#i might come back to edit this if my muses' place in this is drastically changed

[fanficimagery]

The Mikaelson Upgrade

When Elijah sends his sister to check on you during a harsh Winter, the Mikaelsons move you in with them.

Words: 7.4K  Author’s Note: So, I thought this was so good, but when I started editing it, I realized it was terrible lmao. But I need something to post, and this is the only completed thing I had. Sorry. 

With a basket half full of non-perishables and a case of water, you're standing on the opposite side of the grocery store and staring at their small selection of home hardware in hopes of finding something to weatherize your small apartment even further than it already was.

The central heat was out so you're going to be forced to use space heaters and you'd already glued some thin strips of foam all around your doorways to keep the drafts of winds out. This was only going to be your second winter in the apartment so you knew it could get cold, but this winter was predicted to be an extremely cold one and you wanted to be prepared.

The windows weren't the best insulated, so when you heard the trick about bubble wrap being plastered to the windows to help keep the heat in, you figured it was worth a shot. But as you stare at the prices of the different sized rolls, you sigh and realize you might just have to pile all your blankets atop you instead.

"Miss YLN?"

Your name being uttered startles you from your mental musings and you turn to the source. You stand a little taller at the striking figure looking so out of place in the hardware aisle. "Elijah! Hi," you sheepishly grin at him. "How are you?"

His lips twitch. "I'm doing well. And yourself?" He wonders. "I couldn't help but realize you looked quite lost in thought."

Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, but you chuckle nonetheless. "I was trying to determine whether or not it was worth it to buy the bubble wrap."

Elijah looks at the overly large rolls of wrap. "And pray tell what you would need so much bubble wrap for?"

"Winter is coming, Mr. Mikaelson, and I am merely a fragile human." He still doesn't get what you mean, so you elaborate. "I heard bubble wrap on the windows can help keep the cold out. I'm desperate."

"Ah. I see."

It doesn't look like he quite gets it, but you don't call him out on it. Instead, you say, "But I think it's probably cheaper to just hibernate under my blankets."

As you start to push your basket away, Elijah follows. "What about your parents? Surely you could stay with them during this harsh winter."

"Nah." You shake your head. "We're on shaky terms at the moment. My dad barely wanted to give me extra money for groceries, so I rather stay in my shitty apartment than live in a tense atmosphere."

From the corner of your eye you see Elijah looking at you, but you keep your own gaze forward. Then when you come to the checkout lane, he leaves you with, "If you need anything, my siblings and I are only a call away."

"Thanks, Elijah." You glance at him with a small smile. "Say hello to Rebekah and Niklaus for me, will you?"

"I will. Good evening, Miss YLN."

The first night of the winter storm is brutal. Within hours the temperature dropped drastically and the wind howled. Several feet of snow was predicted and your college professors all emailed that classes had been temporarily canceled due to the storm.

You tacked up tarps over your front door and back door, and even the front windows to your living room. You had unplugged every kitchen appliance you knew you weren't going to use and stowed them away, plugging in a small space heater that you left running on the empty kitchen counter. You had one heater in your bedroom that you only used when you slept, another heater in the bathroom that you only turned on before you showered, and another heater running in the living room where you spent most of your time.

All in all, what was once your favorite season is now something you desperately want to hurry up and be over with.

On the third day, you're trembling under three blankets debating whether or not it was worth it to get up and make yourself something to eat.

And just when you've decided that a nap sounds really good, there's a knock on your front door.

You quietly groan but refuse to get up.

Another knock sounds.

"If you're of the immortal population and friendly, then just walk in. It's too cold to get up," you mutter.

You hear the door creak open and the tarp crinkle as it's moved. "What the bloody hell is this?" You huff a laugh at Rebekah's disdain. "Honestly, YN, don't you ever listen?"

"Hmm?"

"Elijah told us about your situation. Klaus has had his minions watching your place-"

"Aw. He's had his hybrids out in this cold? What a dick."

"-and they called to inform us there wasn't much movement in here anymore. We're really worried."

"M'fine, Rebekah."

"You're not fine. You're bloody freezing!"

"Well, it is Winter, and I am only human."

Rebekah grumbles and you can only imagine the face she's making as you hear her footsteps walking around your apartment. "'Lijah said you didn't enjoy your apartment and now I see why." She sighs. "I don't see why he just doesn't make you part of the family already and move you in."

You tense and slowly pull the blankets down from covering your head. "What?"

She glances at you, feigning innocence. "What?"

"You just said-"

"No, I didn't."

"I could've sworn you said-"

"I said no such thing."

You narrow your eyes at your friend and she smiles a little too big. Then softly rolling your eyes, you cover your head once more to preserve your body heat under the blankets. "Well you've seen with your own eyes that I'm fine. I'm just preserving my body heat under the blankets."

The blankets are suddenly ripped from you and you whine. "Get up. Packs your bags. You're coming with me."

"Rebekah, no." You weakly grab for your blankets, only to be denied. "Just let me go to sleep."

She scoffs. "I'm afraid that if you go to sleep, you won't wake up again. Now go pack or I'll have the hybrids do it for you."

Your eyes sting with tears and a lump forms in your throat as you stare at your friend's no-nonsense expression, but you manage to keep your emotions in check as you pull yourself into a seated position. Then very slowly, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and go do as you're told.

But you're so cold that Rebekah ends up doing everything for you as you sit on the edge of your bed. Your thoughts end up drifting off as Rebekah moves around you, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier. Eventually you feel yourself slump over, but you're so tired that you can't open your eyes.

You do, however, hear your friend swear before she's talking to someone else. Most likely on the phone, your mind supplies. Then you're being lifted and moved so suddenly, only to be placed down in a seat. You're cold all over again, but then you hear a car heater get turned on full blast.

"Hold on, YN. I'll get you home and you'll feel better soon."

. . . .

When you're thrust back into consciousness, the first thing you hear is a crackling fire. Your eyelids flutter open and you find yourself in an unfamiliar room. Your confusion momentarily overrides your sheer terror at not knowing where you're at, but then the soothing baritones of a familiar voice instantly calms you.

"I thought I made it clear that you were to call should you need anything." You turn your head to find Elijah sitting by your bedside. "Rebekah doesn't think you'd have made it another night had you stayed in your apartment. She said your heart rate slowed down while she was packing your clothes and you passed out. You should have called."

You know Elijah is not scolding you, he's just stating facts, but hearing it so plainly scares you. Your bottom lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears and you quickly cover your eyes with your hands before the tears can fall. "I'm sorry." You sniffle. "I just- I didn't-" You shakily exhale and try to swallow down the lump in your throat.

A hand gently wraps around your right wrist, tugging your hand from your face. "It's fine. You're here now."

Your heart starts to pick up speed at his proximity, he having leaned forward. "I didn't think it'd be this hard," you murmur.

"Didn't think what would be so hard?"

"Being an adult." You sniffle some more. "I took a lot of stuff for granted while I was under my parent's roof and now? Struggling to make ends meet while being a college student absolutely blows."

Elijah's lips twitch at the sight of your pout. His eyes twinkle in the firelight and your breath hitches when he raises your hand to his mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Well now you're under my roof. Sleep. And when you wake up, this room has its own private bath with all the hot water you can use up and all the food you could want down in the kitchen."

"That sounds nice." Your blinks get longer and longer until you eventually can't keep your eyes open anymore. "'Lijah?" You sleepily slur.

"Yes?"

"You're my favorite Mikaelson. Don't tell the others."

Right before the void takes you, you hear muffled laughter. "I won't. You have my word."

The next time you wake up, you remember where you are and hurry to the windows to look outside. What you see is beautiful, pure white everywhere, but it's also a bit scary because the longer you look at the snow, the quicker Elijah's words come back to haunt you.

Rebekah doesn't think you'd have made it another night had you stayed in your apartment.

This is the most snow you've ever seen in your life and you're suddenly really grateful for nosy friends. As you turn around to face away from the too white picture, you see an opened door leading to a bathroom. Elijah's other words float to the forefront of your mind and you immediately look around for your bags. But finding none anywhere leads you to scope out the dresser drawers and sure enough your clothes have all been folded and put away.

Shaking your head and what was no doubt Rebekah's doing, you gather a change of clothes and head into the bathroom. It's one of the most luxurious bathrooms you've ever seen, but then again these are vampires who are over a thousand years old. Of course they'd splurge to have only the best.

Once you locate the towels and realize the shower stall has everything you'd need, you turn on the hot water and strip the second you see steam rising.

The hot shower is absolute bliss and you almost don't want to get out once you're done. But other needs must be met when your stomach starts to grumble, so you get out and dress in a set of comfortable clothes that's both warm and presentable enough to be in the company of others.

When you eventually find your way to the kitchen, all three Mikaelson siblings are hanging around. Elijah is reading the newspaper, enjoying either a cup of coffee or tea, Rebekah is staring into the refrigerator, but Klaus is smirking directly at you.

"So Sleeping Beauty finally awakens."

"Very funny, Niklaus." You wrinkle your nose as you pass him, offering a small grin as you make your way towards Rebekah. You wrap your arms around her waist from behind, leaning the side of your face against her back. "Please tell me you guys have ramen? I want all the ramen in the world right now."

"We do. Do you want me to make you some?"

"I've got it. Just point me in the direction of the pots and ramen."

As you put a small pot of water to boil, you go through the cabinets to find some spices to season the ramen better. You pull out two slices of cheese from the refrigerator and then drop the noodles into water. You wait patiently for the noodles to become tender and then drain most of the water out. You add in all the seasoning before tossing the cheese atop the noodles, mixing it until it's all melted.

"That doesn't look like the ramen on the packaging," Rebekah says as she looks over your shoulder.

"Because when you're on a budget and your daily meals consist of ramen, you find ways to spruce it up," you muse. "Wanna try?"

"No, thank you."

"Elijah? Niklaus?" You then offer them some.

Elijah politely refuses whereas Klaus' nose wrinkles. "Smells foul, love."

"Really? It smells foul to the person who prefers munching on the hearts of those who betray him?" Klaus chuckles before quickly deciding to take his leave, claiming to have people to torment. Rebekah sighs and grumbles about going with him to make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble, and Elijah just grins from his place at the table. "Would you like some company?" You sheepishly ask.

"Please, be my guest."

Putting some noodles into a bowl, you grab a fork and then a bottled water from the refrigerator before setting it all down atop the table. Then pulling out your own seat, you sit cross legged before digging in.

At the first bite, you smile with your cheeks puffed out and happily wiggle in your seat.

Elijah chuckles. "Good?"

"Mhm." You twirl some more noodles on your fork before blowing on them and then shoving them into your mouth. With another groan, you grab a napkin to dab at your mouth before sipping your water. "I'm a pasta girl, in case you haven't noticed. I will try any pasta dish at least once and then repeatedly if I like it."

"Noted." Elijah smiles at you before his eyes fall back to the paper in his hands. After a moment, he asks, "So was the bedroom to your liking?"

"Yes! Thank you." You perk up a little, grinning. "I hadn't seen that room before, so I was a little confused when I woke up."

"I know. Your heart started to beat frantically before I spoke up."

"Ahh, the perks of being a vampire," you muse. Elijah chuckles and then the two of you fall into silence as he reads and you eat.

You finish your meal without any more interruptions and then walk over to the sink to wash your dishes.

"You know we have a dishwasher, correct?"

"Yes, but I like to do things by hand. Keeps me moving since I have no idea what to do here now that I'm not secluded to the couch for warmth."

"What about your classes?"

"Canceled." Turning off the water, you grab a towel to dry your hands. "Well, at least in-person classes had been canceled. Maybe I should check my email to make sure there are no online assignments that need to be completed."

"Yes, you wouldn't want to fall behind."

You blow a raspberry in his direction before leaving the kitchen and heading for your temporary room to collect your laptop to see if there's anything that needs to be completed.

On your third day with the Mikaelsons, you've taken over their library as you attempted to complete an essay one of your professors had assigned since the campus was still closed. Elijah consistently made appearances, grabbing a book and reading quietly as you researched and typed, and Klaus showed up occasionally to paint while you worked. Rebekah was the only one to drop in for minutes at a time, just long enough to make sure you took a break and gave your brain a rest.

You're reading through one of the many journals Elijah had hoarded from centuries ago when your cell phone dings with a text message. You ignore it, but then it dings again.

And again.

And again.

"Are you going to get that?" Elijah asks.

You startle at his voice, momentarily forgetting you weren't alone. "Yeah. I guess so." The text messages just keep popping up, one right after another, and you try to read them as quickly as you can. "What the-" You frown.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm not sure. Caroline, Bonnie, and Matt.. they seem worried, I think," you tell him. "Each of them asking where I'm at and if I'm okay and-" Your cell ringing cuts you off. "My dad's calling." You quickly accept it. "Hello?"

"WHERE ARE YOU?!"

You flinch at the volume of his voice and even Elijah looks up from his book. "Dad? I'm- I'm at a friend's place. The apartment got too cold. Why? What's-"

"Your apartment is on fire!" Your head turns to quickly look at Elijah and he seems just as surprised as you. "We all thought you were inside. No one knew-" His voice cuts off with a sob.

"Dad, I'm okay. I'm fine." He continues to cry, and you do your best to console him. "How did a fire even start? I unplugged everything." You try to listen to your dad, but his blubbering is making no sense. But as you're on the phone with him, Klaus saunters into the room. As he passes you, you can't help but inhale deeply and then narrow your eyes. You know that smell. "Dad, let me call you back. I'll get to the apartment as soon as I can." You hang up and set your phone aside, leaning back into your seat with a sigh. "Niklaus, what did you do?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, love."

You look at Elijah, exasperated. "I believe Miss YLN is talking about the fact that you smell like smoke after she just got a very frantic phone call from her father who didn't know if she was dead or alive because her apartment is currently up in flames."

Rebekah saunters in next, expression a little too smug.

"Rebekah, please tell me you didn't have a hand in this either?"

"Well, it's not like you'd move in here otherwise." Her smug expression falls. "We did you a favor."

"You made me homeless," you deadpan. Then glancing at Elijah, you ask, "Can you take me over there? I need to see the damage."

"Of course."

"YN, we didn't-"

"I assure you we meant no harm," Klaus says. "We just thought-"

"I know what you thought, but you could have literally talked to me about leaving my shitty apartment rather than burn it down." Rebekah looks put out that you're not thanking her, and Klaus doesn't look apologetic at all, but it still makes you assure both of them that you're not angry. "I'm not mad, I'm just-" You trail off, sighing. "Please tell me you at least took out all my valuables before you set everything ablaze?"

Rebekah scoffs. "We're not amateurs. I took anything that might have sentimental value, all your clothes and all your electronics out the first night I brought you here."

You shake your head, unable to help the twitch of your lips. "You guys have been alive way too long if you thought burning down my apartment was the best way to approach me with the idea of moving in here." The two troublesome Mikaelsons start to grin when they realize you're not truly upset with them. "Now when we get back, I want all the chicken nuggets and fries from McDonalds."

"But the closest McDonalds is about twenty minutes away," Rebekah says.

"Then drive fast." Finally standing, you look to Elijah. "Ready?"

He nods. "After you."

. . . .

The street you live on- er, used to live on- is packed with police cars, an ambulance, and two different fire trucks. The street has been taped off, but after Elijah parks and the two of you approach the officers keeping nosy individuals away, you tell them that it's your apartment up in flames and they let the two of you pass.

Across the street from your burning apartment, your dad stands there with more police officers. You make a beeline for him, accepting his hug and giving the police your statement. Elijah stands by your side as you answer everything you're asked, giving his own statement to back up your claim that you had left the apartment days earlier.

When the questions are done and over with, you're left to helplessly watch as the fire devours the place you've known as home for the last two years. When part of the roof collapses and you flinch, Elijah tucks you under an arm and turns you so your face is pressed against his chest.

"Miss?" Elijah releases his hold on you and nudges you so you turn around. There's a firefighter addressing you. "Are you the owner?"

"I rent," you tell him. "The landlord is elderly. They wouldn't be out here."

"Oh. Okay. Um, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think the house is gonna be a total loss. I'm sorry."

"Figures." You sigh and then paste on a smile. "Thank you."

Just as you turn back towards Elijah, you hear your father sigh next. "Well, I guess this means you'll be moving back in until you find another decent apartment."

"Wow, dad, don't sound too enthused now," you deadpan.

He glowers at you before looking back at the dwindling fire, shaking his head. "Your mother won't be too happy that she'll have to put all her sewing supplies into storage, but I guess we'll just have to make do."

"You know what-"

"Mr. YLN," Elijah smoothly steps in, offering your dad a hand to shake. "I'm Elijah Mikaelson. It's nice to finally meet you, sir." Your dad seems to stand a little taller, puffing out his chest as he takes Elijah in before shaking his hand. "I just want to assure you that you and your wife have nothing to worry about. My family and I will happily take in YN. My sister thinks of her fondly and we have more than enough space for her to stay with us."

"Mikaelson, huh? Your family built that fancy mansion a few years back, right?"

Your eyes roll as you groan, "Dad."

But Elijah only smirks. "Yes, sir."

"Hmm." Your dad huffs. But seeing this as the perfect outcome, he then says, "Well if there's anything my daughter needs to attribute to, I'm sure I can offer some-"

"There's no need. All expenses for your daughter will be covered by my family and I."

You can see the relief obviously wash over your dad and it pains you just a little that he so easily let someone else take care of you. You're pretty sure if one of your older siblings needed help, your parents would move Heaven and Earth for them. But for you? Apparently, your old room was just too much to ask for. "And on that note, Elijah and I will be going." You glance at your apartment, swallowing down the sadness threatening to overwhelm you. "There's nothing left for me here anyway."

Suddenly reaching for Elijah's hand, you start to tug him in the direction of his car. You wave at your dad over your shoulder, barely uttering a goodbye to him.

And then once you're in the quiet of Elijah's car, he asks, "Are you okay?"

"Not really, but what can I do?" You shrug. "Can you just drive? I don't want to be here anymore."

"Of course."

He turns the heater up in the car when he hears your teeth chatter, and you wrap your jacket around you more tightly. You let the warmth wash over you and allow your eyes to close, only opening them when he quietly tells you that you're back home.

Home.

Your eyes snap open as you stare up at the Mikaelson mansion.

Home.

You giggle in disbelief as your mind tries to comprehend how once you were enemies with the Mikaelson family, and now here you sit in the company of one as he calls his home your home as well.

Home.

"I guess this is home now, huh?"

"Yes."

Your lips twitch in amusement. "Then let's get inside. Rebekah and Niklaus better have my chicken nuggets ready for me to devour."

Elijah chuckles before using his vampire speed to exit his side of the car, only to end up on your side to open the door for you. He offers you a hand so you can easily climb on out as he grins at you. "And fries. You can't forget those."

"It'd be blasphemous to forget the salty, potato-y goodness which means I can almost guarantee Niklaus forgot them because he likes to see me suffer." You sigh sadly with a shake of your head. "Do you think the waterworks will get me dessert?"

"It's worth a shot. Shall we?"

As Elijah then offers you the crook of his arm, you hook your arm with his. "We shall."

As it turns out, Niklaus or Rebekah didn't forget the french fries. The table was laden with multiple boxes of nuggets and cartons of fries, and when Rebekah produced the small fried apple pies, you nearly cried.

Nearly.

The snow eventually tapers off as the temperatures settle back into what they usually are around this time of year, and classes resume in person. You have no issue driving yourself to and from school, but when your car starts to rattle and the vampires in your life urge you to take it into the shop, Elijah has no issue driving you to and from the college campus.

And though you were skeptical about living with the Mikaelsons in the beginning and had to deal with conversation after conversation from Bonnie and Caroline, you find yourself enjoying the freedom that comes with not having to worry about bills or what your next meal is going to be.

In fact, you get so comfortable that more often than not, Klaus or Rebekah find you cuddled up next to Elijah as you read a book or with your legs draped over his lap as he reads and you work on something on your laptop. They always shoot you knowing grins, but you wave them off and throw all your focus into your assignments.

One morning, as you're making yourself some breakfast, Rebekah saunters into the kitchen.

"Oatmeal and berries?" She asks.

"Mhm. Want some?"

"No, thanks." You take your bowl to the island bar where your laptop sits open on a document you're meant to be reading and take a seat on a stool. Before you can even get the first spoonful of warm gooeyness into your mouth, you hear Rebekah ask, "So where's my brother?"

You freeze with the spoon halfway to your mouth. "First of all, you have two brothers. And second, how should I know? I'm not either of their keepers."

"Elijah, darling. Do keep up."

"Oh." You shove the spoon of oatmeal into your mouth and shrug. "I dunno. He said something about meeting with someone and that he'd see me later."

"Mhmmm." You can feel the heat of her stare boring into the side of your head and busy yourself momentarily with your oatmeal and berries. "Can I ask you something?"

"You're gonna ask it either way, so yeah. Go ahead."

"Why Elijah and not Niklaus?" You inhale in surprise, choke on a berry, and immediately reach for your coffee. Only that seems to be a mistake as the drink is still too hot and you end up spluttering the coffee and oatmeal down the front of your shirt. Rebekah laughs.

"Goddammit, Rebekah!"

"It's a simple question."

"Yeah, I know, but-" You take the napkins she's offering you and sigh when you see your shirt is stained after dabbing away the mess.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Why Elijah and not Niklaus?" She asks again.

When you glance up at her, you see her amused grin and know she won't let this go. You're pretty sure the crush you have on Elijah is obvious to everyone under the Mikaelson roof, but Elijah's polite enough to not bring attention to it, so you settle for telling her the truth. "Don't get me wrong, both your brothers are smoking hot."

"But…?"

"But Niklaus is too chaotic for me. It's fun to hear about the drama he stirs up, but not so much when you're dragged into it. And Elijah… Elijah has this calm aura to him and can hold a serious conversation that doesn't devolve into murderous schemes unless it's to protect someone he holds near and dear. I just- I don't know. I'm more at ease around Elijah."

"Well, that's harsh, love." You freeze, Rebekah smirks, and you slowly turn to find both brothers standing there under the archway. Klaus' expression matches Rebekah's whereas Elijah is smiling a little guiltily. Knowing you were set up to admit that aloud, you sigh and go back to your oatmeal, but not before glaring at Rebekah. "I hate you."

"Pure lies," she muses. "And you're welcome."

"That's enough, Rebekah," Elijah calls out. "Let us leave Miss YLN be while she finishes her breakfast and her work. I'm sure you have locals to terrorize."

Rebekah rolls her eyes with a sigh and your lips twitch as she reluctantly leaves you be. You glance over your shoulder at Klaus, only for him to wiggle his eyebrows at you before following Rebekah.

And then when you look at Elijah, he grins. "Shall we talk when you're ready?"

"What if I'm never ready?"

"You will be."

"No need to sound so smug."

"How can I not be when I can hear your heartbeat race?" Your face starts to flame. "Or easily detect when the blood rushes through your veins?"

"Okay, I get it." You shift nervously in your seat. "We'll talk soon, just not right now." Elijah nods. "Now get out of here before I demote you to Mikaelson #2."

"Now we all know that's a bold-faced lie." You narrow your eyes at his smirk. "But I will leave you be. Until then…"

As Elijah takes his leave, you heave a great sigh. With your heart racing and face feeling more than a little warm, you try your best to focus on finishing your food and the passage you're meant to be reading.

For a week, every time Elijah walks into a room that you're in, you can't help the way your heart speeds up. Every vampire in the house does their best to hide their amused smiles, but you see them nonetheless and stew in your embarrassment until you finally realize you have nothing to be embarrassed about.

Elijah knows of your attraction towards him and wants to speak of it rather than immediately turning you down. So, in your book, that's a positive sign that he feels the same.

Hopefully.

Then by the second week, you're back to sharing the library with Elijah as you work, and he reads. And it's during this week that you end up with your head resting on his thigh as you attempt to read a non-school related book, only to end up sighing as you let the book fall closed over your chest.

"So, vampirism…" You say, waiting until you know you have his attention. When he hums, your lips twitch. "What's your take on it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've met some vampires who are all about vampirism and only have good things to say about becoming one, but I've also met vampires who completely hate what they are and the thought of creating more." You look up at him, shrugging. "I know you're completely fine with your existence and other vampires, but what's your take on me possibly becoming one?"

He tenses and immediately looks down to meet your gaze. "Is that- is that something you want?"

"What's the point in pursuing a relationship with a vampire if I'm human? I'll age, you won't."

"Would becoming a vampire solely be based on the fact whether or not we pursue a relationship?"

You snort. "No."

"No?"

"No." You sit up, but don't move too far. You turn so your body is angled towards the smartly dressed vampire you'd just been using as a pillow. "Elijah, I've been thinking about vampirism for a long time now. I've just been too chicken to ask for it."

"Why?"

"Healthcare is expensive." Elijah's expression slackens in surprise and you grin. "I'd like to live a life without worrying about throwing myself into debt just because I get an infection or need surgery."

"So, you'd want to become a vampire, not for the everlasting youth or powers or to date another vampire, but because you don't want to pay for healthcare?"

"Yep."

Elijah laughs. "Oh sweetheart, you are something else."

"Mhm. But no turning until after I've graduated. I don't want to attend classes and accidentally kill another student for annoying me."

"If that's what you wish, then we'll revisit this discussion later on down the line."

"Okay. But first I just need to see what I'm missing out on." Elijah must have been anticipating your next move because he merely smiles as you lean forward, one knee digging into the couch cushion as you then lean over him. Your hands gently grasp either side of his face so you can kiss him, and you quietly groan when he immediately grants your tongue entrance. His hands reach for your waist, guiding you towards him until you're perched on his lap. "Fuck."

You barely pull back just enough to catch your breath, your hands settling on his shoulders while his hand reaches up to trace the left side of your face. "Is your curiosity sated?"

"For now." You lean in to peck his lips once more and then pull back, reluctantly climbing off his lap. "Now I'm gonna go take a cold shower less I say something stupid and beg you to take me to bed."

