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translations-by-aiimee · 4 years ago

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 27

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 27 - Soul-Catcher

Enemies and friends were actually pretty interchangeable. For example, Lin Yan had to be on his guard with this ghost before, but when a new enemy appeared, it was the first time that he truly felt he and Xiao Yu were on the same side. Lin Yan glanced at the dimly lit hut, his head resting on Xiao Yu's chest. His slightly cool body temperature made him think an inexplicable thought; that he actually felt safe because of the presence of this ghost that never left him alone.

"What happened?" Xiao Yu held the back of Lin Yan's head.

"It's. . . it's nothing" Lin Yan blushed. He broke out from Xiao Yu's arms, hiding his head down and looking at the photo that the old man had given him. He had such a dull expression that it looked like the black and white picture had been taken after he had died. As he took a closer look, the place where the girl in the red coat had been standing wasn't completely empty. Lin Yan aggressively wiped the picture. A thin cloud of gray mist hovered around his legs. If he wasn't actively looking for it, he would've chalked it up to the old quality of the picture.

"Pea cakes, hawthorn jelly, fruitcakes, water chestnut cake, rolling donkeys, glutinous rice cakes." The vendor pushing the cart selling treats noticed Lin Yan standing by himself. He picked up a rag and wiped the glass window of the cart, shouting more enthusiastically. "Would you like to try some?"

The dry, dazzling sunlight shone down. The vendor's voice seemed like it was coming from another world, too distant to be clearly distinguished.

Things were moving in an unpredictable direction. Lin Yan shook his head and dragged Xiao Yu forward aimlessly, wracking through his brain. The first time he saw the little girl was in the hallway of his apartment building. There had been a problem with the elevator that day and he climbed the stairs to the twelfth floor. At the corner of the third-floor hallway, he saw the little girl climbing onto the handrail to play. Later, he would meet her downstairs almost every time he went home. Once Lin Yan arrived home just when the kids had just gotten out of school and large groups of students were playing football in the yard. He hadn't paid attention to the little girl sitting on her own. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen her talk to anyone.

It seemed like it had been a while since he last saw the little girl.

When did this start? Lin Yan walked with his head down, kicking a small stone as he walked. The corner of his eyes flicked across Xiao Yu's embellished hem, a bright white fabric decorated with a greenish emerald dragon spread out underneath the moire belt hanging down, swaying as he stepped. Lin Yan hesitantly cast his gaze towards the ghost next to him. The memory of Xiao Yu appearing on that rainy night resurfaced. When Lin Yan rushed out of his apartment in terror, he saw the little girl standing in the rain, sucking on her thumb and looking at him. If he hadn't been threatened by a ghost, he would've asked why she was standing alone outside on a rainy day.

From that day on, Lin Yan's life completely changed. He thought silently, ever since Xiao Yu had started following him, the girl in the red coat hadn't shown up again.

A thought jolted across his mind. Lin Yan almost couldn't stand still. He shook as he took his phone out of his pocket and dialled Yin Zhou's number.

'Beep. . . beep. . .' Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, Lin Yan silently urged.

". . . Lin Yan?" After ringing seven times, Yin Zhou's tired voice came from the phone: ". . . I'm sleeping. I'm hanging up if this isn't important."

Lin Yan breathed a sigh of relief. He clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder while pulling out his car keys and asked; "A-Zhou, do you remember what Second Immortal Gu told us the last time we asked her to drive away a ghost?"

"The old lady was just trying to scam a few bucks off us. . ." Yin Zhou reluctantly grumbled: "I think she said there was a little girl who didn't have any clothes or money to pay to get to the underworld, and then she poured water all over you. Complete bullshit."

Lin Yan's heart dropped: "Then Second Immortal Gu died and her time of death was deliberately changed."

"Yeah." Yin Zhou yawned: "Did you find something?"

Lin Yan dragged Xiao Yu towards the parking lot and harshly slammed the car door: "She wasn't talking bullshit. There really was a little girl in red following me. I took a picture with her but the developed picture didn't have her in it."

"Holy shit!" Yin Zhou was completely awake and bounced off the bed: "Are you kidding me? Another ghost?!"

"I'm not sure yet." Lin Yan turned the key to start the car, staring at the windshield, "That hand, it slapped the windshield when we went to see Second Immortal Gu and we almost got into a car accident. It didn't seem right to me when it happened, but it disappeared so fast, I couldn't see it."

"Now that I think about it, the hand was too small. It's not the ghost that lives in my house at all." Lin Yan glanced at Xiao Yu. "I also saw the little girl the day I went to meet you in the bar. At that time, I thought she was alive. I think she was the reason I was stuck in that loop on the road and she was the one behind Second Immortal Gu's death."

"I'll go ask A-Yan later on. Keep an eye out for anything."

Yin Zhou was silent for a while: ". . . Stay safe."

Lin Yan hung up the phone and carefully backed the car out of the parking space. The market in Shenjiyuan closed early. A group of vendors surged out from the entrance with the earnings from the day like a school of fish swimming by Lin Yan's car window. The jade shop by the side of the road screeched by on its grinding wheels. Lin Yan sighed and clutched the steering wheel, waiting for the crowd in front of them to disperse. When he turned to look at Xiao Yu, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

"It's always been you, hasn't it?" Lin Yan whispered.

"The night I first met you, I drove around the overpass for three hours and didn't find the exit until I saw you."

The patter of light rain, the lonely figure standing under the streetlamp like they were waiting for a promise that could never be fulfilled.

"At that time, I thought I was lost because of you. I didn't think that you were the one to help me get out of there." Lin Yan recalled how he had been circling around the overpass like a headless fly. He found it all kind of funny now. The ghost that scared him half to death now shared his house, shared his passenger seat and even shared his occasional uncontrollable sexual desires.

Xiao Yu rubbed his fingers against his temple, trying to remember. A-Yan said that ghosts who had just returned to the human world were in a state of confusion. They would keep searching for the reason why they were stuck in the human world with very few memories of their previous lives. Some of them were able to remember and reincarnate easily while others weren't successful, their resentment growing stronger and stronger. Lin Yan grabbed his hand and held it, feeling a little depressed, and murmured: "Forget it, don't worry about it."

He couldn't help but chuckle bitterly: "You've got your hands full now. Someone's trying to kill me before you get to."

". . . You're mine." Xiao Yu said slowly, pulling his hand back.

"I'm not." Lin Yan said. He didn't know why he was so stubborn every time this topic came up: "Even now, I'm not sure who you are or where you want to take me. A month ago I was a complete atheist, but now I've now more ghosts than people. My life is already a mess and today I ran into a little girl that almost killed me on a highway."

Lin Yan started getting choked up. He sniffed. For some reason, he felt a strong feeling of outrage: "Who did I provoke? Why won't they just let me live my life?"

Xiao Yu held Lin Yan's shoulders and rubbed his chin against his forehead. Lin Yan gritted his teeth and the stinging in his eyes grew more intense.

"I'm going to ask A-Yan about the little girl later. Xiao Yu, don't move. Let me rest for a minute." Lin Yan wrapped his arms around his waist and curled into Xiao Yu's arms. "I'm exhausted. "

Long, slender fingers stroked through his hair. They were cold but the gesture was very gentle: "Don't worry, I'm here."

"I know." Lin Yan played with the crimson silk belt around Xiao Yu's waist and let out a chuckle: "Save me for yourself. Don't let someone else kill me."

Lin Yan buried his face in Xiao Yu's chest. If he had heard that a month ago, he would've thought he was out of his mind, but now he said it sincerely as if he meant it when he tried to reassure him. He instinctively felt that what had happened recently was much more than a simple coincidence. It was as if a well-prepared lasso had been placed on the ground long ago, waiting for him to walk ignorantly into the center of the rope loop only for it to be violently tightened by an invisible giant hand. The staring little girl, the dead old lady, the pre-determined internship and obsessive ghosts. The crowd outside the car window slowly dispersed. Lin Yan held Xiao Yu's waist and couldn't help but think that even if he really fell into some unpredictable conspiracy, there was always something to hold on to.

He knew that there was something between them that couldn't be resolved or reconciled. He cautiously avoided thinking about it. The ghost made the first move. Lin Yan let out a long sigh. He struggled to sit up straight, turning and driving the car out of the parking lot.

There's still time. Think about it later, Lin Yan thought to himself.

The alleyway where A-Yan lived was as dark as the first time. The spider web he saw when he came last time had grown bigger. A round gray spider was hanging underneath and climbing with its eight hairy legs. The broken bicycle beneath the spider web was gone, replaced by a pile of large cardboard boxes covered in advertisements for weight loss tea.

A-Yan didn't have a candle lit like he were a ghost this time. The living room was lit, and after making a cup of kuding tea for Lin Yan, A-Yan looked at the black-and-white photo carefully with the light, his face growing serious.

"I can't sense anything. Even the weakest ghosts have dark energy, but I can't see anything like what you said." A-Yan looked at the air around Lin Yan strangely, and then lowered his head to study the photo.

"I haven't seen her since Xiao Yu showed up. Today was the first time." Lin Yan pointed to the ghost behind him, embarrassed: "His name is Xiao Yu. I don't think I mentioned that."

He didn't know why it made him flustered to mention his name in front of others, so Lin Yan coughed quickly to cover up his embarrassment.

"X-Xiao Yu, I'll remember that." The little Daoist muttered to himself. He opened the cabinet and took out the large red lacquer pen and a glass bottle filled with cinnabar that he used to exorcise ghosts earlier. He unscrewed the bottle and paused: "Was he also there when you met the little girl you mentioned?"

"No." Lin Yan recalled: "There was a talisman hanging on the door to ward off evil spirits and he couldn't get in."

"If there was a talisman to ward off evil spirits, then that means there must have been a ghost. What did the talisman look like?"

Lin Yan drew a crooked pattern on his phone's whiteboard based on what he remembered, like gossip that was fed down the grapevine. Dancing lines of symbols and patterns were encompassed by a large black box. The little Daoist frowned while he studied it and said with certainty: "T-This is made specifically to repel ghosts. Sticking this on a door will prevent even the most powerful ghosts from getting in." A-Yan's slender fingers pointed to the cloud of gray mist near Lin Yan's feet in the photo: "Like I thought. It's not a ghost, it's a curse."

"Curse?" Lin Yan clutched the cup, bewildered: "Like in the movies?"

A-Yan took out the yellow paper from under the table. He dipped the pen in the cinnabar and haphazardly scribbled a Daoist talisman. He lit it with a lighter and moved it across Lin Yan's shoulders and head. He frowned and said: "N-No, this kind of talisman is an evil art used in practices like Nanyang Black Magic and Miaojiang compulsion techniques. They use insects, ants, dolls, and even ghosts to injure and harm people. It's different from Daoism. Daoism only targets ghosts while curses target people."

The flame of the yellow paper increased immensely when it passed over Lin Yan’s shoulders, making a small crackling sound. The little Daoist flicked the yellow paper to put out the flame and wondered: “It's impossible for a gray shadow to appear when trying to take pictures of ghosts that appeared naturally. The little girl had to be imprisoned somehow to make this kind of curse. I'll help you to get rid of it. I-It's such bad luck to run into this kind of thing."

"Lin Yan, who did you offend recently? Why did someone put a curse on you?"

Lin Yan took a sip of tea and sank into the sofa, shaking his head with a bitter smile on his face. Something that Second Immortal Gu said popped into his head. The little girl had been locked up with deep resentment. At that time, he thought she was talking nonsense. It's a pity that this person was already dead and gone.

Gone? Lin Yan looked back at Xiao Yu in surprise. If a person's soul still exists after they die. . .

"A-Yan." Lin Yan grabbed the little Taoist's thin wrist and said in a low voice: "Can people still talk after they die?"

The little Daoist priest was dumbfounded. A smirk danced on his lips. He stared at the ceiling for a minute and whispered: "N-Not necessarily. Some that died recently still can, but not for very long."

"Less than a month." Lin Yan roughly slammed the teacup on the table, water splashing into small round spots on the yellow paper. "I want to attract a person's soul."

The little Daoist thoughtfully stroked the cinnabar-coated pen and hesitated: "I-I'll try. A month might not be enough time."

The lights in the living room were dim and the whole room smelt like traditional medicinal herbs. After staying for a while, it felt like he was drifting farther and farther away from the normal world. Lin Yan took out his phone and stared at the bright screen, trying to bring himself back to reality. He scrolled through the people in his contacts. A text message suddenly popped up.

"I have some news. I'll ask the secretary to double-check and I'll get back to you tomorrow."

The one who sent it was the man who gave the lecture on Monday, Professor File Folder.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #danmei novel #danmei #yaoi novel #yaoi #chinese bl #bl novel #english translation

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resonanteye · 3 years ago

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via https://resonanteye.net/horror-movie-reviews-day-one-the-horror-of-everyday-life/

horror movie reviews: day one, the horror of everyday life

a series of reviews, two each day, of horror movies.

day one, movie one: # alive.

1: half the people are crazed and trying to kill the other half of the people, panic and mass casualties, violent infection, etc – yes, it’s 2020-2021 thank you, continue

2: infected people trying to get in and infect people who are quarantined, aggressive mental illness -yes, yes

3: your neighbors are all worse than you ever knew -yes. yes

4: cops eating each other -please do go on

5: oh no several days how will you ever survive with only ramen

two whole days of lockdown

6: so you’re warned to have plenty of food and water, yet you don’t immediately fill up the bathtub at least, or the sinks. and you don’t go into the zombie neighbor’s abandoned apartment to see if there’s food

7: too much tech, not enough walkie talkies. I doubt.

8: I get it, people expect the end of the world to be like, a switch flipped, but no. this shit draaaags forever

9: the golf club is reminiscent of funny games. maybe an intentional nod to his change in mental state

10: slapstick!

11: finally, foraging.

12: the Mormons are at the door

13: we have skipped two weeks, without water or food?

14: and finally the lights out- wouldn’t that go before the running water?

15: oh the melodrama. don’t be a moron, but this magical dude has been alive a month without water

16: Kim Yu-bin is keeping track of her shit. I bet he gets her killed. nice waterworld callback with watering the plant.

17: of course he’s that stupid, he’s the protagonist and you’re a competent woman in a movie. how else would it justify you endangering yourself for him?

18: oh, wait. he HAS water? from where?

19: finally the tech is worth a damn. and she’s feeding him, which is ok because yes helping each other matters but

20: ok yes the tech is nice, good point, this is a scene from hackers vs zombies. slapstick is fine. zombie big mad. give me back my hand you bastards

21: Jun-u. I had been ignoring his name the entire movie. This is a bad habit of mine with zombie stuff.

22: finally some decent fuckin plot movement. there’s kids, in a good movie he’d have to kill one. instead, a treasure trove of all the survival gear. it’s handy when someone else did the preparation FOR you. I mean damn

23: oooh she’s only alive to help HIM. what a fucking surprise

24: reminds me of the pandemic “share a window” website crossed with a gentle, normal mukbang (not a weird fetish feeder one)

25: the zombies are going hooome. the zombies are going hooooooome

26: ok yes sounds scary, looked scary but it seems like there’s only five of them at her door

27: she’s skilled. of course. melee fighter. I like that this isn’t the dumb-ass slow zombies, nor the superhuman ones. just regular people.

28: another pile up!

29: don’t drink koolaid from strangers, but spam? NO NOT THAT EITHER. of course there will be cannibals in this that aren’t sick, that’s another nice callback (the road) (dead alive). I’m still holding out hope a kid zombie gets killed, although it’s unlikely at this point.

30: holy fuckin generational-divide-monologue for the ages

31: oh damn a gunshot in South Korea.

32: look, Kim, I wasn’t given any backstory for you, but I really want you to outlive “regular dumb guy”. the suicide subplot is going nowhere and we both know it

33: it’s never a good look to be fighting zombie hordes on the stairs. I don’t know why, it just isn’t good. just stay in the damn apartment. please.

34: regular Joe, you are doing the right thing by staying behind, keep that up.

35: FUCK THIS SHITTY APARTMENT

36: finally, machine guns. sorry, I’m American. I’ve been waiting for an hour and a half for logic to set in

37: where are they even going? she’s cooler than him, why isn’t she getting messages? so I guess his Instagram saved her? is that a subversiveon of what I’ve been complaining about? I think it is.

7/10 excellent slapstick, callbacks, just enough humor without ruining the narrative. subversive ending in that he’s only in the movie for the sake of saving her life, and neither died. points deducted for lack of depth to the woman in the film, too much depth for the guy, and for showing us a lack of water then changing that enough to keep someone alive for 20 days. (also, he didn’t even fill up the sink, the hell)

number two, day one: condemned

this movie is about squatting, a lifestyle I’m too familiar with. let’s see how close to the mark it gets. oh, and zombie infection stuff. that too.

1: the supe is always the strangest thing in any building in NYC. always. this isn’t a narrator. this is realism.

2: when will rich kids learn that poverty isn’t an aesthetic? when will something that poor people authentically live through, be safe from commodification and the thievery of the privileged? where does class/cultural appropriation end? why are people using their yacht money on a tiny fuckin house? find out on the next episode of generation x, when we discuss the occup- wait no- this is just a zombie flick. sorry about that

3: I know she’s saying other shit on the phone but all I hear is “the rain was such a blessing”

4: montage is always good with good music over it. going anywhere in the city is basically a montage in reality

5: cigarettes cost 14 bucks in New York holy fuckin shit I’m old

6: ominous: “what could be worse than where you are now”, teens having sex, neon lighting, drainpipe footage, “what difference is a day gonna make”, “I won’t make the same mistake like I did in Vladivostok”

7: this bondage shit on the third floor is giving me a real, serious flashback to a job I did briefly which paid incredibly well. every time these characters show up I have a flashback, every time I watch this.

8: every character in this movie is someone I’ve met. every fuckin one. even cookie. I hate that and love it at the same time. I don’t know if you’ve ever lived in bad beat city but this is accuracy.

9: the glitch hallucination is wonderful. don’t show me people’s bad dreams, though. it’s a waste of film. especially someone’s dream who doesn’t know that squats don’t get the garbage picked up. at least he was gentle about her tourist status. (yes, that was fucking gentle. she’s visiting, but they LIVE there. he’ll show you the life of the mind)

10: the colors in this movie reminds me of Mermaid in a Manhole, an amazing movie itself- this is a compliment

11: yes punk means you puke and say “did you SEE that” yes it does

12: the way sickness spreads in close, unmaintained quarters is accurate too. these old buildings were originally tenements and were notorious for being built in a way that contributed to outbreaks of diseases. ny poverty history

13: the glitch used as stand-in for visual mirage is again amazing and continues to be throughout

14: that walk up all the stairs after a day at work to complain about the horror of everyday life, with a back crack and sore feet.

15: the cops are also accurate

16: the plot takes a nice strong left turn here, and it’s perfection. since the development of the plot cookie was leading us to doesn’t matter to the people in this building, it’s better to truncate it. and then we can get to business.

17: yes. if you die in a squat, you’re getting rolled in a carpet and left blocks away. you’ve got to. nobody’s gonna kill you but nobody’s going to be on the street over your ass either.

18: guitar axe skyline lightning. that may be a summary of the whole movie.

19: absolutely pitch perfect “you ruined new york city” rant for the ages

I used to live there

20: if the building wasn’t shit, this would be a nice Shining callback

21: FAWKKING

22: this movie just will not let you have any expected outcome. it’s brilliant.

23: I’ve lived in a brownstone that had a cellar which connected to every building on the block and beyond. that was in Philly, but the construction of this landscape is perfect.

full disclosure- I own this DVD and have watched it a lot. it’s one of my favorite movies, structurally and visually, and I think it’s one of the best horror movies made this decade.

#true stories

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ohblackdiamond · 5 years ago

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the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 4/5)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

In this chapter: Final preparations for visiting Tony Stark, including, in order of importance, paying up to find his location, deciding how to state their case, and determining what outfits to wear.

Or, four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who’s not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

“Do you think we’re ready now?”

Paul said it out of nowhere, while they were all lounging in front of the T.V. Well, Gene had his ipad out, if only to fact-check the cast list for the horror movie onscreen. None of them were watching it. Ace had been shuffling in and out of the living room, bringing in popcorn and soda refills, looking a little antsy, but now he was sitting next to Peter, arm draped nonchalantly around his shoulders, feet propped up on a leather ottoman. On the couch opposite theirs, Paul was laying on his back, one ankle resting on his raised knee, occasionally reaching for the popcorn bowl on the floor, with Gene occupying what little room remained. It was comfortable, quiet. It reminded Peter of the rare times on tour that they’d have more than two days off in a row. No, better than that. Serene.

But with that single question, the serenity crumbled. Three pairs of bleary brown eyes were on Paul in an instant. Naturally, Paul started to hesitate, pulling both his knees up.

“I mean, really. We got all our powers back. What do we have left to work on?”

“Besides finding Stark’s location?” Gene set the ipad on the floor. “That’s it.”

“And that shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

“And about a million dollars,” Gene said dryly. “The man’s wiped himself off the map.”

“So we pay it, that’s fine.” That mild anxiousness was beginning to sink into Paul’s expression. Any minute and he’d be shifting around in his seat like a twitchy grammar school kid. Peter watched, too used to it to feel more than mildly vindicated, as Paul moved to lay on his side, knees still bent. Gene hadn’t yet taken advantage of the extra legroom. “But other than that, we’re done. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not counting on us, I dunno, waking up faster than a speeding bullet if we do a few more pushups.”

Ace stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth before responding.

“We’ve got to chart it out.”

“Chart it out?” Peter echoed. “What, are we sailing?”

