#i have a regular fan it just. god it is so much cooler outside than in my apartment and having the windows open isnt doing shit

[ispyspookymansion]

fighting demons (the urge to spend $27 on a window fan so my living room wont be 90 degrees anymore)

[radramblog]

Eldritch Moon my beloved

I think most Magic players are going to have a favourite set. Often that’s going to be one they started playing with, or one that really got them into the game, or one that had a limited or standard format they really enjoyed. A lot of people won’t, and that’s okay, they’re allowed, it’s hard to pick favourites sometimes.

But for me, it’s Eldritch Moon, aka the last time we went to Innistrad, and things got a bit more tentacular.

Eldritch Moon had a lot working against it from the get-go.

The Shadows block immediately followed the Battle for Zendikar block, one which a lot of people Didn’t Like. Whether it be for some of the more questionable art direction, for the relatively weak cards and boring parasitic mechanics, and for arguably some of the lamest story the game has had to date. More relevantly, though, it was a pair of sets where a fan-favourite plane was essentially dominated by squid monsters and lost a lot of its unique identity in the process- gone was the fun D&D-esque adventure world, replaced by stark wastelands and a war story with like one good story article. It’s the Tazri one.

And then the next set was Shadows over Innistrad. Another return to a fan-favourite plane, with a huge mystery being built up as to why everything was going to shit again. Why Avacyn and her angels were turning on humanity, why there are all these funky stones everywhere, what exactly Nahiri was doing fucking around on the plane of someone she apparently doesn’t like very much.

There were cryptic hints in the set itself. Its title is a reference to the Lovecraft story, Shadows over Innsmouth, with a fair few cards alluding to the story itself. A few cards did have subtle tentacles in the art, as well as subtle warping of flesh and world. The most damning clue came in the form of a puzzle regarding different flavour texts for the card Tamiyo’s Journal, which gave a particular phrase- “Remember this: they came as three”- flavour text from a Battle for Zendikar card referring to the three Eldrazi Titans, only two of which had been dealt with in that story.

Despite this, people still denied that this was the plot-to-be. There were still rumours that it was somehow Marit Lage again after all this time, or that the threat was a new one, or that it was somehow the Gitrog Monster’s fault. Personally, I wanted to believe this, and desperately didn’t want the next set to be Eldrazi-themed- I’d gotten pretty sick of them from BfZ and OGW and was very much enjoying all the new Werewolves and Madness cards and Delirium mechanic. This was at the point where I was drafting at FNM weekly, and the fun differential between the two blocks was stark.

But of course, the mystery was revealed. It was old god Emrakul the whoooole time! Quelle fucking surprise. And yet it ended up being significantly better than the previous block, for a number of reasons.

Firstly, the story is just kind of better. We get to see distinctly through the cards and the plot how the influence of Emrakul has affected the regular citizens of Innistrad, and how all its various factions- the Church, the vampire manors, the packs of werewolves, et cetera- were all twisted in her visage. We get to see the desperate fight against them, with all these gothic horrors warring against eldritch horrors, and against themselves. And we get both Jace doing some surreal journey-to-the-centre-of-the-mind shit while Liliana gets to be the hero and Tamiyo gives us an ending that raises more questions than it answers.

Also, Sorin gets stuck in a rock. Fuck that guy, Nahiri was always cooler, and fuck War of the Spark for apparently just having them make up off screen.

Secondly, the cards. Flavourwise, the three Eldrazi Titans’ corrupting influence manifests differently for each- Ulamog consumes and drains the world, Kozilek corrupts the mind and wreaks havoc on space, and Emrakul? As we see, Emrakul twists flesh into new and horrifying shapes, that the set’s cards display in loving and disgusting detail. While Ulamog and Kozilek’s drones were clearly a part of themselves, the Eldrazi of Innistrad all used to be something much more reasonable before Emrakul made it to the plane.

There are three types of Eldrazi in this set. Firstly- the transform mechanic from Innistrads previous has been played with to suit the needs of the flavour. With the exception of Ulrich, every single double-faced card represents a creature from the world, be it Human or Werewolf or otherwise, that is touched by Emrakul and makes a permanent transformation into something else. There’re masses of limbs, shapes echoing Emrakul herself, and flesh in configurations that Should Not Be. The shift on every card is stark, and in every case, you have to actively put in effort to push them over the edge- and off a cliff which they cannot come back from. This is especially true with the Meld mechanic, with the cards fusing into this giant monstrosity that literally dwarfs every other card on the table.

The next type of EMN-drazi is the Emerge creatures. The mechanic was extremely fun, almost all the cards were eminently playable in at least one format (mostly just limited), and the art is spooky. The flavour of some guy on your table getting fucking chestbursted and having fucking Elder Deep-Fiend pop out is incredible, and each is a great way of showing how the regular fauna of the plane (and flora, like, I think Lashweed Lurker is a plant or something) are mutating in response to the creature’s presence.

Finally, there’s the cards that make 3/2 Eldrazi Horror tokens. There’s less of these and they’re less intense, but by and large they’re a representation of the regular people being affected by the whole thing. Just about every card that makes one of these involves a creature dying in some way (Desperate Sentry, Otherworldly Outburst) or being spawned by an existing mass of flesh (Hanweir, Howling Chorus), and it gives this sense that everybody is affected by this effect.

Of course, that was also a thing in Battle for Zendikar block. The whole thing was Eldrazi, Eldrazi, Eldrazi, with even vanilla 4/3 worms having something to say about fighting them. They key difference of Eldritch Moon is that the flavour of the world is still preserved outside of this Eldrazi presence.

What I’m saying is- the gothic horror of Innistrad is still present despite the eldritch horror of the set’s antagonist. There’s still a corrupt and violent church (albeit with a few more tentacles now), there are still cults and Frankenstein zombies and vampires and werewolves. Innistrad’s tone is compatible enough with the Eldrazi’s that the combination enhances the two rather than diminishes them.

The final thing I want to say is just- the set’s really fun. It has a bunch of my favourite classic limited cards- Thermo-Alchemist, Ulvenwald Captive, and Boon of Emrakul- along with multi-format all-stars like Grim Flayer and Collective Brutality. It has big potential get-there moments with the Meld cards and some of the flip Eldrazi, and splashy interesting cards like Emrakul herself and Harmless Offering. The set drips with flavour that enhances the gameplay, with very little wasted space.

It’s a set I only really have two complaints about. Firstly- lol Ulrich isn’t good and wasn’t what basically any werewolf fan was after. And two- it suffers from an eternal issue that Magic only recently solved, in that it’s a Small Set with a pile of mechanics that it cannot possibly fully explore in its 200 or so cards. The biggest victim of this is Meld, as they could only fit 3 pairs in under the restraints of the set size. And that’s a real shame, considering that it’s a mechanic that we’re probably never seeing again, especially considering the recent Midnight Hunt. I really think there was a missed opportunity to not have a few leftover Eldrazi in that set- whatever happened to the Dronepack? Or the corrupted vampire houses? I suppose, though, that “I want more!” can be the best complaint a creator can get.

Eldritch Moon had big shoes to fill. However, in my eyes, it didn’t just fill those shoes. It filled them and kept filling them until its distended toes burst out the front and sides of the shoes and just kept growing, and bending in really weird ways, and I think I’ve lost the plot of this metaphor. It’s my favourite Magic set, and I don’t see that changing for a while.

[resident-fungi-fren]

Rainy Gays

Summary: Virgil hosts a radio station with Janus, and since it’s the only station that runs in their small town, just about everyone listens to it. 

He still didn't expect one of those people to be his soulmate.

Ships: Intruxiety (Virgil and Remus) and hints at Roceit (Roman and Janus)

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good morning gaybies and gentlethems, you’re listening to Rainy Gays Radio, and we’re your hosts, I’m Janus,”

“And I’m Virgil, clearly the superior host, and that’s why it’s my turn to talk about the weather. Let’s see, looking outside, there’s some clouds, oh shit is that a bird? Nope, false alarm, it’s just another cloud. Rude little shits, pretending to be birds. That’s false advertising. Anygay, it’s supposed to rain later this week, so we really will be rainy gays then.”

“Wow, what an original joke Virgil, you totally don’t use that one every time it rains.”

“Nope, never in my life, shove off Janus.”

“Why Virgil, I’m wounded. I thought we were friends, and now you betray me? I never thought you’d be the one to stab me in the back, my dearest friend, how can I go on without you?”

“Perish.”

“Well, just for that, I’m not paying for coffee later. You can buy your own latte.”

“Rude, how dare you revoke my caffeine privileges, and on today of all days!”

“Wow, what a subtle transition into today’s caller topic, you’re a master of subtlety.”

“Shut-“

“No. Today’s topic is what everyone’s talking about. The new drink over at [INSERT COFFEE SHOP NAME HERE], the only coffee shop in town, and therefore the lifeblood of said town.”

“What would we do without it?”

“Perish.”

“Bite me, you’re not allowed to use my tactics against me.”

“I just did darling~. Now listeners, here’s your chance to burn no more than ten minutes and call in, tell us all about your thoughts on the new drink, Virgil dear, remind me of the name?”

“Black Hole Latte, I think it’s supposed to be blackberry or somethin? I haven’t had my coffee yet today, is it showing?”

“Yes dear, you look like shit.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Anytime darling. You know the drill by now, we’re taking callers starting, now.”

“Here’s our first caller, that’s quick, people must be extra bored today. You’re on air now, spill the tea. Or the latte.”

“Hey, it’s Thomas, have either of you tried the latte?”

“Not yet”

“Negative Thom-a-roony.”

“Well, it’s not bad, it’s definite blackberry, but honestly I’ll be sticking with my usual, I’m not a huge fan of branching out.”

“You gotta mix it up sometimes, keeps things exciting.”

“Indeed, variety is the spice of life.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, but for now me and my regular coffee are going to chill in the nice safe bubble.”

“You know man, that’s such a mood.”

“Thank you for calling Thomas, lovely to hear from you again.”

“Anything to burn a little more time away from work. Speaking of which, I’ve gotta go there now. Later!”

“See ya. Say, we’ve known Thomas for a few years now, does anyone know what he does for work?”

“Of course we do, he’s uh, hmm, actually, I don’t think we do. A real enigma, that man.”

“Yeah, he’s a real tough walnut to crack.”

“Here’s our next caller, you’re on air now.”

“Hey kiddos!”

“Hey Pat”

“Hello Patton, aren’t you at work right now?”

“Yeah I am, but I just wanted to let you both know how proud I am, you’re doing great! And I tried the new latte on my way to work, it’s super yummy! I think you’d like it, Virge, it’s got some nice fruity notes! Just make sure you don’t drink it too late or you’ll never sleep!”

“Will do Popstar.”

“That’s all, love you both!”

“Love you too Pat”

“I do as well.”

“See you both later tonight!”

“And that was our resident puffball, Patton.”

“At least she didn’t drop another pun, I’m not sure how many more Logan can take.”

“Yes,  we might have been in need of a new soundboard tech had Patton not resisted the temptation to pun.”

“Oh shit there’s been another caller waiting.”

“Oh dear, sorry for the wait, you’re on air now.”

“Really babe, keeping the sole provider of coffee waiting?”

“Oh it’s just Remy.”

“Just Remy? Careful Virgil, or you’ll be getting decaf for the next week.”

“Please forgive my sins, oh merciful coffee god.”

“Relax, I didn’t call just to blackmail you. I just wanted everyone listening, which we all know is pretty much anyone, that if I hear any shit about my new latte I have no qualms about putting you all on decaf for the next two weeks, so think carefully before you call.”

“Remy, I do think that’s considered censorship, which is in fact, illegal.”

“So is fishing off a giraffe in Idaho, that didn’t stop me then, and this won’t now.”

“Wait, you went fishing off a giraffe? In Idaho? When exactly did that happen?”

“A story for another time, I’ve got a coffee shop to run, later babes.”

“Alright, later-“

“Oh, one more thing, some weirdo came in and ordered it and poured in half a bottle of green Gatorade, and it was the most interesting thing that’s happened all day.”

“Did you say Gatorade?”

“I did, and now I’m saying bye, see ya, sianara, farewell, later bitch.”

“Wait who- and they’re already gone. Well, now I know there’s someone new in town, no one here would ever add anything to one of Remy’s coffee.”

“Excellent deduction Virgil, you should start a true crime radio.”

“You’re right, I should.”

“That was sarcasm, you’re not allowed to quit on me now.”

“Yeah yeah I know, but a guy can dream.”

“Dreaming is for the weak and the innocent, and you are neither.”

“I’d get mad but you’re right.”

“Did you just admit that I was right?”

“Oh look a new caller, how convenient-“

“Virgil answer me damnit- hello you’re on air now.”

“You know, I thought the coffee was good and all, but it was much better once I added my usual shot of Gatorade.”

“Did you just say- oh dear I think Virgil might need a trashcan.”

“Wow Virgil, do always make that wonderful gagging noise? I’d like to see what other noises you can make, with that lovely voice~”

“Dear random stranger, I think you broke my co-host, and possibly my back as well, seeing as I just fell out of it”

“Is that what that thump was? I was almost concerned for a moment.”

“Who the hell puts Gatorade in their coffee?!?!”

“Oh Virgil, glad to see you’ve recovered.”

“Don’t you play innocent, I will end you on air.”

“Wow, the sexual tension between the two of you is reeling right now.”

“Uhh, no thanks. Janus and I go way back, there’s no romance there, plus, we’re not soulmates.”

“Yes, Virgil is a dear friend, and while I love him, it’s purely platonic, and we’re happy with that.”

“Cool cool, does that mean Virgil’s single?”

“That’s what you got from that?”

“Yeah, you sound like you’re pretty hot.”

“I think you broke Virgil again, Gatorade stranger.”

“Oh, my name’s Remus! Though Virgil can call me whatever he wants, lover, dear, daddy, all acceptable.”

“Dude, you’re on the radio.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that fact emo.”

“How do you know I’m emo?”

“You sound like it Gerard Gay.”

“Fair point.”

“As riveting as this conversation is, I think my brother is gonna stab me if I keep talking, so bye for now!”

“Why is your brother- and he’s gone, okay.”

“Final caller, you’re on air now, please don’t flirt with Virgil again”

“Is that what he did? I’m so sorry about my brother, Remus has zero filter.”

“Dude it’s fine, surprisingly we’ve gotten weirder calls.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, one time we got a telemarketer for a lingerie company.”

“That is weird, but trust me, doesn’t even touch on what Remus is capable of.”

“Good to know.”

“If he turns out to be a frequent caller, will you keep calling to apologize? You do have a lovely voice, so I wouldn’t be disappointed with the arrangement~”

“Oh I, um,”

“Stop flirting with the callers.”

“Callers? Do you do this often?”

“Only when they sound like a sunrise personified.”

“I’m hardly a sunrise, but yes, I wouldn’t be opposed to calling in again, Remus’s contributions aside.”

“Oh my god, I know the show is called Rainy Gays, but please stop flirting before I vomit again.”

“Apologies Virgil, we’re almost out of time anyway. Any chance I can get a name before we have to go, my dear?”

“Oh, Roman, my name is Roman.”

“A name fit for royalty~”

“Janus I swear to god-“

“And that’s all the time we have, for now, tune in later for your daily traffic report and water cooler conversation.”

“We’re not done talking about this-“

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil glared at Janus as he packed up, the smug bastard smirking every time their eyes met. They had no right, looking so self-satisfied, how dare they flirt so smooth when Virgil was cursed to be an eternal gay disaster?

He huffed, and Janus snorted, and he threw them a glare.

“You could at least pretend to be sorry.”

“But Virgil, that would be a lie, and I would never lie, it’s a blatant mark on my character!”

“We both know that’s a load of bullshit.”

Logan walked out of the sound room, rolling his eyes. “With the way you two carry on, it’s no wonder the listeners think you’re romantically involved.”

They both gasped and spluttered, grievously offended. “How dare-”

“Just try not to flirt with the callers so much? You’re both incorrigible.” He straightened his tie, and slung his bag over his shoulder, heading out. “Don’t forget to lock up, we don’t want another raccoon breaking in.”

“Logan, don’t say such things about Virgil, his eyebags and crummy food choices don’t warrant name-calling!”

Janus just smirked when Virgil hissed at them.

“Plus, his hissing is distinctly cat-like.”

“You little-” was all he got out before he threw his balled-up scarf at them, which they caught with ease. Smug bastard.

He ruffled through his bag, then his coat pockets, then his bag again. He sighed, and scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Have you seen my keys? I can’t find them, and Joan will skin my alive if I lose another set.”

Janus sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose. “Virgil, have you ever considered getting a keyring? Or something to keep track of them?”

“Hey, I do! I got the stormcloud one, remember!” He protested sheepishly, “but then I lost that too. It’s with my keys, wherever those are.”

“Virgil, you are a disater, how are you still allowed to live on our own?”

“I have you and Pat as neighbors.”

“Fair enough, your keys are hanging on the key rack, right where you hung them up when you got here.”

“Oh.” He sheepishly proccured his keys, and then held the door open for Janus once they were ready, and the two headed home together.

“You taking the bus?”

“Not today, it’s quite nice out and I have the energy for it, a walk will be good for me, and for you too, a little vitamin D won’t kill you ya know.”

Virgil gasped dramatically, feigning offense. “Exxxxxcccuuussseee you! That bright motherf***er,” he pointed to the sun, “is absolutley trying to kill me. Skin cancer, sunburns, heatstroke, cataracts? All from the sun!”

“Virgil the sun doesn’t have an vendetta against you, it has one against all of humanity.”

“Bold of you to assume he’s human!”

The voice came from behind them, making them both jump, and Virgil couldn’t help what blurted out of his mouth, truly it wasn’t his fault.

“MOTHMANS LITTLE HOE! WHo the F*** STILL SNEAKS UP ON ME!?!?!”

He spun around, and dropped his jaw as he layed eyes on the most drop-dead gorgeous man he’d ever seen. Was showing that much skin even legal?

The man gasped and looked down at his wrist, and his eyes widened before he looked back up at Virgil, grinning. “Well well well, looks like you’re my soulmate, Gerard Gay!”

Virgil sighed, “f*** me and my big mouth.”

[marveloussupernerd]

I loved the platonic Zen one so much! Would you want to wrrite it from Zen's pOV and he is in love with MC? He would be just staring at her and in love with her but MC is too drunk to notice? Thanks!

Uhm this is literally such a cute idea !? I’ve never written from Zen’s POV and first person makes me feel silly... but let’s throwback to English terms I’m going to use third person limited to him :)) I hope that works for you

Wtf is this POV. Idk. I always refer to the lovely reader as “you.” Today you are “she/her.” If you want something gender neutral feel free to request ! Also I’m sorry if this sucks I’m playing around with points of view

Clubbing - Zen (Zen’s POV)

Warnings: alcohol (duh)

Summary: you’ve had a long day at work. Zen has been meaning to take you to some of his favorite clubs. You’re so pretty... even when you’re drunk, even more so when Zen is drunk. He’s caught feels

She had had the worst week ever, or that’s what it had sounded like. She was texting Zen everyday after work giving her update: “People were extra shitty today,” “working late,” “Friend’s being a real bitch.”

This week had sucked for her. Zen was determined to make it better though! She sounded so tired over the phone. Just exhausted of all the shit she had to put up with. So he recommended they go out clubbing, get super wasted together and let it all out. He knew it���d be therapeutic for her and, heck, maybe with a few drinks in him he’d forget how bubbly and hot he felt around her all the time. That’s the last thing she needed tonight.

He knew she was in desperate need of a fun night, so he picked the bar that he frequented that was right by a college campus. The scene was always lively and the people were nice. It’d be a good pick. His Uber arrived to the spot first. He had to look cool while he waited for you. He had dressed the part! Ripped jeans, a plain white shirt that was slightly fitted to give a little taste at his muscles, and the leather jacket he had pulled out from the back of his closet. He looked pretty cool, and definitely hot. His fans would have a heart attack seeing him in this ensemble, leaning against the wall, a smirk on his face.

