshelves, he had a little bookshelf cave, he was REPUTABLE. Now any mad bastard can sell their shit on Gumtree, you know what I mean? As a species, we're sort of able to cope with knowing and gossiping around like a hundred, or a hundred and fifty people. That's like the limit of our tribe. Any more than that, it starts to get confusing, which is why we created abstract constructs like territories and deities to unite larger groups of people under an imaginary common factor. And it works the trick, because we only really gather en masse on special occasions, but I think like social media and mmmh... It's fucking all that up, y'know? I think we're able to deal with the thousands of people we're connected to on a daily basis, and as a result we neglect our immediate one fifty, y'know? That's why I never get invited to parties anymore. It's not 'cuz I ramble on about veganism and fisting old ladies, it's because I'm not on facebook and everybody just assumes you are. I am so behind on the births, deaths, and marriages of my friends that I feel like the time traveller's wife every time I go to a party, I'm like... - "This is Tim, he's our son, he's six now-" - "Fucking... Didn't even know you were pregnant." Anyway, you know smartphones, aren't they great? You know that, right, they're not, they're not that great, you don't need the internet in your pocket, you work at Cole's, okay? You're not working for the president, you don't need it, you don't need that much information. And also, what was the point of developing opposable thumbs for you to take a photo of your head, post it on the internet, and then just stand by for validation. No-one gives a fuck about your head! They'll only validate it in order to gain permission to post a photo of their own head on the internet and stand by for validation. The people who give a fuck about your head will at some point see it in real life. Fuck your head and the neck it rode in on. Your vanity is sucking up my bandwidth ... Anyway this is what's going through my head as I'm on Gumtree looking for a bookshelf, because- you know when you put something on the... on the... in like... in the search in booktree- in booktree? what the fuck- When you put something in the search on Gumtree - I'm having a stroke up here - When you put something in the search, right, and like, there's always a couple of things that come up in the list that are like the polar opposite of what you searched for, and like "get out of my head gumtree algorithms, CONSPIRACY!"? No but seriously, it's all you type, it's like "bookshelf", and it's all bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, grammophone? Huh. Bookshelf, bookshelf, bookshelf, combine harvester? What the fuck? ... Huh, that's actually a pretty good price. Anyway, on this particular day, I found two bookshelves that worked for me, in terms of cost, and more importantly, geographical convenience, 'cuz I'd be fucked if I'm driving to Broad Meadows to pick up a bookshelf, right? So I type in bookshelf, and I see the two things, and I'm like okay, one seller is Cathy, the other is Morgan. I send them both the same text message, "Hello! I saw your bookshelf on gumtree, is it still available?". Cathy texts back straight away, saying - "sorRRY iT wENt thIS MorNING!" - "That's cool, Cathy, I'm sorry I gave you an annoying voice in the retelling of this story." Morgan's response came through a couple of minutes later, and simply read, - "It was my wife's bookshelf." ... HOW DO YOU RESPOND TO THAT? Aside from the fact that it doesn't answer my fucking question... His use of past tense in that sentence unnerved me slightly. I'm like, aahhh, I should probably just find another bookshelf... And then I noticed he lived in the suburb next to me, so I replied; - "Is it still available?" He responded with the letter Y. Just a Y. Is he asking me why I wanna know if it's still available? Or is it a Y for "yes", and he's so in the throws of grief that he can't manage the E and the S? I assume it's a Y for "yes" and respond, - "Cool! I'll take it. When's a good time to come and pick it up?" No reply for fifteen minutes, I'm like... ah he's forgotten about it, fuck it, I'll find another bookshelf, and then when his reply actually does come through I realize he spent those fifteen minutes crafting his response, because it's a FUCKING THESIS. He must've felt so bad about only using a single consonant in his previous text that he just massively overcompensated with this one. Also, for some reason, felt that the use of punctuation? Entirely unnecessary. So it's just one obscenely long sentence, which reads; - "You must come and pick up now I only have short time here at house and also it wide so bring van or trailer and there's stair but I can help you carry it down stair if you come park out front walk up path ring bell and I will help you carry it to trailer or van I only accept cash and if you do not come now I will sell it someone else" (Shriek) Again I'm thinking, ahhh, I should just find another bookshelf at this point, but now I am FASCINATED by Morgan, and I simply must meet the man. So I drive over to his house- before I left, I sent him a message saying - "Cool, I'll be there in ten minutes" and he replied "ok", but spelled it OK-A-Y which just fascinated me more, that he'll use four letters to spell a two letter word, but only one letter to spell a three letter word, MORGAN IS OFF THE FUCKING CHAIN! And as I'm driving over to his house, I'm trying to picture what he's gonna be like, y'know... His pidgin English might suggest ethnicity of some sort, but I don't wanna racially profile him; Maybe he's an old man who recently lost his wife and is not that very good at texting, or maybe, and I'm really hoping this is the case, Morgan is just batshit crazy. So I get to his house, and I go up to the- ehe, I park out front walk up path ring bell, and I... I brace myself for the door to be opened by like, an old man in a smoking jacket, wearing fishnet stockings and suspenders, just puffing on an opium pipe while a butler just creepily polishes a goldfish in the background, and then a tiny pugdog wearing a fez hat just trots up the hallway, sits on the mat, looks up at me and says "RELCOME TO OUR ROVERY ROME!"... And then the door opens, and I am thoroughly disappointed. Before me stands an average caucasian male in his mid-thirties, dressed casually, hipster sheek, stubble, glasses with designer frames, expensive watch - I immediately think "architect?" but the house is too cheesy for that - it's like a double story doll's house with bay windows - but definitely a designer of some kind? Maybe a graphic designer? He's too skinny for manual labour, but he's too hip for the public sector, BUT THIS CAN'T BE MORGAN. Because Morgan's text messages would suggest that he's not that technically savvy, and then the man standing in front of me says - "Hello my name is Morgan" AND THE PLOT THICKENS! He invites me in, shakes my hand, closes the door, and twenty minutes later, I will be witnessing Morgan perform some of the most aggressive acts of violence I've ever seen in my life, and I will be speeding away in my car bleeding from the face. Here's how this shit went down... I go into the house, and I notice two things immediately; One, this is a house in the throws of renovation. Nothing too extreme, but there's like drop sheets on all the furniture, there's freshly painted walls, there's a bathtub wrapped in plastic in the hallway, awaiting installation- someone's doing some work on this house. The second thing I notice, on the way up the stairs to the second floor, on the first floor landing, is a wedding photograph featuring a very cleanly shaven Morgan with a very beautiful bride. Very much in love! The photograph is very much on the floor, and the glass in the frame is very much smashed. She's not dead, she's left him, and THE PLOT THICKENS A BIT MORE FOR MORGAN! And as Morgan unceremoniously like, kicks the photo frame to one side on the way up the stairs, I really wanted to pry into Morgan's life and ask heaps of inappropriate questions... But he was clearly a broken man. He had this terrible air of sadness around him, so I didn't wanna intrude. Luckily for me, though, I didn't have to, because Morgan immediately began oversharing and told me the whole fucking story aaAAAH! Thank you Morgan! I shall hang off your every word and then retell your tale to two hundred strangers and record it for a fucking DVD! He IS a graphic designer -YES!