“Astrology charts.” Ace took a large gulp of Pepsi. “Figure out what day’s best—I looked into it a little bit, I think the 27th would be good…”

“Are you serious, Ace? Just because that’s your lucky number doesn’t mean there’ll be any difference—” Gene started.

“It’s not just that! I checked all our horoscopes and that’s the only day that’s gonna be positive for all of us at once!” Ace looked aggrieved, stuffing another handful of popcorn in his mouth, chewing as he spoke. “I couldn’t get it positive with Stark, too, so that was the best I could—”

“What sign is he?” Paul asked, distractedly.

“Gemini. Totally incompatible.”

Paul exhaled, brow furrowed. Gene just rolled his eyes. Peter looked over at Ace, for once unsure on whether or not to back him, or if it mattered.

“That’d give us two weeks,” Peter said finally, shrugging. It was probably the most neutral statement he’d made in awhile. Gene shot him a mildly aggrieved look. “It’s fine as long as nobody chickens out and keeps trying to put it off.”

“Nobody’s gonna chicken out, Pete, don’t you worry.” Ace was nodding as he spoke. “I’m gonna check with my tarot reader tomorrow, too, just to make sure.”

“You still go see her?”

“Well, yeah. Though sometimes I’m starting to wonder.”

“What, if she’s stealing your money?”

“No, no, I just think her clairvoyance is getting cataracts or some shit.” Ace shrugged. “She said we were gonna tour again.”

Gene started to laugh. An utterly disgusted look crossed Paul’s face before he pressed half of it against the armrest.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding! Not in so many words, but she said something about change and great spectacles and crowds, so—”

“The only way I’m going back on tour is if we get sued,” Paul said flatly.

Ace hesitated.

“About that, Paulie…”

God. Peter knew exactly what was next. A whole half-hour round of rambling and shooting the shit, and by the time they all realized how far off-course they’d gotten, no one would even be in the mood to discuss their meeting with Stark. Ace’s ability to delay and distract had gotten way too much practice over the last five years. Luckily, Gene was immune.

“We’ve got other logistics to deal with here,” he said, a little curtly.

“Like what? This ain’t a gig—”

“Are you kidding? Ace, this might be the biggest gig of our lives.” Gene’s voice was as quiet and intense as usual. To Peter, it was a relief. “If Stark knows what really happened—”

“There’s no way that bastard doesn’t. You don’t make that kind of money without your fingers in everybody’s pie,” Peter interrupted. “We’ve been over this.”

“It’s not all about the money. It’s the type of superhero work he did.” Paul had raised his face from the armrest, finally. “I mean, the Avengers were dealing with threats from alien planets. That’s more than we ever did.”

“You think what happened five years ago is on account of aliens, Paul?”

Paul shrugged as much as he could while lying on the couch.

“You piss off a lot of people crimefighting.”

“Like Devereaux.” Peter snorted at the memory, but he kept going. “The guy gets fired and then he decides to make fucking robots of us to destroy the whole amusement park. And we didn’t have anything to do with it!”

“We did a concert at the park,” Paul said dryly.

“But it wasn’t our fault he got canned!”

“Well, no, but…” Gene said, before clearing his throat. He grabbed the remote, turning off the television. “We’re not getting anything done talking about Devereaux. We need to be talking about how to approach Stark.”

“Easy. With an ultimatum,” Ace tried to deadpan, only to ruin it with a laugh.

“With a plan.”

“Okay, okay. First off, what outfits? We’ve gotta coordinate.” Paul, unsurprisingly. Peter could’ve practically done a timeline of Paul’s recovery over the last five years by how much interest he showed in what he looked like. The first morning Paul had come downstairs for breakfast both shaved and dressed in something that wasn’t pajama bottoms or jeans was the morning Peter knew he wouldn’t be stuck living with a corpse that vaguely resembled KISS’ frontman.

“I dunno. Whatever we go with, I’ll still be sweating,” Ace said. “None of them are comfortable.”

“Mine are comfortable—”

“That’s ’cause yours don’t usually have a top, Paul.”

“We could do suits,” Gene offered halfheartedly. Despite his earlier complaint, Ace looked mildly appalled at the suggestion.

“No suits. I dunno if Stark’s old enough to remember the Dressed to Kill album cover,” Ace said. “He’ll think we’re trying to negotiate a business deal.”

“We are.”

“Y’know what I mean, Gene. No go.”

“Then what tour?”

“Anything but Dynasty. I’m not dragging around that green fucking shag carpet again,” Peter said.

“I loved Dynasty. We were wearing actual colors.”

“Black and silver are actual colors, Paul.”

“What about Love Gun? Fairly easy outfits to move around in, cohesive… lots of nostalgia for a Generation Xer like Stark…” Gene trailed. Ace nodded.

“I like it. Yeah.”

The next day, Gene made about a dozen calls and moved half a million dollars out of a Swiss bank, while Paul got out his checkbook, looking markedly less blasé about shelling out the money than he had when it was only a point of discussion. Peter was determined not to let the hangdog expressions on both their faces compel him to donate (“the man’s location ain’t worth forty bucks, and you know it”), but Ace, yanking out his own wallet with the affability of an old gambler, shamed him into it with a single sentence.

“It’s only paper, Cat.”

So half an hour later, once Ace had wandered off for his tarot reading appointment, Peter wrote out a check for thirty grand. Every step towards Gene’s office—really just a rolltop desk and a rolly chair conveniently parked outside the kitchen—felt like slogging around in mud. The last time he’d given Gene any money, he—no, wait, he’d never given Gene any money. Unless he counted licensing. He was trying not to count licensing.

As soon as Peter walked in, Gene spun around in his chair to face him. Peter held up the check, feeling like he was fleecing himself out of part of his own retirement. That old glint in Gene’s eye was there almost immediately, and he didn’t hesitate, taking the check as soon as Peter offered it.

“Is that a reimbursement?”

“It’s a payment, asshole. Don’t make me change my mind.”

“You didn’t make it out to anyone.”

Peter snatched the check back and wrote “Gene Simmons” in capital letters across the for line.

“There. Just put it towards finding that bastard, that’s all I care about.” He paused. “How much did Ace give you?”

“More than you did.”

Peter groaned.

“And you let him? Gene, you know he blew all his Reunion money as soon as he made it—and he never did earn that much off his solo albums. Don’t let him bullshit you, he ain’t got more than a million, I’d be surprised if he’s got half that—”

“He wanted to help out.”

“Don’t bankrupt him over this shit, Gene.”

“I’m putting half of it back in his account.” A pause. “But—now correct me if I’m wrong, Pete, but you’re a little more, ah, fiscally responsible, on average—”

“If you put half mine back, I’m moving out. I’m serious. I’m not having you and Paul hang who paid what over my head if this works.”

“All right, fine, fine.” Gene folded the check and stuck it in his pocket.

“I mean it, Gene, I watch my bank account.”

“Spoken like a true divorcé,” Paul called out from the kitchen. The usual tinny crack to his voice when he spoke much above normal volume wasn’t there yet. Peter scowled.

“I didn’t spend half as much on either of mine as you did—"

“I told you both to do prenups,” Gene interrupted. Peter shot him a put-out look, while Paul kept yelling out from the kitchen.

“I tried! Pam started crying when I suggested it!”

“Yeah, that should’ve been your first indication.” Gene was biting back a laugh. Peter elbowed him. “Anyway, I’ll go get everybody’s checks deposited and—”

“You can do that online,” Paul said, only half-audible over the sound of the egg beaters. Whatever he was in the process of baking, Peter didn’t hold too much hope for.

“What?”

“Just take a couple pictures of the checks and you can do it online.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You don’t gotta go over there anymore.”

Gene looked at Peter. Peter shrugged.

“First I’ve heard of it. I dunno.”

“Huh.” Gene’s forehead furrowed, and he called back out to Paul. “Front and back of the check?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t really trust that,” Peter mumbled, watching as Gene took the checks out of his pocket, spreading them on the desk (Peter noted, almost wryly, that Paul had failed to add the obligatory star to his signature. Ace, though, had doodled his usual card, strange as it looked next to “Paul Frehley”) before pulling his phone out. “I bet nobody’s looking at the damn pictures.”

“Hang on.” Gene’s lips were pursed in concentration. “Shit, I forgot my password.”

The din of the eggbeaters ceased, a put-out sigh coming from the kitchen. A few seconds later and Paul was in the office with them, leaning over Gene’s phone.

“Which account is it again?”

“The, uh, local one.”

Another sigh. Paul typed something in and handed the phone back.

“There. You’re in now.”

“Thanks.” Gene fidgeted, smoothing out the checks again before starting to take the pictures. Peter stared at both of them.

“You’ve got the passwords to his bank accounts.”

“Well, yeah, he never remembers.”

“Are you sure you’re not married?”

Gene’s head shot up immediately, caught expression written all over his face. Paul gave Peter that wide-eyed, innocently baffled stare that had stopped being attractive somewhere around the second term of the Clinton administration. Only it quit being baffled and sunk right over to embarrassed within half a second, Paul’s gaze drooping to the desk. Peter ignored the hint and kept staring.

“Well?”

“I’ve got to check on that meringue,” Paul said suddenly, and slunk out of the room.

Two hours and three-quarters of a million dollars later, Gene had Tony Stark’s location pinpointed, coordinate by exhausting coordinate. Ace confirmed, once they’d punched those coordinates into google maps, that he could teleport them there, no problem. Pretty disgusting, really. It turned out that the guy hadn’t even left New York.

Ace also confirmed that his tarot reader had told him the 27th was a perfectly viable day for any and all world-saving plans. Not a surprise. Even if Ace wasn’t much more than a millionaire, if that, Peter figured she was still probably getting paid way too much to argue him over dates.

And so that was it. That was really it. The last real chink in their plan, resolved. All over but the enacting. Sitting around the kitchen, eating the chocolate pie Paul had whipped up earlier (he’d overbeat the meringue on top), it felt—weird. Back on the precipice of something grand and great and terrifying. Just spinning their wheels. Just waiting.

Gene reached for another piece of chocolate pie. Paul leaned over and cut it for him, neatly setting it on his plate.

“Thirteen days, boys,” Gene said through a mouthful of meringue. “Thirteen days and we’ll save the world.”

“Hopefully,” Paul corrected.

“No hopefully. We’ll save it.” Gene’s self-assurance was usually more frustrating than bolstering. But right now, Peter appreciated it. “We’re in the best shape we’ve ever been in—”

Beside Peter, Ace burst into laughter.

“Well, I mean, in costume—in costume we’re untouchable,” Gene corrected. “Stark’s an intelligent man. He’ll recognize what an asset we are.”

“Gene, saying Stark’s an intelligent man is like saying Genghis Khan was a pretty good warlord.” Paul shifted, and Peter watched, mildly surprised, as he got another piece of pie for himself. Usually, the guy ate less the more stressed he was. “But I don’t think it’s gonna be a problem getting him on our side.”

Peter felt himself nod.

“We got a lot going for us.”

“We need to talk approach, though.” Gene looked pensive. Peter tilted his head. Across from him, Paul mumbled “oh, boy” under his breath. “No, I’m serious. Coming to his house in costume is ballsy, but the message is what’ll really get us in.”

“What do you wanna do, Geno? Ask him whose dick you have to suck to get in on the world-saving gig?” Ace asked blithely.

“I can’t believe you remember me saying that,” Gene said.

“I don’t. But I had to do research for my memoir.” The corners of Ace’s mouth tilted up. “I get that it’s serious, but—”

“It is serious. That’s why I need to do the talking.”

“Oh, come the hell on, Gene—”

“Paul, I’ve met him. I’ve had dinner with him. I think that’ll give us some extra leverage—”

“What, you think the rest of us are just gonna make asses of ourselves?”

“Absolutely.”

“Gene!”

“Paul, c’mon. You’ll be snotty, Pete’ll get pissed, and Ace’ll tell him about Jendell. You all need to leave the talking to me.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Peter said it before Paul could. He could feel Paul’s glance on him, approving for the first time in years. Ace’s, too. “We’re not going to be sitting on our asses while you try to schmooze up Stark.”

“Then—”

“I think we’ve got to just be honest with him,” Ace said. “We don’t need to bust out the resume. ’S not big enough to be all that impressive anyway. Just tell him we wanna help.”

“You think it’s that simple?”

“Yeah, I think it’s that simple.” Ace was tugging his fork along his plate, scraping up the tiniest remnants of his piece of chocolate pie. Peter, sighing, cut another piece for him, dropping it on his plate. “The Avengers don’t get a lot of volunteers.”

“Do you think we ought to…” Paul trailed, wiping off his mouth as he spoke. “Try an emotional appeal. Would that work on him?”

“Would it work on you?” Gene asked.

“If Tony had tits, it would.”

“Then that’s a no.”

“Hold on. What kind of emotional appeal are you talking, Paul?” Peter asked.

Paul looked a little surprised Peter was pushing for more when Gene had just shut him down.

“Like Ace said, be honest. Tell him we lost out on everything. We could even tell him about our work with FER.”

Peter barely managed not to roll his eyes at Paul qualifying those fifty-three pregnancies as work. Gene had finished his second piece of pie, and Paul was pushing what was left of his own towards him on automatic.

“The only trouble with that is, he’s heard it before,” Gene said. “He’s donated millions to the government to clean up after what happened. There’s probably thousands of charity organizations sending him orphans to sponsor.”

“But he hasn’t heard it from us.” Paul’s lips were slightly pursed. “You’re right, it may not make much of a difference. But Stark does know who we are.”

“Everyone knows who we are,” Gene countered.

“No, Gene, it—it means something to him. He’s just old enough that he remembers when we were superheroes.”

Peter wiped his mouth off with a napkin.

“Remember how they billed us, starting out?” Paul pushed.

“Sure,” Peter said. “The seventies’ answer to Captain America.”

“Then we ended up the Me Generation’s answer to Captain America,” Ace added dryly.

“And Stark’s old man was big buddies with—”

“Captain America.” Gene nodded, expression brightening. “He would’ve had to have been very well aware of us—”

“Exactly. Gene, did Stark ever tell you anything, when you met him? Did he say he’d been to KISS concerts?”

“I don’t remember. He might have.” Gene scooped up more of Paul’s piece of pie, taking a bite as he spoke. Same rotten table manners as ever, but Peter had long since stopped minding. “I’ve only seen him at a few functions. He never struck me as a fanboy.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not one,” Paul countered. “There are a lot of fans out there still that don’t advertise it.”

“If it turns out Stark’s got a KISS cave in one of his mansions, I gotta say I ain’t buying the playboy bit out of him,” Ace said.

“I think he got married. But look, just—we’ve got to use whatever we can to our advantage. Even if we’re still playing on nostalgia.”

Peter nodded in agreement. Ace reached over, snagging the last piece of pie before Gene’s fork could reach it, and smiled.

Over the next twelve days, everyone was filled with nervous energy. It seemed to almost ping-pong back and forth between them, the bond getting strong enough that Peter was finally starting to distinguish between the rest of the guys’ feelings, instead of it all being an indiscernible lump of emotions. He’d never been great at it. Paul was easiest to tell apart from the rest, probably because he was so anxious naturally, ribbony swaths of mauve and purple in his mind’s eye. Gene and Ace were always a little less defined. Peter was worried about Ace in particular. The deep blue field of feelings, like an oddly starless sky, seemed—deeper, like there was something beneath the surface. He’d mentioned it a bit, late at night in bed, but Ace always brushed it off. Peter, figuring Ace was just afraid their discussion with Stark would all go wrong, hadn’t pushed him too hard about it. If he wanted to talk about it, he’d say so.

They had just finished one last workout and were lying around on the couches, transformed back to normal but still sweaty. Ace had gotten everyone water bottles from the fridge; Paul had deigned to pass out towels, and they’d all ended up pouring the water on the towels and wiping off their faces with it, too tired to bother with proper showers yet. Gene was self-assured to the point of cockiness, the red tendrils of emotion creeping into Peter’s subconscious like infiltrating vines.

“Almost there. Tomorrow’s the day.”

Paul, who had his legs propped on Gene’s lap on the couch, but still looked strained, nodded in assent.

“You nervous?”

“I’m dosing up on Xanax before we leave.”

“Paul, c’mon,” Gene said, and then he looked over at Peter and Ace. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Peter said dryly. Ace offered a thumbs-up.

“You’re killing me. Where’s Bill when you need him?” Gene shook his head. “Don’t be so damn worried about how things are gonna go. I can feel it from here.”

It was hard not to be worried. They hadn’t discussed what they’d do if Tony Stark turned them down, if there was no way they could fix their world. It had been easy to say they had nothing to lose when their powers had been in terrible shape and teaming up with the Avengers was just an idea to reach for. But now, powers restored, less than twenty-four hours from being face-to-face with Stark… it was different. It was wracking. And Gene was trying to take over the job of every manager they’d ever had, and pump them up like they were back on tour.

“C’mon, boys. The last thing that stopped KISS was a concept album.”

Ace’s mouth started to twitch up at his words. Noticing it, Gene shot him a broad smile and continued.

“We’ve talked what we’re gonna say and do tomorrow to death. Let’s look past that.”

“Look past that?” Peter repeated.

“Yeah. Let’s go around the room and talk about what we’ll do after.”

“Well, after we’ll either go home or end up in that Avengers tower,” Paul said dryly. Gene poked his leg.

“After we succeed, Paul. After we get him on our side and save the world. What’s next on our agenda?”

“I still gotta take you guys to Jendell,” Ace said.

“Yeah, but besides that. C’mon. True story time. Let’s all come out with it, all around the room.” Gene’s boisterousness was the exact opposite of infectious, each bandmate glancing nervously at the others, but he didn’t seem deterred. “Do I have any volunteers? Paul?”

“I, uh…”

“Go ahead. What’s the first thing you’re going to do after we save the world?”

“Probably have sex with my wife.”

Gene’s expression shifted into a wide grin.

“Me, too. Peter?”

“… Probably just kiss my wife.”

“Aw, Petey, just let Gigi touch your tits some and you’ll be able to get it back up—”

“Oh, shut up, Ace—”

“What’re you going to do, Ace? Rachael?”

“I dunno.” Ace was gnawing at his bottom lip, teeth sliding up and down the skin. “I think… I think I wanna try to patch things up with Jeanette.”

“Really?” Peter blinked. “You haven’t even lived together in at least twenty years.”

“I know. I know that. But we never got divorced. Her health’s been real bad, I didn’t wanna do that to her. And me and Rach… I dunno. Rach helped me get clean. Jeanette could’ve, too, if I’d let her.”

Peter didn’t know how to answer that. Oh, there were all the old sayings he half-remembered from his own rehab stint, how an addict, any addict, could have the best support team in the world behind him and it wouldn’t matter until he wanted to change, but none of that felt right. None of that felt meaningful.

“But you guys helped me stay that way,” Ace finished off. “So I guess on that basis if you wanna go all-in on a four way marriage, then—”

“No,” Gene said flatly. “One partner’s expensive enough.”

“Aww, been breaking my heart for over forty years, Geno,” Ace lilted, licking his lips, smirk spreading across his face. “’N’ I just keep coming back. Glutton for punishment, man. How the fuck do you do it?”

Gene just snorted, but he was starting to smile. Next to him, Paul shifted awkwardly.

“Don’t say it, Paulie. I know you’ve got the rings on backorder at Kay’s—”

“Kay’s? Don’t insult me like that!”

“Okay, okay, so you went to Tiffany’s. Get your lamps and your engagement rings at the same time, good deal.”

“Damn it, Ace, I just wanna—”

“I’m staying out of this,” Peter mumbled, starting to get up, only for Ace to grab him by the arm and tug him back to the couch, cackling.

“You’re way too late for that one, Cat. When was it, ’95…”

“I just wanted to ask if anyone wanted to jam downstairs!” Paul burst out.

“Jam?”

They hadn’t had a jam session since before Paul and Gene had gotten out the talismans for their ridiculous FER liaisons.

Peter remembered the first session they’d done. Maybe three, four months after moving into New Haven properly, after Gene had taken care of—or had someone else take care of—closing deals on all four of their houses. Moving everyone’s personal memorabilia, everything from gold and platinum albums to old costumes to stupid, useless shit like newspaper clippings and black-and-white passport photos, into storage units. Most of the stuff they’d wanted at home got boxed up and put either in the attic or downstairs, instruments included.

Peter had found himself in the basement, looking for something still in storage. An old corduroy coat of Lydia’s. One he’d about begged off her boyfriend a month or two after the blip. He knew he didn’t have a right to it forty years out, but he could smell the faint traces of her perfume on the fabric, could see that old greasepaint smear on the corner of one sleeve, from when she’d cupped his face in her hands for a kiss after a show. He’d been so desperate to grasp at anything of hers, any reminder she’d ever been real and ever been his. Gigi, too, only he had her things, almost twenty years’ worth. Her dress from their wedding, her name tattooed on his shoulder. He’d had nothing of Lydia’s.

He never found that coat again, no matter how much he searched the basement. Instead Peter had found Gene’s old bass, the one Gene had given him after he’d been fired from the band for the first time, that old memento. Even when he’d gotten down to his last few grand, back in the early nineties, he’d held onto that bass. It was out of tune now, badly, but Peter had kept strumming at it until he heard Ace wandering down the stairs, then watched him step into the basement. Ace hadn’t even blinked at the sight of Peter with the bass.

“You wanna play something?”

“No, it’s—”

“C’mon.”

