#i also went to a thrift store for the first time afterwards and an old couple just snagged a perfect little table right in front of me 😤😤

[umichenginabroad]

Stockholm Week 2: Museum Museum Museum!

Välkommen, again, to my journey in Stockholm! 

I'll get started right away:

1/23 Tue: Visiting Host Family

A lot of snow melted (finally) this week, and it was my first full week of classes. I watched a comedy film I Love Lucy in Glued to the Screen class and talked about political ideas and issues in the Swedish Language and Culture course. I thought the U.S. education system had a lot of discussion built into the curriculum, but the Swedish Language and Culture course had even more discussion integrated into the class. We listened and gave opinions about concepts like nationalism in addition to typical vocabulary and grammar lessons. 

Last week, I was accepted into the Visiting Host Program through DIS and invited for dinner with another student! I had a few hours after class and you know I didn’t miss the opportunity to go shopping ;) I went into Zara instead and tried on a bunch of clothes. Compared to other countries, Zara in Europe has bigger sales and better quality clothes! 

I shopped around the rich stores (Moncler, Gucci, etc) but did not dare go in

On the way to my Visiting Host family, I met up with the other invited student (also from Minnesota! What a coincidence) in the subway station (where I got lost for a good 10 minutes). The hosts were SO NICE and the 5-year-old baby was SO CUTE.

She braided our hair and put a pin as a cherry on top  

They prepared authentic Swedish meatballs, mashed potatoes, lingonberry jam, and white wine. The dessert called princess cake was very pretty and sweet as its name <3

I usually don't like wine but this one was surprisingly good and I’m planning on asking the name of it! 

We had such a good time, and I am excited to see them again soon! 

1/24 Wed: Museum Field Study

Our film class, Glued to the Screen, met altogether at the Swedish National Museum of Science and Technology (Tekniska Museet) at 2 pm on Wednesday. 

This was nothing like I imagined. The museum had three floors and there were endless passages and stairs and rooms that we went through. It mainly covered the history of technology in Sweden and Europe.  

Although two hours of continuous walking was exhausting, we took hundreds of photos and were submerged in activities. In fact, two hours was not enough time to look around the huge museum packed with interactive activities like gaming, cycling, driving, etc.

Air balloon, AI, VR, Phone booths, and so much more

This particular room was full of mirrors!

After the independent tour around the museum, as with all field studies, we had a fika at the wooden cafe in the museum. 

If you are able to go, please order the strawberry smoothie there. It was DELICIOUS!

After the field trip, my friends and I spontaneously, again, headed for more shopping. I did a big Zara haul and so did my friends. 

I can’t stop buying clothes and it’s a problem. The discounts aren’t helping either :(

1/25 Thu: Sour Day

Because I had four hours in between classes on Thursday, I killed time in the library in the DIS building (was going to work on homework but inevitably fell asleep for a while). Then, with the goal of waking up, I headed to a bigger ICA supermarket. Aaaand as you could’ve imagined I couldn’t pass by the snacks corner without buying some. I got a wide range of chocolate and jellies.

Afterward, I went back to DIS to actually do homework. I got bored after a few minutes; I took out the chocolate bag. The moment I took a bite of a round chocolate ball, I stopped biting. Not voluntarily, but forcefully. There was a very hard, blue ball inside the chocolate cover. With hesitation, I tried licking the exposed side and regretted my choice immediately. It was extremely salty AND sour. 

I learned the hard way that I should read the descriptions before putting all kinds of chocolate in the goodie bag.

1/26 Fri: Busy Busy Friday

Friday was another thrift day for me. DIS leads led us and showed us around the secondhand stores in Zinkensdamm. The high-end vintage store Beyond Retro sold clothes for 500 Krona (~$50) while the more common stores like Myrorna and Stockholm Stadsmission had things for 50 Kr (~$5). The latter ones were more of my style. 

For dinner, I finally had MAX. It is a Swedish burger chain that has tons of menus including Vegan and Vegetarian options. I tried the advertised burger meal with the sweet potato fries on the side. The burger was as good as I was told by the locals. I’m definitely going back to try other burgers and smoothies!

We faced an unexpected amount of snow on the way back home but it was so pretty that I forgave the weather. 

My hair was soaking wet

That same night, my friends living in a different student apartment came to Södermalm to try out the bars here. We sat down and talked and had a couple of drinks together to end the night <3 

1/27 Sat: More Museum Trips

We made it to the Banksy Museum just to find out that the tickets for that day and the next day were sold out already. To make sure this doesn’t happen again, we booked the tickets for next week on the spot. The Fotografiska museum, which was conveniently right next door, compelled us in. We got a student discount (199 Kr ~$19.90) and separately wandered around the museum to appreciate each artwork. My favorite ones were Rinko Kawauchi’s photo collection located on the top floor. 

The artwork reminded me of words like ethereal, surreal, serendipity

We couldn’t walk past the photo booth either! It was $6, which was not as expensive as the ones found in the subway ($9.99). 

The camera started shooting right after we paid, so you can see us caught off guard in the first frame. I got the black and white version and my friend took the colored one.

But aren’t we so cute <;3

Even the sky on the way back home was gorgeous.

1/28 Sun: Flea Market!

DIS notified students about the weekend flea market and I recruited people to go with me as soon as I saw the information. 

There were tens and hundreds of people selling and buying clothes and home goods for a good price!

I got a jacket, 5 gold rings, a sweater, shorts, and a mesh top for a total of 274 Kr, which is about 27 dollars. The flea market was a cheaper and higher quality version of a thrift store and I absolutely loved it. Do you see a trend here ;)

We were craving pastries later on so we stopped at Gamla Stan to grab some before going home.

Selfie!

As people with high standards, we inspected more than five cafes to find the perfect place that met our needs. A bakery called PANEM was our last stop, and the desserts there were phenomenal even at a reasonable price. 

I got a mango mousse cake and it was the best dessert I’ve had in Stockholm so far!!!

This concludes my second week in Stockholm. Stay tuned for more adventures from me!

Tack så mycket, 

Jiwoo Kim 

Chemical Engineering

DIS Study Abroad in Stockholm, Sweden

[fanimesenseiwrites]

Things the MC would bring back to their demon bois from the mortal realm:

Lucifer:

MC goes to second hand stores and vintage shops always on the look out for vinyl records that they think Lucifer would like.

Most of the time they try and bring back stuff he'd actually like, such as Tchaikovsky or Vivaldi

Once, they brought back Stravinsky's Firebird Suite and Lucifer wouldn't stop kissing them (once they were in the privacy of his room of course)

Sometimes the MC will bring back more modern music just because it makes them think of him

"I dunno, I just listen to Hozier and think of you"

Lucifer doesn't like all the modern music they bring back but he appreciates the sentiment just the same

Then there's the gag gifts...

Any kind of music that has a reference to the devil or Satan or hell is fair game

These gifts usually elicit an eye roll from the eldest brother but he keeps them all the same

This is why Lucifer owns a copy of "The Devil Went Down To Georgia"

So when MC brings back a copy of Giuseppe Tartini's Violin Sonata in G minor, they're a little surprised at Lucifer's delighted reaction

"You know, I was the one who visited Tartini in his dreams."

MC's mind = blown.

"Also, this copy is cursed. I know you know how much I enjoy cursed vinyls."

"I- wait... What?!"

MC is very upset that they had a cursed vinyl in their possession this whole time

Mammon:

This boy loves stuff, and he loves MC, so he's gonna love any gift really

But MC knows he loves treasure and jewels and as much as they'd love to just bring him back nice watches and jewelery...

MONEY IS A THING, AND MC IS NOT MADE OF IT.

So MC settles for semi-precious stones instead

They always find fun and beautiful stones at museums and those metaphysical stores and they always pick out one that reminds them of Mammon

They're really nervous when they give him his first gift

"Hey, I got this for you and I know it's not fancy or expensive but I saw it and thought of you and I just wanted you to have it."

Mammon will love them until they die. He is really just so touched that MC thought of him. He'll try and play it cool though

He totally fails. MC won't tell him that though

MC brings him Lapis Lazuli and tells him it reminded them of his eyes and Mammon is now a puddle of lovesick goo on the floor

Mammon puts more shelves in his room dedicated to all the gifts MC gives him

One time MC brings him back some fool's gold in a teeny little jar on a chain, so that he can wear it

"Fool's gold? Why cuz I'm a fool?" Mammon asks with a roll of his eyes.

"What? No, cuz I'm a fool for you."

Mammon only love MC until they die? WRONG.

He's gonna love them forever now

He was gonna do that anyways

Leviathan:

C'mon, this boy is easy. Anime/manga stuff and TSL. Need I say more?

At first he'll be suspicious of MC wanting to give him gifts, but once they've convinced him that they're doing it out of the kindness of their heart he's really touched

The first thing the MC brings him is a pen with a little Ruri-Chan on the end of it

"I know it's not much, but I just happened to see it and I knew you'd like it"

Like it??????

HE LOVES IT! HE'S OVER THE GODDAMM MOON.

He's never seen anything like this in the Devildom and he doesn't think about the small stuff usually because he's too busy trying to get the big collectors edition items. So he actually really loves this.

MC continues to bring him cute small stuff like buttons and keychains and Levi loves them all.

His favorite item(s) that MC brought him is a pair of Lord of Shadows and Henry BFF enamel pins

He definitely tackle hugged MC when he got them

He gives the Lord of Shadows pin back to MC so they can each have one and show off their BFF status with them

Satan:

MC loves going to second-hand bookstores to shop for Satan.

Satan also appreciates new books, but there's something special about how his face lights up when he finds something old or rare. Anything with a little bit of history to it.

Of course, finding rare books for not a lot of money is a rare event in itself

So a safe bet is to bring Satan non-fiction, the boy loves to learn

But he really loves it when MC puts thought into finding fiction books that he would like

"I just really feel like you'd like Dean Koontz so I brought you one of my favorites by him."

Satan loves those gifts the most because he can talk to MC about the books afterwards

Satan's absolute favourite gift is a leather bound copy of Arabian Nights though

"I was thinking we could read this one together"

"Like you read it to me and pretend to be Scheherazade?" Satan suggests.

MC is flustered at the connotation of the suggestion but agrees anyways

The time they spend together reading that story will forever be one of Satan's favorite memories

Asmodeus:

He's a little harder to shop for than the MC had originally imagined

They tried bringing him make-up and skin care, which Asmo always graciously accepted, but he never seemed super excited about the gifts

But what else is to be expected from the guy who already uses only the best products?

MC suddenly gets an idea when they send Asmo a selfie of them at the park

- OMG! You're so cute! And the background is pretty too!-

MC starts dressing up and going to nice and beautiful places just with the intention of taking pictures

Botanical Gardens, museums, downtown skylines, anything that would make for a good picture

MC goes full on aesthetic art hoe just for Asmo

Only the best pictures get sent to Asmo

Asmo is LIVING for the looks their MC is serving up

- You are absolutely STUNNING! I'm in awe at these AMAZING pictures-

MC makes a scrapbook of the best pictures to give to Asmo the next time they see him

Asmo loves it and keeps it on display in his room always

Also, Asmo definitely makes MC their personal photographer after seeing the wonderful shots they took

Beelzebub:

Obviously, the boy loves food. He's always down to try new snacks from the mortal realm.

But MC wonders if there's something better that they could bring him

One day MC is at GNC for supplements for themself when they notice the workout supplements and get an idea

They grab some fun flavored protein powder and some BCAAs and a really nice shaker bottle just for Beel

Beel is actually really excited to get these gifts!

The Devildom doesn't have fun flavors of protein powder and the shaker bottle is such a great idea!

MC always brings new flavors of protein back for Beel, doing their best to find the weirdest flavors for him to try

Beel's favorite is definitely Birthday Cake.

MC starts bringing him new stuff to try too, protein bars, recovery supplements, collagen, and superfoods shakes

Beel tries everything and tells MC what their favorites are

"I love the BCAAs, I just wish the Devildom had them..." *sad Beel noises*

MC may or may not talk to Diavolo about researching BCAAs and getting them produced and sold in the Devildom

The supplements MC brings actually help Beel with his workouts and to control his hunger (a little)

Beel actually gets hotter??? Who knew that was possible???

MC definitely takes advantage of Beel's new 8-pack 😏😏😏

Belphegor:

What do you get the boy who only wants to sleep?

MC has gotten him stuffed animals and blankets and even a couple of nice pillows, but nothing seems to excite him

... but maybe that's just his personality??

It's not until MC accidentally leaves a sweater in the Devildom, that they figure it out

- You left your sweater down here- Belphie texts MC.

- Oh no, I'll just get when I come to visit y'all again-

- That's fine. I like having something that smells like you-

And the light bulb went off in MC's head.

Every time MC goes to visit they leave a shirt or sweater behind for Belphie, so that he can have something that smells like them.

Belphie loves how MC smells, its like a sweet dream all the time. It helps him sleep better when they're gone.

Belphie starts to complain when MC is gone longer than the item they left smells like them

(Which is every time)

So MC will start leaving Belphie more than one item, packing them in airtight bags so he can use them one after another until they return

Belphie can and will fight anyone who tries to take MC's clothing

"Mammon, you have two seconds to put that sweater back or I will kill you."

And Lucifer probably won't stop him

Diavolo:

He's honestly the easiest to please.

He's so fascinated with any thing that humans do that he'll enjoy any gift from the human world.

MC's first gift to him is a rubber duck.

"The duck is wearing a crown so it made me think of you and I just thought it was cute."

"I love it! What's its purpose?"

"Uh... to float around in the bathtub with you and look cute?"

"Isn't that what you're for?"

Diavolo loves the rubber duck so much it gets his own silk pillow to rest on when it's not taking a bath with Diavolo.

MC brings him cute pens, and keychains sometimes bottles of wine if the bottle is cute.

"The bottle is shaped like a cat! Isn't that delightful?!"

MC's proudest moment was when they found a full and intact tea set at the thrift store

Diavolo immediately fell in love with it.

He insists on only using that set when having tea with MC

But his favorite gift will always be the rubber duck.

Barbatos:

He'll insist that he doesn't need any gifts but that won't stop the MC.

MC is with him in the kitchen in the Demon Lord's Palace when they get an idea.

KITCHEN TOYS.

Barbatos works so hard, he deserves some things to make his life easier and liven up the bland kitchen

MC's first gift is a vegetable spiralizer.

"You use it to turn zucchini and squash and the like into noodles so that you can do fun stuff with vegetables!"

Barbatos accepts it graciously, but he'll probably never use it.

MC brings him spices from the mortal realm and Barbatos actually really loves those.

When MC brings him a food processor, he offers to cook for them right then and there

Despite all the weird gadgets MC ends up bringing him, and there are plenty out there, Barbatos's favorite is a ladle that looks like a stegosaurus.

It's far more whimsical than anything he would've ever picked out, and he'll never use it, but only because he's afraid of ruining it, not because he doesn't love it.

At some point, Barbatos does ask MC to stop bringing him kitchen gadgets

"Why? Do you not like them?" MC asks with a pout.

"I appreciate all of them, but I have everything I need when you're in the kitchen with me."

If MC wasn't already in love with him they are now

Smooth bastard just doesn't want anymore shit in his kitchen

[dreamties]

Slashers W/ a Punk S/O

T/W- q*eer is used a few times- in a positive, self affirming kind of way. But I can add other trigger warnings if needed. :)

A/n- Literally no one asked for this, but I wanted to make more HCs like the soft pastel one...so I just went wild and made them. 

I included a little bit of punk culture into this as well, because it’s not just about the fashion, but since there’s such a vast variety within punk culture I mostly stuck with my experiences in the community, and some bits and pieces from documentaries(mostly live footage from “The Decline of Western Civilization”).

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Norman Bates, Michael Myers

Will make one(s) for Brahms, Amanda, Helen or Daniel if asked

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

so early 90s, the Riot Grrrl movement emerges

bands like Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Heavens to Betsy or Sleater-Kinney

it’s a very female-powered oriented movement, but I notice that a lot of minorities tend to be drawn to this music and community (LGBT folks, people of color, etc).

both boys, and yourself, being outside of the norm and all (polyamorous relationship, gay/bi) are sort of drawn to it!

and sure there’s a lot of really great queercore/homocore bands, and there’s probably a good LGBT+ punk scene out there somewhere, but in a little town like Woodsboro? Hell no. Sticking with this fem punk movement, while again mostly a space for women in music- it’s the most accepted the three of you have felt outside of you’re relationship. 

you’ve always been pretty into the music, stuff like Dead Kennedys, Black Flag, or the short-lived Germs- but it wasn’t until you stumbled upon Riot Grrrl that you really got into it. 

the music, making zines about local-ish political issues(probably not so much Woodsboro stuff, more Cali in general and neighboring towns) and a few ones with queer themes and hand-drawn illustrations of your partners, and DIYing all your clothes

since you’re so experienced with DIYing your clothes and sewing on patches, you’ve helped repair the Ghostface costumes on numerous occasions. they kind of adore this(Stu is the only one that will- and does, frequently- admit that)

Let’s face it, the three of you do everything together- but you especially enjoy when Stu tags along for thrift dates. 

he’s the more fashionable one, and he makes the whole experience more enjoyable- cracking jokes and just being his all-around goofy self.

Woodsboro is a very little town, so they don’t have much...but they do have a few small stores- usually you’ll make a whole day/date out of it though. driving to the next town or so over, since they have more stores and a better selection, and spending hours looking for cheap, old t-shirts, belts, clothes with funky patterns. heading out for pizza after.

Billy’s more likely to get into the music and everything with you(he’s kinda,, angsty, no offense to him)- will definitely go to shows with you.

just- imagine Billy in ripped jeans. and he’d have like one or two patches sewn on to it- one of them is your all time favorite band, and the other is a band that he found on his own time, and actually really enjoyed.

Stu is dragged along with you guys, you can’t just leave him at home- he’s gonna feel left out and sad. :(

He’s mostly there to keep y’all company- he really likes the energy of the shows though!

the two of them are such a chaotic duo though, so much so that you have definitely been kicked out or banned from a few venues. all for varying reasons. good grief these men can not be tamed.

The Lost Boys

as we all know, these vampires are total punks. so they’re gonna appreciate having a s/o who’s also into that whole scene.

How you meet:

you’re a baby punk, and it’s your first show ever, and you look so nervous. you’re dressed up in pretty plain clothes, a single homemade patch for your favorite band barely hanging to your jacket side(you were mid-way sewing it, when you realized you were gonna be late if you didn’t leave asap).

it’s a few local bands, ones you’d never really heard of really. you look anxious. but when they start playing? you look so unapologetically yourself, you’re so in the moment dancing- it’s completely mesmerizing to the boys. the music isn’t even that good, but you seem to be having the time of your life.

they greet you after the show, and you’re a tiny bit flustered- cause gosh, heck, they saw you. dancing. so embarrassing. 

David is the one that introduces himself and the group, and initiates conversation. Dwayne’s a pretty quiet guy, so he just listens to what you have to say. 

Marko’s pretty excited about you, and initiates in some small conversation, he may have complimented your little patch(Marko- patch jacket KING, complimenting your jacket?? more likely than you’d think) 

and oh, oh- Paul is out there being a total chatty-cathy, and is absolutely bombarding you with questions. like, okay, Paul is pretty talkative, but the other vamps are a little worried that he’s scared you off. and you had seemed so cool :(

you end up pretty engaged in your convo with Paul though, even if all the attention is overwhelming. He ends up snagging a date for the five of you the following week.

once you start hanging out/dating:

y’all just hit it off so well those first few days. they all love how sweet & shy you are- but also how much of a badass punk babe you are.

Marko helps make your patch jacket(collecting ones for bands you enjoy, how to make your own, sewing them on, etc). you probably could have done it w/out his help, but my gosh- you weren’t going to pass up this opportunity. Marko gets really soft around you sometimes, since he doesn’t really do this activity with anyone else, it’s saved for you. 🥺🥺

Dwayne likes listening to you talking about the local scene(outside of the shows you go to- mostly about stuff he can’t attend, protests and meetings during the daylight.)

all of them(especially David) are very protective of you. I mean, generally. but also when you go to shows. they let you do whatever the heck you’re gonna do, but the mere second that someone even thinks about starting shit w/ you?? well, y’know. those vampire instincts kick in.

the four of them obviously share a lot of similar tastes in music- but they all have different favorite bands, & fave parts of the community. which, they can’t even fully participate in,, but it’s okay.

they, individually, introduce their favorite bands to you. and they get it in their head that oh, they said they liked it. they must like it as much as I do. and awkwardly coming out to the four of them, as they argue about your favorite band, “Well, actually- this *insert band they’ve never heard of or barely listen to* is my favorite.” and their just kinda like, oh, okay. please tell us more about them. 

so it’s sorta like,, you’ve been learning all this cool knowledge from them, now you get to share cool knowledge with them.

idk. I think it’s cute. 💕

Norman Bates

so first off- let’s just pretend Psycho was in at least the 70s/80s for a moment. because realistically- the punk subculture didn’t really exist back then.

baby boy is absolutely fascinated by the way you dress (mother is less thrilled though)

imagine your jacket is getting a bit weathered, and needs some repairs- so he helps you to sew edges closed, and make sure the patches aren’t on too loose, etc

he enjoys hearing your stories of all the past shows you’ve gone to. you always get so excited about them, and he finds that so endearing. But he pretty much leaves the actual punk scene to you because of these stories.

he was already worried from the stories, and made sure you were well prepared for any trouble every time you left for a show.

but one time, you were able to get him to join you. never again though. he was so nervous!

the music was too loud! and he could hardly understand what they were saying- it was so confusing!

you stayed with him most of the night, standing near the back, holding his hand. he’d gently bob his head to the music occasionally. 

but you accidentally found yourself swept into the crowd, but you looked so blissed-out in the moment, that he figured it would be okay for you to dance* over there for a little bit...right?  

*Norman is still unsure if you’d even call that dancing.

Thankfully, nothing bad happened in the mosh pit.

you gotta give him lots of attention and reassurance afterwards though- you almost scared Norman half to death D:

He’s happy enough helping you out and listening to you though- and that’s okay for you, too. you still love each other lots, even if this particular interest doesn’t overlap.

Michael Myers

he thinks you’re outfits are pretty interesting. 

he’s a little worried at first, when you start experimenting with putting things like safety pins in your ears. cause like- that’s not supposed to be in your ear, Y/n, what the fuck

if you make zines at all, Michael really enjoys watching you make the illustrations for them(not that he’ll admit to it though), and helps to find newspaper and magazine clippings to incorporate into the spreads.

you always show michael the final booklet before distributing it

he doesn’t talk a lot, so he doesn’t ask questions- but he often does the little head tilt once you give it to him. since he’s not very privy to current events, and a lot of your zines are political, you spend a lot of time explaining them in depth.

he has no use for any of this knowledge, but he listens on, intently.