When she got out of her Uber, though, that whole persona fell flat. He felt like an idiot. Why was he leaning against the wall! That was so stereotypical. His smirk had definitely changed, hopefully to a smile instead of a grimace. He was being an idiot.

But wow. She looked so good. She had on a skirt that looked so soft and her legs looked so pretty and he was staring at her legs for way too long. And her shirt was a high-necked, slightly cropped top. Not enough to show off her stomach, but just enough to hang there where a little bit of skin would peek out when she moved. She was so so beautiful. She didn’t even have to try. Of course, she had. She looked amazing. Ahhh how long had he been staring!? Say something! Say anything!

“Hey!” It was supposed to sound way cooler than that, way more chill. It came out as more of an exclamation. He was just so excited to see her.

She walked closer to him, a smile on her face. “This better be worth the commute,” she teased. It was a long Uber ride here, but he’d just have to make the trip even more worth it. The pressure was on.

He pushed himself off the wall so that he could better face her. “Oh it will! I’ve been so busy I haven’t been here in a while, but I doubt it’s changed.” He made his way into the building, staying close to her side. It often got pretty busy here. “It’s right outside of a college so you get all the fun college students here.” He had to raise his voice to speak over the music, but she seemed to be listening thoughtfully, a smile on her face as she nodded. God, that smile! Look anywhere else, Zen.

“Sounds messy,” she commented, her eyes scanning across the college students already getting drunk. Her gaze focused on a group of sorority girls in super high cut crop tops and high-waisted shorts. She pulled down her shirt subconsciously to cover up more of her stomach. It shot a pang to Zen’s heart. Did she really think she was any less attractive than these girls? She was so much more beautiful than them.

He chose not to comment on it though, instead following their conversation, explaining how all the students here were fun, as compared to regular bars where there were always people moping mixed in the crowds. He only ever came here when he wanted to get completely hammered and have a good time, but considering that’s what she needed, this was the perfect spot.

She was gazing at him for a little too long; Zen felt his body heat up under her gaze. What was she thinking about? Hopefully only good things. She continued on the conversation as though nothing had happened. “So, what do you typically start with here?”

“Shots. Classic move, especially for the med school students. You’ll see them soon enough. They start off with fireball then make their way down to the cheapest vodka as they get more drunk and can’t actually taste it.” It sounded like he had been here too much; he hoped he didn’t sound like an alcoholic.

But she didn’t judge him. She never had. She was so sweet. She just smiled, suggesting they follow their influence.

Zen offered to go get the drinks, heading up to the bar and placing their order. His eyes caught his own in the reflection in a mirror on the back wall. Why did he look so nervous? He’d need more alcohol to get through tonight. He requested another round of shots.

She seemed surprised to see the four shot glasses he balanced back. “Do they normally do two at once?” She asked, not bothering to hide the surprise in her face.

He shook his head. Don’t blush. Don’t blush. “Nah, they’re too broke for that. But I thought” that I didn’t want to be fawning over you all night. That I can’t look at you without thinking how pretty you are. That alcohol would help. “It’d be fun,” he finally mustered out. He handed her the shot glass, IGNORING how he felt as they brushed hands when they clinked their glasses against each other’s. He downed it smoothly, the burning feeling at his throat deliciously taking his mind off of her. That is until she had her mouth puckered and was shaking her head, holding back a cough. She looked cute even while doing that. “Good?” He asked her, still taking in her reaction.

“Perfect.” She grinned. “Round 2?”

“Already?” Thank God. More alcohol equals less strange feelings.

She laughed. His heart fluttered. “Well, it’s here isn’t it? The faster we can get drunk the better.”

Amen. He clinked the second glass and downed it even quicker than the first.

They got drunk fast. Zen had a constant stream of alcohol flowing through his body, begging it to stop thinking of her in that way. She tried to keep up with him, though, which got her drunk as well in no time.

“Will you sing karaoke with me?” He asked, his face heating up the second he realized what he had asked. What a strange question. One she’d never agree-

“Sure!” She laughed out loud. “I’ll even let you pick the song.”

Any song. Any song. A song he could remember the words to. A song you definitely knew. Maybe something a little romantic? No. Probably not. He settled on “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” A perfect duet. It’d show off his voice well, everyone knew it, it was cute without being too lovey.

He clicked the wrong song. “Before He Cheats” started playing. Not what he intended at all. He stumbled up to the stage and grabbed the microphone, desperate to pull attention away from such an odd choice of a song. “Hey, I’m Zen and this is my...” he blanked into the microphone. NOT girlfriend. Friend. Friend. “Best friend!” He introduced, announcing her name for the audience before the song had begun.

She took the song in stride. In fact... she probably got too into it? “This is for my asshole ex!” She cheered at the instrumental break. The crowd went wild.

Say something say something say something. “A-and all my old managers who told me I’d never make it,” he added. Everyone cheered again.

She made her way over to him, time seeming to slow as he watched her foot catch on the microphone cord, leaping to action to catch her before she could hit the ground, arms around her back as she had one on his chest to steady herself. His body felt like it was on fire.

“That would’ve hurt like a bitch,” she commented, laughing. She was drunk drunk, huh? He helped her up, grasping her hand firmly and guiding her over the wire to his side of the stage. They finished the performance hand-in-hand; he hadn’t wanted to let go.

Once they got off the stage, they didn’t get a moment of relieve, a man calling her name. Why did he introduce her? Nobody had the right to cat call her like this. He whipped around to face the man, blinding white anger in his eyes. She had such a shitty week, she didn’t need this. “If you so much as look at her right now I swear to God I’ll knock you into-“ his eyes widened as he took in the startled blonde boy in front of him. “Yoosung?”

Yoosung didn’t move, unintimidated by drunk Zen. “Hi!” He greeted. She turned to face him, her skirt fanning as she moved. Zen snapped his eyes away from her and back to the man in question. “You guys are kinda drunk.”

They burst into laughter. Duh!! Wasn’t that obvious. “What are you doing here?” Zen asked, ignoring the previous comment.

“Oh, well I live right down the street.”

Her eyes lit up in enlightenment. “Oh my goodness you are a college student!” She seemed very proud of this discovery.

Yoosung went on about playing LOLOL but Zen was more focused on her, the smile on her lips, not reserved as it sometimes was, but in full form, nothing held back. The way her eyes sparkled under the light and... back to the conversation at hand.

“Oh! I have a great idea!” He interrupted Yoosung’s very boring story, focusing the conversation on her.

“I’d love to hear it.” She was always so nice.

“Why don’t we just crash at Yoosung’s place tonight? We won’t have to pay for an Uber.”

Yoosung seemed shocked. “But-“

“That’s pretty smart,” she butted in, nodding. “What do you think Yoosung?”

She could get anyone to listen to her. She was so damn charming. Yoosung didn’t stand a chance. “I- I guess that’s okay. As long as I can play LOLOL.”

“Yay!” She cheered, clapping excitedly. “We can go now. Lead the way.”

As the three headed out of the bar, Zen noticed her walking was shaky. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder to steady her and she followed suit. They weren’t much more stable walking down the street, but he felt better having his arm around her to keep her safe. Yoosung had unlocked the door for them and they shuffled in.

“I only have like... a bed and a couch,” he explained. “But we can figure something out.”

She let go of Zen’s body, leaping out of his grip to look around the place. “Wow Yoosung! This is cute as hell.” She was cute as hell.

Zen made his way to the couch, plopping down on it at the same time as her. His legs banged into hers clumsily, but he shifted so that she could lay on top of his. Were they really going to sleep in the same place?

“Is that really comfortable?” Yoosung asked, directing his attention to her. “You can take my bed.”

Zen glanced over at her, pouting. He was not sharing a couch with Yoosung, especially after almost getting to share it with her. She seemed to get the hint. “Nah, this is great. Will you get us a blankie though?”

As Yoosung left to get the blanket, Zen shrugged off his jacket, tossing it to the floor. She ran her hand through her hair, the locks falling messily around her face. Yoosung came back and draped the blanket over the two of them. “Is this okay?” He had asked.

Zen chuckled, cozying up to the blanket. “Perfect. Thanks Dad,” he teased. Yoosung blushed more. She giggled.

“Night Yoosungie! Don’t stay up all night.” She called. He wanted a nickname. Not fair. Yoosung set down some Advil and water on the coffee table and wished them good night. The room was suddenly silent.

“I want a nickname too.” Zen whispered.

“Zen isn’t even your real name,” she retorted.

He groaned. “I want a cute name like Yoosungie. Why don’t I get a cute name.”

“You’re plenty cute already,” she muttered, clearly tired. “Goodnight Zenny,” she giggled, blowing him a kiss. He fake-caught it, pinning it to his chest. Maybe tonight wasn’t all that bad after all.

[httyd2014]

Character Review of HTTYD 3

This is Part 1 of a two part movie review of How To Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World. Next up is the plot review. 

As of March 3, I've seen it four times. The first was the February 2 early showing, the second and third were on opening weekend in a regular AMC theater, and the fourth was in IMAX yesterday, which, like, I'm bothered by the fact that this third movie in the franchise only has limited IMAX screenings whereas the first two were released in all IMAX theaters, and released in 3D to boot. But anyway, character review:  (Also, spoilers abound, so only read this if you've seen it already)

He was at his BEST. That speech he gives to the Vikings in the great hall after Grimmel burns his house down gets more chilling and chilling with each viewing. Years ago when Dean Deblois was dropping hints over what to expect in the sequel, I got the impression that the arch of the trilogy would end with Hiccup's coronation as Chief at the end of the third. Instead, not only is he thrust into the role early thanks to Stoick's heartbreaking death, but we get to see him grow and struggle in the role of Chief, and I thought that character arch was pulled off sensationally. Although he takes after his mother's idealism in his attempts to save all innocent dragons from the hostile Trappers, he also embraces his father's lesson from the sequel that his first duty is to protect his people from harm and danger. His speech in the great hall encapsulates that beautifully with one powerful line after another. 

Hiccup is truly the leader of his people by the end of this movie, and not only that, but at least from my perspective, he's also imminently relatable. He genuinely struggles with himself and questions whether he's capable of doing what needs to be done as Grimmel and the legion of Trappers advance on New Berk. That lack of internal belief he carried around inside him as a scrawny 15 year old boy before he shot down the Night Fury is still there, six years later, as a handsome 21 year old chief. His internal struggle really showed his humanity, and in my opinion, it was Hiccup's journey that drove this third movie more than any other character, including Toothless. Which brings me to our beloved Night Fury:

Ok, so I must confess, I wasn't totally satisfied with how his character was portrayed. What made Toothless so amazingly endearing in the first one was how he struck such a PERFECT balance between being this fierce, ferocious beast on one hand, and being this adorable little puppy dog on the other hand. For the most part, he kept that balance in the sequel, particularly at the end when he challenges Drago's Bewildabeast and becomes the new Alpha of all dragons. In this one, however, I honestly didn't get the sense that Toothless truly was the "Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death Itself" like the Viking legends said Night Furies were. Even during the above scene in the clouds where he does the Lightning Bolt thing and goes into stealth mode, it felt more like a cheap trick to impress Luna than a symbol of how utterly deadly he can be, and sure enough, he only uses it that one time to get those four Deathgrippers off his back. To me, all those puppy dog moments - of which there are MANY in this one - are less adorable because they aren't contrasted with enough moments of genuine fierceness. Simply put: I liked Toothless a lot more in the first and second movies than in the third one. 

That being said - and I'm going to repeat this in the plot review - the flaws in his character are made up for by the ending. He does the most human thing we've EVER seen him do when he literally gives Hiccup a big bear hug as they say good by. I put my hand over my mouth to control my emotions when I saw that! And then during the final scene where Hiccup visits him after 5 or 6 years, Toothless does a very animal like thing by failing to recognize Hiccup at first, which, as a big fan of the Jurassic World movies, reminded me of how the velociraptor Blue didn't recognize Owen after not seeing him for a year, thus putting Owen in a dangerous situation. But then as soon as Hiccup does the Forbidden Friendship thing, BOOM, Toothless's eyes widen like the sea, and he embraces his dear friend that he can't see every day anymore. To me, that was totally in character of who Toothless is as both a deadly Night Fury, but also the best friend a human could ask for. 

I'm gonna say this straight up: If Captain Marvel, or Star Wars, or Ghostbusters, or whoever, is going for the narrative of Strong, Female, Characters that do Strong, Female, Things, they already have an archetype that everyone loves, and her name is Astrid Hofferson. She is the true embodiment of a strong, female character, and I thought everything that made HTTYD fans love her in the first one was on display again in the third one. I was worried about this too, because in the trailers, it looked like Deblois might have been relying too heavily on the mythos of the first one, specifically the talk on the cliff, which from the trailers looked copied and pasted into the third one. However, it came off SO much better on film than it looked in the trailer, including one of my favorite lines from the entire franchise:

"But you know what? I am the person I am today because of you. And I have watched you doubt yourself every day ever since."

Astrid does what a good woman is supposed to do for her man: Be there for him when he falls down, comfort him with kind words, and remind him of who he is and what he can do. And she does all that in addition to being the warrior princess that Tuffnut correctly described her as. She fulfills the old saying, "behind every great man, stands a great woman." The talk on the cliff in this one is JUST AS GOOD as the same talk in the first one. It didn't come off as contrived or forced like I thought it would. Another favorite part of mine was during Hiccup's speech where she throws her axe on the table and demands that the Vikings hear out his plan to abandon Berk. She does that despite explicitly disagreeing with that plan earlier, which means that she was willing to stand by her man and her Chief even though she herself wasn't enthusiastic about the plan at first. Overall, I felt that the Hiccstrid relationship drove this story almost as much as the friendship between Hiccup and Toothless, and it did it without devolving into cliched romance.

She was good...at least when she had actual time onscreen (more on that in the plot review). I LOVED how she developed a relationship of sorts with her future daughter-in-law by encouraging Astrid to comfort Hiccup when he was doubting himself. I remember thinking to myself in the theater, "wow, Hiccup has two incredible women in his life! What a gift." I also liked how she automatically became an authority figure on Berk despite being gone for 20 years. She basically plays the role of General by scouting out Grimmel's advances towards New Berk and by bailing out Hiccup and the gang when Grimmel outfoxes Hiccup by trapping him on his ship. Between Valka, Eret, Astrid, and Gobber, it's really cool to see how Hiccup has a good leadership council behind him. 

Believe me, his character is SO much cooler if you've seen Game of Thrones. I can't emphasize enough how Kit Herrington's personality comes alive in Eret. In this one, my only complaint is that I wish we saw him more in combat fighting along side Gobber and Valka, although even as an adviser to Hiccup, he plays the role really well. A part of me wishes he gave Hiccup and Stoick more of a challenge when he was working for Drago in the 2nd one, because his knowledge of the world outside Berk is impressive, not to mention he's a natural leader, as he demonstrates during the speech in the great hall when he augments Hiccup's points. Whatever goofball traits he had in the sequel are gone in this one, and I liked that. Unfortunately, I can't say the same about...

Ugh. The teens could have disappeared entirely and it wouldn't have effected the plot at all (Grimmel would have found New Berk eventually. Ruffnut's stupidity simply allowed him to find it faster). There was absolutely no character development from any of them, and in Snotlout's case, he outright devolved. The primary reason I didn't think HTTYD 3 was an A+ movie is because the teens would not shut the hell up. I did NOT find most of their lines or antics funny, I found them distracting and annoying. These characters reached their apex in Gift of the Night Fury, and they never got better after that. 

Is Gobber. Good man, good leader, kind of paranoid. His shining moment in this franchise remains his eulogy during Stoick's funeral. In this one, you could tell that Deblois didn't really have anywhere to go with his character, so he added a subplot with the constantly appearing Hob Gobblers, which to me was what Legend of the Boneknapper should have looked like. One thing I do wish is that we saw one quick appearance of the Trolls alongside the Hob Gobblers on New Berk, as that would have been an amusing validation of his line to Stoick from the first one.

He gets two WONDERFUL flashbacks with Little Hiccup.* But, there's one error that was made during those flashbacks, and I apologize in advance to everyone who has already pointed it out: Stoick's beard should have looked scruffier and redder like it does in the first one when he's younger, as opposed to straight with grey spots like in the second when he's older. His beard is straight with grey spots during the flashbacks. Assuming that wasn't an oversight by Dreamworks, I'm guessing they did it that way because it was easier to animate. Which is understandable, but still, I'm a stickler for consistency. (The missing tree branch in front of Hiccup's face in the first one still jars me every time I see it).

*My gods, every animation studio from Dreamworks to Disney to Pixar has MASTERED the art of creating adorable children. It never ceases to amaze me

Ok, WOW, I loved him as a villain! He was everything Drago Bludvist wasn't: Cunning, crafty, smart, and above all, relatable. Grimmel is what Hiccup possibly WOULD have become if he stuck his knife into the downed Night Fury. Both of them are cerebral, and both of them play this delightful mind game where they try to anticipate each other's moves and countermoves, which Grimmel wins more often than not. As Gobber said to Hiccup, "one day, you're going to pick a fight you can't win." If Drago made Hiccup pay for his idealism by costing him his fathers life, than Grimmel makes Hiccup pay by costing him his Dragon-Human utopia. Grimmel's actions cause Hiccup to eventually accept the painful truth that humans living with dragons every day is not possible without resorting to war and death to keep that utopia a reality. When a villain can change things like that, then you have a damn good villain, and not just a guy who gets in the way periodically like Alvin and Dagur from the TV show. 

Additionally, I thought Grimmel was so much more personable than Drago. His talk to Hiccup in the house evoked the same feelings in me as the talk between Evelyn Deavor and Elastigirl in Incredibles 2, which is to say, I was relating to what BOTH of them were saying to each other. It was like the Light and Dark sides that exist inside all of us were speaking to each other. Whereas Drago was just pure evil and brute force, Grimmel was genuinely compelling and interesting. I would have liked Deblois to take a different story arch with this third film than just throwing another disposable villain in the mix, but as it is, Grimmel was a worthy character. 

In Summary

Hiccup and Astrid were spectacular, Toothless was very good but could have been better, Valka, Eret, and Gobber played their roles well, and Grimmel was an excellent bad guy. The only downside was the Teens. If their comic relief was cut, or if they were actual characters, this could have been an A+ movie from start to finish as opposed to A+ at the end and at specific parts in between (like the speech and the talks on the cliff).  

[memescomicswriting]

Brooklyn Baby

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Clint x Reader

Warnings: Age gap, lots of potty language, and implied sexy times

Summary: Your boyfriend is in a classic band. You work at a hot club in The City. Is your love enough to overcome his securities?

Masterlist

A/N: Clint’s in his early forties here. I don’t pay attention to cannon age Based off “Brooklyn Baby” by Lana Del Rey

--

The night was old but the bar ragged on. You didn't mind working as a bartender. The place was named SHEILD, after some old inside joke, and it was a nice club. You made good money from your boss, Tony. He was a generous man and insisted on paying the girls more for all the shit you had to put up with from drunk men. With tips from the high traffic flow of rich idiots and eager tourists, you lived comfortably. Some regulars were being taken care of by Wanda down at the other end of the bar. Regulars were people Tony deemed 'not the biggest asshole' that frequented enough to hold a VIP card. That left you with the drifters on the opposite side. This wasn't the only bar in the place and it wasn't the most central bar either. Your bar was on the open, inward-facing loft that looked over the stage and dance floor. Due to the acoustics, the music was awesome up there but not too loud because the speakers sat below you.

At first, your customers were genuine fans of music, but soon they shuffled out and the 'biggest asshole' type sauntered in. They didn't bother you much. They were too busy trying to impress their dates or the people they picked up bellow. When their guests became less enthusiastic they began to grumble about how they should've gone to club Hydra. You almost told them to go there, but you didn't think it was worth the confrontation.