- and he's really good at it. He does like massive rebranding campaigns for large corporations, he gets flown all over the world doing this shit, right? About four years ago, a woman hired Morgan to rebrand her florist business, and he did such a great job she married him. And he thought everything was just fine, until about three months ago. Morgan had to do a presentation in Sydney, right? But he was on his way home from overseas and got stuck in Dubai due to a flight cancellation, so rather than cancel the meeting, Morgan suggested to these businessmen in Sydney that they do a Skype chat, because he's so technologically savvy, despite his fucking baffling text message style. So Morgan checks into a hotel, cracks open his laptop, and starts skyping with this room full of businessmen in Sydney, who are all watching Morgan on a massive screen on their boardroom wall, right? And everything's going great, Morgan is totally nailing it, until about halfway through; He realizes that a file he wants to show these dudes is on the desktop of his home computer back in his home office in Melbourne. And he decides to live share the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. He knows how to do that, he can remote control his computer from anywhere in the world, it's not particularly new technology, but Morgan makes it sound so impressive. So this room full of businessmen are all watching keenly, like - "OOAHP! MARGARET, BRING IN SOME BISCUITS, THERE'S SOME NEW-FANGLED SHIT GOING ON IN HERE!!!" as Morgan clicks a few buttons and (click) brings up the desktop of his home computer on the Skype chat. Now, what Morgan doesn't realize is that his wife has been using the "Photobooth" app on that particular computer to take pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself. To take naked pictures of herself... doing some pretty fucked up shit. It's embarassing, to say the least, just as Margaret came back in with the biscuits- - "I've got you the b-WHUIEAAAAURRRHHH!!!" Now, those of you who are familiar with the Photobooth app will know that how it works, is it accesses the built-in camera in your computer and with the click of a button, (click) takes a photo of you when you're standing in front of your screen. And if you know that, you also know that if you leave that application open, the camera also stays open, witnessing whatever may be happening in front of the computer, in real time. Such as your wife, in your home office, fucking your best mate. OOOOOOOOOO NOOOOOOOO MOOOOOOOORGANNNN... Nooooo... Morgan then goes on to tell me she's keeping the house, his former best mate is moving in, and while they're out for the day shopping for fittings, Morgan must suffer the indignity of moving his shit out, and selling the stuff they don't want on Gumtree to this guy. Ahhh... It's at this point of the story that Morgan starts crying, he breaks down, and I do not blame the man, it's fucking horrible and I just wanna give him a big hug and say "Everything's gonna be alright, Morgan", but I am holding the full weight of a BOOKSHELF halfway down a set of STAIRS and Morgan is the only thing stopping that bookshelf from caving my face in- I was like, MORGAN! MMMMORGAN! And Morgan managed to pull himself together ... for about eight seconds? And then just went BAHHH and let the bookshelf go. I fell backwards, it literally rolled over me, and took out the light hanging above the staircase, I'm now lying on my back getting showered in broken glass, as the bookshelf turned end over end and just went FONK right through a freshly painted wall at the bottom of the stairs. I'm like, AAH. aaAAAh. aaAAAAAAhhh. aaAAAAAHHH. I've got a tiny cut on my forehead which is just pissing blood, for some reason - apart from that, I'm fine. Morgan, however - he's not fine! Morgan is the opposite of fine. Something happened when the bookshelf lodged itself in the wall and his sadness just (click) went away in a second, and he started PISSING HIMSELF laughing. Hysterical. And he had the creepiest laugh I've ever heard in my life- I'm standing there like "this is weird" and he's like "mwhueHUEUEEUEUEUE! mhhwuEUEUEUE!" like some sort of demonically possessed baritone cookaburra, - "mwhueEUUEUEE, a-HOGUGUGUGAGAGAGA!" - "Um... Uh..." - "mwueEUEUUEUEUE" - "can I still have the bookshelf?" - "yuuEEEEAAH" We extract it from the wall - the bookshelf, incidentally, showing no sign of having just rolled down a staircase and smashed through a wall. We carry it out to my car- we had to stop about six times, 'cuz Morgan was like - "Hang on a minute, mwueHUEUEUEUEUEE" We got it to my car, put it on the trailer, and Morgan was in such a great mood he let me have the bookshelf for free. Ohh! Hahaha... Mm... And that's where the story SHOULD end. But there was something about the bookshelf going through the wall that flipped a fucking switch in Morgan's head, and he is now hungry for more destruction. So as I started tying the bookshelf down to my trailer, Morgan just strolls over to like an upright mailbox on the front lawn and just starts trying to wrench it out of the ground. Really putting his back into it. I'm like, "are you okay buddy" and he's like "YEAP" (struggling) HUAH! He pulls it out of the ground whereupon he wields it like a fucking battleaxe and just starts smashing up the front garden, just beheading the daisies, fucking up the lavender... I'm like, "uhh, hey Morgan, maybe you wanna stop and think about that" and he whirled around and looked at me like Jack Nicolson chasing Shelly Duvalle up the stairs in the shining and said - "WHY DON'T YOU MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS?" ... yep, yep, cool, man, yep, yep... Now, I like tying knots. I'm quite good at tying knots if I tie something down I take my time because I want it to stay there... But as Morgan nonchalantly strolled up the driveway, rolled up the garage door, and put the mailbox through the windscreen of an Audi!? I must admit, I kind of rushed my knot tying job. I got in my car, I'm about to drive off, I'm like, looking at the house going "ah, I'm sure he'll be fine" and then an armchair smashed out of an upstairs window and just went DOINK DOINK DOINK DOINK down the front lawn. I was like "... what's my duty of care in this situation?". I didn't want to call the cops on him, I didn't want him to trash the house, I'm like - "daw fuck I'm gonna have to talk to Morgan" So I got out, I walked up the driveway shitting myself- you know when someone does something really violent and you're just like "ah, fuck, we're not supposed to do shit like that!"? Yucky, just yucky feeling in my tum-tum- and I'm standing there, standing there in the garage and there's like an adjoining door in the garage that leads into the house. I can see in through the door into the house, up the staircase, it's like a wooden staircase, and I'm standing in the garage just going - "ah fuck..." (gulp) "morgaaaan. Morgaaaan!" Like I was calling a cat for its dinner? "Morgan! Moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie-moggie!" And then I notice a small trickle of water start to come from the top step. And then a little bit more water, and then QUITE A LOT OF WATER, just pissing down the stairs like shitty water feature, I'm like "aw that can't be right" and then Morgan appeared on the top step holding a hammer like this: - "BAAAH!" (jumps out) I was like - "WOAH!" and he's like - "mwhuEUEUEUE" Starts running at me wielding the hammer, like "UEUEUEUE", I'm like "aw no no I just wanted to buy a bookshelf..." he's like "UEUEUEUEUEUE-.. RRAH!" runs straight past me, I'm like - "Where are you going?" he's like - "UEEEH!" made a beeline for my car, I'm like - "NO, MAN! STOP!" he's like - "UEUEUEUEUUEUE" - "STOP IT! JUST STOP!" He spins around and goes - "I just checked my phone, she texted me fifteen minutes ago saying she'll be here in fifteen minutes, WE'RE GONNA GO!" and gets into my car! - "fucking... jesus... fuck me" I run down the lawn, get in the driver's seat, I'm like - "What was with the water?" he goes - "Ah, I put plugs in all of the sinks and turned all the taps on!" I'm like - "Oh that's fucked" He's like - "JUST DRIVE!" I was like - "AAH!" I took off so quick, rounded the corner of his street, and the bookshelf just went "mrrreeUUWh-BOOSH" and exploded against the guard rail, just exploded in a shower of badly tied knots and broken dreams... So me and Morgan just fucking left it there, like a little breadcrumb for his ex wife to find on the way home to her destroyed gingerbread house. I dropped Morgan at a train station. I have never seen him again. And that, my friends, is why I no longer shop on Gumtree. Thank you very much! Thank you very much. (Applause) Haha, ah, fuck... You know my favourite bit of that story? I just made it up. Yes, not true. There is no Morgan. MMMH! It's very unsatisfying, isn't it? - "But I saw him in my head. I saw Morgan in my head." ... ... ... Why is it we can feel so robbed when someone tells us a story we just heard isn't true, and yet so satisfied at the end of a fictional novel? Y'know? You know that? ... You know the other great thing about that story? First draft. FUCK YOU HEMINGWAY! ... (sigh) Can't end on that, can I? - "Those LIES? WE DID NOT COME HERE TO BE HOODWINKED, SIR!" The truth, eh? ... The truth is, I'm... I'm not an exceptional person, y'know? Nothing interesting really ever happens to me, I'm massively flawed, and I think I'm quite forgettable, if I'm being a hundred percent honest. And this isn't the shit bit at the end of the show where I get on the cross, I'm like "lOve mE on the wAY OUt thE doOr". It's not that, it's just that I don't think- on a scale from one to memorable, I'm not that memorable. Not on like the Morgan sort of scale, not on the Ernest Hemingway scale, certainly, y'know... But if I tell a great story, maybe people will remember that instead. Remember the card trick and just... pretend that they don't know how it's done, y'know? ... But must we leave a legacy? MUST we make an impact? Do we HAVE TO leave a footprint? Is it okay to just settle, seek safety, nest, y'know? Or must we constantly shake our lives up, or suffer the indiscriminate cruelty of having it shaken against our will? Must we try to carve a path through the tall grass, feeling as though no-one has ever felt how we feel? Terrified at what may be lurking low in the grass on either side of us, but just pressing ever on with that paleolithic instinct deep within our chromosomes that the only way is forward, that you HAVE TO keep going? That eventually you'll stumble upon the edge of the field, hitch a ride from a passing car, and meet up with the rest of the gang for tea and sandwiches at the old town hall? ... (deep breath) Do we feel like the path that we are carving through the grass is all our own? Only to finally float above the field with the sweet relief of expiration and realize that the field is insignificantly miniscule in size, and that there's only one path through the grass - the exact same one that every human has trod before us will ever after, just stumbling blindly along a tiny hyphen between the words "birth" and "death". And when reduced to that level of crisp simplicity, fear cannot exist ... So. (pausing, readying) Phew. Walking to Skye, chapter one: (Blackout) (Applause and credits)