Important note:

dear god do not bring this man to concerts and local shows with you.

it is a nightmare, to say the least

Michael is sort of,, emotionless sometimes, doesn’t really care for people at all, and if he does? definitely not in the same way most people do. 

so imagine combining that part of michael, the fact that he’s also a giant stabby man, with super loud, energetic- almost aggressive- sounding music and a bunch of strangers that aren’t respecting any personal boundaries. 

you need to keep him at the back of the venue- lest your local scene may go missing.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

where you go I'm going

My very first ThanZag fic!! It’s Modern AU and its soft and it has Mort!!

Huge thanks to @minky-for-short who this fic is written for and also to my girlfriend @spiky-lesbian who knows absolutely nothing about this game but her review was ‘SOFT BOYS’ 

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment! 

--------------

Thanatos finds himself moving into his boyfriend's cramped little apartment with all its leaky pipes and street corner furniture and damp.

It's going to be a bit of an adjustment.

--------------

When they had announced they were moving in together, everyone had automatically assumed they’d be moving into Thanatos’ place. His neat, well kept, painstakingly decorated apartment in the heart of the city with it’s sunken living room and immense kitchen and windows that opened up onto a stunning vista of the skyline, all of it near new and barely used. Plenty of room for both of them, everything they could need, people didn’t think to ask and simply assumed that they would be starting their lives together there.

Thanatos had rather assumed the same.

But here he was, standing in the closest thing he had to casual clothes, surrounded by cardboard boxes into which his neat, well kept life had been hastily bundled, looking around the battered, cramped little apartment his boyfriend owned and trying to think of it as home.

His home. Their home.

Zag was darting around the place, full of energy as he always was when he got nervous, trying to help Than unpack but making a rather bad job of it. The moving truck had left half an hour ago and already two mugs had been broken and they’d bumped into each other six times, with less than one box worth of stuff actually being put away.

Not that Than was paying much attention. He was moving through the shoebox of an apartment, with it’s tiny kitchen and the living room with the sagging, patchy leather couch that he knew Zag got off a street corner, the bathroom barely big enough for one person let alone two, the bedroom that had less than an inch of space around the double bed Than had bought. Or, rather, it would when they finally got around to putting it together.

He got back to where he’d started in less than twenty paces. Standing inside this claustrophobic chaos, Thanatos took a very slow, very careful sigh.

“You’re not happy, are you?”

Than turned to see his boyfriend standing in his- their- bedroom doorway, finally stopped and, in doing so, letting his anxiety catch up with him and show clearly on his face.

Thanatos chided himself sharply and moved towards Zagreus, cupping his face in his hands. He was perpetually cold and Zag always ran a few degrees hotter than usual so, together, they were always perfect. They always gave each other what they needed.

“I am deliriously, completely happy, Zagreus,” Than murmured softly, surprising himself with how much he meant the words, “And that is because I am getting to share more of my life with you.”

“But we should have gone to your place, this was a ridiculous idea,” Zag sighed but they’d had this conversation before and Than knew what to say.

He’d not always felt that with Zagreus, as their relationship had shifted awkwardly from childhood friends to what they had now, as the words had stuck in their throats and refused to come. But now he could hardly remember a time when he hadn’t loved this man with all his heart and he hadn’t felt completely himself around him. Not Death, not the son of Nyx, not the Reaper. Just Thanatos. Than, even.

“It will take some adjustment,” he smiled and kissed his forehead, “But I know just how much this place means to you. It’s your freedom, it’s your independence. I know how hard you fought to break away from your father and I...well, I’m just glad you brought me along.”

Finally Zag relaxed into his hand and a smile tugged at his lips, “Could argue that you followed me…”

Than chuckled, “The one time I ever broke the rules and look where it’s got me.”

Zag laughed with him, his eyes lighting up with a new frantic energy, a happy one this time. He responded to most emotions like a child who’d had too much sugar.

“Come on, I think I’ve figured out how I can fit your insanely big mug collection into the cupboard,” he was already off, dragging boxes out and ripping them open, “Or books! We could start on your books, I know you have that weird system…”

“It’s the Dewey Decimal System, Zagreus, libraries have been using it for centuries…” Than rolled his eyes, aware that his boyfriend wasn’t really listening, allowing himself to be pulled along in Zag’s rushing currents as always.

They worked quite happily for a while, Zag kicking his old radio to life and blasting some cheesy classics that somehow made the job more bearable when you sang along to them. For hours they sorted through the boxes, pulling out things Than had forgotten he even owned, finding the strange and amusing ways their very different personalities and very different lives fit together.

Before too long the closet was stuffed with alternating neat pinstripe suits and gym clothes, expensive black peacoats and hoodies plucked from thrift stores with incomprehensible slogans printed on them. There was suddenly more than two plates in the kitchen and more than one fork, knife and even spoons of different sizes. The edge of the bath held a neat regiment of seek products, each with a specific role in putting the physical embodiment of Death together, crowding out the bottle of five-in-one soap with the peeling label.

They were finally on to the bedroom, Than having wrestled Zag into at least tackling the rooms one by one. Putting the bed together was proving a real challenge, Than had been squinting at the instructions for ages and was one more unidentifiable screw away from calling Aphrodite and getting her to put Hephaestus on the phone, however insulting he’d find the request. He’d lasted longer than Zag, at least, who’d moved off to poke through the last few boxes.

Than was wondering why he could only count six bed slats when he was meant to have ten when he heard Zag gasp and burst into delighted laughter.

“What?” he frowned at him over his square rimmed glasses.

“Look who it is!” Zag cackled, turning and holding out what at first looked like a tattered scrap of cloth covered in dust but Than’s cheeks immediately flamed.

“I...look, I meant to throw him out a while ago but…”

“It’s Mort!” Zag was beaming wildly, holding the little felt mouse up like a trophy, “Gods, I haven’t seen him in ages, I had no clue you still had him.”

“Um...neither did I…” Than spluttered, well aware that he was a terrible liar when it came to Zagreus.

He was about as fooled as he expected him to be, tsking playfully and wagging his finger, “No, no, no. I remember how much you loved this little guy when we were kids, you’d carry him around everywhere! Oh! Did you still sleep with him all tucked up under your arm? Do you still take him in the bath and cry when he gets wet?”

“You sleep in my bed with me, asshole! And we’ve bathed together,” Than made a grab for him but Zag was quicker, he always had been.

“Aw, looks like I have some competition for your affections then, eh darling? Aren’t you just the sweetest, little god of Death still playing with his childhood toy...”

“My mother made him for me!” Than finally burst out, cheeks redder and voice louder than he’d meant, “Of course I kept him! Now stop acting like a jerk and give him back!”

Zag froze, his teasing chased away from his face instantly. Meekly he dropped the arm holding Mort and let Than snatch him back, silent as his boyfriend turned his shoulder and hunched down sulkily.

“I...I’m really sorry,” Zag said quietly after a moment’s awkward silence, “I thought I was just playing with you but...I went too far, I’m sorry I upset you. I remember how important he was to you.”

“Well…” Than swallowed, face still smouldering, “It is foolish. To still have him around I mean.”

“Aw, no love, come on…” Zag slid closer, putting an arm around his shoulders, “What, you’re going to start listening to me all of a sudden. I’m an idiot!”

“You are,” Than murmured, finding himself coaxed up out of his sulk, “But you’re mine.”

That made him chuckle happily, stealing a kiss to the inch of his cheek he’d revealed, “And it is so cute that you still have Mort. I mean that, I really do. You’re adorable and a little soft and that’s completely okay.”

“Well. As long as it doesn’t leak into my work.”

He wasn’t looking at Zag’s face but he could tell he was rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” he tucked a strand of white hair away to kiss Than’s ear, “Remember that time you really did lose him? When we were six years old?”

Than smiled coyly, “I do. You missed your bedtime and got yourself grounded going off to look for him just so I would stop crying. Everyone else had given up but...you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Zag hummed, kissing just below his ear now, then lower, then lower, down his neck, pulling back the shoulder of his jumper to get at his shoulder, “I don’t give up, not when it concerns you, my dear.”

Than sighed, muscles unwinding under Zag’s lips, “Love, you might notice we don’t have a bed yet so I’m not sure where you think this is going?”

“Ah, my cherished parter...” Zag rumbled, hands slipping down to gently put Mort to one side and give him access to his boyfriend’s lap.

Than found himself being turned, his back pressed to the floor, felt a crooked grin blooming on his face as Zag threw his leg over him and bent low until their noses were brushing.

“I think we can manage, eh?” his boyfriend purred.

Afterwards, Than sat up and stretched the kinks out of his shoulders, sighing in satisfaction.

Zag stayed on the floor, his head pillowed on the jumper his boyfriend had been wearing as he sprawled out contentedly, eyes drinking in the play of Than’s muscles, “I really am happy you’re here, my love.”

“I’m happy to be here,” Than looked back at him with a soft, loving smile, lightly brushing one cheek with his fingertips, “I think I understand what you mean when you talk about how free it makes you, finding your own place. It feels like everything’s started again. And this time it will be better.”

“It will be,” Zag caught his hand and kissed his knuckles.

An idea came to Than then and an easy kind of certainty settled over him. He reached over and snagged Mort where he’d fallen to one side as they’d become more occupied in each other.

“Here,” he smiled, holding his cherished childhood toy out to Zagreus, “Here, I want you to have him.”

“What?” Zag blinked, not understanding. He pulled himself into a sitting position, “Mort is yours, you love him.”

“And I love you,” Than still held him out, “So I want him to be yours now. You’ve given me a place here, in the only space that had ever really been your own and...well, this seems like a good way to repay you.”

“You don’t have to repay me!” Zag insisted, shaking his head, “I mean, gods, you’re going to be putting up with me twenty four seven-”

“Gladly,” Than cut across him, knowing the thoughts in his boyfriend’s mind would grow too loud if he let them, “I will do it gladly, Zagreus. Please, he’s yours now.”

Chuckling softly, Zag relented and took Mort gently. He held the battered old toy with a kind of tenderness, brushing some dust from his ear, “Thank you, Than. I promise I’ll look after him.”

“Well,” Than smirked playfully, “I’ll still see him every day and I will check.”

“Oh, I’d expect nothing less, my love.”

When they eventually did get the bed put together, a longer time later than either of them would ever admit, Mort would take pride of place in the centre of it.

Than would see him nearly every day with his happy stitched smile and, when he did, he would think of the apartment he’d left behind. All it’s expensive minimalist furniture, it’s sleek metal and black leather and unlived in neatness.

And Thanatos wouldn’t miss it in the slightest. He knew he was home.

[bellafarallones2]

So I wrote more Vincent/Apollo - this is roughly a sequel to ThisWasInevitable's excellent fic but all you need to know is that Vincent and Apollo met on The Bachelor. I would categorize this as PWP.

The sky was blue, the air was crisp, and Apollo was almost shivering in one of Vincent’s sweatshirts: autumn hit hard in Vincent’s hometown in the suburbs of Minneapolis, especially compared to Georgia. (Apollo had joked it wouldn’t be the peach state anymore without him, and Vincent had laughed and patted his butt and said that it was true.) That was why, in mid September, they took the Subaru to L.L. Bean to get Apollo some cold-weather clothes.

The handles on the front door of the store were shaped like canoe handles, and Vincent held the door for Apollo and then followed him in. “Where do you want to start?” said Vincent. “Sweaters or a real winter coat?”

“Sweaters,” said Apollo, already leading them past the camping equipment and brightly-colored kayaks into the men’s clothing department. Looking at the price-tag on a button down patterned with tiny blue sailboats made him feel light-headed. Sixty dollars for a shirt? “Holy shit that’s expensive.”

Vincent laughed. “It’s because they’re made to last.”

Apollo looked over at him, and put out his hand for Vincent to squeeze. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Picking out flannel shirts was a far cry from Apollo’s original designer dreams, but he loved how Vincent looked at him as he came out of the dressing room, how he ran his hands appreciatively over Apollo’s shoulders and commented on the softness of the fabric. Apollo didn’t think he’d ever worn a cable knit sweater before in his entire life (maybe in a family Christmas photo when he was eight?), but he found one he liked in a lovely jewel blue. It sort of made him look like Vincent. Even better, it made him look like Vincent’s.

When Vincent’s arms were full of flannels and quarter-zip sweatshirts, they moved on to the winter coats. The label on the coat Vincent suggested promised to keep the wearer warm at temperatures down to -45°, which didn’t even sound like a real temperature. Apollo figured the next time he visited the surface of Mars he’d be all set.

When they were done Vincent whipped out his credit card (and green L.L. Bean rewards card) to pay for everything, and Apollo carried all the bags back to the car like the strapping young thing he was.

“Thank you,” Apollo murmured once they were back in the car, and kissed Vincent deeply across the console. “You always take such good care of me.”

“I can’t have my handsome husband being cold,” Vincent teased. “Besides, you’re good at showing your appreciation.”

When Vincent talked like that, Apollo really wanted to. As a teenager his father had given him and Indrid a clothing allowance, and then when he turned 18 and moved out he’d bought his own clothes, thrifted designer or Forever 21. Having someone help him pick out clothes and pay for them was strange.

At home, Vincent carried his new sweaters upstairs and cut the tags off and hung them up in a neat row in the closet. Coming downstairs again, he found Vincent on the couch reading a magazine, but he put it aside and spread his thighs obligingly as Apollo sank to the floor at his feet. Apollo always liked the way Vincent looked down at him, making him feel small and safe and beloved, like the spoiled pet that he was. “Will you let me suck you off?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Vincent cupped Apollo’s cheek and ran his fingers up through his hair. “But why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable?”

Apollo nodded, and Vincent helped him up and led him by the hand into the bedroom. Kissing him, Apollo undid Vincent’s belt and his pants and pushed down his underwear, and then the front of his shirt was concealing his genitals (can’t have that) so Apollo unbuttoned the shirt and took Vincent’s cock in his hand and stroked it gently.

“Come here, sweet thing,” said Vincent, guiding Apollo up between his legs as he lay back on the bed.

Vincent preferred to do this in bed. He wanted Apollo to be comfortable, not kneeling on the hard floor. Apollo didn’t much care where they did it. He stroked his hands down Vincent’s thighs and took his still-soft cock into his mouth, heard Vincent sigh. He played with Vincent’s balls and stroked the tip of his tongue down the underside of Vincent’s cock and felt him get hard.

He felt safe, with his head between Vincent’s warm thighs. He liked the way Vincent smelled, too. Familiar.

Before Vincent he didn’t do this with anyone often enough for their smell to be familiar, certainly not often enough for their smell to feel like home. And before he’d always tried to show off, make his partner cum as fast as possible, but now he had the luxury to linger.

Vincent was stroking his hair. “You’re allowed to touch yourself, you know. I want my good boy to enjoy himself.”

Apollo pulled off just enough to speak. “I want you to make me cum.”

“Of course, darling.”

Eventually Vincent’s hands tugged more insistently in Apollo’s hair, and Apollo swallowed around him and felt him cum, warm in his mouth, warm like a sixty dollar sweater that’d last him years.

He caught his breath resting his cheek against Vincent’s thigh, and then Vincent pulled him up to sit in his lap and kiss him some more. “How do you want to cum?” Vincent said.

“Mmm,” Apollo murmured. “Want your fingers.” He hadn’t even noticed how hard he was. Vincent made it easy to stop focusing so much on himself.

“Of course.” Keeping one hand on Apollo’s shoulder, Vincent reached over to the drawer on the bedside table for lube and gloves. Apollo shifted, clinging to Vincent’s neck, and one gloved finger teased his hole. “Good?”

“Yes please,” said Apollo, and Vincent slipped one finger inside him. He went slower than Apollo would jerking off: Apollo didn’t mind a little burn but Vincent was always so gentle, waiting until Apollo was whimpering for a second finger. He massaged his prostate and jerked him off and Apollo was drowning in pleasure, it felt like Vincent was everywhere. So close, inside him, surrounding him, cooing praise into his ear - what a good boy you are, you take me so well.

“Daddy,” Apollo gasped, and felt Vincent smile against his cheek.

The daddy thing was their little secret. He’d called Vincent it a few times when they were on television together, but it had always been jokingly. When it had come out in a breathy moan afterwards, after Apollo had sworn off doing things for the cameras, he couldn’t claim any such excuse. Luckily Vincent’s cock had jumped when he said it. He wanted - he wanted to be taken care of, alright? Was that too much to ask? He was gorgeous and brilliant; he deserved it. And it wasn’t an all-the-time thing, just when he was feeling particularly submissive, particularly needy, sitting with his legs spread in Vincent’s lap with his eyes screwed shut.

“Let daddy take care of you,” Vincent murmured, and Apollo came hard, his whole body tensing.

Vincent cleaned him up and kissed him, and Apollo let himself drift, until Vincent was solid against his back and Apollo could curl up against him like taking shelter from the wind in the lee of a hill. “Thank you for the clothes,” Apollo murmured, and was asleep before he heard Vincent’s response.

--

Vincent never thought he would have this. He was old enough when he met Apollo that he’d given up on finding love. He’d gone on the Bachelor mostly on a whim and knowing it would make for a good story if nothing else; he knew perfectly well television romances rarely worked out long-term. But it had been months, now, and he was still waking up with Apollo beside him. Apollo, who was young and clever and good-looking as Vincent was middle-aged and boring.

“You’re not boring,” Apollo had said once. “You’re stable. I like that. I know you won’t suddenly change your expectations for me. You make me feel safe.”

And by God did Vincent like making Apollo feel safe. He liked being the only person who saw the softness Apollo hid from the rest of the world.

(He’d never felt possessive about a partner before he met Apollo, but now he felt like if Apollo slept with someone else he might die. Or commit murder. One of the two. It would be infinitely worse than Apollo just leaving him.)

So tonight, when Apollo slid into his lap after dinner, the first thing he said was “I love you.”

Apollo looked surprised. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Vincent grabbed his face and kissed him hard, felt Apollo roll his hips.

For a few moments they just breathed, holding each other. Finally Apollo spoke. “Can we do tonight?”

Vincent stroked his hip thoughtfully. He was referring to a scene they’d been planning for weeks. “Yes.”

His arm looped around Apollo’s torso was a restraint, now, and he brushed a piece of fluff off Apollo’s shorts. Apollo’s inner thighs were always maddeningly sensitive, and even that light touch was enough to make him squirm. Now Vincent rested his hand more deliberately on Apollo’s leg, pressing down slightly, fingers edging close to the seam of his shorts.

“Do you like it when I touch you inappropriately, Apollo?” Vincent’s authority voice also never failed to get Apollo going.

“Yes,” said Apollo, voice barely a squeak.

“Do you want me to do bad things to you?”

Apollo didn’t immediately respond, and Vincent took the opportunity to palm him through his shorts. So sensitive, he was, so vulnerable underneath Vincent’s searching fingers. “Y-yes.”

“Hm. What if I told you I wanted to tie you up? Would you let me do that?”

“Yes, yes sir, I’d let you, let you do anything you wanted to me.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” said Vincent approvingly. “Now, up. Come with me.”

He led Apollo to the bedroom and spread him out on the bed. “You do too much of your thinking with this, sweetheart,” Vincent murmured, groping Apollo’s dick through his pajamas. “But that’s okay, we can fix that. Stay right here.” One last affectionate squeeze and Vincent was gone, digging through the toy box under the bed. He came up with a cock cage, clear plastic. Apollo was half-hard from anticipation and Vincent touching him, so the ring didn’t fit. He looked up at Vincent, as though hoping that Vincent might let him get off one last time as he pulled Apollo’s pajama pants down around his knees.

Vincent tutted. “You young men, so excitable.” He wrapped his hand around the glass of ice water dripping condensation on the bedside table, and Apollo realized what he was going to do an instant before he did it and tried to squirm away, but Vincent’s grip on him was too strong, and Apollo shrieked as Vincent’s cold hand touched his dick. “There we go,” said Vincent, and locked the cage closed.

Apollo squeezed his eyes shut. This was because of him, because weeks ago he’d said I want you to take advantage of me and they’d talked about it and Vincent had ordered different cock cages off the internet to test which kind was the most comfortable for long-term wear.

And now here they were. Apollo opened his eyes. “How - how dare you!” he sputtered, pulling on the cage just enough to make his balls ache, enough to establish that it wasn’t coming off without the key that had just disappeared on a string beneath Vincent’s shirt. “You old fucking perv, you, you-”

“I’d be polite if I were you, seeing as that’s the only way you’re going to get to cum.”

“It’ll, it’ll make my dick shrink!”

“Are you telling me that you, Apollo Cold, the brilliant and beautiful, depend on your dick size for self-esteem?”

Apollo mumbled something unintelligible, mollified despite himself by the praise.

Vincent pulled him into his lap and kissed him deeply, tugged his hands away from fiddling with the cage. “You’ve been acting so recklessly, going around asking older men to do dirty things to you. Maybe this will help you control yourself.” Apollo’s legs fell apart easily as Vincent teased his nipples, moaning in frustration as his dick tried to get hard but couldn’t. “See, this is good,” said Vincent. “You’ve always been embarrassed about shooting off too fast and now I can fuck you for as long as I want.”

“When do I get to cum?”

“When you ask nicely and I feel like unlocking you. Supervised, of course.”

“Can I please cum?”

“Not tonight. It’s time for bed.”

Apollo groaned in frustration.

“I’m an old man, I need sleep.” Vincent opened his arms, and Apollo surrendered. If he fought he wouldn’t get to be held.

It took him a long time to fall asleep, and he groaned again when his phone went off the next day at 5:45 in the morning. Fuck. He’d forgotten he had an opening shift. He shut the alarm off so as not to disturb Vincent, still asleep, and kissed him on the cheek.

Apollo worked at Starbucks. He was good at it, he made good use of the employee discount, and swearing off Instagram had cut him off from a major source of income as a former reality star.

While he was pulling his pants on he remembered they were out of Pop Tarts and his heart sank, but when he went downstairs and opened the cabinet to scavenge for breakfast, he found a brand-new unopened box. The brown sugar cinnamon kind, his favorite. His heart panged. Even though Vincent only ever had oatmeal for breakfast like an old man, he’d noticed the Pop Tarts were gone and bought more.

At work Apollo folded his black apron up before he tied it, tight to make his waist look narrow. Luckily the apron meant nobody could see the bulge he felt in his crotch.