And somehow they’d both lugged Peter’s old drumkit out of storage, and one of Ace’s Les Pauls, and before long they were playing again. Couldn’t do much with a two-piece band. Ace had gone all in on “Parasite;” Peter had started “Strange Ways,” and halfway through the chorus, Paul had come in. Peter had bristled, expecting Paul to tell them to can it, but Paul had just watched quietly, leaning against the door like he thought he still looked cool. Not realizing that he only looked like a little kid hoping he wouldn’t get picked last for baseball.

Ace had waved him over with a jerk of his thumb. Paul had dug around awhile in the storage room before picking out one of probably two or three guitars he had in there, tuning it, anxious look on his face. The three of them finished up on “Strange Ways,” and then Peter’s gaze had gone to Paul, waiting, out of long-ago habit, for the next suggestion. Paul took awhile to make one.

“‘Hard Luck Woman,’” Paul had said finally.

“You don’t wanna sing?” Peter had asked, unthinking. Paul looked away, and Ace just plowed into the intro in attempt to save Paul some face. But Peter didn’t pick up his sticks, deliberately missing his cue to sing.

“Pete, just go ahead, would you?” Paul had said, voice quiet. “Just go ahead. I want to hear you.”

“I wanna hear you.”

By the time Gene came downstairs, Ace and Peter had coaxed Paul into starting on the first verse of “Strutter,” each note weak but true. Gene hadn’t even hesitated, strapping on his bass like a minuteman attaching his bayonet, adding that last piece to their ensemble.

That night, they’d been tight. Tighter than they’d been in so many years, feeding off each other’s playing in—in almost a round. Not weaving in and out seamlessly like Keith Richards and Ronnie Wood—KISS just wasn’t that good, and never had been—but it felt better than comfortable. It felt fulfilling. Looking back, Peter realized that night had been the start of that old connection between the four of them beginning to mend.

That session had been the best by far. The jam sessions after were a mixed bag. Oh, they’d all start out well enough, charging through the old setlist staples like “Black Diamond” and “Detroit Rock City” at an insistent, heady pace, but then, inevitably, things would fall apart. Peter’s arms would go from just throbbing to straight-up murdering him, Ace’s encroaching deafness would get in the way of his ability to follow Peter’s tempo, and Paul’s voice would start cracking to the point he’d just quit singing entirely and glare at the others as if daring them to utter a single word.

Gene was the only one who didn’t really falter much—until they got to any actual jams, at least. Then he was dead in the water. If it hadn’t been on at least the last ten setlists, it wasn’t a song Gene actually remembered. Peter had found that out the hard way when he’d suggested a rendition of “Mainline,” only to garner a blank-faced Gene and an off-kilter but trying Ace and Paul for his troubles. The bassline not being the most important factor in that song didn’t ease Peter’s irritation any. Not given that Peter had done the lead vocals.

“Wait, you really want to jam, Paul?” Gene asked. He looked a little baffled. Paul would go along with jam sessions, but he’d never been the one to suggest them before. Too embarrassed about the state of his vocals. It was like the guy honestly expected to be made fun of. Maybe once, five years ago, Peter would have, seeing it as karma for how Paul had treated him during the Reunion. But not now. Not ever.

“Well, yeah. Get some of the nervous energy out before we go to Stark’s.” Paul shrugged. “Look, if you guys don’t want to, it’s fine, I just thought…”

“Let’s do it.” It was Ace, in all his weirdly lazy affability. But his eyes were bright and focused. “Dress rehearsal before the performance. It’s good luck.”

“It’s good luck to have a bad dress rehearsal, Ace,” Gene corrected, though he was nodding. “Pete, you want to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m game.”

“Cool.” Paul visibly relaxed. The purple ribbons in the corner of Peter's mind seemed to lighten. Ease. “C’mon.”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #peter criss #ace frehley #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #ace frehley x peter criss

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strawberryspeachy · 4 years ago

Text

So on the last day of july i went clubbing

Almost immediately met a cute boy and he asked me to go to a hotel with him. I debated but ultimately went with him. He asked if i wanted to go on a date because fucking japanese assholes equate date with hotel.

Went. Hooked up. Then. He said he wanted to go back to the club because otherwise “it would be a waste of his night”

Yeah

So... went back.... watched him look for another girl. And felt like shit

Eventually a boy that was ok looking talked to me. I didnt ignore him and he got excited over me talking to him after having ignored other boys. I didnt intend to continue talking to him but he was so excited the entire time and was nice so i just stayed with him.

We left together and sat on some sidewalk and talked. I saw that both his arms had cut marks all over them

And as a fucked up person... i stupidly think that other fucked up people will be as empathetic as i try to be and my depressed friends back home

He told me some of his shitty homelife - apparently he doesnt have parents

He asked me to go to a hotel with him and i said no... so we went to eat instead...

He kept being overly nice (in words) told me that he works at an old folks home and that he wants to learn english and come to america and help me take care of my mom.... in a sudden way

Rationally im not stupid and know that was a line. But im pretty stupid in general

He kept asking me to be his gf and i told him id need to go on a date with him to decide that

I just wanted to say no but...

He didnt pay for my meal - ya im one of those girls that that bothers

We seperated and he continued to text my the next few days. We set up a date. He asked me to go to him in yokohama - an hour away from tokyo

Since id never been there i said yes. But this meant i had to pay an expensive train ticket

He did pay for dinner and afterwards convience store for me... mostly... asking if i had change

He wanted to drink at the pier and insisted i get a drink but didnt pay for it

And then took me back to his apartment

It ended up being fun

The next morning while he was showering i was just poking around at his stuff. Not actually looking for anything just curious about the things he has

I looked at his wallet (honestly to see the design but i also always wonder why japanese guys are so comfortable leaving money around who is generally a stranger)

And then. I found. Picture from a photobooth. Him amd soem girl. It was dated from a week before.

He told me the night we met that he broke up with his ex a year ago. But this picture looked very much like a couple

I asked him about it and he just said sorry and threw it in the trash (not a real trash. It could easily be taken out) he said it was from a year ago

After. Bit i took it out amd pointed at the date. He literally hummed and refused to comment ...but he told me hell only see me...

I shouldn’t take that as enough but i did and told him when i got home that ill only se him too. I told him i liked him - and to this point he kept saying he likes me over and over. He has not said it since this. Just said he was happy that i used his name.

After that i went to okinawa for a few days. He told me his sim card broke and he doesnt have wifi unless he goes to a convience store (as an excuse to text slow)

I got back the next week and stayed home all week from a yeast infection that i think he gave me. When he barely responded i told him that

Then he responded continuously telling me that i just got it on my own and hes healthy so it wasnt him

That weekend i went drinking with some friends and messaged him. He responded immediately and i called him. Asking when his phone got fixed. He told me the day before

Then he told me he has pink eye and sent a picture. He said he cant go out of his house because of it

The next week was my birthday. He said hed be cured the day after and we could celebrate. Then he cancelled saying the doc told him hes still contagious

A few days after he sent me a picture of him with makeup on and contacts in saying he went to the salan. I responded immediately asking if he was still contagious and tried to call. He ignored me

I tried to call more throughout the day

Nothing

Over 24 hours pased so i used another account to say hi to him. After 2 hours he responded to the fake account asking who it was

And i flipped the fuck out. I told him a bunch of reasons why he sucked and that he did and fuck him

Then he responded to me with long messages. Many of which i couldnt understand (hes used incorrect kanji before that which makes translation strained)

His excuse was that he felt sick and slept for 20 hours (but he ignored me for over 27)and that he wanted to answer his texts in order. That he doesnt look at him phone much and then got mad at me for not being worried about him and instead getting mad

He didnt addresss any of my complaints like the fact that if im his gf i should be a priority

But because im a sucked i felt bad for trying to hurt him and apologized.... he said hed forgive me if i buy him an accessory next time we hung out...

Yeah. Red flags. I too if i had other options... would have said. Thats a weird way to accept an apology.

Also before (on that first date) when we talked about our bdays cause his was a bit before mine. I asked him what hed wanna do as a late celebration. He immediately told me he wanted yakiniku (an expensive meat meal) and clothes or accessorys from an expensive brand he likes...

So he continued to take over 24 hours to reply to me. With very small responces - he never asks me questions. I asked him to call the night before i went camping and he said he couldnt because he was too drunk from drinking with friends. I went camping and came back and got him on the phone. I demanded him to call and he said he couldnt cause he was tired from work and would the following day

I told him it makes me upset that he doesnt talk to me and that i constantly dont feel good because of him. He just said sorrry. I planned to say this is over if he didnt agree to meet me. But he agreed to a date the coming sunday... the day before i began work again. He said hed come to tokyo and and had a plan. It sounded fun.

Well come sunday morning.... he cancelled. He said he didnt have money. I tried to call him several times and he ignored me.

I confronted him in person. He got mad at me for it. Said he got some sort debt collection and got frauded... someone used his name to take out money and he has to pay court. He said he doesnt have money because of it.

I asked why he never tells me whats going on with him (because im dumb and beleive this... actually i dont. I hope hes being honestly and just has really bad luck but)

This time like last time i told him the way he treats me is how really awful boys who are using me and playing with me treat me. And i cant trust him if hes like this but doesnt tell me why

Well...i was there... i offered to pay for out date.... besides the 11 dollars it takes to get to him

He asked me to put 5 dollars on his train card.... it takes 3 dollads to get to and from where we went. He... mad sure no matter where we would eat it would cost 40 bucks - wanting to drink alc and such. It costed 43 dollars. He wanted starbucks but i kinda said no by saying i dont rlly like starbucks - but he still wanted to get a dessert - 3 dollars

And... he wanted me to buy him that aftermentioned accessory... a ring. He looked at very expensive ones... i... would not have paid for even as stupid as i am.. the one he got was 15 or 25 I forget which...

The thing is... if he wasnt actually... if i wasn’t comfortable being with him i woulda stopped this before... unfortunately. As usual. Despite initially not being attracted to him i really enjoyed his company and find him to be fun...

He said that we should go home at 8 i asked about going back to him place and he said no because hes tired and has work the next day. He knows i also do too. At the same time. And i tried to convince him and he kept saying no. Then i asked doesnt he wanna have sex. He said that we should go to a hotel. And i protested that hotels are expensive and his apartments free and just a cheap train station away. He said hes too tired and just wants to sleep at his apartment but hotels are exciting so hed be awake at a hotel.

He pushed them and i said at that point id be spending like 100 dollars on the day and he knows i also dont have a lot of money.

We awkwardly went to a manga cafe that was only 5 dollars but it wanted you to make a card that costs 5 more dollads. And then i got fussy because too much stress literally makes me lose control of my emotions.

It fucking sucks and i hate it. I have no fucking control over my emotions when my stress is bubbling (which it almost always is) and boils over.

I asked him if he can even pay just the 5 dollars and he said he has no money. I asked how hes gonna get to work with literally no money and he said his conpany pays for it (yea japanese conpanies pay AFTER you go )

We left. It was a bad mood. He didnt storm away from me even though i was basically crying in the street (i have had this happen with even friends. I start crying and they just walk away so even though it should be expected of someone claiming to be your bf... ya)

Anyhow i told him i just wanted to cuddle and talk and kiss

He looked annoyed but i guess he thought those wants were cute and looked for a isolated place

Because were in japan

Couldnt find one cause we were in a city and he again just started saying lets go home. That hes tired and not in the mood.

But we were in a quiet enough play.

And im bitching here but ill take a quick break to say i kept hugging him and stuff which he liked despite saying he was really embarrassed

He told me ealier ok that because of this debt thing hes gonna work two jobs

Which. Terrified me. The first guy I went on a date with in Japan asked me to be his gf and to move in with him and said he had to work two jobs for a month to afford to move so he wouldnt have time to see me. He told me his progress for two weeks and then ghosted me.

This boy told me hell make time to see me when i complained about not doing anything physical when i wouldnt see him again for who knows how long

Welp. Todays saturday and that was sunday. And while at first i thought he was trying because he replied to my messages in or at 24 hours for a few days. Its gone back to the 17 hours

And i asked him to talk on the phone

And he just said not tonight because after his current job hes working at home too

And because im dumb ive waisted my whole saturday waiting for him to reply and crying.

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horansqueen · 5 years ago

Text

AM Conversations : chapter 32

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13 || CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 15 || CHAPTER 16 || CHAPTER 17 || CHAPTER 18 || CHAPTER 19 || CHAPTER 20 || CHAPTER 21 || CHAPTER 22 || CHAPTER 23 || CHAPTER 24 || CHAPTER 25 || CHAPTER 26 || CHAPTER 27 || CHAPTER 28 || CHAPTER 29 || CHAPTER 30 || CHAPTER 31

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his. -4k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

- if you want to be notified when this is updated, please message me or leave a comment!

- you can send me questions and theories and comments. tbh they all make me SO SO SO SOOOO HAPPY! and make me want to write more! you can also tell me if there are things you WANT to happen. you never know, i may add it :P

- note for this chapter: i got a few requests like a trip to ireland to meet their parents and casual dates... and they were ideas I had already planned so yay haha we think alike! more of that date in next chapter. and theyll be going to his parents’ for christmas so ill write that too (all planned already lol) PLEASE tell me if its getting boring okay? thank you!

Chapter 32 : His chapter

NIALL

When my phone rang again, I was laying on top of Liv, kissing her slowly and deeply. I could feel myself still hard from going down on her and the way her hands moved on my body only amplified my libido. Her fingers ran down to the small of my back before reaching my butt over my boxers and without thinking, I bucked my hips against hers.

"Maybe you should answer the phone." she let out in a whisper, her lips brushing against mine.

"If it's her again i'm gonna be pissed." I admitted low, making Liv chuckle,.

If I only listened to myself, i'd keep kissing her all day but I just groaned and kept my eyes closed, trying to decide if I should just let it ring or get up and answer. It took me too long and it stopped ringing, probably letting the call reach my voicemail, and I smiled against her lips.

"Oops?"

She chuckled but I quickly pressed my lips back against hers, deepening the kiss immediately and closing my eyes again, focusing on her hands and the way her lips fitted perfectly with mine. I knew out bodies would too. It was so obvious to me now.

My phone rang again and this time, my girlfriend laughed while we were kissing. I pulled away and let my eyes roam on her face before sighing low.

"I don't care, i'm not answering."

Once again, I dipped my head down to kiss her, rubbing myself very slightly between her legs trying to get a release I was not sure I wanted to reach now. It took only a few seconds after my phone stopped ringing for it to start again and this time, I groaned in Liv's mouth before pulling away a bit, opening my eyes to meet hers. There was only one person who would insist and I knew that they'd keep calling until I'd pick up. Liv raised her eyebrows and her lips curled.

"Your mommy."

I raised my nose up, knowing she was most likely right and reluctantly, I peeled my body off of hers, getting off the bed to search through my pants. When I turned around, I notice Olivia smirking at me and raising her eyebrows up.

"That was a very nice view, can you bend down again?"

I chuckled and shook my head, raising my eyebrows at her.

"And you call me a pervert." I pointed out, making her chuckle before finally answering my phone. "Hey ma."

I stayed motionless, facing Liv as I chatted with my mother and noticed the way she was looking at me. I didn't know why but I liked it and when I finally hung up, I moved my hands up with a smile.

"What?" I just asked, making her chuckle low as she glanced down at my boxers.

"It's just... I really made a mess out of your boxers." she chuckled before pressing her lips hard together.

I frowned but looked down, noticing the wet spot on my boxers and suddenly realizing I had been standing between her legs only a few minutes ago after going down on her. I looked up with a smirk, raising my eyebrows and laughing a little.

"It's only the proof of the effect I have on you." I pointed out with a shrug, still smirking. I put my phone on the bedside table and turned back to her. "Now you can't deny it... ever."

I crawled on top of her and she started laughing.

"Why would I ever deny it?" she asked in a low tone as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

I smiled even more and kissed her, staying over the covers while she was laying under them. I felt attracted to her like a magnet and even if I knew it was a stupid comparison, it was exactly that. I couldn't be away from her for too long and anyway, I didn't want to. It took me so long to realize my feelings for her, I just wanted to make up for lost time.

"What did your mom want?" she finally asked after a while, her lips briefly parting from mine.

I didn't want to tell my mom that I had a new girlfriend over the phone and the fact that she knew Olivia and have for decades made things even more important to announce, or it seemed.

"Remind me to be there for Christmas." I chuckled. "As if i'd forget something like that."

I stopped talking and felt my heart jump in my chest before pulling slightly away to look in her eyes. My gaze dropped to her lips and she immediately licking them. Fuck, I loved that, and it turned me on more than it should.

"Now that I think about it, we could spend so much time together in this room that we'd literally forget Christmas."

Her lips curled into a fond smile as her fingers started playing with my hair. Her touch was extremely soft and gentle and I felt goosebumps appear on my back.

"We definitely could." she admitted in a whisper. "But don't worry, we'll get out of here long enough for you to go to your mother's for a few days."

She chuckled again and it made me smile even more.

"How about you come with me?"

Her lips parted, her eyebrows raised, and the look she sent me amused me more than it should have. I didn't want to be separated from her for the holidays and it would be our first Christmas as a couple.

"My mom is doing a big Christmas dinner and my dad will be there too, and probably my brother." I added with a small shrug. "We could tell them in person, what do you say?"

I could read fear but also excitement in her eyes and I waited, motionless, until her lips curled and she moved up on her elbows to reach my lips with hers.

"Then we can go see your parents for an other few days if you want." I added, taking her bottom lip between my teeth and biting it a bit, making her whimper. "You haven't seen them in a while."

I knew her parents had moved back to France a few years ago and even if she kept in touch with them through skype, I knew she missed them a lot. I remembered catching her crying one time while we were on tour, after she talked with them, and although she had never explicitly told me that it was why she was crying, she had literally spent half an hour sobbing in my arms.

She brought her hands on my cheeks and sent me a fond smile, making my heart twist lightly in my chest.

"Thank you."

She whispered the words but I could feel how grateful she really was and it made me smile. I have always wanted my best friend to be happy but now, it became the most important thing for me. I thought about the comments I had seen under that ridiculous online article and it made my heart twist in my chest. Sometimes, I couldn't believe how mean people were. And wrong, too.

"What do you think your parents will say?" she asked, raising her nose up in a grimace. It was cute and it made my smile grow.

"About us together?" I just asked, raising my eyebrows, a smile still on my lips.

"Yea, do you think they're gonna like me?" she wondered in a very low and juvenile tone.

"Are they gonna.. what?" I chuckled with a frown, amused by her question. "Liv, they already know you, they've known you for two decades, they love you!"

She shrugged a shoulder, looking up at her fingers in my hair.

"That doesn't mean they'll like me as your girlfriend."

I didn't know why she was scared but I didn't want her to be. I sighed low and licked my lips, waiting until her eyes would meet mine.

"Olivia, look at me."

Slowly, her gaze moved to meet mine and she licked her lips nervously. I watched the way the tip of her tongue ran gently between her lips and it made me realize that I love this habit of hers.

"You make me happy, you always have, and my parents know that, and they love you." I pointed out, waiting about a minute until she simply nodded. "Can I book our flight?"

This time, she chuckled and nodded more before I bent down and kisses her lips in a peck. I pushed myself off of her and got off the bed, looking for a paid of pants and a shirt.

"Maybe you should wear clean boxers." she proposed with a short laugh.

I raised my nose up with an amused smile and shrugged.

"Naa, it's okay this way." I let out. "Just a nice reminder of my skills, 'ts all good."

It took only half a second before I felt a pillow hit the side of my face and lost my balance as I was trying to put my pants on.

"What the..."

I didn't trip but it was close and I looked up at her with a big smile. She was smiling too, her eyes smaller and her nose up again.

"You're so pretentious!" she let out, making me laugh as I finally pulled my shirt down on my chest.

"What?" I asked, raising my hands slightly up. "It's the truth!"

"Shut up, Horan!" she groaned, making me laugh even more.

"Okay dress up! I'll make coffee!"

With one last smile, I left the room and walked to the kitchen, making coffee and leaning against the counter, crossing my arms until I felt my phone vibrate in the pockets of my sweatpants. I quickly grabbed it and read the message I got, losing my smile slowly. She entered the room at the same time and I put my phone back in my pockets, looking up at her.

"Can we talk?"

She frowned but nodded, sitting at the table as I poured coffee in two mugs. I placed one on the table for her and sat in front of her with mine, both my hands wrapped around the cup.

"Niall, you're stressing me." she admitted in a low tone. "You're not breaking up with me, are you?"

I frowned in surprise, not really understanding why she would believe that after the way I acted with her only a few minutes ago, and finally shook my head.

"No! Liv, why would I..." I leaned a bit on the table and raised my eyebrows again, looking in her eyes. "It took me decades to admit to myself that I'm in love with you, I wouldn't ruin it now."

Her smile was half embarrassed and half grateful and I smiled back.

"I just..." I sighed and shook my head. "Remember the trip I told you about? In Asia?"

She frowned and shrugged, staring at me.

"Yea of course, it's all you could talk about for a while. Leave for Asia and travel with barely any money?" I nodded and she did the same. "What about it?"

"We're supposed to leave in a few weeks."

She frowned more and chuckled a bit, her lips curling.

"Yea, I remember that, too."

I pressed my lips together and looked down at my cup of coffee. Of course, I didn't want to be away from her but at the same time, I had planned this and was really excited to go. I would invite her but I didn't want to impose someone else in this trip. I had almost forgotten about it but then again, I forgot many things in the past 12 hours. I was also scared of what she would say. I knew how Olivia the best friend would react, but I had no idea what Olivia the girlfriend would do.

"And, you're okay with that?"