Tony originally bought the club to relive the glory days of his band, the Avengers. It was comprised of his friends: Steve, the Captain; Natasha, Black Widow; Thor, Point Break; Bruce, Hulk; and Clint, Hawkeye. Tony, or Iron Man as he liked to be called, took it upon himself to give some of the staff and club friends nicknames too. Wanda was the Scarlett Witch for her red lipstick and wit. Her brother Pietro was named QuickSilver for his silver hair and his ability to move around the club quickly. You were girlfriend, but the name had no inappropriate connotation. It had everything to do with who you started dating after you began to work there. The Avengers played earlier in the night. Now the DJ controlled the stage and created mixes of their top hits. The place was decorated commemorating the band. The music was a little before your time, but your older siblings often blared the radios in their rooms with Avenger music. You knew most of the songs by heart at this point. Like your siblings' rooms, commemorative posters were all over. Each bar was themed with a band member. Tony's was the largest, central bar- go figure. Yours, in the loft above, was for Hawkeye. You didn't mind that at all. Your boyfriend was the lead guitarist in his band. You often found yourself singing along while he played at home. Usually, it was whoever inspired him. You liked it when he played Lou Reed. He liked to play things from the seventies because he was a seventies baby even if it were '79. A lot of his friends, outside his band, didn't understand what he got from being with you. Someone your age couldn't understand the time he came from or his taste in music. He was a free spirit and you tied him down by simply existing. You'd zoned out in thought of your boyfriend. God, was he so cool and attractive, and oh how you loved him. The growing calls brought you back to the present. "Yo, bar babe!" A thick and sweaty hand waved in front of you. You quickly repressed the disgust on your face. "Yes?" You asked in the nicest tone you could muster, which was decent. "Thanks for sparring some attention to your customers." The guy snickered. He was tall enough, built enough. His face a bit intimidating; enough to the point you decided lunging across the bar at him wasn't the best idea. "Another round of Bud Light pitchers." They already reeked of alcohol but they weren't exhibiting signs of needing to be cut off. "Sure." You quickly went on to get their order just to be away from them. When you came back with the fresh pitchers the guests with them turned up their noses at the drink. You couldn't blame them. Light beer was gross, to begin with, and mass quantities of Bud Light were the cheapest way to get drunk at a bar like yours. As the group of men called it, 'the pieces of ass' walked off, no longer wanting anything to do with them. It was a mix of pretty young girls and guys. They could do better anyway. Soon, they all began arguing about who was to blame for their guests leaving. The one who asked for the pitchers quickly became the center of the argument. Another member of the group, younger and somehow more greasy looking, sauntered up to you. "Yo Rumlow, get back here!" He was called back to the table but refused to return. "Hell nah, not with you hens clucking. I'm not wasting my time on your squawking, I'm going home with someone tonight." With that, he turned to you with the slimiest smile. 'Oh fuck no!.' Was all you thought while your eyes rolled. "Awe, now don't be like that baby." He crooned. "No." You replied shortly. He leaned over the bar. "Come on, I could treat you real good baby." You snorted at how dumb he sounded. "No." He didn't like that. His tone began to slip from icky charm to agitation. "What, you got a boyfriend? You're not a baby, you're a taken bi-" The call of your name interrupted your fist from flying into the guy's face. "Y/N!" It was the cheerful voice you never tired of hearing. Clint briskly walked up to the counter and leaned over for a quick peck. "Tony said he'd have Happy rope off the bar for the night so you could head home early." The Rumlow guy erupted in a vicious chuckle. "You gotta be kidding me baby. You're too young and cool for this washed-up loser. Do yourself a favor and leave with me." You saw Clint's jaw grind while the rest of his body stiffened. The nearly twenty-year age gap was a sore spot for him. No matter how many times you reassured him, told him you loved him age gap and all, he still felt insecure about it. Something in the back of his mind crept upon him from time to time, telling him he was too old to keep you happy. He feared you'd leave him one day. The New Yorker in you, specifically the Brooklyn in you, began rising from the depths of your personality. "Oh fuck off you mother fucking loser, My boyfriend is cooler than you'll ever fucking be. Get out of my bar you piece of shit." The man slammed his hands down on the bar but you didn't flinch a muscle. You were wound that tight. "The fuck did you just say to me you bitch." You slowed your words and annunciated for the dumbass. "Get out of my bar, you mother fucking asshole before I knock your ass on the ground." "Oh, your gonna pay for that you little slu-" Before he could finish his insult his ass was knocked on the ground, but not by you. Clint was hovering over him delivering punch after punch. Soon, the guy's goons were rushing over to get their boy. Clint was immersed in a mosh pit of jerkoffs, but it didn't phase him a bit. Despite their efforts to restrain him long enough to get a punch in, Clint was shrugging them off and delivering more grounding blows. When the original douche was up again and itching for a hit, Clint used the guy's own momentum to throw him behind and straight to securities feet. Coulson, and the rest of the bouncers he brought made quick work of collecting the rest of the goon squad. Soon they disappeared down the steps towards the entrance. They'd probably pass hands from club security to the usual cops stationed outside. Clint was a heaving, disheveled, and sweat smeared mess. And god was it hot! When he finally dragged his stare off the vanishing morons and onto you, his body started to relax. He looked down at himself and huffed out a sigh. "I'm sorry babe, but when I heard that name slip from his mouth with him leering at you like that, I saw red." You let out a good giggle. He was confused at first but accepted it when you hopped on the bar counter with a clean cloth to wipe down his body. "Don't apologize. That was fucking hot!" You poked his chest with seriousness. "Only thing that bothers me is that I didn't get to hit 'em." Clint's head tipped back as he roared with laughter. "You would be upset about that." He allowed you to continue cleaning him up until you were nearly done. He grabbed your wrists and held them to his chest. "But in all seriousness, you don't mind your senior boyfriend punching a jerk's lights out for yah?" His head cocked to the side as he studied your face for any hint of disgust. "Mind?" You scoffed. With his hands still on yours, you directed him to grasp your hips. "I'm turned on!" Before you could say more, Clint was between your legs and you were firmly ground into the counter. Your lips were locked in a searing kiss. Clint put a lot of pressure into this one. Teeth clashed and your lips swelled. His tongue slipped through your gasps to dominate every inch of your mouth. You had no air so when he pulled away you were gasping. You hiccuped as you tried to speak. From the grin plastered ear to ear, he enjoyed that. "And you're not a senior. You're barely forty and for barely forty I want to jump your bones every second of the day. So invest in some arthritis medicine for when you are old." Clint lifted you off the bar and plopped you on the ground, still pressed against him. "So I'm cool, huh?" You swatted his arm playfully. "Really?! That's what you took away from this?" "That, and you're horny." He nodded, being a little shit with his fake, nonchalant attitude. "Mhm..." You rolled your eyes with no subtlety. Then you pushed him off so you could get your purse from behind the bar. As you leaned over the wooden counter, you made sure your ass was in full show for your boyfriend. If Tony was letting you leave early then Wanda would be left to do your side of the bar; which was a mess thanks to those assholes. You left most of your tips for her as a thank you. "You're not as cool as me." You shouted to Clint, who was following behind you, still fixated on your rear. A satisfied smirk formed on your lips. "Damn straight!" He cheered. "Now let's go home so you can show me how cool you think I am. My Brooklyn Baby." Clint squeezed your sides which caused you to squeak. Again, you playfully hit him like you were annoyed. It was damn well clear that you were anything but annoyed with him. You were frustrated but in the best way. He was gonna get it when you got home or any place private enough.

[branlovestowrite]

Score One for the Coach

This is the story that I wrote for the @fallforcs event. I live in Northeast Florida, and we don’t often see many of the traditional markers of fall, like cooler weather and turning leaves, until much later in the year. But one fall tradition that is universal to the south is football. I grew up on football, and I knew it was fall when the regular season games started. 

When I had to pick a fall topic to write a story about, football was one of the first things that came to mind. I must send a HUGE thank you to my beta @jonirobinson64. She not only helped me focus and fine-tune the story but also helped me pick the title. She was such a joy to work with, and I am really glad the mods assigned her to be my beta.

I also want to thank the mods of Fall for CS. This was a fun event. I loved the blind date with a fanfic concept. I hope it will be repeated in the future.

Thanks also goes to my artist, @nicole-nikla who created the lovely banner for this story.

Score One for the Coach

Summary: When her son takes up football, Emma Swan starts attending games to support him. She just wants to cheer on her kid, but all the other moms want to set her up with the team's coach, Killian Jones. No matter how good looking he is, she hates set-ups. But can she really resist his charms once she starts getting to know him better?

Rating: T for mild language and some light petting (nothing explicit)

Trigger Warning: brief mention of deaths of minor characters in the past (this is an AU, but Killian still lived through some of same tragedies that he does in canon)

AO3 Fanfiction

Emma cringed as she watched Henry get tackled for the third time that day. He had insisted on playing football this year, and it was the first extracurricular activity his dad Neal supported and was willing to pay for. So, despite her concerns about injury, she hadn't tried very hard to talk her son out of playing. She was just happy there was finally something that allowed her ex to connect with his son.

Henry was good at the sport when he paid attention, but today was not one of those days. He kept looking to the bleachers to see when his dad was going to show up, and the defensive players were taking advantage of his distraction. Luckily he hadn't given up any points… yet. Being one of the fastest runners at his school, he'd been given the position of Running Back. His slight stature and ability to weave through obstacles had dubbed him the team's secret weapon. The other team wouldn’t see him coming until it was too late. But he had to avoid getting tackled to make that work, and today he was doing a very poor job of it.

The coach blew his whistle. “Swan! Get your head in the game! Our first real matchup is Thursday. We need you focused!”

Emma couldn't help but swoon just a little at the football coach’s accented speech. His elegant tone made even the most mundane platitudes sound exciting. And, even if she thought he might be granting a little too much importance to a game played by middle school kids, she appreciated his motivation tactics. He never lashed out in anger or tried to embarrass the kids. Instead he reminded them how dependent they were on each other.

“Sorry Coach Jones,” Henry called back.

“Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your teammates.” He blew his whistle again. “Everyone bring it in. Let's do a water break. The weather hasn't caught up with the date yet.”

Emma fanned herself as she silently agreed with him. The weather in their North Georgia town was still hot, despite the September date. She was ready for fall and cooler temperatures.

“Oh my god, I know. He's so hot, right?” came a voice from her left. Emma looked over to see Ariel Seafarer, whose daughter Melody was the team's Kicker. Ariel was a beautiful woman with thick red hair, creamy smooth skin, and bright green eyes. She had a personality to match, being one of the kindest people Emma had ever met, outside of her sister-in-law Mary Margaret. She was also very happily married to her husband Eric for fifteen years, so why was she ogling the coach?

Emma realized she was staring awkwardly and quickly averted her gaze before replying. “Oh, um, no. I was thinking about the weather, actually.”

Ariel smiled. “Oh yeah, that too. But it only serves to highlight his muscles more when he wears those tight shirts to try and combat the heat.” Emma opened her mouth to reply, but Ariel pressed on. “ And no, there is nothing wrong with my marriage. I love Eric dearly. But I still have eyes!” she said with a giggle.

“I um… I guess…?” Emma didn't know how to respond.

“You should ask him out sometime! You're both single. Then you could tell me all about it and help feed my fantasies.”

“Ask who out?” came a voice from behind them as Neal settled on the bleachers next to Emma.

“No one,” Emma replied, shooting a warning look to Ariel. “Where were you?” she asked, changing the subject as she turned to face him. “The scrimmage is almost over.”

He rubbed his hand through his shaggy brown hair and looked at her with his big, brown, puppy dog eyes. “Shit, I'm sorry, Ems. I got held up at work.  I promise I'll be on time for the game on Thursday. That's the important thing, right?”

“Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your son.” It wasn't lost on Emma that her words echoed those of Coach Jones. “But don't give him empty promises. If you say you're going to be there, be there.”

“Alright, alright. I got it. You don’t have to badger me. I’ll be there with bells on, okay?”

She bit her lip to hold back the snarky reply waiting on the tip of her tongue. Neal’s nonchalance infuriated her. She’d found it charming when she first met him. She thought he was too cool to give a damn about anything. But now that he treated their son with the same laissez faire attitude, she wished Neal would learn to be conscientious. She would never trade her son for anything, but she chastised herself constantly for having ever hooked up with his father.

Thankfully, the rest of the scrimmage went well, and, as it wrapped up, she was glad to see the broad grin on Henry’s face when he saw his father. Neal walked onto the field to greet his son, and Emma trailed behind.

“Mrs. Swan?” She heard Coach Jones say as he approached her.

She smiled awkwardly at him. “Just Miss Swan, Coach Jones. How can I help you?” She struggled to maintain her composure up close. He was so good looking, with his dark hair, broad shoulders, soulful blue eyes and artful scruff covering his rugged jaw.

“I was hoping to have a chance to speak with you about Henry in private. I have some concerns about his behavior.” She felt her face pale at his words, which he must have noticed because he scrambled to amend his statement. “Oh! No, nothing dire, I assure you. Henry is a good boy.”

“Of course he is! He’s my son!” Neal said as he walked up with Henry at his side, his arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“Mom! Can we go get pizza?” Henry asked, his pleading brown eyes an exact match of his father's, only with more sincerity.

“Um, yeah, let me just finish up with Coach Jones and I can meet you guys there. Where are you going?”

“Oh, well, I was kinda hoping I could have some guy time with Henry…” Neal replied, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

“It’s a school night, Neal,” Emma began.

“Please Mom! Dad can drop me off at the apartment when we’re done. I promise I’ll still get my homework done.”

She felt her resolve weaken. It was hard to deny Henry time with his father, an all too rare occurrence. “Fine,” Emma said. She turned her steely gaze to Neal, “You better have him home by 9:00 at the latest.”

“Yes officer.”

His mother’s permission having been granted, Henry headed off to the locker rooms to change. Neal called out that he'd be waiting for his son at the car, and, after a breezy goodbye to Emma, he headed that way. The field emptied out, but Coach Jones was still there.

“Well,” Emma started as she walked over to him. “It appears my evening has opened up. I’m free now if you want to talk.”

“Why don’t we get dinner at Granny’s?” Jones suggested. “I am afraid I unnecessarily worried you earlier, and I’d like to make up for my gaff.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at his slyness. “Okay Coach Jones, I’ll meet you for dinner, but I’m paying for my own meal.”

“Alright,” he said with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably. “But please, call me Killian.”

She returned his smile. “Only if you call me Emma.”

Sitting across from Emma Swan, Killian found his usual cool demeanor failing him. He’d been attracted to Henry’s mother from the moment he saw her, but told himself that he could never do more than admire her from afar. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to suggest they go out to dinner tonight. This conversation could just as easily have happened in his office. On school grounds. With other people around. Meeting her like this, in such a casual setting, felt almost like a date.

Thankfully, Emma did not seem afflicted by the same anxiety. “So, you said you had some concerns about Henry?”

“Ah, yes,” Killian began, clearing his throat. “Henry is a good boy, and he plays hard, but he seems overly focused on how others perceive him. He shows a talent for football, but I have noticed that his best performances always occur when his father is around.”

“I’ve seen that too,” she replied, her voice low. “He’s always been more of an introverted kid, writing stories and playing fantasy games with his friends. Neal has always pressed him to be more outgoing. I think that’s the only reason he tried out for football, to connect with his dad.”

“That’s an understandable motivation, but I need Henry to be more consistent. We can’t hinge all our games on whether or not his father will be there.” He paused, gauging her reaction before continuing. “I would like to have a conversation with him along these lines, but, considering the sensitive topic, I wanted to consult with you before I do so.”

She stared at him, and he could not interpret the look on her face. He had a moment of panic, fearing he'd overstepped his bounds, before the corners of her mouth lifted into a small smile. “Thank you… for offering to talk with him, but I think this would be better received coming from me.”

“That would be perfect. Henry is truly an asset to our team. I am proud to be coaching him.”

The waitress appeared then and they placed their orders. Once the menus were taken away, Emma placed her hands on the table and cocked her head slightly while she looked at him. He couldn’t help but admire her intelligent green eyes, soft skin, high cheekbones, and golden hair. He’d always found Emma Swan to be beautiful, but being this close to her, he saw now that she was more than beautiful- she was captivating.

Her soft pink lips fell open, and he realized with a start that he’d been gawking at her. He felt his cheeks flush as he picked up his glass and took a long sip of water.

“So,” she began, mercifully breaking the tension, “how did you end up coaching middle school football in Northeast Georgia? I hope I’m not wrong in assuming you’re not a native, considering your accent.”

He chuckled. “You are correct. I was raised in England, but I came to America when I was a freshman in high school. I was much more familiar with the version of football you Yanks call soccer, but there weren’t many options to play soccer in the town I lived in, so I learned American football. I played well enough to be awarded a college scholarship. Not well enough to earn fame and fortune, but it paid for me to get my degree.”

“As a teacher, right? How long have you been doing that?”

“Aye. I’ve been teaching for about ten years, but I only started coaching two years ago.”

“And you like being a coach?”

“I do. I’m glad I took on this responsibility. I love teaching, but coaching gives me an entirely different sense of fulfillment.”

“I should know this,” she said with a shy smile, “but what subject do you teach?”

“Eighth grade English and literature.”

“How’d you end up teaching middle school? That’s a hard age group. I am extremely lucky to have an easy kid like Henry, but even I get frustrated now and then.”

“Middle School is a difficult time of life, and that is just when students need extra support. I won’t tell you that I’ve never had a student bring me to my wit’s end, but for the most part I truly enjoy working with middle schoolers.”

“Well, I have to thank you. Henry really likes having you as a coach. He’s always going on about something ‘Coach J’ said. I’m glad he has someone like you setting an example for him.”

“I’m happy to be there for him.” He took another sip and looked at her, raising a single eyebrow. “Your turn, love. How did you end up working for the Sheriff’s office?”

“My brother’s the Sheriff.”

“Truly? David Nolan is your brother?”

“Yep. Well, by adoption, but he’s never treated me like anything less than his true sister.”

“I like David. I’ve only been able to interact with him on a few occasions, but I can see that he is a truly good person.”

“Do you know Mary Margaret? She teaches at the elementary school, so you two might not have met.”

“We've crossed paths a few times, at teacher meetings and the like. I have yet to meet a more upbeat person.”

“Truer words were never spoken,’ she said with a chuckle. “I wonder why you and I haven't ever seen each other before? It seems like we've both been in Storybrooke for a while, and it's not like it's a large town.”

“I've seen you, love. Several times. It just never felt right to approach you.”

“Why not?”

“You're a parent. Teacher parent relations outside of school aren't expressly forbidden, but they are discouraged.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Emma drew back, seemingly reluctant to have gone down this path in their conversation. Luckily she was saved by the arrival of their food.

After they'd both taken a few bites, Killian picked up the conversation once more. “So, have you always lived in Storybrooke?”

“No. I came here when I was twelve.”

“What brought you here?”

“Um…” she hesitated, putting her sandwich back on her plate and wiping her hands on a napkin. “It's not an easy story.”

She’d rested her hand on the table, and he gently placed his own hand over it. “You can trust me, Swan. I'll not spill your secrets.” He met her eyes with an earnest gaze.

She smiled nervously. “It's not exactly a secret. I'm surprised you haven't heard my story through the rumor mill already.”

“I haven't, but even if I had, I would prefer to hear the truth from you.”

Her smile bloomed into a radiant grin for just a brief moment, and it was like he was looking into the sun. As she began speaking, however, her countenance changed to a more pensive expression. “I was born in Maine, but my parents abandoned me when I was just a few days old. I don't know who they were. I got put in foster care. A family took me in, but when I was three they had their own child and I was moved.”

“They could just give up a child they'd adopted?”

“I was never adopted. They only fostered me.” She took a deep breath, her voice a little shaky. “After that I kind of bounced around. I'm told I was a willful child and gave most of the families a hard time. By the time I was twelve, I was living in group homes, and I'd had enough.”

“What did you do?”

“I stole some cash and bought a bus ticket. I wasn't really sure where I wanted to go, but I had just enough money for a ticket to Atlanta, so I took that as a sign.”