He grins at you. "I see no issue with you begging."

"I'm sure you don't." You return his teasing grin. "But when our first time together happens, I want all of you. I don't want you holding back."

"Graduation is still a ways away," he muses. "Are you capable of that much restraint?"

You allow your gaze to look him up and down, and swipe your tongue across your bottom lip. Elijah smirks as you sigh wistfully and then you shake your head clear and head for the exit. "I'm gonna have to invest in a goddamn vibrator."

Elijah's laugh follows you all the way up the stairs.

As the months pass, you do your best to keep things calm between you and Elijah, but the tension between the two of you only continues to thicken. In fact, it isn't long before his siblings figure out something has happened. Klaus is the first to realize, but Elijah is a pro at redirecting the conversation and you only manage a whimper when his attention turns to you. And then when Rebekah picks up on what's going on around her, it isn't long until you cave and blurt out your entire conversation with Elijah, as well as the kiss.

Rebekah thinks it's cute that you're putting yourself through so much torture just so her brother can properly rail you into the mattress, and Klaus takes great pleasure in teasing the two of you.

But you hold strong, only slipping up here and there when Elijah looks just too good for you to resist, but never actually sleep with him. He takes what you give, chuckling when you whimper and groan when you have to walk yourself back to your room.

Graduation is then upon you and your family surprises you by showing up since you hadn't really spoken to any of them since your apartment burned to the ground. You're subjected to dinner with them, which means the Mikaelsons are subjected to dinner as well since you strongly urge them to tag along, and it's an all-around awkward night.

Your mother then manages to turn the dinner into a tense one by asking what kind of career you're going into with your chosen degree, and Elijah is quick to shut that conversation down by telling your mother you have a year to think on it since he has an all-expenses paid vacation planned for you after you've studied your ass off these last few years. That, in turn, leads to your mother scoffing and quietly berating you for riding your boyfriend's coattails, and Klaus stuns everyone by basically calling your mother a jealous cunt.

Graduation night ends with Elijah and Rebekah having to compel your family to forget the tense moments.

Days later you're surprised to learn that the vacation Elijah told your mother is actually real, and Rebekah helps you pack even though she won't be going on this trip with you- it's just you and Elijah.

Flying first class is an experience you'll never forget, nor the trip Elijah took care to plan so you could see the world and experience different cultures.

One Year Later

It's been a while since you've stepped foot in Mystic Falls and you're unsurprised that it's unchanged. Small towns are filled with people with small minds, and no one liked change when your town was as pretty as Mystic Falls.

Elijah opens your door when he parks in front of your home, and you take his hand as you climb out. Then leaning up, you press a kiss of thanks to his lips before moving past him.

"Happy to be home?" He asks.

"Yes. As much as I loved traveling the world with you, there's just something about my own bed that I was missing."

"Well, you're going to continue to miss it because you'll be moving into my room."

Your eyes roll fondly. "And you call me the impatient one."

"Yes, well…" Elijah steps right in front of you, tilting your head upward so his thumb drags your bottom lip from between your teeth. "Can you blame me?"

"Nope. I know I'm adorable."

Chuckling, he places another quick kiss to your lips. "That you are. Now let's get inside. I'll get some of Niklaus' associates to bring in our bags."

"I'm only agreeing with you right now because I want to see your siblings. Otherwise, I'd be grabbing my own bags."

"If you say so, sweetheart."

Stepping back, you practically skip to the front door and throw it open. "Honey, we're home!" You call out.

Your moment of happiness is interrupted when a hand is immediately wrapped around your throat, and you're slammed into a wall. It all happens within a split second and your eyes widen as you see Damon Salvatore hiss in your face, only to then find three very pissed off Mikaelson's at his back. "You won't heal Elena? Maybe you need a little motivation then." Damon growls, shaking you a little.

Your hands grasp at Damon's wrist, nails raking against the exposed skin there. "W-What?"

"Your new little family is refusing to help Elena," he sneers. "Maybe if their pet human is threatened, then maybe we'll get somewhere."

You make a show of being in discomfort with his hand around your neck before you cave and laugh. Klaus and Rebekah freeze, and Elijah loosens his stance as he slowly grins at you. "So, Elena decided to be a dumbass and now you want the Originals to clean up her mess? What'd she do now?"

"Got herself bitten by a little wolf," Rebekah hesitantly muses. "How are you-"

But Damon frowns as he quickly looks you up and down. "Why are you laughing?" He squeezes your throat a little tighter, but it merely causes your smile to grow.

"Because you underestimate me, Mr. Salvatore." Your smile vanishes just as quickly as you grab his wrist in your own grasp, snapping it backwards and sending the vampire to his knees. Then with a swift kick to his chest, you send him sailing across the room. "You underestimated me as a human and now you underestimate me as a vampire. Never put your hands on me again."

Damon is quick to speed to his feet, cradling his already healing limb as he stares at you in disgust. Rebekah and Klaus, however, look prouder than ever as Elijah walks up to your side, letting his fingers trace one side of your face before he kisses your forehead.

"So, you're a vampire now?" Damon huffs. "All that means is that when your guard dogs aren't around, I can torture you now without your pathetic little heart giving out."

"And that's where you're wrong." Using your newfound speed, you manage to make a dent in the wall where you shove Damon against before tossing him into the glass coffee table and shattering it. Then standing over him, you place your foot on his chest to prevent him from getting up. "You see, Elijah has always known I'd be a target for fools like you. So, when I turned, some of his friends who were looking for a favor from the noble Original made it so I also have the strength of an Original." You slowly smirk as reality sinks in for Damon. "So, you can come at me all you want, but I'll just end up putting you on your ass again and again and again."

He struggles to get out from under you, but you put more pressure on his chest to keep him in place. "Elena's your friend. You should want to help her!"

"Wrong. She stopped being my friend the moment her dumbass ended up sired to your sorry ass. Her messes are her own." You press down on his chest again until he groans and then speed back to Elijah's side where you end up tucked beneath his arm. Then glancing at Klaus, you smile sheepishly, "Sorry about the wall and table. I'll do my best to replace it."

Klaus' dimples are on full display before he lets his laugh echo around the room. Rebekah's tinkling laugh isn't too far behind. "Welcome to the family, love. And don't worry about the mess. Watching you throw around Damon was spectacular." You grin as you hear Damon huff and then Klaus turns to him. "Just this once, Salvatore. I'll help you just this once because YN has put me in a better mood. Any future bites and your doppelganger is dead."

"Fine. We'll take it."

As Klaus disappears with Damon, you turn to Rebekah who has her arms crossed over her chest and hip cocked to the side. "So how long did you last?"

"Three months."

Her eyebrow arches. "Only three?"

"I could have gone longer, but I might have goaded your brother."

"With what?"

"Rebekah, I don't think-"

You slowly smirk at her. "I told him I had this fantasy of him bending me over the railing at the top of the Eiffel Tower and he cracked. He made preparations for my turning almost as soon as we got back to our hotel."

"Okay that's enough." Elijah scoops you up just as his sister cackles and you find yourself being tossed on his bed a moment later as he crawls over you. As you grin up at him, he asks, "Did you have to share that with her?"

"Girls talk, handsome. Get used to it." You lean up, kissing him. "And besides, you're lucky Niklaus wasn't here."

"Rebekah will tell him."

"And he'll tease us until you and I decide to christen every surface in this room." You kiss again. "And the library." Another kiss. "And maybe even the kitchen."

"YOU WILL NOT BRING YOUR NAKED SELVES INTO THIS KITCHEN!" Rebekah's shout interrupts your final kiss, and you laugh as you fall back against the bed.

"Let him tease. He's the one who'll have to listen to us."

"AND ME!"

You giggle as Elijah sighs, lowering his body over you so he can rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe I should build another house for us."

"Absolutely not. I love you and I love your family. If we have to deal with them teasing us about our sex life, then so be it. It's not like they're so innocent themselves."

"You love me?"

"Always." You kiss him. "Now get up. I say the first place we christen is that fancy bathroom of yours."

Elijah is up within a split second, tugging you along.

Downstairs, Rebekah is fixing herself a mug of tea and blood when your giggles reach her ears. The giggles soon turn into a moan, and she grimaces. "Bloody hell. If I knew they were going to be this randy, I'd have invested in noise canceling headphones."

[fmdjoosungarchive]

go piss girl and let’s find A. event plot thots under the cut hit me up or like leggo

sung

re: rumors, i’ll hear out any duo rumors u might have! dating rumors apply to all three tho (for brevity i’ll just mention this once)

i haven’t sent in my forms since i wanna see if other opportunities arise first but i have two options for each muse in mind. sung’s are batshit and i’m p sure likely to get rejected but *2012 vc* yolo. 1 sung secretly married 2 sung secretly with child

1 affects career more and 2 would have personal/family consequences

again applies to any muse, but if their rumors get posted, a thread each about seeing them for the first time could be interesting!

overall, i think sung is still gonna be heartbroken hours by then BUT after looking at the pin board i have decided it’s an absolute crime if someone doesn’t kiss sung in this fairytale dreamscape

for the auction, sung would give multiple items for bid, like unopened luxury items they’ve acquired somehow, but mainly other smaller experiences, like a free dish/coupon book for his parents’ restaurant, a songwriting lesson, dance lesson, a night of free babysitting. charity matters a lot to sung, so while material items don’t mean much, he’s willing to push thru for the benefit of charity. could be a thread bidding together or being in a bidding war against each other for something, or your muse winning from sung or vice versa

another place sung would be found is the bar. shock, maybe, but heartbroken sung is much more willing to lean into whatever might soothe some pain. he’s not very good at arcade style games, so someone could try to teach him, or just demolish him, or make up a new game tgt bc they both suck. on his own, he’d be enjoying some dancing. probably could also use someone towards the end of the night to support his drunk ass

he might also pop around the basement for a while. depending on how the night is going, it might be to chill out and love on some music, or it could be during dj time to get hyped tf up

could be found other places but they might be more conditional!

jeonghwa

re: rumors, current thots r 1 bringing back her npc ex plot, have their old r/s be semi-publicly mentioned 2 playing into the common theme with idols with many solo schedules, that she’s the uv designated fave and refuses to work on projects if any of the other members have too many schedules

1 would fuck up her personal life and 2 more career

overall, jeonghwa is always looking for a reason to party. she might not be as wild out in the open as usual just because she thinks there has to be some kind of ‘collecting dirt’ catch to the party being thrown, but find a closed door and she’ll unleash (which, too, if the first rumor is used, could tie into a plot for another muse? if her n someone else got v flirty, maybe even hot n heavy, she could freak out abt it later n that could b smth spicy 4 the muns)

gallery! gallery! gallery! absolutely stands out as a place to meet jeonghwa. it’s the closest she gets to fancy, and offers a more,, subdued version of her? she really adores art in all of its forms, so she could bond with someone who felt the same, have a tiff with someone who didn’t, or just offer a different side to her that many people aren’t often privy to

in the basement,,, i’ll be honest, even if jhwa likes the genre and would wanna go for the music,,, the main purpose of this being here is to say i am gonna think Directly of aomg bc i like to imagine tipsy jhwa flirting with simon d (& devita tbh have yall Seen Her). here she wouldn’t be subdued like in the gallery. she’d be energetic, willing to drag people into having more fun, or engage in stupid debates abt music taste

the bar might be where she would spend the most time? jeonghwa usually flits around room to room in any event, and this would be no exception, but she’d come back to the bar most because,, well booze, and also because she vibes with arcade games and letting loose. also hilarious to imagine black tie bihs playing air hockey. jhwa at her most usual jhwa would be found here

other places she would definitely be around here and there, but i have less specific thoughts on them! maybe in the garden, she could stop there to recharge her social battery for a minute? insta pics are a definite she’d drag so many people back there for pics

andy

re: rumors, both attitude based unsurprisingly 1 physically fought with a group member and 2 an ex ‘friend’ from aberdeen saying andy was a lil bitch

both would b true and affect career which in Turn affects andy personally since they work very very hard to maintain the image they have. if either is accepted, could have a thread of a muse that says smth about being surprised it took this long to come out,, smth like that? could start a fight of a sort

overall, andys in a breakup period and a miserable mess. more irritable, less likely to Want to talk to others, but still going to do it because they make bad decisions. also likely to flirt with ppl they find pretty with no real intention behind it (but results dont need to reflect intention eyes emoji)

the bar by far would be the place andy would spend most of their time. not because of drinks, ashully, but because arcade vibes spell out their soul. they have a rly shit attention span, so short term games/those that change up a lot like the ones near the bar would be really great for andy. it could offer some lighter threads, maybe with the right companion, maybe even andy could share some truth on their past with arcading/its importance to them? idkidk that’s a little pipe dream-y

another solid area would be the main room since andy would like to get a good sized meal while they are allowed and don’t have to cook it themselves. they’d likely be found at their seat for quite a while after eating as well, probably just playing games on their phone, but they could be pulled into conversations. great timing for a bitch session. andy’s great at complaining so if ur muse likes doing that or needs it, andy can hook them up

and lastly, andy would absolutely spend some time in the basement. underground performances really speak to their energy, and they like the genres a lot, like some of the performers, and would really just generally enjoy sitting back with a drink and letting music be the background to their thoughts. would have strong opinions on performers, if anyone wants to have a friendly argument abt them. probably wouldn’t hang around once the dj took over unless they were dragged back down

andy’s prettyyy unlikely to frequent other areas, since they don’t appeal to them, But can be dragged for specific people/situations

[luffles424]

Lucidity (6)

☼ Pairing: BTS x reader (got some Yoongi action this chap 🤪🤪)

☼ Genre: vampire!BTS, succubus!reader, smut, fluff, angst

☼ Count: 4.1K

☼ Warnings: oral (m+f receiving), cum play, cum eating, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, minorish blood play (it’s a vampire fic so like, there’s some feeding), cockwarming, dom!yoongi, clothed sex, grinding, overstimulation, face fucking, minor ball play (it’s pretty tame)

☼ Summary: You’ve spent years jumping from country to country, starting countless new lives. Crafting new lives is as easy as breathing for you, lies flowing easily and people are charmed with a simple bat of your eyes. When you meet a witch who offers the idea of opening a supernatural club, using your powers combined with hers to ensure safety to those who enter, you decide to join her in an adventure that is entirely new to you. But your new life in Seoul is drastically changed when you’re forced to face something you’ve spent centuries hiding from. But just because you might be running for your life again doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun along the way, right?

☼ a/n: I started editing this chapter completely forgetting that the angst has arrived 🤪 As always, let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

(I’ll add masterlist links later bc I’m scared that if I do it now, it’ll disappear from the tags)

You’re tired. You can’t help it. You’ve had so much on your mind lately. The boys wormed their way so effectively under your skin, without you realizing until it was too late. You really should’ve said no to Jungkook that first time, but his wide, eager eyes cracked your walls. Indifference honed by centuries of isolation, all undone by one starry eyed baby vampire. 

Jin was true to his word though and talked to the other two boys, at least you assume he did given that they listened to your requests. And they all respected your need for space, which just made you feel all the more guilty for the lies. You could see as much in the way Jungkook’s eyes would sometimes turn sad when he looked at you, the way Jimin would start to suggest something before stopping himself. It was easy to see that they were struggling with this, confusion coloring all their actions with you now. 

You know they occasionally still stopped by your place before remembering they weren’t supposed to be there. You should tell security to stop letting them up. But you can’t find it in yourself to do so just yet. It feels like punishment, but you don’t know if for you or for them. 

Jin was the only one who had a mask almost as good as yours. You know they wanted to go back to how things were. You’ve thought about just leaving so many times, it’d probably be easier that way. But you just can’t bring yourself to yet. You feel selfish, wanting to keep them in your life when it terrifies you and makes you want to run. They’ve given you a small glimmer of happiness for the first time in a long time. And somehow it feels like it’s already been ripped away from you. Even if you were the one to do the ripping. 

You’re drawn out of your musings by the presence of a vampire sitting across from you. You’re immediately on edge and you seriously contemplate the idea of finding a new cafe. This one is clearly cursed. Or at the very least, highly frequented by vampires. Really, if you just left town, you probably wouldn’t have this problem anymore.�� 

Steeling yourself, you look up, confused when you’re met with Yoongi, of all people sitting across from you. He pays you no mind at first, sipping from his own drink as he watches the people pass by. Your thoughts race, what could he possibly want? You and the boys have been incredibly careful lately. There was no one that he found out. But why else would he be here. Because there’s no way that this is just a coincidence, that he happened to come here at the same time as you did. He certainly wouldn’t have sat down like you’re old friends catching up if that were the case. Finally he turns to you, face placid and that puts you even more on edge, no one should be that calm around you after hearing Namjoon’s warnings. What could he possibly want?

“I have a proposition for you.” 

A proposition? You blink, that’s certainly not what you expected to come from him. “About?”

“Let me feed from you.” 

What. “What?”

You can’t think of literally anything else to say, thoughts ground to a halt with his words. Your mind struggles with the idea, this seems such a strange request and so out of nowhere. You feel like there has to be some sort of ulterior motive or trick here. 

“You heard me.”

You make a face. “Of course I did. But why?”

Yoongi shrugs and sips his drink. “I like fresh rather than bagged. Supernatural over human. Convenience over effort to seek out what I need.” He tilts his head like it’s obvious.

“What about Namjoon and what he said?” You don’t know why you’re pushing this so much. But something about his utter nonchalance has you on edge. You feel like if you say yes that Namjoon will pop out and claim that this is enough evidence that you’re bad. 

Yoongi shrugs. “If you were a legitimate threat, someone would’ve dealt with you by now. Whatever happened between you and Joon is between you two. I see no reason why we can’t have an arrangement.”

“What do I get out of it? This sounds like it benefits only you.” You let a smirk curl your lips, as off balance as you feel, you don’t want him to know.

Yoongi mulls that over for a few minutes, like he hadn’t even thought of you in this equation. “I’d offer to pay you, but I assume you’ve got more than enough money. I’d offer sex but I’m not really looking for that, just blood. It helps me concentrate and write.” He taps his chin in thought.

That catches your attention though. If he’s not looking for sex but still needs your time then... “I’ll do it.”

He looks surprised. “What? What happened to what’s in it for you?”

If more of your time is taken with Yoongi, that means there’s less time for the others. And that is actually the best thing Yoongi could do for you, even if he doesn’t know it. And if he isn’t looking for sex, then that means there will be even less attachment between the two of you. No chance for your heart to ache every time you meet with him if all he’s doing is feeding. A simple arrangement. You could do that. That’s the best possible outcome here.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “If you’d like to continue to try to find something to give me, then I can take it back and you’re more than welcome to continue.”

His eyes widen and he shakes his head, his cool facade cracking for the first time since he sat down. Seems he isn’t so suave all the time then. It’s kind of adorable that he put up such a front just to talk to you. It reminds you of the first time Jin came over and the act he put on. “No! No, that’s fine. I’ll take it. Thank you.” He slides his phone over to you and you enter your number into it. He smiles down at it as he stands. “I’ll text you when I’m hungry. Bye.”

He waves and walks off. You watch him go. You tug your phone out, scrolling through your contacts. If you were about to take on a 4th vampire to feed, you needed to go feed yourself first. 

Yoongi wastes no time in calling for your services. You wonder just how thirsty he was to have contacted you already. And you find his enthusiasm endearing, the few messages you exchange refreshing. A conversation you can have that’s not consumed by guilt and heartache. He gives you the location of the hotel he wants to meet at and you have to laugh because it’s the same one you use. When you meet, he feeds only from your wrist, the least intimate place possible and for that you’re incredibly grateful. 

You and Yoongi don’t meet too often, at least not too often by feeding standards, although Yoongi’s older and so he can last longer between feedings than the younger ones like Jungkook. But you can always tell when it’s a group day off because Yoongi is usually the first to message you out of the four of them that you have contact with. Beneficial for you because then you can tell the others that you made plans already. They don’t even bother to hide their hurt and disappointment anymore and it’s a twist of the knife everytime. You wonder how they’d feel if they knew it was their own member taking you away from them. Not that you would ever tell them that you and Yoongi were also meeting. 

It becomes very apparent, very quickly, that Yoongi is a creature of habit, he calls once a week, sometimes every other week if they’re busy. You meet at the hotel, he feeds from your wrist with no preamble then gives you a lazy smile as he leaves, always (very un)sneakily leaving behind a bag of food to eat. It’s the only indication that he doesn’t want this to be one-sided. And you assume he never brings it up because he knows it’d make you feel uncomfortable to acknowledge what he’s doing. You ignore the warm feeling it gives you when he starts to figure out what you do and don’t like, though you’re really not sure how he’s managing to do that.

Your arrangement with Yoongi changes though, you should’ve known it would, arrangements like this are always bound to at some point or another. He tells you to come to the company, something not even the others had ever dared to do. You immediately tell him no, the likelihood of crossing Joon was far too high there. And every worst possibility runs through your mind at even the mere mention of going and possibly seeing him. But Yoongi assures you that Joon was out of town because they had a long weekend. When you still express your unease, he adds that all the boys were out of town for the break, he had remained only because he wanted to work on some songs. Which is why he wants you to come to the studio, he needs a boost to help him think. 

You finally relent, agreeing to come to the studio as long as he swears that it’s deserted. He greets you at the building entrance with a gummy grin. 

“Thanks for coming.” He says as he leads you through the empty halls to his studio. 

He gestures for you to sit once you enter and you’re confused as he makes his way over to his desk. You frown, watching him sit and begin working. You thought he needed a boost. This is so different from your usual and you feel a bit of unease creep in. 

“I thought you wanted to feed?” 

Yoongi waves a hand dismissively. “I do, but in a bit.”

You make a face. “Well why didn’t you just call me then?”

He turns and gives you a quick smirk, his eyes drag up your form before he’s turning back to the computer. “Cause I’d much rather have you waiting here for when I need you.”

You swallow, looking away. That was… different than how he usually treats you. Far from the quick interactions, jokes, and sweetness you’ve come to expect. But you pull out your phone, entertaining yourself while you wait for him, ignoring the unease and slight thrill that settles in your belly. After a while, Yoongi groans in irritation and you perk up. That seems like a good sign, you can get what you came here over with and head out. Even if Yoongi said that no one was here, you still don’t want to stick around for too long just to be safe. He turns his body slightly towards you, hand held out but he doesn’t look at you, gaze remaining focused on the program on his screen. 

“Come here.”

“You could say please you know.” You quip, not moving. 

He turns to you, eyes hard and unamused, completely different from the guy who usually cracks a joke after drinking from you. You feel yourself get wet from the look alone. “I said, come here.” 

You swallow, standing and adjusting your skirt as you cross the small distance to him. He grabs your hand one you’re within reach and tugs you into his lap. You yelp as you land, knees framing his thighs. He manhandles you into the position he wants, nosing along your neck with a growl. You shudder and he wastes no time sinking his fangs into your neck. 

You gasp, hips instinctively grinding down against him. This position makes it hard to remember that Yoongi only feeds from you, but the change to your neck has pleasure hazing your thoughts. Yoongi grabs your ass, encouraging your grinding as he drinks from you and you feel him harden beneath you. You moan at the friction as his hands tighten on your hips. He pulls away finally, licking your neck clean and then his hands leave you to shove his pants down enough to get his cock out. 

You lick your lips, he’s hard and leaking as he gives his dick a few strokes, grin cocky when he sees your hungry gaze.

He flips the edge of your skirt up and hums in approval. “I like this choice.” He frowns at your underwear though before grabbing them and quickly ripping them off to toss to the side. “There. Much better.”

You pout. “I liked those.” 

He pulls you in for a messy kiss, lining himself up and sinking into you. “I’ll buy you more.” He murmurs against your lips. 

He gives a few shallow thrusts that leave you moaning and then he’s hooking his chin onto your shoulder. He doesn’t move for a moment and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s gone back to working. With his dick sheathed in your pussy. You squirm and one hand leaves the keyboard to dig into your ass. 

“Behave, babygirl.” He hisses and you clench at his tone. 

You pout, forced to stare at the headrest now. You want to squirm again, but he has yet to remove the hand holding you still. “But Yoongi.” You whine. 

His nails dig into your skin and you feel yourself leak around his cock. He seems bizarrely unphased by your soaked pussy clinging to his cock. You’d think he’s completely uninterested if not for the fact that he’s still very much hard. “If you behave, you’ll get a reward, babygirl.” He soothes. “But if you keep squirming and preventing me from working, I’m gonna have to punish you. Is that what you want?”

You shake your head slightly. You actually don’t think you’d mind the punishment. But this is already enough torture, Yoongi’s venom still potent in your veins and his cock filling you so well. You sit quietly, every so often Yoongi will shift and you have to bury your face in his neck to keep any noise from escaping. Every slight shit from him and twitch of his dick has you biting your lip. You really don’t know how he’s managed to stay hard this long when he’s focused solely on his music. It’s starting to drive you insane. You wonder if you could chance it and just ride him, distract him quick enough that he won’t even think about punishing you. But Yoongi’s control seems much stronger and you don’t think you could get away with that. At least not for long enough to cum before he stopped you. 

You can only sit still for so long though, trying your best to shift subtly and hope he doesn’t notice. You fail, if the way his hands move to grab your waist is anything to go by. He pushes his chair back just slightly and you take that to mean it’s safe to lean back. You look at him and he looks thoroughly amused. 

“Thought I said to not move?”

You pout, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and fiddling with the hair at the nap of his neck. “But I didn’t.”

He hums, but you can see that he doesn’t believe you at all. “You’re in luck cause I’m done working for the moment so I can give my babygirl all the attention she wants.”

You feel your face heat at his words. “Well maybe I don’t want it now.”

He chuckles and it sends shivers down your spine. He fingers dip between the two of you, lightly brushing your clit, your mouth drops open slightly. He lifts them back up between you both and arches an eyebrow at you as his fingers glisten with your wetness. 

“You sure about that statement babygirl?”