This time, she laughed and took a sip of her coffee. I loved the way her eyes moved up when she smiled sincerely. I loved her smile. I loved her eyes. I loved her.

"Of course, it's what, two months?"

"6 weeks." I rectified.

"6 weeks, good." she shrugged. "We'll have many weeks after that, and you'll keep in touch, right?"

"Every single day, I promise."

I slid my arm on the table and turned my palm up, making her smile more. She tilted her head and her fingertips brushed on my palm before I grabbed her hand, rubbing my thumb softly against her skin.

"Then I don't see a problem." she just expressed in a low tone, making me squeeze her fingers again.

We stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other's company, and I tried to think about all the times I was separated from hers. The world tours were the worst and although I had seen her a few times during them, we were so busy and tired that I felt like I could barely enjoy the fact that she was around. Last tour was better but there was one thing that I knew, and it was that being away from her again and especially now would be fucking hard.

"I'm gonna miss you." I confessed in a very low tone, staring at our hands together.

"Me too, but you'll have fun. It's an amazing experience." she added, squeezing my fingers too. "And we can face time."

I nod slowly and we stay in silence again for a few minutes as thoughts start invading my mind. It was ridiculous to worry about it now and I was not the kind to be anxious, especially not about things like that.

"You know what?" I finally let out a bit louder, making her look up at me with an a funny smile. "How about I take you on a date? A proper one. Dinner, movie, coffee..."

This time, she burst into laughter and moved closer to me, leaning on the table. Her eyes seemed to sparkle and it made me smile, too.

"Dinner, movie, coffee?" she repeated with an other laugh. "We do that all the time!"

"Fine then!" I admitted, knowing I couldn't say the opposite. "Burgers, arcades and pub, how's that?"

She shook her head, her lips still curled up, and leaned back against her chair, staring at me. I wanted to be alone with her and bring her on a proper date, the way I did with the other girls I dated. She deserved it, she deserved even better, but she was right. We couldn't pretend we had just met or that we weren't used to spend time together because we were

"You're such a romantic guy, Niall James Horan!" she joked.

"Okay how about going to a museum first? I could kiss you in front of your fave Dali painting."

Her traits softened and her smile faltered slightly. She moved our hands and brought her other one on the table, around mine. I felt her cold fingers against mine and raised my eyebrows.

"That... actually sounds like a good idea." she let out gently and low as she played with my fingers again.

I slid my other arm on the table to grab her hands in mine tightly.

"It's a date then." I whispered, making her look up in my eyes. "Be ready at four. I have a few things to plan for my trip but i'll pick you up."

"You're gonna drive me home so I can get prepared?" she asked jokingly, making me chuckle and frown.

"Of course, i'm a gentleman!"

---

I decided to dress casual for the date but I couldn't help but wonder the whole time I drove to her house if I shouldn't have put on something else. I didn't know why this date felt so important and special but I wanted it to be perfect. I parked in the street and rang her doorbell, opening the door quickly when she answered and running upstairs, skipping a few stairs on my way. When she opened her door, I sent her a smile, and my eyes moved down to look at what she was wearing. A simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, just like me. I brought my eyes up to her face and sent her a bigger smile.

"You opted for the simple outfit, too?"

"Of course," she shrugged with a smirk. "Didn't want you to think you had a chance to bring me in your bed tonight."

I let out a laugh as she stepped out of her apartment and locked the door.

"No hope for you to sleep at my place then, is that it?"

She turned around and seemed slightly surprised when she realized how close we were. I looked down at her, letting my eyes roam on her face. Her lips curled very slowly and she finally licked them.

"No." she insisted, making me laugh again. "And no kiss after the date either."

"Yea?" I asked in a murmur, raising my eyebrows. "What about before the date, then?"

I took a step closer and she took a step back before I trapped her body between mine and the door. She didn't answer but slowly, I dipped my head down until my lips reached hers. Her yes closed suddenly and I kissed her, pressing my body against hers and slipping my tongue in her mouth. She didn't touch me but I brought one of my hands up, running my fingertips on her jaw, and smiled again when she whimpered in my mouth.

"Would you rather go back inside?" I asked in a whisper, smirking more. "We can spend the evening in your bed if you prefer."

I felt my whole body throb at that thought and brought my lips back on hers to kiss her even deeper this time. It was insane the effect she had on my body and I let my fingers run on her neck and down her side.

"Niall..." she let out in a mix of a whimper and a whisper.

"Yes petal?"

She brushed her lips against mine and I could swear I saw her quiver from a shiver crossing her back. Gently, I rubbed my nose against her and her eyes fluttered open.

"Don't even think about it."

I let out an other chuckle and took a small step back, reaching for her hand and intertwining our fingers before pulling her with me. I knew she enjoyed museums and I was also aware I was bringing her to one she had visited many times before. I paid for our tickets and when we walked inside, she handed me one of her earphones, making me frown.

"Do it. Classic music and visual arts just fit so well together, trust me."

I followed her around, just looking at pieces of art that I didn't understand and others that brought different feelings inside me that I couldn't seem to explain. I tried to let my eyes roam on the painting while my ears focused on music from Tchaikovsky or Chopin and when we entered an other room, she stopped in front of a painting and stared. I squeezed her fingers tighter and after a few seconds, she turned to me, making me smile.

"Morning Ossification of the Cypress." I just read out loud after moving my upper body closer to the painting. "What does that painting mean to you?"

She turned to look at it with a smile and finally looked back at me.

"That it doesn't matter how, where, and why you were born... you can still become anything you want to be."

I frowned slightly at her and looked back at the painting for a minute or two.

"You don't have to see what I see, you can interpret it the way you want to."

Once again, I turned back to her and something hit me suddenly. She looked gorgeous, standing there, surrounded by pieces of art... yet she was the most precious of them all, as stupid and cheesy as it seemed. I didn't tell her, I just looked at her and moved my head down again to kiss her. She let me, her lips moving avidly over mine, and I felt her hand grab gently the front of my shirt. Every time we kissed, it brought in me a sensation of comfort and excitement, like it was something new but also something I was used to, at the same time. Nothing had ever felt like that before.

"I don't get why you like him." I pointed out after we pulled away, making her raise her eyebrows. "Salvador Dali."

"I don't like everything he does but some of his paintings are... meaningful. No one had his brain, his imagination was... unique."

I loved the way she was talking about it. She was not trying to convince me or anything, she was just explaining how she felt, and it's always been something I liked about her. It was easy to discuss with her. I stared at her a few more seconds, just taking her beauty in before sighing.

"Hungry?"

"Starving!" she laughed, grabbing my fingers again and pulling me toward the exit. We laughed as we walked to the first fast food place we saw and quickly ate our burgers and fries, sitting on uncomfortable chairs and laughing at a few memories.

"Oh, remember that time you tried to shoot for a goal but you ended up just hitting Aiden in the balls!" I asked, my mouth full.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. I remembered she had a crush on him and had blown all the chances to date him she could have had.

"Remember when I caught you masturbating?" she said with a smirk, using iut as a pay back.

I smirked back and leaned my elbows on the table.

"Remember when I caught you masturbating?"

"Way too well." she mumbled, making laugh more,

I stopped after a while and looking down at my hand, nibbling on my bottom lip.

"You know, it was really hot." I confessed, intertwining my fingers and looking up at her. "You think you could do it again? I'd love to watch."

I saw her cheeks turn a soft shade of pink and it surprised me. She was not the kind to be embarrassed by anything sexual but just asking her if I could watch her masturbate was making her blush.

"I mean, only if you want to, you really don't have to-"

"Yes." she cut me quickly. "I can do that for you."

I raised my eyebrows in shock. It was not the answer I had expected, simply because of the talk about her body we had had before, but the thought of her touching herself right in front of me turned me on more than I thought it would. I wanted to watch her face and hear her moan. The image in my head was so exciting I squirmed on my seat and cleared my throat.

"I mean, if you come home with me tonight..."

"Let's start by this date, yea?" she just suggested quickly, getting up to throw what was left of our food away.

I helped her and we got back outside in the winter cold. It was already dark and it had snowed a lot, enough for the snowball fight I had in mind as soon as we'd get back to my house.

"How about a drink to warm us?" I proposed. "There's a pub not so far. I can teach you how to play pool."

She chuckled and rolled her eyes with a smile.

"I'll beat you."

"We'll see."

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan story #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan writing #my fanfics #amc studios #please tell me if its getting boring!!! i need to know!

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californiadreaminghq · 6 years ago

Photo

Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Ky was coming? They brought Anthony Doyle, The Stranded! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Ky

AGE: 28

PRONOUNS: they

II. ON STAGE

DESIRED SKELETON: The Stranded

NAME: Anthony Doyle (Antonino Azzara)

FACE CLAIM: Luke Pasqualino

AGE: 27

OCCUPATION: Bassist with Violent Vale

III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“What, if I didn’t have the band to look after?” That made him pause, it did. Shit. What would he do? Go back and help mum and dad with the shop? Even they didn’t want that. If they were being honest about it. “Fucked if I know,” Anthony flapped a hand, cigarette smoke curling after. He’d get on with it. Somehow. “Maybe a zoo?” He threw that out there, for the hell of it. “That’s what I went on about, when I was a kid. Working at the petting zoo, with the cockatoos and goats.” Not very rock and roll. But, then again - he’d got plenty of practice with wild animals, hadn’t he?

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“New York was mint. Wouldn’t mind another stop off around there, sometime.” So long as he didn’t have to be running about keeping those muppets out of trouble. Those beloved muppets of his. Anthony took a thoughtful drag, considering his options. World was his oyster, innit? “Other than that, oh…those Galapagos Islands might do. See the big, fuck off tortoises. Darwin’s finches. And your cousins, mate,” he smirked at the iguana lazing down the chesterfield from him, dozy in the California heat. “Seems a relaxing sort of place.”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“Out of this lot? I can cook. Properly, mind, like, real food. Vitamins, minerals. And I can press clothes. Do up a tie. Fix a button, change a tire…” he counted off on his fingers, knowing he’d run out. Violent Vale had a lot going for it, but. When it came to just being able to get shit done, the little things that kept life rolling along in some semblance of order, Anthony was the one who had to step up, often as not. “Tell time.” He rapped his watch, snuffing his cigarette. Not the first interview where he’d been the only bastard of the bunch to show up when the calendar said so. Wouldn’t be the last. “Don’t you worry, they’ll be along.” He wouldn’t promise shortly. Knew better.

IV. BACKSTAGE

Anthony - as his teachers at school quickly got to calling him, because Antonino was just too much of a mouthful, apparently - didn’t remember Italy, but his neighbors around Bristol never let him, or his hard-working parents, forget it. The Azzaras had left their mother country, and generations of family history, behind when Anthony was just shy of his second birthday; the future had looked too grim, in wartorn, bombed out Naples. Better to try their chances elsewhere. They got as far as England, and set about becoming as Bristolian as they could. Which, according to the locals, was never really enough. Still, they got on with it - it being a little chippy down in Temple Meads. Nothing special, but cod and potatoes paid the bills. Mostly. When the shop didn’t cover rent and such, or needed new windows and paint after the odd smash-up, Ant found ways to make ends meet. His mum and dad might frown on it, and fret, but he’d learned plenty of tricks from hanging about on the fringes. Met all sorts of interesting people, there. Fences, for one. With his clever fingers and fast feet, Anthony could make himself some good money when he needed it, pawning things he snuck off drunk tourists.

But only when he needed it. When his family needed it, more rightly. Picking pockets and sneaking unattended handbags wasn’t fun. It was risky, and he knew that. Anthony played smart, and took honest work over a quick buck, when he could find it. Was a band, a rock band, honest work? He wasn’t too sure about that, but Violent Vale wasn’t just a rock band. They were family too, childhood friends. The type who’d start your fights for you. Loyal to a fault, because they’d earned it, Anthony let himself get drawn into the dream and put those troublesome hands to better use on the bass.

They weren’t bad, neither. Not bad at all. A few gigs around town became more, became daytripping to Bath, became playing at this little festival over in Glastonbury, became a weekend over in London. Became fame. Soon, he didn’t have time to bus tables for his parents - and he didn’t even need to feel guilty about it, because the money was good. Stupid good. It only got better as Violent Vale got big, and bigger. They were riding a trend, all the way to the top. All the way to America. Mad, wasn’t it? New York City was a good time, a breath of fresh air. Well, fresh-ish. Unfortunately, it was too good of a time for some members of the band. As in England, Ant found himself acting the collie dog, shepherding his little lunatic gang around the city, trying to keep them in line and on schedule. It was a hell of a job. And, frankly, he needed to cut loose himself now and then. Now and then became too often, quickly. Predictable, wasn’t it? Those ties that bound were tight, after all. Anthony found himself dragged off course more than he should’ve been, through the clubs and rooftops and streets of the Big Apple. The bills piled up. The tabloids loved it. Their managers didn’t. Soon, it was decided - forcefully - that they’d be packing up, shipping out west. To California. Beaches, bikinis, big record labels. Sounded wicked.

So long as they got their shit in line. Ant pulled the band together for their own meeting, after management left to arrange the details. Los Angeles had to be different. More music, less party. Please? He was, well. Worried about them. The Vale were more than a headline, more than letters in lights. They were his mates, the best he had. He wasn’t trying to be a killjoy, here. Just wanted to see them survive stardom. They seemed to be listening, but… he knows them, these people of his. Not at all mollified, he threw back his gin and tonic, reclined that big American airline seat, and hoped for the best. He’s not out to change his friends, to be clear. He just… wishes they weren’t such a bloody mess. Until that day comes, though, Ant’ll be there to scrape the Vale off the floor and into the studio, anytime, everytime.

V. ENCORE

Let’s try some HEADCANONS.

He’s not a Tony. Don’t call him Tony. At least one of his bandmates - if not the whole mangy crew - has known Anthony long enough to remember when he was a weedy little late-bloomer, last boy at school to shoot up and fill out; those days left him with the unenviable nickname of Ant. It’s stuck, but whether he finds it aggravating or endearing really depends on the moment. Don’t try it if you’re not a proper, close friend. You’ve got to earn the right, yeah?

While he couldn’t say much for the Bristol school system, Ant’s an avid self-educator. He’s particularly keen on environmental subjects and history, and his letterbox is often packed with magazines like National Geographic, Time, and The Ecologist.

Anthony’s loving the California sunshine, honestly. He’s often found on the beaches, taking a morning swim - in water that’s not too bloody cold for that, what a wonder - or an evening run.

Given his love of animals, it comes as no surprise to most that Anthony’s very vegetarian. Unless he’s at home, with mum and dad. Then he eats what he’s given, and likes it. Obviously.

Anthony can speak Italian, but not much. His parents discouraged their first language at home; faced with the prejudices of working class Bristol, the Azzaras tried very, very hard to fit the mould of respectable, urban, English family. Mum and dad were understanding when he first took up a blandly British stage name - it could only help his chances. It was sensible, but… difficult, in a way Anthony can’t quite articulate. He doesn’t have a mother country to miss, not the way his parents do. All the same, his name, his skin, his face, have been held against him for as long as he can remember. He’s sensitive to the tensions of race and culture, and even if America’s problems with all that haven’t smashed any of his windows in, Ant can see them pretty plainly.

His first fresh-to-fame personal indulgence was buying up an iguana that caught his eye in a shop window, back in London. They weren’t taking proper care of it, right - all cramped up, with sad, fake vines, wilted lettuce. Couldn’t have that. Said iguana, now known as Dennis, as in, the Menace, now travels alongside the band - frequently creating a bit of a stir in transit. Nobody’s too fond of the idea of transporting live reptiles, as it turns out. Anthony’s turned his apartment in Los Angeles into a free-range reptile habitat for Dennis’s sake, complete with some lovely lush plants he takes diligent care of.

Anthony tries - and largely succeeds - at being the reasonable, sensible, presentable face of the Vale. But if you hit the right buttons, he’ll show you just what sort of British culture he picked up along the Bristol docks. Ant breaks up more fights than he starts, and when he does, he tends to break some faces along the way. Got a mean headbutt, in true hooligan style.

And of course, a PLAYLIST! Here’s some period-rightish tunes that brought Ant to life for me. There’s some appropriately hot-blooded fling type tracks, a lot of British rock of all stripes, some rebel yelling, and bangers to blow the roof off, in truly Violent Vale style.

Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin

Baba O’Riley - The Who

Teenage Kicks - The Undertones

Jimmy Jazz - The Clash

Friends of Mine - Buzzcocks

Good Times Roll - The Cars

Hush - Deep Purple

Burning Down the House - Talking Heads

Demolition - The Kinks

Don’t Bring Me Down - Electric Light Orchestra

No More Heroes - The Stranglers

The Night Comes Down - Queen

God Save the Queen - Sex Pistols

Good Times Bad Times - Led Zeppelin

Don’t Mess Me Round - Buzzcocks

Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie

I Know a Girl - The Undertones

Just What I Needed - The Cars

Money - Pink Floyd

Rebel Rebel - David Bowie

My Generation - The Who

Lola - The Kinks

I Told You So - The Undertones

Diamond Dogs - David Bowie

Wasted Life - Stiff Little Fingers

Real Cool Time - The Stooges

You’re All I’ve Got Tonight - The Cars

Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve?) - Buzzcocks

Should I Stay Or Should I Go - The Clash

All Day and All of the Night - The Kinks

Keep Yourself Alive - Queen

#accepted

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years ago

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#10yrsago A journey through my junk: happy Down the Rabbit Hole day!

As previously mentioned, today is "Down the Rabbit Hole" day, when bloggers are encouraged to post in a different style from their accustomed one. I don't think I can manage a whole day of that, but I'm willing to kick in one post, anyway.

I don't normally write much about my personal life here, partly because I'm pretty jealous of my privacy and partly because it's just not the kind of thing we do here (but that's the point of Rabbit Hole day, of course!).

Last November, Alice and I had our big, grand wedding in Toronto, and invited all my friends. Now, I haven't lived in Toronto for nearly ten years, but for most of that time, I've had a storage locker there, filled with the memories of the three decades I spent in the town of my birth before I left, first for California, then for the UK, then for California, then for the UK again. I've delved into the locker on three occasions, attempting to figure out what I had in it and what I was going to do with it all. The first time, I confronted the incredible, jammed-together mountain of junk and boxes, opened a few, and gave up (it didn't help that the rest of my family had filled all the remaining spaces with their unloved junk). The second time, I showed up with more resolve: I was going to sort through everygoddamnedthing and figure out what I was shipping to London, what I was giving away, what was headed for the dumpster and what needed to be shredded.

That was last spring, when we went back to Toronto with the baby for her first visit to meet her Canadian family, over Passover week. I spent a dusty afternoon, opening boxes, looking through them, sorting them into piles and putting them back together. It was an incredibly emotional experience. The boxes hadn't been packed very intelligently: years before, I'd come back to the warehouse loft I'd shared with my ex, and stuck all the junk I thought I couldn't part with in boxes. It was miserable. The stuff was filthy, and there was so much emotion in this stuff, which felt more like the wreckage of a past life than the memories thereof, that I just lost the capacity to be careful and discriminating, and by the end of it, I had some 80 boxes of random and assorted crapola that disappeared into the locker for most of a decade before I saw it again.

There were enormous piles of books, of course. I'd worked in libraries and bookstores from the age of 12 to the age of 23, and I'd amassed some 10,000 of the little wooden bastards. I had previously believed that these books were my identity, that you could know a man by the books he kept, that I'd be able to read their spines and find in them a palimpsest of all the people I'd been on the way to becoming the person I was. But once I'd been separated from them, I discovered that I barely missed them. Now and again, I'd need to reference something in one of them and I'd find it on Amazon, usually for less than a buck. The books went to my brother's school, where they've been integrated into the school library. Books should be read, not stored, and there's plenty there to make normal kids into happy mutants.

There were boxes of cassettes and VHS cassettes, including a trove of fantastic mixtapes that I'd exchanged with friends and as a courtship ritual over the years. Ten years before, I'd been unable to part with them. Now, it was easy: off to the thriftstore with them. I can download that stuff whenever I need it.

There were boxes of t-shirts, and these, weirdly enough, were harder to get rid of. I find myself sentimentally attached to a shocking quantity of tees. The Rocky Horror tee I wore every Friday for years to the Roxy theater in Toronto. The shirt from Grindstone Island is part of a small trove of memorabilia I have from the place (including a hammered-together chest made from old fruit boxes, and a complete run of WHOLE EARTH CATALOGs) that, to this day, is the place that I think of when I want to imagine perfect peace and happiness. Sometimes, I wonder if my life peaked at 17, there on a 12-acre island in the middle of Big Rideau Lake, listening to the loons and swinging in the hammock on Moonwatcher's Point, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and talking all night long.

There was some art, and a few wardrobe pieces from my teens and twenties, including my beat up old punk leather jacked, covered in chains, worn to shreds, with stencils on the back. Maybe Poesy will wear it someday. Angry leather jackets never really go out of style.

There were my files -- all my juvenilia, the stories I wrote in elementary school and high school (including Tommy the Toenail Tarantula, with some damned good illustrations by Toby Muller -- where are you these days, Toby?). A truly fantastic quantity of photocopied material about Disney World. A thick folder of anti-fascist material from the John Brown/Anti-KKK League in San Francisco, whom I used to send away to for stickers, fliers and other material. And correspondence -- all the letters and postcards, the lovenotes and snapshots.