--

He got home from work before Vincent did, dying of horniness. A customer had given him their number, which always annoyed him, but less so than usual with the reminder around his cock of who he belonged to. Of Vincent.

Apollo kicked off his clothes and lay sprawled facedown on Vincent’s king-sized bed. Maybe he was imagining it, but with his dick caged every sensation was more vivid. The quilt against his bare skin, rubbing up on his nipples and the sensitive skin of his thighs. His hair curled against his neck. The sound of his breathing against the pillow.

Apollo ground his hips against the mattress, and reached down between his legs to grope the cage, but it didn’t do anything. Vincent hadn’t told him he couldn’t use toys, though, so he grabbed lube and his favorite dildo, the one that vibrated and hit his prostate just right, but when he pressed the ‘on’ button, nothing happened.

Apollo flipped open the battery casing at the bottom. Empty. That cruel bastard. Vincent always thought of everything; of course he’d think to take the batteries out. Apollo lubed it up and eased it inside him anyway. Fuck, that was good. His hips rocked of their own accord, fucking himself on the plastic. His cock tried hopelessly to twitch.

Actually, he remembered now. Last week the batteries in the TV remote had died when Vincent was at work and Apollo had disemboweled the vibrator to replace them rather than trying to find new ones. He could go looking now, if he wanted; they were probably in some neatly-labeled box in a closet somewhere, but that would require standing up.

The tip of the dildo found his prostate and made him sob. He fucked it in and out until a pathetic dribble of fluid leaked out of his caged cock.

He’d shaved his pubes the day before yesterday so the hair wouldn’t get caught in the cage, and it had felt weird, but the way Vincent pinned him to the bed as soon as he’d come out of the shower more than made up for it. You look good, all smooth like this, Vincent had said. Makes me want to lick every inch of you. He’d come hard that night, with Vincent’s clever tongue tracing up his taint.

Lost in the fantasy, Apollo looked up vaguely when the bedroom door creaked open. Vincent was standing there in his work clothes, suit and tie and green-and-gold argyle socks. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Am I in trouble?” said Apollo.

“Of course not, baby,” said Vincent. He shut the door behind him and moved to the end of the bed. “May I join you?”

“Please.”

Vincent kissed him so hard he almost forgot about the toy inside him, hips twitching as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on Vincent’s shirt. “Please,” said Apollo again. “Please fuck me. Want you. Also where do you keep batteries?”

“On the third shelf of the linen closet. What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” said Apollo, pulling the toy out of him and leaning around Vincent to throw out the condom that had been on it. He undid the buckle on Vincent’s belt and then yanked down his pants and boxers just enough to wrap his hand around Vincent’s dick. “This is the only D I care about right now.”

Vincent laughed as he got his pants the rest of the way off and crawled onto the bed, between Apollo’s spread legs. The cage was so small he could wrap his hand easily around the whole thing. “You’re so hot like this, all locked away safe.” He pressed a kiss to the skin just above the cage. “This belongs to me.” He grabbed Apollo’s ass, lifting his hips up and pulling to expose his hole. “This too. All mine.”

“All yours,” Apollo agreed. “Now fuck me or I’ll go find someone who will.”

The thought of Apollo fucking someone else, which they both knew he’d never do, was one of the only things that got Vincent to really lose control. He sucked a hickey into Apollo’s neck, and then Apollo was too busy getting fucked to think about the cage, about the way his cock was dripping, riding the high of just-before-orgasm that didn’t end, just a pleasant heat low in his stomach. There was no point in touching himself, so he touched Vincent, kissing him and running his fingers through his neatly-combed hair.

Vincent came inside him, and Apollo kept squirming even after he pulled out, from the cum dripping out of him. It always felt strange, his hole stretched open. He just managed to gasp out “unlock me?” in between kisses, and Vincent produced the key from somewhere and there was a little click and Apollo’s cock was free again, heavy and hard.

“You need a shower,” said Vincent. “We both do.”

“Alright,” said Apollo, and allowed Vincent to help him to his feet.

The shower in the ensuite bathroom was easily big enough for both of them, with water pressure that always felt like a massage and a very versatile detachable showerhead. When Apollo moved in Vincent had put up extra shelves in the shower for all his products.

Apollo reached down to touch himself, but Vincent gently took his wrists and guided his hands away. “Hands on me, baby, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

He did. He always did. Apollo clung to him as he carefully rinsed the cum out of Apollo’s hole and cleaned his ass and thighs with a soft wash cloth, gentle enough to feel like foreplay on his dick and balls.

Apollo watched as Vincent washed himself as well, Vincent’s eyes closed against the soapy water and his dark eyelashes curled up on his cheeks. Wrapped up in a fluffy towel it only took a gentle push to get Apollo sprawled on the bed again, Vincent lying between his legs, still touching his dick. Checking to make sure the cage hadn’t chafed or pinched, Apollo realized. He lost himself in the feeling of his cock soft and vulnerable under Vincent’s hands, only looking up when he heard Vincent picking up the cage again.

“Aren’t you going to let me cum?” Apollo asked, hating how plaintive his voice sounded.

“You didn’t ask for that,” said Vincent. “I can if you want me to. But if you wait until tomorrow I’ll give you a special reward.”

“What kind of a reward?”

“Any kind of reward you like, baby boy.” Vincent rubbed his thumbs gently against Apollo’s inner thighs.

Apollo sighed. He couldn’t believe Vincent was seriously doing the marshmallow test in bed with him. But he was still going to take it. Vincent’s rewards could be amazing. Vincent sucking him off with a plug in him had given him probably the strongest orgasms of his life. But there was something else… “Will you let me fuck you?”

Vincent’s eyebrows went up in surprise. They’d never done that before. They’d made each other cum lots of ways, and Apollo had fingered him a few times, but every time they’d actually fucked Apollo had bottomed. The few times they’d tried to do differently Apollo had gotten impatient watching Vincent open himself up and Vincent had laughed and indulged him. “Of course, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Then I want that. ”

The cage closed, and the lock went click. Vincent moved upwards to kiss him. “I look forward to it.”

--

The next day Apollo wasn’t working, so he cooked dinner and cleaned the house. It probably would have been more fun if he’d had a French maid outfit to really set the mood - maybe he should talk to Vincent about that. In any case, Vincent was very complimentary when he got home, and after dinner cuddled him without teasing until Apollo asked if they could please get on with the fucking.

Unlocked at last, Apollo lounged naked on the bed, watching Vincent undress, returning his jacket to its hanger and putting his underclothes in the hamper. “How do you want me?” said Vincent, turning back to the bed.

“...Can I hold you while you open yourself up?”

“Yes.”

Apollo scooted up to lean against the pillows, and Vincent sat between his legs. He wrapped his arms around Vincent’s chest and tried to resist the urge to hump his back. He wasn’t going to let himself cum until he was actually inside him. He couldn’t see what Vincent was doing, just hear the soft wet noises of him fingering himself.

“Tell me about your day,” said Vincent after a few moments of (to Apollo) awkward silence.

“My day?”

“I like hearing your voice. And it’ll distract you from anticipation.”

“Alright. I… went to the grocery store for stuff for dinner. I sent you that picture I saw on Twitter of someone’s pet turtle trying to go down the stairs.”

“It was a good thing to see, coming out of a budget meeting.”

Apollo kissed his neck for awhile, and finally Vincent lifted his head. “I think I’m ready.”

Apollo startled. He’d almost forgotten what they were actually doing. He crawled around to look. Vincent’s hole was pink and wet and open around his thick fingers. “Can I touch?” said Apollo, fascinated. In answer Vincent just spread his legs. Apollo teased the rim of his hole with one finger, watched it twitch, felt it swallow his finger up when he pressed it inside.

Vincent laughed. “Pass inspection?”

Apollo turned his head up to kiss him. “So I just… stick it in?”

“Any way you like.”

In the past they’d fucked mostly missionary, since Apollo liked to be kissed, so he figured he might as well try that. Sometimes Vincent had him bounce in his lap, but Vincent was big, probably seventy-five pounds heavier than Apollo was, so that wasn’t going to work. Apollo got lube on his hand, stroked himself to full hardness, and pressed in. But the angle was awkward, he couldn’t sink as deep as he liked to, even as Vincent groaned in pleasure. And thrusting was… his hips weren’t used to that motion, his quads weren’t used to the stretch.

Was this what it was like for Vincent? Was the length that felt so satisfying not even Vincent’s full cock? He could see the cock in question lying there hard against Vincent’s stomach, and it seemed a damn shame not to be using it for anything.

“Can we switch positions?” Apollo said.

“Sure,” said Vincent. “Want me on all fours? I believe that’s traditional.”

“Yes please.” How was it that Vincent managed to be so in charge even on the bottom, guiding Apollo along? And how was it that Apollo bent so easily to his suggestions?

Vincent hauled himself up, supporting himself on his hands and knees. Apollo knelt behind him, kneading his ass for a moment. Vincent’s back was scattered with pale freckles. It was easier to sink in deeper in this position, and fuck, Vincent felt good, hot and wet and tight, groaning Apollo underneath him.

The actual fucking was still awkward. He had strong fucking kegels, could squeeze a dick like nobody’s business, but topping was different. He wasn’t sure he was good at it. And they weren’t touching enough, so Apollo rested his cheek on Vincent’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Vincent’s chest from behind, reaching around to jerk him off.

“Thank you,” Vincent gasped, and Apollo realized he was dripping precum onto the sheets. As for Apollo, well. He was young, he hadn’t cum in two days, and also it was Vincent underneath him, the smell of Vincent’s stupid drug-store shampoo and the sound of his breathless praise.

He came hard, and clung tightly to Vincent’s back until he came as well. Then they collapsed together, Vincent rolling them over to avoid the wet spot on the sheets.

“I hadn’t expected fucking someone to be so much work,” Apollo remarked, before resigning himself to getting up to change the sheets. He knew once he started cuddling Vincent he wouldn’t want to get out of bed again.

“Mm. Now you appreciate everything I do for you.”

Apollo paused to kiss him. “I always appreciate you.”

Sure enough, he fell asleep that night curled up against Vincent’s chest, and woke up with morning wood reminding him that Vincent hadn’t locked him back up afterwards. Vincent was already awake, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about whatever it was Vincent thought about. At this angle Apollo could see the wet convex of his eyes.

“You didn’t put the cage back on,” said Apollo.

Vincent turned to him. “No, I didn’t.” He tilted his head just enough for a kiss. “My mistake. I didn’t think you’d be so desperate for it, but I’ll put it back on if you want me to.” His hand slipped easily under the waistband of Apollo’s pajama pants. “I never can say no to you.”

[peaches-writes]

relax—i’m nervous too

description: something short and sweet member: jeongin / i.n. word count: 2.2k genre: fluff, implied best friends to lovers au, first date au, summer au notes: innie went on vlive then i remembered that this has been sitting on my drafts since i posted hwang’s guide to gardening lmao

You wonder if you should hold Jeongin’s hand as you walk down the natural slope of the road, eyes fleeting down to his hands hidden inside his long coat’s pockets. You are, after all, in the middle of quite a packed crowd on this particular Sunday—it’s dangerously easy to lose each other (especially you since you haven’t been exactly the most attentive to the people coming from the opposite direction)—and the sidewalk’s quite steep since it’s, first and foremost, a hill. Also, it’s not like you haven’t done it before; holding onto Jeongin in any way is a long-established habit of yours formed at the first instance he declared you as his best friend years ago.

Holding onto Jeongin in this situation, from a casual standpoint, is the most logical thing to do—except this situation is anything but casual. It’s your first date ever and your first date with Jeongin, your best friend since forever. Holding his hand without permission, along with the other kinds of skinship that you used to initiate for this matter, meant nothing that can easily be misinterpreted before but now it’s suddenly everything. I don’t want to seem too clingy, you frown to yourself absentmindedly, almost tripping on your walk in the process.

Jeongin immediately seems to notice even when he’s walking slightly ahead of you, turning around and placing a concerned hand to your upper arm that does nothing but fluster you more. He doesn’t tell you but he’s noticed this entire time that you seemed really nervous and it’s not helping his own nervousness at all.

“You okay?” He takes a step closer to you in order to avoid bumping into other people as the two of you stop in the middle of the crowd, pure concern in his eyes since it’s the second time you’ve tripped on nothing.

Unconsciously, the two of you both contemplate if the question’s asking if you’re okay from your small accident or if you’re okay despite acting a bit off and distant.

Quickly recovering, you muster up a smile. “I’m fine.” You take a step forward, a gesture that you continue moving. Assured, he follows and the two of you resume walking, his hand immediately sliding down to yours when you try returning them to your own coat pockets.

“I noticed.” He points out sheepishly, as if he’s still unsure if he should bring it up. “Relax—you’re making me nervous too.”

“Sorry.” You squeeze his hand as you steal a glance in his direction, catching the way he briefly returns your look with a small smile. He’s flushed red, nervous too, while trying to look past the people ahead of you for the building you’ve been looking for. “I was just—overthinking about holding your hand. It’s silly, I know.”

But he shakes his head no. “It’s not, I was wondering the same thing, too.” He then touches the nape of his neck with his free hand, chuckling to diffuse the awkwardness.

Somehow, it calms you down knowing that you’re on the same page.

“Oh, hey, we’re here.” Jeongin points to an old building across the street, showcasing endless racks of clothes and trinket shops. There’s no sign or any identification for the building itself, Jeongin just knew from the old cinema next to it that serves as a landmark.

Thank God the road to this particular shopping district is closed on the weekends.

The two of you cross the street along, careful of avoiding the chalk drawings and the people squatted over them on the ground. You make a mental note of this—and the flyer for a music festival later posted on the streetlight that meets you at your destination—for later.

“Try this one!” 

“This one suits you!”

When you’ve completely mastered how to efficiently navigate the maze that is the thrift shop you and Jeongin found yourself in (which only took some 30 minutes actually), the two of you immediately tackled the shops with clothes and shoe racks that caught your eyes. Exchanging clothing suggestions, buying trinkets you don’t actually need but found too adorable not to buy, thinking of what you could do to upgrade certain pieces, trying to haggle for some of the more unique pieces you’ve found (with decent success), and playing with the occasional toys you found on display in your way, you feel more at ease with each other now—as if it’s just another hangout and not your first official date.

“I like this denim so much. I think we look rather cute!” You stand in front of a full mirror next to Jeongin who looks back at you through your reflections with a matching denim jacket you found hanging above your heads while you were looking at jumpsuits. “We can paint these and put the pins we bought on them and—“

You stop yourself from talking immediately when you notice Jeongin trying to stifle a giggle, making you laugh. Instinctively, he covers his face in embarrassment, “What?”

“You’re smiling so much!” You can’t help but smile now too, turning your head to him so that you’re looking directly at him and not through your reflections. “What’s getting you all so giggly?”

He initially shakes his head no, teasing with a smile, but you insist. “...You said ‘we.’”

Your heart melts right there and then. “Well, yeah, they’re matching denims after all?” You tease despite knowing what he meant. “I’m not going to layer these on myself.”

You’ve done a lot of things together, there’s no doubt about that, but now it’s just a little bit different—but for a good reason. It makes you feel strangely excited.

“Okay, yeah, I agree, we do look cute in these. You, especially.” He concludes, a wide grin still on his face, before taking out his phone and putting an arm on your shoulder. “Can we take a pic?”

He ends up snapping a handful photos of the two of you, making a mental note to change his wallpaper later when he gets home.

“Do you think the auntie can give us some kind of couples’ discount.” You joke as you shed off the jacket, feeling more light and free now that you’re doing something with Jeongin.

“You’re doing it again!” 

“What?” 

“’Couple.’” 

You roll your eyes playfully, elbowing him on his side as he takes off his jacket. “You asked me on this date and you’re suddenly nervous about the word ‘couple’?” 

Even though, it’s your turn teasing him now, you did feel the same jittery feeling of calling the two of you a couple. It’s such a long jump from calling each other best friends, especially since you’ve grown accustomed to it for years. 

“No, I like the sound of it.” Jeongin is quick to defend himself when he’s fully recovered from your sudden attack. You laugh because it took him a while. 

Also, you did manage to get a discount after that.

On the way out, you spot a corridor that leads to an adjacent building. Tugging on Jeongin’s arm, you excitedly point it out, specifically the paintings hanging on the walls that peek out from your limited view. “Should we check this out?”

It’s not like the two of you had anything planned specifically for the day besides checking out the thrift shop—you wanted to eat lunch in between, of course (since it’s nearing 2 PM) but somehow you didn’t want to sit down yet.

And Jeongin seems to agree. “Yeah, let’s go.” The two of you then make a turn, heading to the mysterious corridor instead of back outside.

Walking in the other building, it immediately dawns on the two of you that it’s the old cinema Jeongin referred to as the thrift shop’s landmark, remodeled into a more open space with art galleries, snack stands, and other upscale stores, especially him. It suddenly made him extra nervous as the two of you look around while walking over to the art gallery that has caught your eye, displayed at very center where the light from the clear ceiling seems to be focusing its light on.

Jeongin wanted to check this place out for the longest time since he asked his dad where he could take you on a first date. Watching a movie at the old cinema would’ve been your second date—if you agreed to it, of course—but here you are.

“We can eat lunch here afterwards.” Jeongin points to a couple of mall restaurants as the two of you approach the displays. He also notices that there’s still a theater on the highest floor—he’s noticing a lot of things, actually, taking notes for later. “Or maybe check out the jewelry shop over there.”

“Lucky I spotted the corridor, ‘no?” You briefly look at him from examining a painting of a girl and flowers, a proud smile on your face. “It’s really cool—especially if you think about how it used to be a cinema!”

He nods in agreement, matching your slow pace of moving from painting to painting to appreciate the details of the work on display. “You know, my parents used to go here a lot.”

“Really? Is that how you knew about the thrift shop?”

“Yeah...” He then briefly ponders over telling you the rest. “...They also went on their first date here at the cinema.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Was that too much?” He asks, following with a nervous chuckle. Are you supposed to say that on a first date? All the gears in his head turn to panicking internally. “It’s just—“

“No, it’s not—I’m—“ You stutter out, looking at him fully now instead of the paintings. You’re almost done circling around the entire display, anyway. “I’m honored...is that the right word? Like I feel really happy—like I can boast this to Seungmin and the others and go, ‘yup, Jeongin took me to a very special place for our first date last summer’ when school starts again.’—I can say that, right?”

“It’s...it’s not weird or anything?” 

“Why would it be?” You shrug nonchalantly, curious as to where this conversation is going. “This is like your parents’ cool date suggestion or something.”

“If you say it that way, it makes it look like our date’s very unoriginal.” He pouts in frustration, making you giggle.

Shaking your head, you counter, “No, it doesn’t because even when the place is the same, it’s still ours in a way—like, did Mr. and Mrs. Yang buy matching denim jackets and questionable statement pins at the thrift shop? Or checked out this amazing installation?”

“No, definitely not.” You manage to return a smile on his face. “In fact, they didn’t go on a Sunday so they couldn’t enjoy the night music festival.”

“You caught that too?” His eyes widen. 

“Do you want to go later?” 

“If we can draw on the road too with chalk!”

It fully sinks on Jeongin that this is, in fact, your very first date and, hopefully, the first of many. He suddenly feels excited to tell his parents later all the things they missed out on this shopping district when he gets home later. “Okay, deal. Let’s eat first, though, I’m starving!”

“Chicken?” 

“Chicken, yes please.”

You leave the cinema-turned-mall late since you both decided on drinking iced coffee and eating fries after your meal. Returning to the outside world somewhere around 5 PM, hands now naturally clasped together, you buy chalk on a nearby stationery store then cross the street, finding a spot after 10 minutes amidst the long stretch of already painted road.

It’s almost the end of the day so most people are on the other lane, waiting for the night music festival under tents set up by the organizers. Still, that didn’t stop the two of you from doodling along with some children, couples, and friends.

“What are you doing?” You ask after a while, peering over Jeongin’s shoulder curiously.

“I’m drawing a fox and a rabbit.” He points out, the mismatched colors he’s used used making you laugh. “Guess who’s who.”

“We have red and white colors here—where have you ever seen a pink fox and a pink rabbit?” You chuckle, glancing back at your own own work of making a bouquet of flowers.

“Just this morning when you were blushing so hard about holding my hand—” He teases cheekily, earning him a slap on the arm. “—Hey, I mean, I was too!”

“You talk like you weren’t so giggly about me referring to ourselves as a couple.” You’re the one pouting this time, but lightheartedly. “I’m erasing your card on this bouquet.”

“You wouldn’t!” 

“Yes, I can!”

The playful banter eventually makes you laugh that you almost stumbled and accidentally sat down on the road before Jeongin steadied you with his dust-free hand on your arm. When you’ve recovered, you go back to working on your chalk drawings.

“Hold on, let me take a photo.” You whip out your phone once the two of you are done, standing over your drawings and giggling all the way. Jeongin drew, as mentioned, a fox and a rabbit walking around buildings and under ‘Jeongin and Y/N were here’ in big letters. You, on the other hand, drew a bouquet with a message and two people in matching denim jackets. “This is so cute.”

While you take photos, Jeongin decides on reading aloud the note you’ve written along with the bouquet. “‘Jeongin and Y/N’s first date, summer ‘20. Let’s make more memories like this together!’” He then turns to you, now done taking photos. “We’re going on a second date?”

“Aren’t we?” You look up at him despite the feeling of heat rising from your neck. “Today was fun—not disastrous like they say about first dates, we can accidentally do those later.”

You really are looking forward to a second date now—and a third, fourth, fifth...

Meanwhile, it feels like a weight is lifted of Jeongin’s chest and his first instinct is to pull you into a hug. “I’m glad.” He rests his chin on your crown. “Let’s go on that second date soon.”

“And go back here in the future, I like it here.” You hug him back, relieved that you’re still, even at the end of the day, on the same page. “Maybe they do have really good movies at the old cinema, we didn’t check.”

Jeongin only chuckles at this now. “Sounds like a promising future date.” 

Later that night, the two of you enjoy lively music at the night music festival, jumping around, dancing, and singing to the songs both familiar and unfamiliar.

[ionlydatesassyelves]

mods are asleep post more gay drabbles it's the only flavor i can write

modern human au where L and Luigi are seperate people who have to deal with each other, and then they also have to deal with Dimentio. because that's the only other flavor i can write.