“You, as a twelve year-old, rode a bus from Maine to Atlanta?”

“From Boston, actually. That's where I'd been placed originally.”

“What did you do when you arrived?”

“Starved, mostly. But then I met David and his mother Ruth, completely by chance. And David, being David, wouldn't let me walk away. It took a while, but I eventually learned to trust them, and they took me in. Ruth adopted me when I was sixteen. I only got a few years with her after that, but I cherish every one. She was an amazing woman.”

“She sounds like it.”

Emma sniffled slightly before taking in a deep breath. “So, tell me more about you. You said you came to the states as a high school freshman. What brought you here?”

“Well, like you, it’s not exactly a happy tale. I grew up with my mother and older brother. Our father abandoned us when I was very young.” He paused to clear his throat. The next part of the story never got easier, no matter how often he told it. “When I was thirteen, Mum got sick very suddenly. Cancer, late stage. Liam was in the Navy, stationed on a submarine, and we couldn’t contact him. She died quickly, and, as I had no other family nearby, the social worker contacted my father. To this day I don’t know how she was able to obtain his contact information so easily when Mum hadn’t heard from him in ages.”

Killian looked down at his plate, idly picking the sesame seeds off the bun of his hamburger. He lifted his head and saw Emma watching him without any pity, just understanding, and it was a balm to his nerves. Having lost his appetite, he shoved the plate to the side, but felt compelled to continue his tale. He found himself wanting to share things with Emma that he hadn’t been willing to share with another person for a very long time.

“So,” he said, taking a deep breath, “turns out dear old Dad was living in the States, in Florida. When he heard about Mum, he offered to take me in, even paying for my airfare. I didn’t want to go, but he was still legally my father. It was all over before Liam even heard about our mother’s death. Liam tried to get custody of me, but it was a very difficult battle, especially once I was stateside and in my father’s care. Dad had turned over a new leaf. He had a new American wife and a little boy named Will. Pretty hard to get a judge to agree that living with my bachelor elder brother was a better situation.”

“It must have been really hard for you, coming to a new country, not having your brother, and having to reconnect with your father.”

“It was. I was very angry. Dad had his perfect little family. I resented him for leaving us behind. He tried to give me excuses, but I wouldn’t listen. His wife, Maria, was the person who saved me from myself. She has the patience of a saint, that one. She convinced me to visit a therapist, reconnected me with Liam, and even helped me make a plan to move back to the UK once I was legally an adult.”

“Did you go back?”

“No��� um…” his throat choked up. “Liam was killed in an accident two years later.”

“Oh Killian, I am so sorry!” She got up and moved to his side of the booth, taking his hand in her own and rubbing soothing circles on the back with her thumb.

“Thank you, love” he said, his voice husky. “It’s in the past. It was a very difficult time in my life, but playing sports helped tremendously. The routine and camaraderie with my teammates helped me get through.”

“I’m glad you had that to keep you grounded.”

“As am I.”

“Do you still keep in touch with your dad and Maria?”

“Aye. They moved down to Palm Beach, and Will is in college. We get together at holidays.”

“Family is nice.”

“It is.” He looked down and saw that their fingers were still entwined. “It appears we have much in common.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “I’d say we understand each other.”

Their food had gone cold, but neither minded. They continued their conversation, staying as long as they dared before Emma had to leave to make sure Henry was home on time. When they parted ways, Killian felt lighter than he had in years. And that night when he slept, he had a pleasing dream involving the beach, a light breeze, and Emma’s golden tresses flowing in the wind.

It was the night of the first game of the season. Henry’s first game as a football player. The night Neal promised he wouldn’t be late. And he wasn’t there.

Emma’s heart broke for her son. As she’d promised Killian, she had spoken with Henry about being distracted at the games. He seemed to understand and take her words to heart, but now it appeared as if nothing had stuck. Henry was constantly looking toward the bleachers, distracted from the game. Because of this, he’d lost control of the ball and allowed the opposing team to take possession. The Storybrooke Knights were down by a touchdown as a result.

They were midway through the second quarter. Mary Margaret and David had come out to support their nephew, and were very charitably attributing Henry’s flawed performance to anything other than his father’s absence

“He must be nervous, poor kid,” David said. He clapped his hands and yelled loudly “Go Knights!” in an attempt to cheer on Henry.

“I’m sure Neal got held up at work. He’ll be here soon,” Mary Margaret said, her green eyes shining with their trademark look of hope. She smoothed her short black hair and scrutinized her sister-in-law. “Is there anything else going on?” She followed Emma’s gaze to the field before realizing that Emma wasn’t looking at the field, but rather the sideline where Coach Jones stood, anxiously watching the action.

“Killian Jones is the coach, huh? I never would have thought of him for this role, but he seems to  be doing really well with the kids.”

“Yeah, he’s a good coach. Henry really likes him.”

“Not just Henry, judging by the look on your face.”

Emma turned to give her sister-in-law an incredulous look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re into him. I can see it in the way you look at him. And Ruby told me you had dinner with him at Granny’s the other night.”

“We had dinner to talk about Henry, that’s it. I’m not ‘into’ him.” She emphasized her words with air quotes.

“Right,” Mary Margaret replied before fanning herself with her hand. “Man it’s hot out here! I wonder why Coach Jones decided to wear black jeans instead of shorts.”

“Blue jeans,” Emma replied automatically before realizing the trap that had been laid for her.

“Really? His jeans are blue? How can you tell when it’s so dark?”

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer,” Emma grumbled before turning her attention back to the game.

Neal didn’t arrive until the last two minutes of the first half. By that time the team was behind, 14-0. Killian lingered at the sideline after they filed off the field, and Emma took a chance to step down from the bleachers and approach him.

“Swan,” he said, his smile forced, an exasperated look marring his features.

“Rough game, huh?”

“They’re still children, I don’t want to pressure them too much. But we had such high hopes going into this game.”

“Well, Neal is here now, so maybe things will pick up in the second half?” Emma smiled at him sheepishly.

Killian sighed in response and scrubbed his hand down his face. “No offense, Emma, but I don’t want the success of my team to hang on whether or not your ex can get his shit together.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her heart started racing and her voice went up an octave, her body jumping into defense mode. “You think I told him to be late? You think I want my son stressing out like this?”

“Of course not,” Killian backtracked. “I didn’t mean that, but I thought you were going to talk about this with Henry?”

“I did!” she hissed, pulling him aside so they were more secluded. “But I can’t control anything about this situation, and it kills me much more than it wounds your precious pride. It’s just a damn game to you, Killian. Meanwhile, I have to watch my son’s heart get broken every fucking day.  So don’t give me some lecture about how your team of middle school kids are losing one game because my son desperately craves validation from his father.”

Killian set his jaw and stared at her. “This has nothing to do with my pride. This is about my team. The entire team. I need Henry to be able to focus, and if he can’t do that, then maybe he’s not cut out for football.”

“You’d cut him? He’s twelve. This is a middle school football league.”

“And one of the reasons parents sign their kids up for this is to help them learn how to work as part of a team. Now, I am going to talk to all my players and encourage them to get their heads in the game and pull out a worthwhile performance. I am not worried about winning or losing, so long as they all put in their best effort. And Henry is not doing that right now. If he can’t shape up, he will be cut.”

Emma was speechless as she watched him walk away to the small, concrete block structure that served as a locker room. She really wished alcohol was allowed at these events. Unable to drink, she did the next best thing and trudged up the bleachers to yell at her ex for being so late.

Killian had not seen Emma since the night of the team’s first game. Instead, Henry’s father made a show of attending every scrimmage, always on time. It was quite an improvement on his part, and Killian couldn’t help but feel happy for the lad.

They did not win their first game, but Henry improved in the second half. He was becoming a more conscientious player, although his father attending the entirety of their practice games was the most likely cause of his improvement. Killian still worried about how Henry would react if Neal suddenly returned to his old ways.

If he was honest with himself, Killian also missed Emma. After admiring her from afar for so long, it was painful now to not have the ability to further explore their potential relationship. He longed to apologize to her for his behavior that night. He'd been frustrated and said things he shouldn't have. He was unable to catch up with her after the game and hadn't seen her since.

After ruminating on these thoughts in his office one night, long after school ended, he decided to get out of his own head and go for a drink. Killian tried not to drink often. He had a bad history with alcohol, which at one point had nearly lost him his college scholarship. But, after many years of abstinence, he'd taught himself how to drink in moderation and enjoyed a nice glass of rum every now and then.

He stepped into his favorite establishment, the Rabbit Hole, and approached the bar. Just as he was about to take the first empty stool, he saw her. She looked as beautiful as ever, her golden tresses framing her face and accentuating her high cheekbones. A spot was open next to her, and he made his way over before he could think too much about it.

“Is this spot taken?” He asked as he gestured to the empty stool.

She looked up at him, and he could not read the expression in her eyes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she opened her mouth to respond. He caught himself fixating on her lips and almost didn't hear what she said.

“Long time no see, Coach Jones.”

“Aye, Miss Swan. I've missed you at our scrimmages.”

“Yeah well… if I told you I was a little embarrassed to show my face after the fight we had, would you believe me?”

“I would, because I feel the same. I am sorry for the things I said. I let my temper and my frustration get the better of me.”

“I’m sorry too. I think we both got a little carried away.” She took a sip from her nearly empty drink. “That being said, I think it's better that Neal is the primary parent for football. He knows more about the sport.”

“I'm glad he is there for Henry now, but his sudden change in behavior is somewhat surprising. I can't help but worry that it's not sustainable.”

She was silent for a moment, studying the melting ice in her glass. “I think the change will stick. I’ve given him hell in the past for skipping out, but he really didn't start paying attention until I told him Henry might get cut from the team. He wanted to put the blame on you and go complain to the principal at first, but I talked him down from that, and he finally agreed to start attending scrimmages.”

“I appreciate you saving me from another parent yelling at me about how I am robbing their child of an opportunity. I just hope you are right.”

“Neal is a selfish bastard, but I think he's finally gotten the message. He does love his son.”

The bartender came and took their order, and Killian used the opportunity to gather his wits. There was a time when he'd been good with women, and he tried to channel that part of himself now. “ As I said, Swan, I am happy for Henry, but I don't wish to discuss your ex.”

“Yeah?” She rested her elbows on the bar and looked at him slyly. “So what do you want to talk about?”

His rum arrived then, and he took a sip before replying. “I've missed seeing you. We'd only just begun to get to know one another, and I think I've made it clear that I've admired you for quite some time.”

“I thought I was off limits,” she responded, her voice husky as she batted her eyelashes.

“I’ve been thinking about that, and technically I'm not your son’s teacher, just his coach.”

“I see… Well that makes all the difference. Any other revelations?”

“Just that I can't stop thinking about how much I want to kiss you. I regret not taking the chance when I had it.”

“Oh?” She angled her body toward him and tilted her head slightly. “Well, if you play your cards right you might get another.” She put a hand on his thigh, just above the knee, and squeezed gently.

Although he was trying to be a gentleman, that simple touch went straight to his groin. He stifled a moan. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman. Instead, he mustered a cheeky grin and tilted his glass toward hers. “Well then, a toast to second chances.”

Emma felt like a naughty teenager as she made out with Killian Jones in the alley next to the Rabbit Hole. They were trying to remain undetected, but doing a poor job of it judging by the sounds they were making.

Jones's mouth plundered her own, wrapping around her bottom lip and sucking gently, nibbling until she moaned and opened up, allowing him to slide his tongue inside. Their heads tilted and the kiss deepened, the firm press of his lips to her own fueling her fantasies of what else he could do with that mouth.

They parted to pull in some much needed breaths, before his sinful lips began to mark a trail down her neck. His hands pulled her hips into his own.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered against her neck. “I've wanted to taste you for so long.”

“Come back to my place,” she whispered. “Henry is spending the night with his dad.”

He stopped, his mouth hovering over the hollow of her throat. “You are a siren, tempting me to my doom.” The vibration of his voice against her skin made her shiver. “I would love nothing more than to spend the night worshipping you, but I must insist on being a gentleman.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, running her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head.

“Let me take you on a date, love. A real date.” His hand flew up to cup her cheek as he lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. “Let me treat you like you deserve.”

The Indian Summer heat wave had yet to abate, and, even at night, the humidity pressed down on them. She watched as a bead of sweat rolled down Killian's throat and wanted nothing more than to follow it with her tongue. “Are you sure we can't do both?” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and latched her mouth onto his neck, acting on her thoughts.

His head fell back and he groaned in frustration. “Emma, please, can we take this slow? I don't want to rush.”

His shaky voice gave her pause, and she froze in place. “You really want to take me out first?” She lifted her head and met his eyes once more.

“Yes. I do. More than anything.” He held the stare and pressed his lips together.

“Okay,” she finally said, sliding her hands down to his shoulders and leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips.

At the next game, Emma sat closer to the sidelines, and surreptitiously tried to check out Killian’s butt every chance she got. A cold snap had finally come, and she was wearing a light sweater under her favorite red leather jacket. And if she’d been a little extra precise when applying her makeup that evening, it was no one’s business but her own.

Ariel was there again, this time with Rory Prince, whose son, Phil, played defense. Ariel gave Emma a sly look before leaning over to Rory.

“She’s definitely interested in the coach.”

“Who could blame her?” Rory replied. “They’d be super cute together. I ship it.”

“We’re just friends,” Emma replied, looking at the two other women with a furrowed brow.

“Okay,” Ariel replied. “But if you ever change your mind and decide to go for more, you have our full support and encouragement.”

“Absolutely,” Rory chimed in. “Henry is welcome to spend the night any time you need a date night.”

“But please,” Ariel added, “give us details. I need to know if he's as good of a kisser as I imagine.”

Emma couldn't stop the blush that rose up her face as she recalled memories from their night at the Rabbit Hole. “Thanks…” She schooled her features and looked forward, watching the game closely.

“Oh yeah. She wants him,” Rory said. Emma took some deep breaths and tried to ignore them.

When Emma had agreed to a date with Killian, she'd made one request: they had to go somewhere outside of town, to avoid the prying eyes of small town neighbors.

Killian spent an entire evening agonizing over their destination before finally finding the perfect solution. Now it was the night of the date, and he pulled into the parking lot and headed to the gate to meet her.

“The fair? Really?” She asked as she walked up to him a short while later.

He had a moment of panic. “Would you rather go elsewhere?”

“No!” Her mouth stretched into a big smile. “I love the fair! I haven't been to one in years.” She lifted up on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Perfect choice.”

He relaxed and offered her his arm. After purchasing their admission and ride passes, they entered, walking down the aisle of carnival games first. Emma’s face lit up as she pointed out the oversized stuffed animals hanging from the top of the tents. Killian determined that he would win her one of those prizes before they left.

They made their way to the ride section and lined up for Tilt-A-Whirl. The childlike joy on Emma’s face warmed his heart. As they settled into their seats and the lap bar was lowered, she giggled in anticipation. The sound was pure magic. The ride started moving, slowly at first but picking up speed. As they spun around, Emma's giggles turned into full on laughs and Killian joined in. The ride was over almost as quickly as it began, but their joy continued as they lined up to ride the bumper cars next.

They worked their way through the ride section, leaving the ferris wheel for last. When it came time for the wheel, they were ushered into a gondola by the attendant and then waited as they were slowly moved forward so more riders could board. Killian took the opportunity to admire Emma’s profile, cast in the glow of neon against the backdrop of the darkening sky.

She caught his eye and smiled. “This is wonderful. I'm so glad we did this.”

“Aye. Me too.” He reached over and threaded their fingers together.

She snuggled into his side just as the ride began to move. “You know,” Emma said, “I don't normally like heights, but this is really nice. The view is breathtaking.”

“That it is,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving her face.

She tore her gaze from the view to meet his own. Her lips lifted into a shy smile and she tilted her chin up. He took the hint and met her mouth with his own, their kiss sweet and unhurried. The gondola rocked gently in response to their movement and the motion of the ride. They continued kissing even as they passed by the bottom of the ride where other riders were waiting. It was only when someone directed a whooping call their way that they broke apart, both flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

They ascended once more, and Emma leaned her head on his shoulder. “I really like you, Killian.”

“I feel the same. You are an exceptional woman.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, biting her lip. “ Do you think we should… ‘go public’? Tell people we're dating?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I do. But… maybe not just yet? It has nothing to do with you. It's just the other moms.”

“What do they have to do with it?”

“They have been trying to push you and me together all season! They've all got the hots for you, and they want me to tell them everything that goes on between us. If they find out we're dating now, I'll never be able to make it through the rest of the season.” Upon conclusion of her speech, her nerves got the better of her and she looked away.

“I’ll follow your lead on this.” He whispered as he lifted her arm to place a kiss on the back of her hand.

They hadn't noticed that the ride stopped until the attendant cleared his throat. They broke apart and Killian stepped out before helping Emma exit.

Once they were back on solid ground, Killian joined their hands once more. “Let’s find something to eat, shall we?”

He led her to the food section, and they were immediately overwhelmed with the scent of fried cuisine. After perusing their choices, Emma opted for a corn dog while Killian got a slice of truly greasy pizza. They shared some onion rings and had cotton candy for dessert. Having eaten their fill, they headed back toward the midway to try their hand at some games.

The first game they approached was a basketball toss, where they competed to see who could make the most baskets. Emma’s laughs were so beautiful, and Killian found himself distracted during the game, which led to her winning. He didn’t mind very much when he saw her dazzling smile.

Similar to the rides, they proceeded down the aisle, also playing the ball toss, skeeball, and the water gun shooting gallery. The booth at the end of the row housed a balloon pop game, as well as the array of stuffed animals Emma had admired on their way in. She pointed to it again, identifying one of the smaller prizes hanging on the side.

“Look at that bear dressed like a pirate! Is that not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”

He saw the toy in question, a medium-sized stuffed bear wearing black trousers and shirt, with a red vest and a hook for a hand. It was certainly one of the more unique prizes. He remembered his pledge from earlier to win her a prize and approached the booth.

“What do I need to do in order to win that bear?” he asked the attendant, pointing to it.

“Pop one of the red balloons,” the lad answered. “Five dollars for three darts. Wanna try?”

Killian fished a five dollar-bill out of his pocket and handed it to the young man and was given three rubber tipped darts in return. He felt confident that he would win the prize. He’d always been excellent at darts.

His first throw somehow managed to land between a blue and red balloon. The second hit a red balloon, but bounced off. This mishap helped him to understand the trick. Most of the balloons were not fully inflated, making them harder to pop. Holding his last dart in his right hand, he stepped back slightly and took stock of the entire board. One red balloon, in the upper right hand corner, looked fuller than the rest. He had his target.

He took a few steps to the right and angled his body in line with the balloon. Emma watched him with rapt attention. Killian closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. When he felt conditions were right, he threw the dart with extra force. It whistled through the air and hit the target directly on the head. There was a loud pop and Emma cried out in surprise.

“You did it!”

He smiled at her infectious joy. “I’ll take that bear now, young man.”

The attendant took down the bear and handed it to Killian. He turned and presented it to Emma.

“Thank you! No one has ever won me a prize at the fair before.”

“Truly?”

“I’ve only ever been to the fair before with Henry, so I’m normally the one trying to win the prizes. It’s nice to be on the other end for a change.”

He smiled at her. “Well, I am glad I could win that for you.”

“Me too.” She threaded her arm through his as they continued walking, leaning her head on his shoulder once more.

They decided to walk around to the back of the fair, where live music was playing. As they traveled, he could feel Emma thinking. ‘What’s on your mind, love?”

She stopped walking and gave him a nervous smile. “I hope you’re not mad about what I said on the ferris wheel. About not wanting to tell anyone about us. I’m starting to feel guilty after you’ve given me such a great night.”

“You have no need to feel guilty. I understand your reasons for wanting to keep our relationship under wraps.”

“And you're not mad?”

“Of course not, Emma. As long as we can find a way to see one another, I can deal with everything else.”