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

Additional, useless, but maybe fun info on His Smile Will Keep You Safe

Bill and Charlie were not originally planned to be brothers until i told one of my (two) friends about it, and they immidetly went “Like the Weaslys?” so I just HAD to use that one. Their last name, Bellete, is French for Weasel, the mean nickname the Weaslys get called by Draco Malfoy

Jay, Charlie, Lucas and Bill are inspired by the technichians (and in Lucas’s case the tour manager) who I saw working for idkhow in Berlin. There were two guys setting up the stage, one in a plain blue shirt, looking so unnoticeable that he would have been invisiable if I hadn’t paid attention, who inspired Charlie, and one with a beard, black rimmed glasses and a base ball cap who inspired Bill. Jay was lookwise based on this roadie who helped carry the cases with equipement to the touring van, but I gave him dread locks instead of an afro like the guy had. And Lucas is plainly based on the looks of the tour manager

In Köln, when I was waiting for my second iDKHOW show, long after I had finished writing, and after the first few chapters were up, I saw a guy who played in a band in a venue next doors, and he looked exactly what I had always Luis imagined to look like. Seriously, if I had to cast people for the characters, I'd cast this dude as Luis.

I wanted the reader not to be the only woman on tour, so I added Lisa for the merch; the guy who I had seen at the idkhow show got cancled (I’m sorry, dude, even though I don’t know you), but he was super kind and just had some sort of peace about him which I packed into the “fatherly” side of Lucas which we get to see when he talks to the reader after her panic attack

I knew pretty early on that I wanted to include the incident with the stolen equipment from last year, and when the idea with the drugs popped into my head, it made sense to have the bus stolen in order to hide the drugs

Originally, before I created the characters in detail, I wanted the drugs to be smuggled by the lead singer of the opening band, which would have been Jay, but once I was finished with his profile I was like “no, he’s to innocent”, and decided to have it be the most unexpected character (apart from Ryan and Dallon), which was Lisa

Originally I had the reader’s appearance based on a mix of my other friend (who got me into iDKHOW in the first place) and myself, before I changed it to be a little more general. The idea was the reader to have a side cut, like myself, and long, brown, curly hair like my friend.

Also based on my friend’s appearance was the idea that somewhere in between the reader tells Ryan they always wanted pink hair, so he drags her to the hairdresser where they get her hair dyed pink.

Since the story is set in August/ September 2019, Ryan’s hair should be brown. Actually I wrote him brown haired until I asked my friend (the one with the pink hair) and they answered:

If Ryan’s hair would have been brown, and I would have included the hairdresser scene, he’d have gotten his hair dyed blue again, because “damn, I miss the blue”.

I did not include the hairdresser scene, because the only time it would have found some space, was during the time the bus got stolen, and it just seemed weird to have the the characters go “Hey, our bus and all the equipment got stolen, but let’s go dye our hair. Who wants to join?”

Lars is based on the guy I was in love with during high school (but we were never together), who probably still fucks up my self-esteem when it comes to anything that goes into the direction of flirting (aka he treated me like a piece of shit). I like using him as a template for the bad guys, I also wrote about him in “The Red Dress” (Patrick x Reader), and “Someone Who Loves You As Much” (Dallon x Reader).

All the cities they visit in the story are cities in the US at which iDKHOW played in that order during this year. But I pulled everything closer together, eg also skipping the dates in Europe.

I saw iDKHOW on a Wednesday in June. Since the day before, Tuesday, I had planned on writing a Ryan story (but only a short one), after the concert I knew it would be a longer story. I actually started writing while lying in bed in the hostel, next to my pink haired friend, who had fallen asleep already.

I wrote into tumblr drafts, three of them, which I’ve never done before. The first one is the very first sketch of into which direction I wanted the story to go.

The second entry was the reader meeting Ryan in the street (and it’s basically unchanged, except for Ryan’s hair colour) and the third one was the conversation in which the reader’s boss tells her about the contract

On Friday (two days after the concert), on my way home, I had a stop in a huge train station, before getting on the train that would take me home. I didn’t have wifi, so no tumblr drafts to write into, so I got a tiny booklet into which I scribbled the prologue, the second version of the story arch, and the characters

I can’t read half of the stuff I’ve written into that note book anymore, because it’s a MESS

What does that even say? I don't know.

 Jay was originally called Kay. I have the name written like that in the note book, and it was Kay in the first Chapter. But somehow I continued with Jay, and then I changed it in the first chapter, once I noticed it.

Pretty handwriting, I know. Anyone who has ever told me to write more neatly is only receiving the worst scribbled Christmas cards.

The opening band is called “Three Beats” as a mixture of “Three Cheers (for Sweet Revenge)” and “The Beatles”

 Lisa is actually the name of my sister’s best friend, who is a super lovely girl, but somehow it was the first name in my mind after I knew she’s be the bad guy

After the scene on the bridge, Ryan was supposed to get ill, and the reader contacts an old friend of hers (a doctor), who happens to live in the city they currently are in.

I was considering doing some scenes with Ryan randomly filming her for Instagram stories, like her spreading sunscream on her arms and he joking about her showing off her muscles and silly stuff like that.

I did not know how I wanted the two to get together until about a page before I wrote it. In the notebook I wrote that Ryan overhears the reader tell Lars off when he tries to flirt with her again, telling Lars that she’s in love with Ryan. This happens directly before Ryan goes on stage before the last concert, but he only confronts her after the show backstage. Then two days before Ch13 got posted I changed it again. Until then I had it written out as the reader following Ryan outside the bar, they talk and make up. Well, I decided it wasn't enough heartbreak.