The snapshots deserve their own paragraph. One thing I realized: I dressed a lot better in my teens than in my twenties. Partly that was the fact that teenagers can get away with some pretty daring fashion. Partly it was that I spent my twenties trying to figure out what someone who had suddenly found himself working real jobs for real money wore (I went from working for tiny wages in a bookstore to doing Internet work that paid as much as my parents earned pretty much overnight, somewhere around 1993). Partly it was that I gained a ton of weight when I was about 23, and kept it on until I was about 32 and I discovered Atkins.

Another thing I realized: the girls I dated in my teens were knockouts, absolutely out of my league. And not just me, either. When I look at the photos of all my pals in their couples, the teenaged boys look lumpy or gangly, unfinished, with bad facial hair (shocking realization du jour: I look terrible with giant sideburns). The girls, by contrast, look pretty much fantastic. They're put together, confident, striking. All the couples look like beauty and the beast.

What else was there? A complete set of original Star Trek action figures and an Enterprise playset with the cool-ass transporter/spinner thing. The original, absolutely fabulous Haunted Mansion board game. A pretty good selection of Disney-attraction-themed boardgames and tin lunchboxes.

Tax docs. Bags of receipts. An entire carton of dead SCSI drives that had to be sent for secure disposal.

The next time I saw my stuff was a few days before I got married in Toronto. I had movers from Hudson Movers meet me at the locker. They were fabulous -- took the charity shop donations, the school donations, the art supplies I sent to Klockwerks, and all the stuff to ship to London away. They packed the shipment, filled in the customs forms, and put it all on the proverbial slow boat.

Two weeks ago, the boxes showed up at my office here in London, and I had a much longer pass through the stuff. By this point, it had been whittled down to six boxes. The books went onto the shelves, the t-shirts went into the storage closet, and a trove of my chewed kids' books and stuffed animals went back to the flat for my daughter.

The locker in Toronto is gone (well, technically, it's still there and filled with my family's junk, but that's their problem, not mine) and the goods are sorted and put away. Funnily enough, even after three or four passes through a "do I want this?" filter, I still had three boxes of garbage and donations out of the eight boxes that sailed the sea to London.

It's liberating. I feel lighter. For years, it felt like there was a weak and persistent nagging gravity tugging at me from Toronto, a needling, wheedling kvetch from all those unregarded possessions that I had responsibility for but no use for.

There's still a locker in LA -- well, in the desert outside of LA, it's one of those outfits that forklifts a storage box onto your lawn a week before you move; fill it up and call them and they forklift it back to some remote location with zero humidity until you request it again. I only have a dim recollection of what's in there, but I'm pretty sure it's almost all framed pictures that we had no room to hang in London but couldn't bear to part with. That and a couple of really good office chairs and a Danish dining room table that Mr Jalopy rescued from the garbage and refinished. Someday, if we move back to the States, we'll have instant decor. In the meantime, there's some of that nagging gravity being exerted by the box in the desert, too.

https://boingboing.net/2009/01/27/a-journey-through-my.html

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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The Quintessential Quintuplets – 21 – Eyes On Me

Ichika announces to her sisters that starting next month everyone will have to chip in a fifth of the rent, or return to their stepdad’s apartment. There’s an opening at the bakery where Futarou works, but only one opening, leading to them both telling Fuu to “choose me.” Despite Miku’s chutzpah, it only takes one bake-off for the boss to hire Nino, who is objectively great at cooking and baking.

So why, as Nino puts it, does she feel like she lost? Because Miku doesn’t treat it as one. Instead, she gets a job at another bakery, having come to love making things and eager to get better at it. She’s also steadily working towards becoming someone Fuu would fall for, based on the sign he made of his top 3 qualities in a woman (“always cheerful”, “good at cooking”, and the top one yet to be revealed).

Ichika also wants to challenge herself by taking tougher and more serious roles that motivate her, not just any role to make a buck. That’s why she asked her sisters to try to get jobs, not out of any malice or resentment. Ichika worries that with everyone working they may end up drifting apart, but that’s proven wrong when all five sisters and Fuu end up in the same third-year class!

The quints are obviously a sensation with their classmates, who have no idea Fuu is in any way associated with them. The quints wished the class knew what a good heart he has, and so independent the larger war for that heart, they agree to think of ways to make the real Fuutarou known.

Yotsuba takes the most direct route by volunteering him to be the male class rep beside her. (I’ll also note that this is a good strategic move for Yotsuba as it ensures they’ll be able to spend time alone). Quite by accident, simply because he sees two classmates grab Miku thinking she’s Ichika, Fuutarou reveals that he’s an expert at telling the quints apart.

This is another instance of we the audience having to suspend disbelief they’re identical to everyone despite not looking or sounding so to us. This immediately ingratiates Fuu with the other girls, who cling to him hoping to learn more, drawing Miku’s quiet ire.

Miku is also the one to take Fuu aside in the hall to ask what he’d wish for if he had a magic lamp with five wishes. Top of the class he may be, but Fuu does not realize Miku is attempting to mine him for gift ideas the quints will fulfill for his birthday.

He says he’d wish for money, stamina, better sleep, faster recovery, and better luck. While they can’t provide those literal things (other than cash), they could get creative with a better pillow, weights, bath set, good luck charm…you name it! Or just give him cash!

Sensing that her lead in the Fuueepstakes may be dwindling, Nino reports for work in an exquisite pâtissière ensemble and her hair in a ponytail, hoping to catch Fuu’s eye, but he doesn’t give her a compliment when it’s due. If anything, she feels like they’ve grown more distant since her confession.

The day she starts happens to be the day a famous reviewer is stopping by for the boss’ new seasonal dish, so it’s all hands on deck. Nino initially impresses with her talents, but in the pace and chaos of a professional kitchen she screws up a batch of batter, and feels like she’s making everyone work harder.

While on a break with Fuu she expresses how she feels like she’s holding everyone back, but Fuu says it’s the boss’ fault for pushing so much work on a new recruit. He also shows her a box of 1,000 Christmas decorations when he was supposed to only order 100, as well as evidence of other mistakes he made that make hers look “trivial by comparison”.

Then, finally, Fuu brings up the confession, and when Nino least expects it: when he’s about as physically far from her in the break room as possible. He explains the delay in responding to her because no one had ever confessed their love, and he simply didn’t know how to talk to her about it. Still, he knows he owes her an answer, and so prepares to give it when Nino shushes him.

She says he has every reason to hate her, considering how nasty she’s been to him on-and-off since they met (not to mention all of the druggings). But now that they’re working together, there’s so much more she wants to tell him. She wants him to know her better, so he’ll understand how much she loves him. To all this, Fuu says “ah, so?” and flees the breakroom before her.

Nino is worried she failed to get through, but the boss notes that his face is red up to his ears, causing her to grin from ear to ear. She wishes him good luck, calling him “Fu-kun”, and even when they’re working with customers, she blows him a kiss that makes him blush all over again. As for the “famous reviewer”…It turned out to be Ichika?

With Nino sitting pretty on top of the pack once more, we shift to Ichika as she tries to do what she wants. What she wants is for Fuutarou to only look at her—a most appropriate wish for an actress! But unlike Nino and to a lesser degree Miku, she still lacks the courage to launch direct attacks, and so she has to awkwardly manufacture a “chance encounter” outside the Starbucks.

Ichika is wearing big black-rimmed glasses in order to avoid unwanted attention from strangers after the screening of her film has made her a minor celebrity. That’s all too fitting, as Ichika is positively adorkable during this operation, which almost ends abruptly when they spot her four sisters.

Ichika doesn’t want him to go to them, or look at them, or talk about them, but keep his eyes and hears on her. She spontaneously grabs his hand to stop him, and says they should skip class together, and he declines instantly. Her failed insistence almost makes them late, making the operation an abject failure.

Even so, when the two arrive in class to find that all eyes are on Ichika, astounded that there’s a famous actress in their class, the praise that means the most to Ichika comes from Fuutaoru, who paid attention to her and remembered how she spoke of becoming a “good liar”.

Later that day, Ichika has to leave her fawning fans to join the study group, while Fuu runs into Miku in the hall. Only it’s not Miku, it’s Ichika, wearing the Miku disguise she’s been carrying on her. Fuutarou can’t believe Ichika’s movie already released, and Ichika learns that Miku was the one who told him about it.

That’s when Ichika, desperate for something to go right, employs another unconventional tactic: she pretends to be Miku when she tells Fuutarou that Ichika likes him, and that she thinks they’d make a good couple.

While I love Ichika, you could say she’s playing to her strengths as an actress, I can’t see this as anything but dishonest and underhanded that’s frankly beneath her. Ichika!Miku’s crazed expression seems to confirm at least part of that, and yet she feels she’s gone too far to take it back. I’m sure this definitely won’t blow up in her face…

Episode Nine Quintuplet Ranking:

Nino: All hail. Crushing Miku on her terf to win the job at the bakery. Getting flustered in the kitchen, only to be revitalized when Fuu finally acknowledged her confession. Good on her for not letting him answer yet. Total Points: 34 (1st)

Miku: She lost another battle, but Miku is committed to winning the war, and going about it as meticulously as Fuu goes about his academics. Total Points: 26 (3rd)

Yotsuba: Had no trouble getting cleaning job, and also just might have some after-school time with Fuutarou, should she want to spend any of it trying to get him to notice her…If she’s even interested in him! Total Points: 25 (4th)

Ichika: Climbed out of her pit of despair last week only to flail about wildly and resort to playing dirty. A stark contrast to Miku trying to carefully do things “the right way”. Total Points: 23 (5th)

Itsuki: The only sister still saying things like “I can’t understand why anyone would love that guy” with a straight face, and the only sister who has yet to find a job. In her defense, Fuu’s ��tacky” comment about her hairpins was a low blow! Total Points: 27 (2nd)

By: sesameacrylic

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

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alainawriteswwe · 7 years ago

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Pride and Prejudice and Wrestling - Part 6

Characters: Seth Rollins x Reader, The gang from Raw

Summary: When a superstar Hollywood actress (The Reader), interacts with WWE Superstar Seth Rollins at Monday Night Raw, sparks fly. Can Rollins overcome his pride and convince the reader to take a chance on him when she’s still recovering from a nasty scandal caused by her cheating fiancé?

Warnings: Lots of flirting, angsty longing and maybe some bad words

Tags: @caramara3

Chapter 6

Three Weeks Later

“Are you sure you don’t want to do the movie? It’s a juicy role and could lead to some nice accolades during award season.”

My publicist Michelle swirled the striped straw in her unsweetened, locally sourced organic iced tea.

Michelle was a gem and a contradiction. She was always stylish but never in a Hollywood way. An older woman, she wore her chic hair in a long bob and took pride in the wide swaths of gray there when everyone was dying their hair blond to desperately keep looking like they were 27. She was a hard smoker but was refraining right now, even though we were in the open air, because I hated the smell.

She would scoff at my calling her motherly but she had been an incredible mentor to me. And, she had gotten me this far in my career in Hollywood. When I came here with $700 bucks in my pocket and no contacts, she had taken a chance on me, seeing something in me a lot of casting directors didn’t at the time. But her long term hunch paid off and she earned her money back in spades, 15% at a time.

“I am happy saying no to offers right now,” I replied, sipping from my Coke. The waitress seemed amazed it wasn’t Diet. “I want a sabbatical. Some time to sort myself out. A few months at most.” We were eating lunch at a swanky New York City hotspot. And by eating lunch, I mean being seen eating lunch at a exclusive spot outdoors in Soho while I pushed a colorfully, exotic salad around my plate.

Wouldn’t Seth laugh at me about this while he ate some healthy meal he carted around the country with him while wrestling. He would probably call my fancy salad, food fit for a rabbit princess. Or I bet he was eating ice cream right now. Asshole. Secretly I was following him on his Instagram, and he wasn’t joking about ice cream being a guilty pleasure for him.

“But this movie stars Michael Fassbender. You always said you wanted to work with him.”

“I know. I just need a break.”

Michelle sighed. It was a passive aggressive sigh. “This is about your fiancé, right? You’re ex-fiancé. You got to get your head out your ass about that and keep moving forward honey. You are embarrassed to be seen out. We are out right now. Eating at this ridiculous restaurant so we can be seen and have paparazzi shots on all the blogs. I mean we could be at my house on the Island, eating juicy steaks.”

I laughed at that. Michelle was an amazing cook. It was something I wanted to learn to do. Maybe I would do it now. I had the time.

I pushed my plate with its exotic micro grain salad away from me. “I told you I don’t need paparazzi declarations of my happiness in photo form. Also, a steak sounds amazing. As does a rest right now.”

Michelle put her hands up in capitulation. “Okay, okay. Well I will hold down the fort until you come back.”

Suddenly I was relieved. I pushed my Coke away.

“I will let the producer know that it’s a no from you.” She tapped at her iPad. “I think that’s it.” She tapped and swiped some more at her tablet. “Last thing I need to do for you is just respond to WWE. They have been insanely persistent.”

I was motioning to the waitress for the check when Michelle spoke and I could have gotten whiplash when I heard the word, “WWE”.

“Wait. What?”

“The wrestling people. They have not stopped calling.”

My heart was hammering at that. My mouth went dry. “Uh, what did they want?” Did that sound casual? Oh God. I was losing it. Be calm. Surely Seth wouldn’t use such a formal way to contact me.

“First, they wanted a coordinated response about the elevator incident and l told them the same thing I told TMZ. No comment. Then they called with a job offer. Can you imagine? You with two Oscars, working for WWE! So I told them ‘no’.

“Oh. Well, maybe we should hear them out.” I sipped my Coke again. I shrugged my shoulders and tried to sound flippant, when I was really shaky and nervous inside. “Just to see what the offer is.”

Michelle gasped. She seemed apoplectic. She was literally clutching the pearl necklace that was draped around her neck in a triple strand. “You turn down a role that could win you a third Oscar but you are interested in a offer from a wrestling company?”

I shrugged again. “Could be fun during my sabbatical.”

Michelle shook her head. “A fun way to destroy your career. You can’t take this offer seriously, hon. You would be laughed out of Hollywood.”

“But it’s something different.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Damn it. This is about the elevator guy, isn’t it? He’s a wrestler. What was his name? Shane? Sean?

I rolled my eyes. She knew his name. “Seth. His name is Seth.”

“Yeah, and his dick must be magic if you are thinking about ruining everything you’ve worked for over this job.”

“You don’t even know what the job is? You turned it down without even telling me what it was. Surely they don’t want me to wrestle. Aren’t you curious about what it could be?”

“I don’t bother you with jobs that are a waste of your time,” she answered in a haughty tone.

“But the job might not be a waste of my time. It could be a good distraction.” I paused. “And yes, his dick was magic.”I was joking with Michelle but not really.

Finally Michelle looked impressed and she laughed. “Well that’s something. At least you are getting some dick. I told you that would do wonders after that debacle with that louse you were engaged to. Get back up on the horse and ride it all night and all that.”

“Like you know about all that. I think your wife would take umbrage with you riding other horses, Michelle.”

“Never you mind me and my fabulous love life, my dear. It’s your love life I’m concerned about. And I admit I’m confused. You told me nothing was going on there, with Sean after the elevator incident.”

I bit my lower lip. “Maybe I was wrong there. About … Seth.” More like maybe I couldn’t help touching my hand on the hot stove even though I knew it would burn me.

“Unfinished business?”

Sure. If unfinished business meant constantly thinking about him for three weeks and constantly wondering if I should have left him without a word.

So why was I considering whatever WWE was offering? Because I was hoping it was Seth behind all this. And what would that serve if he was behind it? We couldn’t enjoy anything long term? He wasn’t suited for it with all the cheating in his past. And short term? I was so confused. But I missed Seth. I just wanted the chance to be near him and get to know him better.

I was so lost in my own world I had forgotten Michelle and her question. “Yes. I guess there is something unfinished there,” I finally responded.

“All right, hon.” She covered my hand with hers. “I will set up a meeting.” She looked me in the eye. “I hope he’s worth it.”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t want to think about the answer.

Later that night, Michelle called me to say I had a meeting at WWE HQ in Connecticut to discuss this job proposition and a car would pick me up the next morning. Michelle, in showing her displeasure at the situation could only say that I had a meeting with a guy who had way too many “H”s in his myriad of names. That made me chuckle.

But there was nothing to chuckle about as I made my way into WWE headquarters. It was serious business, with everyone in their corporate attire. I don’t know why I felt there would be people running around power bombing coworkers at the water cooler but I was disappointed that folks there were just as normal and boring as people in any office building in America. At least I didn’t feel out of place in my black slacks and simple silk blouse.

There were some gorgeous replica championship belts on display in the impressive glass encased lobby though and some larger than life photos of the various superstars lining the walls of the hallways. I tried to hide a smile as I passed the life sized picture of Seth on the wall in his shiny black ring gear, hair wet and devious smirk on his handsome face. His hands were clasped together like he was up to no good. The sexy devil. Damn him.

Triple H greeted me warmly in his gigantic corporate office with its lovely view of a manmade lake behind him. Pictures of his kids and of course Stephanie lined his large oak desk.

Despite the hand cut Italian suit, and the charismatic charm of his demeanor, Triple H looked as if he could cast off that corporate veneer and unleash some violence when necessary. Which had been proven at many a PPV and even the most recent Mania against Seth. I know because I watched it. I had been watching a lot of Seth’s old matches recently. It was a poor stand-in for being near the real thing.

“Thank you for meeting me.” His voice was authoritative with just a hint of gravel but it was also charming and welcoming. “And for coming out here to Connecticut. I thought you might hear the pitch better if you see how we operate.”

I put my business mode smile on. “You have a very impressive operation here.”

“Thank you. We are very happy when we achieve our goal of putting smiles on people’s faces.”

I couldn’t help a little smirk. “Yes, and profits in shareholders bank accounts.”

“Exactly. That’s why you’re here.

“You think I can make a profit for WWE? I’m not a wrestler.”

“True. But you do have something we can let’s say, use to our advantage.”

I had to admit I was intrigued here.

“Your hosting Raw was very well received not just here in the States but also around the world. Your movies do extremely well internationally and you have a very loyal fanbase in those countries that the corporation is looking to expand in via our television presence. We thought it might be a good idea to have you be a part of Raw more often. You could be an “in” for new viewers in those countries. They know you and your brand. They would be interested in the show and what you are doing on it. That could expose the WWE brand to more people worldwide. More smiles on people’s faces.”

I took a moment to let all that soak in. Then I channeled Michelle’s skepticism again.

“It could also diminish my brand. My fans could become confused. I’m a actress one day, and on a wrestling show the next. Why should I do this?” Michelle would be happy I was somehow channeling her so much.

Triple H got up and walked around his desk to lean against the front of it. He looked at me intently.

“I like to read people. Figure out how they tick and what works for them. It is a strategy that worked for me in the ring and in business.

“It’s no secret you have had a tough time in the press lately. I think you could use a break from Hollywood. I also heard you ‘clicked’ with many of our Superstars.”

I shook my head, disappointed in this line of conversation. Would he say this if I was a man? I couldn’t disguise the attitude in my voice. “You mean Seth.”

“I meant Sasha and Bayley but sure, Seth too.”

Okay. So I walked into that one. “I’m not saying I would do it but what would this job entail.”

Triple H tried to keep his victorious smile at a minimum.

“Something I think you will enjoy. You’re going to work with Seth. Creative has written a storyline where you are dating. I thought that would be easy for you two to pull off. It would sell better with the audience if you live that in and out of the ring. Travel together. Like a real couple. It would be for a couple months, three at most. All the way through Summer Slam.”

“So I’m what, Seth’s pretend girlfriend and his valet.” I remembered Seth’s harsh words to me that he didn’t need a valet. “I don’t think Seth will go for that.”

“Well why don’t we ask him.”

My heart skipped several beats.

My mouth went dry. “What? Seth. He’s here?”

“Yes. I thought it would be good to talk to you first before we all sat down together to discuss this. That is if you are interested. I don’t want to waste your time.”

Sly, sly man. They called him The Cerebral Assassin for a reason. I didn’t want to play all my cards right away so I tried to sound neutral.

“Sure. Why not, since I’m here and everything.”

Triple H led me through to the adjoining conference room. It was all shiny and modern and reminded me of a Bond villain’s lair. A wall of glass floor to ceiling windows took up one side with a view of the corporate park and the man made lake. Complete with geese.

And then there was Seth. He was standing, looking out the window. His hands shoved in the pants pockets of the immaculate black suit he wore. His hair pulled back in a low man bun. His dark hair seemed just a touch fuzzy at top and just a touch unruly still. Corporate Seth was not as comfortable as Tap Out sweatpants and baseball cap Seth.

He still looked amazing though. Sexy. Powerful. Immediately, I wanted him. My body responding to his presence in the most primal and basic ways, reminding me it had been three weeks since I was in his bed.

I smiled at him but Seth didn’t return that gesture. I swallowed hard. Something was wrong. He looked shocked to see me and just a touch unsure. So unlike himself compared to the cocky, over confident guy I met almost a month ago.

“I don’t think we need introductions. We all know each other,” Triple H announced. He sat at the head of the large conference table. The king on his throne. I sat across from Seth. He seemed a mile away sitting across the wide wooden expanse.

“So, Seth. I asked you to come by HQ today because Creative has a new storyline I think you would be very interested in. It involves this lady here.” Trips motioned to me.

“Now I know you will help me try and convince her to come on board with us and be a part of that storyline and our WWE family.”

“Okay,” Seth responded. He tapped his fingers on the table. “Creative don’t let go of their secrets easily or in advance so it must be big.”

Triple H grinned. “It is big, son.”

I was finally through with waiting. “Okay what are all the details?”