“That’s not fair. You got me all worked up and then just left me to sit here.” You whine, you feel slightly delirious. 

He tuts, licking his fingers clean before resting his hands on your thighs. “I said I had some work to finish. I’m done now so I’m all yours. What do you want, babygirl?” He gives your thighs a squeeze. 

You ponder that for a moment. Not that you really need to, you know exactly what you want. But the pause gives you the chance to clench your pussy and watch the twitch in Yoongi’s jaw with satisfaction that he really is just as affected as you. “I want to cum.”

“And just how do you want to do that?”

“On your cock.” When he doesn’t say anything else, just sits there looking calm and collected, you wiggle impatiently in his lap, done with being forced to wait. “Yoongi, please.”

He smirks, feet shifting and then his hands are sliding up to your hips to lift you almost all the way off his cock before dropping you back down. You bite your lip to stifle your moan. 

His lips brush your ear. “This is a recording studio babygirl, it’s soundproof. Be loud for me.”

He controls your movements for a few moments before letting you finally take over, riding him hard and fast. You briefly worry about the precariousness of fucking in a rolling chair. But that problem is solved when he stands, cock still buried inside you and sets your ass on his desk, giving him the leverage and control to fuck you even harder. Your fingers bunch in the fabric of his shirt, feeling powerless to do much else aside from holding on. 

Yoongi must have been more worked up than he was letting on because his thrusts grow rough and sloppy quickly and he groans as he cums, cock buried to the hilt in you. Your protest at the lack of your own orgasm quickly dies on your tongue, as soon as Yoongi finishes cuming, he’s pulling out and dropping to his knees between your spread thighs. He wastes no time or teasing, leaning in to lick up his own cum as it slowly starts to drip out of your pussy, dragging it up to smear around your clit and make everything even wetter. 

He cleans his cum from you, thumbs spreading your pussy wide and tongue slipping as far as it can go to get ever drop and when he’s finally satisfied, his lips wrap around your clit and his fingers fill your pussy instead. He fucks you with his fingers, tongue swirling around your clit and under his ministrations you quickly reach your own high, cumming with a cry of his name, hands burying themselves in his hair.  

You’re still shuddering with aftershocks when Yoongi unceremoniously tugs his fingers free, shoving his cock, rock hard once again, back in. You gasp, overly sensative as Yoongi starts to fuck you hard. Tears prick your eyes, pussy feeling abused but your sensitivity is quick to fade back to pleasure. His fingers find your clit, working with his thrusts to build your high back up, much faster than the first time. You’re nearly blindsided by how quickly he’s gotten you worked up again. 

“You did say that you wanted to cum on my cock right?” His grin is cocky, but the way his eyes dip down to your pussy shows just how much he’s also enjoying this. “Come on, babygirl.”

His lips brush against yours and you cum with a moan, walls spasming around Yoongi’s cock. Yoongi swears, thrusts slowing and lets you ride out your second orgasm in a slightly more tame way than the first. When your shuddering stops, he slips out of you and takes a step back. 

“On your knees for me babygirl.” 

You blink at him for a moment, panting, before obediently sliding to your knees before him. You’re glad he wanted you on your knees because you’re ot 100% sure if you could stand right now. He nods approvingly, shuffling closer. You wrap one hand around his cock, giving him a few pumps before wrapping your lips around the tip, tasting the mix of him and you. He groans, hands finding purchase in your hair. You bob your head, licking the taste of yourself off of him until only the taste of Yoongi remains. He lets you move at your own pace for a bit before his hands tighten in your hair, halting you. You glance up at him, confusion in your eyes. 

He thrusts shallowly into your mouth. “Think you can take me fucking your mouth babygirl?”

You hum, hand dropping from his cock to rest on his thigh. You’d smirk if your mouth wasn’t full. Does he really think you couldn’t take this? You raise an eyebrow in challenge. He chuckles, mutters something under his breath that you don’t catch before he’s thrusting a little deeper. He meets the back of your throat and pulls back before thrusting in and pushing further until your nose is pressed to his belly. He holds there for a moment and you swallow around him. Swearing, he pulls out and starts a tame rhythm fucking your mouth. 

As his pace picks up, spit drips from the corners of your mouth, dampening the front of your shirt. Tears collect and fall when he holds himself completely buried in your throat, completely cutting off your air supply, but certain supernatural perks allow him to hold himself buried and feel your throat constrict around him longer than if you were human. You move one hand, reaching up to tug slightly at his balls, earning you an even louder curse and a sudden thrust. 

Encouraged, you give them another tug before palming them. Yoongi’s thrusts grow more erratic the more you roll his balls and you reach a little farther to press your fingers to his perineum, which has him groaning as he spills down your throat. He slowly slides out, flopping back into his chair, breathless. You lick your lips slowly, winking at him as he watches the path your tongue traces to clean up any final traces of his cum. 

He groans, throwing his head back. “No more, please. I can’t go again right now.”

You giggle and he scoots forward, snatching a few tissues from his desk. You expect him to just hand them to you but he surprises you by gently cleaning your face for you, a soft smile on his lips. You swallow at the sudden nerves, trying to also ignore the butterflies in your stomach. Once he finishes, you stand quickly, adjusting your skirt and turning to shoot him a murderous look when you realize you’ll be leaving here with one less item of clothing. 

He smiles innocently. “Problem?”

You glare. “You better have a new pair for me soon.”

“Maybe. You’ll have to earn them.”

You huff, turning to the mirror hung on the wall to try to fix your face and hair as much as you can. There may be no one in the building, but people on the street is a totally different story. Yoongi walks you to the door, holding it open for you. He grabs your arm, halting you from leaving. You turn back to him, head tilted in confusion. It’s the first time all night that he’s looked anything other than the picture of calm. He looks nervous. 

“I’m sorry that this was kinda sprung on you. I didn’t intend for it to happen.” He rubs his neck sheepishly. “I guess I was a little more stressed than I thought.”

You laugh and pinch his cheek. He really apologizing for giving a sex demon sex? Adorable. “It’s okay. It was fun.” You wink at him then pause. “Can... I ask why now though? And not before? Just curious.”

Yoongi blushes and looks at his feet. “Ah, nerves?”

You laugh. “Nerves? About what? Being good at sex?”

He makes a face when he looks back at you. “Listen, your whole thing is sex. That’s intimidating. And I didn’t know if I’d have time for anything more than quick stops to feed. So it was easier to just start with feeding and wait until I was more comfortable.”

You pat his cheek. “Guess you got there, huh?”

He bats your hand away. “Go away. I take back everything I said. You’re a pest.”

You laugh and blow him a kiss as you start down the hallway. “We both know that was a lie. See ya Yoongi.”

You leave, pleasantly buzzed on endorphins and mind just fuzzy enough that you don’t have to think too hard at what this change might mean in the future. You completely miss the fact that you and Yoongi weren’t there alone. 

[rpbetter]

Thanks for your thoughts. Nope, I don't have another problem with the psa. It's the subtle word choice pretty much, but nothing else. I don't mind if people use me as a meme farm, so when I see psas like that or comments like that, I get upset because I associate it with people who make other blanket assumptions about all rpers, I have it linked in my head with people going around saying "rp is a hobby not a jobby" and making other assumptions about how all rpers do their thing.

Thank you for answering those questions!

The assumptive quality of the RPC can seriously be annoying as hell, especially if you're in the minority on any particular issue. When that's the case, the PSAs are so rarely geared toward you and any issues you might be experiencing that it's legitimately upsetting. I absolutely feel you on that!

I mean, obviously. Obviously lol I do. It couldn't be much clearer that I have a serious issue with the constant bombardment of PSAs insisting that we normalize shitty behaviors that are the damn norm, that we're all just losers RPing on tumblr so no one should be anxious about anything ever (instead of, you know, maybe trying to legitimately boost people's confidence, radical thought), or that anything that isn't being hostile to oneself is being hostile to everyone else.

I think the issue is that, while there is obviously a majority set of takes/issues/experiences (though, those, too, absolutely can skew toward one's particular RP corner and style), there's no way to address every instance and variable of an issue. Particularly not when anything other one paragraph is too lengthy for a lot of people here to engage with in a meaningful way.

So, I know I have to frequently ask, "is this a legitimate or hostile sort of blank-statement, or is it just addressing the majority experience? If it's the latter, is it genuinely enough of a problem to address?"

Like, did they mean that this is an experience most RPers have, or did they mean this is the only experience/is the correct and only way to do things? And that's not always answerable, of course, but when I feel like it is, it's usually found on OP's blog and RPC itself.

If OP has expressed things that are not the majority experience, expressed that they do not agree with blanket-statements, and doesn't imply with every rule, PSA, point on the DNI, and so on that to approach and proceed with RP in a way they do not is to commit some manner of terrible IRL crime? It's almost certainly that they were just expressing a majority experience and nothing more.

And in this case, yeah, as I'm sure you've noticed from being on the opposite side of this, it is the majority experience. I don't recall ever seeing very many RPers who do not espouse having an issue with having their memes and aesthetics reblogged without some manner of (rules specified if they're not a dick) interaction/relationship with the other mun. (Such as "mutuals are okay to reblog" or "I expect reblog karma and practice it.")

I don't know if there has been an influx of newer RPers or those who have migrated from more relaxed areas of the RPC, but recently, there really has been an increase in at least my corners of muns being used as resource blogs when they do not wish to be. They've all expressed in their rules their particular boundaries for that, have made overall posts politely but firmly asking that people who do not write with them and haven't even read their rules not do this, and have gone directly to the worst offenders to ask them to stop. And it continues to happen. So, I imagine that is why you might be seeing an influx of PSAs about the matter in response.

For anyone watching this conversation that might not understand why some muns are so against this, some reasons are:

clogging up their notifications

the aesthetic was their picture, edit, quote, etc. and not meant to be shared off their blog/only by the partner(s) tagged in it

when you reblog from someone, their URL is obviously attached, spreading them to another dash full of people - they might like you, but not want some of your mutuals following to their blog

their muse doesn't get much interaction, but other muns keep reblogging memes/aesthetics from them when they won't write with them or send anything in

they feel used for the above reason or any variety of other reasons

I'm really sure you know that, Anon, but I think it's important that we all understand where we're coming from because there are so many different preferences and experiences. It's really not good enough to just feel like everyone can do whatever they want, so long as it isn't harassing anyone else/they're being respectful of others. Because can feel that way all we want to while still getting upset when we lack the understanding of preferences that are extremely different, or even in opposition to our own.

We can't effectively respect each other without that sort of understanding of even the things that annoy us, you know? So, I try to promote that understanding and explain things for people who might simply see this on their dash.

Like the "hobby not jobby" thing! I don't get that, I think it has some concerning IRL connotations people are not recognizing, and it's a great way to treat other muns like shit while justifying the behavior. It's in opposition to what I do not because it exists, but rather, because it is weaponized in order to excuse bad behavior and vilify muns who do not engage with the hobby in this way. It doesn't have to exist in hostile opposition to how I enjoy RP, the use of it has made it this way, is what I'm saying.

But I understand where it came from and what it means for the more rational, adult muns here who feel this way. To them, it's just that this is an ultra casual hobby. The way I engage with RP is like a full contact sport lol it requires a lot of effort and engagement, and the effort and engagement is fun. They way they engage with RP is an act of disengaging, it is more like what watching TV is for me - they're just here for some light, quick entertainment.

Understanding this difference is understanding that not everyone who feels so casually about RP is a jackass insisting that everyone else better feel the same way, that their way is the only correct and good way. I'm still not interested in writing with them, it's far too different for that to work out, but it allows for delineating who is enjoyable on my dash/OOC that is into casual RP and who needs to stay behind a block somewhere because they think anyone who has RP as a primary hobby is trying to ruin it for them somehow, attacking them by existing, and the following list of terrible things as a person.

I think that all problems in the RPC could be drastically mitigated by a combination of understanding and mutual respect. People who are alright with others treating them like a meme resource absolutely can and should interact with people who don't feel that way without a problem, for example - all that takes is being aware of your mutual's rules and respecting them.

Damn near 100% of the PSAs out there honestly should not ever have to exist, they come down to the same factors of just exercising some easy respect for each other.

Again, the trouble often comes in at those very differing factors we need to be mindful of. When we feel like the weird one out in the RPC constantly, whether something is actually othering us or not, it starts to feel like it is. We start finding reasons and evidence, and much of the time, at least among those whose first inclination isn't to label OP as various terrible shit as a person, that takes the form of "not everyone."

Well, of course, not everyone! But unfortunately, when we are of the minority opinion/experience, we sometimes have to just realize that very thing. It isn't personal, and that while someone has caused issues coming from this side with that difference, we are not for our mutuals, so this isn't about us. We're actually doing the thing the PSA is speaking of by not pushing our preferences on others. If that PSA is just speaking from a place of the majority experience and nothing more, we're just annoyed with it for that reason and nothing else when it comes right down to it. We're just kind of sick of being in the minority opinion on this issue, and now are geared to feel like we're being hounded by most PSAs.

It's not an easy thing to get over or work with, it's not even something that gets to be faultless, but it definitely makes the experience less irritating when we can get to a point of stepping back and analyzing the situation without those emotions intensely in play. Seriously, if I allowed the issues I have with most PSAs out there to be evident by reblogging them with refutations or anger? That's all I'd spend my time doing, that'd be my hobby and not actual RP...and I'd absolutely be the most hated and blocked mun on tumblr in short order no matter how valid my points were. (And, I think, with good reason, I really do not support reblogging that sort of thing with negative commentary.)

What helps? Make your own positive PSA about your experience! Make one of those "reblog if" posts, I have never seen one that says "reblog if...you are alright with your mutuals reblogging memes and aesthetics from you without reblog karma."

I'm being dead serious, I encourage you to do that! It's great when you're of the minority opinion and do something like that because you can literally see not only that you're not alone at all but also that it's made other people feel seen. If you do that, let me know, I'll reblog it, even.

[interstellarflare]

Loved You Dangerously - Thomas Shelby

-PART NINE-

Song: Dangerously - Charlie Puth (slowed)

Warnings: Violence, swearing - this chapter will contain gore.

Summary: I loved you dangerously, more than the air that I breathe. Knew we would crash at the speed that we were going, didn’t care if the explosion ruined me. Baby, I loved you dangerously, Mmmm, mmmm. I loved you dangerously.

An arranged marriage to one of London’s most notorious criminals isn’t something that you planned for. But when you so happen to be kidnapped by the one and only Thomas Shelby of the Peaky Blinders, your story takes a drastic turn full of lies, deception, and a love that you never thought possible.

Author’s Note: This is a series that is all my own. Events happening within will not directly correlate with the actual show. This is a bit of a long chapter, sorry, and there will most likely be many spelling errors which I will edit later. But nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy!

“I’m not sure if I can do this” I mused nervously, folding my arms over my chest in a somewhat pouting manner.

Thomas laughed loudly, the sound echoing out across the pasture as amusement settled on his features. He shook his head, approaching me slowly with a small gesture of his hand. “I wouldn’t let you handle a weapon if I didn’t trust you to use it” he responded, casually removing a small revolver-type pistol from the holster inside his jacket and placing it in the palm of his hand. With a strange calmness I had never seen before, Thomas extended the weapon toward me, his eyes moving between his hand and my own hesitant eyes.

I shook my head, biting my lip anxiously as I threw my arms out in protest. “No, I’m not doing this-” “Y/n, come on” Thomas tried to reason, his shoulders slumping in a tired and mocking nature. “You might be okay with shooting someone, Tommy, but I’ve never even held something like that!” I explained, pointing towards the weapon still in his hand. He sighed somewhat frustratedly, allowing his head to tilt to the side as he spoke, “And that is why I am going to teach you. It’s really simple, and I promise I won’t let anything happen to you” he tried to reason, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

It had been two days since the altercation with Alfie’s lackey, two days since the said man had completely disappeared. Two days since that kiss.

My heart fluttered at the memory, a strange feeling spreading through my chest as I remembered the feeling of his lips against mine. Since that moment in the billiard room, Tommy had never left my side. I grumbled under my breath, Thomas’ deep chuckle only making my annoyance grow. “Fine...” I snapped quickly, the man before me nodding his approval with a smug grin “show me what to do”.

I took the weapon from Thomas’ grasp, flinching at the cool metal. It was an unfamiliar feeling, holding something so dangerous. I allowed myself to adjust to the weight of the revolver, my hands somewhat trembling as I sighed shakily. “Alright, the first thing you have to do is stand side on...” Thomas instructed, placing his hand on my shoulders and turning me to the side. “Okay-” “Now, hold your arm out and aim towards the tree” he continued, standing off to the side and watching me closely. I did as I was told, holding my arm out towards the large oakwood tree. Straining with the unfamiliar weight of the weapon in my grasp, I was oblivious to Thomas coming up from behind, suddenly pulling my body close to his without warning.

A small gasp escaped my lips in shock, his chest vibrating lightly as a deep chuckle resonated from within him. I watched him smirk almost triumphantly from the corner of my eye, as he extended his arm along mine, steadying the weapon in my hand with his own as he gently grasped my wrist. “Now...” he whispered lowly, his lips only inches away from my ear “all you have to do is steady your hand...and fire when ready”.

I shivered at the sensation, his breath slightly ghosting the shell of my ear as I attempted to readjust my aim. When I felt confident, I slowly squeezed the trigger, flinching slightly at the loud bang that resonated from the weapon. Thomas chuckled lightly as I stumbled back against his chest, keeping me upright so I wouldn’t fall. “See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Thomas retorted teasingly, causing me to roll my eyes with a breathless scoff. “I suppose not...” I responded allowing my arm to fall to my side “although I stand by what I said earlier”. I felt Thomas’ hands carefully move up to my shoulders, his fingertips gently caressing the nape of my neck and leaving a ghosting sensation across my skin. I shivered involuntarily, causing the man behind me to laugh deeply.

Leaning into his touch, I smiled up at him sadly. “You know, we shouldn’t be doing this out in the open-” “What are you so afraid of?” Thomas asked quietly, his head tilting to the side in wait for my answer. I began to grow frustrated, handing the weapon back to him with an annoyed sigh “You have done so much for me. If someone saw us, if one of Alfie’s men saw us...I don’t want anyone getting hurt, Tommy. I just-” My breath hitched in my throat as Thomas lunged forward, cupping the side of my face with his free hand as he captured my lips in his own. His other hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his body with a deep chuckle. It was a gruelling task to not melt completely in his arms, as I slowly pulled away from his kiss. Smirking devilishly, Thomas stared down at my smaller form with a loving gaze, his cocky expression forcing me to punch his shoulder lightly. His gaze suddenly fell, a low sigh escaping him. “I will be in Birmingham tonight. I have some...business, to take care of”.

My chest tightened, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. I nodded slowly, biting my lip anxiously as I stuttered awkwardly “I-Is Arthur going?”. Thomas nodded. “John?”. He nodded again. I didn’t dare ask about Polly, a scared part of me already knew his answer. I watched from the corner of my eye as Thomas approached, linking his arm through mine as he sighed through his nose. “You’ll be left in the care of some of the maids, as well as a few of my own men who will be guarding the house...” He began, tightening his grip around my arm comfortingly “you know that I wouldn’t do this unless it was absolutely necessary-” “I know...I know. I just, I would feel safer if any one of you were here”.

Thomas then pulled my body towards him in a comforting embrace, I welcomed his touch as buried my head into his chest. Thomas chuckled faintly, “If it helps, I don’t think Alfie would be stupid enough to strike again after his last attempt-” he laughed as I scoffed, pushing him away playfully before storming back towards the mansion. I turned to smile at him over my shoulder, my heart warming greatly as he Thomas smiled in return.

The Shelby family had departed for Birmingham a few hours ago. It was now nightfall, the grounds of the mansion were deathly silent.

I sat once again at the small wooden table in the mansion’s kitchen, chatting idly with one of the maids that cared for the Shelby household. Only just ascending into womanhood, Talia was only fifteen, and had been working for the Shelby’s only for a short time. She had cared for me when I had arrived here at the mansion, and I felt horrible for not getting to know her sooner. We talked about our lives, how we both somehow ended up here under the Shelby’s roof. Talia explained that her family lived in Birmingham, and had sold her to the streets to earn a living. Polly had found her slumped against The Garrison walls, and offered her a good paying job, and shelter here as a maid.

For the first time in a long, long while, I told Talia about my arranged marriage to Alfie. Aside from Thomas, Talia was the only person I had opened up to about this whole issue, but that didn’t stop her from playfully teasing me about the fact that Thomas and I had grown close in the months that I had been here. My relationship with the leader of the Peaky Blinders, apparently, was a hot topic of conversation around the mansion grounds. I was astounded, bewildered even.

Later that night, Talia and I ventured into my room upstairs, having been scolded by the head housekeeper Agatha for creating a mess in the kitchen in our attempt to bake a cake. We both giggled to ourselves as we sat on the bed, talking about anything that came to our minds. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask...” Talia spoke quietly, cringing as she spoke “what will you do if Alfie does find you? Given what’s already happened, he obviously won’t stop until he has you back”. I fell silent, trying to come up with an answer. I shook my head, sighing heavily as I closed my eyes in thought “I honestly don’t know. My father no doubt wants Alfie to stop at nothing to get me back, but Thomas is just-”

A loud crash sounded from downstairs, followed by various frightened shouts. My stomach churned, my heart staggering in its rhythm. My eyes widened as rushed footsteps thumped up the staircase, a muffled voice ordering several unknown names to search each and every room. My gaze immediately turned to Talia, her eyes glimmering with fearful tears. I rushed forward, grabbing her by her shoulders and forcing her into the adjoined bathroom. “Lock the door behind you...” I urged her, smiling as reassuringly as I could “you do not open this door for anyone but me, do you understand?”. Talia nodded quickly, quietly shutting the door with a faint ‘click’ of the lock. With a shaky breath, I quietly approached my bedroom door, carefully peering out into the hallway. There was no one outside, except for a few shadows that danced underneath the doorframe in the room across from my own. I made a silent dash for the hall, thanking whatever god there was that I wasn’t caught.

I had to reach Thomas’ office without getting caught, which I knew was a lot easier said than done. Voices came from every direction, muffled and not, and it was impossible to tell exactly where they were coming from. But after cowering behind several pieces of furniture in the hallways, I managed to reach Thomas’ office. A single ray of moonlight shone through the curtains, illuminating the room enough for me to navigate my way around. Closing the door behind me with a soft ‘click’, I then dashed over to the desk, where I knew Thomas kept one of his pistols in a draw concealed beneath a pile of old paperwork. As I rummaged through the draws’ contents, a faint ‘snick’ caused me ti freeze, my eyes widening as my gaze lifted to the door. Standing in the doorframe was the same man from two nights ago, his face contorted with multiple cuts and bruises, and his eyes burning with a vengeful fire.

My fingers graced the cool metal of the weapon beneath the papers as he approached, a crazed smirk crossing his beaten lips. “You didn’t think I’d just lie down and die, did you?” he spoke darkly, his voice low and hoarse. I gulped, my gaze never leaving his approaching form. He chuckled, the metal of his revolver illuminated by the natural light of the room. With his weapon still aimed in my direction, he sauntered over and around the desk towards my form “Alfie’s changed his mind, you know. He’s given us boys permission to kill you, and blame your murder on the Shelby’s. Or, we can bring you back alive, which to me is boring”. As my hand moved to grasp the revolver in the draw, Alfie’s lackey swung his arm, his weapon colliding with the side of my face. A sharp cry escaped my lips as I collapsed to the ground, releasing the revolver from my hold, my ears ringing and and head pounding, I tried to scramble away from the man behind me to no avail. Dazed and confused, I tried to swat away his hands as they gripped my arms, hauling me to my feet before he picked me up effortlessly, tossing my form over his shoulder.

I screamed, thrashing about in his grip as he carried me away from Thomas’ office, down the grand staircase, and out of the mansion towards an awaiting car. I continued to thrash around, screaming and cursing until I was harshly dropped to the ground, with Arthur’s lackey kneeling down to the gravel path and pressing the barrel of the revolver to my temple. “Shut the fuck up, or I’ll blow your fucking head off. You understand!?” he yelled threateningly, as I regretfully sobbed a pathetic reply. My hands stung from the gravel beneath, warm tears streaming down my cheeks as I struggled to stand. “Do we really have to do this?” a young voice spoke timidly, “she doesn’t-” “Do you want your money or not?” The man beside me spat, gripping my arm and hauling me to my feet. This couldn’t be happening, I couldn’t let this happen. While I might have been a crying mess, I wasn’t about to be taken back to that monster of a man without a fight.

With a loud cry, I wrenched my arm free from his grip, and took off at a sprint back towards the mansion. I didn’t make it far though, as a strong force tackled me from behind, the both of us crashing to the gravel once again. I was flipped onto my back, struggling to remove myself from beneath Alfie’s lackey as he tried to aim his revolver straight towards my forehead. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you if I have to!” she shouted, landing a strong punch to the side of my face. Ignoring the taste of copper filling my mouth, I fought against his hold, grabbing his hand and trying to turn the weapon away from my form. It was a great struggle, my arms straining against his strength. My gaze met his, an expression of rage contorting his features as he released a loud battle cry before pulling the trigger.

Time seemed to slow down as all the air left my lungs, leaving me dazed and confused as the man atop me froze, warm red droplets hitting my face in a violent spray. It was then that I could feel a warmer sensation spreading across my abdomen, soaking my clothes completely. But there was no pain. Alfie’s lackey sputtered, coughing loudly as blood dribbled from his mouth. It was then that I looked down, my lips trembling as tears cascaded down my cheeks. Somehow during our struggle, I had managed to grab his revolver. I don’t even remember pulling the trigger. The man atop me gurgled, falling forward onto my body before going completely still. I lay on the gravel in shock, my entire body trembling as my breathing became erratic.

I had killed him. I killed him...I had shot him.