She picked up his hand and pressed a firm kiss to the back, mimicking his action from earlier. “The last game is in November, right?”

“Aye, the first Thursday of the month.”

“Okay, as soon as that's over, we'll let everyone know.”

“Sounds like a perfect way to end the season, Swan.” He gave her a goofy grin before leaning down to give her another soft kiss.

Emma huddled into her jacket. It was the last game of the season, and the weather was finally congruent with the date, the early November air having a slight chill. She was enjoying fall, but knew that the winter cold would arrive all too soon. It seemed like their little corner of the south was always too hot or too cold. There weren’t many days that fell in between.

Despite the chill in the air, her spirits were high. The Storybrooke Knights had had a great season, and, if they won this game, they would break a school record for most wins in a season which had been set more than a decade prior. Emma had also found that by making Neal solely responsible for Henry’s football career, he’d begun to step up as a parent in other ways. Henry was becoming more secure in his relationship with his father, which was all she ever really wanted for her son.

But the true source of Emma’s joy was in the form of the team’s coach, currently cheering on his charges from the sidelines. They’d had several more dates, and Emma felt like Killian Jones was someone she could be with for a long time. He was sweet and thoughtful and giving, and just thinking of him warmed her cheeks. They’d told Henry about their relationship a week ago, consigning him to secrecy. Henry was fortunately good at keeping secrets (though she wasn’t sure how she felt about that in the grand scheme of things), so thankfully no one else suspected she was dating Killian. She watched him now and couldn’t stop the thought that she was well on her way to falling in love with this man.

“You know…” she heard Ariel say from her right, “now that the season is over, you should totally ask Coach Jones out.”

“You’re still hung up on that?” Emma asked, not looking away from the field. She had to bite her cheek to stop her sly smile from giving her away.

“Not hung up on it. I just want to see you both happy.”

“Save yourself the trouble, Ariel,” Mary Margaret said, leaning around her sister-in-law to address the redhead. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Emma, it’s that pushing her toward something is the fastest way to get her to reject it.”

“Ohhh,” Ariel replied. “Reverse psychology, huh? I get it.” She paused their discussion to cheer on her daughter, who was going onto the field to kick for a field goal. Melody was an accurate kicker, and sent the ball exactly where it needed to be, giving the Knights the advantage. The stands erupted in cheers. There were five minutes left in the game, and the Knights were up by three.

After a few more plays, the opposing team called a timeout, and Ariel took the chance to continue their discussion. “You totally should not go for Coach Jones, Emma. You two would make a terrible couple.” She winked at Mary Margaret over Emma’s shoulder.

“Wait, what?” Rory asked, returning from a restroom break. ‘We don’t want Emma to hook up with Jones now?”

“Nope,” Ariel replied, a goofy smile on her face. “She shouldn’t even consider it.”

“I am so confused right now,” Rory said, but once more the conversation was stopped when Phil intercepted the ball. He ran it for twenty yards before he was tackled. The clock had run down, and there was one minute left in the game. This would be the last play. The Knights’ offensive line took the field and lined up a play Emma recognized from their scrimmages. Henry was going to get the ball.

The play began, and Henry ran to get into position. The quarterback threw the ball and it sailed down the field, landing smoothly in her son’s arms. He ran. The other team tried to block him, but he used his ability to bob and weave and found holes in the defense they didn’t see. He made it to the end zone just as the clock ticked down to twenty seconds left in the game.

A raucous cheer broke out as fans of the Storybrooke Knights applauded their team. The crowd quieted long enough for Melody to kick the point after, making the final score 17-7. The Knights had won, and the record was broken! Parents and fans cheered loudly as the players graciously shook hands with the opposing team.

Emma ran down the bleachers, and Ariel, Rory, and Mary Margaret called after her to stop. Parents weren’t allowed on the field. But all three of their jaws dropped when Emma stopped at the sideline and ran up to Coach Jones. She cried out in excitement before bouncing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He reciprocated her embrace, encircling her waist in his arms.

Emma looked up at Killian, love shining in her eyes, and his own reflecting the same. “Congratulations, Coach Jones.”

“Why thank you, Miss Swan. Can I kiss you now?”

“You think you can handle it?” she asked, her smile spreading across her cheeks.

He didn’t respond, but instead lowered his head and captured her lips with his own. The kiss was tender and chaste, a brief intermingling of lips, but still expressing all their passion. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. “I think they are the ones who can’t handle it,” he said, enunciating the ‘t’ as he turned his head to gesture toward the three other women still gaping at them.

“They’ll get used to it,” Emma rose up and met his lips once more, but they were cut short when a triumphant cry came from the bleachers.

“I KNEW it!” Ariel called out, pumping her fist in the air.

Emma smiled. “I guess reverse psychology was all it took!” she called out in response.

“Reverse psychology?” Killian asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” They broke apart and threaded their fingers together, ready to join the victorious Storybrooke Knights.

tagging my crew:  @artistic-writer @bleebug @cat-sophia @capswantrue@courtorderedcake @distant-rose @flslp87 @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @initiala @kmomof4 @kymbersmith-90 @lassluna @let-it-raines @resident-of-storybrooke @rouhn @searchingwardrobes @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @snowbellewells @spartanguard @teamhook @wellhellotragic @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @wingedlioness @wyntereyez

[technicolorfamiliar]

Global Spirit Tour: 2017 - 2018

Prologue:

Something weird happened early in 2017.

I was looking for a song to lip synch to. In drag.

This was for a one-off performance with the improv group I was part of at the time. We had a string of a few LGBTQ events, and drag lip synchs were becoming a regular part of our season. I needed a song, and I needed to pick something I knew no one else in the group would choose. As someone who is secretly very competitive (and someone who knows I perform on stage better as a man anyway), finding the perfect song and perfect character to fit the song was stressing me out. So I turned to my beloved 80's New Wave station on Pandora for inspiration.

Eventually, the inspiration I desperately needed presented itself (this is the Weird Thing). It was, of all things, Depeche Mode's "Stories of Old" from Some Great Reward, a song I knew and loved deeply as a teenager but hadn't actually heard or really listened to in years. And with the inspiration from the song came the core inspiration for my character. Suddenly, everything locked into place - the look, the hair, the clothes, the physicality (read: how provocative I could get away with being at what was technically a family friendly event). And with that perfect vision for my character, all thing things I loved about Depeche Mode when I was in high school came flooding back to me. Wave after wave of nostalgia, the kind that makes you realize, "this is why I am the way I am."

And so I was forcibly dragged back into all things Depeche Mode by one song, one incredibly underrated song stuck somewhere in the middle of what isn't even my favorite DM album.

(I ended up using a different song by a different band for the drag improv thing, at the directors' request, they thought something more well-known would be more appropriate, and at the time I agreed. But my character mood board was still very much focused on DM in the mid-80s.)

Funnily enough, at that same time, DM were about to release a new album and announce dates for their Global Spirit Tour. So the timing on my part worked out perfectly. I have a habit of rediscovering the music I loved in high school just as a bunch of new content is about to hit the internet (one day I'll write about how Danny Elfman and Oingo Boingo saved my life more than once).

For a little background, when I say I loved DM in high school, I mean that's when I first heard of them. I didn't grow up on Depeche Mode, as my parents - who were my major source of music recs until I was 15 - absolutely hated anything that had to do with 1980s synthpop, post-punk, or any other new wave music. But someone much older and much cooler than me gave me a mix tape with "In Your Room" on it and I was intrigued. That wasn't the DM song that sealed my fate as a fan. That was 100% "Never Let Me Down Again", but a nudge in the right direction was all I needed, and for that honest to god actual mix tape cassette, I am eternally grateful.

I was a teenager during the era of Playing The Angel, and I was lucky enough to see them on that tour with my best friend at the time. The tickets were my high school graduation present. Our seats were at the very back of what used to be the Nissan Pavilion in VA. I hardly remember anything about the show itself, and any pictures I must have taken on my old pocket digital camera are sadly lost.

Washington, DC:

It was 2017 before I managed to see another DM tour. For whatever reason, whether it was my busy work schedule, being broke, or waiting until shows were already sold out to look for tickets, I missed both the Sounds of the Universe and Delta Machine tours. So when the Spirit tour was announced, I was poised and ready to make what some people might consider irrational financial choices in order to see three separate shows between September 2017 and June 2018.

The lead-up to the September 7th show in DC was a lot of fun. I was going with my two close friends, so we enjoyed some additional bonding as we eagerly anticipated the show together. This was the only gig on the tour I saw with people I knew, and I have nothing against going to concerts by myself -- and sometimes traveling great distances to do so. But getting to share the excitement leading up to the actual day and at the event itself with two of my very good friends was really special. I'm really glad I got to share that experience with them, and have their positive, enthusiastic energy to draw on.

This is the part of the post where I go on a brief tangent about superfan elitism, bear with me: The hardcore DM fans would say, "Three shows? That's nothing." And I would say they're right, but that doesn’t make me any less of a fan. I could have gone to more shows, probably, but my bank account, my job security, and my sanity required that three be the maximum amount of shows I got to see on this specific tour. There are numerous ways a person can express their love of a band, a tv show, a piece of immersive theatre, or whatever. The level of insane superfan I am or am not does not mean that their music is any less important to me as an artist and as person. HOWEVER, the people who I encountered at these three DM shows who were on their phones the entire concert, people who had better seats than me who sat down completely unengaged the whole time, and the people making disrespectful and unrelated comments about the audience and the band themselves can go fuck themselves. That negative, attention seeking, distracting bullshit has no place down in the floor seats in front of the stage, they can go be terrible up in the mezzanine levels.

Which is exactly where my first show was spent.

Second or third tier seats for big arena shows are 1000% not worth whatever money you spend on them. They're too far away, and you're surrounded by people who act like they've never heard of the band they paid actual money to see. The only reason my friends and I were up there in the first place was because of how absurd the US ticket queueing system was for the first North American leg of the GST. I, like many others, have a lot of issues with how that was handled and am glad they scrapped it for the second round of US shows.

I'm glad I had my two friends with me at the DC show, though. The three of us were maybe the only people having a genuinely fun time in our section. This first show for me was the only one where I cried. I wasn't expecting to, but hearing and seeing Martin sing "Home" struck something in me. And then "Heroes". I knew it was coming, but it still managed to really resonate on a deep emotional level. I love David Bowie as much as they do, but knowing that "Heroes" was how Dave was initially asked to be in the band, and my own personal feelings and connections to Bowie, hearing Dave sing it as well as he did was everything in that moment.

I have a number of issues with that show in DC, but none of them have anything to do with DM or the show itself. They played more songs from Spirit at this show than at any of the others I attended, but there was also "Corrupt" and "Wrong", "A Question of Lust" and "Somebody". It was also the longest set list of out of the three shows, with 22 songs total, which is rare for them, from what I understand, because of how intense their live shows are, especially for Dave (which I got to experience more closely at the other two shows). His presence on stage radiates to the rafters of huge venues like the Capital One Arena -- but more about Dave in a minute. I can talk about how good they sounded in DC, and how much hearing those songs live meant to me on that night during that time in my life, how I felt the synths and bass and percussion in my bone marrow and in my soul, but I can't really talk about the all-consuming, sweaty frenzy of experiencing a show like theirs from the floor. For that, I need to talk about Berlin and Philadelphia.

Berlin:

So DM announced more dates in Europe. And, because I'm insane I guess, was online at some ungodly hour when tickets went on sale for the two shows in Berlin, Germany in January. I was able to get an early entry ticket for the January 19th show in BERLIN where I would be surrounded by other people who were actually genuinely excited to be there, which would be a huge improvement after the lackluster crowds in DC.

Am I glad I did it? Yes. Would I do it exactly the same way ever again? Probably not. Because queueing overnight outside the arena was worth it for the concert experience itself, but it's not necessarily something I need to do again any time soon. I'm a weak, American fan, and I own that. The German DM fans go so fucking hard and I am absolutely terrified of them.

Somehow, I managed to get a spot on the barrier without any pushing or shoving. I wound up in the pocket where the main stage becomes turns into the catwalk, right in front of where Andy Fletcher has his set-up. On either side of me were two other women who also were there by themselves. They were nice enough to talk to me and keep me company while we waited.

The show, though.

My consciousness went… somewhere else. I can’t really compare the feeling to anything else I've experienced. I've been to some other really singularly wonderful concerts, to see bands and musicians that I have deep emotional ties to, but none of them have been like this. It's the combination of being part of the masses down on the floor, on the barrier, exhausted and sweating and euphoric, with the power and intensity of hearing and seeing Depeche Mode perform live. I was hyper-aware of everything happening in front of me. Time did something strange, it crawled by so slowly and yet it was over before I could register what happened. I was an outsider there, but I felt like I was part of this massive collective, all connected by our desire to be there, our love of the music, united for a few hours, and I was so aware that everything that was happening on stage and around us was happening to eary one of the people in that arena at once.

The sound of the ignition at the beginning of "Stripped" reverberating in your rib cage, the driving, head-banging riffs in "I Feel You," the cosmic outro of "Cover Me," the field of wheat arm-waving during "Never Let Me Down Again" -- having it all happen to you, at that volume, at that frequency and intensity, is like having your soul yanked from your body and cast into decadent oblivion.

Honestly, it was a blur. But as far as I can remember, highlights included:

The additional songs from Ultra! Unexpected, but very much appreciated.

Experiencing Andy Fletcher's ridiculous awkward dad dancing up close and in person. There's a lot of hype about Fletch's moves, but let me tell you, they exceed any expectation.

Martin. Martin sang "Sister of Night" AND "Judas". I was overcome. People talk about singers sounding like an angel, but Martin L. Gore is the only person in the history of music that saying actually applies to in full.

And Dave. If he was anything like he was at this show when they were at the DC show, I missed the fuck out. Because yes, he performs to the whole arena, even to the people in the very back, but it's altogether something else to watch someone that animated up close. He's tapping into some energy and fire to fuel his work that I've only rarely seen in other artists. Dave Gahan never phones it in, he always performs like he's got jet fuel for blood and like every show really means something. He is outrageous on stage, in every sense of the word. He is endlessly inspiring, and deserves so much recognition and respect.

Philadelphia:

That said… to me, it seemed like the band as a whole was having way more fun at the Philly show than they did in Berlin. I can't put my finger on the specific differences, but they seemed lighter, more pleased with their work, and maybe genuinely surprised at the warmth of their audience in Philly. Martin smiled a lot more at the Philadelphia show, and Dave seemed looser, maybe less tired after a double in Germany.

The Philly gig on June 3rd was the best, by far, out of the three. The second US leg of the GST was announced and I, of course, being the way that I am, thought, "FUCK IT WHY NOT" and magically got a floor seat ticket right in front of Martin's side of the stage after the general tickets went on sale. And it was worth every penny and a short train ride from Baltimore.

I met a few more very nice people, a couple from Florida (whose first show had been cancelled due to the major hurricane last year) and a solo lady sitting behind me who let me join their conversation. And the man sitting to my left was British? European? So he also knew all the things the audience is supposed to do during specific songs that I learned when I was in Berlin. There were definitely some bastard people in the crowd, even down on the floor, terrible people who clearly weren't enjoying themselves, but the high energy of everyone else made it easy to shift focus to the band.

The set list was very similar to the one I heard in Germany, with the exception of two of Martin's songs from Music For The Masses and "A Question of Time" right before their closer -- "Personal Jesus." But again, the performances and mood behind most of the songs at the Philly show seemed lighter, more playful and mischievous (on Dave's part). And the time really flew by. I missed "I Feel You" in the set list, but that's a very minor criticism of what was, over all, a miraculous third show out of three very powerful concerts.

Epilogue:

The general consensus among fans is that this may have been the last big tour Depeche Mode have. They may keep recording together and separately, but another tour on this massive scale is unlikely. If that's the case, I'm so glad I found a way to see three very different shows on the Global Spirit Tour. I can’t imagine experiencing the same exact feeling these shows gave me; I certainly didn't feel the same at David Byrne's awesome American Utopia tour show this summer, and I don't expect the feel the same when I see Nick Cave in October.

Depeche Mode, especially now, at this stage in their careers, during this time in American and world history, and for me personally at this specific point in my life as I age out of my 20s, have been a source of sanity and compassion, of deep feeling and social commentary. Their music touches maybe the parts of myself I'm too scared to look at head on. After going through some of the things that have happened to me as an adult, and as I figure out the kind of person I want to be in the coming decade, obviously there are certain themes resonate with me more than they did when I first discovered DM as a teen. I am grateful to have had circumstances happen the way they did to lead me back to Depeche Mode, to delve deep into their music and history.

Those three shows changed the my standards for seeing live music. After being front row for the Berlin concert, how could I ever go back to being content sitting up in the second or third tier for any arena show? I've been spoiled.

And after a few months have passed, when I think about my experiences over the course of the Global Spirit Tour, it doesn't quite feel real. There are a few other concerts I've been to where when I think about it, I think, "Did that actually happen??" (Namely seeing Danny Elfman in Los Angeles on Halloween, 2014. Absolutely bonkers.) Seeing DM in Berlin is definitely one of those moments already, not even a year later.

I look forward to the future of their music. If Depeche Mode tour again, and that's a big if, the furthest I would travel to see them is maybe the UK, but hopefully that won’t be necessary! However, I absolutely would go see a solo show, if Martin or Dave ever had shows anywhere even remotely close by. I would absolutely travel to New York or LA to see a solo Martin show or Dave with Soulsavers. From what I can tell those venues are usually smaller, so it would be easier to have a more enjoyable, intimate experience.

But that's all there is. Nothing more than you can feel now, that's all there is.

Until next time.

Photo by me, Jan 19, 2018

[onestowatch]

Q&A: Homeshake Talks Touring With Mac DeMarco, His Love for Migos, & Has an Existential Crisis

Peter Sagar, more popularly known as Homeshake, found his first bout of success as the guitarist for Mac DeMarco. But success was never what Sagar was in search of. Rather, the Canadian artist wished to pursue solitude, a sentiment that bleeds out in his airy, downtempo R&B. Having since left Mac DeMarco some time ago to fully invest himself in his Homeshake project–with no ill feelings, as the two regularly hang out when they find themselves in the same city– Sagar rarely tours despite his rapidly growing cult-like fanbase. In many ways, Sagar’s own fans embody the same frenzy that came to be associated with DeMarco’s live shows, but Sagar is the one in control now. His latest album the critically-acclaimed Fresh Air, is the culmination of that complete creative freedom.

A Homeshake show is a rare sighting, and much like the rarest of sightings, it is not be missed. His most recent show saw him play The Natural History Museum in Los Angeles, to an audience of avid fans, taxidermy dioramas, and prehistoric fossils. An odd venue for music by all accounts, but an all too fitting one for Sagar. Homeshake’s otherworldly music, often amplified by his penchant for vocal modulation, feels as if it’s perfectly designed for unique moments such as these. So, as I sat down to speak with the reclusive artist, adorned in a Sade shirt, I was introduced to an entirely new Homeshake than what I had come to expect. Instead, I learned of a Homeshake who was quick to express his love for pop and trap and who had come to find joy in making music entirely on his own terms.  

OTW: Any plans while you’re in town?

Sagar: Um, I got a lot of friends that live out here.  

OTW: Yeah, you have Mac out here, right?

Sagar: Mhm, yep. We had tacos with him last night.  

OTW: So, speaking of this whole set up. Pretty cool venue to play, right?

Sagar: Yeah, I like it. I really like this kind of museum, there’s one in Edmonton, and I used to always love it. I loved going there on school trips. Specifically, I liked the animal dioramas with all the weird … what’s it called? What is this stuff? Dead animal stuff?

OTW: Taxidermy?  

Sagar: Taxidermy! Yeah, all the taxidermy displays. So sweet.

OTW: Yeah, I used to go on school trips here a lot growing up. Have you played any cooler venues?

Sagar: I don’t know. All the venues, all the memories disappear.  