The boy who helps the reader when she confronts Lars about what he told Ryan, is based on a boy who I met at the idkhow concert. Except that it was him who got bothered by a girl and didn’t know how to defend himself, and when he mentioned this in the break between White Room and iDKHOW, the girls around him jumped into defense mode. (I actually got into a staring duell, which is why I was able to describe the fight over dominance between Lars and the reader, because I basically starred her down and was very self concios during that short discussion (according to my pink haired friend it looked impressive, even thogh she didn’t understand a word because we were talking german; I felt more like an angry hamster))

Hamster Picture

 I wanted there to be eleven chapters, but because I also wanted certain chapter cuts towards the end, it turned into thirteen. And then I added onto ch13, and now there are 14 chapters

In my word documents, the original chapter 13 is called "ch-13" (still thinking about publishing the way it originally was, like a deleted scene) the chapter you got to read as 13 is called "ch-13.2", chapter 14 is "ch-14" and the epilogue is "ch-13.b"... It's messy.

 Doing the moodboards was fun but so much work… never again (how much do we want to bet that the next long story comes with mood boards again, because I’m stupid?)

In the scene in the diner, the reader orders a strawberry milkshake, because Ryan’s smelled so good. I wrote that because when i was in Berlin to see idkhow, my friend and i went fruit shopping, and i couldn’t resist the strawberries bc they smelled so nice

[musiclovingbitch]

Oh I want all of them 1-50!

Fuck. I brought this onto myself. Putting this under a read-more so that people don’t kill me.

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

I don’t think any of you know this but the first fic I ever wrote was a Shameless one-shot that was titled ‘Mine’ and it was just semi-good, semi-bad smut. The first and last fic I ever posted on fanfic.net, actually. I deleted it years ago and didn’t save a copy, so it’s gone forever now…

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

My most recent fic is Part, written for the 2019 Klaine Advent Challenge, and also the gleepotluckbigbang. I’m fallen majorly behind cause I have some studying to do, so I may take a long while to finish the rest of the klaine advent.

It’s much, much better than Mine was, lol.

3. In your opinion, what’s your best fic?

Oh, that’s so difficult. While I’m not happy with everything I’ve posted, there’s a bunch that have a special place in my heart. Escape came to mind first, partly because I love older!Blaine fics, which is kind of shocking to me cause it’s one of the very first fics I ever wrote, and statistically I tend to like my older fics less.

4. In your opinion and without looking at any numbers, what’s your most popular fic?

I have looked at the numbers before, though not recently, so I have an idea.

I think Escape is the reigning queen right now, actually, but Incapacitated by Love and The Effects of Cookies on Shy Teenagers are gunning for her crown, lol.

5. Is there any fic that makes you super happy to reread and remember you wrote that?

I don’t tend to reread any of my fics, but like I said, there are a few that I love. Escaped and Incapacitated by Love are two of them, along with Together, I Need A Gangsta, and Question.

6. Is there any fic that makes you super embarrassed to reread and remember you wrote that?

Uh, one of the reasons I don’t reread my fics is the cringe factor, so, no. I reread Mine a couple of years after I posted it and it made me delete it, so. I think it’s in everyone’s interest that I don’t.

7. What’s the fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

I don’t write multi-chaptered fics, so, not in that regard, but.

When I first posted I Need A Gangsta, I had a surprisingly large amount of people asking for a sequel. It’s been years since I posted it, but last week I started thinking about it and I have a little bit of inspiration, so. You may wanna look for that in the upcoming months. (I have exams coming up, be patient.)

8. What’s the oldest (longest since last update) fic you most want to continue (unfinished or no)?

Again, I don’t write multi-chaptered fics, but.

I got asked for a sequel to one of the fics I wrote for the 2015 Klaine Advent, Wish, which is inspired by Aladdin. I haven’t gotten around to it yet… *hides in shame*

9. Have you ever written for a fandom without watching/reading/playing the source material?

Nah. I’m not sure if I could. Although, I do usually write AUs, so. I think some of them could fit pretty much any pairing.

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

I hadn’t read any Shameless fanfic before writing and posting my own. But I read klaine fanfic for years before I attempted writing it.

11. Have you ever written a fic for a concept you know someone else has done before? How did it impact your writing process or feelings after posting?

Nothing specific comes to mind right now? I do occasionally get inspired by prompts, (and you can all blame @slayediest​ for reblogging them onto my dash) and they obviously get used by a whole bunch of people, but usually inspiration for different fics comes a little more naturally, like I’ll hear a song or whatever. 

I did write a fake dating au and I was nervous about writing it, I took more care than usual if that makes sense, and that was both because it’s such an iconic trope, but also because it was a gift to the delightful @lilyvandersteen​, so I was even more anxious than usual after posting it cause I was waiting to see if she liked it or not.

12. Have you ever written a fic and decided never to publish it? Why?

There are so. many. fics. in my drafts folder, but all but two are unfinished. Those two that are finished but not published I just don’t like very much. I keep them with the intent of re-writing the parts I don’t like and posting them. Eventually, hopefully, I’ll get around to that.

13. What’s the biggest change between your style when you started in fandom and today?

I’m more comfortable writing now than back when I first started, I guess? I was way more hesitant then.

I do write better smut now.

14. What’s the biggest change in your taste between when you started in fandom and today?

Let’s just say I’m into some kinky shit now and it’s definitely because of late nights spent on AO3.

Trope-wise, not much has changed about my preferences.

15. Have you ever purposefully written one fandom/fic idea over another because you knew it’d be more popular?

Nah. I don’t vibe like that. The words don’t come out of me.

16. Have you ever stopped writing a fic/for a fandom because it wasn’t receiving enough attention?

Nope.

17. In your opinion, what’s your most overrated fic?

It’s definitely Closer. I was debating not posting it and it has more hits than it has words, I really don’t get it.

18. What’s your most underrated fic?

I’m not sure. I feel like I’d be nagging if I said, oh hey not enough of you guys read/liked/reblogged this fic of mine. 

People have their preferences. I’m okay with that.

19. If you had to pick one fic/scene/chapter of your work to describe your entire portfolio to a stranger, which would you pick?

Fuck. Maybe Together? It has the mix of intense angst/sappy romance that you’ll find in my fics 100% of the time.

20. Have/Would you ever rewrite a fic? If yes, would you take the original down?

I haven’t, and I don’t think I will. I don’t tend to linger over fics once I’ve posted them.

21. If someone starts kudosing and commenting your fics in a spree and has a few works of their own, would you go look through theirs?

This has happened three times and I loved it every single time. I would definitely check out their profile, yes. 

22. Has there ever been anyone who’s made you freak out because they read your work and followed/favorited/reviewed?

Are you kidding me? Literally all of you, yes. Fandom royalty has read my work, bitches. 

23. What’s the nicest review you’ve ever gotten?

Oh, god. Someone commented that I made them cry, it was the best, it made my entire week.

24. What’s the meanest review you’ve ever gotten? Do you think the reviewer intended it?

I’m very lucky in that aspect, I’ve never gotten hate in regards to my fic. 

I did write a fic where Blaine and Sam were teaching a CPR class that Kurt was in, and at the end, I had Sam interrupt them while they were speaking, and someone left a mean comment about Sam? I smelled fandom wank and did not engage.

25. What constructive criticism, however well-meaning, always makes you feel bad when you see it in a review?

Haven’t gotten any of that.

26. What aspect of your writing do you most enjoy to see praised?

I like making people feel things. If you tell me I made you feel good or bad with my fic, I’m going to be delighted.

27. If you could only ever write crossovers or single-fandom fics ever again, which would you pick?

Single-fandom fics.

28. if you could only ever write for a single crossover or a single fandom again, which would you pick?

Glee, obvi. I’d never give you cuties up.

29. Does the division of your writing across fandoms line up with your reading? What’s the biggest discrepancy?

Well, although I have considered writing for some of my other fandoms, it just hasn’t felt right. That may change in the future, and that’ll be an interesting day.