I began to sob, shakily pushing the body atop mine aside and scrambling to my feet. I felt sick, the smell of iron filling my nose as I turned to face the men standing beside the car further up the way. I can’t imagine how I must have looked, but I must have looked quite terrifying if it was enough to scare them. A sudden anger surged in my chest, a blood-curdling scream escaping me as I aimed towards Alfie’s men. They cried out in fear, scrambling into their car as I fired the first shot, the bullet shattering the glass windscreen. They drove away at full speed, not once looking back as I threw the revolver as far into the pasture as I could.

I collapsed onto the ground before, traumatised by the body who’s life I had taken. Traumatised by the blood that coated every inch of my hands and my clothes. I screamed into the night until the early hours of the morning, anguished and ugly sobs until I could no longer scream. No one came outside, no one came to get me. If they did, I hadn’t heard them. The cold numbed my body even more, but I couldn’t feel anything. 

It wasn’t until the night sky faded to morning grey, enveloped by a haunting white mist, that the valley had fallen silent. A single car drove down the driveway towards the Warwickshire Mansion. I slowly looked up, a broken sob leaving my lips as I immediately recognised the figure sprinting towards me, his loud cries of my name bringing some form of warmth back to my broken body.

Tag list: @supermassiveblackhope @affabletimelady @spaghettirogers @audioshoes @gabriellepearce96 @twin-skltns @daisyxbuckley @arachnidscosmopoliton @ljb-novels @lordofthunderthr @hereticpriest @captivatedbycillianmurphy@imnotuglyimjustpredebut @lovelynerdytraveler @rhiannon-the-troublemaker​ @adepressedstudentslife​ @affection-rabbit

[aromoji]

So I’m finally getting around to do that aspec Q & A that @ace-and-aro-wlw-positivity posted, and I have quite a few aspec ocs so this could get rather lengthy but here we go

1. What was your inspiration for your character(s)? Are they modeled on yourself, a person that you know, or a character that’s already been established?

My first aspec oc, Abby Scott, was based on myself when I thought I was a biromantic ace girl. So she takes a lot after me. 

Theo Yamada, on the other hand, was a completely new character. I don’t exactly remember why I made him alloarospec, and I’ve been flipping from one arospec identity to the other, but no matter what he always remained alloaro. 

Mina Nicholson was my first character that I had predetermined to be alloaro from the start. She’s based on an old tumblr post about some super hero series idea called “Aces and Arrows.” I obviously didn’t make Mina into some superhero, but her guitar skills make her come pretty close :D. 

Brittany Olajobi is also based on an old tumblr post. Remember the “All or Nothing” idea thing that was floating around here?(Yes, I’m aware it turned into a scam, but I thought the premise was cute). Since no one actually made anything out of that I decided to make the characters my own. The asexual and pansexual girls were roomates....but also girlfriends. That idea kinda evolved into one of my newer series called “Play the Rainbow”, but that’s gonna take a while to explain.

Queenie Brooks...is based on a crude caricature someone made of an ace person (the “artist” has probably never talked to an ace person outside of tumblr but whatever), so I took that character and fleshed her out. She’s an aroace trans girl who’s evry big in activist circles, especialy the sex worker industry

2. How much, if any, has your character(s) changed since they were first created? What caused this change?

Abby and Brittany haven’t changed much besides in their appearance, Queenie and Mina underwent drastic appearance changes since they were created, and Theo’s kinda been going back and forth on the aromantic spectrum,  from strictly aro to demiromantic to aroflux. I’ve finally settled one greyromantic, which coinicdentially is what I identify as.

4. Do you intend on publishing your story one day? Why, or why not?

Probably not. I’m closeted in real life and likely to stay that way as long as I’m financially dependent on my parents.

7. Time to get serious for a bit. There’s been heavy debate on having non-human characters identify as ace, aro, non-binary, etc., but never actual humans. As someone who’s aspec, how would you explain to someone who’s allo why this can be and is seen as hurtful?

Ace and Aro people have been seen as inhuman and robotic for not feeling attraction, especially not in the same way that people who aren’t aro or ace do. Please reconsider making that animal/robot/alien oc aspec unless all or most of your characters aren’t human as well.

8. It’s a sad reality that many stories in mainstream media don’t have characters that are aspec, not to mention without resorting to harmful stereotypes. Besides there being nothing wrong with IDing as aspec, why did you choose to have your character ID as such? What would you tell other authors who’re interested in writing characters that are aspec, but are afraid of offending the community?

I make my characters aspec because. I’m aspec. Also there aren’t a lot of aspec representation (the little we get lol) that isn’t white or cis or yes, heteromantic./heterosexual. Considering the fact that I’m none of those things, all of my aspec ocs are poc like me, some even trans as well. To authours who want to write aspec characters but don’t want to offend the community, PLEASE ask around. Ask more than one person of that specific demographic. Their opinion should not be the only one that shapes yours! Also, if you’re writing an alloaro character, don’t ask someone who’s alloace or aroace. Similarly, don’t ask an alloaro person about writing alloace/aroace characters. Aspec people are not a monolith, our experiences are not the same

9. If you’re comfortable with sharing, what is your characters’ identity? Do they use any microlabels? Does theirs reflect your own?

Abby is a biromantic ace, Theo is a greyromantic bisexual, Mina is an alloaro bisexual, Brit is an ace lesbian, and Queenie is an oriented aroace trans woman.

11. Why do you think that not just representation is important, but GOOD representation? Can you offer any examples?

Fiction affects reality. Therefore, how people see us in the media affects how they see us in real life.

14. What’s a brief biography of your character? Is their history, personality, and/or looks similar to your own?

Uh I don’t necessarily have biographies for them but I have an oc carrd with their details

15. What are the themes of your story? Is it a lighthearted adventure, or are we talking deep, ocean-sized levels of angst? Why, or why not, did you choose them?

It’s a mix of light hearted fun and lots of angst. But everyone (who deserves it) gets a happy ending so it’s all good.

16. How long have you been writing? Has your style changed from when you first began to now? What are some tips you’d give to those who’re interested in writing a story of their own, be it professionally or as a hobby?

I’ve been writing since I was 8. I once won an honorable mention in a writing competition in the third grade believe it or not lol. My writing has definetely changed a lot, and that’s partially thanks to my English teachers I had along the way. My advice to people interested in writing a story on their own is to invest in a laptop/notebook and find time to write. Any time at all.

17. What’s your process for writing? Do you plan your story out first, write whatever you want then edit later, or both? How might this help others?

Planning? Ha! I write as I go. Sometimes I go back and edit entire scenes before publishing tho.

18. Your book’s become quite popular, easily reaching the New York Times Bookseller list, and now, you’ve been picked to lead a writing workshop. It goes swimmingly, and afterward, someone comes and tells you that your book not only inspired them to write a story of their own, but also helped them discover and accept their identity. What’s your reaction?

I’m...not good with compliments.

20. Just for fun, write down a paragraph of your most recent writing. It can be an action-packed scene, some witty dialogue, or a colorful description that you really enjoyed. (Be sure to properly tag any possible triggers!)

Here’s what I’ve started working on:

Theo smooths out the wrinkles on his blue uniform, giving himself a once over in the mirror. All his belongings of 5 long years were packed and ready to board on the ship the  higher-ups would issue to him He turns and takes down one last poster and rolls it up, placing it in his duffel bag. Perfect. Now all he had to do was go through the graduation ceremony and he’d get his first assignment. His hard work being at the top of his class was finally going to pay off.

“Heyyyy, my older twin’s looking sharp tonight!” Trent exclaims, leaning in the doorway with his own uniform in red. He whirls into the room, flopping on the now barren bed. “Ahh, this bed has so many memories. Come on, sit with me!”

“Trent, the ceremony’s so soon.”

“Theooooo,” he pouts. “This may be the last time we see this room, because we’ll be in space!”

He wiggles his fingers in Theo’s face for dramatic effect. The older twin chuckles, taking a seat on the bed.

“Let’s see,” Theo muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I remember when we first got here. We were 10 years old, tiny, adorable and innocent little creatures. You were so terrified because they had put us in separate rooms.”

“I was not!” Trent argues. “It was just…a bit of a shock considering I always slept with someone else in my room instead of…all by myself.’

“Whatever. You crept into my room in the middle of the night, poked me awake and gave me the whole puppy-dog-eyes-and-quivering-bottom-lip routine to get me to beg me to let you sleep in my bed that night.”

“And you pretty much told me to go play in traffic,” he laughs. “And I still got in your bed anyway and slept there the whole night!”

“And you kept doing it until you turned 12!” Theo finishes with a playful shove.

[disregardcanon]

a decade of self recs

i’d like to invite anyone who wants to to participate in this exercise along with me!

this is a self rec and a reflection on a fic from each year of the decade

fandoms include: percy jackson, adventure time, a song of ice and fire, girl meets world, gravity falls, young justice, the flash, my hero academia, the mcu, and the handmaid’s tale. 

2010: I didn’t even know what fanfiction was! oh my gosh i was a baby!

2011: 

I Won’t Ever Leave You Alone

Fandom: Percy Jackson 

Pairings: Percy/Annabeth

Summary:  What happens when Percy's sent to the Roman Camp and flat out does not want to remember his past? Can it have a happy ending? It's my first fan fiction and I hope you enjoy.

A.N: This WAS the first fanfiction that I ever wrote. It was bad. It’s STILL bad. however... if I didn’t ever write this one, then I never would have gotten less bad. That’s important! 

2012: 

The Ice Prince

Fandom: Adventure Time

Summary:  "Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice" Robert Frost. The lonely ice prince wonders a frozen wasteland of his own creation, searching for companionship he will never be fortunate enough to find, with only vague recollections and half memories as comfort. Drabble Ice Prince!Finn

A.N: this fic is actually shorter than the author’s note I wrote for it, but... I’m not going to lie. The atmosphere work is really great and the wording flows really nicely. I’m proud of this little piece. I think out of everything that I wrote that year, it shows my potential the best. 

2013: 

Hot Chocolate Heals All Wounds

Fandom: Percy Jackson 

Pairings: Reyna/Annabeth and past Percy/Annabeth 

Summary:  Moving on is never easy, but with hot chocolate, love, laughter and Reyna by her side, Annabeth might just manage.

A.N: 2013 was where I really started to take off as a fic writer. I improved drastically over the course of the year, but I still think that this fic that I wrote during the summer is the closest to my heart. It’s the first of my “ladies getting over trauma together and falling in love” genre. 

It’s not as good as I remember it being, and oh lordy. the smut.. the smut is bad. But there’s a lot of potential here, and I can still look back on it fondly. 

2014: 

The River Rushes On

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire 

Pairings: Catelyn/Cersei 

Summary: The official reason that she is sent to Riverrun is so that she can learn to be a proper lady alongside Hoster’s daughters. The unofficial reason, of course, is that Tywin found his golden twins having sex.

Or, the one where all good things end, but life continues.

A.N: I had a bit of debate going between this one and a sansaery fic that I wrote that year, but I decided that this HAD to be the choice. Catelyn/Cersei is a pairing that I came to on my own, but I ended up really loving because of the friends I made through the pairing. While this might not have been might best writing of the year, I feel like it was a formative enough experience that it overrides that. 

honorable mention: like the songs, a tragic sansaery au where sansa was a traveling singer

2015: 

Caged

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire 

Pairings: Sansa/Margaery 

Summary:  In an alternate universe where many of the members of the Westerosi elite are magical creatures, the Lannisters seal Sansa Stark's wolf form deep within her. Margaery Tyrell vows to break the spell.

A.N: this is where we get into fics that I might actually recommend to someone. This one was one of the last fics that I wrote during high school, and it was inspired by our class reading of Macbeth and the emotional turmoil of getting ready to head off to college. There’s still some stuff I’m REALLY proud of in there. The spell ingredient “blood of a lover, willingly drawn” is still fantastic, the dream is still chilling, and I honestly sometimes think of adapting this premise into an original story.

honorable mentions: a guide to coming out, the girl meets world edition 

her heart’s duet, the mabifica soulmate’s au 

2016: 

Over the Shadowy Hills 

Fandoms: Young Justice

Pairings: Artemis/Zatanna

Summary: Wally is dead, but Artemis isn't. She's trying to learn how to deal with that.Featuring: Bart Allen, product placement Netflix isn't paying me for, blatant symbolism, and snaibsel sweaters.

A.N: 2016 was a REALLY hard one. I wanted to put like, 3 star wars rebels fics, but i’m holding myself to my one fic per year policy, and if it’s one fic for year... then it has to be over the shadowy hills.   

one of my other friends helped me work this into a fic that i could be really proud of, and it’s the better version of the same fic type as “hot chocolate heals all wounds” from a couple years earlier. i’m still really pleased with the way that this one panned out and i couldn’t leave it out of a best list, 

the honorable mentions:  you were someone, once the winter soldiered! ezra fic that helped me become friends with @bodhimcbodeface​, the ketbine soulmate au where sabine drew dicks all over her face, and then there’s the mirialan!ezra au. 

2017: 

you, me, and the flash makes three

Fandom: The Flash 

Pairings: Cisco/Iris, eventual Cisco/Barry/Iris

Summary: When Barry Allen wakes up from his coma, he finds out that Iris is dating Cisco. He tries really hard to dislike the guy, but Cisco makes it really hard. He's a likable dude.Things get more complicated from there.

A.N: i have a few others that i would have liked to put for this year, but i saw “you me and the flash makes three” and then i was like. well shit. i can’t pick anything else. this fic is a little under 15k and it’s really one of my favorite things that i’ve ever written. it’s a little cheesy and at parts feels a little clunky, but i think that the way that i was able to hit the most important emotional beats for season one of the flash and flesh out all the relationships within an ot3 outweigh that. 

honorable mentions are: how to fall in love with your mark, the bluepulse fic where bart allen realizes that he can’t kill jaime reyes and 

mantis prays to oregon, the guardians of the galaxy vol. 2 fic where mantis is ego’s biological child, but that somehow makes everything worse

2018: 

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairings: Ochako/Bakugo 

Summary:  Ochako sees none of herself in Bakugo’s pure rage, her sheer confidence. Bakugo holds up an enormous middle finger to the world and says come and get it. She’s harsh. She’s loud. She’s angry. She doesn’t say what’s on her mind; she shouts it.If she’s being completely honest, Ochako is a bit in awe with her.People might not like her, but they take her seriously. Bakugo grabs them by the throats, pulls them in and says “I am woman, hear me roar."

Sequel to "knights in shining armor"

A.N: 2018 was the year that I embraced the gender bend and started writing bildungsromans that deal with coming of age and trying to puzzle out wtf being a person and gender even are. I’m really pleased with all of them, but this is my favorite. Partially because I think it’s the most well-written, partially because I like the motifs the best, but mainly because it taught me a lot about myself and my writing. 

Also it accidentally got me to ship kacchako, which is something I appreciate. 

honorable mentions: hers, not his: the fem!todoroki one where she learns that sometimes telling your dad to fuck off isn’t worth giving up the things that you love

gimme a boost over heaven’s gate, the one where eleanor and tahani end up on the same talk show together. then bone. then become better people

2019: 

Paint a New Horizon 

Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire

Pairings: Sansa/Margaery and abusive Sansa/Joffrey

Summary:  Sansa is a painter. The moment that she meets Joffrey he becomes her muse. After they get married she starts to see his true colors unfold in front of her and she loses her passion. Then she meets Margaery. Her presence changes everything, and reignites a passion for painting and for life that Sansa thought was long buried. It’s too bad that leaving Joffrey isn’t an easy task.

A.N: this fic is 23k of my sweat and tears. i know that it’s kind of a weird premise, but this was the most gripping writing i’ve done all year. it was exactly right for me at that moment. 

however, it does spell a bit of a turning point in my writing and life. in the past, i have written short fics that i could get posted fairly quickly. this fic was the result of multiple weeks of work when i was off school, not working much, and focusing mainly on... writing this damn thing. moving forward, i’m going to have to try to figure out a way to keep up my motivation and drive with longer projects when i don’t have the time to dedicate to HUGE chunks of work at one time when i also know i’m not going to get the instant gratification of kudos immediately after a long writing sesh. i know that sounds silly, but this is the first year where the majority of the fics i wrote WERE longer. 

while i’m very pleased with all of these longer fics, it does mark a shift that i will just have to learn how to deal with. 

honorable mention: A Woman’s Place, the handmaid’s tale time travel fix it fic

[dippedanddripped]

This holiday season, the hottest place to shop in Los Angeles won’t be on shoppers’ paradise Rodeo Drive, but in a warehouse in the city’s grubby garment district. That’s where A Current Affair, one of the world’s hottest vintage marketplaces, will be on December 7.

High-end vintage fashion is having an unprecedented moment, and A Current Affair’s founder Richard Wainwright – resolutely shy in his thick-rimmed glasses, patterned button-down shirt and jeans – is right in the middle of it.

Wainwright has the perfect pedigree for vintage – he has degrees in fashion marketing and merchandising from the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York, and in history of art from the University of California, Berkeley.

“Vintage has always played a role in my life,” says Wainwright. “I started collecting at an early age. Back then, we didn’t really have ‘

fast fashion

’ so combining items found at thrift stores and yard sales was both a creative outlet and a practical way to afford clothing [that] my parents wouldn’t otherwise buy me.”

Shoppers trying on items at A Current Affair.

When Wainwright started A Current Affair nine years ago, the event had only 17 exhibitors.

“Today, we are now a community of over 200 sellers popping up in Los Angeles, Brooklyn and the San Francisco Bay Area seven times a year, in addition to trunk shows … and we did an event at [department store] Isetan in Tokyo this autumn. There is nowhere else to shop that compares to A Current Affair,” Wainwright says proudly, describing the marketplace’s clothes as “the best vintage on the planet”.

A vintage look at A Current Affair.

Liz Baca, with her fiancé Michael D’Andrade, is the owner of The Goods, an appointment-only showroom of designer vintage clothes in Los Angeles, and a vendor at A Current Affair.

“The vintage marketplace has exploded,” says Baca. “When I began, people didn’t really understand what I did. Today, everyone sells vintage clothing. It’s become mainstream.”

The world of high-end vintage is not what you get at your local second-hand shop. Instead of costume jewellery, old flannels and luggage from the 1960s, it’s more 19th-century lace gowns, 1920s cocktail dresses adorned with hand-sewn bead work and feathers, and chunky solid gold jewellery from the decadent ’80s.

Band shirts can still be found at A Current Affair, but they might set you back several hundred US dollars.

A vintage fur coat at A Current Affair.

A vintage dress at A Current Affair.The appeal of vintage is wide and varied, and pieces are often one of a kind. The chances of you showing up to a party where someone is wearing the same pencil skirt from the 1940s as you are is almost non-existent. And, because of their age, vintage pieces have a story to tell.

Yes, designer threads tell the world that you have plenty of money, but vintage clothes have history – and the romance of a new couture ball gown pales in comparison to that of a century-old silk.

Anyone who isn’t wearing vintage has a one-dimensional view of fashion, and it reads as flat and boring in today’s over-saturated visual environmentA Current Affair’s founder Richard Wainwright

Common criticisms of vintage clothes – that they show wear and tear or look worn – are seen as something to be proud of by many clothes lovers. The patina of an already cherished garment is something that no amount of chemical treatment or factory distressing can emulate.

Broader economic trends are also at work. Retail is in trouble, and bricks-and-mortar stores are struggling to stay afloat across the board – some fast-fashion brands, such as Forever 21, have already filed for bankruptcy and closed their stores.

Meanwhile, A Current Affair feels vital and packed with shoppers – including fashion icons like Donald Glover – on the day we visited a pop-up in September.

“It feels as if we are the only type of fashion retail that is booming,” says Wainwright. “Everyone complains that retail is dead but our shows are very much alive.”

Why are millennials in Malaysia and Singapore deserting H&M?

While some of the vendors at A Current Affair have shops, the majority conduct their business online, or through rented by-appointment-only show rooms. Vintage doesn’t require bricks-and-mortar stores to stay afloat. Social media, especially platforms like Instagram, have been a godsend for vintage purveyors. Instagram offers a way for sellers to display their wares to their targeted audiences anywhere in the world without significant overheads.

“Fashionable people have always turned to vintage, but in this age of social media there is added pressure to have things that no one else does or to combine things in unique ways,” says Wainwright. “Anyone who isn’t wearing vintage has a one-dimensional view of fashion, and it reads as flat and boring in today’s over-saturated visual environment. ”

Vintage sunglasses at A Current Affair.

Vintage is also a sustainable option in a time when people are increasingly aware of the environmental impact and human toll of fast fashion. It is essentially recycling, without the buyer having to bear responsibility for its sourcing and manufacture. And, even if the piece you buy is originally from a large fashion house, the money you spend goes to small business retailers, not large corporations.

Until recently, the biggest obstacle to vintage overtaking traditional fashion was the Asian market, where online statistics portal Statista expects fashion sales to hit almost US$362 billion this year.

Historically, vintage, at the risk of generalisation, just didn’t check the boxes that many Asian buyers are looking for in status clothes: big name label recognition, bleeding-edge trendiness and price tags that are as jaw-dropping as they are widely known. In China (the largest market by far) there are legal restrictions around importing second-hand clothes. There are even superstitions against wearing vintage – like the belief that wearing a dead person’s clothes will upset the original owner’s ghost.

How a fast-fashion boycott could help save the world

This is changing fast. Japan has long led the way in Asian interest in vintage, with

Tokyo now a mecca for the most dedicated vintage enthusiasts

. This fervour, however, is global. There are major vintage markets in many Asian metropolises, including Bangkok, Beijing, Tokyo and Seoul, that are often considered just as hip as – or even more hip – than big label stores or glitzy shopping districts.

After English, the most commonly spoken language at the A Current Affair pop-up in Los Angeles in September was Mandarin. A Current Affair also hosted its first Asian pop-up event in Tokyo last month, presenting more than 500 vintage pieces curated for the Japanese market to eager crowds in the city’s Shinjuku neighbourhood.

“I have certainly noticed an interest in vintage clothing spread in the Asian markets,” says Baca. “These days, interest there is just as widespread as other markets. I see it only growing bigger.”

A vintage dress at A Current Affair.

The global shift towards vintage over fast fashion in the last few years has been drastic, and is poised to accelerate further still.

New York University business professor Scott Galloway predicted, as reported in the Australian newspaper Sydney Morning Herald last month, that global second-hand clothes sales will overtake fast fashion within nine years – and the numbers bear this out.

In 2018, according to Statista, the American vintage clothing market was worth US$24 billion, compared to US$35 billion for fast fashion. In nine years, analysts expect the second-hand clothes industry to reach US$64 billion, with fast fashion trailing at US$44 billion.

A vintage fur coat at A Current Affair

“Vintage has gone mainstream, especially with the endorsement of celebrities wearing vintage on the red carpet,” says Eddie Paul Friend of Lust and Fond, a California-based vendor at A Current Affair.

Those celebrities – like Zooey Deschanel, Christina Hendricks and Aya Cash – also show off their latest fashion finds on Instagram, where they are as likely to shout out to their favourite vintage shops as they are to their favourite labels.

Even high-fashion icons like Kate Moss have come out as proud vintage shoppers. October saw the release of Musings on Fashion and Style: Museo de la Moda , a book Moss collaborated on that serves as a paean to her favourite vintage pieces and looks.

“The buyer has changed,” says Baca. “Used clothing has become socially acceptable, so now you see all ages, financial backgrounds and races buying vintage clothes.”

This article appeared in the South China Morning Post print edition as: How vintage is fast becoming A Global trend

[zweiherzen]

✘ (Apex Verse) What are you hoping to accomplish here? *Why* are you here? In the games I mean.

—  ANONYMOUS USER  //  My muse has to tell the truth for 10 asks.

he hadn’t expected to be herded into  much sponsorship or promotional media. Or any media at all, for that matter, given his shaky popularity — if he has any to start with in the first place — among the Games’ various competitors. There are many things that Cardiac could be considered: cruelly disloyal; blatantly violent; plainly brutish. But he’s certainly not imperceptive, and it has not at all slipped his notice that he is no pleasantly received character among the public. Though he’ll admit that the spite towards his methods is not exactly the best kept secret.

It’s a good thing that the majority of his  ( very recognisable )  facial structure remains hidden in the arena — cheekbones and thin lips tucked away beneath the thick of his mask — and that those who openly detest him in the Games don’t seek out content other than what of the tournaments is publicly broadcasted. Some do make it their business to pursue that which they hate, however, and those few are hard pressed to keep quiet about their hatred. Cardiac would have praised the mindless courage it takes to approach in broad daylight, bringing fitful accusations to fling at his name and his sheer lack of morality …  well. He would, if it weren’t for the abundance of spiteful stares — and oftentimes more than just that — thrown his way once the bareness of his façade is stripped away. It’s not so difficult for a clever pair of eyes accustomed enough to the peculiarity of his upper face, or for a careful ear keen enough to latch onto familiar timbre and accent. It’s no wonder that Cardiac has found himself occasionally considering one of Bloodhound’s masks, hung on gaily display in most shops, when a trip down the block chases him off the streets with fairly unpleasant encounters.

The impossible does happen, however. 

He’d like his mask on, he’d told the agents. Luckily for him, they’d responded — with the slightest hint of coarse disapproval, barely perceptible when spooned into a healthy serving of incredibly corporate and businesslike  ( greedy )  enthusiasm — that his audience adored that consistent hint of mystery about him. Mystery adorned in no small amount of blood and gore and guts, of course …  but a lucrative and compelling brand of mystery nonetheless.

Questions and answers are the entertainment of the day, he’s readily informed. He is expected to deliver whatever he pleases, so long as it keeps viewers riveted to the stream. There’s little else expected of him except that, when enquiries are offered forth, he must in kind offer them something exciting. Something devious. Even something so detestably awful that it incites rage and disgust, if it so amuses him. Whatever he must, whether it be truth or anything but, to keep the little counter on the stream rising, or at the least constant.