((will format correctly in the morning because fuck tumblr mobile))

~~~~~

L wasn't entirely certain when a street performer had set up a magic show in front of his mechanic shop, but it didn't seem to be driving away business, so for now he ignored it. For several weeks, actually, he did a stellar job of ignoring it.

The performer stopped him one day on his way into work, sauntered into his path before the crowd with a dazzling smile. He conjured a rose for L and offered it with a bow, the trick met with cheers and applause.

L scoffed and moved to step around the attention whore, but his path was blocked again. "Not one for flowers, then?" the shorter man sang. He pulled the scarf from his own neck, wrapped it around the delicate rose, and pulled it away with a flourish.

He now held a bouquet of rusty wrenches and screwdrivers wrapped in colorful paper.

L couldn't help it, he laughed, the whole crowd laughing and applauding as well. The man bowed again, and this time L accepted the gift, and he was at last allowed to go on his way.

He pulled the bouquet apart once he entered the shop--not excellent tools, gathered probably from the dump, but the gesture was still hilarious. Once L had unwrapped the paper, he found a card nestled among the tools. No number to call, no elaboration on the givers identity. Only a name.

"Dimentio"

L tried very hard not to hope Dimentio would be hanging around outside his shop again, but he couldn't help being glad to see the thin boy stood up on a box and talking excitedly to the crowd before him.

L elected to spare five minutes to be late for work and watch a couple of Dimentio's tricks. Dimentio smiled when he spotted him in the crowd, asked him to pick a card at one point and summoned it from a little girls knit cap. The girl was delighted, her mother twofold, and she let the little girl hand Dimentio a sizeable tip at the end of the show.

L was more than disappointed he couldn't spare the cash to at least tip Dimentio. He knew Luigi often liked to leave a parting gift for hard working performers that had made him smile, and Dimentio had done that two days in a row. Which was not an easy feat, given L's situation.

The thought pressed firmly at the back of his mind all day. Eventually, he decided to take an early lunch and bolted to catch Dimentio outside.

The performer was gathering tricks and props into a worn duffle bag by this hour, moving onto a different spot. L called out to him before he could go, and Dimentio seemed surprised to see him again.

"I'm afraid you've missed the encore," he teasingly replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Nah, I got enough of your flashy tricks, thanks," L returned. He jogged over to meet Dimentio on the corner, and it was more apparent without the box that Dimentio stood more than a full head shorter than him. It was also more apparent he wasn't wearing shoes.

L frowned down at the sidewalk, taking in the boys pale toes and wondering if he was okay. It wasn't the coldest of the year yet, but it was still far from warm.

Dimentio shifted in place, seemingly eager to get on. He smiled at L anyway. "To what do I owe the pleasure then?"

L ran a hand through his messy hair. He was never very good at this. "You eat yet?"

There was a laugh, and L smiled again. It was different than the stage laugh. Dimentio choked on it a little suddenly, and his voice cracked on the end of it. "Was than an invitation?"

L snorted and jerked his head over his shoulder, walking back towards his shop. He was thrilled that Dimentio followed him.

There wasn't much to the shop, but there was a small, worn couch tucked away in a tiny back room where L could retreat to relax and warm up a little. Dimentio left his pack at the door and happily settled onto the couch with his legs folded under him. L tried not to sit too close to him, but it was difficult to not squish in the small space.

L brewed hot coffee for them both and they shared the sack lunch L had brought for the day. He tried to get Dimentio to eat the whole sandwich, insisting he could make something later, but Dimentio refused to touch more than half of anything.

They sat and talked in the warm little nook for some time longer than they probably should have, but eventually Dimentio went on his way.

L didn't mean to go on and on to Luigi every time this happened afterwards, but eventually Luigi encouraged him to take enough food for L and Dimentio to both have a decent lunch. Gradually, their dates became routine enough that Dimentio swung by the shop even when he had been performing elsewhere that morning.

L didn't quite realize he had a crush until the afternoon the windchill picked up and he gave Dimentio an old coat. It swallowed him up, but he had thanked L sincerely, and stood on tiptoes to give L a kiss on the cheek before he left that day. L didn't want to admit he had spent the rest of the day finding his fingers softly touching the spot, but he did.

It was three dates after that when L finally worked up the nerve to scoot closer to Dimentio on the couch and kiss him fully. Dimentio was so quick to slide his arms around L and return the deep kiss. They wound up making out on the couch, and it wouldnt be the first time.

------

Luigi got to meet Dimentio three weeks after the first time L had invited him to lunch. Usually he kept to the quiet, shambly part of the city, but he'd been visiting a friend on that end of town and ran into Luigi on his way to work, mistaking him for L. They had laughed at the mix up, but Luigi was glad to meet Dimentio at last, and Dimentio was thrilled to discover L had been talking about him.

Dimentio had neglected to tease L about it later that day, but when Luigi told him that night his boyfriend was indeed very cute, the flowers and lovebites L had to come home with suddenly made sense.

Luigi and L both began to look forward to Dimentio brightening their days, either in the silly gifts he would conjure for Luigi before work, or the warm kisses he snuck around L's shop to steal. It wasn't uncommon for Dimentio to come up in conversation while Luigi and L ate dinner together.

Winter rolled around, and they began to wonder more and more where Dimentio called home. If he was safe at night, or at least warm.

L stayed up later pacing some nights, wondering where Dimentio might be and if he was okay. Some days his make out session with the preformer turned into something more, and L could give Dimentio an hour or more of warmth and comfort. But Dimentio always left into the bitter cold with L's old jacket pulled tight around his thin form, bare feet against the cold sidewalk, but no less a spring in his step or spark in his smile.

L began working late and hoarding spare change, cutting little treats for himself where he could to gather up a little bit of extra cash. When Luigi finally asked what he was up to, if he needed help with anything, L admitted he wanted to get Dimentio something warm to wear. At least some new shoes. Luigi gave him the sweetest, warmest smile, and began working overtime as well, adding extra tips to L's fund.

L was beyond tickled the day he finally could lead Dimentio into his worn shop hand in hand. After they ate and exchanged their usual quips, L reached behind the couch and handed Dimentio a very large plastic bag. They couldn't do much to wrap the gift, but Dimentio took it with a bewildered grin. "What is this, now?"

"Call it an early Christmas..." L muttered, sitting back and trying to appear as casual as possible. He was sitting on pins and needles, praying Dimentio didn't notice.

Dimentio eagerly set to digging through the bag, but his motions soon slowed. He pulled out two large, fluffy sweaters in bright colors, and a wool scarf with matching hat, holding all the items in a bundle against his chest. He turned and gave L a shaky smile, like he was waiting for the punchline. "...is this for me?"

"Yeah, it's for you," L almost laughed. "Don't want you to fuckin blow away in the wind out there."

Dimentio turned very quickly back to the gifts in his lap. He looked like he might cry. He busied himself instead pulling the box from the bottom of the bag and opening the lid with a quiet gasp.

"They're a little worn..." L apologized as Dimentio ran his fingers thoughtfully over the black boots. "We found them at a thrift store but, uh... I really didn't want you to freeze..."

Dimentio smiled, and choked a little. "I love them." he said quietly.

He tried them on, and they were a size too big, but only half a size with the colorful wool socks Luigi had tucked into the box. They were big and bulky especially since Dimentio didn't bother lacing them, but they somehow suited him when he kicked his legs back and forth on the couch, and L couldn't help smiling.

He pressed his face into L's shoulder and wrapped his arms tightly around the larger man. "I love them," he repeated.

L tried not to respond "I love you too."

Dimentio hung out around the shop the rest of the day, leaving only when L locked up for the night. L insisted he might as well come over for dinner, but Dimentio fidgeted anxiously and insisted he couldn't owe L any more favors.

L wrapped both arms around Dimentio and kissed him slow and deep. "You don't owe me. Just stay safe, okay?"

Dimentio winked, adjusting his scarf around his face to hide the bright blush coloring his cheeks. "No promises."

L bit his lip, but he steeled his nerves and tightening his grip before dimentio's fingers could slip from his. He had to know. "You got somewhere warm to sleep right?"

Dimentio gave L a peck on the cheek and squeezed his hand. "I'll find somewhere."

And then he left.

L couldn't sleep that night.

The thought of Dimentio huddled in the freezing streets was keeping him up. He had already been sick with worry, but previously he could chalk it up to paranoia. Now it had been confirmed, Dimentio was homeless. It wasn't fair. Nothing was in this awful city, but that especially tore L up.

Four times, L almost asked Luigi if he could invite Dimentio to stay. But every time he tried to come up with a reason, he felt like he was asking to keep a dog, which was both insulting to Dimentio's independence and throwing another burden on Luigi. L hated both of those things, so four times, he shut his mouth.

The fifth time had been an impromptu trip to the grocery store, stocking up on essentials. L had commented idly on people looking like they were preparing for the apocalypse.

"Its probably the storm," Luigi had carelessly reminded him.

"...what storm?" L asked, face melting to horror.

Luigi sighed a little as he compared their cart to their list. "I told you, there's supposed to be a blizzard rolling in tomorrow. They say the streets are going to freeze. Oh--remind me to leave the water running tonight, we're fucked if the pipes freeze too."

L couldn't help his knee jerk response. "Dimentio's homeless."

Luigi's eyes flew up to meet L's, wide and shocked. He knew what that meant. "What?" he asked anyway.

"Dimentio's homeless," L repeated, his voice shaking. "He's out on the streets, I don't think he has anywhere to go."

Luigi took that in for about three seconds, then took a deep, steadying breath. "Let's hurry up here and get this home, then we'll see if we can find him."

-----

Luigi almost wrecked the car when L spotted Dimentio from the passengers seat and just jumped out onto the sidewalk. L ignored the frustrated scolding behind him and bolted towards the performer.

Dimentio had taken shelter from the falling snow on a high slope beneath a bridge, but when L climbed up he discovered that Dimentio was already shivering. He was bundled in several layers, but his nose and ears were already a pale shade of blue.

"Get up, you're coming with us," L said sternly, not waiting for a reply as he grabbed Dimentio's bag and slung it over his own shoulder.

"N-no, L, it's... d-d-don't--" Dimentio tried to stutter out a protest, but he was shivering too hard in the howling wind.

His effort was interrupted by L scooping him up off the ground--all the clothes put together probably weighed more than Dimentio himself. "I don't want to hear it. We're going home."

Dimentio didn't argue with that.

Luigi had managed to stop the car nearby when L struggled back down the hill with Dimentio in his arms. L didn't think much about taking the backseat on the ride home and holding Dimentio in his lap, but the preformer didn't seem very intent on moving, so no one questioned it.

Granted the rickety apartment wasn't much, especially for three people, but anything was better in a blizzard. Luigi took Dimentio immediately into the bathroom and showed him how the shower worked, told him to get clean and more importantly, warm. He left Dimentio a soft towel and some of his own cozy pajamas, and Dimentio still seemed at a loss for words.

While he was in the shower, Luigi made a warm soup for dinner and L busied himself cleaning space in his own room for Dimentio's things and piling spare blankets onto his bed.

Dimentio arrived in Luigi's pajamas and the coat he'd been wearing, and L traded it for a softer hoodie. He was still a little uncertain, but he seemed happier and at least the color of a healthy human again.

The three piled on the couch together and ate soup out of mismatched bowls, watching TV as they chatted late into the night.

Before they headed to bed, Luigi got Dimentio to gather up what little clothes he owned so he could wash them in the morning. Luigi also produced a spare toothbrush for Dimentio they "happened" to have, and certainly hadn't bought that day hoping and praying they would find Dimentio tonight.

Dimentio was grinning ear to ear by the time everyone was getting ready to settle into bed. L insisted Dimentio keep his bed tonight, and went to the couch himself, but the preformer clung to him and bashfully asked if L would be willing to stay.

They snuggled into bed together, squished in the small space, but warm and happy to hold onto each other. They whispered in the dark for several hours before falling asleep, sneaking in soft kisses here and there.

The storm did end up snowing them in for several days, and Dimentio was happier to be in the house with each passing hour. Dimentio taught them both several card tricks, and Luigi taught Dimentio new, flashy ways to shuffle the deck. They traded stories about the ongoing struggle against the upper class, laughed over preparing meals, and snuggled together in the quiet.

On the fifth day, news reports began to state that the worst of the storm had passed, and streets should begin to get clear. The weather in the early morning channels also seemed to indicate that the danger of freezing outside would be gone.

L found Dimentio staring out of a window soon following the newscast, watching the snow fall on the empty streets outside. L sat behind him and slid his arms around Dimentio's thin waist, and the smaller man leaned back against his chest. "So I have bad news," L began with a sigh.

"Mm." was all Dimentio said.

"The truth is, we've kidnapped you," he announced grimly.

Dimentio snorted, and L could just make out his smile in the window reflection. "Is that so?"

"Unfortunately, yes, you've actually been a hostage this entire time," L went on in a deadpan, sarcastic tone. He propped his chin on Dimentio's head, and a sigh ruffled his curly hair. "I'm afraid you're going to have to stay forever."

Dimentio's grin crept a little wider. His hands wandered up and rested over L's. "Unfortunate indeed... and if I were to refuse?"

"Well, Luigi gets attached easily, so you might make him cry," L informed him.

"Hmm. Tragic." Dimentio hummed. "You're not one for tears, are you?"

L shrugged carelessly. "Nah. I'd just drag you back here. What do you weigh, like eight pounds?"

"Probably six," Dimentio agreed. He squeezed the toned muscle of L's forearms latched around his waist and teased "Hardly a struggle, even for a weak shrimp like you."

L laughed into Dimentio's hair, and squeezed the performer tighter against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dimentio's head and murmured "I want you to stay. We both do."

Dimentio bit his lower lip - a failed attempt to control the excited grin on his face. His hands squeezed awkwardly around L's wrists, and he sucked in a short, thrilled gasp. "I'd love to," he managed.

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Days 296-298

January 2-4 It is the night of the first day back to school and I have made the discovery that Husband can somehow hear my computer at 10% volume in another room through a closed door, so that is not wonderful. I am not feeling gracious about it, but I try to not be too much of an asshole when people are trying to sleep, so no more video or audio for me tonight, alas. But it does mean that I'm updating this journal, so I guess that is something? We have gotten out to do some shopping this past couple of days, because we were good for weeks based on the promise that we would do a little careful shopping after New Year. MIL and I went to William Sonoma and Soma and Talbot's because they were all next to each other in a great little upscale strip mall. They were almost empty, so that was nice. We got some new sweaters and a giant thing of peppermint bark, and arranged for knife sharpening, and I got a new bra. Well, ordered a new bra, because Soma did not have my size in the style I wanted. It turns out that Soma (a women's intimates store that is very unlike Victoria's Secret style stores in that it sells stuff you would actually want to wear) is using a touchless measuring system now. Instead of wrapping the tape measure around your boobs and abdomen and dividing by some arcane formula to get cup and size, now they give you an iddy-widdy sports bra with a battery pack on the back and sensors run through it and tell you to put it on over your bra. She handed me that thing and I, who am a sizable woman with an at-least proportionate kitten holding shelf, gave her a look that said I thought she was being way too optimistic. The lady insisted though, and by nearly dislocating both arms and discomfiting myself greatly, I did stuff myself into the thing. It got my correct measurements, as far as I can tell, but afterwards I didn't really feel like trying on bras. I just ordered a new copy of the one I already had. Anyway, we did that and then today we really took a wade into deep water and went to Target. Kiddo was desperately in need of pants that fit, and he is too old for the Oshkosh store. Plus the outlet mall would probably be even worse, because it is always crowded and the place is open air, which almost certainly means a bunch of plague rats not wearing masks "outside." At least in Target, we only saw one unmasked adult. Target's fitting rooms are still closed, so kiddo got three new pairs of pants in slightly different sizes, and my sister will help me get a hookup on whatever size works best for additional pants. He also got swim trunks, a new raincoat, a jacket-sweater, and a few new shirts, so he is very set! Nana is very good to him, and is where nearly all his new-new clothes come from. Luckily he is a guy comfortable with thrift store finds as well. On the way out, we even stopped by the Starbucks for frappucinos to drink in the car. We debated stopping by our favorite kitchen store, practically next door, but decided we'd pushed our luck enough. Shopping! So those were our big expeditions. Otherwise we have been staying pretty close to home for our last week here. trying to get things set up for MIL. I've looked up roofing companies for her and I'm trying to help straighten out the last financial stuff from summer. I tried to call an investment company today, first business day of the new year, which was a huge mistake. They are supposed to call me back first thing in the morning, after about an hour in total on hold. (And this was _after_ I did the whole callback number thing!) I am still trying to convince her to get a Life Alert style medical alert system, but it's not going well. She thinks her Apple Watch is enough, even though last time she fell, she wasn't even wearing the damn thing. I have even told her the story about my grandfather, who fell in his basement and fucking lay there for a whole night and didn't make it, a story I can barely stand to think about, much less tell, and it's not getting through. I just don't understand. Anyway, I have been keeping myself entertained here by watching Twitch streams and re-reading old stories from the gaming group I've belonged to for the past twelve years now. It's kind of funny because I realized that my first character for the site, who was a high schooler when I started playing her, will be thirty next year. (The game moves in real time, more or less.) I don't play her much anymore, but it's still pretty remarkable. It makes me want to start playing more than I have been lately, but the problem is that I need to come up with ideas for the characters I have now, not just revisit the ones I had then. I have also learned this past couple months that Twitch has a lot more on it than just gaming streams, so I've been listening to live music shows, watching comedy streams, and yes, even taking in some gaming. It's pretty cool. Tomorrow is grocery day and we are still not braving Walmart, so it's another pickup order! I came very, very close to forgetting to submit the big actual grocery list to supplement the tiny list I used to secure our time slot, and that would've been very bad. As it is, tomorrow afternoon is food day! It's the most wonderful time of the week.

[jaeknightorbats]

Tunnel Caprica [M] part 2

Pairings: Baekhyun x Sehun (SeBaek)

Ratings: NC-17

Genre: Smut, dark romance

Description: It was a normal day for convenience store worker Byun Baekhyun when Sehun—a seemingly wealthy man—entered the store, only getting overdosed by drugs afterwards.  It was the encounter that would change Baekhyun’s life. It was the encounter that introduced him to a world that should never exist in this already problematic world.

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, substance use, drug overdose, alcohol, and strong language

Chapters: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (NEW!)

Synopsis: Tunnel Caprica connects two cities under the huge and long mountain ranges of the country Ioca [a-yo-ka], making it one of the longest tunnels in the world with a distance of nearly 40 kilometers. However, people choose to drive the 3-hour long pass than driving through the tunnel, because driving through the tunnel can be claustrophobic—an hour drive with nothing but repeating images of the never ending tunnel. But through the tunnel also hides the entrance to another world that Baekhyun is yet to find out.

Part 2

Word count: 4.7k

How does it feel like saving someone’s life?

It has been almost a month since the man named Oh Sehun promised Baekhyun that he was going to contact him to repay for saving Sehun’s life. But he’s never contacted Baekhyun since.

Baekhyun forgot all about it, as if it didn’t happen. It was the least he could do. Besides, he was given a huge tip—Sehun gave all the cash on his wallet. It was around $400. He even apologized if it wasn’t much, he doesn’t bring much cash, he said.

Because of it, Baekhyun was able to pay his dues on time and even bought his girlfriend a factory unlocked iPhone, which made her beyond happy. He took his previous gift from Yuri since he lost his things, together with his phone, at the parking lot the time he saved Sehun.

He felt like it was bound to happen, it helped him solve his problems. Must be really his lucky day.

Baekhyun was at his place, with his girlfriend. They had their legs tangled to one another at his bed, sucking each other’s tongues, kissing each other passionately.

Such bliss they felt as they lose their minds to feel the other.

Yuri slightly pushed Baekhyun’s chest away from her, separating their lips apart. Tips of their noses close to one another, feeling each other’s breath.

She looked into Baekhyun’s hazy eyes, biting her lips.

“We’ve been dating for more than a year,” she gulped, hesitant to say what she had on mind. Baekhyun gently smiled as he adored his partner. He stroked his hand on Yuri’s hair. She rolled her eyes away to rolled it back again to Baekhyun’s.

“You know…you can touch me, right?” She continued, “…Anywhere.”

Baekhyun’s cheeks flared, feeling a little embarrassed. “I know. It’s just that…” He fixed Yuri’s hair back to her ear and held the side of her small face. “…I respect you so much.”

“Aw,” breathed Yuri. She was flattered but embarrassed because she just made herself look horny. She held Baekhyun’s hand and kissed it. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.”

They stared to each other’s eyes dearly, as if they were the only people in the world.

“I have so much respect for you because I love you. I hope you know that.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of Baekhyun’s palm on her cheek, the warmth of his legs squeezing hers, his body heat, and his love. “I love you, Baek.”

Then, Baekhyun softly pulled Yuri to him and gave her a kiss.

It’s a weekend and Baekhyun has an 11AM shift at work. He wished he could stay with Yuri longer, but he got to work to earn money to pay the bills and to make his girl happy.

Pretty average flow at the store. There were a couple of customers who held the line, few pissed him off, but he got to stay composed—it’s his job.

“After 6 months of being away, the son of the ex-president finally came back home to his homeland.”

“It’s that peak season again.” An old customer in front of the counter turned his head from the television back to Baekhyun, trying to start a short conversation.

“Well, yeah. It’s almost summer,” Baekhyun replied with a friendly smile.

The old man scowled. “Who are you talking to?”

Baekhyun scoffed and watched the grumpy man walked away after he paid his items.

Baekhyun suddenly received a text. A text from Yuri. Seeing her name on his cellphone screen always made him smile.

‘I miss you, B,’ it said.

He bit his lips to control the joy he was feeling.

“Now, what are you grinning about?”

Baekhyun shoot his phone behind his back pocket as soon as he could when he heard his manager spoke.

He faced the person in front of him.

Wait, no. It wasn’t his manager.

“Mr. Sehun?”

The man, Sehun, sneered as he placed a bottle of sparkling water at the counter. Baekhyun slowly walked forward to scan his item. He didn’t know what to feel, maybe surprised.

Sehun was wearing casual clothes, a simple plain T-shirt, pants, and a baseball cap. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses. Completely different from what he was wearing the night Baekhyun met him—he looked like one of the people. But there was also an atmosphere around him, or how the way he moved, that differed him from other of people.

“How’s it going?” Baekhyun asked, that’s the only thing he could think of. The man in front of him seemed well and healthy compared weeks ago when he was trying to revive him.

“I’ve been busy traveling so I wasn’t able to contact you.” Sehun opened the bottle of water and drank it after he gave his payment. “Besides, I’ve been looking for you here the same time I went here before. Twice, I think? You weren’t here.”