OTW: I want to say that I love all of your album artwork and everything that’s associated with it. I’m very embarrassed, but I’m wearing one of your shirts right now. My girlfriend gave me so much shit when I was leaving the house. I know your partner Salina does all your artwork. How does that collaboration come about?  

Sagar: Well, it just worked out very well because we’ve been together for like nine years. She started helping me make covers and stuff while we were still living in Edmonton, and a couple of times I would tell her an idea of what I thought looked good, but that never worked out well. So, I generally just let her do whatever she wants. It’s the best way. It’s the best way to just let Salina do whatever she wants, and it will be amazing.  

OTW: And does she just listen to the album and go from there?  

Sagar: I think so! She asks me if I have any ideas and I’m like, “No, we’re not going there. You can just figure it out.” And then it’s always perfect.

OTW: So, in the early days when you were first releasing music as Homeshake, you were still touring with Mac right? Was there a turning point when you decided that you wanted to fully devote yourself to Homeshake?

Sagar: Yeah, I was just in a very dark place and it was sort of just a never-ending tour schedule. Then trying to balance that and Homeshake and my relationship, it was just impossible. So, one had to go, so I choose Salina and myself.  

OTW: That was a good choice.

Sagar: Yeah, I think so. It worked out well.

OTW: So, now that with each new release you're growing a similar cult following. Do you ever worry about not being able to balance everything?

Sagar: No, I’m in control now. So, things only happen as I want them to. The difficulty with Mac was just that I had no control really because everyone else was down for everything, and I wasn’t going to be the wet blanket all the time. I still was. Now I just choose everything, so that’s why we tour so little.  

OTW: So, you’re originally from Edmonton, but then moved to Montreal and that’s where you adopted the name Homeshake. I saw that you just let go of all your other projects at that point. What were the earliest days of Homeshake like?

Sagar: We lived in a really small apartment in Montreal, and it wasn’t even cheap enough for how small it was, it was so shitty. We were there for like two years out of just laziness. I would make stuff on some really, really bad gear in my living room, and then I recorded some stuff in Mac’s living room. I recorded some stuff in a studio that I ended up renting and rehearsing at for a long time. It was just like slow, because I would be working on it and then suddenly have to go on tour for like seven months. So yeah, everything just took a long time.

OTW: What is the creative industry like in Montreal, as opposed to places like Los Angeles?  

Sagar: I mean, I don’t really know what it’s like here. It’s like all famous people, right? Everybody is famous? Every person in LA is famous?

OTW: Every single one. Yeah, just in this lobby alone. (laughs)

Sagar: (laughs) In Montreal the majority of it varies from neighborhood to neighborhood. Like there’s a lot of intense punk kids, but I don’t go there. But most of the musicians I know are DJs, everyone’s a fucking DJ in Montreal, and that’s fine. But yeah, it’s a lot of parties and a lot of raves, and I don’t participate in any of it all.

OTW: Not a big raver?

Sagar: No, I like dance music a lot. I like electronic music, but I don’t participate. I don’t know what Montreal is like anymore, I checked out. Not interested, really.

OTW: Speaking on your own music, it’s obviously very R&B driven which seems so different from your influences, well you have a lot of influences, but you like top 40s, trap, Migos…

Sagar: Mmm yeah, I love Migos.

OTW: Yeah, Migos are amazing. Have you always loved R&B, or did that come at a certain point?

Sagar: I wasn’t into it when I was younger, but when I was a kid, like the late 90s, early 2000s, I would watch everything that was on MTV, and like 80% of the music videos were R&B. So, I knew all the songs, and it was kind of like a guilty thing. I liked guitars, and I thought those were cool. So, I was wrong obviously (laughs). So that stuff was always kind of like inside my brain. And then it was actually Salina that kind of drew it out of me because she has a very encyclopedic knowledge of ‘90s R&B. It takes her a long time to remember whatever it is, but she always knows the song. It’s all her. I just steal the things she likes. (laughs)

OTW: So, speaking of Fresh Air, I read that name for the album came from smoking weed and just stepping out onto the balcony for fresh air. I wasn’t sure if that serious or not…

Sagar: Yeah.

OTW: Are there any other inspirations behind Fresh Air besides just good weed?

Sagar: (laughs) I don’t know, they all kind of have something. Most of the songs are pretty specific. I would have to look at a list of them and think about it for a really long time.

OTW: One thing that I really like about your music is what I’m guessing is vocal modulation. Particularly, the ones that kick off each album. They remind me of those rap skits from old hip-hop albums for. Where did that come from?  

Sagar: I don’t know, I just like sped-up and slowed-down voices. I used to record everything on cassette. And I would just always slow it down, speed it up. The regular speed is really boring. Yeah, I love high voices and low voices. I think they are kind of funny and kind of scary. So yeah, I’m not sure where I lifted it from. I just used to listen to a lot of screw tapes, so that probably gave me the idea. It’s certainly not an original idea by any means.

OTW: Well, you do it well for sure.

Sagar: (laughs) Thank you.

OTW: I also wanted to talk about how outspoken you are about political issues. As an artist with a platform, do you feel there’s a certain responsibility to be as outspoken?  

Sagar: Yeah, like I’m no expert. I don’t know all the details. You know, we are all stuck in the infinite scroll looking at headlines, but then you have to keep scrolling. It’s also like inescapable shit, so I kind of slowed down on it because it was such a constant inundating flow of information. It just feels like white noise at this point. Yeah, you kind of have to make your opinions clear, because what if I never did and then a bunch of Nazis liked me? That’s my fucking nightmare. So, I did an interview that came out at the beginning of Fresh Air and some of it was about how I got into some arguments online with some fucking alt-right losers that had previously liked my music, but now no longer do and that was good. It’s good to shed the trash from your life.  

OTW: Do you think you’d ever make a protest song or anything along those lines?

Sagar: No. (laughs) I can only sing about myself being like a sad loser. I could never take on real issues like that.

OTW: Do you have any favorite protest songs or albums?

Sagar: My favorite band until I was like seventeen was Rage Against The Machine. The other day we were in Texas, and I just was craving Rage Against The Machine, so we listened to some on the way back to the venue and had it at full blast as we pulled up in front, like cutting through the line of kids outside. It was kind of embarrassing, but it was amazing.

OTW: Such a good time.

Sagar: God, I love them.  

OTW: I mean, hopefully, they’ll come back one day soon.

Sagar: Yeah, Tom Morello is the greatest guitarist of all time.

OTW: So, I have definitely used a lot of your songs for mix tapes for friends and it definitely got me a girlfriend or two I’d say, so thank you for that. It just has such a vibe to it. What would you say is the ideal setting to listen to your music in?

Sagar: Just a relaxing one for whoever is listening to it. The place where I can write from is wherever I’m most relaxed and calm. That’s, I guess, why I don’t make like weird, screechy, angsty music or anything. I like comfort and solitude. So that’s probably what it would lend itself to the best.

OTW: And is your songwriting typically one of solitude?

Sagar: Yeah, I haven’t collaborated with anyone in a long time. I had for the three records I put out. I had guys running the board and helping me mix and stuff, but I write alone. I don’t remember what it’s like to collaborate with people. I’ve been trying to do that lately, and it’s been a real struggle. It’s like, “I don’t know what you want.” (laughs) I’m just really selfish. I was trying to produce for some people, just passing some things around, but I never want to give out the ones I really like, I want to keep it for myself. Yeah, very alone in it.

OTW: Just a sad lonely boy.

Sagar: (laughs) Yeah, something lame like that.

OTW: So, I know you’ve mentioned Fresh Air existing as part of a trilogy, with the first albums being the first parts of the trilogy, but there is still more Homeshake to come right?

Sagar: Oh yeah, I’m always working on more stuff. I was recording up until the day we came here, in between the Texas tour and before that. One of my most essential music machines at the moments is really on the fritz, and I think I have to like ship it back to its maker to get it fixed, so I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do for like three weeks while that’s happening. It’s freaking me out.  

OTW: So, what’s the plan to make music until then? 

Sagar: Oh, I don’t know, I’ll just have to use something else to make it. I just won’t be able to use my sampler drum machine which is the core of what I’m working on right now. I don’t know, I guess I’ll just make ambient music until it gets back.

OTW: I heard at one point you did want to make a droney ambient project.

Sagar: Yeah, I like that but when I try I don’t think I’m very good at it. There’s a real textural ASMR thing to that, and I need to work on it.  

OTW: Who are your Ones To Watch?

Sagar: One is definitely Un Blonde from Montreal. They’re very, very, very spectacular. Let me just scroll through the old music thing here. Yeah, he’s an amazing songwriter, Jean who’s like the center of that project. Oh God, I only listen to like super pop music these days (laughs). I really like Yves Tumor, I don’t know how small he is, but he should be bigger. He makes spooky, weird shit that I like a lot. Mmm, I know I’ve got friends.  

OTW: Anyone in the band make music? 

Sagar: Yeah! Brad is the lead-guitarist in another band called Nap Eyes. I feel bad because they’re on tour without him in Europe right now, but he’s here with us. So definitely shout out to Nap Eyes because I just took their fucking guitar player. Greg used to play drums for a lot of bands, but he moved from Montreal to the woods in BC now. I don’t know. I’ve totally isolated myself from everybody around me in Montreal, so I don’t even know what any of them are doing anymore. Oh God, very crazy reality check.  

OTW: Having an existential crisis right now?

Sagar: (laughs) Yeah, a little bit. I don’t know, I do like a monthly NTS show where I put all the weird stuff that I like. So, my ones to watch are whoever I played on it that last month.

OTW: Oh one quick last question. What’s your favorite dinosaur? 

Sagar: Brontasaurses. I’ve always loved the absolutely massive ones.

[underimagines]

seeing stars

Summary: “Sometimes it’s hard to keep up when your boyfriend is a Superstar. But it doesn’t hurt to have a few tricks up your own sleeve, either.”

2k Commission - Underswap!Napstablook/Napstaton X OC/Reader, for @bigfanofpuns

read it on ao3 / buy me a coffee

                                                          ❤ ❤ ❤

He was spinning circles around you.

You watched his legs switch out, almost comically, from wheel to skates, then back. It kept him on a steady path, swirling perfect figure eights, while you just spun in place, dizzy and unamused. The crowd around you cheered and whooped at his stunts, while you seethed in place, fuming jealously.

“Oh, come on!” You shouted, watching him pull some ridiculous cross between a pirouette and a dab as he passed by you again. “You know I wasn’t made for the ice, Nappy!”

“How else ya’ gonna learn if you don’t try, sugar-wings?” He trilled back, merely giving you a couple of finger-guns in response. “C’mon, babe, feel the heat! Stretch those wings and feel the beat!”

Sometimes your boyfriend could be a real ass, but the fact that he was still encouraging you, even now, showed that he at least wanted you to try. Even if you’d been trying now. For about thirty minutes.

“Bat Monsters weren’t made—!” You started again, but he only lifted a gloved hand in a yapping motion, mocking your complaints.

“For the ice!” He squeaked in a terrible impression of your own voice. “Yeah, I know!! But, like, what’s cooler than being cool, honey buns? Ice cold, duh!! And what’s cooler than ice? Ice-skating?? And what’s cooler than ice-skating???”

He was behind you before you knew it, grasping the claw at the end of your wing to throw you into another spin. You kept spinning even when he let you go, only able to keep your balance by using said wings as leverage. “Skating with your totally awesome, famous rockin’ DJ boyfriend!!!”

You could think of many things. Practicing your aerial acrobatics for one. Those were much simpler—being a Bat Monster, with the wings and all. Spending time with Nappy in his camper, listening to Aaron and Happstablook practicing their vocals. Anything without this crowd—which felt very out of character for you to think, for even a moment, because you loved crowds.

And you loved being loved by crowds. But for now? You were humiliated.

Skating was hard, and without the sort of “upgrades” Nappy was endowed with, you were left to stumble and flail gracelessly around the ring, clinging to your boyfriend’s extendable arms when he got within reach of your wingspan. He seemed to take amusement in your failings, though, spinning and dipping you like you were a puppet on a string, and him the puppeteer. You knew there was no malice in his actions, just support and a need to entertain, but it didn’t make you feel much better.

After all, you wanted to entertain, too! You loved the attention, doing tricks and stunts to make the audience “Ooh!” and “Aah!” at your prowess. It was hard, and kind of hurt sometimes, feeling like you were second-hand to your superstar of a boyfriend, though.

More than anything, though, you wanted to show him up. Give him a little taste of his own medicine, so to say. And you knew just how to do it.

He seemed surprised when you suddenly released him, throwing yourself across the ice in one of the most graceful (and slightly terrifying) maneuvers you’d ever chanced. A single claw pressed to the ice, keeping your arc, the other at an angle to create the illusion of balance. But the real kicker? You pulled in your knee, forcing a twirl, then froze in place, using the span of your wings as leverage to keep yourself in place. The crowd around you gasped in amazement. You saw Napstaton slowing behind you, his screen flashing various colors in what you could only know as “Challenge Mode.”

So be it, then.

In a way, you were both cheating. Him, using his retractable limbs to maneuver his body in ways you’d never expect a robot to be capable of. You, hooking your claws into the ice, sparking frost where you landed, spinning and jumping and leaping. All with the help of your wings to keep a hover that only true professionals would be able to pull-off otherwise.

Playfully, he dipped under you, spinning his robotic legs just beneath your body as you moved into another jump. It almost looked like a dance routine. Felt like one, too. Your wings flapped to keep you afloat as he bounced back up, and before you could see what was happening, he had an arm dragging you against him. It caught you off-guard for a moment and you stumbled, but then he lifted you, spun around, and threw you out with one arm into a twirl.

The crowd around you was steadily growing, and you couldn’t help but laugh, flashing him a gaze of amusement and daring. His screen flashed a little, then reflected a quick heart in your direction, before you were once again tugged to his side. This time you held on, kicking one leg up for dramatic effect.

“Ladies, gents, and gentle-brosephs!” Nappy called out, a microphone in his free hand as he wrapped the other arm around you several more times. Even with how cold it was outside; his metallic body was still warm. Like an engine running on high. And with the way his internal fans were blasting, you knew you’d hit the nail on the head. “Welcome to today’s public pas-de-deux, my dudes! Featuring your local Monster Superstar and his totally rad gal, the Stupendous Zhara!”

A loud round of applause and whistling came from all around you, and beneath your fur you could feel the heat of a blush building up. Then came the camera flashes, a few people moving around like they were recording, and you started to shiver in excitement. Oh man, you’d forgotten how nervous the crowds could make you, despite how much you loved them. But still, you clung to your boyfriend, forcing a bright smile for the audience as they snapped pictures and cheered for an encore.

Your balance and peace of mind lasted for only a moment, however, before you felt the arm around your waist tighten, coil, and fling you upwards. With a squeak of fright and confusion, you let your wings spread, catching yourself momentarily to float downwards into what looked like a sudden explosion of glittery smoke and laser lights. Ohmygod, was he doing that? Here??

Apparently so, because the glimmer of his shades could be seen twinkling even through the smoke. All around you the crowd let out squeals of excitement. The presence of “the great and incredible” Napstaton EX always seemed to have that effect on people, no matter how many times they’d seen him on tv or not. Your ears twitched as your boyfriend’s voice boomed across the rink, several tones deeper than it’d previously been, and much louder.

“YO, WELCOME TO THE SHOW, BABES!!”

His hand snapped up out of the smoke, and you took it, letting him twirl you around so that you were both posing. “LET’S TURN UP THE HEAT, SHALL WE?”

Oh my god, this was so exciting!

Your first live performance! And not just the silly joking around you’d been doing before, now people had their phones out. Snapping pictures, recording you, jumping around and screaming in a way that gave you a flash of how Nappy must have felt on stage. You were so nervous, but at the same time, filled with a sense of determination. Nothing could bring you down right now, not even your inability to keep a steady foot on the ice. Because you had your wings to help you, and now that you’d gotten used to it, you were sure that…this? This was going to be your chance to prove yourself. To really show them all what you were made of.

He gave you a mischievous grin—one that you returned in earnest. And that’s when the show truly began.

You weren’t sure where the music was coming from, but a good guess was telling you it was from the speaker’s lodged in your boyfriend’s chassis. The moment he released your claws, you let it fly. Literally.

It was freezing out, but the heat burning in your chest was a wildfire, spreading from the soles of your feet to the tips of your wings. Heat, passion, exhilaration. You loved it all, and the steady thump of your SOUL was quickening to a pace that made you feel like if you turned at the wrong moment, you’d dust right then and there. But you knew that it wouldn’t actually happen. It was more of a “you were just so thrilled that you felt like you were going to burst into a million pieces” type of dusting than a “someone had just actually murdered you” kind of dusting.

So you dipped low, crossing your feet at an angle that made your wings umbrella the rest of your body. You could see Nappy gyrating behind you, twisting his arms into ridiculous shapes that made the crowd roar with laughter and applause. Then he stopped, just as the music dipped into a low crescendo. You kept spinning, faster and faster. The crowd cheered louder in anticipation, taking up a steady chant of “Yo! Yo! Yo! Yo!” (One of Napstaton’s catchphrases, and a definite regular you heard being yelled out all throughout his performances.)

With a shove, you pushed yourself airborne, spreading your wings as wide as they could go. The weight on your back as you let them fold inwards sent you plummeting. It was terrifying at first, but just as the beat dropped, you landed straight in Napstaton’s waiting arms. One of his legs kicked out on the ice, the other bent so low beneath him that you could see the reverberations of the music making the rink pulse.

The crowd exploded to life, bursting into applause so loud that your ears popped.

You heard a couple of people scream out for Napstaton’s attention, but then again, you also heard people calling for you. For you. Asking for tricks, poses, autographs, and pelting you with so many questions that your head felt like it was spinning. The high from your show still had your SOUL pulsing a mile a minute, and all you could manage in response was a flustered cacophony of giggling and gasping. What a wonderful experience—now if only you could calm your nerves enough to give the crowd the encore they were asking for.

Trying to steady your breathing as best you could, you tucked your wings in, clutching your chest and attempting to spit out something other than the high-pitched chitters spewing from your muzzle. Your wings ached from the cold, and suddenly it was like all the energy had been drained from your body. Despite all your practicing, it seemed you still had some ways to go before you could be a real live-performer (at least, on a regular basis), like Nappy was. He posed dramatically as he pulled you against him, while the cameras flashed so brightly that you could hardly see. You stumbled, exhausted, and collapsed against him.

“Don’t you worry, sugar-wings, I gotcha.” He whispered against your ear. “How was that—hype enough for ya, or are ya up to an encore?”

Your legs were trembling, and you felt like you were going to pass out, but you nodded anyway. “Gotta give the crowd what they want!”

He stared into your eyes for a long, lingering moment, then chuckled. “Alright, darlin’, let’s give ‘em all a good, rad conclusion to this little show, eh?”

Your legs flailed when he suddenly dipped you, so low that the tips of your ears brushed against the ice. Then, without warning, he kissed you.

It was deep, passionate…and obviously a show for the crowd. You heard a lot of feminine screaming and cooing. You rolled your eyes, but when he pulled back, you couldn’t help but melt under the dopy grin plastered across his face, your SOUL pulsing with warmth.

“Now how’s that for seeing stars?”

                                                         ❤ ❤ ❤

Thank you so much for the commission, darling! I hope you enjoy it !! ❤

[hellyeahrpmemes]

※ JENNA MARBLES SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. VII ※

here’s sentences from 10 more of jenna’s videos! feel free to change names/pronouns/zodiac signs/etc.! more jenna sentences

DIY WEDDING GIFT 

“I just learned, don’t put lotion on your arms, and touch a poster, cause you’ll get lotion on your poster.”

“I didn’t get my own best friend a wedding gift.”

“And I was like, fuuuuuuuuuck.”

“If I was getting married, what would I want?”

“Give me some money, family and friends, to pay for this sick party I just threw you.”

“I can’t just hand her an envelope with some money in it and be like… happy wedding.”

“This is how you know someone’s your best friend. Because, when it’s their wedding day, all you can think about is fucking with them.”