Not an issue. He has always been exceedingly skilled at putting up a show.

Enquiries are drawn by chance from the submissions  ( of which there are none-too-few, despite the hatred that comes always with the utterance of his name ). Those entered alongside a generous donation return higher chances of having their morbid curiosities satisfied — or, in some unfortunate cases, laughed aside — by one of the Games’ most gruesome killers. A Legend Cardiac is not, many have agreed. But a killer ?  yes, and a most efficient one, at that.

As it turns out, for a demographic in attendance at the livestream of an acclaimed killer, the majority seem awfully interested only in the mundane. Questions of morning routine, favourite coffee roasts, family life, are drawn one after another. Most he entertains, though the more personal he chases aside with vagueness and chortles. The chat is still chastising him for dodging some cryptic request from an anonymous viewer to  ‘ hit the dab, ’  and they have just entangled themselves in the thick of proclaiming him a coward when the next question’s drawn and flashed on the screen before him.

> What are you hoping to accomplish here? > Why are you here? In the games I mean.

He stills, laughter faltering to a steady silence as he reads the question over once more. A more personal question than he’s expected to receive this evening, though it may seemingly pale in comparison to requests for his entire career and life history. Unadorned as it is, it has unknowingly tapped into a reservoir of something so much more than the simple and brutish show Cardiac puts on for the Games.

He considers a lie. Or a humorous quip. Both are just as likely to please the crowd and save him the trouble of baring the inside of his head, exposed for all to see. But perhaps, just this once, a hint of honesty might change up the game a bit.

“ Solace. A quiet bar. I was passing by in my travelling — occupying myself with drink for company. Nothing particularly exciting; I’ve circuited through many times. Whiskey, ”  he adds in response to the chat’s immediate enquiries. He remembers the taste of it well, the sting of alcohol on his tongue seared into his mind alongside that moment. He remembers, vividly: the uproar in the bar as something flickers across the few monitors mounted above the counter … something shocking enough that patrons surge forward in their seats to slam glass against tabletops, the bar hosting such a multitude of horrified moans that they seem to echo, multiplying, against one another. These are mixed in with the peppering of distant cheers, all promptly hushed once they are met by fellow patrons with further revulsion. 

The Gauntlet, perhaps? Another defying act of bravery as tragic as the case, flitting about here and there, of a boy who’s injured his legs all for the sake of a record? 

A crane of the neck was all it took to peer over at the counter from his seat. All it took to seize him, wholly and unequivocally, as he caught sight the monitor — of blood splattered across concrete. Of gaseous fumes curling at the feet of a man who moves with a brand of deliberation that Ludwig has never seen in any stride save for his own. It’s a sort of deliberation, terrifying and otherworldly, that can be rarely derived from the set of brows and from that fire which lives within the eyes of men haunted … men riveted by the prospects of something so much grander than themselves. It’s a fire that turns them into ghosts of godliness, stalking between realms of that mundane tedium which most of humanity content themselves with living within …  reaching, ever-hungry, for a knowledge most men only dream of scratching the surface of. It’s a fire that eats at those it possesses, driving them to create and to destroy, to seek the breaching of that ever thinning line between life and death.

He walked away from Solace’s bar that evening with the shadow of death still stalking behind his eyelids,and  with a name pried from a nearby patron who knows just enough about the Apex Games to provide the information that he needs.

Caustic. 

He’s babbling, live, without thinking about the words that come from his mouth. He hardly cares. His mind is occupied with the startlingly vivid memory of his retreat to his rented room that night, how the rest of the late evening and the hours of the days that followed were consumed in digging out buried footage from the Apex Games that he’d never before taken much interest in. The footage is poorly edited, mediocre in terms of entertainment at most. Quite clearly catered to the general public. A bloodsport is no novel concept, but whoever runs the Games now do the gruesome stories of the old tradition no justice. He tolerates the grating narration, sifting through the many, many clips only for a chance to spot the merciless force of a gloved fist caving in competitors’ unwitting skulls. A chance to watch the lethal deliberation of those eyes again as bright gases swallow prospective Legends in a cloud of death.

“ I’d never quite seen anything like it. I still haven’t seen anything like it. If I close my eyes now, ”  and he does so, with a slight lean back into the plush of his seat,  “ I can see it all still, in such vivid detail. The wonders of a sharp memory! You could say that I was — inspired. 

“ The Games were never so appealing until I knew that men like him chose them as grounds for their work. Glory and money are decent enough rewards, and I always appreciate the extra funding for my more fantastic projects. That, along with the wonderful abundance of living subjects that come pouring in for their chance at fame and fortune. All mingling in the arena, ready for their eventual contribution to my work. If they will die — and there is bound to be death in a bloodsport — at least they will do having played their part in something much more important than themselves…  oh, but I came to the Games for more than just that. ” 

Sullenness overcomes, breaching grinning visage and swallowing the giddy veneer of cheer into a drastic sobriety. He’s quiet as fingers curl across the damp surface of his glass, seeking anchorage: something tangible in this moment of overwhelming veneration. There is reverence quivering in hushed words when he next speaks, eyes watching some far point in the distance; the pad of his finger drags condensation across the shine of the table.

“ Nothing is quite so lonely as a bird without its flock, of course, ”  comes unbidden. They’re words he’d shared with another before: yet another mind far from keen, unfortunately, when it comes to grasping the importance of his ideals. He laughs, though there is a fresh bitterness to it.  “ I could care less for feeding the demand for brutish entertainment. I do enjoy it, but I had no interest in the Games for violence alone. There is more to life than the carnal desire, you know…  the physical body is of little worth when it makes no efforts to push the mind beyond its limits. ”  

( For man does not live on bread alone. )

“ Human beings are social creatures. They thrive among friends. Forging bonds is hardly an option, except for those few rarities. Adopting antisocial attitudes is more and more common in this day and age …  it’s becoming a trend, and a very unhealthy one, in my medical opinion. Humankind are evolved to seek out comfort in one another, and in the like-minded …  and I do admit that I have had a significant lack of like-minded colleagues in my work. I came to the Apex Games seeking peers. Those who wouldn’t mind sharing in my work. Perhaps even those who find themselves willing to collaborate. That, and. Well. I had hoped to meet the man who inspired my joining the Games. ”  There’s a pause.  “ But unlikely. We are both very, very busy men, of course. Though I have imagined it occasionally. ”

They are imaginings as mercurial as his temper. At times, in these imaginings, he is reluctant and skittish — like a young mare stumbling in the thicket over legs still brittle, but with passion enthused and fresh as Ludwig’s admiration. Just as often, however, these dreams are shrouded in blood, thick and coagulated for all the times Cardiac has dreamt of spilling the blood of the very man who inspired him. There is little more intimate than blood, after all. To kill the chemist by his own hands …  he could not think of anything else that would serve as such a testament to his unwavering respect. To have Caustic’s throat held fast beneath fingers stained red; to hold the chemist’s still-pulsing heart, hot and pungent with the stink of fresh blood, in the palm of his hand. Certainly nothing else would be as much an honour for the doctor. 

How Ludwig fears that, should they ever meet under different circumstances than those which his mind has drawn in vivid detail, he would confuse their meeting for nothing more than a most unusual dream.

He smiles, though it’s near invisible beneath the mask. Keen viewers will catch the spark of giddy frenzy in his eyes and the clever tilt of brows, however, as he leans forward towards the camera. There is something very nearly conspiratorial in his next words:  “ If you are watching — wonderful… !  I’m a fan. Keep up the good work, mein Freund. And perhaps, with luck, we’ll meet one day in the Ring. ”

The chat, in their confusion, take to filling their little box with a constant flow of bird emotes as the stream’s swiftly paused. The broadcasting crew have yet to inform Cardiac that an error has rendered the past four minutes of broadcast into complete static on viewers’ end, and that everything after “glory and money” has been lost to the void of technical issues.

[human-redesigned-rp]

Lost In Translation

Rory/Mai

While exploring the pastries available at the UCL coffee shop, Rory rubs Mai the wrong way.

Of the planets he's been to so far, the food on Earth was definitely Rory's favorite. And that was just in England. During his short time on this little planet, he learned that each country has their own special cuisine, and it only made him want to explore more. He overheard a student in his class, a female from a country called America, gush over how easy it was to bounce from country to country in Europe. Typically, only a few hours on a train. The temptation to take a weekend trip was there, but Rory was fairly certain he couldn't get away with it, unless he found a way to connect the trip to his mission.

He would just have to keep working his way through the British cuisine. So far, his favorites were the sweets. Pastries, in particular. There was a cafe on campus that the students frequented for coffee before their next class or to work on their assignments. It was Rory's favorite place to go after he finished his classes. Currently, he was peering through the glass case displaying all the delicious pastries, trying to remember which ones he already tried and which were his favorite. He stood out like a sore thumb in the crowd, though he didn't notice. His outfit of the day was a lavender jumper with a pair of tight black jeans that were littered with holes, and a floral scarf tied around his curls. He liked human clothes. They didn't make any sense, which was what made them fun. He was also wearing sunglasses in doors to protect his sensitive Eastern eyes. According to the other students, it wasn't usually this sunny during the season called "Winter," and Rory was suffering for it. It made him want to hide indoors, and spending hours in the cafe seemed like a good idea.

"I'll take a," Rory paused as he squinted at the title cards in front of the different pastries, delayed by the translator in his head. His English was decent, but specific names were hard for him to remember. "An almond croissant, a cheese danish, and a cranberry scone or is it scone?" So far, he heard multiple pronunciations of that word, and he still wasn't sure if was scahn or scohne. He turned to the person standing in line behind him, raising a brow, "Which do you think it is?"

~*~*~*~

Mai sighed miserably at the long line at the cafe. She should have just brewed her own coffee in the shared kitchen at her dorm, it would have been faster. This is what she deserved for being lazy.

She took the momentary wait as an opportunity to tie her streaky blue hair up in a bushy bun on top of her head. In front of her, a man dressed in flamboyant colors mused about pastries. She crossed her arms over her black fishnet shirt and grey flannel and leaned over to shift her weight onto one hip. When he turned to ask her about scones, her pink lips pulled into a flat line. She shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just give the man his pastry. Some of us need caffeine,” she growled at the cashier. Her sharp eyebrows peaked in surprise as they bagged up baked goodie after baked goodie. “Damn, you must have incredible metabolism. That’s like a thousand calories.”

~*~*~*~

The woman behind him said a lot of things that even his translator couldn't communicate to him, but it all sounded very scientific. Rory decided against asking for clarification, in case metabolisms and calories were inherent human knowledge. They were undercover, after all. "Yes," He replied simply with a too big grin and a quick nod.

Even though his food was ready, he didn't immediately turn back to the cashier, something about the woman distracting him. Her hair had streaks of blue in it, and Rory wondered if it was like that naturally or if humans had the power to change their hair color. Centaurians had the technology to change their appearance drastically, but he was pretty sure humans didn't.

"Your hair is beautiful," Rory mused. He reached a hand to poke at it, but then he remembered he learned very quickly that humans liked personal space and let his hand drop before he could start inspecting the blue streaks. "I think I'd like to have colors in my hair too. Maybe green." It would match their eyes nicely.

~*~*~*~

Mai blinked at the smiling stranger. A dagger-sharp eyebrow arched upward in morbid curiosity. Who the hell was this wacky space cadet? And why the hell is he staring at me?! Her rosy lips pursed into an aggravated frown. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. On instinct, her mind went to her camera in the pouch. Her fingers itched with that old familiar urge to film.

Finally, he said something. It didn't make Mai feel any less uncomfortable. She stepped back from the man in the pastel jumper. Her dark eyes squinted with suspicion. She was not in the mood to be flirted with, even by a potentially gay pastry lover. It wasn't until he mentioned dying his own hair green that her cold, standoffish expression melted away. "Oh, green dye doesn't stick so well. I've done it a few times. It washes right out after a few showers. You have to go blue, then the blue fades out to green when it washes out. It'll last longer than going with green first." She didn't know why she was giving hair dye advice to this weird stranger when all she wanted was her coffee and a quiet corner to edit yesterday's video takes. Maybe because this weird stranger seemed like they really needed the help. I mean, who dyes their hair green for their first color? Clueless newbie.

She nodded her pointed chin toward the counter. "Your food is ready." She adjusted her bag again. Her fingers had yet to decide whether this guy was worthy of the battery power and memory space. "Some of us would like to get our coffee before the day ends," she continued to harass him, gentler this time. Maybe he was just the local crazy, every town had one. She was just shocked that it had taken her so long to bump into this one after living on campus for two years. Perhaps she'd been more elusive than she thought.

~*~*~*~

Rory nodded along to her explanation, frowning slightly as he tried to keep up with the translator in his head. It didn't help him understand what exactly she was talking about that though. He didn't know how a shower washed out a person's hair color. If he took enough showers would the brown wash out of his hair? What if he wanted to change his hair to different color like pink or purple? Were there rules for those colors too?

Rory had a lot of follow up questions, but didn't have a chance to ask any before she was ushering him towards his food. He wasn't put off by her impatience though, much too excited to finally get his hands on all those sweets. Grinning, he took the bag of pastries from the barista and handed her a lump of notes that he didn't bother to count beforehand. He knew it wasn't the right way to pay as soon as he saw the look on her face, but he was still getting used to the whole human money thing.

The barista huffed in annoyance and counted out the correct amount before handing Rory his change. "Thank you!" He grinned before looking at his new friend. "Do you want to sit with me? I might have ordered too much food, and I want to hear more about turning your hair different colors."

~*~*~*~

The man in pastel collected his bag of pastries with the enthusiasm of a child at a candy store. He handed over a wad of cash and strained smile on the face of the girl behind the counter told everyone in line that they would still be waiting longer. “Ohmygod,” Mai groaned. She rolled her eyes in utter disbelief. Never had she met someone so utterly oblivious to social cues.

When he turned back to her, hands stuffed with baked goods and loose change, he gave her a sunny grin and an unexpected invitation. Mai nearly choked on her surprise. Blinking in shock, she held up one finger to him. “Hold on a minute.” Coffee first, before all decisions comes coffee. She stepped up to the counter and in one breath ordered her large dark roast with soy milk. The barista swiped her credit card, handed her the cup of black liquid, and away she went. She waved for the strange man to follow as she weaved through the tables to her regular table in the back corner.

“Thanks, but no thanks, I can’t eat any sweets. I’m on a diet.” She finally replied to his friendly offer. As she set her laptop out on the table and slid into her seat she asked, “What’s your name?” Her fingers tapped her password in with sharp key strokes before she looked up expectantly. “You from around here?”

~*~*~*~

Rory stepped out of the way of the line, already digging into the bag for his first pastry and taking a bite. It was the cranberry scone, and it was delicious--a little dry, but it would go perfectly with his coffee. Humans did a good job of pairing food and drinks, he thought as he took another experimental bite. He was already half way through when the girl returned with her coffee, waving for him to follow.

Placing his bag of sweets on the table, he took a seat across from her, pausing to take a sip of the warm coffee. A diet, he remembered this one. The humans went on those when they wanted to be healthier or lose weight. She didn't look like she needed to lose any weight, but Rory hadn't thought that about anyone yet. "Rory," He answered with a dimply grin. At first, it was hard for him to remember to answer with his human name and not his real one, but now he was finding that he much preferred the one given to him for his mission.

"I'm from...France," He said slowly. It was the back story he was told. Born in France but moved to England at some point in his childhood. He wasn't sure why they made it so complicated, but he was having too much fun making up stories about his past to care. "And you?"

~*~*~*~

Mai's dark eyes darted up from her screen to eye the cheerful man called Rory. "France," she repeated back with a skeptical lift of a sharp eyebrow. Sure, he had a funky accent, but it didn't sound quite like French to her. She wasn't intimately familiar with the language, though. She'd only been to France once, as a child, when her father was still alive. They'd visited the South of France on holiday together. She'd played on the beaches and ate rich French foods for a week with her mum and dad. Her thin eyes narrowed with suspicion. Rory, from France. Maybe she had stumbled the local crazy after all.

"I'm a local," she replied vaguely. She tapped the icons for her video library and editing program before leaning over to tug her camera out of its case. She plugged it in to the laptop. "Name's Mai." The download began, a little loading bar cycling on her screen while flickering images of girls in ghoulish makeup and greasy hair flickered across the screen. Mai frowned at it and took a gulp of her coffee. The heat buzzed in her stomach, slowly radiating out to her fingers.

"Have you ever been in a film before?" The question came without warning while she watched her download lurching across the screen. She must be interested in filming him, she realized, otherwise she wouldn't have bothered to ask. The ideas were starting to take shape already. Pretty Rory and his pretty smile, dressed in his soft pastel colors, juxtaposed against something brutal and dark. The pretty face we put on to cover up our failures as a culture. Mai clicked over to her editing program and opened a new file. "I don't mean like on the telly. I mean a real film," she clarified, just in case he thought he might pretend to know a thing or two about cinema.

~*~*~*~

"Mai," Rory repeated slowly. It was a short name, but he still wanted to get it right. He wasn't sure what humans considered an unusual name, but it wasn't one he heard yet, and he liked it. "Nice to meet you," He added, remembering that was part of the whole manners thing he was still learning.

He watched as she setup her laptop as he took another bite of his scone, washing it down with the coffee. He wondered what she was working on. So far, his assignments included a lot of writing and reading about the country he was supposed to be from in a large, very heavy book. Mai's sudden question broke Rory from his thoughts, and it took him a second to respond, relying heavily on his translator and his knowledge on human things so far. He's seen a few films, since his time on earth, and he liked them. He never realized he could be in one himself.

"No," Rory shook his head, curls bouncing with the movement. "Should I try? Are they fun? To be in, I mean?" He asked.

~*~*~*~

She glanced over the top of her screen at his pleasant introduction. Her eyebrows arched upward as if to say, really? She doubted it was really all that nice to meet her, but this guy also seemed to be immune to her anti-social hinting, so maybe he was being honest after all. Either way, Mai gave him the same critical stare before turning back to her screen.

She clicked through a few files before pulling up a scene she was working on cropping and fitting together into a rough draft of the final film. She smirked at the look of sheer terror on the actress’ face as she hung helplessly with the demon monster approaching. Mai let the video clip play silently as she scanned through the still frames for the perfect place to cut.

“Umm...” She debated her reply as she cropped the video and replayed it again. “That depends how much of a masochist you are.” She spun the laptop around to show Rory the clip of the girl, wide-eyed and screaming, dangling from her ankles. “I made poor Ally hang there for over half an hour as we shot this scene from four angles. She’s still narked at me for that one.”

~*~*~*~

Rory tilted his head curiously as she played a clip for him from her laptop. So far, the films he saw so far were more in the fantasy genre, according to the humans. The sight of a girl screaming in horror was something Rory had yet to see, and he couldn't help but furrow his eyebrows in confusion, wondering why humans would want to watch other humans be scared.

Then Mai said something that really confused him. Rory never stopped to think about how films came to be, he assumed they just...existed. Like maybe the television made them itself, but from what they've seen the humans aren't technologically advanced enough for that.

"You...shot this?" Rory asked slowly. He had a lot of questions. How did she hang there for over half an hour when the scene was just a few minutes long? Was Ally okay? And what does "shot" mean? The translator in his head kept was talking about guns and syringes, but neither of those seemed right. "You created it?" He asked again, hoping he was getting closer without completely giving himself away.

~*~*~*~

“Yup.” Mai spun the screen around. She clicked a couple of buttons, cropped the shot down to only a few seconds long, and then moved on to the next shot. The axe murderer in his playful mask limped toward her with menacing slowness. Mai clicked around to find a length she liked flr the shot, then turned her computer to show Rory again.

“This is my sick and twisted brainchild. It’s not done, so no, you can’t watch it, and no I’m not going to tell you the plot because then you’ll go write a book and say it was your idea or something stupid. Creative confidentiality sorry.” She smirked proudly as the axe murderer raised his weapon and then the screen went black.

Mai flipped the laptop back around. “And cut to the gore effects,” she muttered to herself. “Corn syrup, foam organs, and latex makeup, the best part of making a movie.”

~*~*~*~

Rory removed his sunglasses and rubbed at his sensitive eyes, adjusting to the lighting inside the cafe. Mai was saying so many things that Rory didn't understand, and it felt like it would take him years to catch up. His translator was working frantically in his head, unable to translate certain words like "foam organs."  Admittedly, he was still trying to comprehend what she meant by stealing her idea and writing a book, rather than the other strange words.

Blinking, he watched clip Mai showed him, wondering where the man got his mask. He kind of wanted one for himself. "Making a movie sounds like a lot of work," Rory commented wearily.

"So, all that blood you see in a film is fake?" He asked slowly. It probably wasn't a question a human would ask, but he needed to know these things if he was going to blend in. It would probably look a little odd if he watched a film with another student and got horrendously disturbed during a murder scene, because he thought it was real.

~*~*~*~

Leaning back in her chair, Mai crossed her arms over her chest and shot Rory a curious look. At this rate, she wasn't going to get much editing done this morning, not with this dingus questioning every step of the process. She'd just have to save it for later, when she had some peace and quiet. She lifted her coffee to her lips, still staring at the weirdo in the soft colored jumper. She needed more caffeine before she could handle any more idiotic questions.

"Yeah, it is work," she replied curtly. She took another deep gulp, before she added with a sigh, "It takes a couple of years to make anything of length and quality. It's not all fun and games. Most of it is spent at the computer stitching it all together one tiny piece at a time." Long pale fingers tapped on the save icon and began to shut down programs.

Her sharp winged eyes flickered up over the screen of her laptop to give him a long stare. Are you serious? She wanted to ask. Without looking down, she slowly folded the laptop shut. "Yeah..." She started slowly, shocked that she had to really explain this. "Most of the time it's colored syrup. If you get a real intense director, sometimes they use pig's blood, but that's pretty controversial." Looking down at the table, she sipped her coffee again, her eyes loudly announcing 'I can't believe this dumbarse' to nobody in particular.

"Hey listen," she finally ventured. "Where are you from, really? Because it sure as hell isn't France, not unless you grew up under France's most rural rock. Seriously."

~*~*~*~

Rory tried to keep his expression calm as he panicked internally. His mission was to blend in and gather information on Ara’or-vezz. Drawing attention to himself might ruin his cover and warn Ara’or that the Centauri were watching. So far, he wasn't doing a good job of either, but he wasn't really trying. Earth was a massive, exciting planet, and he would rather learn all he could about it than stalk a fugitive doctor he honestly didn't care that much about. Why focus on that when he could talk to Mai and find out how films are made?

What if he just told her the truth? From the few conversations he had with humans about space, they didn't believe beings from other planets existed. So the likelihood of her putting much value into him admitting he was, as the humans called, an "alien" was low. Still, it was better to be safe.

"Yes, I grew up under France's most rural rock," He confirmed with a cheeky grin. "My parents taught me at home and didn't believe in technology."

~*~*~*~

Okay, what the fuck? The moment she called him out on his BS, the guy turned white as a sheet. The silence between them lingered like a toxic fog of awkwardness, infecting everything around it with its anxious anticipation. Mai fidgeted with the paper sleeve on her cup of coffee, dagger-sharp eyes dissecting his every slight change in expression. Something didn't feel right, and it wasn't her editing choices. Rory was a filthy liar.

Him agreeing with her exact statement only proved her suspicions. His grin was bitter with mischief. She squints at him, a disapproving scowl turning her fair features. "Alright, cool." She dismissed the conversation with a wave of her hand. Without another word, she set to packing away her laptop and gathering her things to leave.

[shooter-nobunagun]

Alabaster  1/2 (R-18)

//Been a long while since I wrote any drabble/stand-alone stories, let alone a fluffy one that didn’t involve smut or angst (lol). Kinda sensual, but nothing explicit. HAHA JUST KIDDING 🙃

Edit 1: This was supposed to be a fluffy drabble but it turned into more fleshing out/nuances of ‘how e-genes work’ in the canon sense; especially since Hisa-sensei recently answered a bunch of questions on Twitter regarding more mechanics of e-genes and the like, I wanted to explore those ideas (and now I realized that a lot of my stories might not match up canonically. Whoops).

Edit 2: There wasn’t supposed to be smut but then...smut... *sighs* I guess that’s what happens when I don’t give my muses smut for a long time...

Edit 3: Adding smut made it get a lot longer than just a drabble....why me

Warnings: suggestive sexual content

Smooth, unfettered, and perfectly pale-white; like looking at one of those marble statues carved by the great masters, to her it seemed almost as if she were gazing at an art piece, so perfect was his figure.

Well, truth be told if she ever told her husband she thought him equal to a Roman god, he’d just sigh and roll his eyes. Sio clicked her tongue wryly and decided against waking him up just to tell him such a particular comment, instead filing away said tidbit in the back of her mind. Maybe later, such as when she needed to appease his ego and get him to ravish her senseless. Not that last night had been unsatisfying by any means, oh no; rubbing her thighs together slightly, Sio letting the tingle of faint pleasure run through her spine. They said on average it took about half a year for pregnancy to go from planning to actually happening, and seeing as how they were coming up on their fifth month of trying...

Though personally, if remaining non-pregnant for a few more months equated to some more intense lovemaking sessions, Sio had no qualms about that.

A soft sigh on the bed beside her, Adam turning over just slightly on the pillow but otherwise remained unmoving. His hair, which was just as pale as his complexion, fanned out around his neck and the top of his back--which, Sio discovered, was not actually completely white but upon closer inspection, was dotted with a tiny band of very pale freckles, just across the top. She’d discovered this adorable feature after lounging over him one day, lazily enjoying the feel of his skin against hers while tracing imaginary patterns between them.

‘Ooh, you’ve got freckles back here!’ Sio exclaimed with a squeal as her fingers smoothed across his muscular back.

‘Oh, guess I do...not that I’ve paid much attention. Probably too much sun...’ Adam replied blithely, trying not to let on he was actually ticklish near his hairline. 