“A championship run for Seth. Multiple titles. And we are going to make our lovely guest here the new General Manager of Raw.”

I couldn’t help laughing out loud at that. If I had been drinking something it would have definitely been a spit take.

I touched my hand to my chest in disbelief. “Me. General Manager of Raw. I have no experience in wrestling. It’s crazy.”

Triple H nodded. “Yes. It’s so crazy it’s brilliant. No one will see that coming.”

I just blinked at the unbelievable news. Was this somehow a prank show? I hated practical jokes. “How? I mean in what world could I become General Manager?”

“Creative will figure out the details. The thing is this. If we have you and Seth date on the show, have that played outside the ring as well, the WWE universe will accept you and you will be over as we say.

“Plus, with you as GM, it will provide some interesting story plots. Part of Seth’s arc recently has been his redeeming himself from his time with me in The Authority where his title opportunities were handed to him. So what happens when it turns out his girlfriend is in charge and can hand him those opportunities again? Does he keep going on his own path as a face doing things the proper way or give in to those old heelish tendencies to take the easier path?”

I had to admit that did sound interesting. Seth, for his part was silent. Absorbing what was said. He was turning all the angles over in his head before he spoke. When he finally did he got to the point.

“Which titles?”

“Tag team with Dean leading into a battle between you two for the Intercontinental. If you win that you will be a Grand Champion. That’s exalted company as you know.”

I didn’t know what a Grand Champion was but Seth seemed to be satisfied. I realized how hard it was for him to be at the top of the company and have it all taken away due to your own body rebelling through injury. To find yourself having to fight your way back up the ladder. New contenders coming in everyday who were also fighting for your spot. It sounded a lot like Hollywood.

“And we have to date?” Seth asked, pointing to me.

Triple H nodded. “Oh yes. It’s integral to the storyline. Like I said, this story needs to stick inside and outside the ring. I think you two can do that. Unless there is a problem I am not aware of. Then we can call the whole thing off.”

Seth was silent again. I didn’t know what to say. What was wrong? Seth was cold, distant. He refused to look at me unless he absolutely had to out of politeness.

I tried to fill the gap of silence. “Well it does sound like a lot of work but I must admit I’m interested.”

Triple H was pleased. “Great. I must ask a really personal question then. You’re not seeing anyone currently? Someone who could blow this storyline up.”

Seth finally looked over at me. Even though he said nothing, I could tell he was interested in my answer.

“No. Maybe you should ask him,” I remarked pointing over to Seth across the conference table.

“I already know his situation. He’s clear. One more question for you my dear and I am afraid its even more personal than my first one. We can’t have you around the ring if you’re pregnant. So you would need to bow out now if that’s the case.”

Seth tilted his head. His eyes now showed expression. Curiosity.

I looked at Seth as I spoke. “No. I am not pregnant.”

Satisfied, Triple H motioned over to a leather folio. He passed it to me. “Inside is the contract. I don’t expect you to sign it right now but you can read it. I will have electronic copies sent to your agent and your legal team.”

I opened the folio. “I have some requirements.”

Seth scoffed but Triple H nodded. “Name them.”

“I get to approve all parts of any storyline I am a part of. I also control what I wear and how I look. My name and likeness will always belong to me.”

Triple H thought about it and then put his hand out for me to shake. “Deal.” He paused a moment. “I like you. You’re tough.”

I must admit I was proud to hear him say that.

“Aren’t you going to ask Seth here if he’s going to do this?”

Triple H looked at me as if this was a crazy question. “Seth is a company man. He will do the storyline. It’s you that has to make the decision if you will be involved and if the storyline goes forward.”

Ok. So no pressure. If I say no, I could stall Seth’s career.

Suddenly Seth spoke up. “Maybe we can have a moment alone, Hunter. To discuss all this.”

With a nod, Triple H left the conference room.

I could have sighed. Finally. Time alone with Seth. I had so many questions for him. Mundane stuff. How was he? Was he excited about the storyline? How should we play it? Whether this love story was going to really go on offscreen as well? Could it? Because if I was honest with myself, I wanted it to. Even if he broke my heart. Which, let’s face it was likely.

There was so much to talk about and this new life on the road would provide the perfect opportunity for all that. I was risking everything for this opportunity, but nothing in life is ever gained without risk.

I opened my mouth to start to put some of my jumbled thoughts into words when Seth cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“Look Princess, don’t say yes to this job if you’re not going to take it seriously. If you’re gonna leave in the middle of the storyline’s run because you can’t handle it or how grueling life is on the road. You need to tell Hunter ‘no’ right now.

“You have to make a lot of sacrifices in WWE. Something I’m sure you are not used to in Hollywood where your every want is spoon fed to you. There are no personal assistants on the road. You carry your own luggage. You take care of yourself and the people you are working with.”

The balloon of thoughts and hopes where Seth was concerned popped. How could he say this of me? I worked as hard as anyone on the set of my movies. I had a assistant but I could damn well live my life without him doing everything for me.

I crossed my arms over my chest in my seat, ready for a fight. Bring it on Kingslayer. “You don’t think I will work hard?”

He laughed. That horrible hyena laugh of his. “Princess, I know you are going to run when the going gets tough. That’s what you do isn’t it. I bet you think all this is a joke.”

He waved his arm around the room.

“Wrestling is as serious an art as your precious acting. I’ve dedicated my entire life to it. Twelve years I’ve thrown my body around in the ring to get to where I am today. I won’t have that ruined because you run out on all of us and this storyline. I won’t have you disappoint Hunter that way either. He doesn’t know what you’re like. I do.”

Each word, each accusation from his gorgeous pursed lips was a poison arrow to my body. My heart stammered in my chest. I had to drag myself to pull in air to breathe as I started to hyperventilate. This was a different Seth than the one I left in Miami.

I got up from my seat and went to his side of the table where he was still seated. The wall of glass behind him.

“Why are you being like this Seth? What exactly have I done to you? Spell it out.”

“I just see you for what you are. It took awhile. Too bad I didn’t see it sooner.”

Soon the penny dropped and I was furious once I made the connection. “You’re mad because you think I rejected you in Miami. Why? Because in your playboy mind you didn’t get to kick a clinging Hollywood starlet from your bed? And now your preciously fragile male ego can’t take it.”

I shook my head. Of course this was the outcome. Why should I believe I would ever have anything different where men and I were concerned. Seth was just living up to his reputation as a player now.

“I bet you still told it that way to your friends when you bragged about bedding me. I bet you told them I begged you to stay before you firmly put me out of your hotel room, like some discarded room service tray.”

I was so pissed off I could feel the energy of my anger shimmer through me. Growing in waves. I walked over to the window. Away from Seth so I couldn’t do him in with violence. How dare he be mad at me.

“Always the playboy aren’t you Seth. I should have listened to Finn. He warned me about you.”

That got a rise from Seth. Literally. He got up from his seat and stood in front of me at the window. He narrowed his eyes at me. His mouth a grim line. “Don’t you dare mention his name and compare him to me.”

I poked him in that solidly muscular chest of his. “Well too bad. Besides, you need to learn the lesson that everything isn’t about you, Seth. Even though you desperately want to ‘believe that’. Well, I don’t need you. You’re not some irresistible adonis.”

That is a damned lie, my body screamed as it responded to his sexual power on display just a touch in front of me, even as the words fell from my mouth.

I poked him in the chest again. Harder this time. “I don’t need you as a friend and I don’t need you in my bed.” Another god damn lie. “That’s something you should remember while we act out this farce for the cameras and the WWE universe.”

Seth was silent a moment. The smug, cocky grin on his face growing rapidly. “I don’t need a fuck buddy, Princess. I’ve got plenty of those in my phone’s contacts. All we have to do is try to be civil, try not to embarrass each other and stick to the storyline even outside the ring. That’s it.”

He paused before looking me up and down and shaking his head as if he was disgusted by what he saw.

“And you don’t have to worry about me making advances at you. You made it quite clear you had no desire to continue what started in Miami.”

He almost snorted in disgust. “You’re a Hollywood Princess.” He choked out the last word as if he didn’t even want it to pass his lips. “It’s quite a come down to find yourself waking up in bed next to what you considered a mere Iowa farm boy.”

I shook my head at that. “Seth stop.”

Something about these words seemed worse than his earlier taunts. They were twisting the knife he had already buried in my heart earlier. I was doing well in hiding my emotions but now the tears that were threatening to escape my eyes were very close to achieving their goal. And I would rather cut off my arm than have him see me wipe them away.

“No!” He answered defiantly, his voice grave. “You’re gonna hear what I have to say, Princess.”

“Okay Seth. So you want to do this now, do you? In this cold sterile conference room with a view of a fake corporate lake and people eating lunch on little picnic tables below us.”

Seth didn’t seem to care. “We don’t have to do anything. We are not going to do anything. We’re going to stick to the script and do what we are told. If Creative says I have to kiss you in public then I am going to pucker up with a smile and bear it the best I can because there is a title at stake, man. That is the only thing that matters here. The only thing that matters to me.” There was nothing I could say to that. How could I counter his accusations when my only defense was something I could never tell him. Would never tell him after realizing how he felt about me just now.

That what we shared in Miami was more than just sex. That I knew I was losing my heart to him that very morning, after only one night, and I was terrified of being hurt.

But I was also being hurt now. Being near Seth, knowing that he hated me was killing me. All that bravado and ego he displayed inside the ring and out just masked a deep insecurity in him. I realized that now as he lashed out at me verbally. It made sense that he was always striving to prove himself, to be The Man. The Champ. To draw in all that energy from the WWE universe where they loved him or loved to hate him.

I wanted to reach out to him. To touch him. Wrap my arms around that muscular chest of his and hug him tight. I hurt him by leaving him without a word that morning in Miami, and I hated myself for that. But at that moment, after our wonderful night together, protecting my heart was key after my cheating fiancé.

Seth had been a cheating fiancé. I didn’t want to have him tell me it would be different with me this time. Only to find him awkwardly sexting some new girl from NXT or some beautiful WWE groupie who was hoping for a come up.

How could I just minutes ago have thought we could make this work and have a relationship? A real relationship. I must have been crazy.

And now we were going to pretend to be a couple for the cameras. Travel together, all the while pretending to be madly in love for three months . It would kill me.

But I realized in that moment that I had to do it. I understood how much Seth wanted that title shot. Just like how I desperately wanted a Oscar when I came to Hollywood. Winning two didn’t diminish that desire in me. It actually made me hungrier for it.

I understood how much Seth needed that title for his career and I would sacrifice some of my lauded Hollywood actress reputation to get that for him even though he hated me. I wanted him to have that success he worked so hard for and that was cruelly taken away after so many injuries.

That was love wasn’t it? That word I tried to banish but could not with Seth. Pretending to hate him and trying not to fall for him further would be the hardest acting role I ever had.

I couldn’t look at him when I spoke so I turned and looked out at the geese roaming the corporate park below us. “Right. Message received, Rollins. You want a pretend girlfriend then you got it, Seth. I will batt my eyelashes at you and hang off your arm and look up at you as if you set the moon and the stars for me. People will be envious of how much it looks like I love you.” Because I do love you. And you’re breaking my heart right now.

“They will think we are the luckiest couple in the world. And you will win that title Seth. Then maybe once you do, you can turn heel and ‘cheat’ on me with someone in the women’s division and that will end our storyline. And then you will be free of me.”

I could feel the heat of Seth’s gaze upon me but when I turned my attention to him, his normally expressive eyes seemed inscrutable. It was almost like he was looking through me.

“I know you hate me Seth. You have your reasons. I won’t argue that. I wounded your ego and hurt your pride in Miami but let’s just try and get through this okay.”

I turned to walk out the room but Seth stopped me. His hand snaked out to grab my hand. Not hard. His fingers just encircled my wrist. His thumb gently stroked my pulse. Inwardly I sighed. A natural reaction. Each touch was sheer heaven.

Seth’s voice was low, serious. “Why are you doing this? Joining Raw? You don’t have to do it. What’s in it for you?”

His face searched mine for an answer, there was something oddly hopeful in his dark eyes.

I couldn’t give him the truth. My truth. That would be my secret, always. So I lied. “For the publicity of course.”

His hand fell away. He didn’t have to say a word for me to feel his disgust.

–

#seth rollins #seth rollins fan fiction #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins imagine #wwe #wwe raw

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decent-human-being · 7 years ago

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If you have time, wanna do all those "talk about" asks?

1: Talk about the first time you watched your favorite movie.Scott pilgrim vs the world, saw it in theaters with a friend of mine before he moved out of state2: Talk about your first kiss.We were both about to start 8th grade, it was a couple days left of the summer and we had spent the whole summer together. It sort of came up neither of us had kissed anyone so we went for it under a tree by the lake3: Talk about the person you've had the most intense romantic feelings for.Oof, my last girlfriend. I really though I was going to marry this girl but things don’t happen as planned sometimes4: Talk about the thing you regret most so far.Probably being a horny asshole in highschool and driving nice people away5: Talk about the best birthday you've had.My 18th was really cool, me and my two closest friends at the time just ducked around town and went to a lookout and did graffiti and smoked a whole pack of cigarettes 6: Talk about the worst birthday you've had.Most aren’t super memorable, I think my 14th I diddnt have any friends and I’ve never been big on the whole spending time with family thing anyway7: Talk about your biggest insecurity.I think my general appearanceperomed8: Talk about the thing you are most proud of.Getting accepted into a culinary program at the college is my latest accomplishment9: Talk about little things on your body that you like the most.My arms are pretty scarred and burned but they’re heavy and solid, strong and good looking I think10: Talk about the biggest fight you've ever had.Like fistfight? With my dad. Verbal fight probably with someone who used to be a friend because they drove several of my other friends while he the driver was intoxicated11: Talk about the best dream you've ever had.I have really buck wild dreams sometimes, my coolest one is a post apocalyptic scenario that im a wandering hero in12: Talk about the worst dream you've ever had.Ones were I’m bringing hunted and loosing, the feeling of powerlessness dreams13: Talk about the first time you had sex/how you imagine your first time.It was the second day of a two day festival with Social Distortion playing on stage while we did it behind a taco truck14: Talk about a vacation.I went to San Francisco two winters ago for a week and saw everything it was a ton of fun I want to go back 15: Talk about the time you were most content in life.Back when I was in a good relationship and had a job that paid well enough to get me by, simple but nice 16: Talk about the best party you've ever been to.It was a party at a strangers house to me, friend of a friend. I blacked out with a bottle in my hand and woke up in a different city with a girl I’ve never seen before17: Talk about someone you want to be friends with.Half my mutuals tbh you’re all cool kids18: Talk about something that happened in elementary school.I got suspended for fighting in 4th grade on my moms birthday and she was furious but it had to be done19: Talk about something that happened in middle school.My first relationship was the biggest part of middle school we were together for a year and a half20: Talk about something that happened in high school.Joining the theater department and having a blast and discovering I love theater21: Talk about a time you had to turn someone down.When a friend though they were gay and wanted to have sex with me to find out for sure but it would have made things weird if we did22: Talk about your worst fear.Not having control, choking or burning or something 23: Talk about a time someone turned you down.The end of 8th grade I wrote a song for someone and performed it with a guitar at the spring dance before graduation and asked them out and they laughed at me24: Talk about something someone told you that meant a lot.When a friend told me I was the only person the listens to her and the reason she was still alive25: Talk about an ex-best friend.I’ve had a few people I purposely cut out my life for good reasons, they weren’t growing up to be better than they were in middle school or doing genuinely bad shit. It sucks but it’s life26: Talk about things you do when you're sick.I like to get a ton of aloe vera juice and sleep all day and eat dollar store ramen27: Talk about your favorite part of someone else's body.Eyes, lips, hips. Shit I just like people 28: Talk about your fetishes.Being dominant, more so having someone submit to me29: Talk about what turns you on.Intimacy 30: Talk about what turns you off.Bad taste in music31: Talk about what you think death is like.Like sleep but more permanent 32: Talk about a place you remember from your childhood.My neighbors house who was a year older than me and we spent every day together as kids33: Talk about what you do when you are sad.I’m sad every damn day of my life b, I guess listen to sad music and draw when it gets real bad34: Talk about the worst physical pain you've endured.Breaking my leg or throwing out my back probably, both on trampolines35: Talk about things you wish you could stop doing.Being so annoying, and not accepting the love I’m given36: Talk about your guilty pleasures.Those reality dating shows when everyone involved is garbage 37: Talk about someone you thought you were in love with.There’s been three, all of whom I still am in love with but they’re gone. I spent so much time pining after one and she left me without saying goodbye38: Talk about songs that remind you of certain people.Riptide by Vance Joy, Devil in my bloodstream by the wonder years, and anything by Fitz and the tantrums all have very specific people attacked to them39: Talk about things you wish you'd known earlier.Who is worth the time and effort and who isn’t40: Talk about the end of something in your life.I’m sure I’m not the only one with a past full of bitter endings that are hard to talk about but what am I going to do but move right along

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zanytimetravelenthusiast-blog · 5 years ago

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detectiveaesthetic · 8 years ago

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rules: You must answer these 85 statements and tag 20 people

tagged by: @monquixote

tagging: @raifuujin , @meitantei-lavi , and @ofglitterandstars if you haven’t done it yet :0c? And anyone else who wants to ^^

the last

· 1. drink: Water

· 2. phone call: To a Mcdonald’s employee who found my roommate’s phone :0c

· 3. text message: "Yar” -received yesterday 9:52PM “!!! Yo!! <3″ -sent now after being reminded by this

· 4. song you listened to: Something by Owl City

· 5. time you cried: actual crying?? ? i don’t know but it’d be in private irl and probably spamming a friend i think it was a week ago idr

· 6. dated someone: went on a date yesterday · 7. kissed someone and regretted it: ye she stole pocky from my mouth >:0

· 8. been cheated on: Nah

· 9. lost someone special: too many interpretations to give this a solid answer

· 10. been depressed: Now, but!! not bad!!!

· 11. gotten drunk and thrown up: Alcohol is a nu

3 favourite colours

· 12. Purple

· 13. Blue

· 14. Red

in the last year have you

· 15. made new friends: Yeah!

· 16. fallen out of love: Nah

· 17. laughed until you cried: Yeah

· 18. found out someone was talking about you: Yeah

· 19. met someone who changed you: Yeah

· 20. found out who your friends are: Yes qwq <3<3<3

· 21. kissed someone on your Facebook list: Yeah

general

· 22. how many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: 93%+

· 23. do you have any pets: The snuggliest kitty ever i can’t do things

· 24. do you want to change your name: Nuuuuu too much work

· 25. what did you do for your last birthday: I was taken to see Wonder Woman :0c *shiny eyes*

· 26. what time did you wake up: Repeatedly, my roommate accidentally kicked me out of bed and I didn’t wanna wake them >> tho got up got up was 9am because i kept falling back asleep and didn’t have stuffs till 2pm

· 27. what were you doing at midnight last night: Awkwardly pacing around the house playing magikarp jump wondering when it would be okay to get back in bed without ruing my roommate’s sleep schedule

· 28. name something you can’t wait for: An oyasumi or a message in general from a certain person :0c

· 29. when was the last time you saw your mom: Last month.

· 31. what are you listening to right now: Roommate play DS, kitty meow as she rubs my laptop screen

· 32. have you ever talked to a person named tom: Tommy poo is the shit okay, he once paid me 10 bucks cause i fished more bass than him (tru story)

· 33. something that is getting on your nerves: When you tell someone ‘no’ and they do the thing anyway >:T

· 34. most visited website: Tumblr · 35. hair colour: Dark brown

· 36. long or short hair: Short

· 37. do you have a crush on someone: Yeah

· 38. what do you like about yourself: My potential

· 39. piercings: Not anymore

· 40. blood type: ? ?? ? ? ??? ? ?? ? ?? ? ?

· 41. nickname: Whatever you’d like \owo/ tho a few people started calling me ‘Av’ on their own :0c

· 42. relationship status: I’m in a long term relationship with coffee and chocolate

· 43. zodiac: Cancer

· 44. pronouns: He/him

· 45. favourite tv show: Criminal Minds maybe? · 46. tattoos: Too much money ^^;;

· 47. right or left handed: Right

· 48. surgery: Yeah

· 50. sport: Tennis

· 51. last vacation: TO TEXAS IT WAS SO COOL :0c

· 52. pair of trainers: 1

MORE GENERAL

· 53. eating: food

· 54. drinking: water and coffee and tea \owo/

· 55. I’m about to: Post this \owo/

· 56. waiting for: “Peace of mind.” -omg same

· 57. want: Money, happiness?

· 58. get married: Wouldn’t mind

· 59. career: Game designer/coder/writer

WHICH IS BETTER

· 60. hugs or kisses: depends on who/when/why

· 61. lips or eyes: Eyes

· 62. shorter or taller: Shorter for others taller for me muwahaha

· 63. older or younger: both--wait i just realizeD THIS WAS A DATING TYPE SECTION -- *casually doesn’t fix earlier responses* and older ;) -- *bricked*

· 64. nice arms or nice stomach: Tum tum pillow mINE MUWAHAHA \owo/

· 65. hook up or relationship: Relationship

· 66. troublemaker or hesitant: Idk \owo/

HAVE YOU EVER:

· 67. kissed a stranger: Nah

· 68. drank hard liquor: Yes but it was unintentional!!!