Surprised, Baekhyun’s brows climbed his forehead. “What?”

“Yeah, I asked someone here.”

“Why though?”

Sehun sneered, looking at Baekhyun as if the answer wasn’t obvious. “You saved my ass, man! C’mon.”

“Excuse me.” Suddenly, a soft voice behind Sehun’s took the attention of both. It was the next customer.

“Anyway,” Sehun looked back to Baekhyun, reaching for his hand, so, Baekhyun took it. “Come to my party tonight. You must come.”

Sehun turned his back to Baekhyun, raised his arm with two finger lifted, and slightly waved. “Ciao.”

There was a piece of paper on Baekhyun’s hand. He opened it, and there was an address written on it.

Baekhyun was on a completely different area of the district, he was outside the city. The peaceful side, where each house or establishment he drove by were far apart.

# 1228 Grand Aria Estates, Cayman.

Located at west side of the district, where one could get the best view of the majestic mountain range of his country, Ioca—the Turris Caelo mountains, which also meant the Heaven Tower mountains. People treat the mountains sacred because it became their shield from the horrid weather that wanted to cross their country. The mountains have saved Ioca from calamities countless times.

Cayman was considered as the wealthiest and most exclusive suburb in his district, if not in Ioca. Baekhyun knew the area, but he hardly came by—he has no business there. Now, he has.

It was already past 9:00 PM, Baekhyun was in front of the gates of the residential village, as written on the paper. He rode his third-hand car to reach the place since it wasn’t exactly an easy place to find. 

He had a little fight with Yuri before she let him attend the party. At first, Baekhyun didn’t want to come because he felt intimidated—there was no doubt that it would be a party for the rich. He’s heard of the residential village—the price of a single square-meter lot still blew his mind. He could live for years with that kind of money.

Yuri initially thought a woman has invited Baekhyun to a party once Baekhyun mentioned anything about a party. She started jumping conclusions. But when she learned it was the man who Baekhyun saved—the man who gave Baekhyun $400—invited him to the party, Yuri forced Baekhyun to attend. She thought there could be some bigger reward waiting for her boyfriend. She even helped him which clothes should he wear—she wanted her boyfriend to look slick. They didn’t know what kind of party he’ll be attending but Yuri made him wear something he could wear at any type of party—a tight jean, a black V-neck shirt, a suit they bought at the thrift shop the last minute, and a black class B leather shoes without socks to finish it all.

Yuri wanted to come herself but it was Baekhyun who doesn’t let her. He knew what alcohol could do to Yuri, he didn’t want Yuri to embarrass herself in front of people they don’t know. This made Yuri infuriated. Shouting until their throats sore. At the end, Yuri still pushed Baekhyun to attend and she only had one instruction to Baekhyun: “Don’t fool around.”

The tall iron rails began to roll open after the guards confirmed that Baekhyun was invited to Sehun’s party. The guard took his license and checked the trunk and bottom of his car with a ferocious Rottweiler tied on his hand—it was a strict security, which made Baekhyun feel a little more intimidated.

He regretted everything and wanted to go back, he should’ve brought Yuri with him, at least. But there was no turning back, Sehun already knew he reached his address.

He drove slowly by the hills. It was dark and peaceful, it looked like a very safe and quiet neighborhood. Baekhyun realized how ridiculously rich the man he saved as he drove passed by the different sizes of mansions and villas in the village.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Sehun lived next to a famous celebrity or personality.

 He finally saw a house—a large house—with a line of luxury cars parked outside.

This must be the one.

He parked a little farther away from the house. He was a little embarrassed by his ride. He took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

He said ‘tonight’. It’s a party, so it should start late.

He observed the house as he got nearer by the gates. Gates as almost tall as the main gates of the village. A classic white two-floor mansion with red bricked roofs. A fairly big driveway to the main doors. A lot of cars. All lights shined through the window. He could hear indistinct music from the house, it wasn’t very loud but he could hear it.

1228, written on one of the pillars of the gate.

He stood outside the gates and rang the doorbell. Without any word, the gate buzzed and automatically opened. He spotted two men in suits, with gears hanging on their ears, must be some guard. As he walked on the driveway, the main door opened, a man walked outside his doorsteps, and stood there waited for Baekhyun. It was Sehun. Hands on pocket, looking tall and sharp, with broad shoulders, on his black mandarin collared shirt under a white suit—he was shining. He had his hair gelled up to the back of his and and it shined under the light. He was looking very slick.

Sehun stared at the man who avoided eye contact with him.

“You’re late,” said Sehun as soon as Baekhyun reached a close distance to him. “I don’t like late people.”

Baekhyun’s heart almost dropped, nervously stepping on the short stairs to the main doors. Sehun seemed serious. “Uh yeah. I thought—“

Sehun howled, breaking his serious face on. “I was kidding! Haha. You looked so tense. C’mere.” Sehun wrapped an arm to Baekhyun’s shoulders and they entered the house.

Baekhyun nervously laughed. It wasn’t a good joke.

“Seriously, though, I value time very much.”

Baekhyun forced a laugh from his nose. But you didn’t state what time.

“But I’m glad you made it. I thought you weren’t gonna make it. You missed dinner, though. Have you eaten?” Baekhyun nodded to Sehun’s question. “You look good, by the way,” Sehun added.

Sehun released Baekhyun from his arm. Baekhyun got to breathe better. A waiter in suit, holding a tray of champagne, stopped in front of them, Sehun took one glass then gave it to Baekhyun.

What am I doing here? I don’t belong here.

Baekhyun was stiff from his position, feeling overly intimidated by everything. Even the waiter who was serving them intimidated him.

His stomach doesn’t feel good.

He looked at the glass on his hand, he’s never drank champagne in his life. But he may need it to gain some courage so he could go through the party.

Baekhyun slightly swirled the narrow glass near his nose, because he doesn’t know how to drink it, then the nice subtle aroma of the liquid that sort of smelled like flowers and fruits entered his nose. He took a sip of it, and it tasted like how it smelled but a little funkier because of the bubbles and the alcohol content. He liked the taste of it, so, he drank it all in one shot, surprising Sehun.

“I know right?” expressed Sehun, with a smug look on his face. “Tasted good, huh?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun forced a smile after tasting the drink. He may have not drank all types of alcohol in his life, but he knew he needed something stronger.

People gave them short attention as they walked inside the house until they reached the backyard. Baekhyun only assumed that people were turning their heads to them because he was with the host. Or maybe he was wearing such simple clothes. Sehun nodded to whoever he laid his eyes on and made eye contact with. They walked through the house until they reached the huge backyard.

Baekhyun assumed that the party would be loud—the one with DJs and loud music, lots of young people such as themselves, or maybe even younger. But it wasn’t, it was rather quaint. It was a sophisticated party.

High tables scattered around the backyard, occupied by people in suits and dresses, mostly suits. Everyone dressed interestingly, or what he liked to call it—weird fashion. It was the battle of who has the largest earrings and jewelries for women. Men were much more simple, but some wanted to stand out with their colored suits.

Classical music played across the yard.

“Hey, Sehun.” A man walked towards them with a glass of dark golden drink on his hand. “So, are you going to buy it?”

While Sehun was minding his own business, a waiter carrying a bottle of liquor and a couple of small, cube glasses on a tray passed by them, catching Baekhyun’s attention.

That’s what I need.

“Sir, wait,” he called the waiter, in a timid voice. “Two, please.” He coughed, slightly cracking his voice.

The waiter poured the clear liquid to two glasses. Baekhyun then took glasses of alcohol, which seemed like tequila, or something hard. He drank it both in one shot one after another without holding back.

It was tequila. The alcohol went smoothly through Baekhyun’s throat, but he instantly felt the fire ran through his face. “Wow,” he mouthed. He could feel his ears firing up. He never had something like that. He returned the glasses back to the waiter.

“Woah,” said Sehun, he watched Baekhyun took his shots.

Baekhyun gave a half smile. “Just trying to catch up.”

“Haha, you’re funny. By the way,” Sehun turned to the man he was talking to. “Chen, this is the man who saved my life—Baekhyun. But don’t tell my father.”

Both of them laughed, even Baekhyun. Then, the man named Chen shook hands with Baekhyun. “Thank you,” Chen said. “Otherwise, sales would be slow.” It seemed like a joke because Sehun laughed. But Baekhyun didn’t get the joke, he only pretended to laugh.

Chen nodded his head to Sehun then to Baekhyun and walked to another table. The other two went for an empty table.

“That man sell art,” Sehun said as if explaining everything what just happened. “He thinks he’s good, but he’s all right. Good artists aren’t interested in money.”

Baekhyun nodded, pretending he was interested. The taste of the strong liquid he just consumed still lingered on his palate, and could still feel the after effects it had. His mind was still on the shot.

 “So, what’s this party all about?” Baekhyun has been meaning to ask.

“Nothing much, really. Catching up, I guess.”

“Rich people,” Baekhyun muttered to himself, hoping Sehun didn’t hear it.

“What?”

Baekhyun immediately shook his head.

“It’s been busy. Everyone’s been out, traveling—be it business or leisure. Guess we finally had the time to catch up,” Sehun added.  “Also that’s why I couldn’t contact you immediately.”

“Yeah, you did mention.” Baekhyun slowly nodded, roaming around his eyes to observe the place. Then, one particular person took his attention. “Wait, is that—“

He looked at Sehun for confirmation, and Sehun turned at the direction where Baekhyun had his eyes on.

“Minseok?” Sehun smirked, returning his look back at Baekhyun. “Yeah, it’s been hard for him lately. Media doesn’t understand privacy.”

Baekhyun shouldn’t be that surprised to see someone he saw on the television, Sehun lived in such a luxurious neighborhood. But he wasn’t expecting to see someone like Kim Minseok.

Kim Minseok was the one who Kang Sunmi, a fifteen year-old, filed a divorce with. He’s been in the news a lot lately. Kim Minseok was 34 years old when he married the 13-year-old girl. He’s now 36.

Baekhyun felt repulsed. “What the heck is he doing here?” He couldn’t stand the fact that he was in a same room as the person who married and abused a child. It absolutely appalled him.

Sehun only observed Baekhyun’s reaction. “He’s actually my friend, and heavily misunderstood.”

Without thinking of his actions—and how could he, the tequila hit him strong, it made his head feel a little funny—he expressed a bitter face. “What?! It’s absur—“

Then, Baekhyun noticed the face that Sehun was wearing—he didn’t look happy. It washed away the disgust that was painted on his face. It scared him.

Sehun walked closer to Baekhyun, facing opposite the high table with elbow leaning on it—he was closer to Baekhyun’s ears. Sehun said in a low voice, “You have no idea how easy it is to accuse a 36-year-old pedophile.”

Baekhyun’s couldn’t blink an eye, his face was rigid with tension.

Sehun added, “That girl—Sunmi, and her mom demanded $20 million from Minseok just to not go public about the divorce. Even threatened him that they’ll accuse him of abuse when Minseok never did. He fucking loved that girl.”

Hearing the price baffled Baekhyun’s mind. They talked about money as if they have such large amount always at their disposal. Baekhyun couldn’t speak for a second, trying to process it all.

“Women,” Sehun grumbled.

Baekhyun hesistantly asked, “If that’s true… why isn’t that on the news?”

Sehun slightly scoffed, shaking his head. “You just did the face what the whole society thinks of people like Minseok. It’s pointless. We don’t want fanning the flame, now do we, Baekhyun?”

Baekhyun’s brows furrowed. He’s got a point.

Women can be so cruel. He’s started to feel sympathy towards the accused.

He shook his head upon an absurd realization. No, I shouldn’t feel sympathy. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.

“So, they would let the girl win?” Baekhyun asked seriously.

Sehun stopped, looking into Baekhyun’s eyes. “What the heck is this seriousness all about?” he threw his hand to Baekhyun’s chest. “Let’s enjoy the party!”

They started to roam around the yard, meeting and greeting whoever needed Sehun’s attention. There were so much he didn’t understand, but Baekhyun kept drinking a glass of champagne. The drink was actually working—he could feel the effects of the alcohol to him. He knew he couldn’t walk straight.

Baekhyun was starting to like the party. He never knew that such delicate parties were something he was looking for; he was always used to, and always heard of, the loud ones to be more fun. There was something fancy in these type of parties—well, because it was—and it made him feel a little good and a little high class and up above compared to the people he knew. It was a nice feeling.

“Hey, man!” An obviously drunk guy approached them, he seemed a little younger than them.

Sehun faked a smile, it was already obvious to Baekhyun that Sehun didn’t want to be associated with the guy. “Jaemin.”

The guy, Jaemin, threw a hearty pat at Sehun’s shoulder. He leaned closer to Sehun’s ears. “Hey, w-why didn’t you come to my party?!” He couldn’t even speak his words properly. “You know what? You know what? The plane was amazing,” he emphasized, smiling smugly, as if trying to make Sehun jealous.

Sehun jerked Jaemin’s hand off him, but still kept his grace and said as politely as he could, “I think you’ve had a little more than enough on your booze.”

“No, no!” Jaemin wavered on his place. “You know! You should’ve seen…” An indistinct voice followed after he whispered something to Sehun.

The light in Sehun’s eyes changed.

It made Baekhyun wonder.

Sehun light patted the guy’s chest and said, “Yeah, I think it’s time for you to go home.”

Sehun walked towards Baekhyun, shaking his head. “Nouveau riche,” he mumbled with an accent that Baekhyun couldn’t distinguish.

“Nuvo what?” Baekhyun’s brows creased, trying to pronounce what he just heard.

“New money. It’s French. Let’s go.” They both turned their backs to Jaemin and started walking again. “His parents are scam… brilliant, but a scam.” He added, “They made people believe in social media that their company were donating something like money, trees, or food. But they’re really only keeping their money to themselves, and still gain hundreds of thousands of followers. It’s infuriating. And people are just so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, that sounds infuriating,” said Baekhyun, not really interested. Sehun kept sharing things to him that he never asked about, but he could only nod and agree.

“No, it’s not because of that. But because of his fucking ego. He thinks he’s all high and mighty. His parents bought that fucking plane, not him.”

“Plane? Wow,” Baekhyun reacted, as if it only occurred to him what they talked about. “People can actually buy planes?”

Sehun looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “’Course, you can.”

“How much that costs?”

Sehun scoffed. “Not cheap.”

“E-hey!” A loud voice suddenly distracted the two from walking.

It was a middle-aged, tall woman wearing an African patterned maxi dress. It seemed like a dress robe to Baekhyun—a fancy, fashionable dress robe. Her dangling bracelets made a sound as she opened her arms wide open, waiting for them, waiting for Sehun. Sehun gave a big smile, also seemed excited after seeing her

They both hugged each other out and kissed both of their cheeks with their cheeks. The woman looked at Baekhyun with a mischievous and flirty look. “So, who’s this cute guy you’re with?”

Sehun patted Baekhyun’s shoulder with a tight grip. “This is Byun Baekhyun. A friend.”

Baekhyun smiled at the woman, shy to say anything to the pretty woman.

“Oooh. Hi, Baekhyun.” The woman lightly pulled Baekhyun’s shoulder closer to her to kiss him both on the cheek.

“Baekhyun, this is good friend Maria or Mimi.”

“Mimi,” Baekhyun repeated. He found the nickname weird, Mimi was a foreign name for a local face.

“So.” Sehun grinned, rubbing his hands, and regaining Mimi’s attention back to him.

Mimi seemed like she already understood what Sehun was trying to say. She looked at the guy behind her who was in a simple suit, and the guy behind him understood Mimi. He took something on his inner pockets and gave it to Sehun.

Sehun bit his lips, still grinning, and raised a small clear plastic zip bag with white, tiny pills in it.

It didn’t take long for Baekhyun to figure it out—it was obviously drugs. It didn’t surprise him. If he could guess what it was, it could be ecstasy.

Sehun exhaled in satisfactory through his nose, shaking his head to Mimi. “I love you, Mimi. You’re the best.”

“Of course, anything for you, my dear.” They both hugged each other. “But, I must be going.”

“What? You just got here.”

“I really must be going. The kids,” she shrugged as if she couldn’t do anything that she has kids waiting for her at home. “But it was good seeing you.”

Sehun clicked his tongue. “That’s very sweet of you for stopping by.”

“Of course!” Mimi gracefully waved her hand to both Sehun and Baekhyun as she left the yard followed by her guard or something.

Sehun waited for her to leave from their sight.

“Do you take pills?” He then asked, offering Baekhyun a pill.

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure? This is shit premium. You don’t see this every day.”

Baekhyun stared at the white pill that was resting on Sehun’s palm. He shook his head. “Nah, I really rather not.”

“Okay.” Sehun shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He drank the pill and took a sip of whiskey that he was holding.

Even though Baekhyun was enjoying the party, he was starting to feel impatient why was he ever invited to the party at the first place.

They transferred inside, sitting at a sofa. Some people were still enjoying the party, some people had to go.

“Hey,” called Sehun to Baekhyun. “I’d really appreciate if you don’t tell anybody about what happened. Well, except to the ones we’ve already told here.”

Baekhyun was feeling a little laggy, and feeling a little hot. His face was all greasy, but he didn’t care. “Yeah, ok,” he replied, tipsy. He understood what Sehun was talking about—about him being overdosed.

Sehun clicked his tongue, slightly shaking his head. “My parents’ worse than jail. But damn, I’m glad you didn’t call the fucking ambulance. That’d be even worse than prison!” He paused. “My thanks to you.”

Baekhyun just scoffed.

Oh wait. He forgot to document the party and post it later on social media. He had a sudden urge to take his new phone out and share he’s on a fancy party. Bet I’d impress a lot of people.

So, he recorded a simple 10 second video.

“So, how’s your sex life?”

Baekhyun was surprised by the unexpected transition after he finished recording. The question wasn’t about his life, his job, his financial state, not even his love life, but Sehun asked about his sex life.

“What?” he said with a little giggle, eyes a little droopy. The alcohol was making his muscles a little heavier.

“You heard me.”

Baekhyun scoffed, leaning back to the sofa. He looked at Sehun, feeling ridiculed. Baekhyun felt a sense of insecurity pierced through him. He couldn’t admit that he’s never done it. Kids losing their virginities at 15, and he’s almost 30—still a virgin. It’s an embarrassment, but it was also his choice.

“So?” Sehun was waiting.

Baekhyun laughed through his nose, still couldn’t speak a word. He wanted to lie about it, but for some reason, he didn’t know what to say. “Mm—Uh” He was basically slurring words.

Sehun reclined back with eyes wide open after concluding something on his mind. “No.” He leaned forward, very close to Baekhyun’s face and said in a low voice. “You’ve never done it?”

“No!” Baekhyun denied, moving away from Sehun. “Of course, n-“ Baekhyun’s voice got lower.

“So, when was the last time? Earlier?” Sehun was high, all right. The grin on his face was creeping Baekhyun out.

Baekhyun couldn’t form a word again. He emptied the glass that he was having.

Sehun realized what his friend was hiding but decided to not say anything.

“So, who was the one you’re texting earlier? And why were you all so fucking grinning? Girl or boy?”

Baekhyun cringed. “Of course, she’s a girl. What the hell?”

“What? People appreciate my open mind-ness.” Sehun shrugged with open arms. “How old is she?”

“23.”

“Nice. So, she your girlfr—“

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. Why do you ask so much questions?”

Sehun stayed silent and respected Baekhyun. They both stayed silent for a while, observing the party, Baekhyun drinking another booze.

“What’s this party all about? Again?” Baekhyun asked. He felt calmer and stupid—he realized that he just raised his voice in front of a millionaire.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” asked Sehun, ignoring Baekhyun’s question.

Baekhyun bounced his head as a response. He looked at Sehun. He noticed that there was something different about him, about his eyes. Something clicked. He didn’t know what exactly, but it was intriguing.

“Follow me.” Sehun stood up, buttoning his unbuttoned white suit, and started to walk.

Baekhyun watched him walk, then he later followed.

Maybe this is it, he thought. The reward I’m waiting for.

He kept following Sehun who was walking straight. He realized Sehun only had one drink, and it was the whiskey after he took the pill. He checked the time on his watch. He had to frown hard to see the image on his wobbling wrist clearly.

It’s almost midnight.

To be continued...

A/N: Send notes. Follow me on twitter for updates @/jaeandbats

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Tunnel Caprica: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (NEW!)

[hydra-collector]

Let Me Go (Special)

AO3

Let Me Go

Pairings: Intrulogical, platonic Analogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Janus Sanders (small character)

TW: lots of self-deprecation, sex mention

Words: 1838

Summary: Backstory to Logan and Remus’s relationship in sophomore year. 

Note: I wanted to write this for a while, but I mostly wrote it now because I needed an excuse to make a series out of this and boost it on AO3. Still not sure if it’s gonna work.

They just look so soft.

Logan desperately wanted to be with them. It wasn’t like anything he’d felt before. Sure, he’d had crushes, but Remus was on another level. It was odd, really, that he could be this infatuated with someone. Virgil had been trying to convince him to ask them out, but he couldn’t see why they’d want to date him. He was annoying, dumb, and ugly.

“C’mon, Logan. Do it.”

“Why would they accept?”

“Why do you think? They blush every time they see you. Y’all can’t even talk to each other anymore, you’re so in love.”

Logan and Remus had met last year, freshman. They’d argued back to the teacher, who decided to give them detention. Logan, however, believed that they’d made a strong point about the content of their learning in school (even though they suggested some… odd topics instead,) and he argued against the teacher as well.

That was the first time Logan Berry had gotten detention.

The second time was also for their sake, or rather, it was their fault. They’d passed a note to Logan, which simply read, “See you after school.” He obviously hadn’t understood what they meant until they started talking to him, out loud, randomly.

That was the second time the pair of them got detention.

Logan’s had been excused afterwards due to his explained circumstances, but that moment had released a bit of freedom in him. He’d gotten detention. He hadn’t followed the rules.

When he looked back, sitting in the middle of a nearly empty class with Remus next to him, their pretty face smiling, even in the crappy classroom’s lighting, just seeing the eyes and the person and the lips that had brought him here-

He fell in love.

Remus and Logan became friends, and everything changed. They taught him risks and adventure, that life didn’t revolve around being perfect and doing things right. They’d gotten him out of the, so far, darkest point of his life. They’d taught him creativity and experimentation, that he could do more than what school said, or history said, or anything did. He could experiment with how many water balloons you could pile on top of one another before they popped. None of the experiments were perfect or particularly scientific, but god did he have fun.

He started going outside, taking trips to old record shops, thrift stores, and malls, just to see everything. Remus had even convinced him to break into some old mansions and trespass on abandoned train tracks together. He never once took a picture. It was all for his memory.

They’d been each other’s compliment, and listened to each other when no one else cared what they had to say. They could talk and talk and never get bored of each other, just keep listening or adding on to what the other was saying. Sometimes they wondered where all these conversations came from, when all the topics in the world seemed to have run out, but still there was something to say.

Disagreements were never fights. Never. It was always a discussion, talking about how “I’m right and this is why,” while the other tried to change their mind. No one’s ever was, but disagreement is what kept them from doing many stupid things.

And it didn’t last forever, as nothing does. But those were some of the happiest times of his teenage years.

Logan hadn’t realized until Janus had told him that he was in fact, in love.

Remus had realized the moment they laid eyes on Logan and savored every minute they spent together after. They didn’t want to ruin the wonderful platonic relationship they had. And besides, Logan had friends who would convince him to confess if he felt the same way.

Virgil was right about barely being able to talk to each other. Ever since Janus had pointed out his obvious feelings, he’d been especially awkward. He hated it. He knew he should confess in order to retain a steady relationship, platonic or romantic.

But how?