30. Do you continue to write for a fandom after you’ve moved on or do you focus solely on the new one?

I think klaine has become such an important part of my life that I don’t see myself giving it up entirely.

31. Who’s the one character you’ve just never managed to get perfectly right?

I don’t think I have ever gotten any character perfectly right, but that’s okay. It helps that the majority of my fics are AUs, so I don’t feel a lot of hesitation having them do or say some OOC things.

32. Who’s the one character who shines without you even trying?

I think I’ve nailed Kurt and Blaine at different scenes in different fics, but no particular character comes easy to me.

33. Is there any particular character whose scenes always wind up being longer/more frequent than you expected? Does the quality hold up?

Rachel kind of takes over sometimes and I have to go back and edit things out, lol. That’s just her diva way.

34. Was there any fic that you wrote that really surprised you in the fandom reaction? Was it just by the numbers or did they take it an entirely different way?

I think the one that surprised me with just how much response it received (I know that phrasing is wrong but I can’t be bothered right now) is Incapacitated by Love. Who knew people in the glee fandom had a thing about police officer!Blaine.

35. Have you ever written a ship into a fic without meaning to?

I keep klaine as the main focus, so the backround couples switch up ocassionally and I don’t particularly care.

36. Have you ever sincerely written a ship you do not support into a fic?

Nope.

37. Have you ever purposefully bashed a character/ship in a fic?

Not that I can remember.

38. Have you ever purposefully written something you know your readers would find uncomfortable/would not enjoy? If yes, why?

I don’t think so?

39. Do you consider yourself to have a readership?

Not really. Although if any of you consider yourself to be a loyal reader of mine, please let me know.

40. Do you feel like you put out enough content?

No, that’s kind of the worst part about my muse, she’s a flighty bitch.

41. If you cross-post your fics on multiple sites, do you have a favorite? Are there certain fics you would only post on certain site?

AO3 is the best. Tumblr can suck my dick.

42. How many views has your most popular fic gotten?

Incapacitated by Love has 1554 hits! Wow.

43. Your least popular?

Ground has only 95 hits, but I posted it a few days ago.

44. Do you follow/favorite/kudos/comment/review more stories than you have received?

I have no idea what this question is asking.

45. If you had to call yourself an author of a single genre (besides fanfic) what label would you give yourself?

AU all the way, baby, although that’s apparent.

46. Do you consider yourself a diverse author?

No, I think I have a very specific style. I dither in between gut-wrenching angst and tooth-aching fluff. That’s it, that’s my fics.

47. If someone you know in real life who isn’t involved in fandoms asked to read your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you recommend they read first?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. There’s too much gay porn and I’m too closeted for this shit.

48. Does anyone you know from outside of fandom know you write fanfic? Are they involved in the same fandom too?

Yes, one friend of mine knows, although she doesn’t know what I write, or for which fandom(s).

49. Has anyone in your life ever read your fanfic just because you wrote it?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

50. Has writing fanfic had a significant impact on your life? Would you say it’s entirely positive?

Of course it’s had a massive impact in my life. It’s a huge creative outlet and I’ve ‘met’ so many people because of it! I think it’s like 85% positive.

[wallstagram]

wip progress update

hey guys!!

so every once in awhile, i’ll be doing a quick WIP update! i know that as an author, i love seeing how other authors are doing, esp when there’s a bit of a struggle involved. i just wanna be here for any other authors, to show that the writing process isn’t always cut and dry. this might be a wash, but if anything it will be a great encouragement to myself! if you are interested in supporting me and my writing process, feel free to read below the cut! (side note, I did take about a month break from writing, between finals and some health issues with my grandma!

1. HL Summer Exchange Fic 

Word Count: Currently 11.6 k, will probably finish around 17k.

Timeline: I actually started writing this fic on March 13, and I imagine it will be completely finished by this time next week.

Thoughts: I am so excited for this fic! It has been a process for sure - a constant state of writing scenes and deleting them, trying to find what did the characters and the plot justice. Honestly, this fic would have gone absolutely nowhere without my amazing friend + beta nicole (@ireallysawanangel) and her sweet cheerleading and wonderful suggestions! There were many moments where I thought about giving up or scrapping what I had to move to an alternate prompt. But, working through this story has helped me grow as a writer.

2. Single by Choice (for HL Mpreg Fest)

Word Count: 1.1 k, will probably finish around 20 - 30 k.

Timeline: Started on April 29, haven’t added to it since! The due date is September 4, 2019.

Thoughts: I am in love with the prompt I have received for this fest, and am excited to just tackle it once I finish up HL Summer Exchange. I have the basic ideas of the fic outlined, and I have written part of the intro, but that’s all. Still trying to decide if it’ll be chaptered, a single piece, or a main piece with an epilogue. Many thoughts and decisions ahead, but right now I’m just so excited and ready to dive into this fluffy, sweet, fic!

3. if the stars weren’t aligned for us

Word Count: 6 k, expecting it to be ~ 30k.

Timeline: yikes. I started this one on February 11! But I have no timeline, as it is not for an exchange, and is more of a passion project!

Thoughts: I absolutely love this fic! I don’t want to reveal too much, but it is a baker!Harry and broadwaystar!louis (as peter pan duh!) au that absolutely no one asked for but I needed. My thought process was, if the stars didn’t line up the way they did for one direction, how would h+l still find each other? hence, the title. i can’t wait to share bits of this with you all!

4. rest it on my fingertips (cause i know you’re persuasive)

Word Count: 54 k posted, 57 k written, literally i have NO idea how much it’ll end at lmfao

Timeline: pretty sure this will be my forever wip, sadly. I started it on December 26, 2018, and my last edit on it was March 28 (the day after I posted the most recent chapter).

Thoughts: A little-known fact about this fic, is that when I started it, it was only supposed to be three chapters and around 15k. However, these characters have minds of their own! Jeeeeeesus. Thomas just still has a story to tell, and Louis needs to learn how to navigate life with Harry involved again. It’s just such a massive undertaking. I’m honestly overwhelmed by it right now, so it’s been on the back burner. 

5. open me up like the textbooks on your desk

Word Count: 5 k, will probably finish around 20 k.

Timeline: I started this on January 28, and it was last edited on March 12 (whoops!). It’s not for a fest, so I have no solid timeline (are you sensing a theme here?? lol)

Thoughts: This is a story I want to just sit down and write, but I never seem to have time, between work, school, and all my other WIPs! Without revealing too much, it centers around a sexy love affair between post-grad student Harry, whose studying Sexology, and clinical psychologist Louis, who is doing research on pansexuality. Sexy and fun, and I can’t wait to write the rest!

6. (i’ll make this feel like) home

Word Count: 2 k posted, 4 k in my drafts, no idea when it’ll end.

Timeline: this is the real forever WIP. I started it on February 4, 2018, and last edited on February 28, 2018

Thoughts: This story isn’t written yet, because it’s heavy aand I am so scared I’m gonna fuck it up. It mirrors the political climate of 2018, with themes of deportation and activism. it’s ABO, and i’m in love with it, but I don’t want to do a topic this important a disservice.

7. Queer Eye (for HL TV Show Fic Fest)

Word Count: -

Timeline: due November 2019

Thoughts: I am currently working on my outline for this fic, and I am SO EXCITED to combine queer eye + one direction. more details to come!!

Looking ahead: I also have tentative ideas for an X Factor fic, and a Bed&Breakfast fic! Maybe they’ll be outlined or started next time I do a WIP update!