· 69. lost glasses/contact lenses: Constantly

· 70. turned someone down: Yes

· 71. sex on the first date: Uh; ;;

· 72. broken someone’s heart: Yeah it hurts really bad;; like you screwed up really bad

· 73. had your heart broken: Yeah

· 74. been arrested: Nuuu

· 75. cried when someone died: Yeah

· 76. fallen for a friend: That’s the only way I can fall

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

· 77. yourself: To an extent

· 78. miracles: No

· 79. love at first sight: Yeah

80. santa claus: No

· 81. kiss on the first date: Yeah

· 82. angels: No

OTHER:

· 84. eye colour: Hazel

· 85. favourite movie: Maybe Wonder Woman? Idk Diana was amazing

#feel free to do this yourself \owo/#non dcmk

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gamesmakers · 8 years ago

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That Time We Took Over the World

For @mores2sl.

Kensington, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 8:42 AM

“Everdeen.” He rose his glass to her before taking a long swig of what had better be water. “And here I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

“You know, I just spent eleven hours flying here from Los Angeles. I even paid fourteen bucks extra for internet so Effie could get ahold of me if your condition changed. The least you could do is act like you had a heart attack this morning.”

“Yesterday morning, but I’m all right. They’ll get me some stints, and I’ll be better than ever.” Now that she got a good look at Haymitch, she saw what Effie had been so worried about when they talked this, fine, yesterday morning. The IV bag was all too obvious, but all the quips and one-liners in the world couldn’t hide the fifteen years he seemed to have put on since she’d seen him last Christmas. With the extra gray in the beard he never shaved but had never quite filled in and the deep bags under his eyes, he looked far older than fifty-nine. Those decades of hard living had finally caught up with him. “Y’know, I was thinking earlier.”

“You don’t say.” She didn’t care if he had been dead for almost two minutes yesterday. Haymitch walking into his own favorite insult was too good of an opportunity to pass by.

He glared at her. “As I was saying, I was thinking about your career after these goons were still trying to figure out if they’d saved me or not.” If he thought the legion of medical professionals who restarted his heart were goons, he had to be feeling better.

“And what did you decide?” she prompted.

“Now, hear me out. This might not seem like the most natural pairing, but the more I think about it, the more I think it could really work out well. People really dig that fusion shit, you know?”

“Haymitch!”

He took another drink of his water, then set it aside. “So, kid, tell me. What do you know about Peeta Mellark?”

Chelsea, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 11:27 PM

In the late nineties, nobody could escape the Tributes - not that anybody besides a few jealous teenage boys and tired parents really wanted to. The more enthusiastic members of the media heralded the five boys as a return to the Golden Age. They sang. They danced. They even made a film that, surprisingly enough, wasn’t terrible. “Like five Frank Sinatras,” one Rolling Stone critic wrote about them, “but more good-looking.” For teenagers who had been holding down part-time jobs at McDonald’s and Burger King not a year prior, it was high praise indeed. But the longer one watched them, the more justified the comparison seemed. With fourteen chart-topping singles and practically constant sellout world tours, they were on the road to the kind of superstardom that actually manages to worm its way into the history books.

But tastes changed, interest waned, and almost as suddenly as they had shot to fame, the Tributes’ career fizzled out. The former teen idols were suddenly the butt of jokes everywhere from late night talk shows to schoolyards. There was an attempt at a comeback, then another, but the only mercy came when the group officially announced their breakup. With that last blast of publicity, the group somehow managed to fade from the public consciousness completely.

Only one member managed to emerge from the rubble unscathed. Finnick Odair had in some ways always been the star of the group. The man was the closest thing the world had to a living, breathing Adonis. Nobody could really blame the army of managers, executives, and publicity workers that fueled any operation as big as the Tributes for wanting to place him in the center of every photograph or giving him the most solos. Issues of consent and sexualization of a sixteen-year-old hadn’t been the world’s main priority as they collectively drooled over the most recent pictures of him. At least publicly, Finnick seemed to have been able to brush that off with no big impact. Even fifteen years later, his new releases were almost guaranteed to land in the top ten, and he snagged the starring roles in some of Hollywood’s biggest movies.

Katniss had never been his biggest fan, but like every other heterosexual female she knew, she followed him on Instagram. Something about the muscular star holding his new baby and grinning really did it for her. She’d blame it on evolution.

Tonight, Finnick Odair wasn’t her main focus. She scrolled down the Wikipedia article to find the section on Peeta Mellark. Okay, she vaguely remembered him from the poster Prim had hung in their shared bedroom when she was in middle school. The article said he had released his first and only solo album seven years ago and continued to tour, though a quick scan of the upcoming dates and venues showed that he was mostly going to small casinos and clubs. Katniss kind of wanted to judge him for that, but then again, Haymitch wouldn’t go around trying to pair her up with a successful artist. Sure, she played guitar – really well, actually, well enough to make a very comfortable living off of session work – but you couldn’t start a conversation with random strangers on the street about Katniss Everdeen’s style.

She clicked out of that article and returned to the YouTube mix entitled ‘Tributes and Peeta Mellark Ultimate Fanmix :-)’. As a thirty-two-year-old woman and devoted artist, did she feel ridiculous sitting here, listening to ‘90s pop? Absolutely. Did she find herself humming along? Well, the Tributes had gotten popular for a reason.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 9:56 PM

Peeta Mellark took his job very seriously. One would have to if they were going to go onstage at the San Manuel Indian Bingo & Casino in an outfit straight from a music video that came out twenty years ago. The black pants and tight-fitting, primary colored t-shirts had looked a little too Star Trek in 1997, and the look hadn’t aged well. She applauded professionalism and devotion to one’s craft as much as the next person, but there came a point where one should walk away with their head held high and try something outside of entertainment. Katniss estimated Peeta had reached that point about ten years ago. The cheese value of this routine was through the roof. He did more flirting with the audience than actual singing, and every joke had the muddy flavor of having been used night after night for years. In a few spots, no matter how hard she tried to be polite, she had to roll her eyes. Good thing Peeta had managed to comp her a ticket for this show, or she’d be out more than the mileage to drag herself out to San Bernadino.

“For my next song, I’d like to mix it up a little and take suggestions from the audience. Anything’s fair game, mine or not.”

The crowd ate it up the same way they’d gobbled up the jokes earlier. Could they not see that he had a plant? At best, he might take a suggestion from an actual audience member and accept it if it happened to be in the lineup of songs he and his backing group had rehearsed, but otherwise, he’d move on to the predetermined ‘guest’ who’d lob him an easy one. Oldest trick in the book.

“Um, how about you, ma’am? Dark hair, braid, right in front of the stage, very pretty. What would you like to hear?”

It took Katniss a second to realize that he was referring to her. Her mind scrambled through an inventory of thousands of songs, but one kept coming up again and again. “’Til There Was You’.” Not exactly her usual style, and it came as a missed opportunity to see what he could do with something more folky, but oh well. She could grill him on folk’s greats later. It wasn’t like he would actually play her song anyway.

“Gotta love musicals. Who here likes The Music Man?” The crowd cheered as Peeta moved to the piano. Wait, was he actually going to follow through with this? She had to give him some respect for that. His accompaniment wasn’t what she would expect out of a professional pianist, but it got the job done. “I’ve got this on the CD I play when I’m driving to work. It’s one of my favorites.”

The voice she heard then barely sounded like the one she’d heard earlier. That had been as stale as his jokes, but now, he sent emotion rippling through the room. For a moment, Meredith Willson’s metaphorical bells were very, very real, and she did hear them ringing, and maybe, just maybe, Haymitch had been on to something.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 11:05 PM

After the show, several women her age and older loitered around the stage. Peeta chatted with them one at a time, all winks and smiles that promised something naughty. Now, she had hung around with enough big stars to know that chatting up women after the show was to be expected, but did he not remember that they had a meeting scheduled? According to the schedule Effie had found for her, he had three more shows at this very venue in the next week. There would be plenty of other chances to get laid, but he had royally screwed up his first meeting with a potential business partner. Good to know he had his priorities straight.

Only after he had gathered a few telephone numbers did he deign to join her. “Katniss?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He smiled, and she rose to shake his hand. “After that show, you don’t need any introduction.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person.” Maybe he was just a good actor, but the words sounded genuine. Then again, he had sounded pretty genuine a few minutes ago when he was prepping new notches for his bedpost, so maybe she shouldn’t put too much weight on that. “Sorry to put you on the spot back there. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You did really well with it.”

“Thanks. I really do have it on CD in my car, but I’d never performed it live before tonight. Especially coming from you, it’s great to hear I did all right with it.” He sat down at the table for two that had been hers alone for the show. “I’ve been reading a lot about you since we talked on the phone. I didn’t realize how many of my favorite albums you’ve been on.” God damn it, she couldn’t let him charm her the way he had those other women, but goodness did it feel nice to hear her work praised. “I mean, you’ve worked with everyone around. The Stones, Madonna, I think I saw McCartney on there too. I know you want to do something more on the folk side, but your catalog is pop and rock and roll royalty.”

“Thanks.” She was going to start blushing if he didn’t tone it down a little. He leaned in just a little, and Katniss met those gorgeous blue eyes, and well, it was too late on that whole not blushing thing. “Really, thanks.”

“Sorry, I just don’t think you studio musicians get enough credit. You’re the ones who make the rest of us look good, and we don’t bother to say thanks often enough.”

Definitely buttering her up, then. Good. That meant he wanted to go through with Haymitch’s scheme, erm, idea. She smiled at him. “Flattering as this is, if we don’t stop trading compliments, I think we’ll be sitting here for hours and I’d really like to go home at some point.” Two could play that game. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on Haymitch’s proposal.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he laughed. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I’m not sure it’s what’s best for my career.” Wait, what? How was it that Peeta Mellark, corny C-grade casino performer, was the one putting a stop to this? She had an actual career. At any moment, there were five or ten requests for her to come in and play, and with the big names too, and he thought this wasn’t right for him? Her knuckles went white as she fisted her hands into the tablecloth. He must have noticed, because he immediately backpedaled. “That sounded bad. What I mean is, well, this might not seem like a lot to you, but I kind of like it. I get to travel all the time. I constantly get to meet new people. It’s not a very glamorous part of showbiz, but it keeps food on the table and lets me sing instead of working at the bakery back home.

“That being said, I’ve been doing this at varying levels nonstop for twenty years, and I’m ready to try something new.”

“So you want to go for it.”

“I’d at least like to test some things out, yeah.”

“That’s about at the point where I am too,” she admitted.

He had a great smile. It wasn’t fair, really, that he got the eyes, the smile, and the voice all rolled up in one package. How was the female portion of the population supposed to resist? Katniss stopped herself before she could take that line of thought too far. If things worked out, they would be business partners, and even if people didn’t always respect professional boundaries in this industry, she was better than that. “Then I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Casablanca and The Music Man in one night?”

“Hey, if someone’s said it better already, why not let them say it for you?”

“I hope that’s not the approach you take to songwriting,” she deadpanned.

Peeta winked. “As you wish.”

“Princess Bride, and you’d better.”

Los Angeles, California

June 25, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“I’m so sorry, that session was only supposed to last the morning. He promised we’d be out by noon.” She really ought to spend some more quality time with that stupid treadmill she’d shelled out six hundred bucks for the Christmas before last. Katniss had only run from the corner to the front door of Haymitch’s office, but even after a few seconds spent panting and wondering if she was about to collapse dead, she still sounded like she was trying for a personal best marathon time.

On second thought, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad. Three sets of eyes were on her, the expressions on them a rainbow that went from concerned to amused to annoyed. Yes, an hour and forty minutes late was bad, but she had called as soon as she knew the session was going to run long.

Peeta broke the silence first. “Hey, Katniss. How are you?”

She smiled at him as she took the remaining seat. “I’m pretty good. Howa bout you, Peeta? Effie?” She didn’t need some smartass answer from Haymitch right now, so she left him out.

Not that that strategy ever worked. “So, who chased you up here?”

He got a well-deserved glare for that one. “I just couldn’t wait to get back in your presence. It’s such a magical place to be.”

Effie giggled at that, light and tinkling, but then it was all business. “We’ve been filling Peeta in on the basic business plan we have for you. Katniss, you’ve said that you have quite the catalog of songs built up, so we figured it would be best to use one of them for first single.” She turned to Peeta. “You’ll love them. She won’t brag about them, modest thing she is, but Haymitch has played a few of her demos for me, and they’re just lovely.” If Peeta wasn’t here, she would have hit him. She’d never given Haymitch permission to show any of those recordings to anybody. “If we can’t find anything we like in there, we can always find something to cover, but well, neither of you is getting any younger, and it’s better to get something out as soon as possible.” Katniss did her best not to flinch at that. She knew age was more of an issue for her than Peeta. Female stardom seemed to have an expiration date of around thirty-five, and she was getting closer every day. “Ideally, we’ll have you in the studio next week, have a single out on iTunes in six weeks tops. Then we’ll get you out on tour and hope for the best.”

“Do you ever hope for anything else?” Haymitch asked. “Ouch!” Oh good, if Effie hadn’t kicked him for that, Katniss would’ve had to, and after that admittedly short run, she didn’t feel like moving at all.

Effie smiled at them. “Any questions?”

She and Peeta exchanged glances and shrugs. “I think we’re good.”

“Excellent. Then let’s get started on the paperwork.”

To both of their credit, neither groaned audibly, but Katniss was pretty sure it was a shared sentiment.

Los Angeles, California

June 29, 2015

Local Time: 9:40 AM

Buttercup had only stayed with her for a week while Prim was out of town, and that had been a month ago, but she still found orange cat hair all over her furniture. On days like today, when she wore black, she might as well just add a pair of Tigger ears to complete the costume. Peeta’s black pants were going to be a mess when he got up too. Fingers crossed, he wouldn’t notice.

It would be a lot harder to ignore the fact that she’d said she was going to the kitchen to find some snacks but would return empty-handed. She blamed it on the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. Her minifridge currently held the three-day-old remnants of a meal at Chili’s, three bottles of beer, half a jar of dill pickles, and a thing of ketchup. She didn’t even like ketchup. The pantry wasn’t much better. She’d been trying to cut down on her salty snacks habit, which was both doing nothing to help her slim down and not very helpful when it came to being a gracious hostess.

Opening the fridge a second time did nothing to help finger foods magically appear. What a time for witchcraft to fail her. She settled for grabbing two of the beers and heading back to the living room. A+ hostess. They ought to stamp her high society entrance ticket right now.

Peeta sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes closed and swaying along with the music flooding through the oversized headphones. She had spent hours over the past three days going through the songs she’d written over the years. Like everything, ninety percent of them were absolute shit, but she hadn’t touched some of them since high school, and revisiting them had brought her almost as many smiles as cringes. Almost.

“Anything sticking out to you?”

Peeta slipped off the headphones. “Yeah. How do you not have a solo career? Your voice is great.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“But inquiring minds want to know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Want a Bud Light?” She hadn’t even been prepared enough to buy decent beer.

“Yes, please.” She handed him the bottle, and he cracked it open and took a long sip, studying her the whole time. “You know, I’m not sure what to think of you.”

“Thank you very little.”

He grinned. “Caddyshack?”

“Yep. Two can play at that game.” She sat down on her sad, worn couch and opened her own beer. “And one can win.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to turn it into a competition. I’ve been touring at least eight months of the year for the past decade, and Netflix and I have spent a lot of quality time together.”

“I thought you liked traveling.” He had said that, hadn’t he? She probably should’ve been paying more attention to the words he said and less to the lips that said them during their earlier meetings, but who could blame a girl for looking? A painfully single woman whose only serious relationship had petered out eight years ago had every excuse.

“Oh, I do, a lot. And I try to get a good taste of the local culture wherever I go, but when you’re in Boise for the sixth time, you kind of run out of new things to do.”

“Fair.”

“Okay, you’ve dodged the question for long enough. Who are you?”

That question made her feel like a Bond girl: sexy, mysterious, and more likely than not playing both sides flawlessly. Too bad she had no idea what those two sides would be in this situation and all her foreign, ‘exotic’ accents were shit. “I’m not sure what you’re after.”

He scooched away to lean back against the room’s single chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re just hard to figure out is all.” Peeta paused for a minute, collecting his thoughts. “What I mean is, I don’t understand why you’d be interested in this arrangement. You’re a rock guitarist, and you’re very successful at it, but the stuff you want to record is all pretty folky. I’m open to anything, but my background’s in pop.”

“Haymitch suggested it, and I thought it sounded like a good idea.”

“That doesn’t add up either. Why is it that you have a manager that’s mostly involved in the country scene?”

“Oh, that’s just coincidence. Haymitch was married to my mom for a very short time when I was a teenager, and we stayed in touch after they divorced. He actually got me my first break.” She rose one eyebrow. “That, or we’ve carefully crafted an intricate spider web of lies with which to entrap you.”

“A guy can never be too careful. The pretty ones are dangerous.”

She made note of that comment so the part of her that was still fourteen could overanalyze and obsess over it later. “Do you have a song picked out?”

“I’ve got it narrowed down to three, but I’m leaning toward ‘Mockingjay’.”

“I like that one too. Want to go for it?”

He laughed. “We’ve really put a lot of careful consideration into all of this, haven’t we?”

“Let’s call it great minds thinking alike instead.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 9:07 PM

Peeta looked over to her and grinned. Ready? he mouthed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the butterflies would fly out of her stomach as she exhaled. When had that ever worked?

“Don’t worry. You’ll be great.” He could say that all he wanted. He’d been doing shows practically constantly for twenty years. Bill Clinton had still been president the last time she did a live gig. No, maybe it had been in 2001, right after Bush the Younger came into office. Either way, if it had been long enough that she didn’t remember the year, she certainly didn’t know what it would feel like. Fuck, it had been a few years since she’d been able to ride a roller coaster without feeling sick to her stomach the rest of the day, and that was way less adrenaline than getting in front of two hundred people and singing. Never mind that most of them were there to see Peeta, and that she was a sideshow attraction at best, she’d still be up there with him, and –

“Katniss, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I mean it.” Peeta gave her upper arm the gentlest of punches. “You’re great. If you can play for Paul McCartney and impress him, you’ll amaze these people.”

Like wax strips, sometimes it was just better to tug things off as quickly as possible, bleeding or other bodily injury be damned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“All right.” He winked. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

She frowned at him. “Casablanca, and that’s not the spirit at all.”

Peeta gave her another one of those grins that she was quickly coming to hate – or love, if there was any difference. “But it got your mind off of it.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 10:56 PM

There wasn’t bleach strong enough to wipe the smile off her face. Who cared if she’d forgotten some of the words in the third verse of “Blowin’ In The Wind”? It hadn’t been her favorite song since middle school, and nobody could understand what Dylan was singing half the time anyway. It lent authenticity to their performance. The adrenaline had kicked in somewhere around the third number, and she hadn’t even wanted to take a break in between sets. While Peeta had gone to grab them some water, she had stayed on stage, singing any song that came to mind. Rock, folk, show tunes, at this point, she didn’t care. Why had she ever cared about that? Distinctions were stupid. She could play one thing as well as another, and if the audience didn’t mind, she wasn’t going to act all high and mighty about which things were better than which. Who got to decide what was good and not? Not her, that’s for sure, and if she had her way, they’d stop using words like that. Outdated language was what it was, not taking into account personal taste. As always, the patriarchy stayed hard at work, grueling over their 1950s-era language like they knew best. They’d be upset when they got home and realized she didn’t have dinner ready for them, but their time was long gone, and hers had dawned.

“It’s about time that we wrap up for tonight.” A few audience members groaned at Peeta’s words. He cocked his head and grinned. “Don’t be too sad. We’re going to miss you too. But, before we head out, we’ve got a real treat for you: our first public performance of our new single, ‘Mockingjay,’ now available!”

“One, two, three, four!” She started with the guitar, and there it was, out for the world to see. Katniss had practiced this song hundreds of times since Haymitch and Effie pulled this tour together two weeks before. Every night before bed, every morning when she woke up. If she wasn’t playing it, she was thinking through it, running through the chords, quizzing herself on the lyrics. Her fingers knew what to do, and the word slipped out without any conscious thought, and for the first time in years, she could just be.

She watched, and she listened, but mostly, she floated above everything. It sounded so cheesy in retrospect, but she felt like she was in the audience more than on stage, watching herself and Peeta as an outsider. She loved it, all of it. The words sat right in a way that only her own words could, the representation of feelings that, though shared in some respect with the rest of humanity, were hers and hers alone. She basked in his voice, swayed with her accompaniment, and the chorus slowly pulled her back to herself. At the second chorus, she and Peeta locked eyes, and they didn’t break their gaze until the last chord finishing reverberating through the room.

Applause made her nerves light up brighter than the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Center. Heat rushed to Katniss’ cheeks, and as soon as she finished two stiff bows, she got the hell out of there. Though Peeta had spent several minutes greeting fans after his show in San Bernadino, he followed only a few steps behind. “You were great!” he said, beaming. Post-gig afterglow was definitely a real phenomenon.

“You think so?” She should say something nice about his performance back, but her mind was still reeling from all of it, and that had only been a hundred and fifty people. What would she do if they ever sold out a stadium? Probably too early to be thinking about that, considering that before the show, they’d only sold ninety-seven copies of ‘Mockingjay’ on iTunes, and that number included Prim, her mom, and all of Peeta’s family, but it never hurt to plan ahead.

“Incredible.” He’d moved even closer. From here, it was impossible not to notice how brilliantly blue his eyes were, and she just wanted to stare at them for a while, commit every detail of them to memory. It didn’t register that there might be a reason Peeta’s face was so close until his lips met hers.