“How do you suggest I go about doing it? I’d like to retain a bit of… me, but being in love is probably a very unlike me kind of thing.”

“No, it is not, Logan. You’ve had crushes on like, six people since I met you.”

“It’s different, though.”

“Why not just tell them ‘I love you?’ It’s simple and obvious and fits your style.”

“What if they take it the wrong way, assume it’s platonic?”

“I guess that could happen. What’s something that’s obviously romantic? ‘I wanna date you?’”

“It sounds odd, though.”

“Wow, picky?”

“I mean, it could work, but I’d rather something more memorable or meaningful.”

“I wanna fuck you?”

Logan tensed. “Ah, um, I’d rather, no.”

“Okay, okay. Do you want to kiss them?”

He thought for a moment, imagining their face, and the love he felt for them, their beautiful eyes and soft cheeks, squishy belly he wished he had the permission to cuddle. The arms that made him nearly collapse because of the wonderful feeling their hugs brought him, their short stature compared to his, and their beautiful lips, out of which so many wonderful ideas and opinions spewed out. He wanted to kiss those lips.

“...Yes.”

“You could use that.”

“I think… maybe I will.”

~~

Today.

Today he was going to tell them.

He’d invited them over to his house, where he imagined over and over telling them, all the ways they might react, especially the negative ways.

He could barely talk to Remus as they walked to his house together, just listening to the endless ideas they came up with. Each word made him love them more and more. Endless possibilities for how the scene may play out repeated over and over in his mind as he panicked internally, hoping they didn’t actually hate him like his brain said they did.

The cold air nipped at his nose and fingers, so he rubbed his hands together in a sad attempt to warm up.

“Cold hands, Lo?”

They took his hands and held them in previously gloved ones, which were still warm. They held them there, trading positions to better warm different fingers every few seconds. Logan felt the heat in his cheeks as well.

When they got inside, Remus went to Logan’s cupboard to grab and make two hot cocoa packets.

“That’s extremely unhealthy.”

Remus said nothing, simply adding another packet to their cup, watching Logan.

“Remus-”

He sighed and let it happen. That was the least of his worries now.

Logan’s heart beat as Remus brought their hot cocoas upstairs to his living room, where he’d planned to confess. They sat down on the couch, putting their arm around him when he did as well.

“Remus, I’ve been meaning to tell you about something.”

“Once you do, do you wanna talk about ancient sea creatures? I read a really good article. Hey, are you alright?”

Logan was shaking with fear, excitement, anticipation, anxiety, everything one could be shaking with.

“Y-yeah.”

“Tell me what you were gonna say. I’m curious.”

What if they hate you? What if they don’t want to be your friend anymore? What if they think it’s weird to date if your asexual? How could they even love you when you are who you are?

He took a deep breath, hoping for the best.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Say no more.”

And Logan had been kissed.

Whatever scenarios ran through his head, this wasn’t one of them. There was one where they’d talked about relationships, one where they agreed and awkwardly asked to and then kissed, one where he was flat-out rejected, one where they thought it was a joke, but nothing like this. Where they just kiss him. He was glad it happened that way.

Logan had expected some kind of verbal reaction, at least. Something like “me too,” or a flirt, at least. But no, just “say no more.” And now he was kissing Remus.

He hadn’t expected to ever reach this point. To be kissing someone he really liked. He wished it would last longer than he knew it would.

He could always kiss them again.

After the few seconds their first kiss had been, both were blushing severely, broken apart. Neither of them said anything, so Logan took his chance to kiss them again. Remus wouldn’t have taken them for someone to initiate a kiss. They weren’t mad, though.

“Thanks.”

What?

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

They laughed it off and spent the next hour discussing the relationships of sea creatures. Probably to avoid talking about their own.

At first, nothing changed much. They still went out on ‘adventures’ together, had the same conversations, interacted with their other friends the same way, and more or less thought of each other the same as they had before.

Logan asked Remus on their first date.

They couldn’t ignore what’d happened forever, and while they weren’t against discussing it, it hadn’t come up naturally. Logan proposed it as a chance to talk about what was to become of their relationship.

“Would you like to consistently date, Remus?”

“I’d enjoy that.”

“My being asexual isn’t a problem?”

“Nah,” they sipped their coffee, “I fell in love with you anyway.”

That was a relief.

“What should we call ourselves, if anything?”

“At somepoint, probably partners. In crime.”

“Don’t remind me that that’s true.”

“I don’t know how I managed to get a date. ‘Specially with you. You’re so cute and all I do is talk about organs and weird creatures and make sex jokes.”

“I do that too, Remus. Usually not sex jokes, though. And I disagree, I’m quite ugly and frankly obnoxious to most people I meet. You’re pretty and lovable.”

“I suppose I’m not most people you meet, then. And I can’t even begin to explain how cute you are. Your glasses make it perfect.”

Logan asked Remus on most of the dates, mostly because wherever they would ask him was illegal or paid, often museums. Logan savored these days.

As they went on more dates, kissed more openly, cuddled more often, the consideration of each other changed from ‘dating’ to ‘partner’ and ‘boyfriend.’ The first time Remus gave Logan a pet name, he was initially adverse to it, but warmed up to them as they kept saying them. After a while, they probably used it more than his real name. He still refused to return affection in this form, however. Remus was sure he someday would (he denied it.)

They were happy together. Janus was glad to see Logan had expressed his emotions, for once, and it led to a lot more happiness. It wasn’t always going to be as happy as it was that year, but he had someone as close as a romantic partner to help him through it. A few years later, he would make decisions he’d later regret, but there was no regret for confessing his love that day.

And sophomore year, those two best friends became partners.

[philalethistry]

WELP my birthday month was a bit of a rollercoaster ride. I thought about the cons of posting this but I’d like to record it, so that future me can look back and, depending on how the future goes, either feel validated or be glad that this is over. Warning: discussion of crappy mental health.

TL;DR Breakdown results in will to live and fuck current events I have a recliner

I’m going to start with today, Sept. 1, and work back, for reasons.

Today I drove to a furniture thrift store. This doesn’t sound like much, but I A. hate driving, especially to new places, B. am already in a pretty anxious state, and C. I got lost because the road I wanted to turn on wasn’t marked, nor looked like a road rather than an alley, and so I somehow spent two hours trying to find one store. (At one point I had to stop and get something to eat because I had started shaking. The cashier watched me struggle to free two bills from my wallet and then declined the change I owed her to avoid making me retrieve that too. I wonder if she thought I was high...)

The important thing about what I did today, is I went out to find the store, and even when I did not find the store and ended up circling back to my street, instead of going home and having a sandwich and watching Youtube, I turned around again. I know it’s partially because of this video’s explanation of why one gets more nervous trying to do something a second time after procrastinating or running away from it, as I’d always pin the anxiety on my guilt, instead of a fear instinct which is more managable. But I’m going to give dopamine where dopamine is due and also say that my eventual victory was partially because of the newfound strength I have in the aftermath of the freak mental storm that enveloped the start of August.

I know that no one is doing “””okay””” right now, because of Everything, and that is nicely validating, because I am not okay either. But it’s dissonant, because I’d often follow the lead of neurotypicals and high-functioning depressives and anxious people when I’m in a bad way. If THEY say things aren’t as hopeless as I think they are, they probably aren’t! While that helped, it also downplayed my brain issues, and now that everyone has the same opinions on the State of Things, I realized I didn’t have any idea of how to confront the bad shit on my own, and neither does anyone else.

I’m technically still quarantining by refraining from making a lot of trips out and from getting a job, and so the murky pea-soup fogs of the future unsettle me. I was pretty chipper for the larger part of quarantine, as an introvert. Then one day, the thought suddenly occurred to me of the sheer amount of time I’ve spent in quarantine, how COVID isn’t receding from Arizona, how I had to quit the first job I’d gotten in the face of anxiety and depression, of how much of my future rests on the coming election, and most of all of how I have no idea what my future holds, of where I’ll be five or ten years down the line. “In the same place” and “Somewhere else” seem equally intimidating.

And then hormones struck.

I’ve had bad depressive episodes; I’ve had bad days of anxiety; I’ve had bad PMS; and then I’ve simply indulged unhealthy negativity. All of these, combined, made for a surreal and frightening experience. Emphasis on surreal. Also, contextually, emphasis on frightening, obviously. There were many feelings. Emphasis on everything.

My mental space may be a mess but I’ve never been too concerned with dwelling on life and death, even when faced with the latter. It’s never been a point of any interest to me; in the face of mortality I’m pretty good at giving importance to the present moment and to my internal values, like “science cool,” “mocha good” and “drawing fun.” In fact since childhood (third grade. Is this a normal third grader thing??) I’ve been a fan of cheerful nihilism, IE “There isn’t a secret meaning to the universe therefore I can give it any meaning I can make! Anything is possible, things are great!” I didn’t really grasp the concept behind existential dread, it sounded like something that happened to movie characters when the writers didn’t know how else to portray angst. Oh boy, do I have a new emotion I won’t be able to forget. My natural disaster of a brain supplied me, among everything I was already experiencing, three (3!!!) different categories of existential crisis. I had to look it up. And the weird thing about this Satan’s asscrack of an episode, is that while I’m prone to spiraling rumination, normally I can distract myself, because it’s still just me, thinking unhelpful thoughts. This time, these thoughts, the shittiest thoughts I’ve ever had the displeasure of producing, were automatic. I was not getting stuck pondering one bad topic; everything I saw became, in real time, entangled in the web of thought pattern in the most natural way. And it was LOUD.

Have you ever thought, “I’ll sit on the couch, the couch is comfy. The couch did not exist until a few years ago, its lack of existence had no impact on anything in any meaningful way, and when it turns to dust it will be forgotten.” Because I myself had a teensy bit of an inkling that maybe that ain’t normal. The thing is, I knew I was only feeling this way because, well, I Was Feeling That Way, it’s just the mood; but being stuck in isolation, and with everyone else also troubled by issues of the past, the present and the future, knowing that didn’t help.

I can remain in a depressive / anxious state for a little while, but the actual peaks only last at most a couple of hours. This was Mt. Everrest AND it lasted a week and a half. I was at the end of my rope a day in and had no idea what to do about it, so I tried to do everything. The physical present felt empty, so I tried to fill it with media, literature, art, walks, family time. Problem is, “anhedonia�� - a symptom of depression where you don’t get dopamine boosts from activities - cuts pleasure out of these things, so nothing held my interest, let alone made me feel motivated or remotely better. Another symptom of depression, weirdly enough, is the feeling of disgust - I wasn’t conscious of this symptom until it was magnified. I felt completely and utterly repulsed by everything around me. I first thought it was the clutter, then the way the furniture was arranged, then I thought I’d been inside too long so I took walks in the neighborhood when nobody was out. The confusion came when I disliked the trees, grass, and fresh air too - I had to Google my feelings to find out what the heck was going on.

Which brings me to my bedroom. My room is littered with memorabalia, I’m sentimental so I have little shrines of items from the past and of things I value. Some childhood toys and a handful of old trinkets, shelves dedicated to Pokemon and Neil Gaiman’s work, some references to Chicago and Polish heritage. My unhappiness with the situations of the present, while strengthened to an totally unnecessary degree, weren’t all inaccurate - and in combination with anhedonia and disgust, and the way I’d integrated this memorabalia into my sense of self even though they aren’t really relevant to me anymore, I found that I really really didn’t like my past or reminders of it. In a shocking unpredicted turn of tables, I no longer wanted to uphold who I once was, because it isn’t who I am now, and it’s not who I want to be.

And the revulsion of the past and the uncertain emptiness of the present culminates in a future that I feared, another emotion booted up to eleven. There was a big need to make my future and remake myself. The only places left comfort could be found were ones I hadn’t yet looked. At the same time I became sad in a powerful but vague way and desperately lonely - this part was definitely all the feral hormones - and I became obsessed, for a little while, with making sure that, when quarantine ends, I would get my social life in order. I preemptively joined groups and clubs in my local area online, which I’m still going to make good on later but maybe not to the all-encompassing extent I had in my mind at the time. Also, career hunting. (Also also, to combat a lack of control, I wanted to get my own place - but with the economy like That, and my ass like This, big alone time while also being very poor and probably overworked is not the best of ideas.)

So. The freak episode ended. And I knew. Both during. And afterwards. That I Do Not Want That to Happen Again. To put it lightly. So now I’m trying to find an antidepressant that works for me. I’ve been medicated for three weeks now. Lower anxiety, not many mood swings, but still anhedonia, and the aftertaste of existential dread which will forever haunt me. I’m completely overhauling my bedroom, because it was messy anyway and has basically looked the same since forever which can’t be good for my mental health. So there’s going to be new bedsheets (chocolate), new curtains to kill sunlight because while I enjoy it outdoors it makes the room feel exposed since the window is groundlevel and faces the street, a whole ass recliner thrifted for only 20 bucks(!) to go in a brand new study corner along with a nice aggressively patterned brown rug, and finally the grody offwhite walls will be repainted a warm inviting brown that was named “spiced cinnamon.” No matter what happens, I look forward to spending the winter in the study, invoking a cozy comfort the Danes call “hygge,” and hopefully building my gallery or participating in my interests, including fandom, in another way. And, once my budget allows it, getting some fucking therapy, what the fuck.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Forty Two

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

July 21st, 2012

Roman hugged his mom tight as she laughed. “Roman, it’s not a big deal,” she said. “It’s a book of fairy tales. It’s a small birthday gift.”

That may have been true, but that didn’t mean that Roman didn’t love it any less. It was, by far, the highlight of his birthday. “Thank you!” he exclaimed. “Thank you so much!”

His mother laughed and pet his hair as she responded, “You’re welcome, my little knight. I’m glad you like it.”

Roman loved it. Especially with the dedication on the first page. To Roman - With your determination, my little knight, you can do anything.

January 10th, 2020

Roman sat in the den after dinner, which was from that new barbeque place on the edge of town that he had tried once and immediately loved. Everyone was just hanging out, the TV on in the background, playing Finding Nemo. Everyone came back to the moment, though, when Dad muted the TV. “Roman, Ami and I have a little something to give to you.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to!” Roman exclaimed.

“Yeah, but Ami saw this and he couldn’t resist,” Dad said, passing over a present wrapped in bright red holographic wrapping paper. “As you know, he occasionally goes to thrift shops looking for little treasures to bring home. Usually it’s a shirt or occasionally a decoration, but this time he found something among the books. He was in Scottsdale this time.”

“Okay...?” Roman said. He knew he had grown up around the Scottsdale area, which was maybe an hour away from home by car, but he hardly saw what that had to do with this.

“You’ll understand why that’s important when you open it,” Dad said. Ami grinned wide as Dad gestured for Roman to open it. “Go ahead.”

Roman gave them a confused look, before sliding his finger under the seam of the paper. He unwrapped it quickly and his eyes widened. “My mom got me this book when I was six,” he breathed. “It’s the same edition.”

“It’s more than the same edition,” Ami said, leaning back with his hands laced behind his head. “Open the first page.”

There was no way. Roman had lost the book as he was bounced from foster home to foster home until he found himself in the permanent one he had run away from. But there was just no way...he opened the cover, and he gasped at the familiar handwriting. “It’s...” his voice gave out, his mouth opened but no words could form. He hugged the book to his chest, starting to cry. “It’s my book! My mom...my mom wrote that dedication...! How did you find it?!”

“I noticed the fairy tale book and thought you might be interested in it, and I flipped it open, saw your name, and connected the dots. How many Romans could have grown up in Scottsdale with an affinity for fairy tales, and were called ‘my little knight’ affectionately?” Ami grinned. “I couldn’t believe it either when I first found it. I couldn’t buy it fast enough.”

Roman sobbed. He didn’t have anything to remind him of his mom when he was at the old foster home. He had lost the book and he grew out of the clothes she picked out with him quickly. But now...now he had something from her with him again. Through sheer dumb luck and Ami liking to go to out-of-the-way thrift stores. He had a piece of his mom with him again. “How long...how long have you had this lying in wait?” he asked with a laugh.

“Since December thirty-first. Emile let me go to that thrift shop as a birthday present to me, I saw it, and just knew.”

Roman wiped at his eyes and stared at the book adoringly. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Ami said. “Be careful with that book, okay? Because if you lose it again I can’t guarantee that I’ll find it afterwards.”

Roman nodded seriously. “I’ll keep a close eye on it,” he promised. “I definitely don’t want to lose it again.”

“Yeah, I imagine you wouldn’t,” Ami said with a kind smile. “Don’t worry, we won't touch it without your permission, either. Not even if we’re cleaning your room. Okay?”

“Okay,” Roman said, staring at the book in wonder. He still couldn’t believe it. He had his book back. He thought it was lost forever—he had cried for days when he thought he had lost it for good. He hugged it close and took a deep breath. “I feel like I’m gonna cry more. I don’t want to, though. I just got back from dinner, I don’t want to be a weepy mess.”

“If you need to cry, Roman, you can cry,” Dad pointed out. “Crying is healthy, especially if it’s happy tears.”

Roman shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “Honestly, I’m just in shock. I never thought that...that...I would ever get anything back that reminded me of Mom. It was just the two of us, and I wasn’t allowed a lot of time in our house to grab my things after CPS stepped in. This was the one thing that I took that would always remind me of her, and I lost it in one of my foster homes, before I wound up in the one I told you guys about. And now that I have it back...I genuinely don’t know how to feel. It hurts, but it also makes me unbelievably happy.”

“Conflicting emotions are natural when reminiscing about a loved one who has since passed,” Logan pointed out. “It can make you sad, but the memories will always have that touch of nostalgia and happiness.”

Dee looked at the cover of the book curiously. “Is that a knight?” he asked, before pointing to the man on the front of the book.

“Yeah,” Roman said. “My mom always called me ‘her little knight.’ I would always argue back that I was a prince, because I wanted to be noble and in charge but still go on adventures. Mom said that the knights were the ones who fought for honor and often went on the best adventures, though.” He smiled softly, staring at the cover. “She saw the book of fairy tales with the knight on the cover and she instantly thought of me. It was a little pricey, she told me. It was the only birthday present I got that year. But it was completely worth it. And it’s pretty sturdy. The cover still seems to be in good shape, and I know I read it front to back about a thousand times. The spine might be a little broken in, but...” he opened it and smelled the pages, smiling. “It still smells the same, even after being in that thrift shop for who-knows-how-long.”

Dee looked at it with interest. “Do you think you could read it sometime to me?” he signed. “Just because I don’t trust myself but I want to know the stories.”

“Oh! Sure,” Roman agreed. “But I’ll warn you these aren’t like Disney fairy tales. There’s not always a happily ever after. Plus, some of these stories are fairly obscure. I don’t know if that makes a difference to you or not.”

Dee shook his head. “No, I still want to know why you love them.”

“Okay,” Roman said, with a soft smile. “I’d love to read these to you sometime.”

“Me too, maybe?” Patton asked. “I mean, I’m more into folk tales and fables and stuff with a moral bottom line, but fairy tales are still pretty cool.”

“Sure,” Roman agreed. “Virgil? Logan? Want to join in on the fun?”

Logan scoffed. “I don’t need to be read to,” he said. “However, if you tell me the title of the story I’m sure I could find it online and read it without risking harm to the book.”

Virgil shrugged. “Honestly I’m just scared of damaging it.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Guys, this isn’t like a museum piece, all right? It’s part of my past, and an important part of my past, but you better believe I’ll be using it. You can’t convince me otherwise. I’ll let you borrow it if you want. It’s not strictly a collectable. It’s biggest price point was how many stories it had rather than how fancy its design was.”

“You will, of course, have to ask for permission before taking it out of Roman’s room, though,” Dad said to everyone. “If for no one else’s peace of mind than mine. I don’t want to worry about Roman losing this again.”

Ami nodded. “That goes for any of your possessions that you boys have that you might not want touched. We try to ask your permission before cleaning your rooms, anyway, and we only do that if guests are coming over and we want the bedrooms to be presentable. And you boys do good jobs of regularly cleaning your rooms anyway. We don’t usually do much more than vacuum and maybe clean the windows.”

“I hate the smell of window cleaner,” Dee signed, wrinkling his nose.

“I know,” Ami sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s a necessary evil once every two months or so. Otherwise, the creepy-crawlies and germs get too cozy on it and might make you sick. We don’t want you getting sick from something in the house that could have been prevented.”

Dee pouted but nodded. “I know,” he signed. “Doesn’t mean I like it. At all.”

Ami rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. You don’t complain this much when we actually clean it, and we crack the window open to get rid of the smell.”

“But being dramatic is fun!” Dee signed, hands slightly exaggerating the signs before he struck a pose. “I like being dramatic.”

“You’re definitely going to be a drama gay,” Roman said with a laugh. “Provided, you know, you’re gay. I forget sometimes that straight people exist.”

“I think I’m gay?” Dee signed. “I don’t know. I never had a crush on a girl. But I don’t think I’ve had a crush, period.”

“You’re six, Dee, give it time,” Roman laughed. “Crushes don’t always happen to people, either. Sometimes you just think, ‘Oh, I’d date them,’ without months of endless pining.”

“Yeah, crushes are nasty beasts, anyway,” Virgil said, wrinkling his nose. “Why would you want to pine after people for months? It’s not fun.”

Dee shrugged. “It might make me feel normal?” he signed, eyebrows raising at the end like a question.

“Normal is overrated,” Logan said, before promptly flipping how he was sitting on the couch so his head was closest to the floor. “Take it from your local transgender man. Normal isn’t always what you should want to be. And if you’re not normal, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah!” Patton exclaimed. “Like, I like skirts and I don’t feel like a boy, but that doesn’t get me down! I’m not ‘normal’ but I don’t want to be!”

“Is there even such a thing as ‘normal’?” Virgil contemplated.

“Okay, if we’re getting philosophical we’re stopping this conversation,” Dad said, raising his hands in surrender. “We don’t need any existential crises keeping you boys up half the night. You need a full night’s sleep, no matter what plans you have the next day.”

“I read that having a regular sleep schedule is key to feeling well rested,” Logan said, raising his arm and pointing to the ceiling. “That doesn’t mean sleeping at night and staying awake all day, it means more...going to bed at the same time every day and sleeping for the same amount of hours. And it takes a while to set up that schedule, but only a couple days to fff...fudge it up.”

Roman laughed. “Oh, you nearly got yourself in huge trouble, Logan.”

“Why?” Dee signed. “What was he gonna say?”

“He was going to say an adult word, I think,” Patton said.

Virgil had a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said, “I know which one!”