If you read this far, thank you for supporting me and my writing! Also, shoutout to anyone who has even remotely supported me with this process, including @ireallysawanangel, @sisqueer, @tommosgun, @runaway-train-works, @amarixx, and my sweet friend tumblrless kenzie! Here’s to hoping I finish some of these soon! Haha

[sasslightertm-a]

ooookay, so, some bullshit™ happened earlier this past week and I’m annoyed and pissed. incoming rant/vent under the cut (with screenshots used by permission).

As most of you who have been following me long enough probably know by now, there is a Charmed Discord server and I was in it for a while until I left in early January 2019, for reasons that will be discussed later. The main mod runs a few Charmed rp blogs here on Tumblr, we did have a few threads planned out together, and eventually after I left the Discord server it got to a point where I felt uncomfortable seeing her posts on my dash so I quietly unfollowed and deleted our thread I’d had in my drafts (which had been sitting there for months by this point anyway because I am slow af). Shortly after I unfollwed her, she unfollowed me without so much a message of “Would you be interested in continuing any threads?”.

This mod, while I was in the server, also created a venting/ranting group Google doc against another Charmed roleplayer who has been around for years and had been in the server as well but also left for much the same reasons I later did (namely, feeling unwelcome within the server). (The Google doc has since been deleted, I believe.)

Which brings me to the main point of this post. One of my close friends/mutuals noticed this mod and the roleplayer starting to interact again when both of them had unfollowed each other for months beforehand after the mod decided this roleplayer was Toxic™.

Uh-huh, sure, I find it very hard to believe you told her about the call-out Google doc and everything in it and she was perfectly understanding about it. I also have yet to hear an apology at all from this mun when 1) the most we would do is talk OOC anyway; 2) my Chris and Bilie were constantly ignored despite me showing interest in some of her wishlist ideas; and 3) any threads we did have would only get two replies in if I was lucky and were then dropped. So I unfollowed ages ago and moved on with other mutuals, and at this point it’s honestly not worth it.

And no, sorry, the server was not inactive when I left it back in early/mid January. Everyone was either in the general, headcanons, or venting channels And yes, any time anyone responded to me it was because I or my friend had said something they wanted to argue with or turn into a headcanon about their own next-generation muses. Also? For all y’all would squee over white US-American YouTuber cover artists or Korean boybands (despite none of you speaking a word of Korean), or the mod occasionally slipping into Arabic and then translating when one of us would ‘???’, the instant I try and share a cover by an amazing Turkish musical-theater singer who speaks German and does German-language musicals (said cover was in English, by the way), or the instant I would talk about something I learned in one of my German classes (despite most of my ancestry being, y’know, German [and for the record, said German ancestors came over to the States in the 1800s, so don’t even go there])... dead silence. 

1) oh my gods I’m howling. Thanks for admitting most of the people in the server hate me just because they found my fanfiction and that I like to write dark-themed fics and smut. Out of curiosity, was it one of my FF.net accounts (my main, my Charmed-fic-centric one, or my dark!AU Tenth Doctor-fic-centric one) or was it my AO3? (Also way to go for basically admitting that yup, you’re all a bunch of antis and really be drinking the evangelical fundamentalist Christian purity culture Kool-Aid.)

and btw, saying “complete transparency?” like that is just code for “I’m about to be a petty bitch and you’re not going to want to hear it, but too late.”

also, what, like none of you have ever wanted to write kinky smutty fanfic just because it’s fun and lets you work out various fantasies that may or may not be inherently transgressive? as far as I’m aware I was one of maybe two other people in that server who identify as asexual so don’t even try and say any of youse are sex-repulsed aces.

my smutfic isn’t even that kinky, but go off, I guess

tbh they also probably hate me bc I called them out over their misuse of the word “pedophilia” in regards to this one particular scene in a teen drama TV show between fictional teenage characters being portrayed by adult actors that airs on a network aiming for a 18 to 49-year-old demographic, and the mod and I would disagree over various things concerning US-American Wicca, but hey, it’s easier to just go after my fanfiction and say they hate me because of the fanfics, right?

speaking of that scene they were so up-in-arms about, don’t even try and tell me real-life allosexual teenagers are not horny and don’t have sex with other teenagers, because coming from a state with one of the highest rates of teen pregnancy (where more often than not both would-be parents are teenagers of or around the same age), I will not believe you

like, seriously, do NONE of you remember ever being horny and hormonal as a teenager, or...? 

2) Stop trying to make this an argument that needs to be won, because it isn’t. Also? By the time I left the Charmed Discord server didn’t even feel like a Charmed server anyway, so. There’s that.

3) My friend is right and she should say it.

A few things here: 

How does any of that sound accusatory when it’s true and my friend calmly laying out how she felt about the situation??

Again, stop trying to make this into an argument or personal attack because it isn’t. And not every single conversation is a debate that needs to be won.

“I was half joking”, uh-huh, yeah, riiiiight. Also? How is it any of your business how she decides to run her blog and curtail it so she feels safe on her own dash??? Especially when you don’t even follow or interact with her anymore?? Hell, I softblock people myself who are either inactive and just taking up my follower account, or are personal/fandom blogs who I just don’t want interacting with me. And if you follow me but don’t make any motion to interact, then yeah I’m probably going to softblock you too after posting a heads-up that I’ll be cleaning out my follower count.

And the best part??? Immediately after all this the mod/mun made a post on her blog saying how she doesn’t put up with passive-aggressiveness or manipulation. How the fuck is my friend/mutual being passive-aggressive or manipulative???? 

I’m sorry, but no, you do not get to do that. I see what you did there, and it is not okay. And I am glad I don’t have to deal with any of this mun’s bullshit anymore, or most of the people in the server, apparently. They blocked me solely because they found my kinky darkfic? Fine, great, it’s not like any of them ever interacted with any of my muses anyway and I don’t want to deal with them either. (But also... I made it clear on the server that I also write a dark eldritch!AU Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who and they all knew I have a sideblog for the canon evil version of Chris Halliwell so how exactly was it a surprise that I like writing fanfiction with darker themes and grey areas?)

Anyway, no, that language used on my friend was not called for at all. Neither was trying to make her out to be the aggressor when anyone who’s chatted with her OOC for long enough knows that even doing this much is hard emotionally for her. This was also not an argument that absolutely had to be won so quit trying to turn everything into an argument to make yourself look better. And ooh, boy, tone policing on top of that. That last response was classic “I know you’re right but I don’t want to admit it so I’m just gonna say something to make myself look like I came out on top.”

Nah. 

There’s the door. Make sure it hits you on the way out.

[theda-rison]

Editing thoughts:

(For Preptober and Nanowrimo 2020)

So It’s been at least two years since I’ve edited anything due to: having more ideas than can possibly be good for a brain, and, not having enough time to finish any of them. From about 2019 July Camp Nano to 2020 July Camp Nano, I haven’t really done anything other than Write New Stuff, because of those reasons. I also had a lot of varying ideas (I think, in order) they were: Novella, Werewolf book 1, Werewolf book 2 (which might end up being 3, meaning I’d have to write a new book 2), and aside from one short story in March of this year, the beginning half of 2020 was just me writing lectures all day every day to keep up with my class and only having two (2) weekends to myself out of five months.

So like… hard times for a creative.

(I actually listened to this song a LOT, just to stop from crying. Sometimes you just have to dance it out.)

So yeah, those are all in their First Draft State. 

But, because I didn’t make anything for five straight months, my brain wants to CREATE! I’m in the dreaded, I-had-one-idea-and-now-I-have-40-more-ideas-because-the-idea-train-is-just-going-OFF-the-rails-someone-help! (that’s all one word) phase of coming off a period of not being able to work. I also did a new project for 2020 July Camp Nano. Though, I did also do my Wee Jas creation myth before that: 1, because I wanted one (you might have seen that post), and 2, because I needed to relearn how to write because I looked down at my keyboard after five months and went, “.........aaaahhhhHHHHHHH!!!!” because I didn’t know what having an idea out of my own head was like anymore.