“Side note, if you ever go to a strip club, and you make them a t-shirt, and you tip them in t-shirts, they appreciate the effort.”

“It’s gonna be the coolest wedding gift ever.”

“I have limited capabilities with what I can do today because I have to leave.”

“Why don’t you come join me in my quest for origami trolling?”

“She hated it, which is exactly why I liked it.”

“She’s sleeping in a bar. Not passed out in a bar, sleeping in a bar. Two very different things. One of them’s funny, one of them’s not.”

“Step one: this. Step two: fucky shit.”

“You… you welcome.”

“Oh, it’s falling apart… oh, it’s a bloodbath.”

“Oh my fucking god…!”

“That is what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“This makes me want to have a whole outfit out of money.”

“We blew it like twelve steps ago.”

“Oh, that’s looking cute as fuck.”

“Even though I fucked it up, this one is still so much easier than a t-shirt with a tie.”

“Regular t-shirts are okay, but t-shirts with a tie? Fuck. Never again.”

“I am pleased with this. This is adorable.”

“Bitch, how?”

“Um, it looks like shit…”

“Five dolla pants make you holla.”

“It looks hard. Pray for my hands.”

“I feel like I regret it already.”

“That doesn’t look anything like that cool Pinterest fuckin picture. This looks like shit.”

“Finesse em around? Do I look like someone who’s good at finessing? Cause I’m not!”

“It looks like absolute garbage, but, you know what, it gets the point across.”

“I don’t think that’s how the song goes.”

“This looks really hard, but this was so much easier than that fucking t-shirt with a tie.”

“Oh my god, that’s fuckin dope.”

“How did you do that?”

“I don’t know, I blacked out the whole time.”

“This is a shamrock that wasn’t worth it at all.”

“I mean, fuck with me everyone else at every wedding that’s ever existed.”

“That’s what friends are for. Fucking with you.”

“Um, see, it works.”

“She spent so much time folding that fucking money.”

“Do you feel congratulated or what?”

“Are you mad at me? Are you gonna kill me?”

30 LIFE LESSONS I LEARNED IN 30 YEARS

“It took me a solid hour of cleaning the whole thing to get the poop out.”

“I would give anything to read that group diary again.”

“A physical journal that you can look back on someday is something I would highly suggest.”

“Unless someone else finds it, in which case, you’re fucked.”

“Just take five minutes and buy a bath mat.”

“I just thought slipping and almost dying was part of my daily shower routine.”

“Just because you know something isn’t right doesn’t mean you can change the way you feel. That’s not how your heart works.”

“Sometimes, whatever seems logical isn’t the right decision, cause it’s not how your heart works.”

“It’s terrible, miserable, awful, don’t do it.”

“Never, ever, ever go on an all-carrots diet.”

“I was crash-dieting and decided I was only gonna eat carrots.”

“It doesn’t work, it’s disgusting, and it’s awful.”

“We would just sit there and take turns bitching about whatever was wrong with our lives.”

“Never say something behind someone’s back that you aren’t completely willing to say directly to their face.”

“When the person comes to you and says, hey, did you say this about me, as long as it’s something I said, I’ll say hell yes I did.”

“I do not shy away from confrontation. I’m a fan of it.”

“Sometimes, it’s necessary. Yeah, sure, people don’t like it, and sometimes, it’s “out of line” and “uncalled for”, but at least I said it to your face.”

“I used to be firmly on team ‘no new shoes ever’.”

“Is Jenna okay? Does she need money for shoes?”

“Just do it man, okay? You’re gonna hurt your legs and your feet, and then your back, and then your neck. It’s gonna be bad.”

“Maybe give our culture a little bit of time to catch up to how beautiful you are just the way you are.”

“You got a good butt.”

“I was never allowed to quit anything ever, you have to see everything through to the end.”

“I ran full speed, hit the springboard, and ran directly into the vault.”

“That is my done time.”

“Just move. Just pack up your shit, get in a truck, and move.”

“Just think of it that way, and it makes it a lot easier, and way less stressful, and not as crazy.”

“Don’t ever try to flush a pork chop down a toilet. Doesn’t work. Just trust me. Doesn’t work.”

“Don’t be ashamed of your human-ness.”

“Some people’s houses are too clean - I don’t trust those people.”

“You know what’s cooler than doing what all of your friends are doing, is not doing what all of your friends are doing.”

“I seriously considered doing it, until I was like, you know what, fuck that.”

“Fuck reading the dictionary, dude, I’m gonna sit here and space out. It’s gonna be a far better use of my time.”

“If you’re ever up really late, and have to be up really early in the morning, just sleep sitting up.”

“If you ever feel like you’re gonna pass out, make sure you tell someone that you feel like you’re gonna pass out.”

“Don’t just fall over. It makes people kinda mad sometimes.”

“I don’t know, I was blacking out.”

“I think it’s just the effort I appreciate.”

“Just take your whole rug and throw it out the window.”

“I learned this in college, where you literally get expelled if you don’t give credit.”

“Nothing about giving credit makes you look bad. If anything, it makes you look good, by citing your sources and having valid places to get information.”

“Don’t ever try a new sport if you’re severely hungover.”

“It’s gross. It’s not worth it. Just say you can’t go or something.”

“Always do the right thing unless it doesn’t feel right.”

“I saw that guy shove a bunch of beer down his pants.”

“You seem like you’re having a hell of a time, and I think the best thing for me to do is just keep it moving.”

“I like to lay down outside and just stare at the sky and think about nothing. Except aliens.”

“I’m a doctor now.”

“Doctors are just people with opinions. You don’t have to listen to them.”

“Sure, they’ve been to school for a whole decade or whatever, but you’ve lived with your body for your whole life.”

“Do I look like I fuckin wanna talk about it?”

“Always know which goals and dreams to pay attention to, and which other ones to just not pay attention to.”

“Hurling a large strawberry milkshake into an oncoming subway is something I dream about daily, but I’m not gonna do it.”

“Whatever choice you made in the past, you made the best choice that you could, given the circumstances at any possible moment you could make.”

I RANT FOR YOU

“The idea of bitching for someone else made me really excited.”

“Just take it easy, man, ya know?”

“If you hate it, tell me, and we’ll never speak of this again, just like lots of things I’ve done.”

“First of all, who the fuck has custom bunk beds?”

“If you guys wanna keep your privilege beds inside of your bougie room, you better start eating.”

“If this was fun, I’d invite my friends over, and charge admission at the door.”

“You know what takes up the most amount of my time is minding my own fucking business.”

“It seems like you can’t follow directions, which is out of my control.”

“You know what’s in my control? Doing jumping jacks with knives! Get fucked.”

“If you don’t find a new place to frick-frack I’m gonna cover my jungle gym in dildos, and the next time you frick-frack on it, it’s gonna frick-frack you back.”

“I’m gonna crash your band with my own band.”

“Fuck your band.”

“Ya nasty, ya phone is nasty, and ya life is nasty.”

“It’s like I’m living with idiots!”

“Fuck our vows, fuck our family, I’m out of this shit.”

“That’s so fucked up and wrong.”

I SUCK AT PRANKS 2

“Julien likes to prank me a lot. He thinks it’s very funny.”

“I tried one time, and it was terrible, but awesome.”

“The only way to get better at something is to try.”

“I wanna prank Julien, but I also love Julien.”

“What would you do for someone that you love in August? You would make it Christmas in August.”

“Good idea, Jenna, I like where this is going.”

“I’m aging myself, here.”

“Whoa, this is amazing, it’s like a wonderland in here.”

“I know, I’m so good at decorating, and also being resourceful, because I don’t have any money.”

“Hopefully, they’ll come out less shit than the last one.”

“Fuck you, YouTube tutorial, you just got your shit lit up!”

“In your face, Julien, what are you gonna do about this?”

“You know what this shape is called? Fuckin’ pranked.”

“I think I’m gonna wrap it up so that he thinks that I got him a present for Christmas, but I totally didn’t. He bought it for himself.”

“Fuckin’ pranked, fuckin’ got you!”

“If this prank doesn’t get Julien off my back once and for all, nothing will.”

“Nothing says don’t fuck with me quite like ‘I just made you a Christmas’.”

“Who is Santa Claus? Me. Don’t fuck with me.”

“Julien’s half-Jewish, so we should incorporate that somehow.”

“I’m running out of time, and it’s the thought that counts.”

“It’s lookin’ like real fuckin’ got you in here.”

“I found a wreath, and pulled the tree out of the garage.”

“Shitty Christmas about to happen…!”

“If I’m Christmas-ing, we’re all Christmas-ing.”

“Oh hell yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“What the literal fuck?”

“I’m gonna black out, what is happening?”

“Why don’t you come yonder into Christmas winter wonderland?”

“You like it? It’s Christmas.”

“Oh my god, this is magical.”

“Did I get you or what?”

“I didn’t wanna be disrespectful and light it when it wasn’t necessarily Hanukkah.”

“Come over here, look what Santa has brought you.”

“I bought this two days ago for myself.”

“You’re fuckin’ sick.”

“That’s a dead cockroach, that’s real…!”

“Just ‘cause he’s dead doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy Christmas…!”

“This is the thing dreams and nightmares are simultaneously made of.”

“I feel so pranked.”

“That was the most sensory overload I’ve had in, like, six years.”

“How long did this take you?”

“I can’t look at you…!”

“Do I suck at pranks? Yeah. But is my heart in the right place? For sure.”

“Don’t throw him out, he’s our friend…!”

“Nobody expects a Christmas prank in August.”

“Merry Christmas and Hanukkah and Kwanzaa and stuff.”

HOW I USED TO DO MY MAKEUP

“I know what you’re thinking: Jenna, your face is terrifying!”

“I’m seriously down this rabbit hole, and I can’t get out.”

“I wanna be part of your beautiful people club, what the fuck.”

“It’s not like I could just go educate myself on how to do my makeup.”

“I had two books, and I just looked at the pictures.”

“It seemed a little ridiculous to put on a full face of makeup and then go play a sport later.”

“I was actually one of the most unmemorable people ever.”

“It kills me when I see these 9-year-olds with their Naked palettes crafting perfect little smokey eyes, like, what the fuck.”

“I didn’t exactly start off on a good foot.”

“This was look number one. It’s pretty good-looking, if you ask me.”

“I was not allowed to wear makeup.”

“Jenna, what’s on your face?”

“Mom, it’s not a big deal, okay? I’m in fifth grade, now, and I’m trying to get the boys to pay attention to me.”

“Why are you cockblocking me, Mom?”

“You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna smuggle in this pink lipstick and this blue eyeshadow, and I’m gonna put it on when I get there.”

“Jenna, I said wipe it off…!”

“Shit, my mom followed me to school…!”

“I mean, she had good reason.”

“I looked ridiculous.”

“It was a good plan…!”

“I was allowed to wear a little eyeliner and some mascara to draw attention away from my braces.”

“You’re late for second period.”

“I thought I was a real lady.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“This was a choice.”

“I thought it was a good look.”

“You can’t see that, but you know what it achieves.”

“What the fuck, you could do this to your hair?!”

“I was also just reminded that this was a look.”

“That’s what I thought you’re supposed to do: when you get a palette of colors, you have to use every color in it.”

“I was too scared to try black. I was nervous.”

“Hey, you wanna Nair your stomach?”

“I was just doing it to be a good friend.”

“Dude, fuck yeah, fuck me up with it.”

“Holy fuck, fam, this is my new look.”

“Welcome, everyone, to my new face.”

“I looked like this for a few days at school until someone was like, what the fuck is wrong with your face?”

“I was in the other room, did you say ‘don’t cockblock me, Mom’?”

“The only time I could do it was in my room, alone.”

“I thought to myself: finally, I can be my true self.”

“Turns out there’s a time and a place for everything, and the place for this was college.”

“Fuck, you really don’t remember me, do you? Fuck, I’m so unmemorable.”

“I’m not a raccoon, this was a look…!”

“These are fucking dope.”

“Are you calling me a garbage lady?”

“They were ridiculous, and I did like them a lot.”

QUESTIONS VIDEO #6

“It’s been a rough few weeks for me.”

“I feel like my brain doesn’t work.”

“It’s kind of rude of me to be like, Julien, can you get the fuck out?”

“I think it’s time that I answer some questions for you.”

“If I could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put it on your butt… it’s good-looking.”

“A good line if you just wanna go in for the kill is you say ‘hey, you’ve got something on your lips’, and they’re like ‘oh, what is it’, and then you just go ‘my lips’ and then you just kiss them. Unless you think that’s too forward, in which case, don’t do it.”

“On our way over here, some lady woke up in the middle of the night and fell over in the plane.”

“I’m actually pretty scared of flying.”

“She’s fucking reading that little pamphlet right now? Like, that’s… what the fuck. No one does that.”

“I’m sorry that I like to be informed and educated.”

“If shit got real, I’d take the pamphlet with me. It says take nothing with you, but I would take that pamphlet.”

“This is a rule. You knew this coming in here.”

“I’m sorry for just being good at following the rules. I’m a rule follower.”

“Y’all are fucked up, y’all need Jesus.”

“I think I was just sort of an angry person for a while.”

“I think that’s what being an adult is: buying things that you hate, and also having to shut your mouth all the time, and bottle it all on the inside, instead of just letting it out.”

“He’s a tornado in the kitchen. He can make things in record speed, but it also means that he’s left out every ingredient that it takes to make it.”

“That is not the garbage.”

“I will also be sort of passive-aggressive about it.”

“Sorry for being alive. I didn’t realize I couldn’t be alive.”

“You forget that I have ears.”

“I can’t just explain things to you all day every day and why they’re funny.”

“You can use your imagination.”

“You can freak out the whole time, or you can just let it happen.”

“That makes a fuckin… oh my god, that makes a mess. What are you doing, that’s disgusting.”

“I don’t know why people like that so much.”

“I can see you. You guys aren’t that sneaky.”

“I’m not doing anything that you can’t do.”

“That was embarrassing. I’ll never do it again.”

“Hit me up. I’m here.”

“Just keep doin’ what you’re doin’.”

“Nobody knows what they’re doing. Welcome to being alive.”

“I have a weird aversion to taking anything that I don’t absolutely have to take.”

“One time when I was in fourth grade, we watched an animated movie about heroin, and I passed out.”

“You just sit up there, and you’re like, fuck with me, fuck with me…!”

“I don’t even know where I am or what time it is.”

EAR BLOOD

“The storyteller of our generation.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing, everything I’ve made is garbage, which is why I like it.”

“Step one: don’t touch the machine.”

“This sucks.”

“Which side of history do you want to be on?”

“I mean, this is a lot, but I like it.”

“How can I make this less loud?”

“I mean, that was pretty amazing.”

“Are you not entertained?”

“It’s got a touch of romance.”

“Here is my masterpiece so far.”

HOW TO CARE FOR YOUR CERMET 2

“There are so many more tips that I have neglected to share with you.”

“Thinking they’re being useful helps them grow.”

“They’re very sensitive and need emotional support.”

“Murdering their friends helps them grow.”

“It’s like trying to pet a fish.”

“They can’t go to Chipotle, don’t listen to them, it’s a trap.”

“Just kidding, they’re full grown.”

“Is it stupid? Yes. Does it make me laugh? Yes.”

“Sorry I look kind of like trash right now.”

JENNA’S RACHET FASHION BOUTIQUE: MY BOYFRIEND

“Close-minded eyeshadow people can leave.”

“Thank you for your prayers.”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“I love the fabric store.”

“Every week, I make a giant mess in a different room in my house.”

“This could be a disastrous idea.”

“I can’t believe this worked…!”

“You’re a fucking genius, how did you do this?”

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna break it…!”

“You look like a little cupcake.”

“Deception: I’m so good at it.”

“Ooh, deeper, that feels good.”

“Define right spot; I don’t think anything about this is in the right spot.”

“If you can dream it, you can do it, Julien.”

“I think I’m a damn good-looking princess.”

“Stop doing that, you’re gonna break it.”

“It’s incredibly dysfunctional, while, at the same time, it looks good.”

“That should be my name: the tornado princess.”

“I could go to the ball, and wear this dress, but I can also fit a beach ball in the dress, too, so it’s like a double ball.”

“This is the only functional part of this outfit.”

“This doesn’t fit through doorways.”

“That’s like making a key that’s not compatible for keyholes.”

“Aren’t you booked for, like, a year?”

“You’re breaking it…!”

“Dazzle us, Julien. Be a princess.”

“It’s hanging on for dear life.”

ULTIMATE 100 COATS OF THINGS VIDEO

“I wanna do this, but I wanna do it hard as fuck.”

“Since day one, I did not come here to play games.”

“I’m not positive that all of these are going to work.”

“This couch will be ruined.”

“I think we all know instantly why no one has done that before. This is a terrible idea.”

“My face feels gross.”

“I promise you, on my life, I am not skipping any steps.”

“This is a very time-consuming process.”

“Let me bring you in nice and close.”

“I think it adds to the whole look.”

“This might be the day that my too much gene really is too much.”

“I look great…!”

“I need an adult…!”

“Someone send help for me…”

“That would suck. It wouldn’t be worth it at all.”

“This is starting to burn a little.”

“I did not cheat at all.”

“This is the worst decision I’ve ever made in my life.”

“It looks terrible. I hate everything about it.”

“I mean, a lot of my soul is dead.”

“This only came from a place of pure curiosity.”

“Do I look like someone who wants to hurt your feelings?”

“I fucking did it!”

“I hate everything else. With fury.”

“It’s the worst? Worse than this?”

“I don’t think I would wish this experience on anyone, ever.”

“I’m not sure if it can ever feel clean again.”

“Don’t do that, don’t do that, stop it.”

“This looks great and you fucking know it.”

“It wasn’t as painful as I thought it was gonna be.”

“It’s never gonna come off.”

“I regret everything.”

“I wanna take this whole day back.”

“It took me seven and a half hours for a very mediocre payoff.”

“I did it, I gave it my all.”

“I will never, ever, ever, ever do anything like this again.”

“I don’t know how I’m gonna fix my life — it’s permanently ruined.”

“We’re never doing this again, and we’re never talking about it again, either.”

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 5

You can read Chapter 5 on Ao3 Here

Check out my Patreon Here and become a patron! Early updates, sneak peeks, and insight to future chapters and character arcs! :)

Chapter 5: Investigative Journalism

           He most certainly didn’t tell Jack Crawford or his boss Charlie what he found in his apartment.

           Without a note from the Ripper, the column was normal –as normal as questions of analysis on psychopaths and serial killers could be. He ruminated on the mystery of the unsolved ‘Snake River Killer’ in Lewiston, Idaho, and he discussed the fact that the prime suspect lived comfortably somewhere in North Carolina.

           Just to be congenial, he even called Crawford to let him know that no ‘Avid Fan’ had written.

           Ratings maintained, thankfully. Maybe the Chesapeake Ripper knew that too much was just going to sour the taste in the mouths of readers. Whoever he was, his self-control was one to be marveled at.

           The next week, more letters. He stared at the written ones, sifting through them, grabbing each one crafted from plain copier paper and setting them aside to go through first. Whenever he swallowed, he imagined he could still taste the heady flavor of the Ortolan on the back of his tongue, sordid with its questionable mode of death. He imagined he could taste his own blood, too.

           He was just working his way through another question regarding whether or not the Avid Fan was going to strike again when another letter was set on his desk, plain in manner and unobtrusive in its size. The mailman didn’t stop to talk to him as he trundled by after delivering it; Will saw it out of the corner of his eye, though, and he dropped the one he was currently reading, snatching it up and ripping the letter open with his heart beginning to pound.

Dear Will,

           You’ve become a regular hero, breaking down the aspects of the psychopaths and monsters with ease between breaks to the water cooler and lunch reminders. Does this excite you? Does it make you open your word doc. and stare at the words inside with renewed hope, that if you can gain a small following with nothing more than a few nods towards an understanding of the crazies, perhaps there’s hope for you yet?