“What’s an adult word?” Dee asked.

“Oh...uh...words that adults use a lot?” Logan said. “Taxes, politics, financials. That sort of thing?”

“That’s not true,” Virgil sang. “Well, adults may use it a lot, but you would not get in trouble for saying ‘financials.’”

Roman was making a cut motion across his neck, but Virgil ignored him.

“What was he going to say, then?” Dee asked.

“Virgil, if you tell Dee what Logan was about to say, you will be having a very long talk with myself and Dad,” Ami warned.

Virgil considered that information, and Roman was surprised that Virgil would visibly show he might ignore that warning and say the word anyway. “Maybe I’ll tell you later, Dee,” Virgil said. “It’s something that shouldn’t be repeated. At least, not around adults.”

“Not at all,” Ami warned again. “You don’t want to wind up with a talk, do you?”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t really give a—”

“Woah, goodnight everybody!” Emile exclaimed. “Virgil, you’re having that talk now anyway. Everybody else, get ready for bed, please.”

Roman was chuckling a little as he went upstairs. “Kid’s got guts,” he whispered to Logan.

“More than I do,” Logan said. “Would you have done that?”

“Not with my mom, for sure,” Roman said. “Here? I wouldn’t be punished, but I don’t like discipline either, so I’m not going to.”

Logan agreed. “Times may change, but some things never do. And that includes the rule about not swearing around kids or parents.”

“Yeah,” Roman said. He looked at the book in his hands. “I’m probably gonna read until light’s out, so night, Logan.”

“Night, Roman,” Logan said. “Congrats on one year of being in the family.”

Roman smiled. “Thanks.”

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 2

You have one job - time travel decades into the past and save your mother from a horrible future. You can’t fail or you’ll have to start over again completely, and you have to act on your own. But there’s one problem - or specifically, two problems - your roommates Roger and Freddie. Freddie wants nothing more than to befriend his new flatmate, while Roger’s intentions are more gumptious, but ambiguous at best.

Read PT. 1 here

Read PT. 3 here

PT. 4 coming soon

(a/n: a filler hehe. just a little more info + a few MINISCULE roger moments also TRIGGER WARNING - some briefly mentioned abuse and implied sexual abuse)

“So where were you living before this?”

Roger was hovering a bit as you opened one of your three boxes, Freddie looking through your clothes as he helped you pack things away into the small chest of drawers that had been filled with scrap clothing in their lounge. You’d spent all night and most of this chilly morning in March scrambling for enough belongings in thrift stores and markets to make it seem like you’d genuinely been living in even the same decade. Freddie had welcomed you with open arms once you’d shown up, and you’d spent the last thirty minutes answering their questions as they tried to get to know you better while you unpacked.

“East End. Lived there with my best friend.” You weren’t lying, at least – you had lived in the eastern end of London with your best friend, albeit in the 21st century. Roger nodded, which made small sections of his golden blonde-brown hair fall over his face, and then perched himself on the arm of the rickety excuse for a couch that you’d be calling your bed for the next year. It shocked you, really, that you’d be living out an entire year back in the 70’s.

Even more shocking, it would only last maybe a minute back in the 21st century. If you did just what you were supposed to, you’d walk right back through that door and find a healthy mother, an uncle that wasn’t consumed with guilt, and an un-divorced family. You’d only be a minute older there – your aging here was a different story.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t have a lot of stuff,” Freddie remarked, eyeing the other two boxes as he crossed his arms. “What did you live in, darling, an ironing closet? I mean, we’re in bloody Kensington right now and we’re still probably living larger than it looks like you did.”

Shit. Think up a lie, quick. “Pre-furnished,” you chuckled nervously, reaching into your box and grabbing ahold of a bra before shooting Roger a pointed look as he peeked inside. “Do you mind?”

“Nope,” he replied simply, popping the p as he crossed his arms and gave you a crooked smile in response.

Sighing, you pulled the bralette out as covertly as possible and turned away from Roger as you quickly began to fold it, Freddie whistling in admiration when he saw it. “That’s a keeper,” he confirmed, and Roger snickered as you rolled your eyes at the two of them. It was a light blue, lacy bralette that would leave little to the imagination if on - and honestly, it was one of your cuter finds of your frantic shopping spree. The style of this era was going to grow on you too much if you weren’t careful.

Opening the top drawer, you set it in there gingerly and turned to face them. “Could I have a minute? Rather not have both of you see all of my knickers on the first day living here.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance!” Roger exclaimed, his eyes alight as he was suddenly interested in the situation. Freddie smacked him lightly on the back of the head, then gave him a warning look as he pulled him towards the hallway. All the way to their rooms, Roger complained about Freddie being a bully while Freddie’s patronizing taunts overpowered his whines.

Shaking your head, you began to put the rest of the box away, folding and stuffing methodically as you quietly tried to go over everything your uncle had told you in the past month or so. There was a lot to remember, and you were sure you’d forget some imperative things, but a journal with all of those things would be damning if Freddie and Roger were to stumble upon it. You couldn’t have two regular guys just happening to find a journal that detailed your time travel and what you were doing.

“She was at my flat with me and my girl at the time, and then she left so she could go grab a few things from the church a couple blocks away before she went back to her own. She was a teacher of the Sunday school class for kindergartners that year – they wanted to bring her in for “relatability.”

Your heart clenched as you realized that probably wasn’t the purpose of her appointment, and the look on your uncle’s face only confirmed that as he sat back in the chair, clutching the manila envelope. Although you’d heard things here and there about her attack, you were suddenly nervous to hear about it in detail. Standing up, your uncle opened the manila envelope, pulling out a couple of pictures of some particularly clean-cut looking men standing next to … was that your father?

“They’d had an infatuation with her long before that night. We all grew up together, them, your mom, and your dad.” Tears stung at your eyes as you tried to imagine the betrayal she must have felt after that day. “Always teasing her, touching her. I never noticed the red flags until afterwards, but hindsight is 20/20. William became a preacher, and brought on Ted as his right hand man for all of the church’s money-related concerns. Your mom liked them. Thought they were good men.”

“Thought,” you remarked sardonically, a bitter edge to the word as you sat back against the wall.

“They were waiting for her, she’d called to let them know she was on her way. Gave her what she needed, then watched her go out the front door and head down the alley. They must have ran so bloody fast to get through that church and tail her in that alley, in the complete darkness. She said they didn’t say a word when they attacked her, not one. Just went for it-“ he cringed, shaking his head as he looked down at the floor. “Walloped her good, right off the bat. But even though she fell, she was still conscious. She saw his ring, William’s purity ring, on his finger when he went to silence her. And then, they-“

“I know the rest,” you quickly stuttered out, not in the right headspace whatsoever to hear the rest of the details. In fact, you didn’t want to relive the moment your mom had told you at all. You were 16 years old when she’d explained why she’d been excommunicated, and still, 5 years later, it was a sore subject. “So….” you breathed out shakily, looking over at the strange door you’d just transcended time through. “How can I stop them?”

“That’s the tricky part,” Dan sighed, cocking his head to the side and scratching his forehead before looking up at you. “It’s also the reason you go back a year before it happened. I’ve tried so hard to come up with a solution to this, but it’s really based a lot on chance. I don’t want William and Ted in her life after that day, so if you make her avoid it completely, then she goes on thinking they’re swell chaps. But if you don’t step in fast enough, you end up…. Well, here again.”

You looked around, laughing once as you shook your head at the state of your life. An unresponsive mother, a silent dad, and one hell of a stack of bills to pay on top of dealing with the day to day harassment from members of the church. “Fantastic. So I have to find a happy medium?”

Roger’s head popped back up around the corner of the hallway as you finished unpacking your last box, and you ran a hand back through your hair as you turned to face him and waited for him to speak. “All done?” he questioned, and you nodded as he straightened up, walking back out and resuming his perch in front of you on the couch’s armrest. “Fred and I are going to rehearsal and then we’re stopping at F Cooke on the way back. What d’you want to eat? It’s on us, a happy moving day present.”

F Cooke? You hadn’t been there since you were a kid, and you knew the menu was probably wildly different, so even if you’d remembered it, you’d have a hard time giving him a good answer. “Well, if it’s a present, surprise me.” He raised an eyebrow in question, and you shrugged as Roger stretched out his legs, one foot planted on either side of you as you stood next to your empty box. Although it felt like a power move, you weren’t exactly sure why your strange, overconfident roommate was trying so hard to assert... whatever he was trying to assert. “Maybe I just want to try something new,” you offered, turning slightly away from him to dispel a bit of the tension you felt as you closed up the box.

“Well, there’s not much variety there in the first place, but alright, if you say so, sweetheart,” he chuckled, shaking his head and glancing over as Freddie now entered the room, pushing his slightly wavy jet-black hair back out of his face. When he noticed Roger was already out here, invading your space, he gave him a damning look that spelled out a sort of suspicion that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Their unspoken exchanges were alien to you – after all, you hardly knew these men beyond some small talk about their childhood.

“Ready, Rog?” he asked, grabbing the box nearest to him and flattening it so he could take it to the bin. You did the same with the other two, handing them to him with a grateful look, and Roger got back onto his feet before awkwardly shuffling past you. You felt his hand rest briefly on your waist as he passed, and you couldn’t help but jump and blush lightly at the sudden sensation. He cocked an eyebrow at you for a second, then gave you an impish grin before following Freddie out the door.

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he called out to you, turning around to face you as he stopped in the doorway, doorknob still in hand. He paused where he was for a moment, staring at you with the same stupid grin on his face as he waited for your answer, not exiting completely until you heard Freddie calling his name.

You sighed in relief as you heard the door shut behind them, finally completely alone with your thoughts, and looked around the room for a moment as you pressed a hand to your heated cheek. So this was home for the next 12 months.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, giving the couch a mournful look as you imagined your bed at home, the pillows, the fluffy comforter, the whole nine yards. An entire year without a mattress? It was hard to grapple with until you reminded yourself why you were here.

Ambling over to the window, you crossed your arms over your stomach and hugged yourself as you peered outside. Just down below, Roger and Freddie were emerging from the building, chatting along as they approached Roger’s car. Freddie climbed in, and Roger paused for a moment at the car when he saw your face framed by the window. You saw what you vaguely registered as a charming smile, then received a wave before he climbed into the car and took off. You followed their path with your eyes until they turned out of sight, and then you looked across the street. There it was.

A tall, imposing structure with a try-hard Gothic feel, the church took up half of the block and featured a narrow, sheltered alleyway between it and the adjacent buildings. That damned alley. It seemed uninhabited for the moment, save for a few pigeons on the roof, but you knew not to be deceived. Apparently, William actually lived in there, in the back of the building. He was always there, according to your uncle. Also, you’d have to be careful about running in to him during your day-to-day. Your uncle’s warning was honestly terrifying when he’d said it, and it had actually been the reason he’d never successfully carried this mission out.

“If you fuck with William or Ted, or even your mum, in any way before the event, the past will fight back.”

“What in the hell do you mean by that?” You were intrigued, but the look on his face quickly made fear creep into your system. “It will hurt me?”

“You and anyone with you.”

Suddenly, Roger and Freddie’s presence in your day to day life worried you. Would they be in danger for simply being your roommates? Or did your uncle only mean physical presence? Surely, as long as things remained amiable and relatively emotionally uninvolved, you really wouldn’t make that much of an impact in their lives. You figured it wouldn’t hurt if you were just friends with the two - you couldn’t be taciturn and distant to them. After all, they’d been kind enough to let you move in with them after your morning of frantic gathering.

Speaking of this morning, you’d decided to go into the bank as soon as it opened, carefully skirting around the church to avoid William and constantly looking around to make sure he wasn’t nearby. The bank had only looked mildly suspicious when you’d set up an account and deposited several thousands in notes. Although you were going to look for a job, you definitely needed emergency cash – after all, you were literally stuck without any family or job to help in the 70’s, at the tender age of 21. The best you could do with no previous work experience was catch a waitressing/bartending job, if you were lucky.

Taking a long, deep breath, you turned away from the window with a cloudy mind and grabbed your blanket from the armrest of the chair, deciding that some much-needed rest was in order while those two were gone. Rest would clear your mind of your worries about money and the past fighting back, and would give you a fresh start so you could dive into your game plan later tonight.

As soon as your head hit the couch, you were out cold, and remained that way until you heard the front door squeak on its hinges as it swung open. “I’m telling you, John’s a bloody genius. He’s it,” Roger vehemently stated, Freddie following him in and shutting the door behind him. You sat up a bit and rubbed your sleep-worn eyes as Freddie came over to the couch and plopped down just next to your feet. You curled up your legs a bit more to give him some room, and Roger made his way into the kitchen. It was getting progressively dark outside the window, and looked as if it was cloudy and about to rain.

“I completely agree, dear, I love him to pieces. I’m just worried about how quiet he is,” Freddie replied, opening the first takeout container and peering into it before handing it over to you. “That’s yours. Roger, can you grab me a beer?”

Ignoring Freddie, Roger pulled out a few forks and went over to the fridge. “Did you go shopping while we were out, Y/N?” Roger asked, peering into the fridge and pouting when he found it to be the same.

“I’ve just woke up,” you yawned, opening your takeout container and finding a scotch beef and mushroom pie. Okay, so the menu hadn’t changed as much as you expected. Standing up, you padded into the kitchen, clutching your container close as you scooted by Roger in the cramped space. You peered into the fridge as well, clicking your tongue in disappointment at the lack of anything in general. “Also, I haven’t got a car and it looks like you haven’t even so much as looked at a market in at least two months. Two months of groceries is definitely not a one-trip on the tube thing.”

“Wow. I feel strangely insulted by your distaste for our stock,” Roger remarked, a bit of a whine in his voice as he continued. “I swear, it’s because we’re busy, not because we’re lazy.”

“That’s not completely true,” Freddie interjected from the living room, and you smirked as a fuller pout made its way onto Roger’s lips while he shut the fridge door, having been able to salvage a few drinks. “In Roger’s case anyways. How many days have I ran the market stall alone for the last few weeks?”

“Oh, fuck off and die, Fred. I’ve been occupied,” Roger groaned, hugging the beers to his chest with one arm and grabbing the forks with the other.

“With Jillian?” Freddie asked about who you’d assumed was Roger’s girlfriend, almost sing-songy in the way he said it. You swore you saw Roger’s eyes almost do a full 360 as he rolled them while sitting on the couch. You sat between the two, all of you bumping legs and elbows on the tiny piece of furniture, and Roger tossed Freddie a beer before handing you yours.

“Actually, no, Mr. Nosy. She’s busy with her jug band,” Roger stated matter-of-factly, and you snorted loudly as you covered your mouth quickly, turning to Roger with an apologetic look in your eyes. Although he appeared slightly miffed, he continued. “Besides, we broke up literally over a year ago. Move on, Fred.”

“A jug band?” It was Freddie’s turn to giggle as he ignored Roger’s attempt to change the subject, and he elbowed your side, which prompted a laugh out of you and only made you feel mildly guilty. Roger’s eyes narrowed at the both of you, and that sent you both into a fit of giggles as he huffed and knocked your leg with his own. Although you felt bad for making fun of Roger, you were also slightly relieved that your shared amusement/heckling was bonding you with Freddie. “Roger, you know how to pick them sometimes, you really do.”

“Both of you can literally fuck right off. A jug band is a legitimate occupation!”

PT. 1 PT. 3

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Source:[X]

by Gavanndra Hodge 12 JANUARY 2019

Gillian Anderson is hard to pin down. Is she American or English? (Her accent slips between the two, depending on who she is talking to.) Guarded or warm? (She can be either, based on her mood.) Tough or vulnerable? (Or both?)

'‘Because my parents were American and we lived here in the UK, there was always a sense of not quite fitting in. Because of that I’ve always felt a bit of an outsider. I have perpetuated that because that is what feels familiar to me, it is what feels comfortable,’ she explains. When we meet Anderson is English and warm, talking about the birthday parties she has to organise (she has three children, Piper, 24, Oscar, 12, and Felix, 10); and although she is very petite, wearing white patent stiletto boots and slender black trousers, she exudes the commanding charisma that makes her perfect for her imminent roles. Rumour has it that she will be playing Margaret Thatcher in an upcoming series of The Crown, the Netflix series created and co-written by her partner, Peter Morgan. No one is confirming this, but no one is denying it either. Meanwhile, this month she stars in a new Netflix series, Sex Education, in which she plays a sex therapist who lives with her teenage son (Asa Butterfield). And in February Anderson has another plum role: Margo Channing in Belgian theatre director Ivo van Hove’s much-anticipated adaptation of All About Eve, also starring Lily James as Eve, with music by PJ Harvey. The play – a modern reinterpretation of the 1950 film, which starred Bette Davis as Channing, a blazing Broadway star who is gradually supplanted by a younger rival – is about ambition and betrayal, femininity and anger, stardom and personal sacrifice. Anderson’s is a bravura role, one that requires not just the cool intensity that we have come to expect from her, but also humour. Channing is deliciously droll, delivering endlessly quotable lines with comic precision (‘I’ll admit I may have seen better days, but I’m still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut’). ‘A couple of years ago my boyfriend Pete said to me, “You know what would be a great role for you? Margo Channing,”’ Anderson says. ‘So I rewatched the film and I thought, “Oh my God, how much fun would that be!”’ Anderson, not one to wait for opportunity, discovered that theatre producer Sonia Friedman had the rights to the script and was working on it with van Hove – Cate Blanchett was set to be Channing. ‘So I thought, “Ah OK, I’ll just slink into the background.” Then my agents got a call to say that she [Blanchett] had backed out due to scheduling conflicts, and there was interest, and was I interested? So I was like, “Yes! When’s the meeting? Now?”’ Van Hove, on the phone from New York, is equally excited to be working with Anderson. ‘Margo needs someone who understands what the theatre is all about, someone who can carry a play, who can occupy the whole stage, and Gillian can do that; she is a fabulous theatre actress. Although, of course, she became iconic for me in the 1990s when she was in The X-Files.’ There is something a little surprising about Ivo van Hove, an avant-garde director celebrated for his reinterpretations of plays and operas such as Hedda Gabler, Antigone and Lulu, professing fandom for a mid-’90s sci-fi series; but that is to forget the huge cultural impact of The X-Files, its quality and its ingenuity. The series was about two FBI agents, played by Anderson and David Duchovny, who attempt to unravel various natural and supernatural mysteries. No one expected it to become such a success, least of all Anderson, who was 24 when she was cast in the show. It was her first major role and it made her a star. She won multiple awards for her portrayal of the sceptical Dr Dana Scully, including an Emmy and a Golden Globe. But such stardom often involves sacrifice and Anderson was suffering. The production schedule for The X-Files was brutal, involving 16-hour days for nine months of the year. Furthermore, in 1994, aged 25, Anderson married Clyde Klotz, assistant art director on the series, and nine months later she gave birth to their daughter, Piper. After three years she and Klotz divorced. It was while she was pregnant that Anderson started having severe panic attacks. ‘I was having them daily,’ she explains, experiencing palpitations, numbness, ‘hallucinations, all of it’. Things didn’t get better once Piper was born. ‘I was a young mother, and shortly after that we were separating, and I was working these crazy hours. I remember periods of time when I was just crying, my make-up was being done over and over again and I was not able to stop crying.’ Anderson sought solace in meditation. ‘I went to somebody and there was a meditation we did together. We went to some quite dark places and I got to see that I could still survive those dark places, I was stronger than they were, and after that the panic attacks stopped.’ Anderson had been having panic attacks, on and off, ‘since high school’. As a teenager she was a daydreamer and a troublemaker who felt different from her peers in Michigan because of her childhood in Harringay, having left the ‘incy-bincy flat with a bathroom outside’ that she and her parents lived in when she was 11 years old, when her family moved back to the US. ‘I started falling in with groups and trying to fit in, until it got to the point when it was like, “I don’t f—ing want to fit in. I want to look completely different to all of you, and stop staring at me because I have a mohawk.” I’d shave the sides of my head with a razor blade and dye my hair different colours.’ Anderson’s parents, Rosemary and Ed, were living in Chicago and were both just 26 when she was born. Soon afterwards the family moved to London so Ed could attend film school, while Rosemary worked as a computer programmer. ‘My parents were working very hard and would often work late. I have lots of memories of playing by myself in the back garden and searching for friends in the neighbourhood because I didn’t have siblings.’ After moving back to America, Rosemary and Ed had two more children, a son and a daughter. Anderson admits that her adolescent waywardness might have been related to the arrival of two new babies in the house. ‘I made trouble and I got attention that way.’ Acting is another way to get attention, something Anderson learnt early on. ‘I remember being in a play when I was in primary school. I was meant to be a Chelsea fan. I started chewing gum on stage and blowing bubbles and got all the attention. I thought, “This is all right, everybody is watching me!”’ But when she reached 16 and started doing more professional productions in America, performing became fundamentally important to her. ‘I enjoyed the connection between performer and audience, the control. And I remember thinking, “I can do this. They are showing me I can do this.” 'It changed everything in my life, knowing I could do something. Prior to that there hadn’t been that moment yet when I found purpose and direction.’ Anderson decided that she wanted to pursue acting as a career and was accepted at The Theatre School at DePaul University in Chicago. ‘From the very start of school I didn’t go into the dorms, instead I found an apartment with a roommate in a funky neighbourhood. I was the only one who was living out of school. That is my pattern, carving my own thing. 'All through [theatre] school I dressed like I was a member of The Cure. That was how I was in the world, grungy, not considered, not mature. I was forthright and gutsy – I drove myself to Chicago in my dad’s VW van – but slightly falling apart.’ She always knew she would return to England. ‘My childhood here, the smell of north London, it has such a massive tug on me. I really felt, when we moved to the States, that I would eventually have a life back here.’ She and Piper moved to the city after The X-Files ended its original run, and she went on to have two more children, Oscar and Felix, with her now ex-boyfriend, businessman Mark Griffiths (there was also a marriage to British documentary maker Julian Ozanne, which lasted for two years, with the couple separating in 2006).