Sio only smiled before placing a light kiss right between his shoulder blades. ‘Well, I think they’re cute. It looks nice against your skin...kind of like, stars. You know, like how the Milky Way has all those tiny little stars?’

At this comment Adam rolled over, forcing Sio to get off. ‘Stars? You always have quite the imagination, love...’

She giggled a bit at that memory, not in the least because it led to some of the most intense sex they’d had in a long time. Silently she traced the hard ridges of muscle along his back, marveling at how perfectly etched each line seemed to be. Back when she’d first walked in on him changing--an accident, truly--even with that irksome attitude of his, she couldn’t help but be captivated upon the sight of his muscular backside, not super-macho but a solidly-built figure with strong arms that felt wonderful to be held in...

A surge of heat pooled between her legs and Sio had to resist the urge to slip a finger down there. In hindsight, perhaps graduating from an all-girls high school had some downsides...

Beneath her the sleeping wolf was finally stirring, no doubt awakened by her feather-light touches as they dipped below his waist. “Hmmm...well I suppose that’s one way fer a wake-up call in the mornin’...”

“Ah, ohayou, Adam...”

He blinked those sleepy emeralds at her, clearly amused by her wandering hands as he rolled over and stretched, Sio shamelessly taking advantage of the view to burn his fabulous six-pack into her mind. “Don’t tell me yer thinkin’ of spicin’ up the morning already...it’s not even,” he glanced briefly at the clock, “9 o’clock yet...”

“Wee-e-l-ll, I mean it’s up to you,” she suggested coyly, “’cause let’s be real, when would I ever pass up the opportunity?”

He smirked at her response, running a hand through his bangs before he sat up and pulled her into his lap. “Actually, I can think of a few. But let’s not talk about that right now...I was thinking of some tea first, maybe? Perhaps a bite to eat?”

Just as he finished the sentence her stomach rumbled, Sio turning a dark shade of pink while Adam quirked a single white eyebrow. “Er, okay--I guess breakfast sounds pretty good right about now...ah ha ha, ha...”

“Right-o. Well, let’s rustle something up first, shall we?” He gave her a light kiss on the forehead and, despite being married and now attempting to start their own family, Sio still couldn’t help but blush to her very roots. “Oh Sio, you’re as cute as ever...”

“A-Adamu...” she muttered, his name taking on a more Japanese-accent than usual whenever she got flustered. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it...that, this is real, and it all happened...even though it wasn’t really that long ago, it feels like a lifetime, almost...”

He stared at her for a few seconds, before pulling her into a warm embrace she eagerly returned. “Same here, love...sometimes I almost forget I still have someone else’s DNA floating around my veins...but, I wouldn’t trade any of those struggles for this. For you,” he emphasized, touching their foreheads together. “Sometimes I find myself thinking about how much I changed, from before I met you to...now.”

“Yeah, you were kind of a jerk back then,” she shot back dryly, “but you were also...honest. And you still are, which is good. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I find myself missing your sarcasm sometimes...”

He let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head slowly. “Well, if you really miss it that much we can certainly arrange something...” his voiced trailed off slowly as her fingertips traced his skin once more. “...Something else, love?”

“Eh? No, it’s just...I guess I never realized how many scars you ended up getting, too...” Her eyes dimmed a little, mouth forming a thin line as she traced that particularly nasty gash along his left side, which never disappeared after that first battle in Taiwan. “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to them, but when you actually look...”

“Don’t worry about it, squirt,” he gently took her hand and laid it to her side. “Like I said, these are nothing; if anything, I could say the same to you...”

That horrid memory of when she lost control, and the only means to save her was a literal knife through the heart in the heat of the moment...despite the sensual mood she woke up with, Sio found herself quickly losing interest on that front, replaced with a need to simply feel him here, to reassure herself that what happened in the past was long ago, and nothing would happen to them now.

“Ah--Sio? You all right?” Adam was a bit alarmed at her sudden embrace, but didn’t hesitate to hold her tightly. “Hey...sorry, didn’t mean to bring up bad memories...”

“No...I brought it up first, so it’s not your fault,” her muffled voice came from his chest. “Mmm...I love you Adam...I love feeling you like this, touching and being with you and stuff...it feels so nice...and you smell nice, too.”

“Uuhh...hmmm....” Adam could only give a wordless, half-mumbled reply, not sure how to respond. Sio was sweet and honest, but surprisingly conservative with her words; rarely did she so earnestly declare her feelings for him, instead preferring to show it through physical acts or other small quirks. Adam on the other hand, despite his aloof appearance and often dry wit, never failed to shower her with affectionate quips whenever she was feeling down.

How different things were now, compared to when they first met; after joining DOGOO he’d quickly earned a reputation to be snarky and acerbic, the loner who preferred to do things his own way simply because it was easier than attempting to get along with everyone. Even his first words exchanged with the sniper were decidedly less-than-kind: jabs about her lack of skill, her inexperience, chastising her to stay out of his way and ‘leave it to the professionals’ and to not show any signs of weakness...Adam couldn’t help but smirk wryly to himself. Oh, how shocked his peers would be if they knew how drastically he’d changed. It wasn’t that they no longer teased or sparred with words--but rather, the circumstances changed. It pained him slightly to remember how often he’d put her down in the beginning, but looking back, perhaps it was a sign of his inexperience in forming relationships with others, be it friendship or something more. Being a loner for much of his life made it difficult to gauge others, to know who to trust and how to show that trust; the only way to protect yourself was to hurt others before they hurt you, or else drive them off, because the pain of betrayal was even worse.

He looked down at the woman in his arms, who was now nuzzling and resting her head comfortably against his chest. Who would’ve ever thought his type would be petite brunettes with flat chests? Adam sweatdropped a little as the last thought floated through his head; while it was true he judged people more on personality than appearances, his imaginations used to be about the typical ‘full-figured’ women much like their friend Jess Beckham, although he should’ve guessed that wasn’t the case the day he first met the blonde formally, and then proceeded get assaulted with an overzealous tongue--he shuddered slightly even now. No, love was more complicated than that, and now he found himself very much enjoying her lithe figure, the way she fit so nicely against him and how perfectly each breast could fit into his palm...he shifted his legs slightly, hoping Sio wouldn’t notice a rather suspicious hardness near her bum...

“Oh, sorry...am I sitting on your legs? Sorry...” Before Adam could say anything she scooted back onto the bed, to his disappointment. “Anyway, no matter how you change, you’ll always be the same Adam Muirhead to me. E-gene holder of Florence Nightingale, and one of the world’s saviors.”

“Hah! Shouldn’t I be saying that, Miss Sio Ogura? E-gene holder of Oda Nobunaga and Kaoru Asao, master tactician and the one who actually saved us all by ending it at last?” He teased, tapping her on the nose. 

“That’s Mrs. Sio Muirhead to you, Mr. Muirhead,” she tapped his nose back. “Even though I still miss Asao-san...at least, I guess she’ll always be with me...in a manner of speaking...” Her eyes took on a distant look as she hugged herself. “I’m kind of jealous...I wish I could talk with my e-genes the way you do with Nightingale...the most I ever get are just one-way images and thoughts, not an actual conversation or anything like that...heck, I can’t even see them most of the time, and when I do, it always feels more like a dream...”

“Eh, to be honest, it’s not really something I’d wish on anyone...” For reasons none of them fully understood, not all holders could communicate with their perspective e-genes on the same level. There had been a report one time with Saint-Germain and Vidocq theorizing about the supposed levels of synchronization between holders and e-genes, and the different factors that affected it (personality, mental state, genetics among others) but Adam only remembered hearing the beginning before zoning out into a quick doze, the presentation not even half over. 

Still, out of all the holders he was probably one of the most perceptive, the only one who could actually see and hear them as he would a regular person; often seemingly lost in thought as he listened to the voice inside his head, even interacting with them as he would a real flesh-and-blood human. Though research in this area wasn’t definitive, he gathered most other holders didn’t even see or talk to them, or if they did, it tended to come in dream-like fragments and memories, much like how Sio re-lived Oda Nobunaga’s memories to tap into his strategic prowess. “Seriously, it can get pretty annoying at times...not to mention creepy, now that I think about it...” Adam’s faced darkened as he remembered the number of times Nightingale seemed to just choose his path for him--whether it was something as innocuous as which shirt to wear after a shower or menu item to order, or (his face blushed darkly at this memory) Nightingale’s shocked expression when he was staring at two smutty DVD covers, unconsciously asking her which one to indulge in. But those were just trivial things he usually didn’t care about (except maybe the porn, which was one incident that never repeated itself again); in the heat of the battle, like that time when she forced his hand and turned his eye towards the target on her heart... A shiver ran through him and he held her a little tighter, smoothing out stray strands of her chestnut hair. “Trust me, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, if you think about it, it’s kind of like having an audience in your head all the time, whether or not you want it...”

The words seemed to have an effect on Sio, as she slowly digested their exact meaning. “Wait, so does that mean Nightingale can see what you see too?” Adam nodded. “Whoa...whoa, hey wait a minute, does that mean she can see when we, we’re...you know...” Her face flushed a brilliant red, her expression a cross between embarrassment and indignation. “Oh my god...! And what about my e-genes...just because I can’t really see them doesn’t mean they aren’t...spying on us?! Even Asao-san...! Oh god...our e-genes are peeping on us! Aaarrggh!” Sio punched her pillow in frustration. “Oda Nobunaga, if you’re listening--and I bet you are, you sneaky bastard--I swear, one day I’ll get you for being a perverted old man--!”

“Hey hey, calm down Sio, I doubt--well all right I can’t guarantee anything--but at least I know, Nightingale isn’t aware of everything I do,” Adam hastily moved the remaining pillows out of her reach before she could chuck them. “It’s more...complicated than that. I mean, it’s...” he sighed, wondering how to best explain this intangible yet crucial bond between an e-gene and holder. “Think of it this way: yes, Nightingale may always be in the passenger seat, but ultimately I’m the one who grants her access to what it is I’m experiencing. And I can assure you, she’s never once barged in during any...intimate, moments.” Or at least he hoped so; Nightingale was a fairly straight-laced woman, but sometimes Adam sensed a bit of mischief from her as well.

‘You’d better not be peeping around, you old hag...’

The words did little to calm Sio down however, her face still a brilliant shade of red as she hugged the pillow tightly. “Mo--ou! I can’t believe this...how come they can see us but I can’t see them...this sucks...” she pouted, although in reality there was not much they could do. E-genes were a pretty permanent part of them; the only reason Oda Nobunaga’s influence had diminished so much was precisely because Adam cut out the abnormal growth from her heart--taking much of the e-gene with it and only leaving just enough for her to manifest a hand cannon. “Well, I guess it is what it is...the price you pay for becoming a hero...”

“Don’t fret too much, Sio. I doubt they’d really do anything against your wishes,” Adam tried to reassure her. “At the end of the day, they are, first and foremost, looking out for our best interests. If you really don’t want them interfering in our lives, they won’t.” 

“Hnn...Asao-san and Nightingale I can believe, but Oda Nobunaga...I dunno...” she muttered, glancing at him with wary eyes. “Don’t get me wrong--it’s not that I resent or hate him, even after what he did...after all, Hunter did tell me about the theory of e-gene corruption after so many generations, so I can’t exactly blame him, especially when he has helped me out so many times...but I mean, he is known as the Demon Warlord for a reason...”

That, and it was just slightly disconcerting to realize all the potential moments she could’ve let her personal thoughts and emotions slip through... ‘Then again, aren’t I supposed to be his reincarnation or something? So theoretically, I am Oda Nobunaga, as well...’

“Oy, cheer up love.” A gentle pat on her head brought her out of her thoughts. “I doubt it’s the disaster you’re imagining it to be, demon lord or not,” he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure Asao-san won’t let that git do anything. And worst case, if I do ever catch him peeking out...well, rest assured he’ll hear it from me. If anything, I’ve probably got more t’ worry about...”

“Huh?”

“Well, you know what they say--out of sight, out of mind, right? Kind of hard for me to do since I can’t exactly turn off this ability...” Vaguely he wondered if his keen perception of e-genes wasn’t also tied to the ‘Voice of God’, that allowed him to view things others couldn’t. To his immense relief, nothing dubious had happened yet, but lately Adam couldn’t help but feel as if there were some invisible pressure that was...judging him, particularly when it came to making sure Sio was fully satisfied...

‘You say Oda Nobunaga’s the one to worry about, but why do I have a feeling it’s your friend Asao who’s the real concern...’ Suddenly a cold chill went down his spine, and he wisely decided to stop the train of thought right there and then.

“A-Anyway, don’t worry about it, squirt. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Adam swiftly changed topics before Asao-san really decided to come out and give him a piece of her mind. The last thing he wanted or needed was to get lectured on his performance in bed and the ‘proper’ way to please Sio from her best-friend-turned-e-gene, in full view of his own e-gene and that crazy warlord. ‘Besides, I’m her husband for Christ’s sake, I’d like to think I’ve got this down pretty well, thank you very much...’

“I hope so...but I guess you’re right, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. If having to put up with this means I’ll always have Asao-san with me...then I’m willing to accept it.” Sio unwound her arms from the now-crushed pillow, sinking backwards in exhaustion. “Oh man, that was a mental exercise...I’m tired again...”

Adam couldn’t help but smile, Sio’s whimsy really was too adorable at times. Some might mistake that for air-headedness, but he knew better than that. “Or, perhaps we can finally have some of that tea I mentioned earlier...?”

“Mm, can you bring it here? I’m too tired to move...” She grinned at him playfully, knowing full well Adam could never deny her requests. “Besides, if it were me, I’d probably spill half the teapot and drop the cups before I even made it back...”

That brought a roar of laughter from the man, who only shook his head but proceeded to get up, tying a yukata loosely around his waist for some modesty. “Of course, of course...sit tight, be back in a few...”

Sio only smiled wordlessly, taking another shameless peak at his chiseled ass before it was covered in the white cotton. When the heck did she go from a blushing, nose-bleeding, innocent high schooler to a shameless pervert who wasted no opportunity to catch her husband naked...sighing, she simply chalked it up to another one of those changes that occurred as you grew and went through life--or perhaps she’d never been that innocent to begin with. 

Now that she thought about it, it would probably take Adam a decent amount of time waiting for the water to boil, then picking just the right blend of tea for this morning (he was quite peculiar about having a certain type depending on the mood), then letting it brew for the correct amount of time, not to mention fetching a matching set of cups and saucers...all told, it would probably be at least 20 minutes before he came back up. Which, her mind hungrily suggested, should probably be just enough time for some quick self-pleasuring... 

Before Sio could weigh the pros and cons and even with the slight warning that her e-genes might possibly be aware of her actions, a hand slipped between her thighs, a finger gently caressing her pink pearl as tingles of pleasure instantly started running through her body and she felt her muscles start tightening with anticipation, her folds becoming moist with arousal. One aspect that surprised both of them was how high her libido was; even though she basically never masturbated or even thought about such matters before meeting Adam, in hindsight perhaps all that lust had been channeling into her military obsession, and only after meeting him did it find another outlet to express itself...

“Oh...god, it feels so good...” Moaning quietly to herself, Sio spread her legs a little wider, her fingers now soaked as she pumped them in and out, enjoying the sensations of something sliding against her g-spot. Her nipples were stiff and sensitive, her free hand wandering up to pinch them slightly and her walls convulsed around her fingers from the pleasure. At first she was concerned if she could finish before Adam came back but at the rate her body was heating up, she’d be lucky to last another 5 minutes at most; her libido, combined with a wild imagination as Adam’s smooth, pale warmth came back into her mind, caused Sio to feel horny beyond belief. Her body was sweating as she arched against the sheets, torn between drawing out the pleasure or just letting it all go into one furious orgasm. ‘I-I can’t believe...how good this still feels...e-even, after all this time...!’

Panting, she propped herself slightly on the pillows, gazing at her own naked body as her hand worked itself furiously between her thighs, Sio getting incredibly turned on as she watched her own fingers pleasure herself. Her juices were streaming down her fingers onto the sheets, and the musky scent of arousal caused her to moan with ecstasy as she recalled all the times Adam ate her out, tongue licking and teasing her swollen pussy. Maybe it was the thrill of trying to discreetly masturbate while her husband was downstairs, or maybe she really was just a shameless pervert, but whatever the reason, this time all her senses seemed to be turned up to 11--every touch and sensation threatened to send her crashing over the edge, her insides throbbing in time with her pulse as her fingers rubbed tight, little circles around her clit. 

A slight whimper escaped her lips but she bit it down, careful to not let her voice get too loud. Another aspect they discovered (and Sio was embarrassed by) was her tendency to be quite vocal during sex. Whether it was dirty talk or begging to be fucked raw, or the random stutters and and moans she uttered, it was a good thing they didn’t have neighbors to contend with...

“Oh...ooh, god...I’m close...” Her bud was tingling with pleasure and the heat swelled until she was sure it would burst, Sio writhing hard against the bed as her thighs started trembling in anticipation. ‘It’s good...it’s so good...feels good like this...’ Her hand moved faster against her insides, back arching as Sio dug in her heels for the inevitable climax. “Nnnngg...! Mada...!”

Her breathing all but stopped, all senses now focused solely on the fingers pulsing against her g-spot and the single digit caressing her swollen clit, Sio clenching her teeth and biting her lips as the pressure built to its highest peak...and a second later she crashed over helplessly, gasping hard for air while her body shook unevenly, hips thrusting against her own hand as she moaned in pleasure. The sheets were damp underneath her crotch, fingers now sticky and wet as her juices dripped out as she sighed in limp satisfaction. Lazily she glanced at the clock, which indicated a mere 12 minutes had passed. That, combined with the fact she didn’t hear Adam at the door yet meant she’d successfully masturbated while her husband was unaware, so she proceeded to shut her eyes for a quick rest while she waited his return.

Or at least, so she thought...

[russiancircles]

Russian Circles Interview with Brian Cook // Stylus Magazine

Full interview by Chris Bryson via Stylus

Russian Circles perform in Winnipeg on April 8th at the Garrick Centre. Chris Bryson had the chance to chat with bassist Brian Cook to get a sense of the world of Russian Circles. 

Stylus: You’ll be coming through Winnipeg on a pretty extensive tour. How do you deal with the challenges of being away from home when on a long tour?

Brian Cook: Well, at this point the band has been doing this kind of thing for 13 years, and I’ve been touring for about 22 years, so at some point you just learn how to cope with it on some subconscious level. There are a few obvious things you can do to keep yourself sane: take solo walks away from the club, keep in contact with friends and loved ones back at home, try to eat well and exercise when you can. A friend advised me before my first tour to spend 10 minutes alone every day, and that’s good advice. I find the bigger challenge to be dealing with coming home. Tour has its own momentum. You get in the van and it takes you to your next destination. At home, you have to recalibrate your brain to be self-motivated. I occasionally see articles about musicians dealing with post-tour depression and it’s a very real thing. You go from being constantly in motion, constantly validated, and constantly surrounded by people to being static and alone. Dealing with that is the bigger challenge, in my opinion.

Stylus: Does the band ever change or alter its approach to songwriting and if so what have been some of the reasons for doing so?

BC: Every song is a little different. We all live in different states, so we end up trading a lot of audio files. Sometimes songs are cobbled together out of a bunch of different ideas, sometimes someone comes to the table with a fully written song, sometimes we just stumble across an idea when we’re all in a practice space together. We don’t have an established process.

Stylus: Being an instrumental band allows you to cover more ground stylistically with less need for adherence to a particular style. What aspects of your music do you think best benefit from this flexibility?

BC: We’re all music hunters, so we’re always exploring new artists and new sounds, but we obviously owe a lot to metal. And for me, honestly, most of the interesting guitar-based music happening today owes something to metal. But metal also has a tendency to cling to these aesthetics that can be a little cartoony and juvenile, and that winds up manifesting in a lot of the lyrics and vocal delivery in the genre. So being an instrumental band has benefitted us because it allows us to cull from the instrumental side of metal without having to shoehorn some campy frontman into our sound. I think it opens up our music because we’re not working with the limitations of a vocalist, and i think it provides us with a broader swath of listeners who might not be open to the guttural growl of the Corpsegrinder or the operatic wail of King Diamond.

Stylus: The music of Russian Circles is filled with an emotional weight buried within transcendental darkness. What are some of the inspirations and influences behind the narratives and ideas for your music?

BC: Any narratives are totally subconscious. We don’t have an active muse and we don’t write music based on a theme. I have nothing but respect for artists who can work off a concept, but for us, the music either resonates with us or it doesn’t. We don’t try to cobble together songs based on a preconceived notion; we write music based on what resonates with us on a very immediate base level.

Stylus: Was the looping of guitar always something the band has done to give added heft to your music? Are there any other methods the band uses to further amplify or give added effect to your sound?

BC: We’ve always tried to fill as much sonic space as possible. Looping allows us have multiple layers and multiple textures going at any given time. We’ve also incorporated things like the Moog Taurus so that one musician can play two instruments at a time. Ultimately, we really just want to make things texturally rich and dynamic, but we also want to adhere to the three-piece format without resorting to backing tracks or having a laptop on stage. There are a few other tricks we employ, but we can’t give away all of our secrets.

Stylus: What made the band decide to do a live album?

BC: The songs are constantly morphing. With our studio albums, we’re making adjustments and edits all the way up until mastering. Once the album is actually finished, the songs still wind up evolving in the live show. We don’t drastically alter them, but we find new things to highlight and new ways to simplify things. So there’d been some talk about trying to record a few shows at some point just to document how the songs had grown. The problem is that going into a show knowing it’s going to be under the microscope of recording would ultimately sap some of the energy out of the performance because we’d be trying to play things as meticulously as possible. It just so happened that the Dunk! Festival set was recorded without our knowing it, and it was a concert we were all very happy with. There are still a few flubs in the performance, but that’s the nature of live music.

Stylus: From what I’ve read Russian Circles is a band whose members don’t live in the same city and don’t get the chance to play together often. When it comes to sculpting and recording what songs or a final album will be, how do differences in ideas and opinions get resolved?

BC: If it doesn’t resonate with all three members of the band, the material gets scrapped. We’re all pretty open to criticism; no one is afraid to ditch a riff or mix up a part if it isn’t working. Honestly, the biggest conflicts in this realm have been pretty minor. I remember Mike really gunning for this one particular thrash riff that wasn’t really vibing with Dave. I was the mediator, and I told Mike the riff was really “fun”. That was enough for him to willingly scrap it. There is no fun allowed in Russian Circles.

Stylus: I read in an article with The Seventh Hex that with the music you create you said you “want to make something that sounds natural and human.” As an individual player and collectively as a band, how do you go about doing that?

BC: I’m just not a fan of music that sounds like it was built on a grid. I’m not opposed to using technology to make the recording process cheaper and smoother. It’s way more financially practical to record on ProTools than tape, after all. But I don’t want music to sound mechanical. There is very little electronic music that resonates with me because so much of it sounds like canned music. It doesn’t ignite my imagination. It just makes me think of someone sitting at a computer screen, staring at a grid, and plugging sounds into quantized beats. It really depresses me. I want music to be an escape from staring at a computer screen. And more and more rock music is recorded in that manner. The drummer doesn’t even play on a lot of current metal records; the engineer just samples drum tones and they plug those sounds into programmed beats. It’s no wonder so many modern rock records sound so sterile and flat. There is no push and pull. No space. No interaction between the instruments. I know that’s what some people really want out of their music—they want it to be perfect and crisp and even. But i prefer when it sounds like the band is so passionate about what they’re playing that they run the risk of mucking it all up. That’s way more exciting for me.

Stylus: Do you think it’s important when creating music (or any art) to maintain a balance between the pursuit of perfection and retaining immediacy and cohesion?

BC: Absolutely. I’ve been really digging this Workin’ With the Miles Davis Quintet record, and there’s one note Miles hits in the first song that sounds flat to my ears, and I totally love it. It’s jarring, but it reminds you that this album was made in a live environment. It’s a snapshot of a time and place. It’s not trying to create its own reality. And it makes all the moments where the band locks in and plays off each other feel that much more inspired. But I’m also someone that would rather spend five years listening to a record and wrapping my head around it than to hear something that’s beat-detected, auto-tuned, and ultimately designed to be instantly digestible and quickly forgotten. I want to make art that’s still interesting ten, twenty, thirty years down the road. And as someone that still buys vinyl, I only want to spend money on music that still excites me after a decade or two of repeated spins.

Stylus:. Will the band be bringing any new elements into the fold with the next music you put out? Can you tell me anything about the next Russian Circles release?

BC: Hopefully. There are a lot of ideas floating around, but we haven’t yet started to put the album together, so who knows. There been discussion of trying to make a darker, uglier album, but we also have a tendency to wind up writing songs with the opposite mood of what was initially intended. So we’ll see what happens.

Stylus: If you were to give one piece of advice to a musician/band trying to make it in the musical world as it is today, what would it be?

BC: Well, first things first, you would need to define “making it.” When I first started playing in bands, all I wanted to do was play a show. Then it was just a matter of putting out a record. Then the goal was to tour. And that’s about it. I had “made it” by the time I was 18. “Making it” should really just be about creating something you’re proud of, and everything else is just icing on the cake. At this point, I’m way more interested in musicians like Sir Richard Bishop or Daniel Higgs—musicians that have a history of doing whatever the fuck they want even if it means they only draw 50 people in their hometown or only sell a few hundred records. It’s more exciting to see someone make art that makes them happy than to see someone try to build a lucrative career pleasing other people. So my advice is to do whatever you want and do it passionately. Be involved in your musical community. Go see other bands. Support underground venues. Buy bands’ merch. Throw your own shows. Make your own tapes or records or CDs. Value your own art. Make it special. Make it sacred.

[phanfic]

The Waxed Leg Chronicle

The aftermath of Dan waxing his leg…(sex.) 

Dan swung his leg onto Phil’s lap, collapsing down next to him on the sofa.  