Sort of like the time when I was a kid and we came back from summer vacation and I no longer knew how to spell “the.” (Which, my mom honestly believed I was joking about but I was looking at the loose-leaf in terror with my pen in my hand, screaming internally and unable to work on my schoolwork. Good times.)

You can go see my posts about those projects here (July Camp) and here (Wee Jas).

SO: What do you do when you have a ton of things to work on and you haven’t edited in fucking years? Aside from the crying and the swearing and all the emotions and actions that one has and does in the panic of the moment of realization? The last thing I edited was a fanfic in 2018, and these things are way more complicated in a way, because I am the arbiter of the rules of the world and also the one writing. And therefore I must create, and follow the rules; which is sort of a lot for the walnut I deign to call “my brain”. 

“I am very small and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I am under.”

Literally, like, who Okay’d this?

I did. And that’s why I am the fool.

So I follow a few writing youtubers and for one of them, Heart Breathings, a video popped up about editing which just, *chef’s kiss* thank you, oh Almighty Algorithm. I shall pray to you and offer you my first born-- *something that I do not want is recommended to me* …… you know what? Death to the machines.

Anyway:

Sarra’s video was really helpful because she went through her editing process step-by-step. I made some notes - she actually has a PDF where she has many of the same points - but I wanted the step-by-step in bullet points, so I just watched the video and made my own notes… so when I completely forget what I’ve watched (about five minutes after whatever-it-is happened, generally) I can refer to whatever step I’m on and know what I should be doing.

So that I was the 18th, I think? I am currently in the “post-outline” phase which I started on the 18th (I had to look at the editing history to check) and: 

This is taking a heckuva long time!

Much longer than I anticipated because: A, I keep fucking getting distracted by literally everything else in the world because post-outlines are kind of boring (even to the point where I just end up reading what I wrote like “Hey, this is good. I like this--FUCK I HAVEN’T WRITTEN ANYTHING FOR PAGES!!” and then I have to scroll back up and read it again), and B, holy shit this is fucking loooooonnnnngggg. But that’s what I get for wanting to write an epic, I guess. Big shrugs for me. I did this to myself.

I’m hoping I can finish it in the first or second week of Preptober, because I still have:

The final battle scene to map out and write

Several city maps to make

The world map to make (and then hold up all my travel times against it and see if they make any goddamned sense)

Some cosmology to work on

A timeline to make (I know something is wrong somewhere but I don’t know what it is)

And… I think that’s it? I have a longer list with more minutiae somewhere, but it mostly has editing notes from when I was writing and those don’t matter yet. Those will get organized before-- you know what?:

Organize editing notes made during writing

Alright. It’s on the list now, lol. 

(I guess writing blogs about what I’m doing is good sometimes because I end up working things out in real time... even if they take a few hours to write and organize the links and pics and shit.)

Anyway, those are my Preptober plans, in addition to all of those things I now have less time to do them because of the fall semester, but, I think I can do it. I’m excited in that... trepidatious way.

[myheartbeatskids]

7,700,000,000,000,000

7.7 Zillion people in the world

I have met with T.V. executives, literature experts, political allies, every country in the world.

Before I forgot all of it, I,designed an educational program for my mom at Preston High School which was passed all over the state to teach to incoming freshmen, and elementary grades 2-4

Those were the worst... In 1999 they had to teach it to the entire school 2x.

Preston stopped in 2011 because death threats against me that went to the school. Bitches didn't know we got the whole state already.

I taught all the Abu, Mother Teresa.

They took my dad. Then my whole family.

I had nothing but the rest of the world.

All of you.

Who did you have? Like me I knew you all had no one.

So I had to be someone. Just like I saw in all those that helped me.

My information saved 19,000,000,000,000 people 3 years ago.

Not really me.

My information helped an infinite number of people to learn to help an infinite number of people that has been calculated to be 19Trillion.

But you wanna know a secret?

Nineteen Trillion people walked through those church doors in order to save themselves.

I wouldn't even walk them to that door. I would hide and peek only my eyes usually in sunglasses so they thought I was looking I the street and not at them looking back at me for what they thought was the last time.

They had to. I had to see them on 2 limbs or a skateboard or whatever leave my safety and walk into the unknown to save themselves.

19 TRILLION people. Saved themselves.

I know because I didn't hold their hands and drag them any where.

They walked with their heads held high with the past behind them and the future surrounding them.

I designed the missle and satellite to purposely fail. I could not betray 19 Trillion people.

I didn't want it to. Boy i wish this house I am in was done already!!!

But i knew it was the right thing to do.

I did however help create Saints. Armed with my knowledge 18 Million people just in the United States of America alone deserve coronation into Sainthood. I think that is amazing. Worldwide 1,800,457,956 people deserve sainthood since 1985-1995

So someone needs to call the fucking church cause I actually have a list. With their correct phone numbers

And i expect that shit to get done immediately.

And since 2017 I have saved an additional 3,000,0000,000 with the Abu until November 2019.

Which then added during WWIII a savior of 3 zillion once all the bunkers are empty.

But wait! There's more! These beautiful saved themselves and didn't say anything, no DNA tests. No nothing. Just went home or went into another,bunker,to,get their friends,and families,as,I,taught them to.

In all, 74,596,512,245 deserve sainthood. Not inckuding me.

I have a list. 5,000 pages long in 6pt type.

Not many in Valencia County -- but a lot!

I moved here without any memories or power for a period of 20 years. It has been 20 now exactly on this day.

And every single day I was treated human and didn't hate it.

How did you feel when I treated you human?

Did it make you want to stay on Planet Earth?

Now i can finally have my Earth family back and my dinosaurs cause fuck y'all I'm getting and keeping mine. Stay the fuck out my fort and we will fer along alright. I don't say shit about your cows running all over the mesa and in the road and They have horns too!! Mine don't. They don't need them.

Lets pause for the votes.

99% votes on the Flintstones post.

90% cool on video of Tiny. That's his name.

Insane amounts of positivity on the news article.

Looks like we're gonna have to rename this planet Saint Earth.

We have the fort for a controlled release. Unlike humans.

New forest in current desert will be where they pop up. And they are owned and will be tagged and chipped and will follow their own instinct home.

Talk to them like hey and hi.

They won't use the sidewalk. Tiny runs 70 mph.

Just be like dude a Fucking car because they do Fuck.

That will be on the night of my wedding.

Our personal dino friends will return before. And we will introduce via video on social media

On second thought... Tiny was terrified of the Chinnook and nearly had a heart attack

Dino,were machines and so they don't know what one is -- most anyway

Since we are downsizing them we will do neighborhood release

So the eve of my wedding world wide they will be released.

No traffic. World locked down. Out side waiting.

Or,maybe in hoise Idk

But they are potty trained!!!

Matt is reading my notes which was never a final draft so that why,its all Uhhh..

So what i think is

After they are released then we lock it down. No work or shopping or school. So they can be acclimated

They were already gentle I'm,not fucking with them.,just changing their size.

You'll have a toilet their specific size in the house. And plant life greenhouse or garden

They eat like dogs. Anything.