In the UK Anderson’s career developed in a way that might not have been expected for the golden girl of ’90s sci-fi. She took juicy roles in big-budget period dramas – Lady Dedlock in Bleak House, Miss Havisham in Great Expectations – and appeared on stage, at the Royal Court and the Donmar Warehouse. But it was her performance in the BBC detective drama The Fall, starting in 2013, that solidified her reputation as the go-to actor for female characters who are charismatic and powerful. Anderson, as DSI Stella Gibson, was imperious in her white silk shirts and high heels, unwavering in her pursuit of the serial killer played by Jamie Dornan. The screenwriter Allan Cubitt created the role of Gibson with Anderson in mind. ‘I wanted Gibson to be an enigmatic figure. Gillian is a riveting actress, but there is an aloofness to her as well. Also I was attempting to reclaim the idea of the powerful femme fatale, without the fatale; someone who is aware that her beauty can be used to help her ends. That she is unafraid of that was radical.’ Anderson was deeply involved in the creation of Gibson’s look, altering the way she thought about herself in the process. ‘What fascinated me about her, and I feel that we were able to find that in the costume design, was that the way she dressed never felt like it was for anyone else but her. I don’t think I have necessarily changed the way I dress since her, but I feel like I am certainly more conscious of what I wear and what it says.’ As a younger woman her style was ‘messy, like a discarded urchin’. She would wear oversized suits and ‘floppy dresses that I had probably stolen from the thrift store’. Whereas now her look is sleek, and she favours brands like Jil Sander, Prada and Dries Van Noten. The Fall was about gender, power and desire; and it was while filming it in Belfast that Anderson began thinking more about the struggles that women face in the 21st century. ‘I was reading all these statistics about young girls being suicidal and having such low self-esteem and I thought, “Surely, given everything that we know, and the fact we are all having these feelings, can we not start a conversation about whether we want this and how to deal with it?”’ This morphed into her writing a book, We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, with her friend, the writer and activist Jennifer Nadel, in 2017. Alternating between pieces by Anderson and Nadel, it details their own personal struggles, and includes practical sections on how to deal with issues such as anxiety and low self-esteem using practices such as meditation, affirmations and gratitude lists. ‘We both know how it feels to be in emotional pain,’ says Nadel. ‘Both of us have felt lost, and found a spiritual way out. Both of us have experienced radical transformation as a result of the things that we wrote about in that book.’ Cubitt and Nadel each say that among the most impressive things about Anderson, as a collaborator, are her focus and drive. ‘I have never met anyone with Gillian’s ability to focus. And she has a certainty about things, she is not mired in indecision,’ says Nadel. What this means is not just an incredibly long CV, but numerous satellite projects. Anderson has a line of smart, grown-up clothes that she has developed with the brand Winser London (‘I didn’t realise I was so opinionated about buttons!’). She also works for numerous charities, focusing especially on women’s rights and environmental issues. ‘Because of my work ethic and also having had such high expectations, both of myself and other people’s of me, at such a young age, I think it became near to impossible for me to relax at all, to do anything that wasn’t work-related, so a lot of my later adult life has been trying to force myself to do that, and I struggle so hard, and sometimes I lose sight of it. So there is a part of me that wonders if I am slightly addicted [to work], I learnt it so young.’ The scant spare time that Anderson allows herself is spent ‘going to the cinema, to the theatre, watching documentaries’. Piper, who has just completed a degree in production and costume design, is now living in her mother’s basement, and the two of them recently went on a trip to Amsterdam to see van Hove’s four-hour stage adaptation of the Hanya Yanagihara novel A Little Life. That might not sound like everyone’s cup of tea, but Anderson loved it. And despite all the seriousness and the self-examination (or perhaps because of it), she is good company, thoughtful and witty. She has, she says, got happier as she has got older, less self-critical, more self-accepting. ‘I am constantly reminded of the fact that I am not normal. But fortunately I have enough abnormal people around me to help me feel that it is actually OK.’

[heresince93]

Full transcript of Gillian’s Telegraph interview

Gillian Anderson is hard to pin down. Is she American or English? (Her accent slips between the two, depending on who she is talking to.) Guarded or warm? (She can be either, based on her mood.) Tough or vulnerable? (Or both?)

'‘Because my parents were American and we lived here in the UK, there was always a sense of not quite fitting in. Because of that I’ve always felt a bit of an outsider. I have perpetuated that because that is what feels familiar to me, it is what feels comfortable,’ she explains.

When we meet Anderson is English and warm, talking about the birthday parties she has to organise (she has three children, Piper, 24, Oscar, 12, and Felix, 10); and although she is very petite, wearing white patent stiletto boots and slender black trousers, she exudes the commanding charisma that makes her perfect for her imminent roles.

Rumour has it that she will be playing Margaret Thatcher in an upcoming series of The Crown, the Netflix series created and co-written by her partner, Peter Morgan. No one is confirming this, but no one is denying it either. 

Meanwhile, this month she stars in a new Netflix series, Sex Education, in which she plays a sex therapist who lives with her teenage son (Asa Butterfield). And in February Anderson has another plum role: Margo Channing in Belgian theatre director Ivo van Hove’s much-anticipated adaptation of All About Eve, also starring Lily James as Eve, with music by PJ Harvey.

The play – a modern reinterpretation of the 1950 film, which starred Bette Davis as Channing, a blazing Broadway star who is gradually supplanted by a younger rival – is about ambition and betrayal, femininity and anger, stardom and personal sacrifice.

Anderson’s is a bravura role, one that requires not just the cool intensity that we have come to expect from her, but also humour. Channing is deliciously droll, delivering endlessly quotable lines with comic precision (‘I’ll admit I may have seen better days, but I’m still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, like a salted peanut’).

‘A couple of years ago my boyfriend Pete said to me, “You know what would be a great role for you? Margo Channing,”’ Anderson says. ‘So I rewatched the film and I thought, “Oh my God, how much fun would that be!”’

Anderson, not one to wait for opportunity, discovered that theatre producer Sonia Friedman had the rights to the script and was working on it with van Hove – Cate Blanchett was set to be Channing. ‘So I thought, “Ah OK, I’ll just slink into the background.” Then my agents got a call to say that she [Blanchett] had backed out due to scheduling conflicts, and there was interest, and was I interested? So I was like, “Yes! When’s the meeting? Now?”’

Van Hove, on the phone from New York, is equally excited to be working with Anderson. ‘Margo needs someone who understands what the theatre is all about, someone who can carry a play, who can occupy the whole stage, and Gillian can do that; she is a fabulous theatre actress. Although, of course, she became iconic for me in the 1990s when she was in The X-Files.’

There is something a little surprising about Ivo van Hove, an avant-garde director celebrated for his reinterpretations of plays and operas such as Hedda Gabler, Antigone and Lulu, professing fandom for a mid-’90s sci-fi series; but that is to forget the huge cultural impact of The X-Files, its quality and its ingenuity.

The series was about two FBI agents, played by Anderson and David Duchovny, who attempt to unravel various natural and supernatural mysteries. No one expected it to become such a success, least of all Anderson, who was 24 when she was cast in the show. It was her first major role and it made her a star.

She won multiple awards for her portrayal of the sceptical Dr Dana Scully, including an Emmy and a Golden Globe. But such stardom often involves sacrifice and Anderson was suffering.

The production schedule for The X-Files was brutal, involving 16-hour days for nine months of the year. Furthermore, in 1994, aged 25, Anderson married Clyde Klotz, assistant art director on the series, and nine months later she gave birth to their daughter, Piper. After three years she and Klotz divorced. It was while she was pregnant that Anderson started having severe panic attacks.

‘I was having them daily,’ she explains, experiencing palpitations, numbness, ‘hallucinations, all of it’. Things didn’t get better once Piper was born. ‘I was a young mother, and shortly after that we were separating, and I was working these crazy hours. I remember periods of time when I was just crying, my make-up was being done over and over again and I was not able to stop crying.’

Anderson sought solace in meditation. ‘I went to somebody and there was a meditation we did together. We went to some quite dark places and I got to see that I could still survive those dark places, I was stronger than they were, and after that the panic attacks stopped.’

Anderson had been having panic attacks, on and off, ‘since high school’. As a teenager she was a daydreamer and a troublemaker who felt different from her peers in Michigan because of her childhood in Harringay, having left the ‘incy-bincy flat with a bathroom outside’ that she and her parents lived in when she was 11 years old, when her family moved back to the US.

‘I started falling in with groups and trying to fit in, until it got to the point when it was like, “I don’t f—ing want to fit in. I want to look completely different to all of you, and stop staring at me because I have a mohawk.” I’d shave the sides of my head with a razor blade and dye my hair different colours.’

Anderson’s parents, Rosemary and Ed, were living in Chicago and were both just 26 when she was born. Soon afterwards the family moved to London so Ed could attend film school, while Rosemary worked as a computer programmer.

‘My parents were working very hard and would often work late. I have lots of memories of playing by myself in the back garden and searching for friends in the neighbourhood because I didn’t have siblings.’

After moving back to America, Rosemary and Ed had two more children, a son and a daughter. Anderson admits that her adolescent waywardness might have been related to the arrival of two new babies in the house. ‘I made trouble and I got attention that way.’

Acting is another way to get attention, something Anderson learnt early on. ‘I remember being in a play when I was in primary school. I was meant to be a Chelsea fan. I started chewing gum on stage and blowing bubbles and got all the attention. I thought, “This is all right, everybody is watching me!”’

But when she reached 16 and started doing more professional productions in America, performing became fundamentally important to her. ‘I enjoyed the connection between performer and audience, the control. And I remember thinking, “I can do this. They are showing me I can do this.”

'It changed everything in my life, knowing I could do something. Prior to that there hadn’t been that moment yet when I found purpose and direction.’

Anderson decided that she wanted to pursue acting as a career and was accepted at The Theatre School at DePaul University in Chicago. ‘From the very start of school I didn’t go into the dorms, instead I found an apartment with a roommate in a funky neighbourhood. I was the only one who was living out of school. That is my pattern, carving my own thing.

'All through [theatre] school I dressed like I was a member of The Cure. That was how I was in the world, grungy, not considered, not mature. I was forthright and gutsy – I drove myself to Chicago in my dad’s VW van – but slightly falling apart.’

She always knew she would return to England. ‘My childhood here, the smell of north London, it has such a massive tug on me. I really felt, when we moved to the States, that I would eventually have a life back here.’

She and Piper moved to the city after The X-Files ended its original run, and she went on to have two more children, Oscar and Felix, with her now ex-boyfriend, businessman Mark Griffiths (there was also a marriage to British documentary maker Julian Ozanne, which lasted for two years, with the couple separating in 2006).

In the UK Anderson’s career developed in a way that might not have been expected for the golden girl of ’90s sci-fi. She took juicy roles in big-budget period dramas – Lady Dedlock in Bleak House, Miss Havisham in Great Expectations – and appeared on stage, at the Royal Court and the Donmar Warehouse. But it was her performance in the BBC detective drama The Fall, starting in 2013, that solidified her reputation as the go-to actor for female characters who are charismatic and powerful.

Anderson, as DSI Stella Gibson, was imperious in her white silk shirts and high heels, unwavering in her pursuit of the serial killer played by Jamie Dornan. The screenwriter Allan Cubitt created the role of Gibson with Anderson in mind. ‘I wanted Gibson to be an enigmatic figure. Gillian is a riveting actress, but there is an aloofness to her as well. Also I was attempting to reclaim the idea of the powerful femme fatale, without the fatale; someone who is aware that her beauty can be used to help her ends. That she is unafraid of that was radical.’

Anderson was deeply involved in the creation of Gibson’s look, altering the way she thought about herself in the process. ‘What fascinated me about her, and I feel that we were able to find that in the costume design, was that the way she dressed never felt like it was for anyone else but her. I don’t think I have necessarily changed the way I dress since her, but I feel like I am certainly more conscious of what I wear and what it says.’

As a younger woman her style was ‘messy, like a discarded urchin’. She would wear oversized suits and ‘floppy dresses that I had probably stolen from the thrift store’. Whereas now her look is sleek, and she favours brands like Jil Sander, Prada and Dries Van Noten.

The Fall was about gender, power and desire; and it was while filming it in Belfast that Anderson began thinking more about the struggles that women face in the 21st century. ‘I was reading all these statistics about young girls being suicidal and having such low self-esteem and I thought, “Surely, given everything that we know, and the fact we are all having these feelings, can we not start a conversation about whether we want this and how to deal with it?”’

This morphed into her writing a book, We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, with her friend, the writer and activist Jennifer Nadel, in 2017. Alternating between pieces by Anderson and Nadel, it details their own personal struggles, and includes practical sections on how to deal with issues such as anxiety and low self-esteem using practices such as meditation, affirmations and gratitude lists.

‘We both know how it feels to be in emotional pain,’ says Nadel. ‘Both of us have felt lost, and found a spiritual way out. Both of us have experienced radical transformation as a result of the things that we wrote about in that book.’ 

Cubitt and Nadel each say that among the most impressive things about Anderson, as a collaborator, are her focus and drive.

‘I have never met anyone with Gillian’s ability to focus. And she has a certainty about things, she is not mired in indecision,’ says Nadel. What this means is not just an incredibly long CV, but numerous satellite projects. Anderson has a line of smart, grown-up clothes that she has developed with the brand Winser London (‘I didn’t realise I was so opinionated about buttons!’).

She also works for numerous charities, focusing especially on women’s rights and environmental issues. ‘Because of my work ethic and also having had such high expectations, both of myself and other people’s of me, at such a young age, I think it became near to impossible for me to relax at all, to do anything that wasn’t work-related, so a lot of my later adult life has been trying to force myself to do that, and I struggle so hard, and sometimes I lose sight of it. So there is a part of me that wonders if I am slightly addicted [to work], I learnt it so young.’

The scant spare time that Anderson allows herself is spent ‘going to the cinema, to the theatre, watching documentaries’.

Piper, who has just completed a degree in production and costume design, is now living in her mother’s basement, and the two of them recently went on a trip to Amsterdam to see van Hove’s four-hour stage adaptation of the Hanya Yanagihara novel A Little Life. That might not sound like everyone’s cup of tea, but Anderson loved it.

And despite all the seriousness and the self-examination (or perhaps because of it), she is good company, thoughtful and witty. She has, she says, got happier as she has got older, less self-critical, more self-accepting.

‘I am constantly reminded of the fact that I am not normal. But fortunately I have enough abnormal people around me to help me feel that it is actually OK.’

All About Eve is running at the Noël Coward Theatre from 2 February to 11 May 2019

[momentsinsong]

Moments In Song No. 020 - Frankliin

“Moments In Song” asks people one simple question, “What are you listening to?” We believe that you can learn a lot about an individual and their experiences based off of the music they love. For every installment we ask someone to make a playlist of 10 songs they’re listening to, whether it be something new they stumbled upon, or a song they’ve always loved, and explain the story behind their choices. We aim to show that no matter where we come from, what we do, or what we look like, music has the ability to bring us together.

Fresh off of the release of his first EP REFLECT, Frankliin shares a playlist full of songs that invoke old emotions and remind him of why he started making music. We talk to the DMV Producer/DJ about his Metal beginnings, what makes a genius, and the balance between being creative and working a 9 to 5.

Listen to Frankliin’s playlist on Apple Music and Spotify. 

Words and photos by Julian.

_______________________________________________________________________

Julian: What was the thought process behind making your playlist? I know you said earlier it really hard to fit 10 songs on there.

Frankliin: Dude! Picking 10 songs is hard. I even struggle with my DJ sets trying to get like a 45 minute set together. That’s already hard enough, so just 10 songs was like “Fuck.” So my main thing is I wanted all songs that I have some sort of emotional attachment to. So like even some of those songs I’ve fallen in love to. Each one is something that is routinely in my head. Also I just wanted to exhibit some of my talented friends. I’m like, “Y’all are really out here making stuff like this and still homies.” That’s crazy to me.

I noticed that really only the last two songs are more upbeat, while everything else seemed more chill and introspective. Would you say that you did that on purpose, or did it just kind of end of like that? Like that’s just where you are in life right now?

Oh 100%. Even in my live sets I always want an upward progression. So that’s why I kind of wanted to start off kind of calm, because that’s more of the stuff I listen to on a day to day basis. I feel like anyone who knows me would describe me as high energy, but when I’m by myself I’m usually chilling out. I kind of wanted this playlist to reflect that. And then towards the end I wanted to give people something to bop their head to. I don’t know, I just like ramps. Shout out ramps.

Earlier you said the Baby song on your playlist was shown to you by your brother because at that time your parents were not fucking with Hip-Hop. Was it all Hip-Hop/Rap , or was it just new music in general?

I mean my parents liked Hip-Hop, but they were trying to shelter me. I was definitely sheltered a lot growing up, and my brother was not. So he would always show me shit and be like, “Don’t tell mom and dad I showed you this,” which made it even better because you’re doing shit you shouldn’t be. I have this profound memory that will not leave, and it’s fine that it won’t. My brother was driving after taking me to go see a movie, and where I live it’s near a swamp, and so we were driving through it and it’s pitch black, and then that song came on. As soon as I heard it, I was like, “What the hell is this?” It just matched the mood, the pockets they were choosing, the percussion. Everything the Clipse, Pharrell, The Neptunes made always just blows my mind. Even now that music is still ahead of its time. That’s definitely been something that was an initial influence, that’s resurged now with time.

With your parents having that view on music, how’d they feel once you started making music? And has that view changed since then?

So if it were up to my parents, I’d continue being an engineer working a 9 to 5, with a health care plan, a steady girlfriend, thinking about marrying and having kids, just simple shit. They’re baby boomers, and that's what they wanted, and that’s what they expect I wanted. There’s nothing wrong with parents that want you to be happy, but I’ve had a taste of those things and I don’t want it. That’s been a point of conflict with that. Long story short they were not happy with it. Even though I’m not anywhere close to where I want to be, I feel like now with me traveling and making money from it, they’re starting to warm up to it. Every time I do a show my dad is like, “Are you getting paid?” It’s never, “Oh was it fun? Did you have a good time?” it’s just “Are you getting paid?” But now my dad is 100% for it, he’s come to shows and stuff. My mom is still warming up to it. She’s even freaked out about me leaving the county, so me going overseas for shows, she lost it.

But I feel like you doing shows overseas, and releasing full projects that are being well-received, will eventually get things to click with them.

Yeah. And also I just had to learn to be like, “Fuck what everyone else thinks. Do what you want.” Like literally last night I had a conversation with Juice the bouncer at Velvet Lounge, shout out Juice, and we were talking about geniuses and stuff like that and he was just like, “I really don’t think there’s such a thing as a genius. It’s just people doing what they wanted and not giving a fuck about the status quo.” Which is why people think they’re so revolutionary and ask why they didn’t think of that, and it because you’re following the status quo.

When did you start making music, and then at what point did you realize you could actually do something with it?

I started making music when I was like 16, I’m 24 now. Time fucking flies. I never really did it seriously, my main thing was always school. I have a degree in engineering and that’s all I was focused on. I literally didn’t have summer vacations except for like 2 weeks, and those were a dope two weeks.

Really? What’d you do the rest of summer? 

I literally went to space camp dude.

I mean that’s kind of cool.

I mean it was cool until I asked some dude how much do you make working on spaceships and he was like, “We don’t make enough, stop asking me questions!” and that just killed my dream as a little kid.

How do you not make enough building spaceships?

He probably did, he was just being a jerk. And at that age you’re super impressionable, and experiences like that can fuck you up. That dream kind of died with that moment. So the music thing basically started with my friends and I listening to Metal, and then wanting to start a Metal band, and so I started playing bass. That was in middle school, and we were listening to bands like Asking Alexandria, Suicide Silence, I Set My Friends On Fire, and that’s how I got really into music. And then with time and with skateboarding, I got into electronic music. Me and friends would be messing around on FL Studios and this NuMark Mixtrack Pro he got from a thrift store for like $100. We’d be passing it around between the 5 of us and that’s how I learned to DJ. We would be producing together, trying to impress each other, and everyone was lowkey pushing me the hardest. It wasn’t like I was trying to be the best, it was just that I was having so much fun.

Was this still in Middle School, or was this High School now?

This is High School. It was all just fun in the beginning, and then I kind of gave it up when I went to my first year of college. I was just so focused on school and everything, and I was trying so hard and I just sucked so bad at college. I was a 4.0 and up student, and I went from that to losing my scholarship. In high school I was good with girls and then when I went to college I couldn’t get a girl to save my life. It was like everything that defined me just didn’t happen anymore. The only thing I really still had was music. It was either after my Freshman/Sophmore Year, I was just like I can’t fucking do this anymore. I had never had a summer off since I was in 6th grade. I told my mom I wasn’t taking summer classes and that I needed some time, and that was met with a lot of resistance. After that is when I did my first show as Frankliin, and that was at the Creative Block with Kleonaptra, it was her first show too. Afterwards I was like, “Damn, I’m trying to do this more.” I still wanted to do school, but then with time I wanted to do music more. I still planned to finish school, for myself and for my parents, and now that I’ve finished school I’m at a point where I’m doing the rat race of the 9 to 5 life. Whenever I’m doing this music stuff, or these tours, I never feel anywhere near as alive or satisfied doing anything else. I’d take the pay cut any day it if means I could do that. Without hesitation.

You said earlier that your playlist is made up of songs that invoke some sort of emotion in you. What would you say is the emotion you're trying to invoke with the music from your latest project, REFLECT?

I really wanted to step out of my comfort zone and put out something that felt like a piece of me, a fragmented story I always wanted to tell. REFLECT is a pretty on the nose name for it in all honesty. Each song is like a window into a relationship, whether it be my own, or spoken by the featured vocalists (LIA, xxpetejames and Martin. J. Ballou). Although it may seem kind of bleak, I feel like it’s conveyed that you can come out from tough times as a better more seasoned person.

Connect with Frankliin:

https://twitter.com/iamfrankliin

https://www.instagram.com/iamfrankliin/

https://soundcloud.com/iamfrankliin

Connect with Moments In Song:

https://www.instagram.com/momentsinsong/

https://twitter.com/moments_in_song

https://tinyurl.com/MISAppleMusic

https://tinyurl.com/MISSpotify