“Feel my leg,” he said, eyes serious. Phil scoffed, but Dan’s expression didn’t change, so he frowned uncertainly and tentatively lifted his hand. When his palm touched upon the smooth softness of Dan’s skin, he gasped.

“Louise waxed it!” Dan explained, laughing as Phil bought up his other hand, eagerly stroking his leg. Dan had never been particularly hairy, but hairy enough for the difference to be drastic. Had he closed his eyes and been asked to touch the leg (though a situation like that would be undeniably strange) he’d have assumed it was a girl’s.

“It’s weird, right,” Dan mused, adding his own hand to the mix of avid stroking. He’d been sat in his room absentmindedly caressing his leg for the past five hours since filming, waiting for Phil to come home. It was unnerving at first, shocking and addictive because of it, but Dan wasn’t scared (well a bit scared) to admit he kind of liked it. He liked rubbing his one smooth leg against his other hairy one. Maybe it was the bi-sexual in him; it was quite genuinely reminding him of when he used to hook-up with girls.

“It’s so soft,” Phil hummed. “Wanna rub my face against it.”

Dan paused. “Way to make it weird, Phil.” But his eyes had crinkled with a smile. Awkwardly lifting his leg off Phil’s body – even as Phil reluctantly reached for it back – he sat up, cross-legged, and made a dive for the TV-remote. Phil had been watching the programme currently on, but he forgot to protest when Dan changed the channel because he couldn’t stop thinking about Dan’s leg beside his. It made him uncomfortable, how much he liked it. But then why should he feel embarrassed? Smooth things were generally nice. Only this wasn’t just pleasurable like touching a smooth pillow, or a nice rounded pebble; it was turning Phil on, the more he thought about it. He tried to focus on the anime Dan had selected, one they were watching together, but pictures of Dan leg kept flashing into his mind, the soft limb rubbing against him…

Dan made conversation like normal, their usual banter between the show’s jokes, sharing opinions on the action scenes… But Phil could only muster little noises of agreement and the occasional one-word response. Dan assumed he was sleepy because he offered to make them dinner, casually kissing Phil’s head with a smile before getting up and stretching, that damn leg, with the sweatpant rolled up, glistening in the light. Dan showered before bed and Phil settled in. He often slept before Dan even made it under the bed covers, which was why their two-bedroom situation was useful in more than one way. They slept in the same bed when they wanted to cuddle, which was maybe once or twice a week. Cuddling got sweaty, they agreed. Tonight, though, Phil hoped Dan would join him, and he couldn’t drift off because of it.

When Dan appeared, a little after 1 AM, poking his head around the door, Phil lifted his arm in invitation. Dan smiled, tip-toeing across to him, and slotted into little-spoon role. Teasingly – and not so teasingly – Phil twined one leg between Dan’s and purposefully rubbed against his freshly-waxed skin. Dan laughed breathily and batted Phil away. Phil didn’t have the courage to say anything more, and in the end he had to roll onto his other side away from Dan, because the stupid smoothness of his leg was making Phil’s belly pool with lust.

In the days that followed, Phil was awkward. Dan’s leg was this ginormous presence, which sounds ridiculous, but Phil couldn’t stop thinking about it. He desperately wanted to have sex with that nicely waxed leg – well, not with it – but they weren’t like rabbits anymore, they didn’t have sex every night, and initiation normally happened naturally, between the both of them. It was even harder to initiate when Phil was feeling awkward. He and Dan talked about everything, so his reluctance to just ask was silly, but this wasn’t asking for permission to have sex in the shower or something – which was kinky for them, and quite frankly a gigantic failure the time they’d tried it – this was asking for something left-field; to Phil he might as well be asking for Dan to wear a dress.

So the result of all this was waiting; waiting for them to next have sex, and hoping it wasn’t far enough away that the hair had grown back.

A week later, Dan asked Phil if they could sex that night. Sexy, yes, that he asked 8 hours in advance – but they had a lot of videos to edit, things to organise, washing to be done. So Dan asked and Phil, of course, said yes. It was all business until Dan looked up again, slyly, and smiled. Phil laughed, tapping a little too hard at his keyboard in the seconds after. His mind was buzzing with the leg. After a couple minutes of not doing any work, Phil, without looking up, asked the question.

It wasn’t subtle.

“So has your leg hair begun growing back?”

Dan hmm’d, but didn’t need the question repeated. He looked across to Phil – who, again, didn’t look up – and said “Not yet. I think it takes a couple weeks, I mean, the hair was literally ripped from the roots.”

Phil nodded slowly, as if concentrating on editing.

“Why?” Dan laughed.

Phil’s stomach dropped. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, his awkwardness so strong it made his fingers twitch a little. He and Dan were comfortable together, but Dan could get like this – teasing and cocky and unrelenting in the both – and Phil hated how it still made him blush.

He shrugged. “No just curious,” he replied, playing it casual, which maybe would have been convincing enough, but Phil being Phil panicked and felt the need to elaborate. “Was…looking at your channel and it reminded me.”

“Why?” Dan laughed again, even more amused.

“What? Oh, just for the thumbnails. Inspiration.”

“You’ve finished editing?”

“…No.” He could feel Dan’s eyes hot on his skin. “Just planning.”

“Right…” Dan smiled, totally unconvinced. Then he got up and Phil froze as Dan approached him. Quickly leaning over, he glanced at Phil’s laptop screen. “Hmm,” he said, having seen he was editing. He spun the empty glass in his hand, wandering on his way to the kitchen. “Now I’m just curious… Is it something about my Christmas present?!”

Phil didn’t reply as the tap turned on. He put his headphones on before Dan returned, hoping they’d provide a nice ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. But Dan wiggled his eyebrows across from him anyway. He thought Dan had forgotten two hours later, but having closed his laptop and heading for the shower, he approached Phil again, with a silly knowing smile, and pried his headphones from his head. Phil was expecting him to out his waxed-leg kink, but he only said a small ‘I love you’ and put his headphone back in place. Phil smiled nervously, watching as Dan left the room. It wasn’t unusual, the random declaration of love…but even so Phil racked his mind for how it could be incriminating.

By evening – with the promise of sex not forgotten – Phil was positively jumpy. He’d retreated to his room to finish editing, and was now reading his book, hoping to distract himself. But the words blurred together on the page and Phil, hopelessly, was beginning to think of excuses for why he couldn’t have sex tonight. On the third time of reading the same paragraph, Dan crashed through his door. He stood back against it, hands behind his back, and smiled mischievously. Phil tilted his head to see what was in his hands, but nothing was there and in a few swift movements Dan had plucked the book from his hands and plonked himself in Phil’s lap.

Linking their hands together in the air beside them, Dan spoke lowly, with a hint of boyish giggle. His hair was fluffy from the shower, in a way Dan would be unhappy with, and his skin was the palest it got, being that it was winter.

“Can we now?” He said, grammatically incorrect, excited, and Phil only nodded, letting Dan dip forward and start a kiss. Phil took dominance halfway through, shifting his head on the pillow and turning Dan’s hands over in his, bringing them both against his chest. Dan made little noises of appreciation, which Phil always, always loved, and soon Dan had hopped up to grab the items necessary and turn off the light, for the atmosphere, quickly sliding beneath Phil propped up on his arms.

Phil immediately asked for the shirt off, pushing his hand onto Dan’s hip and brushing his thumb under the shirt, over the bone there. Dan wriggled it off and settled back with arms looped to Phil’s neck. Phil bent down to kiss a bit on his chest, little pecks, before reaching for his mouth back. It was progressing into a slow night, a meandering kind of sex, with luxurious kisses and no desperation to get straight to the point. They rolled onto their sides, tangled together, Phil shirtless now, Dan having kicked off his trousers, and Phil took to Dan’s neck, giving attention to all his sweet spots there. Dan arched up into him, content and warm, as Phil nibbled and sucked, fringe brushing Dan’s sensitive skin. Slipping his hand from its place just underneath the waistband of Dan’s underwear, fingers draping down over his ass cheek, Phil lifted it to tilt Dan’s head back a little, indulging in tugging just slightly on his hair, and began trailing his kisses around to the front of his neck, under his jaw. Dan happily rolled onto his back, letting Phil lean over him.

Phil had quite forgotten about the leg when suddenly there it was, brushing against his lower back. Dan wrapped it loosely there and Phil reached behind him, settling a soft hand over Dan’s knee. Suddenly pulled from the depths of pleasure, Phil had to kiss Dan’s mouth to stop him from speaking, but of course Dan spoke anyway.

“Mm… This is nice,” he started, rubbing his leg just a couple centimetres up Phil’s back. Phil caught his lips back. “Philly?” He looked at him innocently. Phil kissed him again. “Do you want a surprise?”

He whispered that into Phil’s ear. Then he pulled back and smiled up at him from the pillow. Phil leaned away, resting back on his hip. “I don’t know…that sounds ominous during sex.”

Dan snorted. Then he shifted back, leaning up on his hands. “What do you think…when I show you this.”

He drew his knee up, showcasing his leg. There was a long pause as Phil examined it, carefully choosing his words.

“I…think the same as when you showed me it before.”

“I didn’t.”

Phil frowned.  

“I showed you this one.” And then there before him were two hairless legs, perfectly smoothed and attached to Dan.

“Other leg, Phil,” Dan laughed, and Phil glanced at him, just once, before diving to kiss his knees. Not the most normal of sex acts, but there Phil was, kissing each knee before dotting hundreds of kisses down Dan’s shin, both his shins. Dan laughed loudly, nearly kicking Phil in the face. Phil’s stomach tightened with lust and he grabbed Dan’s ankles, pulling him bodily to lie down. Dan was still laughing and Phil was hungrily taking in his figure – his tummy as he laughed – he kissed it – before moving the kiss to Dan’s mouth. Dan stroked both hands up into Phil’s hair, down his neck, and said “I shaved them.”

Phil nodded, crawling to pull Dan’s underwear off and bring his smooth leg up with him, holding it against his hip.

“I realised I had a powerful tool of destruction here, in my hairless, baby-smooth-“ Phil had slicked up his finger and pushed it gently into Dan. It put a hitch in Dan’s cockiness. “-legs.” He ground up into Phil. Phil continued to prepare him, sliding his finger in and out. He soon added a second and Dan hissed, reaching down between their chests to Phil’s trousers. He plunged his hands inside and unceremoniously began pumping Phil’s hardened flesh.

“I’m like a ken doll.”

Phil laughed, not expecting that. Dan did his pouty thing and Phil kissed it, kissing his cheek after.

“Except you’re not missing a few important parts…”

Shifting down, he slid his fingers from Dan and ran both hands down his shins, bringing them together and kissing them again. Then he pulled them apart, delicately, and landed a kiss on his inner thigh. Hurriedly, Dan pushed a condom into Phil’s hand. Phil leaned up, gazing closely into Dan’s eyes (their noses were brushing), and began easing himself inside. Dan splayed his fingers lightly across Phil’s jaw, breathing steadily, heavily, and then he smiled as Phil settled deep inside him, and patted Phil’s cheek.

Phil began moving, watching as Dan watched him, the darkness that had become his eyes, the flickers of light reflected in them. Dan stretched his arm out over Phil’s shoulder and rolled his eyes closed, sighing down against the pillow. Phil tilted Dan’s body just slightly onto his side, putting his weight into his right hip as he fucked him tightly, hardly pulling out, keeping his cock buried deep in Dan’s warmth. Dan’s head began to move on the pillow as Phil’s thrusts became sharper, harder, his muscles tightening as pleasure spiked out across his limbs down to his fingertips. Dan lolled his head and Phil laughed breathily, so Dan lolled it exaggeratedly, tossing his head side to side and grinning. Then he blinked up at Phil, and reached to bring his face closer. They kissed softly, the lightest of touches, while Phil sped up inside him, unable to focus on much else.

As orgasm threatened both of them, Phil lifted Dan’s leg up and caressed it, closing his eyes to picture Dan’s nakedness, and there he toppled into orgasm, cock throbbing inside Dan. Dan came after a few strokes of his own erection, the walls of his entrance squeezing around Phil.

With a small sting, Phil pulled out, and collapsed onto his back. Dan immediately cuddled into him, throwing arm over chest and bending leg over leg. With his head dipped onto Phil’s shoulder, their bodies soft and satisfied, heartbeats slowing, he smiled. “Lol you came by touching my leg.”

“Shut up,” Phil smiled back, grabbing the pillow beside him and hitting it on Dan. Dan grabbed it with quick reflexes and hit Phil back, then he held it there, against Phil’s head, as Phil coaxed him closer with the crook of his finger. They kissed deeply, totally and utterly in love with one another (and happily fucked.)

“I hope it doesn’t grow back like stubble.”

“It probably will.” Phil pat Dan’s hand where it rested on his chest.

With an itchy nose, Dan nuzzled it against Phil’s arm before scratching it with his fingernail.

“Well look forward to that.”

“I like stubble.”

“Yeah, on a man’s face, not his legs.” Dragging Phil’s arm behind him, Dan pulled Phil to hug him, like a giant teddy bear. Phil sorted out the covers as Dan mumbled, “Not that I can grow a beard anyway.”

Kissing the back of Dan’s neck, Phil closed his eyes. “I like you, my hairless seal-smooth boyfriend.”

There was silence as Phil sighed against Dan, ready for sleep. Sex was exhausting.

“Phil.”

“Mm?”

“We haven’t eaten. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Oh right.” He went to sit up but Dan pulled him back down.

“In a minute,” he argued, sighing as Phil had into the pillow.

Phil nearly did fall asleep but he didn’t miss it when Dan eventually extracted himself from Phil’s arms and stood up, completely naked, his barer than bare legs scuttling towards the door. Phil smiled to himself, knowing he should never have worried about it, not with Dan. 

[wrenwritesometimes]

Muse

A/N: Here's the second entry of mine to (@mysaintsasinner) Mara’s Supernatural Song Challenge! For this one, it's Katy Perry’s “The One That Got Away” with the pairing being: Dean x OC.

Edit, a few days after due date of challenge: I fucked uP and didn't get it in by the due date, but I got too much out of this to abandon it!

Edit, a few weeks after the text above: THEN I got a dose of Typical Teenage Depression and woh where did that one come from.

I'm hoping I'm feeling better, cuz I finally was able to finish this, read through it, and edit it - in one whole sitting!

Edit, a few weeks after the text above this patch: I'm okay! All's okay. This one was a bit of laziness on my part.

Characters: Dean, Sam, Pete (OC), Winnie (OC)

Warnings: Cussing, missing, last one was a typo for kissing but it applies too I guess, underage drinking, bars, I'm just listing normal things by now whoops

Final Warning: this is yet another part one to something because Wrenny couldn't keep it simple

Final, Final Warning: song lyrics are implied text or references, not actual song tidbits

Nights were almost as warm as the days were, around here.

The bars were humid, and the people had a permanent sheen of moisture upon their skin.

There was only one air conditioned bar in the entire town, and Winnie had the pleasure of working there.

She was a pleasant girl, little over twenty-four, and suffered through most anything to get money to feed herself and her brother. She was endeared to the motorcycle gangs that passed through, therefore safe from anything drastic; but despite this, she became quietly haggard and exasperated.

Tonight, she felt particularly numb to emotion, so when a regular seemed drunk from drinking his woes away, she decided she'd rather help him than feel sorry for herself.

“Winnie!” the regular greeted rambunctiously.

“Charles!” She replied as jovially as she could manage.

“Whaddaya doin’ here so late, huh?”

Winnie shrugged, pouring Charles’ usual and setting it before him. He was the only patron at the bar currently… it was 3:14am on a Thursday. “Jen needed this shift filled.”

Charles nodded. “You've been good, doll? It's been awhile since I've seen ya.”

Winnie grinned softly at the rough’n’tough biker that stopped by any chance he had, bandanas, sunglasses, and tans to boot. “I've been as well as I've ever been.” The smile felt heavy on her face. “How ‘bout you, Chuck?”

Charles chuckled and heaved a sigh. “I've been better. I think Kinny left me for good this time.”

Winnie scoffed. “That's a damn shame to hear. But maybe it's for the best.”

When Charles didn't buck up, Winnie settled further onto the bar. “If you don't mind me, the humble barkeep, sayin’ so, Chuck… she was never very good to you.”

Charles’ dark brown eyes were penetrating and resigned as he stared at the bartender. Winnie offered a soft, sad smile before she went to get the dishes from the kitchen to dry.

When she brought the glasses out, Charles was still quiet and contemplative.

“Wanna turn on the news or somethin’, Chuck?” Winnie offered, placing the tub of glasses on the bar with a bit of a struggle.

Charles shook his head, rotating the empty glass of whiskey around its rim. “I'll settle for good conversation with a lovely lady.” He offered a subdued smile that still set his eyes alight with a kind gleam.

Winnie scoffed kindly. “I'm not too good at conversation, Chuck.”

Charles laughed in return. “You know that's a lie, kid.”

Winnie shrugged and set out the glasses in order of height, sighing. “What do you wanna talk about?” she asked, the bags under her eyes feeling like barbells.

Charles shrugged and looked around the bar. His eyes fell upon the barkeep and shrugged as he motioned to her. “I don't know too much ‘bout you, now that I think about it.”

Winnie grimaced slightly. “Well…” she hedged. “Whaddaya wanna know?”

Charles looked at her for a long minute before asking the question she dreaded:

“You ever been in love?”

She was quiet and still for a long time, her ears red under her hair. 

“Once.”

It was the summer after high school that I first met him…

It was a magical atmosphere in my town, the senior class of my school all being friendly and amicably affiliated… there were massive lake trips and large parties that could knock your socks off and your sister up, if you weren't careful.

I hadn't ever really been “attracted” to anyone in my town, so “by definition”, I was either gay or fucked in the head… but truth was, I just really didn't want my cousins screwing me. We were a painfully small town, and if you had actually done your freshman ancestry project (which is precisely what I'd done), you'd know that truly every-fucking-one in this town was related.

It was odd, and gross… and I tried not to think about it too hard.

Anyway. That magical summer time was when I heard it. The roar of her engine...

He called her Baby, but I called her Mustang… since I was dumb enough to have mistook her engine’s tune for one. It wasn't a mustang, but a gorgeous ‘67 Chevy Impala; in stunning shape, too.

I saw her drive past as I worked on cleaning the “patio seating” - or half-rotted wooden picnic benches - at my job at O’Briens’. I was supposed to be a waitress at O’Briens’ Steer N’Styne, but I wound up being a busboy and other grosser jobs as well as hostess and before long… underage barkeep. Too many others were worried about colleges and boyfriends and girlfriends and drugs…

I wasn't going to college. Wasn't smart or rich enough. I just needed money to keep my brother fed and sheltered. Parents weren't in the picture anymore.

It was the day that Chevy Impala revved up the road that I saw him. Jaw that could cut glass and eyes that could pierce the very soul of even the toughest biker chick in this town.

The first thing they did after parking in the motel directly across the way, was stop at O’Brien’s to eat.

The younger boy - I guess, fourteen at the time, I think - was named Sam. He introduced me to his brother, Dean, but not his father. Apparently only Dean and I noticed the hard glare the dark haired man gave his hazel-eyed son.

“Nice to meet y’all,” I had said compliantly. “Do y'all need time with the menu before you decide?”

“I'll just have a coffee, black,” the man grunted.

I nodded and looked to Sam and Dean, my eyes lingering on Dean’s clenched fists.

“Can I have pancakes and milk?” Sam asked.

“Anything you'd like, kid,” I replied with a true smile, one that even released my rarely seen dimple. God, he reminded me so much of my own brother.

“Anything for you, Dean?” I couldn't help the slight twinge of ‘I'm humoring him’ in my voice as I looked at the older brother, and I didn't miss the shift in his expression as he looked up at me with a calm gleam in his green eyes, the skin around them crinkling slightly as he smiled.

“I'll have the same as Sammy,” he said in a voice almost mimicking his father’s, but it was different in some way I couldn't really identify. I laughed as Sam argued that his name wasn't Sammy, and left to give them their drinks.

Needless to say, I liked him and he liked me.

“And what kind of music do you listen to?” He asked, still distasteful, but clearly teasing.

“I love blues… can’t stand anything but,” I said. “Well, except for one more modern band.” I reached for my backpack. “I actually have a tape of my favorite ‘modern band’ with me.”

“Well, pop it in,” he replied after a beat of silence.

Radiohead’s “OK Computer” first track of “Airbag” pumped through the Impala’s speakers.

“Ahh, so nineties rock,” Dean said nodding as if saying ‘typical’.

I socked his shoulder and laughed. “We’re still in the nineties, and I'm still seventeen, so I think I'm safe. At least for another two weeks.”

Dean started to smirk, but he smothered it, shrugging. “I dunno, I think it might be a dealbreaker.”

I playfully gasped, laughing at him immediately after. “Deal breaker, huh? Have you even listened to anything past the eighties?”

Dean chuckled, a breath passing through his nose. The laugh was all in his eyes, though. I knew he was happy.

“I have, and that's exactly why I'm sticking to the eighties. Take this trash outta this beautiful car.”

I laughed again and almost wanted to be mad at myself for laughing too much. I needed to shut up, didn't I? I probably sounded dumb.

“I like your laugh,” he suddenly said, and I only laughed again; quieter, more bashfully and almost nervous.

“Thanks,” I replied uneasily, accidentally releasing an awkward silence to follow my words. “Wanna hear my favorite song on this tape, though?”

Dean seemed to shake himself, and he shrugged nonchalantly.

Fast-forwarding the tape to the sixth track was a familiar action and “Karma Police” started quickly.

“My favorite song on the album,” I said quietly, suddenly self-conscious of everything I, as a person, liked and did in front of Dean.

He was reclined in the driver’s seat, his arms propped up on the backrest as well as the sill of the driver’s window. His left hand had his head propped up and he nodded his head to the beat of the song.

I felt myself biting my lip once. I wanted him to like this song despite evidence showing he wouldn't. I couldn't describe the feeling I was struggling with. It wasn't shyness, I didn't feel small.

There was just tension.

I peeked over to Dean and saw he was already looking at me.

I laughed softly and tried to look back at the dash, but something kept my eyes on Dean.

Casually he scooted from his spot in front of the wheel, to slightly more in the middle; and motioned me to come closer as well. I wanted to stay put; the tension-feeling I felt finally started feeling like it was a rubber band that was threatening to snap at my stomach…

But I moved anyway.

The rubber band snapped as his lips met mine somewhat suddenly. I didn't react for a moment, just stared wide-eyed at his own half-lidded eyes. Then he moved his lips just a fraction, his warm tongue moving gently over my own lips, and I was gone.

We made out in the Mustang to Radiohead.

It was finally my eighteenth birthday.

Dean took me to a tattoo parlor, to my surprise. He took serious a late-night, totally-not-sober conversation to heart.

“What should I get?” I asked Dean, accidentally beaming at him. I did that a lot around him…

Dean grinned down at me, and kissed my cheekbone. “Anything you want. My treat.”

He spooned my back as we stood at the counter; I was short enough to be comfortably under him as he leaned both hands on the counter. It was like I was in a Dean Cave as I leafed through the tattoo art samples.

I liked it. I felt safe.

I actually zoned out and missed a few pages, but I was brought back to attention when Dean’s ringed hand rested on a certain laminated page.

I looked over the designs on both sides and pursed my lips, uninterested in any. It was more metal/punk designs.

I nudged Dean’s hand, signaling I wanted to go on, but Dean’s hand stayed put. I looked up at him curiously, and noticed that Dean had that far off, thinking look in his eye.

“Dean?”

That snapped him out of it.

“What about this one?” He asked, his tone hollow, nonchalant. I looked down his arm to where his finger now pointed.

“A pentagram?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

“A pentagram.”

“Yeah,” he repeated, even more hollow and nonchalant sounding.

“Dean, are you okay? You sound weird.”

“I'm fine, Winnie,” he snapped playfully. “I think you should get that one.”

“I dunno…” I hesitantly objected. “I'm not really into that kinda stuff…”

Dean seemed too quiet for a long moment.

Sighing, I made up my mind. “One condition.”

“Anything,” Dean responded, sounding grateful. Why?

“You have to get it too. I'll pay for yours, you pay for mine.”

Dean was silent.

“Shouldn't be too expensive, if we don't get them too fanc--mmph!” Dean interrupted me with a strong kiss.

“I like it.”

“Okay,” I replied laughingly, confused but amused. Bemused.

I couldn't help but feel a bit emotional as I watched Sam and Dean teach my brother how to shoot pool as I worked.

I laughed at first, brushing it off. But when I had a moment to breathe, I found my breath heavy as I looked at them. I found myself smiling big, and I had to sniffle a bit before moving on.

When I finally was relieved of my shift, I joined them at the tables and greeted my kid brother with a playful ruffle of his messy hair, a pat to Sam’s shoulder, and a kiss on Dean’s cheek.

“Hey there, Winnie,” Dean greeted quietly, a flirtatious smirk teasing me.

“Hey there, Dean,” I mimicked, grinning. “Thanks for teaching this kid how to be useful.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling as Pete socked me in the side in response. “No problem at all. Dad didn't want us around today.”

I looked to Sam and smiled warmly. “Need anything to eat, you guys?”

I settled Pete and Sam at one of the tables and Dean joined me in finding the waitress of the section we left them in.

We stayed away from Sam and Pete for as long as we could; as long as until the waitress - Clara - made her way to ‘em.

He held my waist from behind as we waited at the bar, swaying softly to the beat of the shitty country music the owner loved so much.

I felt his warm, calloused hand trail up my forearm and bend my elbow so he could see the tattoo on my arm. He ran his thumb over it.

“What inspired you to get the pentagram?” I wondered out loud, looking up at him over my shoulder.  

Dean shrugged. “Looked cool.”

I snorted. “Okay.”

Dean sighed, but left it alone, turning me around and placing his hands on either side of my jaw. He closed his eyes briefly as he pressed my forehead to his.

I felt my brow furrow. “What's up, Dean?”