One hand found his shoulder while the fingers of the other carded through thick blonde hair. He wrapped his arms around her, warm and strong, and she sighed against him, moving herself in closer still. Peeta’s breathing turned ragged as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, and though she keened into the touch, the rational part of her brain finally kicked in. Katniss wanted nothing more than to give in, to do as she’d wanted to from the moment they’d met, but as warmth and desire curled and pooled within her, she moved her lips away from his. “Peeta,” she said, breathless. “Peeta, this is a bad idea.”

His forehead furrowed for the briefest of instants, then he stepped away. “I’m sorry. I thought – never mind. I apologize.”

“No, don’t.” God, she wanted to kiss him again, replace that regret with the passion she’d felt just seconds prior. She wet her lips, and his eyes followed the motion. “I mean, don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

“Of course,” he responded, avoiding her eyes. Somehow, she doubted the plain white wall was really that interesting, but Katniss wasn’t going to call him out on that. She’d done enough damage already. “Um, should I go, or do you want me to stick around and walk you back to your room?”

She was more than capable of finding her way from the hotel’s club back to her room, thank you very much, and any other time, she would make sure he knew that. “I’d like to walk with you.” Katniss glanced down at his hand, thought about how nice it would be to walk up hand in hand, invite him inside, let herself cut loose for the first time in months, but he stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Peeta?” she asked. “It really is all right.”

He gave her the stiffest nod she’d ever received.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

November 7, 2015

Local Time: 8:31 AM

“Katniss!” The door rattled on its hinges as he knocked. Wanted to wake up the entire hotel, did he? “Katniss!”

Eight thirty was way too early to be dealing with this kind of shit. Still, she didn’t want the poor guests that got stuck next to her to have any more of their mornings ruined. With a sigh, she hoisted herself out of bed and padded over to the door. “What’s wrong?” she said as the door swung open to reveal a far too excited Peeta.

“Wrong? We’re in the top ten!”

“Wait, really?” Any remaining grogginess disappeared in an instant. “Let me see!”

He pressed his phone into her hands and stepped further into her room.

Her hand flew up to her mouth to cover her gasp. There it was, everything she’d been dreaming of. A top ten chart, and there they were, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, right at sweet, sweet number three. She never thought she’d live to see the day. It had seemed impossible, the ultimate pipe dream. No, some random pipe had a better chance of being stolen and made into a found art item valued at a million dollars than she had of releasing a hit single. Incredible. Just incredible.

She turned at a popping sound to see Peeta standing next to the dresser, pouring two glasses of champagne. Usually, she’d say it was too early to start drinking, but today, Katniss could get away with anything. Damn responsibility. Who was going judge her for a little early-morning alcohol? The only other person who knew about this was right there in the same boat with her.

Wait, what chart was this? God, she hoped it was the Hot 100. Anything was a godsend, but Billboard… Billboard was something else, and –

Sverigetopplistan. There was no way that was a real word. She couldn’t even begin to pronounce it. But it had the words ‘top’ and ‘list’, and that couldn’t be good.

A quick Google search told her everything she needed to know. “We’re only number three in Sweden?”

“We’re actually at three in Finland too. ‘Mockingjay’ is doing really well all across Scandinavia. I know it’s in the top twenty in Denmark and Norway, and I want to say it’s doing about the same in Latvia or Lithuania – I don’t remember which. Isn’t it great?”

“Uh, yeah.” She couldn’t help that her voice sounded a little flat.

Peeta winced. “Sorry, the way I said that made it sound like we had it on the British or American charts, didn’t it? I wasn’t trying to get your hopes up.” He held up the glass. “Champagne? I shelled out for some halfway decent stuff.”

She accepted the glass. “Thanks. To us?”

“To our continuing success,” he replied. They clinked their glasses together. “You know, I think we’re looking at this the wrong way. We are now international pop stars.”

“We appeal to the more refined tastes of the European market,” she added.

“America might be our homeland, but it is also our respite from our legions of devoted fans.” The CDC probably classified Peeta’s smile as a communicable disease. “Why would you want to be on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood when you could be on the one in Stockholm? Much cleaner.”

Katniss laughed and went for another sip of champagne only to find it was all gone. He noticed and went to fetch the bottle. “We can’t have you running out of champagne. After that first hit, you never know when the diva behavior is going to start kicking in.”

“You know, you’re really lucky that you’re cute, because otherwise, there’s no way I would put up with that.” The words just slipped out before she could really think about what she was saying. She hadn’t drank enough yet to blame it on the champagne yet, either. Damn it. Alcoholism was a terrible disease, and she understood that, but what she wouldn’t give right now to use Haymitch’s ‘I haven’t been in complete control of my actions for a decade’ excuse.

Peeta’s grin widened. “Just how much would you let me get away with?” His expression was pure sin, and Katniss blushed practically down to her toes.

“Has Haymitch heard the news yet?” Time to change the subject before she said anything even more regretful.

And as though flirting was as easy to turn on and off as a light switch – and for him, maybe it was – Peeta was back to friendly but professional. “Yeah, he’s the one who called me. Believe it or not, I don’t spend my mornings browsing the Scandinavian pop charts.”

“You might have to start now.”

“Good point. Guess I can work it into my busy schedule somehow,” Peeta laughed.

Gary, Indiana

November 23, 2015

Local Time: 10:14 AM

Peeta was a world-class pacer. Unless social niceties dictated that he absolutely had to sit, the man kept to his little four steps forward, right turn, four steps, right turn habit at all times. And so when Katniss walked into his hotel room – they’d left knocking behind weeks ago – to find him talking on the phone and standing stock-still in the very center of the room, she immediately grew concerned.

He didn’t notice her presence, too focused on his conversation to hear soft footsteps against the carpet. She moved back towards the door. He deserved his privacy as much as anyone else. “Yeah, for sure. That’d be a great opportunity, and I’m sure Katniss is on board too.” At the sound of her name, she froze. “I just need to check that the schedule will work out. We’re on the road right now, and you know how I am with dates.” He paused while the person on the other end spoke. “Of course. I’ll call our manager right now and get back to you as soon as I’ve got something. Yep, talk to you soon. Say hi to Annie and Ronan for me.”

“Who was that, and what am I on board for?”

Peeta jumped at the sound of her voice, but he quickly recovered. “Finnick. He’s got a big tour coming up, and his opening act canceled on him at the last minute. He’s wondering if we’re available.” She managed to keep her mouth from falling open, but only barely. Peeta laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. He says he really likes ‘Mockingjay,’ and Annie – that’s his wife, she’s a sweetheart – has been playing it nonstop for days.”

In any other circumstance, she would be flattered, but her mind could only focus on one of those ideas at a time. “He wants us to tour with him?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it great? I mean, you do want to, right?”

“When?” She sounded breathless. Accurate.

“His first show’s in Seattle on the fourteenth.”

“Three weeks.” Okay, they could do three weeks. It might be a little bit of a logistical nightmare to get everything together, but it was an achievable logistical nightmare with some fantastic benefits. How many people attended each of Finnick’s concerts? She’d gone and seen him at the Hollywood Bowl a few years ago with friends, and that place had to seat twenty thousand, easy. He could probably sell out much bigger stadiums, too, and even if the audience wasn’t super excited by the prospect of listening to something kind of folky before the pop show, that was still twenty thousand more people exposed to their music, and even if only one, two percent wanted to go and pick up the album…

“Katniss? What do you think?”

She snatched his phone out of his hand. “I’m going to call Haymitch. He and Effie can make this work. I don’t care if we have to rearrange a few other dates.” She laughed, probably looking like a crazy woman. Oh well. Crazy old witch was one thing, but successful crazy old witch was pretty freaking fantastic.

Los Angeles, California

December 9, 2015

Local Time: 4:21 PM

Beyond a nice dinner with Prim at Sae’s, Katniss scheduled nothing for the two weeks she would be in Los Angeles before they started touring again. Nothing was going to get in the way of her sleeping as much as possible. She put in a grocery order with a delivery service and checked out of life for two weeks. After more than two months of almost-nonstop touring, she deserved it.

It got old after two days. By the third, she was ready to pull hair, and whether it was hers or someone else’s didn’t much matter. Most of her friends weren’t around on an everyday basis – she supposed that kind of came with the entertainment business – and anyway, she’d never been the most social sort. Katniss knew she should be resting up for the next tour, but instead, she found herself filling every waking moment with something. The pervs that hung out on practically every street corner in Los Angeles had always turned her off of walking around the city by herself, but almost every day, she took hours-long walks around her area. She ducked into art galleries and coffee shops she’d noted as places to check out but never managed to get to and wandered around the city’s parks, snapping photos and picking the occasional flower when no one was watching.

As she explored, she allowed herself to think. Big mistake. She didn’t confine herself to any single topic, and she covered quite a bit of ground. Art, the meaning of life, whether or not she’d remembered to lock the apartment on her way out, all of it came up. But she mostly thought about Peeta. He was three thousand miles away in Boston, and she still couldn’t get away from him. Peeta Mellark had ruined ogling cute blond guys, because none of them could quite measure up. She’d see some diet-busting pastry in a window, and her mind would leap to the cheese buns and raspberry tarts she’d tried from his family’s bakery when they’d played that gig in Worcester. He had even infiltrated her blessed TV-watching, because flipping through channels, she’d end up on TCM, and there he was again with one of those movie quotes that she hated but couldn’t get enough of.

When she ended up watching one of the films, she’d text quotes to him, and no matter the time of day, within thirty seconds, he replied with the title. Katniss hoped he cheated and googled them. Nobody should have watched No Orchids for Miss Blandish enough times to be able to quote it.

Damn boy was driving her nuts. She’d given Delly a hard time in high school for crushes far less consuming. How low had she fallen?

Three more days until she saw him again, but who was keeping track?

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“Peeta!” She ran towards him, luggage in tow. Two little old ladies moved to one side so she could pass, and one flashed her a thumbs up. Katniss had him wrapped in a hug the instant she got close enough. “How are you? How was Boston?”

He squeezed her. “I’ve been good. Kind of wondering why I thought it was a good idea to visit home in February, but it was good. Nice to see everyone.” He broke away first. Smart move – airport baggage claims were hardly the place for public displays of affection, even completely platonic ones between friends that definitely didn’t want to screw each other. “So, how’s California? Ten below and covered in snow like Boston?”

“Isn’t it always?”

Peeta laughed, and wow, had she missed that. Cliché as it was, Katniss was convinced that one noise could light up an entire room, maybe power all the street lights in Seattle for the rest of the year. “I’m sure you froze half to death.”

“I wore shorts every day I was home.”

“So did I. They only had to amputate one limb.”

“If you two are done, we’ve got the car waiting outside.” She spun to find Haymitch standing behind them and waiting.

“Hey, Haymitch. How’ve you been?”

“Good. Get in the car.” He pushed Peeta in front of him and stayed behind with Katniss a moment. “What do you think you’re doing, kid?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea anymore.”

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 11:30 PM

“You know, I’ve been to rehab three times, and marrying your mother is still the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Rehab was a mistake?” She couldn’t let something like that slide.

“No, the choices I made that landed me there were mistakes.” Haymitch took another swig of his Southern Comfort. “And the first time I went to rehab was a mistake too - made me think that getting clean was gonna make me come to Jesus or some shit like that, scared me off the idea for years – but that’s not the point. They always tell you that your drinking is affecting the lives of the people you love, and trust me, they’re right. They’ve got more scientists than I can count running all kinds of studies and coming up with figures to show you how right they are. And I’m good at fucking up the lives of the people around me – you’ve seen it more times than I want to remember.”

Katniss nodded, wary. She was used to Haymitch drunk, or angry, or the quiet, determined way he got when he had a plan that he was dead-set on seeing to completion, but she hadn’t seen this kind of open emotion from him before. Frankly, the thought of some baring their soul, particularly to her, made Katniss a little nauseous. She had signed up for Thursday night drinks and catching up, not a feelings orgy worthy of the Hallmark channel.

But he kept going, a steamroller headed downhill at a hundred miles an with no brakes. “Well, I really thought I had things under control this time. Y’know, I’d been to rehab, managed to stay clean for a whole year. Still wanted a drink from the moment I got up right up ‘til I fell asleep at night, but I figured that was to be expected. I know you’ve heard all that before, but it bears worth repeating. Your mom, she just seemed perfect. Too perfect, looking back on things. Gorgeous, smart, patient as can be – you’d have to be, to put up with me.”

She had her own opinion on that matter, but now wasn’t the time. “Haymitch, I’ve got things to do today. You sure that –“

“Let me finish. Long story short, she was too good for me, and I knew it, but I somehow managed to con her into marrying me anyway. And guess what? All I wanted to do was make things better. I really did, and still do, care about how you all ended up, but I couldn’t keep it together, and I ended up taking you all with me. Made you move, have to do the whole new school, new friends thing, made you deal with my problems, forced you to deal with my divorce because I wasn’t responsible enough to deal with my shit by myself.” Tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should try to comfort him or bolt. Katniss settled for reaching over and giving him an awkward pat on the back. Beyond a few handshakes over the years, this might very well be the first time she’d touched Haymitch. She’d been twelve when he’d come into her family’s life, and at a point in her life when she scorned physical contact with everybody, and neither of them had ever been the touchy-feely type. “Cut it out. You see, it’s happening again. I’m the one who made you hurt, and now you’re cleaning me up. That’s what happens when you let someone who’s too good for you in. You take and take until there’s nothing left to give, and when they finally give up and leave you, you’re both left with nothing.”

“You think Peeta’s too good for me.”

Haymitch’s eyes were steady as he nodded.

“Fuck off.” God, she wanted to leave with that, but something kept her rooted in place. She choked on something that wasn’t quite a laugh and bordered on a sob. “That’s precious, coming from you.”

“There’s a reason we get along so well, sweetheart. Here, have some.” He pushed the bottle towards her, but she pushed it away as she rose, spilling fat drops of amber liquor all over the pristine white couch. It’d be a bitch to clean up later, she reflected, but then again, so would she.

Katniss didn’t stop running until she was well into the parking lot, and even then, she only stopped because there was no place to go.

That seemed to happen a lot these days.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 11:11 AM

When she and Peeta had gone on tour previously, it really had been just the two of them, Peeta’s Lincoln, and four different hotel rewards cards. They didn’t have a lot of extra equipment, so there was no need for anyone to help them haul anything, and though there were at least daily phone calls with Effie and Haymitch, nobody needed to be there to hold their hand and get them to the gigs on time. It was bare-bones, but it was fun. Yeah, that meant that she had spent an evening in Peeta’s car with a bottle of nail polish remover after a less-than-successful attempt at giving herself a pedicure in a moving vehicle, but they also got to talk and joke and stop at stupid roadside attractions whenever they felt like it.

Finnick’s touring was as far away from that as one could get. First of all, they had a private jet. She supposed that made sense, as thirty-five people accompanied Finnick everywhere. Family, security, personal assistant, sound engineer, stage coordinator, the backing group, Katniss, Peeta, and two people whose purpose on the tour remained a mystery even four weeks into the three-month stint. She blamed those people for her current situation.

There was a timid knock, then the door opened just a crack. “Are you feeling okay?” Peeta asked.

“The only reason I know I’m not dead is that everything still hurts.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. Katniss had always liked to think that she could tough her way through just about anything. How nice of this cold/flu/sinus monstrosity to rid her of that delusion.

Peeta didn’t move away from the door. Smart guy. “Do you think you’re going to feel good enough to perform tonight?”

“Yes.” That wasn’t even a question. She would have to actually be dead to not show up for tonight’s show. In the halo ring that was this tour, tonight’s show, the only one that would be broadcast live to millions of home viewers, was the pendant diamond, the one your friends were really complimenting when they said how pretty the whole thing looked. They forecasted that twelve million viewers would tune in tonight. She was going to wow every single one of them.

“You can’t talk. How are you going to sing?”

“I’ll rest until then.”

Peeta frowned. “I’ll go to CVS. Do you like pills or liquid cold medicine better?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Liquid then. I’ll get some soup too. Don’t go around infecting anyone else.”

She mumbled something at that, but even Katniss wasn’t quite sure what point she was trying to get across.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 4:55 PM

She loved those green lights. They should make all the lights green. Then the cars could go faster because they’d never have to stop, and all the people would be happy because they spent more time with their families and less time driving. Lots of good things were green. In fact, she couldn’t’ think of a single bad green thing. Money, trees, kale, those rain boots she’d been eyeing at Target since last winter… they should make everything green. It would be nicer that way. “Don’t you think so?”

“Don’t I think what?”

“That everything should be green.”

Peeta shook his head. “I think you’re a lot less coherent on cold medicine than you led me to believe. I don’t have any strong opinions on the color green.”

“That’s too bad.” Peeta had a green sweater that made his arms look fantastic. Maybe she could convince him to wear it more often.

He had other things on his mind. Peeta’s voice dropped. “Look, we’re going to have you lip sync tonight, all right? Haymitch has a tape of your part on all our songs, and all you’ll need to do is mouth along with the words and pretend to play your guitar.”

“Okay.” She hated lip syncing, but it was hard to be upset about things right now. Why think about the bad things when there was so much green?

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 7:21 PM

The wiggles went through her entire body when she tried to shake the nerves out, tickling enough that she giggled out loud. Her fingers felt fat and sluggish as they danced over her guitar. The object was so familiar that it might have been another limb, but holding it now, it could just as easily have come from another planet. The weight was off, the balance just not there, and when had the strings gotten so little? No matter. She’d made it through three songs. She could handle two more before she went backstage and conked out.

‘Mockingjay’ shouldn’t be too bad. The first chords were easy. It started nice and slow, perfect for beginners and heavily-medicated Katnisses, before picking up speed. She knew what she was doing. Same thing, just faster, and faster, and faster, and then –

She realized an instant too late that this was her verse. Her eyes widened, and she did her best to start mouthing along, but the damage had been done. Whispers from the crowd rolled over her in waves, and it was all she could do to not cry on stage.

They struggled through that next number. She gave it everything she had – so not much – but she couldn’t sell it. Because of her fuck up, both of them would be in the papers tomorrow. They’d never have a successful album. Hell, they might not even be able to record an album. Nobody would invite them on tour again. Peeta might be able to go back to his old career, but maybe not. Opportunities dried up quickly in this business, which she knew better than anyone.

Katniss fell apart as soon as she got backstage. “Katniss, hey, it’s no big deal. I should have told Finnick you couldn’t go on. I’m so sorry.” Peeta’s words burned like acid over fresh wounds. He knew what she had ruined, and here he was, comforting her. If she was going to wreck something for someone, why couldn’t she pick some awful person who kicked puppies or something? Why did it have to be the nicest, sweetest man she’d ever been lucky enough to meet? Haymitch was right. “Katniss, I’m really –“

She kissed him. “Shut up.” Another one, this time harder – and now that he had gotten over his initial shock, he responded. Peeta dragged her close, pressing her tight against his chest. One hand found her waist, and the other toyed with the ends of her braid. His heartbeat was going nuts, but so was hers, so she supposed that was fair, and she –

“Hey, you two have a dressing room for that.” Peeta pulled away, and she turned to glare at Haymitch. He wouldn’t be cowed so easily. “Hey, if you don’t want to start damage control right now, I’m gonna enjoy the concert.”

“It’s okay, Katniss.” Peeta pulled her into their shared dressing room. “It’ll be okay, all of it. I promise.”

The worry swelled over her again. “You can’t promise that.”

“We can avoid the internet for a couple days. It’ll blow over.”

She closed her eyes and nuzzled up against his chest. “Maybe.” At least he smelled nice. Small consolation, but she’d take what she could get.

He kissed the top of her head. “Either way, we can’t do anything about it now.”

Another thought came to her. “I’m sorry if I gave you the flu.” Because she just couldn’t stop screwing up today, could she?

“Hey, it’ll make it easier to not go online, right?” he laughed. Then his voice dropped. “But since I’m already infected, I suppose there’s not anything to keep me from kissing you again, is there?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level.

Boston, Massachusetts

October 11, 2028

Local Time: 7:31 PM

She’d been convinced that it was Haymitch who always edited the “Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark” page on Wikipedia, but in the two years since his death, it continued to change. Every week, some new, strange story popped up that managed to keep the basic outline of their story the same while putting them into the strangest circumstances. She rather liked this one, a fairy-tale themed story involving dragons (poor Effie), a knight in shining armor, and herself as the beautiful princess trapped in the castle of studio work while she longed to be out among the people. Pity it had to go.

She copied and pasted the short version of the group’s history into editing window and hit ‘submit’. Nowhere near as interesting, but at least there were no beheadings in this version.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are an American folk-rock duo. Since the two artists began collaborating in 2015, they have released four studio albums and toured extensively. Though best known in the United States for their first single, ‘Mockingjay,’ and a lip-syncing controversy that occurred during a televised Finnick Odair performance, the duo has achieved great critical and commercial success in northern Europe. They are most popular in Sweden, where their third studio album ‘Girl on Fire’ held the number one chart position for thirty-one weeks between 2021 and 2022. The duo began dating shortly after meeting in 2015 and married on June 11, 2017 in Mellark’s hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. They are parents to three adopted children: Aster Mellark (born 2019), Rye Mellark (born 2024), and Senna Mellark (born 2026). In September of 2028, Everdeen and Mellark released dates for their Everlark tour, their ninth world tour, with dates across Europe and East Asia.

Only when she was reading it through for the second time did she notice that she’d forgotten to delete the prankster’s last line. Katniss smiled. She highlighted it, and her finger hovered over the backspace key, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

And they lived happily ever after.

After all, who was she to argue with the truth?

So sorry I posted this early on Ao3 and FFN. I promise that I can count. Don’t take away my math degree.

#thg #everlark #everlark fanfic #that time we took over the world #mores2sl

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