           I want to see the sort of words you’d use to describe something outside of the comfort zone of your lumbar-supportive chair. Something where you lose, no matter what you do.

What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?

           You have one day.

                                                                                                           -Avid Fan

           He read it once, twice, three times. Instead of going to Charlie, who would no doubt encourage him to go alone, Will called Jack Crawford, grabbing his lunch as his watch beeped to tell him that it was time to eat.

           “I’m cooperating, like I promised,” he said when Jack answered. “Just…take me along with you when you go. No pictures, but…I need to see.”

           Jack took him along once he confirmed he had no cameras on his person. There were no mountains in DC, but the Blue Ridge Mountains boasted several beautiful, scenic getaways and parks. It was at one such place the next day that Will found himself staring at the beginning of a mountain trail, his blood cold.

           “I’m banking a lot on you not being like Freddie Lounds,” Jack said. On the mountain, they wore somewhat heavier coats to protect against the chill of the early fall, and agents milled about beside forest rangers, trying to establish the boundaries of the crime scene.

           Because it was very much a crime scene.

           They were hikers –if they weren’t, they were dressed like it. One lay across a boulder beside the beginning of the trail, and if the color of their skin and the amount of blood surrounding them was any indication, they had been drained completely dry. Will had never seen ribs so exposed like that; lungs, heart, and intestines completely missing to show the cavity in all its glory.

           The other lay poised over them, strung up by fine wire as they stared out glass-eyed at the nature surrounding them, either oblivious or disregarding the nature of their partner’s woes. They’d have seemed almost the peaceful, unharmed foil to the one laying down, if Agent Price hadn’t removed the beanie on top to reveal a missing brain.

           “I’m not Freddie Lounds,” said Will after what he too late realized was a rather long pause. He sighed, tucking his fingers into his jacket. “I promise you that.”

           “What the hell are you, then?” Jack wondered, and in the early morning light so high up, the wrinkles on his face were all the more prominent. “What are you that this guy’s writing to you?”

           “Hell if I know,” Will replied. He passed the letter with gloved hands back to Jack, his lip curling. “Hell if I even want to know.”

           “Mountains,” Price said, coming back from the blood and gore. “Up, up, it goes, yet never grows.” He wore a whimsical plaid hat with thick flaps on the side, and he peered up under the scruff of the bill to survey Will and Jack critically. “You have yourselves a killer with an affinity to Tolkien?”

           “He knows I’m a writer, so a writer he uses,” Will said out loud. Rebuked himself for it the moment that it was said.

           “Eyes, temperature, stiffening of the rigor mortis place time of death at about seventy-two hours or so ago,” Price continued, looking to Crawford.

           “Three days,” Jack mused. “They were moved here?”

           “Placement of the blood looks intentional, not the product of him removing organs right here,” Price replied. “He did it somewhere else, brought these babies here to set up a stage.”

           Three days. Will frowned, bit the fat of his cheek and shook his head.

           “He only gave us one day to find them,” he said, looking to Jack. “He only gave us one day, but he-”

           “Clearly intended you to never find them alive,” Jack said, smoothing over his curt words in his mellow baritone. “He’s poking you with a stick, Mr. Graham.”

           Will wanted to shout, to argue. His blood was pumping, his breath cut short as he looked back to the bodies. He was only given a day. They were killed three days ago, and he’d only given him a day. How was he supposed to outsmart him when he wasn’t playing fair? How was he supposed to help anyone when he was being hobbled right out of the gate?

           A thought wriggled in the back of his mind that it wasn’t outsmarting him when he was giving him the easiest riddles he could find. This wasn’t a game so much as it was a lesson –Will’s fun only extended as far as the Chesapeake Ripper would allow.

           “What are you thinking, Graham?” Jack prodded. Will blinked, looked back to Price and Crawford. They’d been talking? Yes, it was apparent in Price’s stance that he’d just been speaking, waiting for a response. Will wondered if there was an app that could remind him to listen and think at the same time.

           “He’d know you’re talking to me, working with me,” he said. “It’s in the news, it’s…everywhere. He wants to see what you’ll do next –what I’ll do next.”

           “And what are you going to do next, Mr. Reporter?” Price asked. It was as much sing-song as it was serious.

           “I said I’d cooperate,” Will said at last, looking from Price to Crawford. “How do you think we should handle this? The news will find out no matter what I do. But if you use me, I can control how some of the news takes it, or at the very least how much they get of it.”

           Jack thought on that, and when Will moved closer he wasn’t stopped, although he was jostled by a park ranger that scurried by, mouth pressed to a walkie-talkie. Even if Will kept a lid on things, people would know. The ranger who’d found the bodies would have most likely taken pictures, the one who came to comfort him would have texted a friend, and by the time they’d gotten to the spot, police were struggling to hold back a Channel 5 News Anchor who was dumb enough to bring the cameraman along too.

           He didn’t want to get too close, resenting the foul stench of death blending with the crisp scent of the great outdoors –pine needles and a distinct lack of car exhaust. Looking down at the victim so open, so exposed made him think about college, the students that’d cut open cadavers in lab, their hissed whispers as they left loud enough that even he heard. Take out all the organs and see what’s left inside. Gross, right? How open we are without the pieces that keep us alive?

           Just at the victim’s wrist, a watch beeped in a very familiar tone. A reminder of an unread text.

           Gloved as he was, Will lurched at the sound and grasped her wrist, sliding the jacket up to reveal a smart watch much like his, same model, make, and color. He tapped frantically at the envelope on the screen, and when it opened he let out a shout for Jack, heart racing.

           Mary Mai too kept her life organized through her smartphone and a synced watch, Mr. Graham. No one seemed to notice her attachment to the living was only held through such a small device rather than the connections of the people around her.

           Jack hauled him back, let him fall onto his ass unceremoniously in a small pile of pine needles and dirt. Jack read the message, then read it again, setting her wrist back down where Will had found it in the blood.

           “It was sent from her device,” he barked out, looking around. “I want a search for any nearby devices on this mountain, and I want it done now!”

           The agents and police scattered, leaving forensics to their job. Will sat on his ass, stunned, until Price took pity on him and helped him up, brushing something off of his back.

           “That was for me,” he rasped to Crawford, staring at his back. “That was to me.”

           “What do you have that the Chesapeake Ripper wants, Mr. Graham?” Jack asked, turning around to him.

           Will didn’t want to say it, pulse thumping erratically as it was. If he did, he’d be suspect, he’d be locked away, he’d be under scrutiny for the rest of his god damn life. His watch beeped to tell him he should either take a second cup of coffee or his first glass of water at the office, and he jolted, wheezing out a breath. Thankfully, adrenaline and excitement looked much the same physically as fear and anxiety.

           “I don’t know,” he lied, and he looked from the body to Jack, shaking his head. “I don’t know, I just…that’s her husband, isn’t it? Mr. Mai?”

           “Jack glanced at a report someone handed him, and he nodded. “Rufus Mai, age thirty-seven, married to Mary Mai, aged thirty-nine.”

           “He’s saying I…I don’t connect like others do, and no one can see. He took his brain?” A rhetorical question. He glanced to the missing top half of Rufus Mai’s skull, and he nodded. “He wasn’t smart enough to see. He wasn’t…smart enough to see she was detached from him, from their reality.”

           “And just how attached are you to this reality, Mr. Graham?” Jack asked.

           The watched beeped again, and he distractedly swiped the notification away. “Relatively attached to living and living in reality, Agent Crawford,” he said, glancing down to the body. He didn’t like seeing that it was empty, devoid of the things that made it real and alive.

           If that was the Chesapeake Ripper’s estimation of him, things looked rather grave indeed.

-

           The cell phone was found perched precariously on one of the police cars farther down the trail, unlocked and devoid of any fingerprints save what Price dismally said was more than likely Mary Mai’s. The fact that the Ripper had been there, strolling among any loitering or any about on business made Will’s palms tingle, made his heart leap to his throat.

           It only served to make Jack kick one of the tires on his car with a furious frenzy that was more than a little nerve-wracking.

He rode back with Jack, the silence one of two minds puzzling over the same problem in different ways. Jack wanted a security detail on him, which he adamantly refused. He wanted to try and use the media to make it seem like more than they had, which Will laughed at. The Chesapeake Ripper would find it not only appalling but laughable, and he’d find another news source to put the spotlight on the FBI’s failures.

           He thought about telling Crawford that he ate people, but then he’d have to explain how he’d found out that information. Telling him he’d had a romantic dinner in the dark would only serve to put him under further scrutiny that he was positive he was already under.

           “How much are you going to share?”

           “I’m not sharing the part with the watch beeping a text,” Will said after a moment of thought. “They should know he’s using timelines with no guarantee of safety, shouldn’t they?”

           “You know what I think,” Jack said heavily. “I don’t think you should engage him at all with this. I think he thinks he can get you however he needs, just by dangling a little more recognition and ratings your way, same as any reporter.”

           “If it was any reporter, don’t you think he’d have gone to one more famous?” Will asked. “Like Lounds?”

           That got Jack. He opened his mouth, shut it with an audible click. “It’s not just fame, then,” he said at last. “He knows how to get fame. He knows how to get attention.”

           “Specifically fame through me, specifically my attention,” Will said. He tried really hard to ignore the thought that he was very much succeeding.

           This is the most fun you’ve had in years.

           “With your life in danger, I’m going to at least put a car outside of your apartment,” he said. “Something to keep an eye on you so that if something happens, someone is there to help.”

           Will didn’t disagree, although he thought it funny that for the many years they’d been trying to get the Chesapeake Ripper, a non-descript white van outside of an apartment like his would be the most cliché way of hoping to catch him.

           He wondered if the Chesapeake Ripper would call again to share in the joke.

-

Dear Will,

I want to see the sort of words you’d use to describe something outside of the comfort zone of your lumbar-supportive chair. Something where you lose, no matter what you do.

What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?

You have one day.

-Avid Fan

 Avid Fan,

The murders of Mary Mai and Rufus Mai are tragic, and I’m bereft in the face of such senseless slaughter. You want to know what words I’d use to describe something where I’ve lost, but truly you want to see a reaction because that is the sort of person you are. You act in order to observe what people do in order to react.

There are no words to comfort grief. There are no words to explain the silence that encompasses those that have lost and will never hold their loved ones again. I assume you sought to see the things I’d say to garner hatred or resentment towards you, but I don’t have to do that. You murdered those innocent people two days before you sent your letter to me; no matter the actions done by the FBI or myself, you wanted to see what it’d be like for me to lose. I didn’t lose, their family did.

I don’t have to say anything for the people to hate you –you did that well enough on your own.

-

           Ratings dropped at their death, although when other newspapers could also confirm that they were dead before Will Graham had ever received any written word, the ratings rose back up, then increased. Will was right; he didn’t have to urge the people to hate the ‘Avid Fan’. At the face of two pillars of the community murdered on the eve of their anniversary, there rose such a backlash that Will found donations being sent in to be given to the family, to the children who’d lost so much.

           Although Freddie Lounds had the cover page story, Will was given, along with his column, a second page space in order to cover the funeral and the ways that the community gave in full.

           The problem, he realized, was that he was waiting for the Chesapeake Ripper to do something. He wasn’t testing the Ripper, he was sitting there and waiting to be tested. What was he doing to find him? Where was he going to look? The FBI was in over their heads –that much he could tell by the way Crawford struggled. It was personal to him, therefore his anger seemed to be his enemy as he looked at the bodies. Will stared down at his desk, at the reports, news clippings and ‘misplaced’ files he’d snagged from Freddie’s desk, considering the Chesapeake Ripper.

           Why was he waiting on the FBI to do something he knew that he could do?

           He’d gone to school for this. He’d trained for this. Not only had he been top of his class, he’d been fast-tracked to the FBI until his psych-eval came back worse for wear. They’d wanted him, realized they could never have him.

           The Chesapeake Ripper was batting at him like a cat with a ball of yarn, but that didn’t mean Will had to be the yarn.

           “I’m thinking of doing something irrational,” he said to Beverly over drinks.

           “Don’t shave your head, you’ll look like you’ve done time,” she warned him.

           “Looking at the files from what Lounds has said about the FBI-”

           “Okay but you know she shouldn’t have those files-”

           “-I’m sure I could do better than they could. There’s no forensic evidence, nothing for them to go on, so it’s not like the lack of a lab-”

           “-and I’m pretty sure she blew the guy that got her copies of one of those, so-”

           “-would hurt me, so it comes down to brains, outside resources, and the fact that-”

           “-it’s not really pitching much in her corner for you to be-”

           “-the Chesapeake Ripper wants to be my friend.”

           “-grabbing shit from her that could get you –wait, what?” Beverly leveled an intense, probing stare at him.

           “The Chesapeake Ripper wants to be my friend,” Will repeated.

           Their shots arrived then, and Beverly took hers, slamming it down with a little too much force.

           “You’re joking,” she said.

           “He called my phone, and he said that he wanted to be my friend.” Will took his as well, licorice-colored liquid smooth along his tongue and down the back of his throat. Beside his normal whiskey coke, Fernet was a luxury, something to celebrate nothing more than a desire to partake in something that tasted far better than the ass-end of a cat the way that well-drinks often did.

           “I’m guessing you haven’t told anyone from the FBI,” Beverly said. Rather than complete disapproval, there was almost a note of intrigue, the only sort of note that a reporter could have in their voice at a time like that. Newspaper curiosity was something far different from the regular, everyday variety. It was nosier. Less worried about why he didn’t tell the FBI and more that he hadn’t told the FBI.

           “Fuck no,” he retorted. “They’d cart me off.”

           “To protect you.”

           “To shove legal papers up my ass.”

           “So you’re, what –going to try and get him yourself? Be his friend?” That was said with disapproval, a pointed stare in his direction.

           “Considering he butchers and kills people, I’m going to go with a ‘no’ on friendship,” Will said slowly. “But the FBI has been trying to catch him for years. They’ve got nothing. Hell, I don’t know if I’d get anything, but it’s better than sitting around and waiting for him to get me, right?”

           “This is coming from the guy that can’t be bothered to walk two blocks farther than normal for a grocery mart with better prices,” Beverly pointed out.

           “I’ve got to do something, Beverly.”

           She nodded, stirred her White Russian around with the little straw stuck in it. She grabbed the glass, took a sip and considered him just across the way, a little harried, a little curious –no, definitely curious. The only kind of curious he needed her to be.

           “I’ll help,” she said. “I don’t know what to look for, but if you’re going to make an ass of yourself, I want to see it when it happens.”

           “He’s killing people,” Will reminded her.

           “And Freddie Lounds reigning on the front page is killing me. You find something out about this guy, maybe you’ll get front page. Hell, maybe you don’t, I get front page, I get you to front page with me.”

           “This isn’t about work politics.”

           “No, that’s just a perk.”

           They smacked the lip of their glasses together, downed their drinks in one go. Will had had enough shitty whiskey to really put this on the low end of that list, but with something in the distance, he figured maybe it’d be the last time he had to drink something so foul.

           His watch beeped to remind him that if it was a work night, he’d better get his ass to bed.

A special thanks to my patrons @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe Duhaunt6 and Superlurk! You’re the best!

[prince-nevitt]

Smackdown LIVE!!! review 2-14-2017

                  This is my first review. Maybe I’ll do more, maybe not.

The show opens with a new champion in Bray Wyatt making his way into the ring without Randy Orton by his side. His promo gets interrupted by none other than the former champ John Cena and is welcomed by mainly boos. Cena claims Wyatt is brainwashing the fans, which is ironic coming from the Ass Kisser himself. He challenges Wyatt for a rematch, RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW. Out comes AJ Styles, thank God.  Now HE challenges Wyatt. Daniel Bryan is here! DB makes a 3-way title match for later tonight.

American Alpha vs. The Ascension

It’s great seeing a regular tag team match on SmackDown for a change. Viktor and Chad Gable start this bout off. A bit back and forth, Viktor seems to be losing his cool after Gable keeps out-wrestling him. Viktor punches Jason Jordan on the outside and everyone enters the ring in an all-out brawl. AA are on top as it goes to commercial. Ascension seems to have the upper hand when we come back. Gable gets the hot tag and in comes Jordan laying the SMACKDOWN on Viktor? Konnor? Who knows. Gable gets tagged back in and they hit Viktor with the Grand Amplitude for the 1-2-3. After the match the Usos come on the titantron trying to get into Alpha’s head.

Dean Ambrose gets into an altercation with James Ellsworth and Carmella and Daniel Bryan sets up a match after the next commercial break. Ellsworth is in the ring and Dean’s music plays but where is he? It’s Baron Corbin! He’s dragging Dean by his shirt but you can’t keep the lunatic down for long. Dean tries to fight back only to get thrown on a table with some electrical equipment on it.

Daniel Bryan is trying to figure out how to settle Nikki Bella’s beef with Natalya when Nattie interrupts and beats up Nikki causing Bryan to schedule a falls count anywhere match for next week.

Becky Lynch vs Mickie James

I’d say Mickie is pretty good for her age, but she’s just as good now as she was 10 years ago. This is gonna be a good one. Becky has the upper hand in the beginning of this one, working on the arm of Mickie James. Mickie is getting increasingly frustrated as she can’t seem to get anything in on Becky.  She hits Becky with a cheap shot but soon enough Becky is working on the arm once again. Mickie ends up back on the outside. Becky tries sneaking around and hits Mickie with a running clothesline, but gets hit by Mickie doing the same thing. Both are down on the outside as we go to another commercial break.  When it comes back Mickie has Becky in the ring working on the neck. Becky got back to her feet and has flipped the momentum once more. She goes for a couple pins to no avail and ends up being on the receiving end of a flapjack. Mickie goes up, but makes no connection. Mickie hurts her shoulder and is on the ground. Chick Kick!! Becky is down! She was faking! Mickie gets the pin that sneaky snake.  I don’t know about y’all but the music WWE uses for their advertisements does not get me excited to watch wrestling.

Naomi is in the ring with her new Women’s title. Whatever. Side note “you deserve it” chants bug me but that’s neither here nor there. ALEXA BLISS!!!!  She’s such a fucking bitch and I love her. Naomi keeps talking about snatching people. Alexa Bliss with the ultimatum: Title match next week or shit’s gonna go down.

John Cena vs AJ Styles vs Bray Wyatt

It’s been over a year and it’s still so surreal that AJ Styles is in WWE. Cena vs Styles is the modern Stone Cold vs Sting, at least in my opinion. You know what I mean. Triple Threats would be cooler if they were Elimination like an ECW 3-way dance.  Bray Wyatt’s entrance is one of the coolest in WWE right now. He’s so cool he gets his own custom nameplate. It’s Luke Harper! He’s beating up Bray! He just superkicked him! We are supposed to have a match dammit! I guess the match started during commercial. Cena goes for the 5 knuckle shuffle but Bray is back on his feet and pulls him out of the ring and throws him into the steps. AJ off the top rope with an elbow! So much is happening I can barely keep up but it’s been a good match so far. I used to not really like AJ but then I realized I was stupid. Cena hitting them diving shoulders and a really dumb looking 5 knuckle shuffle. Goes for the AA but Bray reverses. AJ with a forearm from the top turnbuckle! Cena hits the AA on AJ for a 2-count. Wyatt with the Sister Abigail but the pin gets broken up by ANOTHER forearm by AJ. This is crazy. AJ delivers a frog splash onto Bray on the announce table! He’s going for another! Leg drop through the table!!! Cena reversed a Phenomenal Forearm into an AA but AJ reversed into a single crab which gets reversed into an STFU. Bray with the senton to break the hold! Fans are chanting “This is awesome!” understandably. Styles Clash connects for a 2 count. AJ goes for a forearm, Cena counters, Sister Abigail! Bray Wyatt retains! What a match. Randy Orton pops his head in with his super cool sleeveless hoodie. Dramatic staredown.  Orton refuses to face Bray at Mania due to his allegiance to the Wyatt family. This beats Raw in my book, Emma’s return and all. Maybe I’m just saying that because I’ve always been a Smackdown guy.