He opened his eyes and I was lost in them at this close range.

“Just… nothin’.” He shook his head and created space between our faces. “Clara’s going to Sammy and Pete.”

I nodded and glanced over his shoulder at my friend, but I looked back up at him and held his hands in place.

“Love you.”

Dean seemed to freeze, but I was comfortable with what I had said.

“Now, what inspired that,” Dean asked, his tone sad, but his eyes crinkling.

It’s all in the eyes.

I shrugged with a small, understanding smile. “I guess you're my muse.”

Listening to Johnny Cash was our music medium.

“If I Were A Carpenter” played on a stereo Dean had hauled to the roof for us to listen to.

“You should leave with me,” he said quietly after the song ended. “It could be us against the world… June to my Johnny.”

I got caught up in that goofy smile of his when he made a corny joke and a whirlwind of thought.

I could move from this town.

I could run away with Dean.

I could leave.

I could go.

But... No. I couldn't.

“My brother,” I murmured breathlessly, apologetically.

Dean’s eyes, however, only lit up in understanding and admiration. At least, that's how I read it. I missed one emotion, though; guilt.

“I can dig that,” he said softly, fiddling with my hand. “I wouldn't leave some podunk town if it meant uprooting Sam… he's already uprooted.”

I gave him a scolding glance. “That isn't your fault, Dean,” I defended. Dean knew how I felt about their father. He just shrugged. “Feels like it sometimes. Especially when kids pick on him for not having friends.”

I looked over to him. “That shits’ started again?” Dean nodded, looking ahead at the field my house sat on. “It's been, what… two months?” I asked, beside myself. Dean nodded again. “I swear to god, I hate kids.” Dean’s head swiveled to me, but I kept looking ahead.

“You hate kids?” Dean asked, somewhat confused. I looked to him and shrugged guiltily. “I hate the brats,” I clarified uneasily. “My grandpa had this saying, before he died… he was a teacher for, I think, thirty-eight years. He used to say, ‘Show me deplorable children, and I'll show you deplorable parents’.”

Dean chuckled, taking a swig of the bottle of whiskey I had jacked from the old liquor cabinet in the house.

“I think I'd want kids,” Dean murmured in that gruff way he got when he was serious, offended, or angry. He seemed calm, so I looked over and smiled softly. He offered the bottle to me and I took it. “Maybe one of each… but that won't be for a long, long time.”

I couldn't help but feel sad. He said that so downheartedly...

“I’d want a boy,” I said, taking a swing and settling into his side, his arm going over my shoulders. “I’d wanna teach him how not to be.” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “I dig that.” We were both silent for a moment before he spoke again.

“I’d want a boy to teach him about the impala… teach him how to take care of her. I'd want a girl to spoil. I think I'd like being wrapped around a little girl’s finger.”

I grinned at him and studied him. I found myself doing that recently. I'd just look at his features… take him in.

How green his eyes were, how his freckles showed more at sunset than any other time of day. How blonde his hair could be…

My smile faded, and I felt unafraid all of a sudden. “Dean?” I asked. “Mm.”

“What do you and your father do?”

Dean was painfully silent for a long moment, his eyes moving from me back to the field.

“The family business.”

It didn't hit me until I was smiling in bed, thinking upon my day with Dean.

It didn't hit me.

But when it did, it felt like cinderblocks.

“FuCK,” I hissed as I bolted from my room, barely remembering to grab a jacket, before getting to my truck.

He was leaving today. He was leaving, and I missed it. He didn't say anything explicit to insinuate he was… But why would he ask if I wanted to leave with him? Why would he have given me that serious of a goodnight?

I broke any speed limits in this stupid town to get the the motel they’d made their home. I slammed on my breaks with a cry when I didn't see the impala.

Anywhere.

Ever again.

Charles’ seemed sober now. Sober and somber.

“Sounded like a good kid,” he said gruffly.

She nodded. “He was.” The words sounded soft and sad.

“In another life,” she sighed softly. “I would’ve been his… no broken promises. It would've been good.”

Charles looked sadly at his friendly neighborhood barkeep and laid out money for his drinks, and a good healthy tip.

“You should get home, Winnie,” he said gently. He took her hand and laid a ticklish kiss to her knuckles. “You look very tired.”

Winnie nodded and waved as Charles drove away on his bike.

The bar felt hollow and lonely as she stood there, her hands resting a shoulder width apart.

She didn't collect her money, and she didn't move. She just stood there and stared as the sun rose.

Her eyes slowly wandered down to the pentagram on her arm.

She sniffed, clenched her jaw, collected her tip, and put the rest of the cash in the register.

She went on cleaning glasses until she saw her coworker pull up.

Four Years Later…

Dean never expected to see the the neon green sign of O’Briens’ shining on his hood again.

Memories of driving up flickered through his head like a film skipping in a projector.

He looked over to Sam to see the behemoth looking up at the sign too, a similar look of familiarity on his face.

“Hey, is this where w--”

“Yeah,” Dean interrupted Sam with a quiet sense of finality. He pulled into the motel parking lot and they went in the lobby to check in.

“You'll have room fifteen, right to the left if you walk out the door,” the old man grunted kindly, nodding in the direction he instructed.

Sam thanked him and left the lobby, expecting Dean behind him, but the elder brother lagged, hesitantly approaching the desk again.

“Can I help you?”

Dean nodded distractedly, looking over his shoulder. “Y-yeah… do you know if a girl named Winnie still works over at O’Briens’? Pentagram tattoo on her forearm?” Dean gestured to his his own forearm as he asked.

The motel owner seemed blank-faced for a very long time before he pursed his lips suspiciously. He nodded guardedly and answered with a curt “yeahp”. “She don't have the tattoo anymore, though. Got somethin’ else to cover it up.”

Dean’s face became carefully blank, and he nodded his thanks.

He walked to the Impala but couldn't see Sam in sight. He checked the room, but the door was locked and dusty.

He looked across the street to O’Briens’ and noticed a very tall head of hair walking into the door.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered to himself and was stuck debating whether to follow Sam or to lock himself in the motel room.

The moment he entered the building, the smell of beer, musk, and good food flooded Sam with memories.

The place hadn't changed a smidge in eighteen years.

Sam chuckled in nostalgic disbelief as he took in details he hadn't noticed in the decor and wandered to the pool tables.

“Howdy, sir, is there anything we can get you today?”

The voice was familiar, if not deeper now.

Sam turned and saw her.

She didn't look like a young woman anymore; her eyes looked heavy yet still just as meaningful and kind. She was thin and lean, but she had muscular biceps and more curved hips. Her hair was longer than he remembered, in a long french braid, and a deeper blonde. She had a tattoo sleeve on her left arm now, a flowing visual of a vine of flowers.

“Hello?” She chuckled, snapping her fingers briefly, a brief look of polite concern on her face.

Sam shook himself free of whatever had possessed him to become so still and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Uh, are you… Winnie?”

She furrowed her brow slightly, but smiled nonetheless. “Yeah, that'd be me. Who wants to know?”

Sam smiled softly. “Hopefully you remember me.” He laughed. “I was fifteen when we were here last.”

She smiled despite confusion and shook her head.

“Um, my name’s Sam. Sam Winchester. Brother called me Sammy?”

The smile vanished as soon as he uttered “Winchester”. Her deep blue eyes bounced to over Sam’s shoulder and to the door of O’Briens’ and back.

Sam smiled sympathetically. “Sorry to barge in like this… but we were in town and I wanted to see what was done with the place. Hasn't changed one bit.”

Winnie still just stared.

“You still look as beautiful as ever,” he continued, quiet and genuine.

Winnie shook her head free of her stillness and she brought a hand up to her forehead in silent disbelief.

Finally she managed to speak, croaking, “We?”

Taglist:

@notnaturalanahi @wordstothewisereaders @violinmyhead

[clonerightsagenda]

I quit writing Homestuck meta a long time ago, but I guess the pre-4/13 fervor is infectious, because this popped into my head and wouldn’t go away. So here’s some musings on Homestuck, the ending, and its portrayal (or rather, erasure) of character identity and agency.  

Let’s rewind back several years and a few subsubacts, to the meteor and battleship crews’ not so triumphant arrival in the combined session. Two of the kids’ number have been mind-controlled and forced to work for the Empress. Two have been thrown in prison. One has been banished to the outer reaches of space. The rest have been divvied up and placed on various Lands, given different tasks to be completed for the Empress. Even in beating SBURB and winning the game they have no escape, because she intends to rule the new universe they create… until it spawns Lord English and is destroyed.

Things look bleak. And things look even bleaker when Game Over rolls around, and most of the cast gets exterminated. But wait! John Egbert, Heir of Breath and leader of the Beta session, has gotten his hands on a miraculous artifact supposedly useful as a weapon against Lord English. He now has the ability to travel throughout time and space and to change things that usually cannot be changed. While his friends get wiped out, he fights the “tyrannous author” figure who has been telling their story wrong and wins. Surely with his newfound abilities, he will set things right and lead them to freedom.

Except.  Not really.

Oh sure, John “saves the day”. He uses his retcon abilities to create a new timeline where everyone lives and wins the game. But is it a victory? And did everyone really live?

I’m going to argue that the ending of Homestuck is a tragedy where characters’ identities are frequently ignored or overwritten in order to serve the utilitarian aims of the narrative (and Skaia). I do not make this argument believing Hussie intended it. I think the dip in quality and coherency at the end of Homestuck was the product of an author who was tired of his project, had lost track of a bunch of plot points and characters, and just wanted to be finished. But I do think its treatment of identity is drastically different from the rest of the work and sends some disturbing messages about how “happy” that ending really is.

Alternate Selves

Dave and Davesprite. Vriska and (Vriska). Pre- and post-scratch. Bro, Dirk, Hal. Throughout the comic, we’re shown that alternate selves are different people. They may begin as the same when they split apart, but in not too long, their personalities diverge as part of lived experience. Bro is not Dirk is not Hal. They have certain base characteristics and sometimes experiences in common, but they are different people. Most members of the fandom would agree that it’s silly to suggest that they aren’t.

And yet the ending of Homestuck asks us to accept something very similar. The Game Over iterations of characters are wiped out, and a new set takes their place. While earlier parts of the comic train readers to view the loss of any one iteration as significant and the introduction of a new iteration as something different (Rose’s grief over losing her mother cannot be completely abated by the introduction of Roxy; Rose’s mother is still dead. And I suspect the fandom would not have been pleased if Dave had died forever and Davesprite had been anointed sole Dave survivor.) this asks them to do the opposite. Oh, sure, the characters you’ve been following for years are dead and never coming back. But here’s a new set!

Even more eerily, the characters themselves go along with it. Rose, who saw a version of Roxy die in front of her, is perfectly content to greet a new version. GO!Roxy’s arrival absolves Jane of the guilt of killing her best friend, and apparently the other Alphas aren’t at all perturbed that the Roxy joining them has a different set of memories. (I’m not sure anyone even tells Dirk, who was out in space for all of this.) John, who has a history of looking down on alternate selves (his entire fraught relationship with Davesprite versus the “real” Dave, his proclamation of friendship with “past Terezi”) apparently has no problem meeting up with a version of his sister who has no memories of the three years he spent with another version of her, and neither does she. The GO! survivors slot right into the retcon kids’ lives to fill some available gaps, even though earlier they would have been considered separate people by the story, not replacements.

Characterization

I’m not going to get into how nearly everyone’s character arc and development got dropped (or expound on why ‘real people don’t have arcs’ is nonsense) beyond that the majority of characters get sidelined, used as means to an end, and/or objectified, which also impedes their agency and identity. That’s another post. But what I will focus on is how one character who gets brought to the front of the stage exemplifies the destruction of identity for the sake of utility that this ending seems to prioritize. That character is Vriska Serket.

Now, Vriska is a lightning rod of fandom de88. But identity and the negotiation, suppression, or recreation of it has always been a big thing for her. Vriska emulates Mindfang and adopts many of her nastier behaviors on Alternia in order to survive their violent culture and her dangerous lusus. This is the explanation for a lot of her actions, but it doesn’t excuse them. Throughout the story, she frequently teeters on the edge of realizing and accepting that her behavior is wrong (GO!Vriska gets closest, although she never quite makes it). Retcon!Vriska, though, has had that spark of self-awareness snuffed. Puffed up with self-importance over having reality literally rewritten to save her life, she’s cruel for the sake of cruelty and forces everyone else to go along with her power gamer strategy regardless of whether it’s a good choice. When she encounters GO!Vriska, who we can presume is closer to what Vriska might have been without all these toxic influences, she lashes out at her and seems disgusted by who she has become (her more authentic self?). GO!Vriska then wanders off, encounters Terezi, and vanishes from the story entirely. Retcon!Vriska is the one who “defeats” (?) Lord English before vanishing as well. She is sold as the missing ingredient that leads to a victorious timeline – the version of Vriska who has rejected and lost her true identity under a warped façade, turning into the monster she always fronted as. Inspiring.

The Dreaming Dead

(EDIT) Since we just talked about Vriska, let’s talk about her pawns. The dreaming dead get jerked around a lot throughout the story, but the first time Vriska and Aranea steal their minds, it’s supposed to be messed up. The image of Scorpio signs hovering over their blank expressions is eerie, and John (the hero) points out it’s ethically dubious. Later, Sollux bails because the whole thing makes him “feel dirty”. The first time dreamers die at English’s hand, it’s portrayed as horrific both through the presentation in Caliborn: Enter itself and Dave talking later about how after witnessing “the screaming and the killing” he’s had a hard time sleeping. We even recognize some of the dreamers - the version of John killed hails from Davesprite’s timeline, and we even followed his time with Vriska briefly. These ghosts have identities. We know them.

In Collide, though, dreamers are dispatched in droves without fanfare. They’re simply a distraction Vriska uses until she can get English with the weapon (although why she needed a diversion I’m not sure, since she doesn’t exactly try to sneak up on him). They change hands between ‘leaders’ without ever having voices of their own, and their deaths have no impact. It’s just visual noise. The dead only matter to the extent that they can serve main characters’ aims and the narrative. 

Ultimate Selves

In the last handful of pages of the comic, Hussie introduces the concept of “ultimate selves” through Davepeta. Apparently combo sprites can remember all iterations of themselves (although they don’t particularly act like it, but whatever). From this perspective, they find differences of selves meaningless, and inform Jade that every self is important because they help create your ‘ultimate self’, which is a compilation of all selves into a sort of Platonic ideal. This means, they tell poor Jade, that she didn’t really miss out on three years with her friends! Her ultimate self had a great time. Why this is supposed to be a consolation to this Jade, who had a shitty time, I am not sure.

Again, this flies against the established differences between selves that earlier Homestuck prizes. Alt selves have different identities. They’re different people. Claiming the boundaries between them are meaningless erases that. The concept of an ultimate self makes sense from a reader’s perspective. We get to see all the different paths the characters go down. We get to look at different selves and use that information to inform our reading of the character or our grasp of some of their inherent qualities. But that doesn’t apply to the characters themselves. It’s cold comfort telling this Jade that another version of her didn’t suffer alone for three years. She did. If this were leading up to some massive memory merge between timelines then I might acknowledge it held water, but as it is… it reads like the attempts of an author to justify a bad decision.

We have whatever Terezi did in Remem8er (a beautiful flash, but no one can quite determine what it meant) but we don’t know whether she actually accomplished retrieving any memories because she never gets to talk about it. (The flash also implies that every death spawns a ghost, which is directly contrary to previously established game mechanics so I won’t really get into it, but that does further complicate the whole identity thing we have going on here.) And I’m not sure I buy Davepeta’s pep talk at face value, as I’ll expand on in the next section.  

Sprites Squared

Oh boy. If you’ve followed me much you know I hold a grudge against these entities for a whoooole bunch of reasons. But among other things, they’re an excellent example of lategame Homestuck’s identity destruction at work.

The combosprites take characters in pretty bad shape – struggling with depression and alcoholism (and Nepeta, but she seems mostly along for the ride. I mean, she doesn’t even get a Heart symbol as part of Dp’s outfit) – and perk them right up. Setting aside the fact that this is weirdly like the whole ‘smile away your problems’ shtick in Trickster mode, something even more sinister seems to be going on. Neither of them act all that much how you’d expect them to. Davepeta doesn’t talk much at all like either of their components besides surface level quirks and cat puns, imo. Jasprose, after Rose died lamenting that she didn’t tell Kanaya she loved her, rebounds at lightning speed. But let’s move right on over to the smoking gun, where Davepeta suggests dating Jasprose shouldn’t be off the table, even if some of their components are related. “The Dave part of me is saying no no no,” they say, “but that brain tantrum just cracks me up”.

This seems to imply that the components of the combosprites are in fact 1) separate 2) sentient and 3) not pleased. And were sprites ever true unions of personalities? We don’t see much of Erisol or Fefeta, but as soon as he’s distressed, ARquius’s two components start speaking separately, and based on Tavros’s comment that being Tavris wasn’t that bad versus Tavris screaming that they’re an abomination, that sounds like it was mostly Vriska talking.

So if Davepeta doesn’t sound much like either of their components, and at least one of those personalities is still independently yelling somewhere in their subconscious, who ARE they? I’m not sure, but I’d sure take their cheerful promotion of “ultimate selves” with a heaping pound or two of salt. (EDIT) Especially as I’ve argued elsewhere that it’s in Skaia’s best interests  to have a bunch of game victors complacent about the sacrifice of hordes of people for the Big Picture, and sprites are a mouthpiece for Skaia and the game. And even more so since the message of the combosprites’ “fixing” of their components’ emotional distress seems to be that the way to achieve happiness is to stop being you, much as the Game Over kids were only able to stop suffering by ceasing to exist at all.

Retconbound

Finally, let’s look at John’s finest moment, altering the timeline so that everyone lives. He’s Breath – communication, freedom, travel – given ultimate agency by the juju powers. But… he doesn’t get much agency. He’s following Terezi’s orders, written in blood (Blood, an aspect of bonds and binding). And he seems rather unconscious or uncaring of the effect he’s having. After picking up the ring, he drops by a set of meteor kids recently transported onto LOMAX and enjoys a touching reunion, saying hi and hugging them… and then teleports off to make that never happen. What was the point of that display of friendship? What even happened to that group of kids, in a timeline with no ring of life? We don’t know, and the narrative suggests we shouldn’t care, any more than John does as he blithely flies away. We’re racking up a bunch of characters and timelines who are merely there to serve the narrative’s latest whim or need, not because they’re important in themselves.

And here’s the kicker. That juju, that magic device that saves the day? It’s powered by four Beta kids’ souls trapped inside it for eternity. We don’t know what timeline they come from, or whether they ever escape. They are faceless, voiceless, identityless plot devices that give John the ability to do what he does. They’re the culmination of how this narrative treats its characters in the endgame – as tools to get to the last page. Skaia doesn’t care who walks through the door, as long as it has warm bodies to hatch the frog and keep its cycle going. Homestuck, it seems, doesn’t care which set of characters prevails as long as it can close the damn curtains at last.

And the thing is, you could have gone somewhere with this. After all, how many troll ghosts are in the bubbles? Thousands. We don’t follow their story and then watch them die, but a bunch of versions of those characters we know and care about died and festered in the furthest ring. There could have been a point made about how Skaia is happy to consign groups of children to the scrap bin if they don’t fulfill its aims, how horrifying the whole system is and how little regard it has for life. Current set of tools broken? Fixing them would take too long and they’re not useful now, so bin ‘em and start fresh. Someone has to win. Doesn’t matter who. A quote by Hussie occasionally makes the rounds talking about how many Marios die before the end of a game, but we only care about the one who wins. Maybe that’s what he was going for, but I think he missed the mark tonally. (EDIT) Not to mention that the story’s biggest villain is a Lord of Time who, besides losing most of his own identity beyond a love of destruction long ago, is all about forcing people onto the paths that serve him despite what might be better for them and who has a whole subplot where he actually attempts to rewrite their story with crappy, subpar imitations of every character. You could easily have made a connection there, but that would suggest the villain triumphed in the end. Elements of the final flash almost seem to point in that direction, but the story still tries to play things off as a victory.

Because in the end, I think the Homestuck ending sucked. Some people say it’s a psycheout and the Epilogue will have more, or reveal that it was written by Caliborn, or whatever. Guess we won’t know until it arrives. But as it all stands now, I think it sucked a lot. And I could write about the dropped character arcs or messed up plot points, but I honestly try not to talk too much about post retcon HS because it depresses me that something I was so fond of ended so terribly. I wouldn’t have been happy if it had ended as a blatant tragedy, but I could have at least respected it a little more. But this? It’s not just that many characters sidelined and ignored, that plenty of important plot points are ignored or forgotten, that some of the writing and pacing is just poorly done. After an entire comic’s worth of emphasizing the differences between iterations of individuals and the importance and value of those independent lives, characters are treated as interchangeable and expendable as long as they get the job done. Utilitarianism rules the day. That’s how to win the game, to get this hulking behemoth of a tale to limp to its final rest. And the story tries to play this as a happy ending, and that’s the worst bit of all.

[yasuo-the-unforgiven]

                                      [Updates / To-Do List]

Hey! Whats up peeps!

I wanted to take some of your time to sit down and give some insight about my current thoughts regarding what’s to come.

For starters, I wanted to tell I’ve been itching to do a new overhaul for a while. A lot has happened since the last one - roleplay wise and art wise.

 It isn’t as drastic as a theme change, but I will be sure to add some features I miss since the last. Some features I can think of from the top of my head is:

Relationships page - This pertaining mainly the people who roleplay with me and those characters who have already some relationship estabilished with Yasuo.

In-Depth Headcanons page - This here featuring important moments of Yasuo’s life told previously. I have them tagged but they aren’t apart from minor headcanons. Unlike minor ones, major headcanons revolve around indepth and detailed information, such as tales about his childhood, his relationship with Yone, how did he end up with the scar upon the bridge of his nose, etc.

Worldbuilding page - Some of you may know I began a series of worldbuilding posts relating Ionia - but instead of photo reblogs with IRL references, I am hand painting those and fleshing it out through Yasuo’s eyes. He is a wanderer and I figured it would be great to describe the land through the man himself.

Rules and Muse info overhaul - Not so much the information but the way its written. I believe some information could be more objective and some better written. I have constantly touched up these two pages as I saw necessity, but I need to sit down and update everything eventually.

Specially on muse information, I want things to change a bit for better clarity. The issue here is many things changed after Taliyah arrived in the League. My portrayal was adapted a lot after the period and the way I see how Yasuo behaved before that is much more of what I would consider pre Taliyah - his mourning and still in pain self. His earlier years while adapting to his new cruel lifestyle and his fall from his path. I have already talked to every active blog who has interacted with me back then about this.

Everything else falls to excess of information that needs to be filtered and presented better.

Donation Page - Devoting so much time to this blog is always enjoyable, but its also a lot of work. Those following me for a while might have noticed I have set up a commissions page. I now draw for a living, and I don’t plan on asking for handouts. Still, if you like what you see in this blog and feel like leaving this windy hobo a tip, it would be very much appreciated!

[Possible] Thread Tracker - Some of my old followers remember I used to track some threads to make communication easier. I pretend giving the idea thought and bring this feature back since right now I am much more chill with replies. I have to manually update though because some of my followers reblog my threads (no issue on that regard by the way).

URL change - This has been mentioned before, but sometime ago I was gifted the ask-yasuo URL. I believe for a roleplay blog this is more fitting. Some people encouraged me to do so when I announced it but was insecure about it. My current one will go to another blog. Probably a personal.

Old Headcanon Overhaul/Rewriting/Retcon

Concerning older headcanons (this again applies to big stories only), some of them are very outdated and need rewriting and a good art overhaul. Most of them, since I began the blog still stand. I will definitely take my time to rewrite and apply fresh artwork.

For the old followers, this concerns the Jayce ship. I have pondered about it and I decided it is no longer canon for this blog’s timeline. That is so new Jayce blogs may approach if they wish and interact without being placed in a sepparate universe. The Jayce I used to interact with is long since gone and I see no point to keep him within my main roleplay circle. There were mentions of him on a thread with Rinidinger, but this is as far as it goes.

Standalone Headcanons/Stories

Or as I like to call them ‘unrequested headcanons’ - aka, headcanons I think about without having anyone ask me about them. There are still areas I would like to explore with Yasuo and its difficult to wait for the ‘correct question’. I will be looking after stories to enrich his background and tell more about him, but this will come later in time as I already have quite a lot on my plate as is.

Concerning Roleplay / What I seek for future threads

Steady roleplay partners - in short. People whose muses can connect with mine in a less superficial way. This does not stand for friendship/romance always - actually, Yasuo is better at making enemies than friends. This dynamic is something I have been missing dearly, I am not going to lie.

I understand the community has changed and its no longer the same I used to interact with years ago. Because of my recent outburst of ship art, I also believe a lot of you think I am only seeking ‘Dat Graves ™ ’ to ship with and that is not the case. I want to talk and interact with more people, but I have to do that carefully because each thread has a lot of effort placed into it. It’s not just about the pretty pictures - it’s about the portrayal and the writing aswell.

I certainly pretend to keep a decent share of memes, sillyness and other goods to keep a balance and prevent this blog from becoming stagnantly serious. I want to have a good laugh and to shitpost but Yasuo is a serious character. He has his moments but clearly they are not as frequent as desirable. 

To wrap it up with style

 I’m very pleased to announce soon I will be reaching a new follower count milestone and I will be hosting another giveaway event. This time I pretend to mix in what I did in the previous (doodles - but this time in character. Yes. Yasuo is probably going to doodle what you want, if RNG is kind to you) plus two or three free art pieces. Those are sepparate events and will take place at different dates that are yet to be scheduled.

Anyway, I might be missing something or two and I will be sure to reblog an edited version whenever they come to mind. For now, thats it. I appreciate the attention and apologies for the huge wall of text. If you have anything to ask/add/request please leave a comment!