Remember mermaids. Half human. Half dinosaurs. They are only our legs. They think on their own and feel emotions on their own. Hug on their own. Speak, hear, sense.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: 2019-2020 Schedule

Reviewing next season’s Buffalo Sabres Schedule was the first blog of New Look Sabres last year. It was full of mediocre to hardly passing jokes and double entendres. I wasn’t necessarily new to blogging, but I knew I was committing to a very regular blog and had some jitters about it. I’m not saying my writing has grown enormously since then, but I’ve figured out some stuff. Looking back on how I looked at this past season’s schedule is both delightful and disappointing. It’s delightful thinking we all were in for the thrill of the ten-game winning streak and we didn’t even know it. I had a little angry tangent about the Pittsburgh Penguins in last year’s schedule analysis and not only did we get a fun win off of those guys during the win streak, we beat them in their house in a barnburner. What fun that was! On the other hand every time I speculated about the playoffs it sorta burns in retrospect. I looked at the last seven games of the season as the opportunity for a fun, grade-A F1 duel for a playoff spot against mostly teams that didn’t qualify for the playoffs the prior season. Little did I know that those last games would be hard to watch waiting for a Head Coach firing. Enough reminiscing! The grass is always greener on the other side! What does the future hold? How does the 2019-2020 NHL Schedule set the table for the Buffalo Sabres 50th season?

To begin with: the Global Series. Playing regular season games on another continent is a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing because it’s fun to have your team get that kind of attention for however short a window on top of the general fun of watching your favorite players travel to a foreign country. It’s a curse because that’s a lot of extra travel and exhaustion for games that matter the same but are more difficult unnecessarily. I’m all for growing the game, particularly in a place like Stockholm, Sweden where, if this league ever does ever expand to Europe, will certainly be a target market. However it would be nice if those games either didn’t matter in the standings and or were in the preseason. The Buffalo Sabres will take on the Tampa Bay Lightning in two games November 8th and 9th. Rasmus Dahlin’s Instagram will be very fun I’m sure but for a team who has struggled to get good starts to their season a lot this decade, playing two games on another continent in November isn’t ideal. Two out of four games against a high-powered divisional rival will be absolute wild cards. That said, they’re going through it too and crazy as it may sound, Tampa wasn’t the hardest divisional opponent this past season. So that’s something. The Global Series isn’t the only different thing on the schedule. Since the day the Draft started actually we’ve known the first two games of the season. Buffalo starts on the road at Pittsburgh before returning for a home opener against the newly PK Subban-ized New Jersey Devils on October 3rd and 5th respectively. That’s a fun Saturday night not just because of Subban but the Devils also have this year’s first overall pick in Jack Hughes. Hopefully there are some equally fun Sabres players to talk about at that point, but this many months out the visitors are the more interesting part. Neither of those teams will be cakewalks to start the season but neither are impossible. This is the first season in a while neither of the first two games of the season involved a hated divisional rival. Speaking of divisional rivals: games against the seven other teams in the Atlantic Division are remarkably evenly spread out. Excluding eight division bouts in November each month has four or less excluding April of course. That high concentration gives me an interesting idea of focusing all the divisional trash talk into one month: Atlantic Division Hate Month! It’s a working title.

I mentioned briefly off the top this is the Sabres’ 50th anniversary season. Surely more promotional nights will be announced after I post this but already we’ve got a couple fun oddities listed. The home opener will feature a pregame ceremony featuring past Sabres Captains. If that shit doesn’t look like a fucking illuminati induction then it ain’t doing enough. Also potentially cult-like: “Founders Night” December 2nd against the Devils… why are the promotions with big cult potential both against the Devils… hmm, I’d bring a crucifix to both if I were you. How about we chase that with some normal stuff: there’s a California road trip in October, there’s a potentially weak stretch of teams down the last ten games of the season that we’ll waste the opportunity and be long out of the playoffs by. I don’t know how you feel about the San Jose Sharks but there’s a rare home and home series in late October against them. If you’re the kind that likes to have a Sabres game at the epicenter of a day getting trashed there are a couple real gems in the schedule. For drunks who I’m going to insist travel safely there is a home and home back-to-back with the Toronto Maple Leafs Black Friday and the Saturday following Thanksgiving. I’m imagining a big drunk family enjoying that, just enjoy safely. You don’t want to be hungover on a Saturday evening watching that second game. New Year’s eve features a game against Tampa and January features a road game in Nashville on a Saturday night that would be tempting for even the most sober among us. If you’re more the lawful type like myself and prefer your non-alcoholic juice beverages in the afternoon you’ll be disappointed to hear there are only 3 Saturday games at 1pm. One of those is a game in Stockholm and the other two are on otherwise uneventful nights in the dead of winter. Take that how you will. Before we get to the strategy of the schedule its worth noting that at the posting of this article we have been royally teased. The team twitter account posted the 50th Anniversary patch in the current navy with navy OG logo after a row of that same logo in royal blue, red and black with the goat-head, and navy with buffaslug. There’s no real explanation for those except “Journey through the decades.” Sabres twitter immediately responded with the wounded optimism our team may actually do something cool. It’s hard to say exactly what that means. My heart tells me decade-themed nights where they wear the jerseys from those decades, but my head tells me tribute videos and special guests with some pricey auctions. We’ll see what it actually means. Here’s to hoping I guess.

So does the schedule help or hurt the Sabres prime goal of Lord Stanley’s Cup? Yeah, I know the best teams win no matter how tough their schedule is but let’s all be honest here: these guys need as much help as they can get to break the playoff drought. I’d say this season’s schedule is the most favorable to help the club as it’s been in years. It starts with October in which your toughest opponent is… the Sharks? The Habs? Ok, so there is a challenging opponent by last season’s standards sprinkled in, but the thirteen games of the season’s first month look to be a great early barometer for where the team is at. It’s not crazy to imagine our boys in blue and gold getting nine, ten, maybe even eleven wins in October. That would be the best start to the season in many years. There’s a lot of time off in November because of the Global Series so even if it’s not a flaming start they have time to figure their new coach out early. We’ll see a lot of our division’s elite that month: Tampa, Boston and Toronto. Getting wins against them will go a long way to building confidence if Ralph Krueger is the motivator we’ve been led to believe he is. December will be decisive per usual with the Western Canadian road trip preceding the trip to the Stanley Cup Champion St. Louis Blues. With some luck the two matchups against Boston after Christmas will provide an opportunity to solidify genuine hope before the halfway mark at Game 41 the last day of the calendar year. Most of the Sabres’ toughest matchups and series of matchups come after the bye-week next season. That bye-week will be the third week in January. If the Sabres are still in close contention for a playoff spot by the time they take on the Leafs at home Sunday, February 16th then hopefully we won’t be singing the same sad tune come April. That’s my optimistic strategic view of it, the wheels are still apt to come off pending a lot of stuff happening between now and then. I want to insist I’m being optimistic not unrealistic. I’m trying to see opportunities and the challenges. It’s easy to be pessimistic, especially with so little of the promised “roster surgery” occurring right now but this blog is a fan blog, not another raincloud engine like much of Sabres Fandom right now. Come here for your optimistic takes, you know the drill.

So there it is: our look at another Sabres campaign, the 50th one in fact. Recent history tells us otherwise, but the time is right for this club to finally take off. The post on Free Agency will come out late next week or the week after; maybe by then we have some more of the birds we need to actually take off. Before we see any W’s or L’s on this schedule we’ll need to go through what will hopefully be another busy offseason. If not, we will have a very interesting Offseason Retrospective at the end of August… one way or another. Hey, if this season sucks yet again we at least have the powerful drug of nostalgia and special promotions to distract us! Dear God, I hope its not another shite season but no matter what, come here for your fan reaction content on the Sabres. Like, comment and share this blog with your friends and family. Think of it this way: New Look Sabres is what you feel being a Sabres fan, not necessarily the smartest thing you think. For those of you who are new to this, I do try to sprinkle in some intelligent takes, but this blog is really about the beating of Sabres fan’s hearts. I hope we can beat together this season! Let’s go Buffalo!

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Development Camp is going on now at Harbor Center and I could emphasize all the draft picks new and old who are there but instead I’m going to show my Niagara University Purple Eagles pride and point out Niagara winger Eric Cooley! This will also be the extent of my coverage of Development Camp unless something monumental happens.